Secrets of Gor Chapter Fourteen

 

The girl, Cath, held my hand as we walked care-free through the crowded market place. 

 

“You’re smiling,” she said to me, as she nudged my shoulder with her own.

 

“No I’m not.” I swiftly stopped smiling. A warrior woman of the Assante does not smile when she is forced to wear a demeaning slave tunic and go out onto the streets to do chores. 

 

“I probably have the authority to spank you if you lie to me, Cassie,” said Cath with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. ”Are you asking for a spanking?”

 

“Try it, and see what happens,” I said sharply. 

 

“You’d probably enjoy it.”

 

I sniffed and made a show of looking elsewhere. A warrior woman of the Assante does not ask to be spanked. It was late morning, and I was now counting down the final ehn until my inevitable freedom, and so I had been happy to accompany Cath on her errands if it meant getting out of the house until the final ehn ticked by. I was far less likely to be do something wrong that might justify the application of the switch to my bottom, if I wasn’t visible in the house. 

 

Cath insisted on putting her fingers, interlaced, through mine. It was hardly appropriate, but for some reason I didn’t mind too much. 

 

“Chain sister,” she said to me, squeezing my fingers, softly, as we left the house in our brief tunics and dusty bare feet. 

 

“That’s a stupid phrase,” I remarked. 

 

“Chain sister,” She squeezed my fingers again and wiggled my hand. 

 

“Don’t do that.” 

 

The market quarter of Vonda is an area of the city I was of course very familiar with as a Free Woman. Built predominantly with concrete mixed with rubble, hidden behind light terracotta brick, it consists of five huge, honey-coloured terraces marching 195 feet up the steep Quirinal hill like an oversized staircase. Each terrace contains over forty shops, with an arcade in front of each. These bustling arcades are relatively narrow, and difficult to navigate when packed with citizens. The shops themselves are relatively spacious, each about seventeen feet across with their entire front façade open to the shopping public. Some are eateries and bars, while some offer to grind or process the corn levy that is the right of every citizen of Vonda, whether rich or poor.

 

As I mentioned, the market streets in Vonda are really quite narrow, and for slaves that means darting in and out of the path of the free citizens, trying not to get in anyone’s way. Some slaves view this as a daring game, requiring skill and quick reactions. Some slaves also play it in the hope of moving in and amongst men, teasing the men to try and catch them for a moment. 

 

“Try and get to the end of the street as quickly as you can, Cassie, and you get points for how many men touch you along the way.”

 

“Why would I want to do that?” I said.

 

“Because it’s fun.” She nudged me again. “Try it. You won’t be as quick as me.” And then she was off, running on light feet, being careful to give Free Women a wide berth. I saw her left wrist seized by a man in a grey tunic when she was about a third of the way down the narrow lane. He spun her round and grinned as she deliberately fell into his arms, chin raised, inviting the touch of his lips.

 

“Slave,” he said as he kissed her.

 

“Master!” she said, laughing and placing a hand to his tunic. 

 

“Are you playing girl catch?” he asked. Cath nodded. 

 

“You just gave me a point, handsome Master.”

 

“Do you want another?”

Cath nodded. I had no idea what that meant, but then I saw the man press her against the rough terracotta painted wall and kiss her again, this time with the kiss of the Master. The girl looked very excited as she was released and sent on her way with a slap of her bottom.

 

The point of ‘Girl Catch’, as slaves play it in the narrow streets of Vonda, for the rules of the game vary from city to city, is to accumulate ‘points’, but the game comes to an abrupt end one ehn after any girl reaches the end of the street. This means that if other girls have been deliberately lingering to rack up points with men, they must then make a desperate dash for the finishing lane, or else forfeit victory, even if their accumulated points far outweigh those of the girl already at the finishing line. Of course if a girl is caught before she can make it to the end before the one ehn deadline, then all her points will be wasted. A girl therefore has to balance making herself available to men, while always keeping one eye out in case another girl is nearing the finishing line ahead of her. To make the one ehn deadline clear, the girl who has reached the finishing line proceeds to count out the eighty ihn that make up the ehn. 

 

It is a stupid game, fit only for slaves. It is anarchic, and carries on with the passive co-operation of lustful men who ignore the reasonable appeals of Free Women who do not wish to see slaves running wildly through the shopping lanes.

 

“Oh!” I suddenly cried out as a man took hold of my left wrist and spun me around. “I’m not playing girl cat…” I didn’t get to finish the sentence before the man kissed me full on the lips. I gasped when I came up for air and felt his hand reach for my naked bottom, made so cruelly available beneath the hem of my brief tunic skirt. 

 

“You were saying, kajira?”

 

I looked flustered. The kiss felt lovely! As did the hand on my bottom. I sucked in my breath and resisted the urge to kiss him back. I would not do that! “I’m not playing girl catch,” I said, by way of explanation, and swiftly received another long, lingering kiss for my troubles. This time I felt his hand caress my bottom and roll the tunic hem up, high out of the way, exposing my ass cheeks to his touch. 

 

I heard Cath’s laughter from further down the lane as the man released me for the second time. A sharp spank on my bare bottom sent me stumbling forward, and I looked round wildly as other men now noticed me, assumed I was actively playing girl catch, and was fair game. 

 

“No, no, no!” I cried, and ran, zig-zagging between them, ducking from the grasping hands. Their hands were everywhere!

 

Cath found this hilarious and shouted, “you’re making it too hard for them, Cassie! Slow down! Give them a chance!”

 

But another man managed to catch hold of me and quickly span me up against the rough wall, with my toes leaving the ground.

 

“I’m not playing…”

 

And then his lips were on me, too, and I squirmed as his right hand caressed my breasts through the thin fabric I wore. I came up breathless again, my eyes wild, as he span me round and pointed to where Cath was waiting at the end of the lane. I ran the final thirty feet to reach safety, tugging my rep cloth tunic down about my thighs as I went.

 

“Too late, Cassie,” she said, laughing still. “Times up, so you’ve lost all your points. Next time we play for forfeits.”

 

As we moved on through the market, I was interested to see that Cath knew many other slaves from other houses. They would greet one another warmly, often stopping to hug and speak a few words. Cath would introduce me as Cassie, a new girl in Donna’s household, and I would be asked questions about my former Home Stone (I would say Vonda), my former caste (I would say the Merchants) and whether I had been put to use yet (I would admit I had been).

 

“Red silk girl,” said one of the slaves, making it sound like I had passed some test or joined an intimate society. “Did you experience your first slave orgasm?”

 

“That’s none of your business.”

 

“Yes she did,” said Cath, laughing. “But she’s still full of airs and graces. A proper little Madam.” She gave my bottom a quick spank, which in turn made me scowl at her.

 

A number of other girls gathered round me, intrigued who the new face might be. They too wore shamefully short slave garments, and looking upon them only reminded me how I must look now. 

 

I confess it felt good to be back out in the open air, feeling the warmth of the midday sun on my bare limbs, feeling the freedom of not being bundled up in constricting layers of cloth. Walking the streets of Vonda, I felt light and nimble compared with the way I might otherwise be as a Free Woman. The Free Women I did see seemed stiff, clumsy, and shrouded in mystery as they went about their business. They seemed a breed apart from me, even though my slavery was only temporary. Was I beginning to view the Free Women from the perspective of a kajira? 

 

Very soon we numbered five kajirae and resembled a street gang as we walked through the market.

 

“Who are all these slaves, and why aren’t they working?” I asked Cath. They seemed to be free to mingle, play and gossip together. Some were in their own groups, while some walked on their own or on pairs.

 

“We are working, Cassie. All these girls have been sent out into the streets to pick up things for their masters and mistresses. There’s no hurry. One a girl settles into her daily routine, she often finds she has a lot of spare time during the day. We often socialise and make friends and spend time together. We need to be back in time to prepare the evening meal, but really we have some freedom to have fun before then.”

 

I had no idea. Intrigued, I followed the girls down to the footpath of a canal where there were some raised grass banks facing the sun. “We’ll spend an ehn here,” said Cath, “But first let’s beg some lunch.”

 

I was further intrigued and followed the four girls as they lightly ran to a favoured pastry seller in the market square. I knew the stall owner and knew he did bake very tasty pastries. To my amazement, the man seemed to know Cath and the other girls and greeted them with a laugh as they scampered around his stall. They quickly settled into a familiar routine of begging for lunch, posing for the man and telling him how handsome he was.

 

“You’re all hungry, I suppose,” he said as he watched the girl called Sally strip herself before him and move forward to be touched. He kissed the girl and she responded as a slave might. He then gave her a warm, savoury pastry that smelled delicious. One by one the other girls followed suit, offering their bodies to be stroked and admired, in the hope of gaining a tasty lunch. 

 

“Cassie, do you want to…”

 

“No.” I folded my arms and looked away. A warrior woman of the Assante doesn’t demean herself for an admittedly very tasty savoury pastry.

 

Very tasty.

 

The girls were laughing as they scampered back to the grass bank beside the canal. One by one they sat down, savouring the exquisite treat, nibbling at it slowly to make it last.

 

“Here,” Cath gave me a piece of her pastry when she saw me eyeing it with interest. “But you’ll have to beg your own tomorrow. I’m not feeding you indefinitely.”

 

There won’t be a tomorrow, I thought to myself, as I tasted the rich gravy. It tasted even better than I remembered. And so I lay down on the soft grass, feeling the warm sun on my limbs, while the other girls chatted and laughed together. I gazed up at the sky and counted clouds as they drifted past, enjoying a moment of peace away from the stress of slavery. I felt tired, and the brand on my thigh still burned terribly, reminding me it was there marking me for life, or at least until the Priest King magic spray made it go away. What would Mikos make of my brand? It would no doubt arouse him. I knew he was a lustful beast who found himself easily aroused in my company. I smiled, remembering how easily aroused he could be. It didn’t take much. Sometimes just my hand touching him between his legs. 

 

I wanted to touch myself under my slave tunic, but didn’t dare do so in public. The other slaves would tease me of course, and if I was seen by free men and women there might be repercussions. Free Women would whip me. Free men might view my hand beneath my skirt as an invitation for rape. I was a slave who was clearly owned, but even so, men would make use of slaves at times if they were clearly available. 

 

“You look happy,” said Cath. She touched my forehead and combed my hair with her fingers. “Content, even.”

 

“Do you come to this place often?” I asked.

 

“Most days. We’re rarely disturbed here. Have you noticed – no Free Women.” She laughed. She was right, for as I raised myself up on my elbows, I saw some men walking by, but no Free Women. “Free Women have no business on a secluded canal path. It’s too far from the main roads, and they wouldn’t feel safe.”

 

“Are we safe?” I could see that a couple of the men were watching us from a distance.

 

“Safe enough. We know to scramble over the wall and run back into the narrow lanes if a man comes too close. Stay away from canal boats, too. You wouldn’t be the first girl to be snatched by a passing canal boat, swiftly tied and taken from the city. It’s easy to do to a girl who lingers on the footpath alone, but they don’t normally try anything if there is a gang of us. If they snatch a girl, the rest of us would report the theft and the name of the boat. We’re valuable property. Well, not you, obviously, seven copper tarsk girl!”

 

I sniffed. “That price was paid when I was new to my collar. I would fetch more now.” I recalled with anger how Mikos had paid so little for me at the House of Andronicus. Surely I was worth more than that? I was pretty. Mikos thought so at least. And I think he took much pleasure in having me in the straw, putting me to use time and time again. How was it I was only worth seven copper tarsks? 

 

“Perhaps nine copper tarsks, now?” suggested Cath. 

 

“And what are you worth, then?”

 

“I don’t know.” Cath sighed as she lay down next to me in the grass. “No girl truly knows until she is put on a block and men bid for her. Demand comes and goes with the seasons, and a fifty tarsk girl might find herself sold for twenty five if there is a dip in the market. I like to think there wouldn’t be much change from a silver tarsk for me, but that might be wishful thinking on my part.”

 

“I think you would fetch a good price,” I said, after a while.

 

“Oh, Cassie, how sweet.” Cath turned, laughing again, to face me. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me.”

 

“Well.” I felt awkward. I had just complemented a slave girl! How foolish! “I sometimes say things without thinking.”

 

“So what would you pay for me if you were free, hmm?”

 

I shrugged. “Why would I want to buy you?”

 

“Okay, then what would you sell me for, if you could set a price?”

 

“I wouldn’t accept less than a silver tarsk for you. It would depend on the buyer.” I glanced at her. “I would be able to tell if a man lusted after you, for example, and I would charge more if he did.”

“More?”

 

“A lot more. But don’t let it go to your head, kajira. I’m not a slaver.”

 

The time spent on the grassy bank overlooking the slow moving water of the canal was idyllic, but after a while Cath nudged me and told me it was time to pick up the groceries we had been sent to collect, and to return home. As the new girl I was tasked with carrying the heavy basket of fresh produce over my shoulders, while Cath walked beside me with a switch in hand. By now I was past caring as I knew my time was almost up. In just an ahn or two I would be freed from the collar, given respectable clothing, and then, while I awaited the arrival of Simon to escort me home, Donna would no doubt interrogate me over a goblet of wine as to my feelings regarding the collar.  

 

The day and night had been educational, I suppose, but I wasn’t sure I had learned anything I hadn’t already known. I wasn’t a slave, and my feelings for men aside, I wished to return to my life of comfort and privilege. I would tell Donna what she wanted to hear, and that would be an end to it. In the next couple of days, the agent from the Sardar would arrive and this painful brand would be excised from my thigh. 

 

I had endured and I had prevailed. 

 

“Cassie,” said Raisa, as I passed through into the hallway. “Put the food in the kitchen and then come with me. The Mistress requires your presence in the living room.”

 

I smiled. This was it, the end of my ordeal. Twenty ahn had passed by even the most strict of accounting. I would be free again. I followed the First Girl through the hallway from the kitchen, feeling a sense of relief growing with each step. Back home tonight I would lie in my bath for at least an hour and drink rich red wine. My only regret was that I wouldn’t, couldn’t, have Brianna on hand to massage my sore muscles. No one could see me naked while the brand remained on my thigh. 

 

I entered the living room and suddenly froze as I saw Simon seated across a low table, facing Donna.

 

Simon was not supposed to be here! Well, not yet, anyway! I had to first change back into the robes and veils of a free woman! Only then was he supposed to come and collect me. 

 

I gasped, horrified, blushing wildly, backing away a step or two as Simon looked up, as his eyes widened in shock. He looked at me the way I know he looked at slaves. He saw his companion, he saw me, but he saw me dressed in the briefest, tightest of slave tunics, collared, soft, vulnerable, slave-like, my limbs shamefully bare, and if his expression was anything to go by, he looked at me as a starving man would look at a succulent bosk steak. 

 

“Cassie,” said Donna as she gazed at me. “Don’t stumble about, girl! Come here!” She snapped her fingers and pointed at a space where a slave might kneel, ready to serve. “I have a guest – Simon of Vonda. Greet him and be ready to serve us.”