A Paga Girl on Gor

Chapter One - Beast 13 is graded.

The slaver looked down at me.

I trembled a little.

He was fully clothed, in robes, sandals, and so on, and sat, comfortably sprawled on a high-backed chair, legs outstretched, his feet between my widely splayed knees, inches from my fully displayed sex. His belly was large, and on it, balanced In his hands, he held a sort of folder.

I was nude, and knelt on the floor, as I had been commanded.

All I had was the collar about my neck, the mark. like a flower, that they had burnt into my thigh, and my hoop earrings, the only reminder of my former, rather more extensive clothing.

There was little doubt as to the hierarchies pertaining in our relationship.

The most obtuse bystander would have been able to surmise that he was in a position of control and authority over me.

This was true of course, as he was Thurnus, a slaver, and head of the house, and I was a slave.

I had been in the slaving house for what had seemed like a purgatorial eternity, but which was I suppose, a mere matter of weeks. I did not know how many days had passed, as I had not seen the sun. However, from my sleeping patterns, or rather those ordained by the controlling faction of the house, it would seem that I had been there for about a month.

Now it seemed, my time there was drawing to a close. I will not, at this juncture go into detail as to how I got to the slavers house, that has not been commanded of me. The story I have been commanded to relate is what happened to me subsequently.

I had been told that the time for my assessment was nigh, and at this time I would learn, in as much as a slave girl could ever learn, what would be my fate. I had been told that slave girls such as myself could never have much inkling of what the future holds for them. We are, after all, the type of creatures for whom others decide such matters.

I knelt, trembling.

Whatever my fate, it plainly could be no worse than the pens.

The training was arduous. The accommodations provided for us were odious and dirty. Cages strewn with straw, the latter infested with crawling, biting insects. The food was disgusting and tasteless, when it was provided at all. Discipline was harsh and administered frequently with whips.

Yes, whatever my fate, it plainly could be no worse than the pens.

The slaver spoke.

"So, beast 13, we have your assessment."

That was all I had to cling onto now, 'beast 13'. It was my assigned appellation here in the pens. It was the closest thing I had to a name, and all that I was ever called, save for a series of insulting and demeaning sobriquets that my trainers would use when dissatisfied with me.

He had spoken to me in English. This was a kindness, as I was inevitably addressed in the new language that I was being forced to learn, the language of my Masters.

I replied to him in that new language, knowing that to fail to do so was to risk being whipped.

"Yes, Master."

"We will converse in your own tongue, beast 13. It is important that you understand utterly and completely what I am to say to you, and your command of your slave language is not yet sufficient to ensure that."

"Yes, Master," I said, this time in English.

He was probably correct. Although I considered that I had made great strides in learning and assimilating the new language, I still had problems understanding and speaking. To be sure, one month is not very long to learn a new language, even though the training is intensive.

He grunted.

"Your slowness with the language is one negative aspect of your assessment," he said, "Although it is far from being the only one."

"Yes, Master," I replied, now feeling considerably more despondent.

"We will begin," he said, and began to read from the document perched on his belly, casually, in a bored monotone. No doubt it was something he had to do regularly and found tedious and rather a chore. For my part, on the other hand, the words he would read out in the next few moments would determine my entire future.

I consoled myself that whatever my fate, it plainly could be no worse than the pens.

I strained to listen to every detail and nuance of his exposition.

"Firstly, Assessment of appearance. Slave is an illiterate barbarian," he droned monotonously, as if reading from a car manual or such, "flower brand, pierced ears. Non-virgin, training basic at best. Appearance adequate, front teeth somewhat protruding, neck short, figure slender, breasts small. Blonde, blue eyes. Skin fair and unblemished. Mark for appearance, five out of ten."

I gasped. Five? Five out of ten? On earth I had been considered a great beauty. Men had been wont to whistle at me in the street. I had had my pick of boyfriends. I had even, at college, without irony, been nicknamed by some of the college boys as 'Ten', as in ten out of ten. Yet here I was awarded a mere five. That was surely not even average!

He looked at me lazily over the folder.

"You have a comment to make regarding your assessment?" he asked. He had evidently heard my gasp of surprise.

His eyes were hard. I knew that it would not do to protest volubly about being awarded a mark of only five out of ten, but my vanity demanded that I say something.

"Th...that does not seem a very high mark, Master." I said. I was pouting a bit.

He sighed. He did not seem too surprised that I had questioned the awarded mark,

"It is adequate," he said, "I would not take it too much to heart. For a barbarian it is a not unreasonable tally. You would admit to having protruding front teeth?"

I did have a small overbite. I had always regarded it as a positive feature, it giving me a rather refined appearance, cementing my status in the upper echelons of society.

"I have a small overbite, Master, but that is not a bad feature, I think."

He shrugged and went on.

"Protruding teeth. You would agree that you have a short neck?"

I put my head down a little. It was not very short, although perhaps not particularly long and elegant, like that of a fashion model, but some of those look practically like giraffes. The men here had seemed happy enough to put a collar on it, at any rate.

"Well?" he commanded, more insistently.

"Yes," I said, unable to disguise a degree of bitterness in my voice, "it is not that long, I suppose."

"It is short. And you have blonde hair and blue eyes?"

I looked a little incredulous. That is one of the things I thought to have 'going for me', as it were.

"Yes, Master," I opined, almost through clenched teeth, "But I was not aware that that was a bad thing."

"In some years it might not tell against you too much," he said, "but there have been raids to the north. Sluts such as you are thus all too common at the moment."

"I see," I said, somewhat sharply. I hated how he had casually used the dismissive word, 'slut', to describe me, and for that matter, other girls with blue eyes and blonde hair. How could he dismiss us all as sluts? What an unfair generalization, I thought. Although I had to concede to myself that some girls with blue eyes and blonde hair could be considered sluts. There were some right here in the pens. Chloe and Siri for example. I knew better than to argue the point however, as he went on in his flat drawl.

"And you would concede that your figure is slender, and your breasts small?"

I squirmed on the tiles. I wanted to leap up and try to tear at his face with my nails. How dare he! I was immensely proud of my trim, lithe figure. My breasts, although not particularly large, were pert and shapely, like oranges. I had often been complimented on them, in fact.

"Master would prefer that I was fat?" I said, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

His look grew hard. I trembled.

"Perhaps," he said, as if musing on the point, "although it is doubtful that your value would increase sufficiently to justify the feed costs involved."

I could not speak further for the moment. I was furious. I am sure my eyes blazed.

"In any case," he said, "five is a pass mark, albeit the lowest one available. And you are a barbarian, with no idea of such things as posture and grace. In fact, certain barbarians in the pens were awarded fewer appearance marks."

My heart leapt. I wondered who. Perhaps Chloe and Siri had been awarded less. That would teach them to laugh and taunt me when I was unable to please the guardsmen. When they had struck me and returned me to the cages. That would teach those two sluts, I thought. And I had passed the assessment. Albeit not with flying colours, and by only the lowest mark possible, yet I had passed. I felt relief suffusing my belly. I had been told repeatedly that the consequences of failing this assessment would be dire. In extreme cases girls were fed to ravenous beasts, or at least that is what they tried to tell us. But now I, at least, could move on to the next stage of my life.

And whatever my future, it plainly could be no worse than here in the pens.

"You seem pleased," he said, not unpleasantly.

"Yes, Master," I replied, "thank you for passing me. I know that it is not the highest mark, but I am glad that I was able to meet the standards required." I wondered about asking him which girls had failed, or what marks Chloe and Siri had been awarded but thought better of it.

He glared at me, less pleasantly.

"That," he said, "is only the first part of your assessment, you pointless piece of ass."

"Oh," I said. I felt the worries and fears flood back into my belly. I barely noticed that he had called me a pointless piece of ass. My heart sank once more as he went on reading from the document.

"Assessment of attitude:- Seems to understand simple commands, and normally strives to obey them, although on occasion exhibits a small hesitation. Generally docile and compliant. Slow grasp of language. Inclined to show disagreement by pouting and other methods. Mark for attitude - three out of ten.

I swallowed, hard. I had already been told that five was the lowest mark, and now I had only been awarded a three. It would seem that I had failed this part of the assessment. But how unfair! I had always done what I had been told. I had not rebelled or disobeyed.

"Do you have any comments to make?" he asked.

I hesitated.

"I have always been obedient, Master."

He narrowed his eyes.

"Perhaps," he began, "although I'm sure there are examples where you have not. But you are required to exhibit more than mere obedience. Your particular version of 'obedience' is often accompanied by a pout or a questioning look. Slave obedience has to be willing, desperate, and complete. Such little acts of defiance have no part in the demeanour of a slavegirl. You have to make immediate improvements in this area. Do you understand?"

I tried not to pout.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"You are doing it now, you worthless barbarian slut! I don't need your arch looks, your pathetic gasps and sighs. You are required to obey without question and with utter trust and willingness. Do you understand this?"

"Yes, Master," I said, immediately.

"Better, slut," he said, "There is also of course the matter of your language skills, which we have already discussed. But we can work on these aspects. The whip is a fine teacher, would you not agree?"

"Yes, Master," I said. I trembled a little as I knelt. I had already found out that the whip could be a fine teacher, or at least modify my behaviour considerably in a direction required by others.

He nodded.

"So," he said, "we come to the final part of your assessment, that additional to appearance and attitude. There is not a convenient word for it in your language, a fact that says much, but it is best defined as your abilities in pleasing Masters fully. For the sake of terminology, we shall call it 'slave heat'. As a non-virgin slave, this is the most important aspect of your slavery. Do you agree?"

As if to emphasize his point he shifted the position of his right foot so that it was pushing directly against my spreadeagled crotch. I whimpered softly.

"Of course, Master," I said quickly. I knew that I was currently failing the assessment. However, if I were able to get a good mark in this last part, that for 'slave heat', I could still scrape a pass. After all, he had said that this was the most important part. Perhaps if I passed this section they might allow my failure to attain sufficient marks for attitude to go unnoticed. I knew that I had been selected to please men frequently in the pens. I had pleased them as best I could with my lips and tongue, with my breasts, with my sex. I would surely pass.

I was almost bursting with dread and anticipation, my tummy in knots of apprehension and a faint tinge of hope.

He spoke.

"Tell me first, though, when and why did you have your ears pierced?"

I felt myself gape at the question. My chin must have visibly dropped. He had been assessing me, was just going to tell me the most important part of my assessment, and he began to ask me about my earrings? It seemed so strange that I hesitated a bit before answering. Perhaps it was a test on his part, I thought. To check that my attitude was improving.

"I...I had them done on earth, Master. When I was at college. My mother was against it of course, but all my friends were having it done, so I did too."

I hoped that I had not given him too much information. I was desperate not to appear recalcitrant or uncooperative, but, on the other hand, I did not want to appear a babbling idiot. What did he care about my mothers opinions on my having my ears pierced? I looked up at him a bit sheepishly.

"So you did this of your own volition?" he asked, with a note almost of incredulity in his voice.

"Yes, Master," I said, "Do you think they look nice?"

I tilted my head from side to side to emphasize the hoops in each ear. I knew that the slaver must like them too, to an extent, because of all the things that I had owned on earth, these two earrings were last to remain. The last things that I might consider once belonged to me, my final keepsakes of my old life. They were quite precious to me, I suppose, at that moment.

"Interesting," he said, "I would have assumed that it had been done to you, perhaps as a cruel joke, and yet even before coming here, you, apparently without compulsion or inducement labelled yourself as nothing but a pierced ear slut."

He shook his head as if struggling to understand.

"What do you mean, Master?" I asked, "Lots of girls have pierced ears."

"That is of no concern to me," he said, "here it marks you out as the lowest kind of slut, and is thus extremely relevant to the last part of your assessment. You were a fool to do this, and have additionally caused us considerable trouble by your stupidity."

His foot pressed harder against my crotch. I felt frightened. What could my ears being pierced or not, possibly have to do with my assessment for 'slave heat'?

He gave a grunt of impatience and began to read, thankfully taking his foot away from my most sensitive area. He read from the folder.

"Assessment for slave heat. Gives head adequately and tongue work shows a small degree of promise."

I blushed and suffused a little with pleasure. I suppose that there was still a part of me that was scandalized to hear that I gave head adequately and that my tongue work showed a small degree of promise. However, praise of any kind was welcome to me now. My spirits rose a little.

He went on, "Slave heat totally inadequate for a pierced ear slut. Action required if she is to fetch a profit for the house. Mark for 'slave heat' - one out of ten."

I sobbed.

One! One out of ten! Yet I knew that I had pleased men! I had pleased them with my lips and tongue, with my breasts, with my sex. Had I not just been informed that I gave head adequately, and that my tongue work even showed a small degree of promise?

And I had been had in all kinds of ways! Yes, the encounters had sometimes not gone particularly well. I thought of one in particular when the guardsmen had sent me back to the cell, and Chloe and Siri had taunted and teased me, and called me a cold fish, but they were sluts! Nothing but sluts. I was a good girl. I was no prude, but I wasn't the sort who would do absolutely anything, the sort who would squirm and writhe just to get a man to want me. That wasn't my style at all. I left that to the Chloes and Siris. I did not need to act like that to get a man. The men came to me, no matter how distantly I behaved. In fact, it often seemed that the more distantly I behaved, the more they came.

I protested "But, Master, that is the lowest mark! And I have tried so hard to please men. It is not my fault if I am not really'that kind of girl'."

"No," he said, "no, it is not the lowest mark. Naught out of ten is the lowest mark. And if that had been your mark you would not be standing in front of me now, but would already be on your way in the wagon to the pits where they keep the city guard beasts. They are less discriminating than men, and do not particularly mind whether the item that they close their teeth upon possesses slave heat or not. However, you were not marked at naught. A mark of one means that although you are far, far, from being deemed adequate, there is at least some hope to turn a profit on you, if special measures are taken."

"Special measures?" I was crying now, tears running down my face and dripping onto my chin and breasts.

"Yes. In your case we can see that in some ways, the problem is your own foolish decision to have voluntarily had your ears pierced before being brought here. If you were being adjudged as a simple barbarian blonde piece of ass you would not be marked as a one. Perhaps as a two or even a three. And some owners would likely get a kick out of turning you from the prissy little bitch that you are now, into a hotly spiced delicacy begging for their merest touch. However, the piercing of your ears means that slave-heat will be expected of you from the start, and when you don't deliver, as it were, it will reflect badly on the reputation of this house. So we have come to an arrangement with a local tavern. Here is the last part of your assessment."

He read from his notes.

"Action item: Slave to be rented free of charge to the Juicy Pudding Tavern. Regular assessments to be made of slave until slave heat deemed adequate for a pierced ear slut. Interim corrections and punishments administered as necessary."

"I am to be rented out to a tavern?"

"Indeed. The Juicy Pudding is not a particularly salubrious tavern, and is grateful to get an extra slut, even one of such limited ability as yourself. It is local, so that assessment of you can be carried out without too much effort on our part. And the patronage of our agents will compensate for the potential damage to their own reputation of employing a slut as useless as you."

"And I will continue to be assessed?"

"Indeed you will. Your assessments, my dear, will be rigorous and comprehensive. In effect your future life will largely be one of complete and almost continual slave use, and public assessments of your slave use . And the most important component of your numerous assessments will be your 'slave heat', your sexual responsiveness to men. Do you understand, beast 13?"

I wept.

"You mean they will be assessing my 'sluttiness'?"

For the first time he looked cross with me.

"No, you ignorant piece of collar-meat, slave heat is much more than mere sluttiness. Sluttiness is relatively simple to attain, and requires little intelligence. 'Slave heat' means that you use your small intelligence to evaluate each man that you encounter and vary your behaviour accordingly, so that you are an exquisite pleasure to them. Sluttiness is only one aspect of that. With some men, indeed, sluttiness might be encouraged, but with others, it will be seen as a defect. It will be your task to establish the exact requirements of each and every one of your clients and modify your behaviour subtly to accommodate them."