Sword dance

Sword Dance

"'Slavery itself,' I said, 'often makes a woman more beautiful and desirable. It removes tensions. It removes inhibitions. It makes women happy. It is hard, I think, sometimes, for a woman who is happy not to be beautiful. Sometimes Goreans ask, is she a slave because she is beautiful, or beautiful because she is a slave?'"
John Norman, Beasts of Gor, pp. 246-247

"Don’t you think I’ve had enough excitement for one evening, without the additional thrill of a strange man making love to me?"
John L. Balderston, screenwriter, The Mummy, 1932

This is the first dance that arani wrote, not long after she was enslaved by her first Master. she presents it now as she would have danced it then.

jama enters the room with a gentle tinkling of tiny bells about her fragile ankles, her fine golden mane swirling about her slender shoulders like a cloud and hanging down to tickle her softly rounded bottom. her pale flesh glistens as a faint sheen of perspiration catches the light from the torches around the room. she pads gracefully to the pit and stands there for a moment as her azure eyes scan the room for an ehn, then turn adoringly on her Master, waiting for His word to begin the dance.

jama feels her rounded ivory breasts rise and fall rapidly as she gazes on the One who owns her heart, her tiny pink tongue darts out nervously to lick full ruby lips. she takes a deep breath, inhaling the mingled aroma of paga and blackwine coming from around the Inn. A slight breeze causes a stray wisp of fine hair to float across her face and she reaches up a small hand to brush it aside.

jama hears the first cadence of the musicians, and darts over to the wall to take down her Master's sword, struggling a little at the weight of it. she moves with rapid strides back to the pit, and stands there for a moment fingering the sword before she holds it out in front of her and begins to twirl it around in a circle. she raises it above her head and then lowers it quickly into the small of her palm, wincing as if pained, but dancing on.

jama dances memories of the Warrior who has battled to possess her, silks swirling about her porcelain legs, her eyes afire for the weapon she holds. she raises it once more and slides delicate fingertips along the blade, she ignores the drops of blood that result from the hard edge sliding along tender flesh. she twirls around and then stops to make figure eight movements with her hips, then drops to her knees.

jama places the sword upon her pale forehead as she moves her golden head sinuously from side to side, then raises her head quickly to flip it into waiting hands. she then balances the blade on her small chin, her delicate mouth set in concentration as she arches her slender back and lowers her shoulders to the floor behind her. she stretches small hands out to her sides, knowing that a slip of a real sword would mean certain death.

jama rises with lithe movements to her feet, her back still painfully arched backward, moving ever so carefully so as not to disturb the sword. she takes the blade and rests it on her firm breasts. her hips are isolated from the rest of her body as they make graceful circular motions. she then takes the sword in her small hands and straightens her slender form as her long hair falls about her face in a tumbling mass.

jama holds the sword out in front of her, hilt raised high, she swings it over her head and then to each side, brings it to the frong again with a flourish, in imitation of a skilled Warrior's movements, she raises the sword above her head and turns it in large circles, then slices the air as she lowers the tip to the floor, her eyes dart around the room as if daring an opponent to strike, she crouches as if watching for unseen foes.

jama raises the sword high in the air as she leaps into the air, kicking slender legs out to each side and bringing small feet up to a level with her tiny waist, she drops with an agile motion to her feet once more, and spins around like a dervish, sword wielded high above her head as her silks fan our around her thighs. she falls to her knees and lowers the sword, brings the blade to soft lips for a tender kiss.

jama turns adoring eyes to her Master, her body softens as she is overcome by the strength of His presence. she lowers the sword and holds it before her with both hands, the blade parallel to the floor. she falls to her face with arms stretched out before her, in silent offering to the Warrior who owns her heart and soul, trembling as she feels the force of her submission wash over her. she is owned, she is His, she is content.

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