Hope of Tina Dance.. Dance of the Kurt

Hope of Tina Dance, The

"May the melody also be," said she, "one in which a slave may be well displayed."
"A block melody?" asked the flutist, addressing his question to Philebus.
"No," said Philebus, "nothing so sensuous. Rather, say, the "Hope of Tina."
Approval from the crowd met this proposal. The reference to "block melodies" had to do with certain melodies which are commonly used in slave markets, in the display of the merchandise. Some were apparently developed for the purpose, and others simply utilized for it. Such melodies tend to be sexually stimulating, and powerfully so, both for the merchandise being vended, who must dance to them, and for the buyers. It is a joke of young Goreans to sometimes whistle, or hum, such melodies, apparently innocently, in the presence of free women who, of course are not familiar with the, and do not understand their origins or significance, and then to watch them become restless, and, usually, after a time, disturbed and apprehensive, hurry away. Such women, of course, will doubtless recall such melodies, and at last understand the joke, if they find themselves naked on the sales block, in house collars, dancing to them. Some women, free women, interestingly, even when they do not fully understand such melodies, are fascinated with them and try to learn them. Such melodies, in a sense, call out to them. They hum them to themselves. They sing them in private, and so on. Too, not unoften, one level or another, they begin to grow careless of their security and safety; they begin, in one way or another, to court the collar. The "Hope of Tina," a melody of Cos which would surely be popular with most of the fellows present, on the other hand, was an excellent choice. It was supposedly the expression of the yearning, or hope, of a young girl that she may be so beautiful, and so feminine, and marvellous, that she will prove acceptable as a slave. As Temione was from Cos I had little doubt that she would be familiar with the melody. To be sure, it did not have something of the sensuousness of a block melody about it. Yet I thought, even so, she would probably know it. It as the sort of melody of which free women often claim to be completely ignorant but, when pressed, prove to be familiar, surprisingly perhaps, with its every note.
"Why do you wish to dance before me?" asked the burly fellow of the slave.
Yes," he said.
"Surely then," she said, "that is reason enough."
He regarded her, puzzled. It was clear he did not recall her, but also clear, for he was no fool, that he suspected more was afoot that a mere compliance with a masterly whim, even though such whims, for the slave, in many contexts, constitute orders of iron.
"Why do you wish to dance?" he asked.
"Perhaps," she said, "it is that a master may be pleased, perhaps it is simply that I am a slave."
I saw Philebus' hand tighten on the handle of the whip.
"Do I know you?" asked Borton
"I think not, Master," she said, truthfully enough.
She put her hands over her head, her wrists back to back.
"She is beautiful!" said a fellow.
"Dance, Slave," said Philebus.
"Ah!" cried men.
To be sure, Temione was not a dancer, not in the strict trained sense, but she could move, and marvellously, and so, somehow, she did, swaying before him, and turning, but usually facing him, as though she wished not to miss an expression or an emotion that might cross his countenance. Yet, too, uncompromisingly, she was one with the music, and, particularly in the beginning, with the story, seeming to examine her own charms, timidly, as it, like the "Tina" of the song, she might be considering her possible merits, whether of not she might qualify for bondage, whether or not she might somehow prove worthy of it, if only, perhaps, by inward compensations of zeal and love, whether or not she might, with some justification, aspire to the collar. Then later it seemed she danced her slavery openly, unabashedly, sensuously, so slowly, and so excitingly, before the men and, in particular, before the burly fellow. Surely now, all doubts resolved, there was no longer a question about the suitability of bondage for such a woman.
"She can dance!" said a man.
"She should be trained!" said another.
"See her," said another.
"Has she not had training?" asked one of Philebus.
"No," said Philebus. "Only days ago I bought her free."
"See her," said another.
"It is instinctual in a woman," said another...
The collar looked well on her neck. It belonged there. There was no doubt about it.
How she looked at the burly fellow! He was now so taken with her he could hardly move.
Now the exquisite slut began to sense her power, that of her beauty and desirability.
She had determined, I now realized, from the first movement she had leaped to her feet, obedient to the command of her master, Philebus, that she would make test of her womanhood, that she would, courageously, regardless of the consequences, risking contempt and perhaps even punishment, display herself before him, this rude fellow who had once so scorned and tyrannized her as a free woman, as what she now was, ultimately and solely, female and slave. To be sure, she, new to her slavery, had perhaps not fully realized that she had really no choice in the matter but, willingly or not, must do so, and to the best of her ability, in total perfection.
Borton moaned in desire, scarcely daring to move, his eyes glistening, fixed on the dancing slave.
Vagabonds of Gor, pages 37-40

~The Dance of the Kurt~
~ EXAMPLE~
*with the burning desires held deep within her heart, unheard foots steps take her to the center of the room....the tiles, icy cold to her feet.......... each curve of her delicate but strong body, outlined by the scarlet silks.....embracing each, curve and length.....the soft light of the tavern gives a strange glow to her wanton eyes.....as her hips begin to swayyyyyyyyyyyyyyy
the musicians begin to play, the rhythm, starts to build within her body.... hands go above her head.....palms facing outward.......toes taking her into a small spinnnnnnnnn..... long trestles of curls.....start to fly..as the beat builds within her.......
*her eyes look upon the crowd, as the blood within her little body, pumps...wildly...a definite beat.....as her little body starts to build up heat..... her leg come up and out, curls at the knee, the forces of speed, pull her into a twirl...... her silks flying....as her body...keeps the beating of the music within her soul...... as the music, rises in beat.......her hips start to grind........left to right....her sassy little ass goes down....knees bending......as her slave need starts to rise.......
she can feel her need building, with each score posed, as she does several twirls....on her toes...... her hands glide down her lush body....caressing her flesh........telling a story of her need and her quest.... then her delicate hands glide upward....moving slowly over her hips........figure 8 patterns......move her now......small fingers moving all around......her undulating body, fluid in one.......as her hands moves over her the flat plain of her slave belly....to her breast......cupping each one......as she purrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrssss.....some.......
her heart now pounds to the beat of the drum, that builds in force...knowing she needs to be releases of her surging, the muscles within......her torment....now building....with each move she takes....... she goes into a quick spin.......encircling the room......her breathing becomes erratic...as the speed she builds.......long locks of curls.....entangling her hips.....as her fingers reach out to caress the leather of the whippppppppppppppp
in a single pass, she clutches the leather.......spinning within the soft light of the flames.....she fears naught the thought of pain........the leather encircles her body, entangling with her silks.......as the movement feels, oh so good........she starts to trembles as the whips touches just here and there........still spinning proudly on her toes......her mind, starting to go into to trance, as she twists and turns in the shadows of the dance
slowing the speed of her sweat clad body...but still holding a definite beat......her dance bells ring outward ever so sweet... delicate fingers, go the her left shoulder.....as she releases the lope, to let her silks fall to her waist.... her lush full breast......glistening with sweat......nipples already ripened....peek up slightly...... she a drags the leather across her breast........little body screaming out....for a touch.....her flesh aches....for a touch.........she twirls into the leather.......whipp wraps around her breasttttttt......moaning comes from her throat..... then she undoes the binding cord that holds her silks taut.......they cascade to the sand.......as she steps out of them in unison to the beat of the drums.........
her little body JOLTSSSSSSSSSS..feeling the kiss of the leather on her flesh.......deep within her belly, she achesssss...... she with leather in hand......holds her arms up in the air.......as the music starts to rise again.......and with a flick of her wrist.... CCRRAACCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK the leather strikes the tiles......the sound of the leather echoing off the walls of the tavern.... her little feet moves quickly....toes side stepping, as the striking leather just misses them.......sweat runs down her little heated body............as she rises her arms again......and goes into another spin.........leather drawing up over her fleshhhhhhhhhhhhh.....as she becomes one with the leatherrrrr
her body writhers, as the leather caresses it....with each move, her belly screams out for the touch of the whippppppppp... her arms coming down fast again...her wrist flicks...and down comes the leather again
CRACKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKINGGGGGGGGGG..
across the tavern floor....... her breathing becoming erratic, as she spins......the leather again, caressing her nude form..........and coming down once more........ striking the floor...
CRACKKKKINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG
her heart pounds with passion and fury, as she drops to her knees...... hair, unruly cascades over her......as her breast rises and falls over and over again..... on her knees.....she begins to become one with the leather....as she dragggs the whip up over her small body.....
the leather, as it caresses her flesh, brings her submission into focus, with each strike reminding her of her need, to be kept in her place, reminds her of her fires burning out of control.....as she starts to yield to the touch of the leather......... her hand takes the whip over her thighs....up and down, stroking to the now soft beat of the music.....moving over her loins up to her shaven sweetness......... her sweetness, glistening with the juices from her body.....excitement fills her dark widen eyes......as one can see her needs reflected.......the surging of her soullllllll......as the leather....passes around and over her body......she becomes now one with the leather.....as it starts to move around her body slowly.........her thighs spreaddddddd fullyyyyyyyyyyy....her muscles pulling and straining to the max......
as the finial clash of the music plays out.....and she falling to her hands and knees....before the crowd..........her little body JOLTSSSSSSSSS....slightly .....screams of wanting hold, within her throat.........her pleading eyes lowered to the ground as the whip drops to the sand..............she waits her calling........