Dancer of Gor

"Yes, Master," I said. He knew that, of course. It had been in my sales information. Too, it had been checked by his man the morning following my sale, before I had been prepared for shipment here.

"Would you risk your virginity here, in this place, at this time?" he asked. "My virginity," I said, "belongs to my master. He may do what he wishes with it."

"I have plans for it," he said.

I was silent. It would be as he willed. He was Master.

"How do your lessons proceed?" he asked.

"I think well, Master," I said. It seemed to me in my best interests to be conservative in my estimations. Doubtless he had better information at his disposal that I could give him, from his dancing slaves, and his whip master. "You are a dancer," he said, "and have in you the makings of a superb pleasure slave."

"Thank you, Master," I said.

"It is interesting that you are from Earth," he said. "One might have thought that you were Gorean."

"I am a woman," I whispered.

"Yes," he said. "That is probably the important thing. In the end it is probably all pretty much the same. There are men, and there are women."

"Yes, Master," I said.

"Did you know that many times Earth women turn out to be superb pleasure slaves?" he asked.

"We are women," I whispered, shrugging. I saw no reason why we, properly controlled and disciplined, should not be as perfect for a man as a Gorean woman. Indeed, considering the social and political deserts in which we were sexually starved, it would not have surprised me in the least, if we, once it became clear to us, to our joy, that we now had no culturally prescribed alternatives to being women, that we were now no longer subjected to social pressures to be something else, our womanhood being denied, or demeaned and despised, to coming home to our sex, and nature, proved to be every bit as good, if not in some ways better, than our Gorean sisters, or at least some of them, unaware of such deprivations. But in the end, I suppose, it all depends on the individual female. In the end, we were all women.

"Look up," he said.

I rose to my knees, and lifted my head.

"You have a beautiful face," he said.

"Thank you, Master," I said.

"And you have a luscious form," he said.

"Thank you, Master," I said.

"Kiss the whip," he said.

I did so, quickly, that I might not seem to dally, or he draw it from me, but then, as he held it in place, permitting me to continue, more slowly, more lingeringly. Then he drew it back, and I knelt back, before him.

"Are you going to be any good?" he asked.

I looked up at him, startled, frightened. He had said I had a beautiful face, and a luscious form. What more could anyone want? Then I swallowed hard, understanding him. Of course, of course, I thought. Such things would be only a beginning, perhaps only a small beginning, and doubtless not even a necessary beginning, of what men would expect of me. "It is my hope that I will be pleasing," I said.

"I have high hopes for you," he said.

I was silent.

"I think," he said, "that you will be very good."

"It is my hope that I will be pleasing to my master," I said.

"And to any to whom, in your master" s service," he said, "you are explicitly, or implicitly, consigned."

"Yes, Master," I said.

"And to men, in general," he said.

"Yes, Master, of course, Master," I said. I was a female slave. I existed now for the pleasure of men. It was what I was for.

"Sometimes," he said, "one encounters an Earth female who believes, at first, for a short time, that she may be resistant, in some respect, either secretly or overtly, to masters. Are you such a female?"

"No, Master," I said.

"In any way?" he asked.

"No, Master," I said.

"Such recalcitrance is detectable," he said. "It is betrayed by subtle body cues, uncontrollable, and unmistakable."

"Yes, Master," I said, looking down.