(The following occurs after the events soon to be recounted in Gods of Gor)
“Hold still, Emma!” she was fidgeting like a wild thing as I draped, arranged, and secured the silks and gauze decoratively about her body. She would be dancing soon for the pleasure of my Master and his guests and I feared she was going to be distracted.
“Who is she?” Emma kept trying to get a glimpse of the blonde barbarian who lay beside our Master’s feet as he discussed politics with the other men. The girl was semi-nude, except for decorative bangles and a long piece of silk that fell between her thighs, as she licked and kissed his ankles and from time to time was fed a grape or two by hand.
“She’s just a new slave. Her name is Anthea.”
“Why is she with Brinn? I should be with Brinn?”
Other slaves regarded us with disapproval. Emma has a tendency to speak our master’s name, something no other girl would dare do, including myself, and they didn’t like it. Somehow Emma seemed to get away with it. My Master didn’t seem to notice or care.
“Our Master needs his best girl dancing on the tiles. I could hardly send another girl, could I? You were trained in the pens of Banu Hashim, as you keep reminding everyone. Who else do I have that can match your training?”
“Your Taharian girls?” suggested Emma. “You keep telling me how good they are. Put them on the tiles instead of me.”
Emma didn’t like my Taharians. It had something to do with having her thighs whipped with a switch by Nadia on her first day returning to the estate. It had been a misunderstanding and I had swiftly put things straight, but Emma retained a dislike for the Taharians in general ever since then. It is true they watched her like desert cats, and were swift to reprimand her if she seemed to be slacking in her chores, but then they treated all the kennel girls like that.
Even now, a Taharian slave girl was watching Emma from the side of the room. She wore slashed purple silks that signified she was one of my Praetorian Guard as I liked to joke. In her right hand she held a switch.
“A slave told me Anthea is a barbarian,” said Emma.
“Yes…” that was somewhat unfortunate. Being both blonde AND a barbarian invited direct comparisons with Emma herself. “She’s from the West Coast of America.”
“Has Brinn said anything about her?” Emma seemed anxious. I secured some gauze about her hips with light golden chains.
“You know how the Master is with new girls. He tries them all out and then moves on to the next batch. He’ll be bored with her in a day or two.”
“I haven’t been on Brinn’s couch for the three days now,” said Emma. “Three days!”
“Well that is because of your outburst in the kennels.” Emma had endured a number of punishments for the hair pulling and scratching that had constituted the brief argument that had woken me from my Master’s bed at midnight and forced me to attend the kennel pens to put a stop to it. My Master had taken advice from a slaver called Trakkar who had visited the estate as a guest. Brinn had acquiesced to the man’s judgement on slave discipline, not wishing to seem weak and indecisive in front of such a Gorean celebrity, and Emma had gone without food for the next 36 hours. She had also been sharply switched by Nadia or both the hair pulling and the general disturbance, which cannot be tolerated in the kennel pens, otherwise they descend into anarchy. Nadia had ominously warned Emma that next time she would be whipped by a man. But worse still, Master Trakkar had suggested that Emma should be banished from Brinn’s couch for a period of a month, with no use by the men on the estate, either. I thought that was rather cruel and far more than the incident merited, but I was hardly going to put myself in the firing line by disputing the decision of Master Trakkar. I hadn’t yet broken the news of the month long celibacy to Emma. She just thought our Master had been busy trying out new girls of late.
“Maybe he will want me tonight?” she said. She tried to catch a glimpse Anthea again, as she lay enticingly at our Master's feet. “I’ll be dancing for Brinn.”
“See the man to his right,” I said? The long, lean man in the colours of the slaver caste?”
“What of him?”
“That is Master Trakkar. A guest here for a few more days. You should be dancing for him, too.”
“Why? It’s Brinn I want to seduce.”
“If you please Master Trakkar with your dancing, and you present yourself as obedient and remorseful, he may take pity on you and suggest to our Master that…”
“Wait, is he the one who had me whipped?” Emma snarled.
“Switched,” I said. “Not whipped. You wouldn’t be standing now if Master Trakkar had had you whipped.”
“Is he?” Emma peered round. The drapes at the figure who sat to the right of our Master.
“Yes… he made some suggestions, and…”
“Ohhh!” Emma clenched her fists. “So, Brinn would have just overlooked my punishments if his guest hadn’t intervened?”
“Possibly. But, Emma, you can’t start fights in the kennel pens. Not here.”
“It was hardly a fight. Sefa began screaming as soon as I pulled her hair.” Emma was grinning as she remembered it. “She wouldn’t have lasted five ehn in Banu Hashim.”
“And you can’t do that! There are strict rules in the kennel pens. Half of them you established yourself when you were First Girl, and the other half are mine. Emma, this is difficult for me. I can’t be seen to be overlooking your brattish behaviour. I’m expected to do something.”
“Brattish!”
“Yes, frankly, brattish. And stop calling our Master by his first name, or at least restrict it to when you’re with him in private. The other girls don’t like it. It makes them feel uneasy around you.”
“Can you do something about Anthea’s long blonde hair? Cut it short for catapult rope perhaps?” Emma was peering round the sash curtains again as I tried to get her to hold still. I needed to finish off her lipstick and eyeshadow.
“No, I can’t do that. And I won’t do that. She’s not doing anything wrong.”
“She’s kissing Brinn’s thigh! She’s going to be sucking his penis at this rate! The fucking slut! She wouldn’t be acting like that if there was a free woman present. Or maybe she’s stupid enough to try and she’d be whipped. Yeah, let her try when there’s a free woman around. Where’s Cassandra when I actually want her to visit the estate?”
“Emma, the Master will be bored with Anthea in a few days.”
“Well, he’s not bored now. Oh God, he’s feeding her more grapes! And look at her! She’s loving it!”
“Emma, step away from the drapes! Master Trakkar has just seen you spying on the men.”
Emma quickly darted back and presented herself for the remainder of her costume and makeup fitting.
“Good. I think you’re ready. I’ll send Shannon to tell the musicians. Emma, concentrate on ALL the men. You’re dancing for the guests, too.”
Emma began some stretching exercises to loosen up her limbs. “I will, Chloe.”
“And Emma, PLEASE call me Mistress when we’re with other girls. You are making it so difficult for me.”
“Sorry, Mistress,” she grinned as she twirled to see how her silks and gauzes might move. “Mmm, I feel hot and sexy.” Her eyes sparkled.
“You ARE hot and sexy, Emma. The men will love you. But be careful when you dance before the slaver. He expects perfection, submission and obedience from a kajira. Do NOT ignore him.”
In the main hall the musicians struck up a Taharian desert tune, replete with swirling rhythms and erotic suggestions. Within a few ihn the men had concluded their conversations and were now gazing expectantly at the tiles where a kajira might appear to entertain them all.
“It’s time for you to dance. And remember what I said. You end the dance by pulling away the silk gauze about your hips and kneeling with palms open to the guests. Make it clear you are available for use.” I playfully slapped Emma on her bottom and sent her skipping gracefully past the curtains and on to the dancing tiles.
And then I watched as she danced before men.
Emma, while a dancer of some slight skill, and is of some interest, needs to re-learn her slavery. She is still falling into faults, including sulking and factionalism in the pens and feeling entitled to a Master's attention. Worse of all, she continues to lack discipline and refers to her master by his name. It should just be Master, or at most. Master Brinn.
ReplyDeleteA Master's name is not one of the things of the Master that should be familiar in her mouth like household words.
Such indicates that lacks respect and takes a proprietorial attitude towards her owner.
As no slave has any right to a Master's attention, Emma needs to be switched every time she refers to her Master without full respect. She must learn that she is just one slave among many and needs to helplessly beg for every attention, every glance.
Now this is important: No slave earns her Master's attentions. It is given by the Master at his whim alone.
Emma must relearn this.
Of course Chloe is to blame for this as First Girl. While she is undoubtedly, artistic, adding to the grace and beauty of the estate which Goreans greatly prize, and has outstanding skills in administration, at the end, she lacks the force to be a First Girl.
The factionalism and favouritism she has allowed to flourish to make
her rule easier is at the bottom of the lack of discipline. The Taharian slaves should be separated from each other, the barbarians likewise. No girl here has any past that bears on her current collared condition.
The easiest solution is to clear out and sell all the kajirae on the estate, failing that, demoting Emma to last on the chain, Chloe, second last, and Candice to third last (as a faction leader) might suffice. None of these girls should see the Master's couch more than once a month. Let them burn to serve, let them submerge their desires and jealousies in a need to be completely pleasing.
Emma and any other kajira who dares to say her Master's name, must be switched or even flogged and be denied the Master's attentions until she learns better.
Or perhaps a period of re-education in the Slave Pens is in order.
Chloe, I think Tracker is right. You need to show you can enforce discipline in the kennel pens. It doesn’t matter that Emma is your friend. You need to bring her to heel. The other girls sense you are weak in this respect, and that never bodes well. If any other girl was acting the way Emma does you would take direct action. You need to do so here. This needs to stop. Emma will be a better slave for it. And don’t worry that Brinn might object. He must be getting frustrated with Emma, otherwise he wouldn’t have taken Tracker’s earlier advice. You are in danger of being replaced by Candice. I’m sure she won’t tolerate Emma’s behaviour.
DeleteTracker: one question, though. I always thought factionalism was rife and normal in large kennels? Or is that not the case? I, myself, have never owned more than a single girl, so am possibly not an expert on the matter, but I always thought Gorean men turn a blind eye to kajirae power dynamics and how the little sluts police one another? Please educate me on the nature of kennel pen society, if you have the time.
- Catherine of Exeter
Dear Lady. It is normal and right that kajirae should be rivals and struggle to best serve the Masters, but when the discord threatens the peace of the house action must be taken. The girls must not harden into sides, but the alliances and groupings should shift with the winds, one day two girls best of chain sisters, the next bitter rivals for a candy or a string of beads. They must not have gangs, with permanent alliances on group against the other. Friendships and hatreds should be individual, not group. And a leader must never, ever put friends about service to the Masters.
DeleteThat makes perfect sense, Sir. And I suppose a wise Master ensures that the girls in his kennels have reason to compete, even the so-called ‘chain sisters’, through the introduction of the small treats you suggest, a sweet candy here, or a string of decorative beads there. I do like the concept that their friendships and groupings should ‘shift with the winds’. How petty kajirae must be to squabble over such trivial treats. A free woman would never compete for a candy. Such a thing would be beneath us.
Delete- Catherine of Exeter
Great art Chloe.
ReplyDelete*Strikes shoulder in applause*
ReplyDeleteThe dancing girl drops to her knees in nadu before the seated Master as he is first to strike his shoulder in applause. The girl lowers her gaze to his feet and suggestively places her open palms facing him, on her thighs.
DeleteBrinn grins and slaps David of Worcester on the shoulder. “She was trained in the pens of Banu Hashim. More paga?”
Trakkar has an ambivalent look on his face. He does not believe in over-praising a kajira although he recognizes the performance for what it was; an excellent technical display of virtuosity, of sensual sinuosity, and of aching sexuality.
ReplyDeleteStill, there was another element, one of smugness almost of sulkiness, barely discernable. The blonde barbarian is indeed covered with sweat, with a musk of arousal emanating from the beast's body, and yet, and yet, he thought there was something missing.
"Yes", he said, "an adequate display from one of her training"
He stuck his left shoulder twice, an adequate response to such a dance.
Trakkar had noticed how much Emma had been motivated by the similar barbarian Althea's nuzzling around under Brinn's tunic like a truffle-tarsk. He considered that Emma should give of her best at all times, not just when she felt threatened; her master deserved her utmost efforts at all time. Nothing else was acceptable. It is not that Emma's dance was bad, just that it should be the constant standard; and something she should aim to surpass in every subsequent performance.
DeleteTrakkar watched the two Taharian kajirae; he wondered what they thought of Emma's rendition of their native dances.
Geralt sits to the right of Trakkar, much as the esteemed slaver sits to the right of Brinn. He, too, has been watching the dance of the blond barbarian, but he perhaps wishes in his heart that a certain Taharian girl, she who holds the whip over the other slaves, was dancing on the tiles instead.
Delete"Yes,” says Trakkar as he simply strikes his shoulder twice in a polite response to his host. "An adequate display from one of her training."
Geralt says nothing at first. This is Emma, after all, ostensibly Brinn’s favourite. Whatever Geralt might think of her, everyone here knows Emma is Brinn’s favourite, and yet she has not shared his couch now for three nights. The guards at the estate have begun to speculate as to why that might be. Has she lost favour with her master? Emma has danced for Brinn’s guests tonight, and of the guests, the opinion of Trakkar of Ar is perhaps the most important. When he speaks on the subject of slaves, and women in general, people listen.
There is a new slave curled at Brinn’s feet. She, too is a blonde barbarian, but unlike Emma she appears to know her place. She does not dare look up as she simply presses her cheek to Brinn’s thigh, awaiting his pleasure.
“An interesting remark,” ventures Geralt. “An adequate display?” He regards, then, the girl who kneels before the assembled male guests, her body now glistening with perspiration. A number of the other guests now watch Trakkar’s reaction closely. His subsequent words will set the tone for tonight.
Emma, too, has heard Trakkar’s words, but she knows enough not to respond to them. She has not been be given permission to raise her head or break position. She kneels still in nadu, palms open on her thighs.
She is, after all, a slave.
Only a slave.
Kneeling submissively in a hall full of men.
Trakkar nodded. "Far better than most indeed, her training is superb, her body delicious, her dancing has made her juice copiously." He used the crude term because there were no free women present in the hall, or indeed in the whole holding of Brinn of the Sardar.
Delete"Such a performance would indeed win plaudits anywhere, from the Cylinder of Marlenus to the Long Halls of Torvaldsland. Yet I detect that she is capable of more, of greater abandon, of greater grace of movement, of higher heights, so to speak, of submission."
"She become too close to her Master, too comfortable in his regard, and has eaten perhaps too much of the bak-la-va. She needs to re-dedicate herself to her service, and study harder to perfect all those little movements. Because she is so talented; much more should be demanded of her. She is capable of it I am sure. Less Bak-la-va and more practice is what she needs."
Maybe we should see how a Taharian kajira dances her native dances and compare studied elegance with native fervour. He pointed over to where some of the Taharian kajirae knelt, at Nadia with her purple silks of a disciplinarian girl, and at a girl behind her, shyer, less volumptous, newer to the call.
"A competition, and a comparison."
Geralt listens as Trakkar expands on his verdict.
DeleteKneeling on the tiles in nadu, the palms of her hands presented in supplication, the blonde barbarian has to listen to the master slaver’s verdict, too.
Other men have paused their own conversations, for when Trakkar discusses slaves, all men listen.
“I detect that she is capable of more, of greater abandon, of greater grace of movement, of higher heights, so to speak, of submission." Trakkar pauses for a moment before he then adds, "She has become too close to her Master, too comfortable in his regard, and has eaten perhaps too much of the bak-la-va.”
Brinn hears this and gazes about the room at his guests and his honoured captains. The nature of a favoured slave, of course, reflects very much on the discipline and slave handling skills of her master. No man respects another man who has allowed his favoured slave to manipulate him in any way. Is Brinn troubled when he finds the men in the hall refuse to meet his gaze? Are they perhaps silently agreeing with Trakkar, but too polite to say so? Do they possibly consider him… weak… when it comes to his blonde barbarian?
The words cannot be ignored. ‘She has become too close to her Master’.
Everyone knows what that really means.
Her Master has become too close to his slave.
There are few men who would dare say that to Brinn of the Sardar. Samos of Port Kar is one. The Priest King agent, Marcellus of Elysium, is another. And Trakkar of Ar is of course a third. They are all men who understand women and the complex relationships between slave and master.
Emma says nothing. She can only kneel and listen, with her head down until commanded by a man to break position. But surely the comment about ‘too much of the bak-la-va’ hurts her self-esteem.
“She needs to re-dedicate herself to her service, and study harder to perfect all those little movements. Because she is so talented, much more should be demanded of her. She is capable of it I am sure. Less Bak-la-va and more practice is what she needs."
None of Brinn’s warriors have ever criticised Brinn’s favoured slave in the feasting hall, though many have perhaps resented her air of entitlement. It is not right that any slave should assume her position is unassailable. And the men have feared for some time that Emma is making their Captain seem weak. They have all sworn oaths to their Captain, and they do not wish him to be shamed in front of other masters.
There is silence in the hall for a moment.
DeleteAnd then Brinn speaks. He can hardly defend his slave from Trakkar’s criticisms, for that might suggest a weakness on his part for a simple blonde barbarian from the slave world. But he has to say something.
“Emma, is this true? Are you capable of more?”
Emma has not been told she can break position. She continues to kneel with her head down.
“Master, please, no, I wouldn’t dare to give less than my full submission.”
Brinn is aware that Trakkar is gazing at the slave.
“So you say that my guest’s assessment of you is wrong? He is not competent in the assessment of slaves? You, a slave, know better than he does?”
“No Master, I did not mean that!” There is a sense of nervousness in Emma’s voice.
“Then what did you mean?”
“Please, Master, I danced to please you all.”
“But not to your full potential? Or do you accuse my guest of a mistake? An error in judgement?”
“He is of course right, Master. I can do better and I will do better.” Emma trembles where she kneels. Men are watching her now.
“How so?” asks Brinn.
“I need to learn greater grace, greater submission before men. I need to re-dedicate myself to my slave belly.”
“I see.” Brinn is clearly displeased with Emma. She has failed to fully impress the greatest slaver of Ar. This reflects poorly on Brinn.
To the side of the hall, Nadia, the Taharian girl, clad in slashed purple silks, a switch in her right hand, glares at the blonde barbarian kneeling on the tiles. Chloe stands closely beside her Taharian assistant.
And then Trakkar speaks again. “Maybe we should see how a Taharian kajira dances her native dances and compare studied elegance with native fervour. A competition, and a comparison."
Brinn regards his First Girl, and Nadia. “Neither are trained in the way that Emma was.”
“They are female,” says Trakkar. As if that is enough.
“That is Chloe, my First Girl,” says Brinn. “And standing beside her is Nadia, one of her trainers. I can order one of them to the tiles, if you wish?”
Now it is the turn of both Taharian girls to look scared. Neither have danced before a hall full of men before. Not like this. Emma was always there in the past for that duty. And if Emma has failed to fully satisfy the legendary slaver of Ar, what hope do they have?
Trakkar of Ar relents, the girl in front of him seems about to cry. "It is more about continuous improvement, this girl", he flicks a glance at Emma, "has yet more potential that she has not explored. There is always more a girl can do, what is her utmost yesterday, is not the utmost she can achieve today. A Master who has been away adventuring cannot be expected to force her to reach within herself and achieve ever greater levels of excellence."
Delete"There is behind Chloe, your first girl, and the proud Nadia a third, the slim girl, I think new to her collar. Let us watch her learn, on the tiles, with a strip of silk, and the ingrained knowledge of the dances of the Tahari that was bred in her dance for us. She will not be polished, but during the course of the dance we can watch her find more of her slave fires, her female self, more knowledge of her body. It is only under the eyes of men, demanding and assessing that she will learn this. As she learns, she will show Emma that there are always greater depths of emotion and dance that can be plumbed. She will learns and as Emma watches she, accomplished as she is, will be taught that there is always more to learn.
A girl, slim, small, with small breasts, only three weeks on the estate, and six weeks in a collar, was pushed forth. Her sweet hips had a yellow piece of silk, knotted on the left hip, exposing a kef brand. How could she, raw, basically untrained, please these men, how could she please her master, and the demanding scornful voice. Hesitantly, fearfully, forced to dance under the eyes of men, she took her place in the centre of the lamplight. The drums, began the beat, Chloe thrust a length of silk, narrow and long, into her hands. The slowing writhing music began. Her mind on the music she did not really hear Trakkar say, "watch now, as she discovers who she is, and the beginning of what she can be. As she discovers, Emma, and Chloe, and Nadia can watch and learn that there is always more a slave can learn."
The music begins again to fill the room, the slim girl on the floor stands less stiffly as the ancient ancestral rhythm enters her blood. "See," Trakkar whispers urgently, "already she changes." The strip of silk in her hands, a blue of the shade of blue of the skies of her desert begins to drape over her body. She moves in the First Capture dance of the Tahari, dance she didn't know that she knew. She loops the silk around her wrists, and lifts her hands over her head as if suspended from a slave loop attached to a barrens kaiila. She moves with little steps as though running along trying to keep up as her captor rides away from a looted caravan, girls stripped and tied attached to the slave loops of his saddle. The musicians shift to a running gait, the melody from an old riding song of the desert. The girl, on tip toes moves and shifts her body as she relives the incident of her capture barely two months ago. The raw emotion in her dancing forces the men to draw breath and smite their left shoulders. The dancing is different from that of Emma, less polished, but the men watch the slim girl, as she dances her capture, dance a great submission, as her belly absorbs anew what has been done to her. She ends in flurry of moves then falls into first obeisance position. The men gasp and shout at the raw emotion of the dance.
DeleteThe musicians shift to a wind song of the Tahari, high and lonesome, Nadia and Chloe swaying as if moved by the wind, move to her side, and attach slave bells to her ankles.
"Now for the Second Slave dance of the Tahari."
The girl looks up, terrified, has she not revealed enough? The tune from the musicians changes, the beat is irregular, and fast, like the heartbeats of a captured bird. The girl begins to stir, her dancing is not polished, but the men and girls can see how it moves her.
This is very cool. Interactive Gor! I would make a post, but I suspect the feasting hall this night is not a place where free women would be present in any capacity. I’ll just sit back and be entertained from afar. 😊
Delete- Catherine of Exeter
Brinn watches the slave as she takes to the tiled floor, is handed a length of silk, and prepares herself for what is possibly the most nerve wracking thing a new slave can be expected to do – dance before men.
DeleteIn truth Brinn has no idea who she even is. She wears his collar, but then so do a lot of girls. This is a large state, and Brinn is relatively wealthy now. Anthea stirs at his feet and looks up at the new dancer. She kisses her master’s thigh, hoping he will not forget that he has a girl beside him.
The girl is slim, small, with modest breasts. She stands there petrified at first as the music begins to swirl once more. And then she dances.
“You may watch, Emma,” says Brinn, and at last Emma raises her head and regards the second dancer. Trakar can sense that Emma doesn’t feel the new girl will be much competition. Has she been trained in the pens of Banu Hashim? It is unlikely.
Trakkar can tell that the men here are impressed by what they see. There is no technical brilliance, but rather the raw sexuality of a girl who finds herself standing before powerful men, knowing she must please them or possibly face the whip. If Emma was a polished performance by an early ‘70s Progressive Rock guitarist, all clever chords and complicated time signatures, this new girl is simply raw three chord rock n’ roll that appeals to everyone. The first tune is a capture dance. She weaves around the hall, presenting herself to each man in turn, feeling the rhythm of the music, surrendering herself to something buried deep inside of her body.
Geralt is first to applaud, striking his shoulder enthusiastically. In truth he found some of Emma’s dance a little too clever, a little too technical, and a little too contrived. She would do well to learn from an untrained girl how to simply surrender herself to the music and feel her slave belly throughout.
“I see your point, Trakkar,” he says. “That was raw and sensual from her heart.”
“No, from her slave belly,” says Trakkar.
The slight girl (has she even been given a name yet) begins the second part of the dance. She takes the silk again, wraps it around her throat. She mimes to the music. There is a repeated sound on the cymbals, which she mimic with her ankles, making the bells ring in time. Slowly she unwinds the silk from her throat, feeling her collar, she is panicked, iron around her throat, she tugs at at it, shaking her body all in time to the music. In the dark, many of the girls in the hall feel their throats, remembering again the first time metal enclosed their throats, the collars which were so familiar again feeling heavy as though new.
DeleteThe blue silk strip is tucked into the knot holding the yellow silk around her loins, covering the common kef brands. She dances her struggles against invisible hands as she is dragged towards the brightest pool of light on the dark floor. There is a sensual rippling sound from the wind instrument, and ominous slow beats from the big drum. She stands stock still for a moment, frozen with fear, remembering what happened since. The music goes silent. Then a sort of hiss from the winds. She mimes a scream, reveals the kef brand in her thigh. Men strike their hands on their left shoulders.
With just the lower half of her face in the light, she examines the brand. She mimes a scream, but the unseen tears in eyes, hidden in the shadow are real.
She rubs them away, back in the mood of the dance, a move she could not make if she had been allowed cosmetics. Now she is in the second part of this portion of the dance, discovering her slave body, She plays with the blue strip of silk, using in the sensuous dance, moving to the now slow music. She cradles it low against her belly, between her navel and the yellow silk knotted around her hips.
She sways as she moves the silk up her torso, hiding and revealing her navel, sticking her finger in it, then covering it. The silk comes off her belly falling to the ground, as she moves her little finger in and out of the navel. It is innocent, it is suggestive. She takes the finger out and holds it up to her face and recoils in mock shock.
The men laugh and hoot.
She half kneels as the music picks up the beat, extending her left leg as she picks up the blue silk. She draws it up ankles, drawing attention to the slave bells and the lovely curves of her calves. She shakes the bells in time with the musicians.
She does the same with the right calf, moving the silk up past the knee now drawing the attention to her thighs. Lovely thighs, now more widely apart.
In the corner, Chloe and Nadia, kneeling, have laid down their switches and are swaying to the music. The big drum is pounding out a slow steady background beat while the little drums and the winds play the varying melody, musicians and dancer communicating wordlessly back and forth.
She is stamping her feet now in time with the big drum, the bells ringing as she uses the silk to play peek a boo with her breasts. They have been bare throughout the dance, but still she teases the men, first hiding them with the transparent silk, then revealing one or the other. She dances into and out of the bright pool of lamplight, sometimes showing up in a smaller puddle of a candle burning on a table. Each re-appearance is met with shoulder pounding and shouts of encouragement. She runs back into the light, falling to her knees in a sliding move, breasts again bare, shoulders back, chest out with her arms thrown right back. It is a bravura move, and through it her nervousness at such as display is evident, she has only been slave for less than two months.
Trakkar glances over at Emma, to see how the volumptous barbarian reacts to the effrontery of the slim slave making such a display of her small breasts.
DeleteNow the drums pick up the beat, she stomps her feet to make the slave bells ring and ring and moves her slim hips faster and faster. She scooped up the blue silk when she made her slide and now she pulls it up her left thigh, rubbing at and highlighting her kef. She reminds them is she a branded girl, a slave beast, even if nervous. With the blue slave silk held depending from her navel, she pulls the knot holding he yellow silk around her hips. It falls to applause, then the drops both silks, the blue and the yellow, and stands in the posture of a slave girl, naked, left hip turned out, her brand in the light. Her skin is glistening from exertion, her body lively and vital. A naked woman, a slave, a kajira, dancing for the pleasure of men.
And the men were pleased.
Trakkar observed to Gerailt, "she did well enough in the first two parts, let us see how she does in the next two. He caressed the breast of the slave serving him, while the dancer moved slowly in and out of the light in time to the slow music waiting for the signal to begin the next part of the dance.
Emma watches the dancer, and of course Trakkar watches Emma, curious how this favoured slave might react to a raw and untrained girl displaying herself to the men in the room.
DeleteAt first Emma shows no discernible reaction. The girl is new to her collar and clearly frightened, having little faith in her own ability to dance and be found pleasing. Emma has seen this before, and there was a time when she too was new to her collar, lacking in training. Emma expects very little from this clumsy display. But then as the girl dances in a raw but sensual fashion, Emma gazes about the room, wanting to know what the men think of the performance. She sees smiles and captivated expressions. The girl is pleasing, it seems. No, more than that. The men want her.
Now there is a different expression on Emma’s face – a creeping sense of unease. She glances back at the recently collared slave. The girl obviously has no formal training and yet she is pleasing to the men. Even Brinn seems pleased. Emma sees Brinn ignore the kisses from the slave, Anthea, who lies curled at his feet. He leans over and says something quietly to Trakkar and the two men smile and nod, before Brinn turns his attention back to the girl on the tiles.
Trakkar continues to divide his attention between the dancer and Emma. He sees Emma pose where she kneels, straightening her back, sucking her trim stomach in and thrusting her breasts out. She is concerned about her appearance, it seems, and wants to be noticed, for men are no longer looking at her. She wets her lips to make them glisten and offers alluring sideways looks to various men, but no one really notices. Their eyes are on the untrained dancer.
Emma is perhaps not used to this.
She glances again at her master, who remains oblivious to her. He has not summoned Emma to his bed in over three days, and now it seems he will not do so tonight, either.
Perhaps Emma now feels frustration mingling with unrequited slave heat. She wants to crawl to a man and serve him, but she has not been given permission to do so. She must remain kneeling on the tiles, watching the slave girl dance.
She will be feeling her slave belly now. Trakkar can tell.
The slim girl took a deep breath. She knew from watching the performance of Emma that she had made a mistake, she was naked too soon, she still should have some pieces of silk around her. Still there was no sign yet that she would be whipped. The switch was bad enough, but she feared the mighty slave whip in the hands of a strong man more than anything. As a new slave she had felt it often. On the auction block, it had cut into her twice, to encourage her to move as a slave. She tried to remember what she knew of this dance. It was the slow section between the branding and collaring section, and the final frenzied dance. It was to allow Masters to appraise her movements, play with their own slaves and recover their strength.
DeleteThese Masters however, were still giving her their full attention, watching intently. She stumbled a bit, very conscious of her nude body in this place, so many men watching intently. Whci was strange, she had spent so much of the past two months nude, her body available for judging, for touching for use.
She took a deep breath, and centred herself. The girl draped over the tall lean man who had singled her out for this ordeal, her body moving under his hand, winked at her, and whispered "courage" then "dance, slut, dance"
The musicians were becoming impatient, their music insistent.
The fondled service with the mottled skin signifying arousal had reminded her of what she was, and what her purpose was.
The slut began to dance for the men.
She danced, slowly languidly, the slaves' day. Eaten from a bowl on the floor was the first move, she danced on all fours, dipping her head as she ate imaginary food from a bowl, not using her hands as that was forbidden. While her head was lowered, she wiggled her butt, men like that. She dance-ate in various places in front of various men. At one table, a man tossed her a morsel. It shocked her for a moment, she slithered on her belly towards it. The musicians, who were of quality , changed from the Duties of a Slave Dance, to the snake dance. She seized it in her teeth and swallowed.
DeleteMeat, she had not had meat since she was collared, and infrequently before that. "Thank you master" she sang,
She had a lovely contralto voice.
Another table tossed out another piece of food! It was worth dancing to get real food instead of slave mush.
She sang out her thanks again, hoping for more, but the bandleader switched back to duties dance. No man was going to get exciting watching a girl eat. The band played a water motif, it was time for the girl to dance her drinking. Unlike the standard step, where the girl is on all fours, displaying her breasts standing out from her body, she kept her haunches in the air, with her torso bend down touching the ground. The picture thus formed, the girl with her ass in the air, and her body on the tiles, her hands behind her, gained her some applause.
"Ingenious" said Trakkar, "minimizes her body's smaller breasts to avoid comparison with Emma, and wiggles her ass at the same time" He glanced at Emma, who was showing nothing on her face.
The girl now sat cross-legged, miming the act of sewing. As she moved the imaginary needle into and out of imaginary cloth, the band played music usually used in another context; that of the theatre, the music used to imply that a slave girl was being used behind the curtain. Glissando up, then glissando down, the needle moved in and out. The girl's torso moved as if she was being thrust into again and again.
DeleteShe held up the imaginary garment. She used to hands to delineate its diminutions. a small camisk.
She was then on her feet, standing over where she had been, and was making scolding motions. A swift movement to the ground, she was dancing both sides of a slavegirl being chastised by a first girl. As the first girl she ripped out the seams. Then she raised her hand high and brought it down. As she resumed the errant girl position the band struck a small drum, she moved deliciously, a switched girl. The drum made the sound again, this time Nadia lifted her switch in time with the music and her switch whistled through the air and struck the ground as the girl rubbed, while moving her feet and body to the slave bells rubbed her left buttock. The band wound up for another blow, this time Chloe raised and struck her switch on the ground, laughing as the girl danced around rubbing her right butt cheek.
This part of the dance always got laughs, although usually without the participation of the First Girl.
Then ten quick drum beats in a row, as the girl hopped as if in pain and Nadia and Chloe giggled and wielded their switches.
Then long weary notes as the girl took up a new dance task, washing clothes, with the same results.
There were three more similar sections. The girl was not so much acting in her dance, as reliving recent painful experiences, she was dancing in earnest because of her nervousness and fear, but it came across as funny.
Now the spectators leaned forward, this section was nearing completion, the last duty, The New Slave serves in the Furs.
How would she do here?
In all fairness Emma and Brinn are not exactly like other people. A bit like Imnak and Poalu in Beasts of Gor, while technically Master and Slave there is a lot more too their relationship. (Even Tarl Cabot had enough awareness to work that out in Book 12)
ReplyDeleteThank you, Master. I have been through a lot with my Master – saving the Sardar, for one, not to mention actually rescuing my Master from a Silver Mask conspiracy in Port Kar, not that I ever seem to get any credit for it. That does make our relationship a little different from most Master/Slave relationships.
DeleteThis is indeed true. Sometimes strict theorists have trouble fitting exceptional people and situations into their view of the world.
DeleteAnnwyl Emma gyda Ben Melyn,
ReplyDeleteDear Emma with the Yellow Hair,
Spent much of today catching up. so glad to have you back.
Missed your work soooo much.
Please spell it Gerallt as ll is a letter in Welsh and you did say he was a Silure in his DNA, like me.
Dafydd o Y Cymoedd
I’m very pleased to see you didn’t give up on the blog during my absence, Master. It’s actually very humbling to see that so many of you kept checking back on a regular basis. As I always say, I will never simply walk away from the Blog without informing everyone. If you don’t hear from me, I will always be back. If ever I do close down the blog for any reason at all, there will always be a proper goodbye. And there are no plans for that to happen anytime soon! 😊
DeleteAs for Geralt, Gerallt, I’m sure many of you can guess the name was lifted from the Witcher series, which is why it is spelt with one ‘l’. I confess I’ve never actually read the books, and if I’m being honest I wasn’t that impressed by the TV show, but I’ve played the Witcher 3 console game (nowhere near finishing it, mind) and have enjoyed the open world setting with its complex plots (though, typical blonde that I am, I’ve not played it in so long that I realy have no idea where I am in te story or what I should be doing next!).
Geralt isn’t necessarily Silurian in descent (it’s always possible he may be, but even he wouldn’t know) – you’re possibly thinking of Roland, Master, who has been on record as having Welsh ancestry, when he made reference to the game of rugby.
That said, far be it from me to turn down heartfelt requests from my loyal readers, so going forward I’ll spell the name Gerallt in future. As and when I look back at any earlier stories where he’s mentioned, I’ll amend the spelling there, too.