It was late in the evening when I chose to leave Rolfe and the other men. We had been drinking together for a couple of ahn, but it occurred to me that I had not yet checked on my lovely slave girl.
I was in an excellent mood, refreshed by good camp food, with a belly full of wine, the friendship of good men, and memories of drinking with those lovely huntresses, Mishka and Kulai. Life on Gor suddenly seemed good in ways I had never considered when I was a collared silk slave. Gor was a man’s world, and as a free man I could, it seems, claim my natural birth right in the Gorean culture.
I thought of the lovely Mishka as I walked through the cavalry camp. Kulai was lovely too, but it was Mishka, I think, who had really caught my eye. Kulai, however, had been visibly flirting with me, as she had chosen to adjust the drape of the white ribbon in her bound hair on at least two occasions, surreptitiously lifting the line of her breasts each time.
Yes, there were many good things to say about Gor, if you were a man.
And, I supposed, there are good things to say about Gor if you are a woman who yearns to express her natural femininity. Surely, Gor is a place you might yearn for if you wished to embrace the truth of your sex? But that is just supposition on my part, for I am not a woman.
Kelsee, however, is a woman, and I felt it was high time I checked how she was doing. Besides which, I felt a desire now to lie with a woman for a time, and enjoy the pleasures that a slave could offer me.
Yes, a slave. As the days progressed, that is how I began to think of Kelsee: as a true slave, slipping effortlessly into her bondage. It would be a shame to see her free again in Corcyrus. But for now she wore a collar, and while she wore a collar she would live and serve me as a slave girl. I stretched my arms and felt good with myself. I needed Kelsee, now. I needed her in my arms. Women give men a reason for living.
I say true slave, because I had noticed what she had said in front of Stannis Assante earlier today. She had spoken words to the effect of, ‘yes, I am a slave, only a slave, a natural slave.’ She had been flustered, excited, responding to natural hormones in her body, saying things she didn’t understand, but rather things that she felt deep inside; things about herself that on an sub-conscious level knew to be true. I doubt she even considered the enormity of the words she had spoken. They had just spilled out from her mouth. But on Gor, those words, and words like them, are effectively a legal form of self-enslavement.
No one would have paid the words much attention. Kelsee was apparently already a slave, as far as they could tell, and so the power of the words was irrelevant. Only I had noticed, because only I knew her true legal status. Luckily for Kelsee, I am not Gorean, and I do not think a woman should be a legal slave just because she speaks such words. I wasn’t brought up that way. But had I been a Gorean…
There’s no doubting though, that thigh would look lovely with a kef brand indelibly marked upon it.
But I am an Earth man. It is not in my nature to brand women. Such things are barbaric and cruel, even if they are deeply erotic in nature.
It was a beautiful evening, warm but fresh at the same time. There were all manner of campfires lit, with men seated around them, more for comradeship and socialising than an actual need for warmth. The more I thought about Kelsee, the more I longed for her body, pressed helplessly to mine. It had been too many ahn since I had last seen her. I felt her absence acutely. Was this love? No, I didn’t think it was, for I knew in my heart of hearts the girl I truly desired above all else still served in a paga tavern in Argentum, but Kelsee, I think, now came a close second. I had lit slave fires in her belly, as the Gorean saying goes, and she had lit the fires of a master in mine. We complimented each other perfectly, and through her I was beginning to appreciate some of the things Gor offered. I think she felt the same way, for all her protests that she couldn’t wait until we reached Corcyrus.
My sex drive had certainly increased since I had come to Gor, and I think Kelsee’s sex drive was still increasing exponentially as the collar exerted its steady influence on her body. As a mistress, she had put me to use maybe two or three times a week at first, then dropping to once or twice a week, as the novelty of owning me wore off, and then only once a week towards the end. It was almost as if having to dominate me was frustrating for her in some form. Perhaps she truly desired something else, but didn’t understand how and where to find it? But now, as a helpless slave, she craved my touch and my domination constantly.
Was I coming to terms with Gor? Perhaps. I had friends now, as unexpected as that might seem, and they were good and loyal friends. I had no doubt that were I threatened, they would draw steel and stand by me, and, I guess I would do the same for them. I liked Rolfe, and Rollo and Hergessvar. They were good men. They lived by strict codes, which is more than I could say for most Earth men I have known.
And I seemingly owned a beautiful, exciting, vibrant, sensual, passionate, slave girl in my collar.
How rich that is, to actually own a woman – to know she belongs to you, and to see her falling in love with her state of bondage.
I wanted her now, so badly. Would she be feeling the same way, chained to a slave post in the kennel encampment? Would she be lying there, feeling alone, abandoned, desperately wishing and hoping I might return?
I rounded a set of military tents and walked past a couple of supply tents. Just thinking of Kelsee now put fire in my blood. Is this what it is to be a master on Gor? Is this what it means to truly be a man?
Yes, despite the fact I didn’t even own a single copper task coin, despite the fact I was stranded on this strange world, I actually felt happy and content. Life was good.
I passed between two supply tents and suddenly stopped, surprised by what I saw. There was a Free Woman filling a leather skin sack with water from a barrel. She wore a long, modest gown, with a hem line that fell to mid-calf length, beneath which she wore a pair of black boots. This is a sensible combination away from the cities, because the floor length hems of city gowns would soon be streaked with mud if worn in a wilderness setting. The perfect compromise for a modest woman is to raise the hem slightly to mid-calf height and wear calf high boots to ensure no hint of skin can be seen.
I hadn’t known there were any Free Women in this camp, other than the mounted huntresses, of course. I watched as the woman lifted the water skin by its strap and placed it over her shoulder. I watched as she turned round, and then I saw that she wasn’t veiled. Not only that, but…
“Mishka?” I said, surprised.
She seemed startled for a moment. The light was dim, and I had seemingly appeared from nowhere. But then she recognised my voice.
“Yes. I am fetching water.” She looked a very different person now. There was no suggestion that many ahn earlier she had been riding a tharlarion, hunting men with her short bow. Now she wore feminine gowns. She was no longer a huntress.
“Ah,” she smiled, realising the source of my confusion. “Yes. Of course. You know us as fierce, bold, huntresses, but we do in fact each harbour a secret.”
“And that is?”
“We are also women.”
“That much is now obvious.”
“I am not hunting now, and so I dress differently.” She stood there in her Turian gown. “I dress as a woman.”
“A lovely woman.”
“That word again,” she said with a smile. She looked anxiously around. We were between tents, away from the lantern lights, away from prying eyes. “Do I seem ridiculous now? Too feminine?”
“No, not at all. As I said, lovely.”
She seemed a little anxious. “You must excuse me – the iron bell will soon sound the eighteenth ahn.”
“What happens then?”
“The huntresses must retire to their tent. The men tolerate us by day, but as night banishes the day, men wish to enjoy themselves without Free Women present. Camp slaves dance by the camp fires and men will drink paga. After the eighteenth ahn is sounded, it would not be safe for us in this torch lit camp.”
Some men have been drinking paga all day, I thought to myself, thinking of Rolfe. “You are confined to your tent at night?”
“Yes.” Mishka regarded me. “By the decree of Stannis Assante. All women must retire and not appear again until daybreak.”
“All Free Women?” I corrected her.
“Of course. Other types of women will be brought forth from the palisade, once we are hidden inside our canvas drapes.”
As if on cue, I heard the tolling of an iron bell.
“It is the beginning of the eighteenth ahn! The bell will sound a second time in five ehn, by which time I must be gone for the night.” She looked around, quickly.
“And if you are caught outside your tent after the second bell has sounded?”
Mishka looked embarrassed. “It will not happen.”
“May I escort you then, back to your tent?”
I carried the water for her. I insisted in fact.
“I can carry water,” she remarked as she paced beside me. “I am far from helpless.”
“I know.”
Three cavalry men, seated around a fire, gazed up at Mishka as she passed their camp. “The eighteenth bell has sounded, woman,” said one of the men.
“I know,” said Mishka. She quickened her pace.
“You are forbidden to be here, after the sounding of the eighteenth bell,” said the second man.
“There are still a few ehn, and my tent is within sight,” she said, angrily, to the men. She clenched her fists, not enjoying being chided.
“Let her linger awhile until the second bell sounds,” said the third man, smiling. “it will be amusing to see her stripped, dancing before us with the other slaves, almost naked, save for ankle bells and a few silk sashes.”
“We must go now,” she said quickly to me. “The tent is over there.” She hurried, taking short, quick steps, in the way women on Gor do. She reached her tent in time and turned to take the water sack from my hands. “Go now. The night belongs to men.”
She entered the tent and quickly drew the canvas closed, but not before I had a momentary glimpse of the other huntresses inside, lying on soft cushions, drinking wine.
Now a new life seemed to be stirring in the camp. Men began to gather in the centre of the camp where the largest of the camp fires had been built. A space had been cleared, and with it a channel leading to the slave palisade, which was where I was originally headed before I was distracted by the sight of Mishka.
I could see torches burning brightly and lanterns lit at the adjacent enclosure which formed an entrance through to the inner palisade, where earlier today I had stood when I had rendered Kelsee into the care of the kennel master. I counted seventeen camp slaves gathered in that space, no longer chained to the slave posts. They were belled at the ankles, dressed in wisps of pleasure silk that fluttered around them. Their faces were beautifully made up with slave cosmetics, and no doubt they were perfumed. They gathered together, anxiously, under the ready whips of a couple of slave handlers who gave them last minutes instructions. They were obviously the entertainment for tonight.
I hurried forward, suddenly fearing the worst.
They were all beauties, every last one of the girls. And dressed and made up as they were, their natural beauty was enhanced a thousand fold. I could hear the jingling of slave bells as they moved, pacing anxiously, nervous for what they must soon do. And there amongst them was Kelsee, her face also painted with slave cosmetics, with light, transparent, gossamer silk scarves fluttering about her otherwise naked body. Slave bells were fastened to her right wrist and left ankle. She looked incredible.
“That is my slave,” I said, angrily. “What is going on?”
“Master!” she cried. She tried to rush to me, but the whip of a slave handler cracked on the ground close to her feet and she shrank back.
As I neared her, I saw there was something different about the way she had been prepared, compared with the other girls. She wore a metal belt around her slim waist. A secondary curved bar hinged down from the centre of that belt, and came between her thighs, hugging close to her sex, to be padlocked shut at a clasp situated at the back. It was some sort of chastity belt,
“What is this? What are you doing with my slave?” I asked.
The kennel master was suddenly here before me. “By order of Stannis Assante, the girls in the palisade serve after the eighteenth bell has sounded.”
“I did not give permission for this. She is my slave.”
The kennel master shrugged. “We have put her in an iron belt. She will not be put to use in that way. But if you have issue with this, speak to Stannis Assante, but choose your words carefully, for he is master in this camp.”
“I don’t care if he’s one of the Priest Kings,” I said, taking hold of Kelsee’s left wrist and pulling the silk clad beauty to me, “no one orders my slave to serve them without my say so.”
I stared the kennel master down as Kelsee shrank into my arms. She felt good there, and my defence of her made me want her even more than before. I’m no warrior by caste, but I can look after myself, and I’m handy with my fists if need be.
While the kennel master considered how best to respond to my defiance, I drew Kelsee with me as I quickly left the palisade enclosure.
“They were going to have me dance and serve men,” she sobbed. “I was ordered to prepare my face with slave cosmetics, and then I had bells and silks placed upon my body.”
She looked incredible. I drew her aside and held her tightly, feeling the wisps of silk flutter about her thighs in the soft evening breeze. No Free Woman would wear slave cosmetics, but on a slave they looked incredible.
“Send that slave over here,” cried a man who sat by a fire with three other men. He referred to Kelsee.
“She is mine,” I said.
“It is past the sounding of the eighteenth ahn,” he said. “All slaves serve.”
“Not this one.”
The men did not seem happy to hear me say that. One of them rose, dusting down his tunic, as he stared at me and Kelsee. When he took his first step in our direction, I led Kelsee quickly away, between some supply tents.
“Slave! Over here!” cried another group of men, on the other side of the tent, as they saw us. “Dance for us in your silks.” The men laughed.
This time I ignored the demands and simply kept moving. This was a nightmare. Everywhere I looked or went, there were men eagerly awaiting the camp slaves to serve in the various fashions that lovely collared women do before men.
Nowhere was safe for Kelsee now.
“They locked a belt upon me, but I was told I would be expected to use my mouth to please men,” she said. She seemed terrified.
“That’s not going to happen. You’re my slave.”
“Yes!” she cried. “I’m yours, Master. Yours! I am your property!”
I don’t think she understood the enormity of what she was saying, but she made me feel aroused by speaking those words through her scarlet painted lips. The lipstick served to make her lips seem larger than before, even more enticing and desirable. But there was no time to taste my slave. We had to keep moving.
“Where are we going?” she asked, breathlessly. The small lengths of silk fluttered about her thighs as we walked quickly towards the perimeter of the camp. We stopped suddenly, hearing the snarling of camp sleen further ahead. The camp perimeter would be guarded by camp sleen, and they would assume we were intruders once we emerged from the perimeter line. We had to go back, back into the camp.
The perimeter of a camp is often scented by the sleen handlers, who then walk the sleen about the area, so that the sleen understand the line they must patrol. Anything they encounter beyond that line is to be considered prey. Returning sentries of course know the passwords for the night, and when hearing hem, sleen handlers will order the sleen to stand down, long enough for the sentries to return to the camp, and their replacements head out into the night.
“Please, Master,” she begged. “Don’t give them to me. Please.”
“Are you my slave?” I asked.
“Yes! You own me! I’m your slave! Your property! I belong to you! You must know that! You must know I am yours, your property!”
Again, surely she didn’t understand the enormity of those words – words that once spoken cannot be taken back.
“I own you legally, completely?’
“Yes! Please, Master, don’t give me to those men.”
“Hide here.” I found some piles of sack cloth heaped together underneath a wagon. “Stay very still. Do not move.”
I thrust the lovely girl in her dancing silks under the sacking. She wriggled into place and held herself very still. I looked around and saw that no one had seen what I had done.
“I love you, Master,” Kelsee whispered in the darkness as she lay hidden. “I am your slave. I love you.”
I didn’t know whether I could believe that. She spoke of love, but she had lied to me before, in Montana, when she had told me about Cindy. I thought instead of the lovely Fliss, still serving in the paga tavern in Argentum, Fliss to whom I had promised I would return and free her. Did she still cling to that forlorn hope as the days and weeks went by with no sign of me again? And yet in recent weeks Fliss had been far from my thoughts as I lay instead with Kelsee, enjoying her body each night by the firelight. Perhaps what I wanted, what I really wanted, was Fliss as my Free Companion and Kelsee as my slave girl. Perhaps.
“Stay quiet. Don’t move.” I straightened up and moved away from the wagon. I could hear music now. Several of the warriors were playing instruments as lovely collared camp slaves, garbed in ankle bells and dancing silks, were herded and sent to the camp fires to dance for the men, to then serve them wine and paga, and, later, no doubt, serve them in far more intimate ways. There were cries of delight as the warriors saw the girls for the first time tonight. There were cheers and clapping in time to the savage beat of the music.
I saw girls, unskilled in dancing, nevertheless dancing beautifully, sensuously, drawing from some innate knowledge of how to move their bodies – knowledge that lies inside every woman when she is placed inside a collar.
I walked between the camp fires, marvelling at these girls, dancing between grasping hands as men cheered and groped them. One girl was pulled from her feet into the laps of two men who passed her around kissing and caressing her thighs and breasts, before she was then released and told to keep dancing. She cried out, flustered, aroused by the way she had been roughly handled, as she continued to dance in time to the erotic music.
I saw a dark skinned girl thrown to her belly, her thighs parted, as a man was about to take and enter her, before he was pulled away by his fellows.
“Later, Drusus,” they said, as the man struggled, frustrated. “Let the lovely sluts dance and serve first.”
The girl scrambled to her feet, her eyes wild, her silks in disarray. She knew well what her fate would be later when the dancing and the serving of drinks was at an end.
The warriors fought hard, and at night those not on sentry duty would play hard.
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