Kajirus of Gor Chapter Fourteen

 

Afterwards, Iona offered me a piece of candy as a treat for pleasing the mistress.

 

“I’m not a child,” I said, bitterly. I felt unfulfilled. I hadn’t come, and therefore I hadn’t been whipped, but it hadn’t been easy. And now my balls ached. And a piece of candy was no substitute for the lack of a sexual climax.

 

“Correct your tone, slave,” Iona warned me. “I have my switch close at hand.”

 

“I am sorry, Mistress. Either you’re offering me that candy to further humiliate me, in which case you are needlessly cruel, or you genuinely think it’s a fitting reward, in which case I’m telling you it’s not. If that’s a whipping offence, then so be it.”

 

Yes, I had been raped. A woman had raped me, and I define that as forbidding me final pleasure from the congress. From what little I knew, slave girls weren’t forbidden a climax. Quite the contrary. A man enjoyed seeing a slave girl writhing helplessly in his arms, overcome by her slave belly. But Gorean Free Women are crueller than their men, it seems.

 

“I am not needlessly cruel,” said Iona after a while. She still held the sugary treat for me to take. “It is sweet and it is delicious. It is yours.”

 

“I don’t want it.” I gazed down at the floor, feeling almost as miserable as the first few nights I had spent in my kennel pen, when realisation dawned that I was now a slave on an alien planet, with no realistic hope of escape. 

 

“You didn’t think a Free Woman would permit a silk slave to climax inside of her, did you?” Iona shook her head. “You can’t have been that stupid?”

 

“I don’t know what I thought. But this is cruel. And I don’t want your sugary treat”

“You are being stupid now. Childish. Petulant. It serves no purpose to deprive yourself of a small comfort, a small treat, in a life that will offer you few of those things.”

 

“I can see a purpose.”

 

She gave me a stern look.

 

“Mistress,” I added. I shook my wrists in pent up fury, for my wrists were chained behind my back in slave bracelets. That Gorean bitch, Kelapina, had ordered I shouldn’t be permitted to relieve myself soon after she had used me. I was to instead simmer and cool down, and be incapable of touching myself down there. The logic was that if I played with myself while the memory of being on a couch with her was still firmly in my head, then I would in a sense be using the arousal from the recent presence of her body to give myself pleasure. 

 

“Very well then.” She placed the candy back into a box. “You still have much to learn, it seems.”

 

“And perhaps I’ll never learn.”

 

“You will learn,” she said. “There is always the whip. Come with me.”

 

For a moment I thought that meant she was going to whip me, but no, she had something far worse in mind. Iona walked me down some corridors, past some armed guards, and into an area of the slaver house I’d never been to before. I was surprised to see two kajirae pass by. They were talking between themselves, while being escorted by a guardsman. They gazed at me out of curiosity as I passed by, my wrists closely braceleted behind my back, with Iona holding my leash.

 

“Pretty silk slave!” cried out one of the girls in a mocking tone as she flaunted her body. “Do not hurry past, so! We are hot and needy for you!” They both laughed. “Do you not want us?”

“Ignore them,” said Iona. “You pleased your mistress. That is all that matters.”

 

But my cheeks burned with shame again, as I was led helplessly past both girls, and I did not mistake the look of scorn that the guardsman gave me.  

 

“Where am I?” I asked as I was made to kneel in small room with a single barred window. “What is happening?”

 

“Curiosity is not becoming a kajirus,” said Iona. She fastened a chain to my collar ring. “Say nothing from this moment on.”

 

And then we waited. The minutes ticked by in my head until the door opened and a girl was thrust inside. She stumbled, righted herself, and then cried out as she saw me. It was Felicity. Beautiful Felicity Emery. Slave girl, Felicity Emery.

 

I could feel Iona’s hand in my hair, warning me to silence. 

 

“Roland…” gasped Felicity in fear, for a Gorean guard now entered the room behind her. Her eyes widened in horror as she realised before I did what was about to happen here.

 

“Nadu,” he said, and instantly Felicity dropped to her knees, spreading her thighs. The position I had been forced to adopt so often now looked incredibly erotic when performed by this beautiful girl. And there was no mistaking how fluid her movements had been. This girl had been at least partially trained, and to a high standard. 

 

The guard glanced at me and frowned. He didn’t seem pleased to see a silk slave kneeling in the room. “Send him away,” he said.

 

“Forgive me, Master, but the Lady Kelapina has instructed he attend.”

 

Obviously the Lady Kelapina had authority in this house, for the guard had little to say now. Instead, he just walked up to me and spat directly in my face. I felt the cold slime of his phlegm drip down my right cheek.

 

“I feel sick looking at you,” he snarled. “You’re not a man. Nothing like a man.”

 

I said nothing, but I imagined rising and striking this man in the face. 

 

I didn’t understand why I was here, or why Felicity was here. But Iona directed that I should watch.

 

“No, please, no!” cried Felicity, as the man picked her up as easily as if she was a backpack, and threw her down onto a large couch. “I know this slave,” she sobbed, indicating me. “Please don’t let him see this! Please, Master!”

 

Now I understood. Felicity had seen me put to use by the Lady Kelapina, and now, for whatever reason, she had arranged for me to see the same thing happen to Felicity.

 

My emotions and feelings were mixed now as Felicity suddenly responded to a sharp, barked command from the man, and she lay back, suddenly obedient and compliant, on the couch, opening her thighs and raising her wrists so that they lay against a heavy slave ring at the head of the bed. The man produced some binding fibre and lashed her wrists in place. And then, while I was forced to watch, he began to systematically arouse her with his hands. The arousal was quick, and the effect surprising. Felicity Emery was soon writhing helplessly in her bonds. Her body responded with a speed and efficiency I could hardly believe.

 

“She is a slave,” said Iona quietly. “A natural slave. This is how she responds to the touch of a man. You probably didn’t know she was capable of such a thing.”

 

Felicity knew I was here, watching, but her body did not allow her to remain frigid, and unyielding. Instead she displayed behaviour I thought impossible for a woman such as her. She became helpless and subject to her needs.

 

“Keep watching,” said Iona. Her hand was in my hair, twisting it around her fingers. “It is a kindness that you see the slave as she truly is. Whatever she meant to you in the past, she is a slave now. This is how she responds to men. She is being trained to be pleasing in the furs. But you will never have her for yourself, because you are a silk slave.”

 

I struggled in my wrist cuffs. I felt angry, furious, but also, shamefully aroused, at the sight of Felicity Emery responding to this savage Gorean man. 

 

“Kajirae are not for you, Roland. They are for free men. You will not know their touch, their caresses, their kisses. You will never feel yourself inside one of them.”

 

I turned my gaze away for a moment and felt sudden pain as Iona twisted her fingers hard in my hair. “Do not look away,” she hissed. “You will be whipped if you do. You will watch this girl, you will understand what she is. You will understand the pleasure a true man can take from her, and you will understand that you will never experience that yourself. Keep watching.”

 

And so I did. I kept watching. And I saw the guardsman thrust deep inside of Felicity, and I saw her writhe, but not resist. She moaned piteously as she plateaued and soon began to approach orgasm. The man rode her, crying out himself with fierce abandon. 

 

“She is not for you,” Iona reminded me. “None of them are for you, Roland. Keep watching. Do not look away.” 

 

I heard Felicity beg slave rape. She actually said that to the man as he brought her close to a climax. Those actual words: “Felicity begs slave rape, Master!”

 

I think in that moment she had forgotten, or no longer cared, that I was there. 

 

All she cared about now was her imminent climax. 

 

And when she came, she was hot, excited, screaming out loud, her body shaking beneath the guardsman. She had been mastered, as the Goreans sometimes say. And I watched as she strained to kiss the chest and shoulders of the man who had raped her. 

 

“Thank you, Master, thank you,” she wept, as he continued to thrust inside of her until he too came, and she writhed some more.

 

“Forget whoever she was on Earth,” Iona remarked, her fingers still gripping my hair tightly. “Forget everything she meant to you. This is who she is now.”

 

Afterwards, I was taken away, the leash clipped to my collar ring again. I was not permitted to speak to Felicity one last time, to say any of the many things I might wish to say to her. Our relationship had gone through many changes, and our parting had been… well… you will see, but despite all of that, I could not escape my desire for the girl. 

 

“It is unlikely you will ever see the girl, Felicity, again,” said Iona as she led me down a corridor. “You will be sold soon and, after further training, she will be sold, too, and probably renamed. Maybe your paths will cross one day in a market square, but it is unlikely. You should forget her, Roland.”

 

But despite, or perhaps because of, everything that had happened between us, I could not forget Felicity Emery, as Iona led me back to the kennel pens.

 

That night I lay on my bedding with my wrists manacled to one of the bars. I would not be free to touch myself until morning, by which time the association with my memories of Lady Kelapina’s body would be vague enough to no longer matter. 

 

Dexter had asked me many questions, wanting to know all the details of what it was like to serve a Free Woman. I told him much of what had happened, but I left out all references to Felicity, in the same way I had not told him of my encounters with Chelsea Frick.

 

“Man, they didn’t let you come?”

 

“No. That will be denied to both of us and we’ll be whipped if our bodies disobey.”

 

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to hold out when my time comes,” said Dexter, from the cage next to mine. “You must have blue balls.”

 

“Something like that.’ I still felt the frustrating ache. 

 

“Look man, I’m not gay or anything, but I can probably reach through the bars with my hand. I mean do you want me to…”

 

“No.” I lay there on my bedding, thinking of the Lady Kelapina, of Iona, of Felicity. My thoughts were a tumble of ragged emotions and images. Lady Kelapina squatting down on me, changing then to a vision of me seizing hold of her, a desperate look in her eyes – one of outrage – her commanding me to no avail, struggling perhaps, as I lay her down onto her back and chained her wrists to the manacles. And then the image of Iona forcing me to pleasure her with my mouth, on my knees, kissing intimately, and submissively, and thoughts of Felicity writhing in ecstasy beneath me on the couch, crying out in climax as I thrust third inside of her.

 

I was stiff, erect, in the cage, but I couldn’t touch myself.

 

I pressed my thighs against my cock and felt a comfortable and pleasurable pressure as visions of submission and dominance continued to dance through my mind. Now Lady Kelapina was no longer struggling in my grasp, but rather yielding, crying out, as Felicity had done. But still, Iona remained dominant in these fantasies. She held her whip and forced me to serve her. 

 

I groaned softly as I tried to clear my mind and actually get some much needed sleep.   

 

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“One of the most common misconceptions of Gor is that on this planet men typically own slaves.” Chelsea Savannah Frick had returned to the private sales area where women, by invitation, might casually view and assess a selection of silk slaves on offer by the House of Diamandis. This was the third time she had visited and paused before my platform. This time I stood on a very different platform – one marked out in the area for silk slaves who had been assessed by a House Slaver and certified as fully trained and competent to attend to a Lady’s needs. This marked me out now as exclusive stock, and with it came more attention, and more questions.

 

I was no longer being asked whether I still had all my teeth.

 

I came to realise that the nature of these slave exhibitions, resembled the evening receptions on Earth held by prestigious art galleries. There, if you happened to be a favoured client -  a man or woman with a serious desire to purchase art at some point in time - you might routinely be sent exclusive invitations to attend fashionable exhibitions of newly acquired art, with complimentary prosecco. The exhibitions were as much a social evening out, as an opportunity to scrutinise and perhaps buy a new painting or limited edition print. So it was with the private displays of the silk slaves owned and trained by the House of Diamandis. While perhaps only one or two of the women here might actually buy a slave, all of them were serious prospective customers, and treated accordingly by the slavers who provided security and hospitality. 

 

“In actual fact,” Chelsea Frick continued, “it is rich people who own slaves on Gor. A man who is poor cannot afford a kajira. It is the wealthy who can afford to own delightful property. Their personal gender is irrelevant.”

 

“Yes, Mistress,” I said as I stood and posed for her. 

 

“You are not cheap any more, Roland,” she said as she gazed at the descriptive plaque on which my asking price was inscribed.

 

“I believe not, Mistress, though I cannot read.”

 

“Of course you can’t. You’re an ignorant barbarian.”

 

Chelsea Frick seemed to be overlooking the fact that she too was a barbarian in the eyes of Gorean society, though apparently one who might reasonably pass as a citizen of Argentum. And she could apparently read – a skill commonly practised by the caste of Scribes, and few others. 

 

“I see you have been newly certified by the honourable Lady Kelapina.”

 

“Yes, Mistress.” I posed again, displaying myself on the low raised platform as she spoke to me.

 

“That is a mark of quality. You should feel proud. Her name carries some weight in these matters. I personally know Kelapina. Her blessing makes you valuable merchandise. You are practically an investment. The market for silk slaves is a strong one. A Lady who bought you might expect to see your value grow significantly in the near future.”

 

“Thank you, Mistress.” I still had no idea what I was worth, except that it was probably more than the equivalent price for a slave girl. Free Women typically have to pay more for their choice of slaves than men do. 

 

“You will soon belong to a Lady,” said Chelsea as she touched my left thigh with her fingers. “Are you looking forward to that?”

 

“I am, Mistress, yes. I wish to be owned by a Free Woman. I wish to serve a Free Woman.”

 

“How lovely to hear you say that. You have changed so much since I first met you at Saratoga race track. You are already more compliant, easier to talk to. And now it seems you understand how to give pleasure to a Free Woman?”

 

“I do, Mistress.”

 

“It must be very different to the crude, boorish way you handled women on Earth, though I suppose many of them were in fact natural slaves, so they hardly count.”

 

It was obvious enough that Chelsea Frick did not consider herself to be a natural slave of Earth, and in that she was perhaps correct. She certainly showed no slave traits that I could discern. It seemed she had much in common with the dominant Free Women of Gor.

 

“It was very different, Mistress.” I continued to demean myself by posing before her. She had not indicated that I might stop. I turned from left to right, displaying my body, tensing muscles, and then relaxing them. 

 

“And better. So much better.”

 

Hardly.

 

“We will rid you of your bestial impulses in time, Roland. In time you will come to associate arousal and what pleasure you feel with sexual submission, with bondage, with being dominated by a woman. In time your greatest wish will be to submit perfectly to a woman’s use of you, and you will be terrified at the very idea of coupling with a woman in any other fashion.”

 

“Yes, Mistress.”

 

“Oh,” She suddenly saw something attached to my display plaque. I had seen it earlier, but of course I could not read. It was a small metal tag hanging from a single chain link. Chelsea lifted the metal tag with a finger and let it clatter against the information plaque. “Do you know what this is?” 

 

“No, Mistress, I do not.”

 

“It says you have been sold.”

 

My heart jumped as she said that, and my blood seemed to rush suddenly to my head. I had been sold? That tag had been attached to the plaque maybe fifteen minutes ago, shortly before Chelsea had appeared to talk to me. All this time she had been speaking, I had, without knowing it, belonged to a woman somewhere. I was owned now. A Lady had bought me.

 

“Do you know who your new mistress is, Roland?” She traced her finger along what was possibly the name.

 

“No, Mistress, I do not.”

 

“It is me, Roland. I bought you half an ahn, ago. I am your new mistress. You must be ever so pleased?”