Chained under the three moons.... and others

Elinor Dances Chained Under the Three Moons of Gor

Rask of Treve Indicated me. "Chain her," he said "under the moons of Gor." "Come, Girl," said the guard. I followed him. I could now see the moons, beginning to rise over the points of the palisade. What did I care that the girl, Talena, was tonight sent to the tent of Rask of Treve? I hated him! I hated her even more than him! I wished the guard had not taken my clothes. But when a girl is chained under tie moons of Gor, she is chained naked. I did not understand their intention. I lay back in the grass. I felt it with my hands. I closed my eyes. I smiled. I was furious of course, with what he had done to me, but also, I could not have helped responding to him as I had. He had, cruelly, mercilessly, unfairly, giving me no option, elicited from me the fantastic depths of sensation of which I had not even realized my body was capable. His touch as that of a master, had commanded my body, totally, and I had swum in sensation, clutching him, fearing that I might drown with pleasure in his arms. Laugh if you will, but I could call him nothing but "Master." Do not scorn me nor mock me until you yourself, perhaps on some distant world someday wear a collar, until you, yourself as a slave have known the touch of such a man as Rask of Treve. I wept. I threw myself against the chain, running toward his tent, and fell in the grass, my ankle burning, scraped, from the steel that obdurately clasped it. On my hands and knees I tried to crawl to the tent. My left leg stretched taunt behind me, held. I cried out with frustration and pounded the grassy earth, weeping, with my fists. I rolled on my back and looked up at the moons. I lay there my fist clenched. Then I closed my eyes. I could not dare to look upon them again, the great white. Looming moons of Gor, dominating the skies. I pounded the grass with the sides of my fists in misery. Then I dared to look again upon the vast, looming moons of Gor. What choice had I? I was only a girl who had been chained naked beneath them. I screamed and leaped to my feet, my hands extended to the moons, I stood helplessly beneath them, chained, naked, reaching for them. Then I began to dance the madness of my need, writhing beneath the moons of Gor, clutching at them, turning stamping my feet, swirling, crying out. And when I could dance no more I fell to the grass, writhing, tearing at it, whimpering.
Captive of Gor, Pages 339-341

Feiqa Dances in the Camp of the Alars

"Dance," I told Feiqa.
"I do not know how to dance, Master," she moaned.
"In every female there is a dancer," I said.
"Master," she protested.
"I know you are not trained," I said.
"Master," she said.
"There are many forms of dance," I said. "Music is not even necessary. It need not even be more than beautiful movement. Move before the men, and about them. Move as seductively and beautifully as you can, and as a slave, swaying, crawling, kneeling, rolling , supine, prone, begging, pleading, piteous, caressing, kissing, licking, rubbing against them."
"Do I have a choice, Master?" she asked.
"No," I said. "absolutely not."
"Yes, Master," she said.
"Would you prefer for your pretty flesh to be lashed from your bones?" I asked.
"No, Master!" she said.
"And as the evening progresses, and as men might desire you," I said. "You will please them, and fully."
"Yes, Master," she said.
"You are slave, an absolute and total slave," I reminded her.
"Yes, Master," she said.
One of the fellows, then, began to sing, "Hei, Hei," and clap his hands.
Feiqa danced.
The men cried out with pleasure, many of them joining in the song, and keeping time with their hands. I was incredibly proud of her. How joyful it is to own females and have absolute power over them! Seldom, indeed, I imagined, did the rude herders of the Alars have such a vision of imbonded loveliness in their camp, in their arms. Such delicious females were not allowed in their camps, I gathered. The free women did not permit them. They probably had them hidden in wagons, until they could be sold off, or killed. How beautiful Feiqa was! What incredible power she exercised, though only a helpless slave, over men! How she pleased them and made them scream with pleasure! How incredibly basic, how fundamental, how real she was! I then felt a sudden, poignant sorrow for the women of Earth. How different Feiqua was from them. How far removed delicious, exquisite Feiqua was from the motivated artifices, the lies, fabrications, the propagandas, the demeaning, sterile, unsatisfying, reductive, negative superficialities of anti-biological roles, the prescriptions of an unnatural and pathological politics, the manipulative instrumentations of monsters and freaks. I wondered how many of the women of Earth wished they might find themselves in a collar, dancing naked in the firelight before warriors of an Alar camp.
"Disgusting! Disgusting!" cried the free woman, Boabissia in her leather and furs, having returned to the fire, and she rushed forward, a stout, thick, short, supple, single-bladed quirtlike whip in her hand. She began to lash Feiqa who fell to her knees, howling with misery, a whipped slave. "We do not allow such as you in an Alar camp!" cried the free woman. Feiqua put her head down. Again the lash fell on her.
"Feiqa will now again dance," I said.
I looked to Feiqua, still kneeling, her back bright with the memory of the free woman's attentions.
"You may continue to dance, Feiqa," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
The men cried out with approval, and smote their left shoulders with pleasure. In a moment Feiqa, vital and sensuous, liberated now from the fear of the free woman, and having felt the whip, in that perhaps being reminded of what might be the consequences of failing to please free persons, addressed herself once more, eagerly and joyously, marvellously and subserviently, to the pleasures of Masters. I was so aroused I was in pain. I could hardly wait to get her back to the camp of the wagoneers. From time to time I glanced at Boabissia. She was on her side, trussed, watching Feiqa. In her eyes there was awe, understanding what a woman could be.
Mercenaries of Gor, pages 60-64