|
 Kisses, Where toHere are relevant references from the Books showing where to Kiss. 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 Ankles Arms Back Belly Body Breasts Calves Cheek Chest Chin Ear Face Feet Fingers Forearms Forehead Hands Head Hips Intimately Knees Legs Lips Mouth Neck Nipples Nose Shin Shoulders Side Thigh Throat Tooth Waist Wrists
My grip on her ankle was not cruel but in all her womanness she knew herself held. "Please," she said again, "let me go." I smiled to myself. "Be silent, Slave," said I. Elizabeth Cardwell gasped. I smiled. "So you are stronger than I," she scoffed. "It means nothing!" I then began to kiss her foot, and the inside of her ankle, beneath the bone, and she trembled momentarily. "Let me go!" she cried. But I only kissed her, holding her, my lips moving to the back of her leg, low where it joins the foot, where an ankle ring would be locked. The girl was trying to put her leg against me, reaching for me. I took her ankle, and crouching, kissed it, on the top, and then pressed my lips to the bottom of her foot, near the instep, then beneath and behind the shin, then again, twice, near the bottom of the foot, at the instep. 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. I again looked out to sea. I sensed then that the girl, Sasi, was near me. She knelt lightly beside me, to my left. She put her head down. I felt her tongue, soft, at my ankle. She licked and kissed at my ankle and leg for a few Ehn. She then rolled to her stomach, and began to kiss my feet. Then, tenderly, she rose to her knees, still kissing my feet, and then began to kiss my ankles, and calves. "Get up," said Pimples. "Go to him. You may kiss his foot and ankle." The red-haired girl got up and went to the young warrior. He looked very splendid in his paint and feathers, with the lance, astride the kaiila. She pressed her lips to his moccasin and then to his ankle, kissing him softy. Then she looked up at him, and backed away, his, stripped save for the beaded collar knotted at her throat. The next woman then hurried to Drusus and, threw herself to her belly before him, kissing his feet. She then rose slowly to her knees, kissing him from the ankles to the waist. Kneeling before him, then, close to him, holding his legs she looked up at him. "Buy me, Master," she whispered. "I will give you much pleasure." "Kiss my feet fifteen hundred times, you luscious baggage," he laughed, "at least once for every gold piece you are costing me!" "Yes, Master," she cried, startled, putting down her head. "This woman was the Tatrix of Corcyrus, was she now?" laughed Hassan. "Yes," said Claudius, startled. "That has been established, even by her own admissions." "And I have, thus, earned the reward, fully and clearly, if I should wish it?" asked Hassan. "Certainly," said Claudius, puzzled. "That is all I wanted," said Hassan. "Indeed, it is all I ever wanted." "I do not understand," said Claudius. "For years," said Hassan, "I have heard of the Tatrix or Corcyrus, of her tyranny, of her fabled pride and beauty. I found such a woman intriguing. Then, wonder of wonders, she fell. None could find her. I was curious to know what it would be like to have such a woman in my collar, a fair-skinned, golden-haired Tatrix of the north, to make her crawl, and cry and serve, to make her a man's woman." I looked at Sheila. She was weeping with joy at his feet, kissing them, and his ankles and legs. "I love you, Master," she wept. I felt his hands lift up my right ankle, that which did not wear the shackle. I felt his lips on my ankle. His hands were very strong. I tried to pull back a bit, uneasily, but could not do so. He continued to hold my ankle, and kiss my leg. I moved my left ankle, in its shackle. I heard the tiny sounds of the links of the chain, running between the shackle and its ring. I pulled back my left ankle, and lifted it, frightened, alarmed by the sensations I was beginning to feel, and learned what limitations had been placed on its movements, imposed by the metal impedimenta whose prisoner it was. I could not leave the alcove of course, but I had been permitted slack, enough to kick, it seems, as in the throes of passion or, helplessly, as though to hold on for dear life, to clench my legs about a master's legs or, if I were pulled down, closer to the ring, his body. His touches and kisses were now disturbing me, but he was very gentle. I knelt at the feet of the handsome fellow and kissed and licked about his ankles. "I will never tire of you," he said. I kissed at his ankles. I whimpered. Were he not in danger, I would have cast myself to my belly before him, and kissed and licked his feet and ankles, begging forgiveness for not having been sufficiently pleasing. Later, struck suddenly with fatigue, worn and weary from the night, I licked and kissed his ankle and fell asleep.
Sandra, at my side, was laughing merrily. I gave her head a rough shake. She began to kiss my left arm, and I, with my right hand, brushed her away. But in a moment she again held her cheek to my left arm. She kissed my arm. "I care for you," she said, "sweet Bosk of Port Kar." "Oh," I said, "you wear chains." I kissed at his arm. He was more than ten inches taller than I, and must have weighed twice as much. I was very small next to him. She kissed me delicately on the arm. "You are ruthless, Master," she said. Then she reached out to me with her mouth, and kissed me, again and again, on the left forearm. "He has trained me well to the collar," she purred, kissing at his arm. She then lay beside me, and began to kiss at my arm. She took my arm in her two hands, kissing it. "You are strong," she whispered. "Relia, Tela, to him," said Policrates. These two girls, Relia discarding her red silk and Tela opening her white silk, and throwing it back, hurried to kneel near me. Relia began to kiss and bite at the palm of my right hand, and at my right arm and shoulder, and Tela addressed herself similarly to my left hand and arm. I struggled in the chains, but could not resist. She kissed at my arm, and kept her arms about me.
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 blond came to my side, crawling, and, putting down her head, kissed me on the belly. "Master," she wept. "Constance," I said. I had not seen her since I had been impressed in Lydius into the service of Kurii, and taken northward to labor at the wall. She had once been free. I had made her my slave in the fields south of the Laura. "What are you doing here?" I asked. "Master," she wept, kissing me. 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 reached out and, gently, first touching my chest, her hands lingering there for a moment, found the knot in the belt of soft cloth with which I had closed the casual tunic I had donned. She undid the knot and parted the tunic, kissing me at the belly. She then went behind me and, gently, removed the tunic, kissing me beneath the left shoulder blade. She then stood again before me. She folded the tunic and belt, kissing them, and then knelt down, placing them to one side. She then stood again, before me, her head down. She looked at me. I put down my head and began to kiss her, and lick her, slowly about the belly. "Oh!" she said. And then, in a few moments, she was trying to move her body beneath my mouth, trying to bring me to other positions on her body. Her movements were mute pleas. "Ohhhh!" she said suddenly, softly. Then he was kissing me about my hips and belly, and then, much lower, above the midpoint of the interior of my thighs.
The girl now was upon her knees at my feet, the tether on her neck slung back behind her to the slave stake. Still in her dance, she began to lick and kiss at my body. Tende knelt beside Kisu, bending over him. I could hear her licking and kissing softly at his body. "Melpomene," said the Lady Florence to her new slave, who was now kneeling on the love furs, "when you were a free woman and dared to steal my silk slave for your pleasure, did you kiss him?" "Of course not, Mistress," she said. "I was a free woman. I would not put my lips to the body of a slave." "Recline on the love furs, Jason," said the Lady Florence. I did so, dropping aside the half tunic I wore. The Lady Leta and the Lady Perimene drew in their breath with pleasure. "Melpomene," said the Lady Florence, "you understand that you are now no longer a free woman but only a slut of a slave." "Yes, Mistress," said Melpomene, quickly. "Furthermore, you understand that Jason is no longer a silk slave, but only a stable slave, a lowly stable slave." "Yes, Mistress," said Melpomene. "Kiss his body," said the Lady Florence, "every inch of it." "Yes, Mistress," sobbed Melpomene. "Begin at the extremities," said the Lady Florence. "Yes, Mistress," said Melpomene. The Mistress then clapped her hands. "Pamela, Bonnie," she said, "begin now to serve the eighth course of our supper." "Yes, Mistress," they said. In time my body had been covered with the kisses and tears of the new slave. I lowered her to the furs. I began to kiss at her body. "Then, perhaps you should begin to be pleasing to me now," I said. "Yes, Master!" she said, and began to kiss at my body. Policrates lifted a finger and the girls about me again began to fondle, and to kiss and caress at my body. She fed from my hand. I put more pemmican in my hand. I then lowered my hand. I felt her kissing, nibbling and licking at my hand, taking the pemmican from it. I put more pemmican in my hand and then lowered it still further. I felt her hair on my body. She nibbled and kissed at my hand, delicately removing pemmican from it, her head following my hand, as I lowered it yet further, and then, with extreme delicacy, with tenderness and gentleness, she nibbled and kissed at my body. "Master desires his slave," she whispered. It is not unusual for a Gorean male, in his zest for females, to cover her entire body, bit by bit, with kisses and caresses, moving toward her helplessness. "Yes, my master," I whispered. Then he made me cry out, softly, and then turned me to my belly on the blankets, and lifted me to him. Then he permitted me to lie on my side, and I tried to kiss at his body. Then eagerly, helplessly, gratefully, for there was time, there must be time, did I, my head lifted, kiss again and again at his lips, his face, his shoulders, his body. Might we not be pleasantly surprised by his response, if we were sometimes to kiss his body, pressing our soft lips upon him humbly, intimately, fervently, tenderly, beseechingly, through the cascade of our loosened hair? "Be silent!" he cried, and, mad with passion, cuffed her, striking her head to the side but she turned back, instantly, her mouth bleeding, kissing at his body, leaving small, bright prints of blood upon it.
I kissed her on each breast, for they were beautiful. "Even in most private sales," I said, "the prospective buyer is not permitted to use the girl, fully." "Fully?" You kiss her breasts softly, you brush her lips with yours. I kissed her, softly, about the breasts, but did not stop touching her. And then he reached down and seized her and, holding her by the upper arms, before him, she unable to stand, as she was bound, he began to cover her face and mouth, and throat, and breasts, with kisses.
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. She then rolled to her stomach, and began to kiss my feet. Then, tenderly, she rose to her knees, still kissing my feet, and then began to kiss my ankles, and calves.
"Do not touch me!" she said. I drew back. "Permit me to kiss you," I said. She was so beautiful. "No," she said. "I am not a pleasure object." "I'm sorry," I said. Again I had insulted Miss Henderson. It seemed I could do nothing right with her. "But I am grateful," she said. "You may give me a small kiss, a quick kiss." I touched her cheek with my lips, kissing her. I kissed the wet shoulder of the man in the bath, and then kissed his cheek, through the wet canvas hood drawn over his face. He moaned. He was a male slave. "I could give you a kiss, on the cheek, once a day," she said. "Surely you could not expect more from a free woman." 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. "It is nothing," she said, kissing me lightly on the cheek. She then gathered up the dish and bowl and left. "Wonderful! Wonderful!" said the woman. "Jeffrey, you are such a dear!" She then gave him a quick, affectionate kiss on the left cheek. "You are a darling!" she said. "Naughty boy!" she chided. "Please," he wheedled. "Very well," she said. Again she touched him briefly on the left cheek, a flick of a kiss, a tiny peck. "There!" she said. The slave knelt up, and, tears in her eyes, kissed her fingertips and pressed them lightly on my left cheek.
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 kissed me on the chest. She lay beside me, pressing her softness against me, kissing at my arm, my shoulder and chest, softly, piteously. "Very well," I said. I responded to Sempronius' lips, and kissed him, too, softly, about the neck and chest.
"Oh, yes, Master," she whispered. "Marla is a superb name for a slave." She began to kiss him about the throat and chin. I began to lick at him beneath the chin and kiss him. I clutched at him. I wept and laughed and writhed, holding him.
I pulled with my head away from the eager lips and hands of the slave girl who sought to hold and kiss me. "Tafa loves you," she whispered, kissing me. A guard's hand held my hair, keeping my head in place. I felt the ropes burn on my neck. I closed my eyes. I felt her lips beneath my left ear, biting and kissing. 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 began to kiss her about the face and throat and shoulders. "Slave!" said Arlene. "Yes, slave, slave!" sobbed Audrey, then covered my face with tears and kisses. I later held her quiet in my arms while she, with her small, soft tongue, licked clean the stubble of my beard. And then he reached down and seized her and, holding her by the upper arms, before him, she unable to stand, as she was bound, he began to cover her face and mouth, and throat, and breasts, with kisses. She then began to kiss me, and lick me, about the face and neck. She did it quite well. With training she would do it much better. I kissed a little at her face. I had thought the streaks there might have been rain, but they had a salty taste. Then eagerly, helplessly, gratefully, for there was time, there must be time, did I, my head lifted, kiss again and again at his lips, his face, his shoulders, his body.
My grip on her ankle was not cruel but in all her womanness she knew herself held. "Please," she said again, "let me go." I smiled to myself. "Be silent, Slave," said I. Elizabeth Cardwell gasped. I smiled. "So you are stronger than I," she scoffed. "It means nothing!" I then began to kiss her foot, and the inside of her ankle, beneath the bone, and she trembled momentarily. "Let me go!" she cried. But I only kissed her, holding her, my lips moving to the back of her leg, low where it joins the foot, where an ankle ring would be locked. "Dare you aspire to me!" she cried. "I am a free woman!" Then she hissed out, "Kiss my feet, Slave." I took his sandal in my hands and pressed my lips down on his foot, kissing it. I kissed his foot again, trembling, sobbing. He must be pleased with me, he must be pleased with me! "Kiss my feet," said he, "Slave." I did so. "Yes, Mistress," I had said to Inge, humbly, hating her. "You may now kiss my feet," she informed me. My fists clenched. Her eyes flashed. I did so. I wept, and kissed her feet. "Kiss my feet, Slave," said the red-haired girl. "Yes, Mistress," whispered Ilene and, fearfully, did so. She knelt, and kissed my feet. "Yes," I told her. She fell to kissing me, with the lascivious, wanton joy of the slave girl, given no choice but to reveal and liberate, and act upon, completely and with perfection, her deepest, most hidden desires, even though she might, in misery, scorn herself for possessing them. She knelt before him, and kissed his feet, her hair falling over them. The girl was trying to put her leg against me, reaching for me. I took her ankle, and crouching, kissed it, on the top, and then pressed my lips to the bottom of her foot, near the instep, then beneath and behind the shin, then again, twice, near the bottom of the foot, at the instep. Tafa, frightened, awake, knelt at my feet. She bent to my feet. I felt her hair on my feet. I felt her lips kiss my feet. She knelt as a slave girl. "Hassan!" she wept. "Hassan!" She threw herself to his feet, covering them with kisses as a slave girl. I knelt before him and, tears in my eyes, began kissing at his feet and legs. Radiant was my gratitude to him, and abundant were the kisses which, in joy, I placed about his legs and feet. I then again yielded to the pleasures of him, moaning to the master a slave girl's gratitude. He had deigned to touch me. When he had done with me I knelt at his feet, whimpering. I kissed his feet. "Thank you, Master," I said. Sandal Thong gently lowered herself to the ground, and lay on her belly before Thurnus. She took his right ankle in her hands and, holding it, pressed her lips softly down upon his foot, kissing it. She lifted her head, tears in her eyes. "Let me be instead your slave," she said. I wanted to run toward him, crying out, the length of the wharf, and throw myself to his feet, weeping, covering them with kisses. I ran toward him, with short steps, and knelt before him. I kissed his feet. At his feet I felt suddenly a wave of love for him, the helpless weakness of a slave girl overcome at her master's feet, but then I caught myself, and every bit of me became cold, and calculating and sensuous. I held the calves of his legs in my hands, and looked up at him. I put my head to his feet, covering them with kisses and tears. I shook with emotion. "Afterwards," she said, "the miserable girl covered his feet with kisses." She put down her head to my feet. She kissed my feet. She then looked up at me. "If I do not please you this day, Master," she said, "impale me." "I will," I told her. Then I turned and left her. "Kneel and kiss my feet," I said. She did so. I had told her, after I had had her kneel and kiss my feet, to run to her master, and crawl to him on her belly and beg his touch. "Kiss my feet," I told her. She bent her head to my feet and, through the fur of my boots, I felt her lips press against them. She then, timidly, tears in her eyes, lifted her head. "Every woman has a need to submit herself to a master," I said. "When she finds herself at the feet of her master her body will no longer permit her to be frigid. There is no longer any reason. She is now where nature places her, at his feet and in his power. She kisses his feet and, weeping, feeling the heat and oils between her lovely legs, cannot wait to be thrown to the furs." I looked down at her. She struggled to her knees and put her head down, to my feet. She began to kiss them, desperately, in an effort to placate me. "You kiss poorly," I told her. "I beg instruction," she said. She would then kneel before Ulafi and kiss his feet, clutching the bit of cake or pastry. "Why was I struck?" she asked. "Kiss my feet," he said. She did so. Then she looked up at him. "It pleased me," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. "Kiss my feet," I told her. She did so, in her chains, kneeling on the hot boards of the wharf at Schendi. Then again she looked up at me. "To my feet," said he. She crawled to his feet and kissed them. "Yes, Master," she said. "May I kiss your feet but once more, Master," she said. I permitted this. I felt her lips, so sweet on my feet, her tears and hair. "Keep me," she begged. "Keep me, Master." The Gorean slave girl, incidentally, will space herself from her master quite differently in different situations. For example, if she is somewhat farther away, it is easier for her to display herself in all her beauty; if she wishes to wheedle for his caress she may approach quite closely; if she is receiving instructions she may kneel a few feet away; if she is begging to serve his pleasure she may kneel at his feet, perhaps kissing them, and holding his ankles; "Now kneel before me and kiss my feet," I said, "and thank me for having struck you." Tremblingly, she crawled to me, and knelt before me. She put her head down. I felt her lips on my feet. "Thank you for having struck me, Master," she whispered. She looked up at me. Then she put her head to my knees and, holding them, covered them with kisses. Then she put her head to my feet. She covered them, too, with kisses. "Put your head to their feet," I said. "Kiss their feet. Beg their forgiveness for the affront you have shown them." Janice put down her head and kissed the feet of the small men. "Forgive me, Masters," she begged. He stood there, the butt of the spear on the stone, the blade over his head. He held the spear under the blade, his hands over his head. His head was down. His shoulders shook. He wept. Tende crept to his feet and kissed him, sobbing, too. "You may now put your head down and kiss my feet," she said. I did so. I was terrified of her. Then she was at my feet, on the stones, kneeling in the straw, her head down, her hair before her face. I felt her lips, through her hair, kissing at my feet. 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. She looked up at me, and then, turning her head and lifting herself on her elbows, she again kissed my feet. "You may kiss my feet, Jason," said the Lady Florence. I bent, putting my lips to her slippers, kissing them. "Now those of the Lady Melpomene," she said. Again I bent, this time pressing my lips to the slippers of the Lady Melpomene, too, kissing them. "To his feet, Girl," snapped the Lady Florence. "Lick and kiss them!" Melpomene fled to me. I felt her lips on my feet, and her small tongue. "Crawl to me on your knees," I said. She hesitated. But then she did so. "Kiss my feet," I said. She gasped, but then, putting forth her hands, finding me, did so. "Kiss my feet," I said. I felt her lips kissing at my feet in the darkness. "Why do you not simply place yourself on your belly before he whose collar you wish to wear," I asked, "and with tears, kissing his feet, implore him to buy you." How many women of Earth, I wondered, strip themselves slowly before a man and then kneel before him, and kiss his feet, and then, looking up, beg him for his touch. Perhaps only those who are slave girls. "It pleased Master to chain me," she said. She kissed me. "Please, Master," she said, "have your chained slave." "Perhaps," I said. "Perhaps not." She sobbed in frustration, and continued to kiss me. But her head was at my feet. I felt her lips kissing my feet. Beverly Henderson was at my feet! "Forgive me, Master," she said, "if I have displeased you." She was then holding my legs, putting her cheek against them, and kissing them. "Forgive your slave," she said, "and let your slave please you." "I sought out Aemilianus, Captain of the Guardsmen of Ar's Station," she said. "I put myself naked before him, kneeling, and humbly began to lick and kiss about his feet." Policrates, indolent in the chair, lifted a finger and another girl, one whom I recalled was called Tais, from the feast, dark-haired, nude, knelt beside me and began to kiss and lick at my right foot and leg. The girl now began to kiss at my left foot and leg. She kissed well. Gently, softly, she licked and kissed his feet. I released her hands. I sheathed my sword. "You may lick and kiss at my feet, Lola," I said. I felt these small tugs, piteous and delicate, and then she, with her lips, pressed the wet tunic against my thigh and through the wet cloth, kissed me. She then, putting her head down, began to lick and kiss at my legs and feet. Mothers, in particular, can be nuisances in such respects. The young man will wish to buy a helplessly passionate, hot-eyed slut whom he can whip-train, on her belly, kissing at his feet, to his every disposition and pleasure, and the mother will wish to buy him a "sensible girl." I knelt before him. I bit at his tunic. I licked and kissed, piteously and submissively, at his feet and legs. The free woman may look upon the smooth tiles flooring a room but, presumably, she has never felt them on her naked flesh, on her belly, as she has kissed the feet of her master. I felt her lips upon my feet, kissing them. It is pleasant to have a beautiful slave at one's feet, thusly. "But wait a moment, Master," she begged. "Let me first kiss your feet!" I then permitted her to scramble to her knees and she knelt before me, kissing at my feet. "You seem not as vain and arrogant as you were before," I said. Swiftly the slave put down her head and began to kiss the feet of Aemilianus. "My Master," she said, acknowledging him as her new master. "Thank you, Master!" she cried. "Thank you, Master!" She rose to her feet, and ran to me, falling to her knees before me and putting her head down to my feet. She kissed my feet in gratitude. "Thank you, Master," she said, named. She put down her head and, gently, kissed his feet. She was on her knees before him, kissing at his feet and weeping. Peggy, her hands tied behind her back, went to kneel before Tasdron. He had given her to Callimachus. She kissed his feet in gratitude. "Thank you, Master," she wept, "thank you!" She, too, now had been bound by her master. His desire for her, and his mastery over her, had now been, to her joy, by the steel of the confining bracelets, attested. She extended her head to him, her lips pursed, her eyes closed, to kiss him, but he seized the sides of the opening of her slave tunic, the left side in his right fist, the right side in his left fist. She swiftly came to where I stood and knelt down before me, and kissed my feet, and then lifted her head, looking at me. "That pleases me, my Master," she said. She then rolled to her stomach, and began to kiss my feet. Then, tenderly, she rose to her knees, still kissing my feet, and then began to kiss my ankles, and calves. She lowered herself to her belly and, holding my ankles gently with her hands, covered my feet with kisses. Her lips, and her tongue, were warm and wet. Another girl, also blond, a long chain on her neck, also fastened to a ring in the wall, had crept to my feet. She then lowered herself to her belly before me. She held my right ankle in her small hands and began to lick and kiss softly at my feet. I felt her mouth and small, warm tongue between the straps on my sandals. "I have seen such women naked," I said, "in a collar, kissing the feet of men." Suddenly she flung herself on her belly across the dark blankets. She reached to my left ankle and holding it with her small hands, began to kiss at my foot. "Slaves may beg to please their masters, may they not?" she asked. "Assume the belly position, and kiss my feet, Slave," I said. For hours we remained among the tiny fruit, talking and kissing, and caressing. Later, near dusk, he freed me, that I might gather berries for him, and feed them to him. Later I lay on my belly before him and kissed his feet. "Get up," said Pimples. "Go to him. You may kiss his foot and ankle." The red-haired girl got up and went to the young warrior. He looked very splendid in his paint and feathers, with the lance, astride the kaiila. She pressed her lips to his moccasin and then to his ankle, kissing him softy. Then she looked up at him, and backed away, his, stripped save for the beaded collar knotted at her throat. "Yes," she said. She then slid to her stomach on the robes, and roiled upon them, and then lay on her back. She lifted a leg, and put her hands to it, and then lowered it, its heel, the knee bent, on the robes. She looked at me. "I could now," she said, "pose nude before you, as I might please. I might writhe here, in a girl's mute petition for attention. I could, on my back and belly, in effect, dance for you, my head never rising above the knee of a standing man. I could crawl to your feet, begging, licking and kissing." "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. "Kiss my feet," I told her. She bent down and kissed my feet. She then lifted her head, and looked at me, tears in her eyes. She contritely kissed my feet. "What are you?" I asked. "A slave," she whimpered, kissing at my feet. I let her please me for a time in this fashion, bellying before me, kissing, and licking and sucking at my feet. "You grovel well, Slave," I said. By dusk, freed of the branch, she had lain on her belly before him, kissing his feet. "I kiss and lick your feet, Master," said Turnip. There coursed through the women present, other than Radish, a thrill of horror and pleasure. I heard several of them gasp. Turnip knelt before me, the palms of her hands on the grass, her head down. I felt her lips and tongue, sweetly and softly, delicately, kissing and caressing my feet. I unbound her hands and put the thongs in my belt. She then knelt before me and kissed my feet. "What are you doing?" asked the girl. "I am kissing the feet of he who is to me as my master," said Mira. The young girl then rose to her feet and went and knelt before the young man. "What are you doing!" he cried, startled. "I am kissing your feet," she said. If she chooses slavery, she may be expected to step onto a submission mat, and kneel there, head down, enter a slave pen of her own accord, or, say, fully acknowledging herself a slave, belly to an officer, kissing his feet. "Thank you, Master!" she cried and, almost uncontrollably, half sobbing, kissed my feet in gratitude. She put her head down and, unbidden, tenderly, submissively, softly, began to kiss the feet of Seibar. "Master!" cried the slave girl, desisting for the moment from following her master, and kneeling swiftly before me, and kissing my feet. She put down her head and, tenderly, kissed my feet. She crept to his feet and kissed them. The next girl hurried forward and knelt before Drusus Rencius, kissing his feet, and then lifting her head, piteously, to him. "Buy me, Master," she said. "I will give you much pleasure." "Next!" barked the trainer. The next woman then hurried to Drusus and, threw herself to her belly before him, kissing his feet. She then rose slowly to her knees, kissing him from the ankles to the waist. Kneeling before him, then, close to him, holding his legs she looked up at him. "Buy me, Master," she whispered. "I will give you much pleasure." The conniving woman of Gor, she who would seek to control and manipulate men, likely to soon find herself at the feet of her would-be victim, naked, kissing them, locked in his collar. "Lie at my feet," he said, "and lick, and kiss and suck at them. When you have managed to learn to do that properly, I will give you further instructions." He had then permitted me to lick and kiss his feet in gratitude. "Yes, Master! Thank you, Master!" I sobbed, and put down my head, covering his feet with kisses of gratitude. On the other hand I had, honestly, and joyfully, kissed at the driver's feet for the mercy shown to me. "You may now kiss my feet," he said. Luta, desperately, humbly, fearfully, kissed his feet. "More," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. "I beg to please you, Master," said Luta, putting herself the feet of Borkon. The chain was on her left ankle, going behind her; by it she was fastened to the loom. She had her head down, kissing at his feet. I had once been Miss Tiffany Collins, of Earth. I now lay on my belly on the tiles, naked and in a collar, licking and kissing at the feet of a Gorean male. It was my hope that he would find me pleasing, totally. "He terrifies me, Master," I wept. I knelt suddenly before the feast master, with a jangle of slave bells, and kissed his feet. I looked up at him. "Please, no, Master!" I begged. "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 had had to restrain an impulse to throw myself, licking and kissing, to his feet. "As I recall," he said, "you also begged, kneeling, and after kissing my feet, to be used as a slave." "I have now learned that I am a female," I said. Then I put my head down and did obeisance to his maleness, kissing his feet. He crouched down and lifted my head. He looked into my eyes. "Fortunate is the man who has you under his whip," he said. "Thank you, Master," I whispered. He then kissed me, rose to his feet and hurried away. "Yes, Master," she said. "I ask only, first, to be permitted one last time to kiss your feet in respect and reverence, and, in doing so, to express, too, my gratitude for the joy you have given me in these few days you have owned me. They have been the most precious of my life." She then, tenderly, kissed his feet, extending obeisance and love to the man who had made her a slave. "Kiss my feet fifteen hundred times, you luscious baggage," he laughed, "at least once for every gold piece you are costing me!" "Yes, Master," she cried, startled, putting down her head. "This woman was the Tatrix of Corcyrus, was she now?" laughed Hassan. "Yes," said Claudius, startled. "That has been established, even by her own admissions." "And I have, thus, earned the reward, fully and clearly, if I should wish it?" asked Hassan. "Certainly," said Claudius, puzzled. "That is all I wanted," said Hassan. "Indeed, it is all I ever wanted." "I do not understand," said Claudius. "For years," said Hassan, "I have heard of the Tatrix or Corcyrus, of her tyranny, of her fabled pride and beauty. I found such a woman intriguing. Then, wonder of wonders, she fell. None could find her. I was curious to know what it would be like to have such a woman in my collar, a fair-skinned, golden-haired Tatrix of the north, to make her crawl, and cry and serve, to make her a man's woman." I looked at Sheila. She was weeping with joy at his feet, kissing them, and his ankles and legs. "I love you, Master," she wept. 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. "Yes!" I cried. "And had you been there you could, later, have seen my body jerk in the hands of Miles of Argentum. That night he made me, three times, serve him well, and the third time, writhing, I cried myself his, a submitted slave. In the morning I kissed his feet in gratitude!" "Lying slut!" he hissed. He then, with the side of his foot, kicked me. I recoiled, crying out. I would doubtless, for several days, bear a fine bruise there, evidence of his displeasure. I turned to my side. I put down my head. I kissed the foot that had kicked me. She must then do other things, such as putting a bondage knot in her hair, offering them wine or fruit, dancing naked before them, or kneeling before them, whimpering and whining for attention, licking and kissing at their feet and legs. I kissed her, and withdrew from her; in a moment I stood beside the rack, adjusting my robes. "May I break position, Master?" she asked. "Yes," I said. She removed her hands and feet from the netting, slipped from the rack and came to kneel before me. She put down her head, and kissed my feet. The marks of the rope, where she had lain on the netting, were on her body. She then looked up at me. "I did not mean to be forward, before," she said. "Please, forgive me. Beat me, if you wish." I lifted her to her feet, and kissed her. "It is all right," I said. "Master," said a woman, kneeling before me. She put down her head and kissed my feet, and then looked up at me. "Kiss my feet," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. The fellow who had stood near to Bina during the match, he who would have cut her throat if she had erred in her behavior, speaking before the conclusion of the game, now cut her wrists free of the thongs. She threw herself to her belly before Scormus of Ar, weeping with joy, covering his feet with kisses. "You may kiss my feet, slave," I said. Swiftly Yanina put her head down, and did so. "Kiss her feet," said the soldier. Obediently the frightened girl kissed Boabissia's feet, desperately, fervently. "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. Feiqa reached to my foot and kissed it, tears in her eyes. She bends down, kissing his feet. He knows he must guard against weakness. He must never forget the whip. She understands the whip. All slaves do. He watches her, her hair about his feet, and feels her lips and tongue. The sensations are not unpleasant. If he does not find the relationship satisfactory, of course, he may always sell her. "Yes," I said. "Good. Now put your head down and lick and kiss my feet." "I am a free woman!" she said. "You are a woman," I said. "Now, softly, lingeringly and lovingly. Good." "On your belly," I said. She backed off a bit, and went to her belly. Her hair was before her face, as she, now on her belly before me, looked up at me. "Now inch forward," I said, "remaining low on your belly, and when you reach my feet, once again, as before, lifting your head a little, tenderly and humbly, and beautifully, as though you were a slave, lick and kiss them. Good. Good. Now take my foot and place it on gently on your head. Very good. Now place it again on the mat, and kiss it again. Good. You may now belly back a little, humbly. I have not yet given you permission to rise, of course." She went to her belly and reached for my foot. She put her lips over it and kissed it, tenderly. Then she looked up at me, again, her hair about her face. "I loved it," she said. "Kiss my feet," he said. I put my head down, frightened, the palms of my hands on the carpet, and kissed his feet. I then straightened up, and knelt back on my heels. I tried to hate him, but could not. I wanted rather to kiss his feet. My head was down, my hair over his feet. I was naked, frightened. I had been summoned into his presence, and had performed obeisance at the end of the long carpet, leading to the dais. I had then, when permitted, approached the dais, head down, on all fours. I had climbed, on all fours, up the broad, carpeted steps of the dais, and now lay, on my belly, half on its surface, the lower part of my body, my right knee flexed, across the final two steps before its height. "You lick and kiss well," he said. "Thank you, Master," I said. "Thank you, Master," I said. I put down my head and kissed his feet, delicately, in deference and gratitude. The dancing of the female before the male, that she be found pleasing and he be pleased, is one of the most profound lessons in all of human biology. Others are when she kneels before him, when she kisses his feet, when she performs obeisance, when she know herself subject, truly, to his whip. I sought his legs, and, finding them, groping, put down my head, kissing his feet. He pointed to his feet. I bent down and licked and kissed them. Swiftly I began kissing, and licking, at his feet, performing appropriate obeisances before him, a male. "You kiss and lick as well as ever, perhaps even better, Doreen," he said. "If I were you," she said, "I would want to be stolen. You do not belong in a work tunic. You should wear a string of silk and be kissing and licking at a man's feet." If they could have seen me curling about a man's feet in an alcove, licking and kissing them, then inching upward, piteously, hopefully, then kneeling beside him, looking up, kissing, licking, pleading, I do not think they would have been so quick to dismiss me as a mere "pot girl." I wanted to hurry about the fire, and throw myself on my belly before the stranger, tears in my eyes, covering his feet and ankles with kisses, his helpless slave, begging his touch. It is a well-known fact, too, that it is not easy for a man to remain angry with a beautiful, contrite female who strips herself before him, kneels, kisses his feet, begs his forgiveness, and pleads to be ordered to the furs, that she may there await him in trepidation, and, when he chooses, attempt to assuage the harshness of his wrath with the softness of her beauty and love. "I beg permission to kiss the feet of my master," I said. "You have come a long way from your library, librarian," he said. I looked up at him, tears in my eyes. "They have put slave fires in your belly, haven't they?" he asked. "Yes, Master!" I said. "How cruel of them," he said. I squirmed helplessly. "Perhaps a girl wishes to serve her master?" he asked. "Yes, Master!" I said. "Yes, Master! Please, Master!" He then went behind me and untied my ankles. He then put his hands gently on my flanks, and waist, and body, and I pressed back against him, sobbing, my eyes closed, moaning, begging to be touched. Then he whipped loose the fiber on my wrists and, rolling it and putting it in his pouch, went to stand before me. I put my head down and began to lick and kiss his feet, sobbing. "Yes, you are obviously a highly intelligent woman," he said. "You do that very well." A fellow stood before her, holding a whip. I saw her put down her head, frightened, and kiss his feet. I recalled how she had bent in terror to kiss his feet. There was no doubt that she would now take her relationship to him seriously. "She dances the leash dance well, does she not?" I asked. "I will improve her in it," said he, grimly. Klio quickly bent her head, unbidden, to his feet, and kissed them. When I would cuff her from me she would crawl back to my feet, kissing them. On the landing many were kneeling, or bellying. There was much licking and kissing. More than one had been put in a display position, and forced to hold it. I saw one girl cuffed, and another, one who had perhaps been slow to obey, lashed with a strap. Swiftly then, and eagerly, did she begin to lick and kiss her captor about the feet and ankles. "You may bid him farewell," said the keeper, "in a manner suitable for slaves." "I wish you well, Master," said Publia, humbly, kneeling before me in her shackles and harness, putting down her head, kissing my feet. "I wish you well, slave," I said. Claudia then, too, as had Publia, was kneeling before me. She, too, put down her head. "I, too, wish you well, Master," she said. She then softly, delicately, kissed my feet. I thought that anger then, for just an instant, suffused her countenance but then, suddenly terrified, as though she might suddenly have realized the unacceptability of her reaction, she hurried over to the fellow Borton had indicted, to fling herself to her stomach before him, desperately and zealously licking and kissing at his feet. She put her head down and kissed my feet, as eagerly and avidly as an ardent slave, hoping to please her master. Then she lifted her head, and looked up at me, tears in her eyes. "I cannot believe what I felt!" she said. "Feet," I said. This time she had enough presence of mind to squirm to my feet and press her lips upon them, kissing them. There are many ways in which a female slave can beg for sex, for example, the bondage knot, offering the master wine, holding up to him fruit, next to her body, kneeling, licking, kissing, and so on. I then, by the back of the neck, moved Ina's head over Labienus' feet. She pressed her lips to them, kissing them. Yesterday afternoon she had crawled to me on her belly, to lick and kiss at my feet. She flung herself to her belly before him, covering his feet with kisses. In an instant he had knelt before her and drawn her up to her knees, holding her and kissing her. She had her head back. "Were you given permission to speak?" he asked. "Forgive me, Master," she whispered. She then crawled to his feet and, putting her head down, kissed them. "A slave begs the forgiveness of her Master," she said. "Yes, Master," she said. "Forgive me, Master!" I looked down upon her, angrily. I think she feared she might be again cuffed, or kicked. Then she crawled to my feet, and kissed them. Then she looked up at me. Swiftly, weeping, she put down her head to his feet. She laughed and cried, and kissed his feet. Then she looked up at him, through her tears. "But am I no longer to be your little "Cosian"?" she asked, laughing. I crawled to him, my head down. 'Forgive me, Master!' I wept. I kissed his feet, fervently. He pulled away, in anger. He moved to the side. He kicked me twice, in fury. I returned to him on my belly, and showered my hair upon his sandals, and then again kissed his feet, again and again. "Yes, Master," she said. "I even dreamed of crawling to him, putting my head down and kissing his feet." "And it did not occur to you that he probably had numbers of sinuous little sluts in the house of Appanius who would snake about his legs and feet, and lick and kiss, and beg to serve him in any way he might desire, to his heart's content?" He kissed her, his head down, fiercely about her throat. Lavinia then, seemingly overcome, trembling, put herself to her belly before him, her lips and hair over his sandals, and beggingly, timidly, as though she feared she might be struck or kicked, began to kiss and lick his feet. She slowly moved to her knees again, her head down, licking and kissing, and then, her knees under her, she began to raise her ministrations to his shins and calves. She looked up at him, again. It seemed he could not move, so stunned, so startled, he was. Tears were in her eyes. Then she put her hands on his legs, and began to kiss him about the knees, and then above the knees. She now, kneeling before him, close to him, had her arms lovingly about his legs, her head down, shaking as though with sobs. She then looked up at him again. It seemed there was no other place that she would rather be. She then, again, lowered her head, and was kissing and licking delicately at the sides of his legs. To serve him and give him pleasure seemed as though it might be her desire, her happiness, her meaning and destiny in life. Did she think she was his slave? Again she looked up, this time pleadingly. I saw the two fellows in the background exchange alarmed glances. Was the handsome fellow in some sort of danger? Were there risks involved which might be clear to them, if not to others? She then put her head to the side, brushing up the purple tunic with the side of her head, kissing and licking at his thigh beneath the tunic. She flung herself to her belly before me, covering my feet with kisses. "Thank you! Thank you, Master!" she wept. "Your new master is there," I said, indicating Milo. Quickly then she lay before him, kissing his feet. "I love you, Master!" she wept. "I love you!" He reached down, awkwardly, to lift her up, but it seemed she fought him, struggling, and could not be raised higher than to her knees, and then, he desisting in amazement, she had her head down again, to his feet, in obeisance, and was kissing them. She was laughing, and crying. "I love you, Master!" she wept. "I love you! I will be hot, devoted and dutiful! I am yours! I will live to please you! I will live to love and serve you! I love you, my master!" She kissed him again, and again, about the feet, the ankles, the sides of the calves. Then she looked up at him, timidly, love bright in her eyes. "I will try to be a good slave to you, Master!" she said. Lavinia then knelt before me. It seemed paradoxical to see a woman in the robes of concealment kneeling. "Thank you for giving me to Milo, Master," she said to me. She then, softly, in gratitude, kissed my feet. She then kissed those of Milo, her master. "I love you, Master," she said to him. But often they would not so spare my pride and would have me at their feet, licking and kissing, and begging explicitly. I could recall having been on my belly more than once, kissing their feet, weeping, imploring their touch. "You could be returned to he from whom you were stolen," he said. "No!" she screamed, in terror. "No! No!" she suddenly, wildly, crawled up the steps of the dais, and flung herself to her belly before the man in the chair. She pressed her lips again and again to his feet, fervently, in terror, covering them with frantic kisses. "No," she begged. "Please, no, Master!" She sobbed, and continued to kiss his feet. Then she put her head down quickly, kissed each of the feet of the man in the chair. She kneels at his feet, putting her head down, humbly licking and kissing his feet, perhaps his dusty, ash-stained, bloody boots, in timid, tender obeisance. "This morning," she said, falteringly, "you licked - and kissed - the feet of a man." "Yes," I said. "I have never licked and kissed the feet of a man," she said. "You are a free woman," I said. She regarded me. "It is a not uncommon act for a slave," I said. "It is surely very symbolic," she said. I put my head down and kissed his feet. "Thank you, Master," I said. I put my head down to his feet and kissed them, gratefully. "Thank you, Master," I said. He pointed to his feet, and we crowded, one against the other, to lick and kiss them. I would throw myself on my belly before him, kissing his feet, a terrified, contrite slave, begging for mercy. When I looked up, I saw her kissing his feet. Her head then was down to his feet, she weeping, covering them with kisses. The leash, fixed on her, fell to the floor. "I love you, my master!" she wept. "I love you!" She then lowered her head to kiss the feet of the depth warden, near me. "Thank you, Master," she wept. "Thank you for everything!" The normal Gorean male, for example, will accept a slave's obeisance and her humble kissing of his feet, but these men, I feared, might punish her for having approached them too closely. The free woman knelt before the two men and kissed their feet. "I must guard against weakness," he said. I kissed his feet. "You are dangerous," he said. "It is the soft foes who are most dangerous." "I am not your foe, Master," I said. "I wonder," said he, musingly. "Do not fear me, Master," I said. "You cannot help what you are," he said. I liked and kissed at his feet. Finished, he had thrust her from the desk to the floor, where she had then knelt naked before him, her head down, kissing his feet in gratitude. "Lick and kiss my feet, slave," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. He was a short, gross, blocklike man with a massive bared chest and heavy legs. He wore a half tunic, and bootlike sandals. He had often had her kiss his feet. "You may now thank me for your beating," he informed her. She licked and kissed his feet. "Thank you for beating me, Master," she said. When she had been presented to Gart, and performed obeisance before him, had kissed his feet and had begged to be permitted to serve in the laundry, he had growled in rage, regarding her. Ellen went to her belly before him, her lips over his feet. "Forgive me for being a virgin, Master," she said. "Please forgive me for being a virgin!" Then, fearfully, terrified before this man, she kissed his feet. Oh, thank you, Masters, for bringing us here, if only for your own purposes, if only to have us as slaves, if only to have us in our collars, abjectly serving, licking and kissing, naked at your feet! "It is not that I mind a bit of spirit in a slave," he said. "It makes it all the more pleasant to bring them again to their belly, at your feet, kissing and begging." Oh, buy me, Masters! I will serve you well. I will kneel at your feet and lick and kiss them, and beg for your touch! And now I would that I were before you, kneeling before you, head down, kissing your feet, begging to serve you! The next morning, when freed, the chain off her neck, she had hastened to don the tiny garment and had run to Portus, seeking him out, and knelt before him, covering his feet with kisses. "Thank you, my Master. Thank you, my Master!" she had wept, again and again. "Do you not know enough to kiss a man's feet?" she was asked. Ellen, now no more than a young, enslaved beauty, Earth and her Ph.D. far behind her, kissed his feet, submissively, a docile slave. Surely she would never see him again, he for whose collar she longed to beg, he at whose feet she craved to kneel, he before whom she desired to fling herself, kissing his feet, he whose whip she longed to lick lovingly, obediently, he whose sandals she wished to bring to him in her teeth, on all fours, he to whom she desired to be the most abject and devoted of love slaves. When she had been placed on the grass before Fel Doron, she knelt before him, put her head down, and kissed his feet, an act of deference appropriate for a slave. Several times she had been tempted, when he had seemed in a good mood, to crawl to him on her belly, take his ankles in her small hands, kiss his feet, and beg to know. "You may kiss my feet," he said. "First obeisance position." "Yes, Master," she said. "Thank you, Master." "You may kiss my feet," he said. "Yes, Master," said Ellen. "Thank you, Master!" She kissed his feet gratefully, tears in her eyes, overjoyed to be shown this favor, permitted to touch her lips, though only those of a slave, to the feet of a free man, a master. How unworthy she was of this privilege! Ellen, who well understood her condition, needed not be reprimanded or kicked, nor required a suggestion, or command, to be repeated, but squirmed immediately, prostrate, on her belly, to Selius Arconious, and, putting down her head, her hair falling about his sandals, kissed his feet. "We have a bid of five!" called the auctioneer, "a mere five tarsks for this exquisite little barbarian bauble. Would you not like to have her crawling to you, bringing you your sandals in her teeth! Imagine her before you, on her belly, licking and kissing your feet, begging to serve your pleasure!" Suppose two women, one a free woman, the other a slave, both stripped. Both are commanded to belly, and lick and kiss a man's feet. She hoped that this placatory behavior might avert his wrath, perhaps even save her life. In the house of Mirus, long ago, she had been taught to crawl to a man on her belly and cover his feet with fervent, supplicatory kisses. Her eyes met those of Selius Arconious. He was her master. Quickly, as naturally as the movement of a cloud, the bending of a stalk of grass, the fluttering of a leaf, she hurried to kneel before him and put her head down, and kissed his feet. "To his feet," snapped Mirus, "lick and kiss them, now! Render obeisance, slut! Appropriately! To your new master!" Then, at a gesture from Selius Arconious, she put down her head and humbly kissed his feet. Then she lifted her head and looked at him. Tears brimmed in her eyes. It was he who had brought her to Gor. "Thank you, Master," she whispered, so that Selius Arconious, who was standing to one side, could not hear. "Thank you for bringing me here, thank you for putting me in a collar, thank you making me a slave." "It is nothing," he said, a Gorean remark. Perhaps, she thought to herself, to you it is nothing, Master, but to me it is everything! Then she again lowered her head and, gratefully, kissed his feet, again. Sexuality, in its fullness, in its entirety, in its thousand strands and facets, in its thousand modalities and expressions, from almost unendurable, ruthlessly imposed sexual ecstasies, from which the slave may fear she will not survive, to the manner in which a meal is served, from the cruel, raping kiss of the master to the polishing of his boots, from the kissing of his feet to the careful keeping of his quarters, is the life of the female slave. Perhaps, most simply, it should be thought of as a life of femaleness, of essential femaleness, of complete femaleness. When the tharlarion had been hitched, and the men were clearly ready to depart, she could stand it no more, and ran to the feet of her master, and put her head down, and wept, and covered his feet with tears and kisses. "Please, forgive me, Master!" she wept. "Please forgive me!" "Yes, Master!" she said, defiantly. "But do you think those free women, brought into collars, are so different?" "They do learn to kiss one's feet quickly," he observed. "Of course," she said. "All they needed was to be collared, to be owned, and mastered." In the collar, she is, then, most free. The female who knows herself as a natural slave, and longs to be a slave, will not be fully happy until she has found her master, or he her. She belongs on her knees before a man. She kisses his feet. Doubtless, too, she had often knelt before masters, or kissed their feet, in gratitude and love, in reverence or supplication. Cabot thought she would look well on her belly, licking and kissing a man's feet, hoping to be found pleasing. Perhaps he buys her, and takes her home. Perhaps she begs him, kissing piteously at his feet, to do so. Instantly both knelt before him, and, putting down their heads, kissed his feet. But to return to the meeting of lips, or the pressing or touching of lips, by one or both parties, and such, which the translator, upon inquiry, suggests may be spoken of as a kiss, we note that the slave may be kissed and must kiss whenever the master pleases, and however he pleases, for she is owned. Similarly, the master commands not only the lips of the slave, but her tongue, teeth, hair, hands, and body. All of her, you see, belongs to him. She exists for his service and pleasure. She usually cooks, cleans and launders for him, and, in general, cares for his clothing, his belongings, including herself, and his quarters. She welcomes him to his domicile, kneeling. She is no stranger to petitionings, placations, prostrations, and obeisances. She is familiar with helplessness and subordination, for she is a slave. She is not unfamiliar with chains and ropes, or hoods, blindfolds and gags. Such things liberate her sexually and remind her, and clearly, that she is not a free woman. She is likely to be trained in duties both domestic and erotic. Once the slave fires have been lit in her belly, her freedom is behind her. Henceforth, she belongs to men. Thus one should not be surprised to find her on her knees before a man, her head down, kissing his feet, in piteous supplication for his touch. She is slave. "When she was brought before Arcesilaus, she flung herself on her belly before him, and, her small wrists braceleted before her, she clasped his foot, and kissed and licked, weeping, piteously, at his claws, but he remained adamant." "Surely you want her at your feet, on her belly, licking and kissing, whimpering, begging," said Peisistratus. It is, too, of course, a common act of deference on the part of a female slave, to kiss the feet of a master, or, indeed, of a free person. Too, we may suppose the slave was timid, frightened, and grateful. The slave went to her belly and, terrified, hands tied behind her, squirmed to Cabot's feet. "I do not want to die, Master!" she wept. "Am I not attractive? Am not of interest, some interest? Want me, please! I beg to be wanted!" She pressed her lips to his feet, piteously, and covered them with kisses, and tears. "On your belly, before me," snapped the Lady Bina, "and lick and kiss my feet!" She put her head swiftly down to his feet, contritely, and kissed them. She, bellied, began to kiss his feet, piteously. The slave put down her head and gently kissed her master's foot, and then lifted her head to regard him. "Kiss the feet of your lord," said Statius, "before justice is done to you." "Many free women, in dire straits," said Cabot, "so plead, and in a thousand other ways, as well, to escape the edge of the sword. Have I not seen them, in burning cities, strip themselves, and kneel, and grovel, and belly and squirm, and kiss and lick fervently at the feet and legs of conquerors, begging to be spared, begging to live, begging mercy, begging desperately and with their whole heart to be granted the collar of a slave?" The brunette pulled against the chain on her ankle. "If I were not chained," she said, "I would crawl to him, cover his feet with kisses, and beg for his least caress." She knows it is a slave he holds in his arms, but she is afraid to tell him so. How her heart cries out to kneel before him, to kiss his feet, to be bound by him, to feel the stroke of his switch, to be mastered by him, and yet she dares not speak. Too, even if a slave fails to please a master in some way she may well succeed, it must be admitted, in averting his wrath, in managing to placate him, in a variety of ways, by tearful contrition, the display of her beauty, by covering his feet with kisses, and such. Be strict with me, my master, thought Cecily. It is to such a man that I, a slave, wish to belong. It is such a man's collar I wish to wear. It is such a man whose chains I wish to weight my limbs. It is before such a man I desire, naked, collared, and chained, hand and foot, to kneel. It is such a man whose feet I beg to kiss. In moments she had followed me, and was on her belly on the pebbled sand, naked, sobbing, licking and kissing my feet, in piteous supplication. "You are in the presence of a free man," I said. "Show him deference. Go to him, put your head down, and lick and kiss his feet, and then kneel before him and take his hands and lick and kiss the palms of his hands, gently, softly, moistly, tenderly." "Yes, Master," she said. "Yes," said Pertinax, after a time. "She is a lovely slave." The kneeling, and kissing and licking the male's feet, is a common act of deference in the female slave. Too, the holding of the hands, and putting one's lips, and tongue, to the palms, humbly and gratefully, and kissing and licking them, is a lovely gesture. It can also, of course, ignite male desire. The slave is caressing the very hands which, if she be displeasing, may cuff and strike her. Interestingly, this same act can be quite arousing for the slave herself. So, too, of course, is something as simple as kneeling before the male. Constantina, on all fours, head down, her long hair to the floor, crawled to Pertinax, bent down, and kissed his feet. "I beg to be permitted to sleep at the foot of your couch, Master," she said. Some of the girls, careful to retain the posture in which they had been placed, lest they be struck, wept. They had not forgotten the moment, it seemed. Later, the sting of that humiliation would fade, and they would rejoice to be freed of the encumbrances of veiling, and revel in the feel of the air on their face, a face whose soft, luscious, inviting, vulnerable lips were now exposed to the sight, and kisses, of men. She kissed his feet and became herself. "I will let you hold me in your arms!" she said. "I will let you kiss me! I know you always wanted to do that! Help me! Help me!" "You think to bargain with a free man, slave?" inquired Lord Nishida. "Get on your knees, and lick and kiss his feet, begging forgiveness." The guards released the slave, and she knelt, terrified, before Pertinax, and put down her head and began to lick and kiss his feet. "I am sorry," she said. "Forgive me, Gregory." "May I kiss your feet, Master?" said Saru. "No," I said. "You are filthy." "Yes, Master," she whispered. I then left the stable, followed by Cecily. Muchly had their lives changed, and doubtless that of many others, as well, following the rising in Ar. So let their necks be closely and well encircled in slave steel, and let them lie in the darkness, waiting to be illuminated by a taper, thence to their knees and the kissing of feet, and beggings to be found pleasing. Sometimes it may be as simple as finding herself slave-naked, on her knees, before a man. Sometimes it may be when she first licks and kisses the feet of a man, when she feels the weight of a chain on her body, and so on. These things in themselves, interestingly, are often no more than keys which open a door which has long imprisoned a distressed and yearning slave. The Ubara was outraged and screamed and screamed and struck and kicked the slave repeatedly, and pressed and stamped upon her with her tiny jeweled slippers. And finally the slave, sobbing, and groveling, trembling and shuddering, bruised, miserable, her pride broken, her spirit vanquished, well informed now that whatever she might once have been, she was now no more than a slave, wholly submitted, and helpless, crawled to the feet of the Ubara, kissing them, as a slave, begging mercy, and forgiveness. "You may kiss the free man's feet, and beg to be found pleasing," I said. I then felt her lips at my feet. "You may both kiss, and lick, lovingly, deferentially," I said. "It is a great honor for a slave girl to do this, for he is a free man, and she is a mere slave." I said to Pertinax. "I give her to you, as your animal. Scrutinize her slave curves. She is raw, and young, but surely she has collar promise. Consider her waiting on you, hand and foot. Consider her licking and kissing your feet. Consider her, squirming, moaning, and begging, in the furs. Am I to suppose that you, truly, would not know what to do with a slave?" "Please, no, Master!" cried the slave suddenly, alarmed, and flung herself to her belly to the feet of Pertinax, sobbing, and covering them with kisses. Usually she conveys her desires by kneeling and nuzzling, and making tiny noises and whimpering, and kissing the feet and legs of the master, looking to him, lips parted, hoping for attention, such things. Saru was on her belly before him, her hands on his ankles, her lips pressed to his feet, weeping, covering them with piteous kisses. I saw her draw back a little and kiss his feet, tenderly. Then she kissed them suddenly, more fervently. I then caught the eye of Cecily, and summoned her. She gave her bota of paga to another slave, and hurried to me, where she knelt before me, put her head down, kissed my feet, and then knelt up, looking at me, waiting to see what would be required of her. It is not unusual for a slave girl to approach her master, kneel before him, kiss his feet, straighten up, and inform him that she is in heat, openly, clearly, frankly, honestly, and innocently. How is it that they kiss your feet in gratitude, leap instantly to do your bidding, kiss their fingertips and touch them to their collars, buck and squirm in your arms, gasping and writhing in grateful, uncontrollable, orgasmic ecstasy, kneel, heads bowed, before you. They are much more aware of their sex, and its needs, and desires, than shallower women, more ready to listen to the whispers of their heart than simpler women, and have prepared themselves for years, it seems, in their dreams and fantasies, to kneel and kiss the feet of masters. To be sure, there are many silent ways in which this may be done. The bondage knot, for example, might be looped loosely in her hair. Too, it is a simple matter for the girl to kneel, or belly, and lick and kiss the master's feet, daring to look up now and again in mute petition. "But many women," I said, "long for their masters, beseech the world for the man before whom they might kneel, naked and collared, whose feet they might gratefully kiss. Many a master, as few a mistress, has been swayed from his purpose by the heartfelt contrition of a naked slave, weeping, covering his feet with her hair and kisses. She is then likely to kiss his feet, place them carefully within the sandals, and tie them for him, following which she is likely to again kiss his feet, back a bit away, and then kneel before him, head down. "Ela!" she wept. "I am unworthy to be a free woman. I desire to be naked, and lusted for. I desire to be collared, and lavish kisses upon the feet of a master! I desire to love and serve, wholly, unstintingly, selflessly, as a slave!" How I fought the slave in me, until I met a man whose feet I yearned to kiss." "Next," I said, "you will be on your belly, begging to lick and kiss the feet of a master." It is not unknown for them to tear away their clothes and prostrate themselves before mocking victors, covering their feet with kisses, and begging to be spared. She bent down, and, the palms of her hands in the dirt, kissed my feet. "Thank you, Master," she said. She, a mere slave, had been permitted to kiss the feet of a free man. "She certainly kissed your feet well," said Alcinoë. I pointed to my feet, and she bent down, and kissed them. Tears were on my boots. "Now," said Callias to the kneeling girl, bent over, her head down to the floor, "to your belly, and wriggle across the floor, to your master, and then put your head down, and lick and kiss his feet, until you are permitted to stop." This is a world on which I kneel, and, head down, humbly lick and kiss the feet of my master. "By nightfall," said another, "you must learn to bathe a man, care for his leather, and kiss his feet." What is so special about their terrified, groveling rival, licking and kissing at her master's feet, with her marked thigh, and band-encircled throat? Then as she knelt, and kissed and licked at his feet, she might hope that he would not see fit to reveal her former identity. This is the joy of the slave, to kneel naked at the feet of her master, to lick and kiss his whip and his feet, and then to lie before him, helpless in his chains. How privileged is a slave to be permitted to kneel before such a man, put down her head, and lick and kiss his feet! "Barbarians look well," he said, "naked, collared, chained, licking and kissing at one's feet, bringing the whip to a fellow in their teeth, and such." "You may then," he said, "petition me properly. Kneel, kiss my feet and make your request." I knelt, and pressed my lips to his feet, and kissed them. "Is that why the women of your world make such excellent slaves, why they lick and kiss our whips and feet, why they beg to be subdued and chained, owned and mastered, why they writhe in grateful ecstasy in the thongs and silken cords that render them helpless?" he asked. I so desperately wanted to speak to him, to return myself to his favor, such as it might be to express my shame and sorrow at my overweening, unconscionable pride, my insolence. I so wanted to prostrate myself before him, to lie before him on my belly, to cover his feet with kisses, to beg his forgiveness. I threw myself to my belly before him, and reached with my closely linked hands, to seize his ankle, that I might hold it, and press my lips to his feet, kissing them, again and again. Why then had he not seized me and cast me to his feet, and pointed to his boots that I might lie on my belly before him, and cover them, as I wished, with the kisses of a trembling, submitted slave? I crawled to him on my belly, weeping. I pressed my lips to his boots and kissed them, again and again. How strong are men! How they look upon us! How much we are at their mercy! How I hated him! How I wanted to kiss his feet. How I wanted to please him, as a naked slave! For years I have wanted to be at the feet of men, to kneel naked, collared, subservient and submitted, before them, to put my head down and lick and kiss their feet, to be bound at their pleasure, to squirm helplessly in their grasp, to serve them in all ways, instantly and unquestioningly, to be commanded, to be owned, to be mastered. The licking and kissing of the master's feet is a familiar behavior on the part of a slave girl. It is a ritual, like kissing the whip which is symbolic of submission. But these behaviors, or rituals, are often rich and complex. For example, we are taught the licking and kissing of a man's whip in such a way that he may be driven mad with passion. Too, of course it has its effect on the slave, as well. The kissing of the feet is also, obviously, symbolic of submission, and is rich in significance. This sort of behavior, the kissing and licking of feet, is sometimes commanded by the free woman, in her hatred of the slave, who thereby recalls to the slave that she is a slave, and no more than a property, a negligible chattel. She had looked well on her knees, licking and kissing a man's feet, in gratitude for not having been beaten. 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. "You do not want freedom," said a girl. "You want a master. You want to kneel naked before a man, and bend down and kiss his feet. You want to lift your head, and lick and kiss his whip. You want to be owned, to belong wholly, to submit, to obey, to be dominated, to be mastered, to be possessed as only a slave can be possessed, to grovel, to selflessly love and serve." Then she was at his feet, covering them with kisses. Shortly thereafter we were within the perimeter of Shipcamp. There, near the wands, doubtless waiting, was an unusually lovely slave. She, as I, was dark-haired and dark-eyed. "Master!" she said, delightedly, and knelt quickly before my captor, kissed his feet, and lifted her head happily to him. "We feared for you!" "What are you doing here?" asked my captor. Had Asperiche been sold? No, she had knelt before my captor, kissed his feet, and addressed him as 'Master'. How I wanted to hate him, who was so uncaring and cruel, but I soon hoped for permission to lick and kiss his feet. "You may now lick and kiss my feet," he said, "and thank me for the privilege of wearing my collar." "A slave," I said, kneeling, and pressing my lips to his feet, licking and kissing, again and again, "thanks her master for her collar." Were he not in danger, I would have cast myself to my belly before him, and kissed and licked his feet and ankles, begging forgiveness for not having been sufficiently pleasing. He pointed to his bootlike sandals, and I put my head down, my hair falling about his feet, and, tenderly and gratefully, permitted to do so, began to lick and kiss his feet, those of my master. How far I was from the office, and another world! Certainly I knew I would strive to excite the interest of Kurik of Victoria. And then, too, I sensed how my needs might build up within me, now that my slave fires had been kindled, so much so that I would hasten to lick and kiss the feet of any Gorean master, and perhaps even a man of Earth, though I doubted they would know what to do with a slave at their feet. Even now my knees are weak in his presence, and I desire to cover his feet and legs with the petitioning kisses of a female slave! I pressed my lips to his feet, weeping, kissing them wildly, gratefully, in a slave's joy and submission, repeatedly, again and again. There are many begging signals, from things as simple as tying the loose bondage knot in one's hair to kneeling and kissing and licking the master's feet, whimpering in need. Indeed, she often tries to return to her original master, to throw herself to his feet and, on her belly, licking and kissing his feet, beg fervently for his forgiveness. "I did not much care for her," said Paula. "Let her kneel to an Assassin, covering his feet with tears and kisses, hoping not to be beaten." "Surely you wish a private master," I said, "before whom you might kneel, whose feet you might cover with kisses." What man would wish, save for social or economic advantage, to indefinitely pursue, with exasperation and misery, a coy free woman when, with a snapping of his fingers, a slave will hurry to his feet, to cover them with kisses and beg to please him, and in the ways of the female slave? How they had wept, and licked and kissed, his feet. When I reached the keeper I put my head down, and licked and kissed his feet. Such forms of deference are suitable for a slave. The slave is slave. The master is master. I felt happy, and fulfilled, to do this. I had never, on Earth, known men such as those of Gor. Perhaps they existed, possibly in secret, but I never knew them. How privileged I felt, a barbarian, a woman of Earth, in her collar, to be permitted to lick and kiss the feet of a Gorean male. He had permitted it. Not all slaves are permitted to touch the body of a master. Quarry of Gor Book 35 Page 86 As he said nothing, I began to lick and kiss his feet. I continued to do this, for some time. I wanted to seek him out and throw myself to his feet, covering them with kisses, weeping, begging, to be purchased. A moment later, Daphne, shaken and red-eyed, her tunic half torn away, threw herself to her knees before the Vat Master and kissed his feet. "Master," she wept, "permit me to withdraw through the beaded curtain!" "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. "I so hoped," she said. "So hoped! You cannot conceive how helpless is the female slave, how she can do nothing, how she belongs to others, how she cannot help what is done with her, how she has nothing to say or do as to whom she will belong, as to whom she will be traded, sold or given! Oh, Master! Master! I waited for you so long, on my chain. Night after night! But my manacle was removed and I must hurry to serve others! It was always others! Others! I have never forgotten your touch, what it was to be at your feet! Had you forgotten me? Had I been insufficiently pleasing! I hoped, so hoped, again and again, that you would come again to the tavern! Now you are my Master, and I am your slave, your slave!" She was weeping with joy, her damp, dark hair about my feet, her lips pressing more, and more, kisses to my feet. I have felt the impulse to kneel before them, abjectly, and kiss their feet, hoping to please them, being ready to feel their whip if I did not. She approached me, head down, on all fours and then lowered her head to kiss my feet, and then lowered herself to her belly before me, and with her soft lips, tenderly, deferentially, continued to render me a slave's grateful, homage. "I regret it all," said Myron. "You might have been a beautiful, desirable slave. I have often thought you would look well, in terror, kissing the feet of a master." Now, head down, that she be fed, that she be granted a rag to cover her nakedness, that she not feel the lash, she crawls to her master, and begs to be permitted to lick and kiss his feet. She quickly learns to kneel and kiss the feet of her master. "Give her to me," said Thurnock, "that black-haired, green-eyed, olive-skinned, curvaceous slab of collar-meat! I'll have her begging to lick and kiss your feet in five Ehn." Why should she not crawl to me on her belly and kiss my feet? "It may be difficult for you to confront them as a slave," I said. "Not if I kneel, and beg permission to kiss their feet," she said. "A command need not be repeated, Master," she said, and leaped to her feet and sped to the officer. Before him, she knelt down, sobbing, and kissed his feet, over and over, and then dried them with her hair. Iris knelt before me, kissing my feet. "Thank you, Master," she said. "Thank you, Master." She might even then be purchased by a formerly rebuffed suitor. In such a case, she will learn to lick and kiss his feet well. 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. "I am no stranger to slave fires," said the slave. "I have known men before whom I had desired to kneel and kiss their feet, but I was free and dared not do so." I then, well captured, knowing myself his, turned about and flung myself to my knees, and, putting my head down, a yielded quarry, humbly kissed the rider's feet. "After your lashing," said the barge-master, "You will be kept naked and will serve as a slave to slaves. You will learn well, my dear, what it is to be a slave. In two days, you will beg to kiss the feet of man, any man. In three days, you will beg to serve the pleasure of a man, any man." He then addressed himself to the keeper at hand. "Take the seductive she-tarsk away," he said. When I was freed, I went to the feet of the barge-master and kissed them, again and again. I went to my belly and licked and kissed his feet. "I fled frenziedly to the deck," she said. "I put myself to my knees and belly, I wept and begged for use, I flung myself to the feet of one man after another, whining, licking and kissing, placing a foot upon my head, weeping, begging! Ehn fled, one by one, and no Master would deign to use me. Was I so gross, so shapeless, and ugly? There was but an Ehn left, and I collapsed, weeping, to the deck. Was I, once the Lady Temione of Hammerfest, of no interest, of not the least interest, to a man? Then I felt a hand in my hair and I was turned to my back." "You may now, woman of Earth," he said, "from your knees, and then belly, lick and kiss the feet of a Gorean Master." I threw myself to my belly before him and covered his feet gratefully with kisses. "Yes, Master!" she cried and threw herself to her belly, kissing her Master's feet. "I confess myself a slave!" cried one of the beleaguered Panther Girls. "Let me leave the thorns and vines that I may kneel and kiss your feet as the slave I am!" Sometimes a new slave pretends indifference in this matter but, sooner or later, broken to her Master's will, and realizing she is now irremediably a slave, and no more, she throws herself weeping and kissing to her Master's feet begging for the bit of cloth which she had hitherto scorned as no more than a mark of shame and degradation.
I briefly turned to face her again and almost unconsciously I kissed the tips of my fingers and pressed them against the plastic. Vika kissed the plastic opposite where my fingers had touched. I kissed my fingertips and, gently, pressed them to the petals of the slave flower which my master, yesterday evening, with a hot iron, against my will, had caused to blossom upon my thigh. "I shall not forget, Master," she smiled. Then she kissed her fingertips and, putting her hand through the bars, put her hand to my waist. "I know well who owns me," she said. Canka, perhaps because company was present, or because he wished to further impress her slavery upon her, had fed Winyela. This is occasionally done with a slave. It helps to remind them that they are domestic animals, and that they are dependent for their very food upon their master. I had noticed, during the meal, how she had taken food from his fingers, biting and sucking, and kissing, furtively at them. "Here," I said, snapping my fingers. The naked blond slave ran swiftly to me and knelt before me. "My fingers are greasy," I said. "Yes; Master," she said, and, putting down her head, she began to lick the palms of my hands, as I held them out to her, and then about my hands, and then to run her tongue down between my fingers and the hands, and then, not touching them with her own hands or fingers, carefully and delicately, to kiss and suck my fingers individually.
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.
Then, to the wonder of all, Hup, the misshapen, misformed dwarf and fool, gently, ever so gently, kissed Sura on the forehead. I saw that Hup now stood close to Sura, and once again, gently, he kissed her on the forehead. I held her head in my hands and kissed her on the forehead.
At the conclusion of the mountebank's performance he gave a great, deep bow, bending at the waist and doffing his hat in a great, sweeping arc. We might even have been free women! How pleased we were! We leaped up and down, we clapped our hands with pleasure, we struck our left shoulders, we cried out, we thrust our hands through the bars to him, and, to our delight, though we were slave, he came to the bars and kissed and touched our hands. Then he stood back and waved at us. After a time we lay down, side by side, and I, holding to Ute's hand, kissing it, fell asleep. She did not move. I sat then beside her, in the darkness, in the sand, under the canvas. Then I reached out to take her head in my hands. As I did so I felt her head turn, and heard her, in the darkness, gasp and sob. Her lips, suddenly, parted, moist, almost uncontrollably, pressed a kiss into the palm of my hand. Then I held her head between my hands. I could feel the hair at the side of her head. She kissed my hand again, and fled to him whom Verna had indicated she must serve. "I wish you well, Sheera," said I. I felt her kiss my hand, and then she went to Thurnock, that he might remove her collar, that she, like Verna, might disappear into the forest. Marlenus had said that the wind on the beach was cold, and had stung his eyes. Too, it stung my eyes. I took a bit of her hair and, gently, wiped her mouth. To my surprise she put her teeth gently on my hand, and then licked and kissed at my hand. She then drew her head back. "Relia, Tela, to him," said Policrates. These two girls, Relia discarding her red silk and Tela opening her white silk, and throwing it back, hurried to kneel near me. Relia began to kiss and bite at the palm of my right hand, and at my right arm and shoulder, and Tela addressed herself similarly to my left hand and arm. I struggled in the chains, but could not resist. "A collar!" she cried, touching the metal. "A collar!" She reached out, holding my wrist, and kissed at my hand and the collar it held. When I lifted the opened collar to place it about her throat, she put her hands on my wrists, and softly kissed my hands. She looked at me, her eyes wondrous, and soft. She fed from my hand. I put more pemmican in my hand. I then lowered my hand. I felt her kissing, nibbling and licking at my hand, taking the pemmican from it. I put more pemmican in my hand and then lowered it still further. I felt her hair on my body. She nibbled and kissed at my hand, delicately removing pemmican from it, her head following my hand, as I lowered it yet further, and then, with extreme delicacy, with tenderness and gentleness, she nibbled and kissed at my body. "Master desires his slave," she whispered. She then licked and kissed his hands, cleaning them. He then wiped his hands on her sweat-dampened hair. He then left the room, I following him. When I had finished with her I had sat for a few Ehn on the bench, beside her, and had put my hand down before her. She had licked and kissed it, in gratitude, the padlock on her collar moving gently on the marble. The man put his hand down by my face, touching it, gently, and I kissed and licked it, looking up at him. I was naked before him, and branded, and collared. 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. 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. The fellow in the chair reached out and I watched his hand, with apprehension. Then he placed it on my body. I gasped and drew back. I trembled. I closed my eyes, whimpered. I tried to hold myself still. He must remove his hand! He must! He must! "She would be hot in her chains," laughed a man. In another moment I felt I must thrust myself against him, again and again, desperately, kissing and whimpering. Then, mercifully, he removed his hand from my body. I looked up at him and, my eyes wide, licked and kissed his hand. She was beginning, she feared, to feel sensations sometimes referred to vulgarly in Gorean as the burning, or the fires, in the slave belly. If she had been alone with her master, so serving, she would have begged for his least caress. Even had he impatiently cuffed her to the side, she felt that she might, in gratitude, have crawled back, begging to lick and kiss the hand that had administered the blow. My Master loves me! I want to be a wonderful slave to him! I want to be the most wonderful and loving slave on all Gor! Let him do with me as he pleases. Let him kick and beat me. I will rejoice! I will beg to lick the boot that kicks me, I will beg to kiss the hand that strikes me! Oh dominate me, and own me, my Master! I am yours, my Master! "Belly," he said, gently, and held out his hand, palm downward. Instantly Ellen bellied, and, hands to the sides, lowering her head, frightened, began to lick and kiss the back of his hand. She recalled how she had been taught in training to kiss the palm of a man's hand, sometimes darting her tongue softly in and out of it, suggesting subtly, and begging for, her own penetration. More than once a guard then, in fury, had flung her from him and stormed away, to seize another slave. She had been in the iron belt. She had been left vaguely uneasy, vaguely unsatisfied, but, at that time, slave fires had not been lit in her belly. Another technique is to kneel before the man and take the palm of his right hand, if he is right handed, and press it to your face, firmly, as though you had been cuffed with it, and then to hold the hand, humbly, as in gratitude, similarly licking and kissing the palm. But Ellen did not doubt but what the warrior was pleased to have her before him, as she was, even though she was licking and kissing merely the back of his hand. After all, she was prostrate before him, a slave, naked, in a posture of abject submission. He looked at Ellen. She, on her belly, licked and kissed, deferentially, lovingly, at the hand that fed her, and then, eyes shining, lifting her face and opening her mouth, she delicately, gratefully, accepted another tiny piece of meat. Cecily took the food gratefully from me, and seemed almost dreamily content. Sometimes, head down, she kissed softly at my hand, and fingers. I extended my hand. She kissed it, and licked it, the hand of her master. "Good," I said, as he had done so. "Now," I said to the Lady Constantina, "lick, and kiss, his hand, softly, tenderly, gratefully." I became, only a bit later, aware that she was kissing and licking at the palm of my right hand, desperately, gratefully. "Here is my hand," I said, extending it to the close-set, narrow, but sturdy bars, adequate to hold a female. "Kiss it, and lick it, first the palm, and then the back, reverently." She put her face, as she could, through the bars, and carefully, with her small tongue, kissed it and licked it, first the palm, and then the back, reverently, and then drew back in the kennel, looking at me, but continued to grasp the bars. "Please do not tell anyone who I am," she said. It pleased me that the former Talena, of Ar, the former Ubara of Ar, was now before me, a kenneled slave. It pleased me that she had kissed and licked my hand, first the palm, and then the back, reverently. "Even if it is nothing," he said, placing a hand on the arm of the slave kneeling beside him, "I am already a rich man." The slave kissed his hand. "Thank you, Master," she breathes, licking and kissing the hand which has deigned to bestow so precious a gift upon her. The Metal Worker put his hand near me, and I put down my head, and kissed it. "Thank you, Master," I said. "Kiss my hand," he said. I quickly kissed it. I went to my knees, and took up his right hand, gently, opened the fingers, and kissed the palm of his hand. "See, Master," I said, "I kiss the ost from your hand." 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. Suddenly there was a crack and I was on my side in the grass, my cheek and mouth burning. I tasted blood from my lip. For a moment there had been a flash of darkness torn with flakes of light. I struggled to my knees and licked and, fearfully, kissed the extended hand that had struck me. "Forgive me, Master," I begged.
"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."
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. She kissed me on the hip and then, with a rustle of chain, put her head down to the furs. "Yes, Master," I laughed. It was hard for me to keep my hands off Drusus Rencius. He was so beautiful. I snuggled down beside him, my head at his hip. I kissed his hip. Then I lay there, quietly, beside him. "I am not disturbing you now, am I?" I asked. "No," he said. Then he was kissing me about my hips and belly, and then, much lower, above the midpoint of the interior of my thighs.
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.
When her struggles had subsided I began, half biting, half kissing, to move up her calf to the delights of the sensitive areas behind her knees. "Please!" she wept. "Be quiet, pretty little Slave Girl," I mumbled. Then, kissing, but letting her feel the teeth which could, if I chose, tear at her flesh, I moved to the interior of her thigh. Slowly, with my mouth, by inches, I began to claim her. Then she put her head to my knees and, holding them, covered them with kisses. Then she put her head to my feet. She covered them, too, with kisses. "Yes, Master," she said. Suddenly she put her lips, and then the side of her head to the side of my knee. I felt her kiss, and then her tears. She fell on her knees before me, and put her head down. She clasped me about the right leg, and began, sobbing, to kiss at my knee. I took her by the hair and pulled her head up, to where she must look at me. "Master," she sobbed. She came then even closer to him, on her side, frightened and excited, and, lifting her head, timidly kissed him on the knee. Ellen lay on her belly at the left knee of her master, Selius Arconious. She lifted her head a little, and pressed her lips softly, almost timidly, to his left knee, a slave's kiss. She did dare to again kiss his knee, softly, timidly. Swiftly, startled, gasping, she flung herself to her knees before her master, and, head down, kissed him, again and again, about the knees and thighs. Curiosity may not be becoming in a kajira, but they are inveterately curious. How they will wheedle and plead for the least tidbit of information, kissing one about the knees, looking up, hopefully. "Master," she said, kissing his knee. I kissed his left knee, softly, and put my head down again, my right cheek on the furs. I bent over and kissed him on the side of the knee. I hoped I would not be cuffed away. I would then press my left cheek against his knee, or kiss it softly.
My grip on her ankle was not cruel but in all her womanness she knew herself held. "Please," she said again, "let me go." I smiled to myself. "Be silent, Slave," said I. Elizabeth Cardwell gasped. I smiled. "So you are stronger than I," she scoffed. "It means nothing!" I then began to kiss her foot, and the inside of her ankle, beneath the bone, and she trembled momentarily. "Let me go!" she cried. But I only kissed her, holding her, my lips moving to the back of her leg, low where it joins the foot, where an ankle ring would be locked. I felt the lips of another girl at my leg and waist. I knelt before him and, tears in my eyes, began kissing at his feet and legs. Radiant was my gratitude to him, and abundant were the kisses which, in joy, I placed about his legs and feet. "Are you as innocent and as clumsy as before?" he asked. "No, Master," I said, putting my head down, beginning to kiss him on the side of the leg, deeply, pulling, sucking, at the hair a tiny bit. But her head was at my feet. I felt her lips kissing my feet. Beverly Henderson was at my feet! "Forgive me, Master," she said, "if I have displeased you." She was then holding my legs, putting her cheek against them, and kissing them. "Forgive your slave," she said, "and let your slave please you." Policrates, indolent in the chair, lifted a finger and another girl, one whom I recalled was called Tais, from the feast, dark-haired, nude, knelt beside me and began to kiss and lick at my right foot and leg. The girl now began to kiss at my left foot and leg. She kissed well. I felt these small tugs, piteous and delicate, and then she, with her lips, pressed the wet tunic against my thigh and through the wet cloth, kissed me. She then, putting her head down, began to lick and kiss at my legs and feet. I knelt before him. I bit at his tunic. I licked and kissed, piteously and submissively, at his feet and legs. Cuwignaka gently, by the hair, pulled the girl to a sitting position. She turned her head and kissed and licked at his leg. "Do you think she received pleasure?" he asked. The girl turned her head again and, softly, timidly, kissed him on the leg. "Thank you, Master!" she cried. She seized me about the legs and kissed me. I felt her tears through my tunic. How furious I was at the girl who had so helplessly kissed the leg of Drusus Rencius. How she had humiliated and embarrassed me, the shameless tart! I hated and despised her! Where had she come from? Who was she? Surely she could not have been I! "Kiss my feet fifteen hundred times, you luscious baggage," he laughed, "at least once for every gold piece you are costing me!" "Yes, Master," she cried, startled, putting down her head. "This woman was the Tatrix of Corcyrus, was she now?" laughed Hassan. "Yes," said Claudius, startled. "That has been established, even by her own admissions." "And I have, thus, earned the reward, fully and clearly, if I should wish it?" asked Hassan. "Certainly," said Claudius, puzzled. "That is all I wanted," said Hassan. "Indeed, it is all I ever wanted." "I do not understand," said Claudius. "For years," said Hassan, "I have heard of the Tatrix or Corcyrus, of her tyranny, of her fabled pride and beauty. I found such a woman intriguing. Then, wonder of wonders, she fell. None could find her. I was curious to know what it would be like to have such a woman in my collar, a fair-skinned, golden-haired Tatrix of the north, to make her crawl, and cry and serve, to make her a man's woman." I looked at Sheila. She was weeping with joy at his feet, kissing them, and his ankles and legs. "I love you, Master," she wept. She must then do other things, such as putting a bondage knot in her hair, offering them wine or fruit, dancing naked before them, or kneeling before them, whimpering and whining for attention, licking and kissing at their feet and legs. The girl at my feet now held my leg in her arms and kissed at my leg, whimpering. He continued to hold my ankle, and kiss my leg. She slowly moved to her knees again, her head down, licking and kissing, and then, her knees under her, she began to raise her ministrations to his shins and calves. She looked up at him, again. It seemed he could not move, so stunned, so startled, he was. Tears were in her eyes. Then she put her hands on his legs, and began to kiss him about the knees, and then above the knees. She now, kneeling before him, close to him, had her arms lovingly about his legs, her head down, shaking as though with sobs. She then looked up at him again. It seemed there was no other place that she would rather be. She then, again, lowered her head, and was kissing and licking delicately at the sides of his legs. To serve him and give him pleasure seemed as though it might be her desire, her happiness, her meaning and destiny in life. Did she think she was his slave? Again she looked up, this time pleadingly. I saw the two fellows in the background exchange alarmed glances. Was the handsome fellow in some sort of danger? Were there risks involved which might be clear to them, if not to others? She then put her head to the side, brushing up the purple tunic with the side of her head, kissing and licking at his thigh beneath the tunic. He could have done with her what he wanted, but he had not. She put down her head. She kissed his leg, again. She lifted her head and kissed him quickly, desperately, again and again, about the thighs and legs, and then looked up at him, shaking, her lips trembling, parted. "Many free women, in dire straits," said Cabot, "so plead, and in a thousand other ways, as well, to escape the edge of the sword. Have I not seen them, in burning cities, strip themselves, and kneel, and grovel, and belly and squirm, and kiss and lick fervently at the feet and legs of conquerors, begging to be spared, begging to live, begging mercy, begging desperately and with their whole heart to be granted the collar of a slave?" Usually she conveys her desires by kneeling and nuzzling, and making tiny noises and whimpering, and kissing the feet and legs of the master, looking to him, lips parted, hoping for attention, such things. I had taken her seriously until I had inadvertently come upon her in one of the house's bedrooms, late, during a party, naked, on her knees before a male, his belt wrapped and buckled about her neck, her hands tied behind her with a stocking, leaning forward, kissing at his legs, begging to be touched again. Then, wildly, desperately, in misery, I threw myself to my knees at the feet of he in whose keeping I was, pressed my sodden cheek to his leg, and then began to kiss his leg, repeatedly, beggingly. Even now my knees are weak in his presence, and I desire to cover his feet and legs with the petitioning kisses of a female slave!
She thought for a moment and then gently kissed me on the lips. Lara's lips had been rich and fine, sensitive and curious, tender, eager, hungry; the lips of Vika were maddening; I recalled those lips, full and red, pouting, defiant, scornful, scarlet with a slave girl's challenge to my blood; I wondered if Vika might be a bred slave, a Passion Slave, one of those girls bred for beauty and passion over generations by the zealous owners of the great Slave Houses of Ar, for lips such as Vika's were a feature often bred into Passion Slaves; they were lips formed for the kiss of a master. 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. It was the first kiss I had taken from the lips of my slave girl, and it had been a kiss of mad joy, one that astonished her, that she could not understand. And then, to our surprise, holding her head in his hands, he kissed her gently on the lips. I lifted her head, and took her in my arms. She trembled. I kissed her upon the lips. Her body, that of a white-silk girl, fresh to the collar, was terribly frightened. Not releasing her, I looked upon her. She lifted her lips delicately to mine, those of her master, and kissed them. Her eyes were frightened. I kissed her again, deeply, pressing back her head. Then I released her. She stood facing me, her hand before her mouth, small, beautiful in the brief, tightly corded slave garment. I noted that Sheera, carrying a bowl, standing nearby, did not seem much pleased. I indicated Tina. To my men I said, "You may taste her lips." They eagerly reached for her, and, kissing her, handed her from one to the next. When she had been passed about the circle, stumbling, her hair across her eyes, the fillet gone, she stood again before me. She was breathing deeply. She was partly bent over. She looked up at me. She was not weeping. Then she stood straight, and, shoulders back, smoothed down the brief slave garment. I pressed my lips to hers. With my finger tip I touched her body, and felt its vital, obedient helpless surge. I marveled. She laughed. "I am a slave," she said. "Your slave." She lifted her lips to mine. I kissed her. I again bent to kiss the lips of Thyri. The man then went to the first girl and took her in his arms. She cried out with pleasure and pressed herself to him, melting and yielding to his tunic and leather. He subjected her mouth and lips to a kiss which could have been only the prelude to fierce slave rape. "I can kiss, too," cried the last girl. "Master! Please, Master!" "Even in most private sales," I said, "the prospective buyer is not permitted to use the girl, fully." "Fully?" You kiss her breasts softly, you brush her lips with yours. "Did you know it was I?" I asked. She looked up at me. She lifted her lips to mine and kissed me. "I knew it the moment your arms closed on me, Master," she said. I shrugged. I went to the rear of the come line and took the last girl on the line gently in my arms. I put my lips, gently, to hers. They were cool, in the cold night. Yet beneath mine they yielded, as a slave's. Already had she who had been the Lady Rosa learned much. There is a difference between the kiss of the free woman and the kiss of the slave girl; the slave girl yields to her master; the difference is unmistakable. It is said that he whose lips have never touched those of a slave girl does not know, truly, what it is to hold a woman in his arms. "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. 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. "Kiss me," I ordered her. I felt her lips, warm and soft, sweet, wet, on mine. "I see that you well know why you were sent to the tunnel," I said. I kissed her, on the lips. Then I lifted my head. "And you will do so again," I whispered. I kissed her upon the swollen lip, and she whimpered. I tasted her blood. I had decided that it might please me to see her mouth, to note the trembling and movement of her lips as she spoke, and to be able to kiss those lips, or be kissed by them, if I should choose to permit this. "Do not forget it," he said, lifting her head up with his fingers and, bending down, kissing her gently on the lips. "To my lips," he commanded. I fled to him, and kissed him, deeply, as a slave. I drew back. I saw that I had kissed him too well. "No, no," I whimpered. He took me by the upper arms and, thrusting me from behind, forced me across the room. He then put me over one of the large chests at the side of the room. I felt the wood of the chest, and the iron bands. The key about my neck, on its string, made a small sound as it struck the wood. "It is not my fault if I bear a resemblance to Sheila, the Tatrix of Corcyrus," I said. "You kissed well," he said. "Oh!" I cried, entered. "Master!" laughed she who seemed to be a naked, collared slave, flinging her arms about my neck, pressing her lips fervently, deliciously, to mine. "Oh!" she cried, as my hands checked her thighs. She was truly a slave. The brand was on her left thigh, high, just under the hip. Sometimes free women, during the time of carnival, masquerading as slaves, run naked about the streets. I slid my hands possessively up her body and then, between my thumbs and fingers, held her under the arms, half lifting her, half pressing her to me. I then returned her kiss. "Master!" she purred, delighted. I put my head down, and kissed her, and her lips met mine, yielding, in the unmistakable softness, and submission, and gratitude, of the owned slave. So I took her in my arms and put my lips to hers. It began as a free woman's kiss but, as I held her, and pressed her to me, and she then pressed herself to me, it ended as a kiss which, though doubtless still that of a free woman, hinted at unmistakable latencies within her, that she might, under suitable conditions of helplessness and submission, and perhaps proper training, be capable of at least the nearest reaches of the kisses of slaves. "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. Then eagerly, helplessly, gratefully, for there was time, there must be time, did I, my head lifted, kiss again and again at his lips, his face, his shoulders, his body. And so Cabot had pressed his lips, and forcibly, upon those of the grasped, startled pet of Arcesilaus. Cabot kissed her, and her lips were soft, and yielding. From the first moment I had seen her, her shocked, trim, well-turned, exciting, slender body seemingly arrested in motion, then uncertain, wavering, and the startled, vulnerable expression in her eyes, her suddenly paled, sensitive, exquisite features, the parted, ready, inviting, kissable lips, in that large strange emporium, I had sensed she belonged at a man's feet. "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."
"No, Talena," I said, kissing her mouth. "No." 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. The man then went to the first girl and took her in his arms. She cried out with pleasure and pressed herself to him, melting and yielding to his tunic and leather. He subjected her mouth and lips to a kiss which could have been only the prelude to fierce slave rape. "I can kiss, too," cried the last girl. "Master! Please, Master!" "Kiss it from my mouth, ruthlessly, owning me, Master!" she begged. Surely she must have sensed that the mouth kiss which she had so helplessly proffered, and had proffered as a slave, was the symbolic opening of her vagina to male penetration. And then he reached down and seized her and, holding her by the upper arms, before him, she unable to stand, as she was bound, he began to cover her face and mouth, and throat, and breasts, with kisses. She moaned as I thrust her from me. I licked my lips. I could still taste a little of the sip root, kissed from her mouth. It was bitter.
She kissed me on the back of the neck. She looked at Relius, snuggling up to him, kissing him on the side of the neck. I kissed her on the side of the neck, beneath the ear, and descended to another level. The girls remained as they had been placed. They did not even dare to turn their heads. Hassan kissed one on the back of the neck. "Oh!" she cried. She kissed me under the neck, then she turned her head away, horrified that she had put her lips to the body of a slave. I began to kiss her about the neck and throat. She put her head back, laughing. "I am an Earth girl," she said. "Do you like us?" I continued to kiss her. "Are we not juicy puddings?" she laughed. "Is it not clear now why men will buy us?" She clutched me to her, and kissed me. "Would you not like to buy one of us?" she said. I tried to hold the head of the man in my hands, and kiss at him, and lick at the side of his neck, but he, engaged in conversation, brushed me to the side. I knelt back, restraining a whimper. I wanted to touch him. I was a slave. He would not permit me to do so. I pressed myself against the shoulder of Hassan, and kissed and licked, softly, at the side of his neck. She then began to kiss me, and lick me, about the face and neck. She did it quite well. With training she would do it much better. 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. I responded to Sempronius' lips, and kissed him, too, softly, about the neck and chest. One does not complain, of course, as one is slave. Such small attentions, a pinch, a touch, a stolen kiss, pressed perhaps to the side of one's neck, as one is briefly held, helplessly, must be expected. Indeed, in their way, they are flatteries. "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 took her by the shoulders, and turned her on her back. Her entire belly and breasts, like much of the rest of her body was rich with the beautiful mottlings. I touched the nipples. How beautiful they were, large, delicate, sensitive now, almost painfully swollen with blood. I kissed them. She reached for me again, lifting her head, the chain at her neck, lips parted. She 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.
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. I kept kissing Elizabeth. "Slaves to cells," she mumbled. When I released her she lifted her head to me, standing on her toes, and kissed me on the nose. "Perhaps," she said, "I will see you even tomorrow night."
"Begin now," I said, "to lick and kiss below the left shin." She did so. "Desire to please the master as a slave girl," I said. She slowly moved to her knees again, her head down, licking and kissing, and then, her knees under her, she began to raise her ministrations to his shins and calves. She looked up at him, again. It seemed he could not move, so stunned, so startled, he was. Tears were in her eyes. Then she put her hands on his legs, and began to kiss him about the knees, and then above the knees. She now, kneeling before him, close to him, had her arms lovingly about his legs, her head down, shaking as though with sobs. She then looked up at him again. It seemed there was no other place that she would rather be. She then, again, lowered her head, and was kissing and licking delicately at the sides of his legs. To serve him and give him pleasure seemed as though it might be her desire, her happiness, her meaning and destiny in life. Did she think she was his slave? Again she looked up, this time pleadingly. I saw the two fellows in the background exchange alarmed glances. Was the handsome fellow in some sort of danger? Were there risks involved which might be clear to them, if not to others? She then put her head to the side, brushing up the purple tunic with the side of her head, kissing and licking at his thigh beneath the tunic.
She kissed me on the shoulder. "Thank you," she said, "Tarl Cabot, for freeing me." He gently kissed her on the shoulder, and she turned, gently, to him. 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 kissed her on the back of the right shoulder. She put her head against my shoulder, and then lifted it, softly kissing me. She was a very delicious, and beautiful naked slave. "Yes, Master," I said. I began to kiss him gently about the shoulder. I began to kiss her about the face and throat and shoulders. I began to kiss her about the shoulders and throat. She reached out and, gently, first touching my chest, her hands lingering there for a moment, found the knot in the belt of soft cloth with which I had closed the casual tunic I had donned. She undid the knot and parted the tunic, kissing me at the belly. She then went behind me and, gently, removed the tunic, kissing me beneath the left shoulder blade. She then stood again before me. She folded the tunic and belt, kissing them, and then knelt down, placing them to one side. She then stood again, before me, her head down. I began to kiss her about the neck and throat. She put her head back, laughing. "I am an Earth girl," she said. "Do you like us?" I continued to kiss her. "Are we not juicy puddings?" she laughed. "Is it not clear now why men will buy us?" She clutched me to her, and kissed me. "Would you not like to buy one of us?" she said. "Relia, Tela, to him," said Policrates. These two girls, Relia discarding her red silk and Tela opening her white silk, and throwing it back, hurried to kneel near me. Relia began to kiss and bite at the palm of my right hand, and at my right arm and shoulder, and Tela addressed herself similarly to my left hand and arm. I struggled in the chains, but could not resist. "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. "Did I please you?" I asked. "Yes," he said. I licked and kissed at his shoulder in gratitude. I kissed the wet shoulder of the man in the bath, and then kissed his cheek, through the wet canvas hood drawn over his face. He moaned. He was a male slave. I shuddered. Then I again kissed him, softly, almost unobtrusively, about the shoulder. I did not wish to intrude my presence too obviously upon him. He soothed me with a kiss on the shoulder. I was grateful, but, too, I could feel the heat of his breath there, it making me uneasy, and disturbing me, and I could sense the strength of his arms. 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. Then eagerly, helplessly, gratefully, for there was time, there must be time, did I, my head lifted, kiss again and again at his lips, his face, his shoulders, his body. "Are you white silk or red silk?" "White, white, white!" she said, continuing with her kisses, then licking at the shoulder of her master, thereby confessing herself the more his loving, begging beast. That answer, it seemed to me, was clear enough. I supposed that she had been kept white silk deliberately. I would not have guessed, however, from the sheen of sweat on her body, her avidity, the eagerness of her kisses, the wetness of her hair back against her neck, that she was white silk. As mentioned, white-silk slaves are rare. Often there is not one in a slave house.
I bent down and kissed her on the side, on one of the long welts raised by the whip stroke, one of the blows in virtue of which she was assessed. 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.
When her struggles had subsided I began, half biting, half kissing, to move up her calf to the delights of the sensitive areas behind her knees. "Please!" she wept. "Be quiet, pretty little Slave Girl," I mumbled. Then, kissing, but letting her feel the teeth which could, if I chose, tear at her flesh, I moved to the interior of her thigh. Slowly, with my mouth, by inches, I began to claim her. It was well toward morning, and he was nearly asleep, when he felt them against him, their cheek pressed against his thigh. "Girls," mumbled he, "do not forget you wear my steel." "We will not forget," they said. And he felt their kiss. I much kissed and chewed about her brand, making her acutely conscious of it. The night was chilly. I felt her kissing softly at my thigh. "Is it true," she asked, "what they say in Torvaldsland, that the women of Kassau make superb slaves?" "Yes," I said. "I never knew that I could feel this way," she said. "It is so different, so total, so helpless." I touched her head. "It is only the feelings of a slave girl," I said. "Yes, Master," she said. I lay on my back, looking upward. "Please, Master," she whispered, "subject me again to slave rape." "Earn your rape," I told her. "Yes, Master," she said, kissing me. She bent her head to me and, delicately, softly, kissed me on the right thigh, below the tunic's hem. Alice put her cheek to my thigh. I then felt her lips at my thigh, as she kissed me. I put my hand in her hair, and, roughly, affectionately, shook her head. Slave girls, their eyes bright, their breath hot, tried to press themselves piteously against me. Some fell to their knees as I passed, trying to seize my legs and kiss at my thighs and ankles as I passed. Each time she had knelt quite close to me. The second time she had looked up at me, piteously, the tether on her throat, and kissed me on the thigh. She winced, and kissed at my thigh. Later she lay beside me, her head at my thigh. My hand wandered to her hair, and then to her neck, enclosed in the narrow, steel collar. I fingered the lock at the back. She put her mouth to my thigh. I felt the warmth of her breath on my thigh. I felt her lips, the pressing of her teeth. Then she kissed me, and lay again, quietly, beside me. I felt these small tugs, piteous and delicate, and then she, with her lips, pressed the wet tunic against my thigh and through the wet cloth, kissed me. She then, putting her head down, began to lick and kiss at my legs and feet. "Yes, Master," she said. "Thank you, Master." I felt her nibbling at the tunic at my thigh, and kissing, softly, through it. I felt the dampness, the wet, from her small, warm mouth, and, too, through the cloth, the movement of her tongue. "I now have a name!" she said. "What is it?" I asked. "Oiputake," she said. "That is the word for a kiss," I said. "Yes," she smiled. "And sometimes," she laughed, "I do not know when my master is merely calling me or ordering me to please him!" "As you are a slave," I said, "I do not think I would take chances in the matter." "I cannot," she laughed. "If I am in the least doubt, I kiss him." I smiled. "And he, the marvelous monster, in my control, takes liberal advantage of that ambiguity!" "Oiputake," I said. "Yes, Master," she said, leaning forward, kissing me on the thigh. "Leading position," said Drusus Rencius. I swiftly put my head down and felt his fingers lock themselves deeply in my hair. I turned my head and pressed my lips suddenly, helplessly, to his thigh, kissing him. He twisted my head cruelly to the side, holding it there, turned, so that my lips could not touch him. My eyes brimmed with tears, not only from the pain, but more so, from the fact that I had been rejected. I then crawled to him, and kissed him gently on the thigh. I did not wish to be forgotten. The girl kneeling beside me held my leg and pressed her cheek against my thigh. She kissed me. She looked up at me. "Please take me to a pleasure rack, Master," she said. Then he was kissing me about my hips and belly, and then, much lower, above the midpoint of the interior of my thighs. The fellow, Teibar, looked down at his slave, who looked up at him, and quickly, timidly, kissed at his thigh. How much she was his, I thought. 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. He then reached to her hair and drew her painfully, forcibly, to his body, until her lips were but an inch from the heat of him. He held her in such a way that she could neither approach him more closely nor withdraw. "Put out your tongue, your moist, lying little tongue, and lick your upper lip, slowly," he said. "Now, purse your lips and kiss, again and again, at me, but do not touch my body. Now, lick again your upper lip, and now, again, more slowly, yes, that is it, slave girl." Her hands twisted helplessly behind her in the bracelets. Her body became alive with need. Her thighs flamed. She was muchly aroused. He then, with an angry sound, flung Ellen, painfully, by the hair, to his left side, and she lay there, her head at his left thigh. "I am ready to please my Master," she said. "Please let me do so." "No," he said. She dared to press her lips softly to his thigh. She hoped she would not be beaten. "I know that they are to be owned, and mastered, totally," he said. "Yes, Master," she whispered, again kissing his thigh. "That is true, Master. It is that which makes us women. It is that which fulfills us." She turned back, gently, smiling, to his thigh, and kissed it, softly, that he not awaken. She then knelt beside him and grasped his leg with her arms, and put her head against his thigh, and kissed it humbly. "I love you, Master!" she said. "I love you, I love you, my master!" She then crept back on the blanket, to lie docilely at his thigh. She kissed his thigh, penitently. She then inched downward, and kissed him on the thigh. She lifted her head and kissed him quickly, desperately, again and again, about the thighs and legs, and then looked up at him, shaking, her lips trembling, parted. Swiftly, startled, gasping, she flung herself to her knees before her master, and, head down, kissed him, again and again, about the knees and thighs. 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. 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. "Surely I must kneel to beg forgiveness," she said, and she swiftly knelt. "Behold," she said, "I am at your feet. I kneel. I humbly press my lips to your feet. I humbly press my lips to your calf. I cling to your leg. I beg forgiveness for being of no interest to Master. I kiss and lick your thigh, hoping that you will forgive my mediocrity, my ordinariness, my lack of interest." "Yes, Master, I had whispered, kissing his thigh. I kissed his thigh.
Holding her thus I kissed her on the throat. Midice lifted her head and kissed me on the neck, "Give Midice the armlet," she wheedled. "You wear no collar," I pointed out. "Master removed it," said she, "that he might more easily kiss my throat." "And who are you?" he asked, his finger idly at my hip. "She!" I cried, suddenly, laughing, with pleasure. He kissed my throat. 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. She whimpered, and slipped to his side, holding him, lifting her lips to kiss him on the throat, beneath the beard. "Oh, yes, Master," she whispered. "Marla is a superb name for a slave." She began to kiss him about the throat and chin. Bosk kissed her on the throat, and she closed her eyes. I saw her small hands seize at him. I began to kiss her about the face and throat and shoulders. I held her head in my hands. I kissed her about the throat. I took her, suddenly, in my arms, and began to press kisses about her throat. I began to kiss her about the shoulders and throat. And then he reached down and seized her and, holding her by the upper arms, before him, she unable to stand, as she was bound, he began to cover her face and mouth, and throat, and breasts, with kisses.
"He is too small to be of the great caste," said Thurnock. "His voice may have changed, but I doubt he can yet grow a true beard." "At least," said Aktis, "I do not have a large tooth, misshapen, which hangs over my lip, like a fang!" "It is a sign of force and power," said Thurnock. "Many a larl might envy it." "Doubtless it appeals to women," said Aktis. "They learn to kiss and lick it quickly enough," said Thurnock.
The next woman then hurried to Drusus and, threw herself to her belly before him, kissing his feet. She then rose slowly to her knees, kissing him from the ankles to the waist. Kneeling before him, then, close to him, holding his legs she looked up at him. "Buy me, Master," she whispered. "I will give you much pleasure."
"Buy this candy of Ar, Master, laughed a chained girl to me. I roughly fondled her head, and she seized my wrist suddenly in her chained hands and desperately began to press kisses upon it. "Please," she wept. "Please!" "No," I said. I pulled my wrist away and continued on. She sobbed, and knelt back in her chains. When my hands were at the knot she suddenly, desperately, licked and kissed at my wrists. Her eyes looked at me, beseechingly. She lifted her lips to mine. I took her nude, tethered body in my arms. It is glorious to kiss a slave, a woman one owns. 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. I knelt beside my Master, Rupert of Hochburg, and licked and kissed the scarring on his left wrist. |
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