A Gorean Slave Serve
I searched the entire series for every instance where the mechanics of a beverage serve is described. I have listed these references here in context.
Read and learn.
It is not meant to be anything other than the facts of the matter.
Arrive at your own conclusions.
I wish you well,
At the end of her dance, she is given a cup of wine, but she may not drink. She approaches the young man and kneels before him, her knees in the dictated position of the Pleasure Slave, and, head down, she proffers the wine to him. He drinks.
Aphris got up and fetched not a skin, but a bottle, of wine, Ka-la-na wine, from the Ka-la-na orchards of great Ar itself. She also brought a black, red-trimmed wine crater from the isle of Cos.
"May I serve you?" she asked.
Kamchak's eyes glinted. "Yes," he said.
She poured wine into the crater and replaced the bottle. Kamchak had watched her hands very carefully. She had had to break the seal on the bottle to open it. The crater had been upside down when she had picked it up. If she had poisoned the wine she had certainly done so deftly.
Then she knelt before him in the position of the Pleasure Slave and, head down, arms extended, offered him the crater.
"Serve me wine." I said.
She did so, kneeling before me, head down, handing me the black, red-trimmed wine crater, that of the master, as had Aphris to Kamchak. I drank.
When I had finished I set the wine crater aside and looked on the girl.
"Serve him wine," said he, "or you will be stripped and thrown into a pen of male slaves."
The girl turned and withdrew, then approached again, climbing the stairs, delicately, as though timidly, head down. Then she leaned forward, bending her knees slightly, her body graceful, and spoke, her voice a whisper in my ear, an invitation, "Wine, Master?" as though offering not wine, but herself. In a large house, with various slave girls, it is thought only an act of courtesy on the part of a host to permit a guest the use of one of the girls for the evening. Each of the girls considered eligible for this service, at one time or another during the evening, will approach the guest and offer him wine. His choice is indicated by the one from whom he accepts wine.
I looked at the girl. Her eyes met mine, softly. Her lips were slightly parted. "Wine, Master?" she asked.
"Yes," I said, "I will have wine."
She poured the diluted wine into my cup, bowed her head and with a shy smile, backed gracefully down the stairs behind me, then turned and hurried away.
I observed Inge filling the paga goblet of one of the huntsmen. She knelt closer to him than she needed to. Her lips were parted. Her eyes shone. Her hands, slightly, shook on the paga bottle. Rena knelt to one side. She watched her huntsman, gnawing the meat from a great bone. I could see that she was eager to leap up to serve him, should he but speak to her.
I served the food, and poured the wines, and kept their goblets filled, remaining as much in the background as possible.
They talked of hunting, and war, and of the northern forests, as though I were not there.
Sometimes Verna would say, "Drink," and I would pour wine into her goblet, saying, "Yes, Mistress," and sometimes Rask of Treve would command me, saying "Drink," and I would then, similarly, serve him, saying "Yes, Master."
He extended his goblet to me. "Drink," he said, offering me the cup.
I looked at the rim of the cup. I shook with terror. "A slave girl dares not touch with her lips the rim of that cup which has been touched with the lips of her master," I whispered.
"Serve me wine," he said.
I turned and, among the furnishings of the tent, found a bottle of Ka-la-na, of good vintage, from the vineyards of Ar, the loot of a caravan raid. I then took the wine, with a small copper bowl, and a black, red-trimmed wine crater, to the side of the fire. I poured some of the wine into the small copper bowl, and set it on the tripod over the tiny fire in the fire bowl.
He sat cross-legged, facing me, and I knelt by the fire, facing him.
After a time I took the copper bowl from the fire and held it against my cheek. I returned it again to the tripod, and again we waited.
Again I took the bowl from the fire. It was now not comfortable to hold the bowl, but it was not painful to do so. I poured the wine from the small copper bowl into the black, red-trimmed wine crater, placing the small bowl in a rack to one side of the fire. I swirled, slowly, the wine in the wine crater. I saw my reflection in the redness, the blondness of my hair, dark in the wine, and the collar, with its bells, about my throat.
I now, in the fashion of the slave girl of Treve, held the wine crater against my right cheek. I could feel the warmth of the wine through the side of the crater.
"Is it ready?" he asked.
A master of Treve does not care to be told that his girl thinks it is. He wishes to be told Yes, or No.
"Yes," I whispered.
I did not know how he cared for his wine, for some men of Treve wish it warm, others almost hot. I did not know how he wished it. What if it were not as he wished it!
"Serve me wine," he said.
I, carrying the wine crater, rose to my feet and approached him. I then knelt before him, with a rustle of slave bells, in the position of the pleasure slave. I put my head down and, with both hands, extending my arms to him, held forth the wine crater. "I offer you wine, Master," I said.
He took the wine, and I watched, in terror. He sipped it, and smiled. I nearly fainted. I would not be beaten.
Marlenus and I watched her pour the wine. She poured it differently than she had before. She knelt, her head down, the hair forward. I could see it in her shoulders. She, a slave girl, poured wine for masters. That she was owned was revealed, beautifully, in her serving.
She carried a tray, on which were various spoons and sugars. She knelt, placing her tray on the table. With a tiny spoon, its tip no more than a tenth of a hort in diameter, she placed four measures of white sugar, and six of yellow, in the cup; with two stirring spoons, one for the white sugar, another for the yellow, she stirred the beverage after each measure. She then held the cup to the side of her cheek, testing its temperature; Ibn Saran glanced at her; she, looking at him, timidly kissed the side of the cup and placed it before him. Then, her head down, she withdrew.
She rose swiftly to her feet. She knelt, head down, before me. She poured, carefully, the hot, black beverage into the tiny red cup. I dismissed her.
I would pour the paga, which I carried, into a goblet, kiss it, as was expected, and give it to the man. "Paga!" called my captor. I almost fainted. I went to him and, shaking, poured paga into his goblet; I was terrified that I might spill it; it was not only that I feared, should I spill the beverage, that I might be beaten for my clumsiness; it was even more than I wished to appear graceful and beautiful before him; but I shook, and was awkward; he paga sloshed in the goblet but, as my heart almost stood still, it did not spill; he looked at me; I was a clumsy girl, and a poor slave; I felt so small and unworthy before him; I was not only a girl, small and weak before these mighty men; I was not even a good slave. Trembling, I extended the goblet to him. He did not take it. I shrank back, confused. I did not know what to do. I realized then that I had, in my confusion and distress, forgotten to place my lips upon the goblet in subservience. I quickly pressed my lips to the goblet, kissing it. Then, suddenly, as I was to hand it to him, I boldly, again, lifted the goblet's side to my lips. Holding it in both hands, I kissed it again, lovingly, delicately, fully, lingeringly, my eyes closed. I had never kissed a boy on Earth with the helplessness and passion that I bestowed upon the mere goblet of my Gorean captor. I belonged to him. I was his. I loved him! I felt the metal of the cup beneath my full, pressing lips. I opened my eyes. I proffered, tears in my eyes, the cup of paga to my captor. It was as though, with the cup, I was giving myself to him.
I poured wine from the flask I bore into the cup, I holding it, of one of the men.
Our eyes met. He was, I knew, one of those who had had me. I was now serving him. He regarded me. I extended to him the cup. He did not accept it. Our eyes met. I took the cup and pressed my lips to it. Again I extended the cup to him. Still he regarded me.
His eyes were upon me.
Angrily, with helpless anger, the futile, meaningless anger of a slave girl, I again pressed my lips to the cup, this time fully and lingeringly.
Again I extended to him the cup.
This time he took it.
One of the men lifted his cup and I hurried to him. I took the cup and filled it. I looked at him, angrily over the brim of the cup. Then I pressed my lips to his cup as I must, as a slave girl, and handed it to him. He took it, scarcely noticing me, and returned his attention to the map in the dirt, which was of importance.
My master looked at me. He lifted his cup. I hastened to him, took the cup, and filled it. I pressed my lips long to its side, then humbly proffered it to the magnificent beast whose girl I was.
My master extended his cup to me, and I, kneeling, filled it with Sul paga. I pressed my lips to the cup, and handed it to him. My eyes smarted. I almost felt drunk from the fumes.
Thurnus held out his cup. I prepared to put Sul paga in the cup. Then he held the cup closer to him. I must needs approach more closely.
"Come closer, little beauty," said Thurnus.
I crept a bit closer to him, on my knees, with the paga. I wore the scandalously brief, torn, hooked, sleeveless Ta-Teera, which so displayed a girl's charms.
"You may kiss my cup, Slave," said he. I pressed my lips to his cup, which he held in his hand. I was weak. I was a girl. I was at the mercy of men.
"And do not remove your lips from the cup," said Thurnus, "until given permission."
I kept my lips pressed to the cup, my head bent to the side. A Gorean slave girl dares not disobey.
I kept my lips pressed to Thurnus's cup. He drew the cup more closely to him. I must needs follow.
You are a pretty little slave," said Thurnus to me.
I could not speak, for my lips were pressed to his cup.
"What is her name?" asked Thurnus of my master.
"She does not have a name," he responded.
"Oh," said Thurnus. Then he said, "She is a pretty little thing." I felt his hand on my leg.
Angrily, Melina, who was the free companion of Thurnus of Tabuk's Ford, rose to her feet and left the hut.
I shuddered under the intimate touch of Thurnus. I could not withdraw from his caress for my lips must needs remain pressed to his cup.
My lips remained pressed to Thurnus's cup. I could not withdraw from his caress. I began to become aroused. I was a slave. I could not help myself.
I began to move helplessly under the touch of Thurnus. I could not help myself. I was slave.
I tried to restrain myself, to keep from responding to the touch of Thurnus. I could not do so. I thought of Elicia Nevins, who had been my lovely beauty rival in the college on Earth. How amused the haughty Elicia would have been to see me now, a half naked slave girl, clad in the scandalous Ta-Teera, her lips pressed to a cup, responding so helplessly to a man's touch. How humiliated and embarrassed I was to even think of the proud, serene, contemptuous Elicia in my present predicament. How pleased I was that she could not see her old rival now.
Thurnus moved the cup a bit closer to him, maneuvering me into a yet more helpless position. My hands were clenched on the wrist that held the cup. I felt the cup with my teeth.
"Let us then waste no more time sporting with slave girls," said Thurnus, "but turn our attention to more serious business." Thurnus looked at me. "You may remove your lips from the cup, Girl," he said.
I withdrew my lips from the cup. He removed his hand from my body, and stood up.
"Serve me paga," said Thurnus. He handed the goblet to Sandal Thong.
She took it and knelt before him, head down, proffering him the goblet.
I put down the paga flask which I carried that I might, unencumbered, assume the position of serving paga, or wine, to a Gorean male.
"First remove the silk," he said.
I did so. He was a customer. I was his to command.
Then I knelt naked before him, head down.
"You may now serve the paga," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said.
I reached to take the cup, in both hands. One kneels, one proffers the cup, head down, with both hands, to the male.
"Serve me wine, Slave," he said. I gasped.
She lifted the vessel of wine I had earlier brought and filled the goblet.
"No," I whispered to her, and then instructed her how to serve him.
"Wine, Master?" she asked.
"Yes, Slave," he said.
Then she knelt before him, back on her heels, head down, lifting the goblet to him, proffering it to the master with both hands.
He took the goblet from her and, regarding her, drank.
"I would like to see further evidence of your skills," I said. "I am out of paga," I said.
She reached to the bottle, to refill the cup.
"No," I said.
She looked at me.
"Did they not teach you how to serve paga as a paga slave?" I asked.
"Of course," she said.
"Show me," I said.
"Very well," she said. She drew back, taking the bottle and cup. In most taverns no bottle is brought to the table but the paga is brought to the table, by the paga slave, a cup at a time, the cups normally being filled from a vat behind the counter. She filled the cup there, before me, and left it behind.
She returned the bottle then to the table, and went back again for the cup.
She lifted it in both hands.
"Put it down," I said.
She did so, looking at me puzzled.
"You are garbed strangely for a paga slave," I said, indicating the clogs, the black slacks and the black, buttoned top.
"Do you wish me to put on pleasure silk?" she asked, icily.
"No," I said.
She tossed her head.
"In many Gorean taverns," I said, "the paga slaves serve naked."
"Yes," she said, slowly, "they do."
"Did they not teach you how to do that?" I asked.
"Yes," she said.
"I would see evidence of your skills," I said.
"Paga, Master?" she asked, kneeling before me, the metal cup held before her, in her two hands.
"Yes," I said.
She proffered the cup to me. She knelt back on her heels, her knees wide, and extended her arms to me, the cup in her hands.
"Did you not neglect to kiss it?" I asked her.
She drew back the cup and, pressing her lips to it, kissed it. "Is that how a slave kisses the cup of a master?" I asked. She again turned her head to the side and pressed her lips softly, lingeringly, against it. Then she kissed it. I saw a tremor course through her body. I think, then, for the first time, she had begun to understand what it might be truly, to kiss the cup of a master. Then again, kneeling back on her heels, her knees wide, extending her arms to me, the cup in her hands, she proffered me the drink.
"Your head should be down, between your arms," I said. She put her head down. Again I saw a small movement in her body, a tremor, subtle. She had put her head down before a man. Another consequence of this position is that the girl's eyes, in he specific act of her serving, do not meet those of the master. They are lowered before his, as one who submits.
This is also reminiscent, in an experienced girl, of her training. Often, in training, a girl is not permitted to look into the eyes of the trainer, unless he should specifically extend this permission. Indeed, in some cities, the girl in training may not raise her eyes above the trainer's belt, unless, again, specifically accorded this permission.
"Speak," I said to her.
"Your paga, Master," she said.
But I did not take the paga. "Do you know other phrases?" I asked. There were many, actually, and they tended to vary from tavern to tavern, and from city to city. There was, really, no standardization in such matters.
She trembled, head down, proffering me the paga. "Your girl brings you drink, Master," she said.
"Any others?" I asked.
"Here is your drink, Master," she said. "I beg to serve you further in any way I may."
"Another," I said.
"Do not forget I come with the price of the cup," she said. "Use me as you will, Master."
"Another," I said sharply.
"For your pleasure," she said, "I bring you paga and a slave."
"Personalized phrase," I said.
"E.," she said.
"Evelyn," I corrected her.
"Evelyn tenders drink humbly to Master," she said. "Evelyn hopes Master will later find her suitable to give him pleasure."
"Another," I said.
"I am Evelyn," she said. "I serve you, naked and collared. Take me later to the alcove. I beg to be taught my slavery."
I then took the paga. "You may now serve others," I said to her.
She turned about. She nearly spilled the paga, trembling. It was well for her that she did not spill it.
Slowly, alone, a paga slave, naked and collared, she approached my table.
She then knelt there, before me.
"Press the cup to your belly," I told her.
She did so. She then held it there, in both hands. "Paga, Master?" she whispered.
"Yes," I said.
"Kiss the cup," I told her.
She lifted the metal cup from her belly and, turning her head to the side, pressed her lips against it. She then kissed it. She then, her knees wide, her arms extended to me, her head down, between her arms, proffered the paga to me. "Your paga, Master," she whispered.
"Use now to me," I said, "the second of the two formulas, personalized, which you earlier used to me, when you had so foolishly thought yourself a free woman."
"I am Evelyn," she said. "I serve you, naked and collared. Take me later to the alcove. I beg to be taught my slavery."
"Very well," I said.
She knelt back, about a yard from the table. I looked at her. I sipped the paga.
"He said to me, 'Come closer. Stand before the coffee table.' I did that.
'Kneel down before the coffee table, my dear,' he said."
"I knelt down," she said, blushing.
"He then said to me," she said, "'Pour wine into the goblet. Fill it precisely to the second ring.' There were five rings on the outside of the goblet. I poured the wine, as he had asked, and then placed the goblet on the coffee table.
"'Now take the goblet,' he said, 'and hold the metal against your body, pushing inward.' I took the goblet and held it, tightly, to my body. I held the round, heavy metal against me, below my brassiere. 'Lower,' he said, 'against your belly.' I then held the goblet lower. 'Press it more inward,' he said. I did so. I can still feel the cold metal against me, firmly, partly against the silk of my undergarment, partly against my belly. 'Now,' said he, 'lift the goblet to your lips and kiss it lingeringly, then proffer it to me, arms extended, head down.'"
"Pour, Jason," said the Lady Gina.
"Yes, Mistress," I said. I left the line of kn eling male slaves and approached the table, carrying the vessel of wine Tela had given me.
I approached the table deferentially. I knelt before Lola.
"Wine, Mistress?" I asked.
"Yes, Slave," she said.
"Again, Jason," said the Lady Gina, "more softly, more deferentially."
"Wine, Mistress?" I again asked.
"Yes, Slave," said Lola.
"Good," said the Lady Gina. "Now, pour." Carefully I poured the wine into the cup before Lola. "You are pouring it too swiftly, Slave," said Lola.
I looked to the Lady Gina. Surely I was not pouring it too swiftly.
"The whim of the Mistress is everything," said the Lady Gina.
"Forgive me, Mistress," I said to Lola.
Unbidden, she went to the shelf where I had placed the shallow, chipped clay bowl of cheap, dark wine, fit for slaves. She then, holding the bowl, knelt again, gracefully, before me. Looking at me, she tossed her head, throwing her dark hair behind her. The slender steel collar was beautiful on her throat. She, holding the bowl with two hands, pressed it back against her belly, low, below the navel. I looked at the edge of the bowl, containing the wine, pressed back, into her flesh. Then she lifted the bowl before her and, gently, turning her head, placing her lips softly upon it, kissed it. She then, with two hands, head down, proffered to me the chipped, shallow bowl.
"Wine, Master?" she asked.
I took the bowl of wine from her. She trembled. She looked up at me.
I drank then, holding the shallow bowl with two hands. Then, after a bit, I lowered the bowl from my lips and looked down at the beautiful slave. I had not finished the wine.
"The wine, and Lola, are yours, Master," she said. I knew that she spoke the truth.
I lifted the wine again to my lips and again drank. Then I placed the bowl, containing its residue of wine, behind me on the table.
I had drunk as a master before the girl, the kneeling slave.
"Serve me wine, Jason," she said, distractedly. "As a slave girl," she added.
"Yes, Mistress," I said, bitterly.
"Do I detect bitterness?" she asked, not turning about.
"No, Mistress," I said.
"Good," she said. "You are a true man of Earth, fit to be the slave of a woman."
"Yes, Mistress," I said. I found some wine, and poured a bit for her. Then, as I had seen Lola do for me, I pressed the goblet into my lower abdomen and then lifted it to my lips, where, turning my head, I kissed it. Then, head down, kneeling back on my heels, arms extended, I proffered it to the Mistress.
"Excellent, Jason," she said.
"Thank you, Mistress," I said.
She sipped the wine, and regarded me contemptuously.
Then she said, "Go back to your place."
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
I went back, beside the couch, and again knelt. She turned about and placed the cup of wine on the low desk and, in a moment, was again deeply engaged in her work. I think she forgot that I was in the room. I knelt silently in the background. Occasionally, however, as the Ehn passed, she drank from the cup.
I was ignored and neglected. I would be summoned, if needed.
"Taphris," said Barus, sharply.
"Yes, Master!" she said, startled.
"Bring water," he said.
"Yes, Master," she said. She got to her feet and went to the side of the shed, where the water bucket was placed, to get the yellow, half-gourd dipper.
We watched her.
She filled the half-gourd dipper.
"Your drink, Master," said Taphris.
He looked at her and, suddenly, frightened, she fell to her knees. She put her head down. She pressed the yellow, rough-skinned half-gourd, brimming with water, deep into her belly. Then she lifted the yellow side of the gourd to her lips and, lingeringly, turning her head, kissed it; then she lifted it to him with both hands, her head down between her extended arms.
"Serve Jason water," he cried.
"Jason!" she cried.
He handed her the cup formed from the yellow half-gourd. She looked down at it, clutched in her hands. "Do you wish me to repeat a command?" he asked.
"No, Master!" she cried and leaped to her feet, hurrying to the water, in its wooden bucket, at the side of the shed. Quickly she returned with the half-gourd brimming full. She looked at Barus, and then she knelt before me, and pressed the half-gourd into her naked belly, head down, then lifted it to her lips, and lingeringly kissed it, then proffered it to me, kneeling, arms extended, trembling, head down between her arms.
"Speak," I told her.
"I bring you drink, Master," she said.
I took the cup and drank, looking upon her. How fit she seemed, in her place in the order of nature, naked, kneeling before a man.
I watched her pouring the beverage. She did so carefully, deferentially, being careful not to spill a drop.
"You may serve me wine," I said.
She reached to the wine, a sweet Ka-la-na of Ar, and filled the goblet to the third ring. Then, as I sat back against the couch, she knelt before me. She, head down, pressed the heavy metal goblet deep into her lower abdomen, and then she lifted it to her lips and, holding it with both hands, kissed it lingeringly and lovingly. Then, kneeling back on her heels she put down her head and, humbly, her arms extended, her head down between them, proffered me the goblet. "Wine, Master?" she asked.
"Yes," I said. I then took the goblet from her, and drank. She lifted her head, and watched me.
"Wine," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said, and struggled up, turning, fetched him the goblet from a small, low table near the couch and, in a moment, after kissing the goblet, head down, kneeling, arms extended, proffered it to him. He sipped a bit of the wine, a Ka-la-na of Ar, and then returned the goblet to me. I kissed it again, and then replaced it on the table.
I knelt down in the sand, before him, my head down. I removed the metal cup on its string from about my neck. My neck was exposed to him. I attended to the filling of the cup, and capped the spout on the bag. I feared I would be struck with the shovel, it cutting down at me. He did not raise it, however. I kissed the cup and, holding it with both hands, my arms extended toward him, my head down between them, proffered it to him. He took it, and drank, and handed the cup back to me, "Thank you, Master," I whispered.
Temione had now filled her paga vessel. She picked up a goblet from a rack near the vat. The shelving on the rack was of narrow wooden rods. The goblets are kept upside down on the rods. In this way, washed, they can drain, and dry. This also affords them some protection from dust. I watched her carefully wipe the goblet. Woe to the slave who would dare to serve paga or wine in a dirty goblet!
She made certain her knees were widely spread in the sand, and then she extended her arms, her head down, between them, the bowl held out to our young guest. "Water, captor?" she inquired.
The girl who had gone to fetch my paga now returned and knelt before the table. She kissed the goblet, and then, her head down, between her extended arms, proffered it to me. "Paga, Master?" she asked.
Quickly, with a tiny sound f bells, and the small sounds of the necklaces and bracelets, the girl reached for the paga goblet. Then, kneeling there before me, her knees widely, piteously, opened, clad in a bit of slave silk, she kissed and licked deferentially, humbly, at the goblet. Then, head down, her arms extended, she proffered it to me.
He hurried to the small table and put a tiny bit of wine into one of the small glasses. He then returned, and knelt before her. He then, holding the tiny glass in both hands, his head down between his extended arms, proffered her the beverage.
One was, of course familiar with the studied inconspicuousness of the serving slave, for I had learned it in the pens. One serves humbly, self-effacingly, eyes cast downward. When not serving one kneels deferentially, silently, well back, and to the side, of the low tables. When then one is summoned to further service, by perhaps so little as a glance or snapping of fingers, one leaps up and hurries forward, perhaps then, on one's knees, to clear, or perhaps to fetch and then serve, again kneeling, the tiny cups of strong coffees, or black wines, the shallow silver bowls of white and yellow sherbet.
And so I knelt there, in correct position, naked and collared.
"You may serve," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said.
I then began, in the manners of this world, as I had learned them in the pens, to serve, deferentially, self-effacingly, proffering drink and food, sensitive to, and obedient to, his least inclination, his least word or glance.
I handed him, at his gesture, a glistening napkin and he touched it to his lips.
At his indication I held forth the tiny golden finger bowl, and he dipped his fingers within it, and then dried them on the napkin.
I replaced the finger bowl and the napkin on the small table. I then knelt before him.
I sensed his eyes upon me, but did not look up.
When he finished, all eyes turned upon her. She was now the focus of attention. She felt very vulnerable, in the tiny garment, all she wore, save for the anklet, kneeling on the marble floor, before the dais. She trembled. Surely it was more common, she thought, for slaves to be simply kneeling to one side, inconspicuously, unobtrusively, waiting to serve.
"Gorean feasts are often served by naked slaves," said Mirus.
"It can be very pleasant for the slave, as well," said Mirus. "It can give her many warm and delicious feelings, the honor of being permitted to approach and serve masters, the understanding that she is wanted, and desired, and owned, the gratification of being enabled to display herself, in the order of nature, as an acknowledged and total female before strong men, and so on."
The woman then extended her small goblet to Ellen and Ellen, gratefully, on her knees, filled it.
When Ellen had served the fellow his wine, pouring evenly, carefully, she straightened up and looked back to the other group, sitting about its fire.
When Ellen had poured for the fellow, she had been careful not to let her hair fall forward and brush his shoulder. She knew such things might be arousing to men, and that Gorean men, with their powerful sexual appetites, were easily aroused.
"Serving wine," although it will usually have its obvious meaning, is commonly used as a euphemism on Gor for serving the pleasure of a master. "Has he had you serve him wine yet?" one girl might ask another. "Wine, Master?" is a question which might be put by a slave to her master, or to her master's guests, if she has been made available to them. Another example of this idiom is found in phrases such as, say, "Your slave begs to serve you wine" or "The slave begs to serve her master wine." There are also, differing from city to city, rituals connected with this sort of thing, as when the slave kneels, kisses the cup, and then proffers it to the master, with two hands, arms extended, head down between her arms. Sometimes the cup is first warmed at the breasts, for Goreans commonly drink wine warm, or pressed meaningfully against the slave's lower belly, the hard rim of the cup pressed inward, severely, against her yielding flesh. These rituals, as noted, differ from city to city. Also, of course, masters may differ, as well, and each will, if he wishes, train his slaves to his pleasure in this matter, as in other matters.
Suppose you are giving a dinner for guests, and one or more free women are present. In such a case make certain that she is demurely clad, perhaps in a white, three-quarters or full-length gown, though certainly sleeveless. Be certain, of course, that her collar is always in evidence, that there be no suggestion whatsoever that she is in any way comparable to a free woman. No such comparisons must exist. A free woman would find them tasteless and insulting. She is, in any event, whatever the nature of your guests, to be humble, self-effacing, and attentive. It is to be almost as though she were not there. When not serving she may kneel to one side, unobtrusively, waiting to be summoned. If you are entertaining male guests only, she may, if you wish, be naked. Naturally, you must understand, she must be taught your preferences in all things, from the temperature of your paga to that of your bath, and she, of course, as she is a slave, will bathe you.
She served silently, deferentially, unobtrusively. It was almost as though she were not there.
So serve slaves.
After the wine was poured she rose up and body bent, head down, eyes cast down, backed gracefully, silently, away, withdrawing to the side.
There she would kneel down and wait, prepared to approach and serve again, if aught else might be needed.
Bosk of Port Kar regarded her.
She dared not meet his eyes. He was such a man, and she slave.
She knelt, obedient to the protocols of her condition, slimly, beautifully, back straight, back on heels, knees spread, the palms of her hands on her thighs.
The decanter of wine was beside her, at her right knee.
"It seems your girl has learned service," said Bosk of Port Kar.
Selius Arconious shrugged, noncommittally.
And so there, in the background, she knelt, some seven feet from the table. At this distance a girl's presence is unobtrusive, and one might easily forget she is present. On the other hand, she is conveniently at hand, and may be promptly summoned.
The men continued to speak, paying her no attention.
Ellen adjusted slightly the brief yellow tunic, slit at the sides, so that she might kneel with a bit more modesty, even in the brazen position required of her, that of the pleasure slave. Sometimes, interestingly, in such servings, as when the master entertains guests, a pleasure slave is allowed to kneel in the position of a serving slave, or tower slave, the knees closely together. That is regarded, by some, as being more discreet, less distractive.
She had not, of course, offered wine to the men as she might have, in private, to her master, kneeling naked before him, in her collar, touching the cup variously to her body, pressing it here and there against, moving it here and there against her beauty, feeling the steel rim firmly, unyieldingly, against her yielding softness, kissing it, placing it, kissing it, placing it, this commonly done at the belly, the waist, at each breast, and at each shoulder, and then, lifting her eyes, regarding him over the rim of the cup, kissing it again, one last time, lingeringly, lovingly, and then lifting it to him in two hands, her head deferentially down, between her extended arms.
The red-haired paga slave then returned with the goblet, brimming, and knelt beside the low table, at which Cabot and Peisistratus sat, cross-legged. It is common for Gorean men to sit cross-legged, and for Gorean women to kneel. Chairs on Gor are commonly reserved for individuals of rank. Gorean society is muchly based on status and hierarchy. There is little attempt on Gor to pretend that obvious differentiations in such matters do not exist. On Gor that would be regarded as dishonorable hypocrisy. The slave's eyes met Cabot's and in her glance, pathetic and pleading, he read her need. And then, looking down, she pressed the metal of the goblet to her belly, and then to her breasts, and then lifted the large cup to her lips, and, looking at Cabot over the rim, kissed the cup, lingeringly. She then lowered her head between her extended arms and proffered him the goblet, which he accepted.
"Wine, Master?" inquired Corinna, kneeling before him, lifting the goblet in two hands, her head down, between her extended arms.
The brunette approached Cabot, and knelt before him. She lifted the goblet toward him, holding it in both hands. Her head was down, between her extended arms.
"Wine, Master?" she said.
"Kiss the goblet," said Cabot, kindly. "Lingeringly. And regard me while you do so. Now lift your head and touch the goblet, lightly, to your collar, so that you hear the sound."
"You have lovely breasts," said Cabot. "Now touch the goblet lightly to each of them, first the left, then the right. Make certain you clearly feel the touch, pressing it in a bit."
"Now lower the goblet to your belly," he said, "and, while first looking at me, and then, secondly, down to the goblet, press the rim into your belly, firmly."
"Serve your master," I said to Constantina.
She seemed startled, but no more so, I think, than Pertinax.
I gathered that this relationship, the ritual serving of drink to the master by a slave, was unfamiliar to them.
By now it was overwhelmingly clear that Constantina's relationship to Pertinax was not that of a slave to her master, even should she be a slave, perhaps in some legal sense.
She picked up the goblet.
"Both hands," I informed her.
She put both hands on the goblet.
The justification for this grasp is practical and aesthetic, practical in the sense of assuring greater control of the vessel, and aesthetic, having to do with symmetry, and a framing of the slave's beauty. But, too, in this fashion the position of the slave's hands is clear. No hand is free, for example, to grasp a dagger, or slip powder into the drink. Long ago, in Turia, it is said that a free woman, armed with a dagger, disguised as a slave, attempted to assassinate a Ubar in his cups. Fortunately for the Ubar the attack was botched. Unfortunately for the would-be assassin, she failed to make her escape. It seems her anonymous employers had had no intention that she should escape, as arrangements for such a withdrawal might have been dangerous, and might have resulted, should confederates be captured, in the exposure of their identities. Fleeing, she had found doors locked before her. Captured and put under the iron, the Ubar would later find much pleasure in her. Too, as she had been of high family in Turia, her public bondage, exposure in triumphs, and such, afforded the populace much delight. No longer carried in her sedan chair by slaves, for whom citizens must make way, she was now less than a tarsk in the city. Surely she had been chained in more than one paga tavern. One wonders why a woman would have risked so much. One wonders if there are secret wheels, and springs, and engines, deep in the mind and heart, which impel one to travel fearful, beckoning roads. One wonders why some women place themselves at risk, why they undertake hazardous journeys and voyages, why they walk the high bridges at night, such things. Perhaps she was, in her way, courting the collar. If so, she found it. It is hard to understand the mind, and even harder, one supposes, to understand the heart.
In any event, both hands are to be on the goblet.
She rose to her feet, holding the goblet with both hands.
She approached Pertinax. She bent down, and, irritably, extended the goblet to him.
"On your knees," I told her.
Angrily she knelt.
Pertinax much enjoyed, I could tell, having her on her knees before him. How right she looked.
I wondered if, somewhere, there might not be a man in Pertinax.
Again, she extended the goblet to Pertinax.
"No," I said to her.
"I am on my knees," she snapped. "What more do you want?"
"Have you never served wine or paga to a man?" I inquired.
"What do you want?" she asked.
"Cecily," I said, "it seems we have here an ignorant slave. Instruct her."
"I, too, Master," she said, "am ignorant. I am little trained."
"That is true," I said, "but do what you can."
"I will not be instructed by a slave," said Constantina, adding, quickly, "such a slave."
"Then you will be stripped and instructed by my belt," I said.
"I protest," said Pertinax.
"You have no Home Stone here," I said.
"It is my hut," he said.
"I am not sure of that," I said.
"You are not my master," she said. "You cannot whip me!"
"Are you sure of that?" I asked.
"No," she said. She then looked at me uncertainly. Perhaps for the first time she sensed she was looking into the eyes of a man who could bring the whip to her back and legs. I saw she was trying to deal with this thought. Too, I saw a flicker in her eyes, perhaps of fear, but, too, perhaps of something else, as well.
She had never before been, I suspected, subject to a male.
Certainly one does not go about punishing the slaves of others, though free women tend to be rather free in this regard, and most Goreans are not above reprimanding errant slaves, whether their own or those of others. An errant slave girl is not above being, say, knelt and cuffed by a free person. Do not all slaves call free men "Master," and free women "Mistress"?
Too, Constantina was clearly in need of discipline, and I suspected I might be willing to make an exception to my general reservations in her case.
To be sure, if she were a free woman, the whip would not do at all. Free women on Gor, as on Earth, are free to do much what they wish, with little or no fear of consequences. They are free to do almost anything, without fear of punishment. This indulgence and latitude are not extended, of course, to the slave.
"Master?" asked Cecily.
"Begin," I said to her.
"You are before your master," said Cecily. "Split your knees."
I sensed Cecily would enjoy this.
"Never!" said Constantina.
"Now, slave!" snapped Cecily.
Constantina threw me a pleading glance, but I fear she found little comfort in my gaze.
"Ai!" said Pertinax, softly.
Constantina knelt before him, her knees spread, in the position of a Gorean pleasure slave. I gathered he had never had this woman so before him.
Obviously he, if not Constantina, was muchly pleased.
"Press the metal of the goblet to your belly," said Cecily.
"Press it in there, so that you can feel it. Really feel it, the metal against your belly. Surely you understand this, the metal against your belly. More. Better. More. Good. Now, to your breasts, softly but firmly. Feel the metal."
There was a change in the breath of Constantina. She cast me a glance, almost piteously. I think she did not understand her sensations.
"Look at your master, not mine," said Cecily, unpleasantly.
Constantina turned to Pertinax, unwillingly, it seemed, the goblet at her breasts.
"Now," said Cecily, "lift the goblet to your lips, and, gazing over the rim at your master, kiss the goblet, tenderly, and lick it, lovingly, lingeringly, for he is your master, and he is permitting you, a mere slave, to serve him. Keep your eyes on your own master, slave!"
Constantina turned back to Pertinax.
Then she put down her head, frightened, for perhaps it was the first time she had seen him regard her as what she was, or supposedly was, a slave.
"Now," said Cecily, "extend your arms, holding the cup, to your master, and put your head down, humbly, between your extended arms."
This is, of course, a beautiful sight.
Pertinax, it seemed, would almost forget to accept the cup. Perhaps he was unwilling to let the moment go. Then he accepted the cup, and drank.
"Thank you," he said.
"You do not thank her," I informed him. "It is a great honor and privilege for a slave to be permitted to serve her master. Too, it is what she is for."
"True," said Pertinax.
"That was not so hard, was it, girl?" I asked Constantina.
"No," she said.
"No, what?" I asked.
"No," she said, "-Master."
"You may now draw back," I said, "but you will remain in the vicinity, kneeling. You may be required later."
"'Required'," she said, uncertainly.
"For further serving," I said.
"Yes," she said, "-Master."
Pertinax seemed unable to take his eyes from her. I wondered what their relationship might be.
"May I serve Master paga?" inquired Cecily.
"Yes," I said, and she served me paga, and well. I trusted Constantina was attentive.
How incredibly beautiful was the former Miss Virginia Cecily Jean Pym!
Then she withdrew, a bit, to kneel in the background, where, unobtrusively, she would be at hand, should she be needed, or wanted, or desired. The slave does not withdraw from the master's presence without permission.
She withdrew gracefully, gratefully, still facing the table, and then turned away.
She pressed the metal of the goblet to her waist, and then, gently, but unmistakably, to her breasts, after which she lifted the goblet, regarding the stranger, frightened, over its rim. She then kissed the goblet, and licked it for a moment with her small tongue, and then kissed it again, tenderly, lingeringly, supplicatingly, and then lowered her head between her extended arms, lifting the goblet to the stranger.
The stranger took the goblet, and regarded the girl. She knelt back.
They served the wine well, kneeling beside the two small tables, behind which we sat, cross-legged, touching the goblet softly, tenderly, appropriately, to their body, then lifting it, and licking and kissing the goblet's rim, as they looked over the rim, into the eyes of their masters, then lowering their heads humbly between their extended arms, both hands on the goblet, proffering the goblets to the masters.
For example, in serving wine to a male you need only do so on your keens, your head down, extending the goblet, held in both hands, between your extended arms.
"But who, now," he asked , "will serve me paga?"
"Allison," I said, happily, reaching for the goblet and holding it out to him.
"Put it down " he said.
I placed it, puzzled, on the table. Astrinax and Lykos laughed.
I did not care for the sound of their laughter. Some others, too, at the nearby tables, were looking on.
"Master?" I said, uneasily.
"Remove your tunic," he said.
"Here," I said, "Master?"
"Now," he said.
I was then naked. Some had gathered around, amongst them the girl, Kalligone.
"What was your former name?" he asked.
"Allison," I said. "Allison Ashton-Baker."
"You are a barbarian, are you not?" he asked.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"What were you on your former world?" he asked.
He knew, surely, for I had spoken to him of such things, in the camp when I had lain beside him that night, "bound by his will," when he had, so to speak, stripped me of myself, and I had lain open before him, in so many ways.
"A student," I said, "at a small school, called a college, an expensive, exclusive college, and a member of an organization at the college to which only women might belong, called a sorority, and it the most expensive and exclusive of the college's sororities."
"You stood high in your world," he said.
"Yes," I said.
"You had position, station, resources," he said.
"Yes," I said. "I was of what one spoke of as the upper classes."
"And you stood high in such classes," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said. "Quite high."
"Very high?" he said.
"And what are you here?" he asked.
I touched my collar. "Kajira, Master," I said.
There was laughter from those about.
"Excellent," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"You are now going to serve a man paga," he said.
"I know nothing of such things," I wept.
"Take the goblet in two hands," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"Now back away a little," he said, "and spread your knees."
"I am not a pleasure slave!" I said.
"Are you white-silk?" he asked.
"No, Master," I said.
"Spread your knees," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"Good," said Astrinax.
"Good," said Lykos.
"Now," said he in whose charge I was, "I could not tell you from a pleasure slave."
"See her turn red!" laughed one of the paga girls.
"Now take the goblet " said he in whose charge I was, "and press it firmly, deeply, into your lower belly."
The goblet was metal, and hard, and cold, and, within it, the paga swirled.
"Do not spill it, or you will be beaten," he said. "Now," said he, "lift the goblet, and touch it lightly to your left breast, and then to the right breast, and then lift it, and, looking at me over the rim, lick and kiss the goblet slowly, softly, tenderly, lingeringly, and then, after a time, extend the goblet to me, arms extended, head down, bowed, between your extended arms."
"As a submitted woman!" I said.
"As far more than that," he said, "as one who is only a slave."
I felt him remove the goblet from my hands, and then I knelt back.
Genak went to a case at the side of the camp from which he drew forth four metal cups, and a large bottle which, in its net and sling, was half full, with some amber fluid. I rose up and turned away, but was arrested by a sharp voice, which called, "Kajira!" Instantly I turned about, and knelt, waiting to be commanded, as the slave I was. "stupid kajira," said the voice, "do you expect us to serve ourselves?" It was Genak. "No, Master!" I said. "She is a barbarian," called the sleen master. "Oh," said Genak.
Shortly thereafter the four fellows were sitting together, drinking and talking. The strangers were from the basin of the Laurius. I also learned that there was a town there, on the Laurius, called Laura, which interested me, for it is a name I was familiar with from my former world, and, indeed, it had been given to me in Tarncamp. I was now Laura, if it pleased masters. In this camp, however, I was called Vulo. I knelt back from the men, as was fitting. I was to be unobtrusive, and yet at hand, to serve. The flask was finished in one round, but I replenished the small metal cups more than once, pouring from the bottle, it suspended in its carrying net, slung on its strap about my shoulder. It is easy to tip the bottle in such a net, which supports it, and the sling allows it to be carried about, from place to place.