A Barbarian Girl on Gor

Chapter 3 - Amelia Jane is Appropriately Marked

I awoke slowly. I had lost all track of time, but I knew from my belly and throat that I had not been fed or watered for a while.

I sniffed. A smell of burning mingled with the foul smells of the pens. A girl across the walkway, Penelope, who I had found was French, but could speak some halting English, saw that I was awake and whispered "They give us some heat."

With difficulty I turned, my behind and back hurting against the metal of my tiny hanging cage, to notice the movement of the men, and saw a glow coming from a cauldron. A handler was putting several small black stones onto a fire beneath it.

The room was already warmer, and the damp and the cold diminished. After a time I heard the men approaching. They stopped and removed three girls from the first row of pens and led them crawling along the corridor and down stairs at the end.

On the breasts of the girls similar symbols to my own "44" were written. I knew now that these were their numbers, and in our block of cells the numbers went from 41 up to 60. From this I thought it probable that we were one cell block amongst several, at least three, perhaps more. I recalled the journey on the spaceship. There had been at least 60 girls in the pods and we were only twenty in the room.

There had been covert whisperings and murmured speculations in the cages when the men were not paying much attention to us. I did not know at that time where I was. There had been a rumour in the pens that we were not even on earth. One part of evidence for this were tiny creatures that scurried on the floor of the chamber in which our cages hung. They were vaguely rat-like, yet different in several respects, such as colour, and shape. However, it seemed possible to me that such creatures might exist on earth.

The girl in the cage to to my left, or '43', was Aika from Japan, whilst she to my right, '45' was Ekaterina from Russia. Penelope was '54'. Of my neighbours only Penelope could speak my language, and she only falteringly. Being English myself, I could not of course speak their various tongues.

It was not in any case practical to talk to other girls, except in brief whispers that often could not be made out. If the guards heard any noise they would typically whip someone, guilty or otherwise. So far I had escaped being whipped.

Over the course of the hours and days I had found out from Penelope that the girls to her right and left, '53' and '55', were Lora, who was from South Africa, and Mariana, who was from Brazil.

Aika and two others, '41', and '42' had been taken in the first batch.

Apparently the girl next to Mariana was not from Earth, and could not or would not talk to Mariana. I did not know if this were true, or just another unsubstantiated rumour like the rodents scuttling on the floor.

All of us were nude, save for necklaces, cuffs, and anklets. Penelope and myself, as well as others, also had earrings, this seemingly the one item of jewellery that the men had not confiscated. I did not know why this should be.

The three girls were being herded along towards the cauldron. The sounds of metal and chains and the snapping shut of locks could be heard along with the muffled sobbing of several girls. The men spoke amongst themselves in their language. Then a piercing shriek jolted me, my heart skipping a beat.

I shuddered. I wondered if it had been Aika that had screamed.

There was a louder sobbing and pleading in a foreign tongue. Two more times the shocking screams echoed through the room. The weeping girls were then brought back to their cages. I could clearly see on the lovely thigh of Aika a red mark like a letter or number. She was crying uncontrollably.

The men proceeded to the next group of cages, which included mine.

I was already sobbing as I was pulled from my cell. The handsome brute whom I had come to regard as my handler seemed to be in charge of the operation with two others. I wondered if it were coincidental that he was to supervise once more, or simply a factor of the duty rosters. I obediently went to the kneeling position as I had been taught, hoping to impress him with my compliance. He impatiently positioned me instead on my hands and knees, his strong hands on my bare limbs showing me what was required.

He attached a length of chain to an attachment of my necklace. I was leashed like an animal!

I wanted to struggle against this new indignity inflicted upon me, but he pulled on the chain and I had little choice but to follow him on hands and knees along the walkway and down the stairs. It was getting warmer, and I was crying freely now. "Hush little animal,it will soon be all over," said my handler, solicitously, and I heard his words with a measure of gratitude. He normally spoke to me only harshly and to correct flaws in my behaviour.

I saw a contraption of iron bands at the wall. I was placed into it by my handler, strapping me in place around my neck, belly, left knee above the thigh, and just below the hip. The bands were tight. I could not move my left leg even a fraction.

"You will be allowed to scream, little animal," he said, seeming to regard this as a kindness, a mercy, a consideration. I wondered how I would have possibly been prevented from so doing, but I suppose that there are gags that might serve such purposes. I felt far from grateful, however.

My handler went to the cauldron, and discussed something with the other men there. They were checking some sort of list.

He put on a glove, then pulled something out of the cauldron. It was a rod of iron, about two feet long, culminating in a circular ring about three inches in diameter. The circular ring was glowing red!

I crumbled. I would have slumped to the floor if the device had not held me up. So this was it. They were going to burn my body.

I wailed and babbled incoherently as my handler approached me with the iron rod. The ringed tip of the rod crackled into my flesh. There was sizzling, and spluttering. I was beyond tears. I desperately hoped that I might lose consciousness, but the pain saw to it that I did not. It seared beyond my thigh, coursing through my whole body as if my blood had been turned to acid. The iron lodged in my body. How long would it stay there, I wondered? It seemed it had been there for an eternity. I heard wild, hoarse, screams, those of a shrieking beast, and realised that they were my own.

Still the insidious iron was lodged in my flesh. It seemed that the moment would never end, I wondered why they were not going to stop. Surely it made more sense to put the iron to the girl's flesh for just a few seconds, rather than leave it there for what seemed like minutes on end? The pain had developed now, like such I had never known.

The rod of iron was removed, but the pain remained and even intensified, I was grateful at least that I had not succumbed to any base and essential bodily urges, but that was perhaps because we had not been fed and watered for some time, rather than to any great resolve or fortitude on my part.

My handler undid the hasps of the device. I slumped to the ground. By the leash he dragged me to a spot across the floor where he indicated I should kneel. He restrained my hands behind my back in the cuffs. I could not reach the brand. He took Ekaterina and she was placed in the device. She was sobbing uncontrollably.

The other girls were, so far as I could see, marked with a symbol that looked a little like a letter 'k'. My own adornment was that of a letter 'o'. I wondered at this. Did it have significance? I had wanted to 'blend in', but, at least in the matter of my brand I had been accorded individual treatment.

Did this mean that I was special in some way? I recalled Professor Jones saying that he had 'special plans' for me. Did that simply mean that I was to have a different letter burnt onto my body? Was there perhaps something about me that had resulted in this differentiation?

Perhaps I was more beautiful?

I doubted this; I am a good judge of beauty and had realised fairly soon that whilst my looks stood up well to the others in the pens, I was not head or shoulders above the other girls in beauty. The girl '56', for example, who was said to be not from earth was probably more beautiful in some respects, if you liked brown hair and green eyes, and shorter, fuller figured girls.

Was it that I was from earth?

No, many, if not most of the girls were from earth. They all seemed to have the other mark.

Was it that I was a blonde?

No, Ekaterina was also blonde, and she had not been marked as I.

My curiosity, always keen, had been piqued, and perhaps my vanity too came into play. I was, in some unspecified way, special. I resolved to make it my business to find out why. I thought that I might be able to wheedle it out of my handler.

He had helped capture me. He had fingered me scandalously in the office, and then with exquisite cruelty had made me lick my own juices from his fingers. He had leashed me and burnt me for no apparent reason.

But he was a handsome brute. And I might be able to wheedle information from him.

I had normally found that I could obtain information from men, if I really wanted it, and worked hard enough at getting it. After all, my handler had been somewhat sympathetic to me, telling me that it would soon be over, and that I had been a good girl. He had not needed to do that, and yet he had done so. I smiled to myself. We should see. Getting information from him as to the nature of my special brand might at least constitute a test, to see what I could achieve here, under the circumstances in which I now found myself.

My arms were still cuffed behind me in the cage so I could not scratch at my circular wound.

I saw Penelope across the walkway. She was looking at my marking. "It is different," she said.

I turned the other way, in the direction of the side wall, and sobbed in my tiny cell.

I had been marked.

I wished I had my hands free that I could block my ears so as not to hear the screaming of the other girls as each took their turn to be kissed by the iron.

I do not know how long passed before the iron lid of my cage was opened again. I looked up to see my handler looking down on me. I regarded him sulkily. He was handsome, but nothing but a brute. I wondered what it should be like to try and please him.

He lifted me out of the cage, undid my cuffs so that I could use my arms to crawl, then once more attached the humiliating leash to my necklace. I had come to realise that the neckalce was there for a functional reason, as with the cuffs and anklets.

The only items that I wore that did not seem to have a functional purpose were my hoop earrings. I wondered that I had been allowed to retain these decorative items. Perhaps they were simply obscured beneath my hair and had not been noticed. But I doubted this. They seemed thorough in such matters.

The marking on my leg stung horribly.

I crawled behind my handler to the room where I had been deemed 'adequate' by Professor Jones, and then humiliatingly brought to a state of arousal by my handler.

I turned my head away so as not to look at him.

My handler poked me with his switch.

"Position," he said, not pleasantly.

I assumed the 'default position' that they had taught me, still refusing to meet the eyes of the Professor. Who did they think they were to kidnap me, and now permanently and painfully mark my body? Surely the relevant authorities were on the trail of myself and the other captured girls by now? They would not get away with this iniquity.

"So, my dear," began the Professor, in his usual measured, impeccable tones, as if he were addressing a student or colleague, rather than a nude, branded girl, kneeling at his feet, "What is your name at the moment?"

"44," I replied numbly, my head down.

"Indeed," he said, "I think we will have to do something about that. Find something more suitable, more descriptive, for you, my dear."

I kept my head down, a slight tinge of hope in my heart. It would be nice at least to be given something more than a mere number for a name.

"Do you notice anything about the brand you have been given?"

I did not answer. A poke with the switch served to encourage me to reply.

"Yes," I remarked, sullenly. Despite my hatred of them, I did not wish to be punished. I determined that I would at least answer their questions after a fashion, that I not feel the switch or even the whip on my body, additional to the pain from the burning mark on my thigh.

"What did you notice?" asked the Professor, patiently.

"It is different."

He sighed. "In what way?"

"It is an 'o' shape. The other girls all had a different shape."

"Very good," he said, "Perhaps you are more observant than I had thought. Are you aware of the significance of this brand?"

"No." I replied. How could they expect me to know that? I looked up at the Professor angrily. He was sitting with his elbows on his desk, his fingertips at his lips, looking at me intently.

"It is what is called a holding brand," he said, "Just as with your companions in the pens, it designates you as property, but whereas their brands could be traced back to this House, yours is simply an anonymous symbol. It says, in effect, that although you are undoubtedly a slave girl, we do not guarantee that you are up to the standards upon which we would normally insist. However, as you see from the area in the middle of the ring, there is space for you to receive a subsequent further brand."

I shuddered. The thought that I might be branded again was almost too much to bear.

"It is in some ways," he went on, "a probationary symbol. To show that you have a great distance to go in your training. In some ways it will be a mercy for you, that men might not expect too much from you."

I felt a tear roll down my cheek. I did not brush it away, I knew that I might be beaten if I broke my default position.

"It also suggests a new and suitable name for you," he said.

He pronounced a single syllable. I would transcribe it as something between Cass and Cazz.

"This," he said, "is your new name. In the language of your new home. It seems, interestingly, closely derived from the Latin term, cassum. Are you aware of what that means?"

"No," I said. There had been a Latin option taught by Professor Jones as part of the course at college, but I had failed it.

"It has several meanings," he went on, "it suggests an emptiness, a vacuity, but also something useless and trivial. You can thus see the appropriateness of it for you. It can also be used as a term for a cavity, or an opening. Perhaps one suitable translation of your new name into English might be 'hole'. With all that implies with respect to your body."

I put my head down, blushing.

"What is your current name?" he asked.

"Cass," I answered.

"And what is the translation of your name in your old language?"

"Hole," I replied, bitterly.

"You may be interested to learn that your companions in the pens," he said, "have been taken for training, to learn the language and customs of this place."

I looked up at him hopefully

"As you may recall, I have special plans for you."

I felt my belly contract. What did he have planned?

"I have already tried and failed to train you in something useful," he said, "at the college. You preferred to fritter your time away on parties and socializing. And then, when you failed all your examinations, you had the temerity to try to persuade me to give you a higher mark. Do you recall the method that you used?"

"Yes," I said.

"What was it?" he asked.

I did not want to answer, but I knew that my handler stood behind me with a switch in his hand and a whip at his belt, and that he would not falter from using either of them upon me.

"I...I....pleasured you," I stammered, "with my mouth."

"Indeed," he said, I could hear the malice in his voice, "and surprisingly well. You tried to lick and suck your way to success, like the hot little slut that you undoubtedly are. You may be interested to know that that was the moment that effectively sealed your fate, and led to you being here in front of me now, nude, branded, and on your knees."

I blushed crimson as he crudely complimented my desperate attempt at increasing my grades via fellatio.

"Subsequently, at the investment bank, with our agent Mr Smith," he continued, "you showed yourself to be mercenary and money grabbing. That is not acceptable in a slave girl."

He went on, "Accordingly, whilst the other slave girls will receive their food, shelter, and training for free, you will, as it were, earn your keep."

He regarded my handler, "Affix the coin box to her, Diogenes."

I gathered that the name of my handler was Diogenes. He attached with a small padlock some sort of container to the end of my leash. It was grey, of plain metal, about the size of a soft drinks can. It had a narrow slit in the top. I looked up, puzzled.

"You are to be sent out into the streets wearing this little device, my dear. You will strive to earn coins. Should you manage to collect three coins, then you will have covered the costs for your food, water, and shelter. If you collect more, then you will also receive some basic training. Hopefully a money-grubbing little tramp such as yourself will appreciate this arrangement and benefit from it."

I looked up at him, numbly. He continued in the same suave tones, as if he might be critiquing an essay that I had written.

"Additionally, your hands will be confined behind you in your cuffs. This will ensure that you don't get any foolish ideas about stealing coinage or food or such. It will keep you 'out of mischief', as it were."

He looked down at me. "Do you have any questions?"

I looked up at him sobbing. I had so many.

"Where am I?" I asked.

"You are not on earth," he said, "we will leave it there for now."

"Who are you?"

"I am Professor Jones," he said, "as you know. I am also an agent for factions that will remain beyond your knowledge."

"How am I expected to earn money?"

"You are essentially nude," he said, "you wear only a collar, and cuffs, anklets, and earrings. I should think it obvious even to someone of such limited intelligence as yourself."

I stifled a sob, "Why are..."

The Professor interrupted me. "I have no further time for your trivial babblings. Both you and I have more important work to do. Prepare her suitably, Diogenes, then take her to the market place. It is time for the little slut to earn her keep."

I felt a pull on my leash.

I was to be prepared suitably.

Then I was to be put to work to earn my keep.