Secrets of Gor Chapter Twenty Five

 

The man settled down into the snug, facing Sadric across the table. He was a frontiersman, bearded, dressed in warm garments, perhaps a woodsman by trade.

 

“I am Tarvinn the Tracker. For ten copper tarsks a day I can guide you through the forest safely, for I know the old tracks, the ones long forgotten, the ones that even the Panther girls do not use.”

 

Tarvinn was the fifth such man who had spoken to us over the last couple of days. I knelt beside Sadric, or rather, lay beside him, gazing up at Tarvinn. He seemed distracted for some reason that probably had nothing to do with my semi-nudity. I wore a green cloth skirt about my hips, heavy bangles on my wrists, a costume necklace that dangled low between my breasts, and large hooped earrings. My breasts were exposed to the man’s view as he discussed employment with Sadric. I smiled at this as I lay my arms about my Master and kissed him at the base of his neck. 

 

“Your slave girl is very pretty,” he added as he shifted slightly where he sat.

 

“Yes she is,” said Sadric with a grin. “She pleases me very much.”

 

“Let me please you some more, Master,” I said softly. 

 

“She was once a high born Free Woman of Vonda,” explained Sadric.

 

“Hard to believe,” said Tarvinn. “She wore robes and veils?”

 

Sadric nodded.

 

“Incredible.” 

 

As I raised my left arm, the heavy bangles jingled against one another, making a pleasing sound. 

 

Sadric’s intention was to journey north west from here, to travel by the most direct route to the Cosian encampment, where this Governor might be found. The direct routes, unfortunately, were also the most dangerous. The common sense approach would be to travel instead by tarn freight, which is how many people chose to arrive at the Cosian encampment. There was considerable movement by air of both freight and people. Slave girls of course count as freight. But Sadric understood that to arrive by tarn would be to court attention, for the common folk could not afford to travel that way. Sadric wished to appear inconspicuous. 

 

“That’s an interesting tattoo,” remarked Sadric as he motioned towards an ink mark that was only partially visible under the man’s sleeve. Quickly he hid it under the cloth. 

 

“It is nothing,” remarked Tarvinn. “A passing folly from my youth.”

 

“Ah, haven’t we all been there and done that,” said Sadric with a smile. “But for a moment, you must forgive me, for a moment it reminded me of the brash designs frequently worn by the notorious Carstein outlaws.’

 

“The Carstein outlaws?” said Tarvinn with a passive face. “I really don’t know who they might be.”

 

“Oh, rogues of the worst kind.” Sadric leaned forward slightly in the snug and I tried not to smile too obviously. “They lurk in the forest with impunity, hoping to waylay honest travellers. Sometimes they send one of their own to trading posts in the hope of luring naïve strangers to a dark and lonely place where they might be murdered, and their beautiful slave girls then stolen.”

 

“They sound like unpleasant people,” suggested Tarvinn. “I have just recalled a prior appointment. If you will excuse me?”

 

“Of course,” said Sadric, with a warm smile. “Such things happen.”

 

A few ehn later I was in Sadric’s lap again as he stroked my naked breasts.

 

“They’ve all been outlaws, so far, Master. They all want to steal Marissa and me. We are having problems finding a trustworthy guide.”

 

“I can’t fault their good taste,” said Sadric. “I would want to steal you, if I was an outlaw.”

 

“Oh?” I smiled and curled my body next to him. “And why is that?”

 

“Because you are the most sensual slave girl I have ever enjoyed in the furs.”

 

“I hope that means you have enjoyed many, many, slave girls to date, so it is a valid comparison?”

 

“Sadly you’re the first,” he said with a laugh.

 

“Beast!” I nudged him, but then curled up again. “But, truly, Master, how many before me?”

 

“Enough to know the distinction.” He reached over, tilted my head and kissed me full on the lips. It was a Master’s kiss and it made me flush when I came up for air. “Are you jealous, my little kajira?”

 

“Of other girls you’ve had? Of course not.” I paused, and then added, “Yes! I hate them all! I would scratch their eyes out!”

 

We both laughed, though I did mean those words. 

 

“You wear my collar.” He turned the steel around my neck.

 

“I wear your collar.”

 

“You have a kef.” He touched my brand that was now healed.

 

“I have a kef.”

 

“Slave,” he said.

 

“Slave,” I said. 

 

“I think you kept the Lady Marissa awake much of last night. I could hear her turning, frustrated, in her chains on the other side of the room. You can be noisy.”

 

“So?” I pawed at his chest. 

 

“Perhaps I should put her to use one night, instead of you?”

 

“No. That would be a very bad idea, Master.”

 

“Oh, and why is that, my pretty little kajira?”

 

“She doesn’t know how to please you. Not like I can.”

 

“I wish this place had curtained pleasure alcoves.”

 

“As do I, Master, as do I.”

 

We returned to our room where Marissa sat sulking. She had been chained by her collar ring to a slave ring in the room for safekeeping while Sadric and I interviewed possible guides. As we entered, she looked up with hope.

 

“Did you buy some veils and robes?” she asked.

 

“Ah.’ Sadric was genuinely forgetful at times. “I knew there was something…”

 

Marissa whimpered as she clutched at the heavy chain that descended from her collar. “There is no need for me to be dressed as a slave here! It was supposed to only be to facilitate the ease of our travels north.”

 

“Unchain your sister, Cassie,” said Sadric as he lay down on the bed. I did so, the key from Sadric’s belt pouch. Soon Marissa was free from the slave ring, and the first thing she did as she stood up, was to tug down her brief tunic hem an extra hort and a half. Then she regarded my naked breasts with derision.

 

I suddenly felt self-conscious that I was the only girl exposed like this. I gazed round at Sadric and gave him a pleading look, good enough that he nodded. Quickly, I scampered to the side of the room where my slave tunic lay, and slipping out of the green skirt, pulled the tunic on over my body. A few ehn later it began raining outside again, and I sat, watching as the rain droplets struck the window and trickled down the glass pane.

 

Sadric lay on his back, staring up  the ceiling, apparently lost in thought. He did this sometimes when he was working out his next move. I slipped onto the bed beside him and lay quietly by his side as Marissa paced about the room, restless and bored. I felt a sense of contentment, despite the occasional anxiety that churned knots in my stomach when I considered the dangers that lay ahead. For now I could relax and savour the moment. I touched my collar and marvelled at the fact that I felt now a sort of inner peace these last few days. 

 

No, these last few weeks. 

 

How is that I could feel a sense of contentment when I belonged to a man? When I wore his collar.

 

Collar. Just the thought of it, locked inflexibly around my neck, proclaiming me as a man’s property, thrilled me to my core. I shouldn’t feel such raw emotions.

 

And, yet, I did. All the anxieties and stress I felt as a Free Woman seemed long gone – a distant memory from the past. My concerns were now simple enough – obeying my Master, and truth be told, his expectations weren’t so terrible, really. He was a handsome young man, of the kind I would probably have gazed at in Vonda when I thought no one was looking at me. In some strange way that I couldn’t fathom, the collar and brand seemed liberating.

 

As a slave, I enjoyed (mostly guilt free) sexual experiences that I couldn’t even imagine as a Free Woman. My pleasure was heightened by so many things – the collar (yes!), the bondage (yes!) and the total submission to a strong man (yes!). How marvellous it seemed now to fully submit to a man, and to know he owned me – literally owned me. My will meant nothing to him. 

 

As the rain continued to fall outside, I drifted into a pleasant slumber. 

 

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It was on our fourth night of camping, well beyond the territorial confines of Vonda, that Sadric decided to enjoy me.

 

I watched as he chained Marissa to a tree for the night, but when I expected him to do the same with me, he simply pointed to the sleeping furs he had laid out beside the camp fire.

 

“No,” I said, as I backed slowly away.

 

“The need is upon me, pretty kajira,” he remarked. “I’m curious, also, to see how much you learned in the House of Andronicus.”

 

“I agreed to kill the Cosian Governor for the Sardar. I said nothing about sleeping with you.”

 

“It’s not ‘sleeping’ that I’m interested in.”

 

“I’m a Free Woman!”

 

“Hardly. You are a legal slave. You have no say in the matter.” He began to approach, and so I began to circle away from him, clenching my hands into fists. “You plan on fighting me?” He laughed.

 

I punched out at him, and I think he had been expecting it, for he swatted aside my hand. Instead of striking me back, he suddenly swept his foot out and tripped me. As I stumbled, he seized my hair and pulled me over onto my back. Suddenly he was on top of me, pinning my wrists together above my head as I struggled. 

 

“Well, this is exhilarating,” he said.

 

I hissed and snapped my teeth at him, but I couldn’t get close enough with my face to bite.

 

And then he just held me like that for an ehn or two as I struggled wildly beneath the weight of his body. When eventually my resistance subsided, he gazed into my eyes.  

 

“Perhaps I should whip you?”

 

I began struggling again, calling him all manner of foul names, such as ‘beast’ and ‘tarsk, and ‘sleen’. And then, when I wasn’t paying full attention, he suddenly kissed me full on the lips and held me there, pressed down into the grass, in kissing position. 

 

Slowly, my resistance became less wild and after two ehn I began to enjoy the kissing. At some point he must have released my wrists, for I felt his hands caressing my thighs where I lay. 

 

“Oh!” I cried. 

 

“Do you want me to stop?” He asked.

 

“Yes!”

 

“Too bad, kajira.” He kissed me again and continued to stroke my thighs. Unseen, I scrabbled with my left hand and found a pointed stone. My hand clenched around it and I lifted it to strike him on the temple at the side of his head. One good blow would hopefully stun him, if not outright kill him. One good blow is all it would…

 

“Ohhhh!” I wriggled helplessly, overcome by some exhilarating sensations coursing through my body as his fingers reached between my thighs. “Ohhh!”

 

I dropped the sharp stone. 

 

Six ehn later we were in the furs, Sadric had my thighs apart, I was lying on my back, and Sadric had roughly entered me.

 

“You can’t do this!” I cried, as I gripped hold of him tightly, rocking backwards and forwards against the furs. “You can’t…” I gasped, “do…” I gasped again, “this…”

 

Another eight ehn later, I was now turned onto my hands and knees, Sadric holding onto my hips, continuing to ride me, as I tore clumps of grass from the ground in my excitement. 

 

I was then turned onto my side as Sadric lay behind me, entering me again, and stimulating me from the front with his fingers while he thrust from behind. 

 

I was no longer thinking of sharp stones.  

 

Sadric finished by turning me onto my back again, lifting my legs up against his chest, tilting my sex towards his hips, and then, bringing my legs together, holding them to his shoulder, thrust and rode me towards our climax, that came powerfully for me when he moved my legs to cross them at the ankles, with the soles of my feet touching his chest, rocking me backwards and forwards with each wonderful thrust. 

 

After we had both climaxed, and after we lay silently together for a while, Sadric picked up and pressed a stone into my left hand. “I think you dropped this,” he said.

 

“Perhaps.” I held the stone between my fingers and turned it in the palm of my hand. “I may use this next time you take me.”

 

“Is there going to be a next time?” enquired Sadric. 

 

“I presume so.” I felt his lips brush mine once again. “You seem to be that sort of man.”

 

“And what sort is that?” asked Sadric, in-between kisses. 

 

“The impulsive, demanding type, who has no regard for a Lady’s feelings. I hate that sort of man. Hence the stone.”

 

“Oh, that kind.” Again he planted further kisses on my lips and throat. “Perhaps that is true, though I should point out you are hardly a Lady. You are a slave.”

 

“Don’t say that!” I gripped him tightly with my thighs, for he had parted them while I lay on my back. 

 

“Slave girl,” he said again. “Soft, sensual, submissive, slave girl.”

 

“I will be a Free Woman again!”

 

“And you will be frustrated when that day comes, and you will hate the man who frees you. But that man will not be me.”

 

“What?”

 

“I will never free you. That would be a ridiculous thing to do. Others, less sensible than I, will no doubt do that. The Lady Donna, and her companion, Victor. But not me. I do not think you should be free, but I have no say in the matter.”

 

“You would keep me as a slave?” I felt a deep stirring in my body as I considered this.

 

“If I had the choice, if the decision was down to me, then yes. Slave you would remain. It would be a kindness, I think. You will not be happy living in robes and veils again.”

 

“You don’t know me. You know nothing about me.”

 

“I know your body, and I know how it responds to a man’s domination of you in the furs.” As if to prove his point, he stroked between my open thighs with his free hand. “But perhaps you are right. Perhaps I should offer a concession to your modesty, and chain you now to the tree, beside the Lady Marissa. Together you can reassure one another of your frigid virtue.”

 

The furs were snug and warm, and the touch of Sadric’s hands rather pleasing. I shook my head.

 

“What does that mean, so-called Free Woman?”

 

“Do not chain me to the tree.” I buried my face against his shoulder.

 

“Oh? You would rather remain in these furs tonight?”

 

I said nothing.

 

“I see. I suspect you do not truly know what you do want.” He separated himself from me and I felt the chillness of the night air as he pulled the furs from my naked body. I didn’t want his. I wanted to spend the night feeling cosy and warm, where I could savour the pleasure I still felt from his taking of me. Emerging from the furs, emerging from the touch of his body against mine, was something of a rude awakening. “Cover yourself, then, so-called Free Woman.” He thrust my rep cloth tunic to me. I pulled the garment about my body and looked up at him as he locked a chain leash to my collar ring. 

 

“Please let me share yours furs tonight.”

 

He said nothing, but forced me to my feet and took me back to the tree trunk where Marissa was lying there, watching me closely. Sadric wound the chain around the trunk and locked it tightly with a padlock. I felt the grass beneath my body as I lay down and took some of the blanket that Marissa had artfully wrapped around herself. 

 

“Now you can remind yourself how glorious it is to be a Free Woman,” said Sadric. 

 

As Sadric turned and walked back to the warm furs, laid out by the camp fire, I felt Marissa turn and whisper the single word, “slut.”

 

“There are two kinds of slave training,” said Sadric as he lifted me onto the front of the war saddle of the tharlarion, the next morning. “You are familiar, of course, with the first kind, from your months in the House of Andronicus. That teaches you how to be pleasing to a man.” I only sat on the saddle upright for a few moments before he bent my body forward and tied my outstretched wrists to the slave ring. “Today, as we ride, I will instruct you in the other kind of slave training.” He took first my left ankle, and then my right ankle and tied each of those to rings stitched into the sides of the saddle. I was now spread across the front of the saddle, my bottom slightly raised before where he would sit. I was helpless, tied on my belly, with my legs spread open. I could not look at him. I could only look ahead and, by adjusting my view, slightly to either side. “The second type of slave training educates your body to take pleasure from the touch of a man. I speak of the kind of pleasure that a Free Woman could never feel. Did you know, Cassie, that Free Women are reassuringly frigid?”

 

“Yes.” I squirmed in my tight bindings. That wasn’t precisely true, of course, but I wasn’t going to suggest otherwise. 

 

“Free Women have no interest in sex, as they do not derive much pleasure from it. Their bodies are incapable. It is what makes them so priceless and demure and respected. Only slaves derive pleasure from the touch of a man.” He mounted the tharlarion, having already tethered the Lady Marissa by her collar leash. And then, as we began to ride, he began to touch me.

 

“Ohh!” I moaned, some seven ehn later. The sensations were exquisite, as he caressed and stimulated me. I was helpless! The combination of the tight bondage and the stimulating arousal had me quivering, as I lay secured across the broad leather saddle.

 

“A slave can be stimulated like this for many ahn,” explained Sadric, “provided the Master does not bring her to climax. The female body is capable of extended periods of stimulation. Did you know that?”

 

I shook my head, pulling hard at my restraints. 

 

“It is almost as if the female body is designed to respond to the touch of a man. I speak of slaves, of course, not noble Free Women.”

 

Sadric would not place his fingers inside my sex. That would be too intense, and he wanted me to simply writhe and squirm as we rode through the countryside, growing more and more aroused, but never coming anywhere near a climax.

 

“This is the second form of slave training, and it is training that the slaver house recommends when a girl is purchased. In this way she soon bonds with her new Master, becoming desperate to please him, knowing the pleasure she will receive from his touch. The Master, too, begins to know and understand his girl. No two slaves are ever the same. I am learning what sort of touch, and where, excites you the most. Here for example.” 

 

“Ohhhhhhhh!” 

 

“You see, that is one of your erogenous zones. Another slave might be equally sensitive somewhere else. The Lady Marissa of course would not squirm this way, for despite her collar and brand, she is a Free Woman who is chaste and frigid.” He glanced down at her and smiled as she paced alongside the loping gait of the tharlarion, refusing to look at us. “A slave is also able to enhance her experience, through her imagination. Take your collar, for example. Think of it, Cassie. Think of the steel band, locked about your throat, and what it means. You cannot remove it. It is there, marking you a slave. Declaring to the whole world what you are – property. You will always feel it. You will always be aware of it. It will never be removed. It makes you feel submissive, doesn’t it?”

 

Listening to his words I felt an even deeper thrill as I imagined how I must look in this collar. And yes, the thought was exciting, stimulating, in conjunction with the touch of his hand. I had never realised how sexually stimulating it might be to wear a slave collar! Did girls secretly grow to love their collar? 

 

“It is locked on you, Cassie, against your will. How can you be anything but submissive in a collar.”

 

And I did. I felt very submissive now, and it felt glorious. I wore a collar! I tried to press my sex against his hand, but he moved it aside. I wanted him to enter me! I felt so wet inside.

 

I remained in a heightened state of submissive arousal for the whole day and could barely stand when we made camp that night. 

 

“We are going to play a game tonight,” said Sadric, in the darkness, by the camp fire. The Lady Marissa was once again chained by her collar chain to the nearest tree. I on the other hand, lay on my back in the darkness, instructed to lie the way a Free Woman might. My body quivered with need. “I am going to make use of you, the way you would expect a man to take pleasure from a Free Woman. Gently, softly, pausing if you seem distressed.” He rolled the hem of my tunic up past my thighs. He was already hard and stiff and needed no stimulation from my hands. He slowly and carefully entered me. 

 

I gasped, feeling my body craving this and more. But then he just lay there beside me for a while, having penetrated me, now gazing into my eyes, sweeping a lock of hair away, watching how I clenched his manhood and urged it to move.

 

“No,” he said as he felt my vaginal muscles ripple. “A Free Woman does not do that. Lie still, Cassie, and do not move.”

 

“Please..” I begged.

 

“This is how it is to be a Free Woman.” He kissed me softly and tenderly, barely brushing my lips with his. And then he made a few gentle thrusts and stopped as he saw my body respond. “Again, no. You are responding. If you do that again Cassie, I shall have to whip you. A Free Woman does not respond.”

 

“Treat me as a slave!” I begged. “A slave!”

 

Sadric laughed. “You can only be one or the other on this journey, Cassie. Which is it to be?”

 

“I’m a slave! Put me to use! As a slave girl! Please!”

 

And so he did.