Kajira of Gor Read Online Free PDF Page B

again.
    “I hope that you are still interested in me,” I said, teasingly, and, I am
    afraid, a bit anxiously.
    “Perhaps,” he said.
    I would have preferred a more affirmative response.
    There was a moment of awkward silence. I hoped they were not disappointed. I did
    not want to fail to please them. I would have been willing to do anything. I
    would even have been willing to let them hold me in their arms, or kiss me. I
    would even have been willing to let them make love to me. I knew such things
    were common. Why should a girl not turn her charms to her own profit? I did not
    want them to lose interest in me. They paid well.
    “The coffee is ready,” he said.
    “Yes,” I said, gratefully. I could no longer bear it perking.
    I recalled I had been told to make it.
    I hurried into the kitchen.
    In a few moments I was serving them coffee, in white cups on the rectangular,
    black-legged, white-topped Formica table.
    The kitchen tiles felt smooth and cool under my feet. They sat about the table.
    I felt aroused, and very feminine, serving them. I then poured myself a cup.
    “Put your cup on the floor,” said the man, “there, on the tiles.”
    Puzzled, crouching down, I did so.
    “Now, kneel behind it,” he said.
    I knelt down on the tiles, behind the cup, the refrigerator to my right, the
    table, with the men seated about it, in front of me.
    They sipped their coffee.
    “You may drink,” said the man.
    I reached for the cup, before me, on the floor. I lifted it.
    “No,” he said. “Do not hold it by the handle. Hold it in your hands, as a bowl.”
    I then sipped the coffee in this fashion, the cup warm in my fingers. I then put
    it down. They were using the handles of their cups, I noted. And, too, of
    course, they were sitting at the table. Why should they be sitting, and I
    kneeling, I asked myself. Are we not the same? Are we not identical? I watched
    them drinking in the customary fashion. Then I, again, sipped coffee from the
    cup, holding it in both hands, like a small bowl. I felt an urge to put the cup
    aside, tear off the towel, and put my body naked to the cool tiles before them,
    at their feet. I wondered what the tiles would feel like against me, against my
    breasts, my belly, my thighs.
    The men finished their coffee.
    he
    “Have you finished your coffee?” asked he who. seemed in charge.
    I finished the coffee, holding the cup as I had been instructed to do. “Yes,” I
    said.
    “You may clear the table,” he said.
    I rose to my feet and put my cup in the sink. I then went to the table. I began
    to gather together their cups. “What is in the metal box?” I asked, lightly.
    “I told you,” he said. “Nothing.”
    I stacked the cups and carried them to the sink. “Really?” I asked.
    Yes,” he said.
    “I thought maybe you were delivering something to the apartment,” I said.
    “No,” he said.
    I rinsed off the cups.
    “Is it really empty?” I asked.
    “Now,” he said, to one of his fellows, “we need not listen to her blithering.”
    I felt my bead pulled back. There was apparently a ring at the back of the
    leather pad now pressed so closely into the back of my neck.
    I shook my head. I whimpered.
    The man then jerked the towel from my hair. I looked at him. I shook my head. He
    then jerked away the towel I wore on my body. I was then turned and thrown on my
    belly, on the table, the two assistants pressing me helplessly against it,
    holding me tightly down by the arms. The men, when I had been stripped, had not
    even paused to look at me. They had seen, I gathered, many women.
    I felt a piece of cotton or cloth touch my back, above and behind my left hip.
    It was wet. The area then felt cool. Then I whimpered. I felt a needle being
    entered into my flesh, in the center of that chemically chilled area. Tears
    sprang to my eyes. The needle was then withdrawn and I felt the area swabbed
    again with fluid. I was then drawn from the table and, by the arms, carried into
    the