Dancer of Gor

I looked at him, angrily.

"Most of your beatings will occur, at any rate, I assure you, when you are fully awake."

"Beatings?" I asked.

"A hazard of what is to be your condition," he said.

"An occupational hazard?" I inquired.

"The condition is not an occupation," he said. "An occupation is not something you are, but something you do. Too, you might change an occupation. Your condition, on the other hand, in the sense I have in mind, is not what you do, but what you are. Similarly, you will be totally unable to change your condition. You will be absolutely powerless to alter, influence or change it in any way whatsoever. Once it is imposed upon you it will then be something which you, quite simply, and categorically, are. To be sure, susceptibility to the beatings of which I spoke, similarly to an occupational hazard, in its way, is an inevitable concomitant of what will be your condition. The frequency and nature of these beatings, of course, will probably depend much on you. If you are not pleasing, you will doubtless be beaten, and well. If you are pleasing, and perfectly so, you may or may not be beaten."

I looked at him, trying to understand what was being said to me. I did know, of course, I could be beaten. I had already felt the lash. I was not eager to feel it again.

"What is wrong?" he asked.

"I do not understand what you are saying," I said.

"Oh?" he asked.

I put my hands on the chain that attached me by the neck to the ring in the floor. "I do not understand what I am doing here," I said. "What is going to be done with me?"

"You mean, immediately?" he asked.

"Yes," I said.

"You" re going to be branded," he said, "and put in a collar." I regarded him with disbelief.

"But so, too, will the other girls," he said. "You will have your brands and collars."

I could not speak.

"Such things are prescribed by merchant law," he said.

"This," I whispered, frightened, "is then truly a world such as that of which you spoke, a world in which women such as I are bought and sold as slaves?" "Position," he said.

Immediately, I released the chain and knelt as I had before, back straight, back on my heels, my hands on my thighs, my knees spread.

"Yes," he said.

"And that is the fate you have decided for me," I said, "that I be a slave." "Yes," he said.

I was silent.

"It will be amusing, from time to time, to think of you in exacting and perfect bondage, where you belong, so right for you, striving desperately to please masters, for fear of your very life, my delectable, hateful slut." "That is why you did not take my virginity," I said, "because you had this fate in store for me?"

"Yes," he said.

"My virginity could affect my price?" I asked.

"Yes," he said.

"It is if I were an animal," I said.

"Soon," he said, "you will be an animal, in full legality."

"You captured me," I said, poutingly. "My virginity belongs to you. It is yours, truly."

"I do not want it," he said.

I looked at him, startled.

"I give it to whoever buys you, and welcome," he said.

I bit my lip, to keep from crying out in anger.

"Against my will I find you extremely attractive," he said, "even infuriatingly so. Indeed, I must put you from my mind. Soon I will forget you. Soon you will be only another number, another entry in my records. But it is you I find attractive, and not some meaningless part of you. What is the virginity of a hateful modern woman, a despicable slut like yourself, really worth? Nothing. It is worthless. Oh, it might be amusing, as an act of imperious arrogance, to take it from you, to rend it, to be the first to force you apart, to be the first to open you for the uses of men, but it is even more amusing to show you my disdain for the worthless bit of fragile, temporary tissue by which you set such grand and u

I clenched my fists on my thighs. I sobbed. I wept.

"It is thus," he said, "I show my contempt for you."

I looked up at him.

"Charming," he said.

I sobbed.

"But it is not I, but others," he said, "who will put your charms to use." "Do not leave me," I begged.

But he had gone.

I lay down on the floor. I pulled my legs up. After a time I heard the voices of me outside the door. I did not understand their language. They were coming for me.

5 Training

"Eat!" said the man. My face was thrust down, into the trough, half into the moist gruel. His hand was in my hair. I feared for a moment I might suffocate. I pressed my face down into the gruel. I opened my mouth. With my teeth and lips, and tongue, desperately scraping, scooping, pulling, licking, biting, pushing down, moving my head, I tried to get as much into my mouth as I could. My head was then pulled up, and held back, by the hair. I swallowed what I had in my mouth. It was not easy to swallow it. I knelt before a wooden feeding trough, with other girls. The man crouched beside me. My eyes were closed. Gruel was upon my face and in my hair. he then threw my head forward again, over the wooden rim of the trough, and pushed my face down again, deeply, submerging it, to the ears, in the gruel. Again I struggled to get as much as I could into my mouth. Then his hand left my hair and I lifted my head from the moist substance. I blinked, gruel upon my face, its particles like wet, unmelting snow on my eyelashes. He had gone further down the line. I struggled to swallow what I had in my mouth. I pulled a little, weakly, at the light, lovely manacles which confined my wrists behind my back. I looked at the other girls, to my right. They, too, were similarly manacled. We were not yet permitted to use our hands in feeding. I looked to my left, and made certain that the man was not watching. I then bend down and tried to wipe my closed eyes and face on the wooden edge of the trough. He was not treating everyone as he had treated me. I had received special attentions in this matter. That had to do with something which had happened earlier. I looked to the girl to my right, a blonde. She put her head down, again, to the trough, her wrists linked behind her, like mine, in those lovely feminine confinements, little more than two lock rings and a tiny span of gleaming chain. We were all naked. It was easy to tell, however, which of us were virgins, for the virgins, like myself, wore the "iron belt." Its horizontal portion, like an iron oval, would close about my waist, and the vertical portion, like a «U», hinged in front to the horizontal portion, flattened, shaped and slotted at its center, would swing up between my legs and there it flattened, laterally slotted end, like a hasp, would be placed over the staple on the left side, already over this staple, and secured there, behind my back, with a heavy, dangling padlock. There was little danger I would be penetrated while wearing this device. The girl to my right did not wear it. She had already been "opened for the uses of men," as it is said here. She was thus free, of course, for the uses of the guards, who did not fail to avail themselves of their privileges. Once she had been dragged forth from her ke