Birds of a Feather: Chapter 5
By Theodoric of York and Wardall Clark.
Warning: NO PORTION of this work may be REPRODUCED FOR SALE for any purpose. DC Comics retains full copyright to Superman, Wonder woman and the other characters mentioned here and John Norman retains full copyright to the planet and society of Gor. Birds of a Feather contains explicit sex and violence**, including scenes of rape and torture. This story is not for anyone under the age of consent** in their jurisdiction to read such sexually explicit material. Authors Notes: This is the conclusion of an ongoing series melding John Norman's World of Gor with DC Comics heroes and heroines. At the end of Chapter Seven is a thorough glossary of terms, places and recurring characters. If you find yourself completely baffled by Gorean customs, terms, or politics you should try reading the series in order: (1) A Cat and a Fiddle [by Theodoric of York], (1a) The Cat and the Shackles. (1b) Under the Shadow of the Bat (2) Diana and the Ubar (3) The Princess and the Mercenary [all by Wardall Clark.] In these earlier works Catwoman, Batgirl, Supergirl, Wonder Woman, and Wonder Girl fall prey to Kurri interplanetary slavers. Selina Kyle escaped to become a legendary Gorean outlaw until Batman came to Gor to re-enslave her. Barbara Gordon wound up as Scully, the abject slave of Mulkar, an agent of the Priest Kings. Kara Zor-El endured years of traumatizing captivity before Batman and Selina freed her. Princess Diana escaped from degrading slavery to a power-mad Ubar only to be recaptured and brought to the Sardar where her memories were altered in a failed effort to make her a docile slave. She escaped by killing her lover/jailor and was at large when Birds of a Feather began. Troia wound up in the hands of the Ubar from whom Diana escaped and was tortured for her sister's crimes.
Lois Lane and photographer Morgan Croft fell into a trap and were raped, and kidnapped by Gorean interplanetary slavers along with a runaway nicknamed Pikachu. Supergirl had fallen prey to a Gorean slaver in the opening scene of Diana and the Ubar. After Batman rescued her she was admitted to Arkham Asylum for treatment. When Batman and Superman visit Supergirl to arrange for her release, they quarrel about the practice of slavery and Lois' prospects of resisting being broken into a submissive as Supergirl was. Meanwhile, Diana has taken up with a Gorean warrior from Tyros in hopes of rescuing her sister from the clutches of Gor's most sadistic ruler, Lurius of Jad, the Ubar of the Empire of Cos. Supergirl submitted herself as a slave to Superman who is brought to Gor by the Priest Kings' agent Mulkar to rescue Lois and Wonder Woman.
Chapter Five: SLAVE GIRLS JUST WANNA' HAVE FUN
The pair of them looked at the sign. Kara whispered, "Master, are you sure you can't read Gorean?" He answered, "Not a word. A fine pair of scribes we turned out to be." Kara said, "We're in trouble." Superman crossed his arms, and pondered what to do next. "I must admit that this does create unanticipated difficulties."
Lois lay on the bed, next to Arbus, while Eta massaged a healing cream onto her back; she had already used copious amounts of the liquid on Arbus. Even as Eta worked, the burning pain in Lois' back and butt cheeks was lessening. Eta said something to Lois that she did not quite understand. Arbus translated Eta's Gorean into English:
"You're lucky you are not marked. Had you waited to cry out any longer you would have been. She also says that you were foolish not to have cried out on the first touch of the whip. What is the use of having pain if you ignore it? Pain is there for a reason; it tells you something is wrong and you should do something to stop it."
Lois looked at both of them in fury, but held her tongue.
"Do not worry. You are permitted to speak. No more harm will come to you in speaking your native language."
"Why such generosity?" Lois growled. He answered, "Because I forgot that you are a free woman in a slave girl's body. I have legal papers declaring you my slave and you are marked as a kajira, yet for now you still believe yourself to be free. So for the time being I will allow you to speak your language, but only in the privacy of my bed. You are smart. You will learn your new tongue fast enough." Lois hissed, "If I speak my old tongue, I will be beaten?" Arbus answered, "No, at this point in your training more beatings would be counterproductive. You are the type of woman for whom a beating only makes your will stronger. I dare say, should I give you the lash you might pass out before you screamed. None of us would want that. No, you will instead simply be gagged while in the presence of others until I lift the ban on speaking other tongues." She demanded, "Why are you treating me like this? I am older, and not especially beautiful. Why are you giving me such individual attention?"
He gave the matter a little thought before responding to her question:
"Because you are special; from the start I realized you were different. You already show many of the skills and attributes of a seasoned pleasure slave even though you have so recently been branded. That by itself is not terribly unusual, but you also do not fit the template for barbarian slaves I receive to train here. You are significantly older and were married. As a result, my slave Lois is a stubborn beast that will resist her slave fires with great tenacity.
If her master was not an experienced trainer such as I am, her resistance might have succeeded already. Most Gorean masters would have slit your throat by now and dropped your body in a canal to let vermin feast.
When I first examined you, I wondered why you were even here. You did not seem a logical prospect for enslavement. Certainly the slavers could have found a more suitable candidate to fill your slot. Then I heard Pikachu's story and it all made sense. You were not brought here to be a slave girl. Why you were brought here I may never learn. In the end, though, the reason may not make a difference for either of us." Lois asked, "What do you plan to do with me?" He answered, "I and my house will turn you into an acceptable kajira; It is our profession. You are a spirited, noble, and tenacious beast. Yet in the end we will succeed, just as we always do. We will simply give you no other survival option than total and abject acceptance of your enslavement. There is great potential inside of you. Once that potential is realized you will be a slave fit for an Ubar."
He paused and then continued.
I know what you are, Lois. I know that better than you know yourself. Earlier, I knew you would resist the whipping and that in the end you would fail. It was a good object lesson for the other girls. Now they think, 'If stubborn Lois can be broken what chance do I have?' Of course, they will eventually learn that you are not yet broken. That is why you will not be given another opportunity to be whipped, at least not in public. My next step is to convince you by demonstration after demonstration that I can and will do anything I want with you, anything. As this happens you will have to wonder 'Is my reaction what my master wants me to do?' before you take any type of action.
For instance, right now I am going to butt fuck you. No matter what you do, you will not know if that was the response I wanted from you. You cannot know from your experience whether what you are doing helps you to resist your demise as a free woman or hastens it, but I will know. Furthermore, whatever your reaction is, it will tell me more about your thought patterns. Thus, in the end, you defeat yourself. No matter what you do, it is just a step toward full submission to a master.
Lois was caught in a moment of indecision as to what to do. In that moment Arbus leapt up behind her and his strong hands grabbed her by the thighs. Still frozen in indecision, Lois felt herself being dragged back along the satin-like sheets. Too late, Lois realized that she was going to be man-handled and butt-fucked and there was nothing she would be able to do to stop this powerful man from doing just what he intended to do with her body.
Her confused mind registered and recorded the flashes of sheer delight which her nipples were sending as their turgid forms slid along the sheet. Suddenly she felt a glob of the cold, creamy substance that had been rubbed on her back. It began to seep into her butt hole. Arbus told her "It will dull the pain you will feel and help to repair any damage caused to your rectal channel caused by this penetration. Now say 'Thank you!'" Again Lois found herself in a state of indecision, thinking "What should I do? What is he expecting me to do?" Suddenly he let go of her leg and pressed his cock against her asshole. He began to ease his way into her back shaft. Utilizing two hundred years of erotic experience with women's bodies, Arbus' expert strong fingers began exploring her erogenous zones. Lois quickly began to pant heavily as he continued to slide deeper into her expanding chamber. Her panicked mind did not know what to do*. "Should I resist, although it is clearly too late to do much about my fate? Should I acquiesce passively? Should I openly aide in my ravishment? In least that way I would have some control over my fate, wouldn't I?"* Slowly her voice croaked out, "Thank you!" as she thrust herself back onto his cock. Somehow those words seemed to strengthen her. It gave her purpose. She was at least doing what she wanted to do. She wanted that big rod exploring her ass. She wanted his fingers playing with her willing body. She wanted to maximize her pleasure*. "If that means maximizing my partner's then so be it. Sex is a symbiotic relationship, isn't it? It certainly was with Clark. This man is going to have his way with me, no matter what. Why shouldn't I have my way with him?"*
Arbus began to thrust in and out of his partner. She happily rolled her body and twisted her anal muscles to maximize his pleasure. Arbus marveled how this thirty-something free woman could prove to be such an adept pleasure slave. At last they both cried out in mutual organism.
"Next time we will do it without the cream! You will learn to love it just as much!"
"Yes Master!" answered his partner just as a tear rolled down her cheek. She wondered where her husband was. For the first time she wondered it might be better if he never showed up.
Superman looked around the crowded, bustling square. It was reminiscent of familiar Third World scenes, yet it was different. Even in the most rural communities of Earth you could find some random elements of technology. Here he saw nothing. It was if he had stepped into a medieval street scene with a distinctly Arabic flair. Here and there veiled free women stood clad in their oppressive robes of concealment. Once in a while, there would be a gay laughing slave girl going about her appointed tasks. Some children ran about playing, but Superman was surprised how few there were.
Each child seemed to be the son or daughter of the community. Everyone seemed to take particular pride and joy in their presence. Superman reasoned that, of course it had to be this way. In this caste-stratified society, where people lived hundreds of years, they could plan to have at most a few children in their extended lifetimes. Any more would mean a disaster to their city economy, and eventually to the ecosystem of Gor. Without the perfect birth control wine, the population crunch would become devastating.
Since setting out from the foothills of the Thentis Mountains, he and Kara had been on the road a few days. As was true this day, nobody much noticed the scribe and his slave girl. They had been able to join a caravan, which everybody assured him was much safer for a man and his kajira on foot.
From time to time he and Kara would discuss the unexpected situation that their lack of language skills had thrust themselves in. Superman assured his slave--(he quickly had begun to think of her that way)--that there was not much to worry about. He had remembered a story about illiterate people and the ingenious ways they would use to hide their disability. Some people actually reached some level of authority without being found out. They would not be on Gor very long, they could fake it for the time being.
Kara agreed that it was not much of a problem, but for different reasons. She reasoned that it would be easy to acquire a scribe. Her Master deferred, pointing out that to hire a scribe would be expensive and dangerous. The risk would be too great that the true scribe would blab. Kara assured him that she was not talking about hiring a scribe. Again he set the idea aside, the suspicions that would arise if a scribe and his slave attempted to kidnap and enslave another scribe would cause real problems.
Of course, Kara knew the real reason why her Master had vetoed her suggestion about acquiring another slave. Superman was still uncomfortable with slavery. Clark had acquiesced to Kara's condition; it suited her in some visceral way. She had never before seemed so relaxed and happy, so free with her femininity. To treat her as other than his slave on this world would seem somehow obscene. Instead, he gave her orders and accepted most postures of submission, respect and affection for her Master. In the process he could not but become aware of just how luscious and desirable a woman his cousin was. He could not but realize that while on Gor for the next few months he would literally own those soft smiling lips, those shapely twisting hips, and those bounteous high breasts.
Yet Clark of Kent did not use his blonde slave. He had not done so since the first night that she submitted to him. For her part, Kara seemed satisfied for the time being just to cuddle with him when they slept. In the process Superman was learning desire for the touch of Supergirl's soft skin and longing for the rhythm of her breasts pressing against him as she breathed. Part of him realized that it was only a matter of time before he fully succumbed to her charms and made full use of her super-tight orifices. But for now he was choosing to defer those pleasures.
Kara was not worried. She knew she soon would become his full slave in body as well as name. In the meantime, she had laundry to do.
Superman watched his slave. She was putting on quite a show. True, she was scrubbing the soiled tunics and breaches; it was how she was scrubbing them. She was being deliberately provocative in her movements. He found he relished watching the bounce of her nipples and ass cheeks, clearly visible against the press of the tight, wet tunic against her body. He realized that there was some truth in the Gorean saying that a slave girl was often more naked clothed than she was nude. He could also see the predator's gleam in her eye. She was a woman in heat and she was on the prowl. He realized that it would probably be this evening.
But this day Kara's prey was not Superman. He had had his chance. This day it was a beautiful scribe by the name of Lady Justina. Lady Justina was attempting to concentrate on her work, but there was such a lovely blonde slave slut scrubbing those tunics beside the stream. Lady Justina had met them earlier. The slave had seemed an enchanting thing even then. Her Master was not bad either.
At age 23, Lady Justina had limited experience with men. She liked them and all that, but she had never found one that she would want as her Free Companion. Some matches had been arranged for her but she had turned them down. The man she would spend years with had to be special.
This Clark of Kent was special. He was tall and muscularly built, a rarity among the Caste of Scribes. Such things were not important, but did not hurt either. Also, Clark seemed to have a special quality about him. There had been some Urt Girls begging in an alleyway. He walked over to a nearby lamia tree. There was still some fruit on it, but only on the higher branches. He climbed up and threw down the fruit to the girls. He could have ordered his kajira to do it for him, the girl was certainly utterly in love with him, but he had done it himself.
But what most struck her about the oddly-noble Clark of Kent was the fool's errand he had set himself on. He was searching for a lost free companion, yet he had no idea where she was. All he had were some incredibly well-drawn sketches of this Lois. She knew, and he must as well, that his mission was near impossible, that it was the stuff of romantic plays and poems. The romantic part of Lady Justina even considered dropping everything and joining Clark in his search. Then she would be there and would have proven herself in his eyes to be a worthy replacement for his Lois. "But that outcome was also the stuff of romantic drivel," Lady Justina decided, "no matter how much I do enjoy such stories and songs."**
Yet there might be some way she could help the man and his slave. They did not seem to have much in the way of funds. Justina originally had suggested that she might purchase Kara. She had assured him that she would be a good mistress to Kara, but had been rebuffed. Now she realized that she did have a lot of laundry to be done. Certainly Kara could earn her master a few copper coins and Lady Justina would be allowed to watch that deliciously intoxicating slave continue her sensuous efforts at cleaning clothing.
She would broach the idea to this Clark of Kent about the idea this afternoon. She had already made arrangements for him to talk to a slaver friend of hers. If anybody could help Clark to find his lost love it would be a slaver. It so happened that Justina's closest friend was a slaver. Lady Monica had more practical attitudes to romance than Justina, or at least so she claimed.
* * * *
Diana surreptitiously slipped the yellow noose over her Master's shoulders. Firnax was an honest and decent man, as well as an exiting lover, but he was not the right master for her. Though he used her with a thrilling combination of tenderness and ruthlessness she did not achieve full slave orgasm for him. Just as importantly, when not making love to her, Firnax tended to regard her as no more intelligent or articulate than a trained Ape.
In addition, he saw her not as his newest personal slave but as a prize to be presented to his Ubar for sentencing. Although the likely sentence was simply state slavery to the Ubarate of Tyros, she could not chance judgment by Chenbar of Kasra, the Sea Sleen of Tyros. Every day she had more and more nightmares about her sister's treatment in Cos.
Amazon's have a telepathic link of sorts. She had even found that she shared thoughts with Jaros of Tharna, who had been a cousin of sorts. Now something had happened to disrupt the link with Troia. It seemed to function only when she and Diana were both dreaming. The nightmares they had shared left her shivering come morning. The erotic dreams left her hungering for a man in a blue costume with a red cape. Now that her wrist bracelets were permanently fused together behind her back the former Donna Troy was now the abject slave of every man who used her. Diana was still looking for a man whose body and will were stronger than her own.
Firnax was an ancient and exceptional warrior, but he was a servant rather than a ruler. Diana could not remember being a princess, but she had the pride of a ruler. Only a man who picked his own path would be right for her. Only to such a man could be give a slave's oath and keep both its letter and spirit. It was time to say goodbye.
Awaken" She ordered. Firnax eyes opened. He reached for her only to go stiff when she ordered him to stillness. "It is time for us to say goodbye, Warrior. I have decided not to kill you. But I am going to send you to your Ubar in disgrace. You captured both Verna and the Larl Women but they escaped from you because you did not recognize that they were more intelligent than you. They pilfered a copy of your keys and you never noticed that they use them to make duplicates from the spoons of your table."
Diana spoke for several minutes, planting false memories and erasing true ones. Then she commanded him to sleep and tied his hands and feet with his own binding chord before removing the magic glowing rope and returning it to extra-dimensional storage along with the Girdle of Hera that had enabled her to knock out her guards with a single blow. The girdle was the one that Wonder Women had used on Earth. The lasso was an artifact of the alien race called the Founders. Diana's mother was of that race, as were the patron Goddesses of the Amazons. Hippolyta's patrons had given Diana her original lasso. That Lasso of Truth had been lost to the Kurri agent who sent Diana to Gor to become a slave. This new glowing rope had been stolen from the archives of the Priest Kings of Gor.
The Priest Kings had confiscated it from a male Founder/god. The artifact had been originally designed to assist in creating slaves of men and women of otherwise unshakable wills. Diana had used it to that purpose several times. Three bounty hunters who had tried to collar the Larl Women had been induced by her lasso's coils to declare themselves slaves in front of witnesses.
Now it would serve a different purpose. When the ship set sail for Tyros, every man would believe that she was safely in chains in the hold. Only when they came to take her to the prow for display when their Tarn ship entered the harbor of Kasra would they realize that they had been counting the same slave twice over each feeding time. Thus would the legend of the Larl Woman of Gor add another chapter.
* * * *
Cricket stood as if she were at attention in a military formation. The groom said some sort of Gorean nonsense in a reassuring tone, as if to pacify a skittish animal. It was really all quite silly. She could have easily slipped the harness on herself. On the other hand, she was not one to object to pampering. So she pretended to stare nervously, as if she were a frightened animal ready to bolt.
They petted her and spoke in reassuring tones about how good of a pony kajira she was. She tossed her head and snorted as if she were a thoroughbred horse when they slid the harness on and tightened it. It was her routine, and she worked at improving it each day. 'They want a horse /girl so I give them what they long to see---a steed with sex appeal.' She would whinny nervously. They would adjust the half cups underneath her breasts, "As if I needed that support!" This time they laced her hands into a single glove behind her back. Often they did not bother but this day was something special, she could tell that.
The woman who had once been Morgan Croft had been a pony slave for one hand of days now; never in her life could she remember being worked so hard. She had been given a crash course in what it was like to be a pony slave. In minutes after her branding her arms had been placed in a single glove and she was placed on a small track and forced to travel, hour after hour, in a small circle around and around. A trainer would accompany her, and if during each step she did not thrust her knee up a specific height, then she would receive a swat on her thigh with a switch. Now it was second nature for her to high-step this way. Cricket had already learned how to do it with some sensuous flair, and practiced her technique even when the trainers or grooms were not looking.
They slipped the stiff leather collar around her neck that would hold her head in place, looking forwards. This was not typical garb. Usually they did not brace her head like this. They would let her look any direction she wished. They slipped the bridle over her head and set the bit into her mouth. She felt blinders being placed by her eyes. Now she could only see forwards, only what was directly in front of her. She was now dependent upon whoever held the reins to guide her. Fortunately, Cricket had quickly learned how to take direction from the reins.
Finally, she felt the cold, greased butt-plug pushed into her asshole. She whinnied in discomfort, but they stroked her breasts and flanks to reassure her. They walked her over to a small cart. Soon she was strapped and harnessed in position. Someone climbed into the cart; Cricket could tell because the cart squeaked and suddenly the pull on her tethers changed greatly. Whoever it was, he or she did not weigh much.
Nothing was said; Cricket was only directed by the reins to a larger track. Her heart began to beat faster when she was the track. She was going to be allowed to race. Already there was another Pony slave harnessed up and ready to go.
Lois knelt on a small pedestal, her back to the track. Her head was hooded but she was otherwise naked except for the steel collar that was beyond her power to remove. An unseen master pressed his finger against her carotid artery in the neck to count her pulse. Lois would be serving as the race's timepiece. Because of the blinders Cricket did not know this, of course. Yet it would have delighted Cricket/Morgan to see her former rival reduced to a piece of equipment.
Her opponent held the inside track. That did not matter to Cricket. Her competitive dander was up. She would be leaving this bitch in her dust. She only wished that her hands and neck were free. She knew that she could run even faster with those free.
Suddenly the race was on. Her driver quickly discovered that with this filly she did not have to use the whip. She practically did not have to use the reins. She even tried to slow down Cricket. The race was going to be a long one and the pony slave would tire herself out too quickly at this pace, or so her driver thought. Cricket had quickly cut in front of her opponent and assumed the inside position. Even in her state of bondage, it felt great racing again. Once she had established the lead, Cricket/Morgan broke into a canter-like gate. It was fast, but she would not be pressing herself all the way.
Lap after lap they raced. Cricket's driver kept expecting her filly to tire but she did not. It was her opponent, in a vain attempt to keep up with Cricket, who finally could not take any more. Her driver realized that her pony was near collapse and directed her to the outside of the track so she could cool down at a more relaxed and leisurely pace. That did not matter to Cricket. She was in her element and she could stay here all day at this pace.
Too soon it was over. Cricket was allowed to keep cantering. She seemed happy and the owners were interested in how long this filly could keep up such a speed. But the master counting Lois's pulse stopped bothering. The time trial was over and nobody had to look at the number of beats he had recorded. It was obvious they had a potential champion on their hands.
* * * *
When Justina did broach the idea about Kara doing some laundry Clark of Kent was surprisingly reluctant for his slave to part from him, even temporarily. But Kara assured him that she would be all right and it might be a mistake to bring a slave who was not for sale into a slaver's house.
Lady Monica proved surprisingly sympathetic to Clark's plight. She did not recognize any of the women of his sketches. She tried to warn him that his quest would be quite difficult and if he was not careful he might end up as a slave himself. Yet she also agreed to spend the afternoon with him visiting the various slave houses of the Thentis. Lady Justina excused herself from that tour. She felt queasy being in slavers houses, even her friend's. Since the other slavers were men she felt even more troubled in their establishments.
Upon returning to Clark's tents, Lady Justina was surprised to find Kara weeping into her laundry. During all the time Justina was gone the slave had done nothing about the laundry. When Justina demanded why Kara had not started her work, Kara just wept and begged her apology. She cried, "Oh Mistress, you have no idea how hard it is for me. You have so many beautiful clothes and other possessions. It reminds me of when I was a scribe. Now I have nothing left but My Master." Lady Justina commented, "You could have done worse. You could have gotten, a cruel, or pot-bellied master. You could be any man's slut for the price of a draught of Paga. You seem to love your master very much." "I do!" cried Kara. "I have loved him since I was still a child. When I became his slave it was the happiest day of my life. My Master loves me; I have no doubt, but he has not the love for me that he has for his Free Companion. I have so much love for him but he will not let me express it. I feel so empty and frustrated. He is a good man. Sometimes I think a man can be too good, Mistress."
Lady Justina put her hands on the despondent young slave to comfort her. Kara slipped her arms around Lady Justina and pressed her needful body against the Gorean free lady's. Justina found herself trapped in the embrace of this strangely strong, yet still gentle woman. At first Lady Justina merely attempted to reject the embrace of the young blonde's delectable body but she was becoming intently aware of that heaving bosom and hot crotch that she had been studying so intently earlier that day. Suddenly, Lady Justina was acutely aware that it had been too long since she had visited one of her special friends.
The free woman did not resist as Kara maneuvered her lips underneath Justina's veil. Lady Justina said, "Wait, we must be discrete." But she said no more after that as she felt Kara's tongue invaded her oral cavity. Their lips locked as they struggled to get Lady Justina's robes off her. Justina was aware of ripping sounds as her body was liberated of the heavy, restraining garb. With growing excitement she watched Kara's boobs bounce as the slave girl pulled her tunic over her head. And soon Lady Justina was gasping in pleasure as Kara lowered her head to use her trained and incredibly strong and flexible tongue on Lady Justina's pussy. Lady Justina began to quiver and whimper at the extended assault that her pussy was being subjected to. She gasped, "Please stop. Please! I am losing control." But Kara was relentless; she could feel her prey surrendering to another's control and her own desires. At last Lady Justina could not help herself. She did not care what the consequences were. Her pussy gushing, she began screaming out her pleasure again and again. She didn't hear the first bangs on the door, which soon shattered inwards as a guardsman forced his way in. One called "Lady Justina, are you all…." He stopped in mid-sentence, slack-jawed at the spectacle of feminine lust in front of him.
The guardsman dealt with the stranger cautiously. It was not that he particularly feared the man--this Clark of Kent looked as he might be good in a wrestling or boxing match, but he was of the Scribes and unarmed—it was that the normally friendly and disarming manner of the broad-shouldered dark-haired mane was being extremely tested. It was obvious that this Clark of Kent never had many dealing with slavers and he generally did not think too highly of them.
Of course, he was not alone in that. Generally slavers as a group were looked down upon. There were exceptions, but the guardsman just assumed that it went with the territory. Buying and selling human flesh might be part of life on Gor, but it was common knowledge that that far too many slavers were not particular about where their merchandise came from or how it was acquired. When a man's companion or daughter disappeared it was often assumed that one of the local slavers had something to do with it. All too often, they did.
Many slavers, perhaps most, were relatively honest fellows and would never allow themselves caught in violations of the spirit of the Law of the Home Stone. But that did not stop them from being tarred along with the guilty. Whenever you dealt with a slaver there was always this niggling thought in the back of your mind, "Is he appraising me for a future sale?" The guardsman had said, "Clark of Kent, could you come with me?" "Why?" asked Clark. He answered, "It is nothing important. Could you come with me? Some members of the City council need to talk with you. It is a trivial manner." Clark could tell that the man was nervous from the rate of his heartbeat, but no more. Clark's natural inclination was to follow the dictates of the proper authorities anyway, so he allowed himself to follow this guardsman. But he did ask, "What is this all about?" As they were walking away the guardsman answered in a hushed tone, "Let's not talk about it here. It is a ticklish situation."
Soon Clark found himself in a darkened room. Besides he and the guardsmen, there were five other people in the room. Three were sitting at a table opposite to him. One was a woman, layered in finely tailored robes of concealment of varying shades of blue. The second was a pot-bellied man, also wearing blue. The third man was a handsome fellow wearing the scarlet of the Warriors. Despite that fact, Clark had been informed that he was the richest man in town.
On the floor by the table knelt Kara, nude and cringing in loose slave chains. Lady Justina was beside Kara, She was nude and locked in close shackles. She was weeping in grief, shame, and pain. Superman could see and smell the brand newly burned into her thigh.
"How may I help you?" asked Superman, his voice bracing with anger. The center man replied, asking, "Are you Clark of Kent?" Clark answered cautiously, "Yes." The man continued, "Is this your slave, Kara?" Clark again answered, "Yes!" The man asked, "Did you give permission to your slave, Kara, to lay with the former Lady Justina of the Scribes?" Clark answered, rather testily, "I have given Kara permission to have sex with whomever she wants to." The woman exclaimed, "Oh dear! Lucius, perhaps we acted too precipitously." "We did not! The man on the right snapped at her, "This changes nothing. Even though this Kara might have permission to be used by anybody she wanted the fact remains that Lady Justina did not seek permission of Clark of Kent to use his slave. The statute still applies!" The center man said, "Thesius is right. Unfortunately, the couching law still applies." "What statute is this?" asked Clark. The center male answered kindly, "There is a section of the couching laws which says that if a free woman gives herself to the slave of a free man, she is in effect giving herself to the free man and is thus his property." "Lady Justina offered herself as slave to Kara!" exclaimed Clark aghast. The lady answered, "Not specifically, of course, she was merely found in an extremely compromising position with your slave. Yet that means the couching law applies and she now becomes your slave." "WHAT!" exclaimed Clark. The center male said, "In accordance with the laws of our city, if a free woman takes sexual service from another's slave without the owner's permission, she is taking from the owner rights he has paid for. It is considered a form of theft. In compensation for his loss, he receives the woman in return. "Did the Lady Justina rape Kara?" asked Clark. The center man answered, "No. Both of them testified that it was mutually consensual." Superman asked, "Just as a matter of interest; had Lady Justina been male would he find himself in the same position she finds herself now?" Thesius answered, "I don't understand what you are trying to ask." Lucius answered, "I think he is asking if a male were to use a slave of another male does he become the slave of that male." The man in scarlet bellowed, "Of course not. Whoever heard of anything so absurd?" "Right!" answered the woman, forcing down a chuckle. "Otherwise three-quarters of the men in this town would belong to the other quarter. The owner can only demand as much as the purchase price of the slave, and then only if the slave informed the free man that her use was not free." Clark asked, "Don't you find that just a little bit hypocritical?" "Not at all!" exclaimed Thesius "Such laws help to remind free women of their place, lest they start acting too much like slave sluts." His tone was almost apoplectic. Clark answered sarcastically, "Goodness no, we can't have that. If that happened, why would you need slave girls?" "I have had quite enough of your insolence. I have half a mind to have you whipped." shouted Thesius. The woman soothed her colleague, "I believe this man is foreign to our ways. I think some tolerance must be granted him. The fact remains that the former Lady Justina is now his property to do with as he pleases." "If I refuse to accept her, what then?" asked Clark. The woman answered, "Her family's remaining property has been confiscated. She will be quietly sold to a slaver for the standard price of a state slave. After a brief period of training, she will presumably be shipped out of town for resale somewhere far away. Her slavery would likely be a harsh one; the penalty brand of thief is within her flesh now."
"And If I were to free her?"
Lucius looked Justina over carefully before answering in a professional tone, "Without property or family to take care of her and protect her, she would become like the casteless urt girls. As she is clearly a beautiful and sensuous women she would very soon find herself in the collar again after not too very long. Clark rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger. He asked, "What if I made her my free companion?" There was a stunned silence as everybody in the room stared at Clark. Finally Thesius asked contemptuously, "You would take as free companion a slut who proved herself a slave?! You would make a mockery of the institution! Have you no decency?" Clark tried to respond reasonably and honestly, "I have no objection to a Free Companion that acts like a slave in my furs. I would find that a desirable trait. I do not believe I could have a free companion who acted any other way." The lady asked, "Forgive me, but I was under the understanding that you were searching for your lost free companion. Would you give it up just to save this girl from slavery? Does that quest mean nothing to you now?" Clark answered, "I will continue my quest to reunite with her. I have no doubt my Lois would support my decision to make this poor girl my free companion if that freed Justina from slavery."
"If your new free companion objected to your search for your lost love what would you do then? Would you let your Lois go then?"
"I would search for my Lois!"
The woman continued,
"Then Thesius is right. Lady Justina's free companionship would be false; it would just be a mockery of our customs. Lady Justina would in effect be just your slave under the robes of a free companion. Take my advice: take Justina as the slave she has shown herself destined to be.
You strike me as a good man who would be a good master to an untrained new slave. If you truly love your Lois, as I believe you do, you will mark well my counsel, or else someday Justina will become your free companion and she will tire of your search and you will be forced upon the dilemma as to whether you abandon her, or abandon your Lois. When it came to that moment, do you think you could be happy with either choice?"
Cricket now clearly understood that there were different types of Pony slaves. Some ponygirls were show ponies like the three Urbrinas. They were worked as long as Cricket, but they worked on grace, poise, and sensuality while prancing long distances. The second category consisted of racers like Cricket. Their duty was to run as fast as they could for the enjoyment of their masters and the spectators. Work slaves comprised the final category of pony slaves; brute strength was their forte. They were taught to carry packs and pull carriages in teams. Most probably, none of those beasts would find themselves in a show or competition, but all Pony slaves were taught, as Cricket was being taught, to move with a sexually provocative gate.
Cricket had also quickly learned that sex was very much a part of a Pony slave's life. She could and would be used any time and anywhere. Given the Gorean male's mindset this was understandable. Tarns were much faster, and kaiila and tharlarians could carry more weight, but the special cache of owning a Pony slave was that one's beast of burden or champion steed could also be one's fuck toy. Cricket had set a new goal for herself, she was going to be the finest show pony, champion racer and fuck toy any master could imagine.
She confidently walked back to the track, basking in her new prestige. She looked contemptuously at Lois, the pleasure slave trainee. The former reporter was still kneeling in male-imposed darkness, Aside from her service as an organic timepiece, Lois was otherwise ignored. The former Morgan Craft could feel every eye upon her as she prepared for Cricket's second race. This time she would be racing against a half dozen ponies. It mattered little that she was placed on the outside of the track. She would still leave them all in her dust. Afterwards, she would be well fucked, just like the last time she won. Her loins started to juice at the thought.
The race started just like the last one. She broke out fast, as her driver guided her to the inside of the pack. Soon she had established an undisputed lead. She could hear whips cracking as other fillies strained to catch her. Suddenly, she heard another pony approaching. Cricket was not too worried. This pony was galloping while she was just cantering. It would be a long race, ten laps. This pony would be spent long before that. Cricket decided to play with the filly. As the other pony attempted to pass her she just sped up a little. The pony was breathing heavily just attempting to keep up with Cricket.
Suddenly Cricket felt a leg slip under her ankle; she began to stumble and then fall. She saw the pony slave and curricle shoot in front of her. With her arms bound behind her she could not help but take the full force of her contact with the hard ground with her knees, breasts, and chin. Dazed and hurting, she lay there wondering what she should do next. But the stinging pain of a strike of the whip from her driver left her no doubt of what was expected of her. The race was not over and she should continue to run to win!
Other ponies passed her by as she painfully stood up. She forced the pain of her scuffed knees and body from her mind as she forced her legs to stretch out. Sheer anger began force her forward. All her pent-up frustration was unleashed. She would show the ponies what it was like to race against a true champion. She began to press each foot forwards faster and faster, as if she was trying for Olympic gold. She began to pass the ponies again. Some of the other drivers began to whip at her but she was a pony possessed.
Suddenly her driver was not trying to direct Cricket. She realized that Cricket could better run this race without her help. Instead she used her whip to strike at the other drivers as they attempted to strike at Cricket. She made no effort to trip her competition. There was no need to. Their pathetic efforts to match her stride were laughable. By the tenth lap she had passed every one of them. She was breathing heavily. It did not matter. She had won the race of her life and she had crushed her opponents. She was allowed to walk a couple of laps to cool down.
Then she was allowed to fall to her haunches as Eta was brought over to attend to her scrapes. From Eta's gentle smile Cricket understood that her wounds would heal quickly. The blinders, bit, bridle were taken off. There would be no more racing this day. Her arms were released as she whinnied triumphantly. But the champion was not through yet. She proudly walked over to Lois, attempting to imitate the finest show pony. She knelt down beside Lois and whinnied her sexual need.
Cricket was rewarded for her efforts right on the spot. She knelt down and raised her haunches and thick male spear slid into her sopping tunnel. There was a tug on her hair and soon Cricket felt cocks sliding into both mouth and cunt. The full reality of her new situation had became clear; lots of sex, racing where dirty tricks were allowed, and Lois reduced to a timepiece. Morgan/Cricket was temporarily in heaven.
The male keeping track of Lois's pulse noted that it had started to pick up. He could hear her whimpering under the hood. Good, her master wanted the woman so starved for sexual pleasure she would become desperate to please him in the process of getting her relief. Arbus was crafty and ruthless. The timer admired that and aspired to learn all he could from the master slaver.
THREE DAYS LATER
Clark looked up into Lois's loving eyes. He watched her pendant breast jiggle as her mouth slid over his cock. He felt her moist lips slide down his shaft as she had done practically every morning that they had spent together since their marriage. This day she was in fine form as he felt her mouth slide up and down his cock. The suction was unusually strong. It felt wonderful. He muttered, "I love you, Lois!" Suddenly he heard a strange giggle not six inches from his head. He realized that there was a warm, soft presence pressed against him. He opened his eyes to see Justina's head nestled under his chin against his neck. She had wrapped her arm around him and was gently hugging him. With her other hand she was teasing his balls. Kara's lips were wrapped around his cock as her head bobbed up and down. He cried, "What are you doing?" Justina answered dreamily, "I would think that is obvious, Master Clark. Your girls are pleasuring their Master!"' He cried, "Justina, I thought… well… I thought you like women." She answered, "I do Master, but I like men, too. This is why Kara picked me. Not only was I a scribe, I lusted after both of you." Superman found it increasingly hard to concentrate on what Justina was saying. Kara's lips and tongue were just too talented. She was beginning to suck harder and her head was bobbing faster and faster. Even so, he still managed to squeak out, "I am sorry this happened to you. I will make it up to you. I swear it!" Justina rubbed her breasts against his chest. "It is all right, Master. I forgive you. We Goreans are taught from a young age to take responsibility for our actions. Besides, it is almost a relief that it happened after so many years of uncertainty. Mother always warned me I was probable collar meat, that I was too beautiful to remain free. When my body reached adulthood I lived in constant fear of a master's collar even as something within me longed for it. Now I count myself lucky to be a slave with such a gentle and patient master as you." She began to kiss his lips with little pecks, but Clark managed to repeat, "I will find someway to make it up to you." Meanwhile, his powerful fingers were sliding into Kara's hair. He firmly grasped her head so that he might control the rhythm of her bobbing head. Eventually, he pulled her mouth off her cock. Supergirl whimpered in frustration; he could smell her slave heat and hear her racing pulse. He quickly pushed her onto her back. He thrust her thighs apart with his super strength and he pushed his steel-hard sex into her tight moist channel. Kara gasped as he started to thrust into her. He watched her breasts bounce forward and backward in response to each of his thrusts. It felt good to have Kara this way. It felt better even when she wrapped her legs around him to encourage his thrusting possession of her body. She accepted his seed with a joyful cry of "Master!" As she slid her knees under herself and lifted her body to press herself against him Kara said, "Thank you Master. I love you." At the same time Justina pressed herself against his back, hugging him. She wept, "Master, if you want to make it up to me, make me your total slave and open me. Use me as I was made to be used." With one fluid motion Clark disengaged himself from Kara and pressed Justina against the floor. With one hand he played with her cunt, while with the other hand he toyed with her small, round breasts. She begged, "Please Master, use your slave. Make me red silk."
Gently he lifted her body onto his lap and allowed her to position herself against his erect cock. Then they allowed gravity to do the work as she felt her love channel fill with his cock. She whimpered with joy and pain as she felt her tight channel expand to accommodate his cock. Suddenly she felt the progress of her ravishment impeded as his cock came to a barrier. She pressed her bottom and thighs downward and cried out in exhilaration and pain as she felt her maidenhood give way.
As she felt herself come to rest on his balls, the new slave Justina felt herself pressed from on both sides. Kara and Clark were each gently pressing themselves against her, making something of a slave and master sandwich. She knelt, impaled, for quite a long time as her mind came to grips of her new reality.
Neither Clark nor Kara was willing to press her. They realized they had a truly delicate flower between them and they were in no hurry to finish what was started. Justina could take her own time to bring herself into heaven. Slowly she began to twist and pump, fueled by the heat of bodies pressing against her. Tears began to fill her eyes as she picked up the pace of her thrusts. At last she stiffened, then spasmed in pleasure. When she raised her head she was smiling through her earlier tears of pain.
"More?" Clark asked her. Too shy to speak her desire, she nodded her head. Clark lay back and allowed his newest slave to straddle him. With Kara's help and instruction she rode him to the second vaginal orgasm of her life.
Slow to come, as usual, Clark was still fully hard within Justina but Kara pulled the auburn-haired new slave off her master. She bent Justina's head to the floor so that Superman would take her as a Master. Where the idea came from he didn't want to ask, but the smaller women's dripping pussy drew his cock like a magnet. He pushed all the way within her and then drew back slowly. With a human woman he had to be careful not to tear her apart in his fervor, but he had lots of practice with Lois. She had loved playing the controlling bitch in the office and the submissive slut in their bedroom. In what seemed like no time Justina's womb is filled with her Master's seed. She yelped in unpleasant surprise at the power of the spurting. In the future he would remember to pull out first.
Clark allowed himself to slide out of the exhausted, sated girl and allowed her to slip into the waiting embrace of Kara. As he watched his two slaves hug and kiss each other Clark realized that he had crossed a Rubicon. He realized just how much he missed Lois's touch. He could bear it no longer. He would be using these two slaves often. He only wondered whether he could bear to give them up when he found Lois.