Secrets of Gor Chapter Eleven

 

“What did she cost, Mistress?” asked Raisa as she inspected me in view of the courtyard of Donna’s house. The children, Mary and Aefic, were in a state of constant excitement as they hovered around the doorway, gently held back by Donna’s second slave, Cath, for the arrival of a new slave was always an exciting time for them.

 

“Seven copper tarsks,” said Donna. As she watched Raisa at work, she wrote some notes at a small desk. Raisa had stripped me and was inspecting my brand site. As far as I could tell, Raisa had no idea who I really was. She wasn’t that good an actress that she could pretend otherwise. It had taken almost an ahn to walk back to the small town house that Donna shared with Victor. Normally I would have been carried the distance in a palanquin, but Donna couldn’t afford such luxury. While the distance wasn’t a problem, the rough ground was. I was soon reminded how soft the soles of my feet were as I walked over stones to reach the quarter that Donna called home. 

 

“New slave!” cried Mary as she tried to rush forward. “We have a new slave!”

 

I regarded the girl with concern. Children are naturally very cruel when they are young, for they do not understand the implications of their actions. 

 

“She will call me Master!” cried Aefic. He had immediately gone and fetched his switch when I had been led through the front door and now he brandished it in warning in my line of sight. The children, too, seemed to have no idea who I was. Such is the anonymous power of veils and robes on a woman. 

 

“She will indeed, young, Master,” said Raisa with a smile. “Let the young Master come closer, Cath. Let him assess his new slave.”

 

The young boy eagerly rushed forward and stood in front of me, brandishing his switch as Raisa concluded her examination of my brand.

 

“Kneel, kajira!” ordered Aefic in imitation of the way his father might speak.

 

 I knelt in nadu, and kept my thighs together. Aefic was male, but he was just a child. 

 

“Does the position meet with your approval, young Master?” asked Raisa.

 

“Part your thighs, slave!” he ordered.

 

“No,’ said Donna. At the sound of her stern judgement, the boy swiftly dropped the order. He was far too young to have any desire for a girl, but he had seen men order kajirae to part their thighs, and I suppose he associated such a thing with his right due to manhood. Like so many young boys, he wanted to be treated as an adult. “When you are older,” said his mother.

 

I kept my thighs together, and the boy seemed angry with me, as if I were to blame, as if I were not showing him due respect.

 

“I want to switch the new slave!” said Aefic.

 

“No,” said Donna. She continued to write on pieces of paper as she spoke. Again the boy drew back his hand. Donna kept her children under good discipline, it seemed. “A slave is switched if she does something wrong, if she displeases you. Anything more is random cruelty, and that has a negative effect on her training. She must associate punishment with having been displeasing, and that way she will eagerly strive to do better in the future.”

 

“She displeases me now!” said Aefic as he stamped his foot in a state of pique. “She did not open her thighs.”

 

“Because I told her not to,” said Donna. “If she does something wrong, then you may use your switch on her.”

 

I hadn’t expected this! I was to be under the discipline of the children! 

 

“What do you call me?” asked Aefic.

 

“Master,” I said, bowing my head as I spoke. 

 

“Her name is Cassie,” said Donna. “She is relatively new to her collar. She will make mistakes. She will soon learn to improve herself.”

 

“Her bottom is fat,” said Mary.

 

“Yes it is,” said Raisia. “Diet and hard work will fix that.”

 

I frowned, but with my head bowed, the children, and Raisa, didn’t see my expression. My bottom is not fat! It’s a well-shaped bottom. Mikos particularly liked it! His hands roved around it constantly when we lay together. He would kiss me as he stroked that bottom, and I would eagerly kiss him back. The children were simply comparing me to Raisa and Cath who, unlike myself, had slave bodies. It wasn’t a fair comparison.

 

“Fat bottom! Fat bottom!” sang Mary as she was allowed to run into the courtyard and join her brother. She suddenly took hold of my hair and lifted my head up, under the watchful gaze of Raisa.

 

“Say you have a fat bottom!”

 

I swallowed my pride and said, “I have a fat bottom, Mistress.”

 

“No! Say it properly!” Mary pulled my hair. “Say it like a slave girl says it!”

 

“Cassie has a fat bottom, Mistress,” I said, a sense of anger rising in me as the girl tugged painfully at my hair without understanding how it felt. 

 

“Is Cassie a hot slut, mama?” asked Aefic.

 

“Now where did you hear those words?” asked Donna. Now, she rose from her desk to regard her son. Again, Aefic would have no comprehension at his age what that phrase truly meant. He was simply repeating what he had heard men say.

 

“Papa said Raisa is a hot slut of a slave.”

 

“Well, I suppose she is,” said an amused Donna. “But you don’t ned to concern yourself with such things until you’re much older.”

 

“Mama!” pleaded Aefic.

 

“Must I spank you in front of the slaves?” asked Donna, in that stern voice of hers. Aefic suddenly quivered and went deathly quiet. 

 

“Show Cassie around the house and see she settles in,” said Donna as she moved to return to her work. “I will be busy for the remainder of the afternoon, looking at Victor’s field reports and figures.”

 

Raisa began by taking me down into the basement cellar. It was cold down here, as it usually is in cellars. The basement was small compared to my own home, but it housed two kennels on the far side. Each one was basic in design, with a low ceiling that prevented a girl from standing up, and an entranceway that required the girl to crawl inside, on her hands and knees. The walls were bare brick, and the front consisted of solid iron bars. The two kennels were separated by an interior wall of smaller bricks than the cellar walls. 

 

“You won’t have the luxury of your own kennel. You’ll share with Cath,” said Raisa, motioning towards the pen on the left hand side. Its sole furnishing consisted of a straw filed mattress and some woollen blankets. There was also a pot for toilet needs. “We will get you your own toilet pot, though.”

 

How lovely. I shrugged. What Raisa didn’t know was that I’d only be sleeping in this kennel pen for a single night, so it would be no great hardship to an Assante. 

 

“I understand you have no training, Cassie?”

 

“Yes, Mistress,” I said. Much of the cellar not set apart as slave quarters was used to store boxes of Donna’s belongings. Some of the boxes probably contained her field kit – equipment, tents and tools for when she ventured into the surrounding countryside to study the gravitational fields.

 

“Your status in the house will be as a cheap kettle girl. I don’t expect miracles from you, but I will expect you to work hard and learn to be pleasing. I don’t have time to train you, but if you beg her nicely, Cath may find time to teach you some things that will make your first few weeks here easier.”

 

It’s not going to happen, I thought to myself. I’ll be leaving here tomorrow. 

 

“There is a slave ring fixed to the cellar wall over there,” said Raisa, pointing to an iron ring fixed above my head height. “Grasp it with both hands, facing the wall.”

 

I looked at her in alarm. “That is a whipping position?”

 

“Yes, it is.” Raisa picked out a slave switch from a table. 

 

“I haven’t done anything!” The beating I had received in the House of Andronicus had taught me only too well how painful slave punishment was.  

 

Raisa laughed as she turned back to face me, the switch now in her right hand. “Oh, really? Do you think I’m stupid? Do you think I wasn’t watching you when you had your head down and you frowned before the children? Grip the slave ring, Cassie. Both hands. You showed disrespect to the young Master and Mistress.”

 

So she had been watching me very closely. I considered how vulnerable she was. It wouldn’t be hard to strike her windpipe suddenly. If I struck hard enough she wouldn’t be able to breathe. She had no idea how vulnerable she was, down here, alone, with me. 

 

And then I considered what Donna might do to me if I killed her First Girl. Donna was capable of even worse things than I was. 

 

I gripped the iron ring and turned my back to the First Girl. To my dismay I found that I had to stand on tiptoe to comfortably grip the ring. I then felt her hand slip the clinging rep cloth skirt of my tunic up past my thighs, up over my bottom, until it was around my waist.

 

“If you let go of the iron ring or speak without permission, we will begin the strokes again.”

 

I felt the tip of the switch rest lightly against the right cheek of my unmarked bottom. 

 

“Discipline in this house will always be swift, Cassie. The Mistress tells me you think you are brave and strong. Is that so?”

 

“Yes, Mistress.” I prepared myself for the number of blows that were to come. It would probably be six. It would hurt horribly, but I would withstand them. It might have been different if a man were striking me with a full whip, of course. But the blows did not immediately strike me. 

 

“I can sense a certain pride in you, Cassie. You think you are different. You aren’t broken as a slave, are you? You don’t think of yourself as a slave, yet?”

 

“I was only branded this morning, Mistress.” I tensed myself, waiting for the first blow of the switch. The blows would probably touch my bottom, but in light of my raw brand, probably not my thighs. 

 

“So, I’m told. But I’ve seen your slave papers. You were enslaved many months ago. I find that interesting.” Raisa stepped forward and lightly touched my brand. I winced at even the slightest pressure of her fingers. “You are hiding a secret, girl. I don’t know what it is, but I can sense there is something here that I don’t know. What I do know is that we don’t need a third slave in his house, especially not an untrained one. My Mistress has never expressed an interest in owning a third kajira, and yet, here you suddenly are, without warning, a third girl with precious little pedigree and a fat bottom.”

 

I stiffened again at that insult. My bottom is not fat! It simply isn’t! It’s well rounded, and perhaps it cries out for a man to stroke it, but it’s not fat!

 

I don’t know why I suddenly though that bit about a man stroking it. I didn’t mean that. 

 

“Oh, you don’t like me saying that, do you, Cassie? You’re rather proud of your appearance, it seems. Good. That’s an important consideration in a slave. You want men to find you attractive. Don’t worry, little slave, they will.” She paused. “They’re not likely to be impressed with your performance in the furs, though. Girls new to their collar always prove clumsy and inexperienced.”

 

I wished she’d just get the six strokes out of the way. I wouldn’t be here long enough to worry about being offered to a man for use. 

 

“Your papers say you oil quickly to the touch of a man. And you respond well to bondage. Is that true?”

 

I gritted my teeth. “If that is what the assessment concluded, Mistress.”

 

“That is not an answer. I will ask one last time. Do you respond well to bondage?”

 

“Yes, Mistress, I do.”

 

“As you think you are so tough, Cassie, I am not going to give you six strokes of my switch. I will let you decide how many strokes you have. Perhaps it will just be the one?”

 

What was she playing at now?

 

“When you feel you’ve had enough strokes of the switch, begin crying and say, ‘please Mistress, Cassie is weak and begs to submit’, and then I will stop and allow you to offer submission. Until you do, I will keep going.”

 

And then the first stroke came down on my bottom. I screamed from the shock, the pain and the surprise of it. A switch in the hands of an experienced First Girl feels different to the slaver whip, often more precise and accurate, and it is often just the stinging tip that a girl feels against her ass cheeks. As the second and third blows swiftly followed, I twisted and writhed from where I gripped the iron ring, stumbling slightly on my tip-toes, supported by the balls of my feet. My hands were swaying by the time of the fourth and fifth strokes, and I found myself uncontrollably screaming to each one. By the seventh stroke I was crying, with wet tears rolling down my face.   

 

Raisa would not stop. She lay down two more strokes, criss-crossing my bottom, adding to the burning inflammation of pain there. I was now shaking as each blow came. With two more, I found myself crying out:

 

“Please, Mistress, Cassie is weak and begs to submit!”

 

“Do so, slave,” she said, pausing in the punishment. I dropped to my knees before her and from some instinct buried in my body, I bowed my head and kissed her feet.

 

Raisa said nothing as I addressed myself in submission. Then, after a while she said, “what are you doing?”

 

“Submitting, Mistress,” I cried. My bottom burned horribly with pain, but at least it was over now.

 

“I would hardly call this pathetic display ‘submitting’. Submission comes from the slave belly, Cassie. The girl must feel her submission, otherwise it is meaningless. This is just grovelling. Rise, grip the slave ring again, and we will continue.”

 

“No! Please, no!” I looked up in genuine alarm.

 

“I told you we will stop as soon as you offer submission. I will be the judge of when your submission is heartfelt and real. Rise, stand, grip the ring again, and prepare yourself, you silly little girl.”