Agents Of Gor: Part 2 free porn video

This is a fan-fiction based in the Gor universe. All rights to the characters and situations of the Gor universe belong to John Norman. This work is written without his express permission. This story is explicitly not to be reposted on any pay sites. The author, Albedo, authorises the readers to archive it themselves. No other dissemination without the author's permission, please. Enjoy. What Has Gone Before: Armand of Tellus is an Earth-born agent of the secretive Priest-Kings of Gor. He has delivered a female captive, Lila Fischer, a courier agent of the enemy Kurii, to the Sardar, the Priest-Kings home, for interrogation. The Priest-Kings mind-reading machine backfired when Armand attempted to pry some secrets from Lila's brain, and now Armand is trapped in Lila's body, and Lila is now in possession of Armand's body. Agents of Gor: Chapter 2 By Albedo Lila-in-Armand grinned, a disconcertingly evil expression on a face so familiar in the reflection from the morning's shaving mirror. "Enjoy the view," she said, as his stolen body turned and left him to face his changed future and fortunes in the other mirror placed against the cage bars before him. His eyes focused, of their own volition, on the horrifying sight of what he had become. She was pretty, definitely. Unkempt, skin smudged and unwashed, hair awry, but under the mess and the muss she was, as Armand himself would have said before the unwelcome change in his circumstances, "a keeper." The exact meaning of that phrase on this planet was less metaphorical than he cared to dwell on, though. Lila's new silhouette disappeared into the constant gloom of Misk's vast laboratory, and Armand-in-Lila finally gave in to the pointless attempt to free himself that he had postponed while she was nearby, especially while she held the control egg and its damned red button. He squirmed, trying to pull the bracelet cuffs over his slim hands, but as he expected they would not budge one iota. They were not meant to, and so they didn't. Gorean metalworkers had spent a long time perfecting these deceptively graceful pieces of feminine enhancement. The same design was used planet-wide, with only decorative touches varying the manufacturing process in different cities and regions. The versions used in the Nest were plain, free of any non-functional gilding and engraving. They were only for retaining and securing pieces of property such as the body he now possessed, but like their native counterparts, they performed their required tasks flawlessly. He pulled at the link between the cuffs, but exerting ten times the effort he was now capable of would not have had any effect on the obdurate metal. The muscles at his command were soft and weak, and the limitations forced on him by the position of his arms trapped by the cage bars lessened even that small force he could apply. He gave up when the pain from his chafed wrists convinced him his efforts would be fruitless, although intellectually he had known it was useless to try even before he started. His eyes fell again on the despondent reflection of the caged girl trapped in the mirror. He was still incredulous at what had happened to him. He had decades of memory of growing up, from a boy through a youth to a man. All this was thrown against the Real-Time-Now sensation of being entombed in female flesh, and the historical record was losing the battle. His last forlorn hope, that this was all a nightmare he would wake from unchanged, had faded, and memories counted for nothing against what he was experiencing. Right. Now. And the future? He shuddered at the thought of being female for the rest of his life. Lila's body would certainly have received from her Kur masters and their human agents the benefits of the Stabilisation Serums. These drugs extended life and health on "primitive" Gor well beyond that of "advanced" Earth. That lifelong sentence could be vastly extended. Of course, being female on Gor added its own frisson to his already saturated emotions. What he was currently enduring physically could be, would be, the norm of experience if he continued in this condition. Gorean men were very possessive, and they took great care to keep their possessions from being stolen, or indeed stealing themselves away. Okay, he thought, mentally shaking himself. I'm in the wrong body. It's female, which makes me fair game for any male who cares to take advantage of me. I'm gagged, so I can't call for help, can't explain my situation to anyone, not that I would be believed if I did. My hands are cuffed behind me, round the solid steel bars of a cage, so I can't move from this position. The cage I'm in is locked, and I don't have a chance of getting hold of the only key. I've got a steel collar locked around my neck that marks me for the whole world of Gor as a slave, Kajira. My ankles are wedged four feet apart by a steel bar, and I can't even put my knees together to protect my miniscule modesty. The only piece of clothing I'm wearing wouldn't cover a gnat's testicles, and makes me look more naked than if I wasn't wearing it. Oh, and one last thing - my butt hurts. Right, now how do I escape? Nothing immediately sprang to mind. But, he thought, I have a goal now. Escape. Hope. It was something to cling onto, after the despair of his role reversal. Wait. Wait and see. It was all he could do just now. The situation would change, and perhaps there would come a chance, an opportunity, and he would be ready to recognise it, to take it, to get back his own flesh and blood, to free himself of this hated female container of his male essence. He thrust the idea of giving in, of accepting the inevitable, of learning to live with his altered physique away from him. I'm not the type to give in, he told himself angrily. I'm a man! I'm a Gorean man! His eyes fell on the mirror that gave the lie to his thoughts. That's only the outside, he thought. It's what's inside that counts, and this inside's getting back to where it belongs. He grinned at the reflection, which obligingly grinned back. The grin was unnervingly similar to the one his own body had worn when it had taken its leave of him a few minutes ago. Right. I have a plan. Now, where am I? What is this body really like? It's the only tool I've got access to. What are its capabilities, its liabilities. How can I use it to get back to where I belong? Inventory: body, female, one. Age, about 22. Hair brown, shoulder blade length if it was washed, brushed and combed, eyes - he squinted in the dull light at the mirror - brown, I think. Dark anyway. Check later. Eyesight, well, she didn't need glasses, but then again few people on Gor did. Correction was done when needed using more of the miracle drugs he now suspected came originally from the Priest-Kings. She might have worn bottle-end glasses on Earth, he thought, but a vague wisp of memory from the damned interrogation chair suggested she had used mild contact lenses instead to correct a slight tendency to short-sightedness. Height? He thought back to when his six-foot frame stood over her. Not much really, maybe five foot three or four, almost petite. Taller in heels, of course. He flinched at that idea, and the faint pseudo- memories it unearthed. Move on. Weight, about 110 lbs, maybe a touch more, from the memory of carrying this carcass down the steps from the tarnloft in its fur-lined flight sack. Not skin and bones, but not plump either. Figure? He stared into the mirror again, trying his limited knowledge of female anatomy against recollections of a few Earth girls he had spent time with at the beach. 34-24-35, perhaps. Not particularly busty, although the physical presence of these most feminine of fleshly fixtures threatened to derail his train of thought again. He looked down anyway at the baggy sacks, digging his chin into the collar around his neck, trying unsuccessfully to think of them as cancerous parasites rather than significant parts of the whole body he was a temporary prisoner of. The aureoles were dark, and large, covering a remarkable percentage of the surface. He twisted left and right, watching the mobile flesh swing heavily, pulling at his shoulders with a disconcertingly alien tugging sensation. Gods, if these are small breasts, how do women cope with larger ones? And why would they want surgery to make them more massive? Never mind. Concentrate. Start at the top. The face in the mirror was pretty, oval, with a high smooth forehead under the fringe of hair he could not toss from his eyes. Eyes, large - he remembered biology classes where it was explained eyes were the same size however large or small you were. They were governed by the laws of physics and optics. In a small face like Lila's, they appeared large, giving her a rather startled appearance, although he thought his current emotional state might have something to do with the look of bewilderment. Anyway. Nose, petite, lips unnervingly full. He ran his tongue over them, surprised at the swollen difference. It felt like they had been punched, but there was no pain, just more soft flesh present than there should have been. Teeth? His exploring tongue found a couple of missing molars and some roughness that might indicate a filling or two, but the rest seemed to be in order. His neck was slim and well-defined, with only the gleaming steel circlet he had placed there himself in a previous incarnation to mar the view. The phrase "guillotine-slim" dropped out of memory, from a book he had read once back on Earth. Move on. Breasts, already done them. He attempted to skip quickly over the unnerving masses, but paused when he noted a slight asymmetry in the mirror's reflection. He straightened up, thinking it was due to his bondage-enforced posture, but the left breast, his right, no Lila's right breast, not his, hung slightly lower regardless. A small manic part of his mind wondered when Lila-in-Armand would discover the corresponding male imbalance... Waist, slim, with a definite non-male notch to it where the hip-bones flared out, forming a secure resting place for the golden belly-chain the white silk was draped over. The navel sat in a slight fold of flesh above the cloth and chain, but domed muscle moderated by feminine subcutaneous fat hinted at a disciplined body and a well regulated diet. He shied away from the thought of the arcane fleshy plumbing that lay under the skin there, but another ghostly Lila-memory of distasteful medical examinations rose up to haunt him. The holy of holies now. Can't put it off forever. He stared at the silk- covered mystery that lay between his forcibly splayed legs. There was a shadow of dark hair, and nothing. Nothing. He blinked, trying to make his eyes see what should be there, and wasn't. It didn't help. Lila's perfect eyes saw only Lila-flesh where, for all his previous existence, there had been a defining Presence. You don't know what you've got till it's gone, his manic little voice sang. He pushed it back again, and concentrated on his observations. Could he see any more detail? He lowered his head and squinted. There was a tantalising hint of *something* at the tip of the inverted triangle, blurred by the scandalously sheer silk covering his mons, but his viewing angle was wrong. He thought about sliding down the bars to line the target area up with the mirror for a clearer view, but he quickly realised what gravity took away, he'd never be able to recover, and it would quickly get painfully uncomfortable. He was not exactly relaxed in his current enforced posture, but being upright was a lot less of a strain than the torsion slumping would put on his back and shoulders, the way his arms were locked around the cage bars. Never mind, he thought, nothing there I haven't seen before. Later, Mr. Curiosity. He moved on, with an odd sense of disappointment. Legs, two, and handsome. He had always been a leg man anyway, preferring a "fine set of pins" (as the British used to say) over a well-endowed chest. He had argued his corner in bars and clubs many times in discussion with his workmates and friends. His contention that legs led to the primary erogenous zones, and breasts were only secondary usually ended with him being peanutted, but it was only in fun, and the occasional times he had spent in the sack with girls who were well- endowed in the secondary characteristics department had not been wasted either. Lila's pins were museum-quality Primary Standard legs, worthy of a place of honour in the Legs Hall of Fame. Her full thighs tapered smoothly to elegant knees, and slim well-defined calves. Dancer's legs, and another wisp of rogue thought came to mind, of standing at a bar (barre, came the correction) and another mirror, wall-sized this time, and endless repetition and stretching and bending and a hectoring voice and a beat-up piano tinkling in the corner, keeping time... Move on. Ankles, another Armand favourite, were wrapped in thick leather cuffs, to which the spreader bar was clipped. He jerked at the solid restraints, but they were as well-designed as the slave bracelets on his wrists, and he could close his legs not one inch more. Thinking about it, a girl, a natural girl, would be feeling quite uneasy being in this kind of restraint, having been brought up to be physically modest and discreet. Without that upbringing, the feeling wasn't there, for which Armand was somewhat thankful. The girl in the mirror, though, appeared terribly vulnerable, forced into a position which exposed her most intimate physical attributes to the world. Armand was careful to keep a cool distance between what he was seeing in the mirror and what his body was telling him. Physical discomfort at the enforced posture (but not much. Lila had not lied about that.) but not the red-faced feminine embarrassment that would naturally accompany this exposed position. Associating with the image in the mirror too closely would mean he was lost, perhaps forever, in this feminine skin. The feet were dirty, small, in keeping with the rest of his temporary physique. He arched one foot, and a memory drifted by. Size 4 too tight, size 5 too loose. Real heels should have ankle straps, otherwise... he quashed that thought as well. The remnants of pink nail polish still lingering on one big toe caused only a momentary hiccup. That it? That's all I've got to work with. Body, female, one. Oh, yes, finally. My fully female stereotypically-enhanced thirty-five inch (at a guess) well-padded butt still hurts. Time passed. There were no clocks in the dimly-lit room, or windows to show the passage of the sun. He half-dozed, the distraction of his aching shoulders and cold butt unable to keep him awake. Even the mirror's reflection was no longer the ice-cold shock it had been the first time. A sudden bite of hunger finally jerked him from his stupor. 'When was the last time this body had been fed?' he wondered. He remembered he had given instructions for a bowl of slave porridge and a flask of water to be supplied to the girl early that morning. He glanced around, and saw the bowl, empty, by the cage door. It looked like it had been licked clean. His hunger pangs doubled at the sight. Even if there had been some left, he was in no position to reach the bowl. The water flask was nowhere to be seen, and thirst was suddenly added to his growing list of physical discomforts. He stretched as best he could, given his constraints, feeling stiffness and incipient muscle cramp. He jerked reflexively at the cuffs, but the laws of physics, metallurgy and Gor still held sway, and his delicate wrists maintained their prescribed limited separation. No miracles there, he thought. The only miracle was in his head, where alien technology tied his distant brain to this foreign body. Come on, he thought. You're an electronics engineer. What kind of device is causing this endless nightmare? Right, assume it's electronic in nature. Advanced, yes, very. Comprehensible? Mmmm, maybe. Analogies might help. Think of it as a very high bandwidth radio data link, passing information backwards and forwards between your brain and her body. At the same time, similar data is flowing between Lila's brain, which is still within this skull, propped up on top of this body, and my own body, my *real* body, which is off doing God knows what. Sensations are hijacked from this flesh and sent to my brain, and control signals are sent back, to drive this body. As far as it can tell, my brain is sitting on top of these pretty shoulders, admiring the new view. It can't tell any different. The bandwidth must be phenomenal, he thought. I wonder if it would be prone to jamming. What's its range? A few metres, or kilometres, or further? If I could get on far enough away from Lila-in-Armand, would the link snap? Would it reconnect itself if the range was reduced again? How about power? Batteries? How long do they last? Days, weeks, forever? He didn't know enough about the Priest-King's technology to hazard a guess, but the transponders injected into their brains were tiny. On Earth, that would mean correspondingly tiny batteries, and a fantastically short operating lifespan. On Gor, who knows? Only the Priest-Kings, and there was no way to ask them, given his situation. He twisted again, as a new sensation added itself to his body's chorus of discomfort. Oddly familiar, it had been trying to make itself known more and more insistently for a while. Lila's reflection in the mirror grimaced as realisation struck. Oh God, he needed to piss. Now that it had surfaced, this problem rapidly rose in importance, with When, Where and especially How leading the charge. The old phrase "Tie a knot in it" was no longer applicable, given the set of plumbing he was now reluctantly in charge of. He squirmed more frantically to distract himself from his hydraulic predicament, but this didn't help, other than to make certain feminine appurtenances move around in what would, in other, more masculine circumstances, be an entertaining manner. There was a bucket in the other corner of the cage, covered with a rag, and he needed to get to it *now*. Figuring out the technicalities of how to operate a set of totally unfamiliar muscles and sphincters once he got his oversized butt in place on the bucket could wait. Unbidden, images of babbling brooks and dancing fountains filled his mind, doubling and redoubling his level of discomfort. He desperately visualised dry sandy deserts, and lush oases appeared before him, with spurting Artesian wells and water rippling in qanats into deep dark pools and... "Uncomfortable?" came a familiar voice at his ear. He jerked, startled, the shock nearly solving his liquidity problem. He nodded vigorously, desperately mouthing over his shoulder at Lila-in- Armand hunkered down behind him. "Oh, yes, I forgot. You're still in quiet mode." She reached into the pouch and pulled out the control egg. She thumbed the golden button, and something in his throat gave a tiny click. He gasped, and swallowed. "I..." he choked, swallowed again. "I need to take a piss." God, that voice... "So did I, earlier. *Very* odd experience, but one I could... will, get used to, I think," she said smiling. "I need to piss Right Now," he said, squirming again. "First things first, *girl*," said Lila, standing up. "There are words missing from your vocabulary that you will have to learn. This is a good opportunity for your first lesson." She opened the cage and entered, head down to avoid the low barred ceiling, and squatted before Armand-in-Lila's spread legs. "The first word, and the most important one, is 'Master'. Repeat after me, 'Master'." Armand's new eyes grew wide. "Fuck off," he said reflexively. "That scores zero out of ten," she said. She held up the control egg just long enough for Armand-in-Lila to recognize it, and then thumbed the red button. Fire jolted though his body as his muscles spasmed, then the prickling aftershocks died away. He was aware he had grunted, but he was perversely pleased he had not screamed. Girls scream, he thought, as the pain disappeared, leaving him panting heavily. He looked up again, as Lila turned the egg around and around in Armand's large masculine hand. "Nice piece of engineering, this, you know." She held it out. "I asked Misk about it, and he told me some things about it I don't think you knew. For example, the harder you push a button, the stronger the effect." Her thumb poised itself above the red button again. "Like this." The fire came again, but this time it doubled and doubled and went on and went on and... Echoes of a long-drawn-out scream were still ringing in his ears when he again became aware of anything other than the PAIN. He was slumped forward, throat raw, arms stretched back to where the cage bars and slave bracelets held them. He pulled himself up awkwardly, to face Lila- in-Armand's fake expression of concern. "Gosh, that was a bit loud," she shook her head. "Of course, this is Gor, where girls screaming like that are ten a penny." She held out the control egg again. "The really neat bit about this thing, though, is that once you've pushed the button *all the way down*," Armand jerked at this, but Lila's thumb didn't move, "you can slide it forward, and it stays locked on, indefinitely. Isn't that a fun idea?" She smiled again, a scary smile that was no smile at all. Cold chills replaced the hot flush on his skin, at Lila's tone of voice. She was crazy enough to do just that, he could tell. How would he be able to stand it? "My old mate Misk tells me the best bit about the pain control is it does no physical damage. The nerves, muscles and so on are totally unharmed, just... stimulated. I can use it any time I like, for as long as I like, and there's not a scar or a welt to be seen. Of course, mentally, you might not come out of it quite as well." She paused again, looking at the egg, rubbing her thumb against the metal beside the red button. "Or at all." Armand-in-Lila croaked a word, throat desiccated. Lila bent forward. "Yes?" He swallowed saliva, and tried again. "Master." "And again." "Master." "Louder." "Master," he said firmly. "Now make a sentence with it." "Master, I need to piss." His whole body ached, and muscular spasms ran up and down his arms. The pressure in his bladder demanded precedence in the queue for his attention. "Excellent. Now in the form of a question. Beg my permission, girl." He gritted his teeth, but the egg was in Lila's hand, her thumb poised. "Master, can this girl take a piss?" "Congratulations. Ten out of ten." Lila-in-Armand's finger moved on the egg, to the silver button. "A silver star, I think." A different kind of fire flared into life in his loins, destroying conscious thought again. Lila-in-Armand, squinting at the growing fragrant puddle between Armand- in-Lila's outspread legs, added, "Seems a bit late though, by the looks of it." *** When he came to, some things had changed. He was lying on his side on coarse sacking in a corner of the cage, and no longer secured against the bars. The ankle stretcher had been removed, as had the silk between his thighs. The memory of his embarrassing "accident" came back to haunt him, but someone, probably a slave, had cleaned up the mess on the floor. There was a faint smell of bleach from the stone flags. Of course, this change of circumstances did not mean he was free. Clinking noises as he moved indicated that chains were still an inescapable feature of his new life as a captive female on Gor. A few moments examination identified the new chains he wore to be what was called, in Gorean, a "sirik." It was, of its type, not very restrictive. Some sirik chainings were extreme punishments. For the moment, he wore close-linked slave bracelets on his wrists, but they were secured before him, not behind his back. There were similar ankle rings, with eighteen inches or so of chain between them, locked on Lila's fine ankles. He would not be running anywhere, even in the unlikely event the cage door was opened and he was free to leave. The major part of the sirik was the collar chain. Investigation with his fingertips found a chain wrapped around his collar, at the front, where it had been fed through a loop at its end. From there it fell to another loop, through which the slave bracelets had been fed before being locked on his wrists. The chain then dropped to ankle height, where the connecting chain of his ankle restraints passed through another loop. The locked bracelets prevented the chain from being taken off the collar by unthreading the long end back though its loop, an elegant use of the principles of topology as applied to securing girl-flesh. He sat up, awkwardly, as his hands were chained close to his collar, and he could not use them to lever himself up. The mirror was still located outside the cage, but in a different place, positioned so that the girl held within the bars would see it when she woke. In its reflection, he saw a slave girl, chained naked, clad only in sirik. She was sitting, legs curled round, somehow seductive and vulnerable at the same time. He had seen many similar sights since coming to Gor. His current point of view was horribly novel, though. He tugged at the sirik, snapping the chain tight, digging his collar into the back of his neck. It did not give, or break, or fly open, and he fully expected it would not. It was Gorean. Such equipment did not fail at the urgings of its wearers, however insistent they were. The girl in the reflection gave up her useless struggle, and settled down onto her heels. He looked around, but Lila-in-Armand was nowhere to be seen. He coughed, and tried to speak out loud, but Lila had used the golden button on the egg again while he was unconscious. He was in "quiet mode," as she had called it. A bowl near the cage door caught his eye, and he scooted on his knees over to it. It was half-filled with slave porridge, lumpy and cold, milled oats in watered bosk milk. He prodded it with a finger, then licked the finger tentatively. It tasted of nothing in particular, slightly gritty. He thought back to his breakfast meal of cold roast meat, and warm fresh bread. That had been hours ago, and in a different stomach. Thirty seconds later the bowl was empty, and he was licking the last crumbs from the bottom with his tongue. He put the bowl down carefully, awkward in the sirik's constraints. A flask beside the bowl contained water, and he drank heartily until it was nearly empty. He noted with a little surprise that the Nest gag trapped in his throat had caused no discomfort when eating or drinking. There was no sense of repletion. The quantities supplied were too small to make a feast. The only satisfaction obtained was that hunger and thirst were no longer the top priority. The other problem involving his mysterious new innards had solved itself - until the next time. In the sirik, he had limited mobility, and the rag-covered bucket was within hobbling distance. Now what? He struggled to his feet, balancing precariously and nearly toppling without the free movement of hands and feet to sustain his posture. As he had previously noticed, his, or rather Lila's head did not reach the overhead bars of the cage, unlike his true body's stooped posture. This body was shorter by a good six inches, maybe more. Everything seemed a little larger than he remembered, higher up, as his eye-level was now correspondingly lower. The girl in the mirror was still there when he looked. Her hands were clasped together close to her throat, with dull silver metal around her wrists matching her collar, jewellery of a different kind. She moved, and metal rustled as the chain between her breasts swayed and ankle links dragged across the stone-flagged floor. Breasts. Tits. Bazooms. Mammaries. Jugs. He had breasts. His chained hands brushed over enlarged nipples, and they *tickled*. He remembered one girl, Alice was it, or maybe Jill, who had a thing for *his* nipples. She had a way with her tongue, licking at the vestigial nubs on his chest as he reciprocated with finger and thumb. Well, these aren't vestigial, he thought, and then the cold chain brushed across his left nipple, catching it roughly between forearm and steel. Ouch. He looked down, to see it elongate, bringing back memories of other, rougher flesh he had enjoyed when it engorged. The other nipple followed suit. Hmmm. The girl in the mirror examined herself closely. The shadowy light in the alien workshop did not lend itself to clarity of vision, but she hobbled to the bars, and stared fascinated at the unclothed juncture of her thighs, obscured only by gleaming chain. Her hands twisted, trying to reach her mons, but the collar chain and bracelets allowed her fingertips to reach her navel, and no further. Physical exploration of the defining location of feminine anatomy was still impossible for him. Lila wanted to keep some secrets inviolate, it seemed. This puzzled him -- she obviously wanted the current situation to remain in place indefinitely. Why was she so prudish? What did it matter to her now what secret flesh Armand-in-Lila touched, now she was safely on the masculine side of the gender gap? He could still look, though. And so he did, fascinated by the mirrored geography of an unknown country, of which he was the sole (ha!) inhabitant. He felt he was observing a woman's body for the first time, really looking, examining in detail what was the same, and what defined the difference. He brought his hands up to his face, running fingertips across cheeks that had never felt a razor's scrape, down a throat with no pubescent male lump in the windpipe, along a cold metal band locked around a slave's neck... "Fascinating, isn't it?" The voice shocked him, spinning him around, clumsy in the sirik. "I've had a similar reaction, you know. All these extra bits, and bits that are missing, and their various sensitivities." Lila-in-Armand stood at the cage door, leering as Armand-in-Lila blushed again, hands twisting in a futile attempt to conceal what couldn't be hidden. "I'm sure the novelty will wear off in a few months, and it'll become run-of-the-mill. If I were you..." She paused and smiled. "If I were you, I'd enjoy it while it lasts. Of course, thanks to Misk and his wonderful machine, I'm not feeling myself." She threw back Armand's head and laughed out loud. Armand closed his eyes. He couldn't take the thought of bad jokes as well as the physical hell Lila was putting him through. Next thing, he thought disgustedly, she'll be making puns... Lila rubbed her eyes as her laughter died down. "Deary deary me. I haven't had so much fun since Granny got her tit caught in the wringer. Still, to business. We've got a party to attend." She produced the cage key and slid it into the lock. "Walkies." A couple of minutes later, Armand was hobbling after Lila, on the end of a leash chain. His ankle chain forced him to take three quick steps to a single stride of Lila-in-Armand's free-swinging pace, skipping like a child being pulled along by an impatient mother. His male world had suddenly become one of limitations, of strength, of accessibility, of mobility. He was living a slave's, a female slave's existence, and he wasn't enjoying it, not one bit. His likes and dislikes were not of any importance now, though, not to the chains that constrained his every desire. They were blissfully unaware they were locked around a male, and steadfastly performed their duty of restraining female flesh as they were designed to do. Perfectly. They left the workroom, and in the corridor outside, Armand-in-Lila, naked save for his chains, came for the first time under the eyes of a true Gorean male. No slave male carried the short sword and wore the red tunic of a Warrior, as this figure did, and his eyes were not dull and listless, especially when his gaze lingered over Armand-in-Lila's delicious curves. Armand felt his skin redden like sunburn as he felt the raw power of the look, but he was helpless to do anything other than follow Lila-in-Armand's figure down the hallway past the stationary man. He tried to glance back, to see if the man was still looking, but the leash chain pulled again at his collar, and he followed obediently, wondering why he thought it so important that he should know whether the man would look at a slave-girl, and continue to look. Did he find Lila's figure attractive, desirable, worthy of his continued attention? Armand shivered inside, thinking of what could happen, what would happen, inevitably, to this body if it stayed a Gorean possession. He didn't want to be within it when that moment came. He had to get free. He had to. They followed the corridor to its end, where another broad flight of steps led upward to a wooden door. Lila-in-Armand tolerantly slowed down to allow Armand-in-Lila to hesitantly make his way, step by step, up the treads. They were broad and shallow, to accommodate the Priest-Kings gait, but they also sufficed to allow an ankle-chained slave to make her way laboriously up them, the chain pulling taut over the step's edges as he put one foot carefully ahead of the other, the steel rings around his ankles digging awkwardly into his Achilles tendons and the lower part of his shins. Lila-in-Armand pushed the heavy door open and they entered a small hall, with wooden beams arching overhead. Instead of the high-tech dull sourceless lighting the Priest-Kings favoured, this place was lit by oil lamps. There was straw on the floor, and wooden benches and tables stood around. Men sat at the benches, drinking and eating, while slave girls hurried to and fro with platters and jugs. A small group of musicians were gathered at an open space between the tables, but they were not yet playing. Armand looked around desperately; could he convince any of these men what had happened, of the injustice of his current position? Lila caught his harried glances, and hissed, "Nadu!" A jerk downwards on the leash chain brought Armand stumbling to his knees. Lila transferred her strong grip to his long hair, and forced his head downwards, into a posture of submission proper for the slave girl's body he now inhabited. A stout bearded man, dressed in a brown tunic, approached them with hand outstretched. "Armand. Armand of Tellus." Lila looked up and took the proffered hand. The man looked puzzled for a moment, then their hands slid up to grasp each other's forearm in Gorean fashion. "My apologies, sir. I'm still fresh from Earth," said Lila, covering her mistake. "No matter. I am Tisoch, Master of this paga hall. Be welcome here," He glanced down at Armand, still held down in position by Lila's other hand twisted in his hair. "Your slave?" he enquired, as a man on Earth might mention a chance-met acquaintance's fine dog. "My captive, for today, at least." Armand could do nothing, and thanks to the Nest gag, say nothing. "Tomorrow, who knows?" The two men laughed as Lila's fine skin grew red. "May I?" Tisoch asked, gesturing at Armand. He nodded and passed the leash chain to the bearded man. He pulled peremptorily and Armand was forced to his feet again as the collar, that damned collar, dragged his head up and dug into his slim neck. "Sirik, hey?" said Tisoch, as his eyes roamed freely over Armand's soft flesh, evaluating her as only a Gorean male could. "Pretty." He grasped the short chain between Armand's wrists and lifted them away from his body, uncovering his breasts, until the body chain snapped taut. Armand could only look down, embarrassed at his exposure to the man's level gaze. Now he know what it was like to face a true Gorean man's examination while trapped within Lila's corpus. Tisoch reached for Armand's groin with a practiced gesture, but Lila put a hand on his wrist. "She is still White Silk." Tisoch whistled. "By the Priest-Kings! She?" He rubbed his bristly chin, then grasping Armand's arm, turned him a little. "Ah." His thick finger pressed on a dimpled spot on Armand-in-Lila's upper arm. "She is Earth- born. Most girls from Earth carry this scar, from, from vac-cin-ion?" Lila-in-Armand nodded. "Vaccination. It prevents disease." "Hum," said Tisoch. "Their Physician caste must be a poor lot if they must scar their patients to prevent disease." He shrugged. "Still, it explains her White Silk status. Earth men are a timid lot." He jerked, realising that he stood beside a man of Earth, of the Warrior caste, armed. Lila grinned, a wolf's grin. "No offence taken, Tisoch. There are timid men among the castes of Gor, too." He paused for a second. "But not many." "Aye," Tisoch turned and gestured. "Be welcome here," Lila recovered the leash chain, and moved into the hall, Armand trot-skipping along behind her long-striding pace, chains clinking softly. Lila found a bench and pulled Armand in close. "Nadu." It was a command, of course, but she gave it no more force than a man would command his well-trained dog. Armand bit his bee-stung lip, but complied. He had decided that, until an opportunity to change his situation provided itself, compliance with Lila's will was better than the alternative world of pain she was able to place him in. He knelt beside the bench as Lila sat down. Benches and chairs were not for the likes of slaves and captives like Armand. She nodded at his acquiescence. "Good girl, but you'll have to work on your movements, especially when chained. I'll drill you tomorrow, perhaps." Armand looked up into her eyes, his yes, the eyes of a man on Gor, possibly even a male of Gor, knowing she looked down on him, a female, as a slave girl of Gor, kajira in all but legal title. Lila tutted. "Eyes down," Armand complied. "Knees." He opened his knees further. "Shoulders back, that's it. Elbows out, hands palm-up... that's it. Perfect." She patted his downturned head. "Good girl." Armand felt a little rage at his positioning by Lila, but he had Become resigned to his current position in society. There was nothing he could do as he was, but play the part Lila demanded of him, play the obedient slave, and wait for an opportunity to reverse his fortunes. A small part of his mind dreamt of the time when he would be back in his rightful place, and the delicious revenge he would have on the slave that had been Lila Fischer... Lila-in-Armand signalled one of the paga girls who stopped at her bench, head bowed. Armand looked up at her. She was blonde, with freckles. She wore a collar, long serving chains and a red silk slip around her hips. "What does Master desire?" she asked, in a breathy seductive voice. "Your name, for a start." "This girl is called Sally, Master." "From Earth?" asked Lila amused. "Yes, Master." Lila switched to English. "Enjoying your holiday?" Sally started at Lila's words, and hesitated, before dropping her eyes again. "Yes, Master," she spoke in Gorean. Lila smiled again. "Wine. Bring me some wine and water. A bowl too." She waved her hand, and the girl hurried off towards the serving tables in the corner where a red-faced man dispensed drinks from barrels and large pottery flasks. "Sally seems to have gone native, hey?" Lila said. Armand looked after the slim figure as it weaved between the benches on its errand. "Of course she's Red Silk, not White like yourself. She's probably been here a while. Hazard of the trade, I suppose. Look what nearly happened to me. On this godforsaken planet for four months and I nearly wasn't able to escape. Lucky I ran into you, isn't it?" Lila obviously wasn't expecting a reply, and Armand dropped his head again. Sally returned with two jugs, a ceramic cup and a shallow bowl. Glass on Gor was rare and expensive, and a paga tavern wasn't the best place for delicate tableware. Pottery was cheap and more rugged. "Anything else, Master?" she asked, head down. "Nadu," Lila said. Sally immediately knelt before her, automatically adopting the position Armand held, without prompting. Lila turned to Armand. "See how graceful she is?" Armand nodded. "Something to aim for in your training." She signalled Sally to get to her feet, and then dismissed her with a wave. She poured wine into the cup, topped it up with water from the other jug, and then took a sip. "Ahhh. Tisoch serves good wine." She mixed a little wine in the bowl with some water, and then put it down before Armand. "Drink, but don't use your hands. Don't break position." Armand only hesitated for a second this time, before bending forward, breasts compressing into his thighs, hands trapped by the sirik chains and soft feminine flesh. His hair fell about the bowl as he started to lap up the weak mixture with his small tongue. Some ran down his chin, and his long hair absorbed some more of the watered wine. He drank about half of the contents before Lila said, "Up." He straightened up again obediently. "What a mess." Lila smiled at him. "Bathtime for you tomorrow." She took another sip from her cup, then sat back with a sigh. "This is the life, eh?" Sally bustled by, chains tinkling. They did not restrain or limit her particularly, as she was kept busy carrying drinks and flasks to and fro. The chains were there to remind her she was slave, and because men liked to look at her when she was chained, and because her Master, Tisoch, had decided she should be chained. The collar around her neck, twin to the one Armand had placed around Lila's throat so long ago, marked her truly as slave. She was branded, the common kajira mark high on her left thigh. Lila's flesh was not branded, and she didn't seem keen for her erstwhile flesh to be branded, and for that Armand was grateful. The two odd figures watched Sally, each with their own thoughts. Armand could only guess at Lila's motivations for what she was doing. If he were her... well, in her situation, he wouldn't have paraded her out in public so soon after the Event. There was so much that could go so wrong. Armand was a cautious sort at heart, but Lila seemed to be a risk-taker, an adventuress. She was enjoying this, the excitement, the subconscious fear of being discovered. It was what had brought her to Gor in the first place, he realised. Wealth, yes, there was a lot of money to be made, but she could have, would have made herself wealthy on Earth if she had wanted to. This way, exotic, alien danger, this was what had drawn her into the schemes of the Kurii. It was only when she had discovered the silken trap that she was in had despair set in. And then the chance of escape! She had seized her opportunity wonderfully. Misk had supplied her with the technology that tied their two souls together. She hadn't missed a step. Not yet, anyway. Keep taking risks, Lila dear, thought Armand. Please. You'll slip up, and I'll be ready... "I used to do that for a living, you know," Lila-in-Armand said, nodding towards Sally. "Serving, in a London pub." She looked around at the men on the benches. "Rough-looking lot in tonight." There was a sudden squeal. One of Tisoch's other girls had been grabbed by a man, and was now being roughly embraced by him. The man came up for air, holding on to the girl by her wrist-chains. He threw a coin onto the table before standing up and dragging the girl over towards one of several curtained alcoves at the side of the hall. The man's two companions laughed and poured themselves another drink. Lila nodded. "That sort of thing went on, too, but a bit more discreetly." She shrugged. "Usually." "So this is the Kur bitch," came a harsh female voice. Armand looked up to see a Free Woman standing at Lila's bench. She was dressed in all-encompassing robes that swept the straw-covered floor. Her face was hidden by long veils, and her hair covered by matching long scarves. Only her eyes were visible, and Armand felt them burn through his own nakedness like flamethrowers. He glanced down again, unable to face her stare. "And you are?" asked Lila, putting down her cup. The woman changed her gaze to Armand's owner. "Serressa, Free Companion of Glathius of Port Kar." Lila nodded, acknowledging her name. "I am Armand of Tellus." Serressa glanced down at Armand again. "This girl, well, for the moment she is nameless." "She is truly slave?" Serressa asked. "Not yet," said Lila. "She is the captive of Priest-Kings, and in my custody." Serressa clenched her fists. "Why is she not slave?" Lila gave this some thought, before answering in a cold voice. "Because it pleases me." Serressa recoiled slightly, hearing in her words the cold determination of a Gorean male. It was obvious from her accent that she was Gorean-born, and even Free Women knew that tone, and were wary of it. Free women could so easily become the slaves of men they angered. Lila invited Serressa to sit on the bench opposite. The Free Woman gathered her robes and sat, somewhat distastefully, on the stained wood. Men who imbibed wine and raw paga spirit tended to get more and more careless with their pots as the evenings wore on, and the benches were already quite sticky. "What is your interest in my captive?" Lila inquired, signalling a passing black-haired pot-girl with a gesture as she swerved gracefully between the tables and the grasping hands. Serressa's hands clenched again. "Glathius, my Free Companion, was at the Four Bosk Ford station when the Kur sleen came looking for her. He died at their hands, as did three of his company. I wanted to see for myself what valuable prize my Companion's heart's blood was spilt for." The last words came out with venom. "And now I see he died for a worthless slave." Armand could do nothing but kneel wordlessly before the two free people who were discussing him. His position was forced by the chains that confined him and the gag that silenced him, of course, but on this world slaves were the lowest, the Empty caste as it was sometimes called. In truth they were below caste -- any free-born man, woman or child was as far above the most exalted slave as the sky-topping tarn was above the lowliest worm underground. Even unchained, a slave must still kneel like he did, in the presence of free men and women. "Ten double tarns. Of gold," Serressa's voice came again. There was a chink of coins. She had thrown a small leather pouch on the table. "For the girl?" asked Lila. Armand's blood ran cold. "Yes," Lady Serressa's voice was filled with hate. "And her fate, once she is yours?" "A slow death. Days. Many days." Armand's heart leapt at the sheer dark lustfulness of her words. He looked up, unable to hold position. Those eyes were once more boring into his, carrying promises of agony and a long-drawn-out death. Lila shook her head. "No, Lady Serressa. She has a value beyond gold, beyond revenge." "Twenty double tarns." Her voice rose, as Lila stayed silent. "Fifty. A hundred." She trembled. "All I have. All. Just let me have her." "All?" asked Lila. She reached over, and unpinned the veils across Serressa's face. She sat, frozen, as Lila-in-Armand's fingers pulled the concealing cloth away from her features. She had been crying, but she was still quite beautiful. She wore traces of makeup, even under the covering veils, arguing a touch of vanity. Lila stroked a finger around her throat, as she had traced Armand-in- Lila's collar before. Serressa shuddered, aware of the price Lila was asking for her sacrifice, for Armand-in-Lila. "Not that." Her eyes fell, and she fumbled the veils back into position. "All, you said." "All I have, but not that." Her voice was resigned, and she looked away as a serving girl appeared beside Lila's bench. She turned to speak to the girl. "Wine for the Free..." As she turned, Serressa pulled a small curved knife from her sleeve and leapt at Armand-in-Lila with a wordless cry. Armand fell backwards, unable to dodge while handicapped by the sirik chains. He managed to grab Serressa's knife wrist with one chained hand, but Serressa slapped him across the face with her free hand as the two women landed on the rush matting. Armand's hand opened, and Serressa forced the knife up towards Armand-in-Lila's throat. "Die, sleen! DIE!"