TALES OF GOR - #2
   By Mara

With great appreciation to John Norman for the rich world he created.

The Northern Forest in Spring

I have something that may interest you, Ari said, with the smooth confidence of one who knew she had some choice trade goods. Perhaps, I conceded, trying not to show to much enthusiasm. Playing the game we both knew well.

Ari smiled. Come.

I rose from my place by the central fire and followed her around some huts. The light of the three moons shown bright enough to cast shadows and all around me panther girls were engaged in raucous games of chance with dice and test of skill with bows and spears. I had come to this camp of panther girls, as I had for the past three years, to trade for the skins of animals. I had originally come to the Northern Forest in hopes of joining these outlaws. While my prowess with a sword, a skill learned from my brothers, had won me a place among them, I had found that I was really a city girl at heart. I had left the band and established myself as a seamstress in Laura. The many taverns with their nightly brawls assured me of plenty of garments to mend. Occasionally, when the town’s physician was away or occupied, I applied my needle to flesh. Too, my creations of wraps and stoles had become something of a hit with fashionable free women. By trading directly with the panther girls for furs, I avoided the middle man and made a substantial profit. Also, by coming to the camp before they took their furs to the exchange points I got first pick. I enjoyed these visits to their camp. I reveled in my freedom from the restraining robes of concealment. While in the forest I dressed as my bold sisters did, in a brief tunic of soft panther skin, my arms and legs bare, my naked face brazenly exposed. In the midst of these strong, competent women, I had no qualms about boldly displaying myself. Let any man rash enough to try chain luck in the forest find, as many had before him, that his luck had ran out. Lost in these thoughts I nearly walked into Ari when she stopped.

What do you think? she asked.

I peered around her then blinked in surprise. A man had indeed been foolish enough to enter the forest. There, spread eagled on the ground, his limbs bound to sturdy stakes, lay the proof. A stripe had been shaved down the middle of his shaggy hair as testimony to all that he had fallen to women. He’d obviously been much abused, his body covered with welts from switches and quirts . . . and the unmistakable marks of finger nails and teeth. The earthy smells of sweat and musk, both male and female, radiated from him.

A personal capture, Ari boasted.

Looking at his broad shoulders and long, muscled limbs, one word came to mind, Warrior.

A coup indeed, I granted.

Well, Ari said, with a wink, even the most powerful beast must sleep sometime.

I see.

She crouched beside the captive and idly toyed with his manhood. To his obvious and complete fury, his body, that of a male in his prime, responded. Ari ran a lingering hand down his thigh, then stood with a sigh. If only the rest of him was as cooperative.

She looked at me, her expression unreadable. Umay says she will not allow a dangerous beast in her camp. If he remains any longer she will blind him.

I couldn’t help the gasp of horror that escaped me. It wasn’t a common practice, but not unknown, for panther girls to so treat a captive they deemed to dangerous. It rendered them much more controllable, and it only somewhat diminished the slaves value. He could still be sold, unlike if he’d been hamstrung. A slave didn’t have to see to be able to pull an oar, or haul loads.

Ari laid a hand on my arm. Her expression showed me she felt the same way. Ari was my best friend in the camp. She had more compassion than most of the other women, who seemed bent on blocking out any emotion that might be considered feminine weakness. Umay, the band’s leader, would never allow herself to be accused of having compassion, nor even any hint of mercy, where a man was concerned. I didn’t doubt she’d do whatever she deemed necessary to protect the camp.

Perhaps we could do some trading? Ari gently suggested.

I eyed the man speculatively. Hooded and well chained, I could use him as a pack animal to carry out even more furs. He glared back at me. His clear blue eyes should have been cold, instead they seemed the blue of the hottest flame. The word master flashed unbidden through my mind, and I hesitated. Then I remembered the fate that awaited him, and even if it were foolish womanly compassion, I decided to trade for him.

I’ll give you two pounds of candy. I offered.

The candy plus six arrow points. Done, I agreed. Let’s go back to the fire and finish the deal.

As we turned to go, I looked back over my shoulder. The man, in no way cowed, strained at the ropes. I hoped I hadn’t made a big mistake.

Dawn came and I stood over the captive. I didn’t think he’d gotten much rest, bound as he was. It was probably just as well, he seemed formidable enough even if he wasn’t well rested. I squelched my misgivings and crouched down at his head to offer him water. He accepted it without protest. Good, I thought. Maybe he has some sense in that square head of his. I also gave him some roasted meat. He would have a long trek this day, with a heavy pack. After I’d fed and watered him I slashed the ropes holding his wrist. I quickly stepped back out of his reach. He sat up awkwardly, his legs still tied to stakes.

Put your hands behind you. I ordered.

He made no move to comply.

You wish to remain in the camp? I’m sure Umay would be happy to accept you as a gift.

He put his hands behind his back. I cautiously approached him and quickly snapped his wrist into manacles. They were forged from the steel of Ar, and would hold even him. I slipped a slave hood over his head. I didn’t wish for him to be able to find the camp again, for one thing. Only then did I free his legs. He stood and I struggled to sling a heavy pack over his shoulders. I fastened a leash at his throat and started off.

He handled the weight of the pack with an ease that told it’s own story. I didn’t find it necessary to prod him along or encourage him at knife point. He seemed just as happy to put some distance between himself and the camp of panther girls. His strength never seemed to falter even though I pushed hard to make it to the river where I’d left my canoe.

Finally we made it just as the light began to fade.

I had him sit with his back to a good size tree then tied a rope to his manacles and around the tree. I scooped some dirt out from under a large root and used it to secure his ankles in front of him. I surveyed my handy work, satisfied that he was well secured before I removed his hood. His hair was damp with sweat, his face red from the heat of the hood. I offered him water and he took it readily enough, although he seemed a bit surly.

Are you hungry? I asked with mock solicitousness. I’m going to check a fish trap I set. He just stared straight ahead, saying nothing. It was then that I realized I’d never heard him speak. I shrugged and went to check the trap. I’d caught several fat fish. I cleaned them and roasted them in the coals of a fire, feeding the captive some of the flaky, tender flesh.

Darkness had fallen completely and I sat close to the fire. A drawn out howl, savage and at the same time mournful, sounded in the forest nearby. A shudder ran down my spine and goose bumps broke out on my flesh. I rubbed my arms and irritably swatted at some mosquitoes. The little beggars could eat you alive. At least sleen had the courtesy to kill you first . . . usually. I shuddered again.

You’re not much of a panther girl, the man stated. His deep, raspy voice startling me.

I looked at him and found him watching me intently, his sharp eyes missing nothing.

I gave a wry smile. No, I am not, I admitted.

My eyes having been drawn to him, I found I could not look away. I had been long with out a man and he was a superb specimen. A wave of desire hit me and my body flushed with heat. He saw, and his eyes narrowed. I crawled to him. My eyes roved his body before I extended a hand to lay on his flat, hard belly. I splayed my hand over him, rubbing gently.

Woman, it’s unwise to play at being a panther girl, he said, through gritted teeth.

I’m a free woman, I informed him. I do as I please . . . or as I dare.I slowly lowered my hand to his manhood where I softly squeezed and tugged. His body came alive in my hand, hard and pulsating. He couldn’t help his response, but everything else about him denoted rage. His body was as tense as a bow, his eyes flashed fire. His strong teeth were bared in a snarl, and I didn’t dare get near his mouth. Still, there were other, more vulnerable places, where I could get a taste of him. I leaned over and ran the flat of my tongue repeatedly over his smooth tip. I stopped and watched as a drop of moisture formed, then delicately lapped at the salty fluid. Unable to wait any longer I straddled him and used him for my pleasure.

Afterwards I rose and stepped away. I’d seen to it that he also found release, doing my best to drain him of every drop of his male essence. I had well succeeded and his body was soaked with sweat and he still gasped for breath. He looked as if he’d wrestled a sleen bare handed. I smiled at him cooly as I smoothed down my brief tunic. As I sauntered over and laid down on my sleeping furs I heard him curse softly and vilely. I turned my back to him and drifted into a satiated, dreamless sleep.

I awoke the next morning and looked over at him. He was, of course, exactly as I’d left him. I had managed to acquire some panther girl skills, such as knot tying, and even a bosk couldn’t break the steel of the manacles he wore. I took some jerky from my pack and chewed it as I broke camp and loaded my furs into my small craft. I had come to a decision where the man was concerned. I went to him and laid a small bundle at his feet. He looked at me curiously.

I can get my furs from here. I’m letting you go. There are some supplies here,. Food, a knife.

Why are you doing this? He asked, suspicious.

I shrugged. I don’t think you’d be worth the trouble. Surely you wouldn’t bring much. That wasn’t true. He seemed strong, even by male standards, and the Captain of a galley would be pleased to have him at an oar. Still, that explanation would have to do, because I wasn’t really sure myself why I was letting him go.

I went behind him and tied his hands with cord before freeing him from the manacles and the rope that held him to the tree. I then slashed the rope at his ankles. I backed away, watching him warily.

That’s ordinary cord, not binding fiber. With some effort you should be able to fray it enough to break. I would work at it diligently if I were you, I warned. There’s an exchange point twelve pasangs upstream. That would be your best bet.

I got into my canoe and pushed off. I felt light hearted, and less tense than I had in a long time. Men certainly did have their uses, I mused, and women were skilled at availing themselves of those uses. Even the most timid slave girl groveling at a masters feet usually got what she wanted from a man, his body filling the emptiness in hers. Who truly was the slave? Of course, when a delicate back felt the whip wielded with a man’s strength, there wasn’t any doubt who was master. I shook off those thoughts as the current caught my craft and started to pull it around a bend. I looked back and saw the man watching me intently even as he worked to free himself. The swift current would soon have me pasangs away. Knowing myself quite safe, I blew him a kiss.

Mara
marascribe@hotmail.com

Why should a slave wish a weak Master? A slave wishes to be controlled. They wish firm limits and guidelines, not fuzzy wiggle room to twist in whichever way they please. Ok, some slaves do want loose rules. They are the ones who wish to control their slavery. In the BDSM world, this is called "topping from the bottom". They are the people who wish to be slaves when it suites them and not at other times. Can we really consider them true slaves?

Goreans expect a Master to be solid and unyielding with their slave. A slave may still be asked their preference on some matter and the Master may allow the slave to have their choice. A classic example of this is a Master asking their slave what movie they would like to watch. The slave might choose a movie they think their Master would like to see, a movie they would like to see (which might be the same movie), or a movie the slave believes their Master would accept seeing. (I will go into the logic of making such choices another time.) The Master has the option to accept or reject the choice. Whichever way the Master goes, it is still the Master’s choice of which movie to watch, no matter who chose the title.

A slave is expected to make choices all the time. Choices within the guidelines their Master sets and choices that their Master does not care or need to make. Most Gorean Masters do not micromanage their slaves except in those few areas which directly impact or please them.

Even the stongest Master will not lay down rules for everything, as it is impossible to cover every situation except in a general way. They will establish rules, which give direction to their slave in places that their specific rules do not cover. The slave must do their best in any situation to decide which of their pre-existing rules will apply and how their words or actions would best reflect on and please their Master. The slave will not always choose correctly, but with experience they will do so more often.

Strong control and limits on choices is what many slaves are looking for when they decide to become a slave. This is in addition to the need to serve and give themselves to others. If they do not find the strength they are looking for they will not be happy. This can lead to a slave looking for a new Master. This is not a good situation for either the Master or the slave. Eventually the Master will either change, the slave will beg release, or the Master will release their unhappy slave. The slave must then look for a new, stronger Master. If a slave feels that their Master is not being as strong and commanding as they are looking for, they can beg to tell their Master where the slave’s problem lies. It could be that the Master does not wish to do more than they are, or they have become so pleased with their slave that they see no need to be as strict as they once were. Whatever the reasons, it is the obligation of the slave to present their problem to their Master for resolution.

Thanks to the internet, Masters and slaves can interact and learn about each other before a collar is begged or they start living together. This is a good thing, however, they can never know enough or as much as they will learn being together offline. The learning they can do online is often enough to make decisions about a Master or slave before making a final commitment. But remember, people can be very different in how they appear online and what they are like in person. Both Master and slave must choose the best they can when looking for a slave or Master. But take heart, real strength of character and mastery will show through in the end if you take your time and look carefully.