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.

 

“Master…” she beathed the word in her half sleep, curling closer to me for comfort. 

 

“Slave,” I said, whispering the word into her ear. The girl stirred slightly.

 

“No… I am free.”

 

“Slave,” I whispered again. I saw her fingers clutch at the length of chain that descended from her steel collar.

 

Of course she wore a collar. I had personally closed and locked it about her neck three ahn ago, to the approval and satisfaction of Apollo and Julius who had sold it to me for a very good price. The irony wasn’t lost on me that I had used the very money the huntresses had carried to purchase the collars that they now all wore. 

 

Laetitia had been pleased. She had stood nearby, watching, as I collared each of the girls in turn. 

 

“You can’t do this to us,” Misa had protested as I had placed the first band about her fair throat. It closed with a locking click. I had arranged her hair about her shoulders after collaring her. Ana looked like she was about to faint as I collared her next. Her face was flushed and she was breathing erratically. 

 

“You may kneel,” I said to her, sensing she was now unsteady on her feet.

 

Dana’s collaring was without complaint. The girl still lay in the grass recovering from her arrow wound. She stirred briefly as I locked the steel about her throat. A flicker of understanding seemed to take hold, but she said nothing of consequence. She was still very weak and needed a lot of rest. 

 

“Rise,” I said to Nia. I motioned with my hand as she rose to her feet. I held the last of the collars in my hand. 

 

“Stannis will pay you handsomely for my freedom,” she said. It was interesting that her previous defiance had now turned to bargaining with me. 

 

“Stannis isn’t here,” I said to Nia, “and he is unlikely now to trouble us, now that we are in Torcadino’s sphere of influence.”

 

“That will not deter him when my safety is at stake.”

“Ah, but Nia, you forget, he doesn’t know we have you.”

 

It was true. Yes, Nia and the other girls were missing, but Stannis would not know that we had them. They might have run into outlaws, or bandits, or a wagon train of slavers. They might have run into a far ranging unit of Corcyrian soldiers, or perhaps even Argentum soldiers. Their allies would not baulk at seizing four impudent free women who presumed to ride war tharlarions across war torn countryside. Truly, the huntresses might have been seized by anyone. 

 

I think Nia understood the precariousness of her situation. If Stannis knew we had her, then yes, he would no doubt move heaven and earth to pursue us. But he couldn’t know. It was a possibility, but unlikely. We were, after all, just three men. Surely the huntresses would not fall prey to such a small band of men who lacked even tharlarion? No, their disappearance had to mean they had encountered insurmountable odds somewhere in the woodlands.  

 

“I am prepared to bargain with you, Roland,” she said. “Name your terms.” She stood, naked, her hair unbound, lacking a ribbon, in the fashion of a slave girl.

 

“You have one opportunity now to correct how you addressed me. You will never be given that opportunity again.” My hand touched the handle of the whip that hung from my belt. 

 

“Master,” she said. Nia was defiant inside, but she knew only too well what the whip would feel like. Had she not used it herself on many slaves and free men? “Name your terms, Master.”

 

I smiled. I still held the open collar. 

 

“It is my understanding you carry nothing with you that you can offer me.”

 

“Obviously I can obtain funds,” she said. “I have resources. In Torcadino I can arrange a bank draft and you will be paid more money than you might receive from selling a thousand girls like me.”

 

“A thousand girls like you? You offer me a thousand copper tarsks, then?”

 

For a moment she didn’t understand, but then her eyes seemed to flash in anger. “I am worth more than a copper tarsk!”

 

“Are you?” I smiled again. “You are not trained, Nia. You have not come to terms with the collar, and you are stubbornly defiant. Why would you be worth more than a copper tarsk?”

 

“Because…” her voice trailed away before she might describe her attributes.

 

“You have something in mind that might be a factor in your value on the block?”

 

She grew angrier still. “Let us not play games. Obviously I am not ugly,” she said.

 

“Obviously,” I agreed. 

 

“It goes without saying,” she added.

 

“Perhaps. But are you beautiful?”

 

She breathed deeply, holding back her anger. “Perhaps a man might be the judge of that?” she suggested. “We could ask one?”

 

“You have good flanks.”

 

“How dare you!” she hissed.

 

“Your breasts are lovely. They are heavy, teardrop shaped, but firm, which is important. You may not be aware, but my caste believes that from a purely functional and aesthetic sense, the ideal breast size for a woman is generally considered to be one that's proportionate to her height, shoulder, and waist diameter. So, for a woman who measures 5'4”, as you do, little Nia, her breasts should complement the frame of her body and allow them to move freely without discomfort.”

 

“Do not speak as if I’m livestock to be assessed!”

 

“But that is what you are, Nia. Livestock.”

 

“I have not been enslaved!”

 

“Yet,” I corrected her. I still held the open collar in my left hand. “In general, taller women have wider chests so they can manage a larger breast size, whereas a larger cup shape might overwhelm the frame of a smaller woman. Your breasts are probably a little too large for your height, but not to the point where your block price might be compromised. Your areola is both decorative and easy to flush, as are your nipples. You may recall this happening earlier today?”

 

“Yes!” she snapped.

 

“You may be interested to learn, Nia, that while you are naked it is impossible for you to hide signs of arousal. Your areola and your nipples will give out clear signals when you are being stimulated. You may as well hang a sign around your next that reads, Nia is a hot little slut.”

 

“I am NOT a hot little slut!” She looked away to the side of the inner stone circle. “In any case, I am worth more than a copper tarsk!”

 

“A slave never truly knows her block price until she ascends the block and presents herself before men. Only then will it become clear to her.”

 

“What do you want? What is my ransom?”

 

“Unfortunately, Nia, you are your own worst enemy. Were I to accept a ransom from you – any ransom – I would clearly spend the rest of my no doubt short life looking over my shoulder, expecting you to seek revenge.”

 

“Of course!” she snapped.

 

“So I would be a stupid man to ransom you at any price. I will only be able to sleep soundly at night when you are collared, branded and sold in a foreign market where no one will ever find Livinnia Assante.”

 

“You can’t mean that,” she said. Her face seemed pale.

 

“This is your collar,” I said, lifting it in my hand. 

 

“Stannis will…”

 

“Stannis doesn’t know you are here. He will never know. He isn’t coming, Nia. That is the uncomfortable truth. He… is not… coming for you.”

 

“I will not come after you seeking revenge. You can free me. You will be safe. I promise.”

 

“We both know that is a lie, pretty little Nia. Lift your chin.”

 

She closed her eyes and lifted her chin. I placed the collar around her throat and closed it with a locking click. 

 

*****************

 

“I see you’ve collared the girls,” said Adam when we ate our evening meal.

 

“It seemed advisable. The slavers here would ask questions if I didn’t.”

 

Adam nodded. “The slaves seem…” he grinned, “rather more glamorous than before?”

 

He referred of course to the fact that Nia, Ana and Misa now all wore slave cosmetics. One of Apollo’s slaves was very experienced with a cosmetic brush and her services had been offered to me. The former huntresses had squirmed and protested as one by one they were made to kneel in nadu and hold themselves still as Loana applied slave foundation, eyeshadow, lipstick, blusher and mascara to the girls’ faces. Then she trimmed their hair, keeping the heavy length, but shaping it into the popular ‘slave flame’ style. By the time she had finished her work, all three girls were practically unrecognisable. The girls were not given mirrors to see themselves, but their startled reactions as they saw one another meant they had a good idea how they now looked. 

 

Loana then painted their nails with pink lacquer, and applied sensual slave perfume to their wrists and necks. 

 

There was now no mistaking any of the three girls for anything but slaves. 

 

“I can pierce their earlobes if you wish, Master?” said Loana.

 

“That can wait,” I said.

 

There was a palpable sense of relief from Nia, Misa and Ana as I said that. I did however buy anklets of slave bells from Apollo and these were locked above the Harl rings on each girl’s left ankle. Now whenever a girl moved I would hear her.  

 

“I suspect Stannis wouldn’t even recognise you now if he rode past,” I said to Nia. “Think on that if you will.”

 

The girls were now linked together with their Harl rings. They sat or knelt in the grass with a length of chain that ran through the front of each ankle shackle. The ends of the chain were locked to slave rings set into one of the standing stones. Loana gave each of them a hair brush and ordered them to brush one another’s hair until it was glossy, shiny and full of body.

 

“You have a small coffle,” said Apollo as we drank paga together by the camp fire. Laetitia knelt beside me, ostensibly so that she could serve, but in reality so that I might keep an eye on her. I had told her not to speak unless spoken to.

 

“That is true.”

 

“Four new captures and a semi-trained First Girl,” he concluded. “You will not make much money in Torcadino.” Apollo’s coffle totalled thirty eight girls. He had been busy along the roads and had done some business with various soldiers along the way. 

 

“I fear you are right,” I said. “Will I have any difficulty entering the city?’

 

“Slavers are always welcome,” said Apollo. “Provided they bring slaves. Slaves are good for the economy. The best markets for you in Torcadino will be the Portese and the Cosimata. You should be able to find shelves to rent at either one. Avoid the Trionfale. It is possibly the best market overall, but the rates there are only cost effective if you have a large coffle to display.”

 

We drank and we ate and we talked. It was a warm night with a light breeze and all seemed good with the world. These men and men like them could be my brothers if I truly embraced my new caste.   

 

I kissed the neck and shoulders of the lovely slave girl who lay beside me in the furs. The hour was very late and in just a few ahn dawn would break and the girls would be ordered to make breakfast and then clear our camp. The slave wore slave cosmetics, transforming her soft features into a ravishing beauty worthy of a great market block in the prestigious Trionfale. Loana’s brush hand was exquisite, rendering the soft feminine features and accentuating the eyes, lips and cheeks in a striking manner. This was no longer a huntress – this was a pleasure slave.

 

The slave gasped as my fingers brushed her lightly between her thighs.

 

“Master…” she raised her head and blinked back the crumbs of sleep in her eyes. Earlier this evening I had excused myself from the campfire and I had unlocked Misa from the Harl ring chain, taking her by the wrist to my bedding.

 

“What are you doing?” Her eyes had been wide with fright. 

 

“What do you think I am doing?”

 

I could smell the sensual perfume on her body. Slave perfume. In the camp fire light she looked ravishing. The makeup had transformed her beyond recognition, and her hair was now thick and glossy, shaped in the manner of a slave’s style. I took her to my furs and locked a chain to her Harl ring. The other end of the chain I locked to one of the rings set at the base of the closest stone. 

 

“I am a huntress, not a slave girl,” she said as I pushed her down on to her back. “I hunt men,” she said. “Men are my prey.” 

 

I kissed her about her breasts, working my tongue to her nipples. I parted her thighs and heard the soft jingle of chain and slave bells as she moved beneath me.

 

“I am a huntress,” she said again. “Men are my prey!”

 

“Hush.” I kissed her, tasting the lipstick rouge, as my hands stroked the curves of her body.

 

“I…” she sobbed, “I hunt men… I am not…” she was weeping as her body responded to my touch, “a slave girl…”

 

“Hush.”

 

I took her wrists and parted them either side of her head. My penis was hard and ready for her as I gazed down at the lovely prize beneath me. 

 

“Not like this,” she begged. 

 

“This will be good for us both,” I said. “I have needed a woman for some time now, and this will teach you something of what it is to be a slave.”

 

“You won’t enslave me. Please promise me that?”

 

“But I am a slaver,” I said. I pressed my penis against her, touching her moist labia with its stiff tip. She was oiling for use as she felt the insistent pressure against the outer lips of her sex.

 

 “Enslave the others, if you must, but not me. I cannot be a slave! I am a huntress!”

 

“Nia and Ana would not be happy if they heard you say that.”

 

“The slaver was wrong in his assessment of me! I will not make a good slave. I will not give you pleasure!”

 

“I rather think you will.” And then I entered her, pushing in easy strokes, sliding deeper inside the lovely slave as she gasped and moaned and writhed with each direct thrust of my hips.

 

My first taking of her was swift and savage for I was a thirsty man desperately craving water in the desert. My second taking of her was more measured, for now I could relish her at a slower pace, enjoying each cry from her rouged lips as I moved with a steady insistent rhythm inside of her. I would master her with my second taking, watching closely as I drove her closer to orgasm, and then withholding that orgasm for many ehn before building her back close to her peak again.

 

She writhed, her eyes glazed and her body flushed from head to toe with a deep, intense arousal. Her thighs shook as she grasped me hard, pushing against me with swift movements of her hips, meeting me head long, driving me towards an orgasm of my own. 

 

“Hold still,” I would command, and she would cry in frustration. I was inside of her and I was so hard and all she wanted was for me to push her over the edge. Her face was flushed as she begged me to continue. “Hold still, or you will feel the whip, Misa.”

 

She had not orgasmed on the first time I had taken her, for my use of her had been too quick, too brutal. Her own pleasure had been irrelevant. And she did not orgasm the second time because I did not permit it. Instead, when she was overcome with need, I slid from between her thighs and ordered her to use her mouth and tongue to finish me. She did so, weeping, begging to please me with her sex, instead.

 

“Let me part my thighs,” she begged. “Enter me again, Master. Misa begs you. Take me!”

 

But I did not permit it. 

 

In the third taking of her, I tied her wrists and ankles to slave rings set on iron spikes that I drove deep into the ground either side of her. Her body was taut and now she would understand how bondage affects a natural slave. Then I entered her again when I became aroused, and now as she struggled exquisitely against her bonds, crying out with the pleasure of being made completely helpless in such a way, then and only then did I address myself to her first slave orgasm. I took my time, alternating between deep thrusts, and then arousal of her breasts and nipples with my lips and tongue. 

 

When she came, I swear her cries probably woke the dead. 

 

After I untied her bonds, Misa lay on her back for several ehn, shaking in disbelief at the sheer intensity of what she had just experienced. 

 

“That was a slave orgasm,” I said, as I stoked her hair. She curled herself against my body and kissed my chest.

 

“My body is still tingling,” she gasped. “All over. It is almost an out of body experience.”

 

“You must have had an orgasm before?” I asked.

 

“I thought I had, but… no, Master, not if it is supposed to be like this. Not if this is how I am supposed to feel. There has never been anything like this.”

 

“Slaves tell me it is wonderful to be a true female as nature intended. They say men can never understand the pleasure they feel.”

 

“You have no idea,” she gasped. “I never want this to end.” She was still riding the waves of post coital pleasure that can only come from a true slave orgasm. It can linger for many ehn.

 

“It is called a slave orgasm for a reason. Only natural slaves can experience it.”

 

Misa blushed. “And some free women, too?”

 

“No. A true free woman will never experience such a thing in her life. It is not possible.”

 

“But…”

 

“It is a slave orgasm.” I held Misa and felt her body still vibrating softly with the ebbing waves of pleasure. She was holding on to the feeling for as long as humanly possible.

 

“You gave me no choice,” she whispered in the darkness.

 

“That is true. Had you been given a choice you would not have felt the sensations you did.”

 

“What is going to happen to me?”

 

“I am a slaver,” I said. “What do you think is going to happen?”

 

“No… I can’t… it is unthinkable…”

 

“Stannis isn’t coming,” I said. “He doesn’t know you are here. There will be no rescue. There will be no ransom.”

 

“Someone must come! Someone will come!”

 

“Even if they did, they wouldn’t recognise you. You would have a shock if you saw yourself in a mirror, Misa. You would see only a slave girl.”

 

“I am a huntress. I must be strong.”

 

“But you are not strong. Not strong enough to resist men. You never were. You and your so-called sisters were simply playing a game. Well, the game is now over.”

 

I lay back and gazed up at the stars. It would be dawn in just a couple of ahn. Soon, very soon, we would reach Torcadino. And I had come to a decision. I would embrace my caste. I would deliver Laetitia to her destiny and I would then return to Corcyrus and be a slaver in the true sense of the word. I would be true to my caste, and I would… I smiled softly, I would consider free companionship with the Lady Herminia, provided she didn’t resemble a sand sleen. She had been good to me, and it is said a man derives many benefits from free companionship. Herminia and I were well suited to one another. There was no sexual need for each other on either of our parts that might complicate matters. It would be a true free companionship, providing the basis for family, caste and Home Stone to thrive. In time Herminia would do her duty and provide me with strong sons and graceful daughters. My name would live on after I was gone. And together we might combine our slave holdings and perhaps if the Tatrix chose to reward me for my duty to her we would be given a great slaving house with which to build our fortunes. Yes, I could see my future clearly now.

 

I would be a slaver.

 

Misa watched the dawn rise in my arms. The sun that both my Earth and my Gor shared rose from the east and brought with it the dawn chorus of birds across the vast grasslands. 

 

“The morning is beautiful, Master,” said Misa as she huddled close to me. 

 

“That it is, pretty slave.” I kissed her forehead and felt like I could easily have her again. But already there were stirrings in the camp. Soon the men would be up to check on their chained slaves. “Nia and Ana will have heard you last night,” I said. A look of fear suddenly crossed Misa’s face.

 

“Did I cry out at all?”

 

“Well, that’s a mild way of putting it, my hot little slut.”

 

“Oh Gods, no. Please tell me I didn’t beg loudly?”

 

I laughed and kissed her full on the lips. “They probably heard you in Torcadino,” I said.

 

“I can’t go back to them!” cried Misa. “I can’t!” She buried her face against my chest. “What will they think of me!”

 

“They will think you are a natural slave. They will probably despise you for a time, because deep down they fear they might be the same as you when the time comes.”

 

“When the time comes?” she looked up at me.

 

“Someone will put them to use; if not me, then someone else.”

 

“Even Nia?” 

 

“Especially Nia. She too wears a collar. I will sell her in Torcadino.”

 

“Sell her?!” Now Misa looked even more frightened.

 

“Slavers sell slaves. It is an important part of who we are.”

 

“And… Ana?”

 

“I will sell her from the same auction block as Nia.”

 

“But not me? Surely not me?”

 

I pushed Misa away, with a light jingle of chain, and rose to stretch my arms and legs. 

 

“But not me?” she said again. “You would not sell me? You would not sell me when we reach Torcadino?”

 

I released the length of chain from the slave ring set into the base of the giant sandstone block and then unlocked it from Misa’s Harl ring, freeing the girl for her camp duties this morning. 

 

“You can’t mean to sell me? You can’t!”

 

“I am a slaver,” I said. “It is what I do.”