DAYDREAMERS OF GOR

By Christopher Leeson

Revised Dec. 15, 2016

Sitting under the glittering chandelier, Kalwa's red cocktail dress was drawing the attention of everyone in the room. In fact, she wanted to be seen, wanted to attract men. However, the people around her, the men, the women, the dominants and subs, aroused in her no interest. Still, she still had some time.

Many bondage clubs were thematic. Elsewhere, classical Greece and Rome were special favorites. But this one had attracted Kalwa's attention because it catered to Goreans. Fan art displayed on the walls were suggestive of the book series, some of it very well done. Also, there were notices announcing that costumes and specialty gear, such as barbarian-type slave collars, were available for rent.

Millions of Earth people knew about the planet Gor, but only from books purporting to be fiction. Gor was a fantasy universe featuring action-adventure stories, but it was the Gorean tradition of “pleasure slavery” that had enchanted millions. That element had made it stand out among many other imaginary worlds. If one of Gor's heroes rescued, say, a princess, he would probably lock a collar around her throat, burn a slave brand upon her left hip, and take her home with him to a life of erotic bondage. Because Gorean science had created the stabilization serum, human life and youth had been extended to centuries, she would experience a life in slavery for a very long time. Since the first volume of the book series had appeared in print, Gor enthusiasts had established fan organizations in diverse nations. Some of these, though certainly not all, were actual domination and bondage groups.

Kalwa, while waiting for something to happen, casually regarded the club visitors. Those with nervous, forced smiles she sized up as first-time visitors, with little or no club experience. Kalwa herself was no first-timer, far from it. She at ease, radiating a relaxed and confident air. Her pose appeared casual but was calculated to lure in sexually aggressive men. Thus far, she had spotted no likely-looking male. Bondage clubs attracted too many subs. She didn't want to be bothered by that sort, so she deliberately avoided making any moves or glances that might spell out “dominatrix.” When a submissive came up to her, despite her off-putting body signals, Kalwa knew how to send him packing with two or three well-chosen words.

If, as occasionally happened, the hunting proved disappointing, she might eventually have to settle for one of that type. Her employers wouldn't mind one bit; quite the contrary. It was Kalwa herself who would feel frustrated should circumstances impel her to take a mere consolation prize.

But the young woman had been on a winning streak this trip and had hopes of ringing up a perfect score. Kalwa checked the clock above the shelves of liquor. It would still be a full two hours before she felt pressured to settle for the best of a bad lot.

The subtly-lit lounge smelled of cigarette smoke, beer, wine, and also of tasty appetizers. Hot wings, spinach dip, cheese, and crackers. She was actually beginning to feel hungry when a man paused near her. Kalwa looked him over at a glance. Tall and athletically built, his suit was smart and expensively cut. Appearance wasn't too important in her eyes, actually, but she preferred men who were hygienic and presentable, especially about clothes. It was also encouraging that he appeared to be robust and healthy.

“I've watched you send several men away,” he remarked. “Waiting for someone in particular?”

She smiled. “Yes, I am. My type.”

He smiled back at her. “Would you know your type if you saw him?”

“I have a talent for finding exactly what I want.”

The stranger appropriated the bar-stool beside her. “I know what you mean,” he said. “Secretaries, lawyers, shop owners, accountants. Tourists! Most of these people don't belong here. They're out for cheap thrills.” He touched his heart. “They don't really understand the game, deep down.”

“They at least help the club survive; the cover charge isn't exactly cheap,” Kalwa observed.

Her companion nodded. “It kills me how so many of them sit alone drinking too much, before they finally give up and go home to read pornography. That kind of customer rarely comes back.”

“Let me guess, you're a dom.”

“Bing!” he replied cheerily. “And you?”

“What do you think?”

“I'd say you could be a lady who does it both ways.”

“Bing!” she conceded.

Kalwa started to squint, trying hard to bring his aura into view. Suddenly, she succeeded.

“That's an odd look,” the stranger observed.

“Oh, I was just wondering if you like it both ways, too.”

He shook his head. “No, I like to smack, not be smacked.”

“Thin skin?”

“No. It's just not my thing. It's women the who enjoy pain that warm my heart.”

“So, are you exclusively a dom?”

“If I say yes, would that disappoint you?”

“Not at all.” That was true; his aura had intrigued her.

Kalwa, not wishing to waste time, beamed him a look of acute interest. He noted it and smoothly took her left wrist. His grip was solid; to make sure he was serious, she applied a slight tug of resistance. He did not release his hold and, for a moment, stood waiting for her to give some affirming word or sign. Kalwa decided to make her agreement explicit, saying, “Do you intend to fish or cut bait?”

His kiss came swiftly and hard, almost too hard. The man was proving that he was not shy about public kissing. In fact, he exuded a distinct dominant nature. Many men could fake this, but this stranger seemed genuine.

Kalwa joined in the kiss, letting her tongue dart between his teeth to seek its opposite number. He took a fistful of her dark hair. When she pressed against his broad chest, Kalwa could feel the flex of hard muscles. Body heat was radiating through the man's jacket; she started imagining the two of them alone together, hot and sweaty, with slick flesh against slick flesh.

As the fierceness of their embrace gradually lessened, the stranger began playfully biting her lower lip, wanting to hear her cry out. For Kalwa, the slight pain registered as sweet pleasure. By accepting pain, she was declaring her acquiescence to the game. His breath tasted of mint and, more particularly, of the pheromones of primal maleness. As she let herself go passive, he kept his grip on her hair and let his tug sharpen.

When her companion fully drew back, Kalwa's lips felt swollen and moist; her breath was coming in small gasps. “Your lipstick tastes like candy,” he told her.

The young woman straightened to a more dignified position upon the stool. “Like it? Want to taste some more?”

“Most assuredly!” With his second kiss, the dom deliberately licked the flavored pigment off her lips. When eased back, he said, “You're mine for the weekend.... What should I call you?”

“Try Kalwa.”

“Hawaiian? You don't look Polynesian.”

“I'm not; guess again.”

“You have an accent, but I can't place it.”

“I'm Gorean.”

His brows arched. “Ah, does that mean you're into...pleasure slavery?”

She touched a slender finger to her lower lip. “I am very much into pleasure slavery. And I do kajira dances, too.”

“Delightful.”

“I always bring my own slave collar and pleasure silk. They're in my handbag.”

“Double delightful.”

“And you, are you full Gorean?”

He pursed his lips. “Since recently, but the more I've experienced it, the more I've liked it.”

“In that case, I only wish that I'd met you hours ago.”

“It's not all that late. Hopefully, you aren't an early-to-bed person.”

“I could be,” she replied slyly. “It all depends upon who I'm going to bed with.”

This bold retort lit up his face. “Turn over control to me, baby,” he said, “right now.” The words had come out as a quiet but firm order and her expression conveyed her agreement. He released Kalwa's hair, but only to run his digits through her shimmering tresses. The dom's cunning fingers sent tingles down her spine. “What would you say about pleasing me in the furs, my lovely captive," he finally asked.

Kalwa looked askance. "What moves do you like?”

He shrugged. “Are you into paddling?”

“Who paddles who?”

“Who do you think?”

“Just a paddle? Not the whip?”

He frowned, both with appreciation and admonition. “I would need to know my kajira much better before we start talking about whipping.” He then smiled. “Whips are for committed lovers. Do you have any favorite fantasies that might help us get acquainted?”

“Of course. Do you?”

“Always. We'll go on a voyage of discovery.”

“You haven't told me your name yet...master. I'd like to put it into my diary.”

“It's Ned.”

“Noted. Do you have a room here, Ned?”

Kalwa's burgundy-colored pleasure silks resembled baby-doll pajamas. Ned took in her bravely-displayed beauty with interest. “You look like a goddess,” he said. “And you do nice slave face,too. You're the image of a harem dream, not a slut.”

She bowed her head. “It pleases Kalwa that her master flatters her with a compliment so dear to a slave's heart.”

An hour had passed, an hour of leisurely pleasure. Kalwa had retouched her lipstick several already, to keep up with Ned's sweet tooth. They so far had played a number of scenarios, including her performance of a slave dance. At the moment, Kalwa was going down on him with abandon. His fingers were clutching her scalp, steadying her as she gave him pleasure. “That's it, baby,” he said as she worked his erection with one hand while her tongue thrilled his formidable length. “Don't stop,” he commanded breathily.

The girl's technique was unusually good and Ned couldn't keep control. He suddenly lurched and his seed jetted. His “pleasure slave” was ready, sucking and lapping rapidly, trying to consume every drop of his tribute.

At last spent, the young man's softening cock slid from between her lips. Kalwa rested back on her haunches and wiped her mouth with a bare arm.

Ned got up also, dried himself with a washcloth, and then donned a pair of leather pants. “Very good, Kalwa. You have a talented mouth.”

“A slave is pleased to be told such a thing.”

“Now, my little kajira shall serve me in another way. Place your forearms upon the carpet.”

The slave-clad girl did so.

“Rest your face and forearms against the floor and keep your bottom high, Ned instructed her. Rather than obey, Kalwa shook her head. This act of disobedience surprised Ned.

“Don't be angry, Maser Ned,” she said.

“Then what else do you prefer to do?”

“Let's just cuddle on bed together and talk, my warrior. I know so little of the fierce captain who has captured me. Oh, come, dearest master. Your kajira adores you so.”

Ned let himself smile and, taking her hand, raised her. A moment later she was lying prone upon the bed's satiny comforter. He got in beside her and they lay with their bodies touching, their noses only inches apart.

“Am I a passable Gorean pleasure slave, master?”

“Hmmmm. More than passable.”

She laughed softly. “Earth women who are natural slaves are indeed very common, master. Most of us, living in ways that do not suit our natures, do not know what we are, not until a strong and virile male subjects us to his power.” She paused. “May a kajira speak?” He gave consent. “Did my master tell the truth when he said that in his games he has always been the master and never the slave?”

Ned frowned. “It 's true.” He put his hand on her shoulder and brought her in close for a kiss. She squirmed away. Exasperated, he said, “Bad slave, I would taste those sweet lips again.”

Kalwa shook her head. “Master's own lips have become very red, and so has his tongue. He has had enough. Your slave would gladly kiss you later.”

Again her words were not in keeping with her role and they irked him “You must...” His statement was interrupted by a yawn. “Must obey your master...”

“I shall, my lord, but did not master consent that we should talk first?”

Ned yawned again. “Talk about what, lovely kajira?”

“Your slave becomes very curious. Has my master ever enjoyed fantasies about Gor in his private mind, fantasies that he has never dared to act out?”

He looked askance. “Everybody has...fantasies like that.”

“It's true. Sometimes the slave Kalwa has desired to play dominant with a girl. She even has imagined being a male who dominates a low captive wench utterly. If she does not obey immediately, I think it would please Kalwa to make her feel the kiss of the slave whip.”

“Ahhh...nice thought,” Ned said dreamily. “But why would a woman ever think about being a man?”

Her hand made a tossing gesture. "Can you not imagine, master? The physical power of the man is something that a woman both fears and admires. It is something to be very much envied. What one envies, one wants to possess. Is that not true.”

Ned shook his head. “Yes, but Gor already grants the female slave so much, what is left to envy?"

“Would a life on Gor would appeal to my master also?”

He yawned. “In the books...one can envy those Goreans who are rich and glorious in war.”

“Yes, such males live wonderful lives. But the males of Earth are not like the males of Gor.”

“How so?”

“While the males of Gor are confident and proud, I have heard it said that some Earthmen envy the women of Gor."

"Envy them for what?" Ned asked with interest.

"They envy them for their softness and beauty. They wonder what such beautiful creatures feel, wonder if the experiences of Gorean slave girls are as erotically satisfying as they seem to be in the books.”

He frowned. “Such unworthy thoughts would not occur to a true male, either of Gor or of Earth.”

“Kalwa supposes so. But has her own master never wondered what pleasures might accrue to him had he had been lucky enough to be born a girl?”

“No, never,” he said, slightly nonplussed.

“Not even if he were a girl who, because of her beauty, was abducted to Gor?”

He yawned, almost ready to nod off. “Well, sometimes....Uh, no, I don't mean that!”

The eyes of the slave-clad wench grew brighter. “Don't be embarrassed, master. Many men, I think, have that same thought. Now, pray, does my master think about these things sometimes or never?”

The true answer came hard to him, but at last he said, “Sometimes.”

Kalwa sat up, gleefully. “I knew it!”

“Noooo...” said Ned. “I shouldn't have said anything.”

She decided not to press the issue. As if satisfied, she fell quiet, cuddled up to him, and waited patiently in his strong arms until he dozed off.

Kalwa sat up. Ned had ingested more than enough of the drugged lipstick to lower his inhibitions. He had already answered her most important question while remaining too strong-minded to tell her very much.

But she had told him even less. Kalwa was not of Earth. Her masters were the Kurii race, migrants from a lost planet far away. She had come to Earth to serve her masters' interests and now, with time pressing, she had to work swiftly. She wanted to leave Ned's company before the interrogation drug wore off.

“Ned, do you hear me?”

“Yesss,” he said, sighing.

“You must answer all my questions truthfully. Tell me, when you imagine yourself a girl, are you ever a Gorean pleasure slave?”

“Yes. Not always.”

“Do you have many fantasies about being a girl?”

“A few.”

“Are these fantasies sweet, exciting? Do they give you pleasure?”

“V-Very much.”

“When you are a girl, do you like being with girls, or with males?”

He seemed to struggle against answering.

“You must tell me. Does the pretty little slave within you, the one who so yearns to wear the collar, desire the love of soft girls or of strong, virile men?

After a pause, he said, “Men.”

“How interesting; tell me your favorite fantasy. You will speak confidently; you will feel no embarrassment.”

It took additional coaxing, but at last Ned began speaking. “I saw...the movie Total Recall. It was...about a machine that gave the user a powerful dream, just like a real adventure. I could see, feel, taste, smell. In my fantasy...I go to the Recall clinic and ask for a fantasy.

“What type of fantasy?”

“Alpha male...Lots of women to bang. I want to take beautiful, powerful women into my palace and reduce them to needful little love slaves...”

“Please, go on.”

Ned haltingly explained how the machine's buffer doesn't clear. It still holds the adventure experience of the last customer. That customer was a woman with a kinky sense of fun.

Ned's character abruptly finds himself in a garish apartment. The furniture is upholstered with plastic and strikingly tasteless. He senses that something is wrong. Looking down, his hands are small, and slender. His suit is too big for his size. His hair hangs over his cheeks. Reaching back, he gets a fistful of it.

The character goes to the mirror and is astonished to see the reflection of a woman, a young and pretty woman. In the dream, he clearly remembers going into the Total Recall clinic, but what he had asked for had nothing to do with the fantasy that he is suddenly experiencing. Then someone starts speaking...behind him.

Ned's character turns and confronts a tall, powerful black pimp wearing a broad, tropical hat. The pimp grabs the character by the arm. He tells – the girl – that he wants her for his “stable.” She understands and refuses, but he only laughs. Next, he tells her to strip, but she still defies him. He man calls out and his several “street wives” come in. They mob the girl and take off her male clothes. Afterward, the troop of hookers give their "guest" a bath. Once dried, they put plentiful makeup on her face and sprinkle her with a florid scent – one that fairly screams “cheap and trashy.” As a final touch, they compel her to wear a silky nighty that barely reaches to her thighs.

The pimp takes charge of his newest acquisition and tries to kiss her, but she fights back. He throws her over his knee and a wife provides him with a flat-backed hairbrush. As he spanks her with zeal, it's like fire is licking at her buttocks. She yells and kicks. When she is exhausted, he throws her cross-ways upon the bed. Holding her down, he kisses her like a famished hound kisses a steak. She feels his hands savoring the feel of her body. His strength intimidates her, but there is something else that keeps her in his power -- his overwhelming charisma, the way her could dominate a person without either striking them or raising his voice.

Over what seems to be a span of days, the pimp names Ned's character Dolly and keeps her confined. These are days of strict bondage, days in which she is taught everything that a streetwalker needs to know. Despite her wish to resist his plans for her, Dolly's body, overtly, has other ideas. The black Hercules seems to have an uncanny skill at making her physically excited. Inch by inch, she starts giving in. The first time Dolly has an orgasm, it takes away most of her stubborn resistance. He makes her come very many times after that. It is like her body refused to hold back; it wants to obey this man, to do what he tells her, not w hat her own mind tells her. She fears she is losing her sense of identity. Even when she shuts her eyes she can still see the dark man. Every atom of her body seems to be attracted to him, like steel dust is attracted to a magnet.

One night, the pimp tells Dolly that it's high time that she hits the street. He tells her to demonstrate to him everything she's learned so far. Placed on her knees, she has no choice but to demonstrate the oral techniques that he has taught her. She knows she must swallow his every drop or else be punished. Then Dolly's demanding lover places her in a position to accept anal sex. She had hated sodomy the first few times the pimp had subjected her to it, but the pleasure it gives her has taken her hate away. She yearns to experience that pleasure again and again.

Suddenly, Dolly is rolled over onto her back and he's on top of her, entering her, penetrating to his hilt, his hard-pumping her. Something clicks inside her like her spirit is a candle wick and it's been ignited! Before this instant, Dolly had been his prisoner; now she imagines that this is what an exultant bride feels on her honeymoon. Her passions sore the stratosphere. The explosive orgasm that comes upon her is like a storm way that washes over her and puts out the embers of her already dying rebellion. She is no longer even reluctant. What he is giving her is what she wants. She thought she would lose her mind if she could not have this experience every day of her life. Then Dolly screams, not in pain but in gratitude,as his hot, jetting semen pours into her tight love cup.

When her lord rises and fetched a terry-towel to dry her, Dolly is in a daze of euphoria.

But this night has only just begun. This is the night when she will be "turned out," when she earns the promotion from nobody to "whore." She chokes and her tears run as she savors the beauty of that term. The pimp gets dressed and turns Dolly over to his “wives.” They chatter cheerfully as they put her into a short, striped dress and put high-heeled pumps on her feet. For days the wives had been training her to walk in high-heeled shoes and by now she could do it passably well. The wives then lead the newly turned-out streetwalker to a lamppost that stands outside a bar. “Look sexy,” one tells her. They stand around her until when a randy-looking man steps into view, giving an eye to other women along the walkway. They point him out and tell her, “Pick him up.” Dolly is nervous and embarrassed when she mumbles her come-on to him. But, to her surprise, the girl's amateurish fumbling is good enough. The John escorts her into a cheap hotel where, in a shabby room, he takes her, hard and fast, and then leaves. The wives are waiting for Dolly down in the lobby and for the rest of the night they find more likely customers for her and they follow her around to make sure she does her job right. When the mob of women take her back "home" in the small hours, her sweet man gets out of bed and tells Dolly to "pay up." She has to turn over every cent she's earned, and she obeys with a shiver and a smile.

"For the first time Dolly goes to bed as a whore. As she drops off, I think she's smiling."

'But the whole adventure is supposed to be a telepathically induced dream. What happens when your character comes out of the dream?” asked Kilwa, intrigued.

"I don't know. But I think that the only thing that frightens Dolly is that, deep down, she knows that the dream will have to end, and she doesn't want it to."

“Wow!” Kalwa exclaimed. “That's really a daydream! Do you like boys in real life?”

His body gave a jerk. “No. Not at all! But if a person is a girl...its perfectly normal for her to enjoy being with guys.”

The Gorean girl regarded him wonderingly. “Do you have other girly fantasies?” she asked.

He was slow in answering, even though his inhibitions were almost nil. “I don't know...I just do.”

Kalwa had heard vague answers such as this many times before. “Do you have actual Gorean daydreams, too?” she inquired. "I mean, do you ever imagine yourself as a woman taken to Gor. Imagine yourself collared and branded? And slave raped?

“Sometimes I've thought about that.”

“Tell me about what you would like to happen to you if you were a Gorean slave girl.”

Ned now described an accident in space. He is a woman in an escape pod in space with three other girls. They set down on a planet with no people in sight. The capsule sinks into the mud and the four are a slimy mess by the time they get to solid ground. They find a clean pool, undress, and go swimming. But when they're out in the water, they see that some primitives have taken away their clothes and their energy blasters. They splash their way to land, but, barefoot, can't catch up to the savages.

For a few hours, the girls creep through the woods, not knowing what to do. They fear the tribesmen who must live nearby. The idea of becoming slaves to shaggy primitives is not an appealing one. They start looking for a sheltered place to pass the night and are startled by shadows against the sinking sun. Men on giant eagles are sweeping down from the sky. The girls bolt in all directions, but the eagles come lower and they can hear their wings flapping over their heads. One rider snares the first of the four with a lasso, and then, one by one, the others are captured also. They have become prizes of the day's hunt and each is bound across an eagle saddle and carried as baggage into a city. There the warriors sell them to slavers, who are frightening, hard-looking men who put the quartet together into a caged pen.

The Earth girls are soon dragged from the cage, but only to be collared and branded. A salve heals their burns quickly, and the next day they are put among several other naked women and their training begins. Gradually, the Earth girls learn to speak simple words and learn they are on the planet Gor. The training they receive is almost all sexual, involving sessions with one lusty slaver after another. Resistance earns them lashes with a whip made of many leather straps. It does not cut the skin, but its touch burns like licks of fire. Weeks of discipline would take away all the inhibitions they used to have about performing sex acts with others looking on. Slave discipline turns them all into obedient cowards. At last, the girls are deemed well enough trained to be sold into the teeming fleshpot industry of Gor. Ned's character is acquired by a “pleasure house,” a Gorean brothel. Every day she entertains many customers but never sees any of her three companions...again.

At that point, Ned dropped into a deep, true, sleep. Kalwa's questioning had confirmed the impressions that she had gotten from his aura. The nature of his fantasies told Kalwa that her instincts were correct. Ned was the exact sort of man whom she always tried to seek out on Earth. He was a treasure; he was like a bottle of rare vintage wine. So far on this trip, Kalwa had found five suitable men. She was under orders to find a sixth who had the proper persona and she would be returned to the base in Europe until it was time to start a new hunt.

In the quiet of the night, Kalwa grew thoughtful. When she had been much younger, before she had been enslaved on Gor, she never expected to be living a life like this. She had been captured by agents of the Kurii and trained as a pleasure slave.The Kurii had been kidnapping humans for a very long time, both on Gor and on Earth.

But the Kurii were not primarily slavers. They were conquerors, and they wished to conquer Gor. Only both Gor and Earth were protected by the mighty advanced race called the Priest-Kings. The duel between the Kurii and the Priest-Kings had been going on for centuries, but in the recent past the character of the struggle had changed. The Priest-Kings had started inflicting heavy blows against the Kurii bases and safe houses, using human agents to identify targets. Usually, these agents were transformed into new shapes and were very hard to identify. They did this by means of what was called the “metamorphosis serum.” It was a genetic cocktail able to change humans from one shape to another.

Kurii spies eventually stole samples of the formula and their masters reverse-engineered it. The Priest King also had a special variation of the serum that could not only change one man to look like another, or one woman to look like another, but it could also change a man into a physiologically perfect woman. It could not, however, change a woman into a man because every man has all the genetic material he needs to become a woman, but women's genetics would not support a transformation into a man. That meant a man who became a woman could never be restored to his former condition. Very few Priest King agents were willing to accept such a change, but some did. And the success of these transformees had been some of the most devastating blows ever struck against the Kurii race.

The scientists acquired the sexual transformation serum and saw in it another means to the balance of the spy war.

Because Gor was a highly masculinized culture, it was easier to infiltrate a female into a foreign society than it was to introduce a male. Traditionally, Goreans held women to be naive, unadaptable, and unable to fend for themselves. For that reason, females tended to be underestimated and overlooked. Goreans kept a close watch on any strange males intruding actively in their proximity, but they regarded foreign women with much less suspicion. The idea of using women as spies was therefore logical and appealing. Unfortunately, Gorean culture provided women with few skills useful in espionage. Training could be carried out, but it is hard to change an elegant lady or a tame slave into a cunning and daring agent. Throughout history, men have made the best intelligent agents. Also, espionage was dangerous work and it ran counter to Gorean mores to engage free women in such hazardous work. As for slave girls, the process of slave-taming took the grit out of them and as a group, they were useless in espionage work. Far more valuable was an agent who looked like a woman but had the mind and spirit of a man inside.

Sometimes the Kurii had used earth women as spies. They had even seized men of action from earth and transformed them into women, but forced men with no stake in Gor or the Kurii cause did not make very effective spies. The policy continued, but it was not a high priority.

The basic concept of exotic slaves went far back into history. Their characteristics were usually bred in or induced by science. With the transformation serum, it was now easy to create an exotic slave. They were prized by dissolute masters who considered them a novelty and a status symbol. They sold for considerable gold and the most valuable of all exotics were transformed Gorean males, usually citizens of enemy cities. But Kalwa supposed that these specimens were very rare.

The great majority of natural slaves were women, but some men were also. A natural slave male often thrived as a female exotic. Because such men lacked the male fiber that made men behave as men, natural slave males customarily performed well as female slaves. Like women, they responded slave discipline and slave training. A former male could even experience "ignition," which was a psychological and emotional change that commonly came over natural slaves. Ignition made him -- her -- lust for those of his former sex, and also made a life of bondage into a lifelong thrill. The few exotic former males that Kalwa had come into contact with so far had seemed as content in their slavery as slaves who were born as females.

Kalwa had been born with an instinct for recognizing a natural slave, a talent that had gotten her involved with slave-hunting on Earth. The colors and intensity of a person's aura revealed much to one who was sensitive. They indicated a subject's general state of health, illnesses, and useful qualities, such as mental alertness and courage, but they also indicated natural slavery.

To feed the exotic slave market, Kalwa had been used as a sleen, a hunting animal. She had accepted her fate since she preferred what she was doing to a life of pleasure slavery on Gor. Only months earlier, she had singled out a daring and savvy ex-military intelligence officer of Earth who was not a natural slave. Her masters thought he would make a valuable agent if taken to Gor and induced to swear loyalty to the Kurii. Kalwa assumed that he had been made over into a beautiful exotic female slave and placed as a spy in the house of a powerful enemy. Such an exotic would not have been broken by slave discipline but would have been trained to impersonate a pleasure slave in every way. Regardless, she had never heard a word about his fate. Had he become an effective Kurii agent or had he proved to be too defiant to train? In the latter case, his masters would probably not kill him. Exotic slaves bring high sale prices. They would drop him from the intelligence program and make him a true slave. Gorean slavers have many ways of breaking resisting slaves. If it were possible to slave-break such a man, the ex-agent might eventually become a satisfactory exotic pleasure slave. Kalwa didn't like to imagine what reprisals would fall on the ex-agent's head if his masters eventually lost patience with him.

A man like Ned, she knew, would probably train well and break well on Gor. Undoubtedly, he could probably be ignited easily. That was the nature of natural slaves. But it was time for Kalwa to finish her work and leave. She had to prepare Ned for his kidnapping to the planet Gor.

She now took a Kurii-created injection device from her large purse. She dabbed a spot of pasty anesthetic on the sleeping man's thigh and injected him there. It did not contain a drug, but a tiny bead that would go undetected under his skin. It was a tracer and Kurii sensing devices could locate it from far off. Ned could be tracked down wherever he might go for the next few months and when a safe and unobserved capture could be made, it would be made. Once captured, he would be placed into a small transport ship and taken to Gor. He would ride in a prisoner capsule and the capsule would feed a controlled drip of the sexual transformation serum into his body. He would be kept anesthetized until he -- she -- became female not only in appearance but in every cell of her body.

Soon, Ned would be living the sort of life that he had daydreamed about. But unlike his imaginary surrogate, Dolly, he would not have to dream the possibility that he would wake up. That was the difference between reality and a dream. If an accident or violence didn't slay her, hundreds of years in the future she would still be young, beautiful, desirable. And it was very, very unlikely that she would not have been a pleasure slave over all of that time.

It was hard to understand the human creature. Despite his submissive fantasies, Ned had been a dom. But he had treated domination as a game; it hadn't been a sickness with him, as it is with so many others. Once he was experiencing life as a girl on Gor, his daydreams could all come true. He -- she -- might even thrill to her new life, as Dolly had done. Kalwa hoped good would come to Ned on Gor, because he wasn't a hateful man. Because he had been good company, Kalwa's work that night would give her no satisfaction.

It was possible that Ned would come to thrill to the collar at his throat, the brand on his thigh, the scanty scented garment that she would wear to enflame men's lusts. She hoped he would be happy, that his dream truly would be coming true, because whenever she made other people feel pain and anguish, she felt like a monster. Kalwa didn't do evil things because she was by nature a monster. What she was, was a slave girl who did terrible things to others, so terrible things would not be done to her.

Kalwa stepped to the window and gazed outside. Beyond the club lights, there was only darkness and it went on forever. Evil creatures lived in that darkness, she knew. Was she one of thoe evil creatures? She felt more like a trapped animal than a creature of darkness. Her idea of a perfect life was one where she would not have to hurt anyone. It would also be a place where there would be no one to control her, no one to harm her if she refused to do those things that made her sad.

Would she ever attain the harbor of her dreams? Possibly. Life was a strange thing.

Strange and terrible.

End