Plunder of Gor Read Online Free PDF Page B

accustom you to helplessness,” she said.
    â€œI do not understand how the apartment could have been entered,” I said. “The doors and windows were locked.”
    â€œThere are devices,” said Paula. “I have read of them.”
    â€œI sometimes have the sense that I am being watched,” I said.
    â€œGorean slavers,” said Paula, “often scout ‘slave fruit’, before it is picked.”
    â€œIf there were such,” I said, “doubtless.”
    â€œThey choose carefully,” she said. “They select for intelligence, beauty, and passion.”
    â€œI am highly intelligent,” I said, “and obviously extremely beautiful. But I do not care for men.”
    â€œSlave fires,” she said, “may be lit in the coldest of bellies, turning them helplessly needful, beggingly needful.”
    I feared this might be true.
    Had I not dreamed of such need, of such helplessness? Could I be turned into such a needful, helpless thing?
    Surely not!
    Yet had I not longed for this?
    â€œHow helpless then,” she said, “would a woman be!”
    â€œDo not speak so,” I begged.
    â€œWhat could she be then,” she said, “but a man’s slave, the slave of men.”
    â€œI would not permit it,” I said. “And who could respond to the men we know?”
    â€œYour wishes in the matter need not be considered,” she said. “And all men may not be such as those with whom we are disappointingly familiar. I am sure, dear Phyllis, your libido, rendered helpless, dominated and mastered, will respond overwhelmingly to the lust of masters.”
    â€œI understand little, if anything, of this,” I said.
    â€œI think they are considering you, Phyllis,” she said, “for a Gorean ­collar.”
    â€œDo not be absurd,” I said, uneasily.
    â€œYou might be fetching,” she said, “slave clad, if clad, collared, and owned.”
    â€œI am a free woman,” I said, angrily.
    â€œI suspect so,” said Paula, “but who knows what the future might hold.”
    â€œWhat do you know of these things?” I asked.
    â€œI read, I think, I wonder,” said Paula. “I am familiar with the Gorean world, as I suspect you are not.”
    â€œI have heard of it,” I said, “a little.”
    â€œI have lived in the books,” said Paula. “They have spoken to me. I have found myself barefoot in those green fields, I have glimpsed far horizons from the bow of a swift galley, knelt trembling before a master.”
    â€œIn your imagination!” I said.
    â€œYes, alas, only so,” she said.
    â€œI did not know you were like this,” I said.
    â€œI have often wondered,” she said, “if there is a Counter-Earth, traversing its orbit, plying its silent way about our star, a world with its own gods and beasts, its own seasons and tides, its own strifes and wars.”
    â€œAbsurd,” I said.
    â€œIf there was such a world,” she said, “might it not hint its presence in a hundred ways, content even to be perceived as fiction?”
    â€œAbsurd!” I said, angrily.
    â€œStrange beasts, unwilling to be seen, might prowl in surprising precincts,” she said. “Reality might wear many concealments.”
    â€œIf Gor is real,” I said, “let it show itself, openly!”
    â€œIt, or its custodians, may not care to do so,” she said. “What would be the value or purpose of such a disclosure? How would it benefit either world? Would it not shatter comfortable visions, disrupt cultures, shake civilizations, alarm and unsettle populations, produce social, economic, and intellectual chaos? No, it is better for Gor to conceal itself, to the extent it can; it is better for it to maintain its privacy, its reticence. It is better for all that way.”
    I looked away, angrily.
    â€œBesides,” she said, “perhaps it is not