“Take me,” I begged.
“Your slave fires have begun to burn, have they not?” he asked.
“Yes!” I said.
“You have begun to sense what might be done with you, what you might become?” he said.
“Yes!” I said.
“Perhaps I should deny you,” he said.
“Please do not deny me, Master,” I said. “Be merciful, Master!”
“Do you, a former woman of Earth,” he said, “beg for sex?”
“Yes, Master,” I said. “I beg for sex. I beg for sex!”
“As a slave begs for sex?” he asked.
“Yes, Master,” I said. “I beg for sex. I beg for sex, as a slave begs for sex!”
“Very well,” he said.
“Master, Master!” I sobbed, joyfully, gratefully.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Harfax is indeed beautiful.
This writing, as it should be, and, as I suppose is clear, is addressed primarily to Goreans.
I have written it in my native language, surely unknown to most of you, which is called “English.” My master, Desmond of Harfax, of the house of Desmond in Harfax, in the high Merchantry of Harfax, has arranged, as I understand it, to have it translated into Gorean. Thus, it is intended, at least in part, to come to the attention of at least some Gorean speakers. At least several copies will be transcribed and distributed. It is my conjecture that it is as unlikely to be taken any more seriously by them than, as I gather, the numerous warnings issued privately to various city councils on known Gor. Most, as I understand it, were dismissed as charlatanry. But perhaps some of those who so dismissed them had already been contacted by agents of Kurii. The wagons of Pausanias left the Voltai long before Lord Grendel and his party could reach civilization.
I must apologize to Masters and Mistresses, free Goreans, who might read this narrative. In some respects I have doubtless told what you already know. My excuse, I suppose, is my background, which is quite other than yours. Accordingly, I have remarked often, I fear, on matters familiar to you, but which I found striking, or of interest. But, too, I have been told, it might be read, in its original language, by some of my former world, as well. In a sense then, it is written for two worlds. The primary motivation of the writing, I suppose, is to carry forward, particularly for Goreans, the project of apprising citizenries of fearsome, largely unrecognized dangers. To be sure, as I understand it, my former world, Earth, despite its poisons and pollutions, its depleted resources and ecological injuries, its filths and crowdings, is not outside the purview of Kur attention. Apparently, both Earth and Gor, at least for the time, owe their precarious security to the informed self-interest of Priest-Kings, who prefer for Kurii, on the whole at least, to be restricted to distant, relatively innocuous habitats, concealed amongst the remote “river of stones.” Whereas Kurii are primarily interested in Gor, as a fresh, unspoiled world, the resources of Earth, and its relative proximity to the orbit of Gor, would make it a dangerous staging area for attacks on Gor. A great deal in this writing, of course, is very personal. My master, Desmond of Harfax, has been very indulgent in this regard. He has recognized that this writing might be of possible service not only for its monitory aspects, political and military, particularly for Gor, but for its value to a slave, permitting her to tell her story. It has done her a great deal of good to have been “permitted to speak” in such a way. How much happier we are when we are permitted to express ourselves! Sometimes my master, when it pleases him, loosens the disrobing loop on my tunic, allowing it to fall to my ankles, ties my hands behind my back, and kneels me before him, while he reclines in a curule chair, allowing me to speak. Whereas I have a general permission to speak, I love such times, for it reminds me that I am a slave before her master, and that I require permission to speak. Indeed, it was at such a time that I first asked for permission to write my story. To my delight I learned that he had already contemplated commanding me to such a writing, for three reasons, a monitory reason, contributing to informing Goreans, and others, of danger; a personal reason for me, that I might be able to profit from the ventilative salubrity of self-expression, of narration, reflection, contemplation, and confession; and, lastly, that he might know more of his slave, her innermost feelings, thoughts, and emotions. Nothing in a slave may be hidden from the master. This is not unusual, as men are often closely concerned with their possessions. Many masters, for example, are very well aware of their slave’s body, every part of it, every mark, every fault and blemish. I do not know, but I suspect very few female free companions are studied, and examined, with the same interest and thoroughness. Indeed, perhaps it would be improper. And just as, of course, a master might well know the lovely, vulnerable map of his slave’s body, he is, too, interested in the map of her history, her background, her feelings, her thoughts, and such. I have been told that even a master with a large pleasure garden, well stocked with kajirae, may force the poor slave to speak at length of herself, either before or after she is put to use. To be sure, there are also masters, as I understand it, to whom the slave is no more than a frightened, impersonal object, of less concern than a pet sleen or kaiila. Indeed, I fear many slaves start out that way. They need not, one hopes, end up that way.
I think I have made clear, however, that many masters are reluctant to admit that they might care for a slave. Who, for example, would be inclined to admit that he might care for a mere slave?
They are nothing. Buy them in any girl market. Buy them and sell them. They are cheap.
It is time to close this story.
Please forgive me, Masters and Mistresses, for my weaknesses, my failures, my foolishness, my many faults.
You expect them, of course, in a slave.
Dear Masters, remain true to the mastery.
Dear Mistresses, remember that we are not so different from you, and that you, too, one day, might be collared.
I wish you all well.
Allison, if her Master pleases.
