The Slave Ring;
The Whip Is Kissed;
Black Wine;
A Slave Is
Named;
Ecstasy*
How
small and soft she was, and how beautiful, lying in my arms, on the furs of
love, at the foot of my couch, in the soft light of the ravishment lamp.
About her throat, over the slender, identificatory collar, a heavy, thick
iron collar had been locked, with a heavy chain, leading to the stout loop of
the slave ring, some eight inches in width, fixed in the foot of the couch.
"I am so happy, my Master," she said. "I am so happy."
Her first taking
had been on the floor of the bedroom, she still locked in the body chain. I had
then relieved her of its restraint, that the evening might properly begin.
With her hands I had forced her to spread the furs of love and light the
ravishment lamp. I had then had her kneel at the foot of the couch, and had
chained her by the neck to the slave ring. I had then had her kiss the whip. I
had then again taken her.
Before this last having of her she had lain on her
back on the furs crying out with joy, feeling the heavy collar on her throat,
and the weight of the chain that fastened her by the collar to the slave ring.
"I cannot slip it, "she had said, trying to force the collar from her. "No," I
had said. "The chain is so heavy!" she had purred. "It will hold you well," I
had told her. Then she had risen to her hands and knees. She had reached out and
touched the slave ring with her right hand, and then she had crawled to it, and
kissed it. She had then turned to face me, on all fours, the chain dangling down
from her collar. "I love being chained to your slave ring," she had said. I had
then drawn her towards me and thrown her on her back. "Yes, Master," she had
whimpered, eagerly throwing her legs apart.
"I am so happy," she whispered,
lying in my arms. "I had never dreamed I could be so happy."
I thrust the
whip again to her mouth and, tenderly, softly, holding it to her lips, she
covered it with kisses.
"You enjoy kissing the whip, don’t you?" I
asked.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"You know well what its lash can do to
your softness, do you not?" I asked.
"Yes, Master," she smiled.
"And yet
you kiss it lovingly," I said.
"Yes, my Master," she said.
"Why?" I
asked.
"I do not know," she said. "Perhaps it is a symbol, plain to my
vulnerable womanhood, of your manhood, which makes me such a yielding slave.
Perhaps it is a symbol of your dominance over me."
"Does it seem to you that
you are kissing a symbol?" I said.
"Perhaps on some level it seems so", she
said. "But I experience it rather differently. It is, you see, a real whip, and
one that can be used on me. Thus it seems to me that what I am really doing is
kissing a whip, your whip. The whip, in itself, is not a symbol. It is a real
whip. It may, of course, have symbolic significance."
"Kissing the whip is
for you, " I said, "apparently a rich sexual, and emotional,
experience."
"Yes, Master," she said. "And even if you were a hated master,
it would still, for us slaves, be such an experience."
"Even if the master
were a hated one?" I asked.
"Yes," she said. "On one level we might hate to
kneel before him and kiss his whip, but on another level we would be thrilled
that he had made us do so. He would be showing us that we are women. Master,
perhaps, being a man, cannot fully understand, or understand in its total
fullness, what it is for a woman to kneel naked before a man and be forced to
kiss his whip. It is, I assure you, a very meaningful experience, and one which
she understands in every bit of her body. Indeed, after having kissed a man’s
whip it is very difficult to continue to hate him, even if he wishes us to do
so, enjoying perhaps the humiliation and taming of a woman who hates him.
Rather, as slaves, now taught by our master, we find ourselves, almost against
our own wills, considering how we might perhaps better serve and please
him."
"I see," I said.
"All women want to be owned by a man strong enough
to make her kiss his whip," she said. "What woman would want to be owned by a
man of any other sort?"
I said nothing.
"You will be strong with me, will
you not?" she asked. "You will make me do, and be, uncompromisingly, and as a
slave, what you want, will you not?"
"Yes", I said.
"Then I kiss your
whip," she said. "And I love it."
"You enjoy being a slave?" I asked.
"I
am a slave," she said, "and I love it."
"You know that you can not change
your mind on this matter," I said, "and that there is no escape for you here on
Gor."
"I know it well, Master," she said. "On this world, the law even, as I
am slave, in all its force, puts me in your total power."
"In the total power
of any Master," I said, "to whom you might legally belong."
"Yes, Master,"
she shuddered, "But it is my hope that you will be kind to me."
"I shall see
if you serve me well." I said.
"I shall serve you well," she said. "I think
that you will find that the girl you knew on Earth, now collared on Gor, will
supply you with wonders of service."
"Serve me now," I said.
"Immediately,
and in any way Master wishes," she said.
She lay on her stomach, on her elbows beside me. I lay
on my back, looking up at the ceiling.
"Several collars were removed
tonight," she said, "those of Shirley, of Lola and Peggy."
"To be replaced
with other collars shortly," I said.
"My collar was not removed," she said.
"You kept me."
"Yes," I said.
"I think you like me," she said. "You could
have taken me to the market and sold me. You could do that easily. You are a
Gorean master. But you did not do so. I think that perhaps you like
me."
"Perhaps," I said.
"That will not endanger our relationship, do you
think?" she asked.
"I do not think so," I smiled.
"You are rich, aren’t
you?" she asked.
"As Goreans go, " I said. "I think, yes."
"You could buy
many girls?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
"But I am the only girl in the
house," she said, pointedly.
"At the moment," I said.
"Oh," she said.
I
regarded her, smiling.
"I will try to be such that you will feel neither the
need nor the desire for others", she said.
"Yes,
Master," she said, fervently, "yes, a thousand times yes!"
"I shall give you
an opportunity to prove yourself," I said.
"I ask no more", she said.
"You
need training," I said.
"Train me!" she cried. "Train me, piteously,
mercilessly, to your standards and pleasure!"
"I shall do so," I said,
quietly.
"Yes, Master," she said, trembling.
I held her in my arms, looking down into her eyes. She looked
up at me, lovingly.
"I do not need to report for five days", I told her. "I
think that will give us time to become better acquainted, Master", she smiled,
"and intimately".
"I do not even know your name," I said.
"You have not
yet given me one!" she laughed.
"I want to know millions of things about
you," I said.
"I am your chained slave," she said. "What else do you need to
know?"
"Everything," I said.
"The talents of my tongue and fingers?" she
asked.
"Everything," I said, "even your smallest movements and most trivial
thoughts."
"You want to own all of me, don’t you?" she asked.
"I do own
all of you," I said. "It is only, now, that I am growing curious about what I
own."
"You wish to make inquiries into the nature of your property?" she
said.
"Yes, " I said.
"I am a girl, and a slave, and I love you," she
said.
I kissed her.
"I can tell you my measurements," she said," and my
collar size, and the sizes of the wrist and ankle rings that will fit me. I was
forced to memorize these things before my first sale."
"I am tempted to grow
fond of you," I said.
"Of a slave?" she asked.
"To be sure," I said, "the
thought is surely foolish."
She suddenly lifted her lips to mine and kissed
me, deeply and softly, rather helplessly, almost in desperation. "I am almost
melting with love for you, my Master," she said. "I know my will means nothing,
but I beg to be had."
I looked down on her, curled on the love furs, so small
and curvaceous, in the heavy collar, chained by the neck to the slave ring,
asleep.
The light of morning was in the room, filtering through the shutters.
It was warm and bright outside. We had slept late. I had been downstairs to get
some food. I could hear birds in the garden.
I kicked her in the side.
"Awaken," I said.
"Oh!" she said, moving with the chain on her
neck.
"Position," I said.
Swiftly she assumed the position of the pleasure
slave, on the love furs, head up, back straight, kneeling back on her heels, her
hands on her thighs.
"You kicked me," she said.
I cuffed her, backhanded,
striking her from her position to her side on the love furs. She looked up at me
from the furs, her eyes wide, blood at her mouth. Then she resumed the position
of the pleasure slave.
"Last night," she said. "Did it mean nothing? Surely
you love me!"
"Be silent, Slave," I said.
"Yes Master," she said.
I
picked up the whip.
"Am I to be whipped?" she asked.
"If it pleases me," I
said.
"Yes Master," she said.
I held the whip to her mouth, its blades
folded back.
She kissed it, and shuddered, and I placed it on the couch.
I
slid the bronze pot toward her, across the tiles, to where, going to the end of
her chain, she might reach it. "Relieve yourself," I told her, "facing
me."
"Yes Master, she said, and, backing toward the pot, and squatting over
it, she did so.
I enjoyed making her perform this simple, homely act in my
presence.
"I am a slave, aren’t I?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
I then
slid the pot to the side of the room, and gave her a pan of water and a rag,
with which she might freshen herself. When she had done this I put the pan and
the rag to one side. She then knelt again in the position of the pleasure slave,
on the furs, the heavy chain dangling between her breasts, and then lying over
her left thigh, thence descending to the furs and lifting to the slave
ring.
"Good morning," I said to her.
"Good morning, Master," she
said.
I fed her some dates, by hand, putting them in her mouth, from a tray
of food I had brought up from the kitchen.
"You struck me," she said.
"Do
you object, in the slightest?" I asked.
"No, Master," she said. "You may do
with me as you wish."
I held a date before her, and she leaned forward,
stretching her chained neck to reach it, and I drew it back. She then knelt back
again, on her heels. Whether she were to receive the date or not was my
decision. I then gave it to her, putting it in her mouth.
"My Master feeds
me," she whispered. "The slave is grateful."
I then put a shallow porcelain
bowl of water on the floor, and pointed to it.
She drank from it on her hands
and knees, lapping from it, as a she-sleen. "My Master waters me," she said,
looking at me, from her hands and knees, the chain hanging from the collar on
her neck. "A slave is grateful."
In so simple a fashion, by hand feeding, and
floor watering, not permitting the slave to use her hands, I had demonstrated to
her, in the Gorean fashion, that her food and water, even such simple things as
whether she was to eat or drink, or not, were in my control.
"You may now sit
back against the foot of the couch," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
I
joined her there.
We then, from the tray, feeding ourselves, taking dates,
and slices of larma and pastries, breakfasted and chatted.
It is pleasant to
have breakfast in bed, so to speak, with a naked young lady, especially when she
is chained by the neck to your slave ring.
We chatted of many things,
including our former lives, on Earth, and our experiences in the university. She
was loquacious and animate.
"I have a surprise," I told her.
I brought up
from the kitchen, where I had been keeping it hot, a vessel of black wine, with
sugars, and cups and spoons. Too, I had brought up a small bowl of powdered bosk
milk. We had finished the creams last night, and in any event, it was unlikely
they would have lasted the night. If I had wanted creams I would have had to
have gone to market. My house, incidentally, like most Gorean houses, had no ice
chest. There is little cold storage on Gor. Generally food is preserved by being
dried or salted. Some cold storage, of course, does exist. Ice is cut from ponds
in winter, and then stored in ice houses, under sawdust. One may go to the ice
houses for it, or have it delivered in the ice wagons. Most Goreans, of course,
cannot afford the luxury of ice in the summer.
Immediately the girl,
kneeling, prepared to serve me. "I believe Master prefers his black wine ‘second
slave’," she said.
"Yes," I said.
I watched her pouring the beverage.
She did so carefully, deferentially, being careful not to spill a drop. I
noticed how her breasts depended from her body. How marvelous it is to be served
by a beautiful woman.
"There are two cups," she whispered.
"One is for
you," I said.
"Black wine is expensive," she said.
"Pour one for
yourself," I said.
"Even though I am a slave?" she asked.
"Yes," I
said.
"Am I a high slave?" she asked.
"Do you wish me to hold your head
back, my hand in your hair, your back almost breaking, and force the spout of
the vessel between your teeth, pouring the wine as it is, black and scalding,
down your throat?" I asked.
"No! Master!" she said.
"You are not a high
slave," I said. "You are a low slave. You are the lowest of low
slaves."
"Yes, Master," she said.
"And do not forget it," I said.
"No,
Master," she said.
"Now pour yourself a cup of wine," I said.
"Yes,
Master," she said. "May I mollify my beverage?"
"Yes," I said.
I watched
her as she mixed in a plentiful helping of powdered bosk milk, and two of the
assorted sugars. She then left the small, rounded metal cup on the tray.
"Why
do you not drink?" I asked her.
"A girl does not drink before her master,"
she said.
"I see that you are not totally stupid," I said.
"Thank you,
Master," she said.
I then sipped the black wine. She, too, then, after it was
clear that I had drunk, lifted her own cup to her lips.
"Yes," I said, "you
may drink, Slave."
She then, head down, holding the small cup by its two tiny
handles, sipped the beverage.
We drank the black wine in silence, sipping it,
looking at one another.
How beautiful she was, and I owned her!
"I love
belonging to you, Master," she whispered.
"Finish the wine," I told
her.
"Yes, Master," she said. I put my own cup on the tray.
I looked at
her, from her small feet, to her ankles and calves, her marvelous breasts, her
shoulders, and arms and hands, her fair throat, chained, her lovely lips, her
sensitive, delicate features, her deep, vulnerable eyes, and the marvelous
wealth of her dark, cascading hair, perhaps never cut, except for shaping, since
she had been brought to Gor.
Timidly, she put her own small cup on the
tray."Master desires me," she said.
I moved the tray to the side, well away
from the furs.
She was half kneeling, half crouching, near the far corner of
the large couch. I saw that she was frightened.
"Do you sometimes fear the
desire of your Master?" I asked.
"Sometimes," she said. "Your eyes."
"What
is it that you see in my eyes?" I asked.
"A Gorean lust," she said, "and I, a
chained slave, know myself the helpless vessel upon which it will be
vented."
I snapped my fingers. She, even though frightened, must come to my
arms.
I threw the chain back over her shoulder, and held her. She half tried
to pull away, frightened.
"How can one feel such desire," I laughed, "for one
who was not a slave?"
She shuddered. It was pleasant to feel her enslaved
beauty trembling in my arms.
"To be sure," I said, "you are only a nameless
slave."
"Has Master considered a name for me?" she asked.
"Down!" I said.
"On your hands and knees on the furs, head touching the furs!"
Swiftly,
fearfully, she complied.
I slapped her. "Oh!" she cried.
"I can think of a
name for you," I told her.
"Please, no, Master!" she cried.
*These are excerpts from the book "Guardsman of Gor"
by John Norman.*