Barbarian of Gor Chapter Nine

 

I was still tied helplessly between the tree trunks as darkness fell. I had tried for several ahn to wriggle a hand free from the binding fibre, but Sally had done a very good job of tying me up. I don’t think I could have done a better job on her, if I’m being honest. No one had found me, if anyone was even looking for me, and I had been too embarrassed to begin with to make any attempt at shouting for help. My dumb pride had surfaced. After all, I’d been captured by a woman; any man on Gor would be ashamed of that. To be a woman’s capture is humiliating in the extreme. And even if I did call out, I wasn’t sure anyone on the distant road would hear me, or if they did, would dare to venture into the deep copse of trees for fear it was a trap. Travellers do not leave the safety of the road to plunge into dense woodland, especially not to rescue a man. A woman screaming for help might inspire thoughts of a pretty captive, but who wants to risk their life because a man called for help?

 

You don’t need me to state the obvious that it's not safe to be staked out in the dark in the Gorean wilderness. The wildlife on Gor can be vicious. If there were sleen in the vicinity I was as good as dead and would never see the sun rise. Tied here, unable to flee, I would be eaten alive. Not an enticing prospect.

Barbarian of Gor Chapter Eight

 

“How are my capture knots?’

 

I couldn’t feel my hands when I woke. I was naked, stripped, and tightly tied between a couple of trees. My wrists were tied together and then lashed to a trunk. My ankles were tied separately to trunks either side, so that my legs were widely spread. And, as is always the case when I wake from sleep – whether naturally induced or not – I had a stiff morning glory erection. I’ve never understood why that happens to men. It’s not as if I’m always dreaming erotic dreams.

 

Though on Gor those dreams do come a lot more frequently than they ever did on Earth.

 

“You’re actually the first man I’ve had to tie as a captive. I’m just wondering how I did?” she asked. “Please, I’m curious. Indulge me.” 

 

“They’re good knots,” I said through gritted teeth. Leda was dressed again in the simple peasant gowns belonging to Laetitia. She sat in Tower position beside me, unveiled, and bereft of the slave collar. She had found the key, then. My pouches and sword lay close by. Hidden in one of the pouches was the precious serum I had to give to Laetitia before she might be tested for slave responses by physicians in Torcadino. No doubt Leda had been through everything. I had to hope she hadn’t given the vial any due consideration.

 

“You’re not just saying that to make me happy?” asked Leda. “You can be critical if you want. Women rarely master the art of capture knots.”

State of the Nation August 2023!

 

Hello lovely readers.

 

Apologies for my recent absence. While the long term readers know I routinely take a bit of time off now and again, the circumstances this time around were a bit different.

 

I did decide to take a few weeks off after Christmas/New Year, and as always once I stopped writing for a while it grew to about three months. Not my worst absence, but I decided then to get cracking with finishing Outcast of Gor and posting the final chapters I’d received from Tracker and Arizona Wanderer. 

 

Only… no sooner had I begun than I finally came down with Covid. Yes, I’d been spared it up to that point. The Covid itself wasn’t too bad, but I seem to have what’s commonly referred to as ‘Long Covid’ following my bout with the virus. This has left me very drained – a bit like suffering from ME, I suppose, and it very much affected my ability to get much done. I had just about enough energy to deal with the day job, but not much else. I’m still suffering from the after effects, though in recent weeks have been a bit more clear headed, hence why I’ve kick started the next book, but I confess I’m writing slower than before, when I routinely knocked off a chapter a day in-between meals. 

Barbarian of Gor Chapter Seven

 

How difficult can it be to help a woman escape from a travel Inn, when in actual fact the Innkeeper would allow her to walk free anyway?

 

Not particularly difficult, it has to be said.

 

But I had to make it seem difficult. 

 

“A man has arrived,” said pretty Leda. “I think he is a metal worker.”

 

Of that there was little doubt. I saw him drop a heavy leather hold all containing all manner of tools and implements onto the flagstones of the inner courtyard. He was here to work. 

 

Leda stood before me in the corridor that connected the main room of the Inn to the kitchen. She was barefoot, wore a white tunic with light blue trim, and sported a steel collar about her throat. “Do not be overly concerned,” I reassured her. She was perhaps five feet four inches tall, with wavy light brown hair and a slightly upturned nose that was endearingly cute. Her lips were wide and expressive. Her breasts were beautifully formed and straining within the softness of the rep cloth tunic, where the plunging neckline offered an enticing vision of her bosom. “There are many reasons why a metal worker might call on this Inn at short notice.”

 

I watched as Leda looked furtively around. She was loitering beside me instead of working. A slave might be punished for such laziness. Leda, of course, wasn’t a slave, but she feared the Innkeeper might make her one.

 

“A metal worker brands women.” She flexed the toes of her left foot as she stood there.

Barbarian of Gor Chapter Six

 

“The situation is even more dire than I may have previously suggested,” I whispered through the side of my mouth as pretty Leda served breakfast to our table, on her knees.

 

When she looked up in alarm, her hands shaking slightly as she held a tray of bowls and plates, I quickly added, “do not acknowledge anything I tell you. Not a thing! The Innkeeper’s eyes may be upon us at this very moment!”

 

Pretty Leda lowered her eyes submissively, the way a slave might. She had seen the other girls do so when awaiting a master’s command. She did it quite well, even though she was a proud free woman. No doubt it would come more naturally to her if she found herself enslaved, wearing a collar, and a kef brand marked upon her thigh.

 

“Early this morning the Innkeeper sent word to the outlying village for the services of a metal worker,” I explained.

 

“Oh!” she gasped. Her hands trembled as she placed the tray on the floor beside her knees and poured black wine into a small cup beside me. A metal worker is of course skilled in branding the left thigh of a woman. The implication from my words was no doubt obvious to pretty Leda. She seemed intelligent enough to grasp the obvious. 

Barbarian of Gor Chapter Five

 

I lay in one of the common rooms of the Inn, unable to sleep. Outside, a soft rain continued to fall on the cobblestones of the walled courtyard. I find the sound of rain soothing, and usually it aids a night’s sleep, but tonight I felt my nerves wound up, and I felt tense and aware of everything around me.

 

Felix lay nearby, as did Adamus. They both seemed to be sound asleep. Perhaps they were.

 

I rose to a seated position, casting aside my rough spun woollen blanket as I observed the other sleeping forms in the room. Common rooms in roadside Inns are the cheapest way of spending a night safely when travelling. Here, men can rent simple wooden floor space for a few copper tarsks and know they will wake up in the morning without their throats slit. Free women, of course, rarely choose to sleep in common rooms, or if they do, it would be a common room reserved exclusively for the use of women. In times of war, though, all things become scarce, and, with the passing of war torn refugees, even room in an Inn becomes a precious commodity. I observed a couple of free women sleeping to the side of the room. They had made a low wall with their travel bags to delineate their area. Men, of course, were not permitted to cross it. I suspect the women slept little, if at all, conscious of snoring males close by. They slept in their robes and gowns, not daring to so much as remove a stitch.

Barbarian of Gor Chapter Four

 

That last morning in Corcyrus, before I left for the city of Torcadino, I enjoyed both of my red silk girls in the furs of my bed.

 

“Master!” cried Clara, her eyes wide and dilated, her wrists fastened past her head in slave manacles to an iron ring set in the headboard. “Oh, Master!”

 

I was inside of her, pushing her on towards a slave orgasm. She thrashed wildly beneath me, responding fully to each stroke of my body. Beside me, my Scandinavian looking blonde slut, the sexually awakened Ornah, who had known the touch of men long before I had bought her, mewled softly as she kissed and rubbed my body with her breasts and nipples, plaintively trying to attract my attention away from using Clara. Her wrists too were secured to the same iron ring, meaning she could not use her hands on me. 

 

As I felt Clara shaking, I slid out from inside her and turned round to gaze at blonde Ornah. 

 

“Yes, Master, yes!” she cried, excitedly as I pressed her down onto her back, while Clara writhed and begged for me to return. I ignored wide-hipped Clara, and instead parted Ornah’s thighs and entered her now, gazing deeply into her eyes as I did so.

 

“I love you, Master,” sobbed Ornah. “I love you!”

Barbarian of Gor Chapter Three

 

There were now four girls serving in the main room of the Inn this night.

 

Four, is, I think, a more viable number in respect of the number of men present. That works out as close to one girl per four men. Annika had briefly disappeared to change into clinging silks, better suited to the dances she would provide as the evening wore on. When she emerged from a side room there were loud cheers and the thumping of tables in a boisterous and masculine manner. Men roared their approval as she glided between the tables, introducing herself, strips of dancing silk swaying about her body. I found myself cheering, too, caught up in the frenzy of the moment. 

 

Annika seemed to relish the attention, and the little tease swayed her hips close to the reach of each man in turn, inviting their touch, or attempted touch. Sometimes she would spring lithely away, and other times she would permit herself to be touched, but never in a manner that suggested any preference amongst the men – that would be wrong of her – we were all paying customers. 

 

The men enjoyed the teasing. It fired their blood for the lithe dancer.

Barbarian of Gor Chapter Two

 

By the time I returned, there was now just a single free woman, seated stubbornly, in the main hall. I could tell that none of the men wanted her there. There were already muted grumblings as I passed between the low tables to where Felix and Adamus sat.

 

“Why doesn’t she just go upstairs to her room,” muttered one man as he drank paga with his friend. 

 

“The slave can’t be enjoying this,” muttered another. “You can see how naturally hot she is. She shouldn’t have to restrain herself.”

 

“It’s not fair on the slave,” said a third man. “She wants to please men. She needs to please men.”

 

And so on.

 

But the remaining free woman sat with her escort and drank wine. I knew her type. She resented the subtle pressure to leave the main hall, and as a consequence intended to stay and ruin our pleasure.

Barbarian of Gor Chapter One

 

 

Book Three of the Roland Martell trilogy

 

If I had to make a list of things that turned me on, then the sound of ankle bells locked on the left ankle of a kajira would be somewhere in the top twenty. Part of the appeal, other than the deliciously erotic sound as she moves, is knowing that she cannot remove the bells. They are locked on her. She is a slave, and she doesn’t have the key.

 

The girl in question was quite modestly dressed for a dancing slave, and this was on account of the fact that there were free women present. We sat in the main room of a travel Inn, somewhere south of Corcyrus. Walled Inns can be routinely found at conveniently spaced intervals along the main roads between cities. The distance between Inns is always slightly less than the average distance a man might travel on foot in a single day. Ergo, you are always likely to find shelter, for a price, and on a world where you really shouldn’t camp in the wild, unless you carry a sword and you know how to use it, the presence of the Inns makes travel feasible for most people.

 

“I apologise for the dancing slave,” I said to the young Lady Laetitia, who sat, rather stiffly, I thought, with her back to the sand pit in which the slave danced. As I observed, the slave wore a reasonably modest tunic, rather than slave silks, and her dance was far less sexual than you might find in a paga tavern in a city. 

 

There were free women present, after all.

Outcast of Gor Chapter Forty (Final Chapter)

 

Destiny is all. Those words would come to haunt and shape my life over the days, weeks and months that followed. I would be dragged into the Argentum/Corcyrus war as an unwitting participant, and I would see it through to the end, and all because a young girl looked at me in awe and respect, as if I was her saviour. 

 

Destiny is all. 

 

She spoke the words and meant them. 

 

“Lady, you have an overly inflated opinion of me. I was simply in the right place at the right time, and I was lucky.”

 

“Destiny is all,” she said again. “Please walk with me, Sir.”

 

And so I did. I should have turned round, said my farewells, and gone back to the market to reclaim my slaves. I should have enjoyed my life in Corcyrus, and had nothing more to do with war, politics, or the innocent young daughter of the Tatrix. 

 

You will probably think me a fool for what follows.

Outcast of Gor Chapter Thirty Nine

 

I suppose I must have looked surprised.

 

The Tatrix certainly seemed amused by my reaction to her walking into the dining hall this morning. 

 

“You’re staring,” she remarked as she walked idly towards a side table on which an array of breakfast foods were laid out in presentation style. The table was covered with a brightly woven cloth, and on top of it there were golden platters, gleaming bowls, and ornate plates, each one filled with a different delicacy. The centre of the table boasted a platter of freshly baked bread, still warm from the oven, its crust golden and crispy, while next to it I could take my pick from bowls of rich, creamy yoghurt, topped with a swirl of honey and garnished with fresh mint leaves. And besides that, begging to be tasted, a plate of ripe, juicy fruit - figs, dates, and oranges - adding a burst of colour as well as flavour to the table.