Slave Girl of Gor by John Norman

of little interest, except for the admiration, which they had accorded me. I had held myself, though frequently dating, rather aloof. I did not much care to have boys put their mouths on me. I would brush them back, or thrust them away, appear offended, say "No," firmly to them. They would apologize, stammer, redden. Perhaps I was angry? They were sorry, truly sorry. Perhaps I was angry? Would I forgive them? Could I even consider going out with them again? Perhaps. But what sort of girl did they think I was?
    I lay in the grass, and smiled to myself.
    I wondered at what sort of girl I was. There had begun to stir in me feelings which I had never felt before. Dimly I had begun to sense how it could be that a woman could give herself totally to a man.
    I thought of the stranger. I laughed to myself. He was no boy. With boys I had always felt in command, but with the strange, mighty man in whose power I now was I knew I was not in command. He was in command, completely. At his slightest word I would leap to serve him. How furious, how jealous, would the boys have been had they seen how perfectly the haughty, beautiful girl they could not even interest or impress now responded swiftly, eagerly, even to the snapping of fingers of another, of a true man. How they would have hated and feared him! How they would have envied him his casual sovereignty over the beauty! How perfectly he controlled her, as they could not! They could not even please her. She feared only she could not please him.
    I lay nude on the grass of that strange world, in which I found myself in the power of a man other than I dreamed men could be. I had been aloof, haughty, smug, too good for men. Now I feared only I might insufficiently please one man, him in whose power I was. Feelings stirred in me which I had not felt before. Dimly I had begun to understand how it could be that a woman could give herself, fully, to a male. But I wondered if I would have the opportunity to give myself. I might not be accorded this honor. On this world it seemed men took what they wanted. I might not, on this world, I knew, be extended the courtesy of delicately proffering my virginity as I saw fit, in accord with my will. I smiled. I would not be, I suspected, on this world permitted to choose upon whom I would bestow it. Perhaps, rather, I supposed, it would be I who would be chosen, and, regardless of my will, it would simply be taken from me.
    I sensed the return of the man. I rolled to my elbow, quickly. He was standing nearby.
    I looked up at him.
    But he did not command me to my back upon the turf; he did not kick apart my legs.
    Rather he gestured that I should rise. I did so.
    I stood straight before him, as I knew he wished me to do. On Earth never had I stood so straight. On this world I knew it was expected of me. On this world I did not know what I was. But I did know that on this world, whatever it was that I was, I was expected to stand beautifully. I did so. It was part of my obedience.
    He did not move, but stood, leaning on his spear. He did not pay me much attention. I was merely there, subject to him, should he speak or gesture.
    After a time, he moved about the small clearing and, with his foot, erased the slight signs of our camp, the few small signs of our sojourn in this tiny forest glade. He had made no fires.
    Then again he stood near me, leaning on his spear. Again he did not pay me much attention. I stood to one side. I stood straight. I did not, of course, dare to speak, or, in any way, to intrude myself on his attention. I did not wish to be again cuffed or disciplined. I stood there. I stood to one side, unimportant.
    I watched him. It was dark now.
    My mind raced rapidly. Contrary to yesterday, he had not this day traveled in the light, but had spent the day in this tiny glade, only a few feet wide, concealed by trees about, and, overhead, by their interlacing branches. He had made no fires. He had now, with the coming of darkness, taken up his