The Tahari

One

We are astride a kaiila, galloping through the Tahari to my oasis, where we stop and you dismount, reaching up to swing me off the beast's back into your arms, kissing me passionately, throwing back the hood of the cloak, ripping aside the burnoose, kissing me over and over... alone in the desert where no one can see, you then carry me to the Oasis, a gleam in your eye as you place me on the sand.

You stand there, arms crossed, looking at me, a pensive look in your eyes. I look back, curious, my heart beating madly, still feeling your lips on mine, my mane tousled and wild from the desert nightbreeze, my cheeks chapped and burned from the wind and the ride.

"Submit, woman" you speak, calmly. I gasp, my eyes widening, a hand rising to cover my mouth. Blinking, thinking I misheard you, I shake my head, scrambling to my feet.

A few quick strides and you are towering over me, bent over, your grasp in my hair, forcing my head back, your blue eyes meeting mine, burning into mine, claiming them as you have so often claimed me. The pressure of your hand forces my body to lower, first to a crouch, then with a gasp, as you kick out with one boot, to my knees.

"I said, submit, woman" you repeat, your voice soft, yet your eyes revealing a hidden, deeper meaning. A soft moan escapes my lips as you speak these words, having known they could come at any time, and powerless to stop them, or you.

Two

I begin to tremble uncontrollably, my heart thumping so loudly in my chest I can scarcely even breathe. My mind reeling as you stand there so calmly, so assured, your hand in my hair, and me at my knees before you, the cloak billowing about my shaking form, my mane whipping around my shoulders and back. Taking a ragged breath, I look into your eyes, and say one word.

"No".

I brace myself against what may happen next. According to the codes of a Gorean Rarius, if I were to submit freely, you would have 2 choices, and 2 choices only - to take me as your slave, or slay me. Refusing to submit, however, was another matter entirely, and I had no doubt in my mind that my death was the last issue on your mind at this ehn.

I am but female. A free female, a former panther, a woman well accustomed to pretty much going where she pleases, as long as my behaviour remained correct within the framework of a free female of Gor, and as long as my Brothers protected me and allowed my continued freedom. But you - you are a Rarius, a man of the Red caste, who had seen many a battle, a man who did not speak lightly or foolishly.

You had set your mind on having me when you first saw me, so long ago in Port Kar, when I was traveling with my band in our black robes of concealments and heavy veils. Unlike the other females of my band, I was courteous, even polite, friendly; my lack of hatred for men evident compared to my seething sisters of the forest.

You were not surprised when I left the forests and arrived in the Tahari last year. You knew I needed the company and security of men, my Brothers, my Family. You watched me as I trained the kajirae and verbally sparred with the Vizier, gently pushing the limits of the expectations placed upon me, offering the warmth and hospitality of Tor to guests and visitors.

Yet you also knew my loneliness and need for the freedom of open spaces. You saw how the walls, the robes, the veils, confined my spirit as I paced the terrace of the great palace and prowled the courtyards at night. You were not surprised when I fled to the desert, nor did you seek to hunt me as some did, you knew I would return.

You merely had to bide your time.

Three

I was not like other females you had come across. Some free women, in fact, most, would bat their lashes at you over their veils and flirt outrageously at banquets. You would chuckle to yourself as you remained impassive, polite, respectful. You knew it was only a matter of time before these women found their Masters, and their necks would become encased with the steel of their need.

Many slaves you had had, most were pleasant, some were imminently forgettable, a few others were quite stunningly beautiful, and exciting, and pleased you greatly. Their sultry gait, their smoldering body language, the nuance of their gaze as they did not meet your eyes, their delicious squirming at your feet, begging to be used - ahh what could be more tantalizing.

But still you thought of me.

You did not approach me in Tor much except for the occasional polite exchange, you kept to yourself as I laughed and teased my Brothers, watched in amusement as I drank paga like a man and hurled furniture around in frustration like the panther I was during the waxing of the Moons. The first time you witnessed that you looked to the Vizier with eyebrows raised, but he merely shrugged, took another pull of his wine, and remarked casually "The moons, it'll pass".

You wondered if I had lovers. You wondered why I had no kajirus, no male silk slave to sate my appetites. You watched me with the girls, and saw no sign of attraction on my part to their femaleness other than frank admiration and pride for their beauty and sensuality. You wondered, and you bided your time.

Four

It was towards the end of the desert winter when you found the Oasis. You had been traveling by kaiila for many days, and were exhausted, thirsty, and well in need of a bath. I offered you water and shelter, but did not invite you into my tent that first night.

You became a frequent visitor at the Oasis, bringing me food, news of Tor, and companionship. You laughed at my antics as I climbed the ladders gathering the dates and cut my palms until they bled on the spiney fronds of the leaves. You drank paga with me and threw quivas, beating me every time, chuckling at my growls as I tried to best you.

And still I did not invite you to my tent. You would lay awake at night, under the giant palm where you slept, hands propped under your head, listening to my laboured breathing and the occasional moans in my sleep.

You could only guess at my fevered dreams, my perspiration-soaked furs.

You could not know that I was biding my time too.

Five

And then you were called away for several weeks on a mercenary mission, and spent some time traveling through Klima on your way back.

You listened to the Wolf Brothers and their bragging, and chuckled as they playfully mentioned an Oasis a few pasangs away where a panther lay in hiding. You knew they did not hunt her, as too many Wolves were Brothers to her.

You even suspected that this panther has perhaps mated with a wolf or two, on occasion. You knew that the panther in the desert was no chaste female, yet to place steel around her tanned neck would be akin to throwing her to the desert urts.

You knew her spirit would break if she were indeed captured. She could be tamed, but never owned.

You were determined. You were biding your time no longer.

You returned to the Oasis to find me somewhat subdued, almost cool to you, and yet agitated. You watched me carefully as I paced incessantly, drank too much paga, and disappeared for interminable walks in the desert by myself.

You knew.

I was female.

I needed a man.

I needed you.

Six

I was brushing my hair, sitting crosslegged on my furs, when you entered my tent. I looked up, and before I had a chance to berate you for violating my privacy and my modesty, you had taken up the brush, kneeled behind me, and begun grooming me. You did not speak. You didn't have to.

Were you surprised at the ferocity of my ardor? Were you taken aback by the exuberance of my fervor, the way I urged you to take me so swiftly, so completely? Did you imagine I would respond so passionately?

My tent was the twinned beating of hearts, the center of the universe entire. Entwined, neither of us were even certain where one of us began and the other left off. Was it days, weeks, months? The nights found us flushed and heated, our moans could be heard for pasangs. No wonder the desert sleen howled even when the Moons were incomplete.

We were.

Seven

"I can't", I choke out, my throat constricting. So it comes to this. After weeks and weeks of love and freedom in the desert, now it comes to this. I can feel my belly roiling, my mind almost collapsing into itself. You are not the first man who has tried to capture me, oh no. I was even in the steel of one man for about 2 weeks some 2 years ago, and that brief episode taught me well to abhor the concept.

I am a woman of Gor. I have been taught since birth that some day I may have to save my own life, and learned the submission position and the words that would make me slave. As panther I narrowly avoided nets and bolas, capture scents and arrows. As a woman under the protection of men, I kept a tight lid on my sharp tongue and biting wit so as not to insult or provoke a man into collaring me.

As a woman I knew I was vulnerable.

As a woman I had taken a great risk.

As a woman I had fallen in love with a man.

Eight

I shook my head violently, and closed my eyes.

I knew I could not live my life as a slave, not even your slave. Your slave... I allowed my mind to entertain that concept for a heartbeat, and felt my body respond. But my mind could not. My heart could not.

"No, I can't. I won't."

My voice sounded steady, even to my own swirling consciousness. A sharp intake of breath - mine? yours? - as your sword left your scabbard, the sickening sound of steel unsheathing, and the cold press of steel against my chin.

"I know". Your voice is soft, almost a whisper. My eyes fly open and regard yours with wonder. Are you weeping? Are those tears? It must be the desert wind. The sand stings like insect bites. Your sword... it's lowering, it's slicing through a lock of my hair, you are holding the shorn curl in your palm, clenching it, your sword is lowering to my chest, pushing my cloak off my shoulders where it flutters to the sand below me, spreading out in a black river of cloth.

"I had to do this, Guinne. Don't you see? If I didn't...", your voice trails off as your sword slices through the leather laces of the bodice, and I gasp as the garment slips down my torso, joining the cloak on the sands below. Your voice is thick with lust, and longing. I am half-naked before you, and I am completely at your mercy.

Nine

Taking a ragged breath, I close my eyes again, my hands tightly at my sides. I am still. I do not raise my arms, nor do I cross my wrists. I do not rise. I am neither slave, nor equal to you. I am female.

A soft gasp as your sword is tossed to the sand, and you sink to your knees beside me, gathering me to you. Your face is pressed against my head, your arms are tight around my body. Your fingers lightly stroke my bare back, I tingle, and shiver at the touch.

"I will not collar you, girl", you whisper. "Nor will you submit. But I know you belong to me, that you are meant for none other than I. You are female, an exciting, beautiful, passionate female, and I will have you as mine, any way I choose. I choose for you to remain free, for it pleases me.

"Know this - you will not submit to me as a slave. But you will submit to me as a woman. My woman". And with those words, you rise to your feet, lifting me up with you. With a quick practiced move, you grasp my waist firmly and raise me up, tossing me over your left shoulder, your arm cradled about my backside. You stride quickly to my tent, and toss me to the furs, your eyes blazing in their blue intensity.

I am trembling. I gasp my acceptance of your terms, and open my arms to you.

The leathers are hastily yanked off, and before I can even catch my breath you are claiming me, swiftly, almost brutally, my wrists pinned above my head by your strong hands, your body pressing me almost motionless against the furs as you fuck me. You will make me yield to you. My eyes close, a tear rolls down my cheek, and I smile. I am yours.