Gor - Witness Of Gor Part 3

I knew that, in his arms, I would be utterly helpless.

Indeed, if he had even so much as looked upon me, I feared I might have begun to whimper, beggingly.

Could this be I? What was I? What had been done to me? How was it that I could be so transformed, and so helpless, given merely the sight of such a man? But then, frightened, I looked wildly ahead, and about. So, too, it seemed, were the others. I looked at the other men. Again I gasped, startled. Again I was shocked.

Again I could not believe What I saw. The fellow before me was not unusual, it seemed, though, given my previous acquaintance with men, surely I would have thought him quite unusual, if not unique.

The other men, too, in their way, were strong, handsome fellows, and that, too, in an almost indefinable, powerful masculine way. This much disturbed me. They were dressed similarly to the fellow near me.

They, too, wore tunics, some of them sleeveless, and, invariably, the same sort of sandals, sandals which might have withstood marches. Where was I, I wondered, that such men could exist? Again I looked up at the man near me.

Then, suddenly, he looked down, at me.

I averted my eyes, in terror.

Never before anything had I felt myself so much what, irreducibly, now undeniably, I was.

I trembled.

It might have been not a man, but a beast or a G.o.d, or an animal, a cougar, or a lion, in human form.

The only relation in which I could stand to such a thing was clear to me.

Some other men pa.s.sed by me, going to one part of the line or another.

Some of them carried leather quirts. Others carried whips.

They then began, along the line, and behind me, to talk to us. They did so quietly, soothingly.

The fellow near me crouched down beside me. He turned my head, gently, to face him. I looked into his eyes. He put his left hand behind the back of my neck, over the metal collar, and the fingers of his right hand lightly over my lips. I was not to speak.

"You have no name," he informed me.

I did not understand this, but his fingers were lightly over my lips.

He then stood up, and looked down at me. My eyes were lifted to his.

"Do you wish to be fed?" he asked. I looked up at him, frightened.

"You may speak," he said.

"Yes," I whispered.

"Do you wish to live?" he asked.

"Yes," I said.

Then he looked at me, frankly, appraisingly, unabashedly. I had never been looked at like that in my life.

It seemed he would regard every inch of me.

I could not even understand such a look.

Or did something in me understand it only too well? Suddenly, piteously, I rose up from my heels, and, still kneeling, of course, lifted my hands to him. Tears coursed from my eyes. I wept.

I could not control myself. I could scarcely speak. But he seemed kind.

He must understand. I knelt before him, in helpless pet.i.tion. "Mercy," I wept. "I pray you for mercy!" I clasped my hands together, praying him for mercy. I lifted my hands to him thusly clasped, in desperate prayer, piteously. "Please!" I wept. "Please!"

He looked down at me.

"Please, I beg you," I wept. "Mercy! I beg mercy! Show me mercy! I beg it! I beg it!"

His expression did not change.

Then I felt unutterably stupid. I put down my hands, and my head. I sank back to my heels, my hands, in their metal wristlets, on my thighs.

I looked up at him, and then put down my head again.

"I am not to be shown mercy, am I?" I whispered.

"Not in the sense I suspect you have in mind," he said. "On the other hand, if you prove superb, truly superb, you might eventually be shown a certain mercy at least in the sense of being permitted to live."

I shuddered.

"Position," he said, gently.

I struggled back to the position which I had originally held.

How stupid I felt. How stupid I had been!

I was merely one on a chain. I had not been brought here, doubtless at some trouble and expense, to be shown mercy.

How could I have acted as I did? I was stupid.

I hoped I was not stupid.

I hoped that he did not think I was stupid.

Once again I felt his eyes upon me. Once again, I was being subjected to that calm, appraising scrutiny which had, but a moment before, so unnerved me.

"Please," I begged him.

He seemed to be regarding me as might one who is practiced in such appraisals, one who, in effect, might be noting points. But surely I should not be looked at in such a way. Surely only an animal might be looked at in such a way. But surely I was not an animal!

My hands crept up from my sides, that I might, however inadequately, cover myself.

"No," he said, gently.

His tone, in its kindliness, its patience, suggested that he did not think me stupid, in spite of my earlier outburst. This, for some reason, gladdened me.

Then I knelt as I had before, tears coursing down my cheeks, open, exposed, to his scrutiny.

It was thus that he would have me before him, and thus it was that I would be before him.

Before men such as these I understood that I would be choice-less in such matters.

"You are supposedly quite vital," he said. "Is it true?"

"I do not know," I said. I did not even understand the question. Or, perhaps, rather, I somehow, in some part of me, understood it only too well.

Would he now think me stupid? I hoped not. I did not think I was stupid.

He then continued his scrutiny.

Somehow I wanted, desperately, doubtless dreadfully, for him to be pleased, genuinely pleased, with what he saw.

Was I "vital"? What could that possibly mean? How would I know if I were vital or not? Had he touched me, I think I would have cried out, in helplessness.

I could not help it if I was vital! It was not my fault! I could not help it!

And at that time, of course, I did not understand now such things could be brought about, even in those initially inert or anesthetic, how such things could be, and would be, suspected, discovered, revealed, and released, and then nurtured, and enhanced, and developed and trained, until they, beginning as perhaps no more than almost unfocused restlessnesses, could, and would, become fervent, soft, insistent claims, and then, in time, implacably, inexorably, desperate, irresistible, pitiless needs, needs overriding and overwhelming, needs over which one had no control, needs in whose chains one is utterly helpless.

I knelt there, then, as they would have me kneel. No longer did I dare to look at him. I kept my head down. Then, in a moment, he had apparently finished his examination, or, I feared, a.s.sessment. I did not know what might have been the results of his examination. He said something to another fellow. I did not know whether or not I was the subject of their discourse.

Their tones, on the other hand, seemed approving. Both seemed pleased.

To be sure, I did not know for certain whether or not I was the subject of their discourse.

But it seemed to me likely that I was.

I suspected then, if I was not mistaken, to my unspeakable relief, that I might have been found at least initially acceptable.

I hoped that he who was nearest to me did not think I was stupid.

I did not want him to think that.

I was supposedly intelligent. I was, or had been, a good student. To be sure, the learning for which I might be held accountable here, if such learning there was to be, would doubtless be somewhat different from that to which I had been accustomed. The collar on my neck suggested that, and the chains on my limbs.

I heard voices, ahead of me, and, too, some behind me.

"You may lift your head," he said. His fellow had went further back, behind me.

I lifted my head.

The metal shackle on my neck had been put on from behind. There is variation in such things. Most often, particularly with items such as we, new to such things, and naive, it is done in that fas.h.i.+on, I suppose, to minimize the tendency to bolt. At other times, however it is done from the beginning, particularly with individuals who realize clearly and fully what is going on, so that they may, in full specificity and antic.i.p.ation, with full intellectual and emotional understanding, see it approach, one by one, and then find themselves, in turn, no different from others, secured within its obdurate clasp. The first, you see, might be frightened at its sight and, in their naivete, be tempted to bolt; the second, on the other hand, might be terrified at its sight, but realizes that there is no escape.

I heard the voices before and behind me.

It was not for no reason that I had been permitted to lift my head.

Here and there before me, and, I suppose, behind me, one or another of the men were thrusting whips to the lips of the items in the line. He who was nearest to me had such a device hooked on his belt. I looked on, disbelievingly. Then the fellow nearest me removed that effective, supple tool from his belt. I began to tremble. "Do not be afraid," he said, soothingly.

I watched the device, as he loosened the coils a little, arranging them, in almost hypnotic fascination.

"It will take but a moment," he said. "Do not be frightened."

The coils were then but an inch from my lips. I looked up at him.

"It was foolish of me to beg for mercy," I whispered. "I am sorry."

"You will learn to beg, in rational contexts, even more piteously," he said. "Indeed, it will be important for you, to learn how to beg well. I do not mean merely that you will be taught to beg prettily, on your knees, and such things. I mean rather that upon certain occasions the only thing which might stand between you and the loss of your nose and ears, or life, may be the sincerity and excellence with which you can perform certain placatory behaviors."

"I do not want you to think I am stupid," I said.

He looked down at me. I could not read his expression.

"I am not stupid," I said.

"We shall see," he said.

I heard words. I saw a whip thrust to the lips of the item before me in the line.

A whip, too, was within an inch of my own lips.

I drew back my head a little, and looked up at him.

He did nothing.

I did not know what to do. What was I supposed to do? I knew what I should do, what would be appropriate, what I wanted to do.

"I do not know what to do," I said.

"What a shy, timid thing you are," he said.

"The others are speaking to us," I said. "You are not speaking to me.

You are not telling me what to do."

"What do you think you should do?" he asked.

"I don't know," I said.

"What do you want to do?" he asked.

"No, no!" I said.

"You will kiss, and lick, the whip," he said, "lovingly, lingeringly."