La Kajira

Jesus, I kind of wished I was capable of lying sometimes, but I wasn't, not willfully and certainly not to her. I had so many fantasies burning inside of me and they were dark, twisted even. I would make her crave a cock in her asshole if she'd let me train her, would make her beg for another taste of cum every chance she got. It was a strange duality I held for myself, that I balanced my depraved desires with my need for honor codes and discipline and order.

She smiled shyly at me, twisting her wrists in her rope bondage. Naughty kajira. You won't keep trying to get away from me when I'm done breaking you. And you'll stare at that whip with more excitement than fear before long. "Thank you, Master." She paused at the end of the words and then grinned with a playfulness that fit with every white silk fantasy I'd ever had. It was a kind of bashfulness even while she cringed lower to her cuff ring, but nearer to me at the same time, as best she could. "Oh, wow." Those two words were a pretty damned excellent summary of how I felt with the sound of her calling me that honorific. "What happens after you take me to your fetish club and if I still say yes?"

I hesitated, but then softly answered. "Then I'll train you in how to serve me and... and, if you want it in full, I'll turn you red silk and go that way, too."

She paused in twisting her ropes restlessly, looking back up to me again while I stroked her hair, before she made a low cry of a sound when the meaning of that sank in. "Oh, please, Master, it feels so-!"

She broke off and I needed her to finish that plea. I grasped her by her hair again and she sobbed out a soft sound when I forced her eyes to mine. "Feels so what, Missy? Tell me and don't lie."

Her eyes closed and her lips parted in a miserable look, but then she opened her eyes again and whatever distress she felt with the end of the thought, she threw it away and cried it out obediently. "Empty! I feel empty, please, please, it hurts!"

Fuck me, that sentence apparently was one to make me burn, with the thoughts it gave me. I took another breath and it was filled with that scent, enough so that I slid down beside her on the furs and manipulated her so that she was close to her slave ring, although she still couldn't raise up quite far enough to press against me. She tugged on her rope instead and whimpered when she was forced to stay in a doggie style position. "Look at the whip." My voice was quiet enough, but whatever she heard in it made her obey and she stared up at the coiled blade, the silent threat of what I would use to keep her structured enough to make her shudder beneath me. "Like I said, the other room I intended to show you is a dungeon and there's a dozen other whips there. There's floggers, too, and I'm not sure if you've run into them in the book yet." She made a low wail of a sound when I wrapped an arm around her and clasped her pussy over her jeans, pressing through the denim to massage her. "I'm not a sadist, but I'll use them and I think you'll come to appreciate that fact sooner rather than later. I'll give you sessions with them in a soft way so you can find out how good they can feel when they kiss you. But more to the point I think you'll enjoy the thought of having a Master who isn't afraid of his own whips and I think you'll enjoy the mild fear that comes with the thought that he'll punish you when you break the rules set for you. And those light sessions with the whip will only reinforce that fact." She writhed under me, in this sinuous motion that looked like slave dancing, her body naturally riding out the pleasure of my hand's massaging her. Even hotter, her breath was coming in short pants and she obediently kept her eyes on the whip. I held her thigh with my free hand, keeping her pressed back against me while she did it, and couldn't stop the surge of adrenaline at the thought that this was my fantasy, all of my fucking fantasy, and it was so close to being fully mine that I could taste it. Part of me had reconciled myself to hopelessness in ever having this come true, when Gor was such a reviled thing with such a bad reputation in some ways.

I exhaled when she abruptly went tense, when she cried out a loud sound beneath me. It made me thrill in dominant adrenaline, the way she suddenly went still, her body reaching the level of pleasure it needed for release. It was gorgeous, especially now that I knew her past and how she had shied away from sex, to see the abandon and the way she just... let go. She just unraveled and broke apart, eagerly, her body vibrating at the end of her dance.

That enticing scent was all the stronger for it, all the more intense to taunt me. I tugged her down onto the furs to cuddle beside her before she could fully collapse and she made a soft whimper of a sound.

"It still feels empty." She whispered it in more of a sense of wonder than complaint and I smiled.

"It's okay to like that fact."

She moaned and I kissed her hair. "You said the whip would feel good."

"The whip can feel like ecstasy. It will for you, dear heart. I'll tell you more when I show you the place I like and I'll tell you some of the rules and mentalities I'll set and enforce, while showing you other people and how they play." I hesitated and then made myself say the rest. "I won't be dishonest about taking a slave and my ways - the ways I feel would be an adaptation of a kajira - are my own strange form. Like I said, it's not light, even for a Master and slave relationship and I want you to see that for yourself."

She paused and then breathed the phrase I liked so much already. "Yes, Master."

I held her close, closing my eyes, stroking the rope that held her still bound to the floor ring. Every now and again I would feel her shift against me, would feel her head raise just a little, and it made me smile.

Because I knew she was glancing up at the whip, snuggling closer into my arms as she did, and the fur beneath me felt more like a fantasy than it ever had.

When the morning came, I hated it. I hated the thought of this magic ending and I hated the thought of her leaving me, when all I wanted was to teach her how to rewire her mindset into that of a kajira, my kajira. It was the kind of thing that I hadn't anticipated, in all my daydreams, the sensation of waking up when I was touching my fantasy and longing with a fingertip right on its pulse. This was something I had partially come to accept might never be mine to have and now that I'd felt so close to it...

I craved all the hotter to have more of it. It was like the fire of desire that had always been a slow burning ember in my heart had suddenly been fed quite a bit of oxygen from her and it was something almost painful. I distracted myself by buying her a few things I wanted after we agreed to our strange date night for the following Friday.

Namely, things that would reinforce the Gorean atmosphere we had started. I wanted her to wear and feel my strange form when we went to Sulfur's, to better highlight the difference between it and how other people played. My hopes in this were that it'd be enough of an underline to deter her if she didn't want this relationship, without being something too much in an effort to drive her away.

Because I wouldn't be dishonest, but didn't think I could take it if she decided to leave later, once I got started. Of course, I would take it if that happened and deal with it, but God, I really wanted to do everything up front that could be done to avoid it.

----

Nathan's Journal

Christopher's lessons are... I know I claimed an incapability of having a kind of love with him as my Master, when I, simply put, just do not feel that way for my own gender. In the words of Jackson Sanders, the eloquent bartender of Sulfur's Beta, "Cock really just doesn't do it for me." But, the longer I wear his collar, the more attached to these conversations I'm becoming. Whatever slavery I had started with him was already strange, don't get me wrong, but now it feels less like that and more like having a friend I can speak to without editing my thoughts twice in a continual pattern. It's the kind of thing that feels better than I would have ever expected, when I've just been so used to doing that mental editing in every other aspect of life. Maybe some things are better left raw, like matters of the heart.

There's the romantic soul, as Christopher would say.

At any rate, this time it was the topic of versatility. He had me in my collar and on my knees, something that wasn't unusual for these conversations, a kind of casual reminder of the dynamic we had, like an overlay to the atmosphere, carefully done at certain times. Against that, the rest was rather casual, where I was wearing jeans, a tee, and the butterfly ornament Christopher prefers to mark his slaves with. He had Deirdre dressed in her red silk again, however, in a contrast, and he spoke quietly while he let her into her cage. She watched him through the bars so that he smiled. "Deirdre had a bad day at the store today." Her smile back was bashful and tired, though he hadn't played overly much with her during the night. "And I do enjoy reminding you of your fantasies with red silk and tethers to the floor attachments I have, but Deirdre, I think, needs her cage at the moment." Her smile widened and a little bit of the exhaustion on her face fled with the thoughts of her Master's care. "So I'll improvise." And he showed off how he was "improvising" for this particular night, with an air of playfulness, when he threaded her chain through the cage and connected it to one of those floor attachments before he closed Deirdre in her cage. The end result was the image of a slave cuddling in her blankets. She stretched languidly, a set of bells on her ankles to go with her red silk, a kef symbol on her thigh in marker, so that I had the impression of an adored and cherished slave girl. It gave me memories of some of the Gor stories of how it wasn't uncommon for a Master to free a slave, so that she may enjoy free life.

And of how many Masters refused that option, even if they adored and loved their slave every bit as much as a Master who chose that, because both Master and slave preferred the relationship to have the whip in it as a loving kiss and a stern reminder for both of them.

"Which brings us to something I think your philosopher's heart will thoroughly enjoy." He was smiling when he turned around. "That was playful, but seriously, versatility is something valuable in a Master, at least to me. These ideas are what people make of them in their lives, but when trying relationships as a Master and figuring out slaves, I would say being versatile is, shall we say... useful."

I had to laugh at his tone of voice on that last word. "I assume you mean, 'Just this side of necessary'."

"Yes, that's absolutely what I mean." He sat above me, moving a chair so that he could lean forward, and he looks down at me for some of these conversations, although I have the distinct impression of being slowly let above his waters, as shallow as they were to begin with, little by little, freedom by freedom. There's an unspoken message in his methodology, namely that if I asked for more of those freedoms, he would slam an axe down on my neck and I would find myself in a hot, leather dog hood with a bit gag. I likened it to the Gor philosophy that only a slave asked to be bought. A Master wouldn't. "No two slaves I have ever had have ended up with the same set of rules or styles of training. None. Just because someone wishes for a collar doesn't negate their originality as a person. Gor sometimes failed to show that, I think, because I always liked to imagine all the different ways a Gorean Master might have had to train different slaves." He smiled. "One of my favorites was one you brought up, the Tuchuk Master with Vella. Patient, but unforgiving when he knew she had considered running away. He knew the intention and he knew the lie."

I smiled in happiness, so that he laughed when I still loved that part and would never get tired of it. "He sent her to have her nose pierced and she was changed and happy for it."

Christopher laughed. "Ah, hell. Sometimes I definitely see why people hate that subculture so much. Some of the ones you read of online who think they're into it are... ah, interesting. I'd like to put some of them in a room with Courtney Adair and see how long it takes her to stab them with a stiletto." I burst into laughter and he grinned. "But... The stories really were so heartwarming sometimes, especially when..." He looked back at Deirdre where her eyes were closed and, even if she'd had a bad day, evidently the chain on her play collar and the cage were enough to make her smile slightly in her rest. She opened her eyes with the silence and met Christopher's eyes with so much love that it was almost painful to see.

He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to. Because sometimes there just weren't enough words to express something and the rest of that sentence was one of those things. He merely turned back to me and spoke softly, while we went back and forth over philosophies involved in the originality of humans and how two people with the similar desire for a collar could never be exactly the same, by nature, for the same reason that no two humans would ever fully agree on a life philosophy. We talked about it in every way, from the infinite possibilities of biological makeup to unethical twin experimentation. And that led to our thoughts on how these things lined up with being a Master and what it meant for a Master, when we had our own fantasies as well. Because we did. I obviously had mine.

Christopher had trained Deirdre to cry out as if she were being fingered anytime she was given something to suck because that was the fantasy of his perfect ideals. He'd wanted a slave that reacted with the same desire no matter which hole he wanted to use of her body.

But we talked about adapting a lifestyle around two people with their own set of needs and why that kind of versatility and creativity would be necessary. It was like any relationship, except sometimes it felt a little more complicated, as if it needed a little more religious tending to maintain a dynamic of that nature.

In the end, I faced the reality that being a lifestyle Master with no slave meant that I had to live with my own steadfast discipline and that I couldn't ever truly start a routine when I didn't know my slave's needs, when that routine would center around her and what she would be. I could build my rooms and had. I could set up my dungeon and I could practice my playstyles with playmates, but my slave would need routines and instruction in how to serve and I couldn't build that instruction without knowing her.

Christopher was the one who smiled. "But, really, that's part of why it's so much fun to be a Master. It is something that will always be interesting, no matter if a relationship doesn't work out. Creativity is... It's merely part of it. Originality is what makes life worth living, at least to me."

I tended to agree. Two Gorean fueled Masters could set up their ideal of a slave room and no two would ever come out the same and no two slaves would ever place their own touch in that room.

And that was part of the joy, when these indulgences were started by so much fantasy to begin with. It was, once again, like philosophy in that way, really. And God knows I certainly love that to a degree that likely makes this journal a goddamned nightmare to decipher.

Can you tell? I bet it might be obvious. God, it feels damned good to not edit some of this. At any rate, work calls, so I'll end this here.

----

Missy

I had a surreal moment when he messaged me the name of the fetish club he was talking about. It was that same Friday during the day, when I was already both anxious and excited about going to one of those, when it wasn't exactly the type of place I would have ever expected to go to. His name was the first on my list of message conversations.

The one right beneath it was my childhood friend, Tara, talking about another story around the same fetish club. I did what any girl would do. I called my girlfriend.

"Missy? Since when do you have the time for a phone call, perfect princess?"

The truth was that Tara and I really should have been closer friends than we were, but I was too tore up with social anxiety and fears to give the friendship what it deserved. I was too much the coward to give most friendships what they deserved, actually. "To be honest, I still don't have that kind of time when texting exists. And you can't say anything when you literally left a boyfriend by saying you were going to get a pack of smokes and then just didn't return his calls or go back."

"I do feel bad about that, if I'm honest. I know people think I'm a bitch and that's fair, but I just... can't with the confrontation."

Arguably, Tara evidently had really bad luck with relationships. She thought she was cursed. One time she'd gotten drunk enough to call me up randomly and confided that one of the guys who had seemed okay to her had been... a little more interesting than she'd have liked after he started interning at the morgue. "I was just going to surprise him at work when he said he had to be there late, Missy, and, holy God, do they not have cameras in places like that? I don't even understand. He wasn't working late, Missy. It wasn't work he was doing and I... I can't... Oh, my God, what is wrong with me?"

So there really was a reason. She'd been choked up that night. "I can't judge, honestly. Um, so I wanted to ask you something. You go to Sulfur's Alpha, right?"

"Yeah." Good news, she hadn't picked up the morgue guy from there. She'd just picked him up from school.

"Have you ever been to something called Sulfur's Beta?"

"Yeah, it's cool. Different than the original branch but cool. As far as fetish clubs go, they're extremely well vetted because they want to allow harder play styles. Like harder S&M, more extreme Master and slave relationships, different fetishes, that kind of thing. How come?"

I swallowed and that had been the moment, the test. I wasn't inside his fantasy world and I didn't have him near to calm me with his safety and his honesty. This was an outside force and factor, someone else. It scared the hell out of me with some of the stories I'd heard from Tara.

But it was the first hint that I had that maybe I was already in a little too emotionally deep with this, because talking with her made me realize something right from the start. Even if he wasn't there, even if this was the outside world, I still wanted to go back to his fantasy world. I was going to go and I couldn't back out of it because I couldn't make myself do so.

I stared at the book he'd let me hold onto a little while longer. Tarnsman of Gor. It was just a book.

"I'm going to that one with a date tonight."

Tara seemed to hear something in my voice and she was still a great friend, despite both of us having our scars and shortcomings. She was my good omen of the day, actually, even when I felt strangely terrified for just a moment. "Woah. What's his name, Prince Charming? That's it, isn't it? Oh my God, no seriously, what's his name because now I just need to know who is getting Missy Hall to go to a motherfucking fetish club and why. Like, do I have to kill him? Is it something bad? I know someone at the morgue, swear to Christ, and he owes me for my silence, so, you know."

I burst into laughter at her weird sense of humor. "His name is Nathaniel Faulkenberry. He wants to introduce me to someone named Christopher."

Reality was brought into sharp relief with Tara's reply, because her voice got really soft and stunned. "Unicorn."

"What?"