Slave Dance's

Bead Dance---------------------------------------------- She was skillful and, I suspected, from the use of the hands and beads, had been trained in Landa, a merchant island north of Anango. Certain figures are formed with the hands and beads which have symbolic meaning, much of which was lost upon me, as I was not familiar with the conventions involved. Some, however, I had seen before, and had been explained to me. One was that of the free woman, another of the whip, another of the yielding, collared slave. Another was that of the thieving slave girl, and another of the girl summoned, terrified, before the master. Each of these, with the music and followed by its dance expression, was very well done. Women are beautiful and they make fantastic dancers. One of the figures done was that of a girl, a slave, who encounters one who is afflicted with plague. She, a slave, knows that if she should contract the disease she would, in all probability, be summarily slain. She dances her terror at this. This was followed by the figure of obedience, and that by the figure of joy. Explorers of Gor, Page 133

Dance of Beauty----------------------------------------- ”The girl wore Gorean dancing silk. It hung low upon her bared hips, and fell to her ankles. It was scarlet, diaphanous. A front corner of the silk was taken behind her and thrust, loose and draped, into the rolled silk knotted about her hips; a back corner of the silk was drawn before her and thrust loosely, draped, into the rolled silk at her right hip. Low on her hips she wore a belt of small denomination, threaded, overlapping golden coins. A veil concealed her muchly from us, it thrust into the strap of the coined halter at her left shoulder, and into the coined belt at her right hip. On her arms she wore numerous armlets and bracelets. On the thumb and first finger of both her left and right hand were golden finger cymbals. On her throat was a collar…” “He clapped his hands. Immediately the girl stood beautifully, alert, before us, her arms high, wrists outward. The musicians, to one side, stirred, readying themselves. Their leader was a czehar player…’ ”He looked at the girl. He clapped his hands, sharply. “ “There was a clear note of the finger cymbals, sharp, delicate, bright, and the slave girl danced before us. “ “I regarded the coins threaded, overlapping, on her belt and halter. They took the firelight beautifully. They glinted, but were of small worth. One dresses such a woman in cheap coins; she is slave. Her hand moved to the veil at her right hip. Her head was turned away, as though unwilling and reluctant, yet knowing she must obey…” “The dancer was now moving slowly to the music…” “I turned to watch the dancer. She danced well. At the moment she writhed upon the "slave pole," it fixing her in place. There is no actual pole, of course, but sometimes it is difficult to believe there is not. The girl imagines that a pole, slender, supple, swaying, transfixes her body, holding her helplessly. About this imaginary pole, it constituting a hypothetical center of gravity, she moves, undulating, swaying, sometimes yielding to it in ecstasy, sometimes fighting it, it always holding her in perfect place, its captive. The control achieved by the use of the "slave pole" is remarkable. “ “An incredible, voluptuous tension is almost immediately generated, visible in the dancer's body, and kinetically felt by those who watch. I heard men at the table cry out with pleasure. The dancer's hands were at her thighs. She regarded them, angrily, and still she moved. Her shoulder lifted and fell; her hands touched her breasts and shoulder; her head was back, and then again she glared at the men, angrily. Her arms were high, very high. Her hips moved, swaying. Then, the music suddenly silent, she was absolutely still. Her left hand was at her thigh; her right high above her head; her eyes were on her hip; frozen into a hip sway; then there was again a bright, clear flash of finger cymbals, and the music began again, and again she moved, helpless on the pole. Men threw coins at her feet…” “The dancer moaned, crying out, as though in agony. Still she remained impaled upon the slave pole, its prisoner…” “The hips of the dancer now moved, seemingly in isolation from the rest of her body, though her wrists and hands, ever so slightly, moved to the music…” “Samos, with a snap of his fingers, freed the dancer from the slave pole. She moved, turning, toward us. Before us, loosening her veil at the right hip, she danced. Then she took it from her left shoulder, where it had been tucked beneath the strap of her halter. With the veil loose, covering her, holding it in her hands, she danced before us. Then she regarded us, dark-eyed, over the veil; it turned about her body; then, to the misery of the blondish girl, she wafted the silk about her, enmeshing her in its gossamer softness. I saw the parted lips, the eyes wide with horror, of the kneeling, harnessed girl, through the light, yellow veil; then the dancer had drawn it away from her, and, turning, was again in the center of the floor…” ”The dancer whirled near us, then enveloped me in her veil. Within the secrecy of the veil, binding us together, she moved her body slowly before me, lips parted, moaning. I took her in my arms. Her head was back, her eyes closed. I pressed my lips to hers, and with my teeth cut her lip. She, and I, together, tasted the blood and rouge of her subjugation. She drew back slightly, blood at the side of her mouth. Fist by fist, my hand on the back of her small, delicious neck, preventing her from escaping, I slowly removed her veil from her, then threw it aside. Then with my right hand, the Tuchuk quiva in it, while still holding her with my left, as she continued to move to the music, I, behind her back, cut the halter she wore from her. I then thrust her from me, before the tables, that she might better please the guests of Samos, first slaver of Port Kar. She looked at me reproachfully, but, seeing my eyes, turned frightened to the men, hands over her head, to please them. Never in all this, of course, had she lost the music in her body. The men cried out, pleased with her beauty…” ”All eyes were on the dark-haired dancer, the skirt of diaphanous scarlet dancing silk low upon her hips. Her hands moved as though she might be, starved with desire, picking flowers from a wall in a garden. One saw almost the vines from which she plucked them, and how she held them to her lips, and, at times, seemed to press herself against the wall which confined her. Then she turned and, as though alone, danced her need before the men…” “I idly observed the dancer. Her eyes were on me. It seemed, in her hands, she held ripe fruits for me, lush larma, fresh picked. Her wrists were close together, as though confined by the links of slave bracelets. She touched the imaginary larma to her body, caressing her swaying beauty with it, and then, eyes piteous, held her hands forth, as though begging me to accept the lush fruit. Men at the table clapped their hands on the wood, and looked at me. Others smote their left shoulders. I smiled. “ ”On Gor, the female slave, desiring her master, yet sometimes fearing to speak to him, frightened that she may be struck, has recourse upon occasion to certain devices, the meaning of which is generally established and culturally well understood...to kneel before the master and put her head down and lift her arms, offering him fruit, usually a larma, or a yellow Gorean peach, ripe and fresh. These devices, incidentally, may be used even by a slave girl who hates her master but whose body, trained to love, cannot endure the absence of the masculine caress. Such girls, even with hatred, may offer the larma, furious with themselves, yet helpless, the captive of their slave needs, forced to beg on their knees for the touch of a harsh master, who revels in the sport of their plight...” ”They are slaves.” “The girl now knelt before me, her body obedient still, trembling, throbbing, to the melodious, sensual command of the music.” “I looked into the cupped hands, held toward me. They might have been linked in slave bracelets. They might have held lush larma. I reached across the table and took her in my arms, and dragged her, turning her, and threw her on her back on the table before me. I lifted her to me, and thrust my lips to hers, crushing her slave lips beneath mine. Her eyes shone. I held her from me. She lifted her lips to mine. I did not permit her to touch me. I jerked her to her feet and, half turning her, ripping her silk from her, hurled her to the map floor, where she half lay, half crouched, one leg beneath her, looking at me, stripped save for her collar, the brand, the armlets, bells, the anklets, with fury. "Please us more," I told her. Her eyes blazed. "And do not rise from the floor, Slave," I told her.” ”The music, which had stopped, began again.” “She turned furiously, yet gracefully, extending a leg, touching an ankle, moving her hands up her leg, looking at me over her shoulder, and then rolled, and writhed, as though beneath the lash of masters...” “The girl now, on her belly, yet subtly to the music, crawled toward us, lifted her hand piteously to us…” “The dancer now lay on her back and the music was visible in her breathing, and in small movements of her head, and hands. Her hands were small and lovely.” ”She lay on the map floor, her head turned toward us. She was covered with sweat. I snapped my fingers and her legs turned under her, and she was kneeling, head back, dark hair on the tiles. Her hands moved, delicate, lovely. Slowly, if permitted, she would rise to an erect kneeling position; her hands, as she lifted herself, extended toward us. Four times said I "No," each time my command forcing her head back, her body bent, to the floor, and each time, again, to the music, she lifted her body. The fifth time I let her rise to an erect kneeling position. The last portion of her body to rise was her beautiful head. The collar was at her throat. Her dark eyes, smoldering, vulnerable, reproachful, regarded me. Still did she move to the music, which had not yet released her.” “With a gesture I permitted her to rise to her feet. "Dance your body, Slave," I told her, "to the guests of Samos." “Angrily the girl, man by man, slowly, meaningfully, danced her beauty to each guest. They struck the tables, and cried out. More than one reached to clutch her but each time, swiftly, she moved back…” “The dancer, now behind us, continued to move before the low tables. The eyes of the men gleamed. “ “Before each man, for moments seemingly his alone, she danced her beauty…” “The dancer turned from the tables and, hands high over her head, approached me. She swayed to the music before me. "You commanded me to dance my beauty for the guests of Samos," said she, "Master. You, too, are such a guest." “I looked upon her, narrow lidded, as she strove to please me.” “Then she moaned and turned away, and, as the music swirled to its maddened, frenzied climax, she spun, whirling, in a jangle of bells and clashing barbaric ornaments before the guests of Samos. Then, as the music suddenly stopped, she fell to the floor, helpless, vulnerable, a female slave. Her body, under the torchlight, shone with a sheen of sweat. She gasped for breath; her body was beautiful, her breasts lifting and falling, as she drank deeply of the air. Her lips were parted. Now that her dance was finished she could scarcely move. We had not been gentle wit her. She looked up at me, and lifted her hand. It was at my feet she lay. “ Tribesmen of Gor, page 8 (also under Pole Dances)

Belt Dance---------------------------------------------- “I observed Phyllis Robertson performing the belt dance, on love furs spread between the tables, under the eyes of the Warriors of Cernus and the members of his staff. Beside me Ho-Tu was shoveling porridge into his mouth with a horn spoon. The music was wild, a melody of the delta of the Vosk. The belt dance is a dance developed and made famous by Port Kar dancing girls. Cernus, as usual, was engaged in a game with Caprus, and had eyes only for the board…” “The belt dance is performed with a Warrior. She now writhed on the furs at his feet, moving as though being struck with a whip. A white silken cord had been knotted about her waist; in this cord was thrust a narrow rectangle of white silk, perhaps about two feet long…” ”Phyllis Robertson now lay on her back, and then her side, and then turned and rolled, drawing up her legs, putting her hands before her face, as though fending blows, her face a mask of pain, of fear.” “The music became more wild.” “The dance receives its name from the fact that the girl's head is not supposed to rise above the Warrior's belt, but only purists concern themselves with such niceties; wherever the dance is performed, however, it is imperative that the girl never rise to her feet.” ”The music now became a moan of surrender, and the girl was on her knees, her head down, her hands on the ankle of the Warrior, his sandal lost in the unbound darkness of her hair, her lips to his foot…” “In the next phases of the dance the girl knows herself the Warrior's, and endeavors to please him, but he is difficult to move, and her efforts, with the music, become ever more frenzied and desperate…” “The belt dance was now moving to its climax and I turned to watch Phyllis Robertson…” “Under the torchlight Phyllis Robertson was now on her knees, the Warrior at her side, holding her behind the small of the back. Her head went farther back, as her hands moved on the arms of the Warrior, as though once to press him away, and then again to draw him closer, and her head then touched the furs, her body a cruel, helpless bow in his hands, and then, her head down, it seemed she struggled and her body straightened itself until she lay, save for her head and heels, on his hands clasped behind her back, her arms extended over her head to the fur behind her. At this point, with a clash of cymbals, both dancers remained immobile. Then, after this instant of silence under the torches, the music struck the final note, with a mighty and jarring clash of cymbals, and the Warrior had lowered her to the furs and her lips, arms about his neck, sought his with eagerness. Then, both dancers broke apart and the male stepped back, and Phyllis now stood, alone on the furs, sweating, breathing deeply, head down.” Assassin of Gor, page 185

Chain Dance--------------------------------------------- ”The figure of the woman, swathed in black, heavily veiled, descended the steps of the slave wagon. Once at the foot of the stairs she stopped and stood for a long moment. Then the musicians began, the hand-drums first, a rhythm of heartbeat and flight. To the music, beautifully, it seemed the frightened figure ran first here and then there, occasionally avoiding imaginary objects or throwing up her arms, ran as though through the crowds of a burning city--alone, yet somehow suggesting the presence about her of hunted others. Now, in the background, scarcely to be seen, was the figure of a warrior in scarlet cape. He, too, in his way, though hardly seeming to move, approached, and it seemed that wherever the girl might flee there was found the warrior. And then at last his hand was upon her shoulder and she threw back her head and lifted her hands and it seemed her entire body was wretchedness and despair. He turned the figure to him and, with both hands, brushed away hood and veil.” “There was a cry of delight from the crowd.” “The girl's face was fixed in the dancer's stylized moan of terror, but she was beautiful. I had seen her before, of course, as had Kamchak, but it was startling still to see her thus in the firelight--her hair was long and silken black, her eyes dark, the color of her skin tannish.” ”She seemed to plead with the warrior but he did not move. She seemed to writhe in misery and try to escape his grip but she did not.” “Then he removed his hands from her shoulders and, as the crowd cried out, she sank in abject misery at his feet and performed the ceremony of submission, kneeling, lowering the head and lifting and extending the arms, wrists crossed.” The warrior then turned from her and held out one hand. Someone from the darkness threw him, coiled, the chain and collar. “He gestured for the woman to rise and she did so and stood before him, head lowered.” “He pushed up her head and then, with a click that could be heard throughout the enclosure, closed the collar--a Turian collar--about her throat. The chain to which the collar was attached was a good deal longer than that of the Sirik, containing perhaps twenty feet of length.” “Then, to the music, the girl seemed to twist and turn and move away from him, as he played out the chain, until she stood wretched some twenty feet from him at the chain's length. She did not move then for a moment, but stood crouched down, her hands on the chain.” “I saw that Aphris and Elizabeth were watching fascinated. Kamchak, too, would not take his eyes from the woman.” “The music had stopped.” “Then with a suddenness that almost made me jump and the crowd cry out with delight the music began again but this time as a barbaric cry of rebellion and rage and the wench from Port Kar was suddenly a chained she-larl biting and tearing at the chain and she had cast her black robes from her and stood savage revealed in diaphanous, swirling yellow Pleasure Silk. There was now a frenzy and hatred in the dance, a fury even to the baring of teeth and snarling. She turned within the collar, as the Turian collar is designed to permit. She circled the warrior like a captive moon to his imprisoning scarlet sun, always at the length of the chain. Then he would take up a fist of chain, drawing her each time inches closer. At times he would permit her to draw back again, but never to the full length of the chain, and each time he permitted her to withdraw, it was less than the last.” “The dance consists of several phases, depending on the general orbit allowed the girl by the chain.” “Certain of these phases are very slow, in which there is almost no movement, save perhaps the turning of a head or the movement of a hand; others are defiant and swift; some are graceful and pleading; some stately, some simple; some proud, some piteous; but each time, as the common thread, she is drawn closer to the caped warrior. At last his fist was within the Turian collar itself and he drew the girl, piteous and exhausted, to his lips, subduing her with his kiss, and then her arms were about his neck and unresisting, obedient, her head to his chest, she was lifted lightly in his arms and carried from the firelight.” Nomads of Gor, Page 159 ”The drummer and the flautist prepared once more to play. The girl in the long, light chain smiled at me. She, at any rate, was pleased by my response.” “A wrist ring was fastened on her right wrist. The long, slender, gleaming chain was fastened to this and, looping down and up, ascended gracefully to a wide chain ring on her collar, through which it freely passed, thence descending, looping down, and ascending, looping up, gracefully, to the left wrist ring. If she were to stand quietly, the palms of her hands on her thighs, the lower portions of the chain, those two dangling loops, would have been about at the level of her knees, just a little higher. The higher portion of the chain, of course, would be at the collar loop.” “The musicians began again to play. There is much that can be done with such a chain. It was a dancing chain. Its purpose was not to confine the girl but to allow her to incorporate it in her dance, enhancing the dance with its movements and beauty. It is, of course, symbolic of her bondage, this adding fantastic dimensions of significance to the dance. It is not merely a beautiful woman who dances, but one who can be bought and sold, one who is subject to male ownership. Too, of course, the wrist rings, and the collar, are truly locked on her. There is no doubt about it. It is a slave, with all that that means, who is dancing.” Kajira of Gor, Page 142-143 A Chain Dance By: ayannna ~curled upon the sand, she wakens slowly.......something cold and alien about her throat....frowning she reaches for it with her right hand........only to have it pulled short......slanting a glance downward she see's a heavy bracelet and chain attached to it...she reaches with her left hand....it too is chained....... ~terror rises as she stands and tries to run........she manages only to hobble a few steps before she falls, sprawled upon the sand......her ankles also braceleted and chained......a cry of terror rings out as she struggles against them....pulling with all her weight....seeking some purchase against the chains that hold..... ~when her energy has been spent, and she lies exhausted and spent......sand clinging to sweat soaked skin......she becomes aware of eyes upon her.......searing her skin......gazing upon her nakedness.....in shame, she crouches down, arms crossed over her breasts, her hair thrown forward to hide as much of her as possible....... ~she is aware of soft music in the background......soothing her...the hushed murmers of voices....the sounds and smells of the (Camp, Tavern, etc.) ...the steel wrapped about her.....strange, unfamiliar......the itchy scratch of sand upon her skin....the wild beat of her heart, as the blood flows through her...her body awakening, becoming alive ~she finds comfort in the bonds that hold her......slowly, tenatively, she reaches out and caresses the steel upon her neck.....listens to the music of the chains as they slide over each other... hears the sweet freedom in it's song... ~slowly she draws the chains to her, running the cool links along her skin...... slowly encircling about her breasts, black steel against pearled flesh, eyes darken as her head tilts back in pleasure, the rub of cold steel upon sensative breasts, pinching lightly, drawing welts, as her nipples contract, and then harden jutting outward.....begging for the ache to be eased within them ~the chain draws tight over her belly as she raises herself up on her knees, banging lightly against her legs, freely embracing the fire that burns through her.....her hand moves down her thighs, drawing forth the chain from her ankles.....brushing upward along her inner thigh, drawing it link by link towards her her heated core, her hips rocking slowly back and forth, in anticipation of it's touch ~a cry of shock as the chain falls short of her heat......her eyes wild and hungry, face flushed and wanton.....she jerks at the chain, only to feel it pulled from her hands......she follows along it's length......sees it held within his hand, the knowing smile upon his face, his eyes mocking her helplessness........the slave revealed to all ~anger and fear floods through her....she rises, turns her back and flees from him....runs till the chains are pulled tight, tugging against them with all her strength.......the chains biting into her where they have wrapped about her legs and body....she cries out angrily, stomping her feet, eyes flashing fire to him....as he slowly, inexhorably pulls her forward to him ~she carries denial in every fiber of her being.......as she struggles helplessly before him, He taunts her with his strength as he plays with the chains about her......allowing her to flee, yet drawing her back.......the moth to his flame......struggling against her nature........wanting to be cocooned, closeted away, silked and veiled in the robes of a free woman ~the eyes of the Master look upon the helpless girl at his feet, forced to accept her nature, to go to him,and kneel before him, she feels their burning gaze upon her skin, and trembles......the steel he had put upon her the symbol of her slavery....she knows as does he....that she is slave...... ~she kneels back upon her heels, lowering her head......raises her arms to him, crossing the wrists........her voice, strong with her conviction rings out "This girl is yours, Master"

Cymbal Dance-------------------------------------------- Talena retired behind the silk partition, and I built up the fire in the center of the tent, not wishing to retire as yet. I could not forget the figure on the throne, he of the black helmet, and I thought perhaps that he had noticed me and had reacted. It had been, perhaps, my imagination. I sat on the tent carpet, poking at the small fire in the cooking hole. I could hear from a tent nearby the sound of a flute, some soft drums, and the rhythmic jangle of some tiny cymbals. As I mused, Talena stepped forth from behind the silk curtain. I had thought she had retired. Instead, she stood before me in the diaphanous, scarlet dancing silks of Gor. She had rouged her lips. My head swam at the sudden intoxicating scent of a wild perfume. Her olive ankles bore dancing bangles with tiny bells. Attached to the thumb and index finger of each hand were tiny finger cymbals. She bent her knees ever so slightly and raised her arms gracefully above her head. There was a sudden bright clash of the finger cymbals, and, to the music of the nearby tent, Talena, daughter of the Ubar of Ar, began to dance for me. As she moved slowly before me, she asked softly, "Do I please you, Master?" There had been no scorn, no irony in her voice. "Yes," I said, not thinking to repudiate the title by which she had addressed me. She paused for a moment and walked lightly to the side of the tent. She seemed to hesitate for an instant, then quickly gathered up the slave whip and a leading chain. She placed them firmly in my hands and knelt on the tent carpet before me, her eyes filled with a strange light, her knees not in the position of a Tower Slave but of a Pleasure Slave. "If you wish," she said, "I will dance the Whip Dance for you, or the Chain Dance." I threw the whip and chain to the wall of the tent. "No," I said angrily. I would not have Talena dance those cruel dances of Gor, which so humbled a woman. Tarnsman of Gor, Page 134-135 A Cymbal Dance By: anakaal_VIC Property of Victorious_AR ~anakaal steps lightly as she appears and moves to the center of the sand pit, her breasts pushed high beneath a sheer purple veil shimmering under the light of the fires glow, soft swaying hips carry steel chains filled with tiny metal objects that jingle and chime with each step she takes, her sheer purple veils flutter softly around her silky skin, the air still and silent, thick with anticipation. ~the veils part showing her soft thigh as she comes to a halt pushing her dainty toe to the sand her hip shifted to the right, ana arches her back. Letting her head fall back her long fiery red hair kissing the top of her ass. Her soft neck exposed as she eases her hand up caressing her throat, fingers grazing the cold steel, closing her soft green eyes waiting for the music to begin. ~ sultry snakelike movements flow from her as she brings her long slender arms above her head entwining them as she taps the cymbals between her fingers, her swollen heaving breast thrust forward as she moves from side to side... pressing forward then sucking back...her luscious hips remaining still as the music fills the air.. ~ rolling her well trained muscles down her to her belly her muscles ripple up and down as the small chain wrapped around her jingles a soft jingle her firm tummy moving in waves as she feels herself being taken with the sounds, her smoldering eyes being pulled to him... ~anakaal's rippling muscles proceed to shimmering hips she moves them slowly at first. Teasing him as she moves in tiny step closer to him... just out of arms reach, her eyes never leaving His as she begins turn, slowly looking over her shoulder through thick dark lashes.. tiny feet barely kissing the sand as she moves in figure eight, hips jingling the coins as she gives him a full view of what is his. ~ feeling the music overcome her, she moves faster. The sounds of the cymbals and the coins echo in the thick hot air, the pounding of her heart growing louder with each step she makes, the fluid motion from hips to belly so exquisite her catlike grace showing in her form... ~ entrancing those that watch, anakaal pushes her breast up higher her eyes dancing in the soft glow of the fire's light. Her long arms move like snakes from her body. The sensual music taking over her soul, she blocks out the sounds and smells that surround her, feeling the eyes upon her as she moves, pulling them to her. ~ long waves of twisted red curls dance around her body as she moves her head from side to side, her hips shaking wildly beneath her, coins and veils shimmering with each thrust of her hips. Her heart racing as she stares into her Master's eyes, desire pouring from her soul through ruby parted lips. ~anakaal’s tiny fingers chime twice more as the music comes to a halt, leaving nothing but an echo, the girl's chest rising and falling as she pushes her head back, arching her back.. thrusting her breasts to him.. her eyes slowly shutting as the sound of the chimes slowly leave the air. Her long arms perfectly still entwined above her head, long auburn waves kiss her ass gently as she shifts her hip slightly to the right and forward, dainty toe to the floor.. ~ opening her eyes she moves to him... dropping to a kneel before him. Thick plush furs welcoming her as veils fall to the sides of her thighs as she parts them widely for his pleasure, her tiny fingers smoothing down to her little rose as she parts her petals giving him a glimpse of her glistening pearl.. her back arched to a gentle curve as she holds her head up high, proud to be his slave.. her smoldering eyes lowered to his furs......

Drum Dance----------------------------------------------"Imnak," I said, "would you like to go home?" "I have not seen the performance of a drum dance in four moons," he said. "Tasdron," said I, "would you like a new ship." Beasts of Gor, Page 165 A Drum Dance By: ashia ~**~Your girl retreats to the back of the tavern, placing blue silk to her body. Feeling the silky texture as it clings, tying a piece of cord around her slender waist as the tassels hang to the side. Clipping bells to her ankles, placing finger cymbals to her thumb and finger. Clicking them to hear the delicate bright chime. Long waves of chestnut hair falling half way around her back. Hearing the bells chime sensually as her steps carry a slave girl to the pits. ~**~Her body relaxed for she dances to many. The music softly plays. Hips rock to the side, fingers tap, as a soft chime plays from her fingers. Moving her hands around in waves as she lifts them up, silks rising, hips sensually turning side to side, back and forth. A slave girl's body showing her desires for passion, her longing to be touched, as her hands slip down over her breasts, down her slender curves, head tilting back, letting her oak tree hair willow around. ~**~Hand gripping the pole as her feet race around, the bells ringing a soft chime. Twirling around the pole, arm extended out. Letting one leg curl out and around as a slut heat draws up to the pole. Moving around as both hands clasp on to it. The music plays a soft melody hearing soft flutes as the kalika and czehar strum in the background. Seductively she twirsl around, comfortable in who she is, hands slipping down the pole, feeling her passion of ownership slipping away. ~**~Looking up the pole as her hand interchange, clicking her fingers, the soft sound echoes out as she pushes up. Feeling the anger strike up as the drums get heavier. Fighting for whom she is, understanding the heartbreak, trying to find that place within her to be found pleasing. Hands gripping up the pole as she struggles up to her feet facing away from the pole. Back resting as her arms lift up over her head. Full breasts thrusting through the silks. Wrists over-lapping around the back of the pole. Feeling she is sinking in a world of loneliness. Clicking the finger cymbals as the music shallows. Her body slips down the pole, falling to her knees. ~**~A loud sound bellows out, the drums crash down. A girl jumps, breasts heave through her silks. Stepping out of the sandpit, she dances seeing her past, present and maybe her future. Fingers tapping hearing a light melody as she steps to her past. Tears whelming up, tipping her foot outward, throwing her body forward, wanting to throw the pain that aches deep inside. Soft oak hair falls, shoulders rocking like the stormy ocean that brews in a girl's heart. A slut body sways trying to bring her self up, but falls. Desperately trying, as her shoulder rock back, the loud crashes of the drums bang out. Jumping up, she looks and sees her past captured her. Hands reaching, sobbing tears fall, seeing the pain in the Master's eyes, knowing we could never be. ~**~The drums hit out again, the music striking, she dances off. Vigorously her body moves, tapping the finger cymbals, her body enraged. Twirling and twisting her body around, the sound of the bells to her ankles chime. Engulfed in anger, not understanding why this keeps happening, tears falling as her heart aches. She sees her owner, copper eyes soften. Falling to her kneel, slithering down to her belly, breasts crushing under he,r laying her cheek to her owner's foot. Palms pushing under, the music striking up and down her body, lifting then fall like feeling useless, wanting to give her owner so much for what she has given her slave. ~**~The drum sounds out once again, lifting her neck, feeling the circle of her ownership around her neck. Head swaying, long chestnut hair tickles down around silken back. Fingers delicately chime as she rises up; spinning her body around an ache of being needed fills her slavery more. Bells chiming as the drums beat. Hips rocking as her hands entwine around her body. The music pounding deeper, the drums banging as the cymbals crash, darting around the room, tipping her foot arms sprayed out, stretched, letting her body twirl around. Long hair flowing in the breeze she makes. Her heart, body and soul twirling, wanting to rid the years of pain and anger. ~**~Suddenly stopping to maybe her future, copper eyes allure up, drumbeats as her hips rock from side to side. Breasts heave, her body trembles feeling his eyes piercing on her. Unclipping her finger cymbals, hearing a ting as they hit the tiles. Drums beating as her hips keep in rhythm to every beat. Looking down feeling unsure but wanting, needing this Master to see all of her. Untying the cord around her wais,t lifting the blue silk over her head, hair lifting then falling as the silk comes off. Fingers explore around her flesh as she comes to explore the Master she deeply burns for. ~**~The drums no longer crashing, a soft melody strums from the kalika and czehar. A slave girl edges slowly to her future looking back to her past. Arms wrapping around her, embracing, no longer wanting to hurt from it. Looking to her owne,r then to her life, aching for more. A soft smile curls to her lips, knowing her owner wants nothing but the best for her slave. Feet edging up till she falls gracefully to her kneel, taking one look back, hands roam up to the side of her head for her mind knows what she wants. The future hand reaches out and touches her. Heart shattered and afraid she draws a deep breath looking deeply in Master's eyes, delicately in a graceful gesture. She turns her hands putting them back to the floor, exposing her soft palms to him, desiring him to see her surrender her submission, her vulnerability, her readiness. The music shallows away as it comes to the end.

Earth Dance--------------------------------------------- “I watched Aemilianus' slave emerging from the kitchen. I listened to the unobtrusive music of the musicians, who were sitting on a rug a few feet in front of, and to the left of, the table. I took anothersip of the black wine.” “The voluptuous blond slave began to lower certain of the lamps.” "What are you doing?" I asked her.” "Forgive me, Master," she said. She then hurried again to the kitchen. As she had done this work the light in the room was romantically softened, but an area, soft as well, of greater illumination had been left before the table. When she had left the room, the musicians, too, had stopped playing. This seemed interesting.” “The blond slave of Aemilianus then re-entered. She placed a large, folded square of sparkling white linen at the bottom of the table. She then lit a wide, large, low candle and placed this candle, on a plate, on the soft, wide square of folded linen. She then withdrew to the side.” “I looked at the white linen, and the candle, in the half darkness. I was startled.” “What memories this stirred in me!” “The musicians then began to play, softly. The girl emerged from the kitchen.” ”There were sounds of pleasure, and surprise, from those about the table.” “The dark-haired girl, exquisite and lovely, stood in the light, on the tiles, back from the foot of the table, that we might well see her. Her hair was drawn severely back on her head. She wore what seemed to be a svelte, satin, off-the-shoulder, white sheath gown.” “Twisted about her feet, over and under, were golden straps.” “The girl then turned gracefully before us, displaying the garments. I saw that her hair, severely drawn back on her head, was fastened behind the back of her head in a bun. I had known it would be. I had not forgotten.” “The girl, then, to the music, moved gracefully, turning, her bands held out, about the table, displaying herself and her garments for us. She then returned to her place on the tiles, at the foot of the table.” “I regarded her. How beautiful she was! She looked at me. Then, gracefully and decisively, to the music, she unbound her hair. “ “There was applause for this at the table, the gentle striking of left shoulders, for she had done it well, and the significance of a woman's unbinding her hair before a man is well understood on Gor.” “She then, reaching to the left side, beneath her arm, of what seemed to be a white sheath gown, undid a fastening, and then others, at the side of her body, her waist, her thigh, and knee, and then, gracefully, the Gorean music unobtrusive but melodious in the background, removed the garment. I saw then that a rectangle of white cloth, cleverly tucked and sewn, had been used to simulate the off-the-shoulder, white sheath gown on Earth. Such an actual gown, of course, had not been available to her on Gor.” There was gentle, appreciative applause. “ “She now stood before us in what seemed to be a brief, silken, off-the-shoulder slip.” “The girl then sat on the tiles before us, but back a bit, where we, sitting cross-legged at the low table, could well see her. She extended her right leg, gracefully. It was flexed and, as her foot was placed fully upon the floor, her toes were pointed. These two things, respectively, curved her calf deliciously and extended the line of her beauty. Her left leg was back, its ankle beneath her right thigh. She looked at me, and then, bending forward, removed the golden straps wound about and under her right foot. In the restaurant she had worn golden pumps, with wisps of golden straps. She looked at me. Well did she, and the others, know the significance of removing footwear before a free man. She cast aside the straps she had taken from her right foot. Then, putting her hands back, swiftly and smoothly, beautifully, to the music, without rising, she changed her position on the tiles. Her left thigh now faced me. Her left leg was now gracefully extended, flexed and toes pointed. Her left thigh, and calf, and ankle and foot were marvelous. Her right foot, as her left previously had been, was back, the right ankle now beneath her right thigh. She then removed the golden straps from her left foot, and cast them aside. She looked at me.” “She had bared her feet before a free man. The golden straps she had used to simulate the footwear which she had worn on Earth were golden binding straps. They were the nearest thing she could find, within her limited resources, I gathered, to what she had worn in the restaurant. I did not object. They resembled somewhat, and well suggested, that footwear.” “Such straps, incidentally, are commonly used to bind the hands and feet of women. There was gentle applause for the girl, and murmurs of appreciation. The footwear had been well removed.” “She then rose to her feet and stood again before us, but now barefoot upon the tiles.” ”She then reached again to her left side, and undid a fastening there, below her left arm, and then another below it, and then one at her hip. She then unwrapped the brief sliplike garment from her body, and dropped it to one side.” “The brassiere had been simulated cleverly with soft white silk. Her beauty, soft, and almost as though protesting its confinement, strained against this silk. Too, between her breasts, this silk had been twisted and knotted, this making even more evident the sweet contours of her beauty, and the sturdy, silken restraint placed upon it. The panties, too, were simulated with white silk, which, in a narrow rectangle, had been wrapped twice about her hips and tucked in at her waist. There was no nether closure to this silk, of course. The Gorean slave girl is not permitted to shield her intimacies without the explicit permission of her master.” “Besides these two garments, intended, respectively, to suggest the brassiere and panties of an Earth girl, she still wore, of course, the light, narrow white scarf, this twisted and wound twice about her throat, the ends thrown over her left shoulder.” “The girl then, to the music, put back her head and put her hands behind her back, and, reaching high behind her back, this lifting her breasts beautifully, strained for a moment, and then, one by one, twisting slightly, undid the hooks on the confining, tight silk.” “Our eyes met.” “The silk was then dropped to one side, "Superb," said Glyco.” “She then reached to the white scarf on her throat and, beautifully, to the music, undid it one turn.” “She then, to the music, drew it beautifully, slowly, from her throat, and, gracefully, dropped it to one side. She wore, of course, now revealed, a close-fitting, gleaming slave collar.” “She lifted her head, and, with her fingers, delicately indicated and displayed the collar.” “She then stood before us as a barefoot, half-naked, collared slave.” “Gorean applause, and murmurs of appreciation, greeted this aspect of her performance.” “Our eyes met again.” “She then reached with her right hand to her waist and undid the tuck in the silk which was wrapped about her hips. Slowly and beautifully then, to the music, with both hands, she unwound the silk, and then dropped it to the tiles.” "Superb!" said Glyco.” “She then crawled to me, on her hands and knees, her head humbly down. Then, when she reached me, she lowered herself to her belly and, extending her right hand, touched me on the knee. She lifted her head. "You are my master," she said, "and I am your slave, and I love you!" Guardsman of Gor, Page 247 An Earth Dance By: natasha_CB Property of Captain Blodger ~*~midnight tendrils drawn back from her porcelin face, a mass of soft curls piled high atop her head, natasha slinks in from the hallway. A business suit of grey and black masks her figure from his view, the thick fabric hiding the curves of her slender young flesh. Translucent silk stockings cling to the curves of her supple calves, her ankles bound by the thin straps of her black heels. natasha's warm hazel eyes drift upward to him, a smile playing at the corner of her painted ruby lips, soft dove grey shadow lining her luminous eyes.~*~ ~*~Eyes locked to his, her slender arms rise, fingertips nestling in her captive mane, and delicatly slipping forth the sliver pins that restictively coil her ebony tresses, and tossing them aside. An avalanche of unbound curls plummet down her back, a smile gracing her countenace as she feels the weight lift from the crown of her head. Fanning her fingers through her fallen hair, she tosses it out behind her, laughs softly with joy as she sinks down to one knee, under his gaze.~*~ ~*~centering herself over one knee, natasha points her toe to the ground, her hand clasping the curve of her ankle, fingers sliping the strap of her heel from the fastening, the tender, smooth arch of her foot exposed to him as she slips the shoe off. Rocking back, her smooth, round bottom settling onto the floor, natasha extends her long, shapely leg, bending forward to remove the second shoe. Running her hands over the smooth, silky sheen of the stocking that clings to her flesh, she shivers with pleasure, aware of his eyes upon her. Rising back to her knees, natasha kneels up, her flesh all of a sudden to warm and slick under the layers of constrictive clothing.~*~ ~*~Reaching quickly for the buttons that hide her from his view, her wild eyes reach out to his, seeing his calm appraisal of the earth slut at his feet. Anxious to expose her beauty to him, desperate in the hope that she will please him, natasha strips away the heavy cloth shirt, a gauzy black bra still restraining her firm, round breasts from his gaze. In a flurry of moition, she springs to her feet, hands snapping behind her back to slide loose the zipper that binds the skirt to her tapered hips. As she pulls at the zipper, she wails in anguish as she feels it stick, catching the cloth in it's vicious teeth. With a final tug, her frenzy building, natasha frees herself from the skirt, crying out with triumph as it falls heavily to the ground around her ankles.~*~ ~*~Standing before him, clad only in her sheer brassiere, tight-fitting panties, and shiny stockings, she settles her weight on her left side, the right curve of her hip subtly rising. Extending her leg, planting her toes on the edge of the bed where he sits, she draws forth the stocking, the tone and rosy hue of her leg exposed to him as she languidly frees herself of its impediment. Moving in close to him, her leg returns to the floor, the second one rising as she leans in to his neck, soft warm lips kissing at his flesh with adoration as she slides the remianing stocking from her heated, flushing flesh~*~ ~*~Tearing herself away from his masculine power, she slides her smooth, vulnerable palms to her hips, cathcing the panties and drawing them off to her feet. Stepping out of the slinky panties, her smooth, shorn heat burning with ache for him, natasha melts to her knees, taut thighs parting wide as she rocks back on her heels. Reaching up to her heaving breats, her breath intake rapidly increasing, she unhooks the fastening on her brassiere, hesitating just a moment before flinging it far across the room, her quivering, pristine slave flesh finally exposed to him with no barrier.~*~ ~*~Creeping close to the edge of the bed where he sits, her heart crying out for acceptance, she moans softly to him, begging him to give her any sign that he may find her not entirely without interest. Kneeling up, her hands slipping boldly to his thighs, roaming over the cloth that seperates her from him, she looks up at him piteously, her face a mask of desperation. Ruby lips part as her naked body presses closer to him, bared for his pleasure, her flesh on fire for the merest carress of his hand, her low, throaty, quavering voice ventures forth...~*~ ~*~Master...Let this girl please you...~*~ ~*~The deafening silence is broken only by the thundering of her aching heart.~*~ ~*~natasha drops her head to his lap, hot tears staining her cheeks as her tousled mane obscures her fine features, crying piteously into the hard, unyielding flesh of him, begging silently that he will not cuff her from him. In a rush of motion, she feels the hair at the back of her neck captured by his rough grasp, her startled face drawn up, his lips crushing down hungrily upon hers. Tears of abject joy and slavery stream over her ivory cheeks as he presses her hot, aching form to him, her slender body wracked with sobs of joy.~*~

Flute Dance--------------------------------------------- On the wall, in the trough of the breach, we saw four men rolling a heavy stone toward the field side of the wall. A flute girl was parodying, or accompanying, their efforts on the flute, the instrument seeming to strain with them, and then, when they rolled the stone down, she played a skirl of descending notes on the flute, and, spinning about, danced away. The men laughed. There was suddenly near us, startling us, another skirl of notes on a flute, the common double flute. A flute girl, come apparently from the wall side of the Wall Road, danced tauntingly near us, to our right, and, with the flue, while playing, gestured toward the wall, as though encouraging us to join the others in their labor. I, and Marcus, I am sure, were angry. Not only had we been started by the sudden intrusive noise, which the girl must have understood would have been the case, but we resented the insinuation that we might be such as would of our own will join the work on the wall. Did she think we were of Ar, that we were of the conquered, the pacified, the conpredictable, the tamed? She was an exciting brunet, in a short tunic of diaphanous silk. She was slender, and was probably kept on a carefully supervised diet by her master or trainer. Her dark eyes shone with amusement. She pranced before us, playing. She waved the flute again towards the wall. We regarded her. She again gestured, playing, toward the wall. I had little doubt that she assumed from our appearance in this area that we were of Ar. We did not move. A gesture of annoyance crossed her lovely features. She played more determinedly, as though we might not understand her intent. Still we did not move. Then, angrily, she spun about, dancing, to return to her former post near the wall side of the Wall Road. She was attractive, even insolently so, at the moment, in the diaphanous silk. Magicians of Gor, Page 120-121

Leash Dance--------------------------------------------- ”Klio looked about. I could see she was pleased to be so approved of, in her basic elements, as a naked female, but too, she was alarmed, having some inkling as to what might be the entailments of such preferences.” "Have her perform," said one of the men.” “I shook the slave leash, now on her, This movement was transmitted through the leather, until it jerked and snapped at he ring, on the leash collar.” "Oh, please , no!" she wept. "I have shaken the leash, once," I said. "You did not then perform. Fortunate it was for you then that you were a free woman, and not a slave. Even so, I was not pleased. Do you understand?" "Yes!" she said. "Now, when I shake it again, you will perform." She put her head down, trembling. "Do you understand?" I asked. "Yes," she whispered. "You must remember, gentlemen," I said, "she is only a free woman." I shook the leash and Lady Klio, naked, attempted to perform. Some of the men laughed. "Surely you can do better than that," I said. She sank to her stomach, in the dirt, at the bottom of the trench, weeping. "Whip her," said a tall fellow, watching her, with his arms folded. She looked up at him, frightened. His eyes suddenly glinted. I had not seen what passed between them but I suspect that he had seen in her eyes something swift, some flash of sudden fear and recognition, that she had seen him as her Master. Then she put down her head again and there, in the dirt, shuddered. "On your knees," I said. "Now." She cried out, and rose quickly to her knees. "Knees spread," I said. She knelt there, her knees spread. She blushed crimson. It seemed she could not take her eyes off the tall fellow. "Perform," I encouraged her. "Move. Call attention to your charms." Again Lady Klio began to perform, as she could. "It may not be much, gentlemen," I informed them, holding the leash, "but surely for such a woman it is an unusual activity. I suspect that she is not accustomed to doing it. Perhaps in the future she will be better at it. Look, gentlemen. Little as it may be. I suspect this is far more than was provided for the many chaps who paid for her meals, her lodging, her wardrobe, her transportation, her luxuries, her claimed needs, her numerous bills. "Continue to perform," I said. You may leave your knees, but do not rise to your feet. She regarded me, in wild protest. "Yes,?" I said. "Do not make me do these things," she begged. "Do not make me dance and writhe so. I am a free woman!" "Your freedom will soon be a matter of the past," I told her. "How well you do now could influence the quality of your life in the future." "Do not fear," I said. "I know you are truly a slave. I learned it in your kiss, when you were shackled at the wall at the Crooked Tarn. I think that perhaps, in the same kiss, you learned it." The men laughed. She sneaked a glance at the tall fellow, and then, hastily, put down her head. He smiled. "Lady Elene, of Tyros, your friend, whom you remember front he Crooked Tarn, and the coffle," I said, "is even now in a slave collar." It had been put on her within moments of her sale. Klio looked back at me. "In her performance," I said, "the slave, unrestrained, emerged quickly and in moments the woman discovered that it was she. It pleased the men abundantly. It brought a good price. It is now collared." Klio sobbed. "Frankly," I said, "I had not expected you to be inferior to her." She looked at me, angrily. "But perhaps the women of Tyros," I said, "are superior to those of Cos?" "I think not," said a man, rather angrily. There was laughter from the others. I supposed he must be Cosian, natively. "But then," I said, "it is said, I have heard, that those of Port Kar prize Cosians as slaves." "Show us what a Cosian can do," said a man. "Thus," I said, "it seems that it is not, really, that the women of Tyros are superior to the women of Cos, but merely that, in your particular case, you are inferior to the Lady Elene." She looked at me, again angrily. "But that is only to be expected, upon occasion, I suppose," I said, "that some woman of Tyros would be superior to some woman of Cos. Too, it is no disgrace to be inferior to the Lady Elene, who is quite attractive and, in time, might even make a dancer." "I am inferior to Elene," she said, angrily. The men laughed at her vehemence. She looked at the tall fellow. I quickly then, that she would feel the authoritative signal of the leash and collar rings while she was looking at the tall fellow, shook the leash. "Ah!" said a fellow. I was quite pleasant then with Klio. My expectation, I then felt, that she would prove to be the most exciting and desirable of the two, was borne out. That was why I had saved her for last, of course, for use in the trench closest to Ar's Station. To be sure, I might have been somewhat prejudiced, for I remembered Klio's lovely dark hair, and I tend to be partial to brunets. Who, eventually, would prove to be the best slave I did not know. Let such women compete desperately with one another, and with other slaves, each striving to be the best. One of the men cried out with pleasure. That had been an excellent leash move, to be sure. Klio displayed herself brilliantly on the leash. Such things seem very natural for a woman. Perhaps they are, to some extent like slave dance, instinctive, the biological template, or genetic dispositions for them, having been selected for , the biological need of a woman to belong, to be approved of and to love. "Superb!" said a fellow. I wondered if Klio, sensing these deep, dark, wonderful, frightening things within her, the rightfulness of the destiny of submission to men for her, and such, had not, perhaps in the privacy of her own chambers, before her mirror, put the leash on herself. Perhaps she had then, there, before the mirror, in the privacy of her own quarters, moved similarly. It is not unusual for women to do this sort of thing, alone, often in bonds and chains, expressing plaintively therein their longing for a master. "Superb! Superb!" cried for another fellow. Klio, I recalled, had chosen a dangerous way of life, one which she must surely have realized, on one level or another, might lead to the collar. " 'Klio', " I said to the men, "might be an excellent name for a slave, do you not think so?" "Yes!" said more than one. Klio flushed with pleasure. Somehow it seemed she became even more sinuous, more sensuous, then. I saw that she was paying a bit too much attention to the tall fellow. "On, your belly," I said to Klio. "There, that fellow," I said, indicating a grizzled sapper to one side, his hooks near him, "address yourself to him, about the feet and legs." He grinned. "No!" said the tall fellow. I had thought this move on my part might bring him into action. Klio stopped, and turned, from her knees, to regard him. "I will buy her!" he said. "She is not cheap," I said. It seemed to me I might as well get what I could for Klio. I fear I must admit occasionally to a streak of opportunistic greediness. "A silver tarsk!" he cried. "Done!" I said. I had not really expected anything like that. Klio, redeemed through Ephialtes, had only cost me thirty copper tarsks. Perhaps I should have held out for more, seeing the eagerness of the fellow, but, after all, I was taken by surprise by the splendid offer, and even opportunistic greediness has its limits, particularly when surprised. "On all fours," I said to Klio. Immediately she went to all fours. "A silver tarsk," I said. It was placed in my palm and I put it in my pouch. I then removed my leash and collar from her neck. I had not even returned the leash and collar to my pouch before I heard a decisive click and a small cry from Klio. She looked up, collared, a slave, at her Master. "She dances, the leash dance well, does she not?" I asked. "I will improve her in it," said he, grimly. Klio quickly bent her head, unbidden to his feet, and kissed them. "Share her," said a fellow. "Let her dance again," said another, "not in the leash." "Proffer her to the arms of each of us," said another, "in turn." "She is mine," said the fellow. "We are your comrades in arms," said another. "True!" said another. "Have no fear," said the tall fellow, " I will share the slave, and my good fortune, with you, but do not forget that in the end it is I alone to whom she belongs, that it is mine alone whose slave she is." The men crowded around Klio now, and I could hardly see her among them. Even the fellow from the low wooden platform, which page him a vantage over the top of the trench, had joined them. Renegades of Gor, Pages 170 - 178

Love Dance---------------------------------------------- "Dance," ordered Aphris. The trembling girl before her did not move. "Dance!" screamed Aphris, rising to her feet. "What shall I do?" begged the kneeling girl of Kamchak. She looked not too unlike Hereena, and was perhaps a similar sort of girl, raised and trained much the same. Like Hereena, of course, she wore the tiny golden nose ring. Kamchak spoke to her, very gently. "You are slave," he said. "Dance for your masters." The girl looked at him gratefully and she, with the others, rose to her feet and to the astounding barbarity of the music performed the savage love dances of the Kassars, the Paravaci, the Kataii, the Tuchuks. They were magnificent. One girl, the leader of the dancers, she who had spoken to Kamchak, was a Tuchuk girl, and was particularly startling, vital, uncontrollable, wild. It was then clear to me why the Turian men so hungered for the wenches of the Wagon Peoples. At the height of one of her dances, called the Dance of the Tuchuk Slave Girl, Kamchak turned to Aphris of Turia, who was watching the dance, eyes bright, as astounded as I at the savage spectacle. "I will see to it," said Kamchak, "when you are my slave, that you are taught that dance." Nomads of Gor, Page 98 I turned to the musicians. "Do you know," I asked, "the Love Dance of the Newly Collared Slave Girl?" "Port Kar's?" asked the leader of the musicians. "Yes" I said. "Of course," said he. I had purchased more than marking and collars at the smithy. "On your feet," boomed Thurnock to Thura, and she leaped frightened to her feet, standing ankle deep in the thick pile rug. At a gesture from Clitus, Ula, too, leaped to her feet. I put ankle rings on Midice, and then slave bracelets. And tore from her the bit of silk she wore. She looked at me with terror. I lifted her to her feet, and stood before her. "Play," I told the musicians. The Love Dance of the Newly Collared Slave Girl has many variations, in the different cities of Gor, but the common theme is that the girl dances her joy that she will soon lie in the arms of a strong Master. The musicians began to play, and to the clappings and cries of Thurnock and Clitus, Thura and Ula danced before them. "Dance," said I to Midice. In terror the dark-haired girl, lithe, tears in her eyes, she so marvelously legged, lifted her wrists. Now again Midice danced, her ankles in delicious proximity and wrists lifted again together back to back above her head, palms out. But this time her ankles were not as though chained, nor her wrists as though braceleted; rather they were truly chained and braceleted; she wore the linked ankle rings, the three-linked slave bracelets of a Gorean master; and I did not think she would now conclude her dance by spitting upon me and whirling away. She trembled. "Find me pleasing," she begged. "Do not afflict her so," said Telima to me. "Go to the kitchen," said I, "Kettle Slave." Telima turned and, in the stained tunic of rep-cloth, left the room, as she had been commanded. The music grew more wild. "Where now," I demanded of Midice, "is your insolence, your contempt!" "Be kind!" she cried. "Be kind to Midice!" The music grew even more wild. And then Ula, boldly before Clitus, tore from her own body the silk she wore and danced, her arms extended to him. He leaped to his feet and carried her from the room. I laughed. Then Thura, to my amazement, though a rence girl, dancing, revealed herself similarly to the great Thurnock, he only of the peasants, and he, with a great laugh, swept her from her feet and carried her from the room. "Do I dance for my life?" begged Midice. I drew the Gorean blade. "Yes," I said, "you do." And she danced superbly for me, every fiber of her beautiful body straining to please me, her eyes, each instant, pleading, trying to read in mine her fate. At last, when she could dance no more, she fell at my feet, and put her head to my sandals. "Find me pleasing," she begged. "Find me pleasing, my Master!" I had had my sport. Raiders of Gor, page 115 I threw the whip and chain to the wall of the tent. "No," I said angrily. I would not have Talena dance those cruel dances of Gor, which so humbled a woman. "Then I will show you a love dance," she said happily, "a dance I learned in the Walled Gardens of Ar." "I should like that," I said, and, as I watched, Talena performed Ar's strangely beautiful dance of passion. She danced before me for several minutes, her scarlet dancing silks flashing in the firelight, her bare feet, with their belled ankles, striking softly on the carpet. With a last flash of the finger cymbals, she fell to the carpet before me, her breath hot and quick, her eyes blazing with desire. I was at her side, and she was in my arms. Her heart beat wildly against my breast. She looked into my eyes, her lips trembling, the words stumbling but audible. Tarnsman of Gor, page 135 A Love Dance By: sienna ****With a soft sigh speaking of her longing for him, she tilts her head back, peering up to him from her place at his feet. As her eyes drink in the perfection of him, delicate hands run once down the length of her thighs then turn over, the back pressing to satiny skin. Her palms up, her body open, her emerald eyes, filled with trust and awe - her heart, her very soul - all open to him, her very pose screaming of her complete obedience. ****Spilling forward, she places a loving kiss to each boot, full lips lingering before her face turns, a soft cheek nuzzling the chilled leather. She begins to back away from him, crawling slowly, already feeling the ache in her belly as the distance from him grows. She begins humming a quiet tune, its haunting melody echoing around her as she gets to her feet, gently shaking her head, dark luxurious locks whispering against her shoulders. ****Standing before him, a playful smile comes to her lips, impassioned eyes seeking his. She hesitates, a column of pale, sweet curves and yielding flesh enveloped within the warm light of the Tavern. Rising on her toes, her arms stretch above her, heavy breasts rise and fall with each breath that escapes. Turning slowly, her back faces him, her body writhing and twisting, her heel bouncing off the stones as she keeps time to the music she creates. ****Turning her head, she peers at him over her shoulder, a new look in her eyes, a fire raging within her. Soft, pouting lips smile at him as she winks mischievously, her hands running down her sides, hypnotically shifting hips taunting him as she begins to move faster. ****Suddenly, a sound catches her attention, jarring her from her reverie, her body motionless, heavy breaths heard in the stillness of the room as she gazes around the Tavern. For the first time, she feels the eyes of others on her, her shame consuming her as her gaze lowers, cheeks suddenly reddening as she crosses her arms over her breasts, desperate to cover her exposed body. ****Lowering to a crouch in an effort to hide herself, her head hangs forward in defeat as she thinks of her brazen display. Her eyes, filled with tears, look up to him as she raises her face to him, her soft wet tongue washing nervously over her lips, the music she produced long gone, not even the memory of a single note hangs in the heavy air. She looks into his face, her legs trembling beneath her at the sight of him. Lifting her gaze further, she glances quickly into his eyes, her brow furrowing as she looks away, her thoughts filled with him, her heart aching to please him. ****Feeling the need within her, she barely notices she has risen to her feet, one curved brow lifting suspiciously to him, feigning indignation at his merriment. With a quiet release of laughter, her features soften as a smile takes control of her, a small hand rising to cover her face, as she shakes her head at her silliness. Dropping her arms to her sides, she lowers her head again, neither in failure nor shame, but in a desperate attempt to regain her composure. Still feeling his eyes on her, overwhelmed by his presence, silent and strong, she is comforted as she listens to the rhythmic pounding of her heart. ****Closing her eyes, she opens herself to the steady thundering of her body, smiling as she hears what her body has finally learned - the words endlessly circling in her mind - slavegirl…His… slavegirl…His… slavegirl…His slavegirl! As the truth rings out inside her, she draws a sharp breath, her arms suddenly extended to the heavens, her head thrown back as she cries out what he has taught her - "La Kajira!" ****The frightened girl having taken flight, all that remains is slave, eager to please the Man who claims her. Raising her head, she lifts her gaze, her voice rising as her tune begins again, her body beginning its seductive movements. She smiles at him, full inviting lips gently curving as she sways, a tower of delicious flesh, a banquet for him to feast on. She lifts her chin, the bare expanse of her throat teasing him with its vulnerability. She quickly winks before her eyes tear themselves away. ****With arms raised high above her head, fingers intertwined, her thoughts return to the nights she has knelt at his feet, her hands reaching out to his boots, her trust in him unwavering. Circling movements of her hip cause her to spin on the ball of her foot, a whirlwind of milky white flesh and dark tangles of hair, her motions echoing the inner turbulence she feels - her need to possessed by him taking over her pretense of modesty. ****A low guttural moan escapes her, moist emerald eyes locking to his, her gaze filled with a ravenous hunger, silently pleading to satiate her need to please him. Tears threaten to spill as her trembling body slows to gentle motions, her arousal aching within her, small hands reaching out to him and closing, beckoning to him, her hands pressing to the curve of her hips, then boldly opening to him in invitation. ****The tune she sings grows in urgency as delicate fingers roam her undulating body - moving from sweat-soaked thighs to taut belly, caressing rosy nipples and sweet swells of porcelain flesh. Her eyes close, a frustrated sob escaping, suddenly fearful that she will not be allowed to please him. With small, timid steps, she moves closer to him, drawn to him, her hands never leaving her body, her eyes seeing nothing but the powerful Man she dances for. ****As the music nears its end, she sinks to her knees before him, knowing she must do as he wishes. Her hips continue their gentle sway, taunting him, her eyes begging him to possess that which is before him, her full lips eager to be bruised by his mouth, silken flesh aching to be claimed. ****With the sudden end of the music, all she can hear is the thundering of her heart and her labored breathing, her firm breasts rising to him and falling away with each gasp. Within her mind finally come the thoughts that she is nothing more than a slave. She quickly crawls closer, laying her face down on the soft furs before him... placing her cheek on his cold boot, she covers it with soft kisses, then lifts her face to his, her emerald eyes pleading with him as she trembles with her need to please him.**** A Love Dance By: tariaa Written August 2000 ~smiles softly as she rises on delicate feet, turns towards the sandpit, flipping silken tresses over slender shoulders to catch a glimmer of red from the fires glow as they fall down to lightly kiss the soft swell of her rounded ass..... her slaves heart thundering wildly beneath the swell of fully aroused breasts betrays the nervousness that threatens to overcome her burning desire to please this Master, a sob escaping full lips as she leaves him to pad lightly across the room...... ~delicate feet step into the soft giving sand, making her way to the center, raises her long sinuous arms up over her head, the weight of her long tresses pulls at her head, revealing a long and slender neck, that is exposed to His will.... ~soft blue eyes drift close as she feels the music seeping into her veins, stretching the curve of a slender neck, her head bobs to the gentle Gorean beat, slender shoulders rolling over the dance of fully aroused breasts, sensuous hips begin to sway slightly as she becomes one with the music, twirls slowly as her hands float to her sides delicate feet glide softly in the sand, as sinuous arms sway at her sides.... ~the arduous music demands more of her soft body as she twirls faster, long curls spin around her as she turns, soft hands caress the softness of her slaves belly, tenderly moving up across creamy white breasts, along her slender neck, reaching up she lifts her long curls from her back, letting them slowly fall between her fingers to sway free against the gentle curve of her naked spine.... ~suddenly she stops puzzled she looks to him her eyes catches his she holds his gaze brazenly a moment, her slaves heart thundering, feeling something she has never felt before, she sinks to her knees, parting taut thighs wide lowering her belly and breasts to the sand, stretching slender arms out before her, delicate hands grasping and digging at the sand, as if making her way to him, for what she does not know only that she will find it at his feet... ~leans up suddenly throwing long tresses down to caress the sand beneath her, shuddering, hopelessly aroused as his gaze falls over her, trembling hands begin to move slowly over taut thighs, fingers slide upward brushing across the soft curves of her hips, past her slender waist, over the swell of her full breasts bringing her nipples to tawny peaks, a cry of pure frustration leaves full sultry lips... ~as she drops to her forearms, pressing her quivering heat into the warm sand, writhing in discontentment, as her hips rhythmically keeping time to her lonely racing heart, a soft moan reaches his ears, twisting her form, full round breasts heave her desperate gasps....... ~delicate fingers roam across honey soaked thighs, sliding up her quivering belly, grazing her aching heart, cups heaving breasts, as tears of joy burst from her eyes streaming down her sand covered face,collapsing over open thighs a desperate sob escapes her lips as she aches for a release that only he can give her, longing and aching to be taken to his peak.... ~places her palms and elbows into the sand as she peeks up to him, sending the soft curves of her bottom high into the air, her hips sway seductively to and fro as she crawls to him, the bare tawny peaks of her nipples graze across the cold stones, slides her cheek tenderly across his strong calve, her lips come to rest on the soft leather of his boots, kissing them with the longing and desire she feels in her slaves heart...

Need Dance---------------------------------------------- “I turned away and gave my attention to the slave writhing on the tiles before us.” “She was performing a need dance, of a type not uncommon among Gorean female slaves. Such a dance usually proceeds in clearly defined phrases, evident not merely in the expressions and movements of the girl but in the nature of the accompanying music.” ”There are usually five phases to such a dance. In the first phase the girl, dancing, feigns indifference to the presence of men, before whom, as a slave, she must perform. In the second phase, for she has not yet been raped, her distress and uneasiness, her restlessness, her disturbance by her sexual urges, must become subtly more manifest. Here it must be evident that she is beginning to feel her sexuality, and drives, profoundly, and yet is struggling against them. Toward the end of this phase it must become clear not only that she has sexual needs, and deep ones, but that she is beginning to fear that she may not be, simply as she is, of sufficient interest to men to obtain their satisfaction.” “Here, need, coupled with anxiety and self-doubt, for she has not yet been seized by strong men, must become clear. In the third phase of the dance she, in an almost ladylike fashion, acknowledges herself defeated in her attempt to conceal her sexuality; she then, again in an almost ladylike fashion, delicately but clearly, with restraint but unmistakably, acknowledges, and publicly, before masters, that she has sexual needs.” “Then, with smiles, and gestures, displaying herself, she makes manifest her readiness for the service of men, her willingness, and her receptivity. She invited them, so to speak to have her. But she has not yet been seized by an arm or an ankle, or by her collar, a thumb hooked rudely under it, or hair, and pulled from the floor. What if she is not sufficiently pleasing? What if she is not to be fulfilled?” “What if she must continue to dance, alone, unnoticed. At this point it becomes clear to her that it is by no means a foregone conclusion that men will find her of interest, or that they will see fit to satisfy her. She must strive to be pleasing. If she is not good enough she may be chained, unfulfilled, another night alone in the kennel. There are always other girls. She must earn her rape. Too, if she should be insufficiently pleasing consistently it is likely that she will be slain. Goreans place few impediments in the way of liberation of a slave female's sexuality. In this phase of the dance, then, shamelessly the woman dances her need and, shamelessly, begs for her sexual satisfaction. The phase of the dance is sometimes known as the Heat of the Collared She-Sleen. The fifth, and final phase, of the dance, is far more dramatic and exciting. In this phase the girl, overcome by sexual desire and terrified that she may not be found sufficiently pleasing, clearly manifests, and utterly, that she is a slave female. In this portion of the dance the girl is seldom on her feet. Rather, sitting, rolling, and changing position, on her side, her back, her belly, half kneeling, half sitting, kneeling, crawling, reaching out, bending backwards, lying down, twisting with passion, gesturing to her body, presenting it to masters for their inspection and interest, whimpering, moaning, crying out, brazenly presenting herself as a slave, pleading for her rape, she writhes, a piteous, begging, vulnerable, ready slave, a woman fit for and begging for the touch of a master, a woman begging to become, at the least touch of her master, a totally submitted slave. The fourth phase of the dance, as I have mentioned, is sometimes known as the Heat of the Collared She-Sleen. This portion of the dance, the fifth portion, is sometimes known as the Heat of the Slave Girl. The music ended with a swirl of sound and the girl, with a jangle of bells, lay before the table of Policrates, whimpering, her hand extended. She lifted her head. I read the unmistakable need in her eyes. She was indeed a slave female.” Rogue of Gor, Page 86 A Need Dance By: maralyn_SoL Property of SolomonbarryI ~~~Obeying his command, she rises from her kneel at his feet, her blonde hair bouncing softly as she moves to the sand pit, eyes half closed with indifference, her bare feet sink lightly into the tiny grains of sand... ~~~Her face lifted up, hands raise high above her, delicate wrists placed back to back, she moves one leg forward slightly, pointing her toe, pauses for the musicians to begin... ~~~The music begins to flow through her naked body, she twirls her hands slowly, moving them at the wrists to the beat of the music, her little form begins to stretch and sway casually, gently her breasts begin to rise and fall as she feels a heat sinking into her, she dances unconsciously closer to the edge of the pit, her thighs parting slightly as her body begins to move rhythmatically to the pulse of the drums... ~~~Realizing that she is being drawn closer to the Masters and seeing their eyes upon her, she begins to move back into the pit, her hands attempting to first conceal her breasts and then sliding down her belly as she draws away from them...feeling the pole at her back, she gasps slightly as the roughened wood stimulates her sensitive skin, she slides down the pole slowly with a sob, kneeling with her thighs parted widely.... ~~~mara moves her hands to her collar, soft fingers caressing the cold steel, feeling that which represents her enslavement to him, closes her eyes and shakes her head gently from side to side as she battles with the mounting need screaming inside her.....suddenly the tempo of the music picks up, her eyes dart open and fix on her Master, she slides forward into the sand onto her belly, crawling sensuously to the edge of the pit, as close as she can get to him.. ~~~She rolls to her side, raising her leg and running her hand invitingly down her shapely calf, soft,little moans escaping from her lips... rolls on her back, body slowly writhing in the sand, feelings of sexuality and desire for her Master overtaking her senses, gliding her hand over her belly to her silky, tender thigh.. ~~~She moves to her hands and knees lifting her face to him, her beautiful features filled with an expression of need and desire she does not realize she reveals..gazes to him helplessly... ~~~Rocking back and forth to the pulsating beat of the drums, moaning softly, she can no longer ignore the fire in her belly...as the music grows wilder, animalistic urges overwhelm her, mara lays on her back, writhing and whimpering, fingers pass over hard nipples, causing her to gasp, bends her knees bringing her feet up to her, spreading her legs widely, trembling hands caressing tender thighs...drums beating, her moans louder and louder, piteously begging him to use what is his... ~~~As the music ends, her body quivering, she rolls over again to her belly....lifting her head, blonde curls in disarray, the sand clinging to her hot, moist body....whimpering softly, mara extends her hand to her Master, unmistakable need in her eyes, begging for his touch

Pole Dance---------------------------------------------- The slave will attempt to arouse and entice the pole or "Master" with erotic movements that involve her touching and caressing "Him" (the pole), beckoning her use by "Him". This dance can be done either by securing her to the pole or she may remain free from the pole, swirling around in frantic and heated movements. Blood Brothers of Gor, Page 39 Suddenly, the two men with the kaiila quirts struck her across the back and, before she could do more than cry out, she was, too, pulled to her feet and forward, on the two tethers. She then stood, held by the tethers, wildly, before the pole. Cancega pointed to the pole. She looked at him, bewildered. Then the quirts, again, struck her, and she cried out in pain. Cancega again pointed to the pole. Winyela then put her head down and took the pole in her small hands, and kissed it, humbly. "Yes," said Cancega, encouraging her. "Yes." Again Winyela kissed the pole. "Yes," said Cancega. Winyela then heard the rattles behind her, giving her her rhythm. These rattles were then joined by the fifing of whistles, shrill and high, formed from the wing bones of the taloned Herlit. A small drum, too, then began to sound. Its more accented beats, approached subtly but predictable, instructed the helpless, lovely dancer as to the placement and timing of the more dramatic of her demonstrations and motions. "It is the Kaiila," chanted the men. Winyela danced. There was dust upon her hair and on her body. On her cheeks were the three bars of greases that marked her as the property of the Kailla. Grease, too, had been smeared liberally upon her body. No longer was she a shining beauty. She was now only a filthy slave, an ignoble animal, something of no account, something worthless, obviously, but nonetheless permitted, in the kindness of the Kaiila, a woman of another people, to attempt to please the pole. I smiled. Was this not suitable? Was this not appropriate for her, a slave? Winyela, kissing the pole, and caressing it, and moving about it, and rubbing her body against it, under the directions of Cancega, and guided sometimes by the tethers on her neck, continued to dance. I whistled softly to myself. "Ah," said Cuwignaka. "It is the Kaiila!" chanted the men. "I think the pole will be pleased," I said. "I think a rock would be pleased," said Cuwignaka. "I agree," I said. Winyela, by the neck tethers, was pulled against the pole. She seized it, and writhed against it, and licked at it. "It is the Kaiila!" chanted the men. "It is the Kaiila!" shouted Cuwignaka. A transformation seemed suddenly to come over Winyela. This was evinced in her dance. "She is aroused," said Cuwignaka. "Yes," I said. She began, then, helplessly, to dance her servitude, her submission, her slavery. The dance, then, came helplessly from the depths of her. The tethers pulled her back from the pole and she reached forth for it. She struggled to reach it, writhing. Bit by bit she was permitted to near it, and then she embraced it. She climbed, then, upon the pole. There her dance, on her knees, her belly and back, squirming and clutching, continued... Winyela now knelt on the pole and bent backwards, until her hair fell about the wood, and then she slipped her legs down about the pole and lay back on it, her hands holding to the pole behind her head. She reared helplessly on the pole, and writhed upon it, almost as though she might have been chained to it, and then, she turned about and lay on the pole, on her stomach, her thighs gripping it, her hands pushing her body up, and away from the pole, and then, suddenly, moving down about the trunk, bringing her head and shoulder down. Her red hair hung about the smooth, white wood. Her lips, again and again, pressed down upon it, in helpless kisses.... Winyela, helplessly, piteously, danced her obeisance to the great pole, and, in this, to her master, and to men... In her dance, of course, Winyela was understood to be dancing not only her personal slavery, which she surely was, but, from the point of view of the Kaiila, in the symbolism of the dance, in the medicine of the dance, that the women of enemies were fit to be no more than the slaves of the Kaiila. I did not doubt but what the Fleer and the Yellow Knives, and other peoples, too, might have similar ceremonies, in which, in one way or another, a similar profession might take place, there being danced or enacted also by a woman of another group, perhaps even, in those cases, by a maiden of the Kaiila. I, myself, saw the symbolism of the dance, and, I think, so, too, did Winyela, in a pattern far deeper than that of an ethnocentric idiosyncrasy. I saw the symbolism as being in accord with what is certainly one of the deepest and most pervasive themes of organic nature, that of dominance and submission. In the dance, as I chose to understand it, Winyela danced the glory of life and the natural order; in it she danced her submission to the might of men and the fulfillment of her own femaleness; in it she danced her desire to be owned, to feel passion, to give of herself, unstintingly, to surrender herself, rejoicing, to service and love. "It is the Kaiila!" shouted the men. "It is the Kaiila!" shouted Cuwignaka. Winyela was dragged back, toward the bottom of the pole on its tripods. There she was knelt down. The two men holding her neck tethers slipped the rawhide, between their fist and the girl's neck, under their feet, the man on her left under his right foot, and the man on her right under his left foot. But already Winyela, of her own accord, breathing deeply from the exertions of her dance, and trembling, had put her head to the dirt, humbly, before the pole. Then the tension on the two tethers was increased, the rawhide on her neck being drawn tight under the feet of her keepers. I do not think Winyela desired to raise her head. But now, of course, she could not have done so had she wished. It was held in place. I think this is the way she would have wanted it. This is what she would have chosen, to be owned, to serve, to be deprived of choice. The tethers were removed from Winyela's neck. She then, tentatively, lifted her head. It seemed now she was forgotten. Blood Brothers of Gor, Page 35 and Kajira of Gor, Page 141 A Pole Dance By: roxanne_BH Property of Jarl Bjorn Horthgar ~*~ she rises to trembling legs that threaten to collapse beneath her, but as soft hazel eyes fall upon him, her strength renews in her desire to please him….she composes herself, and then moves gracefully to the pit, warm hues of firelight caressing shapely curves as long lean legs stride proudly, and bare feet fall upon the tiled floor, the echoing of tiny slave bells reaching out to blend with the sounds of the room ~*~ inhaling deeply she prepares for the dance, with each slow breath she tries to quiet her beating heart…suddenly features transform, she moves around the pit, arrogant eyes raking over the pole as she stalks it…first one bare foot, and then the other move into the sand, she barely notices as cool grains caress her skin…..she stops…..turning slender back scornfully to the pole, standing tall, crossing arms above her, eyes moving over the room, she waits for the music to start ~*~ the tavern fills with the melodious strumming of the czehar and kalika, the haunting sounds wafting across the room to seep within her…a hand twirls outwards, its sensual movements casting a shadow upon the sand, arms weave in and out above her, moving like waves upon the mighty Thassa as they join in the dance causing full breasts to rise and fall enticingly, a taunting smile forming on her pink lips as bright eyes fall to each occupant of the room in turn ~*~ she pivots upon the ball of one foot, Sa-Tarna tresses flaring out from her shoulders as she turns towards the whipping pole presenting sweet swells of bare ass to the room, the pace of the music picks up as the beating of a kaska joins in…full round hips sway seductively back and forth, she moves a step closer to the pole as hazel eyes run along its surface, her heart beats strongly matching each stroke of the drum as something begins to awaken within…her mind pushes the unnamed intruder to the side ~*~ a tentative hand reaches to the pole, wondering of its unseen power over kajirae…the music turns primal as delicate fingers light upon its hard surface…..her body stills as head whips back, sending sunkissed locks tumbling over shoulders as long lashes drop to pale cheeks, a bolt of electricity coursing through her as lingering traces of those that have gone before race across the canvas of her mind….flesh….hearts…and souls that have yielded in submission to the strength of the pole ~*~ silky strands caress her flushed face as head lowers and heavy eyes open….she blinks….no longer does she see unforgiving wood but broad shoulders, strong chest and the face of him…..the dance becomes urgent as slave lust stirs, that which had no name now defined….nails tear savagely at her flesh, a fine sheen glistening on exposed skin as her body bends and twists in its need, hands reach out to him, longing for flesh upon flesh, she cries out in frustration as her pleas go unanswered ~*~ fingers digging into the pole….into him…raking frantically downwards as she drops to her knees, sand biting into tender flesh as arms wrap around him, taut muscles rippling as she presses heated flesh against him, aching breasts thrust upwards, nipples hardening in her longing….silky smooth skin of her belly, blazing white hot with desire, sears into the pole branding her flesh, arms strain as she pulls herself closer to him, thighs parted widely in an effort to bring him pleasure as they slip to either side ~*~ wild eyes widen allowing him to search deep within their depths, to read her soul, as it screams out to him…the punishing pace of the music fills the room, as she dances….she sees only him, there IS only him, every ragged breath she takes is for him…bare flesh moist from her arousal, muscles straining from her erotic movements…the music reaches a climax as full round hips thrust upwards one final time and pleading eyes look up searching for him…but there is nothing…but the pole… ~*~ she throws herself to the sand with a cry of need…then silence falls, body shimmering with moisture, bright scarlet streaks rising in porcelain cheeks, she lays her face to the grains, her heart pounds and her breath is labored…her Pole Dance…and her submission complete… A Pole Dance By: adriana_SLI Property of the Snow Larl Inn ~slipping back three respectful paces....lifts her small frame on taut pale thighs...a soft sigh on full sensual lips...pads silently to the edge of the sand pit...sinking delicate feet into the soft giving sad, casts her eyes once to the whipping pole before quickly to its base…and bowing her head sends a tangle of golden curls to fall over and around her form. Cupping the gentle thunder of her slave's heart, awaits the music ... ~deep rhythmic drums cry out...as if to mimic her lonely heart…she lifts her head...slender arms thrust out dramatically to each side...stretched by unseen tether...she struggles against them...writhing against the pull of her own arms...looking again to the pole, dark eyes fill with confusion...with contempt ...with fear the pole dwarfing her small frame....strong and unyielding... ~understanding washes over her... ~thrust roughly to the pole, she roams its surface with fingers clumsy and unsure and parting full sultry lips, darts the tip of a pink tongue over its roughened skin...like a child tasting forbidden fruit...delicate fingers roaming cautiously over its surface...groans deeply, breathing in the scent of her own arousal, fingers clutching it tighter...she presses the length of her needful body against it... ~feeling the pull of the tethers...gasps in shock as she is pulled roughly away...delicate, need filled fingers pulling at the pole as her body is suddenly thrust away from it…cries out, anguish filling her voice, desperately she reaches out, the tether holding her…she drops to her knees, writhing in discontentment…silken thighs opening painfully wide, and with the burn of stretching tendons she displays all that she is, to Its gaze, her body begging without shame to be seen. Her form flipping in warm sand, the fire burning deep within her slaves belly press to warm sand as desperate fingers claw at its giving surface, a low guttural moan escaping her lips and porcelain skin blackened by the dust and sand, golden curls dulled in a tangle of disarray, she rises, seemingly freed, slender arms encircling the pole… A taut pale thigh, slicing thru air thickened with her desire, encircles the pole as parted lips taste its every pore…pressing full round hips to its surface she lowers to the ground, her body pressing close against it, him, as she fears losing contact again, her tongue lapping at the trail of her need. Pressing her knees to its base, pulls a tight arc to the curve of her spine, and arching against the pole, her fingers clutch its surface desperately. thrusting and releasing her form, she writhes against its rough surface, trailing sweet kisses along its edge, her hair falling lavishly over her form in a sultry disarray, and falling onto slender arms, she displays her form to it as she presses glistening heat to its base, and shuddering under its touch, hot spasms of pleasure wrack her small frame as she surrenders to him, her release washing over her. ~and falling over it, she sighs, contentment filling her, the music stops...

Saeela Dance-------------------------------------------- The Sa-eela is one of the most moving, deeply rhythmic and erotic of the slaves dances of Gor. It belongs, generally to the genre of dances commonly known as the Lure Dances of the Love-Starved Slave Girl. The common theme of the genre, of course, is the attempt on the part of a neglected slave to call herself to the attention of the master. The Sa-eela, usually performed in the nude, as though by a low slave, and by a girl freed of all impediments except her collar, is one of the most powerful of slave dances of Gor. It is done rather differently in different cities but the variations practiced in the river towns and, generally in the Vosk basin, are in my opinion, among the finest. There is no standardization for better or worse, in Gorean slave dance. Not only can the dances differ from city to city, but even from tavern to tavern, and from girl to girl. This is because each girl, in her own way, brings the nature of her own body, her own dispositions, her own sensuality and needs, her own personality, to the dance.. For the woman, slave dance is a uniquely personal and creative art form. Too, it provides her with a wondrous modality for deeply intimate self-expression. The Sa-eela, of course is not the sort of dance which could be performed by a free woman. Peggy now danced upon her knees, at the end of the table using the table in the dance, thrusting her belly against it, and touching it with her hands, and her body and lips. Peggy, then was back from the table, on the tiles, on her back, and sides, and knees, and then prone, and again supine, and then writhing, as though in frustration and loneliness. Stands before the Master, hands lifted, their backs together above her head. T observed the dancer, closely, the striking of her small, clinched fists on the tiles, the scratching of her fingernails at their smooth surfaces, the turning of a hip, the flattening of a thigh, the lifting of a knee, the turning of her head, the piteous scarrering of her hair from side to side. She lay on her back, and whimpering, struck down in misery, stinging the palms of her hands, bruising her small heels. She might have been in a cell, locked away from men. She then rolled to her stomach, and rose to her hands and knees, and head down remained for a moment in that posture. It is at this moment that the music enters a different melodic phase, one less physical and frenzied, one almost lyrical in its poignance. She crawls some feet to her left and lifts her head. She puts out her small hand. It seems that it there encounters some barrier, some enclosing, confining wall. She then rises to her feet. Swiftly she hurries about, in the graceful, frightened haste of the dancer, her hands seeming to trace the location of the obdurate barriers, those invisible walls which seem to contain her. She then stood and faced us, and put her head in her hands, bent over and straightened her body, her head and hair thrown back. "I?" she seemed to ask, looking out, as though some rude jailer might have come to the gate of her pen. But there is of course, no one there, and in the performance of the dance, that is clearly understood. Then, in poignant fantasy, within the pen, she prepares herself for the Master, seeming to thoughtfully select silks and jewelry, seeming to apply perfume and cosmetics, seeming to be bedecked in shimmering diaphanous slave splendor. She then crosses her wrists, and moves them, as though they have been bound. She then extends them before her as though the strap on them had been drawn taut. It then seems that she, head high, a bound slave is being led on her tether, from the pen. But, at the gate, of course, her wrists separate, and her small palms and fingers indicate for us clearly, that she is still confined. She retreats to the center of the pen, falls to her knees, covers her head with her hands, and weeps. The next phase of the music begins at this point. She looks up. There is a sound in the corridor, beyond the gate. She leaps up, and backs against the wall of her pen. This time, it seems, truly, there are men there, that they have come for her. She puts her head up; She turns away; she feigns disdain. Then it seems as she, startled, looks about, on the floor of the pen, calling to them, lifting her head, holding out her hand piteously to them. She pleads to be considered. It then seems, as she shrinks back, lifting herself to the palms of her hands, frightened, that the gate to her pen has been opened. She kneels swiftly in the position of the pleasure slave. Obviously she fears her rude jailers. Twice it seems she is struck with a whip. Then she again assumes the position of a pleasure slave. She nods her head. She understands well what is expected of her. She is to perform well on the tiles of the feasting hall. "Yes Masters!" it seems she says. But how little do her jailers, perhaps only common and boorish fellows, understand that this is precisely what she too, deeply and desperately desires to do. How long she has waited, in cruel frustration, unfulfilled and lonely, in her cell for just such a moment, that precious opportunity in which she a mere slave, may be permitted to display and present herself for consideration of her master. How can they understand the poignance, and significance of this moment for her? She is to have an opportunity to present herself before the master! Who knows if she in such a large house, one with such cells and jailers, may ever again be given such an opportunity. It then seems that she is hauled to her feet and that her wrists, tightly and cruelly, are bound behind her back. Her body and head are then bent far over. Her head twists. It seems a man's hand is in her hair. Not as a high slave, clothed in jewelries and shimmering silks, tastefully bound, is she to be conducted to the site of her performance, some aristocratic banquet; rather, cruelly bound and nude, she is to be thrown before masters at a drunken feast. She then with small, hurried steps, bent over, described a wide circle on the tiles. Then, it seemed, she was thrown to her knees, and then her side, before us. Her hands were still held as though tightly bound behind her. She looked at us. We were of course, the "masters," before whom she was to perform. She rose to her feet. She twisted as though her hands were being untied. She then flexed her legs and lifted her hands over her head, as she hand in the beginning, back to back. The final phases of the Sa-eela then begin. In these phases the girl, in all her unshielded beauty, and naked except for the collar of slavery, attempts to arouse the interest of her master. Peggy's body gleamed with sweat. She had small feet, and lovely high arches. Her body was superb. She had now entered into the display phase of the Sa-eela. In this portion of the dance the girl calls attention to the various aspects of her beauty, from the swirling sheen of her cascading hair, to her ankles, from her small feet to her tiny, fine fingers. The music now, pounding and throbbing, mounted headily toward the climax of the Sa-eela. In these, the final portions of the Sa-eela, the slave in effect, puts herself at the mercy of the master. She has already presented before him, almost in a delectable enumeration, many of the more external and rhythmic aspects of her beauty. She has displayed herself hitherto before him rather as an object in which, hopefully, he might take an interest. A woman may do this, of course from many motives; such as fear or her desire to be purchased by an affluent master, only one of which might be her authentic, poignant desire to be found pleasing by him. for her own sake. In such displays there can be, though there often is not, a subtle psychological distinction, detectable in the behavior, between the merchandise, so to speak, and the girl who is displaying herself as merchandise. In the first case, where no true distinction exists, which is the authentic case, the girl in effect says, "I am for sale. Buy me, and love me!" In the second case, the girl in effect says, "Here is a fine slave. Are you not interested in her?" In the second case of course, the Gorean is interested, though the girl may not understand this clearly, in not only the merchandise but the girl who is displaying the merchandise. She might truly be terrified if she understood that it was herself he intended to own, and in fact, was going to own, she the exhibitor of the merchandise as well as she, the merchandise exhibited. Goreans, as I have mentioned, are interested in owning the whole woman, in all her sweetness, depth, complexity and individualism. The girl now, in all her helplessness, in all her desperation in all her sensual splendor, was dancing not aspects or attributes of her beauty before her master, but was dancing her own passions, her own needs and desires, her own piteous needful, beautiful, intimate and personal self before him. There were no restraints, no reservations, no compromises, no divisions or distinctions. Her needs were as exposed as her collared body. She danced herself before her master. The music swirled to its climax and Peggy, turning, flung herself to her back on the tiles. As the music struck its last, rousing note, she arched her back, and flexed her legs, and looked back at him, her right arm extended piteously back toward him. Guardsmen of Gor, Page 260 A Sa-eela Dance By: ashia ~*~A girl stands to the middle of the room, the rage she feels inside. Wisdom and knowledge she wishes to learn, feeling helpless, for she is just a mere slave girl. Soft brown eyes lowered feeling no longer empowered, no longer does she feel useful, no longer understanding, as she looks to the crowd of the free people and the slave. The loneliness seeping through. She stands alone, the cool tiles beneath her as she waits for the music to start up. ~*~Hearing the soft, full, melodious tune her hands start to interchange up her body, as they rise high above her head. The drums beat hard she claps her hands to the beat letting her body turn around in circles like her mind, turning not knowing where to stop. Hands lifting up through her soft silky chestnut hair and in one movement she throws her hands out as the music beats. Copper eyes scan the room. The drums getting heavier, she runs around, the cymbals sharp and delicate and bright. ~*~Looking to the crowd, hips rocking to the left then to the right, dancing up to the men, a slave girl's body empty, feeling no wisdom vibrate from them. Twisting and turning, fighting her inner thoughts, for she knows what she is. Letting her hands roam her naked flesh, feeling herself, showing she is not fake. Clenching her teeth, feeling the rage storm up inside, wanting to throw herself to their feet to be fed their knowledge, to feel their empowerment. Tipping her foot forward, she spins letting her body fall. ~*~Heart quickens faster, she draws herself away, crawling like a beast, feeling the cool tiles beneath her. The trumpets roar out, lifting her body up to each echoing sound. The drums beat her down. Fighting hard to get up, not letting anything keep her down, a slave girl fights like she is drawing her last breath. Wiggling and squirming falling to her belly, breasts crushing beneath her. Tears falling like rain drops, desperately lifting her head, she sees she has not lost her fight for knowledge, that a slave girl of Earth aching to learn Gorean life. ~*~Her arms under her as she spontaneously pulls herself up rising to her feet looking to each free person, her pleads reaching for her inner sacturary to teach this slave girl the knowledge she so desires to learn. Moving around the room she comes to one, her body falls, eyes looking up, the thankfulness she feels arms displayed out as she sinks down between her open thighs laying her cheek softly to the ground. She feels his power, for this Master can make her fall to her knees feeling his wisdom feed into her the empowerment he has. Knowing he is true and makes this one feel useful. ~*~Shuffling away, sweet smile upon her lips, she sees another and another. The empowerment of knowledge seeping through her, dancing vigorously, twisting and turning, the drums no longer can bring her down, feeling her body alive. She dances for the strong and not the weak. Knowing in her mind, a wise slave girl will bring more to Master. Taking long strides, lifting her long legs high to each beating drum, she kicks up long flowing chestnut hair flying around her. Passing the weak till she comes to the strong falling to her knees easily. Burning desires that roar up, wanting to give all, glancing her eyes to the Mistresses that have given a girl the help she has so longed for. Gratitude she feels inside. ~*~Her hands reach out slowly and delicately like she is touching and reaching inside for she knows she is touching a screen. Kneeling as a girl's mind wanders, as her head tilts, soft almond eyes glazing around the room, in her eyes it maybe empty but in her heart she sees the room full. Music softening as she hears the strumming of the kalika. Mind no longer fighting for only the strong can truly make a slave girl feel her place. Rising to her feet one last time, she dances with joy, letting her hands roam her body as all the knowledge of the Gorean life roams her mind. ~*~Exploring up her body she feels her collar circling her fingers around. Anger and rage gone, trembling with fear, not knowing why she let herself get this way. Soft sparkling brown eyes see him enter the room. She falls instantly, her naked flesh tantalizing under the lights. Spilling her slender body she crawls her naked flesh to him. The music ending so with her fight, for she is with her Master, the one who empowers her, fills her with knowledge, molding her into his slave girl, feeling his capture he has on her online and more so off.

Dance of Passion---------------------------------------- I saw people running down the sloping green land, toward the water. Several came from within the palisade. Among them, white kirtled, collared, excited, ran bond-maids. These, upon the arrival of their Master, are permitted to greet him. The men of the north enjoy the bright eyes, the leaping bodies, the squealing, the greetings of their bond-maids. In the fields I saw an overseer, clad in scarlet, with a gesture of his hand, releasing the thralls. Then, they, too, ran down toward the water. It would be holiday, I gathered, at the hall of Ivar Forkbeard. The Forkbeard himself now, from a wooden keg, poured a great tankard of ale, which must have been of the measure of five gallons. Over this he then closed his fist. It was the sign of the hammer, the sign of Thor. The tankard then, with two great bronze handles, was passed from hands to hands among the rowers. The men threw back their heads and, the liquid spilling down their bodies, drank ale. It was the victory ale. Then the Forkbeard himself drained the remains of the tankard, threw it to the foot of the mast, and then, to my astonishment, leapt from the ship, onto the moving oars. Then men sang. The Forkbeard then, to the delight of those on the bank, who cheered him, as the serpent edged into the dock, addressed himself delightedly to the oar-dance of the rover of Torvaldsland. It is not actually a dance, of course, but it is an athletic feat of no little stature requiring a superb eye, fantastic balance and incredible coordination. Ivar Forkbeard, crying out, leaped from moving oar to moving oar, proceeding from the oars nearest the stem on the port side to the stern, then leaping back onto the deck at the stern quarter and leaping again on the oars this time on the starboard side, and proceeding from the oar nearest the stern to that nearest the stem, and then, lifting his arms, he leaped again into the ship, almost thrown into it as the oar lifted. He then stood on the prow, near me, sweating and grinning. I saw cups of ale, on the bank, being lifted to him. Men cheered. I heard the cries of bond-maids. Marauders of Gor, Page 82-83 A Passion Dance By: ashia ~~She crawls herself away from the Master's feet as she slithers over to the centre of the room. Her body naked, heart racing as she drops her form down to her belly, eyes flickering around as she waits for the music to begin. ~~The drums start as her breath deepens, rolling to the left then to the right, breasts crushing beneath her, she pulls herself to her knees, letting her neck casually swing around, showing the bareness of her neck, long deep honey hair flowing over her naked flesh. Rolling her hands up her body as each one cups under her breasts letting her thumbs circle her nipples as her neck drops back. Running the tips of her fingers up her neck as a girl's arms reach high in the air. ~~Swaying her arms in the air as she parts her thighs wider letting her back drop down touching the cool tiles beneath her. A slut heat exposed, her desires and passion to be used. Letting her fingers draw down, brushing the petals, feeling the wetness, teasing her fingers away as she makes her hips rock up to her fingers as a slut stays in rhythm to the music of the drums. ~~The music falls dull as she unfolds her legs under her, she lays flat to the cool tiles. Keeping her legs spread as her arms draw in close to her sides, letting her palms turn up. Hearing the music strike back up, in a quick twist she rolls to her belly as she presses her palms under her as a slut's breath deepens making her breasts heave up. Slithering her top half of her body up a girl rises to her kneel. Her body aching as she reaches her arms out to the Master. ~~Pushing her body up, she stands tall feeling the Master's eyes piercing towards her. Feeling helpless, showing her desires and wants through her begging eyes as her hands roam up and down her body. Sensual brown eyes glaze over to the man she burns for, belly full of fire as swings and turns, twirling her body around letting her fingers run through the back of her soft hair, lifting it off her flesh as it whisk around in her final twirl. She stops suddenly as she drops helplessly to her knees. ~~The beating drums pounding through a girl's head forcing her down as she spills forward. Spraying her arms out turning her cheeks to the side her breath shallows, in the last final beat of the drums she falls to her belly, dragging as she slithers to the Master. Feeling her breasts pushed up under her. The music ending her plea of passion, crying outs as she crawls on her belly, a sluts body quivers begging for the touch from the one who she wants to be owned by, she lays her cheek to his boot as the music ends.

Tether Dance-------------------------------------------- She straightened herself. She smiled. Her eyes were moist. "What I am now going to do," she said, "I do fully and completely of my own free will. I have sexual needs. I shall exhibit the desperation of these needs before my master, in the hope that he will take pity on me and satisfy them. It is also a girl's hope that in what she does her master will not find her fully displeasing." She then, gently, removed the bark skirt from her hips and dropped it to the side. She then flexed her knees and lifted her hands the backs of the wrists facing one another, gracefully over her head. "Wait," I said. "Master?" she asked. "Have you begged to perform?" I asked. "No, Master," she said. "You may now do so," I said. "I beg to perform before my master," she said. "Very well," I said. "You may do so." "Thank you, Master," she said. She then danced before me, of her own free will, a girl in need, and one desiring to please her master. Her dance grew ever more desperate and, at times, I had to throw her from me. Then she lay at the slave stake. She held out a hand to me. I went to her and seized her by the upper arms and threw her to her feet. She lookd at me, frightened. "You did not do badly, Slave Girl," I said. "But now it is time for you to learn how to truly dance before a man." "Master!" she cried in misery. "Be as you were," I told her. Immediately, frightened, she stood again before me, knees flexed, hands raised above her head, gracefully, the backs of her wrists facing one another, in one of the attitudes of the slave dancer. I jerked the tether on her throat. "This is a tether," I said. "It is to be well incorporated in your dance. You are a tethered slave. Do not forget it. You may fight the tether, you may love it. It may confine your body, you may use it to caress your body, an invitation to your master, a surrogate symbol of his domination of you. You need not dance always on your feet. A woman can dance beautifully on her knees, moving as little as a hand, or on her back, or belly or side. In all things do not forget that you are a slave." "Are you now commanding me to dance before you?" she asked. "Yes," I said, "you dance now as a commanded slave. And if I am not well pleased have no fear but what you will be well beaten, if not slain." "Yes, Master," she said I then struck my hands together, and, terrified, the girl danced. She had not been taught the tether dance, one of the most beautiful of the slave dances of Gor, but she improvised well. Indeed, it was hard to believe that she had not had training. I am inclined to believe that the need dances and display dances of the human female may be, at least in their rudiments, instinctual. I suspect there is a genetic disposition in the woman toward this type of behavior and that certain of the movements, closely associated with luring behavior and love movements, may also be genetically based. One reason for supposing this to be the case is that a girl's growth in certain forms of dance skills does not follow a normal learning curve. It is rather like the human being's ability to acquire speech, which also does not follow a normal learning curve. It seems reasonably likely that facility in acquiring speech, which would have enormous survival value, has been selected for. Similarly, a woman's marvelous adaptability to erotic dance may possibly have been selected for. At any rate, whatever the truth may be in these matters, feminine women, perhaps to the horror of their more masculine sisters, seem to take naturally to the beauties of erotic dance. At the very least, perhaps inexplicably, they are marvelously good at it. These genetic dispositions, of course, if they exist, can be culturally suppressed. I watched the girl dance. She was quite good. The needs of human beings are a matter of biology. The values in a culture are the values of certain men. Many people take the values of their culture for granted, as though they were somehow a part of the furniture of the universe. They should realize that the values they are taught are the values of particular men, and often, unfortunately, of men who, long ago, were short-lived, ignorant, uninformed, unhealthy and qute possibly of unsound mind. Perhaps human beings should, from the viewpoints of contemporary information and modern medicine, re-evaluate these perhaps anachronistic value structures. Values need not be something one somehow mysteriously "knows," a result of having forgotten the conditioning process by means of which they were instilled, but could be something chosen, something selected as instruments by means of which to improve human life. It is not wrong for human beings to be happy. "Now you are becoming a woman," I told her. She knelt on one knee, her right; her left leg was flexed; the tether was taken, in a turn, about her left thigh; her hands, too, were on her left thigh; her head was down, but turned toward me; her lip trembled. "Continue to dance, Slave," I told her. "Yes, Master," she said. I watched her, and marveled. It is interesting to note that such movements, those of slave dances, despite the inhibitions of rigid cultures, may occur in a girl's sleep, and may even occur, almost spontaneously, when she, nude, alone, passes before a mirror in her bedroom. How shocked she may be to suddenly see her body move as that of a slave. Could it have been she who so moved? Later, perhaps to her surprise, she finds herself standing before the mirror. She is naked, and alone. Then, perhaps scarcely understanding what is occurring within her, she sees the girl in the mirror has begun to dance. The movements are not dissimilar perhaps to those of women who, thousands of years ago, danced in firelit caves before their masters. Then, knowing well that it is she herself who is the dancer, she dances brazenly, boldly, before the mirror. Well does she present her bared beauty before it in the movements, the attitudes and postures of the female slave. Then perhaps she falls to the rug, scratching at it, pressing her belly to it. "I want a Master," she whispers. I now stood up. My arms were folded. The girl now was upon her knees at my feet, the tether on her neck slung back behind her to the slave stake. Still in her dance, she began to lick and kiss at my body. I then took her by the upper arms and held her, half lifted from her knees, before me. "Please do not whip me," she begged. I then, by the upper arms, dragged her to the side of the slave stake. I put her on her knees there. She looked up at me. "You danced well as a slave," I said. Explorers of Gor, Page 360 - 363 A Tether Dance By: amynne Written October 2000 ^*^The slavegirl shudders as the coarse length of rope is slipped over her head and knotted around her bare neck. She looks up with frightened eyes at the Master, watching him as he leans forward and fastens the end of the tether firmly to the slave ring in the floor. She moans softly, her body pressed to the cold tile, and closes her eyes as she hears the music begin. ^*^She pulls herself reluctantly to her knees, her thighs parting slowly, widely. With trembling hands, the girl reaches upwards, feeling the looped tether encircling her neck as if a collar. Her hips begin to sway in a whisper of movement, her slave ass pressed against her heels, her body rocking gently back and forth in time with the melody. ^*^Closing her eyes, she inclines her chin skyward, straining slightly, her body forming a bow as she arches her back. Her arms snake upward and catch her golden hair momentarily before allowing it to tumble down in waves around fair shoulders. Her hands clasped high overhead, she rises slightly in her kneel, stretching, feeling men’s eyes on the delicate muscles in her back, her firm breasts. ^*^Her cheeks flush as she leans forward, her palms to the floor, back arched further still, feline in her movements, matching the music’s erotic rhythm. The tether swings loosely beneath her, grazing her smooth belly and burning slave heat. She moans again, more of need now, and pushes up, climbing gracefully to her feet. ^*^As she rises to her full height, she feels the tether jerk her neck violently, and her eyes widen. She looks to the men indignantly, senses their amusement, and she takes the tether in her hands, tugging at it in futility. Back and forth she sways, hips still moving with the music almost involuntarily, her eyes still blazing, her hands struggling with her bondage, her cheeks burning hotly. ^*^The music rises in tempo, and she knows she is helpless; she closes her eyes a moment, hands releasing the tether and skimming lightly down her body, the body of a slave. She sighs audibly. Gazing to the men who regard her dance, she drops to all fours once again, her soft cheek pressed to the cool floor, and she remains like this a moment, writhing slightly, breasts grazing the tile, arms stretching out before her. ^*^Rising to her knees, she gathers a length of the tether in her hands and brings it to pursed lips, letting them brush lightly across its coarseness in a sensuous kiss. Her movements are more brazen now, hips circling even within the confines of her kneel, soft cries escaping her lips as she looks to the men, humbled in their presence, desperate to please. Her head whips back and forth, her honey-colored hair fanning around her; she moves passionately, lost in her dance. ^*^Finally, the music draws to an end, and she glances up to the Master who confined her, her grey eyes darkening with desire and eagerness to please. She crawls slowly to his feet, stopping just short of him as the tether pulls her neck once more, and leans forward in her kneel. Her soft lips graze his boots; her hot tongue darts out, tasting the leather. She plants warm kisses there, trembling in her gratitude, grateful to have danced, grateful to be slave.

Tile Dance---------------------------------------------- " I hear from the chain master," said Samos, "that you have learned the tile dance creditably." The tiny cups and glasses shook on the tray. "I am pleased," she said, "if Krobus should think so." The tile dance is commonly performed on red tiles, usually beneath the slave ring of the master's couch. The girl performs the dance on her back, her stomach and sides. Usually her neck is chained to the slave ring. The dance signifies the restlessness, the misery, of a love starved slave girl. It is a premise of the dance that the girl moves and twists, and squirms, in her need, as if she is completely alone, as if her need is known only to herself; then, supposedly, the master surprises her, and she attempts to suppress the helplessness and torment of her needs; then, failing this, surrendering her pride in its final shred, she writhes openly, piteously, before him, begging him to deign to touch her. Needless to say, the entire dance is observed by the master, and this, in fact, of course, is known to both the dancer and her audience, the master. The tile dance, for simple psychological and behavioral reasons, having to do with the submission context and the motions of the body, can piteously arouse even a captured, cold free woman; in the case of a slave, of course, it can make her scream and sob with need. Explorers of Gor, Page 13 A Tile Dance By: sienna ~*~ With images of him behind closed eyes, she feels the cold, unrelenting hardness of the tiles beneath her heated flesh as she listens to the stillness of the evening surrounding her. A sudden loneliness envelops her like a shroud as a heavy sigh of longing escapes her parted lips. ~*~ Without a word she moves, her hands pressing lightly to her hips as fingertips graze along porcelain curves. A sharp intake of breath thrusts breasts into the perceived emptiness of the room as she touches her thighs, her belly, her breasts, lovingly reaching to the circle of steel that surrounds her throat, that is fused to her very being. ~*~ A contented smile comes with thoughts of him, and as her body shifts, a grunt of frustration suddenly echoes in the room as she tries to sit up, finding that in her mind she has been chained to the slave ring of his couch. Tears of desire fill her eyes as a tormented wail fills the air, her hands curl tightly around the imaginary chain that binds her in place, tugging at it piteously, the sound of them sealing her fate. ~*~ As a fire of need sparks within her, she raises her hips, silken thighs falling open as her body strains into the empty night, her breathing quickening as she moves on the floor, helplessly, starved with her desire for him. Her hands roam her body, the soft flesh of her palms stabbed with the rosy peaks of her swollen nipples, each contour of her craving his touch, eager for just his nearness, anything but this despicable solitude. ~*~ Thoughts of him fill her mind as she raises her arms, moving them high above her head, her wrists intersecting as she lowers her arms across her chest. Stroking the soft flesh of her arms, images of his hands begin haunting her, quiet moans of longing issuing from her as she imagines him controlling her body - gripping her, stroking her, penetrating her - her passionate cries speaking of her growing frenzy and her desperate need to please him, to try, to serve, to touch, to be touched. ~*~ As her body glistens in the soft yellow light of the room, she places her feet soundly to the tiles, her hips lunging into the cool air, her desire growing in urgency as she writhes, an undulating silhouette. A sharp gasp escapes as her body slumps to the floor, mottled with the blush that grows as she opens her eyes, her heated gaze landing immediately on him as he watches. ~*~ She stops, trying to lie perfectly still, the trembling of her body giving away her helpless arousal, the sound of her labored breathing seeming to fill the tavern. She glances at him, her eyes wild and smoldering, suddenly arrogant, refusing to show him how desperate she is to be possessed by him. Quickly, she turns away, resting on her side, a quiet sob suppressed behind her lips. ~*~ Curling into a tight ball, her hand trails along her thigh, her hip, rising to squeeze at the swell of her breast before dropping once more, whispering against the moist swollen folds of her body. Moving against her own touch, she turns onto her belly, faint movements of her hips, almost imperceptible, press against the tiles in an effort to soothe the fire that rages within her body. ~*~ Piercing the quiet of the night, a cry escapes her, betraying her condition as her knees fold beneath her, her rounded bottom lifting into the air, her hips shifting in a gentle enticing sway, her unseen gaze filled with her silent plea to be used for his pleasure. ~*~ Turning onto her back, the muscles of her belly tighten as she raises her legs, slowly opening them into a "V" as she watches him. Slowly lowering her legs halfway, her toes point at him, long, pale limbs pausing to show him all that is his, her eyes imploring him to use his property as she strains against the imaginary chains. ~*~ The light sheen of sweat on her body only serves to ease the passage of her hands that slip so easily against the exposed flesh of her inner thighs. Lowering her legs to the tiles, her feet anchor beneath her to raise her hips once more in a blatant invitation to him, her cheeks red with the shame of her need, unable to control her hunger for him. ~*~ Her eyes close as she writhes beneath his gaze, her mind filling with thoughts of him - his fingers on her neck, the warmth of his breath to her most intimate flesh, the musky taste of him filling her mouth. Her fists suddenly fly in a fever of lust, jerking helplessly, hopelessly on the unyielding links that hold her in place. ~*~ With one last moan of surrender, she twists in her passion, aching to fling herself at his feet, her readiness to please him evident in her gaze, her movements, in the very scent that permeates the air surrounding her. ~*~ Reaching out to him, she struggles against unyielding chains that hold her back, soft whimpers calling to him as her voice strains to speak, her arousal lowering her utterance to a throaty, animalistic growl of desire, oblivious to any who may hear her, only desperate for him, her shame having left... "Master, creaah begs you to use that which is yours. She begs to be filled with you, to touch you, to taste you, to be used thoroughly until you are satisfied. Please Master! Please fill creaah with your pleasure, she begs you!"

Veil Dance---------------------------------------------- At a languid gesture from Ibn Saran, Alyena lifted herself from the scarlet tiles, gracefully turning from her side to her knees, and then, head back, hair to the floor, slowly, inch by melodic protesting inch, arms before her body, lifted herself to a kneeling position, erect, the last bit of her to rise being her head, with a swirl of her blond, loose hair. Then, looking to Ibn Saran, suddenly she bent forward, as though impulsively, as though she could not help herself, and, hands on the tiles, head down, kissed the tiles at his feet, before his slippers. She looked up at him. I gathered she wanted to be bought by him. He was her "rich man." He lifted his finger for her to rise. Her right leg thrust forth, brazenly, and then, from her kneeling position, slowly, hands above her head, moving, high, she rose swaying to her feet. 'May I strip your slave?' inquired Ibn Saran. 'Of course,' I said. He nodded to the girl. To the music she unhooked her slave halter of yellow silk and, as though contemptuously, discarded it. I saw she was excited to see his interest in her. Only too obviously was she interested in him making a purchase of her. The churning of milk and the pounding of grain were not for lovely Alyena. That was for ugly girls and free women. She was too desirable, too beautiful, to be set to such labors… …Alyena, now, slowly, disengaged the dancing silk from her hips, yet held it, moving it on and about her body, by her hands, taunting the reclining, languid, heavy-lidded Ibn Saran, to whom she knew, at his slightest gesture, she must bare herself. He regarded her veil work; she was skillful; he was a connoisseur of slave girls… …At a signal from Ibn Saran, Alyena drew the veil about her body, and around it, and, with one small hand, threw it aside. She stood boldly before him, arms lifted, head to the side, right leg flexed. The veil, floating, wafted away, a dozen feet from her, and gently, ever so gently, settled to the tiles. Then, to the new melodic line, she danced… … Alyena now to a swirl of music spun before us, swept helpless with it, bangles clashing, to its climax. Then she stopped, marvelously, motionlessly, as the music was silent, her head back, her arms high, her body covered with sweat, and then, to the last swirl of the barbaric melody, fell to the floor at the feet of Ibn Saran. I noted the light hair on her forearms. She gasped for breath. Tribesmen of Gor, Page 104 A Veil Dance By: roxanne_BH Property of Jarl Bjorn Horthgar ~*~ With a wisp of wind following closely at her heels, she enters the tavern, arms laden with a package of some sort she backs rear to the door closing it with a swoooosh…she sinks to the tiles, placing the package before her, hands slowly sliding it forward along the floor in front of her as her voice lifts softly “May echoe have permission to approach please, Master?” ~*~ Permission granted she speaks again, “echoe thanks you, Master”, she rises elegantly, package in tow, warm hazel eyes falling to the one she approaches, she crosses the span of the room, gaze never leaving his strong frame, stopping just shy of his furs she lowers to a kneel respectfully, setting the package before her on the ground she slides thighs widely for his pleasure ~*~ Belly tucked, back arched, and chin lifted proudly to display tavern collar, she speaks in a sultry voice, “this slut offers you the warmest of greetings and asks if she may offer a dance for your pleasure?” ~*~ Soft pink lips curl into a smile of delight as his words grant her the permission she seeks, she rocks forward lifting sweet slave ass from tucked heels as ripe breasts brush across the brown papered package, palms placed upon the floor for balance as rear rises into the air, presenting ass cheeks for his perusal as moist lips fall to his boot in thanks ~*~ She slides back from him, hand snatching the package protectively and holding it to breasts, playful hazel eyes peeking up through long lashes as a seductive smile plays across lush lips, she gazes into his eyes for an ihn, allowing him to look into her soul, to see her desire to please emblazoned across it, before lowering her gaze once again to the floor, rising and making her way to the back of the tavern ~*~ Lowering to knees, she takes the plain brown package onto her lap, agile fingers untie the binding and slowly unfold the wrapping, a glorious smile dances across her succulent lips as eyes sparkle taking in the contents of the package…her hands run delicately over and through layers of brightly colored, diaphanous silk scarves taking one at a time and positioning them on her nude form ~*~ Ivory flesh hidden from sight, she finishes with a translucent face veil that barely disguises lovely features, she walks proudly, silk scarves billowing as she makes her way to the center of the room, hazel eyes seductively peering over silk veil as slender arms elevate above her, bent slightly at the elbows and meeting with the crossing of wrists… ~*~ She raises her right foot to toe point and turns a lean leg outwards, silk parting to expose a shapely bare calf, supple breasts rise and fall against thin material as the pace of her breathing quickens in anticipation of the dance, a sudden rush of adrenaline coursing through her….she waits ~*~ The light, airy song of a flute fills the tavern as she begins to dance shyly, her movements slight, seemingly unsure of herself, a warm pink blush painting porcelain cheeks beneath her veil, hands moving timidly as hips barely sway, the strumming of a kalika blends with the high notes of the flute, she becomes a bit more bold, hoping to be found pleasing she tries to draw the attention of the patrons ~*~ Hesitantly…a hand removes the scarf from one hip, pale skin exposed, glowing in the soft lamp lights, her dance remaining restricted to the safety of a small phantom circle, daring not to break free of its protective ring…the music picks up with the joining of a kaska, its beats strong and steady matching those of her slave heart ~*~ A bit more daring, the scarf on her other hip pulls free, the sweet swell of hips revealed to their gazes…running hands up along naked flesh, over soft curves of bare hips, a fire beginning to smolder in her belly, the need for their eyes on her flesh growing, there is a definite tease to the movements of her hips, her confidence building she breaks through the seal of the circle and ventures out ~*~ She becomes sensual, erotic, as her desire to please surges, she weaves through the furs, moving before the men, reaching arms out pleadingly, begging for their touch before pulling back out of reach…eyes tease and taunt as she come out of her shell, a hand moving up her stomach trickling over the silk restricting her breasts, she loosens and drags it over rip mounds, revealing pert nipples aching for the feel of their lips upon them, scarf lifts, fingers releasing as it wafts downwards ~*~ The pace of the dance quickens, music strong, the THUMP...THUMP of the drums drowning out the melodious sounds of the other instruments, no longer insecure, she embraces her sexuality, moving wildly body twisting, turning, bending beneath the strength of her need, golden locks flying from shoulders, feet crossing again and again as she spins, scarves covering moistened slave heat and ass cheeks melt to her body, hugging her as she twirls to the music ~*~ Her feet and the music stop abruptly, hand moving in a blur as they tear scarves from heated flesh, a light sheen of perspiration glistening on her skin as she holds them out to her sides, a hint of mischief flashing in her eyes as hands release them and her body drops suddenly to the floor, her body heaving with her labored breathing….there is silence as the music pauses… ~*~ Haunting music begins again as shoulders sway one and then the other lifting upwards seductively, the dance giving birth to the sexual creature within, her hands slide across her body, lacing through the scarf around her waist, slipping it off as she trails it along burning flesh, traveling up through parted thighs brushing past aroused heat, hips rising slightly from its soft caress, a deep moan dripping from lush lips ~*~ Silk continues up between the valley of breasts lightly kissing caramel nipples hardened in excitement sending a shiver racing over her skin as back arches and upper body bends backwards lifting breasts to the vaulted ceiling as she submits to her desires…the scarf pulls taut between hands above her head, collar around pale throat exposed as head lowers back, waves of sunkissed locks tumbling back ~*~ Arms sway moving silk material back and forth, her body beginning to writhe upon the floor, shoulders twisting, arms crossing and muscles flexing as she rolls to fiery belly, the music reaches a crescendo, her need climaxing in time to the beat, she leaps to her feet, the dance…primal, her need…instinct, she rakes the scarf across her flesh dragging it over aching breasts that crave to be tasted, eyes hungry with lust, she scornfully discards the light fabric ~*~ Her eyes find him, she dances passionately, naked slave flesh rippling in the firelight as she moves towards him, hips swaying as she positions herself behind him, firm breasts pressing to his back as hands reach down, nails digging into his tunic dragging up his chest…she growls softly in his ear… ~*~ Bare feet glide bringing her back before him as hands fall to his thighs, balancing herself, knees bending as full hips rock back and forth rhythmically lowering her body to the ground thighs parting with her movements before pulling herself back up, feet lift from the cool tiles as she straddles him, body thrust against him in hunger, the slut released completely from her cocoon ~*~ She arches her back running hands across supple breasts fingers pinching hard nipples harshly as head tips back, her cry bringing the music to a deafening halt…head whipping forward as steamy eyes look to him…she strips the veil savagely from her face, tearing away the last trace of inhibition and passionately kisses him as her Veil Dance comes to an end Dance of Seven Veils By: adriana_SLI Property of the Snow Larl Inn ~gliding across the inn, she stops as she reaches the sandpit...delicate feet sink into soft and giving sand as she enters...a faint blush rising over porcelain features betrays her nervousness...the desire deep within her to please propels her forward...she stops, veils of green...blues...and purples dance over her naked form lightly...concealing and accentuating...tipping her head forward she waits for the music to begin... ~the music begins...tipping her head back emerald eyes close...parting full scarlet lips she slowly begins to sway full sensual hips...coaxing the music to enter her...to move her...slender arms raise...she turns...a smile washing over stern features...the music taking her...she rolls ivory shoulders against pulsating hips... ~her small frame spins...a tangle of yellow curls dance around her...veils lifting around her as flames to a candle igniting her movements...she twirls faster...full round hips thrust outward...slender fingers grasping sinewy green, coaxing the material...she frees the veil...tossing it to the ground...her belly exposed...writhing....constricting and relaxing... ~nimble fingers flutter to a narrow waist...to hips...pulling veils from her full hips she tosses them to the sand...creamy white skin exposed...green eyes sparkle in delight at her freedom...tossing her head back a gentle laugh escapes her lips...her body lowers...hands roaming velvet soft skin...kneading a trail up quivering thighs...she shudders...her form thrashing against the touch of her own hand... ~dew kissed eyes search out to all who watch, her need visible…piteously begging to be seen she strips the veil from her face...a wonton smile lighting dark features...she gyrates...her hips dancing faster...a blur of flesh and color...as three remaining veils dance over her frame... ~weaving from heated sand to cool tile...pounding feet keep time to the music of her heart...she stops...hips thrusting with sinful intent towards him, her Master, draping filmy blue over Him...she spins wildly away from Him...her exposed ass bouncing seductively away...slender arms wrap about her form...and then free it... ~deep soulful music washes over her...grasping the two remaining veils...desperate to be free of them...breasts suddenly exposed grow full...heavy...aroused...tawny nipples cringing at the cold air...she slips tantalizingly around the room...offering herself brazenly to all...fully exposed...tender feet dance the joy her heart feels...she dances her freedom...wildly embracing all that she is... ~thrashing through the room...her body in perfect harmony to the beat of her heart...her hips moving frantically...green eyes dance...sweat glistens off naked flesh...her breath comes faster...she spins back to the sand...thrusting her torso over thighs spread painfully wide...she lowers to nadu...the music stops...she presses heaving breasts to the warm sand as silence surrounds her...her dance of 7 veils complete.

Whip Dance---------------------------------------------- A new dancer came forth upon the floor and began, a tall brute near her with the leather, to perform a whip dance... ...In the whip dance, though there are various versions of it, depending on the locality, the girl is almost never struck with the whip, unless, of course, she does not perform well. When the whip is cracked, however, the girl will commonly react as though she has been struck. this, conjoined with the music, and her beauty, and the obvious symbolism of her beauty beneath total male discipline, can be extremely, powerfully erotic. In an elegant, civilized context, one of beauty and music, it makes clear and bespeaks the raw and essential primitives of the ancient, genetic, biological sexual relationship of men and women.... The whip dance continued before us.. The whip dance was now approaching its climax... I turned my attention to the dancer on the floor. She lay now on her back, one knee lifted, her arms at her sides, palms down, before the brute with his whip, who towered over her. Her head, too, was turned to the side. Then she turned her head to face the brute who tyrannized her. She looked deeply into his eyes. then, delicately, in a graceful gesture, she turned her hands, putting their backs to the floor, exposing her palms, and the soft flesh of her palms, to him, indicating her surrender, her submission, her vulnerability and her readiness. There was applause, the striking of the left shoulder, from the tables. The brute then crouched beside her and encircled her neck with the coils of his whip. He drew her to her knees then before him. She looked up at him, her neck in the whip coils, his. There was more applause. Then the brute looked to Policrates, who indicated a table. He then pulled the girl to her feet and, running her over the tiles, and then releasing the coils from her neck, threw her stumbling into the arms of waiting pirates who, with a cry of pleasure, sized her and began to work their lusty wills upon her. There was more applause, and laughter. Rogue of Gor, Page 191 I watched the dancing girl of Port Kar writhing on the square of sand between the tables, under the whips of masters, in a Paga tavern in Port Kar… …It is called the Whip Dance, the dance the girl upon the sand danced. She wore a delicate vest and belt of chains and jewels, with shimmering metal droplets attached. And she wore ankle rings, and linked slave bracelets, again with shimmering droplets pendent upon them; and a locked collar, matching. She danced under ships' lanterns, hanging from the ceiling of the paga tavern, it located near the wharves bounding the great arsenal. I heard the snapping of the whips, her cries. The dancing girls of Port Kar are said to be the best of all Gor. They are sought eagerly in the many cities of the planet. They are slave to the core, vicious, treacherous, cunning, seductive, sensuous, dangerous, desirable, excruciatingly desirable. Raiders of Gor, Page 100 A Whip Dance By: ayannna ~wincing as the heavy weight of the kurt is laid upon her neck........the black leather pressing against her her hair and collar, the handle resting upon her right shoulder.......the blades falling down her left, brushing almost tenderly upon the pale flesh of her breast......unbidden dark cherries bud, and ripen, under the leathers kiss..... ~the music is wild and frantic as the slave whose heart rests under the discipline of the whip....... runs to the pit, and kneels.......throwing herself forward upon the sand, her hands crossed before her chest..the position of discipline..... the position of one who has been displeasing........a wailing of flutes as she trembles ...the echo of a girls cries under the blades..... the memory of his hand drawing down her back......still burning upon her ~she raises her head....and looks to him.....finds his gaze hard.......unfaltering......she awaits.....the music silences...her ears strain to hear the crunch of his boots upon the sand.........she sees him rise, her head lowers.........he approaches......she tenses........aprehension and fear displayed in the jerkiness of her movements as she tries to still the trembling that has over taken her......the cold chill that seeps into her very bones.......... ~he stops beside her.........reaches down.....tenderly pulls back a few strands of red hair that cling to her back.....covered lightly with sweat......she jerks at his touch....and silver tears streak down her face..acknowledging her failure.........he reaches down, and draws the whip from her shoulders......the weight lifted from her body, but not from her soul.........and draws the blades along the flesh of her back......a whimper escapes her....as she awaits punishment....... ~she hears him step back from her the harsh crunching of sand beneath his boots.......feels his eyes upon her.....the soft kiss of the leather as it dangles lightly upon her back.......feels it leave her skin, and with sudden clarity....prepares herself for it's assault ..........swiftly drawing in a breath, tucking herself down tighter........~*~CRACK~*~ ........the whip explodes above her....she cries out........but no marks lay upon ivory skin..... ~~*~CRACK~*~ once more by her ear.......she wills herself to silence........but cannot stay the strangled cry that erupts from her throat........."Rise," he commands........she raises upwards to kneel.......confusion upon her face......trying to please.....she widens her thighs.........her body's betrayel, glistening within the torchlight.....the musky scent of arousal, her breasts ripe for touch, lips soft......slightly swollen from where she has bitten them.......dark eyes, lowered to the floor....... ~with disdain upon his face......he tosses the whip angrily to the ground before her......she flinches as the leather snakes out.......flicking the inside of her thighs......leaving a soft red mark........forcefully taking her chin in his hand......he turns her face upwards to him........promise in his voice, as he commands softly "Dance, slavegirl....." turning on his heel, he strides from the pit.......with a last meaningful look to the whip.....before settling upon the furs, his eyes smoldering as they look upon her ~with a trembling hand she reaches out........casting a glance to him from beneath her hair, as she takes the whip within it.....a shudder rocking through her, knowing that she may be punished for touching it......and draws it upward along her body.......the leather dances and plays along her belly, the five blades nearly covering it, with their raw power.......she draws the handle behind her neck......and drops it, a girl once more under the blades of discipline.... ~she crawls to him.......auburn locks thrown forward...........and stops a few feet from Him.....raising herself upon her knees......her hands out in entreaty, she dances the slow seductive dance of a slave for her Master....her hands drawing up from the flat expanse of her belly to cup her breasts........rolling the tips of them within her fingers.....pinching lightly....lifting them upwards in offering.......moaning as they ripen and ache from her touch ~her hands release her breasts....flowing to the steel of his ownership at her throat, she tilts her head to the side, as she draws her hands upwards through her hair..........baring her neck of it's weight.....clearly showing his steel upon her neck.........over her collar bone to rest upon the handle of the whip.....she brings it to her lips.........gliding them over the supple leather........the salt of his sweat upon the handle.......and kisses it, a slave's kiss of passion and desire.......before drawing it from her shoulders ~anger flashes in her eyes........as she stands........cool and haughty............a smile of triumph upon her lips.......as she draws the blades through her hand.........swinging the blades hard out..........and throws them over her back.......~*~CRACK~*~ five stripes appear.....burning into her skin.....her head is thrown back......lips open in a scream of pain........pleasure........fire white and hot......streaks through her.......as she raises the whip again..... ~~*~CRACK~*~ CRACK~*~CRACK~*~ red heat on ivory skin.......stripes appear randomly upon her hips.......her thighs........her belly........she falls to the sand........her body dripping with sweat........racked by pain.......that heightens her pleasure.......as she tilts her head back.......eyes closed......and draws the whip upwards.........dangling the blades before her face......and kisses the blades..........lowers them along her body.......and presses her lips fervently to the blade......the kiss of a girl who has felt the whip.......fears the power of discipline it holds for her, yet longs for it........ ~she crawls to him.......the whip balanced upon her hands........lowers herself in obiesance before him.......her cheek pressed to the ground at the edge of his furs........and offers the whip to him upon her outstretched hands.........