|
 BreastsHere are relevant references from the Books where Breasts are mentioned. I make no pronouncements on these matters, but report them as I find them. Arrive at your own conclusions. I wish you well, Fogaban Click a heading to jump down to that listing. Main Headings Ample Bare Beautiful Breastless Delicious Delightful Depended Excellent Exciting Exquisite Felicitous Free Full Heaving Interesting Large Loose Lovely Luscious Lush Marvelous Medium Moist with Sweat Mottled Nice Pendant Perfect Pretty Shapely Small Soft Sweet Swelling Very Nice Well Well-Formed White Wonderful
I am, like most women, amply, but medium-breasted. Her waist was narrow, and her breasts, while not large, were sweetly ample.
At the wall on my right there were fifteen slave rings. To each, on furs, there was chained, by the left ankle, a bare-breasted girl about whose waist there was knotted a scarlet cord, in which was thrust a long, narrow rectangle of red silk. "Greetings, Master," said Thimble. "Greetings," I said to her. She was dressed, save for her bondage strings, in much the same way as most of the women of the red hunters, bare-breasted, with high boots and panties. Thistle, however, behind her, was naked, in a northern yoke and on a leather leash. Both girls were blond, blue-eyed, white, bare-breasted slaves. They were a matched set, selected to set off the dark beauty of Tende, daughter of Aibu, high chieftain of the Ukungu villages. On the raft, near Tende and her two lovely, bare-breasted white slaves, stood four askaris, men of Bila Huruma, in their skins and feathers, with golden armlets. I unbound the two white girls and knelt them, frightened, in the canoe. They were bare-breasted. About their throats and left ankles were coils of white, pierced shells. About their thighs, now muddied, were brief, wrap-around skirts of red-and-black-printed rep-cloth, suitable garments for slaves. I thrust a paddle into the hands of each. Ayari and I, and the two bare-breasted, lovely white slaves, property girls, each of us now with a paddle, not speaking, propelled the long canoe quietly eastward. I looked upon the two girls. They were sweetly slung, with truly feminine bodies, luscious and curvaceous. Their breasts were bared. I looked upon them. What fantastically attractive women they were, their lovely faces framed in cascades of dark hair, their throats, closely encircled by steel collars, their shoulders, their breasts, bared, their narrow waists and sweetly flared hips, the bit of rag they wore, their thighs, calves, ankles and small, high-arched feet. "Peggy," I said, "go to the Captain and kneel before him, and bare your breasts to his sword." She knelt then before him, a helpless slave, as she had been commanded, her breasts bared before his sword. She, then, feels the drag of the chain against her collar, and the chain, with its heavy links, between her bared breasts; she knows well that she is chained. The young man then lowered his lance, until the long point of narrow, tapering, bluish flint was but inches from her bared breasts. He gestured at her with the lance. "Winyela," he said. "You have been named," said Pimples. "Put down your head. Put your fingers to your breasts. Say, 'Ho, Itancanka, Winyela'." The point of his lance dipped, aligned then with the beauty of her soft, bared breasts. To be sure, we were bare-breasted, and slaves, and obeying. "We will both be bare-breasted slaves," she said. "Are you, former Earth woman, ashamed of the beauty of your breasts?" She was very beautiful there, bare-breasted, her neck in the slave collar of Ionicus, about her hips and thighs the brief shreds of the skirt of her work tunic, that tunic sacrificed that I might have at least the little I wore, a slave strip thrust in a narrow belt of rolled cloth. I saw he did not want to strike Tupita. Her beauty, so wild and pathetic, bare-breasted, in its collar and shreds of skirt, was between us. Many times in conquered cities women kneel before invading warriors, baring their breasts and bodies, begging not to be put to the sword but rather to be permitted to please them, and then be kept as slaves. Her breasts were bared. "Are you modest?" I asked. "Of course," she said. "I am a free woman." "But when you first presented yourself before me, at the inn," I said, "you had bared your breasts." "I think I have pretty breasts," she said. "You do," I said. "I bared them," she said, "because I did not wish to risk rejection." The nudity of the suppliants, of course, was only to be expected. Stripping themselves, baring their breasts, and such, is natural for female suppliants before men. "'I bare my breasts before you. Make me a slave,' 'I surrender to you, naked. Spare me. I beg bondage,' 'I have endeavored to conceal my true nature from men, that I am a slave. Visit justice upon me,' 'I have stripped myself before you. Let me live, that I may serve you as the most abject and loving of slaves,' and such sayings," I said. "Do not some free women speak of it so?" he asked. "And are not those the very women who first bare their breasts to conquerors and beg the privilege of licking their feet?" I looked to the pier. There were still some slave girls there. I now saw three. Two were bare-breasted. The second and the third girls were the ones who were bare-breasted. "Your breasts are beautiful," I said. "I think I will, accordingly, keep them bared. Too, this seems fitting, not only because you are a captive, but given the heat in the delta. In this way you will be more comfortable. Perhaps when you were a free woman, that is, not yet a captive, in your barge, on the islands, and such, in your robes of concealment, you often wished you might go about stripped, or, say, in slave strips, that sort of thing, surely, at least, barefoot in the scanty garments of a female rencer." "But surely you are distressed," I said, "that you have been garmented as you have, in such a manner that you might at a distance, save for the collar, be mistaken for a thigh-stripped, bare-breasted slave." "I do not understand," I said. "You are delighted to be placed in slave strips, to be thigh-stripped and bare-breasted, and you would not mind, I gather, being inserted into a scandalous Ta Teera, a revealing camisk or a brief, stunning slave tunic, such things, and you object to an almost full-length, modest garment of this sort." "Perhaps," I said, somewhat maliciously, "the next time, if the pit master permits us a repetition of this adventure, I will march you thought the streets as a bare-breasted slave, permitted only a string and slave strip." "But with respect to her duties here, in connection with this prisoner," said the leader, "she is to be bare-breasted, and is to be given, at most, a string and slave strip." "It is one thing," said the pit master, "to appear bare-breasted, in a string and slave strip, before guards, before soldiers, before free men, serving their feasts, crawling at their feet, licking their thighs, dancing before them, and quite another before a prisoner. The free men may seize you upon a caprice and fling you down for their pleasure. They have whips. They may lash you to the furs. You may hope they will be kind enough to merely put you to their lengthy pleasures. It is not the same with a chained prisoner."
I kissed her on each breast, for they were beautiful. Then she stood up, and pulled the rag over her head. Her body involuntarily shuddered as the grease-thick rag slipped over her beauty and clung snug, revealingly, about it; I examined her, walking about her; I tore the neckline down, to better expose the beauty of her breasts; I ripped away a strip from the garment's hem, shortening it; she must now walk with exquisite care; I ripped the left side of the garment a bit more, to better reveal the delicious line from her left breast to her left hip. As she knelt before me, within the cage, I saw her straighten her back and draw back her shoulders, lifting her breasts. How beautiful they were. I do not think she even realized she had done this. It was a slave's act, displaying her imbonded beauty before the gaze of a free man. Yet I do not think she was even aware of what she had done. She arched her back. Her breasts were lifted beautifully. I observed their lovely rise and fall, correlated with the respirator cycle of her small lungs. Consider the girl at the post. Her hands are not fastened over her head, which would lift and accentuate the beauty of her breasts. She shrank back. Angrily he tore away two additional horts from the tunic's freshly sheared hem. She cried out with misery, so exposed. "And this, too!" he said angrily. "Please, no, Master!" she wept. But his hands then tore open the tunic, that the beauty of her breasts be but ill concealed. Her breasts, now those of a slave, given her posture, depended beautifully from her body. I examined the lineaments of her body, the beauty of her breasts held high, as she was braceleted, the latitudes of her belly, the flare of her hips, the sweetness of her knees and thighs, the lovely curve of her calves, her ankles, the left clasped in steel, and her small feet. "Yes," he said, "but it will perhaps do. I tried to find a garment which would be both serviceable for our purposes and, at the same time, considerate, within the limitations of our project, of your modesty. That explains the neckline which does not plunge to your belly, revealing much of the beauty of your breasts, and the hemline, which is surely something less than slave short. There are many ways, of course, of "binding by the master's will." The behind-the-back position is one of the simplest and loveliest. This exposes the girl, frames the beauty of her breasts and makes her helpless. That the bond is a "will bond," too, makes clear to her the power of the master over her. Another common bond of this sort is when the girl must kneel, grasping her ankles. Another is when she is forced to sit and reach forward between her legs, passing the right arm from inside the right thigh to outside and beneath the right calf, to grasp the right ankle from the outside, and the left arm from inside the left thigh to outside and beneath the left calf, to grasp the left ankle in the same way. In this position she is helpless and cannot rise. Too, after a time, it becomes apparent to her that she also cannot close her legs. A girl may be kept in such bonds for hours. Too, of course, she may be tied in such positions. There are also, of course, different ways of decreeing such bonds. For example, with the behind-the-back-hands-tied bond in which I had been placed I could have been informed, but had not been, that my shoulders were pulled tightly back, which, of course, forces the breasts forward for the pleasure, or attentions, of the master. "We will both be bare-breasted slaves," she said. "Are you, former Earth woman, ashamed of the beauty of your breasts?" The remainder of the garments, in front, torn apart, hung low on their bellies, below their navels. Their breasts were very beautiful, and the line of their waists, and the beginning of the flare of their hips. "Well done, girls," said the keeper. "And do not forget the beauty of your breasts, and your squirmings, your glances and smiles." "Your breasts are beautiful," I said. "I think I will, accordingly, keep them bared. Too, this seems fitting, not only because you are a captive, but given the heat in the delta. In this way you will be more comfortable. Perhaps when you were a free woman, that is, not yet a captive, in your barge, on the islands, and such, in your robes of concealment, you often wished you might go about stripped, or, say, in slave strips, that sort of thing, surely, at least, barefoot in the scanty garments of a female rencer." Ina's hands, she blushing beneath our gaze, stole upward, crossed, to cover her breasts. "You have not received permission to cover your breasts, Ina," I informed her. Quickly she brought her hands down, to her thighs. "Forgive me, my captor," she said. "Your breasts are beautiful," I told her, "and you must show them, if your captors desire." I then again, in a bit, regarded her. No longer was she in the dignity of a garment. Her breasts, in her present position, that which I had dictated, were beautifully pendant. I gently touched her breasts. Again she whimpered. They were very beautiful, and their condition, like that of her whole body, signified her readiness, and need. Tears of supplication welled in her eyes. Then, shyly, with seeming demureness, but with a slave girl's sense of self-display, she, her chin level, her back straight, her shoulders back, centered the lock, with both hands, delicately, carefully, at the back of the neck. This lifted her breasts, beautifully.
Similarly, and perhaps for similar reasons, Gorean men tend, on the whole, it seems, to prefer normal-sized, lovely breasted, sweetly thighed women, with broad love cradles, as opposed to unusually tall, breastless, narrow-thighed women with narrow hips. But my body, you see, would be all wrong for my own culture. It approximates, very closely, that of the statistically normal female. For example, it is not unusually long legged, and it does not, as it might if it were almost breastless, seem to be, in effect, that of a stripling youth. One might note, in passing, that the usual Gorean taste in women tends to favor the statistically natural or normal woman, the lovely, nicely figured woman of average height and weight, who as a slave fits nicely in a man's arms, as opposed to the more unusual "model types," who tend to be awkward, scrawny and breastless. "Unlike the human female," said Lord Grendel, "the Kur female, unless a throwback, an atavism, is narrow-hipped and breastless. The functions of gestation and nursing take place in the wombs."
Her breasts, of course, in which so much of her luscious femaleness is naturally manifested, do not escape notice in her bondage. They are as open and available to the master as any other part of her. After all, he owns the whole slave. Accordingly she knows that they, so sweet and soft, so delicious and marvelous, so wonderful and exciting, will, like the rest of her, without a second thought, be submitted to attentions appropriate to her status. For example, they may be lovingly handled, and kissed and caressed by the master however and as long as he pleases. Too, they might be emphasized and accentuated by various forms of garments and bindings. The tying of slave girdles, for example, and the arrangement of binding fiber, often has this subtle, delicious feature in mind. Too, of course, they may be confined, if one wishes, in open brassieres of cord, or netting. To be sure, the shoulders, for example, lead to the delicious curvatures of the breasts, those, too, the property of the master, and thence to the waist and belly, and thighs, and the slave's helpless, delicate intimacies.
She lightly touched her breasts. How sweet and full, and delightful and felicitous, they seemed.
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. Frightened, she got on her hands and knees, and looked at me. Would she be lashed? Her breasts depended, beautifully. She rose to her hands and knees. Her breasts depended beautifully. "Have I disturbed Master?" she asked. I watched her approach him, head down, on her hands and knees, her breasts depending beautifully.
I considered her flanks, and breasts. They were excellent.
Her breasts were very exciting. She snuggled up against me. Her nearness made me master hot. Her breasts were exciting. I put my arm about her, that I might hold her to me. She looked up into my eyes. Her breasts, of course, in which so much of her luscious femaleness is naturally manifested, do not escape notice in her bondage. They are as open and available to the master as any other part of her. After all, he owns the whole slave. Accordingly she knows that they, so sweet and soft, so delicious and marvelous, so wonderful and exciting, will, like the rest of her, without a second thought, be submitted to attentions appropriate to her status. For example, they may be lovingly handled, and kissed and caressed by the master however and as long as he pleases. Too, they might be emphasized and accentuated by various forms of garments and bindings. The tying of slave girdles, for example, and the arrangement of binding fiber, often has this subtle, delicious feature in mind. Too, of course, they may be confined, if one wishes, in open brassieres of cord, or netting.
Beverly was a small, exquisitely breasted, lovely ankled, sweetly hipped young woman. She had small, well-formed, exquisite breasts.
She lightly touched her breasts. How sweet and full, and delightful and felicitous, they seemed.
The fruit of her body hung free, and lovely.
Her hips were sweet, her belly a rhythm made for the touch of a man, and her breasts, full and beautiful, magnificent, tormenting me, strained against the brittle rence cloth of her tunic with an insolence of softness, as though, insistent, they would make clear their contempt for any subterfuge of concealment. Her breasts hung lovely, sweet and full, scarcely concealed, within the thin brown cloth. I then looked back at Feiqa, the former Lady Charlotte of Samnium. She wore a brief slave tunic, with a neckline that plunged to her belly. The soft, interior curvatures of her breasts could be seen within the opening of the garment. This is suitable for women who are only slaves. I considered her. She was lovely. I went to stand near her, the camp and the walls of Torcadino behind her. I put my hands within her garment. She looked up at me. My touch was gentle. The straps of my pack, which she bore for me, were wet and hot on her shoulders. There were bands of sweat beneath the straps, and beneath them, too, the tunic was wet and wrinkled. Some of the wrinkles would leave a mark on her skin for a time. Her breasts felt interesting, warm, full, moist with sweat. She had a collar locked on her neck. She was mine. She lightly touched her breasts. How sweet and full, and delightful and felicitous, they seemed.
Callimachus, sweating, overcome, trembling, fists clenched, rose to his feet. He looked down at the supine slave, sweating, her breasts heaving, at his feet. I removed my hand from her throat and face. She gasped, fearfully, but did not stir from my side. Her breasts heaved, under the thin rep-cloth of the slave tunic. The music stopped, and the girl, instinctively, among the others, fell to the dirt and lay there before him, on her back, looking at him, her breasts heaving, a submitted slave. She regarded me, frightened. Her breast heaved. Her small hand was before her mouth. Then, the dance ended, men striking their left shoulders in Gorean applause, shouting their vociferous approval, some armed warriors striking their shields with spear blades, she sank to the ground, on her back, breathless, breasts heaving, covered with a sheen of sweat, before her master, her left knee raised, her head turned toward him, the palms of her hands, at her sides, vulnerably exposed. My hair was about my shoulders. I was still trying to regain my breath, from the exertion of my performance. My breasts heaved.
I then looked back at Feiqa, the former Lady Charlotte of Samnium. She wore a brief slave tunic, with a neckline that plunged to her belly. The soft, interior curvatures of her breasts could be seen within the opening of the garment. This is suitable for women who are only slaves. I considered her. She was lovely. I went to stand near her, the camp and the walls of Torcadino behind her. I put my hands within her garment. She looked up at me. My touch was gentle. The straps of my pack, which she bore for me, were wet and hot on her shoulders. There were bands of sweat beneath the straps, and beneath them, too, the tunic was wet and wrinkled. Some of the wrinkles would leave a mark on her skin for a time. Her breasts felt interesting, warm, full, moist with sweat. She had a collar locked on her neck. She was mine.
Mercenaries of Gor Book 21 Pages 224 - 225
She was large breasted. The men of Torvaldsland are fond of such women. "You will hurry, pretty little bond-maids, and you, too, my large-breasted lovely," said Ivar, indicating black-velveted Aelgifu, "or you will be cut out of the coffle by your heads." "Would you not, my large breasted beauty," said he, "like to spend the night with me in my bag of the skin of the sea sleen?" "Open your mouth, my large-breasted beauty," said the Forkbeard. Eyes wide, she did so. He thrust the contents of the small bowl into her mouth. Choking, the proud Aelgifu swallowed the thick gruel, that of dampened Sa-Tarna meal and raw fish, the gruel of bond-maids. "I have taken more than ransom money," said he, "my large-breasted beauty." I was certainly not Thurnus's favorite. He preferred larger, wider hipped, larger breasted women than I, more of the sort that Melina might have been at one time, before, in her freedom, she had gone slack and fat. "Her breasts are too small," said Mahpiyasapa. "I am keeping her," said Canka. "She is mine. I want her." When Mahpiyasapa had made his remark about her breasts, Winyela, troubled, puzzled, had inadvertently touched them. I myself thought that her breasts were very lovely, and sweetly proportionate to her figure as a whole. Mahpiyasapa, however, it seemed, as is not all that unusual among the men of the red savages, preferred large-breasted women. It had been no secret in the camp that he had regarded Winyela's breasts, at least for his tastes, as too small. Red savages often, like many men of the Tahari, tend to find a special attractiveness in large-breasted women. I am a larger woman than Susan," I informed Drusus Rencius, on the wall, acidly. "I am taller, and my breasts are larger, and my hips are wider."
She looked at Alyena, who knelt beside the tea, looking down at the mats, not daring to raise her eyes. Alyena's shoulders shook. Her breasts, pendant, were sweet, loose, inside the rep-cloth blouse. Her breasts were loose and sweet within her small garment.
She had, in the tent, removed the tan jacket of kaiila hair, with hood. As she bent down, her breasts hung lovely against the cheap rep-cloth of the blue-and-yellow-printed blouse. He, upon this remark, casually, from an inch or so below her left armpit ripped the garment open to an inch or so above her left hip. The line of her left breast, seen from the side, and the sway of her left hip, were lovely. Seeing the eyes of Samos she angrily took the ribbon, and winding it about her head, fastened back her hair. She blushed, angrily, hotly, knowing that, as she lifted her hands gracefully to her hair, she raised the lovely line of her breasts, little concealed in the thin livery. Then she stood before us, angrily, the ribbon in her hair. She held my arm, closely, looking up at me. Her breasts, sweet, pendant, white, were lovely in the loose rep-cloth of her tunic. Then she, lifting her arms, fitted the key into the lock at the back of her collar. This action lifted the line of her breasts, which was lovely, and lifted the tan slave tunic a bit higher on her thighs. "Look upon the slaves," commanded the Lady Gina. "See their ankles, their legs, the sweetness of their bellies, the loveliness of their breasts, the beauty of their shoulders, their throats and faces, their hair." Her breasts hung lovely, sweet and full, scarcely concealed, within the thin brown cloth. I saw the loveliness of her breasts swelling within the blouse and jacket. She rose to her hands and knees. I noticed that her breasts were lovely, inside the rag she wore. She wore a short, fringed, beaded shirtdress. This came high on her thighs. It was split to her waist, well revealing the sweetness and loveliness of her breasts. Her breasts were lovely. "Her breasts are too small," said Mahpiyasapa. "I am keeping her," said Canka. "She is mine. I want her." When Mahpiyasapa had made his remark about her breasts, Winyela, troubled, puzzled, had inadvertently touched them. I myself thought that her breasts were very lovely, and sweetly proportionate to her figure as a whole. Mahpiyasapa, however, it seemed, as is not all that unusual among the men of the red savages, preferred large-breasted women. A woman, of course, too, because of the glorious nature of her beauty, the sweet flaring of her hips, the lovely swelling of her upper body and breasts, cannot even begin to slip such a bond. I observed how her toes were pointed, this curving her calves deliciously. Her belly, too, was sucked in a bit, accentuating the loveliness of her breasts and the flare of her hips. She lifted her head. She was then on her elbows beside me. Her breasts were lovely. Then I reached behind my back and unhooked the scarlet halter, and slipped it from me. I looked at my breasts. In the tiny bit of scarlet silk they had given me to wear, their form, and loveliness, if they were lovely, would be in little doubt. I then slipped from the tights and skirt. Similarly, and perhaps for similar reasons, Gorean men tend, on the whole, it seems, to prefer normal-sized, lovely breasted, sweetly thighed women, with broad love cradles, as opposed to unusually tall, breastless, narrow-thighed women with narrow hips. She had good flanks, not a bad belly, and lovely breasts. The slave girdle too, tied high on her, crossed, emphasized the loveliness of her small breasts, I was pleased for Marcus. She had not even known enough to draw back her shoulders, that the loveliness of her breasts would be accentuated beneath the thin, scarcely concealing rag of the field slave.
This girl, like Mina, was a sweetly bodied slut, with luscious swelling breasts, a stocky, but considerably narrower waist, and wide hips, nursing a marvelous love cradle in which a man might lose himself with pleasure.
I held my hand, opened, a bit above her left breast. She arched her back, pressing that marvelous, lush contour of her enslaved softness against my hand.
Her legs and belly, and breasts, were marvelous. And her face, too, was beautiful, sensitive and intelligent. I envied the Forkbeard his catch. I looked to the Forkbeard. He had one arm about the full, naked waist of the daughter of the administrator of Kassau, Pudding, and the other about the waist of marvelously breasted, collared Gunnhild. She struggled, held. She had a fair throat, good shoulders; she was marvelously breasted; her waist was such that one could get his hands on it well; Her body, small and curved, was beautiful in the half-light. Her breasts were marvelous. I put my own cup on the tray. I looked at her, from her small feet, to her ankles and calves, her sweet thighs, the sweet belly of her, her waist, and 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. I held my hand, opened, a bit above her left breast. She arched her back, pressing that marvelous, lush contour of her enslaved softness against my hand. She then, almost apologetically, adjusted one of shoulder straps of the dress, pulling it up tighter and more to the side. She did this as though not giving it much thought, and as though modestly, but in such a way, with such a movement of her body, and with such an effect, that she called dramatic and inevitable attention to the marvelousness of her breasts. Such breasts, I thought, would probably increase her value as a slave. Her breasts, of course, in which so much of her luscious femaleness is naturally manifested, do not escape notice in her bondage. They are as open and available to the master as any other part of her. After all, he owns the whole slave. Accordingly she knows that they, so sweet and soft, so delicious and marvelous, so wonderful and exciting, will, like the rest of her, without a second thought, be submitted to attentions appropriate to her status. For example, they may be lovingly handled, and kissed and caressed by the master however and as long as he pleases. Too, they might be emphasized and accentuated by various forms of garments and bindings. The tying of slave girdles, for example, and the arrangement of binding fiber, often has this subtle, delicious feature in mind. Too, of course, they may be confined, if one wishes, in open brassieres of cord, or netting. She had beautiful eyes and hair, and features. She had a marvelous belly, breasts, and thighs, a luscious love cradle. In another moment, as she again faced me, I could not help but take in, in a glance, together with her consternation and puzzlement, the excitingness of her shapely, bared legs, her exquisite ankles and feet, the marvelous lineaments of her hips, waist and breasts, well betrayed by the silk she wore, that mockery of a garment, suitable for a slave, the sweetness of her upper arms and forearms, the smallness of her hands and fingers, her shoulders, her throat, encircled by its collar, her delicate, sensitive, beautiful face, the total marvelousness of her!
I am, like most women, amply, but medium-breasted.
I then looked back at Feiqa, the former Lady Charlotte of Samnium. She wore a brief slave tunic, with a neckline that plunged to her belly. The soft, interior curvatures of her breasts could be seen within the opening of the garment. This is suitable for women who are only slaves. I considered her. She was lovely. I went to stand near her, the camp and the walls of Torcadino behind her. I put my hands within her garment. She looked up at me. My touch was gentle. The straps of my pack, which she bore for me, were wet and hot on her shoulders. There were bands of sweat beneath the straps, and beneath them, too, the tunic was wet and wrinkled. Some of the wrinkles would leave a mark on her skin for a time. Her breasts felt interesting, warm, full, moist with sweat. She had a collar locked on her neck. She was mine.
The following night, the night before we would make landfall in Laura, when I had finished with her, she lay on her belly on the planks, her head in her hands, lifted, on her elbows. Her hair was forward. She was breathing deeply. Even in the flickering light I could see the beautiful mottlings on her body, on the sides of her breasts and body, red and white, still rich and subtle in her hot, blood-charged skin. The chain dangled to the floor, where it lay, half coiled near the ring. The fruit of her body hung free, and lovely. The nipples were still arch. She turned her head toward me, and looked at me, through her hair, with glazed eyes. She put her head down. I knelt behind her, and above her, on one knee, and, with a snap, fastened the slave collar on her throat. She did not protest. She knew that she had yielded to me, as a slave girl to her master. I took her by the shoulders, and turned her on her back. Her entire belly and breasts, like much of the rest of her body was rich with the beautiful mottlings. I touched the nipples. How beautiful they were, large, delicate, sensitive now, almost painfully swollen with blood. I kissed them. She reached for me again, lifting her head, the chain at her neck, lips parted.
She had been nicely breasted. Too, I was apparently a type of woman, short, with shapely legs, and nicely breasted, which men on this world often found attractive. And how far away must her former reality have seemed, the former reality of this small, luscious barbarian, a brunette, nicely breasted, narrow waisted, and invitingly hipped, with small hands and feet, from her present reality, lying bound on the floor of a tavern, at the side of a table of masters.
She looked at Alyena, who knelt beside the tea, looking down at the mats, not daring to raise her eyes. Alyena's shoulders shook. Her breasts, pendant, were sweet, loose, inside the rep-cloth blouse. I rolled to my stomach, my breasts pendant, to look upon the man who owned me. She held my arm, closely, looking up at me. Her breasts, sweet, pendant, white, were lovely in the loose rep-cloth of her tunic. "Crawl now to the mirror," I told her, "on your hands and knees, and regard yourself." Miserable, she did so, her hair falling before her face, trembling, her sweet breasts pendant. She lifted her head, and gasped, looking in the mirror. "Similarly," said the whip master, "do not forget to press your body sometimes against that of the master, sometimes seemingly inadvertently. Along these lines, for example, it is easy, seemingly accidentally, to brush his lips with a pendant breast. If his lips should part you might then press it more closely against him, begging. You might then be cuffed back in the water, but later you will doubtless be well used." I then again, in a bit, regarded her. No longer was she in the dignity of a garment. Her breasts, in her present position, that which I had dictated, were beautifully pendant.
I wondered if she had now, suddenly, become much more aware, and perhaps fearfully so, of her own attractions, of the luscious curves of her body, of the excitements of her figure, of the soft perfections of her breasts, so perfectly formed, of her graspable waist, of the flaring of her hips and the sweetness of her love-cradle, with its softly rounded belly, like a stove ready for the stoking of slave fires, of her thighs, calves, or her small feet and hands, of those lovely shoulders, and that lovely neck, and the beautiful head and face, now so sensitive, now so softened by her emergent femaleness, and the hair, that, might have been the envy of a paga slave, like a sheen of tawny gold, loose about her back and shoulders.
"Are you modest?" I asked. "Of course," she said. "I am a free woman." "But when you first presented yourself before me, at the inn," I said, "you had bared your breasts." "I think I have pretty breasts," she said. "You do," I said. "I bared them," she said, "because I did not wish to risk rejection." "Your thighs are pretty," I said. She blushed. "Yes," I said, "and your belly and breasts, and the rest of you." "Thank you," she said.
She did not mention it, but it was not merely her arms and shoulders which were bared. One could see a good bit of her legs, a sweet suggestion of her shapely breasts and, at the sides, going to the waist, a high slash of thigh.
"Her breasts are a bit small," I said. "Her breasts," I said, "are a bit small, and her ankles and wrists are too thick." "I cannot help it," she said, "that my breasts are too small, that my wrists and ankles are too thick." She was slender, small-breasted and lovely-legged. I regarded her. She had lovely, exciting shoulders. I saw that her breasts would be very white. Her bosom, small, but sweetly swelling, concealed, strained against the tight satin sheath. I put my hands on her tunic. It had parted somewhat, apparently, in her walking, following the palanquin. Her hands fastened as they were, behind her, she could not draw the garment closed. Briefly I wanted to rip it down from her shoulders. She was woman enough to understand this. She shuddered. Then I drew it together more closely, that the loveliness of her small breasts might be the better concealed. "Her breasts are too small," said Mahpiyasapa. "I am keeping her," said Canka. "She is mine. I want her." When Mahpiyasapa had made his remark about her breasts, Winyela, troubled, puzzled, had inadvertently touched them. I myself thought that her breasts were very lovely, and sweetly proportionate to her figure as a whole. Mahpiyasapa, however, it seemed, as is not all that unusual among the men of the red savages, preferred large-breasted women. That female beauty should be regarded as being restricted, for example, to a certain type of woman, say, perhaps, to women who are unusually tall for women, thin and small-breasted, would be regarded as preposterous, if not even incomprehensible, to the Gorean. Winyela lifted her head to Canka. There were tears in her eyes. "Perhaps you should give me to him, Master," she said. "Perhaps my breasts are too small." "Do not be stupid," said Canka. "They are perfect. Go cook." It had been no secret in the camp that he had regarded Winyela's breasts, at least for his tastes, as too small. Red savages often, like many men of the Tahari, tend to find a special attractiveness in large-breasted women. She had small, well-formed, exquisite breasts. She was beautiful then, her legs extended, her heels slightly lifted from the floor, her back straight, her stomach flat, her small breasts arched, the entire line of her slim, lovely body lifted by her upraised wrists, helpless under the duress of the thongs and ring, tied in place, displayed as stake. I regarded the slender girl dancing before me. Her breasts were small, and well formed. The usual Gorean taste in women, incidentally, tends to run toward the natural woman, short, well-curved, and such, as opposed, say, to unusually tall, small-breasted women. The slave girdle too, tied high on her, crossed, emphasized the loveliness of her small breasts, I was pleased for Marcus.
I held my hand, opened, a bit above her left breast. She arched her back, pressing that marvelous, lush contour of her enslaved softness against my hand. Such collars set off the beauty of a woman, the encircling steel, significatory of bondage, contrasting nicely with the softness of her throat, shoulders and breasts. Her breasts, of course, in which so much of her luscious femaleness is naturally manifested, do not escape notice in her bondage. They are as open and available to the master as any other part of her. After all, he owns the whole slave. Accordingly she knows that they, so sweet and soft, so delicious and marvelous, so wonderful and exciting, will, like the rest of her, without a second thought, be submitted to attentions appropriate to her status. For example, they may be lovingly handled, and kissed and caressed by the master however and as long as he pleases. Too, they might be emphasized and accentuated by various forms of garments and bindings. The tying of slave girdles, for example, and the arrangement of binding fiber, often has this subtle, delicious feature in mind. Too, of course, they may be confined, if one wishes, in open brassieres of cord, or netting. "Some, perhaps," he said. "On the other hand, such books are generally regarded as fiction. It is better that way, don't you think?" I wondered if she had now, suddenly, become much more aware, and perhaps fearfully so, of her own attractions, of the luscious curves of her body, of the excitements of her figure, of the soft perfections of her breasts, so perfectly formed, of her graspable waist, of the flaring of her hips and the sweetness of her love-cradle, with its softly rounded belly, like a stove ready for the stoking of slave fires, of her thighs, calves, or her small feet and hands, of those lovely shoulders, and that lovely neck, and the beautiful head and face, now so sensitive, now so softened by her emergent femaleness, and the hair, that, might have been the envy of a paga slave, like a sheen of tawny gold, loose about her back and shoulders. His glance went slowly, lingeringly, from her small feet, to her trim ankles, to the lovely calves and thighs, to the love cradle of her, to the narrow waist, to the swelling sweetness, the vulnerable softness, of her breasts, to the soft shoulders and her white throat, now innocent of a steel circlet, to her glossy hair, now of slave length, to the face, thought beautiful, and surely exquisitely feminine, by many, and to the trembling lips, and the darkly lashed, longly lashed, gray, wide, frightened eyes.
She looked at Alyena, who knelt beside the tea, looking down at the mats, not daring to raise her eyes. Alyena's shoulders shook. Her breasts, pendant, were sweet, loose, inside the rep-cloth blouse. The virginal girl, slender, sweetly shouldered, lovely legged, terrified, crept to the surface of the block. The bit of fluff clung about her. It did not much conceal her. Her legs were well exposed to the inspection of masters, and the sweetness of her breasts was evident, it but scarcely concealed in the wafting of insinuative, tantalizing fluff. She held my arm, closely, looking up at me. Her breasts, sweet, pendant, white, were lovely in the loose rep-cloth of her tunic. She had slim, lovely legs, and sweet breasts. "Crawl now to the mirror," I told her, "on your hands and knees, and regard yourself." Miserable, she did so, her hair falling before her face, trembling, her sweet breasts pendant. She lifted her head, and gasped, looking in the mirror. I regarded her. She had lovely, exciting shoulders. I saw that her breasts would be very white. Her bosom, small, but sweetly swelling, concealed, strained against the tight satin sheath. Then she lay back on the tiles, watching me, her sweet breasts rising and falling with her breathing. Her breasts hung lovely, sweet and full, scarcely concealed, within the thin brown cloth. The girls were slim-thighed and sweetly breasted. I regarded her ankles, her calves and thighs, the sweetness of her belly and breasts, her throat, her face, her hair. Her breasts were loose and sweet within her small garment. She carried a tray of tiny cups, filled with liqueurs. She was willowy and sweetly-breasted. She wore a short, fringed, beaded shirtdress. This came high on her thighs. It was split to her waist, well revealing the sweetness and loveliness of her breasts. She was a fair-skinned, slender, willowy girl. She appeared to be sweetly breasted, with a small waist and lovely, flaring hips, doubtless nestling a luscious love cradle. She was sweetly breasted, narrow-waisted and widely hipped. "Her breasts are too small," said Mahpiyasapa. "I am keeping her," said Canka. "She is mine. I want her." When Mahpiyasapa had made his remark about her breasts, Winyela, troubled, puzzled, had inadvertently touched them. I myself thought that her breasts were very lovely, and sweetly proportionate to her figure as a whole. Mahpiyasapa, however, it seemed, as is not all that unusual among the men of the red savages, preferred large-breasted women. Her breasts, of course, in which so much of her luscious femaleness is naturally manifested, do not escape notice in her bondage. They are as open and available to the master as any other part of her. After all, he owns the whole slave. Accordingly she knows that they, so sweet and soft, so delicious and marvelous, so wonderful and exciting, will, like the rest of her, without a second thought, be submitted to attentions appropriate to her status. For example, they may be lovingly handled, and kissed and caressed by the master however and as long as he pleases. Too, they might be emphasized and accentuated by various forms of garments and bindings. The tying of slave girdles, for example, and the arrangement of binding fiber, often has this subtle, delicious feature in mind. Too, of course, they may be confined, if one wishes, in open brassieres of cord, or netting. Immediately one of the girls, a sensuous, widely hipped, sweetly breasted slave, half walking, half dancing, to the music, swirled among the guests and then presented herself particularly before the burly fellow, moving before him, back and forth, facing him, turning about. She lightly touched her breasts. How sweet and full, and delightful and felicitous, they seemed. Her waist was narrow, and her breasts, while not large, were sweetly ample.
I regarded her. She had lovely, exciting shoulders. I saw that her breasts would be very white. Her bosom, small, but sweetly swelling, concealed, strained against the tight satin sheath. Her breasts, swelling within the pathetic restraint of the Ta-Teera, made me want to cry out with pleasure. I saw the loveliness of her breasts swelling within the blouse and jacket. A woman, of course, too, because of the glorious nature of her beauty, the sweet flaring of her hips, the lovely swelling of her upper body and breasts, cannot even begin to slip such a bond. This girl, like Mina, was a sweetly bodied slut, with luscious swelling breasts, a stocky, but considerably narrower waist, and wide hips, nursing a marvelous love cradle in which a man might lose himself with pleasure.
I saw that she was flattered by this. She glowed. Her breasts were very nice.
She was well legged, sweetly hipped, narrow waisted, and well breasted. I did not think she would need be disappointed at the price that would be likely to take her off the block. The girl was lithe, slender, dark-eyed, dark-haired, well breasted, sweetly thighed, with an inviting love cradle.
She had small, well-formed, exquisite breasts. "My breasts are well formed," she said. I regarded the slender girl dancing before me. Her breasts were small, and well formed.
She held my arm, closely, looking up at me. Her breasts, sweet, pendant, white, were lovely in the loose rep-cloth of her tunic. I regarded her. She had lovely, exciting shoulders. I saw that her breasts would be very white. Her bosom, small, but sweetly swelling, concealed, strained against the tight satin sheath. The whiteness of her breasts, as I could see them, and of her throat, was striking.
Her breasts, of course, in which so much of her luscious femaleness is naturally manifested, do not escape notice in her bondage. They are as open and available to the master as any other part of her. After all, he owns the whole slave. Accordingly she knows that they, so sweet and soft, so delicious and marvelous, so wonderful and exciting, will, like the rest of her, without a second thought, be submitted to attentions appropriate to her status. For example, they may be lovingly handled, and kissed and caressed by the master however and as long as he pleases. Too, they might be emphasized and accentuated by various forms of garments and bindings. The tying of slave girdles, for example, and the arrangement of binding fiber, often has this subtle, delicious feature in mind. Too, of course, they may be confined, if one wishes, in open brassieres of cord, or netting. |       
| |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
