Secrets of Gor Chapter Twelve

 

“It tastes bad, mama. I don’t like it,” cried Mary as she stirred the lumpen stew on her plate.

 

“The suls are hard in the middle,” added Aefic. “I don’t think they’re cooked properly. Yuk!”

 

The Lady Donna sat with her children at the dining table, and none of them were at all impressed with my first attempt at cooking.  

 

I had told Raisa that I didn’t know how to cook, but the slave bitch had ordered me into the kitchen anyway. The tears and snot had barely dried on my face from my painful switch whipping before I was ordered to begin work, and my first chore was to prepare and cook dinner for my so-called Mistress. I had gazed at the kitchen, with its unfathomable array of pots and pans and cooking utensils, a cold iron stove, and a larder full of raw vegetables, grains and meat still on the bone, and I despaired. 

 

“I have never cooked a meal in my life,” I cried. “I don’t know where to begin, Mistress.”

                                                                     

Raisa wasn’t impressed by this statement. “Begin by lighting the stove, slave. You know how to do that, surely? Even you can’t be that stupid.”

 

She watched as I knelt on the stone floor and opened the door to the stove, seeing the grey ash from the morning that no longer glowed with any lit embers that I might fan into a fire again. There were logs and tinder piled beside the stove, and so I began filling it from memory. Raisa handed me flint and steel and sighed, shaking her head, as I tried to light the tinder by striking the steel with the flint. There were sparks, but it took a while to get a flame going, and then when I had managed that, I swiftly extinguished it by piling wood onto it too soon. 

 

But that was only the beginning of my problems. I had never cooked a meal in my life. I was in pain from my branding, I was in pain from my whipping, and I was now also in pain from being switched by Raisa. I had had enough of this. I just wanted to go to my beautiful bed in my beautiful house and sleep all day and all night. 

 

“Start working, girl,” snapped Raisa. I turned angrily to face her, but saw she had her switch in hand again. “What?” she said, staring hard into my face. Suddenly she moved up to where I stood and brought her face close to mine. “You wish to be switched again?”

 

I clenched my fist, but she saw that.

 

“Try it. Show me one moment of defiance and I will have you placed in a slave box in the courtyard, gagged, so we won’t be disturbed by your screams of agony as cramp sets into your closely confined limbs.”

 

She stared at me, unblinking, until I looked down.

 

I didn’t truly think the Lady Donna would allow her to do that, but what if she was away from the house at the moment, and wouldn’t know?

 

“Face the kitchen wall, place your hands against the bricks and stand still, legs spread.”

“No, please, no…”

 

Raisa forced me to face the wall and kicked my feet apart. Then she rolled the short hem of my tunic up to my waist and gave me another three swipes of the switch. These landed on my already burning switch marks from earlier, and the pain was now incredible. I screamed, louder than I had done in the basement, but I held position, fearing she might otherwise start again. 

 

A mere ten ehn later, I was desperately trying to prepare a stew. Surely, it just involved boiling things?

 

“This meal is unpleasant,” said Donna, purposefully not looking at any of the three house slaves that knelt to the side of the room. “My children are displeased, and I am displeased. Who is responsible?”

 

Obviously, Raisa and Cath said nothing. After a moment’s hesitation, and a simmering glare from Raisa, I said, “I don’t know how to cook, Mistress.”

 

“Obviously.” The Lady Donna still didn’t look at me. “You have already been beaten today, yes?”

 

“Yes, Mistress.”

 

“Then the punishment will be better served tomorrow morning, when you are refreshed.” She slid her plate away, stood up, and then walked to where I knelt. “This is not a good start, girl. You had better improve, and quickly.”

 

I wanted to talk to her, to tell her enough was enough, that this pretence had worked, and that I had no wish to be a slave for real. My thigh still burned horribly, and my back and bottom was criss-crossed with red stripes from the lash and switch. I hated this, and I felt powerless to bring it to a close. Donna had to stop this, but I couldn’t bring myself to say anything while her slaves were present. If I spoke now, Raisa and Cath would know who Cassie really was, and that would be humiliating beyond words. By my reckoning I wasn’t even halfway through the day and night of slave service, if she was going to count it from the moment she took ownership of me in the slaver house. I wouldn’t be free of this ordeal until well into tomorrow, when Simon, my Free Companion, would arrive to see me back home safely. I had no idea how long the Priest King magic foam would take to heal my thigh, but Donna had suggested it wouldn’t be more than a couple of days. Until then I would just have to ensure Simon didn’t see the brand. As I slept in a long nightgown, that would be easy enough. He would appreciate my need to not be touched for a while, following this ordeal. He would understand that, for he would expect the return of a frigid woman. 

 

“Mistress, may I speak in private?” I asked.

 

“Of course not.” She looked astonished by the suggestion. “You are a slave, Cassie. What can you possibly say that requires privacy?”

 

This was so frustrating! She must know what I wanted to say, but she was giving me no opportunity to speak the words. She was doing this deliberately! 

 

The children routinely enjoyed some play time together after the evening meal, but on this day the play time included me, for they conspired in a corner, giggling together, and occasionally glancing as I moved stiffly to clear the dinner plates from the table. 

 

“Slave!” cried Mary, imperiously. She clicked her fingers and pointed to the flagstone floor of the courtyard.

 

“Mistress,” I said, as I knelt before the small girl and her brother. They had no idea who I was. They thought I was a slave.

 

“You will dance for me,” said Aefic, mimicking the tone of his father as best he could. 

 

“I don’t know how to dance, Master,” I said. Nor did I want to even attempt to dance for children. Aefic was many years away from puberty, but he no doubt understood that men made their slaves dance for them in the evenings, though he probably didn’t understand why.

 

“Of course you do, you are a slave,” he snapped. He raised a switch in his hand and motioned for me to rise to my feet. Mary giggled beside him, not really understanding what should come next, but enjoying the game of pretending to be adults. A switch can be just as painful in the hands of a child because it doesn’t take much physical strength to wield it. The short snap can be performed with just a flick of the wrist, making it an ideal instrument for a young boy to practise with. Aefic looked uncertain what else to say, so he simply stared hard at me. 

 

“Please, Master, I do not know how to…” I screamed suddenly as the boy lashed at my lower arm with his switch. 

 

“Dance, slave!” he said. My defiance was making him angry. And so, not knowing what I was doing, I began to shuffle my feet, sway my hips and pace to the left and the right, in the hope that this might satisfy Aefic. And of course it did, because he had never seen a slave dance for a man before, so he didn’t know what to expect.

 

“Does papa really like this?” asked Mary as she watched, frowning. “It’s boring.”

 

“That’s because you’re a stupid girl,” said Aefic. He was pretending to enjoy my dance, much as a man might, but I could tell he shared his sister’s bewilderment. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

 

I raised my wrists and turned in a circle, stepping backwards and forwards. A man would have whipped me for such a poor performance, but Aefic seemed satisfied. 

 

“It’s silly,” said Mary. “I’m bored.” 

 

“Play with your dolls,” sneered the boy. Mary stuck her tongue out at him and then, gathering her long skirts, hurried away to their shared room, leaving me alone with this eight year-old boy. There was frustration in his face. He couldn’t understand why his father might like this, and he desperately wanted to share the same degree of satisfaction he knew Victor received from watching a kajira dance. “You can stop now, slave,” he said. “I am going to practice capture knots on you.”

 

And so he did. To my embarrassment, the boy made me lie on my belly and placed my wrists behind my back as he clumsily tried to tie my wrists together with binding fibre. “I have caught you, slave,” he declared. “You are my captive.” 

 

It was normal enough – Brinn had done much the same thing with me when we were both young, but back then I hadn’t really understood the power exchange, and, crucially, then we were all children. Now I was a grown woman I resented being used as a bondage doll for the Lady Donna’s son. 

 

“Struggle, slave,” he said. 

 

I struggled to try and free my wrists in a half-hearted way, not wishing to actually free myself, for fear of upsetting the boy. In truth I probably could have freed myself given some time, but that would have bruised his ego. 

 

“I am helpless, Master,” I lied. This pleased him very much, and after laughing, he ran off to join Mary. It took me only six ehn to free my hands and then when I did I rose and walked back into the house, hoping for a moment’s peace, that swiftly proved impossible when Raisa summoned me back into the kitchen, where she shouted at me, telling me I was a useless slave, that I had better learn to be pleasing, and quickly, or things would become very uncomfortable for me.

 

“I’m not going to take any blame for your failings, girl,” she snarled. I imagined the crunching sound her nose would make, breaking under my fist, as I endured this verbal assault. She had no idea how close she was to being beaten to the floor. “You can expect another taste of the switch tomorrow, and you can spend tonight scrubbing every inch of the kitchen.”

 

“But it’s already clean,” I protested.

 

“Not clean enough! Not clean enough for me.” She slapped me hard in the face. If she carried on doing this, I would kill her. I could feel my temper rising now. She was just a slutty slave girl, and she dared to speak to me like this! And then she seized hold of my hair and pushed me down on to my knees. I was rapidly losing any sense of self-control. “You will scrub and clean until I say you can stop.” She had Cath fill a bucket of soap and water and handed me a large scrubbing brush with worn bristles. “Seven copper tarsks you cost the Mistress! I would say you’re hardly worth two!”

 

I stood up and clenched my fists, but before I could hit Raisa, the Lady Donna appeared in the doorway.

 

“What is all this noise?” She looked first at Raisa, and then at me. “Are you causing problems, Cassie? Do you wish to sleep on a cold stone floor in close chains tonight, girl?”

 

“No, Mistress.” I unclenched my fists. She would do that, too. I know she would!

 

She was taking this too far!

 

My brand ached horribly. I felt nauseous from the earlier whipping and the switching. I felt tired, and sore and every inch of my body seemed to ache. There was nothing erotic about any of this. 

 

“I’m not sure I can trust you, Cassie.” She turned to Raisa. “Put her in sirik chains. Close fastening for ankles and wrists. Wide enough that she can work, but close enough that she can’t cause any trouble.”

Raisa nodded and went to fetch a set of sirik chains. The arrangement consists of a long chain that locks to the collar ring, and descends down to the floor. Ankle cuffs link from it, offering enough play to allow slow walking, but no running, and certainly no kicking. At mid-point, the central chain also has a set of wrist cuffs with perhaps 6 to 7 horts of length of chain between the right and left wrist. A girl can work in this arrangement, but the work is slower and, crucially, she is helpless if a fight were to break out. 

 

There are two observations I can make relating to the sirik chain arrangement. The first is from the viewpoint of lustful males, for they, to a man, it seems, are deeply aroused by the sight of a girl chained in such a way. Of all the kinds of bondage, it is the sirik chain that delights them the most. I have seen men lose all sense and rational thought when confronted by a slave girl with her wrists and ankles linked to a central chain that descends from her collar ring and pools on the tiled floor by her feet. Why the caste of slavers do not routinely display their sluts in such a chain arrangement remains a mystery to me, as such a display would easily add several copper tarsks to the selling price of most girls.

 

The second observation is that of the female – the helpless, submissive female - and it is my own observation as a female who found herself chained in this way. Firstly, I knew myself to now be helpless, and that is an uneasy feeling. But, too, I felt something else – a sense of anticipation as I moved in these chains – the sense of knowing that if a man saw me like this, he would desire me, and that played powerfully on my waking mind. I felt my body and skin become more aware, more alive, as I stood, chained. I became acutely aware of my surroundings and I felt conscious of how I must look. Such is the transformative power of chaining a girl. And then there is the sound of the chain links, moving as you move. The steel clinking together to the extent a girl can move her wrists and ankles. I found the sensation of the confinement and the sound of the metal to be, if not arousing, then perhaps, exciting? I found myself a little breathless as I moved my wrists against the central chain, feeling that too move against my solid collar ring. It is degrading to be chained, of course it is, but it is also in a certain way, stimulating. Certainly, my skin felt stimulated, and I sensed that if a man were to touch me now, while I was chained in this way, the effect of his touch would be enhanced considerably. I shook my head, angrily. How could steel bonds make me feel this way? 

 

Interestingly, even Tacitus of Ar has spoken on the subject. He once declared that a ‘proud Free Woman only truly knows her body when she is locked in chains.’ It is important however to consider that his expertise is in military matters. He is not a slaver. But even so, I did feel different now. 

 

The Lady Donna had watched as the sirik chain was locked first to my collar ring, then to my ankles and then to my wrists. There was no chance I could win a fight with Raisa now, and she knew it.

 

“Now get to work,” she said, as she turned and left. 

 

The work seemed pointless, but I scrubbed and cleaned every surface of that kitchen until Raisa felt there wasn’t a speck of dirt to be found. Working in a sirik chain arrangement was slow and difficult, meaning I had to shuffle about on my knees, and I could only work with both my hands close to one another, and not far from my breasts. And my hair kept getting in the way. Slaves are not permitted to tie their hair back. Slaves must always wear their hair loose. A Free Woman would never show herself in public with her hair completely loose and unbound, for it might suggest she in some way wishes to resemble a slave girl. 

 

 I now longed for my night in the slave kennel. It would be uncomfortable, but it would speed the passage of time until my ordeal would be over. I guessed that I would see an end to this by the fifteenth ahn at the very latest tomorrow. Possibly sooner if the Lady Donna accounted for the day and night as beginning the moment she first saw me in the House of Andronicus, which must have been around the thirteenth ahn. If I slept in the kennel until the beginning of the sixth ahn then I would only have to endure nine ahn of toil and brutality before my so called Mistress would declare this aversion therapy over. I was an Assante. I would endure that passage of time. 

 

Raisa took me down to the basement later that night and gave me a bowl of slops to eat, which I refused.

 

“Suit yourself, girl. You’ll have nothing better tomorrow. Go hungry if you wish. We’ll see how long that lasts.”

 

My stomach was rumbling, for I hadn’t eaten since the previous night, but I told myself I would endure hunger, rather than eat these slops today or tomorrow. Tomorrow night I would dine well at my house and make up for my period of fasting. 

 

Cath was already in the small kennel cage by the time I crawled inside to join her. There was a single straw mattress and thick blanket which we would have to share. Despite my request, Raisa did not unlock the sirik chains. This was probably done to ensure that I couldn’t dominate the slave girl who shared the pen with me. She would be in charge so long as I was chained this way.

 

It was an awkward and uncomfortable feeling to know that I was now helpless and unable to defend myself. Cath could be dominant in this kennel cage if she chose to be. But Cath didn’t seem to take advantage of this arrangement. I lay on the mattress with her as Raisa locked the barred gate and then slid into her own kennel, though her door wasn’t locked. She was a trusted slave, much the same as my own Brianna. 

 

“The first day is always hardest,” said Cath as she slid onto the mattress and spooned her body against mine under the coarse blanket. “You can rest now. Nothing bad will happen to you tonight, slave girl.”

 

I was surprised by this, and it put me in mind of the kindness showed to me by Julie, all those months ago. 

 

“You can cry if you want to,” said Cath. “Every girl does at first. It’s okay. This must seem very brutal to a former Free Woman.”

 

“I’m not the crying kind,” I said. And I meant it.