Anal & Oral Sex

He gave me scarcely a moment to recover. Then, crawling, swiftly, crying out, half dragged, I was pulled by the hair to the center of the room.

He knelt me there.

"Put your head down, to the floor," he said. "Clasp your hands, firmly, behind the back of your neck."

"Yes, Master," I moaned. He was then behind me. He put his hands, under my arms, on my breasts, sweetly and firmly. Then he moved his hands back, caressing my flanks. My head was down. My fingers were together, behind the back of my neck. I was in his collar. It was steel, I could not remove it. I belonged to him. My body hurt, from his whip, that of my master. My head hurt, from my hair, where I had been conducted, unceremoniously, to this location. "Please, Master," I sobbed. "Not like this! Not you, please!"

"The slave is pretty," he remarked.

"Oh!" I cried. "Oh!"

"You have a lovely ass," he said.

"Ohhh!" I said.

"You may thank me," he said.

"Thank you, Master!" I said. I tried not to move. It was difficult. "Please do not treat me like this. Please do not handle me like this!"

"I will do with you as I please," he said.

"Please do not make me yield like this, please! I love you!"

"Yield or not, as it pleases you," he said, unconcernedly.

Then I began to whimper and moan.

"Do not move," he said.

"Please," I begged.

"You are a slave, aren't you?" he asked. "And a natural one?"

"Yes, Master," I said. "Yes, Master!"

"Very well," he said, "you may move."

"I beg to yield!" I sobbed.

"Very well," he said.

I then, a few moments later, lay on my belly on the tiles. I tried to feel resentment toward Drusus Rencius. I failed.
Kajira of Gor     Book 19     Pages 434 - 435

"And you," said the other, throwing Ginger to her belly, toward the door, "get your ass to the tavern of Randolph."

Savages of Gor     Book 17     Page 125

"Surely you have seen the teamsters looking at your ass?" she said.

"No!" I said.

"You have a pretty ass," she said.

"Thank you," I said.
Kajira of Gor     Book 19     Page 246

"I hate to think of them shoving an impaling spear up her ass," said a man.

"I know an impaling spear I'd like to shove up her ass," said another man.

Kajira of Gor     Book 19     Page 205

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.

"A true man," she cried out suddenly, "would not behave so! No! A true man is gentle, kind, tender, respectful, at all times, sweet and solicitous! That is a true man!"

I smiled at her defenses, so classical, so typical of the modern, unhappy, civilized female, - desperately frightened of being truly a woman in a man's arms, trying to decide and determine manhood not by the nature of man and his desire, and her nature as the object of that desire, but by her own fears, trying to make man what she could find acceptable, trying to remake him in her own image.

"You are a female," I said casually. "I do not accept your definition of man."

She made an angry noise.

"Argue," I suggested, "explain - speak names."

She moaned.

"It is strange," I said, "that when the full blood of a man is upon him, and he sees his female, and will have her, that it should be then that he is not a true man."

She cried out in misery.

Then, as I had expected, she suddenly wept, and doubtless with great sincerity. I supposed at this time many men of Earth, properly conditioned, would have been shaken, and would have fallen promptly to this keen weapon, shamed, retreating stricken with guilt, with misgivings, as the female wished. But, smiling to myself, I knew that on this night her weeping, the little vixen, would gain her no respite.

I smiled at her.

She looked at me, horrified, frightened, tears in her eyes. "You are a pretty little slave," I said.

She struggled furiously, but could not escape.

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.

"Please," she said.

"What is wrong?" I asked.

"I find I want to yield to you," she whispered.

"Do not be frightened," I told her.

"No," she said. "You do not understand."

I was puzzled.

"I want to yield to you," she whispered, "- as a slave girl!"

"You will so yield to me," I told her.

"No!" she cried. "No!"

"You will yield to me," I told her, "as a slave girl to her master."

"No!" she cried. "No! No!"

I continued to kiss her, to touch her.

"Please stop," she wept.

"Why?" I asked.

"You are making me a slave," she whispered.

"I will not stop," I told her.

"Please," she wept. "Please!"

"Perhaps," I said to her, "the Goreans were right?"

"No!" she cried. "No!"

"Perhaps that is what you desire," I said, "to yield with the utterness of a female slave."

"Never!" she cried, weeping in fury. "Leave me!"

"Not until you have become a slave," I told her.

She cried out in misery. "I do not want to be a slave!"

But when I had touched the most intimate beauties of her she became uncontrollable, writhing, and in my arms I knew the feeling of a slave girl and such, for the moment, was the beautiful Elizabeth Cardwell, helpless and mine, female and slave.
Now her lips and arms and body, now those only of an enamored wench in bondage, sought mine, acknowledging utterly and unreservedly, shamelessly and hopelessly, with helpless abandon, their master.

I was astonished at her for even the touch of the whip, her involuntary response to the Slaver's Caress, had not seemed to promise so much.

She cried out suddenly as she found herself fully mine.

Then she scarcely dared to move.

"You are claimed, Slave Girl," I whispered to her.

"I am not a slave girl," she whispered intensely. "I am not a slave girl!"

I could feel her nails in my arm. In her kiss I tasted blood, suddenly realizing that she had bitten me. Her head was back, her eyes closed, her lips open.

"I am not a slave girl," she said.

I whispered in her ear, "Pretty little slave girl."

"I am not a slave girl!" she cried.

"You will be soon," I told her.

"Please, Tarl," she said, "do not make me a slave."

"You sense that it can be done?" I asked.

"Please," she said, "do not make me a slave."

"Do we not have a wager?" I asked.

She tried to laugh. "Let us forget the wager," said she. "Please, Tarl, it was foolishness. Let us forget the wager?"

"Do you acknowledge yourself my slave?" I inquired.

"Never!" she hissed.

"Then," said I, "lovely wench, the wager is not yet done."

She struggled to escape me, but could not. Then, suddenly, as though startled, she would not move.

She looked at me.

"It soon begins," I told her.

"I sense it," she said, "I sense it."

She did not move but I felt the cut of her nails in my arms.

"Can there be more?" she wept.

"It soon begins," I told her.

"I'm frightened," she wept.

"Do not be frightened," I told her.

"I feel owned," she whispered.

"You are," I said.

"No," she said. "No."

"Do not be frightened," I told her.

"You must let me go," she said.

"It soon begins," I told her.

"Please let me go," she whispered. "Please!"

"On Gor," I said, "it is said that a woman who wears a collar can be only a woman."

She looked at me angrily.

"And you, lovely Elizabeth," said I, "wear a collar."

She turned her head to one side, helpless, angry, tears in her eyes.

She did not move, and then suddenly I felt the cut of her nails deep in my arms, and though her lips were open, her teeth were clenched, her head was back, the eyes closed, her hair tangled under her and over her body, and then her eyes seemed surprised, startled, and her shoulders lifted a bit from the rug, and she looked at me, and I could feel the beginning in her, the breathing of it and the blood of it, hers, in my own flesh swift and like fire in her beauty, mine, and knowing it was then the time, meeting her eyes fiercely, I said to her, with sudden contempt and savagery, following the common Gorean Rites of Submission, "Slave!" and she looked at me with horror and cried out "No!" and half reared from the rug, wild, helpless, fierce as I intended, wanting to fight me, as I knew she would, wanting to slay me if it lay within her power, as I knew she would, and I permitted her to struggle and to bite and scratch and cry out and then I silenced her with the kiss of the master, and accepted the exquisite surrender which she had no choice but to give. "Slave," she wept. "slave, slave, slave - I am slave!"
Nomads of Gor     Book 4     Pages 300 - 303

I awakened, suddenly, startled for the instant. Then I realized what was happening.

It was perhaps au Ahn before dawn.

She lifted her head from my body. It was hard to see her in the light. The fire had burned down.

"Please do not whip me, Master," she said, frightened.

"You may continue," I told her.

She again bent her head to my body. She knelt beside me in the darkness. Her hands were tied behind her back. The tether was on her throat.

"Stop for a bit," I told her.

"Yes, Master," she said. I felt her cheek against me. Then she put her head down, on my belly.

"Forgive me for disturbing your rest, Master," she said. "I know that I should not do that. Beat me, if you must."

"I am not angry," I said.

"I could not help myself," she said, "though I feared I might be beaten. You do not know what it is to be a female slave. I am so weak. I was so overcome with desire for my master."

"I am not angry," I told her. "But do not let it happen too often. It is I who will instruct you as to when to serve my pleasure."

"But what of my needs?" she asked.

"Your needs," I said, "will be satisfied if, and when, I please."

"Yes, Master," she said.

"It is perfectly acceptable for you to lie alone in the darkness, miserable, tormented by your needs," I said, "for you are a slave."

"Yes, Master," she said. "But may I not, upon occasion, beg to be used?"

"Of course," I said.

She then, lifting her head, began to lick and kiss softly at my body. I looked up at the stars. I listened to the noises of the jungle night. "How sweet, and strong and beautiful it is," she said.

I said nothing.

"Are you angry with me, Master?" she asked.

"No," I said.

"I love to kiss you," she said. Then she again put her head down on my belly.

"Do not stop, Slave," I said.

Again she lifted her head.

Then I took her by the hair and drew her close to me.

"Master?" she asked.

"Perform," I told her.

"Yes, Master," she said.

I then forced her head downward and held her in place, as is common with slaves.

"You are skilled," I told her.

She moaned softly.

"Quite skilled," I said.

She moaned again, a sweet, soft, piteous moan.

"Aiii," I whispered, softly, and, not releasing her, holding her head to me, reared to my feet, half crouching. She was gasping, sobbing. She was half lifted from her knees. I looked down at her. How incredibly beautiful she was in the jungle night, so small, so white and soft, her small hands tied behind her, the tether on her throat. I gasped, and put my head back, taking air into my lungs. Then I lowered her gently to the ground. She looked up at me. "I love you, Master," she whispered. I forced myself to remember that she was only a slave. Then I lay beside her. I wiped her mouth with the back of my forearm. I held her head in my hands and kissed her on the forehead. Then, shuddering, I clutched her. In a few minutes I was calm. In a quarter of an Ahn she felt me move against her thigh. "You are strong, Master," she said. "You are beautiful," I told her.
Explorers of Gor     Book 13     Pages 367 - 368

I then turned about, to face him.

"Open your mouth, widely," he said.

I sank to my knees before him, complying.

"Get up," he said. "Who told you to kneel?"

I looked up at him, puzzled. I could not speak for my mouth was open, widely. I had not been given permission to close it. I pulled at my wrists, braceleted behind me.

"Get up," he said. "How vain you are. Do you think you are in an alcove at the Golden Chain? Do you truly think I would be interested in allowing myself to be served by so inferior a slave and slut as you, only another worthless Golden-Chain girl?"
Quarry of Gor     Book 35     Page 354

He then strode to me and stood before me.

He was strong, and a man of Gor.

I looked up, frightened, helpless.

I was kneeling, my, hands were tied behind me.

"Please me, Earth Woman," he said.

"Yes, Master," I said.

I thrust my head up, under his tunic.
Treasure of Gor     Book 38     Page 57

"Please him, Beverly," he said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

I looked at her. I remembered her from the restaurant, long ago, the svelte, off-the-shoulder, white, satin-sheath gown, the candlelight, the beaded purse. I saw her lower her head, the dark hair falling upon my body. I saw the close-fitting steel collar on her throat. Then I felt her lips upon me.

"Oh," I said. "Aiii!" And I cried out with humiliation, and shame, and with rage, and pleasure and joy.

I looked at Beverly. I knew her from Earth. She was to me the most exquisitely beautiful and sexually exciting girl I had ever seen. On Earth I had never kissed her. On Earth I had scarcely dared to touch her hand. Here, on Gor, she was a slave. Here, on Gor, unquestioningly, commanded by her master, she had pleasured me, and well. I had learned on Gor, in the secrecy of a chamber in the holding of Policrates, when posing as the courier of Ragnar Voskjard, that she was a true slave. I wished that I had known that on Earth. It might have made quite a difference in our relationship. She drew back her head, angrily. I regretted only that it was not I who owned her. "I hate you," she whispered. Yes, she was a true slave. I determined that she would one day wear my collar, that one day it would not be Policrates, but I, who would own her. I remembered the wench from the restaurant. Yes, it would be pleasant to have her at my feet, on this barbaric world, collared and branded, as a helpless Gorean slave girl.

"Take him, and chain him to the windlass," said Policrates. "And let us hope, for his sake, that the courier of Ragnar Voskjard is not harmed."

The girls drew back from me, and stood to one side. Two men began to unfasten the manacles at my wrists. "You pleasured him well," said the red-haired girl to Beverly. "Yes," said Bikkie. Actually she had done so too swiftly. I would instruct her in the proper pleasurings of a master, when I owned her. "It is humiliating to be forced to give pleasures to a man of Earth," said Beverly. "He seems strong and handsome," said the red-haired girl. "I do not think I would mind being his slave," said Bikkie. "You do not know him as I do," said Beverly. "I despise him. He is a weakling, and a man of Earth. We are the rightful properties only of men such as those of Gor."

My hands were manacled behind my back. The shackles on my ankles were then removed, and I was dragged to my feet.

Policrates was talking with Kliomenes.

"You received pleasure from what you did, did you not?" asked the red-haired girl.

"The only pleasure I received," said Beverly, "was in being obedient to my master's command."

"You received pleasure beyond that," said Bikkie. "I saw."

"No!" said Beverly.

"You swallowed, did you not?" asked the red-haired girl.

"I had to," said Beverly. "I am a slave girl."
Rogue of Gor     Book 15     Pages 285 - 286

He bent over me and removed the chains. Swiftly, tears in my eyes, I knelt before him. I then, unbidden, contritely, timidly, lovingly, kneeling before him, kissed him, serving him with all the sweetness, delicacy and perfections I could. I then swallowed, and looked up at him, hoping to find some particle of forgiveness or kindness in his eyes.
Dancer of Gor     Book 22     Page 476

"How many guards were there with the prisoners?"

"Four," said Portus. "They are now bound and gagged, concealed in that declivity, and stripped, of course, for we required their uniforms."

"To them, and please them," said Selius Arconious, "with your kisses, and lips, and tongue and mouth. Draw their seed forth, and leave no traces, for we do not wish them to be slain in the morning, signs of pleasure about their bodies."
. . .

The clouds were more open now, and two of the three moons were visible. She had no difficulty in locating the bound guardsmen. They were tied apart, bound hand and foot, fastened in a row, tied by the neck and feet to two notched poles, so they could not reach one another. When she knelt near the first, she a naked slave, bending over him, her small hands braceleted behind her, the guardsman, sensing what was to be done, began to struggle fiercely, angrily. His eyes, over the gag, against which he helplessly fought, glared savagely at her. She was frightened, but she was even more frightened of her master, Selius Arconious, whom she now understood was not to be trifled with. He was to be obeyed categorically, instantly, unquestioningly, perfectly. She had no doubt now that he would use the whip on her, and without a second thought. She was, after all, his slave. "Forgive me, Master," she whispered to the first man. "It will do you no good to struggle. You are helplessly bound, hand and foot, and though I am only a weak slave, know that you are now fully at my mercy. You cannot prevent me from doing what I will do. Please, forgive me, Master."

Then, as he reared up in futile protest, she bent to his body.

Ellen then, to the best of her ability, pleased him. She tried to remember the lessons of her training, limited though they might have been, the kisses, the pneumaticities, the subtleties, the delicacies, the gentleness, the deeper grasps, the swirlings of the tongue, the touchings with the side of her face, the caress of her breasts and hair, the occasional, seemingly inadvertent brushing even of the eyelashes, light as feathers, her face beside him. "Please forgive me, Master," she whispered. "I must do what I am told. Please forgive me." And as she dealt with him she noted his responses, his twistings and turnings, and struggles, even the smallest movements of his body, and, even though he was gagged, the myriad subtleties and wealth of his expressions, resistant, demanding, furious, startled, disbelieving, helpless. "I hope to give you pleasure," she whispered. "I am a pleasure slave, and I exist to please and serve men. It is what I am for, Master. It is accordingly my hope that I may please and serve you." They guide you, she thought, through signs, even gagged. You can read the book of their pleasure, whether they wish it or not. He is teaching me! In his eyes she saw a reluctant, belligerent, begrudging admiration. I, a mere slave, she thought, am well pleasing a master. The thought crossed her mind then, as it had upon occasion before, that it was likely, at least for the most part, that only highly intelligent women were brought to this planet, to wear the collars of Gor. Who would wish to be served by a stupid slave? Certainly I am intelligent, she thought. At least I would suppose so. I would hope so. And others surely are, as well. We are not stupid. And slavers know that, she thought, the imperious, glorious, uncompromising, virile monsters! Even what I am doing, to do it well, she thought, requires sensitivity, attentiveness, intelligence. Even to serve as I am requires intelligence. Men will expect us to do such things well. A stupid girl might well diminish or bungle his pleasures. Then she swiftly, fearfully, dismissed such thoughts, those of the desiderata against which the values of slaves might be assessed and measured. Pay attention to what you are doing, slave girl, she thought. You do not wish to be beaten. How right I am in my collar, she thought. How right we are in our collars, she thought.

And she continued to serve.

She wondered what her former colleagues and students would have thought of her, could they see her now, kneeling, bent, stripped, back-braceleted, deliciously serving. Would they even have recognized her, their former colleague and teacher, now a commanded, performing slave girl? Would her female students weep with need and desire to so serve as well, to find therein one of the thousand rewarding, fulfilling, beautiful meanings of their sex? Would not her male colleagues have cried out with envy, sensing how forlorn, tricked and deprived they were, screaming with misery that they did not live on a natural world where one might own such women? Seldom had Ellen felt so female as then, commanded, helpless, pleasing intimately, beautifully. Such an act brings home a woman's slavery to her. Her subject suddenly reared, twisted, and emitted a soft, guttural, indescribable noise. "Thank you, Master," said Ellen. He then lay back, his head back, trying to catch his breath. Ellen, as is common with slave girls, humbly, gratefully, joyfully, took into her body, imbibing it, relishing it, the gift she had been given. Too, she knew that there was to be no sign of his pleasure found on his body in the morning. In attending to his body, cleaning it with her lips and tongue, she was suddenly startled, for he had again become strong. Then, again, of course, she pleased him.

She then went to the second guardsman, who, doubtless aware of the futility of resistance, turned his head angrily away. "Forgive me, Master," said Ellen. In a moment, however, he raised his head, and moaned softly. "A slave begs to please Master," she whispered. "But, alas, even if he does not wish it, she must please him, for she is so commanded. He has no choice. She has no choice. Both are choiceless, he bound, she commanded. Forgive me, Master." Then in a moment, she said, "Oh," softly. "Forgive a slave, but she thinks that master is pleased. She hopes that that is the case. Surely she will do her best to give him pleasure."

In a little while she went to the third guardsman, and then to the fourth. Kneeling beside the fourth, her wrists moved a little in the closely fitting, light steel bracelets behind her. It was a tiny thing, but, as often, it was muchly arousing to her. So simply was she reminded that she was embonded. She then felt herself very much a slave, felt herself very much what she was. Then, putting her head down, she bent humbly to his body, to please him.
Prize of Gor     Book 27     Pages 524 - 526

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