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At parties in closed clubs, slave auctions are held, where they are publicly beaten with a whip right on stage and the future masters judge their sexuality by the moans they make - “facts”. An auction of black slaves was held in Missouri Markets and shopping arcades There is meat there
And for our more preferred “homemade” sadomasochistic games, in sex shops you can find a variety of whips, handcuffs, gags and even special erotic electric shock
Among people with unconventional sexual views, sadomasochists are perhaps the most secretive and closed to society. And there are several reasons for this. Firstly, sadomasochism is a rather specific thing and is by no means public. Secondly, even if lovers of whips, handcuffs and spiked leather unite in certain societies or clubs, the doors to them are open only to a select few. It’s quite difficult to become one of your own in this environment. Such establishments already exist in the near and far abroad. In our country, timid attempts by enthusiasts to open the world of sadomasochism to the broad masses have so far met with complete misunderstanding.
“The slave gets the most pleasure from public humiliation.”
The reason for the meeting with representatives of a closed sadomasochistic party was an unusual episode. A group of enthusiastic masochists invited respected gentlemen from Moscow (in the literal sense of the word) from Moscow to try to organize a sadomasochistic party in any of the Kyiv nightclubs. But no one agreed to take such a risky step, because, as the owners of the capital's clubs explained, it goes beyond common sense. To find out what is still impossible to see here, but exists there, I had to meet with the extravagant Mrs. Lotte (masochistic pseudonym) - the organizer of many mind-blowing parties.
What is a “sadomasochistic party”? And why can’t our clubs decide to host such a show?
It's not that we offer something out of the ordinary. There is simply an opinion that sadomasochistic shows are a game. Yes, in sadomasochism you cannot live without play, because here everyone has their own role - some are a slave, some are a master. But for people who “play” this all their lives, the game itself becomes a way of life. Therefore, a sadomasochistic party is only partly a show. For those who participate in it, this is real life, this is an opportunity to realize their sexual preferences. And just like life, our shows are very realistic, in a word, not for the faint of heart. Therefore, only initiates participate in them.
Is it true that at such parties they actually sell slaves, that is, people who enjoy humiliation?
Such auctions in our closed institutions are not uncommon, but do not think that we are talking about real slave markets. Trading, if this process can be called that, is conducted in a very specific way. Its goal: the exchange of slaves between masters and the attraction of new slaves. Masters bring their slaves to such parties. First, all the slaves are shown on stage - in chains, handcuffs, but with their genitals covered. From these, the public selects those who will be put up for auction. Those who are unlucky wait until the next auction, hoping and suffering and enjoying themselves. The selected slaves - some of them may be both men and women - are stripped. Their masters begin to play with them - trample them, beat them with a whip. The sexuality and temperament of a slave is assessed by the kind of moans he makes, how he wriggles, enduring pain. And then everything happens, just like at a real auction - who will give the most. Usually everyone gets what they want. The masters acquire new slaves, and the club and the old master receive part of the money. Sometimes a lady or gentleman can reward a former ward with money for exemplary service.
From the outside it seems that someone is being humiliated and insulted. In fact, everything is far from true. The slave himself receives the greatest pleasure from everything that happens. Since the entire process of humiliation - from demonstration to public torment - is for him the height of pleasure and bliss.
Auctions, as far as I know, are just one of the forms of your parties, although it is impressive in its naturalism
But there are also tougher ones. However, nothing is done against the slave's will. Anyone, if he didn’t like something, can leave the party or leave the mistress. However, he knows that he will not be allowed back into our society. That's why we don't have such cases. As for parties, sometimes gentlemen organize so-called social events. Gentlemen come to the evening in formal evening suits, under which they hide sadomasochistic clothes. Many of them bring slaves to the evening. Half-naked slaves are handcuffed or chained to the walls of the club (there are special devices for this). The first part of the evening is similar to an ordinary social evening - buffet, aperitifs, conversations. Except the waiters are half-naked and wearing collars. And then, when everyone is already warmed up, they take off their clothes. People drink, dance, and indulge in rather risqué things, such as mutual caresses. Sometimes this is done in front of the slaves. But most often, excited masters indulge in pleasures, humiliating or torturing their own or other people's slaves.
I once saw a program about similar clubs in Hamburg, where the parties were also accompanied by the public torture of a slave, whom the “master” hung on a special frame by many hooks threaded into his body. Is this happening to you?
The services of so-called masters are very expensive. It is a real art to pierce a slave's body with thirty hooks without damaging vital organs or tearing his skin. We don't have such virtuosos. Therefore, when we find funds, we invite “masters” to decorate the evening with their performances. Even slaves dispute the right to be pierced by the master.
By the way, among gays and lesbians there are also many adherents of sadomasochism. They often provide us with their clubs. One of them hosts very original evenings. The main characters there are slaves. They are dancing and having fun The ceiling in the hall is very high - about ten meters. Large glass and metal cages are suspended from the ceiling. And the gentlemen rest in them, watching their charges. And at any moment the slave can be summoned to his master for punishment, for example, if he did not like the behavior of his subordinate. The cells have a darkening system. Often gays invite the slaves they like into cages for lovemaking.
Of course, these entertainments are not for a wide audience. Do you have acts that can be demonstrated to an unsophisticated audience at a party?
We also have show programs, but they are never held separately from our real parties, but serve as their decoration. It is what is happening in the hall between masters and slaves that is the meaning of the party, and not at all an imitation of real relationships on stage. If you show the art show separately, it will be another parody of genuine sadomasochistic parties. But our goal is different. I think the public in Ukraine is not yet ripe for this. We also didn’t achieve everything right away; only a few people came to our first parties.
“The mistress tested whips for slaves on herself”
Perhaps our sadomasochists have not yet grown up to such mass orgies. And for now, our domestic sadomasochism is purely individual. This was confirmed by the employees of the sex shop in Podol, talking about their clients.
Contrary to popular belief, sadomasochists are quite calm and quiet people in everyday life,” says Elena, the salon administrator. “A frequent client of ours was a man with secular manners. The first time he waddled into the salon with a cigar. When he was asked to put out his cigar, the man asked in bewilderment: “Sorry, but it’s very expensive!” He always chose gags with skill and paid special attention to whips. There are many of them - there is a long whip woven into a braid, there is a whip with a dozen leather tails, there are also stacks reminiscent of those used by riders. But there are also completely original ones, in which the striking part is a wide riveted leather strip. By the way, that man picked out a suit from us for a social sadomasochistic party, when leather clothing is hidden under a tailcoat or tuxedo.
And as for whips From time to time, a married couple comes to us, young people about twenty-five years old, who, when choosing whips for themselves, always try them right away. When they first asked about this, I was embarrassed, they say, I don’t mind, but just don’t shout loudly. But from the room where the young people tried the whips, no screams were ever heard - only erotic moaning.
Both masters and slaves came to visit us a couple of times. One luxurious woman walked around for quite a long time - either to get a manicure or to get a haircut. And then one day, when she was waiting for the master, a man of about forty, short, modest, came into the salon and asked in a half-whisper: “How is my mistress?” We were confused at first. And then we realized that that tall brunette—our client—was his mistress. When we suggested calling her, the man hesitated and immediately left. As we watched him, we realized that the lady had ordered him to wait. And the frost was severe that day. He waited for her for more than an hour.
One day another lady came to us directly in disguise (apparently she was on her way to a meeting). Nails are covered with black varnish, black hair is carefully styled, bright makeup, high boots. Expertly, she selected several whips, immediately whipped herself on the shin several times and added: “I should know what to work with.”
In general, sadomasochists exhibit varied tastes when choosing accessories. Very popular are leather ankle and wrist grips with chains, with which the slave can also be tied up. There are adherents of very expensive things, for example, air beds with built-in fastenings for fastening. Some clients prefer devices with electrical stimulation - special metal suction cups with connected wires are attached to sensitive areas (earlobes, nipples, genitals). A small current is turned on, and the slave convulses. Either from pain or from pleasure.
When the siege of Constantinople ended, and the capital of the ancient Empire surrendered to the mercy of the victors of the Ottomans, the Sultan ordered the city to be plundered by his soldiers for three days, as was the custom among many nations.
Aziz convinced his comrades not to waste time searching those shacks that huddled on the outskirts of Constantinople. They hurried to the city center and captured a beautiful two-story mansion there. His owner was clearly very afraid for his life. Aziz promised to keep it for him if he showed all his caches of hidden treasures. And the cowardly patrician really laid out all the gold for them, which turned out to be quite a lot.
Aziz and his comrades divided the gold among themselves fraternally and began to rape three maids who were found in the house of this Tsargrad citizen. They were also scared and did not try to resist.
But Aziz didn’t like them. And he did not take part in the general orgy. He invited his comrades to play dice to see which of them would get this luxurious house, which they captured in the defeated Christian city.
Luck chose him. Then they played these gyaurok with dice. It was rare luck. They also went to Aziz. But he immediately sold them to his comrades, and he himself went to the slave market, which was full of young and beautiful slaves. During those three days during which the Ottomans sacked Constantinople, almost not a single Christian girl managed to escape this fate. Many of them were raped during these three days, and almost all of them were sold into slavery. Those whose virginity was preserved were charged much more. But Aziz was not looking for a virgin in the market, but simply a young and beautiful slave.
For sale, all slaves and slaves were exhibited completely naked, and prices, of course, fell fabulously with such an influx of slaves. Having chosen a slender girl with light brown hair, Aziz asked who she was before she fell into slavery. The girl replied that she was the daughter of a priest. Aziz also asked her if she was ready to renounce her Christian faith and accept Mohammedanism. The girl raised her gray eyes to Aziz and said one word - no. Then the buyer asked the last question:
If I buy you and you become my slave, will you obediently carry out all my orders?
The girl replied that her father taught her that the Christian faith requires slaves to obey their masters, just as they obey God himself, and she will obediently do everything that her master orders her, everything that is in her power.
And then Aziz bought it. He threw his cloak over her and took her to the house, which he now considered his own.
By that time, his comrades had gone further in search of prey, taking with them those three maids whom Aziz had sold to them. And Aziz decided that this luxurious house, the gold that he got and this lovely and obedient slave was already enough for him to be happy. You should not anger the Almighty and seek more prey for yourself than you should.
Having brought the slave to his home, Aziz took off his cloak from her. She stood naked before him again. Only a small cross hung on a cord between her beautiful breasts. And there was nothing else on her.
“You will be my slave, maid and concubine,” Aziz told her, “in my house you will walk naked so that I and my guests can admire your beautiful body.” You understood?
Yes, my lord,” the slave answered, “if you want it, I will serve you and your guests without clothes.”
“What a smart girl,” Aziz praised the slave, “a good, obedient girl.” And what is your name?
Anastasia.
For now, rest a little, Anastasia, in the next room. This will be your room. And then, as soon as you’ve rested a little, come right here to my chambers. I can't wait to see what kind of concubine you will make. If you please me well, I will not punish you. If you fuck badly, I will sell you to my comrades. Understood?
Yes, my lord,” having said these words, Anastasia bowed to Aziz, and after finishing her bow she continued, “thank you for being so kind to me and allowing me to rest.” I will come to you in an hour and will try to do everything to make you satisfied with me.
After that, the girl went to her room. This hour was not easy for Aziz; he was impatient to take possession of this girl, whose beautiful naked body he had already carefully examined. But he understood that after everything Anastasia had experienced, she really needed some time alone. After this she will probably fuck just better. and it is impossible for her to run away from home. There are forged bars on the windows, the door is tightly locked, Aziz has the key.
And so the girl entered Aziz’s chambers. She still remained completely naked as promised. A Christian cross, of course, cannot be considered clothing.
She fucked really great. She meekly followed all Aziz’s orders. Her tender lips tremblingly caressed his reproductive organ. Then Aziz turned her luxurious butt towards him and with great pleasure caressed her round hips and thin waist, thrusting his reproductive organ into her womb. Without waiting for orders, Anastasia caught the rhythm of her master and correctly waved her butt so that it would be more convenient for him to fuck her.
Then Aziz lay on his back, impaled the girl on his penis and ordered her to smile, which she immediately obediently did, giving him a charming smile.
Then Aziz ordered her to lie on her back and took possession of the girl in this position. He felt very good, Aziz was very pleased with his purchase.
Slave markets
Slave traders made huge fortunes from the misfortune of others. They were not stopped even by the blatant illegality of their activities from the point of view of Islamic law.
Circassian women were mostly Muslims. They could not be someone's property, much less be turned into slavery.
As we have already written, only non-Muslims captured in war were recognized as slaves. It was recommended to grant freedom to them too, thereby accomplishing a very pious deed. And if a slave accepted Islam, he was subject to release without delay.
However, the nobles' habit of slavery was so strong, and the temptation to replenish their harems with wonderful creatures so great, that merchants and buyers found a way to formally circumvent the law.
As Osman Bey wrote, buyers did not ask where the “goods” came from; the seller’s statement that “these were slaves” was enough for them. The buyer only exclaimed: “If there is a sin in this matter, let it fall on the head of the seller!” And the deal was considered completed.
After the end of the Caucasian War in 1864, when the muhajir movement began - the mass resettlement of highlanders to Turkey, a “renaissance” began in the slave trade.
The flow of settlers was so great that huge masses of highlanders accumulated in the ports. Not everyone survived the long voyage, and those who managed to reach the Turkish shores were exhausted from hunger and disease. Men were forced to enlist in the army, and many women and children ended up in slave markets and were sold for next to nothing.
The Russian vice-consul in Trebizond A. Moshnin reported: “Since the beginning of the eviction, up to 247,000 souls have been in Trebizond and the surrounding area; 19,000 souls died. Now there are 63,290 people left. Average mortality 180–250 people. in a day. They are sent inside the pashalyk, but mostly to Samsun. ...The population is frightened by the resettlement and rewards itself by purchasing slaves. The other day, Pasha bought 8 of the most beautiful girls for 60–80 rubles each and sent them to Constantinople as gifts. A child 11–12 years old can be bought for 30–40 rubles.”
Victor Hugo recounted the story of a mountain slave in The Captive:
I was born in Nagornaya,
To the far side
And this eunuch is black
I'm disgusted and scared.
In freedom, not in the seraglio,
We grew up without sadness
And the young men listened
Free in silence...
This is how Gerard de Nerval described the slave market in Cairo:
“The upper galleries and portico, made in a strict architectural style, opened into the square courtyard, where many Nubians and Abyssinians were walking; wide mashrabiyas, carved from wood, were located right under the ceiling of the hallway, from which a staircase, decorated with arcades in Moorish style, led to the chambers. The most beautiful slaves climbed these stairs.
Many shoppers had already gathered in the courtyard, looking at completely black or lighter blacks. They were forced to walk, they were hit on the back and chest, and they were told to stick out their tongues. Only one of them, dressed in a striped yellow and blue mashlah, with his hair braided and falling over his shoulders, as was worn in the Middle Ages, had a heavy chain thrown over his arm, rattling with his every majestic movement; he was an Abyssinian from the Galla tribe, probably taken prisoner.
Around the courtyard there were rooms with low ceilings, where black women lived, similar to those whom I had already seen - carefree and extravagant, they began to laugh at every reason; Meanwhile, a woman, wrapped in a yellow blanket, was sobbing, leaning against the front column. The serene calm of the sky and the bizarre patterns that the sun's rays painted in the courtyard rebelled in vain against this eloquent despair. I felt my heart clench. I walked past the column, and although the woman’s face was not visible, I saw that she had almost white skin; A child, barely covered by a cloak, huddled close to her.
No matter how hard we try to adapt to life in the East, at such moments you still remain a Frenchman, sensitive to everything that happens. For a moment the thought occurred to me to buy, if it were within my means, a slave and give her freedom.
“Don’t pay attention to her,” Abdullah told me, “she is the favorite slave of one effendi; as punishment for some offense, he sent her to the slave market to supposedly sell her along with the child.” In a few hours the owner will come for her and will probably forgive her.
Thus, the only slave crying here was grieving because she was losing her master; the rest seemed only concerned not to remain too long without a new master.
And this speaks in favor of Muslim morals. Compare the situation of these slaves with the situation of slaves in America! Truly, in Egypt only fellahs work on the land. Slaves are expensive, so their energy is protected and occupied only with housework. This is the huge difference that exists between slaves in Turkish and Christian countries.
…Abd al-Kerim left us to talk with the Turkish buyers, then returned and said that they were now dressing the Abyssinians, whom he wanted to show me.
They live in my harem,” he said, “and are treated like members of the family; they eat with my wives. While they are getting dressed, they can show you the youngest ones.
The gates opened, and a flock of dark-skinned girls ran into the yard, like schoolgirls at recess. They were allowed to play near the stairs with ducks and guinea fowl, which swam in the bowl of a stucco fountain, preserved from the unheard-of luxury of the okel. I looked at these poor babies with huge black eyes, dressed like little plumes; They were probably taken from their mothers to indulge the whims of the local rich. Abdullah explained to me that many of them do not belong to the merchant, the money received for them will be received by parents who specially came to Cairo in the hope that their daughters will fall into good hands.
…Abd al-Kerim invited me to enter the house. Abdullah delicately remained standing by the stairs.
In a large room with stucco ornaments and half-erased gold and colored arabesques along the walls, five rather beautiful women sat; their skin color resembled Florentine bronze; their facial features were regular, their nose was straight, their mouth was small; the classic shape of the head, the graceful curve of the neck, the peace written on their faces, made them look like Italian Madonnas from paintings, the colors of which had darkened with time. These were Abyssinians of the Catholic faith, possibly descendants of Prester John or Queen Kapdaka.
It was difficult to choose one of them: they all resembled each other, as is the case with the natives. Seeing my indecisiveness, Abd al-Kerim decided that I didn’t like the girls and ordered to call another one - she walked in with a smooth gait and took her place at the opposite wall.
I let out a cry of joy when I recognized the almond-shaped shape of the eyes of the Javanese women, as in the paintings I had seen in Holland; judging by the color of her skin, this woman could unmistakably be classified as a member of the yellow race. I don’t know, perhaps it was my interest in the unknown and the unexpected that awakened in me, but I leaned in her favor. In addition, she was very pretty and beautifully built, so she could boldly show off herself; sparkling eyes, white teeth, chiseled hands and long mahogany-colored hair... When she was very young, she was captured by the pirates of Imam Muscat somewhere on the islands of the Indian Ocean.
...All that remained was to agree on the price. They asked me for five purses (six hundred twenty-five francs); I only wanted to pay four; but, remembering that we were talking about buying a woman, I thought that such bargaining was inappropriate. In addition, Abdullah warned that the Turkish merchant would never give in on price.
…That same evening I triumphantly brought the veiled slave into my house in the Coptic quarter. ...The servant from Okel followed us, leading a donkey with a large green chest on his back.
Abd al-Kerim turned out to be a good host. The chest contained two sets of outfits.
...If the merchant deceives the buyer regarding the merits of the slave and some kind of flaw is discovered in her, the buyer has the right to terminate the deal after a week. It seemed impossible to me that a European would resort to such an undignified clause, even if he had actually been deceived. But soon I was horrified to discover that the unfortunate girl had two marks the size of a six-livre coin: one under the red bandage that tightened her forehead, the other on her chest, and on both of them a tattoo depicting something like the sun. There was also a tattoo of the tip of a pike on his chin, and his left nostril was pierced to allow him to wear a ring. The hair was cut in front and fell in bangs to the eyebrows, connected by a drawn black line. The arms and legs were painted orange; I knew that this was specially prepared henna, of which not a trace would remain in a few days.”
If slaves resisted the fate prepared for them and did not want to become like dumb cattle, traders used various proven means. When neither persuasion nor threats helped, the slaves were pacified by force. But they did this with caution, since “damaged goods” fell in price and harmed the seller’s reputation. The easiest way was to suppress the stubbornness of the slaves with opium or other potion mixed into the food.
“They are sold for different prices,” wrote Melek Khanum, “according to their beauty, depending on which they are appointed either as dancers, or musicians, or as bathhouse servants, maids, or odalisques. Their prices range from 1,000 to 20,000 francs or so. In order to pay the final amount, the slave must be of extraordinary beauty. If their appearance is not representative, then they are appointed to positions in which they should not appear before their master; in this case, their price does not exceed 1500–2000 francs. They are usually sold at the age of 12–13 years, but there have been cases of sale of 6–7 year olds. This, however, only happens when the buyer wants to accustom them to service or resell them at a profit when they grow up. The hostess makes clothes for them, teaches them to behave decently, and also to speak Turkish. The main attention is paid to the development of such talents that distinguish the ladies themselves, such as music, dancing, hair cleaning, etc.”
Markets and shopping arcades There are pink lumps of meat, the damp stench of shiny fish, knives, pots, jackets from nameless wardrobes; separately, in strange positions, crooked book trays... V. Nabokov And to the people! And the noise! What a place. As if in a kettle, strong yeast puffs and bubbles black From the book of Goa. For those who are tired... living according to instructions author Stanovich Igor O.
PART 7 Shops, markets, prices I have already told you a lot about markets, they are our everything. He also told me something about the shops. Now let's go through the assortment. Naturally, I will not describe the diet of the Goans; I will touch on the topic of the standard set necessary for life. For
From the book Southeast Asia and Western expansion in the 17th – early 18th centuries author Berzin Eduard Oskarovich From the book Ancient America: Flight in Time and Space. Mesoamerica author Ershova Galina GavrilovnaThe profane south: palaces and markets So, in the southern – profane – part of the city there was an administrative center, consisting of many buildings located on a single platform. The most famous building in this part of the city (southeastern sector) is the Temple of Quetzalcoatl,
My blanket was torn off. I screamed in fear.
- On the platform, slave! – the man ordered.
“Yes, master,” I stammered. He poked me with the whip.
Worn wooden steps spiraled up to the platform. Squatting slaves huddled together at the foot. And Sulda is here, and Tupa is sitting, clutching the blankets that have shrouded their bodies. Sasha, and not only her, has already been sold.
This can't happen to me! They can't sell me!
The handle of a whip poked into my back. I began to slowly climb the concave, wide steps worn by the bare feet of countless girls.
There are twenty steps to the platform.
My hair is now much longer - they never cut it on the Mountain, they only trimmed it, giving it shape. They hang below the shoulders, fluttering behind the back - this hairstyle is called here “slave flame”.
And I no longer wear the turian collar: after sawing it, it was torn from my neck by a slave, over whom stood an overseer with a whip. He got it once - when his finger touched my neck. Whether he did it intentionally or not, I don’t know. And the silver leaf, a sign that I happened to become the prey of Rask, a warrior and raider from Treva, is no longer in my left ear. Before dawn I was sold to a slave trader bivouacked on the outskirts of Ara. The naked woman was thrown at his feet. He quickly and competently carried out a detailed examination, making me sob with shame. Raek of Treva gave me fifteen copper tarsks. For a dugout - not bad at all. This amount was entered into the account book. Another book was held in the hands of the warrior Rask. They put my price there too, indicating whose account it should be attributed to, who was caught - Rask, a warrior from Treva. After entering information about my sale into both record books, the wire ring on which the silver piece hung was cut off from my ear, the piece of paper was given to the warrior who kept records in Rask’s account book, and he threw it into a nearby box. Like a dumb beast, they pushed me to the chain and placed me at the back of the head behind Sulda. Click - the turian collar dangling around my neck was fastened to a link in a heavy chain. They put Tula behind me. Only twelve tarsks of copper were fetched for it.
- Hurry up, slave! – the man standing at the foot of the stairs hurried. I hesitated. I have an oval plate on a chain around my neck with a number on it. Lot number. The number under which they sell me. Sasha - she could read - said that my number was one hundred and twenty-eight. She was one hundred and twenty-fourth. We were sold at auction at Publius's house on Ara Commercial Street. This is a mid-range auction where slaves are usually sold in large quantities at a lower price. It is far from such giants as Claudius or Kurulen auctions. Nevertheless, there is no shortage of buyers here, this market has a strong reputation - many transactions are made here.
Behind him are men's steps. The blow of the whip. I turned around.
- I'm naked! – I exhaled.
Doesn't he understand? I'm a dugout! I've been sold before, but not like this. I'm a dugout! Will I really be put on public display and sold at auction? Yes, I was sold, but privately. Appear shamelessly naked in front of a crowd of male shoppers! Unthinkable! I raised my eyes to the platform. No, I can't survive this.
The amphitheater-shaped hall is lit with torches. I have already been exhibited in a demonstration cage: future buyers must take a closer look at the product, figure out what it costs, so that later, at the auction, they do not make a mistake by increasing the price - should they have such a desire. We, exhibited in slave demonstration cages, had to follow the commands that the men standing at the cages shouted to us, turn this way and that, but they were not allowed to touch us. We were told to smile and be beautiful. There were twenty other girls sitting in the cage with me, each wearing a chain with a record around their neck. There is a list posted outside the cage: our numbers, physical characteristics, basic dimensions.
A man followed me up the stairs.
I spent eight days in the slave barracks waiting for the night of the auction. She underwent a thorough medical examination, tied her hands and feet, and endured several very painful injections. What kind of injections? For what? Doctors called the drug resistance serum. They kept us in strict conditions, locked up, and taught us some slave wisdom.
“The owner is everything in the world to you. Please him completely,” they endlessly drummed into us.
– What is resistance serum? – I asked Sasha.
“She will help you stay as you are,” she answered, kissing me, “beautiful and young.”
I stared at her, dumbfounded.
- Well, you see, both owners and free people in general - if they want, of course - can also inject themselves with this serum. “And, smiling, she added: “Only they are treated with more respect than slaves.”
- If they want? – I asked again.
- Is there anyone who doesn’t want to?
“There are some,” answered Sasha, “but not many.” And also the descendants of those to whom it was already administered.
- But why?
- Don't know. – Sasha shrugged. - People are different.
The secret of the resistance serum apparently lies in genetic subtleties. By influencing the genetic code and the formation of gametes, it somehow neutralizes or changes the direction of cell degeneration processes, transforming metabolism so that tissues remain relatively unchanged. Aging is a physical process, which means it can be reversed using physical methods. And so the doctors of Horus set out to challenge a hitherto universal disease, what on Horus is called the disease of withering and desiccation, and on Earth - aging. Many generations of doctors devoted their lives to experiments and scientific research, and finally, having collected together the data obtained by hundreds of researchers, several scientists made a breakthrough, developed a prototype of the resistance serum, based on the improvement of which it became possible to create a miracle drug.
Trembling, stunned, I stood in the middle of the cage.
– Why is such a valuable remedy used for slaves?
- Is it really that valuable? – Sasha was surprised. - Well, yes. Maybe.
For her, this is something taken for granted, as for most of the inhabitants of the Earth - ordinary vaccinations. She doesn’t know what old age is. She had a very vague idea of what would happen if the serum was not administered.
- Why not give the slaves the serum? – she asked. “Don’t masters want their slaves to be healthy and able to serve them better?”
“That’s right, Sasha,” I agreed. On Earth, farmers also vaccinate their animals to protect them from diseases. Of course, on Gor, where such a serum is readily available, it is quite natural to administer it to slaves.
Unable to control the trembling that gripped me, I stood next to Sasha. I received a gift that no amount of money could buy on Earth, a gift that was inaccessible to the rich of the rich of my home planet, because this drug simply does not exist there.
I have been gifted with an incredible treasure. I looked at the iron bars.
- But I'm in a cage!
“Of course,” Sasha picked up. -You are a slave. Now let's rest. We will be sold tonight.
A man's palm lay on my hand.
- I'm naked!
“You are a slave,” he replied.
- Don't put me in front of men! – I begged. – I’m not like others!
- On the platform, slave! “He pushed me up the stairs. My legs gave way and I fell on the steps.
He raised the whip.
- Now I’ll skin it!
- No, master!
“One hundred and twenty-eight,” came the auctioneer’s voice from the platform. My number was announced to the crowd.
I looked up. Approaching the edge of the platform, smiling friendly, the auctioneer extended his hand to me.
“I’m naked,” I managed.
- Ask! “He extended his hand towards me.
I offered my hand and he pulled me up. Round, about twenty feet in diameter, the platform is strewn with sawdust.
Holding my hand, he led me to the middle.
“She doesn’t want to,” he explained to the audience.
I stood in front of a crowd of men.
“Well, are you comfortable now, dear lady?” – he turned to me.
“Yes,” I muttered, “thank you.”
Suddenly, with unexpected anger, he threw me onto the boards at his feet. The whip whistled. He whipped me five times. Covering my head with my hands, I began to scream, and then froze, trembling, at his feet.
“Number one hundred twenty-eight,” he announced.
The attendant handed him a tablet with a stack of sheets of paper held in place by rings. He read the first page: the previous ones had already been torn off and thrown away.
- One hundred and twenty eight. – There was irritation in his voice. - Brunette, brown eyes. Height fifty-one hort, weight twenty-nine stone. Basic parameters: twenty two – sixteen – twenty two. The size of the handcuffs is second, the size of the ankles is second. The collar size is ten horts. Illiterate and in many practical respects untrained. Can't dance. The brand is “dina”, the flower of slaves. Ears are pierced. “He looked down at me and kicked me lightly. - Get up, slave!
I quickly stood up.
On three sides around the platform rise the torch-lit, crowded rows of the amphitheater. There are stepped passages between the tiers and on the sides. The tiers are crowded, spectators are eating and drinking. Here and there female figures flash in the crowd. Dressed up, wrapped in blankets, they look at me carefully. One of the women sips wine through the bedspread. A stain is spreading on the muslin. Everyone is fully dressed. And I’m only wearing a chain with a number.
- Straighter! – the auctioneer barked.
I straightened up. My back hurt terribly from the blows of the whip.
– Look at number one hundred twenty-eight! - he urged. – Who will name the price?
The crowd was silent.
Grabbing me by the hair, he forcefully pulled my head back.
- Twenty-two horts! “He shouted, pointing at my chest. - Sixteen horts! “He patted me on the waist. - Twenty-two horts! “He ran his hand over my body and put his hand on my right thigh. These are my main parameters. If necessary, the owner can use a whip to force me to maintain these dimensions. “Small,” the auctioneer continued, “but sweet, noble gentlemen, a tidbit, honestly!”
- Two tarsks! – was heard from the crowd.
“I heard: two tarsks,” the auctioneer picked up.
Of course, I’m not too big, but I can’t say I’m very small either. In earthly measurements I am five feet four inches tall and weigh about one hundred and sixty pounds. Slender, approximately twenty-eight - twenty - twenty-eight. Of course, I don’t know the size of the collar - I didn’t have to buy clothes that measure the circumference of the neck. On the Mountain this is ten horts, therefore, on Earth, accordingly, it is something about twelve and a half inches. My neck is slender and graceful. I also didn’t know the circumference of my wrists and ankles. Now I know - handcuffs and ankle rings number two. These are two separate sizes, ankles can be wider than wrists. The coincidence of these sizes is considered a sign of grace. There are four sizes in total. The first is small, the second and third are medium, the fourth is large. Of course, I couldn’t remove the size 4 ankle ring without help. But slipping out of a size four handcuff is fine, as long as it is fastened to the fourth mark. Most handcuffs and ankle rings are designed in such a way that their size can be adjusted to suit each girl. The auctioneer was standing very close.
Yes, there, on Earth, I didn’t know the circumference of my wrists and ankles: for a dugout these dimensions don’t matter, much less for the slave Horus. But size two handcuffs have an inner circumference of five horts, and the ankle rings have seven. So my wrists are about six inches in circumference, and my ankles are about eight and a half inches. We were measured before the auction, in the barracks, and the sizes were entered into a list.
“It’s marked “Dina,” the auctioneer jabbered, showing the crowd the image of a flower of slaves on my body. “Well, don’t you want to get your hands on lovely little Dina?” Are there Dinahs among your slaves? – Holding my hair, he turned my head back and forth. - And the ears, noble gentlemen! Ears are pierced!
Yes, pierced. Four days ago, in the barracks in Publius's house. The right ear too - symmetrical to the mark of the wire loop on which the silver leaf hung - was marked with this sign by Raek from Treva. Now I can wear earrings. Now I am the most insignificant of slaves - a slave with pierced ears.
- Five tarsks! – shouted, sipping from a bowl, a fat man wrapped in a thick robe from the middle tier on the right.
Oh my God! I don't see faces. The torches illuminate me, not the buyers.
“Stand up straight, pull your stomach in, open your hips,” hissed the auctioneer. I obeyed. My back still hurt. “Look,” he said, pointing at me with a rolled up whip, “at the outline of the ankles, notice how good the hips are, how elastic the stomach is.” Lovely figure! This amazing neck is waiting for your collar! Graceful, sensual – a beauty, and that’s all! “He looked around the crowd. “Don’t you really want to bring her to your home?” Put a collar and a tunic on her, whatever you like, put on her knees? Possess every cell of her body? She is your slave, you command, she obeys! It will serve you, instantly and unconditionally fulfill the slightest whim!
- Six tarsks! – repeated the auctioneer. - Take a walk, little Dina! And more beautiful!
My eyes filled with tears, my whole body was flushed with shame.
But I walked, and walked beautifully. Here it is, the whip, ready! Looking at the girl on display on the platform, the men became quite loud.
– Pay attention: what smooth, graceful movements, how flawless the lines! The back is straight, like a string, the head is held proud! Just a few tarsks and she's yours!
A tear rolled down his left cheek.
“Move nicely, baby,” the auctioneer warned.
- Yes, master.
I walked back and forth, turned around, dying of shame under the greedy gazes.
– Stand up proudly, Dina!
I stopped and raised my head.
– Buy it and make it work for you! Imagine - here she is naked, in your collar and chains, scratching the floor. Cleans, washes, sews! Shopping, cooking! Imagine - here she is receiving your guests! Waiting for you, spread out in furs!
- Ten tarsks!
“Ten tarsks,” repeated the auctioneer.
- Eleven! – came from the left.
- Eleven.
I peered into the crowd. Men, women. Four hundred people. Merchants roam the aisles offering snacks and drinks. I touched the chain hanging from my neck with my fingers. A man bought a piece of meat seasoned with sauce. He began to chew, looking at me. Our eyes met. I looked away. Some people were talking without paying attention to me. How I hated them! I didn’t want to be looked at - but they didn’t look!
- What a beautiful girl! – the auctioneer egged on the audience. – What about the sizes? Twenty two, sixteen, twenty two! - And poked me with a whip.
- Fourteen tarsks of copper!
- Fourteen! – the auctioneer did not let up. “But can a trading house part with such a beauty for just fourteen tarsks?” No, noble gentlemen!
- Fifteen.
- Fifteen!
For fifteen tarsks, Raek of Treva sold me to a slave trader. At Publius's house they gave him twenty for me. The auctioneer, of course, knows this. Of course, this is included in the records.
He turned his eyes to me.
“Yes, master,” I whispered.
Dissatisfied with the proposals. If the price does not suit the merchant, I will be punished at night. They will probably be severely flogged.
- On your stomach, Dina! - he ordered. - Let's get buyers interested.
- Yes, master.
I lay down at his feet, waiting for an order, looking up in fear - what if he hits? She lay there for a long time. Didn't hit. My fright amused the crowd.
“Obey, move quickly and beautifully, one hundred and twenty-eighth,” he cooed softly.
“Yes, master,” I answered.
And suddenly - the blow of the whip and abrupt:
- On the back! Raise one knee, extend the other leg, hands behind your head, cross your wrists, as if for handcuffs!
I obeyed. He began to quickly give commands one after another. Catching every word, I took poses in which slaves are shown. After only a moment allowing the audience to admire each painfully revealing pose, he barked the next command. He did not choose the sequence of positions at random; I moved to the next one easily, sometimes just rolling on the floor or turning around, but together they made up a rhythmic and smooth exquisite sensual melody, verified and precise, for me - incredibly humiliating. A kind of dance of a slave on display. I, who had once been Judy Thornton, performed the movements of a Gorean slave step by step and in the end I found myself, as in the beginning, on my stomach at his feet - trembling, covered in perspiration, tangled hair covering my eyes. The auctioneer put his foot on me. I dropped my head to the floor.
- Name the price!
- Eighteen. Nineteen? Did I hear nineteen?
“Nineteen,” came from the hall.
Tears fell onto the platform. The tips of my fingers dug into the sawdust. The body is covered with sawdust and covered with sweat.
There is a curled whip right next to the eyes.
There are women in the crowd. Well, why don’t they jump up and be indignant? After all, their sister’s dignity is being trampled here!
But no, they look calm. I am just a slave.
- Twenty! – someone shouted.
- Twenty. “The auctioneer removed his leg and poked me with the whip. - On knees!
At the very edge of the platform I knelt in a position of pleasure.
“Twenty copper tarsks were offered for this lovely baby,” announced the auctioneer. - Who is bigger? – He looked around the crowd.
I froze. The trading house paid exactly twenty for me.
“Twenty-one,” the man suggested.
- Twenty one.
I breathed more freely. Although small, it is a profit.
I never forgot for a minute about the plate on my neck. The chain is short and fits tightly around the throat. Buttoned up. Don't take it off.
They give me twenty-one tarsks.
This means that I will not bring a loss to the Publius trading house
Keeping a girl behind bars for several days on straw in slave barracks and teaching her something costs a pittance.
How much does slave stew and whip cost?
– They offer twenty-one tarsks! - the auctioneer shouted. - Who is bigger?
Suddenly there was a feeling of fear. What if the merchant’s profit is not satisfactory? The profit is quite small. I hope he will be satisfied. I tried my best and listened to every word. I was afraid that they would flog me.
Gorean men are not lenient towards a girl who has caused discontent.
“Get up, you chained creature,” the auctioneer threw at me.
I got up.
“Well,” he addressed the audience, “it looks like we’ll have to part with this beauty for just twenty-one tarsks of copper.”
“Please don’t be angry, master,” I whined.
“Nothing, Dina,” he responded with unexpected warmth after the recent harshness.
Falling to my knees in front of him, I hugged his legs and looked into his eyes:
- Is the owner happy?
“Yes,” he answered.
- So Dina won’t be whipped?
- Of course not. “He looked kindly into my face. “It’s not your fault that the bargaining is slowly gaining momentum.”
- Thank you, master.
“Now get up, baby, and quickly get off the platform.” We also have some cattle for sale here.
- Yes, master. – I hastily jumped to my feet, turned and rushed to the stairs - not to the one I had climbed, but from the opposite side of the platform.
“Just a minute, Dina,” he stopped me. - Come here.
- Yes, master. “I ran up to him.
“Put your hands behind your head,” he ordered, “and don’t move until I give permission.”
- Master?
I put my hands behind my head. Taking me by the neck, he turned me towards the audience.
- Take a look, noble ladies and gentlemen!
The blow of a heavy, knotted whip fell on me.
- No need! No, please, master! – I screamed, not daring to take my hands off my head. Another second and I’ll start tearing my hair out from pain and helplessness! - Please don't, master! “Trying to dodge the whip, I writhed and spun under the blows. He held my neck tightly.
- Squirm, Dina! Squirm!
I screamed, begging for mercy.
“Did you really think,” he hissed, “that one tarsk of profit would satisfy us?” Do you think we are fools? Buy a girl for twenty and sell her for twenty-one? You think we don’t know how to trade here, you whore?
I begged for mercy.
But, having finished this demonstrative spanking, he let go of my neck. Still holding my hands behind my head, looking down, I fell on my knees in front of him.
– You can put your hands down!
I covered my face with my hands, crying. She stood in front of him, trembling, sobbing, her knees tightly pressed together.
“Forty copper tarsks,” was heard from the rows, “from the Tavern of the Two Chains.”
– “Delightful Silks” raises to fifty!
So deceive me! The auctioneer set a trap and caught him by surprise! He forced me to show myself in all my glory without any pretense - and, without wanting it myself, I appeared before the crowd in all my natural helplessness - a real slave.
– “Golden Shackles” gives seventy!
Cooked up well! First, he squeezed everything he could out of the crowd, and then, stunning the audience and plunging the slave into confusion, he put on display the most intimate things - vulnerability, vulnerability, pliability, properties as integral to her as breast volume or waist circumference, and also put up for sale. My sensitivity is also included in the price - as well as intelligence, dexterity and training. The Gorean buys the whole girl, whole, with all her giblets, and everything about her must suit him.
– Eighty tarsks of copper – “Fragrant fetters”! Can't be!
“Hot as a pata,” a man laughed.
“Exactly,” said another, “I wish she could wear my collar!”
And I, sobbing, knelt on the market platform. Well, how could you control yourself when the whip touched your body? No, it's not in my power.
- “Silver Cage” gives eighty-five!
I was shaking with sobs. Naked, in full view of everyone. Whoever pays the most will buy. I knew: they weren’t just selling a beauty here—a beauty would have gone for twenty-one tarsks—no, there was something more for sale. Beautiful slave.
– “Silver Cage” gives eighty-five copper tarsks! – the auctioneer shouted. - Who is bigger?
“A collar with a bell,” was heard from the rows. – One silver tarsk!
Silence reigned in the hall.
– One silver tarsk! – declared the auctioneer. Seems happy.
I stood with my head bowed. The knees are tightly together. Shoulders tremble a little. The innkeepers began to bargain. I already had some idea of what it was like to be a slave who spreads patu. The tavern slaves on the Mountain, dressed in silk and hung with bells, are well known. Their purpose is to please the owner's clients. The cost of their services is included in the price of a bowl of pagi.
– “Collar with a bell” gives one tarsk of silver! – the auctioneer shouted. - Who is bigger?
Looking into the hall, I shuddered. Eyes! Women's eyes from under the covers. Frozen poses, tense faces. Undisguised hostility. How painful it is to stand naked as a slave under the gaze of women! You feel doubly naked. It would be better if the audience consisted of only men. Women... Do they, even involuntarily, compare themselves to me? Or maybe they are wondering if they will be able to give a man greater pleasure? Why exactly now did their eyes flare up with such anger, such indignation? Until now they looked at her condescendingly, as just another slave. Well, they’ll sell her in a line of others like her for a handful of coppers. No, now we look at it in a new way. Now there was hatred in his eyes. Hatred of free women for a slave, sensual and desirable. Are they jealous? Envy of male attention? Do they deep down want to be on the platform themselves? Don't know. Free women are often cruel to beautiful slaves; don’t expect any leniency from them. Maybe they realize that we are more attractive to men, maybe they feel the threat posed by slaves, they see us as competitors - and lucky ones. Don't know. Maybe they are afraid - either of us, or of the slaves in themselves. Don't know. But what most likely infuriated them was the way I reacted to the blows of the auctioneer’s whip. Consumed by the desire to give themselves, free women are proud that they can afford not to give themselves, to preserve their dignity, to remain an individual. We, slaves, do not have such luxury. Whether they like it or not, slaves must give themselves, give themselves completely. Maybe free women don’t want to be free, maybe their nature attracts them, like slaves, under the power of the strong? Maybe the slave's lot seduces? Don't know. One thing is clear: a free woman experiences a deep, irresistible hostility towards her chained sister, especially if she is beautiful. And slaves are afraid of free women. They dream that a man, not a woman, will put the collar on them. Well, trading is at its zenith. Now it is clear to the spectators: I should be a tavern slave - hot, like a hot seasoning, tasty and attractive; enchanting, like music, accompaniment to the fiery yellow page. This was what added fuel to the fire and made him look more closely at his companion. Will he now frequent the new tavern? Scary, the hostility of the women was frightening. I am a slave.
“Stand up, little Dina,” the auctioneer ordered. I got up.
Suppressing sobs, she pulled back her hair. She looked around the crowd, men and women sitting on the benches.
“The Bell Collar Tavern gives silver tarsk,” the auctioneer repeated. – Any other suggestions?
Strangely, at that moment Eliza Nevins, my former rival, came to mind. It would amuse her to look at me, naked, on the market platform.
– Sold for silver tarsk to the Collar and Bell tavern!
He pushed me toward the stairs, and I stumbled down the steps on the opposite side of the platform.
- One hundred twenty-nine! – I heard it behind me.
At the foot of the stairs they dragged me to a chain with handcuffs and placed me behind a kneeling girl. She didn’t even raise her head, didn’t even look at me. "On knees!" – the man ordered. I knelt down. He fastened the handcuff hanging from a chain around my wrist. Soon another slave sold at auction was fastened behind me, and another, and another. I was on my knees. A chain hung from his hand. Sold.
