Dancer of Gor

I thought, somewhat bitterly, how amused Teibar would have been to see me, chained and hooded, in coffle, the "hateful slut," the "modern woman," he had so despised, now in her place, now, at last, getting her due. How he had hated me! I still could not understand the full extent of his animosity. I took measured, graceful steps. We must be beautiful in coffle. We can be whipped if we are not. Doubtless he would have relished the thought of a lifetime of degradations and vengenances to be visited upon me. I should have rejoiced, I suppose, that he had gone his way, he who was so fierce and had hated me so keenly, doubtless never to lay eyes on me again, content doubtless now to merely ponder, upon occasion, with amusement, the fate to which he had consigned me, but, to be honest, I would not have minded being seen by him again, or kneeling at his feet, or trying to show him what I had learned, or even trying to please him, and as what he had seen fit that I had now been made. I suppose I should have hated him. When I thought of him, I often wept. Like a cuffed, kicked bitch I would have crawled back to him, if I had had the chance. But he had not kept me, as I supposed he could have, and as Ulrick, questioned earnestly by me on this matter, had confirmed. It would have simply been a matter of paying a good price for me, but one discounted within the house, one well within his means. But he had not wanted me. He had spurned me and sent me, his despised "modern woman," doubtless in disdain and amusement, to the chains of others. I would have liked to have seen him again, perhaps to try to convince him, humbly, that I had learned my lessons, that I had profited from his instruction, and what he had done to me, that there was, even now, this soon, very little of the "modern woman" left in me. And, eventually, I supposed, there would be none of it left in me. He had said that it could be taken from me, and I now had little doubt not only that it could be, but that it would be, and totally. Indeed, I wanted, myself, to rid myself of its narrowness, its contaminations, its uglinesses, as quickly as I could. I supposed I was a wicked, worthless woman and, far worse, only a despicable natural slave, but something deep in me, fundamental in me, profound and ancient in me, loved men, and I did not want to make them small, and nothing, but I wanted, rather, to please them, to obey them, to serve them, to give my all to them, to make them strong and proud, grand and glorious, to make them happy. But here, among the virile men of Gor, I had little choice in such matters. Such things, regardless of whether or not I might wish to bestow them of my own free will, would be simply commanded of me. Even did I hate men I would have no choice here but to deliver perfections to them. Here among masters and slaves were literally instituted the practices and relationships, and required of me, under the threat of terrible punishments, and even death, which in my heart I would have longed to bestow of my own free will on men, or at least men so free and proud, so much the natural masters of a woman.

I was now outside, probably in a walled court. I could feel the air on my body. My feet were bare. I realized, with a shock, I loved what was being done to me. I heard the creak of wagon wheels, the shuffling of some sort of beast. "This way," said a man.

We moved, but only a few feet. Tugs on the neck chain guided me. It was warm in the hood. The extension on the neck chain of the first girl, who was also hooded, serves as a leash for her, guiding her, and her chain guides the second girl, and the second girl" s guides the third, and so on. I was last in the coffle. I did not know if this were significant or not at this time. Sometimes the most exciting girl is put first on the coffle, and sometimes last. Sometimes beauties and lesser beauties are mixed. Sometimes the coffle is simply arranged in order of descending height.

I suddenly jerked, and almost fell, uttering, startled, a stifled sound, my head moving, the gag straps pulling at the back of my neck, the girl in front of me almost off balance, the snap of the lash, too, had startled me, the lash had stung my calves, sharply, cruelly.

"Stand straight," said a voice.

I improved my posture immediately.

We sometimes have a tendency, I am afraid, to be a little slothful or lax when not directly under the eyes of men. Some say we are all lazy, and must be kept constantly in line by the whip. I do not know. Perhaps, on the other hand, it is simply that we are human, so very, very human. In the hood, of course, it is hard to know if a man is looking at you or not. It is best to assume, naturally, that one is always doing so. I had been lax. I had been careless. I had been foolish.

I felt a man" s hand on my arm. "This way," he said.