Cosplayers Of Gor - Part 3 free porn video

Late last year as everyone knows something out of the ordinary happened at Kubla Con, the big annual SF and media convention taking place in Xanadu, a large conference centre in Orlando, Florida. A costuming event run in conjunction with Kubla Con had attracted thousands of people to take part in the show with a rich eccentric sponsor offering big money prizes for the best costumes and presentations. During the event strange changes, weird powers and arcane capabilities were bestowed on many of the attendees. Magic was loosed and many were never the same again. Some fortunate people escaped the chaos unscathed though. Or did they? Note: Xanadu is a shared-universe storyline concept originally created by Bryan Derksen for the Transformation Stories Archive. Bryan says we can play in his yard as much as we like. https://shifti.org/wiki/Xanadu_%28setting%29 -------------------------------------------------------- Cosplayers of Gor - chapter 3. by Albedo. ([email protected]) Bob spent most of the trip back to the apartment giving Charlie the silent treatment while rubbing his ribs. They weren't actually sore, not after he had finally taken the earrings out and changed back to being a guy but the memory lingered. Damn corset, I'm never gonna wear one of those things ever again. He had given up rubbing his crotch for similar reasons after Charlie had thrown him one disgusted look too many. Damn chastity belt, I'm never EVER gonna wear one of those things ever again. Charlie finally broke the silence as they sat at a junction waiting for the cross-traffic to clear. "Wanna talk about it?" Bob glared at him. "Talk about what, exactly?" He didn't want to talk about IT. "Talk 'bout what y're avoiding like crazy talkin' about." Charlie shrugged. "Y'know when Arrass French-kissed ya back in--" Bob punched the dashboard hard. Charlie nodded. "Yeah, I can see why y'd wanna punch Arrass or somebody like that afterwards but at the time it looked t'me like y'were gettin' something outta it when he was suckin' y'r tonsils." Bob's face coloured. Charlie pulled away and turned into the main drag, concentrating on the sparse traffic ahead like it was rush hour and very carefully not meeting Bob's gaze. "If it helps, Ah figger you, ah, reacted like y'did because, well, y're Arrass' wet dream come t'life." He shrugged. "You got that dream connection between you, you're linked in some way in that sicko Gorean Master and slave thing when y're changed an' it makes you react t'him like slaves 're supposed to in the books when he did that t'you." And it's why I grabbed your leash afterwards and towed you down the hallway, you needed the distraction from what you'd just been put through, Charlie thought to himself. Bob remembered the dreams, remembered how he felt when he first saw Arrass in the monitor at the Institute, remembered when he first stood in front of him in that damn ponygirl outfit, remembered wanting to kneel in front of him in submission... He punched the dashboard again. "Hey, careful. Y'll set off the airbags," Charlie cautioned. Bob rubbed his fist, the pain doing little to distract his thoughts. Don't want to think about it, not gonna think about it. He rubbed his ribs. Damn corset, I'm never gonna wear one of those things ever again. He rubbed his crotch. Damn chastity belt, I'm never EVER gonna wear one of those things ever again. * * * * * * * * Next morning Bob woke up on the furs dressed in a ponygirl outfit identical to the one he had been wearing the evening before, hoof boots, bridle, arm sleeve, corset, chastity belt and all. He ran out of swearwords even before Charlie finished the process of freeing him from the assorted pieces of fetishwear adorning his female body. It took a while until only the last, most intransigent item was left to remove. "Wasn't me!" Charlie protested as the diminutive girl, now cutely outfitted in an extra-large Charlie-sized T-shirt masquerading as a shirtdress beat on his chest with her small fists. "Ah've not been to bed at all, Ah couldn't have been dreaming 'bout you." "You're my fucking 'owner' now, aincha?!" Bob's stock of swearwords had been refreshed somewhat but he was repeating himself a lot now. "You paid Arrass for me, you've got that bullshit pieca paper, endorsed an' witnessed an' all..." "Siddown and shuddup," said Charlie impatiently, pushing Bob down onto the seat behind him. The chastity belt Bob was still wearing made a clunking noise as it hit the hard wooden seat and a very curious expression flashed over Bob's face as the inflexible metal crotch strap dug into flexible feminine places he didn't like to think about. The other parts of the ponygirl outfit had been easily removed, they were just laced and buckled in place. The chastity belt was another matter. Charlie had tried the keys from the other chastity belt, the one his acquaintance Arnaud had loaned him as Bibi's costume for the previous evening's meeting but they didn't fit the locks on the belt Bob was still unwillingly wearing. "Few things, OK?" Charlie held up the keys. "First up, if it had been me dreamin' bout you in that setup these keys woulda worked. They're keys, f'r Vulcan's sake, y'think I'd make that kinda mistake even in a dream?" Bob's fury subsided somewhat. Yeah, Charlie probably had dreams about locks and keys, wet dreams even but getting the keys wrong in a dream wasn't the kind of mistake he'd ever make. "Second, there's that collar there." He held up the Gorean-style metal collar that had been fastened around Bob's neck when he woke up. It had been hidden under the tall leather stock collar that was part of the ponygirl outfit, but a regular collar key had unlocked it. "That's not my doin'." He shrugged. "I figure it's Arrass caused this change, he's still dreamin' of you even though he's no longer your 'owner'. Mebbe he was rubbin' one out, y'know how it goes, y'see somethin' sexy before y'go t'bed and..." The expression on Bob's face was waaaay past simple repulsion as Charlie's words sank in. Charlie thundered on without considering the consequences of what he said next. "And third, you just woke up changed. What's the first thing you always wanna do when that happens?" The expression on Bob's face twisted again as he crossed his legs. Tight. "I'll get my toolbox," said Charlie, hurrying from the room. After an embarrassingly intimate few minutes of Charlie wielding sharp pointy objects in close proximity to Bob's feminised groin while Bob moaned and whimpered for unconnected reasons, the lock at the top of the crotch strap came free from the front of the waistband. Bob pushed Charlie out of the way as he headed towards the toilet as fast as he could waddle, the open crotch strap dangling from the back of the still- locked waistband. He made it in time, just, and sat down quickly. If only the dangling crotch strap hadn't got in the way when he tried to sit down... Afterwards Charlie had a bit of a problem trying to pick the lock on the steel band hinged around Bob's waist - he claimed the rubber gloves got in the way and numbed his feel for the lock's internals. Bob sat on some old towels, fuming, looking daggers at the top of Charlie's head as he worked on the waistband lock while trying to ignore the smell of piss. He was sure Charlie was sniggering. Silently. The lock gave way eventually and the waistband opened and Bibi-Bob became Bob-Bob again, his oversize T-shirt no longer tented out in a couple of inappropriate places and its hemline no longer at mid-thigh level. Charlie looked away as Bob snagged a clean pair of jockeys and climbed into them preparatory to going to take a shower. A long hot shower. "One good thing," said Charlie as Bob headed for the bathroom. "The belt's madea stainless steel. It'll wipe right off." "You're a louse, Charlie," Bob said tonelessly as the bathroom door closed behind him. * * * * * * * * "So last night's circus didn't make this crapola stop," Bob said dispiritedly. He poked at the pile of red leather ponygirl gear on the table. Charlie shrugged. "It's up ta Arrass t'stop dreamin' 'bout you and it looks like he's not quite ready t'do that." Bob brightened. "So if we took out a hit on Arrass--" Charlie held up a hand. "Conspiracy to murder is a capital offence in this here state, same in Georgia. Just for your information." "If I plead justifiable homicide?" "Explain that to the judge. Maybe if you stand there in court in a leopard-print dress and a pair of stripper heels and promise him a blowjob he'll never forget he'll let you off with life without parole in a woman's max. Capisce?" Bob made the mistake of imagining the scene in the courtroom Charlie had described and shuddered in repulsion. I'd look terrible in leopard-print, a little black number or gold lam? might do the trick though... "Yeah, but I want this shit to just stop. Not happen again. Forever. Please." "Give it time. Arrass owned ya and sold ya t'me and--" "He sold Bibi, not me," Bob said angrily. "He doesn't know that you're sometimes Bibi. Best if he never finds out, but I figger he'll, well, not exactly forget about Bibi but he'll stop dreamin' 'bout her the way he's been doing the past coupla months once it sinks in that he doesn't own her any more. Give it time, like I said. If it still goes on we'll talk ta Farnsworth again, see if anyone at the Institute can come up with somethin'. Shieldin' maybe, that Dream Diver bozo might know how ta stop dreams gettin' inta y'r head from outside." "All right." Bob pointed to the pile of clothing-for-want-of-a-better- word scattered on the table. "So can you turn this perv gear into money as well?" Charlie scratched his chin. "Easiest thing is f'me to sell it all to Arnaud as a complete set since it's the same as the gear he loaned me. He's been talkin' 'bout turnin' out a matched paira ponies for some shows he's got comin' up in the spring. I reckon he'd jump at the chance to get another outfit the same for t'other girl. Gonna be tricky tryin' t'explain t'him where it all came from though." Charlie hefted the chastity belt. "I'll haveta change the lock mechanisms on this baby so's the keys're the same as th'other one before selling it though." Bob looked quizzical. "Baby? I thought the basic idea of those things was to prevent babies? The ultimate contraceptive?" "Ah, but when they come off, all that repressed sexual energy..." Charlie leered. "Practic'ly guarantees twins, triplets sometimes." "Not in my case," said Bob, shuddering. Charlie pointed at Bob's manly-for-the-moment chest. "34-Cs, the Great Goddess of Fertility Tittinaria put them there for a purpose, not just for you t'play with." Charlie tilted his head. "Don't know what y'd do if'n it was triplets though. Bottle-feed the runt of the litter?" Bob's look of disgust grew even more disgusted-er. * * * * * * * * Bob tried staying awake on caffeine and pep-pills to give Arrass time to come to terms with not owning Bibi any more but three days later he was falling over and hallucinating. At least he thought he was hallucinating, he couldn't tell where reality ended and the rainbow- coloured flying elephants began... After the fourth time he blindly walked into a wall Charlie finally told him to go to sleep. He swore on a copy of the Mechanical Engineering Handbook he'd stay in the apartment just in case. Bob nodded and stumbled off towards his bedroom. Ninety minutes later the pressure pad alarm under the furs went off. "Wasn't me!" Charlie protested as the diminutive French maid chained up on the furs at the end of the bed glared at him accusingly. "I've been awake alla time!" He grabbed a set of keys, unlocked Bob's collar chain from the end of the bed and helped him to stand up on his glossy high-heeled shoes. Bob's new outfit was pretty much a scaled-down copy of the abbreviated maid uniform that the much taller and bustier Belle from the Xanadu Institute habitually wore, but with an additional Gorean-flavoured kajira collar and a pair of wrist bracelets linked by three inches of chain. Bob's long blonde hair was braided up in buns on either side of a frilly mob cap. So Arrass was smitten by Belle, was he? thought Charlie, trying very hard not to snigger. Bob swore volubly then his face creased as something distracted him. "Toilet," he muttered fuzzily. He took a wobbly step towards the doorway and fell back inelegantly into the furs on his satin-covered butt, unable to stay upright on the skyscraper-tall stilettos strapped to his small feet. Charlie bent down to pick him up, trying very hard not to stare between Bob's splayed legs but he was pushed away. "No princess carry. Do it myself," Bob mumbled. He gritted his teeth, got back on his feet and started hobbling towards the toilet, his slim ankles twisting and buckling as he grabbed for the doorpost with his chained hands. "Sneakers! Why can't maids wear fuckin' - owww! - sneakers like sensible - shit!!! - fucking people do! Fuckers!" The swearing only stopped when the toilet door closed behind him. After twenty minutes Charlie gave up waiting and banged on the toilet door. "You awake?" he shouted. There was a feminine scream and a crash of falling objects followed by some familiar cursing. "M'awake! Awake! Gimme a minute!" Somewhat more than a minute later the door opened to reveal a half-awake Bob, still female and still wearing his maid uniform, collar and wrist bracelets although his frilly satin panties were dangling forlornly around his left ankle and he was in his stocking feet, carrying the stiletto shoes by the ankle straps. Charlie took the footwear from his unresisting hand and passed over a set of keys for the collar and bracelets along with a change of male clothing. Bob nodded dully and closed the door again. Fifteen minutes later he came back out, male again and carrying the tiny maid dress and long smoky stockings over one drooping arm. Charlie collected the clothing before Bob dropped it and handed him a large mug of coffee in exchange. Spinal reflex got the first half-pint of black gold into him and his rebooted nervous system dealt with the rest. "Damn Arrass," muttered Bob as he stared at the pile of frilly clothing on the table. "Damn fucking Arrass to shit and damn." He clutched at his refilled coffee mug like a life-saver. "Why doesn't he just--" He stopped as his concentration wavered again. Charlie interrupted. "Get some more sleep. You'll feel better t'morrow." "Sleep? Y'think I'm just gonna go to sleep again, knowin'--" Bob's grip on his mug was loosening visibly, his eyes red and bleary. The coffee was obviously losing the battle to keep him awake. "Yeah, you're goin' t'go to sleep," said Charlie quietly. "Y'can't stop y'rself from goin' to sleeeep, not after all the sleeeeeeeep y've missed already, sleeeeeepy head. Sleeeeeep." He removed the coffee mug from Bob's unresisting hand before it spilled then led the stumbling figure back to his bedroom. "No princess carry..." mumbled Bob fuzzily. He was unconscious before he reached horizontal on the big platform bed. Charlie collected the pile of furs that had appeared during Bob's last change to add to their collection for sale later and clicked off the light on his way out, ignoring the snoring sounds behind him. Weird, he felt sleepy himself for some reason... Late the next day Bob woke up as Bob. The day after he went to bed normally, still fretting over what might happen while he slept but he woke up the next day as Bob again. And the day after, and the day after that... After a week they experimented with Bob going to bed as Bibi, wearing a collar. The three times he had done something like that previously he had ended up in the furs without fail, changed and restrained but not this time. He was still female of course thanks to the collar's effect but he didn't end up on the furs and chained to the ring at the foot of the bed. They tried it again the next night with the same results, no change. It seemed that, after some early teething troubles, Charlie's stupid fucking crazy plan to convince Arrass to stop thinking of Bibi as his property had actually paid off. Charlie was unbearably smug about the whole thing, of course. They had kept Farnsworth in the loop about what was going on with Bob's changes although they skipped precise details about the final maid costume change because of its likely connection to Belle, Farnsworth's personal assistant. Farnsworth in his turn kept them informed on the Institute's investigation of the Gorean encampment in southern Georgia. He had apologised for the limited amount of information available but he had explained it was not a high priority for the Institute's time and resources. Bob got the impression reading between the lines that his peculiar situation and the Gorean encampment was something of a hobby project for Farnsworth. There were fifteen people living in the Camp of Schendi's cabins with a few more individuals that appeared at weekends or sometimes stayed overnight, folks less dedicated to the lifestyle than the permanent residents. They might have been original members who had stayed around when the Xanadu Goreans had moved in. There were six men including Arrass and nine women. Of those women, two presumably pretending to be Free Women wore heavy all-concealing robes and one black-haired woman wore a fur bikini - a Panther Girl? Bob remembered waking bound and gagged in his bedroom wearing a similar outfit and wondered if this woman had been the inspiration for Arrass' dream that night. However the other six women at the camp wore rather less than the wild woman of the woods even in the southern winter. "How can they get away with keeping those women as slaves?" Bob asked angrily, looking at the telephoto pictures attached to one of the emails. He presumed they had been taken by the MiB team Farnsworth had spoken about. One image showed a skimpily-dressed female figure, a brunette with a pageboy bob haircut carrying an Amazon box of groceries from the mail drop at the edge of the compound. The collar locked round her neck was clearly visible. Charlie brought up another document on his computer screen. "Here. It's a report from the local cops Farnsworth gotta hold of. They've been out to the camp a coupla times, spoke to the folks there, looked around. The ones actin' as slaves're all willin' volunteers, no-one's keepin' them there against their will. They're all responsible adults, no kids involved." "Volunteers?" Bob's voice rose in disbelief. He knew what it was like to-- "Yep, they chose t'go to the camp and stay like that, usually durin' the day. The guys in charge there say they can leave any time they want." Charlie shrugged. "The cops have enough on their plates, 's long as the Goreans pay their property taxes and don't pollute the wetlands they're not gonna get bothered." "Who t'fuck would volunteer to be a slave?" Bob was nonplussed at the very thought. "Lotsa folks." Charlie shut his computer down with a few practiced clicks. "We're sellin' your crap to summa them online right now. I told ya 'bout the local scene, didn't I?" Charlie meant the BDSM and fetish community which he had connections to - the loan of Bibi's ponygirl outfit for the showdown with Arrass had been arranged via one of Charlie's acquaintances from that world. "All volunteers, eager an' willin' participants." Bob shuddered at the idea. "Not me," Bob said firmly. "Well, 'bout that," Charlie said. "Arnaud, y'know the guy who loaned me, us the ponygirl outfit, he wants me t'ask you to make up a pair in his ponygirl show in a few weeks time since ya fit the costume so well." "WHATTTT?!" Bob yelled. "You're crazy if you think that--" "He's offerin' nine hundred bucks plus travel an' hotel expenses for six hours prep and show time plus a cut of photo sales, guaranteed anonymity with masks, security escort at all times to prevent interference from onlookers an' the like." Bob shut his mouth. "Think 'bout it. You haven't got another job lined up yet, the sales of stuff from y'r changes is startin' t'dry up as we run outa stock and customers and your half of next month's rent and utilities's due in three weeks." Charlie lumbered past the frozen figure standing behind his computer chair. "I gotta get ta work, back around nine tonight. Ah'll phone ya if'n I'm gonna be late." They now had an arrangement in place where Bob wouldn't go to sleep if Charlie was out working. If he was called out suddenly at night he'd wake Bob up first before he left the apartment. It was something he wished they had thought of earlier and now that Arrass had seemingly stopped dreaming about Bibi it might not be necessary but... Better safe than sorry. Bob went back to his room and fired up his own laptop to start searching Craiglist and various online recruitment sites for a new job. Winter typically meant an employment downturn for the Orlando area with a lot of the big theme parks and hotels trimming back on staff so there weren't a lot of possibilities on offer right now. Retail... he'd gotten sick of working at the gaming store long before the Xanadu thing had impacted his ability to turn up for shifts reliably. He kept looking, skipping over the "big bucks modelling!" and "webcam cuties wanted" posts with a shudder. Been there, done that, recollecting the bondage photo shoots he had done with Charlie to help sell the change gear he had accumulated. That brought to mind Arnaud's job offer to be a ponygirl for a day. Nope nope nopetty nope... but nine hundred bucks... Nope, he decided firmly. Fifteen hundred bucks or go home. A girl had her standards, after all. He snickered at the thought. Not a CHEAP date. He marked up a few warehouse and factory-line and delivery driver jobs for further consideration while recalling Charlie's off-hand remark about working at Molly's restaurant. Molly'd taken a liking to "BeeBee" for some reason and she'd probably be willing to give him some hours waitressing and kitchen duty if he asked nicely. He shook his head. Definitely a last resort, even if he did have his very own frilly maid- slash-waitress outfit now... He checked his bank balance online, not too pretty but still in the black. He had been relying on raising more money out of the change items, especially the jewellery but Charlie had used up most of the gold they had on hand making the coins to buy 'Bibi' back from Arrass and it looked like there wouldn't be any more arriving from the Gorean equivalent of Santa Claus. He made a quick pass of some of the online Xanadu rumour and story sites he had bookmarked but there was nothing on the one subject he was most interested in, the Goreans, just the usual space aliens, flying saucers, Bigfoots (Bigfeet?), giant insects, superheroes battling supervillains and the like. He'd have poo-pooed most of those stories in the past but spending time at the Xanadu Institute had opened his eyes. The truth actually was out there, in an anonymous building in an industrial park about twenty miles away from where he was sitting. He fired off emails applying for the first five jobs he had flagged then shut his computer down. Time to go get some supplies to make dinner later. Instant ramen sounded good. Cheap too. "There's the other one from the apartment." The man in the driving seat of the car parked along the street remarked as Bob turned right from the front door, heading for the local supermarket. "Still no sign of the girl, though." He looked down at the folder in his lap, open at a copy of a set of slave papers describing a particular kajira in great detail. There were no pictures of her but there was more than sufficient information to enable him to clearly identify her if he saw her. "We are running out of time," said the man in the back seat, coldly. "Should we abduct him now?" suggested the first figure. Torture would surely make the weakling tell them where the fugitive slave was being held. They thought she might be in the apartment, kept secluded by her Master but she might be elsewhere. Her Master, one of the Caste of Metal Workers had some sort of workshop nearby, an ideal place to keep a girl caged and secure... "No, it is not necessary. Yet. We will continue to observe for the moment." He glanced out the car window at the building opposite. They had taken a short lease on a second-storey office with a direct view across the street to the windows of their target's apartment. They had cameras on hand for when they moved in later that week. They needed more information before they could act, he decided but time was short. He had been reckless once to his cost, he would not be reckless twice. He would have his revenge and it would be cold, as cold and relentless as the Torvaldsland glaciers on his home world. "Follow him." Althenius of Cos gestured to his subordinate who started the car and pulled away from the kerb, shadowing Bob unaware. * * * * * * * * Another email response from a job application, a pro forma thanks but no thanks, good luck on your search yadda yadda. Bob closed the message, ticked the rejection off on his master list and sighed. There were only a few applications still waiting for a reply and he was finding fewer new jobs to apply for now he had harvested the initial offerings he had found when he started looking. There had been only two possibles today and one of them looked like an agency rewrite of a job he'd already been rejected for elsewhere. He was starting to think that getting paid nearly a thousand bucks to spend a day as a ponygirl was better than not having the rent money month after next. Maybe I should ask Charlie to see if his friend Arnaud is willing to sweeten the pot for me. Of course you know what that makes me if we're only dickering over the price... Hell, working for Molly'd be better than that. He decided, no. He still cringed when he remembered being dressed in that ponygirl outfit at the meeting with Arrass at the Institute. Anything, even the Gorean collars and chains thing was better than wearing that ponygirl gear again. He realised he was rubbing his crotch again in painful memory and stopped. At least proud Gorean Warriors didn't put their slaves in chastity belts. Or did they...? He recalled the expressions on the faces of Arrass and that asshole Alhenous or whatever his name was when they first caught sight of him in that ponygirl getup. Sure they were perfectly willing to abduct women, chain them up, brand them, collar them, rape and flog them with whips but putting them in perverted dressup costumes? Ewwww. Assholes. He grabbed his coffee mug and the dog-eared paperback lying beside his laptop and went back to the kitchen for a refill. He had a vague idea there was some mentions in the Gor books about chastity belts but he couldn't find anything in a cursory search, just the usual references to bracelets and collars and such. As he poured the last of the coffee from the percolator and ladled sugar into his mug he glanced at the cupboard. No need to search the books for those items, there were piles of them in there along with gags, silks and other paraphernalia. No more was being added to their stocks though - it had been over two weeks now since Bob had last changed into a female due to Arrass' dreaming, adding a French maid costume to their collection as a grand finale, pardon the French. For some reason he had been reluctant to let Charlie put that outfit up for sale on their website. Charlie had concurred. "'S a nicely made outfit, fits ya perfectly, made a lot better than the cheap Chinese maid costumes in the fetish shops but ya wouldn't get much for it even so. Besides, if'n you ever want a waitressing job at Molly's place..." His death glare had cut Charlie off short. He glanced at his coffee mug - it was a new one that had appeared on the kitchen shelf recently, obviously bought by Charlie and left there without comment. It had a very un-PC caricature of a half-naked woman in chains scrubbing a floor with the title "Kitchen Slave". Funnee ha ha. He had started using the mug without saying anything, not willing to give Charlie the win by reacting to it otherwise. He had a sneaking suspicion that Charlie had won somehow anyway. Charlie had been out all day working so Bob was inhaling large quantities of caffeine to ensure he remained awake as per their agreement. Sure it looked like Arrass had given up on Bibi and he wasn't dreaming about her any more but better safe than sorry, where "sorry" meant waking up female and helpless, bound and gagged at the bottom of the bed while Charlie was out somewhere. They had even tried an experiment where Bob went to bed as Bibi, wearing a collar and his new "Master", Charlie daydreamed about "her" in chains and such but he woke up the next day the same, still on the bed and still only wearing the collar he had gone to sleep in. It seemed that the Xanadu magic or reality-altering effect, whatever you called it, was specific to Bob- sometimes-Bibi and Alice-now-Arrass and no-one else. They had left the alarm system and pressure pads operational just in case. Of course the stuff from the dream changes still worked on him, he thought sourly. Even the ponygirl outfit and the maid costume from his last two dream changes would magically fit him, making him lose eight inches in height and fifty pounds and a few important anatomical bits and pieces if he dared to try them on. He flipped the book open and read some more as he sipped at the coffee. Know thine enemy. He had made dinner, such as it was - mac and cheese with a banana for dessert - when his phone rang. It was Charlie calling to explain he was running late and he wouldn't be back until midnight or after. "No probs, I'll keep myself busy till you get back," said Bob. "Howsabout you do some housework to keep y'rself awake?" They had a vague agreement to clean the apartment in some kind of rota but Bob had a tendency to let things slip when his turn came round. Charlie looked like a slob a lot of the time but he was surprisingly a neat freak when it came to where he lived and worked. "Yeah yeah," said Bob. "I'm busy right now, gettin' stuff done while th' hotels 'n stores are quiet for the winter. Either you dig in there or I get a contract cleaner in next week and you pay half." Bob swallowed - Charlie had done this previously during a work rush and half the ticket price for a deep clean wasn't something Bob wanted to pay right now given his current bank balance. "Okay 'Master', this girl will get to work cleaning your chambers right away," he trilled sarcastically. "Yeah yeah. I'll bring back pizza." "Pizza! 'Master' is too kind to a mere slave! This girl doesn't deserve you, 'Mast'--" The call dropped suddenly. Heh. Hope he doesn't put anchovies on the pizza though. Bob drank the last of his coffee and headed for the toilet. He started scrubbing the shower cubicle walls after he had decanted the residue of the coffees he had drunk earlier into the appropriate ceramic receptacle in the corner. Standing up to pee, can't beat it. He didn't enjoy cleaning the bathroom as such but he got on with it, determined to do a decent job if he had to do it anyway. The end result after half an hour or so was a clean bathroom and a dirty muck-splattered Bob. He pulled his stinky hang-around-the-apartment sweats off and showered then went looking for clean clothing. There wasn't any. Shit, forgot to run the laundry yesterday. He was running low on clothes anyway having lost more than a few sets of sweat tops and pants to dream changes so his wardrobe was somewhat bare - well, apart from that blouse and skirt and the bras and panties and... --. Nothing of Charlie's would fit him, of course. He wandered into the kitchen, tastefully attired in a towel and nothing else to get a load of laundry started and his eyes fell on the coffee cup awaiting washing on the draining board. "Kitchen Slave." He was going to clean the kitchen next anyway, so why not? Besides, Charlie's reaction when he got back and opened the door would be golden. "Pizza, shower or me, 'Master'?" he said in a falsetto. Yeah. He headed for the storage cupboard which held assorted slave chains, collars, silks and other items left over from previous changes awaiting sale. So what would be the best combination to wear... * * * * * * * * "Captain!" Althenius of Cos jerked out of his slumber in an uncomfortable office chair. His subordinate at the window was whispering for no good reason, the neighbouring offices were deserted and their targets were across the street in the apartment opposite. Althenius moved forward carefully anyway to the window. The screen connected to a camera pointing out through a crack in the blinds showed... "It's her!" said Althenius, in Gorean. The subordinate looked quizzically at him; he was one of the Earth men who had volunteered to accept his leadership when the Camp of Schendi had split apart after his humiliation and dismissal by Arrass at that meeting at the so-called Xanadu Institute. Most of the Earth-born who had accompanied him were not fluent in low Gorean never mind high Gorean, the Tongue of Scribes. "It is the girl," he confirmed, in English. He studied the image, it was not too clear as the light levels were low but her height, her hair, her body shape generally matched her description in the the slave papers Althenius had copies of. Her face was also familiar although his recollection was marred by the ridiculous head harness she had been wearing at the meeting, the first and last time he had encountered her face to face. And besides, which other female would be in that apartment dressed in a sirik, collar and silks? It looked like she had been chained and set to clean the kitchen, pushing a mop or broom around the floor. Was she being punished for something? The silks she wore were inappropriate for such tasks, a rep-cloth tunic would be a better choice for a pot-and- kettle slave cleaning a kitchen but no matter. Perhaps her so-called 'Master' simply preferred her to be dressed that way. She certainly looked desirable like that, he felt his interest in her rising as he watched her move around the kitchen. She was almost dancing and her mouth was open, was she singing? "Where is the other male?" It was the first sighting of his target in over two hands, nearly two weeks in Earth terms but they had seen only her 'Master', Charles of the Caste of Metal Workers leaving the apartment in the morning. The male named 'Bob' had been seen earlier in the kitchen, the one room facing this way where the window blinds were not drawn fully. "He disappeared from view an hour ago," said the subordinate, checking his logs. "He's not left the building, at least by the front entrance." Althenius tapped his fingers, thinking quickly. He had a schedule to meet, an absolute schedule he could not delay without angering mighty forces, but he still had a day or so to perhaps wait for a better opportunity when the girl would be guaranteed to be alone. His recklessness at the meeting, where he had thought to take the girl by force for his Captain, Arrass had ended in ignominy, and at the hands of females at that. His heart still burned at the memory of the obscenely- dressed servant-girl who had easily defeated him, a man of the Warrior Caste, in single combat and then had spared his life only at her own Master's word. Then he had been carried like a sack of suls under ONE arm of another woman, an unnatural giant, and deposited ungracefully at the building's entryway, the guards there instructed by her to not permit him re-entry. The deepest wound though was inflicted by his Captain's words of cold dismissal after his attempt to capture his slave for him failed, his disdainful refusal to listen to Althenius' explanation for his actions. For that Arrass must suffer too. Abducting this slave would be a single blow delivered to all of his enemies. He decided, clenching a fist. "We will take her now. If the other male gets in our way, kill him." He turned to the other man in the room who was standing in readiness, dressed in a garish uniform. Althenius shrugged his way into a similarly garish jacket and picked up a brightly-labelled backpack before heading to the door. "Stay in touch, warn us with that radio tool if something happens!" he said over his shoulder to the watcher at the window. "Alert the vehicle too, have them ready to move in when we signal!" "Yes, Captain!" But Althenius and his companion had gone. * * * * * * * * Mrs. Jones hobbled to the intercom when the door alarm buzzed. The display showed two men in hi-visibility uniforms and Red Cross badges standing at the apartment block's front entrance. "Ma'am?" the first one replied. "It's EMT. We've got a medical emergency reported on the second floor, they're not responding to our buzzes. Can you let us in please?" "Of course, of course." Flustered, she thumbed the door release button then opened her apartment door to look out. The two men raced up the stairs carrying medical backpacks. She wondered who was ill and hoped those nice young men would help them. Althenius stood sentry at the end of the corridor as his Earth-born colleague got to work on the door locks of the apartment where their target was located. His ears pricked up as the man swore; it appeared the locks were more complex than expected. They didn't have time... The man said "This is gonna be a bit noisy," and hit something with a hammer. There was a ting! of breaking metal. He moved to the other lock and a few moments another noisy hammerblow resounded down the corridor and then the door was open. Althenius moved forward, digging in his "medical" backpack for the sprayer as they entered the apartment. Bob had the radio on loud, dancing to the 80s music revival filling the hour as he mopped the floor. The sirik he had chosen to wear while cleaning the kitchen had long chains running between the wrist bracelets and the ankle bracelets, barely restricting his movements. It was for display purposes only, he presumed and locked on a slave's limbs to remind its wearer that she was a slave. There was another sirik in the cupboard where the ankle and wrist bracelets were close-linked, not more than a couple of inches separating them and much more restrictive to their unwilling wearer. He'd have a problem just keeping his balance standing up in that sort of sirik never mind doing anything useful... well, it depended how someone might define "useful", he supposed. He had woken up lying on the furs one morning wearing it and, he presumed that's where a real slave would have been wearing something similar too, unable to get up and go anywhere until her Master had satisfied himself and released her. The silks he was wearing were, well, brief and didn't conceal a lot but they were meant as a trick-or-treat costume for Charlie's return rather than for comfort or utility. Watching the way they draped his figure as he danced though, he was starting to think that after finishing the kitchen and vacuuming the hallway he might take some personal time off in his bedroom dressed as he was to explore his currently female geography... There was a bang! from somewhere, was it a neighbour kicking a stuck door then another bang! as if something had broken, metal and then he heard the front door open. Was Charlie back so soon? But... he turned to the door, half-tripped on his ankle chains, turned again to grab for the sirik keys on the table and the kitchen door flew open in his face. The tall thin man in the medical jacket looked familiar but no name came to mind, another medical-jacket guy was heading down the hallway with a big knife in his hand, the man in front of him was whazzname from the Institute meeting, Arrass' buddy, he was Gorean oh shit... Bob stumbled back as the Gorean lunged forward but his footing was restricted by the sirik chain and Althenius pointed something at his face, there was a wet hiss and acrid vapour flooded his eyes and he reflexively inhaled, a chemical taint burning his nose and mouth and he couldn't reach up to his face because of his wrist bracelets and the lights dimmed as he twisted and fell, slowly oh so slowly to the music from the radio that slurred in his ears... Althenius held a cloth over his face, his eyes blinking at the acrid fumes in the air but the slave slut was down on her hands and knees, incapacitated, still conscious but severely disorientated. "The vehicle, now!" he said into the radio device clipped to his jacket lapel. "On its way," came the crackling response and a handful of seconds later there was a flashing blue light outside the kitchen window. He knelt beside his target, a final visual check that it was the right girl - Yes! - then he pulled the modified intubation mouthpiece out of his backpack and pushed it between her lips and tied the tube head in place behind the back of her head. It looked like a piece of medical equipment with a dangling hose but its real job was to retain a wadding gag solidly in place in her mouth. She struggled half-heartedly to reach up to her filled mouth with her chained hands but he pushed them away. He considered spraying her again but she might choke now her airway was blocked so no. He could secure a mere female without any trouble, he assured himself while trying hard not to think of his experience at the Institute not long before. "No-one else here," reported the other man standing at the kitchen door, putting his fighting knife away. Althenius nodded, wondering for a moment where the male named Bob had gone to. "Go help the others get the, ah, gurney was it? in here." The man nodded and disappeared. Althenius stripped the silks from the girl, appraising her body as a Gorean Master would appraise a recent acquisition. He could immediately see why Arrass was besotted with her. He was tempted to play with the doll-like figure, to let his hands and her skin make acquaintance - her breasts looked to be particularly delightful toys - but time was short. Later. He heaved her up onto unsteady feet and forced her stumbling, chains clinking towards the kitchen door. The gurney-thing, a wheeled bed from the vehicle was already in the apartment's hallway courtesy of his efficient subordinates. He swung the slight figure onto the plastic mattress top and then the restraining straps were snapped quickly in place holding her down despite her slight semi-conscious movements. A concealing blanket was thrown over the gurney concealing her chains and her collar and her nakedness and they rolled her out the apartment door past curious onlookers and lifted it down the stairs and rolled it out into the street where a boxy vehicle with blue flashing lights waited, rear door open. The gurney almost flew into the back and the door closed behind the last of of the team members and he was thrown to one side as the vehicle accelerated away around a corner, horrendous siren blaring. The noise of the siren brought Bob part-way out of his chemical daze. He was shaking side to side but he couldn't move at all. His mouth was full and he couldn't speak and... he turned his head to see a face he remembered, he had seen it before, a face full of anger and satisfaction. He felt something touching him lower down, he tried to lift his head to see but it was too much effort and he let it fall back... "Get're legs apart and up, I need to get a foley into her." One of the team had undone the lower straps and was spreading the slave slut's legs, pulling her knees up while the other that had spoken, a physician of sorts was poking at her groin with an oddly shaped plastic tube while holding the sirik chain to one side. "Ahh, got it." The tube was fed up into her body then he manipulated another piece of medical apparatus. "Balloon's inflated. Baggie's in place aaaaand... we got gold." Althenius looked away, strangely squeamish at the sight of the flat plastic bag between her splayed legs filling with yellow urine. He left the physician to his necessary work, the man seemed to know what he was doing. He had to maintain control of the operation. The boxy vehicle had slowed down to a normal driving pace and the screaming siren had been switched off now they were well away from the apartment. He counted bodies - himself, one, two, three men in the back of the vehicle, the driver up front and... oh yes, the observer in the office building. He should now be getting clear, taking his cameras and everything else with him and securing the office, leaving no traces behind before heading to his pickup point. That was the entire team accounted for, no-one left behind, no casualties. He felt a glow of pleasure from planning and executing such a successful strike against his enemies but he tempered that feeling with the thought that it wasn't over, truly over until they were back on Gor. All of us. He stroked the girl's cheek as she tossed her head fitfully, half-awake half-asleep. Including you, my little talender. The physician tapped at the side of a syringe, squinted at the markings on the side then expertly found a vein in the girl's strapped-down arm, inserted the needle and slid the plunger forward. The girl's eyelids drooped and then closed. If everything went to plan she would wake to a new world, a new existence, a new Master. Sweet dreams, little kajira. He stroked her soft cheek again, touched her collar with a finger, carressed her breast through the blanket. My kajira. We'll have such fun together on Gor, and Arrass of the Warrior Caste and Charles of the Caste of Metal Workers will be kept well informed of every little thing that happens to you in my hands. For as long as you live. For as long as you last.