The Social Club of Gor Pt. 03

But the truth of the matter is that what I enjoyed most of all was the attention. For all the pretense, the posturing and the playacting that went on about us, the slaves were the why and wherefore of the club. We were its focus, its raison d'être. And that was a weird but wonderful feeling, to be so important, to have so much power, while kneeling at a man's feet or posturing for his amusement or dancing for his pleasure. To be so abject and yet so strong. And it gave me a thrill. Perhaps I was making up for lost time, for the sacrifices and missed opportunities of the past two years, the unlived adventures and unfulfilled dreams, when I had already given up my freedom, to focus on my studies, take charge of a household and take care of my surrogate little brother.

It was never boring. My teaching, my research and my household duties left me with few other opportunities for recreation; so it was nice to be able, if not to relax, then to be released from responsibility and accountability. Sometimes the routine was broken by special shows and presentations. The club had its own bondage master, who demonstrated his techniques on the slavegirls. On Saturday afternoons there were dance lessons, bondage sessions and general slave training. Attendance at these was not compulsory, but we all wanted to be better kajirae and I rarely missed one.

"The Gorean Master commands sensuality in his female slaves. You cannot even move like that now. Yet muscles can be trained. You will be taught to move as a woman, not a puppet of wood. You will be taught to be sensual. You will learn your womanhood." -- John Norman, Renegades of Gor

I glanced about the room. The tavern had been cleared of furniture and rugs except at one end, where thirty or so chairs, the cheap, metal-and-plastic folding kind, were positioned. On the main part of the floor were twenty-one small canvas mats set out in three compact rows. On the bar was a tall pile of coils of ropes and satin scarves and a large collection of gags of all different shapes, sizes and degrees of difficulty.

Our audience consisted of people I had come to know from the tavern, some closely, others not so much. They included half a dozen females, whose expressions were the usual freewomen's blend of vapid curiosity, visible contempt and veiled envy. The men, on the other hand, adopted a carefully contrived "seen it all before" demeanour, while never taking their eyes off the proceedings.

At the tinkle of a bell we took our positions on the mats. I was in the middle row. The lines were arranged in such a way, staggered and slightly curved, that our audience had an unimpeded view of all three ranks. At the same signal, our instructress took her place on another mat placed out in front, between us and the spectators. Unlike us, she was not naked, but her silver-colored leotard was of such form-fitting, sheer Lyra that she might as well have been. She was small and slim but sturdy, with short, shaggy chestnut brown hair and large, dark eyes. Her voice was high-pitched but powerful. Her tone was harsh, in the manner that a freewoman addresses a kajira... but also the way a zealous aerobics coach might teach her class.

There were no introductions or other formalities. We went straight into the loosening-up exercises. These started off slowly but quickly built to a crescendo. My heart pumped, my chest heaved, the sweat ran down my face, my torso, my limbs. The little woman was unrelenting.

"Lift those legs! Get those knees up! Fling those arms out! Suck in that belly! Squeeze those butt cheeks! Push that chest out! Bounce those boobs!"

Despite the pain and perspiration, it was all I could do to not giggle.

After a scant minute to catch our collective breath, the woman barked "Obeisance!" and we immediately dropped to our knees. I bent forward until my forehead touched the mat, my wrists crossed behind my back, my belly against my thighs, my backside above my heels (not resting on them) so that my weight was balanced on my knees. In this posture you show reverence to your masters.

"Homage!"

To achieve this pose in a single, fluid movement, I raised my body until I was kneeling with my hands on the floor behind my feet, and then I leaned backwards, with my bottom still holding just off my heels, propping myself on my arms. This arched my torso and thrust my breasts forward. At the same time, I spread my knees to open my thighs for the viewing pleasure of the spectators. They politely applauded. In this posture you acknowledge your submission.

"Prone!"

I lowered myself rearward, continuing to arch my torso until the tips of my breasts were the highest part of me, pointed at the ceiling. I held that position as I counted ("one thousand, two thousand, three thousand...") to thirty. And then I sank slowly backwards onto the mat, bringing my arms around in a smooth sweep to support my body until my hands were alongside my legs, thumbs against calves. This left me lying on my back staring roofwards, my legs bent up and my feet tucked into the sides of my buttocks but with thighs apart, and with my weight on my shoulders and knees. My bones creaked. My muscles burned. My sinews would have screamed, had they voices.

"Endurance!"

The audience emitted a collective "Oooh!"

Our diminutive tutor now ordered us to sort ourselves into pairs, which we did by the simple expedient of turning towards the nearest girl. There was one left over who became the demonstration model. As she began passing out coils of rope to each couple, the drill-mistress explained (to our audience) that the purpose of a slave's bondage is the three R's -- restraint, recreation, reinforcement. Meaning, of course, that the ropes and chains render her helpless for the enjoyment of her owner; they provide visual pleasure, stimulation and inspiration; and they remind us, the slaves, of our subjection and servitude. She also called our training the PHD program -- patience, humility and discipline. She seemed to like acronyms, because she used some others I don't recall. In any case, I doubt that she was saying much that was new to any of us.

She could have added the sensual bliss of being bound and displayed in our ropes. Perhaps she didn't have the right R-word. Maybe rapture?

"Let me illustrate this with the gag," she continued, and beckoned five of us to step forward. Exactly which point she was illustrating I had no idea, but my heart sank a little when I was one of those summoned. We were told to kneel, our arms folded behind our backs. Each of us received a different type of gag. Mine was the dental kind, an apparatus consisting of hinged and ratcheted, rubber-coated metal bars to hold the mouth open wide. I had only worn one once before, to have a wisdom tooth pulled. This was worse, the awful sensation of my jaws being slowly cranked apart, the horrible helplessness that ensued.

"It doesn't stop her making noises, but it doesn't stop other things either," the little woman said about my gag. She laughed at her own innuendo. I squirmed.

After that, the tie-up session was almost an anticlimax... Well, it would have been if I had been permitted to remove my gag. Indeed, all of us were now gagged, in all of the five varieties. It was not long before my gaping jaws hurt like hell, my entire face ached, I dribbled and drooled. Since I was the tying half of our duo, as I bent and leant over her to apply the ropes, my partner's body was soon lathered with my saliva.

Unlike our slave positions, which we had carefully rehearsed, this was our first proper bondage lesson, and most of the knots and loops and ligatures were new to me. The audience was informed that tie-ups should be challenging, strenuous, possibly awkward and likely uncomfortable, but never ugly or too painful. When done right, the experience could be prolonged indefinitely. I did not like the sound of that. But the woman went on: "Your slave's happiness counts most. Her pleasure will enhance yours. Yours will increase hers."

We started off with a straightforward box-tie. It is one of the more comfortable, less rigorous positions. My partner, Lorelei, folded her arms behind her back and I bound them at her wrists and elbows, and just below her shoulders. For additional immobility I looped the cord several times around her torso, above and below and between her breasts. Lorelei was sweating and breathing heavily, and her nipples were hard. She wore a bit-gag, which was slightly less vexing than my appliance, if only because she could clench her teeth on the rubber bar to relieve her stress. We were all keyed up. I felt her skin tingle at my touch, and it quickly occurred to me that the girl was owned by one of the freewomen, and what that probably meant. Despite my humiliation, performing naked and open-mouth-gagged, I was flattered that she was so turned on by my attention.

I tied her first in a kneeling position, knees spread to display her sex. Then I took hold of her arms and lowered her until she was lying on her stomach on the mat. I hitched her ankles to her bound wrists by bending her legs at the knees to bring her heels up to her backside. She gasped as I shortened the ropes to raise her chin and shoulders off the floor; and she whimpered as I tightened the bonds on her elbows and upper arms. This pushed out her chest, and on our leader's instructions I turned my partner onto her side so the audience could see the aesthetically pleasing effect this had. When I rolled her back onto her belly, the sudden pressure on her stretched and strained breasts drew a pitiful moan from her lungs.

Lorelei sighed as I released her from the hog-tie and helped her onto her knees. But her sense of relief was fleeting. She groaned despondently as our teacher spoke again.

"The strappado is a popular classic. But never, ever," she warned, "suspend your slave off the ground in one. You don't want to dislocate her shoulders. Watch out for constricted circulation, pinched flesh and rope burns."

At first my girl was allowed to sit back on her haunches, already exhausted from the strenuous ties to which she had been subjected. But simply by lifting my arm which held the rope attached to her wrists, she was made to raise herself and part her legs. I passed the crotch-rope between her thighs and tugged as hard as I could. She shrieked through her gag. So did the other girls. Absorbed in Lorelei's sweet suffering, I had almost forgotten their existence.

Our leader stroked the head of the girl kneeling beside her and then induced her to stand up, still bent forward at the waist, by pulling upwards on her arms.

"By adjusting the elevation you can regulate the angle of her body and thus her comfort and pain levels. You can also change the position and orientation of her mouth. In this pose, all of her openings are available to you."

Although she coyly avoided explicit language, the bluntness of the woman's remarks shocked me, more than it should have, given the circumstances. I guess I was feeling vulnerable... not a little ashamed... and more than a little aroused.

After the strappado, I assumed the role of a stool. I got down on my hands and knees and Lorelei, with her hands still bound behind her, bent over me, her stomach across the small of my back so our bodies were at right angles.

"A stool or footrest is good for both punishment and play. Of course, if you have two slaves, as you can see you don't really need a stool."

Finally, I freed Lorelei's hands, but only to tie them again behind her head. Our audience was informed that this is not just to display the breasts but to present a clear front and back for whipping. I did not like the way so many of the spectators nodded in agreement.

"This position is often called the bunny ears," they were told. Some took a few seconds to get the reference.

There were other positions and poses. Roles were reversed so Lorelei got to tie me up and down; but by now my emotions were numbed, so the bondage had little effect on me. It was as if I was someone else, observing. Which was a pity, because I wanted to experience what I'd put my partner through. Still, there would be opportunities in the future.

When the session came to an end, for the first (and last) time during my membership of the Gorean community, warriors, freewomen and slavegirls mingled freely, chatting and joking. It might have been a "normal" social gathering, except that we kajirae were still naked, and yoked. Each of us had been fitted with a metal collar, attached to which was a pole, on the ends of which were fastened leather bracelets. Our arms were thus held out sideways, bent at the elbows as if raised in surrender (apt symbolism). It was humiliating. Eating snacks and drinking wine were impossible, except with assistance. In any case, I was not interested in either. It took me a while to recover from the effects of my gag. My jaws were sore, my lips puckered, the insides of my mouth parched from salivation.

It felt weird, to be circulating and mingling like this, not just helpless but fully exposed, unable to conceal my nakedness. Some of the slaves appeared completely at ease; others were as nervous and as awkward as I. Even so, after a while, with a bit of effort, you can adjust to almost anything; and none of the men (or free women) took advantage of our condition, even Jacob to whom I belonged. In any case, the bondage lessons and this after-session get-together galvanized feelings that were still largely latent within me. For the first time I felt that I really was a slave, and not simply playing a role. I liked it.

However, my life as a kajira was soon to get more interesting.