Steel World Inc. Chapter Ten

 

“You can’t go in there, Lady.”

 

The man was obviously security, and he was barring the way forward for a beautiful young woman dressed in a long wine coloured evening gown, style with beaded embroidery on crepe. Before we might approach too closely, Puta begged me to pause for a moment.

 

“Please, Master. It is a Free Woman. A Free Woman!” She was nervous for some reason. Why should she be nervous of a Free Woman? “Please, Master,” she begged again, seemingly afraid of approaching the woman or attracting her attention.

 

“Do you know who I am?” the Free Woman remarked to the heavy looking man who guarded the passageway that I intended to use. “I’m Lady Penelope Grantham! My husband is Lord Jeremy Grantham! We have an estate in Sussex!”

 

 

Lady Grantham was perhaps in her late twenties and had no doubt married into money and the title, for her accent, while pleasant to the ear, was not the posh public school accent, all Horse and Hounds magazine, that I might expect from the naturally born landed gentry. That, and the fact she was simply too beautiful to have been descended from England’s aristocracy. 

 

“Husband.” The man spoke the word with disinterest. “May I remind you, Lady, that this house and its accompanying grounds is an extension of the planet Gor, and as such, only Gorean law and customs have any relevance. We do not recognise barbarian customs or relationships.”

 

“Oh!” She seemed furious. She stamped her elegantly heeled right foot. “I’m his Free Companion, then! I’m Lord Jeremy Grantham’s Free Companion, and have been for three and a half months now. The ceremony was performed in this house and notarised by one of your scribes.”

 

“My congratulations then, Lady.” The man now acknowledged her. “But you are still not permitted to pass through this doorway. No Free Woman may pass this way, whether companioned or not.”

 

“But my husband is in there! With that hussy!”

 

When the man simply stared at her again, the girl corrected herself, though seemed annoyed to have to do so again. “My Free Companion! My Free Companion is in there with that slut! The girl, Judy!”

 

The man nodded. “He will be taking his pleasure with her. It is no place for a Free Woman, Lady.”

 

Lady Grantham could hardly believe her ears. She was close to exploding. “You mean to say he’s going to… with that slut!”

 

The man nodded. “She is a kajira. The house kajirae are available to the men tonight.”

“STEP ASIDE!” The Lady tried to push past the man, but was swiftly and expertly grasped, turned about and pushed a few steps away. The man seemed to be able to handle her effortlessly, and she stood there looking flustered, not quite sure what had happened. No one ever dared to lay their hands on Lady Penelope Grantham!

 

“Don’t you dare touch me!” She made to slap the man, but he simply caught her hand and, with no effort at all, moved it down to the side of her hip, before releasing it. 

 

“I will caution you now, Lady. Please desist.” But the woman didn’t heed the warning, and tried again to strike the man. This time he had obviously exhausted what remaining patience he had, and now he seized Lady Grantham rather more forcefully, sweeping her down onto the floor, onto her belly, where he then placed his weight down upon her body, produced a set of strange looking metal handcuffs and secured her wrists behind her back. The cuffs seemed delicate, almost feminine in design, like bracelets, as if they were meant to specifically secure women, as if they were meant to be pretty as well as functional.

 

Lady Grantham screamed, but was unable to free herself.

 

“Please don’t interfere, Master,” warned Puta. 

 

I watched as Lady Grantham’s pitiful struggling served only to make the long hem of her gown ride up past the calves of her legs as she kicked out futilely. The man lifted her to her feet and walked her to a small iron ring that was set into the wall at waist height. I now noticed there was a small chain of possibly five metal links hanging from that ring, with a snap lock of some kind at the termination point. This snap lock was secured to the mid link in the bracelet cuffs that secured Lady Grantham. She now stood, helpless, her wrists behind her back, chained closely to the wall.

 

“My husband will have you horse whipped for this!” she screamed. I think she was a woman who was used to getting her own way. I wouldn’t have liked to have been one of her house staff. “You have no idea what he will do to you!”

 

The man seemed unmoved by these threats. I flinched suddenly as I saw him pull a knife.

 

Lady Grantham screamed again as the man stood before her, brandishing the knife. I had to do something! But Puta cautioned me again.

 

“She will not be harmed, Master. Trust me. Do not interfere.”

 

“But…”

 

“Please, Master. You have no idea what that man might do to you if you challenged him. And he would consider it a personal challenge. The Free Woman is not worth your life.”

 

And so I stood there, helpless myself, as I watched the man carefully chop away at the long skirt of the gown the woman wore. He cut the skirt high on her thighs, baring her legs.

 

Lady Grantham has very lovely legs indeed. Very lovely.

 

The ragged hem of her garment now barely covered her intimate regions, and the Lady had to be careful not to move in such a way that she might expose herself. She had maybe an inch of grace, certainly no more than two inches. 

 

And then the man took something off a shelf. It was a heavy leather gag! 

 

“No! Don’t you dare! I said…” The Lady shrank back, pressing hard against the wall, but with her wrists bound she was helpless to prevent the man from placing the rubber bit of the gag between her lips, into her mouth. Her face flushed red with sweat as she felt the thick rubber bit forced further past her teeth, forcing her jaw open as she had no choice but to grip it tightly. Her eyes were wide with shock and righteous anger as the last inch of the rubber gag was worked into place, and then the straps were buckled tightly about her head. Now she could say nothing. Now she could make no further objections. 

 

“Be still, Master. She will only be secured. She is a Free Woman. Nothing else will be done to her.”

 

I could hardly comprehend what I was seeing.  

 

Lady Penelope Grantham made a soft mewling sound through the gag that she now clenched between her teeth. The man nodded and picked up a surgical marker pen with a thick broad tip – the kind that typically takes four days to fade from skin. With. it, he marked her left cheek with a large symbol that I didn’t recognise. 

 

“This is the Gorean letter ‘mu’,” he said. “It indicates you have been troublesome.”

 

The girl wriggled helplessly in her chains. 

 

“You may explain to your Free Companion, when he returns, why you have been troublesome. He will want to know, as he will be subject to various prescribed penalties relating to the behaviour of his Free Woman. I suspect he will not be pleased with you.”

 

The girl struggled some more. There was another soft mewl from the thick gag. I think she may have begun to beg.

 

There was nothing Lady Penelope Grantham could do now. 

 

Her legs were truly lovely. 

 

“Can I help you?” The man now turned to regard me, where I stood, some distance away, along the corridor. It was obvious I suppose that my intention was to pass through the curved archway to the interior beyond. I had a collared slave girl by my side, which was evidence of my intentions. But I was concerned now that I myself might not be permitted to go any further.

 

“There is nothing to fear, Master. You are a man. Men are permitted to pass through to the area of the Pleasure Alcoves.”

 

Of course. I nodded to the security guard and approached. I felt confident again, for I was well dressed and respectable in appearance. Clothes lend a man confidence in even the direst of situations. I gazed briefly at the lovely sight of Lady Grantham. She rattled her chains, only too aware I was gazing at her legs. If she objected to my gaze, there was nothing she could do about it.

 

“Why did you bare her legs?” I asked the man.

 

He shrugged. “Why not? My Home Stone is Treve.” He said that as if it explained everything. “The Lady’s behaviour was displeasing. In future she will be less offensive to men.”

 

I nodded. “She has lovely legs.”

 

There was an angry rattle of short chain again. Her eyes glared at me. I should have looked away, cowed by her indignant reproach, but I did not. I simply maintained my gaze and remarked, “I said you have lovely legs, Lady Grantham.”

 

There was a soft mewl through the gag. She was perhaps astonished that I could say such a thing and look upon her without permission. “I am glad they are no longer concealed from view.”

 

And then Lady Grantham glared with anger at the sight of Puta. Puta couldn’t look at the Lady. Not directly, anyway. Although Lady Grantham was chained and helpless, Puta seemed terrified of her. 

 

“Alcove three is currently vacant,” remarked the man. “You have half an ahn. The night will soon be busy, and there are a limited number of kajirae.”

 

“Half an ahn?” I didn’t understand the word, and the man’s reaction indicated he wasn’t impressed by my show of ignorance. 

 

“An ahn is seventy two minutes long Master,” whispered Puta. “You will have me for thirty six of those minutes.”

 

“I see.” I gazed again at Lady Grantham. She still wore her high heels that stretched and slimmed her calves and added to the toned form of her legs. Heels on a woman are amazing. They not only improve the shape and tone of the leg itself, but they adjust the natural posture of a girl, giving her bottom and chest more of a feminine shape by the way they re-align the arch of her body by at least two degrees. A woman simply looks more curvy, more desirable, when she wears high heels. 

 

“Master?” Puta saw the way I paused before the helpless figure of Lady Grantham. The bound woman shrank back, now, scared, for she knew I could touch her if I wished, and there was nothing she might do to stop me. She glanced desperately at the security guard, expecting him to say something, to do something, but he simply regarded us both with an ambivalent expression. “She is a Free Woman, Master,” said Puta. 

 

I glanced at the security guard, and he in turn shrugged, as if to say, I am of Treve. I have no objections.

 

I placed my right hand on the girl’s left hip. I felt her body flinch in response. There was another helpless rattle of chain behind her back. 

 

I looked again at the guard and he nodded, sensing my uncertainty. I placed my left hand on her right breast, through the tailored fabric of the gown. There was a soft mewl from her gagged mouth, and another delightful rattle of steel chain. Her heeled feet moved back and forth as she tried to maintain her footing. 

 

“Penelope,” I said as I gazed into her eyes. “That’s a lovely name. My right hand slid down past her hip to touch her bare thigh. Again she mewled softly. “Why do you suppose I’m allowed to do this?”

 

There was incomprehension in her eyes. 

 

I kissed her softly on the cheek, above that cruel fitting gag. She was really quite lovely. So many women here tonight were. I felt a hard, stiff erection in my trousers. I more than ever wanted Puta now. But I also wanted Lady Penelope Grantham. I put her away from my thoughts and took hold of Puta’s hand instead.

 

“Master!” she seemed surprised by the way I had acted before Lady Penelope Grantham. And I think my resolve and forceful behaviour had excited her, for she now pressed her body to mine. “You don’t need her, Master. You have me.”

 

“It’s a shame she doesn’t wear a collar,” I said to the guard. He in turn simply smiled and nodded again.

 

Lady Grantham would look lovely in a steel collar, provided she was unable to remove it. But of course that wasn’t appropriate. She was a Free Woman. 

 

Moments later, Puta preceded me into the curtained alcove. The archway guarded by the security man had given way to a broader corridor with three such curtained alcoves spaced out evenly on either side. The space between the opposite alcoves was a generous sixteen feet, and the space between the curtained areas along each wall was perhaps twenty feet or so. 

 

The drapes themselves were heavy and red in colour. The edges dragged along the tiled floor as Puta drew them briefly aside.

 

I confess I was now beginning to feel nervous as I stepped into the space beyond curtain number three. The truth is I had never been with a woman before - not in such an intimate manner. There had been brief kissing, of course, and some excited touching of a woman’s clothed body, but no woman had slept with me in all my time at university, and certainly not during my days at school. This was the moment I had always looked forward to, but it was also a moment to dread, for I was the man, and it was expected that the man would always know what to do, and that he would be experienced in the ways of touching a woman to give her pleasure. I suddenly felt fearful that my lack of experience would immediately be obvious to Puta, for I suspected that Puta was very experienced when it came to sex. 

 

The alcove was actually a small room dominated by a wide ledge that occupied the far wall. The ledge had a comfortable looking mattress with soft cotton sheets and what looked like luxurious furs piled deep on the surface of this bed. There was a free standing table on which I saw wine, a single goblet and some keys. The keys no doubt corresponded to a series of chains and wrist and ankle cuffs fixed to heavy rings at strategic places around the shelf bed and other parts of the alcove room. And there was a whip, or rather, two whips. The broad five bladed whip was prominently mounted on hooks on the far wall where Puta might see it upon entering the pleasure space, but beneath it was a smaller, lighter switch. 

 

The floor was covered in soft furs. With a movement of her hand Puta closed the heavy drapes, affording us some privacy and then knelt in the soft furs by my feet. As I watched, she parted her thighs and placed her hands, palms looking up, on those thighs. 

 

I noticed also a curious set of chains hanging from a hook on the far wall. They seemed to be a linked set of wrist and ankle chains, plus a collar chain, all linked together by a central chain that ran down from a collar ring. Puta noticed my curiosity.

 

“That is the sirik, Master.”

 

“Sirik?”

 

“A chain arrangement popular on Gor. It both chains a girl, but allows her a varied freedom of movement that she may still serve.”

 

“I see.” Again the reference to ‘Gor’. I felt sure there was some meaning to it from something I had read in the past.  

 

“Do you wish to command me, Master?” She watched my expression, reading my reaction accurately. “Or perhaps you wish your girl to do what she knows will please a man?”

 

I nodded. That would be easier for me. I clenched my hands into fists because I felt them tremble slightly. 

 

Puta rose from the floor, never taking her eyes from mine. Her smile was so soft and lovely. I think I was deeply in love with her now. Was that possible? To fall so quickly in love? “Master is in good hands,” she said. She took two paces to stand exquisitely close to me. Did she sense my nerves? Did she sense my inexperience? If so she made no comment. Instead she undid my tie and then slipped my jacket from my shoulders, kissing me deeply on the lips as she did so.

 

And what a kiss!

 

I had been kissed by Miss Whitlock of course, and those kisses had been lovely in their own way, but Puta’s kisses were incredible! By comparison, politely kissing Miss Whitlock was like kissing a crash test dummy. It wasn’t just the kissing, but the way her body moved against mine as she touched both our lips together. This was more than kissing – it was a union of two like minds – two kindred spirits – two souls existing in perfect harmony! Oh, Puta, I love you! I felt incredibly hard, my penis quivering against its tight imprisonment as Puta slipped her hands down the buttons of my shirt, undoing each one with ease, and stroked my body through the open gap. She had ascertained with a slight movement of a hip against my groin how hard I was, and this seemed to please her. 

 

Her perfume was intoxicating.

 

Her body, so close to mine, was intoxicating.

 

I couldn’t think of any woman other than Puta now. She was the only woman who mattered. 

 

My shirt was slipped away from my body, and then she undid the belt and the zip of my trousers. I felt her hand through the zip, touching me and I possibly gasped for the sensation was so overwhelming. Her fingers traced the shape of my stiff penis as she kissed me with a long lingering touch of her lips and tongue.

 

I felt like a god. I felt powerful, strong, and excited as Puta slid my trousers down and, with them, my underpants. Now my penis jutted out, free at last, as Puta knelt to free both my feet from trousers, shoes and socks. She rose again, still smiling, tracing her fingers again along the length of my shaft, kissing me softly across my chest, brushing her long hair against my skin, whispering soft words to me that enhanced my excitement. She whispered that I was her master; that she was my slave, that she desperately wanted to serve me, to give me pleasure, and nothing else mattered to her now. 

 

This was incredible. In a breathless moment she pulled her tight tunic over her head and discarded it, standing naked before me. Her breasts were full and ripe with dark wide aureoles and nipples that seemed to strain to be touched. Her waist was trim, flaring out to beautiful hips and… there on her left thigh I saw that cursive shaped letter ‘k’ that I had seen on the wheel in the main room – the sigil that had been called a ‘kef’. It was an indelible mark in her flesh. The symbol had been branded into the girl, possibly with a hot iron!

 

“You may touch it," she whispered. "You may touch me at your leisure, Master, for I am a slave. It is the Gorean letter ‘kef’. The first letter in the word ‘kajira. I am kajira. La kajira. I am a slave girl.”

 

It was incredible, but also a brutal thing. It had to have been painful. I knew of course that some women, and some men, were infatuated with body mutilation – everything from piercings to tattoos to more indelible marks such as brands. It was a small mark really, set prominently high on her hip, just where the thigh began, but it was undeniably beautiful, for it marked her I think as property. 

 

“When was this done to you?”

 

“Just over a year ago, Master. It has healed. You may touch it if you wish. You may touch any part of me.”

 

And I did. I caressed her, and I think my hands moved of their own accord, tapping into some instinct that all men possess. The girl sighed, intoxicated now by my touch, and when I traced my fingers between her thighs, across the soft petal lips of her sex, I felt her wet to my touch. She was in fact ready for sex, ready to be penetrated, ready to be used.

 

“I oil easily, Master. Your hands do that to me.”

 

I felt even more powerful as she said that. I was inexperienced, but even so my touch was good enough to ready a woman for intercourse! I did know what I was doing. I could see the slight dilation of her pupils. I could feel the stiffness of her engorged nipples as I ran my fingers across them. These, I knew, were all signs of female arousal. I was a man! I was doing all of this naturally. She would not know that this was my first time.

 

Oh, the confidence and excitement I felt now as I handled a slave girl. How precious a slave girl was! 

 

“Should we?” I gazed at the couch bed with the soft furs strewn across it, but wasn’t really sure how to begin. Puta’s eyes studied mine and again she seemed to know what to do for me, and that meant taking the initiative.

 

“Master could take me now, of course, but we have half an ahn. Perhaps I can pleasure him awhile before he puts me to use?”

 

I nodded, speechless. I couldn’t stop touching her! Especially her breasts! Oh, those breasts! I licked and kissed them, running my hands across her thighs and buttocks, worshipping her body. I heard sounds of arousal from her lips, soft mewling sounds and gasps of excitement. She was so easily stimulated!

 

Of course she was easily stimulated. She was a slave! This was, I suppose, what made her different from the Free Women here. 

 

“Puta, you are amazing,” I said. There was nothing I wanted more, than Puta tonight and every night.

 

“I am your slave tonight, Master,” she said. 

 

“I want you! Oh God, I want you!”

 

I felt her gently lie me down on my back in the furs as she climbed onto the mattress beside me, one hand (her left) stroking the length of my penis that now must be as tense as an iron rod. Now it was my turn to mewl in absolute bliss as Puta slid the wet lips of her sex lightly across the tip of my penis, back and forth, teasing my pleasure, before kissing me again, and dragging her silk soft hair across my skin.

 

This was unbelievable! Nothing in my life so far had possibly given me any idea that sex could feel like this! Now I understood why James was so obsessed with procuring women! This was the meaning of life. This was life. Nothing else mattered.

 

Oh God! Now her hand was wet from her very own juices and running up and down my shaft, the palm of her hand rotating as it glided and ran around the head of my penis and back down again. And all the while she met my gaze, smiling softly, telling me how powerful I was, how dominant, how strong and virile I felt in her hand, how aroused I made her feel.

 

“I worship you tonight, Master,” she said and she meant it. 

 

I gripped the sides of the furs in ecstasy. I couldn’t imagine this might get even better, but I hadn’t even penetrated her yet! What would that be like? I could barely comprehend the difference. Even now this was beyond anything I had ever imagined. Puta settled down around me, lowering her mouth to the head of my penis. She licked the underside of it, drew her lips around the head as her soft hair slid erotically against my naked thighs again.

 

She lifted her lips again and touched the most sensitive part of my penis with the slight tip of her wet tongue, and then…

 

I think I screamed. Puta for a moment looked surprised as a thick jet of semen ejaculated suddenly from my penis.

 

I quivered, crying out in orgasm as she moved back slightly, the west sticky ejaculation dribbling down her cheek.

 

For several seconds I couldn’t say anything, for the sense of pleasure was so incredibly intense. And then with horror I realised what had happened. 

 

“I…” 

 

Oh God. I had ejaculated. Before even penetrating her. 

 

Puta looked scared now. She obviously hadn’t intended this to happen.

 

“I’m sorry, Master.” She spoke as if it was her fault. 

 

She now looked very scared.

 

“Puta, I…” I felt my cheeks burn hot with embarrassment. What would she think of me? 

 

“I shouldn’t have done that, Master.” She dropped to the floor and knelt in a whipping position, her body trembling. “A girl was rash and stupid. It is my fault. I am sorry!”

 

I rose to a seated position on the couch bed and gazed down at her. Already my penis was shrinking down to a flaccid state. More semen dribbled between my thighs, landing in white droplets on the floor.

 

I didn’t know what to say. I felt ashamed. I couldn’t look at her.

 

She knelt there, trembling, waiting to feel the lash. 

 

I felt stupid. I was supposed to be the dominant man. How could I face her now?

 

And in my defence I began to feel angry. Was it her fault? Had she touched me in a place designed to speed up intercourse? She was supposed to know what she was doing! Had this been deliberate?

 

I gazed at the whip, hanging on the hooks on the wall.

 

“You want to be whipped?” I said, 

 

“I deserve to be whipped, Master. A girl deserves to be punished. She has failed you.” She sobbed again. 

 

“Yes, you have.” I got up. I walked about the alcove room. I cleaned myself with some paper towels. “I’m sensitive there," I said in my defence. “It was a stupid thing to do. I thought you knew what you were doing? I thought you were experienced?”

 

Puta looked small and helpless at my feet. It would be so easy to whip her. Such a thing would be wrong, of course.

 

One does not whip a woman. 

 

But it would be easy. 

 

I glanced again at the two whips. It would be very easy. She might even deserve it for humiliating me. 

 

And then the phone in my jacket pocket began ringing. 

 

What now? I was angry with the interruption. For a moment I considered ignoring it, but it was highly unusual to receive a phone call at this hour. With a shrug, I paced over to the table where Puta had neatly folded my jacket, and I then retrieved the iPhone  Plus, with its Retina HD display, optical image stabilisation and 1 GB memory. 

 

The name on the call screen read ‘Miss Arabella Whitlock’.

 

I glanced at the time. It was 2.17 AM.

 

Arabella?

 

Why was Arabella calling me at 2.17 in the morning?