The Emma of Gor Trilogy: An Introduction

The 'Emma of Gor' trilogy is a series of fan-fiction books set on John Norman's Counter Earth world of Gor. Chronologically speaking, they occur in the following order:

The Shadow in the Dark (Part Fourteen)

 

Several years ago - Mount Holyoke College:

 

I'm guided by a signal in the heavens

I'm guided by this birthmark on my skin

I'm guided by the beauty of our weapons

First we take Manhattan,

… then we take Berlin!

 

 

Bryony Addison had been true to her word when she said she would find me a boyfriend. And of course it was a Bryony Addison approved boyfriend, which meant there would be no possibility of the senior Sorority Sisters objecting. I would be free to receive him at weekends and walk around the grounds of the sprawling campus, holding hands, like sweethearts do..

 

Michael Emery had taken me for a walk through some nearby woodland before we then stopped off in town in his sports car for a light lunch at a very fashionable café. He wore a light linen suit, crisp white shirt and expensive Italian shoes. His hair cut was immaculate, in an Ivy League kind of style, and when he paid for our drinks and meal, he produced hundred dollar bills from a designer Gucci wallet, instead of paying by card. I assume it was to show off to the waitress, for whom he left a hundred dollar tip. I wore a floral summer dress that covered my knees and a pair of court shoes with a two inch heel, and a white silk ribbon in my hair. That was new. The New Feminism movement was evolving and Bryony was keen that I at least paid lip service to it. The white ribbon worn in the hair of a female student indicated a pledge of chastity until the time she might be companioned. To not wear a white ribbon suggested you intended to sleep around, that you were available and eager to satisfy men’s needs. That you were a slut. Very quickly the white ribbon became an established part of campus attire, whether the girl in question was a New Feminist or not. 

The Shadow in the Dark (Part Thirteen)

 

A heavy wooden bridge cannot just disappear without a trace. It’s not possible. Even if men somehow removed it, piece by piece, in the dark, there would still be evidence it had been there. A wooden bridge is heavy. You would see traces of it having sat on foundations on the banks of the river. But as I gazed at the spot where I had walked onto the bridge, I just saw uninterrupted grass, scrub and bushes. Nothing here had been disturbed. If there had ever been a bridge at one time, nature had reclaimed the river bank over a period of many years. 

 

“Am I going mad?” I said out loud. I walked towards the river edge and gazed into the dark waters of the Miskatonic. There was no evidence of submerged timbers. 

 

Despite myself, I began to cry.

 

“It’s October the 6^th,” I said to myself. “I was here yesterday. Yesterday was the 5^th of October. I didn’t imagine it!”

 

“Ashlee…” Sheriff Root had carefully descended the steep slope and now stood behind me. I felt his hands touch my shoulders and turn me around. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay.”

 

“There was a bridge,” I cried. “I saw it! I walked over it!”

 

“Hush.” He took me in his arms and suddenly I was no longer the tough FBI agent. I let him hold me and I wept against his shoulder. “What is going on? Please tell me?”

 

I felt him stroke my head and it felt so good. 

 

“You were in a crash, Ashlee. I shouldn’t have brought you out here. You obviously need more rest. I’m going to drive you back to Rosemary’s house and you’re going to get some sleep. And I’ll send for Doctor Willett. Someone should check you out.”

 

“I’m not mad,” I cried. “There was a bridge.”

After the Bighorn Chapter Five: ‘Battle is Joined’, by Tracker

 

(A reminder that the story takes place in 2016 in the early days of New Feminism)

 

The Frick building, the Marriot Downtown, where my lawyers were to be housed and headquartered, and the Federal Courthouse form a triangle within a block of each other in downtown Pittsburgh.  There is a sort of park between the Marriot and the Courthouse, with a Plaza connecting to the Frick Building.  The Hilton, where VanRijn’s minions lurked, was across the street from the Marriot.

 

Wyandotte Frick proved competent enough at Administrative chores, though I was still unsure if enough strength lay hidden under his bland exterior. He assigned me Zach Frick, who is a lawyer, though exceedingly young.  He should be able to understand my requirements though.  We first toured the Marriot Downtown.  It was Wyandotte’s idea that my team of lawyers should work and live there while he wanted me to stay at the Frick Mansion where I could be close for consultations.  I was not at all adverse to the idea of staying where there were so many curvy distractions, hot in their collars.  

 

I wanted to observe the running of a headquarters of an acquisition operation just in case the chance to operate one for myself should occur.  I truly miss Juli, I treasure her so much.  I know she has much to learn; she is eager but needs instruction.  But still, semi-trained as she is, I would not trade her for any of the hot lovelies in the Frick Mansion.  I would like, though, to have that Chelsea Frick at my feet, begging for mercy, begging for love and use in a collar.

The Paga Diaries (20) by Arizona Wanderer: ‘Banishment’

 

I really did not want to be around Mirus and Tereus.  I was disgusted with the beating of Lina by Mirus.  Her little laugh when my string broke was harmless.  It probably did look funny to her and I was not offended at all. I have never owned a woman but it seemed to me that Mirus had a very heavy hand when it came to disciplining Lina.  I wanted to take her away and make her my own.  I was hoping that Mirus would change his mind about selling her to me.  I did not feel like spending the afternoon with them but I was thankful for his work on my gemstone appraisal, and everything else that he had done for me.  I did not want to offend him.  

 

It was very easy to say yes to going to the Dautium Square Market with its luxury taverns and the exceptional variety of beautiful slave girls who worked in them.  We went into the Shackle and Chain again and were looking for a low table close to the sand pit where the slaves dance.  To me the dance was a show, a mesmerizing display of sensuous skill, passion and beauty.  I got distracted by the moves of a short brunette in the pit and didn’t notice a man waving at us to join him at his low table.  

 

The man was Atticus, the hulk of a man who was an officer of the city guard and whom I had met last time I was here.  The three of us joined him at his table and ordered paga, except for Mirus, who ordered ka-la-na. 

 

“Tal Atticus, has the Shackle and Chain become a new guard station for our city?” Mirus joked. 

 

“Tal. I am exploring guard station locations that increase the surveillance opportunities of criminals,” Atticus said. 

The Shadow in the Dark (Part Twelve)

 

“You’re rather quiet this morning,” said Sheriff Root as we drove back to the site of my car crash, two nights ago.

 

“I don’t know what this is supposed to be – some sick game, perhaps – but you’re obviously part of it,” I said as I gazed straight ahead through the windscreen. I was not going to look at him.

 

“You’re not making sense, Ashlee.”

 

“Call me Miss Ellis. We are not friends. And today is the 6^th of October, not the 5^th.”

 

Sheriff Root sighed as he held the steering wheel with his left hand. “I showed you the date on my cell phone. You crashed your car on the night of the 4^th…”

 

“Yes, we both agree on that.”

 

“And today is the morning after; the 5^th of October.”

 

“Do you think I’m stupid? Do you think I’m just going to believe that? You did something to the date on your phone, that’s all. We were in this car yesterday, driving down this road, and you know that. YOU KNOW THAT.”

 

“Ashlee…”

 

“Don’t call me that!”

 

“Miss Ellis, with all due respect, I think you sustained some concussion in the crash. We should get you checked out by a doctor. I met you at the diner last night and called round this morning as promised.”

 

“What is going on? Just… just tell me?”

The Shadow in the Dark (Part Eleven)

 

Dogs.

 

The barking was distant, but audible. 

 

Probably too distant for them to have picked up my scent or even heard me, assuming they were even guard dogs, that is. I sprang quickly to my feet and considered what I should do. In a film I would have waded through the river, but the Miskatonic was deep and I would be taking an incredible risk to enter the water in the dark. If the strong river current didn’t endanger my life, the freezing cold water would probably give me hypothermia once I emerged downstream. 

 

With the setting of the sun the trees began to take on an eerie appearance with their branches seeming to take on the aspect of monstrous tendrils reaching up towards the night black sky. I was reminded of films like the Blair Witch Project where the woodland seemed to be a hostile and overbearing force of nature trying its best to lure you to your death. I’m a city girl and I don’t really feel at home amongst nature. Woodland at night is not a place that puts me at ease. 

 

Were the dogs looking for me? Had I tripped a motion sensor located near the bridge? If so it made sense not to be anywhere near the bridge if that was where the dogs (and their handlers?) were headed. Just who owned this land, and why were they so very hostile to intruders? What had happened to Shelley? Where had she been taken? 

 

It suddenly occurred to me, for no reason at all, that I hadn’t seen any of Shelley’s discarded clothing on the grass when I had emerged from my hiding place. I hadn’t even given that thought any consideration at the time, but now, hours later, the switches in my brain clicked into place. Had the men bundled up Shelley’s garments and taken them away? I suppose they must have. There was no other explanation. Which meant they didn’t want to leave any evidence behind that the girl had passed through the woodland.

 

Which meant she wasn’t going to be seen again by anyone.

 

Which meant I could not let them find me. 

The Shadow in the Dark (Part Ten)

 

I crouched with my back against a tree, calming myself down with some deep breathing techniques I had picked up during a weekend Health & Wellness Course in San Francisco, three years ago, when I was at an uncharacteristically low point in my life and wondering what I should do next. Slowly, as the minutes ticked by, I felt the fear and anxiety wash away.

 

I am not usually scared of men. Why should I fear them? By and large the men I routinely met were conditioned from birth to respect women and to defer to our demands. The exceptions tended to be criminals, and of course in dealing with them I had the authority of my badge and my gun, and the support of the Bureau. But here in this wood I lacked all three of those things, and for reasons I couldn’t comprehend, I had feared the two men who had stripped and abducted a young hiker named Shelley.

 

One thing puzzled me though. I was sure the men were going to rape Shelley. They had bound her wrists and stripped her, after all, but upon hearing she was a virgin, and following a brief examination that had proven she was speaking the ruth, the men had made no attempt to rape her. They had referred to her as being white silk.

 

White silk.

The Shadow in the Dark (Part Nine)

 

Let me be clear about something, because it’s actually very important to me.  

 

I’m not a woman who panics under stress. I’m a trained FBI agent who has successfully completed two unarmed combat courses in Quantico, Virginia. For the second one I was awarded a Bronze medal of commendation by my instructor, Miss Valerie Ryan. She told me that I had nothing to fear from men, and that my judo takedown of the young FBI student, Thomas Bradley, was text book perfect. Agent Bradley was in his second year with the FBI and apologised after the practical demonstration for laying hands on me during the practice bout. He had seemed hesitant when we were being assessed and marked, hesitant as if he feared the social consequences of subduing a woman, the consequences for which can be extremely punitive in Western society. We are not to be touched or handled at the whims of men. And so his heart hadn’t really been in the fight, and consequently I had landed him flat on his back.

 

“A perfect 10,” Miss Valerie Ryan had said. She seemed pleased that a man had been subdued by a woman on the training mats. It seemed to reinforce the dogma that she taught to her students. “You see, Thomas, how your apparently superior size and muscle mass counts for little when you face a skilled opponent. How foolish you look. Miss Ashlee Ellis successfully used your superior size and strength against you. It is a myth that men are naturally superior to women in unarmed combat.”

 

I of course basked in the praise. I had made a man look foolish on the practice mats. There was much laughter in the gymnasium room in Quantico, Virginia, amongst the other female students at least. Few of the men laughed, of course.

 

After the practice bout, Agent Thomas Bradley had approached me, and, rather embarrassingly, had enquired whether I might like to go somewhere for a coffee? Just me and him. He towered over me as he spoke quietly, not wishing Miss Valerie Ryan to overhear his approach. I declined of course. After all, how could I respect a man who I had so easily beaten in a judo match?

The Shadow in the Dark (Part Eight)

 

“Ashlee! No! I mean it! Don’t go there!”

 

I smiled to myself as I placed my right foot on the swollen bridge planks. Just who was he to think he could give me commands? He was not my Master.

 

I stiffened as that unwanted thought entered my head. My Master? Why had I even thought that? No man was my master. I was a free, independent, wilful woman. I lived in the United States of America where women were cossetted, deferred to, and their views were always accommodated by acquiescent males. This was not some primitive dark age society where the male sex might be dominant simply because they were physically stronger than their women. 

 

What a brutal, oppressive time that must have been, when women, obviously the equal of men in all other things, had to submit to a man’s strength. Men can be such barbarians if they are not civilised and tamed by rules and laws. 

 

“I know what I’m doing,” I called back as I saw the Sheriff struggle to make his way down to the river bank. Unfortunately for him the approach from the top of the road directly above the bridge was some of the thickest thorn and bramble growth anywhere along the slope.

 

“Ashlee, please, wait for me!”

 

Please. I smiled to myself. He is begging now. How sweet. I would of course disregard his cries. Now there was some distance between us I felt more confident, and with that came a feeling of irritation with myself for having, even for a moment, considered him in some sexual way. We were law enforcement officers. We would conduct ourselves professionally at all times. 

After the Bighorn Chapter Four: ‘Council of War’, by Tracker

 

While I was waiting for the strategy meeting with Wyandotte Frick and a horde of Frick cousins to begin, I read the local newspaper, the Post-Gazette.  I am fascinated by the differences from city to city, in layout and organization, each city thinking its way is normal and the way other cities’ papers do things slightly off.  The Post-Gazette had an old fashioned news round-up column of strange and off-beat stories from around the world; “World’s biggest cucumber grown in Swansea, Wales.  That sort of thing.  Today the second last item was from Montana, the Bighorn country in fact.

 

It was that Dateline that got me to read further. 

 

Evidence of Old Cowboy Feud.  University of Montana archaeologists have discovered evidence linked to legends of a feud between old west outlaw gangs, The Hole in the Wall Gang and the Robber’s Roost Gang.  Old West folklore has long held that an 1887 battle took place between the two outfits, but more sober historians, who insist on evidence had pooh-poohed the tales.  Well now evidence has been found in the form of a burial pit inside a cave on the Lazy F ranch by the Bighorn.  University of Montana researchers, consisting of Professors and students found the cave with the aid of a foreman on the ranch, a man named Smith.  Mr Wilson Frick provided funds for the dig, and the bones recovered will be housed at the U of M Frick Museum of Western History.  On a side note: four U of M co-eds who wandered away from the dig-site are still missing, and feared eaten by Bears.

 

I smiled.  I did not think that the co-eds had been eaten by bears.  I believed that by now the young women had begun a journey through space to a new life. From an accompanying picture of the cave, I reconstructed what had happened.  It was the same cave to which the Fricks had carried the bodies of the slain mercenary contractors that had attacked the ranch earlier in the summer in an effort to force its sale. Knowing nothing of the Fricks, they had been surprised and overcome by the Fricks.  Their bodies, now disintegrated, had been recovered from the cave under the cover of an archaeological dig and would rest among the bones of thousands of others in the bowels of a museum.

The Shadow in the Dark (Part Seven)

 

“I’m happy to take you into town on our way back,” said Sheriff Root. “You can buy some clothes there, and whatever else you might need.”

 

I sat in the passenger seat of his police car still trying to come to terms with my earlier behaviour. I had licked the Nutri-girl bowl clean after Sheriff Root had left. And even more worrying, fifteen minutes or so later I had walked out to where his car was, oblivious to how I must have looked until he looked me up and down and said:

 

“Still going with the Frozen theme, then?”

 

It was only then that I stopped and realised I had gone upstairs to my dormer bedroom and I had dressed myself in the white cartoon sweater, pink denim shorts, grey woollen pantyhose and white and pink sneakers, without even a second thought. 

 

What I had meant to do was ask Rosemary to find me something, anything, that didn’t make me look like a teenage girl who was obsessed with Frozen. She had to have something! Her own clothes, for example. But no, I had just gone upstairs after breakfast, I had dressed, and I had come downstairs without even thinking about it. It was like I was on auto pilot, like when you drive home from work and you don’t actually think about the route you’re taking, because it’s the same route you’ve taken a thousand times before, and despite the fact you’d decided earlier in the day you should detour to pick up some fresh milk, you find yourself back home automatically without stopping for the milk. 

 

It was just like that. I had gone upstairs and dressed myself, seemingly oblivious to what I’d be wearing, at least until I stepped outside and saw Sheriff Root’s amused expression.

 

I stood there for a moment, seemingly confused. I wore a white top with Elsa and Anna hugging one another. 

 

“So, you love warm hugs?” said the Sheriff, as he read the words underneath the cartoon picture of the girls.

 

“I…” my voice trailed off. I didn’t know what to say that might make sense. 

The Shadow in the Dark (Part Six)

 

I woke slowly to a warm shaft of sunlight streaming through the dormer window, teasing my face.

 

It was one of those lazy mornings when I sensed instinctively that I’d enjoyed a really good night’s sleep, with vivid dreams that faded the moment I left the lands of Morpheus. Above me, pinned to the sloping sides of the attic roof, a poster of Elsa from Frozen looked down at me. There was a quote on the poster that read:

 

‘Conceal, don’t feel, don’t let it show.’ 

 

For some reason the quote stirred a momentary pang of frustration as I lay on my back gazing up at it. 

 

Don’t let it show.

 

I mustn’t ever let it show.

 

The thought came unbidden into my head, and just as quickly vanished.

 

I became aware I was lying under a Frozen bedspread that I’d partly kicked away as I’d tossed and turned in my deep sleep. And continuing the Frozen theme, I wore a silky bedtime slip with Elsa printed on the front. I didn’t remember dressing myself in it, but then I didn’t remember much from last night, just vaguely stumbling in fatigue as I walked to Rosemary’s car parked on the forecourt of the diner. Was this Rosemary’s home? She had said something about staying with her overnight?

 

From where I lay in the single bed I could see other pictures from Frozen pinned to the walls, often with motivational quotes from the cartoon film.

 

My eyes focussed on one of them:

 

‘The best way to get what you want is to just be who you are.’

 

And there on the attic door was Elsa imploring me to ‘let it go, let it go, can’t hold it back anymore.’

The Shadow in the Dark (Part Five)

 

She lies beneath a child’s dreamy time bedspread, neither sleeping nor awake, neither lucid nor dreaming. She is in that half state between two worlds.

 

Her eyes are open but she does not see.  

 

For the night is dark and full of terror, and yet she is at peace with her world.

 

MAN: “So that’s 75 mg of Nepenthe administered as a 2.5% solution in coffee with typical slow burning results. In effect she is now disconnected from sensory signals in terms of natural reactions. She can perceive everything as normal, but it seems meaningless, and memory retention is at such a basic level that any fragments of memory at a conscious level she does retain from tonight will seem just a passing dream, if that.”

WOMAN: “She looks so sweet in her Elsa bed time slip.” (soft laughter) “Lift the slip up from her left thigh.”

MAN: “I did not bring a branding device, Lady? Was one necessary?”

 

WOMAN: “Of course not. I just wish to see her thigh while it is still smooth and unmarked. I wish to appreciate the quiet moment before the gathering storm sweeps her aside.”

The Shadow in the Dark (Part Four)

 

I hadn’t expected the local Sheriff to be in his mid-thirties.

 

And I hadn’t expected him to be quite so, well… handsome… and fit.

 

“It was a girl, and she was naked. I only caught a quick glimpse of her when she bolted out from the bushes on the left side of the road, running directly in front of my car.” I sat on one of the raised vinyl stools lining the counter of the diner. Sheriff James Root sat beside me taking notes. He was tall, muscular, with a well-defined body shape, lightly bearded, with prominent, thick eyebrows, and clear but sun weathered skin. His eyes were grey/green, offering a piercing gaze that counterpointed the amused crinkling of laughter lines as he heard me speak. We sat opposite one another, sides facing the counter, and I was conscious that only a space of a few inches separated our knees from touching. 

 

What he saw of me was acutely embarrassing as far as I was concerned. I wore a short, pink, frayed denim skirt and a powder blue Frozen t-shirt with a cartoon Elsa on the front. Not the best look when you want local law enforcement to take you seriously. I had dressed in these garments only because the alternative would have been to walk in naked when I went back to the diner to tell Rosemary to find some clothing that didn’t make me look like I was still attending High School. But to my dismay Sheriff Root had already arrived and was waiting for me at the counter. He had apparently been passing in his patrol car and had decided to stop in for a cup of coffee.

 

“Naked? You’re sure about that, Miss Ellis?” He raised a quizzical eyebrow. 

 

“Yes. It startled me. Even while I tried to brake I was thinking, why is she naked?”

 

“But you only saw her for a moment, and it was getting dark and there was a lot of rain?”

 

“She was naked. I know what I saw.”

The Shadow in the Dark (Part Three)

 

I was struggling to stay awake as a combination of fatigue and aching pains urged me to take a nap in the cab of the truck as we drove on through the night. The radio station was playing a mix of easy-listening folk and country music of the kind beloved by long haul truck drivers. Henry had more or less stopped talking now as he concentrated on the narrow road, which came as something of a relief. He was hard to figure out. Had he been trying to scare me with all those questions, or was he in some way actually concerned that I was wandering around on my own?

 

I glanced at the clock on the dashboard and saw that it was now half past nine in the evening. I had no real hope of reaching Springfield this evening. I would just have to call Martin from a pay phone in the service station and explain the situation. Hopefully he’d be worried sick for me. I smiled to myself, imagining him jumping into his car and making his way over here, all heroic and frantic with concern. A white knight coming to save me. Why do we modern women still cling to such absurd romantic ideals? Why do we sometimes get turned on by the thought of a man coming to our rescue? 

 

Did I want to be rescued? Really? Me, the big bad Federal agent? Well, maybe, just a little bit. I imagined Martin wrapping his arms about my shoulders and telling me everything was going to be okay, as I rested my head against his chest. His arms felt so strong around me. How is it that men are so very strong?

 

“How long have we been driving?” I asked. I was aware only that the journey seemed to be going on for ever, with little to see beyond the repeat scenery of dark wooded spaces punctuated by bramble covered hedges. 

 

“Be there soon, Miss Ellis,” he said.

 

“You said that…” I yawned as fatigue nipped at my heels, “half an hour ago?”

The Shadow in the Dark (Part Two)

 

I searched the glove compartment again, turning it inside out, and then searched around the front seats in the foolish notion that my gun and badge could possibly have fallen out of a locked compartment during the crash. 

 

As if.

 

This was clearly impossible. The glove compartment is locked at all times. How could my gun and badge be missing? I had put them both there at the beginning of my drive.

 

I slipped back out onto the mud slope and felt the rain ease up a little in its intensity. How was I going to explain this? A Fed does not lose these things. This was about as bad as it could get. I was going to be in a serious mountain of trouble when I reported the theft. 

 

Once I accepted the reality of the situation, I made my way round the side of my Toyota Camry, sinking into the mud with each heel step and tried to pop the boot. Try as I might, it wouldn’t open. The crash must have jammed the locking mechanism, which meant my luggage was now completely out of reach. All I had were the clothes I was wearing and my handbag that I had managed to find from inside the car where it had been thrown onto one of the back seats during the crash. That was something, at least. 

 

Bit by bit, seizing tree roots as handholds, I pulled myself up the wet slope until I reached the road. A section of briar bush had clearly been obliterated where my Toyota had ploughed through it when I’d tried desperately to avoid hitting the naked girl. Talking of which, I searched the length and breadth of the country road but found no sign of her, or, rather, no sign of her injured/dead body. For a brief moment I wondered whether I might have imagined her. A naked woman running onto a road in the middle of a rain storm? Really?

 

Well I’d seen something. It might only have been a brief second or two, but I had certainly reacted to a flash of movement that looked like a naked girl.

The Paga Diaries (19) by Arizona Wanderer: ‘Little Bird’

 

This morning was bright and sunny as I was walking to Mirus’s house for my next stabilization injection.  My mind was on last night and some of the things Trem and I had talked about after we left the Feasting Tarn.  Trem had asked if I had noticed that the tavern had a different feel to it, did it seem quieter than normal or was there anything odd.  I was honest with him and said that I did not notice anything odd.  He told me that news had come to the city about the war with Corcyrus and it wasn’t good.  Argentum forces had been beaten and the front line had been compromised. 

 

He went on to say that the Argentum government was downplaying this loss as a minimal setback.  The front lines had been restored and progress was being made towards Corcyrus.  But the curious thing was that they have now forbidden any talk of defeat or the possibility of not winning the war.  He said that last night, the war was the main topic of conversations everywhere in the tavern and that many people spoke with hushed tones or even in whispers.  The government ban on this topic only magnifies curiosity and talk amongst the citizens of this large city.  Trem warned me not to talk about the war with anyone.  He said that as a barbarian, people might treat me with more suspicion than normal, and that I should be careful.

 

I was now more determined than ever to become fluent in Gorean.  Should I leave this city and go somewhere peaceful, with no war?  Where would that be and how would I get there?  As I walked, I decided I would stay and hope that the war would be over soon, and not touch this city. 

A New Novella - The Shadow in the Dark (Part one)

 

I had just taken a fork turning at the junction of the Aylesbury Pike, just beyond Dean’s Corners when the rain began to come down hard around me. It was six in the evening in early Autumn in north-central Massachusetts as I drove my white Toyota Camry through a sprawling forest belt, past brier-bordered stone walls overgrown with wild weeds and brambles, and out along the side of a sloping rock-strewn meadow. 

 

I had Joni Mitchell’s seminal art-rock/jazz album, The Hissing of Summer Lawns, playing on the car stereo as the narrow road curved and dipped, and I drove on past a small cluster of disused farm buildings falling to ruin with rotting gambrel roofs open in places to the raw elements. I passed a broken steepled church, missing its cast iron bell, that loomed over an untended cemetery where gravestones lay fallen, overgrown and forgotten. 

 

Joni was telling me that in France they kiss on Main Street, which came as no surprise to me, for the French are just so very French. Whether I’d be doing any kissing this weekend remained to be seen, for I was on a rescue mission of sorts, hoping to salvage my ailing relationship with Martin Bastable, who was presumably still my boyfriend if I played my cards right. 

 

We’d argued last weekend, and in retrospect it was my fault, I guess, because Martin was clearly trying to avoid a confrontation at all costs. Me and my stupid pride. I had to keep pushing and in the end provoking him. We had a table booked at a small restaurant in down town Springfield where Martin lives. I’d been working some long hours lately and Martin had been feeling neglected, so last weekend was supposed to have been time for us both to unwind and get to know each other a little better. Though God knows we’d been dating now for more than six weeks, having met at a singles bar which, God’s truth, I hadn’t known was a Singles bar when I’d walked into it. I was in Springfield that night for a work seminar, and the hotel bar was being renovated, so…

 

Well, we laughed a lot when I realised my mistake and Martin had said, ‘hey, unless you’re married, or one of those radical feminists (I think he meant New Feminists, because there’s obviously nothing wrong with ordinary feminism) why not stay for a drink? It’s a quiet night.’

After the Bighorn Chapter Three: 'An unexpected Death', by Tracker

 

Shocking News comes to the Lazy F.

 

Early in the morning on July 14th shocking news came to the Lazy F.  Willard Frick, head of the Family had been murdered in London. (Steel Worlds, Chapter 28).  Despite the early hour, the Fricks on the ranch were already up and at breakfast, setting the tasks for the day.  The news pushed all that to the side. Woodrow Frick and his uncle Wilson set out immediately to see to the security of the Lazy F.  Every man capable of bearing arms was on high alert. Around mid-afternoon, Wilson and Woodrow met alone in Wilson’s office.  The meeting was grim, and the two men were wary of each other.

 

Wilson began.  “I have talked to Cousin Wyandotte Frick in Pittsburgh.”

 

“I as well.”

 

“Then you know the situation.  It was some kind of power play by the folks in London. They have been getting above themselves and denied Willard his rightful tribute.  And then they killed him with the Families Council on the line.”

 

Woodrow looked grim and strained.  “He was my father.  I need to take vengeance.”

 

“The Ubar of the North American Families will exact vengeance.  We need to pick a new leader for the Family. Urgently. The Family needs a leader.  My brother Willard left no son.”

 

“He left me!”

 

“Willard did not marry your mother. That matters on Earth.”

 

“They were Free Companions when I was born.”

 

“Except for those who have been to Gor, they don’t understand that.  Wyandotte understands, I understand, you understand, but the rest of the Family does not understand that, not in their bones.  Even many of the council do not understand and we need a leader tonight. London may take further action; our less friendly friends on the council may try to diminish us. Willard was removed from the council; we need someone who can push to have the Head of the Family back on the council. Otherwise, our interests suffer. Most of the rest of the cousins are too old or too weak. We need a leader right now.”

After the Bighorn Chapter Two: 'Master Patrick and Slave Juli', by Tracker

 

Slave Juli’s Narrative.

 

My homecoming to San Francisco was not what I had expected when we left.

 

I had expected to be dressed as a respectable engaged woman coming back to sign a pre-nup.

 

Instead, I am a barely clothed, collared slave girl, a kajira in a collar coming back to sign a slavery contract that will bind me until Patrick, Master Patrick, can figure out a legal way to keep a slave in San Francisco.  There does not seem any way to do that, but legality is very important to Patrick, and he is a very good lawyer.

 

I had many adventures and near calls getting out of the car on the way home from the Bighorn.  Patrick obtained a slave tunic for me on the Lazy F, low cut on the top and extremely brief in the skirt, with the skirt split up the left side showing where his mark is on me.  For now, it is only ink, but combined with my shiny collar, there is no doubt as to our relationship, even if it is not a legal one yet. Honestly, as I am allowed no nether closure, as the Goreans say, or no underwear as we say on Earth, I am not sure I always avoided displaying myself a la Lindsey Lohan as I got out of the Subaru. I always wondered what it would be like to be a slutty bad girl, and now I know.  It is terrifying, but I am secure belonging to Patrick.  And to anyone Patrick gives me to.  That is a little harder.  On the night before we left the Bighorn, he gave me to Master Woodrow, while he dallied with that Angela slut. Woodrow knew how to make me testify too.

The Paga Diaries (18) by Arizona Wanderer: ‘Tea with Free Women and Comfort in Kaissa’

 

My mind was numb as I walked toward Mirus’s house to get my second stabilization injection.  When I arrived, I knocked on the front door of his mansion.  Fen, his assistant answered the door and invited me in.  He told me that he would be handling today’s injection as the Physician was occupied at the moment.  I wondered if Mirus was occupied with the appraisal of the gemstones I had left with him. 

 

We went into the windowless green patient room.  Fen was quick with the injection and the pain became nothing.  I left the house after saying that I would return tomorrow for the next shot. 

 

I did not know what to do next.  I really wanted to go to the tarncot and see Trem and Jesop and learn more about tarns.  I also had a powerful need for a strong drink.  But drinking and tarns don’t mix.  I started to walk to the tarncot.

 

As I walked, I kept replaying the events of the morning with Penny.  I knew her name was really Five, but she was Penny to me.   I kept thinking about what I should have done different with Lenious, her master, in my attempt to purchase her.  What had gone wrong?  Why wouldn’t he sell her to me, especially for the high price I offered? 

 

After a pasang or so, I walked past a building that had a unique smell of something freshly baked, with spices.  I wasn’t hungry yet but the smell was unique enough to draw my attention into seeing what it was.  The building had an open door and I walked in.  There were several low tables placed about the room with large spaces between them.  Only two of the tables had anyone at them, both of them with groups of women, wearing veils and robes of concealment.  The women were laughing and did not pay any attention to me.  I noticed another door that opened out into a beautiful back courtyard area. 

Barbarian of Gor Chapter Twenty Three

 

There were now five girls in our coffle line, each one with a Harl ring locked on her left ankle, each one secured to the other girls in line through a single light chain.

 

“You see our problem” said Adam as we stood to one side of the coffle.

 

I did see. Now that she was naked, Laetitia was clearly a Fire Crotch. “Someone should have thought to dye her pubic hair to match her head hair. This is how Miss Sally Reeve identified her.”

 

“It seemed so obvious that I never considered mentioning it back in Corcyrus,” said Adam. “Who was responsible for dyeing her hair?”

 

“Well obviously not me,” I said. “Whichever of the household kajirae that tended to her morning bathing and dressing, I suppose.”

 

“Whoever it was needs a whipping.”

 

Laetitia crouched in the grass, her arms still crossed against her small breasts, her hips turned away from us. She had been crying. Tears are common enough when a girl, new to her collar, is stripped and placed in coffle for the first time. How traumatic it must seem to her. She wore heavy slave makeup now, and her long hair had been trimmed and styled in a fashionable slave cut, beloved of masters from most regions of Gor. 

 

“We’ll have to shave her,” said Adam. “All of them, in fact.”

Barbarian of Gor Chapter Twenty Two

In hindsight, I should perhaps have forewarned Felix and Adam that I was going to put Misa to use last night, but in my defence it had been a spur of the moment decision when I had left the campfire to find my bed.

 

Misa served us breakfast in the morning, on her knees, in nadu. Nearby her so-called sisters knelt in the grass, still chained between their Harl rings, glaring at the slave as she made no attempt to resist my commands.

 

“You had a good night, then,” remarked Adam, drily.

 

“I of course offer you the use of my slave, Misa, from here on in,” I said. Unlike me, Adam and Felix still had not enjoyed a woman in over a week. Misa looked up, startled by my offer. I had not consulted with her before offering her use to the men.

 

“That is kind of you, sword brother,” said Felix, before Adam might object. “Perhaps tonight?”

 

“She is yours tonight, Felix,” I said, slapping his shoulder. “Misa,” I turned to regard the softly curved slave, “serve my brother well tonight, or you will feel the  whip.”

 

“Yes, Master,” said the former huntress as she lowered her gaze. She would know a second man tonight, and perhaps once again experience a slave orgasm. 

 

“And what brought about this remarkable and sudden change of heart?” enquired Adam as he sipped some Black Wine.

The Paga Diaries (17) by Arizona Wanderer: ‘The Offer’

 

I was happy to see Penny standing at our meeting spot at the sixth ahn.  She dropped to her knees and knelt in nadu as I got close to her.  The bell on her neck rang as she knelt.  “Tal, Master,” she said with happy blue eyes and a smile on her face.  She was clean today, as was her shabby camisk.  I was happy to see that. 

 

“Tal, Penny,” I said. “We do something different today.”

 

“Yes Master, what are we doing?”

 

“I take you to apartment. Want you to know where I live. Make new meet place. So, when you can’t meet, you come next day,” I said.

 

“I don’t understand, Master.”

 

“On day when you can’t meet, you come morning that you can. You come to me, where I live,” I tried to explain. 

 

“Yes, Master.  There are days when I can’t meet you.  On days that I can meet you, I will come to where you live, and this will become our new meeting place.” 

 

“Yes, morning at the sixth ahn.  Now we get breakfast and go to apartment,” I said.

 

We ate our pastries on the way to my apartment or insula, which wasn’t very far from our meeting place.  The building was two stories of stone masonry that was built in a “U” shape, with a small courtyard in the centre. The building was two stories with twelve apartments on each floor, each apartment having its own exterior entrance door.  I unlocked the door and we entered my small single room apartment.

 

“Strip Penny,” I said.  She gracefully removed her camisk, revealing her thin tan figure, perky breasts, and long slender legs.  I enjoyed looking at her and wanted her to remain naked while she was in my apartment.  I had Penny kneel and I took a towel and used it to wrap and muffle the triangular bell that was chained around her neck along with the metal coin box.  The bell was very distracting and irritating.  I started to point at things in the room so that she could teach me the Gorean words for them.  I learned the words for simple household things like the cabinet, countertop, fireplace with hanging pot, the chamber pot and everything else that was in the room. 

Barbarian of Gor Chapter Twenty One

 

I felt very content as I lay on my back, in some furs, gazing up at the star constellations in the night sky.

 

I had eaten well, I had drunk well, and I had enjoyed the company of my caste around a communal camp fire. We had been served throughout the evening by some beautiful kajirae – some trained, and some raw, new, and anxious in their fresh collars and brands. All had served to the best of their abilities, knowing they would feel the whip if they slacked in any way.

 

We were now in the territory of Torcadino, with no sign of Stannis Assante’s cavalry, and despite not wishing to tempt fate I began to feel a sense of hope that we would reach the great gates of Torcadino with no further incidents. While Stannis might risk taking action in the border region, he would not dare to send his men deep into Torcadino’s territory. That would be an act of war and he would met by Torcadino’s own warriors. 

 

A slave girl lay beside me in the furs, her head resting close to my chest, her breathing shallow and dreamlike. I had put her to use three times tonight, and now I was content and thinking clearly, my mind no longer distracted by thoughts of sex. Women are beautiful, but even more beautiful in that sense of post-coital bliss they enjoy after they have orgasmed. I mean of course a true orgasm of the kind that slaves routinely relish, and not whatever it is that free women feel when they lie down on their backs and spread their legs for their free companion. It is probably for the best that free women have no intrinsic understanding of what it is they are missing. Think how miserable their lives would be if they actually understood the difference, the vast gulf, between what a slave feels and what they feel.  

 

I stroked the girl’s soft, long hair and kissed her sleepy forehead. Her eyelids fluttered a little as she hovered in that warm cosy space between dreaming and waking.