These are relevant references from the Books where Slave Kisses are mentioned.
I make no pronouncements on these matters, but report them as I find them.
Arrive at your own conclusions.
I wish you well,
Elizabeth was, however, to my satisfaction, taught a large number of things which, to my mind, were more appropriate to the training of slave girls, including a large number of dances, dozens of songs, and an unbelievable variety of kisses and caresses.
He was also the slaver, Vart, once Publius Quintus of Ar, banished from that city, and nearly impaled, for falsifying slave data. He had advertised a girl as a trained pleasure slave who, as it turned out, did not even know the eleven kisses.
"Even if such girls understood Gorean," said the fellow next to me, amused, "They could probably not even understand what was required of them. They probably do not even know the hundred kisses."
"Yes," I said, "this any slave girl must learn, such things as the kisses, the touches, the squirmings, the thousand submissions."
Our lips then met, sweetly and tenderly, fully, lingeringly. Her lips, opened, soft, those of a submitting slave, at first met mine timidly, and then, as she understood that she was not to be spurned, or struck, more fully, more boldly, until her kiss was deep, helpless and warm, and she seemed one with the kiss, and lost within it, and then, again, timidly, she drew back, having proffered herself to me as a slave, to observe what might be my reaction, to see in my eyes if she had been found pleasing, and what would be her fate.
She looked at me.
I was pleased with her. She had not even been taught the kisses of a slave.
I sensed that our training was coming to an end. We were returning to various basics, almost as elementary as scales to the musician, such things as basic kisses, caresses, position, attitudes and movements.
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.
She looked at him, frightened. It is one thing to go for a silver tarsk, or such, and quite another for a hundred pieces of gold. She knew, of course, something of the worth of women in the markets. She knew that she was not, for example, a trained slave, a high slave, a politically sensitive slave, the shackled daughter of a Ubar being publicly sold in the city of her father's conquerors, or such. Indeed, she was only a new slave. She probably did not even know the hundred kisses.
"Does she know the seven basic kisses of the slave?" he asked.
"No, Master," I said.
"Not even that?"
"No, Master," I said.
Naturally the number of "basic kisses," tends to vary with the nature of the analysis in question, much depending on how broadly or narrowly the notion of "basic" is understood and the criteria for distinguishing between a "basic kiss" and a major variation thereof. If I may be permitted to exaggerate a point, for purposes of clarification, one might as, are there two basic kisses with five hundred variations of each, for basic kisses with two hundred and fifty variations of each, five with two hundred variations of each, ten with one hundred variations of each, or, as some authorities might prefer, merely one thousand basic kisses? Or are there ten thousand, and so on? All authorities agree, of course, that the varieties of possible kisses, with respect to location, pressure, liquidity, duration, timing, and such, are infinite in number. The notion of "seven basic kisses," however, is, apparently, a common one. It deftly imposes some useful order on what might otherwise be a chaos. It is nothing against the value of a classificatory scheme that it is not the only one possible. As a last note, I might add that there does seem to be general agreement among authorities on the importance of a given number of types of kisses, and perhaps that is more important than whether one accounts a given kiss A to be a variation of B, or B to be a variation of A, and so on. There are apparently, incidentally, on this world, a number of manuals devoted to slave training. In most of these, as I understand it, seven is indeed given as the number of the "basic kisses." For what it is worth, that is the number which was impressed on me in the pens. I had had seven basic lessons on the matter, with variations taught within the lessons. There were also frequent review lessons later on. One does not, of course, forget such things. To be sure, much depends, as we were always being told, on the individual master. It is his will which, to us, is all. In our practices we were sometimes blindfolded. I presume there were several reasons for that, for example, that we might learn how to concentrate on the tactual sensations involved, that we might be able to kiss well in the dark and, when we are using male slaves to practice on, that we should not become involved with them personally. When one kisses a man as a slave it is hard not to feel oneself as slave to him. I do not think the male slaves objected to being used in our training. Some who began by crying out in rage, perhaps new slaves, ended up moaning with pleasure. They, too, were generally blindfolded, except when we must kiss them upon their closed eyes. Later, as our skills improved, the guards permitted us, sans blindfolds, to practice upon them. And they were harsh taskmasters, I tell you! Diligently must we strive to please them! But we preferred their severities to the helplessness of the slaves for we knew that they were such as to whom we belonged, free men. Sometimes we felt the switch when we did not do well. I so wanted to kiss he whose whip I had first kissed, but he would never permit it. I wanted to kiss him as he had never been kissed before, but he would not permit it. How he scorned me! And perhaps rightly, for I was naught but a slave! After we had kissed the guards we were much aroused. Shamelessly, later, throbbing with need, we would beg their attentions from our kennels. Sometimes they were kind to us and sometimes they were not.
"Teach me the seven kisses."
I regarded her, startled.
"You are a free woman," I said.
"Please!" she begged.
"Perhaps," I said.
Many Earth women seem to think their kisses are of great value, whereas most of them do not know how to kiss. The kisses of a slave on the other hand, so subtle, and humble, and well-placed, coupled with her entire demeanor, the meaning of her collar, and such, can drive a man mad with pleasure. But then that is understandable, she is a slave. To be sure, as the slave is further and further aroused by the master, in his turn, her kisses may become more and more piteously and helplessly orgasmic.
He took the whip from her and held it before her. Obediently, delicately, she began to lick and kiss the whip. There were the gentle kisses, some prolonged, some as light and quick as the shiftings of sunlight and shadow among stirring leaves, some as bright and unexpected as the pattering of momentary, shimmering drops of rain, some as tender as the falling of the petal of a flower, and the other kisses, the swirling, begging, meaningful kisses, the kisses almost beside themselves, uncontrollable, and the petitionary kisses, reluctant to draw away from the shaft; and there were the movements of the tongue, the tiny dartings, the teasings, the supplications, the tastings, the long, and the short, and the circular caresses, the placatory caresses, the caresses of yearning, and begging and total submission; and she moved her hair about the whip, and thrust the side of her face lovingly against it, rubbing against it, and then looked up, tears in her eyes, at her master.
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.
"There are skills involved in all slave acts," said Cabot, "even in so simple a thing as the kisses of slaves."
I cannot dance. I do not know the kisses. I cannot compete with the Corinnas of the camp. I am not Gorean. I am only an ignorant Earth girl."
"You will learn to wear tunics, and silks, and bangles," I said. "You will be taught to kneel and move. You may be perfumed and painted. You will be taught to please men. You will learn something of slave dance, and of the kisses of slaves. You will learn the use of your fingers, your hair, and tongue."
My training will not be detailed. Interestingly, it lasted only a few days. One learns the kisses and caresses, the kneelings, the manner of tying sandals, of dressing and bathing masters, and such, but most attention was devoted, interestingly, to the acquisition of Gorean, and a number of servile skills, such as cooking, sewing, cleaning, laundering, and such.
Have her trained, have her taught the kisses and caresses of the slave, have her taught the lascivious dances of the slave, the movements of the slave!
"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.