Dancer of Gor

He had brought me to his place, at least in part, it seemed, out of just such a sense of fittingness, out of just such a sense of rightfulness and justice. "Good morning, Miss Williamson," he said.

"Good morning," I whispered. As he had used my name I was not at all sure it was really mine. It had sounded different, somehow. I suddenly feared that I might have any name, almost like a dog.

How incredibly attractive he was to me! How weak he made me feel!

I thought that I was, as human beings went, quite intelligent, but before this man, before such a man, I sensed that my intelligence was as nothing. I sensed, as I had long before, in the library, that he, in his power, intelligence and maleness, was totally my superior, indeed, that I could at best be little more than an animal at his feet.

"Hold still," he said. He crouched before me, the whip in his hand. "What are you going to do?" I asked.

"Position," said he. I readjusted my position, improving it, kneeling, back on my heels, my back straight, my hands on my thighs, my knees spread.

"What are you going to do?" I asked. My body could still feel, dimly, the hot marks of the lash.

"Put your head down," he said. "Farther back."

I was then looking, in effect, at the beams and plaster of the ceiling. "This is a test," he said.

"Ai!" I cried, suddenly, recoiling, jerking back, falling on my side, in a rattle of chain. I was then at the end of the chain, away from him, it taut from the ring, it holding my head forward. I could withdraw no further. I put my knees together, tightly. I put my hands over them. I looked at him in horror. "Good," he said. "It is as I thought."

I could not believe what he had done.

"You are alive," he said, coiling the blade back against the staff. "I had thought you would be. Your body, its curves, suggests a rich abundance of female hormones. Such will put you, of course, more at the mercy of men."

The touch had been totally unexpected.

"Beast!" I said. "Beast!"

The touch had been gently, but it had been purposeful. Apparently it had told him what he wanted to know.

"Beast!" I wept.

I had not realized what he was going to do. I had not had an opportunity to prepare myself for the touch, to perhaps steel myself into inertness. I was then suddenly fearful. What is such men simply did not permit a woman to steel herself into inertness, what if it were literally incumbent upon her to feel, and irreservedly, perhaps even under the threat of discipline, of fierce punishment, or worse, in all her hot, sweet, vulnerable openness? As it was, taken unawares, I had been forced to show myself, and before this beast, this lion of a man, responsive. I blushed red, hotly.

He stood up. "Return here, and kneel," he said, "and as you were before." He indicated the spot, gesturing with the whip, near the ring, where I had knelt. He shook out the blade of the whip.

I hurried, crawling, to the spot, and knelt there, as I had before.

He looked down at me.

"Make me pay," I whispered.

"What?" he said.

"I am ready," I whispered.

He smiled.

"I am naked before you," I said. "I am on a chain. You have aroused me. You have made me show myself responsive. You have taken all pride from me. You despise me. You hate me. I gather that I am to be made to pay for my crimes, that men here will make me pay for them, for being a modern woman. I am ready to pay. Make me pay."

"On your back," he said. "Throw your legs apart." Tears in my eyes, I obeyed. "The modern woman," he smiled, "on her back."

"Where I belong!" I said.

"Or on your stomach," he smiled, "or kneeling, bent over, or in any one of a thousand postures of submission and service."

I shuddered, understanding the sorts of things that might be required of me, and even routinely, on this world.

I closed my eyes. I feared I might swoon at his least touch. I had never met anyone who remotely compared with him. I had not even known such men could exist. To such a man I knew that I, even with all my refinement, education and intelligence, could never be more than a dog, a panting bitch, at his feet. He had ever spoken of a "collar." What could he have meant?

I opened my eyes.

"Do you beg?" he asked.

"Would you make me beg?" I cried.

"Yes," he said.

"Very well," I wept. "I beg!"

"The modern woman begs," he smiled.

"I beg," I said. "I am not longer a modern woman."

"Oh, yes," he smiled, "you are still a modern woman, as of now. But, in time, you will no longer be one. In time, that will be taken from you."

"I beg!" I said. "I beg!"

"Surely you have forgotten something," he said.

"What?" I asked, in misery.

"You are a virgin," he said.

I looked at him, wildly, tears in my eyes.

"Kneel, as you were before, slut," he said.