Kajirus of Gor Chapter Twenty

 

The only sense of freedom I felt on on Gor was during the mid to late morning when Chelsea would send me out to the market place to buy food and other provisions. Refrigeration on Gor is non-existent, though many apartments in a building may share a ‘cold room’ in a cellar under the property, and so shopping trips are far more frequent than on Earth. There is no ‘weekly shop’ to stock up a kitchen. Meat and fish has to be bought on the day it is to be consumed, if it is to stay fresh. Goreans also have little regard for artificial preservatives, considering such things poison in their food, and so bread has to be baked fresh each day, for it will not last in the same way sliced loaves do on Earth. 

 

The daily shop therefore becomes a regular necessity, and you will routinely see slaves sent from their homes to tread a familiar path to the local market stalls.

 

I should mention some of the practical arrangements of the city of Argentum. I can’t say whether these things are universally common throughout all Gorean cities, but they may well be. The city is divided into quarters, which is a misleading word as there are far more than four quarters in each city. By and large slaves do not stray from their quarter if they are without their master or mistress. Practically speaking, they would be barred from doing so. My collar – my slave collar – if you will – is marked not only with the name of my mistress (the Lady Savanna) but also a serial number relating to the papers of ownership filed in the city cylinder that is the municipal hall of records. Should I stray, my collar will identify my owner and where I might be returned, for Chelsea’s current address will be recorded on my ownership papers. But in addition my collar is also inscribed with a mark signifying the city quarter in which Chelsea resides. Notice that I describe it as a mark, and not a word. 

As I’ve said before, many Goreans cannot read, and in fact have no interest in reading. An easily recognisable symbol serves as the only way for a Gorean to read that important detail about me. At the points where one quarter gives way to another, you will routinely find guardsmen on duty, observing the comings and goings of the city’s citizens. While free men and women may pass by without concern, an unescorted slave attempting to leave one quarter for another will be stopped. His or her collar will be checked to ensure the slave isn’t a runaway from another quarter, and the slave will be expected to produce a pass to allow him or her to enter the other quarter. These passes take the form of die stamped tokens of metal that can be issued to the slave’s owner from one of many offices and attached to the slave’s collar, should that owner need the slave to travel about the city. They generally last for anywhere between one day to a Gorean five day week. A slave who does not have such a pass will not be permitted to leave his quarter. Should that slave be seen trying such a thing again, the slave is likely to be taken into custody, returned to his owner, and owner might even be fined. 

 

In other words, slaves can move relatively freely within the confines of their quarter, but not beyond.

 

This arrangement is even more secure at the city gates, of which Argentum has several. All free men and women must produce their papers if and when they choose to leave the city. And of course an unaccompanied slave cannot leave the city on his own. These papers of citizenship are examined by scribes at the gates who will in particular scrutinise the bottom section of the citizenship papers, because this is the area where restrictions on the freedom of movement of the citizen might be inscribed. Commonly the citizen himself may be unable to read what is written on his own papers. A common example of why a citizen may be barred from leaving the city would be if that citizen was due to appear in court to answer some charge in, say, a week’s time, and in the meantime was free to live on ‘bail’. It wouldn’t do for that citizen to suddenly leave the city before the trial was to take place. Another example might be if a citizen was heavily in debt to another man or woman. The terms of the loan might include a legally binding clause that the debtor should continue to reside in the city until the loan was repaid. I am sure there are many other examples. 

 

Goreans on the whole highly value personal freedom, but they are also sticklers for legal principles.

 

So, yes, I enjoyed a certain degree of liberty from the late morning onwards. I was free to walk the streets and parks within my quarter, free to observe the natural beauty of the Gorean world. I had some time to myself, provided I completed my shopping chores.

 

Chelsea would often give me something for lunch. A tasty meat pastry, for example, and slaves are permitted to drink from the bottom tiers of public fountains, provided no free men or women are using the drinking fountain at the time.  Chelsea, herself, would choose to spend the mid to late morning socialising with the ladies of her building and other buildings close by, for they often met during lunch hours. And during this time I could do as I wished, provided it brought no dishonour to her.

 

“Hello, Roland.” The lovely kajira approached and, with a soft smile, sat down close to me on the grassy bank by the city canal. Her slave name was Amara, but on Earth, in India where she had been born, she had been called Lakshmi. She had long dark hair and the rich olive gold skin tone of her people. She had been abducted and taken to Gor a year before me, and had served in a collar now to a single master in her time in Argentum. Her master was a well-to-do leather worker who frequently used her in preference to the needs of his Free Companion. He had bought her for thirty five copper tarsks. I didn’t yet know what Chelsea had paid for me, but Amara told me it was likely to be much more.

 

Slaves have a social life, too, in most cities. It is inevitable we meet one another as we drift around the market places, often discovering the mutual times we are sent out on errands. When a connection is made, slaves may sometimes linger in certain areas, hoping to see a familiar face. As time goes by, meetings become choreographed, and meeting places become regular. I had run into the lovely Amara at the bakery, as we tended to arrive there at similar times. When we discovered we were both from Earth, we struck up an uneasy and awkward conversation that grew in time to a sort of friendship. We talked about our collars, about our abductions, about our master and mistress. Slaves talk openly and freely between themselves. We discuss everything, and we have few secrets.  

 

Amara’s spoken Gorean was almost as clumsy as mine, but we didn’t dare speak in English. That sort of thing can be frowned upon by passing men and women. 

 

“Hi, Amara.” I slid my left hand slowly along the grass until I felt her fingertips briefly touch mine. She turned her head and smiled and we both laughed, pleased to see one another again on this warm morning. I was forbidden to touch a slave girl. And she was forbidden to touch a kajirus, and so those small fleeting moments were all we had.

 

“I didn’t see you yesterday. I am sorry, Roland.”

 

I nodded. “Your master?”

 

“He kept me in. He… put me to use. Business was slow that morning. He grew lustful.”

 

“Of course.” I gazed with longing at Amara and marvelled at how beautiful a girl could be when she was dressed in a slave tunic, with a collar locked around her throat. I still thought of Felicity – she haunted my dreams – and I could only speculate where in the city she was now. And I had strange confused feelings for my beautiful mistress, but Amara was the girl I most looked forward to spending time with each morning. With her I could speak freely about my feelings, and she shared her innermost thoughts, too. We were both slaves. We were both owned. 

 

“This is going to be a busy day for me,” I began, “so I can’t stay long. My mistress is entertaining tonight. It’s the first time she has done so since she bought me. We have two slavers attending.”

 

“A big day, then,” said Amara. She risked a soft touch of my fingers again when it seemed that no one was looking. “You will be cooking and serving?”

 

“Of course. She seems tense today, my mistress. This is a big thing for her. She is new to Gor, and I think she has a long way to go to be truly accepted here. This is the first time that two Goreans will be gracing her home. She warned me not to embarrass her. Everything has to be perfect. She even had me take down the whip from the wall hook – the first time since it was placed there – and kiss it, kneeling before her on my knees, as a reminder of how I might be punished if I am not pleasing tonight.”

 

“You are hardly ever whipped,” said Amara. “Your mistress loves you!”

 

I laughed. “It’s true I have only been whipped twice, and then only with the switch. I don’t think she enjoys whipping me. Not truly.”

 

“Mistress loves Roland Mistress loves Roland!” she said in a sing-song voice. And then she pouted and gazed up at me, adding, in a more serious note, “And you have feelings for your mistress?”  

 

“It’s complicated. She owns me, and I resent that. I resent being a slave. And yet…”

 

I felt those fingers touch mine again, softly, when no one nearby looked at us. “And yet she is a beautiful woman?” said Amara, softly. “And yet you are growing to love submitting to her?”

 

“She is beautiful.” I smiled, slightly embarrassed. “That’s what makes it so difficult. I’m forced to do her bidding on the couch, but…”

 

“But you desire her?”

 

“Yes. And I struggle with the conflicting emotions.”

“Maybe if she wore your collar and you were free?”

 

“I’ve had fantasies,” I admitted. “Both dominant and submissive ones. I think it’s the case that the more time I spend on Gor, the more confused I become in my relations with women. With my mistress in particular. On Earth it was very simple. Here, I don’t know who I am, or what I truly want.”

 

“You are a slave, I can tell you that much. And you will always be a slave. You will always wear a collar and be subject to the will of women. Women will own you, Roland.”

 

“Perhaps.”

 

“If I have learnt one thing from my time as a slave, it is that men and women can only truly be happy together if one of them wears a collar, and one of them holds a whip.”

 

“A controversial viewpoint, Amara.”

 

“Not on Gor. Here that is the normal way of thinking. One has to always be free, and one has to always be slave. Nothing else works in the long term. And it is true that more often than not it is the woman who secretly desires to submit, and it is the man who desires to be dominant, but not always.”

 

“If I were free, I would free you, Amara.”

 

She smiled at that and dared to touch my fingers again. “Thank you. I know you would. And that is why you belong in a collar. But were I free, rest assured I would keep you as my slave. I would be a strict mistress with you, and you would grow to love it.” 

 

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Much later that afternoon I was preparing the food in the small kitchen room of Chelsea’s loft apartment. Cooking on Gor is both simple and difficult at the same time. Simple because the basic nature of coal and wood burning stoves means dishes are more straight forward; but difficult because it is harder to regulate and control the heat. I heard Chelsea enter the room as I was cutting the meat and preparing the plates of vegetables, and I felt her hand cup my bottom, under my tunic, as she leaned close to me. I felt her breath on the back of my neck, and the touch of her hair against my skin.

 

“Good afternoon, slave,” she said.

 

“Good afternoon, Mistress. Was your day good?” 

 

“I spent it with some of the ladies living on this street. I am beginning to be accepted, I think, though…”

 

I knew what she was about to say.

 

“You seem young to them, Mistress?” 

 

“I do.” Chelsea had told me some time ago about the stabilization serums on Gor and how it as the birthright of every Gorean, whether slave or free, to have their ages permanently stabilised in the their mid to late twenties. A variation on those serums had been available to Chelsea’s family on Earth in return for their unwavering loyalty to the cause of the Steel Worlds. But their serum was temporary, holding back the ageing process a year at a time. That serum had to be renewed annually with a booster shot or else natural ageing would begin again. I could understand the reasoning behind this, for it kept the great North American families loyal. But Chelsea had first received her serum at the age of twenty-one, and she had looked younger than that at the time. Consequently, despite now being a thirty-two year old woman, with a mature mind, she easily looked anywhere from seventeen to nineteen, and so long as she received booster shots, she would always look no older than nineteen. She had grown to resent looking immature. Chelsea had told me that here were three reasons for her coming to Gor. One was to escape the clutches of her family. The second was to own a male slave. But the third and most pressing reason was to receive the full Gorean stabilisation serum that did not require booster shots each year. That was only available on Gor. The snag was, she didn’t want to permanently appear eighteen or nineteen years old. And that meant she would have to live several years on Gor before she could receive the stabilisation serum. She would have to wait until the annual shot expired, and then allow some more years for the natural ageing process to make her seem like a grown up woman. That meant living many years here on Gor before she could attain her goal. But in the meantime she looked like a child to the women who were her neighbours, and they treated her with amused condescension, speaking as if she was barely a few years past her first robing ceremony – that time when Gorean girls receive their first veils and robes from their mother – and when the matriarchs of the family fuss over her and teach her how she must now comport herself in public as a woman. 

 

Chelsea’s hand felt so good as she touched me. I breathed hard, feeling excitement rush through me again. Two months had gone by in her collar, and I responded well to her touch, for she now routinely touched me during the day. She could do as she wished with me, for I wore her collar.

 

“I want my silk slave,” she said as she breathed softly on my earlobe.

 

“Do you wish me to lie on the couch, Mistress?” My blood was up and I felt strangely turned on by her demands.

 

“No. Kelapina will be here soon. Kelapina and her mysterious slaver friend. We haven’t time. And you will need to fix and arrange my hair. You are so good at that, Roland. Almost like a Lady’s maid.”

 

She touched my arm and ran her fingers down my skin. “I love owning you,” she said. “I love seeing you in my collar.” 

 

“I love being owned by you, Mistress,” I replied. 

 

“This is good, isn’t it, Roland? This is how it should be. You, a man, in a steel collar, subject to a woman. It is so right. We will be happy together, I think, here in Argentum.”

 

“Yes, Mistress.” I cut down sharply on the vegetables, perhaps harder than was necessary.

 

“Owning a slave is everything I thought it might be.” She ran her hand under the hem of my tunic, caressing my thighs. And then she moved further with her fingers and discovered how hard I now was. “I see you want me, too. You have grown to love your submission to me. You are a natural slave, I think, Roland.”

 

“Yes, Mistress.” I sucked in a sharp gasp of breath as her fingers lightly played around the shaft of my penis.

 

“I do so want you, but we have no time.”

 

“No, Mistress.”

 

“We really have no time.” She shook her head. “Kelapina will be here soon. And she will be accompanied by a man she wishes to introduce to me. I do so hope she isn’t trying to arrange a companion for me. That would be awkward. I do not want a companion. He would restrict my life. He might even compel me to sell you.”

 

“No, Mistress.” THAT I didn’t want. I was actually nervous at the prospect that Chelsea might indeed find herself in a Free Companionship one day, meaning I might be sold in the market to a new collar. I realised that no matter how much I resented being a slave, I only wanted to be her slave. I didn’t want some other woman to buy me. I didn’t want to have to start over again in a new home. I feared the unknown. 

 

“So we really have no time to couple on the couch. We really don’t.”

 

“As Mistress says.” Her hand stroked the length of my penis, underneath the tunic, and I gasped, and my body trembled. I felt my heart begin to beat wildly now. She laughed softly and placed a light kiss on the back of my neck. Yes, it had come to that. I occasionally now felt her kiss me in private, but never on the lips. Never there.  

 

“No time at all. Unless of course you begged me,” she whispered. “Begged your mistress on your knees, slave…”

 

Ten ehn later I was chained to the headboard of her couch and Chelsea was gasping with pleasure as she sat astride me, rocking back and forth, her hands moving wildly in her hair, her back arched, breath hissing from her mouth. I struggled against my chains, feeling a rush of desire for this woman, but simultaneously knowing I must always hold back. I pulled hard, frustrated at being unable to seize and hold her in my arms. The instinct for a man to want to seize and hold a woman is natural, I think. But I was denied that, and, as I struggled, I knew would have red marks on my wrists this evening. 

 

When Chelsea was finished, when she had cried out, she knelt there trembling for a while, gazing down at my naked body. I saw her fingers curl into fists in frustration for some reason. Lately, despite her orgasms, she seemed distracted and unfulfilled in some manner. She gazed at my chained wrists with a strange expression on her face. The chaining of my wrist fascinated her for some reason. She would gaze at those bonds and be lost in deep thought, a look of pained longing in her eyes.

 

And then she freed me and she curled up beside my body. She liked to talk now after sex. She liked me to hold her in a spooning position. She sometimes allowed me to touch her breasts lightly as I did so.

 

“Everything has to be perfect when Kelapina arrives,” she said, as if we were an ordinary married couple,  now taking stock of our commitments. “I can’t make any mistakes. You do understand that, Roland? I will be judged on the meal and your service tonight.”

 

“How well do you know her, Mistress?”

 

“She helped me establish myself in Argentum. She was the first person I saw when I woke up, here on Gor.” She nestled into my arms, feeling contentment now. “She arranged my papers of citizenship, and helped me find this apartment. She showed me around the city.”

 

I knew why, of course. Chelsea’s family had contacts in Argentum, for the purpose of shipping slaves to Gor. Kelapina was one of those contacts, and so she had been ready to support Chelsea when she arrived by some mysterious silver ship on which slaves were routinely transported by the Frick family. More than that she hadn’t said to me.

 

“This wouldn’t have been possible without a family connection on Gor.”

 

“Does she know you’re here without your family’s blessing?”

 

“No.” Chelsea stiffened in my embrace as I reminded her of that. “No, of course not. My family don’t even know I’m here in Argentum. They never will.”

 

So, Kelapina served the Fricks in respect of their slave trade. It made sense that the Fricks would have connections with at least one slaver house in at least one city for any of this to work. And it made sense that Chelsea could have made use of that connection when she arrived here. I had guessed by now how she had arrived – how she had arranged passage – but the details of the journey and her early days on Gor remained a mystery to me. Perhaps I would learn more tonight when I might be privy to their conversations. 

 

“I wish we could stay in bed like this for longer, Roland,” she said. “Your arms feel so good, I feel so safe.”

 

Her near naked body was delightful. The silk of her slip was well up on her thighs, exposing her, and one breast had escaped the spaghetti thin shoulder strap support. I wanted to kiss the back of her neck, but didn’t dare.

 

“Sometimes I am not happy, Roland,” she said softly. She spoke more openly after sex, when the dying embers of her orgasm still glowed inside of her.

 

“Why is that, Mistress?”

 

“I do not know. I have so many things, and yet… sometimes I feel unfulfilled. Empty. Sometimes I… oh…” she let out a little gasp as I traced my fingers gently over her left wrist and, curling those fingers, encircled her wrist. She shivered where she lay beside me. I had done this once without thinking, many nights ago, and she had liked it, and so I continued now, as the weeks went by.

 

“Mistress is lovely,” I said, as I held her wrist gently in my hand.

 

“Oh, Roland…” she closed her eyes and trembled as she always did when I held her wrist.

 

“Mistress is so beautiful.”

 

Her breasts rose and fell with meaningful deep breaths. I drew her wrist back behind the small of her back. 

 

“Oh, Roland,” she cried, softly.

 

“Mistress is so very beautiful.” And then I held her there, feeling her body respond in a way she both secretly loved and feared.