The Paga Diaries (10) by Arizona Wanderer: ‘Lenta, Kaissa and an Altercation’

 

I had left Mirus’s home in early afternoon - I think maybe during the twelfth ahn - and I was walking back to my apartment.  But I didn’t want to go to my apartment.  There was nothing there and being there bored me.  I have been blessed in my life to not really suffer from boredom.  I have always been able to entertain or content myself with my surroundings.  Luckily, I have lived most of my life near mountains and they draw my attention.  I can’t imagine living in some featureless flat place like Nebraska.  I am never bored during my wanderings.  Quite the opposite, wanderings usually offered something new to look at or people to interact with.  Maybe I needed a better apartment.

 

I was hungry again and stopped at a street vendor selling fresh baked meat pies.  I was curious about how they were baked in a small brick oven mounted on a cart.  I had smelled the pies for at least five ehn before finding them.

 

While I walked, eating my delicious steaming bosk and cheese pie, with a golden crispy crust, I thought about my extraordinary time at Mirus’s.  After the exhausting swim with Mirus and Lina, I had a large hearty breakfast and went back to my room.  

 

The bathroom in my room was a luxury.  Not only did it have a sink with running water, but it also had a mirror, which I hadn’t really noticed before.  Now, I was really curious what the treatment had done to my appearance, especially after Lina’s spirited reaction to seeing me. 

 

My first look in the mirror, was, I must admit, a bit of a shock.  I have never considered myself ugly but as one ages, one gets used to, incrementally, the various imperfections that appear from time to time on one’s body.  To see the fresh face from a dozen years ago appear in the mirror was astounding.  Delightfully shocking.  

 

I have always had a very healthy head of hair, though grey for over a decade, and my whiskers create thick relentless stubble every morning.  I had shaved myself bald many days ago, getting rid of my grey hair that was a freak flag on Gor.  Bald was also a very rare thing to see on a man in the streets, so I wore a hat.  I noticed a lot less staring, wearing the hat and no grey hair showing. This morning in the mirror I noticed no grey in my stubble!  My whiskers were blond again and I even saw red ones, mixed in here and there like from years past.  

 

I also noticed that the wrinkles that had been on my forehead were gone.  Actually, I couldn’t find any wrinkles on my face!  Amazing!  The skin under my chin was also tighter.  My entire face was now tighter.

 

I was busy examining myself in the bathroom mirror when I heard a slight knock on a door.  “May I come in Master?” a woman said.  I had left the bedroom door open.  As I left the bathroom and walked to the door I answered, “Yes, enter.”

 

A short, nude, collared woman with light brown hair walked into the room.  She took three steps towards me and went down on all fours near the couch.  She positioned herself so that her ass was presented to me.  Her knees were spread and her back was arched.  “I have been sent to serve you Master, I beg use Master,” she said.  I stepped closer to see who Mirus had sent me.

 

Her rump had some width from extra pounds and her hips were thick.  Even hanging down in her position, her breasts looked small but had large nipples.  Her stomach was plump, but not excessively so.  Her body had some appealing curves and though heavy, she was not unattractive.  I was easily aroused, mostly from my unquenched desire for the wet swimming with Lina, from before.  This woman presenting herself in this submissive pose was stirring my blood.  I was tempted to mount her from behind without delay. 

 

She had not moved her head to look at me since she had put herself on the floor.  She looked straight ahead remaining on all fours while I came to her.  I sat on the floor beside her left flank.  I looked at her brand, a kef, but slightly misshapen, like a smudged letter.  I think this brand had not been done right.  But it was clearly a kef, marking her forever as a slave, owned as property.

 

“I am wet and ready for use Master,” she said.  I ran my right hand down her flank, my fingers going over her brand, coming to rest on her ass cheek.  She trembled with this touch.  “I will feel how wet are you,” I said, sliding my hand down into her nether crack.  She was wet, I could feel her oil as it was seeping out of her.  I slowly put a finger in and she moaned.  I put another finger in and her hips moved towards them as she moaned again.

“What is your name, slave?” I asked, my fingers sliding in and out of her.

 

“Whatever name pleases you Master,”  she said, her breathing starting to get heavy. 

 

“What you are called in this house?” I asked, keeping my fingers going.

 

“I am called Lenta, Master,” she said, her voice quivering.

 

“Lenta is wet, very wet,” I said. 

 

“Yes Master, please use Lenta Master,” she said loudly. 

 

I increased the frequency with my fingers in her, adding a slight curl to my fingers at random intervals.  Her hips started to quake and she yelled out.  “Oh, oh, oh, Master, oh, please, oh, ohhhhh!”  I kept my fingers inside her as she climaxed and I sat up and grabbed her giggling breast, hard, with my other hand.  I kept a grip on her now with both hands, holding on to her as her wave of pleasure crested.  I took my hands away and watched her breathing start to slow down.  Her pale body had red splotches in places.  

 

“Thank you Master!” she said.

 

I got up on the couch and lay on my side, so that I could watch her calming down.  She had gotten there so fast.  I think within three ehn of me touching her, she had come.  She remained in position, on all fours, next to the couch.  It had not been my intention to pleasure her so with my hand.  It started with a test of her oil and heat and her reaction had led me to continue.  The Gorean phrase for slave pudding came to mind.  I had enjoyed having my fingers in her pudding.  Now it was my turn.

 

I was as hard as iron and ready for this slave to satiate my lust. “Lenta, ride me!” I said.

 

“Master?” she said, finally looking at me. 

 

“Come get on me. Ride,” I said.

 

“Yes Master!”

 

She got on the couch and climbed up on me.  As she straddled me, I looked up at her face.  Her brown eyes looked down on me as she smiled.  She had small teeth and a good smile but her face was otherwise plain. She wasn’t ugly, just plain looking.  I wanted her. 

 

She reached down and grabbed my twitching member, placing it inside her.  The feeling was intense as she started to ride me.  She moved herself up and down on me while I remained still.  Before long, her pace quickened as she rode me.  She really started to move briskly and her breathing picked up again.  She started to moan and sweat was appearing on her pale blotched skin.  It felt like she was putting me to use, as fast as she was moving.  She was building fast, nearing release again.

 

“Slow down slave,” I said.

 

“Yes Master,” she said, slowing up a bit. 

 

“Slower,” I said.  She was still going too fast for my liking.  Her riding felt great but I was not in a hurry.  I was the master I wanted her to know it.  I reached up and curled my fingers under her collar.   I pulled her collar down so that her face and breasts were lower to me.  This angle felt better.  Her breasts were small and had a slight droop to them, but I liked the way they were bouncing while she kept going up and down on me.  

 

I grabbed a breast in each hand, and using this grip on her I slowed her way down.  I kept my hands on her and began to control the speed of her motion.  She started to moan louder.  I had been laying still during this ride but know I began to buck my hips up, driving myself deep into her.  With my hands clutching her breasts dictating the pace, I matched my thrusts up while pulling her down on me with the  handfuls of her flesh.  I was in control.

“Oh, Master. Oh, yes, oh, oh, yes Master, oh, please, oh, oh, ohhhhh!” She cried out again.  I did not stop with my thrusting and pulling.  Her body was now quaking, and I was getting close myself.  Without stopping, I let go of her breasts and grabbed her hips, holding them tight and forcing them down on mine.  I reached my own euphoric ejaculation, coming deep inside of her. 

 

She collapsed on top of me, catching her breath.  I let her stay there for a bit while I caught my breath too.  I eventually rolled her off of me onto the couch, where we both let our heartbeats calm down.  We lay together on the couch for almost fifteen ehn, and then Lenta sat up.  Still laying, I looked up at her and she said, “Have I pleased you Master?”

 

“Yes.”  I  hesitated and wanted to tell her that she was very energetic, passionate and a touch too loud, but I didn’t know the Gorean words.  “You move well in furs,” I said.

 

“But you were pleased by me Master?  It has been a long time since I have been put to use,” she said.

 

“How long has it been?”

 

“At least four weeks Master, and I have been yearning for a master’s touch,” she said.

 

Gorean weeks are only five days, so that meant about twenty days that she had not had the attention of a man.  For myself, being on Gor with its readily available supply of cheap eager sluts, I can’t imagine going a month without a woman.  I have always had a healthy libido, but now on Gor, my libido has been supercharged.  This culture, with the sight of young, beautiful, naked, collared and branded kajira not an uncommon sight on any Gorean street, emanates dominance and sex, a powerful combination that has certainly had an effect on me. 

 

“Why has it been so long Lenta?”

 

“I do not know Master,” she said, looking down.  “I have endured longer periods before.”  I wondered how honest she was being with her statement of claiming to not know why she wasn’t being used.  She was not all that attractive but her body did have some appeal.  Was depriving her of use being done as punishment, conditioning or something else?  Perhaps the men in this house had little interest in her.  I could understand that after seeing Lina and the other lovely brunette I had seen here.  I have a lot to learn about slaves, and the treatment of them.  

 

“I have work to do, I must go Master,” she said.

 

“What work do you do?”

 

“I am the cook, and I have many other chores as well Master,” she said.

 

“Breakfast was delicious this morning.”

 

“Thank you, I am glad you enjoyed it Master,” she said.

 

“How many slaves are in this house?”

 

Lenta paused a bit before answering and then said, “Slaves in this house are not permitted to answer questions about this house, its Master or its guests.  I am sorry Master.”

 

I sat up on the couch beside her.  I reached for a small breast and cupped it in my hand.  Her nipple stiffened immediately.  “You very pleasing. Lenta. Go to chores now,” I said. 

 

“Yes Master, thank you Master,” she said as she got off the couch.

 

The couch was very comfortable and I laid back down and had a nice nap. 

 

 

 

I decided I wasn’t going to go back to my apartment right away.  Even though it was out of my way I headed for the stadium and the Feasting Tarn.  The tavern was unique and had a festive mood the last time I was there.  I got to the stadium and the tavern that was built into its walls. 

 

The Feasting Tavern was unusual in that it did not have a kajira on display near its entrance.  Most taverns do have kajirae secured near their entryways, beckoning customers with their often naked bodies, calling out to passers-by with offers to sample them and the goods inside. 

 

I entered the tavern and the first floor was very busy.  Many customers were enjoying their paga and a red silked dancing kajira on platform in the middle of the large room.  There were not many unoccupied seats. 

 

I went to the massive central circular stairway with its wide steps that was the main interior access to the four floors of the tavern.  There were alcoves in places along this stairway, many of them occupied.  I continued to the second floor.  This floor was much quieter than below.  Half of the large room was filled with small tables and floor cushions, facing each other at the table.  Each table had a kaissa board.  Kaissa is similar to Earth chess, but the checkered board is larger with more game pieces.  Most of these tables were occupied by players, engaged in games.

 

I wanted to learn kaissa but my language barrier was hindering my efforts.  In other taverns when I had tried to learn by observation, I was often distracted by paga, savoury meals, boisterous crowds and of course beautiful dancing kajirae and other paga slaves.  This room seemed to be dedicated to the game and had less distractions.

 

I didn’t know where to sit.  I wanted to be close enough to observe but without bothering anyone’s game.  I looked around and found two players who were talking and with their board ready to play.  The table next to them was empty.  I approached and said, “Tal, May I watch?”  They looked at each other and shrugged.  “Sure,” one of them said and pointed at the empty table, indicating that I should sit there.

 

I watched them begin the game.  I was mostly interested in seeing how each piece moved.  I would not learn the names of the pieces this way, but that could come later.  After a couple opening moves from each of the players, they stopped talking and their faces became serious.  

 

I watched them play two games, both being won by the same person.  The loser got up and walked away.  The winner looked at me and said, “Do you want to play?”

 

“I do not know, but I want to learn,”  I said.

 

“Barbarian?” he asked.

 

“Yes, I am barbarian. My name is Rykart.”  

 

“Rykart, my name is Arlonis.  I will give you a kaissa lesson if you buy me a paga?

 

“Paga!” I yelled at a paga slave as she had just gone by.  She came over and I ordered a paga.  I sat down at the table and board opposite Arlonis.  He smiled.  He began with telling me the names of each piece and how they moved on the board. I tried to follow what he was saying and I eagerly absorbed the information and characteristics on Spearmen, Tarnsmen, Riders of the High Tharlarion, etc., and how they might be used to capture the Home Stone. The paga slave returned with my paga and offered a nice serve.  I handed it to Arlonis.  He looked at me strange and asked, “No paga for you?”  “I take break today,” I said.  I can’t remember the last time I was in a bar or tavern and not have a drink.  I was determined to follow Mirus’s instructions for my treatment.  Arlonis took a drink of paga and we began to play.

 

I know on Earth, chess openings are crucial and I suspect the same applies to kaissa. When I played chess I usually opted for a pawn opening that promoted a central projection of power.  I figured I would try a similar opening strategy with kaissa.  Arlonis let me go first, an advantage because I was a beginner. We had several moves and each time his moves came immediately after I made my move.  His tuition didn’t include offering any tips on opening moves.  He let me play long enough to where I thought my pieces were set up for an assault on his Home Stone.  And then he finished me in an abrupt fashion with rapid moves.  I was confused about what had happened, but I was enjoying learning the game.

 

“Again?”Arlonis asked. “Yes,” I said.

 

We played three games and he didn’t say much, other than to order another paga. He would go easy on me at first and every time I thought I had something building, he would finish me off.  I was excited because I was learning to play without needing to know Gorean.  After the end of the third game, he said, “Lesson is over.  I am ready for the paga slut. I wish you well.”

 

“Thank you Arlonis, I wish you well.”  I would have played some more games but I am sure Arlonis had grown bored with me.  I was happy I got to play and grateful for the games I got.  Playing was so much better than trying to learn by watching.  I got up from the table and decided to go to the rooftop lounge area for some sun and fresh air.  I found the paga attendant and paid for Arlonis’s paga.  I went up the central staircase, ascending past the other two floors onto the roof.  

 

It was partially cloudy and warm, and even in the middle of a big city, the air seemed fresh.   I saw a tarn leave the stadium tarncot.  The rooftop lounge area was popular this afternoon.  Over a third of the floor cushions were occupied.  I looked around for the most secluded spot to sit.  I noticed in a far corner, quite a few customers were focused on three men sitting around a low table.  Two of the men were arguing and then the third man stood up.  More people were starting to notice this argument.  I didn’t care about the quarrel and considered leaving.  Then I noticed that one of the men sitting was Trem!

 

I slowly made my way closer to his table and the other two men.  The sitting man was very angry and was moving his arms around in an agitated manner.  Trem wasn’t saying much and looked to be denying whatever was being contended.  The sitting man was talking very fast and I could not understand what was being said.  The standing man then bent down and reached for Trem, grabbing his tunic at the shoulder, attempting to pull him up to his feet.  Trem tried to remove the hand on his shoulder and the sitting man began to yell at both of them. 

 

I took a couple steps towards Trem and from behind the standing man, I grabbed the wrist of the hand on Trem, pulling it off of him.  All three of them looked at me in surprise.  Trem and the other man stood up and all of them looked at me.  I had a feeling of slight recognition of Trem’s two adversaries.  Were they the same two men who had severely beaten Trem in the alley? That night, I had charged them impulsively, driving them off.  It had been dark and I had not gotten a very good look at them, but I felt that it was the same two men.  

 

“Rykart, do not interfere!”  Trem said.

 

“Who is this?” demanded the man who I had unhanded.

 

“He is a friend, and not part of this,” Trem said.

 

I saw recognition in the eyes of the man who had been sitting.  He said, “Rykart is it? We have met before and you interrupted then too.  But this time you have no sword.”

 

I had drawn a sword on these two men a week or so ago.  Swords are very deadly even in untrained hands like mine.  Now recognized, I did not know what to expect from these men.  I was sure that they would seek retribution for my sword brandishing. 

 

The other man, taller than me, threw a punch aimed at my face, which I was barely able to deflect with my right arm.  My hat fell off.  Out of instinct, I stepped towards him with my left foot and delivered a blow with my left fist.  I hit him on the side of the chin, sending him sprawling backwards a couple steps.  I took two steps forward and landed a solid blow to his throat with my right fist.  The man crumpled to the ground, his hands reaching now for his throat. 

 

I am not a large man, and I have learned from experience that it is wise to immediately pursue and exploit advantages early on in fights.  I am no boxer and do not desire to go toe-to-toe with anyone.  Many consider throat punching to be a cheap shot, dishonourable on Gor perhaps.  But to me, it is simply an exploitation of a weak spot of human anatomy.  They are effective sometimes against taller opponents, if one can get close enough.  These punches are painful and if done with enough power, life threatening.  Properly landed, they end fights.

 

I turned to face the other man, standing close to Trem.  Both of them had been watching me and not engaged in a separate altercation.  I took steps approaching them.

 

“Stop!” Trem yelled.

 

I stopped my approach and gave a hard look at the man close to Trem.  “You should not have done that,” he said.  

 

“He should not touch Trem or hit me,” I said.

 

“You are a barbarian,” he said as a statement and not as a question.  With my terrible Gorean and odd shaved head, it would be easy to deduce.  I did not answer, it was true and I did not know what to say, especially with my lack of vocabulary.  It seemed to me that the time for words had passed.

“Neris, I will make amends for the behaviour of my barbarian friend, he does not know our business,” Trem said to the man.  “Rykart and I are leaving now.”

 

I was confused.  I wasn’t sure what ‘amends’ meant but it seemed as though it meant that I had done something wrong and Trem was taking responsibility?

 

Trem started to leave and tugged on my sleeve, urging me to follow him.  I found my hat on the floor, picked it up and put it on.  I took a last look at Neris and the man still on the floor.  I followed Trem and we went down the large staircase.  I was really craving a paga.