A Paga Girl On Gor Ch 02

We had been outside for only a short while. I felt the sun on my body. It felt so good after so long in the filth and squalor of the pens.

There were calls and cries. We were apparently in a public street.

I was being led, leashed, nude, gagged and hooded through a public street!

In some ways I was thankful for the hood, which at least afforded me a degree of anonymity. I imagined what it would be like to be paraded nude, leashed, and gagged without the hood.

I stumbled. There was a pain at my bottom. Someone had slapped it.

"Nice ass!" I heard a male voice say. There was laughter.

I wondered how long I would have to endure such acute humiliation and degradation. I heard the braying of animals. There was no sound of motor engines. How primitive this place was.

My bare feet felt the dirt of the street. It felt dusty and uneven. Several times I stepped in what I hoped to be mud. There were puddles. I could not see where to place my feet. I was much at the mercy of him who held my leash, pulling me along by my neck.

After a time, I heard the sound of a door opening and I sensed that we were inside once more.

"Kneel," said the guard.

I knelt.

The man called out.

"Draca!"

There was no reply. He called again.

"Draca!"

I heard footsteps approach, lighter than those before. They stopped, and I guessed that someone else was in front of me. I knelt very still and listened intently.

"Morning, Tarak," said a voice, a woman's, "What do you want at this time of day? All the sluts are still asleep. But I suppose I could wake one up for a good customer, for an extra coin. You want little Lita, I suppose?"

"I don't want paga now," said the man, "I'm working. I've brought the wench we talked of. This is her."

"This is who?" said the woman.

"The barbarian. The one with pierced ears that we were talking about last night. That you agreed to take in."

The woman harrumphed.

"I don't recall anything about taking in a barbarian."

"You do. It was just last night. You said that rather than selling her off for sleen-meat you could use her here."

"I don't remember it being a barbarian. I assumed you meant a proper slave. What am I meant to do with a barbarian?"

"They're all the same, Draca. Look at her body, don't you think she's got slave curves?"

I felt my left breast cupped and dropped. It was not painful, but humiliating and embarrassing nonetheless.

I had not yet become used to having my bottom casually slapped, or my breasts fondled, even as in this case, apparently, to make a point about my putative attractiveness.

There was a pause.

"Hmmm...yes," said the woman, "I see what you mean. Not bad. Be a shame to sell her straight off for sleen-meat."

They were talking about me as if I was not there. I was scandalized but was unable to help myself straightening a little in the hood, and arching my back a bit to accentuate my figure, knowing myself under their careful appraisal.

Eventually the woman grunted.

"Alright," she said, "I suppose she isn't costing me anything, and I am short of a slut or two at the moment. I'll take her on, if you say so, but you owe me one, Tarak."

The man's voice laughed.

"You get plenty enough coin out of me, Draca. Look on this as a bonus. I'll be here again this evening; be sure and have Lita hot and waiting for me."

"You don't want the barbarian to serve you then?"

He laughed again, mockingly.

I heard his footsteps recede.

The hood was taken from my head. I breathed in the air. It smelt unpleasant and stuffy. A faint odour combining something like whisky, and sweat, and something else less familiar, the smell of sexual fluids. The combination smelt disgusting to my sensitive nose. I have a very good sense of smell and taste.

I found myself looking up into the eyes of a robed corpulent woman. She looked down at me with hostility. I instinctively averted my eyes, but then her hand gripped my face, her thumb at my left cheek, her fingers at my right. She removed the gag. I felt drool drip down my chin. With her hands she forced me to look upwards once more, my blue eyes meeting her downward glaring gaze. It felt good to be without the gag.

"So you're the barbarian bit of ass they're fobbing off on me, eh? What do they call you, slut?"

I stammered out quickly, "M-masters have been pleased to name me, 'flower', Mistress."

"I see, and how much training have you had, 'flower'?" She spoke my new name contemptuously, as if it was unpleasant to even let it cross her lips.

"I have been taught to speak Gorean, Mistress, and some slave positions, and something of my duties as a slave, Mistress."

"Oh," she said, "Have you indeed? And what about pleasing men? Have they taught you that, wench?"

"A little bit, Mistress."

I thought dejectedly of the embarrassing encounters with the guards, and when Chloe and Siri had taunted me. Of my assessment mark of one out of ten for what had been termed 'slave heat'.

"A little bit? Well that isn't going to do you much good here, is it, candy cake?"

She still gripped my cheeks in her pudgy hand, so that I was unable to lower my head. I am sure that I was blushing.

"No, Mistress," I managed to say.

She removed her fingers from my face.

"Stand up," she said, "Let's have a proper look at your set of curves, little blondie.

I did as I was told, and got unsteadily up from my knees to my feet.

"Hands on your head," she barked, "Arch your back, push those tits out! Don't you even know how to stand properly?"

I complied with her instructions. I had been taught to stand in such a position, of course, as a basic part of my training. It was termed the display position, and was one of a number of bodily positions that I had been taught.

Even standing thusly the woman loomed over me. I am fairly short, about five feet two inches, and she must have been at least five foot ten, and probably weighed twice what I did. She was wearing a long and flowing robe that had seen better days, and sandals.

She surveyed me from tip to toe, her brow furrowed in thought. Her fingers pinched me at the waist, testing the tautness of my skin. She took my left breast and cupped it in her hand, then letting it drop, as if testing its pertness, and my flexibility. She inspected the mark burnt into my leg.

I wanted to hide somewhere, but I knew that in such a position I was perfectly positioned for her unhurried perusal of my curves.

I thought back to earth, and imagined myself walking down the street in my sexiest minidress, the canary yellow one, as short as I dared wear back then, tight at my chest and hips, aware of the darting eyes of men. They would sneak a quick look at me, and then look away again quickly.

Oh the pleasure I got knowing that they were 'checking me out', but also of the cultural boundaries that ensured that they were not permitted more than a brief glance as I walked down the street, swaying my hips, fully aware that they could hardly take their eyes off me, and yet still safe from them and their baser, more primitive urges.

Now it seemed that anyone could 'look me over', for as long, and in as much detail, as they desired. They could even touch me or, apparently, spank me in the street. I shivered, frightened at what I now was and its implications.

I was no longer wearing the canary yellow minidress, of course. Nor my lacy lingerie. I was nude apart from a collar and my hoop earrings.

The fact that she inspecting me so assiduously was also a woman made it more embarrassing and humiliating. I was not used to being regarded as such by women.

"Turn about, sugarplum, let me see your ass."

I followed her instructions. I knew that my ass was one of my best features. Had not a man shortly before complimented it in the street, emphasizing his compliment with a firm smack?

"Feet apart. Split those pretty legs."

I complied. Even under such conditions my innate vanity meant that I was grateful to hear that she thought my legs were also pretty. I knew that I had a lovely body. The college boys had nicknamed me 'Ten', after all. Now I was 'flower', which still had in it connotations of beauty, I thought. It was a simple name, not subtle, but not too bad. I could have done far worse, I reflected, than be named 'flower'.

"Wider, slut."

I did as she requested.

"Wider."

I stretched further. I did not think that I would be able to maintain this position for very long. My thighs trembled with the muscular stress of it. My sex felt stretched and raw and open. I had been selected for ballet classes at school, but had not maintained this activity at college, and was no longer as supple as once I had been. One is not as supple at twenty-one as at eighteen.

I had once been able to perform the 'Grand Ecart' or 'Splits'. In fact, it had been a specialty of mine, but it was something that I had not practiced for a while, despite it being laughingly requested from time to time at parties and such.

I well knew its sexual connotations and implications, of course. I was not that naive, and strongly suspected the motives of those requesting it, usually men of my acquaintance, who had had a drink or two too many. Accordingly, I generally chose not to perform my party piece at the behest of others. Except sometimes, when I had had a drink or two myself, or there was a boy at the party that I particularly wished to impress. I was not really that sort of girl, you see.

I wondered how long I would be able to maintain the awkward position to which I had been directed, and whether my 'pretty legs' were now split satisfactorily for my demanding inspector.

Suddenly, I felt an intimate touch.

It was swift and sure and devastating. Her finger had come between my split legs, round to my front, and briefly caressed my sex, looking for my little sex nub.

I was unable to stifle a moan, putting my head back, my eyes going up in my head. I closed my eyes and bit my lip. I moaned again. My hands gripped my blonde hair tightly, pulling it painfully.

It was extremely difficult for me to retain my position, spread as I was, but luckily for me, the touch was short, perhaps a second or two, and my former ballet training had come to my aid.

I was so embarrassed that her short-lived but deft touch had had such an effect on me. I felt a sense of shame suffuse within me. I was grateful that no men had been present to witness my response. I had practically fallen on the floor. I supposed that I could take some pride in the fact that I had remained upon my feet. I had always had a certain grace of movement, and with that came a sure sense of balance.

"Turn back to face me," barked my inspector. She sounded annoyed.

With difficulty I moved my legs closer and turned back to face her.

"That's the best you can do, is it, you worthless barbarian object?"

Her voice was hostile, even contemptuous.

I did not know what to say in answer to her. Had she been unhappy with how widely I had been able to stretch my legs? At one time I had been able to perform the grand ecart, or floor splits. Certainly a girl is not as supple at twenty-one as at eighteen, yet I was sure that I could perform such movements again, if I practiced a bit.

"I touch you like that and you stay on your feet! Any other slut in the tavern would be a writhing mass of need and juice on the floor, but you just moan a little! What am I meant to do with you, cold fish, hmmm?"

I did not answer, as her claw-like fingers once more gripped my face. Her other hand moved back my long blonde mane, so that my left ear was uncovered.

"And you have pierced ears," she said, "How am I going to be able to use a worthless piece of trash like you, when the Masters are calling for a hot slut desperate to please them? You think they'll be happy with a little bit of light moaning?"

There did not seem much for me to say.

She seemed to have completed her rant. She carried on more thoughtfully.

"Still, I don't have much choice. If they tell me to take you on, I have to take you. They're good customers and I need the business. I suppose there are plenty of other things you can do around the place, and you might do for the really drunk customers. Yes, I suppose I can use you."

This last she almost mused to herself, quieter now as the fingers of her right hand explored my face, then went to my left ear and felt the lobe, then pulled a little on the hoop earring that I still wore.

"Yes, and I suppose Tupp could do with a bit of help," she smiled a little, but not with her eyes. It was a cruel smile.

She called loudly, "Tupp!, Tupp!, get in here."

There was a pause whilst she continued to regard me, then footsteps and an ugly misshapen dwarf came into the room, dressed practically in rags.

"Yes, Lady Draca, my Mistress?" intoned the dwarf, in a nasal voice. He saw me and looked at me more directly. I shuddered. He was disgusting.

She looked at him, "Now Tupp. You're always complaining about having too much to do to keep the place clean, so you can have this barbarian slut help you. Put her to work, and get the place cleaner."

The dwarf practically capered about, such seemed his joy. I wondered about his mental capacity.

"Yes, Lady Draca! Thank you, Lady Draca!"

"Don't damage her, as she'll be needed to serve in the alcoves sometimes. Do you understand?"

"Oh yes, Lady Draca! Of course, Lady Draca, my Mistress."

"Good," said the woman, then turning her malevolent glare back to me, "Looks like I've found a purpose for you after all. Just remember though, that although you are to do everything he tells you, Tupp here is just your Overseer, not your Master. He works for me, just like you do. Do you understand, barbarian?"

"Yes, Mistress."

She slapped me, once, with the flat of her hand across my left cheek.

"You will call me, 'Lady Draca, my Mistress', understand?"

My cheek burned. There had been no need to hit me, but I suppose that it showed me my place, and that I could be physically punished for the slightest infraction, even when I was not aware of it being such.

"Yes, Lady Draca, my Mistress."

She slapped me again, this time with the back of her hand, against my right cheek.

"Don't you know enough to kneel when you address the free?"

I knelt.

"Again, and thank me for teaching you manners"

"Yes, Lady Draca, my Mistress. Thank you for reprimanding me, Lady Draca, my Mistress, and teaching me my manners."

She hit me once more on the left cheek. She was able to summon up more force now as I was kneeling and she was standing. Tears sprang to my eyes. Both my cheeks burned with pain.

"And put your knees together when you address a Free Woman. I don't need to see your sex every time I talk to you."

I hastily placed my knees together. I had known this rule, of course, it is a basic lesson of our training, but I had assumed that with the other being present I would be required to kneel with my legs wide. I had been educated otherwise.

"And you will address Tupp here as 'Tupp, my Overseer", got it, slut?"

"Yes, Lady Draca, my Mistress."

"Alright," she said, "Show me you understand."

I turned on my knees to face the dwarf.

"Greetings," I said, "Tupp, my Overseer."

The dwarf capered about again. The Lady Draca, my Mistress laughed to see it.

"Good," she said, "See that she is given something suitable to wear, and tie her hair back. I want those earrings to be visible at all times."

"Yes, Lady Draca, my Mistress," intoned my Overseer.

"And I think we need a new name for her too. 'Flower' is too grand for a barbarian. I need to think a bit. Do you have any ideas for a name for your new helpmate, Tupp?"

I wondered what my new name might be.

I had once been 'Amanda Felicity Charrington'. That seemed a long time ago now.

In the pens I had been 'beast 13'.

I had not liked that name, of course, but at least it had not been any better or worse than the other girls, all of whom had been titled in similar vein in the pens. It would seem that there were no favorites in the pens.

Then I had been renamed 'flower', which was a simple and lovely name, albeit a little suggestive of something pretty that could be picked or crushed. I had not minded it.

It seemed however that such a simple pretty name was not be my appellation for very long. Lady Draca my Mistress deemed it too grand for the likes of me, and had something else in mind, happy to invoke the assistance of an apparently demented dwarf.

I wondered what my new name might be. i doubted that it would be as descriptive as 'flower', nor as civilized as 'Amanda Felicity Charrington'.

Whatever my new name, I thought hopefully, it plainly could be no worse than labouring in the pens under the name of 'beast 13'.