A Paga Girl On Gor Ch 03

It seemed that every muscle in my body ached.

I was terribly weary.

I had been given my new name, and then my Lord and Overseer had taken the dangling leash on my neck and conducted me away to my place of work.

I was sobbing bitterly, humiliated.

The gag and the hood were not replaced upon me at that time.

I had been led to the scullery area of the tavern.

I looked around it dejectedly.

Filth and grime were encrusted upon every surface. It smelt bad, the tang of rotten meat and congealed fat, the residue of many meals cooked.

My Lord and Overseer had thrown a garment to me.

"Put it on," he had said.

Gratefully I had pulled the garment over my head. It was a brief apron, with a loop around my neck. It only partially covered my breasts, and barely reached to my hips. There was no covering at the back at all of course.

However, I was grateful for it. It was the first garment that I had been permitted to wear for a considerable time.

There were two ties attached to the waist part of it. I looped these back around myself and tied them at the front.

My Lord and Overseer, looked on.

"Tighter," he said.

"Yes, Tupp, my Overseer," I said. I undid the knot, and then pulled the strings tighter around my waist.

He looked at me.

"Come here," he said.

I went over to him. He undid the knot again, and then pulled the apron strings around me. His face was at the same level as the strings he was tying. I could scarcely breathe so tight did he pull them. They dug into the flesh of my waist through the material of the little apron.

He stepped back. He grinned.

"Better," said my Lord and Overseer, "That shows off your figure nicely."

He grinned. It seemed that he would enjoy exercising his power over me. I guessed that it was not often that he had another at the whim of his command.

"Kneel," said my Lord and Overseer.

I knelt, with my knees widely apart. That position which Lady Draca, my Mistress, had cuffed me for kneeling in before. That position which exposed me fully to the gaze of the onlooker.

My Lord and Overseer did not punish me for kneeling in this position. He was a man, of course. The apron was not long enough to sufficiently cover me.

He went behind me and I felt him fiddling with my hair. I suspected that without my kneeling he would not have been able to reach it. He could not have been more than three feet in height, although he was broad, and seemed possessed of a certain brute strength. I had no doubt that he, as other men, could overpower me when and as he desired.

I felt him tie back my long, blonde hair.

Now my pierced ears would be on display, for anyone to see.

How I regretted having had them pierced. What had seemed a matter of small import on my home planet, a bit of harmless titillation or frippery, seemed here to be regarded with great significance, and to my considerable detriment.

Apparently satisfied with his work, my Lord and Overseer came back round in front of me. He pointed to a large wooden pail in the corner of the room.

"Take that to the pump," he said.

"Yes, Tupp, my Overseer," I replied, then, "Where is the pump, Tupp, my Overseer?" I asked.

"Right outside the door. Fill the bucket to the brim and get back here. If I think you have been tardy you will feel the sting of my belt across your bare ass."

"Yes Tupp, my Overseer, " I said.

"And I prefer to be your Lord and Overseer," he said, "it is more appropriate and sounds better."

"Yes, my Lord and Overseer," I said.

I did not think it worth arguing over this formulation, and even had I chosen to do so, I strongly suspect that his will would have prevailed. Lady Draca, my Mistress, had informed me that I was not to regard the dwarf as my Master, but she had not said anything about him being my Lord.

I had already guessed that it was rare for him to have control over another, and like many such folk, when such circumstances do occur, they tend to relish it greatly.

I picked up the heavy bucket, scurried out of the door, and found myself in a decrepit yard. In the centre of this was what I took to be the pump.

There was an unpleasant smell.

I jumped with surprise as I heard a loud grunt. There were animals out here, in cages, of types I had never seen before. I supposed that they were domesticated beasts, and were there to be used as food, the supply of eggs and meat and so forth. I had always got my food directly from the supermarket, of course, and it was a shock for me to see this close link to the fare that was no doubt served from the scullery of the Juicy Pudding.

In one of the cages were tawny-coloured birds, something between pigeons and small chickens. There were about twelve in the cage. The other contained a single animal, much larger and hoofed, fat like a pig. Its cage was filthy, and no doubt contributed in no small part to the smell pervading the small yard. It was also this beast from whence the grunt had emerged. It was eyeing me now. Perhaps it had thought that I was bringing it food or such in the empty bucket.

In any case, I recalled my Lord and Overseer's imprecations to haste and put the small menagerie out of my mind. I inspected the pump from which I had been ordered to fill the wooden bucket.

I had never used such a pump before, of course, but had seen such primitive devices used in films and such, and was confident of being able to operate it.

The device consisted of a small circular wooden platform, presumably the top of a well or a pipe, with a wooden cylinder standing above it. Halfway up the cylinder was a tap-shaped protrusion of metal. I placed the bucket under this protuberance.

Attached to the wooden cylinder was an inclined wooden lever. This I surmised to be connected to the pumping device below.

I bent over, gripped the lever in both hands and pushed down, as hard as I could. It barely moved. It was rusty and stiff. It was almost impossible for someone of my strength and stature to work it. It seemed to have been designed for someone much more powerful than a girl of five foot two and one hundred and fifteen pounds. Eventually, pitting all of my strength and weight against it, I managed to push the lever down further.

I was rewarded with a creaking sound within the mechanism and a thin trickle of dirty water from the protruding horizontal tap.

I was gasping with effort after this single pump.

I realised that it would take many such exertions to fill the bucket to the brim, as my Lord and Overseer had commanded me.

I pulled the lever up, and then pushed it down again. It was no easier the second time around, but a further squirt of fluid emerged from the pipe, and I pulled the apparatus up again.

I had imagined myself getting into a rhythm, my arms pumping up and down, but there was, in actuality, no possibility of that. Each push down was a major separate effort of my strength and will. It was a single push, and then recovering sufficiently to manage another.

It took a goodly while and much effort for me to fill the bucket to the brim. I was sweating profusely, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

It was all that I could do to lift the bucket, now heavy from the water filling it to the brim, and convey it the short distance back to the scullery. I could only move a small pace at a time, and to my chagrin some of the water, that had taken so much effort to accrue, slopped over the brim of the primitive wooden vessel, and splashed, wetting the bricks of the yard.

I placed the vessel down, opened the door, and lifted it again and brought it in across the threshold.

My Lord and Overseer glared at me.

"Did you find the pump?" he questioned.

I would have thought that this was obvious from the fact that I was half carrying, half dragging a bucket full of water, but knew better than to make a smart answer.

"Yes, Tupp, my Overseer...my Lord and Overseer," I replied, quickly.

He grunted. I was grateful that he did not seem inclined to punish me for tardiness, nor for my momentary forgetfulness as to his full title. I had performed the task as quickly as I might, but I knew that such heavy manual labour was not really part of my repertoire.

He threw me a dirty rag. He indicated the floor of the scullery.

"Start there," he said, "and work your way upwards."

"Yes, Tupp, my Lord and Overseer," I replied.

I had thus been put to cleaning the kitchen surfaces that morning, and only now, late in the evening, was the job nearing completion.

I had been given only a rag and a bucket of water by my Lord and Overseer. No cleaning fluids, detergents or such. No scourers, brushes, or powders, unguents, fluids or solutions. Just a rag and a wooden bucket.

My first task had been to fill the bucket using a pump. There were apparently no taps or sinks, or any such devices.

Five times the water in the bucket got to such a state that it was deemed by my Lord and Overseer to be making things worse rather than better.

Each time I had had to refill the bucket. Each time was a strenuous trial of my small strength against the handle of the yard pump.

Every muscle in my arms ached as I worked at the pump. It was also hard on my legs and hips and abdomen. Each gush of water entailed exertion of my limbs and torso. I was pouring with sweat in the heat of the sun, which became hotter each time that I had to refill the bucket.

On my first two times in the yard all was quiet, as if most inside the tavern were sleeping or resting. On my third excursion, as I had almost completed pumping another load of water into the bucket, a girl wandered into the small yard. She was auburn haired, and green eyed and very full figured.

I had always thought myself a great beauty; and even in the pens, amongst the other earth girls, I had felt that I 'stacked up' very well, even though it seemed obvious that beauty had been one of the criteria pertinent to our selection. However I could instantly see that this girl's beauty was far in excess of my own.

She was absolutely exquisite.

The grace of her every movement, and her deportment, were sensual and voluptuous. She indolently stretched her limbs, as if still still in the latter stages of waking up. I was reminded of the feline grace of a cat by her movements.

I thought that I had never seen a more beautiful girl.

She was wearing a tiny scrap of yellow silk, and a metal collar. There was a mark upon her leg. Her garment was scandalously, ludicrously short. Its length did not even cover her. Her areolae peeked from the top of it, as it plunged to her belly. It was essentially a cruel mockery of a garment. One designed with the emphasis on accentuating the features of her beautiful body rather concealing them. Moreover, it was immediately obvious that she wore nothing beneath it. There were black symbols on it that looked like letters of some sort.

She regarded me and smiled pleasantly, revealing her perfect teeth.

"Greetings," she said, pleasantly enough.

"Greetings, Mistress," I replied.

She laughed a little, each note of her laughter melodious and tuneful, as if carefully practised.

"I am not a Mistress," she said, pleasantly, "I am Tela. Are you a new work slave?"

I supposed this to be the case. Certainly, as I crouched, my arms working the reticent pump-handle, my face no doubt red with effort, my body sheathed with sweat, wearing a utilitarian apron in contrast to her beautiful, if overly revealing, garment of yellow silk, I thought that it seemed an appropriate enough description.

"I am new, yes. I am helping Tupp."

She giggled, affectedly. "Oh," she said, "Well we need a new work slave. The last one...well, it was a bit unpleasant, but I am sure you will do better. Are you a barbarian? Your accent is...well...not very cultivated."

"Yes, I am a barbarian," I said, rather reluctantly.

She looked at me, still pleasantly enough.

"Your ears are pierced," she said, "That is...well...unusual...in a work slave. Is it a barbarian thing?"

I thought about this.

"Yes," I said, "I suppose you could say that."

"Oh," she said, "Still, lovely earrings, I'm almost jealous. And I really do love your accent! It is so...well...primitive. We haven't had a barbarian here before. I thought you were all too...well...cold...frigid...to work in taverns. But then you have pierced ears, so...well...but what do I know? I suppose you will make a good work slave, at any rate. Hopefully not end up like the last one. Who knows how Draca will decide to use you," she smiled at me sweetly, "May I use some of that water? You don't mind, do you?"

So saying she cupped her hands into the bucket under the tap and splashed herself with water. She did this several times. I might not have minded if she had done it just once.

I thought how much extra effort it would take to replenish that which she negligently used to splash her face and refresh herself.

"Please, Tela," I said, trying not to sound annoyed, "Don't use up too much of the water. It's hard work pumping it."

She smiled her beautiful and gracious smile.

"Oh, I am so sorry," she said, "I didn't realise. We dancing girls don't have to do jobs like that."

I tried to maintain my composure. She had emphasised the words 'dancing girls'.

"I see," I said, as calmly as I could.

"I didn't catch your name," she said.

I paused.

I really did not want to say the name that I had been given by Lady Draca, my Mistress, and Tupp, my Lord and Overseer.

"What is it?", she said, a little more forcefully.

I swallowed hard. I might as well get it over with. I could not remain anonymous for ever.

"Lady Draca, my Mistress, has been pleased to name me, 'Sleenmeat'," I said, quietly.

She blinked.

I saw an expression pass over her beautiful face; something between sympathy, amusement and mockery.

"Did you say 'Sleenmeat'?" she asked.

"Yes," I said bitterly.

"I've never heard of anyone being called that before," she said, blithely, "Is it a barbarian name?"

"No," I said, not enjoying the conversation one bit, "Not that I am aware."

I was becoming somewhat flustered.

"Then how did you come by it?" she continued, pleasantly.

"It was chosen by Lady Draca," I replied quietly. I had already told her this of course.

"Sleenmeat?" she asked casually.

"Yes, Tela," I said, through gritted teeth. I felt that she was enjoying this line of questioning more than she made out.

She shrugged her shoulders and made a small noise of bemusement.

"You know what that means, don't you?"

"Yes, Tela, I do."

I was getting discomfited now. I suspected that her attitude towards me was not as sympathetic as I had at first thought. She was the first true Gorean slave girl I had met.

Apparently there had been a few in the pens. However, those girls in my vicinity had all been from my own home planet. There had been rumours that the Gorean girls were somewhat hostile to barbarians, and considered themselves somehow superior, but I had not really seen anything of this until now.

I was very aware, of course, of the derivation of the name that Lady Draca, my Mistress, and Tupp, my Lord and Overseer had selected for me.

Had I been in any doubt of it, they had been kind enough to inform me that it referred to my likely fate, should I not 'come up to scratch' in my services for the Juicy Pudding.

Thusly, they remarked, it might well serve to increase my propensity to perform well and devotedly, to the best of my efforts.

I supposed that this might be true.

In a way, no doubt, they were gently teasing me, giving me a name that was perhaps mildly amusing to them, and furthermore, one that served to me as a continual reminder that I was on probation, as it were. That my status at the tavern was somewhat precarious, and far from assured or permanent.

I knew of course, that I was going to be subject to assessments and so on, and that such reckonings would focus on the twin aspects of my attitude and my 'slave-heat'; my appearance having been evaluated as conforming to the minimum standards of acceptability.

I knew also that these appraisals, the times and duration of which were necessarily unknown to me, would have a great deal of bearing on my potential fate, whether that should be one of utter submission, obedience, and service, or merely one comprising, indeed, 'sleen meat'.

It was still too early to say, of course, which would appertain, although both Lady Draca, my Mistress, and Tupp, my Lord and Overseer, had let me know that, in both their opinions, the likelihood was rather towards the latter eventuality, unless I improved significantly and speedily in my services and abilities.

I was used to being teased, as are many pretty girls such as I, and considered that I was a fairly 'good sport' about such things as nicknames, and such.

I had protested laughingly at the college on finding that I had gained the nickname of 'Ten'. I knew of course that a part of it had been a veiled comment on my perceived vanity, and the care that I took with my appearance and figure. It had, doubtless, indicated that I was viewed as somewhat unattainable, a little distant, and aloof. Of course, it had also been a rather flattering description of my body, but that was by the by.

This seemed a little beyond good-natured ribbing of that sort.

I think that there is a difference between finding that one is, by some, on occasions called 'Ten', and that one is to be known henceforth to all and sundry as 'Sleenmeat'.

'Ten' is, of course, just a number, and in its way, I suppose, degrading enough.

I recalled that in the pens I had been 'beast 13', and although I had not liked that numerary appellation, there had at least been the mitigation that the girls, formerly Chloe and Siri, in the adjacent cages, had been named as beasts 12, and 14, respectively.

Now, however, it seemed that some of the girls here in the Juicy Pudding had been accorded names such as 'Tela', which although rather short and exotic, compared with, say, 'Amanda Felicity Charrington', were at least recognisably feminine, and pretty.

I, on the other hand, had been named 'Sleenmeat', which, as far as I could see, had little, if any, feminine aspect or context.

I know it has been famously said that a rose would smell as sweet under any name, but I can assure the reader from my own personal experience that one's self-esteem, as it were, is decidedly different when one is named, for instance, 'Amanda Felicity Charrington', and when one is named, say, 'Sleenmeat'.

Tela had gone, walking off with her head in the air. Every step a thing of grace and elegance. I recalled what the slaver had said about grace and deportment when awarding me my mark of five out of ten for appearance.

Tela had not thought it necessary to say goodbye or take her leave. But then, I thought rather bitterly, she was a dancing girl, and obviously far superior to a barbarian work-slave.

I continued my arduous labours filling the water bucket.

No further girls came into the little courtyard in the two further intervals whilst I was working there, although there was more noise about the place, and I sometimes felt that I was being watched. Once or twice I heard suppressed giggling from behind a door, and another time fancied that I heard a distinct call of "Sleenmeat!", followed by laughter.

Needless to say, I ignored all such provocations and bent to my work.

It was late now, and the noise from the tavern had got louder. Although not spotlessly clean, the state of the scullery was much better than it had been. Some of the stains would need a lot more than water and elbow grease to remove. I had not been able to clean all of the walls. Only that up to the level that I could reach, stretching up, although in places my Lord and Overseer had helped me climb upon shelving and so on, so that I could reach higher. He did not seem to mind helping me in this way.