Panther Tales

"Where are you from back in the world."

"Delaware."

"Why are you hunting slaves in our woods?"

The man looked back up. "I had been running a paga tavern in Dorsa," he explained. "The city was almost destroyed by the Kurri. I knew a man in Lara--a slaver--who gave me a job. Mostly I'm on the business side of things, but he insists everyone who work for him go into the field at least once a year. He says it helps us better appreciate what it takes to get merchandise."

Snow rubbed her chin, looking thougtful. "We haven't decided what we're going to do with you yet. We'll discuss it more in the morning. For now, you are in no danger. Consider this something like protective custody."

"That's good to hear. I do not want to be your enemy."

The girl nodded. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mouse move from the shadows and sit a few feet away, waiting. The girl had changed into the closest thing to slave silks in the camp--a cream colored camisk with gold trim, slit up the left hip high enough to expose the old brand on her thigh.

"One last question," the Panther said. "Do you know a merchant who calls himself Odessa? He's based out of the city of Harvik."

The man in the cage thought for a moment, then shook his head. "I don't recall that name."

"How about an Earth male named Weston Summerville?"

Again, the man pursed his lips in thought, and again shook his head.

"Ok," Snow continued, then whistled softly. Mouse came out of the shadows and knelt by her feet, her head bowed, her every movement and action the perfect reflection of the kajira she had once been.

Snow hated this, but forced herself to play the role of uncaring Mistress.

"This is Mouse. She's yours for the night. Try not to make too much noise--either of you."

She made the officer go to the back of his cage and turn his back, then unlocked and opened the door. She had just enough time to offer Mouse a sympathetic smile before pushing her roughly into the cage.

When he heard the door clang shut again and the lock click, the man now known as Kal-El turned back around. Snow gave him a long look, her expression unreadable.

"Good night Earth man," she said quietly.

"Good night Huntress," he responded, and she walked away.

There is no creature more wretched, more hopeless, or more miserable than a Gorean slave. Male slaves, or kajirus, are commonly forced to do the most back-breaking, dangerous jobs on the planet--working in mines, chained in the bowels of ships as galley slaves, quarrying stone and the like--for bosses who have no concern for their well-being. They are poorly treated, poorly fed, often beaten, and if they get sick or injured are usually just killed outright. The very small number of male pleasure slaves are viewed with contempt by every other strata of Gorean society. The idea of allowing one's self to be commanded by women is repugnant to all Gorean males and most females; further, everyone realizes that any male trusted enough to be a bed chamber slave is one that has been broken so completely that even the idea of rebelling is unthinkable.

For female slaves, life consists solely of drudgery, hard work, brutality, terror and rape. Most of the hapless girls are worked hard from dawn until dark, then expected to spend the night being beautiful, alluring and passionate. To not respond to a Master's lust with enthusiasm means a whipping at best, and can mean being tortured to death. For whatever reasons, nothing makes a Gorean male harder than that combination of fear-filled eyes and a squirming, responsive body. Having to pretend to love the attention of free men--having to appear eager to be used as an object of their lust--is the most horrid part of wearing a slave collar. Indeed, while Gorean slave girls call each other sa'for a in public--literally, 'sister of the chain,' in private they often refer to each other as sa'danra--sister in misery.

Part of Mouse was appalled at how easily she had slid back into a slave girl's mindset. Even after nearly a year of freedom, it was effortless. She had worn a collar for several years before Ally had killed her Master and set her free, and the brutal training remained second nature. As she knelt before the man named Michael Graves in the cage they now shared, her body trembled from that familiar combination of fear and need. She didn't even try to fight it. She needed the slave fires to burn hot in her belly to get her through this night.

After the initial surprise of being handed such a gift passed, Michael was nearly overcome with relief. After all, if the Panthers were giving him a slave for the night, their intentions towards him must be positive. The small girl kneeling before him was hardly a beauty by the standards of a kajira, but she still outshone most of the girls he had known in his old life on Earth. He felt he acquitted himself well as a Gorean Master, wasting little time in mounting the girl from behind and using her well, and Mouse wept silent tears of shame as her body responded to the rough treatment, helplessly climaxing again and again as he thrust brutally into her.

He gave her no time to recover after his own pleasure, pulling her cruelly by the hair and forcing her to use her mouth first to clean, then to revive him. Half forgotten skills and techniques made their appearance as Mouse's small head bobbed in his lap, and his eyes glittered with angry lust as he made the girl minister to his needs with her mouth and tongue. He finished the evening by pushing her head back down onto the dirt floor of the cage and taking her tightest hole, slamming in viciously while poor Mouse stuffed her arm into her mouth to muffle her shrieks of agony. The pain of the brutal buttfucking made fresh fires blaze in her tiny body, and she thrashed and wiggled underneath him, thrusting her hips back at his battering weapon as he drove her to the peak of passion.

At last, drained and sated, he collapsed in the furs and pulled her close, keeping her warm body pressed against his as he slept happily.

Michael woke to the sound of the cage's door being slammed shut. His eyes focused in time to see his playmate of the previous night scurry into Snow's arms. The little kajira, still naked, trembled as the Panther held her with surprising tenderness, her blue eyes moist with tears.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly as Mouse lay her head against her shoulder.

"I'm okay. I've had a lot of worse nights," the girl replied.

Snow kissed the top of the girl's head, then tilted her chin up to look into her eyes. "What's the verdict?" she asked, and Mouse shook her head sadly.

Snow wrapped her arm round the shivering girl's shoulders and led her away. Two more Panthers approached the cage--Darkness, and a girl with black, curly hair the prisoner hadn't seen the night before. July was the only other Earth born member of the clan, a half-Japanese girl kidnapped from her native Canada and the clan's finest archer. She held her bow now, an arrow pointed at Michael's face as Darkness held up a pair of wrist cuffs.

"Hands," the tall Panther said in a voice as cold as winter, and he thrust his arms through the bars, allowing himself to be handcuffed. Covered by July's bow, she opened the cage door and gripped the prisoner by the scruff of the neck, dragging him roughly to a T-shaped post. She lifted his arms and hooked the chain of his cuffs over the crossbar, then crouched and pulled an attached rope. The bar lifted until Graves was standing on his toes. He started to protest, but Darkness was in front of him again, forcing a Gorean style gag into his mouth--first a wad of leather that filled his mouth and muffled all sounds, then a leather strap buckled tightly round his head to hold it in place. It was uncomfortable as hell, and he began to quiver in fright.

Snow, Mouse, and Ally had huddled together briefly, until Ally left the little group with a snarled "Fuck!" and stomped away, glaring daggers at the bound man. Snow gave Mouse one final hug, then walked over to stand in front of the pole. The scars on her face seemed to pulse with rage, and her soft words came out from between clenched teeth.

"I always want to give Earth born men the benefit of the doubt. I always hope that there's still a little bit of decency left--a little bit of humanity that hasn't been killed by their exposure to this mud covered shithole of a planet."

The rest of the clan lined up behind her as she spoke, a strip of cloth dangling from each of their right hands.

"Last night, you were given the opportunity to prove to us that you're still a human being. A scared, helpless slave was given into your care, and instead of showing kindness and compassion, you acted like an animal. You didn't even talk to her--just used her selfishly for your own animal desires."

Michael began to struggle, pleading unintelligibly behind his gag, but the Panther ignored him. "There's nothing of any worth left in you. You're just another Gorean piece of shit," she finished.

A sling is a very simple weapon--easy to make, easy to carry and easy to use. Snow didn't know if she was the first to introduce it to Gor, but she insisted that every Hellion practice until they could hit a target a foot square from twenty feet away nine times out of ten. Her scarred face grim, she picked up her war hammer and slipped into the trees to patrol the camp perimeter as Mouse sent the first fist-sized rock flying. The soft thuds of stone hitting flesh went on a long time.