{Blood Brothers of Gor, page 39}
Cancega pointed to the pole. She looked at him, bewildered. Then the quirts, again, struck her, and she cried out in pain. Cancega again pointed to the pole.
Winyela then put her head down and took the pole in her small hands, and kissed it, humbly. "Yes", said Cancega, encouraging her. "Yes." Again Winyela kissed the pole. "Yes," said Cancega.
Winyela then heard the rattles behind her, giving her her rhythm. These rattles were then joined by the fifing of whistles, shrill and high, formed from the wing bones of the taloned Herlit. A small drum, too, then began to sound. Its more accented beats, approached subtly but predictable, instructed the helpless, lovely dancer as to the placement and timing of the more dramatic of her demonstrations and motions. "It is the Kailla," chanted the men.
Winyela danced. There was dust upon her hair and on her body. On her cheeks were the three bars of greases that marked her as the property of the Kailla. Grease, too, had been smeared liberally upon her body. No longer was she a shining beauty. She was now only a filthy slave, an ignoble animal, something of no account, something worthless, obviously, but nonetheless permitted, in the kindness of the Kailla, a woman of another people, to attempt to please the pole.
I smiled. Was this not suitable? Was this not appropriate for her, a slave?
Winyela, kissing the pole, and caressing it, and moving about it, and rubbing her body against it, under the directions of Cancega, and guided sometimes by the tethers on her neck, continued to dance.
I whistled softly to myself.
"Ah," said Cuwignaka.
"It is the Kailla!" chanted the men.
"I think the pole will be pleased," I said.
"I think a rock would be pleased," said Cuwignaka.
"I agree," I said. Winyela, by the neck tethers, was pulled against the pole. She seized it, and writhed against it, and licked at it.
"It is the Kailla!" chanted the men.
"It is the Kailla!" chanted Cuwignaka. A transformation seemed suddenly to come over Winyela. This was evidenced in her dance. "She is aroused," said Cuwignaka.
"Yes," I said. She began, then, helplessly, to dance her servitude, her submission, her slavery. The dance, then, came helplessly from the depths of her. The tethers pulled her back from the pole and she reached forth for it. She struggled to reach it, writhing. Bit by bit she was permitted to near it, and then she embraced it. She climbed, then, upon the pole. There her dance, on her knees, her belly and back, squirming and clutching, continued ...
