Kajira of Gor (41 page)

the whip.

“Who do you love?” he asked.

“Borkon,” she said “I love Borkon!”

In another moment or two we were following Borkon across the yard and toward one

of the buildings. I knew I would have to please him well. He was my whip master.

25
   
I Leave the Mill

I saw him taking out the slave sack in the utility room

This was not the first time I had been unchained and hurried to the utility room

“Get in,” he said.

Before he had taken the sack from its shelf he had ordered me to the floor of

the utility room, to my back on the dusty boards.

“Lie there and juice;” he had told me. ‘Waste no time about it.”

I had lain there and, briefly, shut my eyes and thought of his might and power,

and my helpless slavery, and then I was ready, almost in a moment, to receive

him he had had me swiftly.

I crawled into the sack, and it was pulled up, over my head, and laced shut I

then felt it dragged across the floor.

He then lifted it up, partly, I now sitting in it, and left it against a wall.

He then left The confinement was not intended to be one of full security, of

course. If it had been, then I would have been bound and gagged within it, that

I might be able, by fingernails or teeth, to attack seams or cut through the

leather. Indeed, if I caused the least bit of damage the slave sack, I had

little doubt but what I would be well whipped, sent in the slave sack is,

incidentally, a form of Punishment for a girl. l did not think, that I was being

punished At least I did not know anything that I had done which might have

displeased

As always; as far as I knew, I had tried to be such to him that he would find me

pleasing. Perhaps he was angry with me because of the welt on my face, but that

was not my fault. Last night I had been struck by Luta. If he wanted to punish

someone he should have punished her. She was very jealous of Emily and myself,

who seemed clearly to be Borkon’s favorites. Last night, after supper, my slave

needs much upon me, I had begged to juice for Borkon. He had permitted this in

his quarters. When I had been returned to the dormitory and the door had been

locked behind me, she had been up and waiting. My face was still sore. It was

not my fault that she did not find herself being put to Borkon’s pleasure. He

certainly was free to choose her, and not Emily or myself, or one of our other

chain sisters. It was no secret in the mill that she regarded herself as

Borkon’s slave in some special sense. Ever since he had whipped and conquered

her in the yard she had been very possessive about him. She was the best worker

on the chain. Yet he scarcely seemed to notice her. Sometimes she would even try

to be a bit dilatory or recalcitrant, to attract his attention, but commonly

this only earned her a beating, and that usually from a subordinate whip master.

Interestingly, in her slavery, Luta had ceased to be ugly. Her ugliness had

been, it was now clear, largely a matter of expression, as it often is,

expressions which had made manifest her frustration and hatred, and her misery.

Though she was now no longer ugly she remained, I suppose, rather homely and

plain. On the other hand, this homeliness or plainness, at times, seemed touched

with a vulnerability and softness which, especially when she was near Borkon,

made it seem almost beautiful. The exercises and diet of the slave, of course,

had improved her figure considerably. I did not see, frankly, why Borkon did not

give her a trial at his feet. I did not think she was all that bad, really.

Too, he was not Gor’s most handsome fellow. Too, I would think it should count

for something with a man if the woman desires to serve him deeply and fully in

all ways, and is in love with him.

It was hot and stuffy in the slave sack, but it was, at least, a respite from

the work with the loom. It is tiring, Ahn in and Ahn out, standing, chained, by

the loom, operating it.

There is the raising and lowering of the warp threads to form the lines between

which the weft is placed. There is the flinging back and forth of the shuttle,

inserting the weft. There is the moving of the batten, attached to the reed,

thrusting the weft back and locking it in place, Too, one must feed the cloth

properly and remove it correctly. One must attend to the rollers, the weights

and stretchers.

I suddenly became aware that hands were unlacing the slave sack.

“You are Tiffany, aren’t you?” said a voice. “Come out of there.”

“Yes, Master,” I said. It was one of the mill officials. He Was over ten work

chains.

“Why aren’t you at your loom?” he asked.

“I don’t know, Master,” I said.

“what were you doing in there?” he asked.

“I don’t know, Master,” I said. “Perhaps I was being punished.”

“what for?” he asked.

“I do not know, Master,” I said.

“Come along,” he said. “Aemilianus, the nephew of Mintar, is in the mill.”

“What is he doing here?” I asked.

“It is supposedly merely a surprise inspection,” he said, “but one supposes

there is something more to it.”

I then, almost running, hurried after him, returning to my loom.

“Borkon should be trounced,” he said.

I quickly obeyed.

Borkon, not looking pleased at all, was standing nearby.

“Step forth, here, child,” said the young man, “and turn slowly before me.”

I complied, inspected as a naked slave. I saw Emily at the loom next to mine.

The shackle had been removed from her left ankle. She was standing near her

loom, naked. She held her tunic in her right hand.

“Borkon, you sly fellow,” chided the young man, “you have been holding out on

us.”

He who had fetched me from the slave sack, Borkon’s immediate superior, cast him

a glowering look.

“You are Tiffany, are you not?” asked the young man.

said the well-dressed young man, in short, silken mantle, with a golden

“Here is the maid from Loom chain her. Now, child, stand here, the silken tunic,

clasp at the left

“No, do not and remove your tunic”

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“You may kneel,” he said. Swiftly I did so. “You are pretty, my dear,” he said.

“You may open your knees.

Swiftly I did so.

He then turned to Emily. “You may kneel, Emily,” ~ said. Swiftly she knelt.

“You, too; are pretty,” he smiled

Swiftly she opened her knees, baring to Him tender intimacies, enslaved, and the

sweet interior softness of her thighs.

“Your name, ‘Emily,’ is very beautiful,” he said. “As you probably know, it is a

barbarian corruption of nyge, my name. It seems that fate has thrown us

together.” The gens name the clan name.

“Perhaps, Master,” she said, frightened. “Thank you, Master.”

“And you are a barbarian, are you not, Tiffany?” he asked

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“And a very pretty one,” he said.

“Thank you, Master,” I said.

“Can you believe it, Borkon,” asked the young man, “if were not for hearsay

information, casual remarks overheard at the office, I would not even have known

that two such beauties graced our looms.”

Borkon was silent

“These are the two beauties of the mill,” said the your man to a tall, stout

fellow standing nearby.

“They are certainly pretty,” said the stout fellow. “But they have, in my

opinion, many lovely women at the looms.”

stout fellow was the mill master. I had seen him only twice before in the

previous five months.

“These are the best of the current crop,” said the your man.

“Perhaps,” said the mill master.

“Have them sent to my house,” said the young man, and turned away.

Emily and I looked at one another, frightened.

Borkon looked angry. Luta was beaming.

“I beg to please you, Master,” said Luta, putting herself the feet of Borkon.

The chain was on her left ankle, go behind her; by it she was fastened to the

loom. She had her head down, kissing at his feet. Never before, as far as I knew

had she been so bold. It was no secret in the mill, of course that she was the

slave of Borkon. Indeed, she had been since that first day in the yard, some

five months ago.

“what need have I of a tarsk sow?” he snarled.

She lifted her head to him, lovingly, pleadingly. I saw that the diet and

exercise had shaped her excitingly. Her face, in its plainness and homeliness,

seemed somehow, now, in its softness, its tenderness, its vulnerability, very

beautiful. “Take me then to your lair and rut with me there, Master,” she said.

“I beg to be the tarsk sow to your boar.”

He looked down at her, startled. “Perhaps,” he said.

I felt a slave bracelet closed about my left wrist. The companion bracelet, on

its three links of chain, was then closed about the right wrist of Emily.

We looked at one another, frightened.

“Come along, Girls,” said the fellow who had fetched me forth from the slave

sack, he who was Borkon’s immediate superior.

“Yes, Master,” said Emily.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

We then, naked, braceleted together, carrying our slave tunics, followed him

down the long aisle between the looms.

26
   
I Must Get Up Early For School

I tried to hold the head of the man in my bands, and kiss at him, and lick at

the side of his neck, but he, engaged in conversation, brushed me to the side. I

knelt back, restraining a whimper. I wanted to touch him. I was a slave He would

not permit me to do so.

Teela, first girl, from across the room, signaled to me, and I, bowing, slipped

back, rose to my feet and hurried to her side.

“Wine,” said she, “to the master.”

I hurried to the serving table and fetched a vessel of wine.

I then went behind the feasting table, behind which the men sat, talking. Some

musicians were playing, at one side of the room. I knelt behind the young

Aemilianus. “Wine, Master?” I whispered. “Yes,” said he, extending his goblet.

“Thank you, Tiffany,” he said. “Yes, Master,” I said, and withdrew.

The courtesy of Aemilianus, a habit with him, probably a function of the

gentleness of his upbringing, in no way affected the totality of the bondage in

which his girls were kept. whereas one need not thank a slave, one may, of

course, if one wishes, thank them. From the point of view of the girl, since she

knows she is in a collar, being treated with courtesy can sometimes be more

frightening than being treated with rudeness or cruelty, or, as is more often

the case, with gentle, intimate, absolutely unqualified authority. Being a slave

she knows that a master’s invitation to remove a garment is equivalent to a

categorical command to strip. She hastens to obey.

I went then, at a sign from Teela, after replacing the wine vessel on the

serving table, to the side of the room, where I knelt down beside Emily.

An Aim or so earlier we had been in the kitchen. “Stand straighter, Girls,” had

said Teela, inspecting us. “You are not bending over looms now.”

“You are pretty in your slave silk, Emily,” had said Teela.

“Thank you, Mistress,” she had said.

“You, too, Tiffany,” said Teela.

“Thank you, Mistress,” I had said. We both wore scarlet pleasure silk. It was

diaphanous, and left little doubt as to the lineaments of our figures. We wore

the collar of Aemilianus.

We now belonged to him. Twelve copper tarsks for each of us had been transferred

to the accounts of Mill 7. On our left ankles we each wore a tied string of

slave bells. These jangled sensuously when we moved. On our upper left arms we

each wore a coiled, barbaric, snakelike arrnlet.

“Although you have been purchased as house girls,” said Teela, and surely we

need more of them around here, you will also be expected upon occasion, as

tonight, to serve at dinner. Indeed, I suspect that the Master has more in mind

from you than simple domestic services.”

Emily and I looked at one another.

“The musicians are already playing,” said Teela, “ and the other girls are on

the floor. I shall soon send you both out, too, on the floor.”

“Yes, Mistress,” said Emily.

“Yes, Mistress,” I said.

“Remember that you are not lofty free women,” she said.

“Remember that you are only female slaves. You exist for the service and

pleasure of men. When you go out there drip with obedience and sensuousness. Let

every glance, every look and movement, signify to men the promise of untold

pleasures, and if any of them should so much as snap his fingers, see that you

fulfill that promise and a thousand times more.”

“Yes, Mistress!” we said.

“There will be no free women present,” she said. “That will make things easier.”

That was a relief for us The frustrations and chilling hatred of free women for

their imbonded sisters, and their power to inflict pain on them, tended

naturally to preclude, or inhibit, the performances of slaves. Their presence,

too, of course, tended to have an adverse effect on the satisfactions obtainable

by the free men present. If a free woman is present, for example, one is

scarcely likely to tear the silk from a laughing, squealing slave and rape her

on the table.

Female slaves commonly wear relatively modest garments and serve unobtrusively