Secrets of Gor Chapter Two

I spent an hour in the morning practising looking into a mirror and saying, as convincingly as I could, things like “honestly, Donna, it was just a horrifying experience. Of course I felt nothing in the straw loft; nothing at all.” 

I felt nervous. Donna could always tell if I was being evasive. I tried again.

 

“Mikos? A horrible man. Horrible. Ugly, too. Not gentle and kind like Simon. I never want to see him again.”

 

Better. But was it good enough?

 

“Slave heat? Only slaves feel that. Of course not.” Soft laugh, as if the suggestion was faintly amusing. “Did you really think? Oh, Donna…”

 

I maintained eye contact with myself in the mirror.

 

“I think I’m actually very frigid, Donna. I really am.”

 

The Lady Donna owns a modest house in Vonda that is part of a number of terraced buildings each with its own private courtyard set within the property. She has owned it for a number of years now, certainly as long as I have known her, and that friendship predates my rise in fortune since my brother, Brinn, was blessed and rewarded by the Priest Kings. Some time ago I paid off the money she owed on the building, though she declined my offer to buy her a better dwelling in a more prestigious part of the city.

 

“This is my home,” she said. “Why would I want to live somewhere other than my home?”

 

It is a logic typical of Donna, and one that brooks no argument. Donna is much older than me and claims to be from the slave world, Earth, though if she is typical of the women of that planet, I have met no other example who might match her mental strength and self-resolve. She works with strange science that I don’t fully understand – studies of gravitational field anomalies that began when the Priest Kings waged civil war, fifty to sixty years ago, back when they unleashed horrifying gravitational weapons that could have destroyed Gor. While our planet survived, the use of those weapons left some damage that requires cleaning up. Donna works for the Sardar, receiving instructions from them, and she makes field reports back on a regular basis. Donna defies the typical fashion for Free Women in that she keeps her hair cut short in what she refers to as a ‘pixie crop’ though I do not understand the term. She will wear the robes of the gentle Free Woman in public, but inside her own home she dresses with far less restrictions, though generally adopts a modest length skirt and full sleeved blouse in case of unexpected visitors, or baggy breeches and a long sleeved tunic. She daringly refrains from a House Veil if she receives guests, markedly pointing out that this is her home, and she can dress as she pleases there. I have tried to explain to her how demeaning it is to be seen unveiled, but she doesn’t seem to care. 

 

My brother’s filthy slut once told me that women of the slave world routinely walk the streets of their city unveiled, which no doubt accounts for why so many of them are commonly enslaved and sold in our markets. It stands to reason that if you can clearly assess the features of a woman, then it is a simple matter to abduct the most beautiful specimens and enslave them in another city. Surely that is obvious to them? The veil is there for our own protection, but Donna was not brought up that way. 

 

The household is small, though larger than you might expect from the frontage. Nevertheless the courtyard is a small one and, due to the height of the surrounding buildings, only enjoys a few hours of direct sunlight each day, thereafter suffering from overcast shadow, unlike my own lavish town house. 

 

Donna lives with her constant companion, a man called Victor who is also of Earth. He shares Donna’s alien world view and together they often joke and make fun of certain sensible Gorean customs and traditions, much to my frustration. He has always been polite and deferential to me, but I have always sensed it is on account of my friendship with his companion. There is something… I can’t put it into words. It’s sometimes the way he looks at me. I cannot decipher his expression. 

 

They seem to be very close, and they have two young children, Mary and Aefic, both of whom are simply adorable, and of whom they are rightfully proud. Both children were born on Gor and have been brought up as Goreans, with no personal experience of the counter Gor on the other side of our sun. Like all Gorean children they consider it normal to have slaves in the house, and haven’t been indoctrinated with foolish notions from the slave world of their parents. 

 

Both Mary and Aefic are tall for their age. Aefic will eat you out of house and home if you let him. Such an appetite on that child! But he burns it all off by running around at high speed. Mary is probably the more studious of the two and is named after Donna’s mother on Earth. 

 

They are both gorgeous. Mary is blond with blue eyes and can twist her father around her little finger.  Aefic has brown hair and green eyes and, unlike my nephew, Marik, will never be a warrior. He simply does not have that instinct, although I think he would fight if he had to.

 

Donna owns two slave girls to my knowledge.  Raisa, her First Girl, is Gorean and was a member of the Caste of Scribes, sub-caste mathematicians.  The other slave is a barbarian, formerly Catherine of Gosforth, now called Cath, and was a geophysicist, though that means little to me, but means much to Donna.  Both are literate in Gorean and the barbarian language that my brother’s slut speaks: English, which assists Donna in her work.  When Donna and Victor and go out in the field for work in the summer months, Donna frequently offers them to the village headman for the night as thanks for his hospitality.  In the winter when in Vonda, Donna routinely sends them out as chain girls about once a month to help earn their keep.  The slaves educate the children in Gorean and English (which frankly is a foreign language to the siblings), so they are literate and have had a good scientific education appropriate for their age, which is important to Donna as she understands the forces of nature that govern the world.

 

Raisa is obviously the naturally dominant kajira in the house, which explains her First Girl status. The barbarian slave answers to Raisa for discipline, as Raisa knows that the barbarian’s mistakes will also be her mistakes. First Girls are often held responsible for errors of judgement by the other slaves under her charge. This form of discipline system internal to the slave pens saves a Master or Mistress a great deal of personal supervision. Slaves are encouraged to discipline one another for fear of sharing in a punishment if their owner has to step in. The system works well in my opinion, and has much to commend it.   

 

I perhaps should mention that, in much the same way Donna and myself are friends, our First Girls are also friends. With our permission, Raisa and Brianna often meet up when they shop for us in the market place. Sometimes Raisa will turn up at my house when she knows Brianna is due to go out on errands, and, laughing and holding hands, they will set out together into the main thoroughfares of Vonda. Slave girls develop strong and long lasting friendships, it seems. 

 

I arrived at the house by palanquin which is my usual method of travel about the city. With me were three of my Banner Men who I then dismissed for the duration of my lunch with Donna. They would return when it was time for me to leave. Aside from the security aspect, I enjoy travelling through the city with warriors. It is a stark reminder of the power and prestige of my House and one that my rivals do well to observe. 

 

Raisa answered the door and immediately dropped to her knees in submission.

 

“You may rise,” I remarked, and Raisa did so.

 

“Mistress,” she said. 

 

“Girl,” I acknowledged. Raisa wore a clean white tunic of the kind typically worn by house slaves. It was brief, though not as brief as she would have worn had she been owned exclusively by a man. Nevertheless it was scandalous in contrast to the tunics that Brianna wore. I suppose the choice of garmenture was that of Victor who enjoyed the sight of as much slave flesh as Donna might tolerate in her own vicinity. 

 

“Take me to your Mistress,” I said. There was perhaps a slight tenseness in my voice, for I was worried what might be said this afternoon. It was always difficult to read the Lady Donna, though she could always read me like an open book.

 

Raisa was dutiful enough and escorted me through a corridor to the dining area at the back of the house that overlooked the small courtyard. Inside was a low set of tables and soft cushions upon which we women might kneel as we ate, drank and conversed. But of Donna, I could see no sign.

 

“My Mistress will be with you shortly,” explained Raisa. “May I bring you wine?”

 

“You may. Just a small glass.” Donna wasn’t exactly renowned for the pedigree of her wine, but it was usually drinkable. I gazed out into the small courtyard and smiled as I saw Aefic and Mary playing together. They must be seven or eight years old now and they looked happy, as children have a right to be. Aefic saw me watching as I sipped the wine, and swiftly waved, so I waved back. I was of course veiled and robed, but somehow Aefic instinctively knew who I was. 

 

As I stepped out into the courtyard, both children ran up to me and cried out in delight. 

 

“Cassandra!” said Mary as she adopted a formal curtsey that was cuter than any words can describe. Aefic saluted me in the traditional male Gorean way by raising his right hand at shoulder height with the palm facing the body, which from a seven year old is also adorable. 

 

“Such polite greetings!” I cried as I knelt and hugged them both. 

 

I love children. They are our hope and our future, and one day I shall have my own. 

 

“Have you both been helping your mother keep discipline with the slaves?” I asked.

 

“Oh, yes!” cried Aefic with pride. “I have a switch now, and they must call me Master.” 

 

It was so adorable.

 

“Goodness. And so they should, young master. Why, after your father, you are the senior man of the house! The slaves had better respect that, or you’ll whip their bare thighs with your switch.” I ruffled his hair and hugged him again. “Can either of you remember how one must tend to the household slaves, hmm?”

 

Mary shot up her hand to answer.

 

“Yes, Mary?”

 

“Strictly, but fairly.”

 

“Very good. And why is that?”

 

“Because slaves are lazy and slow to learn.”

 

“My clever girl. Be strict with a slave and she will soon be a better slave, desperately wanting to please her little mistress and master, always thinking of ways to keep you happy.”

 

“But I don’t have a switch,” said Mary with a pout.

 

“You don’t? Oh, dear. Well, that’s an oversight. Perhaps when you’re a year or two older?”

 

“The slaves don’t fear me the way they do Aefic,” said Mary as she stamped her left foot in frustration. “I need a switch!”

 

“Owning a slave switch is a sign of great maturity. You’ll have one when your mother feels you are ready for it.”

 

“But Aefic has one!”

 

“Aefic is a boy. They start earlier.” 

 

“Good afternoon, Cassandra. I trust the children have been charming hosts in my absence?” I hadn’t heard Donna enter the dining room until she spoke, standing behind me. She wore baggy breeches that tied above the ankles, and a loose long sleeved blouse. She seemed amused to see me at last. 

 

“Donna.” I turned round with a smile, but a nervous one, for I knew what was coming later after some customary small talk – awkward questions and a reluctance to answer them on my part. “They are adorable, and grow more adorable with every year. I really must see them more often.”

 

“Cassandra thinks I should have a switch!” cried Mary.

 

“Now I didn’t quite say that, did I, young mistress?” I rebuked her with a wagging finger. “Soon, I said.”

 

“She’s so anxious to learn how to discipline the household slaves,” remarked Donna as she shooed the children back into the courtyard. “She’s always around, watching, when I have to punish Raisa or Cath for something.”

 

“They learn by watching us.” 

 

“Indeed.” 

 

“Perhaps she’s old enough now that you can let her practice with your switch the next time you have to discipline a girl?”

“Interesting.” Donna regarded me with a soft smile. “You think so? When I next discipline a girl?” Donna escorted me over to the low table and motioned for me to kneel on one of the cushions. 

 

“She has to learn how to use a switch properly before she is given one. Do you have to discipline Raisa and Cath often?”

“Only when they displease me. But I am a difficult woman to please, as I think you know, so perhaps more frequently than you discipline Brianna. Victor has spent a lifetime learning that,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. Donna of course was unveiled as usual. I was not. “Sit down, little Assante flower.”

 

I laughed at her joke as I knelt in tower, but knew that Victor gave as good as he got, and had a similar wicked sense of humour. The casual way they joked about each other was testament to the deep feelings they had for one another. Donna and Victor were truly inseparable, and although Victor enjoyed slaves from time to time, it was always with the agreement and blessing of Donna who would approve or disapprove of his choices. Victor would always respect that and decline to couch with a girl if Donna disapproved. It was an unusual arrangement and companionship, but it must be remembered they were both originally from Earth. 

 

“The times when you come to my house, I honestly think Brianna, my First Girl, fears you more than she fears her own Mistress!” I said.

 

“I’m sure that’s not the case,” said Donna with a smile. 

 

“No, it’s true. She’s never the same with me as she is in your presence.”

 

“And how is she with me?” enquired Donna as she settled comfortably.

 

“Scared to say or do anything wrong. You just have to look at her that way and she quivers.”

“What way?” This continued to amuse Donna.

 

“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know. You have this air about you. Natural dominance. That look.”

 

“Oh?” She gave me ‘that look’.

 

“Well, yes.” I fidgeted a little bit and soon glanced down at the table. The truth was, I had never met a single woman who could hold Donna’s gaze for long, I think we were all a bit naturally intimidated of her. 

 

“I have some Bazi tea,” she said, changing her expression. In an instant Raisa appeared to settle down in tower position to our side and begin to serve. I watched and noticed how exquisite and graceful her serve was – every motion fluid and beautiful. I noticed too that Donna watched her slave’s every movement, without being obvious about it. 

 

“An excellent serve, Raisa,” I said. “Truly perfect.”

 

“Thank you, Mistress,” said the girl as she lowered her eyes and withdrew a short distance. 

 

“You trained Raisa well,” I said as I raised the small glass and sipped the hot tea.

“Not at all. A common misconception, Cassandra. I do not train slaves. For one, I am not a slaver. I do not presume to have the skill set to train slaves. And secondly, I am far too busy with my work as a Geodesist for the Sardar. It is important work, and I simply do not have enough hours in the day. What I did in the case of Raisa, and what I would do with any new acquisition, is offer direct motivation for the girl to learn quickly how to be perfectly pleasing. The whip is that motivation. A girl in my house quickly learns to fear the whip that hangs on a hook in every room.” Donna indicated the whip that hung from a hook in this room. It had multiple strands of leather and looked fearsome. “It is up to her whether she will feel the whip each day because of her inadequate service, or whether she chooses to better herself and learn the skills required of a house kajira that will then spare her the lash. Raisa improved quickly. She learned to be observant to my preferences and to understand when I was pleased with what I saw and when I was displeased. Small signs. The slight frown on my face meant something very different to a slight nod of my head. You condition slaves, you do not train them. They then train themselves.”

“But there is training in slaver houses?”

 

“Oh yes, and by and large it is very good, and produces excellent slaves. I do not have much money though. But if I wanted a girl to learn to dance, for example, well, she can hardly train herself at home. A slave training pen would be the answer. It is an advanced skill. But expensive.”

 

“But you have no need for a dancer, I suppose.”

Donna simply smiled as she gazed at me. 

 

“I suppose Victor would like a dancing slave?”

 

“I am sure he would. They are expensive. We cannot afford to buy one.”

 

“I could buy you one,” I said, hoping to please Donna before the conversation grew rather more awkward, as I felt sure it would when Donna began to ask me about what she already knew. “Let me buy you one.”

 

“There is no need. I know Victor’s tastes. I know his fantasies. You would perhaps be surprised to know he often fantasies about a certain woman he knows, imagining her dressed in silks and bells, dancing before him on a tiled floor, breathless, nervous, not yet fully trained, or even trained at all, dancing out of feminine instinct, drawing on her own feelings, her own imagination, her own desperate need to please her master, not fully knowing what she is doing, but doing what is instinctive when a woman is dressed that way and commanded to dance for a man who owns her, and who watches her movements with a whip in his right hand. A fully trained dancer purchased from the block would not be the same for Victor.”

 

I laughed softly. Donna rarely spoke of Victor’s tastes, so it was always daring and risqué to hear her words when she occasionally did. “He would prefer an untrained girl to dance for him?”

 

“A specific untrained girl, yes. That is his fantasy.”

 

“Who is she?” I asked. “I’m curious.”

 

“Oh, come now, you know I’m not a gossip, and I would not want to embarrass the poor girl. She is oblivious of my companion’s interest in her. It’s rather sweet.”

 

“I’m going to be thinking of possibilities on the way home.”

 

“I’m sure you will.”

 

“Victor has a vivid imagination if he fantasises that way about a woman he can only have seen in concealing layers of gowns and veils. She may be ugly as a sand sleen, and very clumsy.”

 

“Who can say? Perhaps she is. Clumsy, that is. As for ugly? The veils and robes award all women an air of mystery, but Victor likes to imagine her as quite beautiful. But, as you say, it is left to his imagination. After all, Victor hasn’t even seen you unveiled, for example, and certainly not undressed, and he has met you many times.”

 

“I should hope not! I suppose in my own case though you could easily describe my features to him, if he was at all curious?”

 

“Rest assured I have done. And yes, he is curious about many things. Women, in particular. He has asked me questions about you in the past. You and I are friends, after all.”

 

It had never occurred to me that Victor may have had descriptions of my appearance from Donna, but I suppose that was common place when free women were acquainted with one another and they would talk intimately with their companion in private. 

 

“I suppose you painted a less than flattering picture of me. You seem obsessed with the idea that I have baby fat on my flanks!”

 

“You do. Especially your bottom and hips. You need to exercise more. Some men would find it adorable, of course. You have a bottom they would love to stroke and spank.”

 

“Donna!”

 

“I know men better than you do. And Gorean men like women to have curves. As it happens, Victor agrees with them. It is also a good body shape for a dancing girl.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Would you care for a sweet cake?” Donna indicated a silver tiered tray with several tasty looking slices on display. I helped myself to one of them that I could see was basted in honey.

 

“So, gentle flower of the Assante, I think you have been avoiding me this past month.”

 

There it was. It was starting now.

 

I swallowed the small piece of cake as I felt my pulse race. “No, of course not, Donna! Certainly not. I’ve been meaning to…”

 

“That’s your first lie, today, Cassandra. I will let it pass. Please do not lie again. It is an unattractive trait in a young woman of your station, and frankly you’re not very good at it. Raisa, you can leave us now. Cassandra has some things she wants to tell me in private.”