Kajirus of Gor Chapter Eleven

 

“You have to untie me,” said Felicity, urgently. She struggled in the tight bonds. “I can’t be seen like this when the police arrive!”

 

“It’ll be better if they can examine the room without me disturbing anything.”

 

“Don’t be so stupid! What do you think the police are going to think when they find me like this?”

 

“That you’ve been attacked.”

 

Felicity shook her head. She looked nervous. “They’ll think this is some bondage fantasy gone wrong.”

 

“What? You’ve been attacked. You’re a victim.”

 

“This is New Feminism America, Roland.” She glanced anxiously at a bedside clock. “Look at what I’m wearing. Do you think my attacker brought these clothes for me to wear? Do you think he dressed me like this before he tied me up?”

 

It was a mid-thigh cocktail dress. Beneath it she wore pink silk panties. I thought it was very pretty, but it certainly wasn’t the sort of dress a New Feminist would wear. No, the prescribed dress of New feminism was far more modest. A hem line no higher than below the knee, for example. 

 

“They’re going to judge me on what I’m wearing. They’ll think I initiated this. Possibly with you.”

 

“What?”

 

“Look, we don’t have time to discuss this! Untie these ropes. The police will be here any minute. Or more likely a private security team. We pay for patrol cars. Iron Rod Security. They’re fast responders.”

 

“You have a private security presence here?”

 

“Of course we do. No one who owns property on this street is poor.” She pulled at the ropes again. I wish she wouldn’t do that. It was giving me an erection, and that really wasn’t appropriate right now. “Roland!” Her voice sounded very scared. “If word gets out… if anyone sees me like this. Roland, I can’t be seen like this! They can’t take photos of me like this!”

 

“Okay, okay. You know better than I do.” I moved along the side of the bed and reached for the knots to the ropes around her wrists. It was a complicated tie and the knots disappeared just below the bed frame. I’d never been a Boy Scout, and knots weren’t the sort of thing I had any experience with.

 

“Hurry up! What are you doing down there?” She wriggled on the bed again, and sounded like she was breathing heavily. 

 

“This isn’t as easy as it looks. I haven’t got the faintest idea what sort of knot this is. There’s probably a simple way of untying it, but fuck if I know how. Might be better if I find something sharp and try and cut the ropes.”

 

“We don’t have time! Oh God, you can’t let them find me like this! Roland! Please! Untie me!”

 

She was getting hysterical. And that didn’t help me as I fumbled with the knot. 

 

Moments later the first responders came thundering up the stairs and into the bedroom. What Felicity had neglected to mention is that the private security team have pass keys for the properties they guard, just in case they need to intervene quickly. I suppose the Heavy Metal concert volume level of the siren counted as that. 

 

“Freeze! Hands in the air!”

 

I did as I was told, because there were suddenly two twitchy uniformed white men with guns pointed at me.

 

“Okay, guys, go easy.”

 

“Up against the wall, Mister. Face first, legs apart, hands behind your head.”

 

I did as I was told. Americans have a trigger happy reputation to us Brits. 

 

“I’m not the guy who did this,” I said, and then had my wrists seized and brought down behind my back. “Hey!” I felt a pair of steel handcuffs lock on my right wrist and then on my left. I was suddenly forced down on my knees, still with a gun to my head .

 

And then the two men turned their attention to Felicity. She was still tied to the bed. She had wriggled so much that her skirt hem had ridden back up her legs and there was the slight hint of pink panties showing. She looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole.

 

“Well, what do we have here,” said the man whose name badge read ‘Chuck’. “Bondage game gone wrong, Miss?” He lifted his phone from a pouch and readied it for some ‘scene of the crime’ photography. 

 

Half an hour later and Felicity was still tearing up. “Don’t touch me!” she said as I tried to comfort her by reaching out with my arm. We sat on one of her sofas as the security men drank coffee that she had made for them. One of the men was still filling out forms and neither of them seemed in any hurry to leave. 

 

“I told you there was an intruder,” said Felicity in a pathetic voice. “You saw the broken glass? You must believe me!”

 

“We did see your broken glass, Miss. Two champagne flutes. And a bottle lying on the floor. Party time, I believe.” They regarded me with a smile. They had found the condoms in my pocket when they had searched me. “But no sign of any breaking and entering. None at all.”

 

Felicity felt very vulnerable as one of the men gazed at her legs. Seated on the sofa as she was, the man could plainly see bare flesh from the mid-thigh down.  

 

“You will delete the photos?” she pleaded.

 

“Can’t do that, Miss. We have to follow procedure.” 

 

“Be reasonable,” I said. “If you’re not investigating the break in, or the intruder, then there’s no reason to keep the photos. You can see she’s distraught.”

 

“Should have thought of that before she let off the alarm,” said Chuck. “Woke up the whole street. Lot of unhappy neighbours. They have a right to know what happened.”

 

“What? No! You can’t tell them about…” she cried out.

 

“About what, Miss?” The other private security cop was called Mason. 

 

“About… the… about me…”

 

“Your kinky sex game, Miss? Tied to the bed? Tied to the bed for lover boy, here? Your slutty little fantasies, and then you accidentally set off your alarm?”

 

“Oh God.” Felicity buried her face in her hands. 

 

“Delete the fucking photos,” I said with a warning snarl.

 

“And you can back off,” said Mason as he drew his gun. Reluctantly, I had to do as he said. 

 

Twenty minutes later, they were both gone, after having spoken to some of the concerned neighbours, who themselves departed with disapproving looks directed at Felicity’s house. 

 

“I’m finished here,” sobbed Felicity. “Come morning, everyone’s going to know.”

 

“You were attacked! None of this is your fault.”

 

“No one’s going to believe that,” she sobbed. They’re all going to see photos of me tied to the bed with my panties showing, and you with your condoms in your pocket. I’m finished here. I’ll have to sell up and move away.”

 

“Fuck the neighbours. Hold your head high and tell them you’re the victim.”

 

“You have no idea! NO IDEA what it is like to be a young woman these days! No idea! We are judged, ALL THE TIME! Do you understand ANYTHING at all about New Feminism, and the rules it sets out?”

 

“I think it’s all a bit fucked up, to be honest with you. It’s very different in England.”

 

“Don’t be so sure of that. You’ve been away a long time. You don’t understand how I must comport myself in polite society. Women are bitches to one another. We police ourselves, our sex, and we will tear apart anyone who doesn’t conform. I am literally ruined.”

 

“You’re being hysterical, Felicity. It can’t be that bad.”

 

“No one will speak to me now. They’ll all speak about me, of course. I’ll be ostracised, sneered at, and there will be a campaign of harassment and intimidation to make me leave, which I will have to do.”

 

“Where are you going to move to? This is your home?”

 

“I don’t know. I’m even scared how my father will react when he hears of this. He is very old fashioned when it comes to his daughter. And to think I had hopes of impressing him enough to obtain a controlling majority in the companies I own an interest in! Now what will he think of me? And it’s all your fault!”

 

“What? I saved your life, Felicity. Or saved you from being raped. Whatever that intruder had planned for you. Show a little gratitude, yes?”

 

“If you hadn’t wanted to have sex with me, if you hadn’t pressured me into sex, knowing I had drunk some wine this evening, knowing I was vulnerable to your suggestions…”

 

“What?! You were coming on to me. You have been for weeks now.”

 

“Is THAT what you think of me? That I’m some sort of slut who desperately seeks sex?! Oh God….” She buried her head in her hands and began to weep. “You think so too. You’re as bad as they are.”

 

“I didn’t mean that. But I wasn’t forcing myself on you! I’ve been trying to keep this professional for weeks now.”

 

“YOU KISSED ME! I DIDN’T ASK FOR IT! YOU KISSED ME ON THE DANCE FLOOR.” She sobbed. “You knew I’d drunk wine. You knew this was your moment to move in on me. Oh God, how long have you wanted to do this? I trusted you! Don’t you understand that a gentleman would never have taken advantage of my momentary lapse? A true man protects his woman from such things. Sometimes we need to be protected from our feelings. We MUST be protected from our feelings, from our impulses. A woman can’t be expected to follow through. She can’t!”

 

“Okay, look, this is frankly ridiculous. Don’t make me out to be some sort of predator here. I have been nothing but honourable.”

 

“You were going to have sex with me! Even when I told you I didn’t have any protection, you still insisted! You actually went out to get condoms! And don’t think I didn’t see that you were aroused by the sight of me helpless and bound! I SAW!”

 

I must have looked ashen faced at that. The truth was, I had been aroused by her helpless wriggling, and for that I felt ashamed. “Felicity, look, you don’t understand…”

 

“Oh, I understand only too well! You liked the sight of me bound and helpless! Do you have rape fantasies, Roland? Is that it?! Do you fantasise about taking me, tying me to a bed, stripping and raping me? Owning me perhaps? Would you like me to be your slave girl!”

 

“Slave girl? What the fuck is this? Where is this coming from?”

 

Slave girl. Felicity Emery as a slave girl. 

 

Why had she said that?

 

Why had she put that thought in my mind?

 

“Did you or did you not get hard when you saw me helpless?”

 

“Felicity, I…”

 

“DID YOU?!”

 

“Okay, like most men, I like a little consensual bondage, but yes, it was inappropriate. I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have seen that. I would never…”

 

“Bondage?! Is that what you think of me? Is that how I am in your lurid fantasies? Do you…” she seemed to be choking on her words, so quickly were they now pouring from her mouth, “do you have slave fantasies about me? Is that it? Do you secretly dream of me as a slave girl, helpless, compliant, submissive, locked in a steel collar, kneeling before you, wearing silk?”

 

“Felicity, you know I respect you. I always have done.”

 

“I will never be your slave, nor the slave of any man! GET OUT! GET OUT!” She struck me on the chest with the ball of her left hand and then thumped me again with the clenched ball of her right hand. She wasn’t very strong. I could easily have seized those small wrists and restrained her, but instead I took her anger. She was right, I shouldn’t have been aroused by the sight of her tied up. It was insulting and demeaning to her.

 

“Felicity… I don’t want to lose you.”

 

“Well you have! I never want to see you again! You’ve ruined my life. GET OUT!”

 

And so I did. I left. And I walked down the street, leaving the expensive hire car parked in her garage space. I felt miserable, and as I passed by a refuse bin I threw away the two packs of condoms from the late night drug store.

 

Felicity. 

 

I would wait a couple of days and then call her. 

 

I realised then that I didn’t want to lose her.

 

But of course, two days later, she didn’t take my calls. In fact the line was disconnected. I went back to her house and the neighbours sneered and told me that the shameless slut had moved out that morning. No they didn’t know where she had gone, nor did they care.

 

“To think she once baby sat my children,” said a young middle class woman who looked every inch the New Feminism trophy wife. “There should be laws against her kind of lewd behaviour. Strict laws. Oh, I’ve seen the photos. We’ve all seen the photos. Such a slut.”

 

“Yeah, well fuck you, Lady,” I said. She let out an angry cry and ran inside to get her husband. I left before he could call Iron Rod Security to deal with me.

 

Weeks went by, and Felicity was gone. I sunk into a bout of break up depression, which is unusual for me because it’s not like we were ever really a couple. Felicity Emery had gotten under my skin. There was no denying that. The scent of her softly perfumed skin lingered in my memory. The way she would turn her head, and the way her hair would move with her, framing her head as she would smile at me. 

 

I had enough money put by that I didn’t need to immediately work again for a while, and so I didn’t. My job requires a concentrated frame of mind, and right now my focus was shot to pieces. I wasn’t capable of roleplaying another relationship for another rich client. Not yet. 

 

I wanted to speak to Felicity. I wanted to apologise, and tell he that she meant a lot to me. I desperately wanted to see her again. I could probably have tracked her down, but that would have made me another stalker, and I wasn’t going to do that. And so I just lived with the temporary pain of losing her. 

 

Just so you know, men are capable of experiencing heartache, too. It hurts just as much for us, though we try not to talk about it. We’re the ones who are supposed to be strong and be able to rise above our emotions and feelings. 

 

That could have been it. That could have been the end of my story. It should have been. But what happened next led me to my new life on Gor as a collared slave, destined to be bought and sold by rich women. 

 

“Hello, Roland.” The voice on the end of the phone was female, American, and vaguely familiar, but it wasn’t until she spoke her name that I realised who had unexpectedly rung me. “Please tell me you haven’t forgotten my voice? You haven’t forgotten Chelsea Frick?”

 

Chelsea Frick. My mind wound back to that day at the racetracks at Saratoga. The day out with Felicity. 

 

“Miss Frick.” The memories of Felicity returned in sharp focus, and I could clearly see her in my mind’s eye standing beside me in that lovely summer dress and wide brimmed hat, earnestly studying the brochure that detailed the form of the various horses that day. “This is an unexpected call. I trust you’re well?”

 

“I am, Roland. Very well, and thank you for asking. And you?”

 

“Never better,” I lied. 

 

“Really? You’ve gotten over Felicity, then?”

 

I said nothing for a moment.

 

“Felicity Emery?”

“I know who she is,” I said, perhaps a bit tersely. 

 

“Ah.” There was a sympathetic sound to her voice now. “So you haven’t gotten over her.”

 

“Lovely as it is to hear from you, Miss Frick, can I ask what this is about, and how you got hold of my number?”

 

“I’m inviting you up to my ranch in Montana.”

 

I paused again. “Do you mind if I ask why?”

 

“Oh, Roland, I’m just extending the invitation that I promised, that day at the races. You do remember?”

 

I did, vaguely. But the invitation at the time was meant for Felicity, not me. “You don’t actually know me, Miss Frick.”

 

“I think I do. I’m a very good judge of character, and yes, I think I know you, Mr Martell.”

 

“You got my number from Felicity?” I speculated. I held my breath, wanting the answer to be ‘yes’. Wanting to know that Felicity had put Chelsea up to this.

 

“God, no. I’m afraid that little mare is now grazing in another paddock altogether. You haven’t heard, then?”

 

“Heard what?”

 

“Oh, she’s being courted by Dexter Bannon.”

 

“Really.” I gripped the phone tightly.

 

“He’s ever so persistent. And rich. From the Connecticut Bannons, you know.”

 

“No, I don’t know them, nor do I care to know them.”

 

“Of course.” She sounded amused by this. “For what it’s worth, he doesn’t like you either.”

 

What the fuck was Felicity doing with Dexter Bannon? I suddenly felt very angry, almost betrayed. Why him? She didn’t even like him! “Sounds like the feeling is mutual, then. I’m not sure I’ll fit in at your ranch, Miss Frick.”

 

“Oh, you’ll fit in, perfectly, Roland. It’ll be a wonderful weekend, and I’d love to have you around for a few nights. Montana is a beautiful state.”

 

“I’m sure it is. And it’s very kind of you to offer, but, thank you, no.”

 

“No?” she sounded disappointed, but also surprised. “How novel. I can’t recall the last time a man actually said no to me.”

 

Yeah, I bet she couldn’t. “I’m going to be blunt. I’m not ready for another relationship.”

 

There was laughter at the end of the line. “Oh, Roland, how sweet. You think I’m calling you for that? That I think you’re companionship material? You flatter yourself, I think. You’re sweet enough, and I understand why Felicity was attracted to you, but no, I’m not looking for you to be my companion. My invitation has nothing to do with that.”

 

Companion. That was a New Feminism term, replacing boyfriend and girlfriend, it seems. 

 

“My apologies.” I back tracked. “I shouldn’t have even suggested that.”

 

“Rest assured, if I want a man, I do not acquire him by offering a weekend break in Montana.”

 

“I was out of order, Miss Frick. I’m not myself at the moment. You caught me at a bad moment to be honest.”

 

“Then come to Montana. We can talk about Felicity. I can tell you all her dark secrets. I can satisfy your curiosity, and perhaps…” her voice trailed off.

 

“Perhaps?”

 

“Who knows. Maybe you will see her again?”

 

“You’re inviting her to Montana, too?”

 

“Now, I didn’t say that, did I Roland. But I think you may meet again in the near future if you accept my invitation. That is… if you still want to. I’m sure Dexter would prefer it if you didn’t.”

 

Fuck it. It’s not as if I really had any other plans. “Okay, Miss Frick. Send me the details.”