The Paga Diaries (3) by Arizona Wanderer: ‘More Paga’

 

I walked back towards the general direction of my apartment.  Before long I entered an area that had stone paved streets and started to see an improvement in the quality of buildings.  I found a tavern and entered it.  The paga attendant barely looked at me as I found a small vacant table along a side wall.  I looked around the open room and saw some games with wheels that looked to be used for gambling.  There was no one playing at this time of the afternoon. There were two tables set up with a board game that had chess type pieces.  This must be kaissa.  I love chess and other games and am also fond of gambling.  There were two men playing kaissa and they looked very serious.  I wondered how I would learn to play the game.  It would be difficult without being fluent in Gorean.  Maybe they wouldn’t mind if I watched.

 

I saw a tavern slave dressed modestly in a tight-fitting slave tunic approach my table.  She knelt on the floor next to the table.  She had brown hair and brown eyes.  She was short and very curvaceous, slightly chubby around the middle.  She had nicely shaped breasts that pushed against the tunic.  She wore a collar.

 

“Paga Master?” she asked. 

 

“Yes” I said.  

 

“Yes Master,” she then rose to her feet and went to fetch my drink.  I looked at her ample backside as she walked away.  I would rather have a woman who has extra curves, versus one that is too skinny.  But, if this paga slave were mine, I would put her on a diet until she had perfectly proportioned curves.   I was attracted to her and my need for a woman was high after the encounter with the coin girl in the street.

Kajirus of Gor Chapter Thirteen

 

“I’m treating it like a Gap Year. And I’m going to, like, blog about it, if I can ever get a wi-fi signal out there in the middle of nowhere. The Blog is going to be called Wyld in Montana. It’s going to be such an adventure. It will be so me. I was, like, the girl most likely to have an adventure, in my High School Year Book.”

 

She was telling me about the Wyld Wymen of the Montana wilderness. I think I’d read about them once in the New York Review of Books. I suppose it was a natural reaction to the ever-growing influence of New Feminism throughout American society. Not all women wished, it seems, to return to lives of domestic simplicity, taking pride in a clean kitchen, the fresh, homely smell of baking, coffee mornings with like-minded house wives, and a happy husband who works long hours in the city, returning home to his beautiful wife. While some women dug their heels in and simply carried on as before in the towns and cities, and damn the social consequences, some other women, perhaps the more ideological and politically minded ones, cut their ties with urban living and decamped to the remote areas of the United States where they could establish new lives ‘off grid’ and live in a female led society that wouldn’t be governed by men and their sexist attitudes.

 

I’d flown from New York to Minneapolis on the first stage of my journey to Chelsea Frick’s ranch in Montana, and was now travelling overnight by train, seated opposite a very attractive girl called Kelly Milford, whom I initially assumed might be some sort of vacuous bimbo on account of her dress style and habit of excessively using the word like. In an age of New Feminism, Kelly Milford harked back to an earlier, old-fashioned time, when women might routinely wear short skirts, and revealing tops. She was the only woman in the carriage who did, and I could sense the hostility from some of the more modestly dressed women that she had studiously avoided sitting beside. I notice that as she passed vacant seats, those women surreptitiously moved bags and coats onto the seats, making it clear she wasn’t welcome.

The Paga Diaries (2) by Arizona Wanderer: ‘Morning Stroll’

 

I awoke in my simple bed in my rented room, with the memory of the tavern very fresh in my mind.  I was anxious to start my second day on Gor.  I was a free man on an exotic world and I had been planning for this new life for years.  I was anxious to explore, and pursue opportunity.

 

Getting to Gor had consumed my thoughts for years.  Traveling here was near impossible and had taken extensive planning, but now here, what to do upon arrival, had also taken up endless hours of thought.  I had drifted to sleep countless times thinking about what I would do once I got here.  What would I do once on Gor?  How would I spend my time, what kind of occupation would I pursue?  What skills would I be able to adapt?  Where would I wander?

 

I cannot go into many details of the passage arrangements that brought me from Earth.  I had put a lot of thought into what I would bring with me.  My first thought was to bring gold.  Gold seemed to be worth a lot more on Gor than on Earth.  I could buy a highly trained pleasure slave here for one gold coin, worth perhaps $2,000 on Earth, but $40,000 on Gor.  That would be a very expensive purchase on Gor, but to me, it seemed cheap, based on the Earth value, and I dreamt of making such purchases.  Anticipating my passage, I had been converting my meagre earthly possessions into gold, about $42,000. 

Kajirus of Gor Chapter Twelve

 

“What is this?” said Lady Kelapina as he regarded, first, the lovely figure of Felicity, and then me. “Do you know one another?’

 

I was probably staring at Felicity, and there would be no mistaking that stare. She in turn appeared shocked, flustered, embarrassed, and many other things as she stood there on display before a man of Earth. Had she grown accustomed over the past month to the steel collar locked about her throat, and the revealing garment she was forced to wear? I suppose it was easy to grow complacent when it is only your captors who see you like that, and when it seems to be routine as far as they are concerned. But then when you encounter again, for the first time since your abduction, a man from your own planet who knew you as a free woman?

 

Her hands trembled. The flask of wine shook.

 

“If you spill that, I will have you whipped!” snarled the Lady Kelapina. “And answer my question, girl!”

“Yes, Mistress,’ She sobbed. “We knew one another on Earth.”

The Paga Diaries (1) by Arizona Wanderer: ‘First Paga’

 

Emma’s Preface: And, yes, I’ve inspired another of our lovely masters to put pen to parchment and try their hand at some Gorean writing! Arizona Wanderer has sent me three chapters (so far) of his experiences on that savage but beautiful world, as the barbarian traveller, Rykart of Gor, and I’ll be serialising them here on my Blog, alongside master Tracker’s current serial. Thank you so much, Master, and please keep writing. Hopefully soon I can semi-retire and just sit with the audience eating bak-la-va… 😊

 

-       Emma

On the Banks of the Bighorn Part Two: by Tracker

 

1) Smith’s secret Diary.

 

May 20^th.  The Big Roundup has been put off for another week or so.  Really bad weather, high winds and rain are expected over the next week and we don’t want to be caught in the open and the herds we have gathered scattered.  The range is quite dry and could really use the moisture.  I saw my first buffalo up close the other day.  They are really North American bison and are huge, really big.  The Indian, or First Nations reservation close by raises them because of tradition.  Those big beasts need strong fences or they will be all over our range and neither the People, as they call themselves or us want that.  Mixing the herds destroys the cattle bloodlines the Lazy F prides itself on and is bad for the Bison bloodlines too, so both the People and we keep the fence in repair.  I gather they are the only neighbours we have that we are on good terms with.  Randy Schlesinger, our group’s assistant foreman, approved of the People, “As long as they stay on their side of the Fence, ‘Good Fences make Good Neighbours’,” he quoted.  And we both like it that way.  So, Randy Schlesinger laid our group of him, me, old Bill and young Aaron and we met three of the People to make sure the fence was stout.  A young man, his sister, and one of his friends worked their side of the fence. We got most of it fixed before we had to head back to the ranch.  On the way back, young Aaron remarked that the young woman was really hot.  Randy Schlesinger rebuked him, “they are our friends, stay on our side of the fence.  Good Fences make Good Neighbours.”  Aaron was pushy, like a young bull, “What if they stray over the Fence?”

 

“Then that can be different,” Randy Schlesinger allowed. “But no cutting the Fence from our side.”

Kajirus of Gor Chapter Eleven

 

“You have to untie me,” said Felicity, urgently. She struggled in the tight bonds. “I can’t be seen like this when the police arrive!”

 

“It’ll be better if they can examine the room without me disturbing anything.”

 

“Don’t be so stupid! What do you think the police are going to think when they find me like this?”

 

“That you’ve been attacked.”

 

Felicity shook her head. She looked nervous. “They’ll think this is some bondage fantasy gone wrong.”

 

“What? You’ve been attacked. You’re a victim.”

 

“This is New Feminism America, Roland.” She glanced anxiously at a bedside clock. “Look at what I’m wearing. Do you think my attacker brought these clothes for me to wear? Do you think he dressed me like this before he tied me up?”