|
 Slave Surrender / OrgasmHere are the relevant references from the Books where Slave Surrender / Orgasm is mentioned. I make no pronouncements on these matters, but report them as I find them. Arrive at your own conclusions. I wish you well, Fogaban The words "slave" and "surrender" do not appear next to each other anywhere within the series. So there is no "Gorean Slave Surrender" by title. However, there are quite a few quotes which describe or speak of a slave surrendering. And then, as you read those references, it becomes obvious that the word 'surrender' is just another word for 'orgasm'. And while this is not every instance of the words surrender and orgasm, it is most of them. 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!" Passion, it is thought, deprives the free woman to some extent of her freedom and important self-control; it is frowned upon because it makes her behave, to some extent, like a degraded female slave; free women, thus, to protect their honor and dignity, their freedom and personhood, their individuality, must fight passion; the slave girl, of course, is not entitled to this privilege; it is denied to her, both by her society and her master; while the free woman must remain cool and in control of herself, even in the arms of her companion, to avoid being truly "had," the slave girl is permitted no such luxury; her control is in the hands of her master, and she must, upon the mere word of her master, surrender herself, writhing, to the humiliating heats of a degraded slave girl's ecstasy. Only when a woman is owned can she be fully enjoyed. He had taken my virginity; he had taken much pleasure in me; he had won me, forcing from me my total surrender as a slave girl to his power; then he had permitted his men to amuse themselves with me. Yesterday night my master had taken my virginity, much pleasured himself with me, and forced my total surrender to him, the surrender of a completely vanquished bond girl. Then, though my master observed, I had turned my head to one side, closed my eyes and cried out, and, unable to help myself, yielded to the man, Judy Thornton's lovely belly and haunches jolting in helpless slave orgasm. Then I had cried out with unwilling pleasure, and helplessly caught at the soldier with my nails, and the thought of my master had been, against my will, forced from my consciousness as the soldier brought me, twisting and crying out, to obliterating, overwhelming slave orgasm. "Did you know," he asked, "that in the throes of slave orgasm there is no difference between a civilized and barbarian girl?" "No, Master," I said. "It is interesting," he said. "In slave orgasm they are spasmodically identical." "We are all women, only women," I said, "in the arms of our masters." He had raised me to the point at which another instant's movement would have precipitated that most incredible and fantastic of sexual experiences to which a human female can attain, that in which she knows herself cognitively and physiologically submitted, fully and completely, absolutely, to a master, the psychological and somatic raptures of submission spasm, the slave orgasm. I wept, the tunic torn away from me, my body red and helpless, writhing on the tiles. "Can there be more?" asked the Lady Elicia, amazed. "She has not yet even experienced the first slave orgasm," said Tellius, crouching beside me, looking up. I turned my head from side to side, in misery. I looked up at him. I tried to lie still. But my body leaped to his touch. I cried out in misery. "Is it soon?" she asked. "Yes," said Tellius, "note her breathing, the mottling of her skin, how she moves, her eyes." "Oh, please, Mistress, have mercy on me!" I wept. "Do not let them touch me further! Please, please, Mistress!" Then I threw back my head and screamed. I clutched at Tellius. "You are my master!" I whispered, hoarsely. "You are my master!" "Do not move," he said. "Oh, please, Master!" I wept "You may now move," he said. I screamed and clutched at him, eyes closed, clawing at him, trying to bring our bodies closer. Then I threw back my head eyes wild, lips parted, and screamed, delivering my body to my master. "It is the first of the slave orgasms," said Tellius. "I love you, Master!" I wept, clutching him. Gone now was the thought of the Lady Elicia. I, a slave girl, was in the arms of a Gorean male. I covered him with kisses and caresses, weeping. "Please touch your slave more, Master," I begged. He toyed with her resistance, sometimes permitting it to become stronger, sometimes even letting her think she might be able to withstand him, but then again he would begin to induce in her, subtly, the surrender spasms of the female slave. She well knew he was playing with her. "Beast," she wept, "how long will you sport with me?" Many times he brought her to the verge of surrender, teeth clenched, eyes shut, and then let her subside, retaining yet, to her cruel disappointment, a shred of her Earth-girl dignity. Then I writhed in his arms as he took me, exploding in the deepest and most profound ecstasies a female can know, those of the slave orgasm, known only to the owned woman. Suddenly she clutched me. "Oh, oh," she cried. "It is the thought of being branded," she whispered, intensely. "Please, Master, hold me, hold me!" Her thighs were clenched fiercely. "I am going into orgasm," she cried out, frightened. I held her, as she gasped and wept in my arms. I had not even entered her, or touched her intimately. She looked up at me, tears in her eyes. Angrily I thrust apart her legs. "Forgive me, Master," she wept. "It was the thought of being branded." "It is not unusual," I said, "to even send a girl aroused onto the block, that the nature of her movements may make clear her needs to the audience." "And should such a girl be caressed?" she asked. "She might enter orgasm on the very block," I said. "Sometimes it is necessary to whip such a woman from the feet of the auctioneer. At the very least she will beg to serve a master within the very Ahn, either a buyer or one of the slaver's men, to achieve closure on the arousal which has been inflicted upon her." "I am going to induce in you," I said, "the first of your slave orgasms." "No," she wept. "Please, no! There are others in the tent! I do not want the other girls to know what a slave I am! Please, no, Master!" But I did not choose to show her mercy. "Cover my mouth!" she begged. "Oh, oh!" I held her arms pinned to her sides. Then she half reared up under me, squirming and struggling, and then threw back her head, screaming, and I pressed her down on the furs. Imnak lifted his head quickly, and then, understanding the nature of the noise, shook his head and reached over and seized Poalu. She was drawn to him, tightly, and began to kiss him. "I submit," screamed Audrey. "I submit to you, oh, my Master!" Then she began to buck and writhe and was soon lost in the throes of the slave orgasm, helplessly yielded to her master. She came silently, intensely, clutching me, this not known to the others asleep in the hut. That a slave girl had been conquered in the darkness need not be known to them. Afterwards I held her, naked, closely, warmly. Samos, it was said, was the first to have brought her to slave orgasm. It had happened six days after she had first been brought to his house. It is said that a woman who has experienced slave orgasm can never thereafter be anything but a man's slave. She then knows what men can do to her, and what she herself is, a woman. Never thereafter can she be anything else. Once the slave discovers her sexuality, a venture in which the humiliated slave, to her dismay, is forced to participate to the fullest, she can never again ignore it. Once she has begun to learn the orgasms of the slave girl she can never again be contented with anything less. She is then a master's girl. "Perhaps you are ready for the first of the full slave orgasms," I said. "Master?" she said. Then, after a few Ehn, she clutched me wildly, her fingernails cutting into my arms. "It cannot be! It cannot be!" she said "Shall I stop?" I asked. "No, no," she said, intensely. "Perhaps I shall stop," I said. "Your slave begs you not to stop," she said. "Oh, oh," she said. "It is coming. I sense it. It is coming!" "What do you feel like?" I asked her. "A slave! A slave!" she cried. "I must yield to you!" she said. "I am going to yield to you!" she cried. "As what?" I asked. "As a slave!" she cried. She threw back her head and, wildly, weeping, sobbing, cried out the submission of her bondage. "It was only a rudimentary slave orgasm," I said. It had been. "Rudimentary?" she asked. "Yes," I said. "You jest with a poor slave," she said. "No," I said. "Truly?" she asked. "Truly," I said. "What then lies in store for me?" she whispered. "Slavery," I told her. She had heard, an hour ago or so, Sasi's cry, emitted in the throes of her first slave orgasm, acknowledging her surrender to me as a slave girl. "I did not know it could be anything like that," she said. "It was nothing," I told her. "Nothing!" she wept. "It was the most incredible experience of my life." "It was only a minor slave orgasm," I said. "When I came to you," she said, "I was submitting, and owned. It is the most beautiful and glorious feeling I have ever had." Then, after a time, I began to touch her again. "What is Master going to do now to his girl?" she asked. "I am going to teach her a little more of her slavery," I told her. "Yes, Master," she said. This time, in less than ten Ehn, she began to squirm and cry. Then, suddenly, she looked at me, frightened. "It is coming," she said. "It is greater than the first. I will not be able to stand it. It will kill me. I will die!" "No, you will not," I told her. "Aiii!" she cried out, head back. Then she wept, "I'm I held her, and kissed her. Again I had not even elected to enter her. "I had not known such sensations could exist," she had said. "They are attainable only by the slave," I told her. "They are the surrender and submission spasms of the owned woman, the girl who must yield absolutely and totally, holding nothing back, to her master." In all fairness, though, one must note that there is a large variety of slave dances on Gor, and that there is some variation from city to city. The institution of female slavery on Gor is doubtless thousands of years old; accordingly it is natural that there should be great complexity and refinement in such a delicious art form as slave dance. There are even, it might be mentioned, hate dances and rebellion dances, but most dances, as might be expected, are display dances, or need dances, or love and submission dances; even the hate and rebellion dances, of course, conclude, inevitably, with the ultimate surrender of the girl to her master as a love slave. It commonly takes fifteen to twenty minutes to bring a free Earth female to orgasm. A slave girl, on the other hand, whether Gorean or an imbonded Earth girl, finding herself on Gor, once trained and understanding, fully, her condition, will often find herself on the brink of orgasm, simply finding her master's eyes casually upon her. "I do not mean either merely that he induced in me the spasm submissions of the bond girl, or that he enforced upon me the fullness of the humiliating, ecstatic slave orgasms, so far beyond anything attainable by the free woman, to which any free man may subject the slave in his arms. No, rather I mean something quite different. I mean that I yielded to him as I had never before yielded to any man, save yourself, my Master. I regarded her. Obviously at my least touch she would go into orgasm. I had never seen a slave more ready for exploitative penetration. She wanted her first having by me, in my own name and right, to be one which would make it clear to her that she, in my arms, was only a mere slave. In moments it was necessary to thrust her hair, balled and wadded, into her mouth, and I put my hand, too, over her mouth. Her eyes were wild. She kicked wildly at the pliant, braided black leather, again and again. Then, mercifully, I unbound her limbs and I let her straighten her trembling body in the blankets. With one finger I pulled the wet hair from her mouth. She was gasping, and shuddering. I held her closely for a few minutes, that she might, while thus warmed and sheltered, make some adjustment to this new dimension which she had discovered in her being. "What was it?" she whispered. "It was a small one," I reassured her. "What was it?" she whispered. "It was the first, I think, of your slave orgasms," I said. I then rose from her side and threw her the tiny slave tunic. "Put it on," I said. She did so, and I then lifted her gently in my arms and carried her to the chain. I put her down there, on her side, softly, in the grass. 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. "I did not know it could be like that," she said. "It was only a small thing," I said. "There could be more?" she asked. "You have not yet begun to learn what it can be, to be a slave," I said. Slave girls must yield, and fully, to any man. Their entire mental set, so to speak, in the furs, is oriented toward providing the master with marvelous pleasures, and, in their own case, to feel as richly and deeply as possible, and, in the end, in an uncompromised and delicious capitulation, submitting fully to their master, to obtain the surrender spasms of one who is merely a vanquished woman, naught but an owned and degraded slave. "What a fool I was as a free woman!" she whispered. "You were only ignorant," I said. "I did not know what it was like to be a slave, the helplessness, the sensations." I did not respond. "I did not know such feelings could exist," she said. "I never felt anything like them. They are so overwhelming." "They have to do with dominance and submission," I said. "I was afraid, in my yielding," she said, "that I might die." "It was only a small slave orgasm," I said. Our lips then met, sweetly and tenderly, fully, lingeringly. Her lips, opened, soft, those of a submitting slave, at first met mine timidly, and then, as she understood that she was not to be spurned, or struck, more fully, more boldly, until her kiss was deep, helpless and warm, and she seemed one with the kiss, and lost within it, and then, again, timidly, she drew back, having proffered herself to me as a slave, to observe what might be my reaction, to see in my eyes if she had been found pleasing, and what would be her fate. She looked at me. I was pleased with her. She had not even been taught the kisses of a slave. I lowered her gently to her back. I looked down upon her. "Touch me," she pleaded. "Please, touch me. I beg you to touch me, Master." "I do not think that much touching will be necessary," I said. Then no sooner than I had entered her, she, as I had expected, given her condition of arousal, clutching me, and gasping, exploded into orgasm. "Yes, Master," she said. "Yes, Master! Thank you, Master! Yes, Master!" "Sometimes one tries different things," she said, "for example, about or on the furniture, on the floor, about their bodies, at their feet, on your back, on your belly, hoping to find something that they will respond to. Sometimes they give you explicit instructions or commands, as when a woman is put through slave paces. Sometimes they guide you, or help you, sometimes by the whip, sometimes by expressions or cries. At other times the girl listens, so to speak, to the slave fires in her belly, and seems to become one with them and the dance, and then, soon, must beg the brutes, in her dance, and by her piteous expressions and gestures, to relieve the merciless tensions in her body, allowing her to complete the cruel cycle of arousal, allowing her to receive them and submit to them, the masters, in the spasmodic surrender of the helpless slave." I then held him to me, desperately. I scarcely dared move. I was a surrendered slave. I sensed myself on the brink of a submission orgasm such as I had never suspected existed. "Please have pity on me, Master!" I cried. "I acknowledge that I have been conquered. I am vanquished! I am now yours, and as you want me, as a slave, fully! I beg now only to be permitted to yield to you abjectly and shamelessly. Let me tender to you now the helpless surrender of an orgasmic slave!" I felt then the raptures of my bondage, from the tranquillities of selfless service to the ecstasy of a slave's sexual surrender to the dominant male, the master. She was not trained. She did not know slave dance. Her movements were those of a virgin, a white-silk girl. She had not yet been taught slave helplessness. No man yet in his arms had taught her the exquisite, transforming degradations of the utilized slave, the wrenching surrender spasms, enforced upon her by his will, of the conquered bondwoman, experiences which, once she has had them, she is never willing to give up, experiences which she comes to need, experiences for which she will do anything, experiences which, whether she wishes it or not, put her at and keep her at, the mercy of men. I threw the slave on her belly on the netting and then turned her to her back. I had her place her wrists and ankles through the netting in certain fashions. I did not bother securing her in position. I then joined her on the netting. In moments, gasping, looking at me wildly, gratefully, she was in the throes of slave orgasm. To arouse a free woman to the point of orgasm, even the sort of which she is capable, takes, usually, from a third to a quarter of an Ahn. The reflexes of the slave, on the other hand, for psychological reasons, and because of her training, can be much more easily, profoundly and frequently activated. "And do you surrender wholly to your masters, and yield totally to them?" he asked. "Yes, Master," I whispered. "Perhaps you are ready, Earth woman," he said, "for a slave orgasm." "Master?" I asked. "You have a responsive body," he said. "Thus, even though you have not been a slave long, it is possible you are ready for such an orgasm." "Yes, Master," I said. I was trying, wildly, to recollect that feeling, that hint of feeling, which I had first felt. How could he have done that to me? How could anyone have done that to me? "Are you listening?" he asked. "Yes, Master!" I said. I tried to pry myself loose from my sensations, but it was not easy, locked as I was in his arms. "I think you might be ready for your first slave orgasm," he said. "I do not understand, Master," I said. "It is time, I think, that you made a beginning in such things." "Yes, Master," I whispered. "Ai!" I suddenly said. "Oh!" It had been done again to me. I looked at him, wildly. "No," he said. "You will not be shown mercy." I moaned. "It is pleasant to hold you in my arms," he said. "Find me pleasing," I begged. "Please, find me pleasing!" I did not want him to stop, for anything. "You are not without interest," he said. I cried out, softly. I began to whimper. "Is anything wrong?" he asked. "No, no!" I said. "Do you want me to stop?" he asked. "No!" I said. "No, what?" he inquired, politely. "No, Master, Master, Master!" I sobbed. "Forgive me, Master!" I cried out, startled. I began to make soft, helpless noises. As I had noted before, as early as the house of my training, women of diverse backgrounds, for example, those of Earth and Gor, made much the same noises while being ravished. These noises are to be distinguished from conventionalized exclamations, which do tend to be culture bound. I had discovered, too, that I made such noises. "Oh!" I said, softly. Suddenly I clutched him. I had again felt the sensation. Then I was afraid. "Master!" I said. "Do not be afraid," he said. "Your body is being, honed, and trained." I clutched him again, and gasped. "Yes," he said, "you will give masters much pleasure." Masters, I thought! Does he not know what he is doing to me! Can he be ignorant of the things I myself was feeling? "You will do well," he said. "You are a deliciously servile little beast." "It is my hope that I will be pleasing to masters," I said. Did he not know what he was making me feel! "I think you are now ready for the first of your slave orgasms," he said. "Master?" I asked. "Inducing them in a slave is one of the pleasures of the mastery," he said. "Forgive me, Master," I said. "You are giving me great pleasure. But I do not even know what you are talking about." "At first," he said, "you will be capable of only small ones, but do not fear, you will grow in such things." "I do not understand," I said. "You are very beautiful, and soft, and are in my arms," he said. "Yes, Master," I said. I was grateful that he should speak in so kindly a fashion to me. "And you are naked, and collared, and owned," he said. "Yes, Master," I whispered. "What are you?" he asked. "I am a slave, Master," I said, puzzled. "And do you surrender wholly to your masters, and yield totally to them?" he asked. "Yes, Master," I whispered. I knew that I could not lie in things of this sort. Gorean masters, or many of them, were skilled in reading women. My master, Hendow, was frighteningly adept at this. Too, I did not think that I could fool Mirus either in such matters. When a girl's most, secret thoughts can be read as easily as slave numbers written on her breast her only viable option is total honesty, and as complete submission was required of Gorean slave girls her only practical recourse under such stringent circumstances is either to choose death or become in true reality a full slave, in her heart, in her mind and in her behavior. In short, as deception is impossible, the girl must either choose death or the reality of true bondage. "You will now prepare to yield," he said. "Yes, Master," I said, suddenly, startled, then beginning to understand the orgasm in the natural matrix of male dominance, and intensified by the fixing, enhancement and intensification of this within the institution of total female slavery. When I yielded it would be hot only as a female to a male, but as slave to a master! No longer then could I even hear the noises of the tavern beyond the curtain. There was now only myself and Mirus. "Let me yield!" I begged. "Wait," he said. I was collared! "Please!" I wept. I was naked, and in the arms of a man whose sandals I was not fit to lick. "Master!" I begged. Must not what might remain in me of the proud Earth woman attempt to resist this? "Master!" I cried. "No," he said, sternly. But what might remain in me of the Earth woman was utterly powerless! "Please, please!" I whispered. "No," he said. Then what might have remained in me of the Earth woman was gone and in her place there was now only a terrified Gorean slave on the brink of she knew not what. I was not simply going to be fondled or kissed, with attentions appropriate to the bland etiquettes of Earth. I was to be conquered! "Please!" I wept. "No," he said. I would not be permitted to retain a shred of dignity or pride. My yielding would not be of the sort of yieldings approved of on Earth, those mild, meaningless ripples of sensation, indicative of acceptable congenialities, the most that many of Earth, it seems, could manage, but would be rather the result of his will and power, of his enforcements and determination, the exercise over me of his strength, making me helpless, having me as he wanted me, owning me. It would not be a compromised act. It would be a complete act, a fulfillment, for him and also for me. It would manifest his power, and my weakness, his triumph and my shattering, and overwhelming. It would be an act of his uncompromising power, imposed upon me, which I, the female could not resist. "Let me yield!" I begged. "Wait," he said. I moaned. I did not want polite love. I wanted to know that I was in the hands of a man who was capable of being excited, and whom I excited, who found me truly marvelous, to whose fury of power I appeared whose fierce and voracious appetites I triggered. I wanted to be in the arms of a true man. I did not want to be possibly mistaken about whether I had been had or not. I did not want to be touched as though I might break. I did not wish to be in danger of drowsing off during the making of love. I wanted him to own and master me, and whip me if I was not pleasing. "I am ready!" I said. "I beg to submit, and as a slave!" "Not yet," he said. I began to weep with wanting to yield. He was not simply going to enjoy me, or pleasure himself with me. He was asserting the mastery upon me. I was not merely to be used even used as a mere slave, as it sometimes amuses Gorean masters to do with us. I was going to yield, and fully. I was not simply having love made to me. The experience was far more meaningful and devastating that simply that. I was being dominated, and mastered. I was to yield, and I had to, as a slave, totally! "Please!" I wept. "No," he said. I was to be vanquished, utterly. "Please!" I said. "Will it be necessary to gag you?" he asked. "No, Master," I said. "Are you ready?" he asked. "Yes, yes, Master!" I wept. "You may then yield," he said, "- as a slave." I then yielded to him, and wholly, and without compromises, as slave girl to a master. I then looked up at him, wildly, disbelievingly. "Master," I whispered, acknowledging that it was right that I belonged to men. I then lay in his arms, an incredulous, frightened slave girl. The experience had been a whole, the context conditioned by my abject surrender, by our relationship, that of master and slave. Gently he kissed me. I had not known on Earth that such men could exist. I had only dreamed of them, men to whom I could be rightfully only on abject slave. But now on Gor I was subject to such men. And now, naked and collared, I lay in the arms of one. What was it?" I begged. "What was it you did to me?" "Nothing," he said. "Master!" I protested. "It was a slave orgasm," he said. The slave now moaned and whimpered, and then cried out, suddenly, as though momentarily frightened, or alarmed, but then, again, in a moment, understanding what was going to be done to her, that to which she was relentlessly being brought, began to cry out softly, gladly, gratefully, eagerly, anticipating. "Why does that girl reveal her emotions like that?" asked Lady Temione. "Perhaps she is forbidden to conceal them," I said. "Oh!" she said. "How naked that would make a woman." "Yes," I said, "but it also, in its way, makes her free." "I suppose so," she said, enviously. Suddenly the girl on the table screamed aloud, again and again, half reared up, began to buck, but could not escape, so tightly and helplessly held she was, uttering the word "Master" over and over. "Slave orgasm has been forced upon her," I commented. A response which might take a free woman a third to a half of an Ahn to attain a slave, and not an unusual slave, might attain in three or four Ehn. Beyond this the slave is often forced to endure lengthy, multiple orgasms, sometimes being carried by the will of the master for Ahn, whether she wills it or not, from one peak to another. Moving as she did, and being what she was, a slave, was the deepest and most wonderful thing in her being, and she reveled in it, and loved it! She had wanted only the clear understanding that she must now surrender to it, that she was now truly a slave. She was elated in the harness. "There!" said the keeper, pointing out a fellow with the coiled whip. One of the great pleasures in the mastery, increasing the sense of its joy and power, is forcing the female to experience, at your will, and convenience, incredible pleasures, carrying her up and down, and through, a series of slave orgasms, making her more and more helpless, until she is irremediably yours, lost in the throes of her submission ecstasies. I then yielding to him my utter submission, my total surrender. I could not help myself. I was slave. "I do not refer to the tamenesses, the banalities, the lukewarmnesses," I said. "I do not refer to the tepidities. I refer to perilous heights and formidable depths. I refer to matters of force and power, of storms and fire, of songs and blood, of shouting and crying, of laughter and tears, of realities, of victories, of dominance and submission, of owner and owned, of master and slave, of the joy and absolute and uncompromising conquest and the rapture of utter, unconditional surrender." "I have heard," said Ellen, cautiously, whispering, "of the slave orgasm." Ina suddenly closed her eyes, gritting them shut, forcibly, and her teeth seemed clenched. Then she opened her eyes, and smiled. "Yes," she said, "there is that. And once you have felt that, little Ellen, you will never want to be anything other than what you are, a female slave." "Do you squirm well?" he asked. "Surely you understand me. You are a slave, are you not? You are branded, are you not? Look at your thigh. Do you whimper, and cry out, and moan, and scream, and gasp, and clutch, and beg, and shudder and kick, and spasm helplessly and repeatedly? Have you never been driven mercilessly and helplessly, as if by whips, to slave orgasm? And then to another, and another, and to as many as your master chooses to force upon you, perhaps ceasing even while you are begging for more?" Ellen, of course, had never experienced slave orgasm, but she thought that she had some dim sense as to what it might be. Alas, how little she then knew! Little did she then realize how helpless and needful might a slave become. One of the utilities of chaining or binding a slave, incidentally, is to multiply and intensify her orgasms. Several psychological and physical factors enter into these matters. Perhaps the helplessness of the slave is too obvious to mention. She cannot free herself and thus must await the attentions of the master, which may be delayed, which may be intermittent, which may be prolonged, for hours, and so on. It was a slave orgasm, she thought, or something like one. I must have it again! I will do anything for it! Could I do so, were I not so chained, I would kiss my fingers and press them to my collar. And yet it was not a matter of simple sensation, no simple episode, even lingering, of the excitation of tissues. It was muchly other than simply that. It was flames and clouds, forces of nature, winds and storms, earthquakes, tornadoes, volcanoes, floods, an entirety of experience, a coming of seasons of being, a time of wholeness. In it there burst alive a universe of significance, a world of meaningfulness. In it was the defiant rootedness and tenacity of life. In it the grass became green, and the stars sang. In those moments I became ecstatically one with the glory of the universe. In my small way I attained a level of consciousness I had not known could exist, and glimpsed the promise of endless horizons, of infinite mornings, and yet, too, I learned that I was only a slave in the hands of a master. Such things, like cords and chains, perhaps partly for physical reasons, but surely, too, for psychological reasons, cruelly fan the flames of a woman's bondage. They tell her, you are slave, you are owned, you are mine, you have no choice, you will obey, you will yield, you will be punished, and terribly, if you hold anything back, you will have orgasms such that you have never dreamed of, orgasms that you have hitherto not understood were possible, you will have the orgasms of a surrendering, conquered slave. Having a slave at one's mercy and forcing her through the throes, she perhaps jerking at her chains, of a succession of belly-wrenching, belly-rocking orgasms, is gratifying. Who does not want a naked slave, in her collar, sobbing, and bucking and squirming, and begging for more? "So in your supposed carelessness, that having to do with your veiling," I said, "I see more than the cruel delight of an ignoble and petty woman, little more than a she-sleen, protected by the transitory artificiality of station, to torment men. I see, rather, a woman who is displaying herself, as a woman, before men. In your dreams did you not occasionally find yourself back-braceleted and naked in the arms of a master, knowing that he might, if it pleased him, and whether you wished it or not, force upon you uncompromisingly rapturous ecstasies, ecstasies in the throes of which you, at last, will beg to utter the surrender cries of the yielded slave?" And perhaps she hopes he will chain her helplessly on the furs at the foot of his couch, and then, with merciless sensitivity, with a master's ruthlessness and gentleness, with severity and kindliness, remind her that she is a slave, only that, forcing her to endure, for Ahn, at his pleasure, perhaps for a morning or afternoon, or a day, the ecstasies of slave orgasm after slave orgasm. The slave is not to be ashamed of her needs; she only need fear that the master will not satisfy them. Yes, it was clear that the slave fires had begun to burn in the belly of the fair slave before me. And once she had bucked and writhed in the slave orgasm, helpless in her ropes or chains, she would be spoiled forever for freedom. What had freedom to offer a woman which might compare with the caress of her master? A slave may desire her master, long for him, want more than anything to surrender herself wholly and unquestioningly to him, ache for him with all the flames of love, yearn to submit herself to him as no more than a negligible, meaningless, helpless, loving beast, be willing to die for him, but, too, she may well fear him, for the whip is his, and he is master. "No wonder free women hate us so!" I said. "They know women belong to men," he said, "and in the slave it is manifest, for there before them is a woman who belongs to men." "Yes, Master," I said. "Too," he said, "they are furious that the slave's beauty is public, as they secretly wish was theirs, and that men, when they want pleasure, rather than station, opportunity, advancement, position, prestige and such, seek out not them, but the slave. They resent it, too, that the slave's sexual needs are deep profound, and blatant, and that she satisfies them. Too, they suspect the slave's erotic ecstasies, afflicting her entire mind and body, the glow imbuing her entire yielded, subdued existence the profundity of the submitted female's succession of uncontrollable orgasms, the raptures of a begging, thrashing chattel's responses, the daily joy, in large things and small, she knows in a master's collar." How radiant, how beautiful, was Paula! On Earth she had been nothing, and now, on Gor, she was the slave of a master. How she had longed for this world, and how she now found herself upon it, and as she wished to be, owned, and mastered, a branded, collared slave. Selflessness, and abject surrender, was her joy. Total and uncompromising slavery to her master was her ecstasy. My attitudes and emotions concerning him swept from pole to pole, from horizon to horizon, in gamuts ranging from stinging humiliation at how he had treated me, I, a woman of Earth, educated and intelligent, a former acquaintance, now half-naked, collared, and marked, now an abject slave at his mercy on another world, to an overwhelming, submissive awe at his manhood, his rightful power over me, from rage at how he had scorned and commanded me, handling me as though I might be no more than a domestic animal, to a slave's desire to surrender herself, flaming and begging, in tears, to his least touch. Occasionally, brought mercilessly to the delicate, tense brink of a wild, cataclysmic, global yielding, the slave orgasm, unknown to free women, concerned with their integrity and personhood, she must wait, and beg her master's permission to yield, which situation can be fiercely, painfully, keenly frustrating, particularly when the slightest touch of a finger or tongue will set off the explosive charge which makes clear and confirms her unmistakable bondage. |       | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
