Magicians of Gor Read Online Free PDF Page B

regarded her, in fury.
    She extended her arms a little, toward him, timidly, hoping to be permitted to
    embrace him. “Accept the devotion of your slave,” she begged.
    I saw his fists clench.
    “I love you. I love you, my Master!” she said.
    “Sly, lying slut!” he said.
    “No!” she wept.
    “Mendacious slut of Cos!” he cried.
    “I love you! I love you, my Master!” she cried.
    He then struck her with the back of his hand, striking her to one side, and she
    fell, turning, to her knees. She looked up at him from all fours, blood at her
    lips.
    “Were you given permission to speak?” he asked.
    “Forgive me, Master,” she whispered. She then crawled to his feet and, putting
    her head down, kissed them. “A slave begs the forgiveness of her Master,” she
    said.
    Marcus looked down at her, angrily. Then he turned to me. “Her use, of course,”
    he said, “is yours, whenever you might please.”
    “Thank you,” I said, “but I think that I can find a rent wench outside in the
    camp, or, if I wish, buy a slut, for they are cheap in the vicinity of Ar these
    days.”
    “As you wish,” said Marcus.
    Although Marcus was harsh with his slave, pretending even to a casual and brutal
    disdain for her, he was also, it might be mentioned, extremely possessive where
    she was concerned. Indeed, he was almost insanely jealous of her. She was not
    the sort of girl, for example, whom he, as a hose, even at the cost of (pg. 28)
    a certain rudeness and inhospitality, would be likely to hand over for the
    nightly comfort of a guest. It would be at his slave ring alone what she would
    be likely to find herself chained.
    “Stand up,” said Marcus to the girl.
    “I hear some music outside,” I said.
    “Yes,” I said.
    “At least someone in the neighborhood seems cheerful,” I said.
    “Probably peasants,” said Marcus.
    I thought this might be true. There were many about, having fled before the
    march of Cos. Driven from their lands, their stock muchly lost, or driven before
    them, they had come to the shelter of Ar’s walls. Still they were ready to sing,
    to drink and dance. I admired peasants. They were hardy, sturdy, irrepressible.
    Phoebe now stood humbly before Marcus, as she had been commanded.
    “Wipe your face,” said Marcus.
    She wiped the blood away, or smeared it, with her right forearm.
    “This cord,” said Marcus, “may function as a slave girdle. Such may be tied in
    several ways. You, as a slave, doubtless know the tying of slave girdles.”
    I smiled. Marcus would know, of course, that Phoebe would not be likely to know
    much, if anything, of such matters. Only recently she had been a free woman,
    though, to be sure, one who had been long kept, languishing, it seemed, and, of
    course, incompletely fulfilled, in the status of a mere captive. Only a few
    weeks again had she been branded and collared, and thusly liberated into total
    bondage.
    “No, Master,” said Phoebe. “I am not trained, save in so far as you, and before
    you, Master Tarl, have deigned to impart some understandings to me.”
    “I see,” said Marcus. I think he was just as pleased that Phoebe had not been
    muchly trained. From one point of view, this suggested that she had presumably
    been less handled before coming into his keeping that might have been otherwise
    the case. Also, of course, if she was to strive to please, and squirm, under
    strict training disciplines, he would prefer that she do so under his personal
    tutelage, and in the lights of his personal taste, she thus being kept more to
    himself, and also being trained to be a perfect personal slave, one honed to the
    whims, preferences and needs of a particular master. To be sure, this sort of
    thing can be done with any woman. it is part of her “learning the new master.”
    “Master is undoubted familiar with many slaves, and things having to do with
    slaves,” said Phoebe. “Perhaps then Master can teach his slave such things.”
    (Pg. 29) Though Marcus