|
 How To KissHere are relevant references from the Books where How To Kiss is 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 with Anxiety As a Slave Girl At Length Avidly Boldly with Breaths Meeting Briefly Brutally Burned On Lips Carefully Claiming Conqueringly Contritely Cruelly Deeply Deferentially Delicately Deliciously Desperately with Determination Devotedly Eagerly Fearfully Fervently Fiercely Flung For Much Time Forced Formality Frightened Fully Gently Gratefully Grumblingly Half Kissed Happily Helplessly Hopefully Humbly Imperceptibly In a Slave's Joy and Submission Increasing Determination Insolently Insultingly Intimately Irritably Lasciviously Lengthily Lightly Like a Catalyst Like a Chemical Agent Lingeringly Long Time Lost Within It Lovingly with Mad Joy Mad Kisses Madly Masterfully Mercilessly Moist Much Needfully Obediently Orgasmic Passionately Piteously Pleadingly Possessively Pressing Head Back Quieting Raped Repeatedly Richly Roundly Ruthlessly Salaciously Savagely with a Savoring Touch Seductively Softly Splendidly Startlingly Submissively Subtlety Supplicatingly Sweetly Swiftly Tenderly Timidly To Silence Truly Uncompromisingly Wantonly Warmly Well Wildly Woodenly
Suddenly she kissed me, a deep kiss, moist, rich, too soon ended. "There!" she laughed. "The kiss of a Tuchuk slave girl!" Then she laughed and turned away, looking over her shoulder. "You see," she said, "I can do it quite well." I did not speak. She was facing the other way. "But," she said, teasingly, "I think one will be enough for master." I was a bit angry, and not a little aroused. "The girls in the public slave wagon," I said, "know how to kiss." "Oh?" she said, turning about. "They are not little secretaries," I said, "pretending to be slave girls." Her eyes flashed. "Try this!" she said, approaching me, and this time, my head in her small hands, she lingered with her lips upon my mouth, warm, wet, breaths meeting and mingling in the savoring touch. My hands held her slender waist. When she had finished, I remarked, "Not bad." "Not bad!" she cried. Then fully and for much time, she kissed me, with increasing determination, yet attempted subtlety, then anxiety, then woodenly, and then she dropped her head. I lifted her chin with my finger. She looked at me angrily. "I should have told you, I suppose," I remarked, "that a woman kisses well only when fully aroused, after at least half an Ahn, after she is helpless and yielding." She looked at me angrily and turned away. Then she spun about laughing. "You are a beast, Tarl Cabot," she cried. "And you, too," I laughed, "are a beast - a beautiful little collared beast." "I love you," she said, "Tarl Cabot." "Array yourself in Pleasure Silk, Little Beast," I said, "and enter my arms."
"Why do you not take me in your arms, and kiss me as a slave girl?" I whimpered. "Do you not find me attractive?" "Do you recall that he kissed me?" "Yes," I said. "He kissed me," she said. "And I was in a collar." She was now, of course, in her cell, in the robes of concealment. She was, however, not veiled. It was too early for the guard's rounds. "Surely you do not find it surprising that a female would be kissed when she is collared." "No," she said, uncertainly. "Nor surprising that you, personally, might be kissed, and, in particular, when you were wearing a collar?" "I do not know," she said. "I assure you," I said, "if we are concerned with probabilities or frequencies in such matters, a woman is far more likely to be kissed, and most often, when she is wearing a collar." She nodded, numbly. "But not kissed as a free woman is kissed," I said. "No, of course not," she said, "rather, kissed as a slave is kissed." "Yes," I said. "And that is how I was kissed!" "He did not know you were a free woman," I said. "It was so possessive, so ruthless, so uncompromising, so merciless, so masterful," she said. "He is a man," I explained. "How can you resist such a kiss?" she asked. "We are not permitted to do so," I said. She trembled. "What is wrong?" I asked. "He kissed me," she said, "and I was in a collar." "Yes, you were," I said. "A collar!" she said. "Yes," I said. "A slave collar," she said, "the collar of a slave!" "Yes," I said. "I am trying to understand my feelings," she said. "Do you think he likes me?" "He may have been merely trying you out," I said. "First," he said, "snuggle closer to me, lift your head, lick and kiss my neck, and then press your lips to mine, kissing, as a slave."
I then took the cup from her and threw it to the side of the room, and took her into my arms, that lovely, long-legged, black-haired beast, provocative in the brevity of her slave livery, and kissed her, and well, and at length. Then she was lying on the rep-cloth blankets, spread over the straw, beneath me, kissing me helplessly. Once more I kissed the black-haired, long-legged girl, and she me.
"I may teach you, too, how to kneel and kiss the whip." "I learned something of that in the cylinder," she said. "It is a beautiful symbolic act," he said. "How did you feel about it?" "At first I was terrified," she said, "but then, as I began to better understand its significance, and why I was on my knees, and kissing the whip, it moved me, and it stirred me, exciting my belly, profoundly." "Excellent," said Cabot. "Soon," she said, "I was eager to perform this act." "Good," said Cabot. "Too," she said, "I think I did it acceptably, with timidity, and tenderness, and deference, and hope, and awe, acknowledging my station as slave and the rightfulness of my submission to the might of men." "And it continued to stir you, and excite you?" he asked. "Oh, yes, Master," she said, "terribly so. Yes Master!" "Good," he said. "And eventually you might learn to do it," said he, "piteously, beggingly, supplicatingly, with tiny noises, in such a way as to drive a master mad with passion." "And with my hands tied, or braceleted behind my back!" she said. "Quite possibly," he said. "And you will improve in your skills, and learn the slow slave use of your tongue, and the slave use of your lips." "Such things excite me," she said. "In my training, even with the hint of such thoughts, I could barely remain on my knees." "There are many ways to lick and kiss the whip," he said, "tenderly and lovingly, humbly and gratefully, lasciviously and avidly, pleadingly, needfully, supplicatingly." "Yes, Master," she said. "Yes!"
There was a firm snap of the heavy lock in the back of the collar and the throat of Aphris of Turia had been encircled with slave steel! At the same instant Kamchak lifted her startled to her feet and turned her to face him, with both hands tearing the veil from her face! Then, before any of the startled Turians could stop him, he had purchased by his audacity a bold kiss from the lips of the astounded Aphris of Turia! Our lips then met, sweetly and tenderly, fully, lingeringly. Her lips, opened, soft, those of a submitting slave, at first met mine timidly, and then, as she understood that she was not to be spurned, or struck, more fully, more boldly, until her kiss was deep, helpless and warm, and she seemed one with the kiss, and lost within it, and then, again, timidly, she drew back, having proffered herself to me as a slave, to observe what might be my reaction, to see in my eyes if she had been found pleasing, and what would be her fate.
Suddenly she kissed me, a deep kiss, moist, rich, too soon ended. "There!" she laughed. "The kiss of a Tuchuk slave girl!" Then she laughed and turned away, looking over her shoulder. "You see," she said, "I can do it quite well." I did not speak. She was facing the other way. "But," she said, teasingly, "I think one will be enough for master." I was a bit angry, and not a little aroused. "The girls in the public slave wagon," I said, "know how to kiss." "Oh?" she said, turning about. "They are not little secretaries," I said, "pretending to be slave girls." Her eyes flashed. "Try this!" she said, approaching me, and this time, my head in her small hands, she lingered with her lips upon my mouth, warm, wet, breaths meeting and mingling in the savoring touch. My hands held her slender waist. When she had finished, I remarked, "Not bad." "Not bad!" she cried. Then fully and for much time, she kissed me, with increasing determination, yet attempted subtlety, then anxiety, then woodenly, and then she dropped her head. I lifted her chin with my finger. She looked at me angrily. "I should have told you, I suppose," I remarked, "that a woman kisses well only when fully aroused, after at least half an Ahn, after she is helpless and yielding." She looked at me angrily and turned away. Then she spun about laughing. "You are a beast, Tarl Cabot," she cried. "And you, too," I laughed, "are a beast - a beautiful little collared beast." "I love you," she said, "Tarl Cabot." "Array yourself in Pleasure Silk, Little Beast," I said, "and enter my arms."
"You received kisses from the women outside, those chained to the rings," she said, "Amina, Rimice, and the others, if I may believe you." "Yes," I said. "And I told you," she said, "that you would never receive one from me." "Yes," I said, "I recall that." "I relent," she said. "Oh?" I said. "Yes," she said. "You may kiss me." I did not kiss her. "May I kiss you?" she asked. "Yes," I said. Softly her lips met mine. It was a brief, delicate kiss, frightened. Then she drew back.
It was a brutal kiss, this first kiss that he placed upon the lips of his slave girl, a kiss in which she was, by intent, permitted no part, save to feel the bruising of it in her body. When he thrust her back there was blood at her mouth, and fear in her eyes. She was now frightened of him, terribly frightened.
Suddenly she reached out and, putting her lovely, bared arms about my neck, pressed her lips to mine. "Ai!" I cried, in anger, in fury. But I could not, then, for a moment, release her. She was a female slave. It is not easy to surrender a female slave from one's arms. Then, angrily, I pulled away from her. Her kiss, that of a female slave, burned on my lips. I shook with emotion. I was furious. The kiss, too brief, delicious, startling, warm, soft, raged in my body. It was like a chemical agent, a catalyst, introduced unexpectedly into my system. Reactions and transformations, eruptive, excruciating and compelling, irresistible and violent, seemed to explode in every compound and tissue in my body. Then she lifted her lips again to me. "Taste again of the lips of a slave, Master," she said. Then she was in my arms, crushed to me, and it seemed that there was only she, and the thunder and light in my blood. Then she was lifted in my arms. "See my collar!" she laughed. "I see it," I said, angrily. "I am a slave!" she said. "Yes," I said. "Do you like the taste of a slave, Master?" she asked. Then she reached out again to me, her arms about my neck, and, again, our lips met. I was then furious. I hurled her to my feet.
I began to attend to the whip kissing and licking it. I did this softly, slowly, tenderly, carefully, humbly, deferentially, and, I fear, seductively.
"Let us have a kiss instead," said the other. He opened his arms, and I hurried to him, and I was enfolded in his arms, and our lips met. I was held very tightly, and the kiss was a typical claiming kiss of a master. He then thrust me away, I half turning, into the arms of his fellow and I found myself again handled as what I was, a slave girl.
There is a saying that a man conquers with the sword, the slave with a kiss. Have not more men been conquered with a kiss than steel? It is said the man conquers with a sword, the woman with a kiss.
She contritely kissed my feet.
I did not let her kiss me. Rather, I, suddenly, with a larl's ferocity, thrust my lips to hers, cruelly, in the raping kiss of the master, and pressed her savagely back into the straw, against the very stones of the dungeon cell in which she lay slave, chained, beneath me.
Suddenly she kissed me, a deep kiss, moist, rich, too soon ended. "There!" she laughed. "The kiss of a Tuchuk slave girl!" Then she laughed and turned away, looking over her shoulder. "You see," she said, "I can do it quite well." I did not speak. She was facing the other way. "But," she said, teasingly, "I think one will be enough for master." I was a bit angry, and not a little aroused. "The girls in the public slave wagon," I said, "know how to kiss." "Oh?" she said, turning about. "They are not little secretaries," I said, "pretending to be slave girls." Her eyes flashed. "Try this!" she said, approaching me, and this time, my head in her small hands, she lingered with her lips upon my mouth, warm, wet, breaths meeting and mingling in the savoring touch. My hands held her slender waist. When she had finished, I remarked, "Not bad." "Not bad!" she cried. Then fully and for much time, she kissed me, with increasing determination, yet attempted subtlety, then anxiety, then woodenly, and then she dropped her head. I lifted her chin with my finger. She looked at me angrily. "I should have told you, I suppose," I remarked, "that a woman kisses well only when fully aroused, after at least half an Ahn, after she is helpless and yielding." She looked at me angrily and turned away. Then she spun about laughing. "You are a beast, Tarl Cabot," she cried. "And you, too," I laughed, "are a beast - a beautiful little collared beast." "I love you," she said, "Tarl Cabot." "Array yourself in Pleasure Silk, Little Beast," I said, "and enter my arms." I kissed her again, deeply, pressing back her head. She suddenly lifted her lips to mine and kissed me, deeply and softly, rather helplessly, almost in desperation. "I am almost melting with love for you, my Master," she said. "I know my will means nothing, but I beg to be had." Our lips then met, sweetly and tenderly, fully, lingeringly. Her lips, opened, soft, those of a submitting slave, at first met mine timidly, and then, as she understood that she was not to be spurned, or struck, more fully, more boldly, until her kiss was deep, helpless and warm, and she seemed one with the kiss, and lost within it, and then, again, timidly, she drew back, having proffered herself to me as a slave, to observe what might be my reaction, to see in my eyes if she had been found pleasing, and what would be her fate.
"Kiss my feet, High Girl," she said. I did so. "What do you want to know?" she asked. "Two nights ago." I said. "one would have expected these streets to be cleaned. Were they?" "Is this important to you, to know this?" she asked. "Yes," I said. Kiss my feet again, High Girl," she said. I did so. "More deferentially and lovingly," she said. "Yes, Mistress," I said. Then I looked up at her. The slave now knelt beside him, holding him by the arm, She was looking at him with something akin to awe, for what he had done to her, for what he had made her feel. She kissed him softly, deferentially, gratefully, about the shoulder. Quickly, with a tiny sound of bells, and the small sounds of the necklaces and bracelets, the girl reached for the paga goblet. Then, kneeling there before me, her knees widely, piteously, opened, clad in a bit of slave silk, she kissed and licked deferentially, humbly, at the goblet. Then, head down, her arms extended, she proffered it to me. I recalled how she had kissed the whip frightened, to be sure, but, too, seemingly gratefully. She had placed her soft lips upon if gently, truly, fully, and had kissed it tenderly, deferently. In short, she had kissed it well. She had then completed the small ceremony, as instructed, saying "La kajira." She had said this softly, obediently. She would not know what it meant. In time she would learn. I began to attend to the whip kissing and licking it. I did this softly, slowly, tenderly, carefully, humbly, deferentially, and, I fear, seductively.
Delicately, timidly, she kissed me. "Please, Master," she said, "please." Her eyes were pleading. She lifted her chin, and extended her head towards me, pursing her lips. I gently touched them with my own. Then, delicately, we kissed. "You received kisses from the women outside, those chained to the rings," she said, "Amina, Rimice, and the others, if I may believe you." "Yes," I said. "And I told you," she said, "that you would never receive one from me." "Yes," I said, "I recall that." "I relent," she said. "Oh?" I said. "Yes," she said. "You may kiss me." I did not kiss her. "May I kiss you?" she asked. "Yes," I said. It was a brief, delicate kiss, frightened. Then she drew back.
Suddenly she reached out and, putting her lovely, bared arms about my neck, pressed her lips to mine. "Ai!" I cried, in anger, in fury. But I could not, then, for a moment, release her. She was a female slave. It is not easy to surrender a female slave from one's arms. Then, angrily, I pulled away from her. Her kiss, that of a female slave, burned on my lips. I shook with emotion. I was furious. The kiss, too brief, delicious, startling, warm, soft, raged in my body. It was like a chemical agent, a catalyst, introduced unexpectedly into my system. Reactions and transformations, eruptive, excruciating and compelling, irresistible and violent, seemed to explode in every compound and tissue in my body. Then she lifted her lips again to me. "Taste again of the lips of a slave, Master," she said. Then she was in my arms, crushed to me, and it seemed that there was only she, and the thunder and light in my blood. Then she was lifted in my arms. "See my collar!" she laughed. "I see it," I said, angrily. "I am a slave!" she said. "Yes," I said. "Do you like the taste of a slave, Master?" she asked. Then she reached out again to me, her arms about my neck, and, again, our lips met. I was then furious. I hurled her to my feet.
I became, only a bit later, aware that she was kissing and licking at the palm of my right hand, desperately, gratefully. The slave fell to her knees and then flung herself to her belly and, bound as she was, hand and foot, squirmed to the feet of Gordon, Administrator of Hammerfest, and, putting her head down over his feet, began, weeping, to cover them with kisses, fervent and desperate.
Suddenly she kissed me, a deep kiss, moist, rich, too soon ended. "There!" she laughed. "The kiss of a Tuchuk slave girl!" Then she laughed and turned away, looking over her shoulder. "You see," she said, "I can do it quite well." I did not speak. She was facing the other way. "But," she said, teasingly, "I think one will be enough for master." I was a bit angry, and not a little aroused. "The girls in the public slave wagon," I said, "know how to kiss." "Oh?" she said, turning about. "They are not little secretaries," I said, "pretending to be slave girls." Her eyes flashed. "Try this!" she said, approaching me, and this time, my head in her small hands, she lingered with her lips upon my mouth, warm, wet, breaths meeting and mingling in the savoring touch. My hands held her slender waist. When she had finished, I remarked, "Not bad." "Not bad!" she cried. Then fully and for much time, she kissed me, with increasing determination, yet attempted subtlety, then anxiety, then woodenly, and then she dropped her head. I lifted her chin with my finger. She looked at me angrily. "I should have told you, I suppose," I remarked, "that a woman kisses well only when fully aroused, after at least half an Ahn, after she is helpless and yielding." She looked at me angrily and turned away. Then she spun about laughing. "You are a beast, Tarl Cabot," she cried. "And you, too," I laughed, "are a beast - a beautiful little collared beast." "I love you," she said, "Tarl Cabot." "Array yourself in Pleasure Silk, Little Beast," I said, "and enter my arms."
"And you would lick and kiss it lengthily, devotedly, splendidly," he said.
"Oh, Master! Master!" she cried with joy, and threw herself to her belly before me. She seized my ankles, and pressed her lips again and again to my feet, covering them with eager, mad kisses, and uttering broken sounds and garbled, incoherent words.
"Kiss the whip," he said. I did so, fearfully. "Kiss my feet, female slave," said the voice. Feiqa was kneeling before a boy, perhaps some eleven or twelve years of age. His face was dirty. He was barefoot, and in rags. I assumed he must live in the rooms somewhere. Feiqa, a full-grown and beautiful female, but a slave, put down her head and, doing him obeisance, kissed his feet, and fearfully, and humbly. He was a free person, and a male. "You may kiss my feet in gratitude, slave," said the lad. "Yes, Master. Thank you, Master," said Feiqa, and put her head down, kissing his feet. "More lingeringly," he said. "Yes, Master," she said.
I saw her draw back a little and kiss his feet, tenderly. Then she kissed them suddenly, more fervently. The slave fell to her knees and then flung herself to her belly and, bound as she was, hand and foot, squirmed to the feet of Gordon, Administrator of Hammerfest, and, putting her head down over his feet, began, weeping, to cover them with kisses, fervent and desperate. The rider went to the side of his saddle and removed a whip from a small ring there. It was the long, several-times-coiled whip I had earlier noted. Certainly it was not the usual slave whip with its five broad blades which slaves learn quickly to fear. Indeed, it seemed to me an unwieldy device. At the time, I did not realize it was a capture whip, and that it was not intended for disciplining a slave. He held it out, toward me, and I bent swiftly toward it, grasped the coils in my two hands, lifted them to my lips, and, putting down my head, licked and kissed it, humbly, fervently, hoping to be found pleasing. Too, even as hungry as I was, this act of obeisance enflamed me.
Vika lay at my feet, a streak of blood at the corner of those lips that bore still the marks of my fierce kiss. She looked up at me, tears welling in her eyes.
I remembered the window in the wall of the kasbah, the kiss she had flung me, the token of silk. I well recalled her elation, her contempt, her scorn, as she had looked down upon me, helpless in the chain; she had flung me a token, something by which to remember her, a bit of slave silk, redolent with slave perfume; she had flung me a kiss, laughing, before being ordered back to her barred alcove by the slave master who at that time was supervising her.
Suddenly she kissed me, a deep kiss, moist, rich, too soon ended. "There!" she laughed. "The kiss of a Tuchuk slave girl!" Then she laughed and turned away, looking over her shoulder. "You see," she said, "I can do it quite well." I did not speak. She was facing the other way. "But," she said, teasingly, "I think one will be enough for master." I was a bit angry, and not a little aroused. "The girls in the public slave wagon," I said, "know how to kiss." "Oh?" she said, turning about. "They are not little secretaries," I said, "pretending to be slave girls." Her eyes flashed. "Try this!" she said, approaching me, and this time, my head in her small hands, she lingered with her lips upon my mouth, warm, wet, breaths meeting and mingling in the savoring touch. My hands held her slender waist. When she had finished, I remarked, "Not bad." "Not bad!" she cried. Then fully and for much time, she kissed me, with increasing determination, yet attempted subtlety, then anxiety, then woodenly, and then she dropped her head. I lifted her chin with my finger. She looked at me angrily. "I should have told you, I suppose," I remarked, "that a woman kisses well only when fully aroused, after at least half an Ahn, after she is helpless and yielding." She looked at me angrily and turned away. Then she spun about laughing. "You are a beast, Tarl Cabot," she cried. "And you, too," I laughed, "are a beast - a beautiful little collared beast." "I love you," she said, "Tarl Cabot." "Array yourself in Pleasure Silk, Little Beast," I said, "and enter my arms."
I pulled Olga's face to mine and our lips met, I forcing my kiss to her teeth. And I remembered, too, the intimacy of the kisses forced upon me when I, as a slave, dared not, and desired not, to resist. I must have passed given stalls and vendors, given shops, an indefinite number of times.
I took the small stone in my hands and kissed it, for it was the Home Stone of the city to which I had pledged my sword, where I had ridden my first tarn, where I had met my father after an interval of more than twenty years, where I had found new friends, and to which I had taken Talena, my love, the daughter of Marlenus once Companion. "The bosk are safe," Kamchak had said. I had seen strong men leap from the back of the kaiila and, on their knees, tears in their eyes, kiss the green, living grass. "The bosk are safe," they had cried, and the cry had been taken up by the women and carried from wagon to wagon, "The bosk are safe!"
"You received kisses from the women outside, those chained to the rings," she said, "Amina, Rimice, and the others, if I may believe you." "Yes," I said. "And I told you," she said, "that you would never receive one from me." "Yes," I said, "I recall that." "I relent," she said. "Oh?" I said. "Yes," she said. "You may kiss me." I did not kiss her. "May I kiss you?" she asked. "Yes," I said. Softly her lips met mine. It was a brief, delicate kiss, frightened. Then she drew back.
Vika trembled against me and in my joy with my fist still in her hair I bent my face to hers and kissed her full on those magnificent lips and she cried out helpless in my arms and wept but did not resist. Suddenly she kissed me, a deep kiss, moist, rich, too soon ended. "There!" she laughed. "The kiss of a Tuchuk slave girl!" Then she laughed and turned away, looking over her shoulder. "You see," she said, "I can do it quite well." I did not speak. She was facing the other way. "But," she said, teasingly, "I think one will be enough for master." I was a bit angry, and not a little aroused. "The girls in the public slave wagon," I said, "know how to kiss." "Oh?" she said, turning about. "They are not little secretaries," I said, "pretending to be slave girls." Her eyes flashed. "Try this!" she said, approaching me, and this time, my head in her small hands, she lingered with her lips upon my mouth, warm, wet, breaths meeting and mingling in the savoring touch. My hands held her slender waist. When she had finished, I remarked, "Not bad." "Not bad!" she cried. Then fully and for much time, she kissed me, with increasing determination, yet attempted subtlety, then anxiety, then woodenly, and then she dropped her head. I lifted her chin with my finger. She looked at me angrily. "I should have told you, I suppose," I remarked, "that a woman kisses well only when fully aroused, after at least half an Ahn, after she is helpless and yielding." She looked at me angrily and turned away. Then she spun about laughing. "You are a beast, Tarl Cabot," she cried. "And you, too," I laughed, "are a beast - a beautiful little collared beast." "I love you," she said, "Tarl Cabot." "Array yourself in Pleasure Silk, Little Beast," I said, "and enter my arms." I kissed her again, full on her rouged slave mouth. She kissed well, trembling. I kissed her fully on the mouth, holding her helplessly. "No," I said, "you are only a beautiful slave girl." I released her and she, clumsily, in haste, applied the towels to my body. When she had finished she was at my feet, drying them. I lifted her to her feet and put her back against one of the cool, narrow marble columns supporting the arched roof of the seraglio. I stood close to her, our lips but an inch parted. With my finger tips, on either side, I caressed the sides of her throat. "This throat," I said, "is aristocratic and beautiful. It would look well in a collar." Her eyes met mine. "I wish it wore yours," she said, "- Master." I kissed her. Our lips then met, sweetly and tenderly, fully, lingeringly. Her lips, opened, soft, those of a submitting slave, at first met mine timidly, and then, as she understood that she was not to be spurned, or struck, more fully, more boldly, until her kiss was deep, helpless and warm, and she seemed one with the kiss, and lost within it, and then, again, timidly, she drew back, having proffered herself to me as a slave, to observe what might be my reaction, to see in my eyes if she had been found pleasing, and what would be her fate. I recalled how she had kissed the whip frightened, to be sure, but, too, seemingly gratefully. She had placed her soft lips upon if gently, truly, fully, and had kissed it tenderly, deferently. In short, she had kissed it well. She had then completed the small ceremony, as instructed, saying "La kajira." She had said this softly, obediently. She would not know what it meant. In time she would learn.
She thought for a moment and then gently kissed me on the lips. I gathered her to my arms and kissed her gently. I kissed her gently on the forehead. Gently I kissed her cheek. To my surprise I saw her lips gently kiss the cruel leather thong which so tightly bound her wrists. I held her and kissed her again, gently, tenderly, and then wiped the tears from her eyes. And then, to our surprise, holding her head in his hands, he kissed her gently on the lips. "My Ubar," whispered Telima. "Master," I said, kissing her. She drew back, reproachfully. "Would you not rather be my Ubar, than my Master?" she asked. I looked at her. "Yes," I said, "I would." "You are both," she pronounced, again kissing me. "Ubara," I whispered to her. "Yes," she whispered, "I am your Ubara and your slave girl." "You wear no collar," I pointed out. "Master removed it," said she, "that he might more easily kiss my throat." "Are you still sad, my Ubar?" she asked. "No," I told her, kissing her. "No." "You will never tame me!" she hissed. I kissed her. "Well," she said, "perhaps you will tame me." I kissed her again. I kissed her and leaped down into the longboat, which was now beside the promenade. I kissed her and, pressing her gently from me, descended another level. I looked up at him. "I am not now insolent," I said, "Master." I smiled, tears in my eyes. "I am not now proud. I am not now defiant. I am not now contemptuous, nor scornful." I reached up, and he permitted me to kiss him, gently. I lay back. "I have been humbled, well humbled, Master," I smiled. She began to breathe heavily. As a Gorean master, curious, I gently, delicately, touched her nipples. They were sweet and high, full and blood-charged. I was pleased. I kissed them, gently. Her responses were not feigned. He gently kissed her on the shoulder, and she turned, gently, to him. He turned her about. With his sleen knife he cut the knotted loop of coffle leather from her throat. With his knife he cut the binding fiber from her wrists. He then held her from behind, by the arms, and kissed her, gently, on the right side of the throat. I delicately put my lips to his calves, feeling the hair beneath my lips, and kissed him. I kissed his ankles and feet, softly, so that he would not know himself kissed, gently, that he might not be awakened, that he might not be angered by the boldness of the slave girl at his feet. Gently I lowered my head to the brute and kissed him, softly that I might not awaken my master. She kissed me, gently. I went to Barbara, and took her in my arms, and kissed her, gently. "I await the iron with eagerness, Master," she said. I then went to the second girl on the coffle line, Audrey. I took her in my arms and, gently, kissed her. She clutched me. "I beg your brand," she said, hoarsely. "I love you for it," she said, "- Master." I kissed her, gently, on the lips. She looked up at me, her eyes moist. "Will you keep me?" she asked. A quarter of an Ahn later I held and kissed her, gently, letting her subside at her own rhythms. "What are you?" I asked her. "A slave, Master," she said. "Would Master deign to kiss a slave?" she asked. I put my lips, gently, to hers, and she lifted her lips to mine, tenderly, and kissed me, and then she put her head back to the straw and the floor. She leaned to me, her hands tied behind her back, and kissed me, gently. Gently, softly, she licked and kissed his feet. "Do not forget it," he said, lifting her head up with his fingers and, bending down, kissing her gently on the lips. I kissed her, gently. I kissed her, gently. "Yes, Master," I said, and kissed him. For a time we lay quietly side by side, not speaking. Each of us, I think, had our thoughts. "Master," I whispered. "Yes," he said. "May I speak again?" I asked. "Yes," he said. "Sheila and I have our collars," I said. "We must go where masters wish, heeding them and doing their bidding. But what of you? Tomorrow you will have your freedom. What will you do? Where will you go?" "Away," he said. "I do not really know." He kissed me, softly, and I kissed him back, gently. I had not seen him since earlier this morning, when I had knelt before him, kissing his feet, gratefully, for his attentions to me last night, and he had, without explanation removed my clothing and my collar. "We are to become slaves," said the woman softly, kissing her gently on the side of the head. "Men will have their way with us, fully," whispered the girl. "Of course," said the mother. "We will exist merely for their service and pleasure," said the girl. "Yes," said the mother, kissing her. "I want it, Mother," whispered the girl. "I know," said the mother, soothingly. "How terrible I am," whispered the girl. "No, no, you are not," smiled the mother, caressing the girl's head. "Are we slaves, Mother?" asked the girl. "Yes," said the mother, kissing her. "Now, rest." Gently he kissed me. "I am afraid," she said. I kissed her, gently. I wished I had something to cover her with. I then reached to her and kissed her, gently. "Why did you kiss me like that?" she asked. "How do you like sleeping at a man's feet?" I asked. "It is where I belong," she said, "there, or at his thigh, or on the floor, at the foot of his couch, chained to it, such places. Why did you kiss me as you did?" I recalled how she had kissed the whip frightened, to be sure, but, too, seemingly gratefully. She had placed her soft lips upon if gently, truly, fully, and had kissed it tenderly, deferently. In short, she had kissed it well. She had then completed the small ceremony, as instructed, saying "La kajira." She had said this softly, obediently. She would not know what it meant. In time she would learn.
On my old world when a woman is saved by a man she may, I understand, with propriety bestow upon him a grateful kiss and perhaps, if we may believe the tales in these matters, consider him more seriously because of his action as a possible, eventual companion in wedlock. One of these girls, if rescued on Gor, would probably be dumbfounded at what would happen to her. After her kiss of gratitude which might last a good deal longer than she had anticipated she would find herself forced to kneel and be collared and then, stripped, her wrists confined behind her back in slave bracelets, she would find herself led stumbling away on a slave leash from the field of her champion's valor. Yes, undoubtedly our Earth girls would find this most surprising. On the other hand the Gorean attitude is that she would be dead were it not for his brave action and thus it is his right, now that he has won her life, to make her live it for him precisely as he pleases, which is usually, it must unfortunately be noted, as his slave girl, for the privileges of a Free Companionship are never bestowed lightly. Also of course a Free Companionship might be refused, in all Gorean right, by the girl, and thus a warrior can hardly be blamed, after risking his life, for not wanting to risk losing the precious prize which he has just, at great peril to himself, succeeded in winning. The Gorean man, as a man, cheerfully and dutifully attends to the rescuing of his female in distress, but as a Gorean, as a true Gorean, he feels, perhaps justifiably and being somewhat less or more romantic than ourselves, that he should have something more for his pains than her kiss of gratitude and so, in typical Gorean fashion, puts his chain on the wench, claiming both her and her body as his payment. I felt her lips, sweet and full, kissing at my feet. There was a kind of wonder and pleasure in her voice. "Yes, Master," she said. "Thank you, Master. I am sorry if I was not pleasing to you." I then understood that she had taken the blow as a token of my mastery over her, an explicit expression of my sovereignty over her. I felt her lips kissing at my feet, happily, gratefully. "We have needs and hungers, too," she said. "I suppose you do," I said. It did seem to me that the usual male assessment of the Waniyanpi female was likely to be somewhat hasty and negative. Men are often too abrupt, it seems to me, in their judgments. They might profit from some instruction in patience. Such women, unfulfilled as females, starved for male domination, I supposed, taken sternly in hand, stripped and put to a man's feet, might prove to be grateful and rewarding slaves. In a matter of days, I suspected, it might be difficult to tell one, licking and kissing at one's feet, warmly, lovingly and gratefully, from a more normal slave. Then he was kissing my hands, their backs, and kissing and licking in the palms, and then moving up the interiors of the wrists, and forearms. In another quarter of an hour or so, he had come again to my neck, near the collar, where he had first kissed me, and then, slowly, kissed my shoulders. I lay there, frightened, wanting to respond. I sensed his lips near mine, by the feel of his breath. I lifted my head a little, and kissed him, timidly, gratefully. Then I felt his head, and hair, below my chin. "Ohh," I said. Then he kissed, and licked, and caressed me about the sides, and back. "Ah," he said, appreciatively. I was not really responding to him, or at least in no overt way I was really aware of, but I think he did not really mind this, or, at the time, expect anything much different. I think he did find me beautiful. And I think he took pride in the simple handling of such a slave. The slave now knelt beside him, holding him by the arm, She was looking at him with something akin to awe, for what he had done to her, for what he had made her feel. She kissed him softly, deferentially, gratefully, about the shoulder. "I may teach you, too, how to kneel and kiss the whip." "I learned something of that in the cylinder," she said. "It is a beautiful symbolic act," he said. "How did you feel about it?" "At first I was terrified," she said, "but then, as I began to better understand its significance, and why I was on my knees, and kissing the whip, it moved me, and it stirred me, exciting my belly, profoundly." "Excellent," said Cabot. "Soon," she said, "I was eager to perform this act." "Good," said Cabot. "Too," she said, "I think I did it acceptably, with timidity, and tenderness, and deference, and hope, and awe, acknowledging my station as slave and the rightfulness of my submission to the might of men." "And it continued to stir you, and excite you?" he asked. "Oh, yes, Master," she said, "terribly so. Yes Master!" "Good," he said. "And eventually you might learn to do it," said he, "piteously, beggingly, supplicatingly, with tiny noises, in such a way as to drive a master mad with passion." "And with my hands tied, or braceleted behind my back!" she said. "Quite possibly," he said. "And you will improve in your skills, and learn the slow slave use of your tongue, and the slave use of your lips." "Such things excite me," she said. "In my training, even with the hint of such thoughts, I could barely remain on my knees." "There are many ways to lick and kiss the whip," he said, "tenderly and lovingly, humbly and gratefully, lasciviously and avidly, pleadingly, needfully, supplicatingly." "Yes, Master," she said. "Yes!" I became, only a bit later, aware that she was kissing and licking at the palm of my right hand, desperately, gratefully. So I kissed the whip for the first time, lying on my back, naked and bound, lifting my head, kissed it tenderly, gratefully, submissively. Commonly the whip is kissed while one kneels. I pressed my lips to his feet, weeping, kissing them wildly, gratefully, in a slave's joy and submission, repeatedly, again and again. I removed my hand from the slave's mouth, and she, helplessly bound, shaking and sobbing, tears in her eyes, thrust her mouth to my hand, licking it and covering it with grateful kisses.
I rolled over and seized her in my arms, but she turned her head away, and seemed determined that I should not kiss her. She laughed. "Whose knots are neater?" she asked. "Yours, yours, yours," I mumbled, "yours, yours," in frustration. "Very well," she said, "you may kiss me." I did so, grumbling as she laughed. An Ahn later, however, I had my vengeance.
The soldier in whose arms I lay pulled me down and more closely to him. Eagerly I kissed him. I heard the musicians playing the music of Gor. Another soldier seized me by the ankle. "Wait," said the first, his word muffled against the side of my throat, where his mouth and teeth, below my ear, half kissed, half held me.
I felt her lips, sweet and full, kissing at my feet. There was a kind of wonder and pleasure in her voice. "Yes, Master," she said. "Thank you, Master. I am sorry if I was not pleasing to you." I then understood that she had taken the blow as a token of my mastery over her, an explicit expression of my sovereignty over her. I felt her lips kissing at my feet, happily, gratefully.
I then took the cup from her and threw it to the side of the room, and took her into my arms, that lovely, long-legged, black-haired beast, provocative in the brevity of her slave livery, and kissed her, and well, and at length. Then she was lying on the rep-cloth blankets, spread over the straw, beneath me, kissing me helplessly. Once more I kissed the black-haired, long-legged girl, and she me. She suddenly lifted her lips to mine and kissed me, deeply and softly, rather helplessly, almost in desperation. "I am almost melting with love for you, my Master," she said. "I know my will means nothing, but I beg to be had." Our lips then met, sweetly and tenderly, fully, lingeringly. Her lips, opened, soft, those of a submitting slave, at first met mine timidly, and then, as she understood that she was not to be spurned, or struck, more fully, more boldly, until her kiss was deep, helpless and warm, and she seemed one with the kiss, and lost within it, and then, again, timidly, she drew back, having proffered herself to me as a slave, to observe what might be my reaction, to see in my eyes if she had been found pleasing, and what would be her fate. An Earth woman, incidentally, if rescued on Gor by a Gorean, might be surprised at the aftermath of her rescue. Half hysterical with relief, overwhelmed with gratitude, say, she was prepared to throw herself into his arms and grant him, even though he is a stranger, the inestimable favor of a kiss. Many Earth women seem to think their kisses are of great value, whereas most of them do not know how to kiss. The kisses of a slave on the other hand, so subtle, and humble, and well-placed, coupled with her entire demeanor, the meaning of her collar, and such, can drive a man mad with pleasure. But then that is understandable, she is a slave. To be sure, as the slave is further and further aroused by the master, in his turn, her kisses may become more and more piteously and helplessly orgasmic. But then to her surprise, and, one supposes, consternation, the Earth woman finds herself enfolded helplessly in mighty arms and kissed in turn and kissed as she had never dreamed she might be kissed, with such ferocity, and mastery and power, and ownership, and then as she reels, giddy and dazed, she is taken in hand and turned about, and thrown to the ground, on her stomach; her clothing, she almost failing to comprehend what is occurring, is ripped from her, all of it; she feels the air on her body and the grass on her belly and breasts; she protests; she struggles; she tries to rise; his hand holds her in place; she cannot rise; her wrists are jerked behind her and enclosed in slave bracelets; she is then leashed, and led from the field; if she resists or dallies she will be whipped; if he has a collar with him it will undoubtedly be put on her; he has saved her life and it now belongs to him, and he will do with it what he wants. He will keep her, have pleasure with her, sell her, or give her away, as he pleases.
Callias drew off his belt and tunic, and took his position on the comforter, and Alcinoë crawled eagerly to his side, but his hand, in her hair, held her for a time at his thigh, which she licked and kissed hopefully, and then, after a bit, he put her to his pleasure, with patience, until, at last, wild-eyed, looking toward the ceiling, gasping, she begged to be permitted to yield, as his slave. She then cried out with the sobbing joy of the well-ravished slave. I did not think he was so quickly through with her, but, as Callias had noted, it was late.
"Kiss my feet, female slave," said the voice. Feiqa was kneeling before a boy, perhaps some eleven or twelve years of age. His face was dirty. He was barefoot, and in rags. I assumed he must live in the rooms somewhere. Feiqa, a full-grown and beautiful female, but a slave, put down her head and, doing him obeisance, kissed his feet, and fearfully, and humbly. He was a free person, and a male. "You may kiss my feet in gratitude, slave," said the lad. "Yes, Master. Thank you, Master," said Feiqa, and put her head down, kissing his feet. "More lingeringly," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. Quickly, with a tiny sound of bells, and the small sounds of the necklaces and bracelets, the girl reached for the paga goblet. Then, kneeling there before me, her knees widely, piteously, opened, clad in a bit of slave silk, she kissed and licked deferentially, humbly, at the goblet. Then, head down, her arms extended, she proffered it to me. Then, to the delight of the audience, she reached forth and, holding the fellow's leg, and pressing herself against it, kissed him humbly, timidly, lovingly, about the thigh. An Earth woman, incidentally, if rescued on Gor by a Gorean, might be surprised at the aftermath of her rescue. Half hysterical with relief, overwhelmed with gratitude, say, she was prepared to throw herself into his arms and grant him, even though he is a stranger, the inestimable favor of a kiss. Many Earth women seem to think their kisses are of great value, whereas most of them do not know how to kiss. The kisses of a slave on the other hand, so subtle, and humble, and well-placed, coupled with her entire demeanor, the meaning of her collar, and such, can drive a man mad with pleasure. But then that is understandable, she is a slave. To be sure, as the slave is further and further aroused by the master, in his turn, her kisses may become more and more piteously and helplessly orgasmic. But then to her surprise, and, one supposes, consternation, the Earth woman finds herself enfolded helplessly in mighty arms and kissed in turn and kissed as she had never dreamed she might be kissed, with such ferocity, and mastery and power, and ownership, and then as she reels, giddy and dazed, she is taken in hand and turned about, and thrown to the ground, on "I may teach you, too, how to kneel and kiss the whip." "I learned something of that in the cylinder," she said. "It is a beautiful symbolic act," he said. "How did you feel about it?" "At first I was terrified," she said, "but then, as I began to better understand its significance, and why I was on my knees, and kissing the whip, it moved me, and it stirred me, exciting my belly, profoundly." "Excellent," said Cabot. "Soon," she said, "I was eager to perform this act." "Good," said Cabot. "Too," she said, "I think I did it acceptably, with timidity, and tenderness, and deference, and hope, and awe, acknowledging my station as slave and the rightfulness of my submission to the might of men." "And it continued to stir you, and excite you?" he asked. "Oh, yes, Master," she said, "terribly so. Yes Master!" "Good," he said. "And eventually you might learn to do it," said he, "piteously, beggingly, supplicatingly, with tiny noises, in such a way as to drive a master mad with passion." "And with my hands tied, or braceleted behind my back!" she said. "Quite possibly," he said. "And you will improve in your skills, and learn the slow slave use of your tongue, and the slave use of your lips." "Such things excite me," she said. "In my training, even with the hint of such thoughts, I could barely remain on my knees." "There are many ways to lick and kiss the whip," he said, "tenderly and lovingly, humbly and gratefully, lasciviously and avidly, pleadingly, needfully, supplicatingly." "Yes, Master," she said. "Yes!" I felt the girl's head lean toward me, and I felt her lips, soft, on my thigh. How timid, and humble, was that kiss! Did she fear to be cuffed to the planks? I recalled her startled, begging cries toward morning, and how she had clutched me. She had entered the alcove an enslaved woman; she had left it a slave. I began to attend to the whip kissing and licking it. I did this softly, slowly, tenderly, carefully, humbly, deferentially, and, I fear, seductively. I held the whip before her. "Kiss it, and lick it," I said, "humbly, lengthily, submissively, lovingly." The rider went to the side of his saddle and removed a whip from a small ring there. It was the long, several-times-coiled whip I had earlier noted. Certainly it was not the usual slave whip with its five broad blades which slaves learn quickly to fear. Indeed, it seemed to me an unwieldy device. At the time, I did not realize it was a capture whip, and that it was not intended for disciplining a slave. He held it out, toward me, and I bent swiftly toward it, grasped the coils in my two hands, lifted them to my lips, and, putting down my head, licked and kissed it, humbly, fervently, hoping to be found pleasing. Too, even as hungry as I was, this act of obeisance enflamed me.
Tears ran down Lady Claudia's cheeks. She looked at me, and smiled. She pursed her lips a little, kissing softly, almost imperceptibly, at me.
I pressed my lips to his feet, weeping, kissing them wildly, gratefully, in a slave's joy and submission, repeatedly, again and again.
Suddenly she kissed me, a deep kiss, moist, rich, too soon ended. "There!" she laughed. "The kiss of a Tuchuk slave girl!" Then she laughed and turned away, looking over her shoulder. "You see," she said, "I can do it quite well." I did not speak. She was facing the other way. "But," she said, teasingly, "I think one will be enough for master." I was a bit angry, and not a little aroused. "The girls in the public slave wagon," I said, "know how to kiss." "Oh?" she said, turning about. "They are not little secretaries," I said, "pretending to be slave girls." Her eyes flashed. "Try this!" she said, approaching me, and this time, my head in her small hands, she lingered with her lips upon my mouth, warm, wet, breaths meeting and mingling in the savoring touch. My hands held her slender waist. When she had finished, I remarked, "Not bad." "Not bad!" she cried. Then fully and for much time, she kissed me, with increasing determination, yet attempted subtlety, then anxiety, then woodenly, and then she dropped her head. I lifted her chin with my finger. She looked at me angrily. "I should have told you, I suppose," I remarked, "that a woman kisses well only when fully aroused, after at least half an Ahn, after she is helpless and yielding." She looked at me angrily and turned away. Then she spun about laughing. "You are a beast, Tarl Cabot," she cried. "And you, too," I laughed, "are a beast - a beautiful little collared beast." "I love you," she said, "Tarl Cabot." "Array yourself in Pleasure Silk, Little Beast," I said, "and enter my arms."
I drew her swiftly to me, and she cried out, frightened. I held her helplessly, and raped her lips with a kiss, an insolent kiss, such as a master might use to dismiss a slave girl, and then threw her from me, against the feet of the men of Tyros.
I kissed the kneeling, chained prisoner swiftly, with the insulting kiss often given by the wives of Earth to their husbands. "Forgive me, Master," I said, "I must now serve another." Then I hurried away.
It is common for slave girls to assist and serve free men in their bath, washing them, applying oils, cleaning them, toweling them, applying lotions, kissing them intimately, serving their pleasure, and such.
I kissed her irritably to silence.
"I may teach you, too, how to kneel and kiss the whip." "I learned something of that in the cylinder," she said. "It is a beautiful symbolic act," he said. "How did you feel about it?" "At first I was terrified," she said, "but then, as I began to better understand its significance, and why I was on my knees, and kissing the whip, it moved me, and it stirred me, exciting my belly, profoundly." "Excellent," said Cabot. "Soon," she said, "I was eager to perform this act." "Good," said Cabot. "Too," she said, "I think I did it acceptably, with timidity, and tenderness, and deference, and hope, and awe, acknowledging my station as slave and the rightfulness of my submission to the might of men." "And it continued to stir you, and excite you?" he asked. "Oh, yes, Master," she said, "terribly so. Yes Master!" "Good," he said. "And eventually you might learn to do it," said he, "piteously, beggingly, supplicatingly, with tiny noises, in such a way as to drive a master mad with passion." "And with my hands tied, or braceleted behind my back!" she said. "Quite possibly," he said. "And you will improve in your skills, and learn the slow slave use of your tongue, and the slave use of your lips." "Such things excite me," she said. "In my training, even with the hint of such thoughts, I could barely remain on my knees." "There are many ways to lick and kiss the whip," he said, "tenderly and lovingly, humbly and gratefully, lasciviously and avidly, pleadingly, needfully, supplicatingly." "Yes, Master," she said. "Yes!"
I lightly kissed her lips. Our lips, momentarily, lingered together. Then I took her fully in my arms and lengthily kissed her. "I will try to be pleasing to you, Master," she said. "And you would lick and kiss it lengthily, devotedly, splendidly," he said. I held the whip before her. "Kiss it, and lick it," I said, "humbly, lengthily, submissively, lovingly."
She kissed me lightly on the nose. "Master is kind," she said. She kissed me again, lightly on the nose. "Master cannot have everything," she said. "Do not be angry with me. Master," she wheedled. She put herself against me, and with her left hand about my waist, tugged at the side of my tunic, and lifted her lips to mine. I kissed her lightly, and then put her back from me. She handed me the coin a second time. I laughed. I lightly kissed her lips. Our lips, momentarily, lingered together. Then I took her fully in my arms and lengthily kissed her. "I will try to be pleasing to you, Master," she said.
Suddenly she reached out and, putting her lovely, bared arms about my neck, pressed her lips to mine. "Ai!" I cried, in anger, in fury. But I could not, then, for a moment, release her. She was a female slave. It is not easy to surrender a female slave from one's arms. Then, angrily, I pulled away from her. Her kiss, that of a female slave, burned on my lips. I shook with emotion. I was furious. The kiss, too brief, delicious, startling, warm, soft, raged in my body. It was like a chemical agent, a catalyst, introduced unexpectedly into my system. Reactions and transformations, eruptive, excruciating and compelling, irresistible and violent, seemed to explode in every compound and tissue in my body. Then she lifted her lips again to me. "Taste again of the lips of a slave, Master," she said. Then she was in my arms, crushed to me, and it seemed that there was only she, and the thunder and light in my blood. Then she was lifted in my arms. "See my collar!" she laughed. "I see it," I said, angrily. "I am a slave!" she said. "Yes," I said. "Do you like the taste of a slave, Master?" she asked. Then she reached out again to me, her arms about my neck, and, again, our lips met. I was then furious. I hurled her to my feet.
Suddenly she reached out and, putting her lovely, bared arms about my neck, pressed her lips to mine. "Ai!" I cried, in anger, in fury. But I could not, then, for a moment, release her. She was a female slave. It is not easy to surrender a female slave from one's arms. Then, angrily, I pulled away from her. Her kiss, that of a female slave, burned on my lips. I shook with emotion. I was furious. The kiss, too brief, delicious, startling, warm, soft, raged in my body. It was like a chemical agent, a catalyst, introduced unexpectedly into my system. Reactions and transformations, eruptive, excruciating and compelling, irresistible and violent, seemed to explode in every compound and tissue in my body. Then she lifted her lips again to me. "Taste again of the lips of a slave, Master," she said. Then she was in my arms, crushed to me, and it seemed that there was only she, and the thunder and light in my blood. Then she was lifted in my arms. "See my collar!" she laughed. "I see it," I said, angrily. "I am a slave!" she said. "Yes," I said. "Do you like the taste of a slave, Master?" she asked. Then she reached out again to me, her arms about my neck, and, again, our lips met. I was then furious. I hurled her to my feet.
Suddenly she kissed me, a deep kiss, moist, rich, too soon ended. "There!" she laughed. "The kiss of a Tuchuk slave girl!" Then she laughed and turned away, looking over her shoulder. "You see," she said, "I can do it quite well." I did not speak. She was facing the other way. "But," she said, teasingly, "I think one will be enough for master." I was a bit angry, and not a little aroused. "The girls in the public slave wagon," I said, "know how to kiss." "Oh?" she said, turning about. "They are not little secretaries," I said, "pretending to be slave girls." Her eyes flashed. "Try this!" she said, approaching me, and this time, my head in her small hands, she lingered with her lips upon my mouth, warm, wet, breaths meeting and mingling in the savoring touch. My hands held her slender waist. When she had finished, I remarked, "Not bad." "Not bad!" she cried. Then fully and for much time, she kissed me, with increasing determination, yet attempted subtlety, then anxiety, then woodenly, and then she dropped her head. I lifted her chin with my finger. She looked at me angrily. "I should have told you, I suppose," I remarked, "that a woman kisses well only when fully aroused, after at least half an Ahn, after she is helpless and yielding." She looked at me angrily and turned away. Then she spun about laughing. "You are a beast, Tarl Cabot," she cried. "And you, too," I laughed, "are a beast - a beautiful little collared beast." "I love you," she said, "Tarl Cabot." "Array yourself in Pleasure Silk, Little Beast," I said, "and enter my arms." I lightly kissed her lips. Our lips, momentarily, lingered together. Then I took her fully in my arms and lengthily kissed her. "I will try to be pleasing to you, Master," she said. Our lips then met, sweetly and tenderly, fully, lingeringly. Her lips, opened, soft, those of a submitting slave, at first met mine timidly, and then, as she understood that she was not to be spurned, or struck, more fully, more boldly, until her kiss was deep, helpless and warm, and she seemed one with the kiss, and lost within it, and then, again, timidly, she drew back, having proffered herself to me as a slave, to observe what might be my reaction, to see in my eyes if she had been found pleasing, and what would be her fate. "Kiss my feet, female slave," said the voice. Feiqa was kneeling before a boy, perhaps some eleven or twelve years of age. His face was dirty. He was barefoot, and in rags. I assumed he must live in the rooms somewhere. Feiqa, a full-grown and beautiful female, but a slave, put down her head and, doing him obeisance, kissed his feet, and fearfully, and humbly. He was a free person, and a male. "You may kiss my feet in gratitude, slave," said the lad. "Yes, Master. Thank you, Master," said Feiqa, and put her head down, kissing his feet. "More lingeringly," he said. "Yes, Master," she said.
I kissed Elizabeth long one morning, and then, with Al-Ka, she, hidden in a wagon disguised to resemble a peddler's wagon, left the city. She laughed, and lifted her lips eagerly to mine, and it was long that we kissed. She extended her chained wrists to me. I took her by the arms, and kissed her, long. I tasted the slave rouge in my mouth.
Our lips then met, sweetly and tenderly, fully, lingeringly. Her lips, opened, soft, those of a submitting slave, at first met mine timidly, and then, as she understood that she was not to be spurned, or struck, more fully, more boldly, until her kiss was deep, helpless and warm, and she seemed one with the kiss, and lost within it, and then, again, timidly, she drew back, having proffered herself to me as a slave, to observe what might be my reaction, to see in my eyes if she had been found pleasing, and what would be her fate.
"We have needs and hungers, too," she said. "I suppose you do," I said. It did seem to me that the usual male assessment of the Waniyanpi female was likely to be somewhat hasty and negative. Men are often too abrupt, it seems to me, in their judgments. They might profit from some instruction in patience. Such women, unfulfilled as females, starved for male domination, I supposed, taken sternly in hand, stripped and put to a man's feet, might prove to be grateful and rewarding slaves. In a matter of days, I suspected, it might be difficult to tell one, licking and kissing at one's feet, warmly, lovingly and gratefully, from a more normal slave. She then returned to where he stood on the sand, talking with men, and, crouching down, or kneeling or standing, as was most efficient at the time, lovingly, kissing him meanwhile, softly and timidly, wiped his body clean of sand and sweat with her long hair. "Kiss my feet, High Girl," she said. I did so. "What do you want to know?" she asked. "Two nights ago." I said. "one would have expected these streets to be cleaned. Were they?" "Is this important to you, to know this?" she asked. "Yes," I said. "Kiss my feet again, High Girl," she said. I did so. "More deferentially and lovingly," she said. "Yes, Mistress," I said. Then I looked up at her. "I may teach you, too, how to kneel and kiss the whip." "I learned something of that in the cylinder," she said. "It is a beautiful symbolic act," he said. "How did you feel about it?" "At first I was terrified," she said, "but then, as I began to better understand its significance, and why I was on my knees, and kissing the whip, it moved me, and it stirred me, exciting my belly, profoundly." "Excellent," said Cabot. "Soon," she said, "I was eager to perform this act." "Good," said Cabot. "Too," she said, "I think I did it acceptably, with timidity, and tenderness, and deference, and hope, and awe, acknowledging my station as slave and the rightfulness of my submission to the might of men." "And it continued to stir you, and excite you?" he asked. "Oh, yes, Master," she said, "terribly so. Yes Master!" "Good," he said. "And eventually you might learn to do it," said he, "piteously, beggingly, supplicatingly, with tiny noises, in such a way as to drive a master mad with passion." "And with my hands tied, or braceleted behind my back!" she said. "Quite possibly," he said. "And you will improve in your skills, and learn the slow slave use of your tongue, and the slave use of your lips." "Such things excite me," she said. "In my training, even with the hint of such thoughts, I could barely remain on my knees." "There are many ways to lick and kiss the whip," he said, "tenderly and lovingly, humbly and gratefully, lasciviously and avidly, pleadingly, needfully, supplicatingly." "Yes, Master," she said. "Yes!" I held the whip before her. "Kiss it, and lick it," I said, "humbly, lengthily, submissively, lovingly."
"The eye of Priest-Kings," I laughed. "But it is now shut." Vika trembled against me and in my joy with my fist still in her hair I bent my face to hers and kissed her full on those magnificent lips and she cried out helpless in my arms and wept but did not resist.
"Oh, Master! Master!" she cried with joy, and threw herself to her belly before me. She seized my ankles, and pressed her lips again and again to my feet, covering them with eager, mad kisses, and uttering broken sounds and garbled, incoherent words.
As quickly as I could, I ran back to the fallen Rupert of Hochburg I seized him and began to kiss him madly, wantonly without permission.
"Do you recall that he kissed me?" "Yes," I said. "He kissed me," she said. "And I was in a collar." She was now, of course, in her cell, in the robes of concealment. She was, however, not veiled. It was too early for the guard's rounds. "Surely you do not find it surprising that a female would be kissed when she is collared." "No," she said, uncertainly. "Nor surprising that you, personally, might be kissed, and, in particular, when you were wearing a collar?" "I do not know," she said. "I assure you," I said, "if we are concerned with probabilities or frequencies in such matters, a woman is far more likely to be kissed, and most often, when she is wearing a collar." She nodded, numbly. "But not kissed as a free woman is kissed," I said. "No, of course not," she said, "rather, kissed as a slave is kissed." "Yes," I said. "And that is how I was kissed!" "He did not know you were a free woman," I said. "It was so possessive, so ruthless, so uncompromising, so merciless, so masterful," she said. "He is a man," I explained. "How can you resist such a kiss?" she asked. "We are not permitted to do so," I said. She trembled. "What is wrong?" I asked. "He kissed me," she said, "and I was in a collar." "Yes, you were," I said. "A collar!" she said. "Yes," I said. "A slave collar," she said, "the collar of a slave!" "Yes," I said. "I am trying to understand my feelings," she said. "He kissed me," she said. "Do you think he likes me?" "He may have been merely trying you out," I said.
"Do you recall that he kissed me?" "Yes," I said. "He kissed me," she said. "And I was in a collar." She was now, of course, in her cell, in the robes of concealment. She was, however, not veiled. It was too early for the guard's rounds. "Surely you do not find it surprising that a female would be kissed when she is collared." "No," she said, uncertainly. "Nor surprising that you, personally, might be kissed, and, in particular, when you were wearing a collar?" "I do not know," she said. "I assure you," I said, "if we are concerned with probabilities or frequencies in such matters, a woman is far more likely to be kissed, and most often, when she is wearing a collar." She nodded, numbly. "But not kissed as a free woman is kissed," I said. "No, of course not," she said, "rather, kissed as a slave is kissed." "Yes," I said. "And that is how I was kissed!" "He did not know you were a free woman," I said. "It was so possessive, so ruthless, so uncompromising, so merciless, so masterful," she said. "He is a man," I explained. "How can you resist such a kiss?" she asked. "We are not permitted to do so," I said. She trembled. "What is wrong?" I asked. "He kissed me," she said, "and I was in a collar." "Yes, you were," I said. "A collar!" she said. "Yes," I said. "A slave collar," she said, "the collar of a slave!" "Yes," I said. "I am trying to understand my feelings," she said. "He kissed me," she said. "Do you think he likes me?" "He may have been merely trying you out," I said.
Suddenly she kissed me, a deep kiss, moist, rich, too soon ended. "There!" she laughed. "The kiss of a Tuchuk slave girl!" Then she laughed and turned away, looking over her shoulder. "You see," she said, "I can do it quite well." I did not speak. She was facing the other way. "But," she said, teasingly, "I think one will be enough for master." I was a bit angry, and not a little aroused. "The girls in the public slave wagon," I said, "know how to kiss." "Oh?" she said, turning about. "They are not little secretaries," I said, "pretending to be slave girls." Her eyes flashed. "Try this!" she said, approaching me, and this time, my head in her small hands, she lingered with her lips upon my mouth, warm, wet, breaths meeting and mingling in the savoring touch. My hands held her slender waist. When she had finished, I remarked, "Not bad." "Not bad!" she cried. Then fully and for much time, she kissed me, with increasing determination, yet attempted subtlety, then anxiety, then woodenly, and then she dropped her head. I lifted her chin with my finger. She looked at me angrily. "I should have told you, I suppose," I remarked, "that a woman kisses well only when fully aroused, after at least half an Ahn, after she is helpless and yielding." She looked at me angrily and turned away. Then she spun about laughing. "You are a beast, Tarl Cabot," she cried. "And you, too," I laughed, "are a beast - a beautiful little collared beast." "I love you," she said, "Tarl Cabot." "Array yourself in Pleasure Silk, Little Beast," I said, "and enter my arms."
"Very well," she said, "you may kiss me." I did so, grumbling as she laughed. An Ahn later, however, I had my vengeance. "Will you eat out of my hand?" I inquired. "Yes, yes!" she cried. "Even when we are alone?" I inquired. "Oh yes, yes, yes!" she cried. "Do you beg to do so?" I asked. "Yes!" she cried. "Yes!" "Beg," I told her. "Vella begs to eat from master's hand!" she cried. "Vella begs to eat from master's hand!" I laughed. "You big beast!" she laughed. We kissed one another much.
"I may teach you, too, how to kneel and kiss the whip." "I learned something of that in the cylinder," she said. "It is a beautiful symbolic act," he said. "How did you feel about it?" "At first I was terrified," she said, "but then, as I began to better understand its significance, and why I was on my knees, and kissing the whip, it moved me, and it stirred me, exciting my belly, profoundly." "Excellent," said Cabot. "Soon," she said, "I was eager to perform this act." "Good," said Cabot. "Too," she said, "I think I did it acceptably, with timidity, and tenderness, and deference, and hope, and awe, acknowledging my station as slave and the rightfulness of my submission to the might of men." "And it continued to stir you, and excite you?" he asked. "Oh, yes, Master," she said, "terribly so. Yes Master!" "Good," he said. "And eventually you might learn to do it," said he, "piteously, beggingly, supplicatingly, with tiny noises, in such a way as to drive a master mad with passion." "And with my hands tied, or braceleted behind my back!" she said. "Quite possibly," he said. "And you will improve in your skills, and learn the slow slave use of your tongue, and the slave use of your lips." "Such things excite me," she said. "In my training, even with the hint of such thoughts, I could barely remain on my knees." "There are many ways to lick and kiss the whip," he said, "tenderly and lovingly, humbly and gratefully, lasciviously and avidly, pleadingly, needfully, supplicatingly." "Yes, Master," she said. "Yes!"
"Kiss me," I said. She did so, softly, obediently, much as might have a slave.
An Earth woman, incidentally, if rescued on Gor by a Gorean, might be surprised at the aftermath of her rescue. Half hysterical with relief, overwhelmed with gratitude, say, she was prepared to throw herself into his arms and grant him, even though he is a stranger, the inestimable favor of a kiss. Many Earth women seem to think their kisses are of great value, whereas most of them do not know how to kiss. The kisses of a slave on the other hand, so subtle, and humble, and well-placed, coupled with her entire demeanor, the meaning of her collar, and such, can drive a man mad with pleasure. But then that is understandable, she is a slave. To be sure, as the slave is further and further aroused by the master, in his turn, her kisses may become more and more piteously and helplessly orgasmic. But then to her surprise, and, one supposes, consternation, the Earth woman finds herself enfolded helplessly in mighty arms and kissed in turn and kissed as she had never dreamed she might be kissed, with such ferocity, and mastery and power, and ownership, and then as she reels, giddy and dazed, she is taken in hand and turned about, and thrown to the ground, on
"Now," I instructed her, "with more passion." "Yes, Master," she said obediently, and kissed me with feigned passion.
She lay beside me, pressing her softness against me, kissing at my arm, my shoulder and chest, softly, piteously. "Very well," I said. An Earth woman, incidentally, if rescued on Gor by a Gorean, might be surprised at the aftermath of her rescue. Half hysterical with relief, overwhelmed with gratitude, say, she was prepared to throw herself into his arms and grant him, even though he is a stranger, the inestimable favor of a kiss. Many Earth women seem to think their kisses are of great value, whereas most of them do not know how to kiss. The kisses of a slave on the other hand, so subtle, and humble, and well-placed, coupled with her entire demeanor, the meaning of her collar, and such, can drive a man mad with pleasure. But then that is understandable, she is a slave. To be sure, as the slave is further and further aroused by the master, in his turn, her kisses may become more and more piteously and helplessly orgasmic. But then to her surprise, and, one supposes, consternation, the Earth woman finds herself enfolded helplessly in mighty arms and kissed in turn and kissed as she had never dreamed she might be kissed, with such ferocity, and mastery and power, and ownership, and then as she reels, giddy and dazed, she is taken in hand and turned about, and thrown to the ground, on
"I may teach you, too, how to kneel and kiss the whip." "I learned something of that in the cylinder," she said. "It is a beautiful symbolic act," he said. "How did you feel about it?" "At first I was terrified," she said, "but then, as I began to better understand its significance, and why I was on my knees, and kissing the whip, it moved me, and it stirred me, exciting my belly, profoundly." "Excellent," said Cabot. "Soon," she said, "I was eager to perform this act." "Good," said Cabot. "Too," she said, "I think I did it acceptably, with timidity, and tenderness, and deference, and hope, and awe, acknowledging my station as slave and the rightfulness of my submission to the might of men." "And it continued to stir you, and excite you?" he asked. "Oh, yes, Master," she said, "terribly so. Yes Master!" "Good," he said. "And eventually you might learn to do it," said he, "piteously, beggingly, supplicatingly, with tiny noises, in such a way as to drive a master mad with passion." "And with my hands tied, or braceleted behind my back!" she said. "Quite possibly," he said. "And you will improve in your skills, and learn the slow slave use of your tongue, and the slave use of your lips." "Such things excite me," she said. "In my training, even with the hint of such thoughts, I could barely remain on my knees." "There are many ways to lick and kiss the whip," he said, "tenderly and lovingly, humbly and gratefully, lasciviously and avidly, pleadingly, needfully, supplicatingly." "Yes, Master," she said. "Yes!"
"Do you recall that he kissed me?" "Yes," I said. "He kissed me," she said. "And I was in a collar." She was now, of course, in her cell, in the robes of concealment. She was, however, not veiled. It was too early for the guard's rounds. "Surely you do not find it surprising that a female would be kissed when she is collared." "No," she said, uncertainly. "Nor surprising that you, personally, might be kissed, and, in particular, when you were wearing a collar?" "I do not know," she said. "I assure you," I said, "if we are concerned with probabilities or frequencies in such matters, a woman is far more likely to be kissed, and most often, when she is wearing a collar." She nodded, numbly. "But not kissed as a free woman is kissed," I said. "No, of course not," she said, "rather, kissed as a slave is kissed." "Yes," I said. "And that is how I was kissed!" "He did not know you were a free woman," I said. "It was so possessive, so ruthless, so uncompromising, so merciless, so masterful," she said. "He is a man," I explained. "How can you resist such a kiss?" she asked. "We are not permitted to do so," I said. She trembled. "What is wrong?" I asked. "He kissed me," she said, "and I was in a collar." "Yes, you were," I said. "A collar!" she said. "Yes," I said. "A slave collar," she said, "the collar of a slave!" "Yes," I said. "I am trying to understand my feelings," she said. "He kissed me," she said. "Do you think he likes me?" "He may have been merely trying you out," I said.
I kissed her again, deeply, pressing back her head.
"Andreas!" cried Linna, and she made as if to slap him for his insolence, but he quieted her with a kiss, and she playfully began to nibble at the bread clenched between his teeth.
I drew her swiftly to me, and she cried out, frightened. I held her helplessly, and raped her lips with a kiss, an insolent kiss, such as a master might use to dismiss a slave girl, and then threw her from me, against the feet of the men of Tyros. He seized her in his arms and raped her lips with a kiss, his hand at her body, then threw her from him to the boards of the dock. I did not let her kiss me. Rather, I, suddenly, with a larl's ferocity, thrust my lips to hers, cruelly, in the raping kiss of the master, and pressed her savagely back into the straw, against the very stones of the dungeon cell in which she lay slave, chained, beneath me.
I pressed my lips to his feet, weeping, kissing them wildly, gratefully, in a slave's joy and submission, repeatedly, again and again.
Suddenly she kissed me, a deep kiss, moist, rich, too soon ended. "There!" she laughed. "The kiss of a Tuchuk slave girl!" Then she laughed and turned away, looking over her shoulder. "You see," she said, "I can do it quite well." I did not speak. She was facing the other way. "But," she said, teasingly, "I think one will be enough for master." I was a bit angry, and not a little aroused. "The girls in the public slave wagon," I said, "know how to kiss." "Oh?" she said, turning about. "They are not little secretaries," I said, "pretending to be slave girls." Her eyes flashed. "Try this!" she said, approaching me, and this time, my head in her small hands, she lingered with her lips upon my mouth, warm, wet, breaths meeting and mingling in the savoring touch. My hands held her slender waist. When she had finished, I remarked, "Not bad." "Not bad!" she cried. Then fully and for much time, she kissed me, with increasing determination, yet attempted subtlety, then anxiety, then woodenly, and then she dropped her head. I lifted her chin with my finger. She looked at me angrily. "I should have told you, I suppose," I remarked, "that a woman kisses well only when fully aroused, after at least half an Ahn, after she is helpless and yielding." She looked at me angrily and turned away. Then she spun about laughing. "You are a beast, Tarl Cabot," she cried. "And you, too," I laughed, "are a beast - a beautiful little collared beast." "I love you," she said, "Tarl Cabot." "Array yourself in Pleasure Silk, Little Beast," I said, "and enter my arms."
"Kajuralia!" cried the slave girl hurling a basket of Sa-Tarna flour on me, and turning and running. I had caught up with her in five steps and kissed her roundly, swatted her and sent her packing.
"Do you recall that he kissed me?" "Yes," I said. "He kissed me," she said. "And I was in a collar." She was now, of course, in her cell, in the robes of concealment. She was, however, not veiled. It was too early for the guard's rounds. "Surely you do not find it surprising that a female would be kissed when she is collared." "No," she said, uncertainly. "Nor surprising that you, personally, might be kissed, and, in particular, when you were wearing a collar?" "I do not know," she said. "I assure you," I said, "if we are concerned with probabilities or frequencies in such matters, a woman is far more likely to be kissed, and most often, when she is wearing a collar." She nodded, numbly. "But not kissed as a free woman is kissed," I said. "No, of course not," she said, "rather, kissed as a slave is kissed." "Yes," I said. "And that is how I was kissed!" "He did not know you were a free woman," I said. "It was so possessive, so ruthless, so uncompromising, so merciless, so masterful," she said. "He is a man," I explained. "How can you resist such a kiss?" she asked. "We are not permitted to do so," I said. She trembled. "What is wrong?" I asked. "He kissed me," she said, "and I was in a collar." "Yes, you were," I said. "A collar!" she said. "Yes," I said. "A slave collar," she said, "the collar of a slave!" "Yes," I said. "I am trying to understand my feelings," she said. "He kissed me," she said. "Do you think he likes me?" "He may have been merely trying you out," I said.
"You can lick and kiss more salaciously than that," she chided. "Yes, Mistress," said the girl. "Our customers do not come here," said the hostess, "for attentions which they could receive at home from their free companions. They come here for the kisses of slaves, and the pleasures of slaves."
I kissed her savagely and turned her about and thrust her a dozen feet down the walkway inside the wall. She stumbled a few feet and turned. "What of you?" she cried.
Suddenly she kissed me, a deep kiss, moist, rich, too soon ended. "There!" she laughed. "The kiss of a Tuchuk slave girl!" Then she laughed and turned away, looking over her shoulder. "You see," she said, "I can do it quite well." I did not speak. She was facing the other way. "But," she said, teasingly, "I think one will be enough for master." I was a bit angry, and not a little aroused. "The girls in the public slave wagon," I said, "know how to kiss." "Oh?" she said, turning about. "They are not little secretaries," I said, "pretending to be slave girls." Her eyes flashed. "Try this!" she said, approaching me, and this time, my head in her small hands, she lingered with her lips upon my mouth, warm, wet, breaths meeting and mingling in the savoring touch. My hands held her slender waist. When she had finished, I remarked, "Not bad." "Not bad!" she cried. Then fully and for much time, she kissed me, with increasing determination, yet attempted subtlety, then anxiety, then woodenly, and then she dropped her head. I lifted her chin with my finger. She looked at me angrily. "I should have told you, I suppose," I remarked, "that a woman kisses well only when fully aroused, after at least half an Ahn, after she is helpless and yielding." She looked at me angrily and turned away. Then she spun about laughing. "You are a beast, Tarl Cabot," she cried. "And you, too," I laughed, "are a beast - a beautiful little collared beast." "I love you," she said, "Tarl Cabot." "Array yourself in Pleasure Silk, Little Beast," I said, "and enter my arms."
I began to attend to the whip kissing and licking it. I did this softly, slowly, tenderly, carefully, humbly, deferentially, and, I fear, seductively.
I did not permit her to replace her veil until I had kissed her, softly, one last time. Gently, ever so gently, Kamchak put his hands on her arms and drew her to him and then, very softly, kissed her. After half of an Ahn I saw her, delicately, eyes frightened, lift her head and put her lips to his shoulder; softly, timidly, she kissed him; and then looked into his eyes. I delicately put my lips to his calves, feeling the hair beneath my lips, and kissed him. I kissed his ankles and feet, softly, so that he would not know himself kissed, gently, that he might not be awakened, that he might not be angered by the boldness of the slave girl at his feet. Gently I lowered my head to the brute and kissed him, softly that I might not awaken my master. She kissed me, softly. I kissed her, softly. I kissed her, softly, about the breasts, but did not stop touching her. She stood before me and then, without asking, gently, delicately, untied, and opened and took from me the shreds of the soiled tunic which I wore. It was muddied and caked with dirt, from the days in the jungle, from the muddy banks of the Ua. As she removed it from me she kissed me softly, tenderly, about the chest and left hip. Then she leaned forward and kissed me, softly. "Does the Earth woman kiss her Master?" I asked. When she had finished with the garment and wrung it much dry, I had her replace it on my body. I would let it finish its drying on my body. Before she tied shut the tunic she kissed me again, softly, this time on the chest and belly, and then again knelt before me, her head down. She then, lifting her head, began to lick and kiss softly at my body. I kissed her, softly. Gently, softly, she licked and kissed his feet. She leaned forward, and kissed me, softly. "Yes, Master," she smiled. She kissed me, softly, on the right shoulder. She lay beside me, pressing her softness against me, kissing at my arm, my shoulder and chest, softly, piteously. "Very well," I said. She suddenly lifted her lips to mine and kissed me, deeply and softly, rather helplessly, almost in desperation. "I am almost melting with love for you, my Master," she said. "I know my will means nothing, but I beg to be had." She kissed me, softly. "How incredible do I find my current reality," she marveled. "Suddenly, it seems, I find myself a slave, and naked in the blankets of a master, on a world far from my own." Suddenly she reached out and, putting her lovely, bared arms about my neck, pressed her lips to mine. "Ai!" I cried, in anger, in fury. But I could not, then, for a moment, release her. She was a female slave. It is not easy to surrender a female slave from one's arms. Then, angrily, I pulled away from her. Her kiss, that of a female slave, burned on my lips. I shook with emotion. I was furious. The kiss, too brief, delicious, startling, warm, soft, raged in my body. It was like a chemical agent, a catalyst, introduced unexpectedly into my system. Reactions and transformations, eruptive, excruciating and compelling, irresistible and violent, seemed to explode in every compound and tissue in my body. Then she lifted her lips again to me. "Taste again of the lips of a slave, Master," she said. Then she was in my arms, crushed to me, and it seemed that there was only she, and the thunder and light in my blood. Then she was lifted in my arms. "See my collar!" she laughed. "I see it," I said, angrily. "I am a slave!" she said. "Yes," I said. "Do you like the taste of a slave, Master?" she asked. Then she reached out again to me, her arms about my neck, and, again, our lips met. I was then furious. I hurled her to my feet. I held her, closely. She pressed herself against me, helplessly. Whether she was held or not was my decision. She could be, if I chose, spurned in a moment, thrust aside in the grass. I kissed her, softly. She was very beautiful. "They are changing their position," said Cuwignaka, working on the trace from the travois. "One is falling back. The other is going for the pemmican." "All right," I said. The girl looked up at me, lovingly. Again I kissed her. "Oh!" she said. I kissed her again, softly. In a moment I, naked, kneeling beside him, behind the table, he sitting cross-legged there, began, somewhat timidly, to lick delicately at him, and to softly kiss and caress him. "Yes, Master," I said, and kissed him. For a time we lay quietly side by side, not speaking. Each of us, I think, had our thoughts. "Master," I whispered. "Yes," he said. "May I speak again?" I asked. "Yes," he said. "Sheila and I have our collars," I said. "We must go where masters wish, heeding them and doing their bidding. But what of you? Tomorrow you will have your freedom. What will you do? Where will you go?" "Away," he said. "I do not really know." He kissed me, softly, and I kissed him back, gently. I responded to Sempronius' lips, and kissed him, too, softly, about the neck and chest. The slave now knelt beside him, holding him by the arm, She was looking at him with something akin to awe, for what he had done to her, for what he had made her feel. She kissed him softly, deferentially, gratefully, about the shoulder. "Kiss me," I said. She did so, softly, obediently, much as might have a slave. Tears ran down Lady Claudia's cheeks. She looked at me, and smiled. She pursed her lips a little, kissing softly, almost imperceptibly, at me. He held out his hand to Shirley, and she came quickly to kneel beside him and took his hand, and lifted it to her lips, kissing it, softly. She sensed now how she had been before him, how she, as a female, had tried to attract him, though, of course, not admitting this in any obvious way to herself, and, indeed, on a fully conscious level, she supposed she might have denied it, doubtless vehemently, except perhaps, in quiet, private moments, when she was alone, when she might perhaps, tears in her eyes, softly kiss her pillow. I felt the girl's head lean toward me, and I felt her lips, soft, on my thigh. How timid, and humble, was that kiss! Did she fear to be cuffed to the planks? I recalled her startled, begging cries toward morning, and how she had clutched me. She had entered the alcove an enslaved woman; she had left it a slave. I bent down and kissed his right foot, softly, and then his left. It pleased me to do this, for such a male, so strong, so powerful. I began to attend to the whip kissing and licking it. I did this softly, slowly, tenderly, carefully, humbly, deferentially, and, I fear, seductively. I would then press my left cheek against his knee, or kiss it softly.
"And you would lick and kiss it lengthily, devotedly, splendidly," he said.
Suddenly she reached out and, putting her lovely, bared arms about my neck, pressed her lips to mine. "Ai!" I cried, in anger, in fury. But I could not, then, for a moment, release her. She was a female slave. It is not easy to surrender a female slave from one's arms. Then, angrily, I pulled away from her. Her kiss, that of a female slave, burned on my lips. I shook with emotion. I was furious. The kiss, too brief, delicious, startling, warm, soft, raged in my body. It was like a chemical agent, a catalyst, introduced unexpectedly into my system. Reactions and transformations, eruptive, excruciating and compelling, irresistible and violent, seemed to explode in every compound and tissue in my body. Then she lifted her lips again to me. "Taste again of the lips of a slave, Master," she said. Then she was in my arms, crushed to me, and it seemed that there was only she, and the thunder and light in my blood. Then she was lifted in my arms. "See my collar!" she laughed. "I see it," I said, angrily. "I am a slave!" she said. "Yes," I said. "Do you like the taste of a slave, Master?" she asked. Then she reached out again to me, her arms about my neck, and, again, our lips met. I was then furious. I hurled her to my feet.
I wanted to crawl to them to tell them that I now understood, and that I was theirs. I wanted to cry out to them, to weep, to kneel to them, to kiss and lick submissively at their bodies in my joy. So I kissed the whip for the first time, lying on my back, naked and bound, lifting my head, kissed it tenderly, gratefully, submissively. Commonly the whip is kissed while one kneels. I held the whip before her. "Kiss it, and lick it," I said, "humbly, lengthily, submissively, lovingly."
Suddenly she kissed me, a deep kiss, moist, rich, too soon ended. "There!" she laughed. "The kiss of a Tuchuk slave girl!" Then she laughed and turned away, looking over her shoulder. "You see," she said, "I can do it quite well." I did not speak. She was facing the other way. "But," she said, teasingly, "I think one will be enough for master." I was a bit angry, and not a little aroused. "The girls in the public slave wagon," I said, "know how to kiss." "Oh?" she said, turning about. "They are not little secretaries," I said, "pretending to be slave girls." Her eyes flashed. "Try this!" she said, approaching me, and this time, my head in her small hands, she lingered with her lips upon my mouth, warm, wet, breaths meeting and mingling in the savoring touch. My hands held her slender waist. When she had finished, I remarked, "Not bad." "Not bad!" she cried. Then fully and for much time, she kissed me, with increasing determination, yet attempted subtlety, then anxiety, then woodenly, and then she dropped her head. I lifted her chin with my finger. She looked at me angrily. "I should have told you, I suppose," I remarked, "that a woman kisses well only when fully aroused, after at least half an Ahn, after she is helpless and yielding." She looked at me angrily and turned away. Then she spun about laughing. "You are a beast, Tarl Cabot," she cried. "And you, too," I laughed, "are a beast - a beautiful little collared beast." "I love you," she said, "Tarl Cabot."
An Earth woman, incidentally, if rescued on Gor by a Gorean, might be surprised at the aftermath of her rescue. Half hysterical with relief, overwhelmed with gratitude, say, she was prepared to throw herself into his arms and grant him, even though he is a stranger, the inestimable favor of a kiss. Many Earth women seem to think their kisses are of great value, whereas most of them do not know how to kiss. The kisses of a slave on the other hand, so subtle, and humble, and well-placed, coupled with her entire demeanor, the meaning of her collar, and such, can drive a man mad with pleasure. But then that is understandable, she is a slave. To be sure, as the slave is further and further aroused by the master, in his turn, her kisses may become more and more piteously and helplessly orgasmic. But then to her surprise, and, one supposes, consternation, the Earth woman finds herself enfolded helplessly in mighty arms and kissed in turn and kissed as she had never dreamed she might be kissed, with such ferocity, and mastery and power, and ownership, and then as she reels, giddy and dazed, she is taken in hand and turned about, and thrown to the ground, on her stomach; her clothing, she almost failing to comprehend what is occurring, is ripped from her, all of it; she feels the air on her body and the grass on her belly and breasts; she protests; she struggles; she tries to rise; his hand holds her in place; she cannot rise; her wrists are jerked behind her and enclosed in slave bracelets; she is then leashed, and led from the field; if she resists or dallies she will be whipped; if he has a collar with him it will undoubtedly be put on her; he has saved her life and it now belongs to him, and he will do with it what he wants. He will keep her, have pleasure with her, sell her, or give her away, as he pleases.
"I may teach you, too, how to kneel and kiss the whip." "I learned something of that in the cylinder," she said. "It is a beautiful symbolic act," he said. "How did you feel about it?" "At first I was terrified," she said, "but then, as I began to better understand its significance, and why I was on my knees, and kissing the whip, it moved me, and it stirred me, exciting my belly, profoundly." "Excellent," said Cabot. "Soon," she said, "I was eager to perform this act." "Good," said Cabot. "Too," she said, "I think I did it acceptably, with timidity, and tenderness, and deference, and hope, and awe, acknowledging my station as slave and the rightfulness of my submission to the might of men." "And it continued to stir you, and excite you?" he asked. "Oh, yes, Master," she said, "terribly so. Yes Master!" "Good," he said. "And eventually you might learn to do it," said he, "piteously, beggingly, supplicatingly, with tiny noises, in such a way as to drive a master mad with passion." "And with my hands tied, or braceleted behind my back!" she said. "Quite possibly," he said. "And you will improve in your skills, and learn the slow slave use of your tongue, and the slave use of your lips." "Such things excite me," she said. "In my training, even with the hint of such thoughts, I could barely remain on my knees." "There are many ways to lick and kiss the whip," he said, "tenderly and lovingly, humbly and gratefully, lasciviously and avidly, pleadingly, needfully, supplicatingly." "Yes, Master," she said. "Yes!"
Our lips then met, sweetly and tenderly, fully, lingeringly. Her lips, opened, soft, those of a submitting slave, at first met mine timidly, and then, as she understood that she was not to be spurned, or struck, more fully, more boldly, until her kiss was deep, helpless and warm, and she seemed one with the kiss, and lost within it, and then, again, timidly, she drew back, having proffered herself to me as a slave, to observe what might be my reaction, to see in my eyes if she had been found pleasing, and what would be her fate.
I gave Elizabeth a swift kiss and then jerked the slave livery to her waist and turned her about, putting her on her side at the foot of the couch, facing away from the door. She lay there on the stones, half-stripped, turned away, bound hand and foot, her throat fastened to the slave ring by the heavy collar and chain. Drawing her knees up and almost touching her chin to her chest she managed to look about as abject and abused as a poor wench might. Satisfied, I went to the door and removed the two heavy beams, opening it. He kissed her swiftly, and turned to defend a wall. I kissed the kneeling, chained prisoner swiftly, with the insulting kiss often given by the wives of Earth to their husbands. "Forgive me, Master," I said, "I must now serve another." Then I hurried away.
I held her and kissed her again, gently, tenderly, and then wiped the tears from her eyes. He kissed me. "Will you come to see me in the exhibition cages?" I asked. In most markets girls are displayed publicly in exhibition cages prior to their sale. This is almost always the case in the Curulean. "No," he said. "Oh," I said. He kissed me, again, softly, tenderly. I reached out timidly, to touch him. I kissed him, tenderly, on the shoulder. "I love you, Master," I said. "Be silent, Slave," he said, irritably. "Yes, Master," I said. "Would Master deign to kiss a slave?" she asked. I put my lips, gently, to hers, and she lifted her lips to mine, tenderly, and kissed me, and then she put her head back to the straw and the floor. She stood before me and then, without asking, gently, delicately, untied, and opened and took from me the shreds of the soiled tunic which I wore. It was muddied and caked with dirt, from the days in the jungle, from the muddy banks of the Ua. As she removed it from me she kissed me softly, tenderly, about the chest and left hip. Then she leaned forward and kissed me, softly. "Does the Earth woman kiss her Master?" I asked. When she had finished with the garment and wrung it much dry, I had her replace it on my body. I would let it finish its drying on my body. Before she tied shut the tunic she kissed me again, softly, this time on the chest and belly, and then again knelt before me, her head down. Our lips then met, sweetly and tenderly, fully, lingeringly. Her lips, opened, soft, those of a submitting slave, at first met mine timidly, and then, as she understood that she was not to be spurned, or struck, more fully, more boldly, until her kiss was deep, helpless and warm, and she seemed one with the kiss, and lost within it, and then, again, timidly, she drew back, having proffered herself to me as a slave, to observe what might be my reaction, to see in my eyes if she had been found pleasing, and what would be her fate. I kissed the massive, swollen cheek of the pit master. I did this very gently. Then I stripped and went to the kennel, for we are to be nude within them. "I may teach you, too, how to kneel and kiss the whip." "I learned something of that in the cylinder," she said. "It is a beautiful symbolic act," he said. "How did you feel about it?" "At first I was terrified," she said, "but then, as I began to better understand its significance, and why I was on my knees, and kissing the whip, it moved me, and it stirred me, exciting my belly, profoundly." "Excellent," said Cabot. "Soon," she said, "I was eager to perform this act." "Good," said Cabot. "Too," she said, "I think I did it acceptably, with timidity, and tenderness, and deference, and hope, and awe, acknowledging my station as slave and the rightfulness of my submission to the might of men." "And it continued to stir you, and excite you?" he asked. "Oh, yes, Master," she said, "terribly so. Yes Master!" "Good," he said. "And eventually you might learn to do it," said he, "piteously, beggingly, supplicatingly, with tiny noises, in such a way as to drive a master mad with passion." "And with my hands tied, or braceleted behind my back!" she said. "Quite possibly," he said. "And you will improve in your skills, and learn the slow slave use of your tongue, and the slave use of your lips." "Such things excite me," she said. "In my training, even with the hint of such thoughts, I could barely remain on my knees." "There are many ways to lick and kiss the whip," he said, "tenderly and lovingly, humbly and gratefully, lasciviously and avidly, pleadingly, needfully, supplicatingly." "Yes, Master," she said. "Yes!" I recalled how she had kissed the whip frightened, to be sure, but, too, seemingly gratefully. She had placed her soft lips upon if gently, truly, fully, and had kissed it tenderly, deferently. In short, she had kissed it well. She had then completed the small ceremony, as instructed, saying "La kajira." She had said this softly, obediently. She would not know what it meant. In time she would learn. So I kissed the whip for the first time, lying on my back, naked and bound, lifting my head, kissed it tenderly, gratefully, submissively. Commonly the whip is kissed while one kneels. I began to attend to the whip kissing and licking it. I did this softly, slowly, tenderly, carefully, humbly, deferentially, and, I fear, seductively.
Delicately, timidly, she kissed me. "Please, Master," she said, "please." Her eyes were pleading. After half of an Ahn I saw her, delicately, eyes frightened, lift her head and put her lips to his shoulder; softly, timidly, she kissed him; and then looked into his eyes. Our lips then met, sweetly and tenderly, fully, lingeringly. Her lips, opened, soft, those of a submitting slave, at first met mine timidly, and then, as she understood that she was not to be spurned, or struck, more fully, more boldly, until her kiss was deep, helpless and warm, and she seemed one with the kiss, and lost within it, and then, again, timidly, she drew back, having proffered herself to me as a slave, to observe what might be my reaction, to see in my eyes if she had been found pleasing, and what would be her fate. Then he was kissing my hands, their backs, and kissing and licking in the palms, and then moving up the interiors of the wrists, and forearms. In another quarter of an hour or so, he had come again to my neck, near the collar, where he had first kissed me, and then, slowly, kissed my shoulders. I lay there, frightened, wanting to respond. I sensed his lips near mine, by the feel of his breath. I lifted my head a little, and kissed him, timidly, gratefully. Then I felt his head, and hair, below my chin. "Ohh," I said. Then he kissed, and licked, and caressed me about the sides, and back. "Ah," he said, appreciatively. I was not really responding to him, or at least in no overt way I was really aware of, but I think he did not really mind this, or, at the time, expect anything much different. I think he did find me beautiful. And I think he took pride in the simple handling of such a slave. She came then even closer to him, on her side, frightened and excited, and, lifting her head, timidly kissed him on the knee. Then, to the delight of the audience, she reached forth and, holding the fellow's leg, and pressing herself against it, kissed him humbly, timidly, lovingly, about the thigh. I dared to put my arms about his neck and kiss him, timidly. I felt the girl's head lean toward me, and I felt her lips, soft, on my thigh. How timid, and humble, was that kiss! Did she fear to be cuffed to the planks? I recalled her startled, begging cries toward morning, and how she had clutched me. She had entered the alcove an enslaved woman; she had left it a slave.
I kissed her irritably to silence.
I recalled how she had kissed the whip frightened, to be sure, but, too, seemingly gratefully. She had placed her soft lips upon if gently, truly, fully, and had kissed it tenderly, deferently. In short, she had kissed it well. She had then completed the small ceremony, as instructed, saying "La kajira." She had said this softly, obediently. She would not know what it meant. In time she would learn.
"Do you recall that he kissed me?" "Yes," I said. "He kissed me," she said. "And I was in a collar." She was now, of course, in her cell, in the robes of concealment. She was, however, not veiled. It was too early for the guard's rounds. "Surely you do not find it surprising that a female would be kissed when she is collared." "No," she said, uncertainly. "Nor surprising that you, personally, might be kissed, and, in particular, when you were wearing a collar?" "I do not know," she said. "I assure you," I said, "if we are concerned with probabilities or frequencies in such matters, a woman is far more likely to be kissed, and most often, when she is wearing a collar." She nodded, numbly. "But not kissed as a free woman is kissed," I said. "No, of course not," she said, "rather, kissed as a slave is kissed." "Yes," I said. "And that is how I was kissed!" "He did not know you were a free woman," I said. "It was so possessive, so ruthless, so uncompromising, so merciless, so masterful," she said. "He is a man," I explained. "How can you resist such a kiss?" she asked. "We are not permitted to do so," I said. She trembled. "What is wrong?" I asked. "He kissed me," she said, "and I was in a collar." "Yes, you were," I said. "A collar!" she said. "Yes," I said. "A slave collar," she said, "the collar of a slave!" "Yes," I said. "I am trying to understand my feelings," she said. "He kissed me," she said. "Do you think he likes me?" "He may have been merely trying you out," I said.
As quickly as I could, I ran back to the fallen Rupert of Hochburg I seized him and began to kiss him madly, wantonly without permission.
Suddenly she kissed me, a deep kiss, moist, rich, too soon ended. "There!" she laughed. "The kiss of a Tuchuk slave girl!" Then she laughed and turned away, looking over her shoulder. "You see," she said, "I can do it quite well." I did not speak. She was facing the other way. "But," she said, teasingly, "I think one will be enough for master." I was a bit angry, and not a little aroused. "The girls in the public slave wagon," I said, "know how to kiss." "Oh?" she said, turning about. "They are not little secretaries," I said, "pretending to be slave girls." Her eyes flashed. "Try this!" she said, approaching me, and this time, my head in her small hands, she lingered with her lips upon my mouth, warm, wet, breaths meeting and mingling in the savoring touch. My hands held her slender waist. When she had finished, I remarked, "Not bad." "Not bad!" she cried. Then fully and for much time, she kissed me, with increasing determination, yet attempted subtlety, then anxiety, then woodenly, and then she dropped her head. I lifted her chin with my finger. She looked at me angrily. "I should have told you, I suppose," I remarked, "that a woman kisses well only when fully aroused, after at least half an Ahn, after she is helpless and yielding." She looked at me angrily and turned away. Then she spun about laughing. "You are a beast, Tarl Cabot," she cried. "And you, too," I laughed, "are a beast - a beautiful little collared beast." "I love you," she said, "Tarl Cabot." "Array yourself in Pleasure Silk, Little Beast," I said, "and enter my arms." "I would say you are worth now at least two silver tarsks." "Thank you, Master," she said, warmly, kissing me. Suddenly she reached out and, putting her lovely, bared arms about my neck, pressed her lips to mine. "Ai!" I cried, in anger, in fury. But I could not, then, for a moment, release her. She was a female slave. It is not easy to surrender a female slave from one's arms. Then, angrily, I pulled away from her. Her kiss, that of a female slave, burned on my lips. I shook with emotion. I was furious. The kiss, too brief, delicious, startling, warm, soft, raged in my body. It was like a chemical agent, a catalyst, introduced unexpectedly into my system. Reactions and transformations, eruptive, excruciating and compelling, irresistible and violent, seemed to explode in every compound and tissue in my body. Then she lifted her lips again to me. "Taste again of the lips of a slave, Master," she said. Then she was in my arms, crushed to me, and it seemed that there was only she, and the thunder and light in my blood. Then she was lifted in my arms. "See my collar!" she laughed. "I see it," I said, angrily. "I am a slave!" she said. "Yes," I said. "Do you like the taste of a slave, Master?" she asked. Then she reached out again to me, her arms about my neck, and, again, our lips met. I was then furious. I hurled her to my feet. "We have needs and hungers, too," she said. "I suppose you do," I said. It did seem to me that the usual male assessment of the Waniyanpi female was likely to be somewhat hasty and negative. Men are often too abrupt, it seems to me, in their judgments. They might profit from some instruction in patience. Such women, unfulfilled as females, starved for male domination, I supposed, taken sternly in hand, stripped and put to a man's feet, might prove to be grateful and rewarding slaves. In a matter of days, I suspected, it might be difficult to tell one, licking and kissing at one's feet, warmly, lovingly and gratefully, from a more normal slave. Our lips then met, sweetly and tenderly, fully, lingeringly. Her lips, opened, soft, those of a submitting slave, at first met mine timidly, and then, as she understood that she was not to be spurned, or struck, more fully, more boldly, until her kiss was deep, helpless and warm, and she seemed one with the kiss, and lost within it, and then, again, timidly, she drew back, having proffered herself to me as a slave, to observe what might be my reaction, to see in my eyes if she had been found pleasing, and what would be her fate.
I then took the cup from her and threw it to the side of the room, and took her into my arms, that lovely, long-legged, black-haired beast, provocative in the brevity of her slave livery, and kissed her, and well, and at length. Once more I kissed the black-haired, long-legged girl, and she me. "My former mistress kisses well," I said. I recalled how she had kissed the whip frightened, to be sure, but, too, seemingly gratefully. She had placed her soft lips upon if gently, truly, fully, and had kissed it tenderly, deferently. In short, she had kissed it well. She had then completed the small ceremony, as instructed, saying "La kajira." She had said this softly, obediently. She would not know what it meant. In time she would learn.
I pressed my lips to his feet, weeping, kissing them wildly, gratefully, in a slave's joy and submission, repeatedly, again and again.
Suddenly she kissed me, a deep kiss, moist, rich, too soon ended. "There!" she laughed. "The kiss of a Tuchuk slave girl!" Then she laughed and turned away, looking over her shoulder. "You see," she said, "I can do it quite well." I did not speak. She was facing the other way. "But," she said, teasingly, "I think one will be enough for master." I was a bit angry, and not a little aroused. "The girls in the public slave wagon," I said, "know how to kiss." "Oh?" she said, turning about. "They are not little secretaries," I said, "pretending to be slave girls." Her eyes flashed. "Try this!" she said, approaching me, and this time, my head in her small hands, she lingered with her lips upon my mouth, warm, wet, breaths meeting and mingling in the savoring touch. My hands held her slender waist. When she had finished, I remarked, "Not bad." "Not bad!" she cried. Then fully and for much time, she kissed me, with increasing determination, yet attempted subtlety, then anxiety, then woodenly, and then she dropped her head. I lifted her chin with my finger. She looked at me angrily. "I should have told you, I suppose," I remarked, "that a woman kisses well only when fully aroused, after at least half an Ahn, after she is helpless and yielding." She looked at me angrily and turned away. Then she spun about laughing. "You are a beast, Tarl Cabot," she cried. "And you, too," I laughed, "are a beast - a beautiful little collared beast." "I love you," she said, "Tarl Cabot." "Array yourself in Pleasure Silk, Little Beast," I said, "and enter my arms." |
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