Outcast of Gor Chapter Twenty Nine

 

This would be my life now. No more relationships, just a series of slave girls for my use. I had tried relationships with Felicity, with Kelsee, and with Kulai, and they had all ended in disaster, with me losing them. Even Kelly Milford, with whom I had not actually had a relationship - but in an alternative world maybe I would have - my friendship with her had also ended disastrously. Who knows where she was now; whether she remained free or had become a slave. 

 

No, from now on I would eschew any form of meaningful relationship with women, and simply satisfy my needs with slave girls.

 

It was apparently the Gorean way. 

 

I lay on my couch, feeling sated. Beside me lay the extremely curvaceous body of my slave, Clara. I owned five slaves! How incredible was that. I had put her to use last night after returning to my insula. First I had set her to cleaning the apartment as it was dirty from months of neglect while it had lain empty. She had scrubbed and cleaned on her hands and knees, while I took a walk around my local district, checking out the municipal parks and markets; familiarising myself with the area. I came back with some fresh food that I then gave to Clara and told her to prepare it in one of the two communal kitchens in this insula. One kitchen is reserved exclusively for free men and women, so that a Free Woman does not have to work alongside a slave girl, while the other, smaller, kitchen is permitted for the use of slaves.

Outcast of Gor Chapter Twenty Eight

 

While there are many occupations on Gor that are physically tiring, I can confirm that selling slave girls in a city market is not one of them.

 

“Buy me, Masters! Buy Iona and place me in your collar!” cried Iona as she moved seductively on her knees on a stone plinth that protruded from the centre of a cement shelf in the market of Kadriya, in the Kadriyan district of Corcyrus. She wore a steel collar and a steel ankle ring with a smaller ring welded to one side of it. Through this smaller ring was threaded a steel chain, padlocked in place, the other end terminating, similarly padlocked, at the slave ring set into the cement shelf. “Teach a wanton slut of Argentum what it is to be a slave to the strong, proud, men of Corcyrus! Make me kneel before you! Make me beg to kiss your feet! Whip me, strong masters, for I was the woman of your enemy! Put me to your service and take your revenge on the men of Argentum!”

 

Iona was of course the lovely black girl with the distinctive areola around her nipples. She was naked except for – and this was a clever idea of mine, for it attracted much attention – a long length of silk ribbon that encircled her slim waist and was then tied in front of her in a long floppy bow with long trailing ends that hung between her thighs. The white ribbon bow would both conceal and draw attention to the delights of her sex, which the strands might obscure, unless brushed aside, but would do so in the shape of enticing gift wrapping . The whiteness of the silk, furthermore, indicated subtly that Iona was white silk – a virgin, not yet opened by men. I had ascertained her virginity with my hand. 

On the Banks of the Bighorn Chapter Twenty Seven – by Tracker

Meanwhile Back at the Ranch

 

(oh come on, as if anyone thought I was going to write chapter after chapter about goings on in and around a ranch without at some time using that expression…)

 

Wilson Frick and his nephew Woodrow were holding their early morning war council with two of the assistant foremen, Jim Hawkins and Randy Schlesinger. The Ranch Foreman, Buddy James, who was too old for battle, and anyway was not a wartime foreman, was holding a council elsewhere with the cattle foreman and the facilities foreman.  Since the death of Trelawney Hawkins in the earlier assault there was no arms foreman at the War Council. Such an absence was missed.

 

“There is only a small band of the enemy contractors at large on our range,” began Wilson Frick.  “Woodrow and Hawkins can take a couple of groups and try to corner them; hunt them down.  I don’t think we are missing any of our human livestock, which is good, with the Silver Ship scheduled for Friday.”

 

“Randy, I want you to make a list of supplies and replenishment we urgently need.  Send Smith in a truck to town to pick them up later this morning.  Call the order in as soon as our shopping list is ready.  Then it will be ready for pickup. I don’t want trained hands off the ranch for too long.  Smith is a fighter.”

Outcast of Gor Chapter Twenty Seven

 

“Name and Home Stone?” asked the bored scribe, seated behind the desk, close to the main gates. He had a stack of temporary residency permits to hand, beside an ink pot and quill.

 

“Roland of Newark,” I said. He scribbled this down on a sheet of paper.

 

“Caste?” he asked.

 

“I am a slaver,” I replied. “Obviously,” I added with a smile, indicating the ankle chain coffle of five pretty girls who stood, in various states of distress, to one side of me.

 

“Another slaver,” remarked the scribe with a smile. “You’re like bees round a honey pot these days.”

 

“What can I say,” I remarked, pleasantly. “Business is always good during times of war. Hai Corcyrus!” I raised my right fist into the air. 

Outcast of Gor Chapter Twenty Six

 

Sometime around the eleventh ahn I was back braceleted with my wrists in slave steel, and conducted by two men to a tent that had been set aside for my mistress, the Lady Savanna of Argentum, or Kelsee, as I still liked to think of her. 

 

I had gambled that I could march boldly into this slaver camp and save Kelsee from the brand, but I had lost everything in the process. Kulai, my so-called Free Companion, in my eyes at least, if not the law’s, was now a slave to the same woman as me. She would hate me now. I had lied to her and it was my fault she now wore a steel collar and had a brand seared indelibly into her thigh. How could she not hate me?

 

I was naked, and a steel collar was now locked about my neck. It was made of iron and far heavier than the decorative, enamelled, pretty collar I had worn in Argentum – the collar that had so clearly marked me as the personal silk slave to a Lady. 

On the Banks of the Bighorn Chapter Twenty Six – by Tracker

 

Training Juliette

 

From Slave Juliette’s Narrative

 

Oh, that Tiffani, ‘I’m a Dancer’, she makes my blood boil. Everything about her annoys me.  Her sweet green silk dress or tunic or whatever it is.  Her constant smile and sucking up to Patrick.  Her dancer’s legs and supple torso. But most of all her smoothness in movement, her grace, her walk.  I envy all those.  I admit it. Tiffani is a better slave than me.  Natural aptitude no doubt.  

 

She mocked my name!  In front of Patrick, she told me that Juliette was too grand a name for a slave, that it should be shortened to something like Juli.

“If you were a dancer, or some kind of valuable slave you might be called Jewel, but a mat and kettle girl like you is no jewel, you should be Juli.”  Patrick just ignored this abuse.  He was honing his knife and his razor.

 

I want to be the best slave I can be to Master Patrick, at least for the rest of my sentence to slavery for running away.  But I am limited in being a slut by the whole of my upbringing and my desire to be respectable. But I am doing my best.

The Paga Diaries (10) by Arizona Wanderer: ‘Lenta, Kaissa and an Altercation’

 

I had left Mirus’s home in early afternoon - I think maybe during the twelfth ahn - and I was walking back to my apartment.  But I didn’t want to go to my apartment.  There was nothing there and being there bored me.  I have been blessed in my life to not really suffer from boredom.  I have always been able to entertain or content myself with my surroundings.  Luckily, I have lived most of my life near mountains and they draw my attention.  I can’t imagine living in some featureless flat place like Nebraska.  I am never bored during my wanderings.  Quite the opposite, wanderings usually offered something new to look at or people to interact with.  Maybe I needed a better apartment.

 

I was hungry again and stopped at a street vendor selling fresh baked meat pies.  I was curious about how they were baked in a small brick oven mounted on a cart.  I had smelled the pies for at least five ehn before finding them.

 

While I walked, eating my delicious steaming bosk and cheese pie, with a golden crispy crust, I thought about my extraordinary time at Mirus’s.  After the exhausting swim with Mirus and Lina, I had a large hearty breakfast and went back to my room.