Secrets of Gor Chapter Eighteen

 

I spent my first five days at the House of Andronicus in a stimulation cage, naked, save for my collar. 

 

Like most such cages it was ornately barred, setting it very much apart from the common cages in a kennel pen. Despite its low ceiling (a feature shared by most kennels) there was a lot of space for me to move around, though I could never stand upright. 

 

“While you are in the House of Andronicus for training, you are not permitted to look directly into the eyes of a male,” explained Hersius, Second Rank Slaver. “If you do so you will be punished.” 

 

I had been brought to the house by Sadric, and, as I knelt in the reception room, he paid thirty copper tarsks to the house scribe who made notes in the main ledger. Thirty! That was almost four times what Mikos had originally paid to buy me. “Pleasure slave training,” Sadric said, indicating me as I knelt in nadu. “I don’t expect miracles, but I want Cassie to be able to perform adequately in the furs. She is to be sensuous and eager to please, with the ability to do so.”

 

The scribe nodded as he passed Sadric the standard house contract to be signed. 

 

I don’t know what I had expected, but I hadn’t expected to be left alone in a cage for so long. Food was brought to me in the morning and early evening, but other than that brief contact with men, none of whom spoke to me, I was left to my own thoughts. There is little to do in a cage, and so the first thing a girl feels is boredom. The boredom after a while nudges a girl to investigate what the stimulation cage has to offer by way of distractions. It is actually a comfortable kennel, the floor lined with deep-piled rugs, soft furs and small cushions of a velvet like fabric. As the girl finds herself routinely squatting, kneeling, or lying down, much of her naked skin is in constant contact with these soft surfaces. From the ceiling of the cage various lengths of silk and satin hang at random points, so that moving about the cage, I routinely brushed against the silk and satin, further teasing my skin. One section of the cage is tiled, offering a hard surface in contrast; very different from the soft furs and rugs. It is here that food and water is placed, and so the girl experiences different sensations as she eats. I also counted various other tactile materials – brocades, rep-cloth, woven kaiila hair blankets, and hanging curtains of strung beads. 

 

I had a brass lamp that I could light with steel and flint, and a number of copper bowls decorated around the sides with frescos of kneeling slave girls. During the first day I was provided with soft brushes, perfumes, cosmetics, slave jewellery, heavy necklaces, armlets, bracelets and bangles. Nothing was said to me – I was given no instructions to make use of them, but they were placed in my cage nonetheless. 

 

On three sides of the stimulation cage there were large ornamental mirrors carefully placed so that I would always be aware of my own reflection – a constant reminder that I looked every inch a slave girl. I could not ignore the sight of my kef brand, or the collar around my throat. I could not ignore my long hair, unbound, worn loose, the way no Free Woman would wear her hair in public, my bare feet, or my nudity.

 

At first I tried not to look at the mirrors in the stimulation cage, for each time I did I was faced with the reflection of a girl who was so obviously a slave. She resembled me in appearance, but she was shamefully naked, with a brand and collar. I couldn’t meet her eyes for fear of what I might see there. But then gradually as time wore on, and I caught glimpses of that girl in my peripheral vision, I began to look for a few seconds at a time, my gaze gradually growing longer as I became used to the slave who shared my cell. She would move her hand to a breast as I did, and she would shake her hair loose as I did. The girl in the reflection would turn her left hip towards me, showing me her brand – that graceful, flowery kef that marks most slaves. And she would lean forward towards me so that I might see the steel collar locked around her throat – the steel collar with its inscription proclaiming her the property of Mikos of Argentum. Who was this slave girl? Why did she resemble me and yet, in her brazen sensuality was so unlike me?

 

On the second day, bored, I picked up some of the perfumes and tried them on my wrists and neck. They were of course slave perfumes, carefully mixed to arouse a man to heights of passion. I tried to imagine how the different scents might have different effects on a man, and after some experimentation, I settled on a couple that I liked the most. 

 

Soon, I began using the hair brushes to make my hair glossy and beautiful. To relieve my sense of boredom, I began to experiment with the cosmetics, contouring my cheeks, trying lipsticks, kohl pencils, powdered eyeshadows and the small pigments that could be applied to finger and toe nails. 

 

I found that my skin felt stimulated by the constant association with the furs, silks, satins, and rougher brocades. This constant sensory input made me feel alive, awake, conscious always of my nudity, conscious always of my breasts, my hips, my legs, my thighs, my lips, and my bare sex. I began painting my nails in different colours, carefully, getting better each time I did so, for there was nothing else to do. I practised lining my eyelids, the way I had seen slaves do, making them appear larger wider, more desirable. I did not want to make myself appear more desirable – only slaves wanted that – but I was bored, and I had nothing else with which to occupy my time. 

 

Soon I would kneel before the mirrors, painting kohl on the eyes of the girl I saw reflected there, seeing how her eyes smouldered with the effect of the makeup. And I watched as she applied deep red lipstick, blotting her lips and then pouting in the fashion of a kiss. There could be no mistaking she was a slave. She was so unlike me! She wore bangles on her forearms and a heavy chain necklace that dipped between her breasts, adding weight to her collar bones. She knelt in the soft furs, and I could see in her eyes that she feared the sensations coursing now through her body. Sensations very similar to those I now felt. 

 

I hated that slave, who dared to look at me, brazenly, with her accusing eyes, but I was also fascinated and in awe of how much of a slave she actually was. 

 

 

 

“But I’m not a pleasure slave,” I had said, as I knelt in Donna’s living room.

 

“You would require some degree of training to pass as a pleasure slave,” said Sadric. “That could easily be arranged. Donna has suggested the House of Andronicus.”

 

I looked at her, and she of course met my gaze firmly with no sign of remorse for the position I now found myself in.  

 

“I just want this to end,” I said.

 

“Cassie, I didn’t plan this,” explained Donna. “I didn’t know this was going to be asked of you.”

 

“And if I don’t? If I refuse to kill this man with a poison kiss?”

 

“I suppose I shall have to find someone else who can pose as a pleasure slave and do the will of the Priest Kings.” As Sadric said that, I noticed an almost imperceptible tremor in the Lady Marissa’s body, as she knelt beside him. Could it be that Sadric had originally intended that she took on this assignment? If so it was surely doomed to failure, for I could sense that the Lady Marissa was not an assassin. Sadric was right to suggest that most Free Women would find themselves incapable of killing a man and then making good their escape. Perhaps she had turned him down? Of course she would have turned him down. No Free Woman would agree to such a contract, even for the will of the Sardar. And then Sadric had seen the request by the Lady Donna, and his prayers were answered. He knew of me to some degree. I had no idea how or why, but he knew enough to understand that I could kill without remorse. 

 

“Will you erase my kef brand?”

 

“Of course.” Sadric paused. “It will be the first thing I will do when you are safely back from killing the Cosian Governor.”

 

And there it was. The unspoken ultimatum. He would leave me with a kef brand for the remainder of my life if I didn’t do this. I looked angrily in the direction of Donna, and to her credit, she, for once, looked away. Was it possible she felt regret now? Certainly, from his expression, Victor did.

 

“Cassie… I had no idea. None at all,” he said. He placed his hand on my shoulder, but I remained stiff and refused to yield into it.   

 

 

On the sixth day in the House of Andronicus, a man came to release me from the stimulation cage. Again, nothing was said, but I was careful not to meet his gaze with my eyes. I knelt on the cold, hard concrete floor – so different in texture from the comforting sensations of the stimulation cage, as a leash was locked to my collar ring. The man then motioned me to my feet and led me down the corridor, through some passageways, and into a training room. 

 

Like many of the training rooms in a typical slaver house, it was a wide, open space with few furnishings, a tiled floor, and a wall that had a number of large wide mirrors fixed to the brick work. Of the brief furnishings, I could see a long table on which there were pieces of pleasure silk, perfumes, cosmetics and an assortment of restraints of various kinds. Other than the door I came through, there was one other door that led to a different set of slave pens. 

 

A man stood waiting for me. I never knew his name, he was just one of the many slavers who operated in the training area of the house. He was business like and efficient as he freed me of the leash and turned my body so that I could see my reflection in the mirrored wall. 

 

“What do you see?” he asked.

 

“A slave, Master.” I knew it would be the required response.

 

“What do you most long for?”

 

“To be pleasing to men.”

 

“Do you know the penalty for lying to me, slave?”

 

“I wish to be pleasing, Master, but I fear I do not know how to be.”

 

“We shall see. In just a few ehn, we shall see.” He clapped his hands and the other door to the room swung open. A second slaver brought in a naked man with a heavy collar around his neck. The man was huge. Broad shouldered, heavily muscled across his torso. His head had been shaved perhaps a week ago, so what hair there was, was only stubble. I could guess that he was a labouring slave – a common work slave, used to toiling outside for anywhere between ten to fourteen hours each day. He dwarfed me and could easily have snapped my neck with a shrug of his shoulders. 

 

But he seemed tired. Nevertheless, as soon as he saw me, naked, small, desirable, his eyes opened wide and he let out a low growl. I stepped back, terrified. This man looked incredibly strong. He had been worked hard today, for I could smell the fresh sweat that was drying on his body, and I could see the dirt, caked on his hands and feet.

 

“You have five ehn to stimulate this man to a firm erection,” explained the slaver. “But you are not permitted to physically touch him. To make this a suitable assessment of what you are currently capable of, he has been worked hard for fifteen hours without rest, and then twenty ehn ago a House slave brought him to orgasm.  

 

“Master, I have no training…”

 

“That much is obvious.” He gazed at the way I stood. “I wish to see if you have any potential, or whether your training will require a succession of beatings until you learn something. Should you fail, you will not have to wait very long for your first beating. Your time begins now, slave.”

 

Five ehn. And he was tired, from hard labour, and already spent from the ministrations of another slave. But the way he gazed at me suggested I might have a chance. I moved lightly towards him, feeling my skin tingle at the thought that he might reach out and touch me once I w near. Was he allowed to do that? Was he allowed to touch me? Surely not. He was just a kajirus. 

 

“Master, I am yours tonight,” I said in a soft voice. I knelt before him, my head level with his waist as I gazed at his manhood. I opened my lips and licked them. “I am your slave, to do with as you wish.”

 

His manhood moved a little, but it was not hard. I rose to my feet and turned slowly before him, raising my arms above my head, flaunting my body in a way I didn’t think was possible! Somehow, the five days and five nights in the stimulation cage had awakened some feminine instinct in my body. I didn’t move clumsily, but gracefully, to the best of my meagre ability. I somehow felt my body come alive as I stood so close to this towering brute of a man. My body moved instinctively before him as I turned again, lifting my breasts with my hands, stroking along my thighs as I brushed almost but not quite close enough for our skin to touch.

 

“Kajira,” he growled.

 

“Yours Master. I will be thrown to your feet as a gift, for you have earned me.” I didn’t know what I was saying – it was just a babble of words -  but being close to him after so long in the stimulation cage opened up feelings in my body that I didn’t know I possessed! I wanted to feel his hands on my hips and breasts! My skin cried out to be touched. I didn’t allow myself any sense of pride or resistance. I simply allowed my body to rule my mind. 

 

I sensed now his deep breathing against the nape of my neck as I bent slightly, with my back to him, raising the cheeks of my bottom close to his manhood. “Take me, Master, I beg you. Let me serve you tonight as your slave.”

 

He was rising! He was! 

 

I began to dance in front of him. How scandalous! I didn’t know how to dance! What was I doing? What was my body doing, after so long in that stimulation cage? I didn’t understand any of this, but I didn’t want to be whipped, and so I grasped these forbidden feelings and I let them flow through me, unabated, without resisting. My pride couldn’t help me now. I crossed my wrists above my head as I moved before him, throwing back my head, moving my breasts forward to be touched. “Please touch me, Master! Please!”

 

“You know what will happen to you if your touch a kajira,” warned the slaver, but still this brute of a slave growled in that low murmur as he watched me flaunt my naked body just one or two horts from his grasping hands. I could see him torn by indecision – wanting to seize me, throw to the tiles and rape me, but of course he wouldn’t I was perfectly safe. No kajirus would dare to lay his hands on a slave girl. 

 

“Ohh!” I was suddenly seized, roughly, by those strong hands, and before I knew what was happening, I was flipped onto my back and my legs were kicked apart. The kajirus entered me swiftly with a sudden hard thrust, before the slaver could react.

 

“No!” he shouted, raising the whip. The whip came down hard on his back like a thunderclap, but the man resisted the blow and, pinning me helplessly to the tiles, began to thrust hard and fast inside of me. I thrashed on the floor, uncomprehending this sudden rape, as more blows of the whip rained down on his back.

 

“Release her! RELEASE HER!”

 

His hungry feral eyes were just a few horts away from my face. I could smell his breath as he pushed furiously inside of me, pinning my hands above my head. And then, just as suddenly as he took me, the kajiraus was seized and pulled violently away by both slavers. They wrestled him to the ground, the kajirus howling with frustration, as he had not enjoyed enough time to reach any sort of meaningful climax. I lifted myself up onto the side of my body, my skin flush with excitement, as I viewed the man who seemed unable to tear his eyes from me, even as iron cuffs were locked around his wrists, behind his back.

 

He would be punished horribly for this, and he knew that. But he had wanted me enough to take the punishment. 

 

“What will happen, Master?” I said. 

 

“The kajirus will be whipped to within an inch of his life. You, however, will not be whipped. Your performance was borderline adequate for a former Free Woman.”

 

 

I was led on a leash to meet the other kajirae who would be training with me. To my surprise, I already knew them.

 

“Cassie!” said red-haired Alika. 

 

“We never thought we’d see you again,” said Leorah as she came close and rubbed her nose with mine. 

 

Anthea just regarded my arrival without saying anything. She still looked beautiful and golden limbed. 

 

“Are we training together?”

 

“I think so,” said Alika. We were in a larger training room now, one with more mirrors and a dancing circle painted on the floor. “Your Master has paid for training?”

 

“Yes.” I folded my arms about my body and tried to quell the sense of rising fear that I felt in this slaver house. How long was I going to be here? Sadric hadn’t said.

 

“We’ll be worth a lot more on the block,” said Leorah. “That has to be good, yes?”

“I suppose.” They didn’t need to know I wouldn’t be auctioned. 

 

“I want to sell for a high price to a rich Master,” said Alika. “This will help.”

 

“What will we have to do?” asked Leorah. She seemed worried as she gazed at the variety of equipment laid out on some benches to the side, much of it items that I didn’t recognise. “Will it just be learning how to move sensuously?”

 

“I think it might be more than that,” I said. I didn’t want to scare her by telling her what had happened to me only an ahn ago. “I think we may have to…”

 

“Good morning, kajirae.”

 

We swiftly knelt on the tiled floor of the training room as a beautiful dark haired girl entered the room gracefully. She wore red pleasure silk, denoting her status as a trained pleasure slave, and she carried a switch in her right hand. The door closed behind her.

 

“Good morning, Mistress,” we all said at once.

 

“My name is Thorn of House Andronicus, and I will be your trainer in these coming weeks,” she said as she walked before us, tapping each girl lightly on the shoulder with her switch as she passed by.

 

My ears pricked up at that. The suggestion that I might be here for many weeks was worrying. I had a home to run. I had responsibilities. I couldn’t be gone that long, let alone the time it might take to travel to the Northern Forests and back again. 

 

The name ‘Thorn’ incidentally is a naming convention in the city of Vonda. Every slaver house of at least modest means names their principle pleasure slave trainer, ‘Thorn’. There are therefore as many Thorns in Vonda as there are reputable slaver houses. The name serves both as a personal name and as something of a title. Think of her perhaps as first among First Girls in the building.

 

“Smile,” she said, regarding us all. “You have much to be happy about, today! You will all be Pleasure Slaves! Not for you, a grim future of scrubbing pots and pans, or labouring in a corn mill. Being a trained pleasure slave is the highest form of slavery you might possibly aspire to.”

 

It was true, I suppose. Pleasure Slaves had lives easier than pot and kettle girls. Their hands would not be calloused through hard labour, and the time normally spent on servile chores would instead be spent bathing, perfuming and adorning their bodies to be pleasing to men. 

 

“This morning you are all ignorant and clumsy, but in a month’s time you will be proficient in the art of pleasuring a man. I will see remarkable transformations in each and every one of you, or your backs will be whipped raw. Your block price will be considerably enhanced, and you will wear red pleasure silk with pride.” She slapped the switch in the palm of her left hand as she spoke. “You will train together, you will eat together, and you will sleep together. From tonight you all share the same stimulation cage and you will be expected to instruct one another on makeup, hair, comportment, positions, and adorning your bodies with bangles and bracelets. You are a coffle chain, and you will support one another as a coffle chain. Understand?”

 

“Yes, Mistress,” we all said in unison. I glanced to my left and saw that, like me, Anthea too was looking at her new chain sisters. 

 

“We will begin with the exercises you will work at every morning in this room. Exercises designed to transform your bodies from the lumbering she-tarsks you currently are, to graceful, fluid, sensuous pleasure slaves. You will develop dancer muscles, and you will learn to move on the tiles and in the furs in exotic ways that will drive a man mad with lust for your fair limbs. The exercises may look easy, but trust me when I say, you will be exhausted by the end of the ahn. You will also be given simple exercises to practise in your stimulation cage tonight and every night. These use your own body weight as passive resistance. We begin, now.”

 

Thorn was right. By the end of the first ahn, I lay on my belly, my body shaking, my skin coated with a fine film of perspiration. Every muscle ached, for I had exercised parts of my body that rarely took any strain. And yet the exercises themselves had been simple enough – often centred around stretching limbs and holding position, but try raising a leg and holding it in place, and see how long you can do so before your muscles begin to protest.

 

My bottom glowed red with two stripes from where Thorn had to encourage me to do better. 

 

Following the exercise, we washed and groomed one another with rep cloth towels, cold water and a comb. And then we began the first of our sexual lessons.

 

I watched with a sense of growing unease as a wooden post, mounted on a heavy wooden base, was carried into the training room by two kajirus with shaved heads. They set it down and, with a submissive motion of obeisance to Thorn, they then departed. 

 

What gave me cause for concern were the four arms that extended at right angles from the central upright post. Each arm was a length of wood, roughly at head height for a kneeling girl. At the extremity of each arm I could see a soft leather phallus held in place. The phallus was moulded to resemble an erect manhood.

 

The other girls also began to grow uneasy at the sight of this piece of equipment as Thorn ordered us to settle down.

 

“We will begin with teaching you how to use your mouths, precious little ones.” Thorn walked around and between us as we gazed at this thing. “The mouth of a pleasure slave is not there for speech, unless the Master wishes to converse with you. No, the mouth of a Pleasure Slave is, like every aspect of her body, there to give pleasure to a man. The apparatus you see here today is designed so that you will all be able to watch one another as you practice. I want each of you to kneel beside a phallus and lock eyes on the girl opposite.”

 

We moved to the wooden thing and I took up position opposite Leorah. I could see her eyes were watering already at the thought of what we would be expected to do. 

 

“Begin by getting a taste for the shape in your mouth. Before you is the most important thing you will ever see as a pleasure slave – the phallus of a man. You will worship it, you will adore it, you will long for it, for it gives your lives true purpose. Cassie. What is most important to you in life?”

 

“To… to give pleasure to a man.”

 

“And how will you do that, you clumsy girl? You are ignorant of such things.”

 

“I will… I will learn, Mistress.”

 

“Correct.” Thorn turned round gracefully in a fluid motion that I could never have duplicated. “You will all learn. Take your phallus in your mouth and begin to lick and suck it. I want you all to watch one another. When you see a girl doing something that comes instinctively to her, try copying her technique.”

 

From where we knelt (there were clearly delineated marks on the floor that our knees had to touch) we had to lean forward to grasp the phallus with our mouths. The act of leaning forward like this pushed our tender bottoms out, and this was designed to be a pleasing sight for any Master who might be viewing the simulated intercourse. I felt wretched as I took this leather thing between my lips. It soon became wet as I licked and sucked at it, but I didn’t know what I was doing. Gradually though, Thorn began to walk around us, making observations, correcting any mistakes and advising us on pleasure slave techniques. She instructed me to apply soft pressure with my tongue against the penis as I then moved my mouth up and down the shaft. 

 

“Now vary that, Cassie, by focusing the attention of your slutty tongue on the head of the phallus and…” she pointed at underside of the head of the phallus, “pay attention to the  frenulum – a man has a very sensitive band of skin on the underside of his penis head. Grip the lower shaft with your hand, and use the tip of your tongue to lightly lick the top of the penis head in a slow circular motion. Good. Oh, yes, Cassie, you’ll be an eager little tongue slut by the end of the month. That’s it, keep licking, and then draw your lips together and slide them up and down the shaft, rolling your tongue around the head of the phallus. Keep your mouth nice and wet. Good girl. Take it deep inside your mouth.” And then, as she watched, switch in hand, we kajirae stared straight ahead at one another, not daring to look away from one another’s eyes, as we continued sucking and licking, until Thorn told us to stop. 

 

From there we progressed to learn how to use our fingers along the length of the shaft, and, as each phallus had the representation of a man’s scrotum, we were taught also how to caress that as we worked on the head of the phallus with our lips. 

 

“See how Cassie has placed her dominant hand around the phallus? Now watch as she simultaneously moves her hand and mouth up and down the shaft. That will drive a Master wild with excitement. To enhance this motion, Cassie, twist your wrist back and forth as you move up and down. Make sure your hand is nice and wet when you do so. And now once you have the rhythm going, use your other hand to gently massage your Master’s testicles. Good girl. Good little slut.” She ruffled my hair as I continued to slide my mouth deeply over the wet leather head. 

 

Thorn seemed satisfied with the way we performed, for she didn’t whip any of us with her switch. Afterwards, we were given plenty of water to drink, and a sweet candy treat each, and then we were told to kneel in a semi-circle around her. It was time to demonstrate what we would be wearing in our stimulation cage each night when we lay down to sleep. Thorn produced a thinner version of the phallus that I had sucked. This variation was attached to strong leather straps with a locking catch that took a padlock.

 

“Cassie, stand up. I’m going to use you to demonstrate, since you did so well earlier.”

 

I rose to my feet, feeling uncertain about this. The straps seemed too long to fit around my head, if she was going to buckle the thin phallus in my mouth, besides which the phallus itself seemed the wrong shape to be held in a girl’s mouth. I certainly didn’t want such a thing buckled in place, for I would soon be gagging with that thing pushing towards the back of my throat. But then to my surprise Thorn told me to bend forward and grip my knees with my hands.

 

“Masters have varied tastes,” she explained. “Most will put you to use in the traditional way, but others may make use of a different orifice.”

 

A growing sense of unease gripped me as I exposed the gap between the cheeks of my bottom. She couldn’t mean…

 

Thorn moved my feet further apart and then touched the hole between my bottom cheeks with her switch. “This, too, can provide a man with much pleasure. But it is naturally tight, and a girl unprepared will suffer if she isn’t used to such penetration.”

 

“Please, Mistress, I beg of you, no.” I suddenly found myself crying as I understood what she was about to do.

 

“Quiet, Cassie. You will all be wearing this training belt when you go to sleep each night. It will stretch the muscles in your bottom and make it easier for you to be penetrated and grip the manhood of a Master, should he choose to use you in such a way. You are being fitted with the smallest size to begin with, and we will gradually work you up to the larger ones.” 

 

I cried some more as she lubricated the head of this thin phallus, and then, as the other girls looked on in mounting horror, she worked it into my tight hole, pushing it deeper, forcing it firmly inside, against my natural muscle resistance.

 

I didn’t like this! I cried some more, but then with a sudden sucking sensation, my muscles gave way and it was fully lodged inside of me. There was, I think, a narrowing of the phallus shape close to the base, which allowed my cheeks to close and grip it. And then the straps were brought through my legs and around my waist, and buckled in front of me with a steel padlock. The thing was lodged inside me now, stretching the hole in my bottom, and I couldn’t remove it. 

 

“I’m going to fit each of you with a belt now, and you will spend half an ahn moving around with it in place, to become accustomed with the way it feels. You will then wear these, every night in your stimulation cage. If a Master ever chooses to penetrate you there, your body will be trained and experienced in accepting him.”

 

I wiped snot from my face as I watched the other girls cry, as they too were violated in this way. Soon, we were all belted and plugged and we cried together, hugging one another for comfort and support, understanding that some men might actually put us to use in this unclean manner!

 

“I knew nothing of this,” sobbed Anthea. “I have never heard of such a thing!”

 

“Nor I,” I said. I do not think any Free Woman knew of such things. “Do men really do this…?”

 

Leorah was sobbing uncontrollably and fidgeting with the sensation of her bottom being filled by this phallus. “Surely not! They wouldn’t… not to us? Please, not to us?”

 

Thorn watched impassively, allowing us to express our emotions as a coffle. She had seen this before, and would see it again, for no Free Woman truly knew or understood what their men might do with their slaves.