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A Barbarian Girl on Gor Ch. 01

By: Mischiana



Chapter 1. Amelia Jane's Last Day on Planet Earth

It had been a weekend of parties and clubbing, but now my alarm clock was ringing, and I realised with a sigh that it was Monday morning. I turned over in bed and groaned. 

I knew that this was a big day at work, we had important clients visiting, and I was going to have to help entertain them. Mr Smith, my boss, had taken me to one side on Friday afternoon, and had told me exactly what he wanted me to wear. I should explain that at that time I worked for a small, exclusive investment bank in the City of London. It was my first job out of college, and I had only been doing it for a month, but already I seemed to be favoured for such meetings by Mr Smith. 

When I had left my minor Oxbridge college, I had feared the worst. I had an English Literature and Media Studies degree, not particularly helpful for paid employment, I had quickly discovered. I had performed poorly in my examinations, scraping a third class honours pass degree, and that only after a personal visit and appeal to the Head of Department, which had been an ordeal in itself.

I had done well in my pre-exam assessments, but I had to admit, I hadn't really studied for the main exams, and hadn't read the course books, spending my time partying and going out. I had not done much work for the assessments either, yet somehow had got good grades. 

Most of my lecturers had been fairly elderly males, and it would probably be fair to say that I had 'dressed to impress'. I am a natural blonde, about five feet eight inches, blue eyed, and for my height, possess strikingly long legs, and an excitingly curved figure of 36-25-35. 

In classes and seminars I had tended to wear short dresses and skirts, low-cut tops, and had sat at the very front, smiling a lot at the lecturers.This had certainly seemed to help with my assessment grades, but had done me little good in the examinations themselves, where, as I had found to my cost, the bulk of the marks were awarded.

Subsequently, the Head of Department, perhaps feeling sorry for me considering the lengths to which I had had to go to convince him to award me a passing grade, used his influence to get me an interview at a City Investment Bank, where he apparently had contacts. The vacancy was for a PR representative. Although I knew nothing about banking, nor PR for that matter, I had sailed through the interview, at which I had seemed to be the only candidate, and for which I had worn high heels and an exceptionally short little black number, with a hem just below my panties, and a cleavage just above my belly button. I started work there the following week.

The other employees did not seem to regard me very seriously as a PR representative, although I noticed a lot of the men ogling me, and they weren't very subtle about it. Although it was hard to get the other employees to open up much, I learnt that there had been a succession of pretty girls doing my job, although apparently none of them had lasted very long, and had always seemed to move on without keeping in touch. I determined to be different. 

The job was fairly easy, and seemed to consist of making coffee, taking out clients to lunch, and attending meetings where I was not expected to speak.. For these tasks, which of course suited me down to the ground, I was handsomely rewarded, considering that I was a new employee. I even had a wardrobe allowance, which I gather is quite unusual in the world of investment banking, and which Mr Smith took it upon himself to supervise personally. His recommendations were surprisingly unconservative, and I found myself attending work in a succession revealing outfits, particularly when certain clients were visiting. 

That day I was wearing a complicated updo and Mr Smith had selected a little red dress with a hemline that would be considered scandalously short for the other bank employees, yet for me was standard. 

In terms of my decolletage it was one of my more spectacular outfits. It had a cowl cleavage, cut wide, and right down to below my navel. I had used two bits of tape to 'keep myself in place', but even with this safety net, little was left to the imagination, as of course I could not sensibly wear a brassiere with such a dress. 

Mr Smith had specifically told me not to wear stockings so the ensemble was completed by high heels and a clutch bag, plus hooped earrings. There was one surprising omission from my outfit, and that was a pair of panties. In our discussion on the previous Friday, Mr Smith had almost casually asked me not to wear any. I had been shocked, but he had pointed out that, given the (relatively) demure length of the dress he had selected for me, there was no danger and a visible pantie line would ruin the lines of the dress, and hence the stunning effect of the whole outfit. 

Although I had thought this perhaps 'a step too far' in his control over my wardrobe, I had swallowed my reservations, and obeyed his instructions. After all, it was an important meeting, I could take a taxi to and from work, and we would be taking lunch in the meeting. I am not a girl that particularly enjoys confrontation or standing up to authority.

This meeting seemed fairly typical, a lot of it conducted in a language that I didn't understand. The other attendees at the meeting were all male, and, to my surprise, uniformly rather virile and handsome. Although they all wore immaculate suits and ties, I could not help get the feeling that this wasn't their usual attire, by any means. In fact, most of them gave the impression that they were wearing such outfits almost in the way that one might don a fancy dress costume.

As usual, I was not required to speak, take notes, or do anything really, except occasionally fetch coffee, but the men seemed to spend a lot of the time looking in my direction, and once or twice I had a strange feeling that I was actually the subject of the discussion. My main task was to try not to look too bored, to smile a lot, and to make sure that I sat in a seat where my long legs and deep cleavage were on full show to all. I fulfilled all these criteria, despite the meeting going on seemingly for ever, well past official work hours. 

At the end of the almost interminable conclave, and to my genuine surprise, Mr Smith announced that the clients had been so pleased with my contribution, that they had given me a small token of their gratitude. The present was strange, an unusual bracelet, a little large, and rather plain. I reflected that it might be something relevant to their culture.

"It is for your ankle," said one of the men as I tried to put it on my wrist, his accent awkward and heavy.

I was a little taken aback. I had assumed it to be a bracelet. How out of touch with fashion were these men? An anklet, indeed! What did they think I was? I smiled my best fake smile. "Thank you. You are too kind! It is lovely."

Mr Smith looked pleased. 

"Put it on!" called one of the men..

"Yes, put it on!" cried another.

I looked at Mr Smith, unsure what I should do. He nodded to me. Obviously it would not do to disappoint these valuable foreign clients, despite the fact that they were taking rather a liberty, and it would be difficult to comply with their request modestly, given the extremely scanty geometries of my outfit.

Nevertheless, I lifted my right leg, as demurely as possible, ready to don the anklet.

"You will need to take your shoe off," pointed out Mr Smith.

I could not see how this was so, as the anklet could simply snap about my lower limb, but I supposed it should not do to argue with Mr Smith.

With difficulty, and endeavouring to keep my skimpy red dress in place as best I could, I undid the strap of my right Christian Louboutin high-heel, black, with its signature red soles. My right foot was now bare. 

"It is for your left ankle!" called one of the men, laughing. I blushed a little. How could it matter which ankle I wore it on?

Several others took up the cry. I looked at Mr Smith once more, and he nodded to me again, fairly sternly. I felt that they were perhaps sporting with me a bit, but I supposed it was all good-humoured and not malicious. Besides, my heels were high and it might be best to have them both off, that I not trip.

I took off my other shoe, and then with difficulty, snapped the anklet in place on my left leg.

Mr Smith whispered to me that I should curtsey to show my thanks, and although I had not performed such a gesture since I was a little girl, at his behest I went through with it, performing a graceful English curtsey, which even elicited a round of applause from the clients. I had not realised the effect of the curtsey on the hem of my dress, and realised that I might again have shown a little bit more of myself than intended, but it was nice to be applauded, all the same. I beamed with delight, although I am sure I was blushing a little too.

Some of the men clapped their hands, although some applauded by smiting their shoulders with their hands. This intrigued me, showing another aspect of the cultural differences on show. I wondered, not for the first time, which country they came from. It had not, of course, been considered necessary, at or before the meeting to appraise me of any details of this nature.

In any case, Mr Smith said afterwards that he was very pleased with me, and hinted confidentially that I might soon be expecting a dramatic change in my circumstances, tapping his nose significantly. A raise or promotion, I thought, after only one month in the job! Amelia Jane Harrington was going places!

I was gratified, as, perhaps somewhat impulsively, I had, on obtaining employment purchased a small apartment not far from Canary Wharf. Despite my generous remuneration, this purchase had stretched me somewhat financially, what with having to pay my student debts, and buy lots of tasteful furniture, and get taxis back and forth, and so on, so a raise in my salary would have been a most welcome development

The meeting had ended very late, and the City had emptied out. One inconvenient aspect was that the anklet did not appear to have come with a key, and there seemed no way of getting it off my leg. However, it wasn't painful, it fitted very well in fact, and I supposed it could be quite an attractive feature with some thought as to matching outfits, although somehow it looked a little incongruous with the heels..

Outside, the few taxis that were around were already occupied and did not respond to my increasingly desperate hailing, This was quite unusual - normally I find it easy enough to hail a taxi, but it seemed that bigger fares were on offer, so eventually I got my phone out of my clutch bag and dialled a local company. Unfortunately they told me it would be at least an hour wait for a cab. Crossly, I gave up and went to catch the tube.

On the steps leading down to the station a particularly decrepit looking beggar importuned me for money to buy a cup of tea. I cast him an unpleasant look. How dare he presume to solicit me? I loathed people that presumed upon one's privacy in this way. Why could he not just sit still in his rags and allow me to decide to give him money or not? In response to my look he made a disgusting noise then laughed at me. I carried on down the stairs hearing him call obscenities after me. 

I purchased a ticket from the machine, and almost immediately a train came by. At the next station, I realised why there had been no available taxis. The carriage, from being empty, was suddenly filled with football fans, presumably on their way home from a match. I pressed my legs together tightly, and clutched my little bag tightly to my lap. They were chanting obscenely, and I knew it was only a matter of time before I should find myself involved in the 'banter'.

Sure enough, one of them leant over.

"Hey, Jim, look at the legs on that!"

"Yeah, and the tits!"

"You an Arsenal fan, gorgeous, all dolled up in red?"

I studiously tried to look away, wishing desperately to be alone again. The men sitting either side of me pushed in, squashing me in my seat. 

"Hey gorgeous, we're talking' to yer! You a fan of the Arse?"

"I'm a fan of her arse!"

There was ribald laughter. I had only one stop to go. I tried not to make eye contact. One of the men put his hand on my bare thigh.

"P..please," I stuttered, "I don't really follow football, I...I'm just going home from work, and my stop is coming up."

With difficulty, and having to press my body against the two thugs who hemmed me in, I got to my feet.

"You live here, eh? Canary Wharf? You must have a bit of dosh. Wotcher do then, Blondie?"

"Wotcher think she does, Stan, dressed like that? She's a tart ain't she?"

"That right, Blondie? You a tart? How much yer charge?"

"If..if...you must know, I'm an investment banker. Now, please let me off." 

I was trying to push through the throng of bodies to the doors, as the train pulled into the station.

"You hear that Stan? Little tart says she's a bleedin' banker. Don't look like any banker I ever see!"

They jostled me more. I felt a hand reaching into my decotellage. I took one hand off my clutch bag to try and push it away. I felt another hand high on my inside leg, groping up inside my dress.

"Please! You have no right! Let me off!"

The doors to the carriage opened. The hand groped inevitably higher up my inadequate little dress.

"Ere! The little tart ain't wearing' no knickers!"

I could feel the man's hand now at my slit. Other hands began to lift the short hem of my dress to confirm his statement. I began to realise that I was in real trouble.

"She's wet as an eel! We got ourselves a right little slut 'ere!"

I lunged desperately for the doors, they were going to shut at any moment now, and who knows what would happen to me before the next stop.

I felt my momentum come to a stop, just inches from the door. I began to sob. 

Suddenly, I heard a thumping sound, and the man next to me collapsed in a heap. I felt strong hands grip me, round the waist, and push me hard through the carriage doors, just as they began to close. I tumbled out onto the platform, another man with me. The train pulled away.

I got to my feet. The man next to me, dressed in a city suit, seemed familiar.

"Thank you," I said.

I realised with a shock that he was one of the men in the meeting that day.

"You are welcome," he smiled, speaking with a heavy accent, "we would not wish damaged goods."

I could not understand this phrase at all, assuming either that I had misheard him, or that his understanding of English was limited. At any rate, I was in his debt.

"You were one of the men in the meeting today, weren't you? At the bank?"

"Yes, I was. I see you still wear your anklet."

We walked out of the station together, it not particularly occurring to me to consider why he had been on the train in the first place. Outside, I held out my hand, to shake his and say goodbye.

He regarded my outstretched hand curiously, as if he had no idea what to do with it. 

"Please," he said, "allow me to accompany you home in a taxi. I would not wish you to walk."

I smiled, "Thank you, but I think you will find it hard to get a taxi."

In response he looked down the street and clicked his fingers. Immediately, a taxi came to a stop beside us.

"Please," he gestured.

Gratefully, I got in. It was true, that I would not want to be walking those quiet streets home after what had happened on the train. It would only take a minute or two by taxi, and I was still shaken.

"Well," I said, "you will have to let me pay the fare."

"No," he said, "There will be no need for that."

I gave him a smile of gratitude. I don't object to offers from others to pay my way, particularly men. After all, it's their choice, and if they want to spend a bit of their money on me, well so be it. I called my address to the driver through the sturdy mesh grille and the taxi moved off. 

I looked down demurely. Although I consider myself to be a very pretty girl (I am not one for false modesty), I had not really had time to find a boyfriend since coming to London. I had had several 'one-night-stands' with various boys at the weekends, finding it almost absurdly easy to have them at my beck and call in the city's nightclubs. However, I regarded this handsome, burly, stranger differently somehow, and determined to find out more about him, perhaps even seduce him.

I turned to him, smiling prettily. 

"So, do you live in..."

I cut my question short. To my surprise he had put on a mask, that covered his nose and mouth. I heard the sound of some sort of gas entering the enclosed booth of the taxi.

I sobbed and scratched at the door, which was locked. 

I felt weak.

"You seem interested to know of me. I will be your handler. We are now on our way to a very different place....your new home"

I opened and closed my mouth, I wanted to protest, but no words came out.

As I lost consciousness, I began to consider that I was perhaps not destined for a lucrative career in international investment banking after all.

****

The spaceship was huge, but I recall little of it. I was very drowsy. I was carried like a sack of coal over a man's shoulder. I realised that I was now nude. I remember looking down the whole length of the ship, and seeing layers and layers of futuristic semi-transparent pods, most with something inside, the size of a small human. I was placed in one of the pods. I saw my handler looking down on me. I tried to whimper. The lid of the pod closed over me. I felt more gas enter the pod. I lost consciousness.

When I woke up, I was not on earth. 

A Barbarian Girl on Gor Ch. 02



Chapter 2. Amelia Jane in the Pens

Eventually the dreaming ended. 

I began to awaken slowly. I seemed in a state of semi-paralysis, but my senses, at least, seemed to be working. 

I smelt mustiness, and dampness, and an unpleasant earthy odour. My limbs felt cold. I could feel something cool and damp against my fingertips and body.

I tried to recollect events. I had been almost raped on the tube. I had been drugged in a taxi. I had been manhandled into a plastic pod, one of many. 

Surely that hadn't, couldn't have, happened?

I tried to end the dream. I must be late for my work at the investment bank. I needed to get up, not lie here. Mr Smith was always cross if I did not get to work in time. 

But I was not in my bed! I was lying on bare wooden planks, cool and damp to my touch. I heard voices, and whimpering. 

The numbness slowly faded from my extremities, and I found that I could move my fingers once more. 

Gradually I began to make out something from the dim glow. I began to regain the ability to move my neck, and slowly, painfully, rotated my gaze to see my surroundings. 

I saw bars of metal, vertical, uncompromising.

I felt dizzy. Something seemed wrong with my weight. It did not feel the same. Something was different at the very heart of the forces working on my body. At the time I put this feeling down to my weakened state. My questing fingertips moved on my limbs.

I felt the anklet that had been given me as a present. Was it yesterday? It could have been weeks ago. I did not know. There was another on my right ankle! I found similar, smaller, devices encircling my wrists. I felt a slight weight at my ears. My hoop earrings were still there, they had not been removed from me at any rate.

And there was something around my neck! I felt it. A necklace, plain and smooth to the touch. But it had a lock!

I put my head to the bars and looked out into the dim light.

I found myself to be naked in a suspended cage with slatted wood below and cold metal bars on all other sides. The cage was hung about four feet from the floor and was about four feet in each direction. Thus, I could not stretch out my body. There were many such cages in the room. Most contained a nude female occupant. Some were asleep, some awake like me, looking around, as if overawed to find themselves thus and unsure how to react.

I was caged like an animal!

It was cold and smelly. I heard quiet weeping and sobbing amongst the caged naked girls. At one point there was shouting and screaming. A man walked along a walkway and shouted. I heard the sound of a whip then a scream. I gasped in horror. They had whips. I have always been very fearful of whips.

I listened. Some of the girls were speaking English, but some spoke other languages. There were a number of men now, walking along a series of connected walkways above the cells. I heard the men speak. 

A man was walking on an iron walkway above me. I knelt. One cannot stand upright in the cages. 

"Please," I called up to him, "Help me."

He did not acknowledge me.

He poured a liquid into a funnel at the top and it flowed into a small trough-like gutter on one side of my cage. It was water, fetid and unpleasant but I was thirsty, and gratefully drank. In another funnel was poured a thicker fluid with a smell of oatmeal. It was thin enough to flow slowly into another gutter on the other side of the cage. I did not know what it was, but I was terribly hungry.

I sniffed it. I was so hungry. Yet I could not eat an unknown fluid, from a gutter.

I was so hungry. I gathered a small piece in my lips, and onto my tongue. It tasted of little, but was, I supposed, food. Yet perhaps it was drugged or even poisoned. I must not eat it. 

I was so hungry. I swallowed some. 

It was a watery porridge, lumpy and tasteless. It had not been seasoned. It was a basic form of sustenance, a fodder, as might be fed to an animal. 

I was from London, one of the great restaurant cities of the world, I could not possibly eat unsweetened, unseasoned porridge from a gutter.

I was so hungry. I lapped at the unpalatable fare with my tongue. 

It tasted of almost nothing, but was so good. Before I knew it my tongue was pressing against the bottom of the guttering, all of the porridge gone. There had been little enough of it. 

I still was hungry, though a little less so than before. What sort of creature would obtain her sustenance from cold unseasoned porridge presented in a guttered trough? 

I shuddered to think what might be going to happen to me.

I no longer thought that I was dreaming; one does not dream of eating porridge from a trough. It is too mundane, too prosaic, too horrifying, too humiliating, too degrading.

I tried to collect my wits. What could I do? Where was I? I was seemingly in a wood-floored barred hanging cage, suspended, with walkways above, upon which walked gaolers who provided my food and water. I was nude, apart from necklace, anklets, cuffs, and earrings. I was frightened, cold, and despite my meagre meal, still hungry.

Did I fall back asleep? Perhaps the porridge had indeed been drugged. I awoke to the clump of passing footsteps on the walkways.

Some of the girls were shouting, kneeling in their cages. All were awake now. I did not shout. I am not a brave girl. I waited, in my tiny cage, to see what would happen.

More men were on the walkway. The shouting stopped. There was sobbing, and some whimpering. Girls were being removed from their cages, pulled out by the men, and made to crawl on hands and knees down to the end of the walkway that passed at the top of the cages and through a door guarded by one of the men. 

There they spent some time before being brought back to the pens and another batch of girls removed. Sometimes I heard muffled screams from behind the door. Some returned in tears. All looked shaken. Next it was my turn. I looked sympathetically at my cage neighbour as she, returning, was lowered into the cage. She looked distraught. There were two symbols written in blue on her left breast. Her breasts were full and attractive.

My cage was opened and I was lifted out. I met the eyes of the man who lifted me out. It was the man from the taxi! I almost collapsed to all fours on the walkway. My eyes were wide. A switch poked me gently on my rump.

I was to proceed him on the walkway on all fours. I did so. I knew the door to which I must crawl. Once more he poked me with a switch. I must crawl faster. I must not dally on my way. I reached the door. 

"Steady little animal," said my handler. I supposed that he had been chosen to supervise me because he could speak my language. I stayed on all fours as he opened the door. He poked me again with the switch. I was to proceed. I saw that he had a whip at his belt.

Behind the door was a plain room. A man sat at a simple desk. I was reminded of Professor Jones at college, although I had never entered his office nude and all fours. I remembered that awful day when I went in to his office to try and negotiate a higher examination grade.

I looked at the man behind the desk more closely. It was Professor Jones! My tummy turned upside down with shock.

He regarded me lazily, then grinned, as if recognizing me. I tried to cover my nudity, as best I could with my hands.

"This is the one that caused you all the trouble? That the Earth men almost raped" he asked.

"Kneel," said my handler.

I knelt as best I could on the tiles of the floor. My arms over my breasts.

"Knees apart," said the man, impatiently.

I obeyed, blushing. The pose commanded split my legs affording the man behind the desk a clear sight of my private intimacies.

"Yes, she's the one," said the other.

"Place your hands on your thighs," commanded Professor Jones.

I did so. I think I was in shock. What could Professor Jones be doing here?

I was terribly frightened, not knowing what had happened to me, but I was also determined to obey, come what may, and not be punished. I would make sure that I did not present them with the least reason to punish me. I had felt a poke of the stick on my behind when I was crawling from the cell, when I had apparently dallied. I did not wish to repeat the experience, or worse, feel the whip my handler carried at his belt..

"Knees wider," barked my handler, "split your legs as wide as you can."

I blushed scarlet, but did as commanded, my thighs now splayed.

"Well, well," said the Professor, "so, Amelia Jane, I had heard you were in this batch. And you were the cause of one of our best operatives having to confront Earth men?"

I put my head down. What was he doing here? Where was I? What did he mean, 'Earth men'? I felt sick with dread.

"The position that you have assumed," said the Professor, "has a name." 

He told me the name, a simple two syllable word. 

"When you hear someone say that word you assume that position. Understand little animal?"

I nodded.

"The little beast understands that at least," remarked my handler.

"It was not so easy to train her on Earth," laughed the Professor.

I squirmed on the tiles, displayed. I wondered what they would do with me.

"When a male is present, unless otherwise instructed, you will assume this position. Is that understood?"

"Y..yes."

"You may regard it as a 'default position'. One which you will soon find yourself assuming unconsciously when males are present, so get used to it."

I nodded, feeling sick with horror. What was to become of me? What was Professor Jones doing here? Why was he talking to me as if I were somehow beneath him? As if I were a 'little animal'. And the way he spoke of Earth, as if it were somewhere else.

Professor Jones regarded me, resting his elbows on the table, his fingertips together, touching his chin. I saw his eyes take me in. All of me.

"To your feet," he said.

I got to my feet. I was determined to obey them, to be a 'good little girl' for them. I was not courageous, nor rebellious, I did not want to feel the whip on my flesh. Judge me cowardly or timid if you wish, but know that it is hard to be alone, nude, having your flesh appraised by men with whips and be courageous or rebellious.

"Hands on your head," he said.

I placed my hands on my head, in the tresses of my long blonde hair that I was so proud of, and looked after so carefully. It was unkempt now, and dirty. 

"Stand straight," he said.

I tried to stand straight. I was so tired. My handler put his hand in my hair and pulled it back, sharply, arching my back, exposing the curve of my breasts, the form of my belly, slim and taut. The Professor spoke again.

"Feet apart," he said.

I placed my bare feet, shackled, about a foot apart.

"Further apart," he said, "split those pretty legs wider."

I placed my bare feet, shackled, about two foot apart. Despite my situation, I was gratified to hear that he thought my legs were pretty. 

He appraised me from behind his desk.

"Turn," he said.

I turned, facing away from him.

I felt tears in my eyes, but I would strive to obey. I did not care to feel the kiss of the whip.

"Legs further apart," he said. I complied.

After a time he said, "Turn back."

I obeyed, my hands still in my hair, my breasts well displayed. I tried to arch my back, as I had been shown by the man's hands before. I did not know whether I arched it satisfactorily, but at any rate, I did not feel the man's hands in my hair correcting me.

The man behind the desk contemplated me. 

"So, little Amelia Jane. The girl who failed all of her examinations."

He motioned to my handler and said something in his own language.

My handler stepped forward, and to my horror began to candidly touch me, commencing at my breasts, then his firm, strong hands down to my belly, to my behind and then, to my intense embarrassment, began exploring my most private intimacies.

Within seconds he had reduced me to a helpless, squirming wreck.

"Oh," I had said.

Then, "No!" I had called out.

Then, "Ah...please!" I had screamed.

I wanted to remove my hands from my hair, but I dare not. I threw my head back, my eyes closed, my lips parted. I was losing my self-control.

The man removed his hands. I whimpered. I could feel dampness on my inner thighs. He raised his fingers to my lips.

"Lick," he said.

I closed my eyes. Were there no depths to which they would not degrade me? Yet I had promised myself that I would do what they wished, that I would not rebel, or be difficult. I would be docile. I would 'blend in'. I would do anything to avoid incurring their wrath. I am not a brave girl.

I licked his fingers, tasting my arousal. I had never tasted such before. How sensuous, I thought. How utterly and exquisitely humiliating. How pleasant it must be for them to degrade a helpless girl so.

He took his fingers away.

I opened my eyes. The Professor was regarding me, as if coming to a decision.

"Interesting," he said, "She is at least adequate."

I was apparently 'adequate'. Certainly, this hardly seemed to be a ringing endorsement, yet should not, I thought, constitute any basis for punishment. I determined that I should always strive to be 'adequate'. A girl who was adequate would not stand out. An adequate girl should not be punished unduly. An adequate girl would blend in and not be selected for the whip.

"So you know her too then?," asked my handler.

The other smiled, "Yes," he said, "I know her. I had the misfortune to try to teach her. Now I have special plans for this juicy little slut."

I reddened, hot with shame. I had never been called a 'juicy little slut' before. I could not help how I had behaved under my handler's touch.

They conversed further in their own language. They both laughed. I wondered what they had found amusing.

I felt something on my breast. My handler was writing there with a thick blue pen. He wrote a symbol, twice.

"That," he said, " is the symbol for '44'. It is now your name." 

He paused, as though giving me some time to assimilate this dramatic alteration in my circumstances.

"What is your name?"

"44," I said, numbly. 

I had been Miss Amelia Jane Harrington, of London, England. A PR representative for an investment bank in the City. Now I was '44'. A numbered animal in the slave pens. It was apparently written on my right breast, as a mnemonic. Who could be bothered to remember the name of a beast in the slave pens? Now, my name was at hand, scrawled on my breast. 

My handler was talking to me.

He spoke a phrase of four simple syllables then pointed at me.

I tried to emulate the short phrase. It took several attempts for me to enunciate the term to his satisfaction.

"It means," he said, "I am a slave girl."

He had me say it again.

It seemed that I had made another step forward in their language. My vocabulary was now somewhat larger.

"Take her back to her cell," said Professor Jones.

"Come, little animal," said my handler.

I crawled back through the door and along the walkway, head down, miserable, and was thrown back into my tiny cell.

"What phrase have you learnt?" asked my handler, sternly, from above me, on the walkway.

"I am a slave girl" I said, trying to enunciate the unfamiliar syllables to the best of my ability.

"Good," he said, "Remember it."

I was a slave girl.

My name was '44'.

They had 'special plans' for me.

I wept, helplessly, in my cell. 



A Barbarian Girl on Gor Ch. 03



Chapter 3 - Amelia Jane is Appropriately Marked

I awoke slowly. I had lost all track of time, but I knew from my belly and throat that I had not been fed or watered for a while.

I sniffed. A smell of burning mingled with the foul smells of the pens. A girl across the walkway, Penelope, who I had found was French, but could speak some halting English, saw that I was awake and whispered "They give us some heat." 

With difficulty I turned, my behind and back hurting against the metal of my tiny hanging cage, to notice the movement of the men, and saw a glow coming from a cauldron. A handler was putting several small black stones onto a fire beneath it.

The room was already warmer, and the damp and the cold diminished. After a time I heard the men approaching. They stopped and removed three girls from the first row of pens and led them crawling along the corridor and down stairs at the end. 

On the breasts of the girls similar symbols to my own "44" were written. I knew now that these were their numbers, and in our block of cells the numbers went from 41 up to 60. From this I thought it probable that we were one cell block amongst several, at least three, perhaps more. I recalled the journey on the spaceship. There had been at least 60 girls in the pods and we were only twenty in the room.

There had been covert whisperings and murmured speculations in the cages when the men were not paying much attention to us. I did not know at that time where I was. There had been a rumour in the pens that we were not even on earth. One part of evidence for this were tiny creatures that scurried on the floor of the chamber in which our cages hung. They were vaguely rat-like, yet different in several respects, such as colour, and shape. However, it seemed possible to me that such creatures might exist on earth.

The girl in the cage to to my left, or '43', was Aika from Japan, whilst she to my right, '45' was Ekaterina from Russia. Penelope was '54'. Of my neighbours only Penelope could speak my language, and she only falteringly. Being English myself, I could not of course speak their various tongues. 

It was not in any case practical to talk to other girls, except in brief whispers that often could not be made out. If the guards heard any noise they would typically whip someone, guilty or otherwise. So far I had escaped being whipped. 

Over the course of the hours and days I had found out from Penelope that the girls to her right and left, '53' and '55', were Lora, who was from South Africa, and Mariana, who was from Brazil. 

Aika and two others, '41', and '42' had been taken in the first batch.

Apparently the girl next to Mariana was not from Earth, and could not or would not talk to Mariana. I did not know if this were true, or just another unsubstantiated rumour like the rodents scuttling on the floor.

All of us were nude, save for necklaces, cuffs, and anklets. Penelope and myself, as well as others, also had earrings, this seemingly the one item of jewellery that the men had not confiscated. I did not know why this should be. 

The three girls were being herded along towards the cauldron. The sounds of metal and chains and the snapping shut of locks could be heard along with the muffled sobbing of several girls. The men spoke amongst themselves in their language. Then a piercing shriek jolted me, my heart skipping a beat. 

I shuddered. I wondered if it had been Aika that had screamed. 

There was a louder sobbing and pleading in a foreign tongue. Two more times the shocking screams echoed through the room. The weeping girls were then brought back to their cages. I could clearly see on the lovely thigh of Aika a red mark like a letter or number. She was crying uncontrollably.

The men proceeded to the next group of cages, which included mine.

I was already sobbing as I was pulled from my cell. The handsome brute whom I had come to regard as my handler seemed to be in charge of the operation with two others. I wondered if it were coincidental that he was to supervise once more, or simply a factor of the duty rosters. I obediently went to the kneeling position as I had been taught, hoping to impress him with my compliance. He impatiently positioned me instead on my hands and knees, his strong hands on my bare limbs showing me what was required. 

He attached a length of chain to an attachment of my necklace. I was leashed like an animal!

I wanted to struggle against this new indignity inflicted upon me, but he pulled on the chain and I had little choice but to follow him on hands and knees along the walkway and down the stairs. It was getting warmer, and I was crying freely now. "Hush little animal,it will soon be all over," said my handler, solicitously, and I heard his words with a measure of gratitude. He normally spoke to me only harshly and to correct flaws in my behaviour. 

I saw a contraption of iron bands at the wall. I was placed into it by my handler, strapping me in place around my neck, belly, left knee above the thigh, and just below the hip. The bands were tight. I could not move my left leg even a fraction. 

"You will be allowed to scream, little animal," he said, seeming to regard this as a kindness, a mercy, a consideration. I wondered how I would have possibly been prevented from so doing, but I suppose that there are gags that might serve such purposes. I felt far from grateful, however.

My handler went to the cauldron, and discussed something with the other men there. They were checking some sort of list. 

He put on a glove, then pulled something out of the cauldron. It was a rod of iron, about two feet long, culminating in a circular ring about three inches in diameter. The circular ring was glowing red!

I crumbled. I would have slumped to the floor if the device had not held me up. So this was it. They were going to burn my body. 

I wailed and babbled incoherently as my handler approached me with the iron rod. The ringed tip of the rod crackled into my flesh. There was sizzling, and spluttering. I was beyond tears. I desperately hoped that I might lose consciousness, but the pain saw to it that I did not. It seared beyond my thigh, coursing through my whole body as if my blood had been turned to acid. The iron lodged in my body. How long would it stay there, I wondered? It seemed it had been there for an eternity. I heard wild, hoarse, screams, those of a shrieking beast, and realised that they were my own. 

Still the insidious iron was lodged in my flesh. It seemed that the moment would never end, I wondered why they were not going to stop. Surely it made more sense to put the iron to the girl's flesh for just a few seconds, rather than leave it there for what seemed like minutes on end? The pain had developed now, like such I had never known. 

The rod of iron was removed, but the pain remained and even intensified, I was grateful at least that I had not succumbed to any base and essential bodily urges, but that was perhaps because we had not been fed and watered for some time, rather than to any great resolve or fortitude on my part.

My handler undid the hasps of the device. I slumped to the ground. By the leash he dragged me to a spot across the floor where he indicated I should kneel. He restrained my hands behind my back in the cuffs. I could not reach the brand. He took Ekaterina and she was placed in the device. She was sobbing uncontrollably.

The other girls were, so far as I could see, marked with a symbol that looked a little like a letter 'k'. My own adornment was that of a letter 'o'. I wondered at this. Did it have significance? I had wanted to 'blend in', but, at least in the matter of my brand I had been accorded individual treatment.

Did this mean that I was special in some way? I recalled Professor Jones saying that he had 'special plans' for me. Did that simply mean that I was to have a different letter burnt onto my body? Was there perhaps something about me that had resulted in this differentiation? 

Perhaps I was more beautiful? 

I doubted this; I am a good judge of beauty and had realised fairly soon that whilst my looks stood up well to the others in the pens, I was not head or shoulders above the other girls in beauty. The girl '56', for example, who was said to be not from earth was probably more beautiful in some respects, if you liked brown hair and green eyes, and shorter, fuller figured girls.

Was it that I was from earth? 

No, many, if not most of the girls were from earth. They all seemed to have the other mark. 

Was it that I was a blonde? 

No, Ekaterina was also blonde, and she had not been marked as I.

My curiosity, always keen, had been piqued, and perhaps my vanity too came into play. I was, in some unspecified way, special. I resolved to make it my business to find out why. I thought that I might be able to wheedle it out of my handler. 

He had helped capture me. He had fingered me scandalously in the office, and then with exquisite cruelty had made me lick my own juices from his fingers. He had leashed me and burnt me for no apparent reason.

But he was a handsome brute. And I might be able to wheedle information from him. 

I had normally found that I could obtain information from men, if I really wanted it, and worked hard enough at getting it. After all, my handler had been somewhat sympathetic to me, telling me that it would soon be over, and that I had been a good girl. He had not needed to do that, and yet he had done so. I smiled to myself. We should see. Getting information from him as to the nature of my special brand might at least constitute a test, to see what I could achieve here, under the circumstances in which I now found myself.

My arms were still cuffed behind me in the cage so I could not scratch at my circular wound. 

I saw Penelope across the walkway. She was looking at my marking. "It is different," she said.

I turned the other way, in the direction of the side wall, and sobbed in my tiny cell.

I had been marked.

I wished I had my hands free that I could block my ears so as not to hear the screaming of the other girls as each took their turn to be kissed by the iron.

I do not know how long passed before the iron lid of my cage was opened again. I looked up to see my handler looking down on me. I regarded him sulkily. He was handsome, but nothing but a brute. I wondered what it should be like to try and please him.

He lifted me out of the cage, undid my cuffs so that I could use my arms to crawl, then once more attached the humiliating leash to my necklace. I had come to realise that the neckalce was there for a functional reason, as with the cuffs and anklets. 

The only items that I wore that did not seem to have a functional purpose were my hoop earrings. I wondered that I had been allowed to retain these decorative items. Perhaps they were simply obscured beneath my hair and had not been noticed. But I doubted this. They seemed thorough in such matters. 

The marking on my leg stung horribly.

I crawled behind my handler to the room where I had been deemed 'adequate' by Professor Jones, and then humiliatingly brought to a state of arousal by my handler.

I turned my head away so as not to look at him.

My handler poked me with his switch.

"Position," he said, not pleasantly.

I assumed the 'default position' that they had taught me, still refusing to meet the eyes of the Professor. Who did they think they were to kidnap me, and now permanently and painfully mark my body? Surely the relevant authorities were on the trail of myself and the other captured girls by now? They would not get away with this iniquity.

"So, my dear," began the Professor, in his usual measured, impeccable tones, as if he were addressing a student or colleague, rather than a nude, branded girl, kneeling at his feet, "What is your name at the moment?"

"44," I replied numbly, my head down.

"Indeed," he said, "I think we will have to do something about that. Find something more suitable, more descriptive, for you, my dear."

I kept my head down, a slight tinge of hope in my heart. It would be nice at least to be given something more than a mere number for a name.

"Do you notice anything about the brand you have been given?"

I did not answer. A poke with the switch served to encourage me to reply.

"Yes," I remarked, sullenly. Despite my hatred of them, I did not wish to be punished. I determined that I would at least answer their questions after a fashion, that I not feel the switch or even the whip on my body, additional to the pain from the burning mark on my thigh.

"What did you notice?" asked the Professor, patiently.

"It is different."

He sighed. "In what way?"

"It is an 'o' shape. The other girls all had a different shape."

"Very good," he said, "Perhaps you are more observant than I had thought. Are you aware of the significance of this brand?"

"No." I replied. How could they expect me to know that? I looked up at the Professor angrily. He was sitting with his elbows on his desk, his fingertips at his lips, looking at me intently. 

"It is what is called a holding brand," he said, "Just as with your companions in the pens, it designates you as property, but whereas their brands could be traced back to this House, yours is simply an anonymous symbol. It says, in effect, that although you are undoubtedly a slave girl, we do not guarantee that you are up to the standards upon which we would normally insist. However, as you see from the area in the middle of the ring, there is space for you to receive a subsequent further brand."

I shuddered. The thought that I might be branded again was almost too much to bear.

"It is in some ways," he went on, "a probationary symbol. To show that you have a great distance to go in your training. In some ways it will be a mercy for you, that men might not expect too much from you."

I felt a tear roll down my cheek. I did not brush it away, I knew that I might be beaten if I broke my default position.

"It also suggests a new and suitable name for you," he said.

He pronounced a single syllable. I would transcribe it as something between Cass and Cazz.

"This," he said, "is your new name. In the language of your new home. It seems, interestingly, closely derived from the Latin term, cassum. Are you aware of what that means?"

"No," I said. There had been a Latin option taught by Professor Jones as part of the course at college, but I had failed it.

"It has several meanings," he went on, "it suggests an emptiness, a vacuity, but also something useless and trivial. You can thus see the appropriateness of it for you. It can also be used as a term for a cavity, or an opening. Perhaps one suitable translation of your new name into English might be 'hole'. With all that implies with respect to your body."

I put my head down, blushing.

"What is your current name?" he asked.

"Cass," I answered.

"And what is the translation of your name in your old language?"

"Hole," I replied, bitterly.

"You may be interested to learn that your companions in the pens," he said, "have been taken for training, to learn the language and customs of this place."

I looked up at him hopefully

"As you may recall, I have special plans for you."

I felt my belly contract. What did he have planned?

"I have already tried and failed to train you in something useful," he said, "at the college. You preferred to fritter your time away on parties and socializing. And then, when you failed all your examinations, you had the temerity to try to persuade me to give you a higher mark. Do you recall the method that you used?"

"Yes," I said.

"What was it?" he asked.

I did not want to answer, but I knew that my handler stood behind me with a switch in his hand and a whip at his belt, and that he would not falter from using either of them upon me.

"I...I....pleasured you," I stammered, "with my mouth."

"Indeed," he said, I could hear the malice in his voice, "and surprisingly well. You tried to lick and suck your way to success, like the hot little slut that you undoubtedly are. You may be interested to know that that was the moment that effectively sealed your fate, and led to you being here in front of me now, nude, branded, and on your knees."

I blushed crimson as he crudely complimented my desperate attempt at increasing my grades via fellatio.

"Subsequently, at the investment bank, with our agent Mr Smith," he continued, "you showed yourself to be mercenary and money grabbing. That is not acceptable in a slave girl."

He went on, "Accordingly, whilst the other slave girls will receive their food, shelter, and training for free, you will, as it were, earn your keep." 

He regarded my handler, "Affix the coin box to her, Diogenes." 

I gathered that the name of my handler was Diogenes. He attached with a small padlock some sort of container to the end of my leash. It was grey, of plain metal, about the size of a soft drinks can. It had a narrow slit in the top. I looked up, puzzled.

"You are to be sent out into the streets wearing this little device, my dear. You will strive to earn coins. Should you manage to collect three coins, then you will have covered the costs for your food, water, and shelter. If you collect more, then you will also receive some basic training. Hopefully a money-grubbing little tramp such as yourself will appreciate this arrangement and benefit from it."

I looked up at him, numbly. He continued in the same suave tones, as if he might be critiquing an essay that I had written.

"Additionally, your hands will be confined behind you in your cuffs. This will ensure that you don't get any foolish ideas about stealing coinage or food or such. It will keep you 'out of mischief', as it were."

He looked down at me. "Do you have any questions?"

I looked up at him sobbing. I had so many.

"Where am I?" I asked.

"You are not on earth," he said, "we will leave it there for now."

"Who are you?" 

"I am Professor Jones," he said, "as you know. I am also an agent for factions that will remain beyond your knowledge."

"How am I expected to earn money?"

"You are essentially nude," he said, "you wear only a collar, and cuffs, anklets, and earrings. I should think it obvious even to someone of such limited intelligence as yourself."

I stifled a sob, "Why are..."

The Professor interrupted me. "I have no further time for your trivial babblings. Both you and I have more important work to do. Prepare her suitably, Diogenes, then take her to the market place. It is time for the little slut to earn her keep."

I felt a pull on my leash. 

I was to be prepared suitably.

Then I was to be put to work to earn my keep.



A Barbarian Girl on Gor Ch. 04



Chapter 4 - Amelia Jane Has a Long Day Ahead of Her

I was conducted to a new room by my handler using the chain of the coin box as an impromptu leash. The room was small and bare and windowless. In the centre of was a narrow grating, such as might lead down to a drain or sewer. There was a wooden bucket in the corner, a small cloth hung over the rim. On a table was a small vial. Next to the table a chair, upon which my handler sat down. 

At his indication I knelt in my default position, my legs spread wide, my arms pinioned behind my back. The first thing he did was to remove my earrings. This bemused me a little, especially when, with surprising delicacy, he placed small metal keepers, little bars, in their place.

I squirmed a little as his fingers felt the lobes of each of my ears in turn, securing the keepers in place. He had done this delicately, without hurting me. I whimpered softly.

I looked up at him. 

He grinned at me, "Steady, little animal," he said, "We are here for work, not play."

He undid my cuffs, freeing my hands. He then took the sodden cloth from the bucket and threw it at me. It was cold as it hit me on my chest, water dripping down my body. He pointed to the centre of the tiny room, where the grating was.

"Wash yourself," he said.

I struggled, carrying the heavy bucket the few paces to the centre of the room, and knelt. I dabbed at myself with the wet cloth, slowly taking away the accumulated grime of the pens. Several times I wrung out the cloth and dipped it again in the bucket. I was distressed to see how dirty was the water that was wrung out.

It is hard to keep oneself clean in the pens. It is not an environment particularly conducive to scrupulous cleanliness. I wondered if I smelt. It was good to feel the water on my body, cold though it was. I felt my nipples harden, as the cold water refreshed me.

"Everywhere," he admonished.

I blushed. I was to be afforded little privacy, it seemed. I complied with his instructions.

He pointed to the markings on my breast that I had been informed corresponded to my number, '44'. 

"Clean them off," he said. 

I dabbed and wiped with the little damp cloth. At first the blue smeared across my breast, but I was gradually able to diminish and finally remove the dye to my handler's apparent satisfaction.

I did not need a number any more. It had been replaced by a name, although that name was essentially a derogatory term. I wondered if it were better to be known by a number or by a name such as 'hole'. 

I was not sure.

I cupped my hands and poured cold water over my head, my fingers running through the long golden strands of my hair, cleaning my unkempt tresses. I did this again and again, enjoying the sensation of having clean hair and skin once more. How good it felt, even though I was only washing with water from a bucket on the floor, and not from my normal panoply of expensively perfumed oils and lotions and such.

I looked up at my handler and smiled, showing my gratitude, my wet hair dripping on the ground.

He strode across to me, and grinning, lifted the heavy bucket easily, pouring the contents of it over my head. I gasped as the cold force of the dirty water splashed on my skin.

I gasped, surprised. 

He laughed at what seemed to him, I suppose, an enjoyable joke. 

I was cold and wet, and shivering.

He led me to the little table and fastened my hands once before behind me in the cuffs.

He took the vial and opened it.

"This, slut," he said, "is wine for you to drink. Open your mouth wide, and hold your head back."

I obeyed swiftly. I was certainly ready for a drink after the hard work of my cleaning, and wine sounded a real treat. He pinched my nostrils and poured a draught of the liquid onto my open mouth.

I had never tasted anything so foul. Its taste would be impossible to describe, but certainly had no resemblance to what I had previously known as wine. I tried to expel the liquid, but his hand was already over my mouth, ensuring that I could not do so. His fingers pinching my nose meant I could not breathe. 

"Swallow, little animal," he said, gently, "Swallow your slave wine."

I tried to shake my head, my eyes wild. I could not think of swallowing the vile liquid.

His right hand remained implacably on my mouth, his left pinching my nose. Stinging tears came to my eyes as the foulness washed around my mouth. It would seem that I could either die from swallowing the grotesque concoction, or through lack of breath. His hands held my head in a grip of iron.

Choking, I swallowed the vile fluid.

Eventually he took his hand away. He wiped it on the cloth that had been using for my cleaning. I was weeping and spluttering.

The brute smiled at me. 

"So now we don't have to worry about you getting pregnant," he said, casually.

I wondered at the import of this remark. What could the foul liquid have to do with the matter of my impregnation?

I looked at my handler blankly.

"You will be given slave wine regularly," he said matter of factly, "It will suppress your personal cycles and fertility. You will not become pregnant so long as it is administered to you."

I gasped, realising the implications of being a nude slave girl in the pens, available, without any risk of the inconveniences of impregnation. 

I swallowed hard. I was not a virgin, but not particularly sexually experienced at that time. I more often used to employ my mouth and tongue to give pleasure, and that generally seemed to satisfy. Was this about to change? I was after all nude and helpless in front of my handler. 

He sat back on the chair and pointed to his sandals. 

"Kiss them," he said, almost casually.

I shook my head, still gagging from the horrid taste of the prophylactic that had been so cruelly administered to me. Who did he think he was?

"No," I said, "I won't do that."

He shook his head, almost sadly, and went round behind me, unfastening my cuffs. Then he took my wrists and took them high, looping them over a hook in the ceiling. I was suspended. My toes barely brushed the floor. My arms hurt, stretched, much of my body weight upon them. I did not know why he did this.

He went behind me. I hung, miserably, from the hook. My toes tried to gain purchase on the floor.

I heard a swish of leather, and felt a stripe of raw pain slash across my bottom.

I cried out. I could not believe the pain. Tears stung my eyes. I squirmed pathetically, my toes scrabbling on the stone floor.

Twice more was I lashed. 

I hope the reader will sympathise, but I cannot describe it fully. It was too terrible. I was reduced to a throbbing mass of pain, all my feelings concentrated in the three lashes placed variously on my defenceless flesh. I dangled from the hook, my body on fire. I had never been hit before, let alone whipped. In some ways it was as bad as the marking. At least that was only pain in one place, here the pain was increased as different parts of my body were scourged by the leather.

My captor released me from the hook. I slumped to the floor, sobbing.

He pointed to his sandals. 

"Kiss them," he said.

I kissed his sandals, hot tears dripping on the leather.

"More sensuously," he said, "Use that pretty little pink tongue."

I had tried so hard to be a good little girl. I had not wanted to stand out. I had wanted to 'blend in'. Now my body was a seething mass of pain.

I desperately licked and kissed at my handler's sandals, my tongue going between the heavy straps to push against the skin of his feet. I hoped that I was doing what he wished, I would do anything so as not to feel again the lash of the leather on my defenceless flesh.

"Now lick higher," he commanded from his seated position.

With my tongue I traced a path along his left ankle, and then up to his shin. He wore a tunic which dropped to his knees. I could feel the small hairs of his leg against the moisture of my tongue. I left a trail of dampness on his shin as I licked carefully upwards towards his knee. I heard him grunt with satisfaction, as I kissed him full on his knee, then licked the tenderer hairless skin behind.

I looked up at him.

"I did not tell you to stop," he said, not patiently.

I resumed my ministrations, now above his knee, as he sat, my head now between the brute's legs, pushing his tunic higher, smelling the maleness of him.

"You lick well," he said, "Professor Jones said that you were adequately skilled."

! felt myself blushing, "...For an untrained earth girl," he continued.

I did not answer, but continued, coming closer and closer to my handler's crotch. It was apparent that he wore nothing under his tunic, and I felt myself growing a little hot and bothered at my proximity to his male essence. 

He was cruel, certainly, but a handsome brute, his legs taut and muscled, those of a trained athlete or soldier. Now that I had imbibed of the foul slave wine, and was protected from the consequences of male impregnation, would I find him taking full advantage of my body's pleasures?

His hand stopped me, firmly pushing me away. I gasped. 

"Enough for now. We need to be on our way. You are a tempting little slut, but you have things to be shown before you try to earn your keep, and I have other business to do. To your feet."

I rose. He confined my hands behind me in the cuffs then took hold of my coin box, once more using it as a leash to pull me along. After passing down an empty corridor we came to a large door. From a shelf beside the door he took an item, that looked like some sort of leather bag. To my shock and chagrin he placed it over my head.

I was plunged into blackness, my sob of protest ignored. I heard the sound of a door opening and felt a rush of air on my nude body, still damp from having the water bucket upended over my head.

I was hooded, nude, clad in only a necklace to which some sort of can was attached, cuffs, and anklets. Even my earrings, the last remnant of my earth attire, had been removed from me and replaced with tiny metal bars. I felt a pull on my neck. I stumbled forward, feeling a colder material now on the soles of my feet, and cooler air on my body. We were outside.

My handler's pace was fast. It was all I could do, hooded and bound as I was, to keep up with him. Once or twice he yanked a bit to bid me speed my progress. We may have only gone a few hundred yards, but it seemed further. 

I could hear people talking in the guttural language of my handler, and the calls of others, as if trying to attract attention.

I felt my handler's touch on my shoulder.

"Stop," he said quietly. 

"Where are we?" I asked, "What are you going to do to me?"

I was very fearful. I was very aware that I was nude in public, perhaps the only mitigating circumstance being that I was hooded, and thus anonymous. The sounds about me told me that the place we were in was far from being deserted. 

I had worn revealing bikinis and such in public places such as swimming pools, and when abroad in Europe, on the shores of the Mediterranean, had even, once or twice, it feeling deliciously scandalous and daring, gone topless, enjoying the admiring glances from the men on the beach. But that had been on my own terms. Now I was nude at the insistence and behest of others. I was terrified.

"We are in the marketplace," he said. "Do you recall how you licked my sandal earlier?"

"Yes," I said a little sullenly. I had not wanted to lick his sandal, and had been thrice lashed for my recalcitrance, but I had to admit to myself that I had not necessarily wanted to stop, either.

"I want you to do that to the men here," he said, "Remember to start at their left foot and not their right. Carry on, until either they stop you, or until it is apparent that you have satisfied them. Do you understand?"

I could not believe what he had said. I wanted to laugh. He surely could not expect me to carry out these actions?

But I felt the pain on my back and bottom from his lash. The burn on my leg. The rumours that I was not even on earth. I was hooded and had my arms bound behind me. I was nude, in public. I suspected that he was serious in his intention. It was intended that I, Amelia Jane Harrington, from London, a former investment banking PR representative, with an apparently bright future, the world at my feet as it were, should go up to men and introduce myself by going to my knees, and kissing their feet, and then strive to pleasure them with my mouth and tongue.

"Do you understand?" he repeated, more insistently.

I shivered. I am not a brave girl. I recalled the feeling of the lash on my tender flesh when I had shown hesitation.

"Yes," I said, "I understand."

"When I take your hood off you will not scream or draw attention to yourself will you?"

"I am nude," I said, fearfully.

"Do you wish to feel the lash?" he asked.

"No," I said.

I felt something being untied from under my chin, then bright light flooded my senses. I looked around myself and gasped.

All about me were people, some with carts, some on foot with bags and baskets. There were also girls, such as I, nude or scantily clad and barefoot. Some were carrying things, others just going about. All were beautiful. I realised that I was not the only one of my type in the market, and my nudity, although embarrassing and unpleasant, was not as conspicuous as I had thought it might be. In fact no-one seemed to be paying me and my handler any attention whatsoever.

Next to us was a kind of platform, about three feet square, and two feet above the ground, made from some sort of cement. In the centre was a fountain. It was not ornate. A single spout of water gushed up from a pillar of about two feet in height. The stream of water went to about four feet high. The water disappeared into a grate, presumably to be recycled into the fountain.

"When it becomes necessary, use the fountain to cleanse yourself. Do you understand?" asked my handler.

I blushed furiously. I supposed him to mean that I should wash myself intimately in public.

"Yes," I answered, bitterly. It would seem that I was to be afforded little privacy or dignity.

"You are, I think, ready to earn your keep," he said, "Begin."

I looked at him puzzled.

"That man there," he said, pointing to a corpulent man in a flowing robe, "Go to him."

Fearfully, I hurried over to this prospective client.

I knelt, my knees in the mud and placed my lips at his foot.

He was fat and bald, wearing a long white and yellow striped robe, rather dirty. He wore a light sandal, tied up high on his shin with thongs. It and his foot beneath were begrimed with mud. He grunted, and placed his left foot a few inches forward. 

I let forth a small sob of despair, but knew what I must do. I bent over, my bottom high, my head low, almost at the ground, and put my soft lips to his sandal. They were of the type whereby the leather covered his toes. I pressed my full lips, so prized, one of my best features, slightly parted, to his footwear. He shifted his foot forwards - he would have me kiss higher, on the dirty skin of his foot, rather than on the leather of the sandal. I closed my eyes, tears spilling over my long lashes, splashing on the leather of his sandals, and moved my lips to where I imagined he wished them, higher on his foot, and pressed again.

He grunted, again. It would seem that he was not dissatisfied with my service so far, but wished for more. 

I parted my lips further, and pressed my tongue against his soiled foot. I could feel the grit dissolving in my saliva, and the taste of the filth of the market place, unpleasant and earthy. I moved my tongue up along his foot almost to the ankle, my licking leaving a faint trail of saliva, and a paler area on the encrusted dirt of his sandalled foot. He let me do that for a moment or two, and then, unceremoniously pulled his foot away, back to where it had been.

He barked out a statement.

I did not of course understand what he had said to me. I looked up at him, from my place at his feet.

He repeated his statement, seemingly none too happily. From the inflection I guessed that it was a question.

I knew nothing of his language save the word for my 'default position', and the little phrase that I had been taught meaning 'I am a slave girl.'

I said the phrase.

He grunted again, as if with amusement.

He gestured to me with his left hand. I gathered from his signal that he was telling me to remain on my knees, but to kneel higher.

I did so. My head bowed.

Now it was easier for him to regard me.

I felt a fingertip at my chin, applying some upward pressure. He would have my head lifted to him.

I lifted my head. I was frightened. His appearance was so ugly, so primitive, so unsophisticated. And I was an investment banking PR representative, with a high salary, and an apartment in London.

Yet it seemed that he had the upper hand in our relationship. To begin with our transaction was being conducted in his language.

He regarded my face, appraisingly. He did not rush. His fingers brushed my nose and lips then back to my chin. I tried not to sob, my knees in the mud, my chin lifted, under his roving gaze. He gripped my chin harder and turned my head from side to side.

He lifted the chain on my neck, running it through his grimy hand, and then grasped the can and shook it. It was silent

He looked down at me, upper lip curled in contempt. He pulled the can higher towards him, forcing me to lift up further. The collar hurt under my chin as he used the chain as a leash.

Keeping his grip on the can with his left hand, he moved his right hand close to my mouth, his right index finger extended, as if pointing at me,

He commanded something of me.

Almost instinctively I knew what he required. My lips sucked at his finger, my tongue licking at it. I looked up at him submissively, I am sure there were tears in my eyes. I was Amelia Jane Harrington of London, England. How could this be happening to me? Where was I, a culture where women like myself could be treated thus, with casual contempt? He left his finger there; he seemed in no great hurry. I continued to lick and kiss at it, as best I might. I was surprised that despite what was being done to me I could feel a warmth between my legs. How my body was betraying me, as if it enjoyed being treated in such a humiliating fashion!

The man grunted again, as if with satisfaction, and withdrew his fingers.

He seemed to be still making up his mind, but then something else seemed to occur to him, as if he recalled something. He absently released my can, it dangling again in front of me as I knelt in the market place mud.

I looked after him as he strode away.

My handler was at my side almost immediately.

"You worthless piece of meat. You did not satisfy him!" His hands were in my hair, painfully pulling it back.

I wept, his hands painful in my blonde tresses.

"I tried," I sobbed, "I tried".

He cuffed me with the back of his hand, painfully.

My first attempt to earn my keep had been unsuccessful, it appeared. 

My handler pointed out a new target. I scampered nude across the marketplace, hands tied behind me.

It seemed that I had a long day ahead of me. 



A Barbarian Girl on Gor Ch. 05



Chapter 5 - Amelia Jane Acquires a New Accoutrement

I ran and knelt before the man in my 'default position'.

I was scampering nude about a public market place propositioning men! 

I had chosen my place of kneeling well, in that it was not directly on his path, thus blocking him, and perhaps increasing the likelihood of my being dismissed with a kick or a cuff, yet was close enough that he should not overlook me.

He stopped, and regarded me. I, under such appraisal, tried to kneel as prettily as possible, my back straight, emphasising my breasts, my legs widely apart. I looked down, as if demurely, then felt his hand at my chin lifting my face so that I was left with little choice but to regard his features. He was scarred, and was certainly hideous, stretching down the right side of his face. He opened his mouth and leered, teeth uneven, gapped, and discoloured. 

He was the sort of man that I would have formerly shuddered to meet, and certainly have taken pains not to converse with, let alone importune to please fully with my body. Rather than a robe he wore a short tunic, and some sort of tight breeches. I had seen some of the handlers in the pens similarly attired. It seemed a less decorous mode of dress than the robes that some wore, but of course, I could not be sure of the cultural significance, if any.

He spoke slowly, with a hint of impediment in his speech. It seemed a question, to which I of course had only one answer.

I stammered out my little phrase.

He looked at me a little askance, then opened my mouth and began, for some reason, to inspect my teeth. 

He laughed, then lifted my coin box and shook it. Of course, it made no sound. Conclusive evidence of my lack of success in my allotted employment. I realised that anyone, absolutely anyone, could, by the simple expedient of shaking my can, find out whether I had earned anything, and, if so, roughly how much. So far, of course, I had not earned a single coin, let alone the three that I would apparently need to pay for my food, water, and shelter; my keep, as it were.

He indicated a point just before where he was standing. We were in a quiet little enclave behind the stalls. It seemed that I was going to have to kneel in a puddle of dirty water to serve him.

I went to my 'default position', feeling the mud first beneath my bare feet, then on my knees. I shivered with revulsion. The puddle was about two inches deep and the liquids that constituted it were not warm. He pointed to his belt.

It seemed that he wanted me to undo his belt with my mouth.

Obediently, determined not to earn punishment, I knelt up and got my even white teeth on the end of his belt.

Diligently, slowly, I pulled the belt back through the hasps, and after a few moments the tip went through the outer hasp. I was then able to grip the end of it in my lips, and with effort pull it off the spike of the buckle. The two ends of the belt hung down, and the top of the man's breeches were exposed before me. I put my face at the top, as I would now have to find the method with which they could be unfastened. I was relieved to see that there were just four bow knots about an inch beneath one another, and I got my teeth on a thread of the first one and pulled. It came undone easily, and I smelt the scarred man's musky aroma. 

I was swiftly able to unlatch each of the fasteners, and his already tumescent member sprang before me. I could feel my lower lip trembling, and tears spring to my eyes at what I was about to have to do - give oral sex to a perfect stranger, on my knees in a public place. I knew that the best way to start was to lick his member all over, to try and make it moister, more slippery, more lubricated, even perhaps cleaner, to have in my mouth, and I began thus to slurp and lick and spread my saliva over his manhood.

I looked up submissively at him towering over me. I saw lust in his eyes, his right hand clutched my long blonde hair to give him more control over my ministrations. I went to work, beginning by taking the tip of his member in my lips, then pressing my tongue to it. The brute gave a grunt of satisfaction.

I let my lips drift down the man's shaft, tasting his aroma, unpleasant, salty, and sweaty, yet somehow exciting on my tongue. As his member continued to swell in my mouth, beginning to fill it, I heard myself making tiny gurgling noises, almost choked by the size of him. I concentrated on keeping my jaws far apart, and felt his other hand at my hair also, giving him now a firm and painful grip of me on either side of my bobbing head.

How I wished that I had my hands free to help me in my demeaning task as I licked and sucked, on my knees in the puddle, tears rolling down my face, trying to follow the cruel rhythm dictated by his hands enmeshed in my blonde tresses. 

I felt him grow still larger inside my mouth, certainly the largest that I had ever had in my mouth. I felt myself struggling to breathe, my face was surely turning red. It was difficult to accommodate him, my jaws opened as wide as they could go, wider than they had ever been before. His thrusts became faster, his grunts louder and more urgent, then I felt, with surprise, my head suddenly wrenched back painfully by my hair, as if I were a rag doll in his grasp, then jets of warm fluid splattered upon me. He had discharged the copious juices of his pleasure not inside my mouth, but directly upon my face.

I felt sick. How could this be be happening to me? I could feel his seed trickling down my chin as I knelt before him in the puddle, my own tears joining his fluids. It was good to be able to breathe freely once more. Then there was something else, another fluid. I realised that he had spat on me, spat on my face. I heard his voice.

He barked out something angrily.

His anger shocked me. Had I not just knelt in front of him and intimately pleased him with my lips and tongue? 

I knew enough not to argue, and, hands cuffed behind me, struggled awkwardly to my feet and, cowering before his anger, scampered away, my bare feet sliding in the mud, knees soiled with dirt. I must find my handler once more. I thought what a sight I must make, running nude through the marketplace, sex-fluids coursing down my face, mixed with my own tears and the spittle he had seen fit to cast upon it. 

In the main part of the market I looked around for my handler. At the same time I tried to avoid any eye contact with the leering mob, as I could see several looking at me and grinning at the sex-fluids that adorning my face. 

'Oh!' I said, feeling a pinch on my bottom. 

A man called at me, laughing.

I ignored him; where was my handler? I looked around the market desperately. A hand was in my hair, pulling me painfully down to my knees. I managed to keep my balance, grimacing, gasping with shock and pain, my neck twisted to try to reduce the agony.

"There you are, slut! And you have been busy at last, I see."

I assumed that he was commenting favourably on the state of my facial features, doused as they were with the sexual discharges of the man that I had attempted to service. My handler took my slotted can with his free hand and shook it, then yanked my hair lower, displeased.

"Why are you still empty, slut, and yet with seed on your face? Did you not please him?"

"Yes,...yes...I tried! Please, I tried!"

I heard myself whimpering plaintively, his hand in my hair was painful, and I did not want to say anything regarding the customer's anger whilst I had sought to pleasure him, kneeling in the mud of the marketplace, behind the stalls.

"What is this then?" he shook my little can again, the silence of it mocking my efforts, "Why did he not put something in your slot?"

"I do not know...I do not know. Perhaps he had no money."

He growled, and pulled my head up a bit. "Do you see him? Point him out, slut. I will have a word with him, using the goods without paying. Point him out."

"I cannot. My hands are tied and I think he has gone." 

I could not see him, and in any case pointing him out would have been impossible for me with my hands tied as they were. I dare say that I could have indicated verbally, or used some other physical sign, but from my cursory look around the man had gone from the immediate vicinity.

My handler presumably decided that there was nothing more to be done about the matter at present, and instead began to draw me along, bent over, by my hair.

"Useless slut. A man's seed all over your face, yet nothing in your slot. Next time cling onto him until he pays you, or call out to me."

I, bent over, wincing with the pain, tried to keep up with his pace as he strode. I wondered how I might cling on to someone when my hands were securely fastened behind me, but it was a point that I knew it should be profitless to dispute.

"You need to be cleaned," he said, "Come on."

He strode, purposefully, leading me bent over, my shins clattering painfully against my hanging coin box as it swung as I struggled to keep up with him, trying to avoid the chain getting tangled with my legs and tripping me into the filth of the market place.

We had returned to the small stone platform, and the fountain. My handler thrust me up the step that surrounded it. 

"Wash your face." He commanded.

Thankfully I bent down and placing my head in the spurt of water, allowed it to wash the sexual discharge from my features. The water was shockingly cold, but I was relieved to feel it on me, refreshing me, cleaning me. I had little idea of how much of the scarred man's fluids still adhered to me, and once or twice my handler placed his fingers on parts of his own face, to show where I still needed to work. Eventually he seemed satisfied and nodded. I went to step back down to the general level of the market place. 

He nodded, negatively, and turned me about with his hands, placing me so that my long legs were on either side of the gush of water. It streamed up between my limbs, making me gasp, as the rushing liquid splashed against my most private place. I was in a public square, on a raised dais, wantonly allowing a jet of water to spurt up between my legs! Was I to be allowed no dignity, no respite from the constant humiliation?

I sobbed, and squirmed, as the jet of cold splashed against my intimate softnesses, but did not break my position. I kept my eyes down, trying to restrain my tears. I did not dare to look round the market place, to see who was watching whilst a girl intimately cleaned herself in a public fountain. I did not want to think what sort of girl would behave thus. Eventually the brute seemed satisfied and motioned me down off the step. I complied, water dripping from me, pooling at my bare feet, forming a small puddle around my slim form.

I looked round. Coming across the market place, striding towards us, was the scarred man that I had pleasured, that had spurted his seed, and then his spittle, in my face. He began talking to my handler animatedly, pointing at me. He did not seem pleased.

I could not follow their discourse, but the man that I had pleasured pointed to me several times further. My handler also pointed to me, at my brand, the ring shape burned onto my thigh. Eventually the scarred man walked away, shaking his head. My handler regarded me and stroked his chin.

"So you really are a worthless slut. The one thing Professor Jones said that you were good at, it seems that you are unable to do. Perhaps we should simply save some time and money and sell you to be cut up for animal feed."

I gasped at his words, what could he mean? Was that even a possibility or just an empty threat? 

"I pleasured him fully," I said, defensively, "If he was not happy then why did he...well...in my face?"

My handler shook his head almost sadly. "He said that he felt your teeth touch him. Did they?"

I felt my lower lip tremble "I....it might have been...he....he was so big! There....there was nothing I could do."

My handler sighed. "Are you aware of the penalties for such a thing? You are lucky you only wear a holding brand in your flesh, worthless little animal, else you would have the skin flogged from your clumsy body, and then every one of your teeth removed from your useless little mouth."

I quailed. I had not seen him angry before, but now it seemed that my infraction of allowing my teeth to brush lightly against the man's erect member had enraged him. However, he collected himself, and stroked his chin once more.

"Well," he said, "We will have to do something, won't we, if you are to continue to earn your keep?"

He grasped my empty can and pulled me on my chain into the main body of the market. The gaps between the stalls were narrow, and several times I felt myself touched, intimately, or pinched. I squealed in protest, but my handler paid me no attention, intent on finding his way. Eventually we entered a small stall of blue and yellow striped tenting and I looked around.

At the back of the stall was a solid wall, the tent evidently an awning against it. About me on wooden shelves were all manner of metallic restraints; cuffs and anklets, chains, necklaces of the locked type that I wore, earrings, and other devices that were unfamiliar to me. 

Instinctively I went to my default position. A man approached my handler. He was small and wiry, his facial aspect unattractive, somewhat rodent-like. He regarded me leeringly, lustfully, almost hungrily. His hair was receding, sparse, and greying. He was not attractive. When such men regarded me thus formerly, they had had to do so guardedly, pretending that they were not doing so, but he showed no sign of any such furtiveness. His gaze was open and appraising. He looked at me fully in the eyes, and licked his thin lips. I looked away, trying not to meet his lascivious gaze. 

My handler spoke to him, and the small man nodded, then went to a high shelf and pulled an item down, giving it to my handler. I had never seen such an item before. It consisted of a strap of black leather about half an inch wide and a foot or so in length, with a buckle, and some attached metal tubing. The tubing was in three basic rings. The central ring was perfectly circular, about two and a half inches in diameter, and from whence emanated six prongs. Four of these prongs, each about an inch long curled back slightly, then terminated, the other two were longer and secured to the leather strap by the other two, smaller rings. 

My handler took the strange item and went behind me. 

Suddenly I felt his hands at my mouth, pushing my lips apart. I groaned briefly, and quickly realised that he was attempting to secure the central ring, that of about two and a half inches in diameter, inside my mouth, just behind my teeth, almost like one might place a bit in the mouth of a horse.

The metal prongs brushed against my face, fixing the device in place, ensuring that I could neither expel the metal ring, nor pull it back into my mouth. I felt the strap tightened around my cheeks and neck. My mouth was opened widely, very widely, and I could not close it! It was uncomfortable, the metal tasting unpleasant in my mouth.

The stall keeper and my handler were discussing something now, as if they were haggling over a price. The small rodent-featured man pointed to me. My handler laughed. Eventually they seemed to conclude an agreement. 

My handler spoke to me, "The original price for your new little toy was four coins. However you will be pleased to learn that I have managed to barter the price down. It is now two coins, and your use."

I looked at my handler wide eyed. I could not of course speak, the ring keeping my jaws painfully wide apart.

The stall holder was undoing his breeches, moving intently toward me. I felt his hands at my hips as I was backed against the wall, my arms and bottom pressed against the stone as he took his right hand from my hip, and undid the fastenings of his garment.

My body was to be used in part-exchange for the restraint that had been placed in my mouth.

I felt the stall holder at my intimate opening. I whimpered as he found his way into my softness, plunging into my moist intimacies.

My handler, seemingly uninterested was looking at the items in the shop, inspecting them cursorily.

The stall holder began to thrust within me. I moaned and felt a string of drool come from my mouth and dribble onto my breasts. He lifted my left leg high, and I responsively curled my knee around his back, forcing him more into me. Despite the humiliating circumstances it seemed that I was fully ready for him. I could feel a hotness and a wetness inside me. Once more it seemed that my body was betraying my sense of dignity and self-esteem. Was it the sight of the restraints around the shelving that thrilled me, or that some of the restraints were applied to my own nude self? Was it simply that I felt my own helplessness in the matter of my being utilised as part of the price for one of these items of restraint?

I did not know, but soon I began making incoherent sobbing noises, little sobs of desire, and the stall holder began pushing harder and faster inside my writhing body.

I bent my right leg a little, to feel him more deeply inside me, my back crushed against the unyielding wall at the back of the stall. His hands were on my shoulders, pushing me down so that I was more fully impaled on his questing manhood, forcefully pounding inside me.

I was moaning loudly, close to a precipice of desire and submissive lust that I had never encountered before. My right leg now I also wrapped around him, my body was off the ground, my long legs gripping his waist, his hands on my yielding body, the wall at my arms and back and bottom. 

I wondered what sort of sight I made, a blonde, blue eyed, nude girl pressed against a wall at the back of a squalid little market stall selling bondage restraints, my mouth forced open, my arms pinioned, being crudely utilised by a market stall holder to pay for purchased goods used in her own subjugation. 

My handler still did not seem particularly interested in what was happening; I wondered what it might be like to feel him inside me, rather than the balding market stall holder. This thought sent me tumbling over my personal precipice of desire and I called out incoherently, loudly, as I succumbed to my submissive urges, my body crushed between the rutting stall holder and the unyielding wall. I felt that my bottom and arms would be scratched as I was pushed up and down, both my legs wrapped around the stall holder's waist, pulling him into me as much as I could.

He then came to his own climax, and I felt his viscous fluids spurt deeply into me. He was a poor looking, unattractive, little man, rodent-featured and sparsely coiffured, and yet I had reacted to him more fully, and deeply, than I ever had to my sexual partners on earth. 

I wondered at this. Was it the restraints, or the proximity of my handler? Or simply the overall context, that I was a helpless girl on a faraway planet, alone, nude, and available to any man that came by, no matter their eligibility or attractiveness.

I did not know the reason, but now I felt him extricate himself from my wetness and then I was pushed down to my knees, and instinctively licked his manhood clean of our mingled fluids. My jaw already aching from the cruel gag that had been inserted into me as my tongue worked delicately in its designated task.

Soon, I saw two small coins handed over to him, the remainder of the price for the cruel gag that I now wore, and my handler conducted me away from the stall and back to the vicinity of the fountain. 

My jaw ached.

I had acquired a new accoutrement. 

I wondered if it would improve my performance in my work.



A Barbarian Girl on Gor Ch. 06



Chapter 6 - Amelia Jane is gagged and violated in a new place

Soon I found myself back in the little square near the fountain, under my handler's instructions.

My new accoutrement, of course, meant that I was now unable to speak coherently, but this did not, in point of fact, make any great difference to my capacity for meaningful conversation. 

How my jaw ached after a while.

Time after time my handler steered me towards potential clients. On many occasions I found my attentions simply rebuffed. The methods varied. Some would merely walk past, ignoring me kneeling at their feet. Those were the kindest. 

Some would perhaps venture to kick mud or water from a puddle at my nude body, as if to emphasise that although they had seen me, they did not at that time deign to permit me to expend further efforts in attempting to please them.

Others would allow me to begin the licking of their feet, but would then decide to kick me away with their sandals or boots.

A few would attempt to communicate with me. It was fairly obvious that I, gagged, was unable to talk to them, but of course, should they attempt to give me instructions or such, then I had no way to indicate that I could not understand their commands. There was thus a possibility that it could appear to them that I had been disobedient, and ignored, rather than simply not understood, their instructions.

It was with such clients that I had the most difficulties..

At first, my handler was there to intervene, should he so wish it. Sometimes I would receive only a kick or two, or perhaps be spat upon. Other times they would grip my hair, or pull my neck chain and slap me across the face. Once I felt a switch, supple wood cracking across my back, as I sprawled in the mud.

For a long time my coin box was empty. Many was the time that it was shaken, the ensuing silence showing that I had been utterly unsuccessful in my increasingly desperate efforts to earn my keep. 

My handler now indicated an old man, dressed rather simply, one might say almost in rags. I went to him and he allowed me to lick at his feet for a while, then he pulled my hair to lift my head up to the level of his groin, that I might attempt to please him more intimately. 

The taste and smell of him were not pleasant. It would seem that he had not washed for some considerable time. 

He pushed his manhood through the aperture of my gag, and, although somewhat flaccid, was now in my mouth. His tip was at the entrance to my throat, pushing a little into my gullet. His organ was not quite large enough, as yet, to cause me to gag, or to restrict my breathing, but I could not use my tongue on the tip of him, and was restricted to pleasuring his shaft and his scrotal sac. 

I knew that, were I to achieve my primary purpose, that of inducing him to discharge his sexual juices, I would have to use every subtlety of method and guile at my disposal. 

I turned my gaze upward, my blue eyes no doubt a little tear-stained, making sure that they were looking their most submissive and vulnerable.

He said something to me, his voice not angry, perhaps an instruction or alternatively a comment. I had no way of knowing.

I tried to increase my efforts and pace, hoping that I had correctly interpreted the gist of his communication. He grunted, apparently satisfied, as my head bobbed back and forth, my breasts bouncing as I sought to pleasure him.

Soon he bucked and pumped his hips, and I heard him groan as I felt his viscous fluid at the back of my throat. Of course, even had I been able to do so, it would have been foolish for me to contemplate dispelling the seed that had been deposited within me. Thus I swallowed down the ragged man's discharges as best I was able, and then, obediently, cleared the residues of my attentions from his softening manhood with my little pink tongue.

Then, joyfully, I heard the clink of a small item, such as a coin, being deposited in the slot of the can that was chained around my neck. I looked up at the man gratefully. Of course, I did not know appropriate words to thank him, and even had I known them, then the ring gag would have prevented me from speaking them. But I tried to thank him, as best I could, with my eyes, and then subsequently put my head down and humbly licked his left boot to show my genuine gratitude.

It seemed that I was already some way from the investment banker PR representative that I had been. But I would at least no longer have to endure the angry swipes and kicks from men when they found my little can to be empty.

I watched him as he strode away. My handler came to me then and shook my can, hearing the rattle of the tiny item that had been deposited thence.

He patted my head approvingly as I knelt before him. 

"Good little slut," he said, ruffling my hair, almost affectionately, "You are not completely useless, after all."

I looked up at him, pleased at his praise. He pulled my leash and I went to my feet. We moved to the fountain, where he allowed me to clean my face, then my knees, where they had been muddied from my service.

Finally satisfied, he conducted me to a point near the fountain where a solid ring was set into the ground. 

"Now," he said, matter-of-factly, "I have more important business to attend to, so you will be working on your own from now on."

He produced a short length of light chain, coiled. Once unwound, to about four feet in length, he secured one end to the ring, and the other end to my right anklet.

"You may still, as you see, use the fountain for your cleansings," he said.

It seemed that henceforth I would be severely limited in the area where I could perform my designated service. I looked up at him. I so wanted him to stay. I was frightened at being left alone, unprotected.

He continued, "I should be back to collect you around sunset. Make sure that your can is jangling nicely by that time."

He turned and moved away, not looking back at me. I watched him go, then glanced around myself fearfully. I could no longer scamper about the market place under his direction, looking for clients. Now they more or less had to come to me. I doubted very much that my coin box would be jangling very much when my handler returned.

A man was coming in my direction. I swiftly assumed my default position in order that I might try to intercept him as he crossed the circumference of the circle within which I now found myself confined. He went past, seemingly without even noticing me. 

I watched him go. Near the edge of the market place I noticed that he was accosted by a girl who, to introduce herself, went to the same 'default position' that I had been taught. She seemed very beautiful, though not, as in my case, nude. She was barefoot and wore a yellow garment, extremely short on her long legs and somewhat diaphanous. She also wore a necklace as mine, although without a can and chain attached to it. Additionally she did not wear a gag, nor have her hands confined. I was not able to see whether she had a burn mark similar to mine.

Before I could see whether she had more success than myself, I was aware of another man approaching me. I shifted my position to kneel directly in his path, so that he could not simply walk past me. 

I felt the back of his hand, harsh against my right cheek, taking me from my knees down into the mud. With difficulty I got myself back onto my knees. I suppose that I had asked for the slap. I had still not mastered the delicate compromise between kneeling too far away to be noticed, and kneeling too close and becoming an impediment.

I looked back to see the yellow clad girl. She was now with a companion, similarly attired, every bit as beautiful. I wondered whether their purpose were the same as mine. 

I decided to clean myself in the fountain. I was very thirsty as well as being hungry. I wondered whether the water from the fountain could be drinkable. I knew that it was used for washing, but I supposed that there might be some sort of gravity arrangement so that all of the water was fresh. Needless to say, I was ignorant of such matters.

I disported myself in the fountain hoping to attract some attention to myself so that a man might approach me, now that I no longer had the free range of the market place. No-one seemed to notice me.

I went back to my kneeling position shivering a little. I wished that I could dry myself somehow. My handler had said that he would be back around sunset, and that my coin box should be jangling by then. The light already seemed to be fading a little. I recollected Professor Jones saying that I should need three coins to pay for my food, shelter, and water. So far I had only one. I thought about which I should choose with my one coin. I thought that I should choose food. I was so hungry. Or perhaps I shall obtain more coins, I thought. I wondered at the likelihood of this, now that I was confined adjacent to the fountain, and did not have the motivation of my handler directing me. 

I found myself looking at two pairs of dainty, high-arched, bare feet. I looked up from my kneeling position. The two yellow clad girls were looking down at me. I met the eyes of one of them. They were green and very beautiful. I hoped that the girls should prove friendly. It seemed that they were slaves like me, albeit better clad and less confined. The green eyed girl reached for my chain can and rattled it. She did not look pleased. She said something to me, sharply. I looked at her trying to show her with my eyes, as best I might, that I posed no threat to her, and wanted only to be friends. I wished that I were without the gag and could smile. She spoke to me more loudly. 

I had few options to show her that I was unable to understand her. I shrugged my shoulders a little trying to appear non-threatening. She held my face between her fingers and thumb,squeezing my cheeks painfully against the ring gag inserted in my mouth. I felt drool dribble from my mouth and drip from my chin onto my bare breasts.

I wondered why she was so annoyed with me, but there was nothing I could do to question her as to her reasons. I noticed her friend, also clad in a tiny semi-transparent yellow scrap of a garment, hand her something. I struggled trying helplessly to free her grip from me, wriggling in her grasp. The first girl gripped me tighter, looking into my mouth.

In her hand was an insect of some kind.

It was large, multi-legged, something like a cockroach, but blacker, and with long feelers. I gathered her intent, and struggled harder, but was powerless to stop her from dropping the creature into my forcibly opened mouth. I gasped. I felt it scurry on my tongue. I tried to expel it, but her hand covered my mouth, preventing me from doing so.

With her other hand she pinched my nose. I was able only to squirm, determined not to swallow the disgusting insect that she had deposited into my mouth. Tears pricked my eyes. Why was she doing this to me? How had I annoyed her? I could feel the insect moving inside my mouth, scuttling over my tongue. I began to panic. I thrust up from my knees, trying to dislodge the girl's palm from my mouth. Her companion gripped my hair, pulling it cruelly. I was hopelessly over matched. Horrified, I felt the insect scuttling into my throat. Hot tears stung my eyes. 

I saw that the other girl had another insect in her hand, similar to the first. I closed my eyes, sobbing, in acute distress now.

Suddenly I heard a slap, and the cry of a girl. I realised that there was no longer a palm in front of my mouth. I gagged and spluttered and coughed, trying to dislodge the insect from my throat. With my ring-gag inserted I could not effectively spit. I felt it in my mouth, then, as I drooled and dribbled, it fell onto the ground and scuttled away, seemingly none the worse for its temporary sojourn.

The two girls were now both being held by the hair by a man, one in each hand. I had not seen him about the market place before. He was dressed much as I had seen Roman soldiers dressed in books. He released their hair from his grasp, then slapped them both in turn about the face. 

They hurried away, weeping. I looked up at the guard, gratitude in my eyes. His intervention meant that I had avoided having to swallow the large live insect. I wondered if it would have choked me, had it descended further into my belly. I was so thankful to him. He was my saviour.

He regarded me with some interest. He went behind me. I tried to turn my neck to follow him. Suddenly I felt his hand on my head, forcing me down. He pushed my head down to the ground, I felt him pull my ankles pushing me into position so that I was kneeling, my head to the ground, my bottom in the air.

What was he doing? I felt a liquid, saliva perhaps, being applied to my behind, then, with a shock, felt something hard pushing between my lower cheeks.

I wanted to cry out, to protest, but all I could do was sob and drool. I had never accommodated a man there, in the place where he was now pushing.

I felt him force himself further into me, pushing harder, my muscles still resisting his masculine strength. His hands gripped my waist, pinning me inflexibly in place. He pushed harder and I felt my sphincter pucker, and then, painfully, admit him into my rear portal.

My muscles grew more tense. My back arched a little. I did not want a man in that part of me! I was not sure if I could even survive such an invasion of my body, yet it would seem that I had little choice in the matter.

He began to thrust into me. I was drooling heavily now, as I felt his shaft in my tight hole. Surely I could not accommodate him there? I moaned with pain. He pushed harder, stretching me painfully. I felt him push again, well inside me now. 

He slid slowly further into me, inch by inch. Occasionally he would stop, as if allowing me a little pause to get used to him, then he thrust further. I wept. He was hurting me terribly. I wondered if I were bleeding.

His strength was great. He was able to take me as he desired. Despite the pain I was soon calling and moaning out my submission, there in the marketplace. I cannot fully describe the sensations that I felt. It is strange that pain and humiliation and pleasure can be so intermingled, and yet I felt all such emotions, as the handsome guard pounded me in my virgin hole.

I had little choice but to remain in position, taking everything that he could do to me. His hand pushed my head further down into the mud. I could do nothing but shudder and cry out as he pounded me, feeling the mud of the market place enter my open mouth.

Eventually he satisfied himself and came into me. I knew that it would be a long time before my pain subsided.

He came back round to the front of me and placed his booted foot in front of me. Humbly, I licked his foot. He laughed and lifted my head so that I went to my knees, to my 'default position'. He shook my little coin box. I heard the single item therein rattle. He looked down at me. I saw him take a coin and put it also in my coin box. I looked up at him, my eyes full of tears of gratitude.

He seemed typical of the men here. He did not seem to bear me any particular ill will. He had taken my anal virginity, it was true, yet apparently it had not been his particular intention to hurt me. After all, he had been my saviour, in dealing with the matching yellow clad girls, and now he had put a further coin in my box, almost as if he felt some pity for me. Any cruelty that he might exhibit seemed unintentional, as if he simply regarded me as one might a pet, or an item of livestock on a farm. 

I hurt now, and did not really try to obtain another client. I thought that with two coins I could, at any rate, obtain food and shelter and take water from the fountain. I was so hungry.

The market place was becoming less crowded, as the gloom of evening closed in, and even had I really wished to attract new customers, I think it was doubtful that I would have been able to do so. Most of the stall holders had closed up their tents and left the vicinity.

I felt a hand in my hair, shaking my head, and heard a voice. 

"Why are you not working, slut?" 

I saw boots in front of me. It was my handler and Professor Jones. My handler took his hand from my hair, reached down and shook my little can.

"How many coins in here, little slut?"

I reddened. I was not of course able to answer him. With a small key he unlocked a small panel in the can, and slipped out the two coins.

"This is all you have to show for your day's work, hole?"

I nodded, then put my head down. I suspected that even had I been able to converse verbally, that there was nothing I could have said that would not have made things worse for me.

Professor Jones spoke now, "This is simply not satisfactory, my dear, you have not attained even the minimal quota that we set for you."

I supposed that he was speaking about the three coins that he had referred to. Those that would constitute my food, water, and shelter. My keep, as he had referred to it.

Professor Jones went on, "Do you think this is an adequate return, my sweet, for a day's work?"

I shook my head, negatively. I supposed that it was not a great deal.

"Furthermore, Diogenes informs me that he had to buy special equipment, to enable you to perform your tasks without complaints from your customers."

I blushed. I recalled the complaints of the scarred man, how he had ejaculated on my face, then spat on me.

"What was the cost of this additional equipment, girl? You may answer me as best you can."

With the gag in my mouth I made four little sounds.

"I see. And how much have you managed to accrue from your day's labours?"

I made two sounds.

"So then, it would seem that we have lost two coins as a result of your pathetic efforts."

"I negotiated a deal with the vendor," said Diogenes, "we only had to pay him two coins in the end. He took the remainder of his fee from her use."

Professor Jones nodded. "Then he was a fool. But then these two coins at least cover the cost of the purchase of your special equipment, my dear?"

I nodded, tears in my eyes. I had forgotten that there was an outstanding debit of two coins that I had to cover.

"Well, my dear, it would seem that you have singularly failed to earn your keep; your food or shelter or such."

It was apparent that he bore some sort of a grudge against me. I recalled long ago when I had sought to increase my grades at college by pleasuring him. Had that been enough to earn for myself the malicious opprobrium in which he seemed to hold me?

"I think it best that we leave you here for the night, in the market place, tethered to the fountain. Perhaps that might give you some incentive to improve your performance tomorrow."

My handler spoke to him. The Professor smiled.

"Diogenes here seems to think that there is some risk of you being killed or stolen, should we leave you here. He seems almost fond of you, my dear."

He pondered, stroking his chin, then spoke to Diogenes, who nodded, smiling.

"I have explained that we have insurance on you, greater than your true worth, so it would be a profit to the House. Besides, the chain will not be easy for a prospective thief to remove."

They walked away, conversing, not looking back.

I was left, hungry and thirsty, in the darkening market place.

My hands were tied behind me. I was tethered to a ring by my ankle. I was nude and gagged, alone, and unprotected.

I wondered what might befall me in the course of the night.



A Barbarian Girl on Gor Ch. 07



Chapter 7: Amelia Jane's night under the stars

At first all was quiet in the market place. 

Darkness had fallen, and shadows and gloom crept around me. I could hear furtive rustling noises, as of tiny creatures.

The night sky was clearing, and I looked up to observe the moon. It seemed strangely smaller than normal. I gave this circumstance no great amount of consideration until, as the clouds broke further, to my surprise and shock, a second moon, rather similar in size to the first, became visible. 

Even gagged as I was I let out a gasp of dismay, a consequent dribble of drool falling from my mouth onto my breasts.

I had suspected, even perhaps consciously accepted, that I was no longer on earth. My journey on the space ship had, in essence, revealed that to me. But here, for the first time, I had unequivocal confirmation that I was on a different planet, one with multiple satellites. I felt my eyes well with tears, as I realised that there was no easy escape from my predicament. It appeared that I was not in a part of my own world where girls such as myself were treated very differently, but a whole planet where such was the case. 

I had to come to terms with a new cruel reality, one that had led to me finding myself bound, gagged, and tethered nude in a deserted marketplace with a coin box attached to a metal ring around my neck.

I looked around myself fearfully. My knees were tucked under me as I knelt. It was dark now, and the light had faded. I could dimly sense the stalls around the little square. 

The temperature was dropping quickly. I wondered how cold it might get. I did not know where on the world I was, or even the season of the year. If I were in the tropics, a night out in the open might not be too bad, but what if it were winter, and the lands were temperate? I might freeze to death tethered nude. I reflected that I knew nothing about this world, but all too much about my place in the hierarchies and power structures that pertained upon it. It could be much colder or hotter than earth in any case, whether it was temperate or tropical having no bearing on my likelihood of survival.

My musings along this vein stopped as I heard footsteps. There were several and varied, as of a small group. I wondered at their purpose. A light came swaying round the corner into the square. Squinting into the gloom I discerned four dim shapes across the square from myself, one larger. As they came nearer, oblivious to my presence, I saw that the larger was a man, carrying a lantern, clothed in tunic and breeches of some indeterminate colour, the other three very much more lightly clad.

The three wore extremely short tunics, low cut, bare white limbs standing out in the gloom. Their shapely curves showed them to be girls. Each of them seemed to be manipulating some sort of stick, that I realised were brooms. From their silhouettes they all had extremely short hair. One carried a large sack on her back, attached somehow, as she was still sweeping. It looked fairly full and heavy. I pitied the poor girl, sweeping with a weight attached to her back. The man with them did not seem to pay them particular attention, yet seemed to be in charge. I hoped that I might evade their notice, and sat very still. They did not pay much attention to the square, seemingly intent on the stalls. They passed to the further edge of the square without noticing me.

I heard a scuffling sound, and then a small animal ran across my bare feet. I recognized it as the same as those on the floor of the pens, where I had been incarcerated. I moved my feet away quickly, unable to prevent myself making an incoherent screaming noise through my gag. I have a fear of such scuttling animals, a deep, though inchoate fear.

One of the girls came back into the square and peered around, intently. Then she saw me and called out. After a bit the man came ambling over, his lantern held high, looking around. The other two girls also returned to the square but at a shout from the man resumed their sweeping activities. The man came close to me, warily, then regarded me carefully in the light of the lantern. Without thinking, I went to the default position that I had been taught, spreading my legs, looking up at him as he loomed over me. It seemed natural to do that now, and yet it would have seemed horribly humiliating once. 

With his free hand he pulled at one of the side rings of my mouth gag, finding it to be securely fastened about my face. He then, as if intrigued, gently pulled at my hair, not hard, to hurt me, but not particularly gently, and I gasped. I dribbled a little from my forcibly opened mouth. He shook the little box, attached to my neck-ring, now silent once more, the coins having been removed by Professor Jones and Diogenes. Then I felt him pull at the wrist chain behind my back. 

Finally, he went to the chain they had attached to my ankle from the ring, and pulled at it firmly. It was not a thick chain, though certainly strong enough to secure me, and apparently unyielding to his one-handed grip.

He looked about, as if checking to see whether anyone else was in the square, aside from the two sweeping girls, and the third, with the sack, that stood beside him. He said something to me, a question. I could not of course understand him, and even had I been able to, could not have answered him, gagged as I was. I looked up at him piteously. He looked around the square again, shrugged his shoulders, gave the lantern to the girl, then undid his breeches, took out his manhood, and casually pushed himself into my mouth.

It was sudden and rather took me by surprise, and I gagged a little as the tip of him touched the back of my throat. I did my best to accommodate him. and tried to move my tongue about his organ as I could. His smell and taste were those of a man that did not often wash, but I had little choice in the matter, and knew that the sooner I could bring him to fulfilment, the sooner my mouth should be free of his unwelcome intrusion.

I sucked and licked clumsily, looking up at him. He was not looking down at me, but peering around the dark square, the short-haired girl with the sack was not sweeping, just holding the lantern and looking at me with a mixture of malice and disgust. I felt his right hand in my hair, cruelly curling it around his fist, hurting me, dictating the rhythm at which I should bob my head back and forth, in my efforts to orally please him.

I felt myself tremble slightly, and to my surprise and shame could sense a faint wetness at the opening of my vagina. Was I truly finding this degrading treatment arousing? I closed my eyes miserably. He was big now inside me, the smell and taste of him were overpowering, but I was growing more experienced with the nuances of pleasing men with my hands tied behind me and my mouth forcibly opened, and I soon felt him buck and jerk within me, then his creamy hot seed filling my throat. I swallowed his discharge and obediently leant forward and cleaned the residues from his softening member. I knew that my slit would be glistening, so aroused I felt, but hoped that this was not apparent in the darkness.

He seemed satisfied enough, and pulled himself back into his breeches. I looked up at him, wondering whether he might deign to put a coin into my little box. Instead he walked around behind me. I could not see what he was doing, but then I heard a slicing noise and realised that he was cutting loose the gag that I wore. He pulled the ring from my mouth with some difficulty.

At first I could not move my jaws at all, Then an intense pain surged through my mouth and jaws, as my muscles indicated their protest and my blood began to circulate properly again. I found that I could move my mouth a little, but was unable to articulate. He came round to stand again in front of me, and regarded me, his knife in one hand, and my gag in the other. He shouted at the girl and she brought the lantern closer, holding it near to my face.

I assumed that he would want me to thank him, but I did not know the words to do this. All I could say was my little catch-phrase, which I knew meant "I am a slave girl". Even this did not come out right, my jaw still aching terribly as I tried to move it to speak the brief utterance that was the sum total of my language capabilities. He addressed the girl nearby and she, with her free hand, pulled a drawstring that opened the sack that was slung around her neck at her back. There were obviously already a number of items therein. He dropped the gag into it and then turned back to me.

I tried again to speak my little phrase, and this time did somewhat better, I thought, but I still saw incomprehension on his face. Without anything else to say I spoke in English, making my eyes and mouth as grateful as possible "Thank you for freeing me!". It hurt just to say this.

Once again, of course, his face was blank and uncomprehending, but I noticed that the girl with the sack looked at me sharply, surprised. She spoke to the man excitedly. They then both looked at me expectantly. I kept silent, not wanting to say anything more, but the short-haired girl with the lantern and the sack spoke to me.

"Are you from earth, girl?"

I looked at her amazed, then stammering managed to blurt out "I..I am! From England! You too?" I immediately regretted it as a new wave of pain coursed through my aching jaw. I hoped that no permanent damage had been done to it. 

She looked uneasily at the man, and then said quickly, "Yes, from America, but I am not allowed to chat with you. My Master wants to know what you are doing here, out in the market at night, alone."

The man was now fingering my hair again, as if it fascinated him. He spoke to the girl. She spoke to me.

"He wants an answer."

I considered what to say. 

"My...my...er....owner left me here. I think it is a sort of punishment."

She spoke to him, briefly. He looked around then carried on fingering my hair.

"My Master likes your hair," she said.

I felt pleased. If my hands had been free I would probably have primped or teased my long blonde locks a little. I smiled finding it pained my jaw to do so. However I could not help myself. I always loved it when my hair was complimented.

"Tell your Master, thank you," I said, with difficulty "He is most kind."

I saw how short was her hair. How envious she must have been. I tried to keep the superiority out of my glance that took in her crop-haired, rather scrawny form, but I suspect I might have failed.

"Oh," she said, with a smirk on her face and more than a hint of malice in her voice, "That is not necessarily a good thing. Not for you at any rate, British bitch."

She had called me a 'British bitch'! She was from earth and probably a slave like me. Why would she be so hostile? Was it because her Master had used me and aroused me? Was it because I had looked at her as an inferior, with her cropped hair? But then I found that I had other matters to take into consideration as I felt a blade slicing through my tresses. The brute was cutting it with his knife!

"Oh no," I said, urgently, despite my sore jaw, "Tell your master to stop, he must not do that!"

She laughed. "Did you think he was merely admiring it? He can get a good price for it, you stupid slut!"

I felt the blade do its work swiftly. I could not tell how short he was cutting it, but I knew there was no care involved, no styling, or layering. He was simply cutting off as much as he could. In seconds, the long blonde tresses that had been my pride and joy were in his hand. He placed them carefully within the open sack, at the back of the American, joining the gag, and whatever other items were in there.

He regarded me again. I sobbed, horrified at what he had done to my hair. I saw his eyes now go to my ears, revealed by the shearing of my blonde locks. I felt his fingers touch my left ear lobe, pulling on the placer stud put therein to replace the earrings that I had been wearing when captured from earth. It was pulled from my piercing. I cried out a little. It was not particularly painful, but shocking to me. I then felt his hands at my right ear lobe, and the other placer was removed.

Then he talked to the American girl with the sack.

She smiled at me, although with a smile that did not extend to her eyes.

"My Master wants you to open your mouth," she said.

"Why," I asked, bemused.

"Just do it, bitch," she replied, "he's looking at your teeth."

I wondered at her request, but realised that it was better to comply. I shuddered. Was he going to take my teeth as well as my hair?

I opened my mouth and he took the lantern and looked carefully inside. He grunted something to the American.

"He can't see properly in this light," she said, "He wants to know if you have any gold teeth. You can close your mouth."

My teeth in fact, are perfect, one of my best features. I have never had so much as a filling, having always looked after them extremely carefully.

"N..no...," I said, "I don't have any gold teeth...why?" 

"If you had a gold tooth, he would have punched it out," she said, "We keep the market clean, but we recycle things we find in it too."

I looked at her in surprise. Her Master, as she called him, pulled once more, now two-handed at the chain around my neck, and then the cuffs around my hands, but neither gave way, even though he pulled hard.

He called to the sweeping girls, took his lantern back, and they walked away, the girls still sweeping.

"Lucky for you that you are well chained, British bitch," said the American girl, "we can't recycle you. See you around, perhaps."

The man shouted at her, as if commanding her to silence. I was too shocked to reply.

The little party moved off, leaving me now without my gag, but also without the majority of my hair and my little ear placers. I wondered whether my ears were bleeding. They were not painful in particular, but he had not been gentle or careful in removing them. 

I felt stunned. In meeting another girl from earth I would have thought to have found an ally, someone who might regard my plight with sympathy and kindness, and yet it seemed she had been intent on being my enemy. 

The market square was quiet once more save for the burbling of the fountain and the occasional sounds and cries of tiny creatures. I recalled sometimes seeing cars abandoned in rough neighbourhoods on earth. They would be denuded, part by part. First their wheels being taken, then their doors and so on. I felt like a living equivalent of such an item. My hair already gone, and the accoutrement that had cost two coins and my use by the vendor. I recalled that my earrings had been removed, and replaced with simple studs at the slaving house. Yet even these had been deemed of enough value to the market cleaners for them to be taken for 'recycling'. 

The loss of my hair began to sink in. My lower lip trembled. I was thankful, at least, for the fact that I had never had any precious metals inserted as fillings into my teeth. Even these, it seemed would have been removed from me, and painfully.

I went to my side in the cold market square and wept bitter tears.

For most of the rest of the night the marketplace saw little traffic. There was one party of drunken men that walked or staggered through, as if they had been drinking somewhere. I kept very still, and they did not see me. I do not know what they should have done to me if they had. Perhaps they would have used me, even put coins in my little box. Perhaps my lack of hair would have put them off, and led to me being rejected for their pleasures. I little cared.

I dozed fitfully once or twice, each time awakening cold and uncomfortable, with my shoulders and arms hurting terribly, from being trapped behind me. It was a shame, perhaps, that the cuffs had been secured more thoroughly than the gag. I would not have minded the cuffs being 'recycled', rather than my long blonde tresses. 

I began to weep again.

I could not tell how much hair remained. I could not even feel or touch it, with my arms chained behind my back. My ears felt cold, and he had subsequently noticed my piercings, so I knew that my ears were now "out in the open" as it were. I hoped at least that he had cut it fairly evenly, some sort of basic symmetry would have been something, I thought, but I knew that this would be a mere matter of luck, rather than judgement. His sole objective had, no doubt, been to cut off as much as he could, as quickly as he could, with quick slashes of his knife. I wondered where my hair might end up. On the head of another? Perhaps used for some industrial process? I wondered how much it might fetch. I realised that whatever the amount, that would similarly impact my overall value, should I come to be sold.

I recalled at the investment bank, on earth, sometimes discussing the process of asset stripping. The bank or one of its associates would buy a failing company, then try to sell off the individual pieces at a profit, simply closing down the remaining parts that we could not sell off, without the least consideration for the people that we were making redundant, the lives we were ruining. We never took that into our financial considerations. How clever we felt were, to make money in this way.

It would seem now that I, too, was being asset stripped. My hair had gone, and the gag binding that had cost two coins and my use. Even the ear placers, although my more valuable earrings had already been stripped at the slaving house, now I realised in anticipation that such a circumstance might come about. My teeth had at least remained. Had everything of value about me now been asset-stripped? Perhaps all that was left was equivalent to the rump of the organisation that we, as a bank, would close down. I swallowed, hard, thinking of the consequences of that upon my future.

At last I saw a tiny amount of light in the sky. The moons had gone now, but I did not know if they had set, or were simply invisible in the better light. I wondered when Professor Jones or Diogenes would come back for me. I was so cold and hungry. I had though, not frozen to death. That was something, I supposed. I must be somewhere fairly near the tropics. 

Surely they would not expect me to work as a coin girl in the coming day? I needed to rest. Surely they would take me back to the comparative comforts of the pens to recuperate a little. To gather my strength, as it were. But my hair was gone! Would I be punished for this? It was surely not my fault. Yet my value was undoubtedly reduced, and I very much doubted that they would be pleased at this. 

Would they add the value of my hair to the coins that I had to accrue to 'earn my keep'? I feared that this would prove to be the case. I would have to work hard indeed.

I closed my eyes and tried to put out of my mind the loss of my blonde pride and joy. Perhaps there would be stylists at the pens who could at least 'make the best of a bad job'. 

With careful layering and such my hair might be rescued as a cute little bob cut. But it was gone! My hair was gone! Surely nothing worse could happen to me?

I heard a noise. 

I opened my eyes to see five men around me. They were uncouth looking, very shabbily dressed. Their bodies were scrawny, as of men who had little to survive upon, apart from their wits.

All of them were looking at me.

One of them had an eye patch.

One of them had a wooden leg.

One of them carried a cutting device, like a sturdy pair of shears.



A Barbarian Girl on Gor Ch. 08



8. Amelia Jane encounters a surprising beast

A rag was stuffed into my mouth, gagging me once more, and then something placed over it and tied behind my head securing it in place. It tasted unpleasant, as if it had been used for cleaning floors or such. I could scarcely whimper, my mouth wadded as it was. Then something was pulled over my head, and I saw no more. I heard a sound as of metal straining and then breaking. The sound was repeated twice, and I could feel that my ankle was no longer tethered. I was lifted bodily off the ground by strong hands, my hands still tied behind me, and then a rough material rubbed against my bare skin. I realised that I had in all likelihood been placed into a sack, of burlap, or some such cheap utilitarian material. 

I found myself head downwards, my bottom in the air, and my legs dangling, and I surmised that I was being carried over a man's shoulder. As we moved off I deduced that my head was at his back, my legs and bottom facing forwards. 

I found it difficult to breathe easily, gagged as I was, in the receptacle in which I found myself being transported. I whimpered a little, softly, as best I could, as if in protest. My bottom was slapped, hard, through the cheap sacking, and I endeavoured thereafter to make no sound at all.

I tried to recollect the brief glimpse that I had had of the men before the hood had been placed over my head. They were perhaps the most disreputable group of males that I had ever seen in my life. There was a hardness about them, as if they were used to tough circumstances. There had been no words when they had came across me in the square, just swift action.

I wondered how they had discovered me. Had they merely been crossing the market in the early dawn, on a trip out to take the air or such? I doubted it, but I suppose that there was no reason why not. Then I remembered the powerful looking metal shearing object that one of them had carried. It seemed an unlikely implement to select by happenstance for such a trip. 

I suspected, then, that they had known that they should come across me. I wondered how this could have been. I recalled the market recycler. I wondered if he had revealed to them that a girl was there in the market place, chained, ripe for the taking, a tempting piece of low-hanging fruit available for plucking to any that might have the right equipment to hand. I wondered bitterly how much he had charged them for the information.

I shuddered, wondering where they might be taking me, and for what purpose they intended to use me. 

At one point I was placed on the ground, and then, after a moment or two, thrown again over a shoulder, my head down at a man's back, my hips high, my bottom foremost. I did not know if I was over the shoulder of the same man, or whether he had passed me off to another, that they might share the load that comprised my nude body, gagged and hooded in the sack. 

After some time it seemed that we went down some stairs, I feeling myself bumped up and down on the man's shoulder as we descended. Then the sound of a door opening and I realised that I must now be inside. I was placed, not gently, on a flat surface, as of wood, I did not know if it were a floor, or a table, or some such similar item of furniture on which a sack containing a girl might be placed. I whimpered softly, through the cloth wadding in my mouth. I felt a kick, hard, to my back. It would seem, therefore, that I was on the floor, and, further, that noise or protest on my part was not welcomed at this juncture.

I remained in place quietly. There was discussion now, male voices. I felt movement as something happened to my sack. I presume that the ties were opened as I was lifted in the air.and felt myself tipped, tumbling unceremoniously downwards. Unable to break my fall with my hands, and not knowing how high up I was, and when I should hit the ground, my fall was ungainly and awkward. I felt my shoulder hit the floor and I sprawled there, on my back. I heard mocking laughter. I cried a little in my hood, knowing myself bruised.

I felt stone or some other unyielding surface against my underside. I squirmed a little and felt a chain, doubtless that linked to my empty coin box, tangled around my body. I tasted the unpleasant rag stuffed into my mouth, my head in the stuffy hood. I felt a strong hand grip my ankle, still with its cuff, although the chain that previously connected it with the fixed ring was now gone. I felt myself dragged across the floor, and then a different material beneath me, that of coarse woven material such as might comprise a blanket or such. I heard a door close, and the sound of the voices diminished. The hand on my ankle left me, but then another hand, or perhaps more likely the same one, mauled roughly my right breast. I whimpered in the hood as the hand went down to my belly and then further.

I do not know in which order they had me, but I know that I was taken five times, and would assume that each had one use of me. Three of the 'sessions' had me lying on my back, though once I was placed upon my belly, and my rear hole utilised. The last used me by cupping my breasts around what I took to be his male member. From various aural clues I surmised that he was that of their group that possessed a peg leg. I was not cleaned between each taking of me. They did not seem to be particularly fastidious fellows. 

When this last had done with me, wiping himself clean on my breasts, I was left alone. I could hear them faintly in the next room, but even had their voices been loud enough for me to overhear, I would not have been able to understand them.

Hooded, gagged, hands behind my back, utterly helpless, my nude body presumably stained and coated with variously combined sexual residues, I attempted to sleep, sobbing into my hood.

I awoke to feel myself being dragged once more across the floor by the ankle. This time I think it was to the larger room, into which I had been first pitched from the sack. I felt a booted foot on my shoulder, and then something heavy and metallic resting on me, just below my collar. I heard a grating slicing noise, then I heard another pinging sound, similar to that which had preceded myself being placed into the sack, that noise which I had associated with the cutting of the chain that linked me to the ankle ring. In this instance I surmised that it was the chain linking the band upon my neck to the coin box that was being sliced away by the shearing device that I had briefly witnessed in the market place.

Suddenly light flooded into my eyes. The hood had been taken off my head. My eyes squinted, making out only vague shapes. In front of me was a man. The gag at my mouth was then also removed, and then also the cloth wadded into my oral cavity. The cuffs holding my wrists behind my back, and the band around my neck remained. As I grew more accustomed to the light, I realised with a start that the man facing me was wearing a hood. There was another man behind him, also hooded. Their hoods differed importantly from that which I had worn in that holes had been cut out to enable their eyes to look out. They spoke to me several times. Each time I answered with the only phrase that I knew in their language 'I am a slave girl'. 

After a time one of them hit me, then questioned me again. I whimpered but could only speak my little phrase. I was hit again, and fell to the floor. They began to kick me. Still I uttered my little phrase, now almost a mantra against the pain they were inflicting upon my defenceless nude body.

Eventually they stopped their attack on my person and spoke to each other. They seemed to concur on some matter and one of them left. He came back shortly after carrying something in his hand, It was placed on me. It had a similar effect to the hood, stopping any sight, however, I could feel that my mouth and nose were still 'open to the elements' as it were. 

It seemed that my temporary respite from having my vision denied me had been brought to an end. A man gripped my upper arm, and led me off. I assumed we went through a further door. The room had a different smell to that which I had occupied the previous night. I heard him bark a shout, as of a command. I did not know what to do. I felt his hand push me down, into my kneeling position. Almost without thinking I went to my 'default stance', with my arms behind me. I heard an angry shout then felt his hands upon my bare limbs, not gently. He positioned me so that I was on my knees, but with my hips not on my heels, but kneeling up. From a kick on my bottom, I surmised that I was to move forward on my knees. I did so, each movement painful as my knees came into contact with the floor. Eventually my further progress was stopped by my face meeting a thin shaft or tube of metal. I stopped, unable to continue. I heard a noise behind me, that corresponded to what one might hear from the closing then locking of a door. Then I heard the sound of another door. Then all was quiet.

I explored my new environment with my face. In four directions I came across the vertical tubes, spaced apart by about three or four inches. Each of the four sets comprised a square of approximately one yard on each side. Above me the roof seemed of metal, cold and smooth to my touch. It was just above me as I knelt up. I evidently could not stand upright nor stretch in any direction. As I explored about the cage, my chin touched another object, a small bowl. Putting my nose into it I realised that it contained a liquid. I lapped a little, gingerly, with my tongue. It was water. I had at least a pan of water. Next to it, my face contacted a larger container, a pail. It was empty. I smelt inside for food. I wrinkled my nose in distaste. I surmised what it might be for. It seemed that I was destined to remain in this new limited environment for some time. I could not stretch my limbs out, nor stand upright. There was drink within, but no food.

I was grateful at least for the pan of water and the other, larger bucket. I settled myself onto the floor, my legs pulled up through necessity given the cage's limited dimensions. I wondered what might be their plans for me. 

I lapped a little from the bowl that had been placed in the cell. I did not need to utilise the other bowl. I dozed fitfully for a while, then awoke, and supped once more from the little bowl. I repeated the routine, Then again, and again. I began to realise that despite my attempting to ration myself, the water in the bowl was almost depleted. I called out. I could hear nothing. I slept again. When I awoke I lapped the few drops that were the last of my water. The pail stank. i wondered how long I had been in the little cage. It must have been more than a day. Surely they would bring more water soon? 

More time passed. I could hear nothing. Nothing at all. Had the house been abandoned? I alternated between fitful dozing and worried awakening. I began to get very thirsty. My throat had become parched and dry. It became difficult for me to swallow. I tried to recall how long it took to die of thirst. Was it three or four days? I wondered how long I had been in the tiny cage. It had surely been several days. My thirst and hunger became excruciating. I could no longer call out, and any sound above a whisper caused my throat to parch.

Eventually the fitful dozing and worried awakening merged into one state. I was barely conscious. Had they simply forgotten about me? I wondered how many days I had been there. Had I been a mere bauble plucked from the streets of the market place, to be used once, as a trivial amusement and then discarded? To die a slow death in a tiny cage, neglected in a tiny room? 

I felt like a pet, a rabbit perhaps or a hamster, that had been given to a spoilt child. The child had played and sported with the pet briefly, but the animal's novelty had worn off, the child, bored of its antics, moved onto another toy, the rabbit or hamster forgotten in its hutch alone.

I began to believe that such musings might constitute my last thoughts. However, a time later, how long I cannot tell, I heard sounds again. I tried to call out, but my voice was too weak to carry.

I heard the door unlock and then the cage door. I was saved! Hands were at my body, pulling me across the floor. I surmised that I was in the main room again. I could only croak out, but surely they would realise that I wanted, in fact desperately needed water? But I had no way of telling them. 

I felt hands again at my body. I heard the pink of the metal cutter and realised that my hands had been freed. For the first time in a long time my arms were not trapped behind me. I expected that they would gang rape me once more but instead it would seem that they were dressing me. I felt a garment pulled over my head. There seemed to be a lot of it. More like a garment that might be worn on earth than the short tunics that had been worn by the yellow clad girls that had tried to make me swallow the insect, or the American sweeping girl that had called me a bitch. This garment seemed to come down to my feet. 

I felt what I assumed to be a gag being put on me, yet it did not seem to be a gag, but simply something that covered my mouth. 

My arms were once again pinned behind me, this time with rope, and I was frogmarched with a man on either side of me, holding me up by my upper arms and I felt fresh air blow on my hands and bare feet. It seemed that we were outside. I realised that there was sunlight falling on me, for the first time in a long while. I moved my feet along the ground, trying to keep up with the pace that the men demanded.

I was laid down somewhere, and soon felt us begin to move. We moved jerkily, and bounced along, as if in a cart of some sort. It seemed that there was a man with me, holding me. I wondered where we could possibly be going. I could hear background noises, as if we were on a street. I wondered about calling out but even had I dared to, I could not.

After a while, the cart stopped. I felt myself picked up again, unloaded from the cart like an item of cargo. I was carried a short way, facing back over a shoulder as before, then dropped upon the ground. There were men around me. My heart was racing. What could be happening? Suddenly light flooded in, as the covering over my eyes was pulled away. I blinked but the sunlight hurt my eyes. They were too dry to water. I had to shut them. Something else was put on my head, like a hat, but I could feel tendrils brushing my shoulders and ears. I realised with surprise that it was a wig. The 'hair' on it felt very thick and artificial. The sort of wig that one might wear to a fancy dress party or such. It was long and light coloured. I thought of my old mane of blonde hair, that which had been cut from me in the market place. I wondered how long it should take to grow back.

The garment covered me, a long dress, down to my ankles, long sleeves, a very high neck, covering the metal band that I wore there. I lay in it sprawled on the ground. 

I tried again to speak, but my throat was so parched I could not. We waited. If the men were still around me, they made no sound. I lay on my side. I heard a faint rumbling. I wondered what it could be. It was a repetitive sound. It became louder as if something very large were coming closer. I felt my bottom lip tremble. 

With difficulty, I turned my body so that I was facing the direction from whence the rumbling noise came. I tried again to open my eyes, I squinted in the bright light and saw, coming towards me, what could only be described as a dinosaur.

I tried to scream but my throat was too parched for any but the smallest sound to come out.

The animal was bipedal, with small arms, almost vestigial. Its hind legs though, were immense and powerful. Surprisingly, there was someone on the back of it, riding it. The figure was slight, with long blonde hair flowing. It was not sat astride the beast, but both legs seemed to be on one side. The beast and its rider were coming straight towards me.

I recalled the moons, and my realisation that I was in a different world, one in which I appeared to rank very low in the hierarchy of things. The extra moon had been a shock, yet here was something more immediate, more frightening. A dinosaur being ridden by a person, and I was tied up helplessly directly in its path.

Desperately, I tried to wriggle away but I was unable to squirm more than a few inches, I would not escape the lumbering beast that was now close to me.

I closed my eyes, preparing to be trampled.



A Barbarian Girl on Gor Ch. 09



The creature was almost on top of me, and I had resigned myself to being trampled under its feet when there was a cry, and, to my intense relief it seemed to be pulled up, as if the rider of it were controlling it, as one might control a horse or camel.

It came to a halt just a few feet away from me; in another step or two I would have found myself crushed under its trampling reptilian feet. 

I opened my eyes, and whimpered pathetically as I looked up from my position on the ground.

The rider dismounted elegantly. As I had noticed when first seeing the rider upon the animal, both legs had been on the same side of the saddle. Thus the rider had been mounted in a side-saddle fashion.

I deduced therefore that the rider probably was a woman. I say probably, as her garments were concealing and did not particularly reveal the lineaments of her figure. With a feeling of surprise I grasped that in their basic form and even in their colour they were close to those that I wore. Those in which I had been garbed before leaving the house in which I had been previously incarcerated by the gang of vagabonds.

Even her hair, where a few strands escaped from her garmenture, was golden, and approximated to the colour of the crude wig that had been placed upon my own head. She even wore a veil, which item of clothing, I now realised, was that which had been attached to my own mouth; that which covered the voluptuousness of my own lips.

She regarded me; I could see pity and empathy in her eyes. She knelt down beside me, and, said something to me in her language. I did not know what to reply. She produced a small vessel, made of animal hide or some such. She pulled up my veil, and I felt the top of the little bottle pushed between my lips. The sensation of water in my mouth for the first time in days was greatly welcomed. I gulped and sucked eagerly at the bottle. The woman regarded me solicitously. Her eyes were kind and, I realised, very beautiful; additionally they were blue, as were my own.

Behind her I then saw figures. It was two of the gang of vagabonds that had stolen me from the market place. One of them carried a hood such as had been placed upon me when I had been taken from the square to be gang raped and placed in the little cage. I wanted to call out to the girl, she that had solicitously stopped to see how I was, and to give me water. But I could say nothing, the bottle of water in my mouth, my hands tied behind me. I burbled, the water spilling down my chin, trying to warn her of her imminent peril.

I was too late. One grabbed her by the waist and the other pulled the hood over her head. She let out a muffled scream, but it seemed that there was no one around to hear. They tied her, then placed her in a sack, perhaps the very one in which I had been taken.

The sack wriggled and writhed on the ground. They turned their attentions to me. One of them had hold of the reins of the dinosaur. It seemed trained, and despite its appearance had the bearing of a domesticated beast. They undid the knots holding my hands behind my back then, to my shock, I found my limbs tied tightly to the saddle and rigging of the beast. My position was uncomfortable, leaning forward, legs wide, straddling the great beast. The ropes meant that I could not fall from it. There was the crack of a whip, and suddenly, to my intense discomfort, the beast began to run, as it had been when I had first espied it, when I was lying tied upon the ground. 

Now I was fastened tightly upon it, bouncing up and down painfully, the rampant beast running to I did not know where, uncontrolled and unsupervised, its fate and my own now interlaced. With every step of its powerful hind legs I was jostled on its back. I screamed loudly as it ran. I was terrified. The ropes binding me on the creature were tight. They were obviously well-tied, as despite the jostling of the beast the knots holding me on the creature held.

I heard further shouting, and saw that to each side of me were further creatures, similar to that upon which I was tied, both being ridden. The riders were garbed in helmets and military clothes. Both were undoubtedly men, and of magnificent build, veritable warriors in physique and bearing. One was now riding alongside me, keeping up the same pace as the beast on which I was riding. 

He reached over and grabbed the reins of the beast. He called out loudly. I realised that the beast was slowing down. He called out again; the beast slowed further.

Soon, he had brought it to a halt. I felt a surge of relief. I wondered what might have happened to me; how long I could have survived upon the back of the creature. I felt myself bruised.

The men stepped down from their reined in mounts. One came to investigate more closely and seemed surprised to find that I was tethered in place upon the creature. He asked a question of me. His voice was not of an inflection that I had heard previously here. 

Normally a male addressed me in a peremptory tone, barking out a command. His tone however was more conciliatory, more concerned, as if he might be enquiring as to my safety or condition. He began to untie the bonds securing me to the beast. The hair on the wig that I was wearing brushed his hand.

I saw his eyes registering bemusement and surprise as he realised that the hair in contact with his hand was artificial. He looked at me more closely, and called to his fellow. He asked me another question. This time his voice was less pleasant. The other fellow was by him now, and they both regarded me. My eyes must have looked very scared and frightened above the modest veil covering my mouth.

The men exchanged more words. One of them reached for the wig, that of the cheap, artificial material, and gently pulled it. It moved a little on my head. He pulled it further, then removed it from my head, exposing my shortened hair; that which had been cut from me by the recycler in the market place.

The men appeared angrier. They talked to me again, the inflection now that of a curt question. Confused and frightened I uttered the only phrase I knew in their language, the little phrase that I had been taught by rote, "I am a slave girl."

The effect was surprising and instant. Both men shouted crossly, and one of them put his hands to the veil that covered my mouth and neck, ripping it savagely from me. The discarded veil revealed my mouth and also of course, the band around my neck, that which had been placed upon me at the training house. 

This seemed to incite them to more anger, and they began to pull now at the modest dress I wore, almost tearing it from me in their haste. Soon I found myself squirming on the ground before them, once more nude. When they saw the circular mark that had been painfully burnt upon my leg, their fury seemed to be provoked still further. They shouted at me repeatedly, and kicked me as I lay sprawled on the ground. I was weeping now, and had stopped using even the small phrase, having discerned that uttering it was not aiding me in my predicament. 

One of them hauled me to my feet, supporting me by my arms. The other barked out a statement or question, I did not know which. I shook my head in non-comprehension.I felt the back of his hand, hard across my right cheek, then the flat of his hand on my left cheek. I felt that my teeth would almost be dislodged, such was the power of his open hand. 

The barking of questions or commands continued, interspersed with various physical assaults upon my body. At one stage I was punched, viciously, in the solar plexus. I was babbling in English by now, but all, of course, to no effect. The hands that supported me were withdrawn and I slumped to the ground, beaten and terribly dejected. 

I wondered if it were their intention to kill me.

Above me they seemed to be discussing my fate, I barely conscious laying nude upon the ground.

Eventually a decision seemed to have been made and I felt myself lifted to one of the beasts. I found myself arched before the saddle upon the beast, the man mounted on the saddle beside me. I was tied firmly in place, but this time there was no pretence that I was riding the beast. I was unequivocally tied as would be a captive, and furthermore a female captive. He spurred the beast to motion. The other man rode behind, guiding the beast upon which I had formerly been tied with a rein.

I was hit no more, but simply ignored, as if I were freight being carried to some destination. I moaned softly, my back painful under the motion of the beast, but secured firmly in place by the bindings on my limbs. Thankfully the journey, though uncomfortable, was not lengthy. 

We came to a large building, gated and guarded. A call was made, and then a counter call by the guard riding the beast and we were allowed to pass into the inner courtyard of the building. 

I found myself untied by the man and was placed over his shoulder and then taken down some stairs. I was thrown unceremoniously into a small room with no windows. Upon the floor was straw. I heard the door close and then a lock on the outside of the door put in place. The room that I was now in was undoubtedly a cell or dungeon. Once the door was shut the room was thrown into darkness. 

I shivered, wondering what was to happen to me now. The room smelt of a musty dampness. It was cold. I shivered in the straw, feeling my bruises from my two contrasting journeys upon the reptilian beasts.

I felt something bite at my nude flesh. I whimpered. My body was bitten again. I brushed at the place where I had been attacked to fend the unseen assailant away. I felt another bite. I got to my feet. Another bite came upon my ankle. I wailed louder. The straw seemed full of little insects, and it seemed that they were hungry. I brushed the straw away with my bare feet, to try and make a little island amidst the straw. I stood in the centre of it, and the attacks upon me diminished. I wondered what it would be to try and sleep in the tiny straw-filled room, the dirty flooring material infested with biting insects. I heard scuttling and rustling.

I am very fearful of "creepie-crawlies". I do not know if this is genetically coded within me, or whether it is a particular fear. In my old life on earth the merest sight of a spider or cockroach or such could turn me into a quivering wreck. Now I found myself in a darkened room, nude and barefoot, sharing it with any number of such beasts. I supposed it could be considered a mercy that I could only hear and feel the scuttling insects that now shared my space, and not see them. However, at least being able to see them might ensure that I could take measures to avoid the tiny animals. As it was, I could only sense their approach, and then feel a sudden surge of fear and revulsion course within me when one suddenly brushed me or bit at my bare foot.

I wrapped my arms around my bare body, trying to keep warm. I wondered with trepidation what would happen to me now. The guards certainly did not seem happy with me, especially when they found out that I was a slave girl. I wondered why this information had annoyed them so. I considered how long I might be kept in the tiny infested cell. 

I had been given a brief drink of water by the kindly girl, at least before she had been taken by the gang of men. I was still terribly hungry. I had not been given the opportunity to eat for some days. I had never experienced such hunger. I wondered how long I could survive without food. 

I felt another bite at my ankle. An insect had apparently traversed the straw free portion of floor to take a painful bite at my ankle. I sobbed, and stamped my bare foot, hoping that I might squash my tiny assailant. Although I was ostensibly alone in the dark, cold, damp cell, it would seem that I had in fact many tiny cellmates. Cellmates that were obviously hungry, and, like myself, had not had a meal for some considerable interval of time.

I do not know for how long I was kept in the cell, hungry and alone, except for my tiny cellmates. There were no windows so I could not tell whether it were day or night. 

Eventually. the guards came for me, two of them. Each grabbed me by an arm and I was frog-marched out of the cell.

We went down a long, gloomy corridor, I being half-led, half-dragged by the two guards. They took me through a door into another room. I gasped as we went into it. From the walls hung chains and whips. There were tables upon which people could be laid. There were other implements of pain on shelves and such. It was lit by torches of flame at intervals around the walls. 

It seemed permeated by the smell of fear. Like my tiny cell it had no windows. It had all the trappings of a mediaeval torture chamber. I whimpered with fear as I looked around. Was it their intention to kill me, to torture me to death?

I was led to the centre of the room and chains were attached to my wrists. By a pulley arrangement, the chains were hoisted until I was dangling by my arms, the tips of my toes just touching the flags of the stone floor. I recalled my experiences with Professor Jones and Diogenes. I knew now all too well what was likely to occur when I found myself in such an exposed, vulnerable position, hanging nude, my flesh quivering with fright.

Sure enough I heard the swish of a whip being unfurled. I shuddered, and my bottom lip quivered with fear. One of the men came round to the front of me and spoke. His intonation was that of a question. Of course I had no idea of his words. Tears rolled down my face. I said my little phrase. I heard the swish of the leather and a crack as my back burnt with an indescribable slash of pain. 

I spoke in English "Please, please, I don't know what you want! Please don't hurt me any more!"

The man shouted at me again. All I could do was whimper pitifully. Sure enough the whip was once more laid across my body, a line of pain now mingling with the first. I slumped in the chains; my arms and shoulders ached but it was as nothing compared with the pain from the whip.

My head was down now, and I felt the man's fingers at my chin, lifting my head up to meet his eyes. His eyes were harsh, steely grey, with no hint of mercy. It seemed that he was well used to the whipping of girls such as me. I whimpered again in English "Please...please...I don't know what you want to know."

He regarded me curiously, and spoke to me in his language, looking me in the eyes. I whispered again in English "Please, what do you want to know? Please let me know what you want from me." 

He grunted, then allowed my chin to fall again to my chest. He barked a curt word of command. I expected to feel again the whip lash my body. To my surprise I felt myself being lowered to the ground. The chains were removed from my wrists. I fell to the floor. I was kicked once or twice in the belly and on my legs, but not, it seemed, with any great degree of malice. I wondered why my punishment had been stopped.

I was once again supported by the two guards and dragged back along the corridor to the tiny damp cell. This time they tied my hands behind me and then threw me within.

I lay on the filthy straw in the blackness. I heard the familiar rustling and scuttling of my tiny cellmates. With my hands tied I was now more than ever at the mercy of their depredations upon my flesh. I squirmed in the straw, trying to crush some of them with my naked body. It would seem that the places where the whip had cut my body held particular attractions to them. No doubt the blood there was as something of the nature of a feast or a delicacy to their insectivorous appetites.

I was in the cell for a long time, battling my tiny insect assailants, writhing in the straw. I wondered whether it were to be my fate to be minutely gnawed to death tiny piece by tiny piece.

Eventually I must have lost consciousness, and drifted off into a dream-filled sleep. I dreamt of the things that had happened to me; the training house with its depending cages, the market place where I had tried and failed to earn my keep, the recycler who had cut my hair, the gang who had stolen me, raped me, and then tied me to a reptilian bipedal beast.

I was kicked awake. I did not know how long had passed but once again two men were there. They escorted me along the corridor as before, each holding an arm, By this juncture I was too weak to walk. 

I was thrown into the other room, that with the implements of torture, illuminated by torches on the walls. I was terribly frightened. They dragged me to one of the tables and chained me upon it, each limb to one corner. I heard them leave the room. 

I was alone. I groaned on the table, helplessly spreadeagled. Eventually I heard the door open behind me and footsteps come across the stone-flagged floor.

I squirmed on the table and tried to move my head to see who had entered, but I could not. 

I heard a voice. A familiar voice. A voice that made my flesh crawl as I was chained, absolutely helpless on the table in the room filled with torture devices.

"Well, my dear. It would seem that our paths cross once more,"

The newcomer came closer to the table and my tear-filled eyes met those of Professor Jones.



A Barbarian Girl on Gor Ch. 10



Amelia Jane Discovers her Fate

At first I could not believe that it was Professor Jones that had walked into the room. My flesh crawled as he smiled down at me, bound helplessly as I was to the table. His left hand gripped my left thigh about half way up, and his mouth contorted into a humourless smile.

"I see that you have opted for a shorter hairdo since last we met, little slut."

I looked away from him and could not stop a small moan escaping my lips. My eyes filled with tears. I had not heard my own language for some time, but now that I did so, it was immediately used to call me a 'little slut', from the lips of a man that I had always loathed, but now also greatly feared. I had had no say in the severe diminution of my formerly long blonde flowing hair. It had been ruthlessly removed by the recycler in the market place when I had been abandoned there.

"What are you doing here?" I hissed, trying to sound much braver than I felt. His arm moved higher on my thigh, squeezing my bare flesh. There was absolutely nothing that I could do to prevent him taking this liberty, pinned and spread-eagled as I was.

He leered at me, "Pretty little Amelia Jane, strapped to a table in a torture chamber, yet still trying to sound brave. What a feisty little thing you are, for a worthless whore." He almost spat the last two words at me.

"Please," I cried, "Call me what you wish, but not that, that isn't true."

"Not true?" he sneered, "Not true? Why, how interesting. And what part of that sobriquet do you dispute, my dear? That you are a whore seems obvious. What other term could be used for a pretty girl that scampers about a city market place, offering herself to men, with a coin box about her elegant neck?"

"I only did it because I had to," I protested.

"Well you seemed to take to it easily enough," he replied, "We hardly had to drag you from customer to customer. And your body seemed willing enough to co-operate, and lubricate itself, prior to your various penetrations."

I looked away, tears in my eyes, unable to answer him.

"And worthless, certainly, as for all your obvious willingness to co-operate, you were not able to earn enough even to provide for your own maintenance; the costs of your caging and gruel and such. One might contend that you are in fact less than worthless, as your apparent lack of appeal to your potential client base means that you would almost certainly lose any employer money, draining rather than supplementing his stock of capital."

I shuddered at his words. He used terminology that a merchant bank might be wont to employ about a failing business operation. His hand, which had been gripping my thigh, now went to my mark, and his forefinger idly traced the circle of it, burnt into my flesh.

"And of course, further, this dainty mark that we placed upon your shapely leg specifically marks you out as worthless, even in comparison to other girls of your type"

I did not speak. He sighed slightly.

"But I digress, somewhat, my dear. I am not here merely to confirm the fact that you are a worthless whore, but to find out how you came to be, in addition, a delinquent felon, a kidnapper no less. Perhaps you would be so good as to reveal the circumstances whereby this new appellation has been placed upon you."

I looked at him, my eyes wide with fear.

"I have done nothing wrong. It was I who was kidnapped!"

He regarded me, and raised an eyebrow.

"I assure you, my dear, that it has already been decided beyond any reasonable doubt that you are, at the very least, an accessory to kidnapping. My task here is to ascertain how you came to be found riding the mount of the daughter of the Ruler of the City. Your position is extremely precarious. Indeed your future to a very great extent hangs upon whether you can adequately explain how such a circumstance came about."

"Why should I tell you," I whispered, "Of all people?"

He smiled a little. "Perhaps I need to appraise you of your predicament, my dear. It would seem that on her daily, somewhat foolhardy, jaunt around the palace grounds, the daughter of the City Ruler was abducted. In her place, riding on her beloved pet mount, was apparently found yourself, a worthless whore, wearing a wig to make you look a little more like the Ruler's beautiful and chaste daughter. I have been reliably informed that you have, subsequently, whether truthfully or affectedly, appeared not to understand any of the questions put to you regarding this matter, but merely babbled gibberish in some unknown tongue. As an acquaintance of the Ruler, known for my ability to speak a number of barbarian languages, I have been brought in to see if I can understand your primitive speech. So you can see, my dear, that I am here on business rather than pleasure, although there seems no reason why I should not mix the two."

So saying he climbed upon the table and bestrode my prostrate form.

"So," he said, "Why don't we start with you telling me exactly what happened."

I quivered, his weight now on top of me. Where should I start? Should I tell him anything at all? I saw him undoing his tunic, and realised with a sinking heart that he was preparing to rape me.

"What are you doing?" I cried, "Aren't you here to interview me and establish the facts?"

"I do not think that any questions will be asked of my methods providing that I obtain some sort of confession," he said, as he pushed into me. I was of course helpless to resist. He grunted as he forced his way into my love-hole. "My, my," he said, "You are indeed a little whore. Wet and slick and ready for the use of a man, despite your unenviable plight."

I clenched my bound fists helplessly. I could not deny the truth of these remarks. My body betrayed me, and even though I found him loathsome, it seemed that I was now so desperate for the touch of a man, any man, that my body would juice helplessly even at the unsolicited fondling of a despised enemy. I think, if I could, I would have wrapped my long legs about him, pulling him further into me, but my bonds, strapped to the table as I was, perhaps thankfully precluded this eventuality.

"So," he drawled lazily, as he thrust into me, "Why don't you begin, little slut, and tell me the circumstances pertaining to your unfortunate predicament."

I moaned, but realising that I had little choice in the matter, began to tell him of what had happened since he and Diogenes had left me to my fate in the darkening market place; of the recycler, and my chain being cut, then being placed in a filthy sack and taken by the gang of desperadoes, my subsequent gang rape and abandonment, and eventual utilisation in what I now found to have been the abduction of some sort of princess. 

Throughout my confession the Professor indolently used me, pushing back and forth on top of me, resulting in the frequent interruption of my narrative, on my part, by gasps and moans of pleasure. This evidence of my increasing arousal seemed to amuse him greatly, yet he rarely did anything to increase my own pleasure, aside from the occasional grasping and squeezing of one or other of my breasts, or the fingering of my collared neck. His use of me seemed almost passionless, not like that of the other men who had used me here, yet, even this almost indifferent use of me had me writhing and squirming at his least touch, much to my personal shame and embarrassment.

"It is interesting," he said at one point, "to see how you have changed from the girl that I met at the college, she who coyly attempted to improve her grades with her tongue, and who made those little fake moans of pleasure as she tried to convince me that her pathetic attempts to please me were from the heart, and not merely those of a manipulative little bitch attempting to use me as an accomplice to defraud the academic authorities."

I listened to his hurtful words but continued with my confession, eventually telling of my being placed on the reptilian beast, and my subsequent capture by the guards of the palace. As my narration came to an end, he moved faster upon me, and eventually let out a loud groan of a pleasure, as he pumped his male seed into my prostrate, receptive body. To my humiliation, I was unable to prevent myself losing control over my feelings, and my hoarse and heartfelt cries echoed around the chamber in which I was held prisoner. It had been some time since I had previously been used by a man.

He smiled down at me, as he wiped his member, slick with our mingled sex juices, on my bare breasts.

"So," he said, "May I surmise from your story that you would contend that you are innocent of the charges of kidnapping, and impersonation, and were in fact coerced into this nefarious operation?"

"Yes!" I said desperately, "Yes! I had no choice in the whole matter, I am merely an innocent victim, simply a girl that was herself kidnapped and forced to take part in this whole scheme. You will tell them that won't you?"

He smiled, unpleasantly.

"You seem to be of the opinion that such a confession will save your pretty little ass. I don't think that you realise how serious your position is. Do you think that some far-fetched profession of innocence along the lines that you have put forward will somehow assuage the wrath of the Ruler, or indeed of the other inhabitants of the City?"

"Y..yes...," I stammered, "Surely you can see that I have done nothing wrong at all, what else could I have done?"

"Well," he replied, "to begin with, you could have found a way to have warned the Ruler's daughter of her imminent peril. Even someone of such limited intelligence as yourself must have realised that you had not been placed in the path of her beast simply to be killed. Why did you not cry out?"

"I was gagged," I said, desperately, "They put a gag on me, underneath the veil."

"But a gag does not preclude noise," he said, "It is surely reasonable to suppose that if you had been genuinely concerned to stop the abduction of our beloved Ruler's daughter, that you could have found a way of warning her. An incoherent cry of distress might have sufficed. But it appears that you did not attempt such an act," he went on menacingly, "Thus I suspect that the Court will take an extremely dim view. Furthermore, when you were placed on the ground, there must have been an opportunity for you to escape, or to simply stand up and raise the alarm. Yet you did not choose to do this."

"My hands were bound behind me," I said, "I could not."

"And yet your feet were free," he said, "So if you had made a bit of effort you could presumably have got to your feet and made some sort of attempt at raising the alarm, rather than just lying there, luring the Ruler's daughter to her fate."

"But I did not know what was about to happen," I protested.

"I see," he said, "And this is the case that you want me to present before the Royal Court of Justice? You do realise that it is the Ruler himself who will be in judgment of you, I suppose?"

I shivered with fear. It seemed unlikely that I should get a favourable verdict from the father of she who had been abducted, in the incident in which I had played a significant part, however unwitting or unwilling.

"Well," he said, "I suppose I will try my best, although let us see if you can convince me to attempt your defence with some degree of conviction."

"How?" I asked pathetically.

"By the same means that you attempted to persuade me to improve your grades at the college," he said, "Except this time, I hope, with considerably more skill and sincerity."

He moved his body along the bench so that now his male member was at a point where I could, if I raised my head, pleasure him with my mouth and tongue.

"No," I protested, "No. You have already used me, I have told you exactly what happened. Why should I please you more?"

He raised an eyebrow again.

"I see," he remarked, "So perhaps I need to tell the Ruler that you have poured scorn on him and his daughter, and said that you were pleased to have assisted in her abduction. I should warn you, my dear, that the criminal punishment code here is somewhat ah... primitive, and brutal. There is much that is done mostly from the aspect of revenge and pure brutality. It is not a code of rehabilitation, setting the convicted on their way to not re-offending and so forth. The most common penalty for non-cooperation is to be tied to four of the beasts upon which you were discovered, and torn limb from limb."

I shivered with fear. "No," I whimpered, "No."

"Now," he said, not pleasantly, "get your tongue to work, my little piece of trash, and make sure that you perform a lot better than you did beneath my desk in the college.

I bent my neck forward and obediently opened my mouth, placing my lips either side of his waiting member. I pressed my tongue to the tip, tasting his male saltiness, the residual conjoined fluids of our recent coupling still present on him, even after he had wiped the greater part away upon my bare breasts. It was difficult, but I began to move my neck to and fro, my lips moving up and down his shaft, my tongue attempting to please him. He was limp from his previous exertions, and it seemed an age to me, unable to use my hands, with my body and limbs spread beneath him, before he began to thicken and harden. 

He moved himself little, and it was left to me to set the rhythm of my pleasuring of him, as best I could. After a while he seemed dissatisfied with my attempts and his hands gripped what was left of my hair, and demonstrated to me the faster rhythm that he preferred and demanded. This reduced me to little more than a living vessel into which he might pour his discharges, but at least it took some of the pressure from my neck muscles, as I attempted to service him from my awkward and helpless position on the bench, with his hands painfully pulling my head to and fro.

Eventually, my neck hurting, and my jaw aching, I felt a fresh jet of his discharge within my mouth, and he let go of my hair, my head falling back to the bench.

"There," he said, "that wasn't so difficult was it? Perhaps you might be turned into a marginally useful item of merchandise, should you be permitted to live."

"You will tell them what happened?" I looked up at him hopefully as he dismounted from the bench.

He did not reply, but only smirked at me as he dressed and then walked from the room. I realised how much I was in his power. He was now the only person, apart from the gang of cut-throats and the Ruler's daughter, aware of the circumstances surrounding the abduction, and I was forced to entrust him to tell my story in court. Yet I would not even be able to understand any testimony that he might give, let alone contradict it.

I wept as I lay on the bench. My arms and legs were aching, and my neck now hurt, from the cruel exertions to which it had recently been subjected. I felt something dribbling down my chin, and realised that it must be his semen. I had swallowed the rest, thankful, as it had been the only nourishment to have passed my lips for some time. I was so hungry that even the sexual juices of a despised enemy had become a gastronomical treat for me. I tried to lick the remainder of the sustenance from my own lips and chin.

I don't know how long I waited strapped to the table before the guards came in. 

They untied me, pulled me from the table and placed me on my feet, each supporting me by one arm. I was dragged from the room, my feet trailing on the floor. We went down a long corridor, then up some steps, along another corridor, and up further steps, my feet bumping painfully on each step as I was thus conveyed.

We came to a grander door, which was opened, and I was pushed within. I was unable to stand and sprawled on the stone floor. I looked up to see a grand room, much more richly furnished than those into which I had previously been conducted. A large chair loomed above me. In it sat a man clothed in finery. Next to him, on a raised dais stood Professor Jones. They were both looking down at my prostrate form. The guards took up a position at the door. Four other guards were also in the room. All their eyes were upon my nude form, and I realised that their glares were uniformly hostile and malevolent.

The richly clothed man spoke in a language that I could not understand. 

Then Professor Jones said, "His Eminence the Ruler of Our Glorious City commands that you stand before him and confirm your guilt before he determines your just punishment."

I gasped. 

It seemed that an unfavourable verdict had already been reached in my absence. 

I scrabbled on the floor and tried to get to my feet. I found that I could not. At a word from the Ruler two of the guards came forward and lifted me to my feet. 

"You need to speak," said Professor Jones, "to admit your guilt."

"But I am not guilty," I whimpered.

"They will not believe that," he said, "the best that you can hope for now is to plead that you are guilty but contrite, and throw yourself upon the mercy of the court."

I looked at him aghast. Had he not agreed that he would defend me?

"But I am not guilty," I repeated.

Professor Jones spoke to the Ruler.

"I have informed him that you concede your guilt, but that you are contrite, and throw yourself upon his mercy," he said.

I shook my head, "No," I pleaded, "No!"

The Ruler looked at me and spoke to Professor Jones.

"He asks you why he should spare your miserable life," said Professor Jones.

I felt my bottom lip tremble and I began to cry. No matter what I said, Professor Jones could translate my words into any form he wished to the Ruler. He could even insult the Ruler if it amused him, and say that the words came from me. I realised that I was absolutely at his mercy, and that he could now decide my fate. I swallowed hard. It seemed that it did not matter much what I said, but I felt that at least though my actions I could endeavour to demonstrate genuine remorse and thus perhaps gain some degree of mercy. 

I dropped to the ground and pulled myself forward until my lips could reach the richly decorated boots of the City Ruler. I licked at his right boot, remembering what had been taught to me in my training prior to my erstwhile employment in the market place. There was a gasp and I felt my legs gripped and I was pulled away by the guards, my breasts hurting as they were scraped along the floor.

The City Ruler shouted angrily at me, then pointed to me and remonstrated with Professor Jones.

The Professor spoke to me again.

"I am afraid that you have committed something of a faux pas, my dear. It is not permitted for such as you to touch the person of the ruler, without explicit permission. You have exacerbated your forthcoming sentence, you little fool."

The Ruler continued to speak to Professor Jones, who nodded as he listened to him. At one stage there were gasps of disapproval in the room from the guards. He eventually stopped and Professor Jones addressed me.

"His Eminence has decreed your fate as follows," he began, "Although you undoubtedly deserve a painful and ignoble death, in his great mercy he has bequeathed that you shall, for the present, be kept alive. This is in order that, in the eventuality of the abductors of his daughter being caught, you will be available to confirm their identities, and corroborate or contradict any testimony that they give. Thus your penalty, for the present, is indefinite hard labour. You shall be sent from here to the City salt mines, and toil there, until such time as the other perpetrators of this act of infamy shall be apprehended, when you shall be returned hence, should you still live, to give your testimony."

Professor Jones looked down at me. I realised from a faint look in his eyes that he was not particularly happy with this verdict. As if there were something about it that had not pleased him.




A Barbarian Girl on Gor Ch. 10



"Do you have anything to say before you are taken from this Court and taken to the salt mines to begin your punishment?" he asked me.

There was so much that I wanted to say; I was grateful of course that I was not to be killed, but being sent to the salt mines did not sound like a particularly pleasant fate. I began to speak, desperately.

"I am innocent, " I said, "Innocent of all charges. Please tell him that I am extremely sorry for what happened to his daughter, and that I hope she be found soon. Please don't send me to the salt mines, I will serve him in any way that he wishes, there is no need to send me there."

Professor Jones smirked unpleasantly. He said something to the Ruler. Of course, I could not know whether he had translated my words faithfully, or even to anything approaching their meaning.

Whatever he might have said, it did not seem to particularly affect the ruler, who nonchalantly dismissed me with a wave of his hand, as if he now had more important business to attend to. I was conducted again by the guards from the room, Professor Jones walking alongside us. My mind was in a whirl, it seemed that I was to be sent to the salt mines.

I spoke to Professor Jones, desperately trying to think of ways out of this unpleasant sounding fate. "Please tell him that I am not strong enough to mine much salt for him. It doesn't sound like a good place to send a girl like me."

"Indeed it is not," he said, "But I think the miners and guards will enjoy having you there."

"There are men and women there?" I gasped. It had not really occurred to me that I might be expected to do more than simply mine salt.

He laughed heartily "There will be once you get there. As far as I am aware, no other female has ever been sent there; it is normally reserved for the worst amongst the felons of the City."

I swallowed hard, "And the guards?" I asked.

"The guards are mostly the felons that have behaved well," he said, "I suspect you will have your work cut out to please them, so that they do not distribute you amongst the miners."

I whimpered.

"I would have thought the Ruler would have ordered you killed," he said, "but, in any case I doubt that you will last long in the mines."

I gasped.

"I think you wanted me killed," I said, accusingly "You did not seem happy when I was sentenced only to hard labour."

I heard him chuckle. 

*I have told you before," he said, "I am involved in matters that are, and will remain, far beyond the comprehension of a worthless little earth slut such as yourself. I abandon you to your fate in the penal mines. I trust that our paths will not cross again."

So saying, he slapped me on my bottom, and turned back along the corridor. The guards continued to drag me along towards my new destination, which I had been informed would be the penal salt mines, and that, as far as was known, I was the only girl that had ever been sent to that fearful sounding destination.

I realised that my previous inconveniences would be of the nature of a summer picnic compared to what awaited me.

I wept as I was dragged along by the guards.

Translators note:

At this point the manuscript comes to an end. I hope that I have been faithful in translating it into the barbarian's original language. It is perhaps most likely, considering the prospective fate of the barbarian, that there was no opportunity for her to continue her testimony, before her presumed demise in the penal salt mines. However, the very existence of this manuscript in the City archives seems to suggest that at some subsequent point, some occasion presented itself for the details that have been elucidated herewith to have been recorded, and apparently in the first person. Furthermore it must have at one time been considered important enough to have been placed in the archives, albeit in a dusty corner thereof. However, unless further manuscripts on this matter are discovered in the City vaults, the subsequent fate of the barbarian, and indeed, whether she had any part to play in the events that deposed the Ruler, in the well-known events of several decades ago, will have to remain, for now at least, a mystery.