need of a man’s touch,” I said.
“It does not matter,” he said. “She is only a slave.”
“Look,” said Marcus. He referred to a new girl, joining the others in the
circle. She wore ropes and performed on her knees, her sides, her back and
stomach.
“She is very good,” said Marcus.
“Yes,” I said.
The dance in the circle, as one might have gathered. Was not the stately dance
of free maidens, even in which, of course, the maidens, though scarcely
admitting this even to themselves, experience something of the stimulatory
voluptuousness of movement, but slave dance, that form of dance, in its
thousands of variations, in which a female may excitingly and beautifully,
marvelously and fulfillingly, express the depths and profoundness of her nature.
In such dance the woman moves as a female, and shows herself as a female, in all
her excitingness and beauty. It is no wonder that women love such dance, in
which dance they are so desirable and beautiful, in which dance they feel so
free, so sexual, so much a slave.
Another woman entered the circle. She, too, was excellent.
“How do you like them?” Marcus asked Phoebe. It was no accident, surely, that he
had brought her here to watch the slave dance.
“Please take me to the tent, Master,” she begged.
As Marcus had undoubtedly anticipated the sight of the slave dance would have
its effect on his little Cosian. She saw how beautiful could be slaves, of which
she was one. On the other hand, I suspected he had not counted on the effect on
himself.
Another girl, a slim blonde, was thrust into the circle. Her master, arms
folded, regarded her. She lifted her chained wrists above her head, palms facing
outward, this, because of the linkage of the manacles, tightening it, bringing
the backs of her hands closely together. She faced her master. Desperate was she
to please him. There was a placatory aspect to her dance. It seemed she wished
to divert his wrath.
(pg. 45) “Ah,” said Marcus, softly.
The girl who wore the sign, “I am for sale,” danced before us, as she had before
others, displaying her master’s proffered merchandise. I saw that she wanted to
be purchased. That was obvious in the pleading nature of her dance. Her master
was perhaps a dealer, and one, as are many, who is harsh with his stock. Her
dance, thusly, was rather like the “Buy me, Master,” behavior of a girl on a
chain, the “slaver’s necklace,” or in a market, the sort of behavior in which
she begs purchase. A girl on such a chain, or in a market, who is too much
passed over has reason for alarm. Not only is she likely to be lowered on the
chain, perhaps even to “last girl,” which is demeaning to her, and a great blow
to her vanity, but she is likely to be encouraged to greater efforts by a
variety of admonitory devices, in particular, the switch and whip. Earth-girl
slaves brought to Gor, for example, are often, particularly at first,
understandably enough, I suppose, afraid to be sold, and accordingly, naturally
enough, I suppose, sometimes attempt, usually in subtle ways, to discourage
buyers, thereby hoping to be permitted to cling to the relative security of the
slaver’s chain. Needless to say, this behavior is soon corrected and, in a short
time, only too eager now to be off the slaver’s chain, they are displaying
themselves, and proposing themselves, luscious, eager, ready, begging
merchandise, to prospective buyers.
The girl for sale was a short-legged brunet, extremely attractive. I considered
buying her, but decided against it. This was not a time for buying slaves. I
gestured for her to dance on. She whirled away. A tear moved diagonally down her
cheek.
She might, of course, not belong to a dealer.
There are many reasons why a master might put his girl, or girls, up for sale,
of course. He might wish, for example, if he is a breeder, to improve the
quality of his pens or kennels, trying out new blood lines,
“It does not matter,” he said. “She is only a slave.”
“Look,” said Marcus. He referred to a new girl, joining the others in the
circle. She wore ropes and performed on her knees, her sides, her back and
stomach.
“She is very good,” said Marcus.
“Yes,” I said.
The dance in the circle, as one might have gathered. Was not the stately dance
of free maidens, even in which, of course, the maidens, though scarcely
admitting this even to themselves, experience something of the stimulatory
voluptuousness of movement, but slave dance, that form of dance, in its
thousands of variations, in which a female may excitingly and beautifully,
marvelously and fulfillingly, express the depths and profoundness of her nature.
In such dance the woman moves as a female, and shows herself as a female, in all
her excitingness and beauty. It is no wonder that women love such dance, in
which dance they are so desirable and beautiful, in which dance they feel so
free, so sexual, so much a slave.
Another woman entered the circle. She, too, was excellent.
“How do you like them?” Marcus asked Phoebe. It was no accident, surely, that he
had brought her here to watch the slave dance.
“Please take me to the tent, Master,” she begged.
As Marcus had undoubtedly anticipated the sight of the slave dance would have
its effect on his little Cosian. She saw how beautiful could be slaves, of which
she was one. On the other hand, I suspected he had not counted on the effect on
himself.
Another girl, a slim blonde, was thrust into the circle. Her master, arms
folded, regarded her. She lifted her chained wrists above her head, palms facing
outward, this, because of the linkage of the manacles, tightening it, bringing
the backs of her hands closely together. She faced her master. Desperate was she
to please him. There was a placatory aspect to her dance. It seemed she wished
to divert his wrath.
(pg. 45) “Ah,” said Marcus, softly.
The girl who wore the sign, “I am for sale,” danced before us, as she had before
others, displaying her master’s proffered merchandise. I saw that she wanted to
be purchased. That was obvious in the pleading nature of her dance. Her master
was perhaps a dealer, and one, as are many, who is harsh with his stock. Her
dance, thusly, was rather like the “Buy me, Master,” behavior of a girl on a
chain, the “slaver’s necklace,” or in a market, the sort of behavior in which
she begs purchase. A girl on such a chain, or in a market, who is too much
passed over has reason for alarm. Not only is she likely to be lowered on the
chain, perhaps even to “last girl,” which is demeaning to her, and a great blow
to her vanity, but she is likely to be encouraged to greater efforts by a
variety of admonitory devices, in particular, the switch and whip. Earth-girl
slaves brought to Gor, for example, are often, particularly at first,
understandably enough, I suppose, afraid to be sold, and accordingly, naturally
enough, I suppose, sometimes attempt, usually in subtle ways, to discourage
buyers, thereby hoping to be permitted to cling to the relative security of the
slaver’s chain. Needless to say, this behavior is soon corrected and, in a short
time, only too eager now to be off the slaver’s chain, they are displaying
themselves, and proposing themselves, luscious, eager, ready, begging
merchandise, to prospective buyers.
The girl for sale was a short-legged brunet, extremely attractive. I considered
buying her, but decided against it. This was not a time for buying slaves. I
gestured for her to dance on. She whirled away. A tear moved diagonally down her
cheek.
She might, of course, not belong to a dealer.
There are many reasons why a master might put his girl, or girls, up for sale,
of course. He might wish, for example, if he is a breeder, to improve the
quality of his pens or kennels, trying out new blood lines,
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