The Goddess-Queens of Pudendor - The Abducted - Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The Caravan

The warrior women on their bizarre bird-mounts herded us along like a couple of stray calves, always with those nasty looking lobster picks ready to poke our butts if we went too slow or tried to veer away. In a few minutes we came out onto a rough dirt track, more than a trail but less than a road, cutting through the scrub. We turned down this track and in a few more minutes came upon a scene from a medieval fantasy movie. A pair of primitive looking two wheeled carts stood on the track. A large draft animal was hitched in front of each. The animals were definitely bovine, something like a yak though smaller, with shaggy coats of a reddish-brown color, streaked in places with blond. Their heads were broad and the shoulders massive. Unlike yaks they had two pairs of slender, curving horns on their heads, one pair sprouting from the usual location and formed more or less like normal cow horns, and the second pair sprouting just below them and sweeping outward and down, coming just below the eye. They seemed quite placid, which was good considering the damage they could do with those horns.

Two more of the warrior women, both mounted on the strange birds, waited by the side of the road. Beyond them two more stood dismounted, watching over a cluster of kneeling people, both men and women. As we drew closer, I recognized Dmitri and Li Mei among them. So, they, at least, had survived. I wondered what had happened to Shirley.

We were herded in to join the rest while our captors exchanged greetings with the others. My understanding of the language was still tentative. They spoke too fast for me to understand, but they were clearly happy.

It became quickly apparent that the blonde woman who’d done all the speaking when we were captured was the leader of this group. She dismounted while her partner joined the other mounted women on the periphery. I took the opportunity to take a closer look at the rest of the group lined up just off the road.

Besides Dmitri and Li Mei there were five men and four women. All of them, including our fellow kidnap victims, wore a ring-like gold colored collar around their necks. The collars each had a smaller ring in front, the attachment point I suspected for a leash or lead, and a second small ring at the back. I guessed that it was designed for slaves to be linked together in a line or a coffle. I remembered that word from reading about the slave trade on earth.

Dmitri and Li Mei were still naked. The other women wore a simple mid-thigh length sleeveless tunic, but of a very odd cut, with necklines so low that their breasts were exposed. The men wore a simple wrap-around garment covering them, after a fashion, from waist to mid-thigh. On both sexes, a slit ran up the front of the garment from hem almost to belly button.  It was very revealing, especially given the position they were in. All of them were lined up, kneeling, with knees wide apart, and leaning back, their hands on the ground behind them. This caused the fabric to fall off to either side, fully exposing their genitalia. Later, when they moved from this position, I saw that the back of the garment was similarly split.

Several things struck me immediately about this, besides the obvious display of cocks and pussies. It was clearly a stylized attitude of submission. They were all exposing their most sensitive parts, like a dog that indicates surrender by exposing its belly. The male slaves were all circumcised and there was not a pube to be found among them, male or female. Everyone was bald as babies in their crotch. Apparently, that was a custom on this planet.

This scene was quite bizarre and somewhat disturbing, so it was only on a second look that I noticed something else about the male slaves. Each one of them, including Dmitri, wore two gold colored rings on their genitals. One ring encircled penis and scrotum where they joined the abdomen. The other ring encircled the base of the scrotum. Each male slave also wore a thin leather belt, to which his penis was fastened by a leather thong tied around the groove beneath the glans. What the hell was this place, I wondered? The planet of the S&M freaks?

The leader handed the reins of her bird to one of the dismounted warriors who led it away. Another woman, black-haired and somewhat younger approached the blonde. She made a motion with her free hand, cupping the breast on the opposite side. It appeared to be a form of salute.

“Kamita, the Goddess-Queens favor you again.”

The blonde, whom she’d addressed as Kamita, returned the salute. “We left Tuvatala with seven desaya. We’ll arrive at Port Kuntaara with eleven, and those extras pure profit. Can’t wish for better luck than that, Savitra. Let’s get the formalities done, before someone else lays claim to them.”

She motioned to one of the dismounted women warriors. With shoves and light blows on the rump from the stick she carried, she let us know that we were to stand in front of the row of slaves. The woman who had been addressed as Savitra went to one of the carts. She rummaged around for a moment, pulled out a small chest, and set it on the ground. Opening the chest, she removed two collars and two small rings and brought them to Kamita. She pointed to me. “We’ll do this one first. Kneel desaya.”

And then the meaning of desaya became clear to me. Desaya was the word for slave. This whole business had gone too far. My temper boiled over.

“Fuck that!” I yelled. I’m still not certain if I said fuck in english or the language I was quickly picking up. “I’m not a freaking slave. I’m a free woman!”

Whatever language, the meaning came across quite clearly. Kamita stopped and stared at me. A tight little smile on her face, she approached me. I thought for a moment she was going to haul off and punch me, but instead she gently put her hands on my shoulders and half turned me to the left.

“Savitra, what is this mark on this free woman’s ass?” The emphasis she put on free woman came across as snarkiness regardless of the language.

“Why, that’s the brand of a slave,” Savitra said, “though it looks rather fresh.”

Kamita looked me in the eye. “So, why does the ass of a free woman bear the brand of a slave? A slave bears a brand and the brand makes the slave. That and the collar.”

She placed her hand over the brand and dug her fingers into my butt flesh. I swatted it away. I could tell from the look in her eye that she didn’t like that.

“I was taken and marked against my will. They had no right to brand me.”

“And yet they did and here you are. Life is hard, sometimes. Make the best of it. Now, kneel and stop wasting my time.”

“Like hell I will. I demand to see someone in authority.”

Kamita took a deep breath and rolled her eyes. “At this moment, in this place, I am the authority. I see I’m going to have to explain the situation more thoroughly.”

Two of the other warrior women grabbed me by the arms and pulled me towards a large tree. I made pro forma gestures of resistance, but as it was they were both my size and plainly in better shape than I was, lean, muscular, and not inclined to be polite. I was going to go where they wanted despite any objection on my part.

The tree they took me to was something like a large oak, though the leaves were much lighter green, and the smooth, ash-gray bark was different. But it had large, spreading branches and that was the reason for them taking me there. I was placed beneath one particularly thick branch that ran nearly horizontal. The ever helpful Savitra brought two ropes and tossed them expertly over the branch. My two escorts each took a loose end of rope and tied one around each wrist. Not with just a simple loop but with a more sophisticated series of loops indicating they had experience at this sort of thing.

One of them leaned in towards me, wrapped my fingers around the rope, and whispered, “Grasp the rope. It’ll take some of the strain off.”

I was still pondering what she meant when my arms were jerked over my head and I was lifted into the air. They tied me off with my feet about a foot off the ground. As I dangled like a frightened piñata, Kamita came to face me.

“Ordinarily a slave who dares to touch a master would be beaten fore, aft and in-between. But you’re obviously unfamiliar with our ways. Therefore I will go easy on you. Besides, we have a ways to travel and I don’t want to waste much more time, nor reduce your resale value.”

She motioned with her right arm as she stepped back. Next thing I knew it was like someone had drawn a hot iron bar across my rump. I screeched from pain, surprise and fear. Someone behind me, I suspected that it was the one called Savitra, was swinging a whip or switch, hard.  Another stroke followed the first, then a third, fourth and fifth. My legs were flailing helplessly at the thin air as I mindlessly tried to escape from lash.

“One more to reinforce the lesson,” Kamita ordered.

The last one was a good one, much the worst of all of them. Kamita walked behind me. I felt her hand examining my pummeled ass.

“Not bad,” she said. “There’ll be a few bruises for a day or so, but by the time we reach the auction platform at Port Kuntaara you’ll look as good as new. Assuming, of course, I don’t have to give you further lessons.” She came around to face me again. She put her hands on my breasts, first caressing them, then squeezing them, harder and harder. I blushed, from both embarrassment and anger. How dare she touch me like that?  She released my boobs and placed a hand on my mound, sliding her fingers along my slit and then working two fingers inside me.

“You are a slave,” she said. “You own nothing. Not the clothes you wear, if I decide to give you clothes. Not these lovely breasts. Not this hole between your legs.” She pulled her hand back slightly, a finger searching for my clit. She found it and began slowly circling it with her index finger. Despite everything, or maybe because of it, I began to feel a curious sense of arousal.

“You don’t even own this tiny little nub. It’s mine, as are you, until I choose to sell it to the highest bidder. Understood?”

I nodded meekly. You don’t pick a fight with someone when you’re completely helpless, naked, and they’re holding your clitoris hostage.

“Say, Yes, mistress.”

I said “Yes, mistress,” putting as much contrition in my voice as possible. I really wanted to knee her in the groin and then smash her face against my thigh, but for the moment she had all the cards. Or rather, all the whips.

“Good. Now let’s get on with this.”

I was lowered to the ground, the ropes unfastened. Kamita motioned for me to follow her.

Back in front of the line of slaves she ordered me to kneel and of course I did. Savitra returned with the collar and handed it to her. I looked closely at it. It was gold colored though by the way Savitra handled it the collar didn’t seem to have the weight of gold. The collar seemed quite solid and looking at the diameter I wondered how they were going to get it over my head.

The answer came quickly. Kamita touched a small box at her belt and a break appeared in the ring. Taking the collar in two hands, she spread the ends apart until it was wide enough to go around my neck.  Interesting, I thought. It was the first sign I’d seen on this planet of technology that was beyond earth’s Middle Ages, or maybe even ancient Greece. How, I wondered, did they reconcile such technological devices with the rest of their world? Did they consider them magical?

Kamita raised the collar above my head. She raised her head and looked right, then left. Still looking at the tree tops she began to speak in a loud voice.

“Be it known to all that I, Kamita of Taetaria, a free woman and licensed trader in cattle and slaves, in the sight of the Goddess-Queens, do claim ownership of this feral slave.”

She placed the collar around my neck and squeezed the ends together. There was no sound, no click or anything. A few minutes later, when I was no longer the center of attention, I fingered the device. It felt utterly solid, no sign of any break or joint, and very rigid.

She placed a hand on my head, possessively. “You are now my property. Do you have a name?”

“Taryn,” I answered, looking her directly in the eye with what I hoped she would take as defiance. Then, thinking of the formula she’d used, I added, “Taryn Campbell of Carson Springs. Bachelor of Science in Anthropology.”

She laughed and reached out to grab my left breast. She squeezed it, let her fingers slide to the nipple, pinching the little button of flesh and stretching it. I wanted to slap the hand away, but not being the one with a spear-toting gang of women behind her, and with the still stinging lash marks on my ass as a reminder of consequences, there was nothing I could do beyond keeping a stony face and not giving her the satisfaction of knowing how much it hurt.

“Slaves have only a single name, dear girl. I hope you won’t make me explain this at greater length.” She gave my nipple a last hard twist before releasing it. “As I was saying, you are now my property, slave Taryn.” She turned to Savitra and said, “Let’s do the other one. We’re losing time here.”

One of the guard women took me by the arm and led me back to the line of slaves, placing me next to Dmitri. She pointed to the others.

“See what they’re doing?” she asked, pointing at them. They were in that curious kneeling position, legs wide, leaning back on their arms. “Do the same. That’s the slave position of attentiveness.”

She fingered the short, thick whip that hung from her belt. Not wanting to push my luck, I followed her orders. I knelt down, spread my knees wide, and leaned back on my hands. The sense of vulnerability, with everything, my most sensitive and most private parts, exposed, was very uncomfortable.

The other armed woman had taken Stanley out to face Kamita. He was on his knees in front of her. She pronounced the same formulaic statement of ownership. I wondered who or what these Goddess-Queens she invoked were. Did she really think they were watching the proceedings? Goddess-Queens seemed an unusual title for omnipresent, omniscient gods.  Did they really believe these god or god-like beings were watching them?

I’d spent the last five years learning to be an anthropologist. Part of me still wanted to take one of those spears and see if I could skewer both those bitches with it. But another part of me said, hey, this is an entirely unique society here. Do what you’re trained to do. Study it. Dissect it. Learn everything you can about these weird people. Then figure out how to turn it to your advantage. And they said I’d never find a use for my degree. I just wished I had my laptop, or even a notebook and pen.

Stanley, having seen the example they made of me, knelt in front of Kamita and allowed the collar to be placed on him without a peep. But then she ordered him to stand and when he did so one of the guard women pinned his arms behind him and used one of her legs to force his left leg outward. Another guard woman stood beside the first, forcing Stanley’s right leg out. Savitra handed Kamita the two small rings. She again touched the small box and they opened up.

Seeing it work again I was still more impressed with the technology. I felt my collar again. It seemed absolutely solid. There was no hint of any internal mechanism. How did it work? I couldn’t think of anything we had on earth was comparable to these. I recalled that when Stanley was explaining the premise of the Gor novels, a key part was that superior alien intelligences had planted humans on the planet and worked in the background to keep them from gaining any advanced technology. The story was beginning to seem plausible.

I could tell from the look on Stanley’s face that he was not happy with the situation, but whether from fear or stoicism, he remained passive if a bit rigid while Kamita grasped his cock and balls with her left hand and pulled them away from his body. She snapped the first ring around them and released them. Savitra then held his penis up and out of the way with one hand while pulling his scrotum downward. Kamita slipped the ring around his scrotum and it snapped back together. They both laughed when Savitra released his penis and they saw that he was well on his way to an erection. If they’d known Stanley, they’d have known it didn’t take much attention to give him wood.

Kamita turned to Savitra. “Enough time wasted. Get him a belt,” she glanced at our bare feet, which were beginning to show the wear and tear, “and I suppose some sandals would be in order to protect our merchandise, and then let’s get moving again.”

“Excuse me,” I said, then remembered the protocol, “mistress, could we also have some clothing?” It grated on me to have to pretend to be meek and submissive, but my ass still hurt and I could see nothing to gain from being openly defiant.

She turned and looked at me. “I’ll consider it…tomorrow. For the moment I think you could benefit from having your status impressed upon you by showing the world your naked asses.”

We followed Savitra to the lead ox cart, where she pulled out a pair of sandals, worn but still sturdy, for each of us. She took out a thin leather belt for Stanley, wrapped it low around his waist, and tied the ends with an elaborate knot. A length of leather thong was woven into the belt at the front. She ordered Stanley to grasp his penis by its tip and hold it up. In his half-excited state stretching it out was unnecessary. She tied the thong snugly but not tight enough to cut circulation with a simple overhand knot.  When Stanley had been fitted out Savitra brought him back to the row of slaves.

“Excuse me, mistress,” I asked, continuing my submissive façade. “Pardon our ignorance, but what is the proper form of address for you and the other, ah, other …”

“You mean our armswomen?”

“Yes. How should we address you? We don’t know the customs here and we don’t want to give offense.”

“You have it. You must address any free woman as mistress.”

“And what about free men?”

Savitra looked perplexed, as if she didn’t understand the question. “There are no free men.”

“None?” I asked, taken aback.

“All males are slaves. Always have been, always will be. It is as the Goddess-Queens have ordained.”

I glanced at Stanley. He was shooting me a look that said, very emphatically, “Oh, shit!”

The other slaves had been gathered near us, between the carts. The armswomen, as I now understood they were called, were mounted on their birds and taking up position in front of and behind the carts. I noticed most of them would be following along behind us. Savitra motioned for Dmitiri and Li Mei to join us.

“Here’s how things work with Kamita’s company. We like things to be pleasant for all.” She hooked a finger through the small ring at the front of my collar. “Now, some traders insist on keeping the merchandise chained together at all times, for security you know. Don’t want anyone getting lost, right? You people probably don’t have much experience walking along in a coffle. Well, it’s a pain in the ass. Much more comfortable walking without the chain. But, to do that everyone needs to cooperate. Stay between the carts. Don’t dawdle and don’t stray off the track. Follow orders and keep up with the rest and we’ll all get along fine. But if there are any problems, like, for example someone deciding to go see what’s over the hill, we’ll have every one of you hooked together on short chains. Am I understood?”

We all nodded vigorously. “Yes, mistress.”

“Besides, there’s nothing worth seeing on the other side of the hill unless you’re looking to become a meal for some beast.”

She went to her vikaga, swung up into the saddle and trotted to the rear. A male slave went to stand by the draft animal at each ox cart, picking up a short switch that hung on the side by a leather loop. At a shout from Savitra they whipped the animals into motion, quickly achieving an easy walking pace.

I walked along beside Stanley. He looked really strange with his new adornments. As serious as our situation was, I couldn’t help ribbing him.

“So, how’s your new outfit working out?”

“Hey, this is great. Really, um, arousing. I should have done this years ago. Can you imagine hitting the bars near campus with this get up? I’d have coeds on their knees in front of me.”

“Or falling down laughing. So, how does this match up with your planet Gor? How many books did that guy write?”

“Twenty five or twenty six, I think.”

“Did he have anything like this in any of them? All the men being slaves?”

“Not that I recall. Pretty much in all of them men were men and women were usually slaves. There were free women, of course, but they mostly were kept of out of sight unless they were integral to the plot. It was kind of like Saudi Arabia in that way. There were men who were slaves, but it was a male-centric society, of, by, and for manly men doing manly man things. Women in the Gor books were mostly slaves or haughty beauties destined to be conquered by the hero. This,” he made a sweeping gesture with his arm, “is all backwards.”

Continued in Chapter 6

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