Cosplayers Of Gor - Part 6 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 6. by Albedo. ([email protected]) Jerry Rawlins was having a truly shitty day. It was even shittier than the past few shitty days during which he had been shipped off to another planet in a goddamned flying saucer, naked and chained up and squatting to piss in a bucket and being slapped around any time he tried to argue with the guards or fight back against their casual groping and fondling of the merchandise. It was however not quite as shitty a day as that first day when a certain cross-dressing Gorean Panther Girl finally snapped out of his magically-imposed cosplay pseudo-personality and his real self woke up, when he instantly remembered who he really was, the shock when he discovered he was now really a girl, when his girl's body got overpowered and smacked around and collared and chained up and bent over a picnic table and dry-fucked like a five dollar bitch whore by those dick-shits at that re-enactment group playground, the so-called 'Camp of Fucking Schendi' in southern Georgia. Having someone's dick pushed hard into a place he didn't consciously realise he actually had until a short time before hurt BAD, there was blood and jizz and they didn't use lube and he wasn't in the mood to juice up given the circumstances and the next rapist in line was just as inconsiderate, didn't even buy him flowers and dinner and the third guy twisted his nipples and the fourth guy choked him until he nearly blacked out and... That had been the absolute worst day of his life by far, mostly down to the horrific realisation of the flip-flop change in his physical condition from guy to gal. Sure, today the clowns in this medieval torture-chamber place had just stuck a white-hot branding iron into his leg and now they had him strapped down on some kind of a wooden frame, his legs pulled up and knees wedged wide open like a frog on a dissecting table while they lined up to take their turns dry-fucking him like that first time back in Georgia but it wasn't going to take him by surprise, he had seen them do it to the girls before him on their 'brand a bitch' production line before it was finally his turn. The red-headed girl who had been the first to get 'processed' by them was over in the corner locked up in some kind of a low-roofed cage, moaning and writhing, her hands cuffed behind her back and a mixture of cum, blood and piss leaking from her crotch and a rough bandage covering the freshly branded area high on her left thigh. After she had been branded she had taken the brunt of the gang-bang action from the rape crew fresh and eager to get their rocks off. The second and third girls to get branded got porked by some of the more stalwart dick-swingers but Jerry, as the fourth 'girl' strapped down on the rape frame had the dubious pleasure of peering between his intervening titties to watch the would- be playboy standing between his widespread legs wanking frantically in an attempt to get a stiffie before he stuck his semierect noodle into Jerry's tight dry cunt. A Broadway show song about irrational optimism ran through Jerry's mind, 'The sun will come out, tomorrow...' as he bit down on the leather wedge filling his mouth - the shitty bastards working this production line liked the sound of girls screaming in agony as they were branded and raped but they liked it less when this particular 'girl' tried to bite lumps out of them so they had gagged him quite thoroughly to prevent him using his teeth on their tender parts. The only saving grace of being gagged like this was that unlike the other girls they hadn't stuck their dicks in his mouth... His leg hurt bad but it wasn't as painful as it should have been, he'd been burned before, minor things like a soldering bolt across the knuckles and that had seemed a lot more painful, more lingering. That branding iron should have destroyed half the muscle tissue in his leg, he wasn't a cow, he had skin not hide but somehow the iron had just left a funny-shaped scorch mark of some kind that already seemed halfway to being healed up only minutes later. The bastards had smeared something on the burn area after pulling the iron away with a smell of pork barbeque, maybe that salve was what saved him from being crippled and numbed what should have been excruciating pain but there was infection to worry about too with bad burns, there should have been blisters and pus and months of healing in aseptic surroundings, tissue transplants -- he remembered details about first-degree burns from the pre-med courses he had been taking in college. The clinical pictures of major burn traumas were the stuff of nightmares. 'Bet your bottom dollar...' maybe it was Xanadu magic or something, this didn't make sense, hell the entire shithole planet he appeared to be stuck on didn't make sense, it was based on books after all, a crappy badly-written bondage-porn-fantasy conveyor-belt series of books that no-one in their right mind could take seriously. Mister Wanker leered at him and stepped forward between Jerry's outspread knees, saying something in that foreign language Jerry didn't quite understand. Jerry felt the tip of the guy's manually re-energised dick push at the quintessentially feminine vulva between his legs, poking the fleshy curtains aside - the labia majora were the dermal tissues on other side of the vaginal opening, the labia minora were the inner tissues, the anatomy lessons he had sweated over made real in his own changed body, more real than the dry textbook illustrations and diagrams on his laptop as he memorised the obsolete Latin names for that fucking ob/gyn anatomy test - but he hesitated for some reason, staring up at the high slit window and Jerry heard it too, a low animal growl outside, a ringing sound like a metal bar being struck and the sounds of men's voices raised in alarm and fighting and then suddenly, unexpectedly, the sun came out for Jerry Rawlins, somewhat unwilling Gorean Panther Girl roleplayer, freshly-branded Gorean kajira, would-be Gorean rape toy and generally pissed-off Xanadu convention changeling as the room's heavy door burst open and hair-covered Salvation Incarnate strode in on clawed feet. * * * * * * * * Kur-Charlie howled, his fang-filled mouth gaping wide as he scanned the dimly-lit room, his head bent under the doorway's lintel. The Kur-mind was in command while Charlie's mind flailed, unable to cope with the sudden change that had washed over him, triggered by stress and anger and fear and leaving him a back-seat passenger in a nightmarish creature's brain. The two guards who had challenged Charlie outside the slave quarters had lasted short in the face of the merciless killing machine which had appeared before them as if by magic. At least I don't have tits and a collar, he thought to himself whimsically. Just a shitload of hair. And claws. Still alive though, that's something. Kur-Charlie was frustrated. There were humans in here, males and females but where was the particular male-turned-female it was searching for? Smoke and other odours filled its nostrils, burnt flesh, animal sex and bodily wastes and other less identifiable smells. It roared in frustration, it could not find his target's scent in the miasma. Its first thought was to simplify things - the human males in here were in an uproar, milling around and screaming and reaching for weapons and it didn't need to let them live to achieve its two curiously un-Kur-like aims, keep the human male named 'Charlie' safe from capture or death and rescue the human male-turned-female slave named 'Bob'. Kill the males in here quickly and it could sort through the females without distractions to find the one it was looking for, yes that plan would work. The slave quarters building was a single large room and the Kur stood in the only doorway, filling it from top to bottom and side to side, preventing those inside from escaping. It flicked his clawed hands to remove the blood and brains and other body tissues that still clung to them and then it moved forward into the room, dealing death and destruction to the males who stood before it or recoiled from its approach. In a tiny corner of the Kur creature's composite mind Charlie's Earth-civilised psyche recoiled at the gruesome events happening before his eyes while his primitive id, drunk on revenge, madly cheered on the giant alien monster he had somehow become. Go go Power Rangers! Mighty Morphin'... something something... I'm not in my right mind, watch out that guys' got a... oh, I didn't know someone's spine could bend like that awww he snapped... ewww, he's all pink inside... * * * * * * * * Arrass stopped and looked around, swivelling to cover his left side since his view was obscured by the fleshy burden on that shoulder. The alarm had stopped sounding but there was something else going on... the naked slave on his shoulder was squirming and making noises through her improvised whip-handle gag, annoying him enough to administer another stinging slap to the girl's bare butt. She yelped and jerked, her feet kicking in what would, in other circumstances, be a quite entertaining and enticing feminine manner. "Quiet," he hissed. The girl stiffened but remained silent. Yes, there was fighting going on behind him, he could hear the distinctive sound of combat and men's cries occurring somewhere in the vicinity of the slave quarters on the other side of the main villa. Was it rescuers, fellow warriors of the Sardar faction or perhaps some other attackers coincidentally falling on the villa's defenders for their own reasons? He stared up into the morning sky, there were no tarns flying, he had seen none earlier and he had heard no tarn cries. He made a quick decision, escape now, find out what was happening later, that was something he could do from tarn-back if need be. He worried for his friend Charles though, the fighting was occurring close to where Arrass had left him while he ended the traitor Althenius' life. Had he been caught up in it, was he dead also or perhaps he had changed and was now female and captive, stripped and hogtied, lying on the ground awaiting the collar of whoever won the fight raging around her? Hmmm, he mused as he jogged the short distance to the entrance of the tarn stables, it was not unknown for such a female captive to be snatched from the middle of a battle by an enterprising tarn rider. He would have to investigate the area where the fighting was taking place once he was in a tarn saddle and airborne. A tarn could carry its rider, a hogtied female captive and a chained slave as easily as it could carry just its rider and a chained slave after all. The gate to the tarn stables was open and unguarded which was careless but very much to Arrass' immediate benefit. He dumped the girl from his shoulder onto a convenient pile of used thatch bedding piled against the wooden walls to one side of the gate - it smelled somewhat of tarn excreta but it was softer than the hard-packed ground of the path. He quickly snapped the open bracelets at the end of the sirik chain closely around her ankles, pausing for a moment to admire the way the polished steel accentuated the attractive slimness of her limbs while confining them absolutely. She would not be able to run away, or hop or hobble or even crawl away confined like that, with her hands back-cuffed. She might be able to wriggle away from this location like a snake though which would be annoying so he tapped her on the nose and commanded her, "Remain here." He eyes widened in disbelief and she twisted in her bonds, as if to indicate to him just how helpless she was. He shook his head. "Remain here, be quiet or -" He tugged at the whip handle filling her mouth and she froze, the implicit threat enough to quell any incipient ideas she might have had about escape. He nodded, that's right, behave or be whipped. You are kajira after all. Arrass stood and prepared himself for battle. There were no guards here at the gate but there would be other males within the stable walls and in the buildings there, tarn handlers, grooms and tarn riders probably, Gorean males. They would fight him, hoping that superior numbers could overcome a single Gorean Warrior. The survivors would abandon the stables and flee - he would not chase them down and eliminate them as he might have in other circumstances, they would not return to where a Warrior stood over the bodies of their fallen compatriots. They were not members of the Warrior caste, after all. If there were true Warriors within the gate he would have expected to meet them on the path, hurrying to the sounds of battle in the distance. It would have been instinctive for them, indeed it took much of his own will to not return to the villa and the slave quarters beyond and the fighting going on there, but he had an overriding duty to perform. Bob watched as Arrass unslung the shield from his back, grasped his spear and then stood before the open gate for a long moment, silent and focussed. Bob was covered in smeared blood from Arrass' armour and animal shit from the stinking hay he had been dumped into, he was chained and gagged and sick of the whole thing and he wanted to go home and... suddenly Arrass sprinted forward through the gate and out of sight. There were cries of alarm, a clashing of metal, shouts and groans and screams. He tried to struggle upright, to perhaps see what was going on beyond the wooden walls but he couldn't manage it, he only succeeded in smearing more animal crap over his naked skin. Oh joy. He settled back into the disgusting manure-laden straw, unable to do ANYTHING as the noises inside the walls faded. He remembered that time early on in his Xanadu experience, waking up strapped tightly in a slave sack back in his apartment, when Charlie didn't immediately come and rescue him since he had disabled the pressure-pad alarm and... well, it had been painful and unpleasant and boring and frightening and a worked example of enforced helplessness that he had hoped never to experience again. He worried if enforced helplessness was all his future held if Arrass succeeding in escaping the villa with him in tow as a kajira. Arrass... for some reason he had lost his emotional connection, infatuation, whatever you called it with the man Alice had become and he got the impression that Arras didn't think quite as much of Bibi as he had done on their previous encounter at the Institute. He had still taken the time to bring him along rather than leave him chained to the wall-ring with Althenius dead at his feet but if he wasn't satisfied with his kajira Bibi any more, what then? A cold shudder ran down Bob's spine as he envisaged himself on a slave block being sold to the highest bidder because Arrass simply wanted rid of him. If he was stripped naked, his collar and chains removed after being sold he might change back to his proper male self but he half-remembered a story in the damned books where a girl being sold was collared by her new owner before her previous owner's collar was unlocked from her neck. It symbolised something about the girl always being a slave or the like, he couldn't remember the exact details. If they did that he'd not change back, he'd never change back... Besides, he was on Gor, would the change back actually happen if he wasn't wearing anything produced locally, like back on Earth? Maybe just being here on Gor would have the same effects as wearing the earrings or the bracelets or the silks or whatever did on Earth, sustaining his change and locking him permanently in his female form. He wouldn't know until he tried it though... His depressing reverie was brought to a crashing halt as two men stumbled though the gate and ran off without looking back, one clutching a bleeding arm and cursing profusely. Another man fell to the path close to Bob's chained feet and he watched, revulsed as a spear thrust half- gutted the fallen man who groaned, coughed up blood and then noisily died in front of him. Bob tried to wriggle away from the dead body, ineffectively of course and then Arrass stepped out from the gate, his spear bloodied for half its length. He took a deep breath, looking around alertly. His eyes caught the two fleeing men in the distance and he took a half-step as if to follow them then he stopped and looked down at Bob. "Still here? Good." Where the fuck did you expect me to be, you asshole? Bob thought but he didn't try to say the words, even through the whip- gag in his mouth. He didn't want to be spanked again, or worse. Arrass looked around once more, looking for further threats then bent down and swiftly threw the slight form of his slave over his shoulder again before returning to the stables. Bob's view of his surroundings was necessarily limited by his position, head down and backwards with his tits squished into Arrass' broad shoulder - when did Alice's shoulders get so wide, he remembered peeling her bra straps down over her slim tapering shoulders before he got to the good bits, playing with her nipples, her face turning red and her mouth pouting sexily and - then he caught sight of the bodies scattered in the stable yard, bleeding figures on the ground or slumped up against the walls of the stables, some of them still twitching or groaning, five or six or more and the man carrying him had done this to them in a few seconds of absolute controlled mayhem and... Whatthefu...!! Arrass dumped the naked girl into a watering trough to rinse off the blood and tarn wastes smeared on her body. As she struggled and thrashed around in the icy water he ducked his own head into the trough, scrubbing the blood and gore from his hair and face with his hands. He peered calculatingly at the girl who had finally come to the surface, gasping like a landed fish, her nipples hard and erect and then he pushed her under again for a second time. He would be sharing a tarn saddle with her for a long flight and the smell of blood on either of them might distract the tarn. They were vicious carnivores, only partially domesticated at the best of times and the smell of blood could trigger their attack reflexes. He scrubbed the blood from his own armour and weapons, glancing around occasionally to ensure none of the surviving enemies were in a position to threaten him. By the time he was finished washing himself the girl had almost levered herself out of the trough, shivering and mumbling continuously. He guessed she was expressing something uncomplimentary in regards to his own person -- she had an excellent vocabulary and a fine imagination and he was sure they were both getting a good workout. Never mind, a wise Master often tolerated a girl's foibles and fancies in such circumstances. Bob blew water out of his nose as Arrass grabbed him under the armpits and pulled him out of the trough. A moment later he was being wrapped in a cloak taken from one of the bodies on the ground by Arrass. Another cloak was put on top of the first one and warmth started to return to his otherwise-naked form. Arrass started towelling him dry vigorously, holding him upright on his close-chained feet. He sneezed, expelling the last of the water from his sinuses. Shit that water had been freezing. "It will be cold on the tarn. You need to be dry," Arrass explained as the girl made inquiring noises at him through the whip-gag. He should replace that gag with something more substantial and more effective. Soon. Her endless mumbled questions were starting to annoy him, did she not know that curiosity was unbecoming in a kajira? He'd hold onto the whip in case she needed reminding of that basic tenet of her slavehood. Strapping her in a slave sack and securing her in a basket suspended under a cargo tarn would have been the optimal solution to take her with him, but during his brief but hectic battle in the stables area the only tarn readied for flight he had found wore a regular saddle, nothing more. Fortunately though even a basic tarn saddle was equipped to properly secure a slave for long flights. It wouldn't be comfortable but it would hold her well enough which was more important. He glanced around the yard again but no new threats had appeared. One of the more seriously wounded men in the yard had died while he washed the slave and himself, some of the others might survive if they received suitable care promptly but that wasn't his problem. Time to go before the fighting over on the other side of the villa spread to this area or the eventual victors came to investigate the stables area. He swept the girl still wrapped in the cloaks up under one arm and jogged towards the paddock where he had found the tarn prepared for flight, its intended rider killed by Arrass as he tried to climb into the tarn's saddle and escape. He reminded himself he would have to remove the rider's corpse from the paddock before unhooding the tarn or the bird would naturally strike and tear at the bloody body and thus delay his departure. He would search through the tarn's saddle packs once he was clear of the villa and he was certain there was no pursuit to deal with or escape from. He expected there would be suitable apparel somewhere in the packs for both of them, a warm fur-lined cloak for him, something form-fitting with strong straps and buckles for her. He shifted his grip on the cloak-wrapped girl under his free arm, becoming irritated at the increasing number, intensity and flavour of the noises emanating from her. A worried frown creased his face as he stepped across the body of a half-decapitated stable boy. There must be be a proper slave gag somewhere in the saddle packs, something that would thoroughly silence her. Surely the Priest-Kings would heed his prayers and not deny him in his time of need? * * * * * The 'Bob' wasn't here, the 'Bob' wasn't here. Kur-Charlie searched every screaming female figure again, snuffling each one's distinctive scent but there was no 'Bob' to be found. It trampled over dead bodies and badly-wounded survivors and blood and intestines and brains back and forth across the room, keening in confusion. The 'Arrass' had said the 'Bob' would be here, where was the 'Bob'... Charlie finally collected his reason sufficiently, putting the memories of carnage behind him - it wasn't me, it was the other guy, he was big and hairy and...- and took charge, driving his thoughts into the confused monster's mind, bringing it under some kind of control however limited. The villa, Bob will be in the villa with Althenius. At least he hoped so, Arrass had gone off to deal with his ex-compatriot in the villa leaving Charlie outside and he was pretty sure Arras would succeed in killing Althenius when they met, but if Bob was there too then what had happened to him? Was he dead too? Charlie-Kur turned and loped off through the broken-down door, heading for the villa and Bob, leaving behind the slave quarters which now resembled a slaughterhouse. Meat, came the last gory thought of the Kur- mind, it wanted to stay and gorge itself but the Charlie-mind drove it on. Find the 'Bob', rescue the 'Bob'. It acquiesced but the Kur-mind harboured thoughts of returning later to feast on the corpses. Charlie- mind reassured it, the meat wouldn't be going anywhere, yes you can come back afterwards but right now go and find the 'Bob', rescue the 'Bob'. Jerry Rawlins caught a glimpse of the monster as it disappeared out the door but he wasn't amazed, just even more pissed off than before. He was still strapped immovably to the rape-frame he had been in when the door had burst open and his ability to clearly witness the arse-kicking the hairy monster had dealt out to the assembled rape-squad had been perforce limited. Hell, he wished he had his phone so he could have videoed it and put it up on YouTube! The meat-rending noises he had committed to loving memory were an inadequate substitute in his opinion. When the monster had snuffled at his exposed crotch after the slaughter was complete he had almost peed himself but he managed to hold it in, figuring that a stream of urine in the face would not endear him to his would-be saviour. When it came back for a second round he did pee himself pre-emptively in a madly rational act of self-preservation before it stuck its slobbery muzzle between his outstretched legs again. There was enough piss and shit scattered around anyways, his additional liquid contribution to the mess was insignificant. The monster's attentions this time were perfunctory, like it couldn't figure out something or whatever or whoever it was looking for wasn't here. It had hared off - 'hared off', get it? Hare, hair, har har har...- Jerry was losing it, he knew, and he was still buckled immovably into this damn wooden frame in this damn medieval torture chamber, now what? "Mistress?" A girl's face appeared in front of him. She was a slave, collared and otherwise naked like the rest of the slaves and himself. The monster had made a point of not killing any of the girls, they hadn't even been scratched, well by the monster at least. His branded thigh still throbbed painfully. He squinted at her, trying to remember... ah, Freddie Burns, the homo from college who had been in costume at Kubla Con along with himself and the other guys when the Xanadu magic had broken out. Freddie was now a female like himself, changed by Xanadu, he had been like that at that Camp of Schendi place, a brunette with short-cut hair wearing a collar and little enough else and getting treated like a slave and liking it for some perverse reason. He could remember that time now, even though he himself had been wearing a fur bikini (but no collar) and thinking he was someone else to boot. He'd only read a couple of the Gor books but since the gang were all cross-dressing as fantasy females for the costuming event he had chosen the least bad option he could find, a rebellious free female warrior character, a 'Panther Girl'. Freddie the Fairy had gone full metal collar after the Xanadu Effect had changed him into a female slave and now here he was, bending over Jerry and calling him 'Mistress'. 'Mistress'? "MMMhhhmph." Jerry shook his head, still thoroughly gagged. Freddie was not caged up or chained to the wall like most of the other girls in the room and for some reason he wasn't screaming his head off in panic and fear like the rest of them. "Does Mistress want this slave to ungag her?" Freddie inquired. Jerry nodded like his head was going to fall off. Yes, you betcha. "But, uh, Mistress..." Freddie looked off to one side, obviously worried about something. Jerry made interrogative noises. Come on you stupid queer bitch-bastard get this fucking gag out of my fucking mouth. "Umm, Mistress was gagged by men, by Masters. This slave shouldn't..." Jerry made threats and promises at sufficient volume even muted by the gag that after a few more seconds of prevarication Freddie reached behind Jerry's head and he felt his fingers working at the buckle of the gag strap. "It's so stiff..." Freddie mumbled and Jerry had to stifle a snicker. Freddie was famous on campus for his over-the-top flamboyance and his non-sequiturs were part of the act, supposedly. More fumbling while Jerry tried not to take notice of Freddie's recently-acquired 36-Ds being pushed into his face and then the gag strap came free. Freddie levered the wadding from Jerry's mouth and stood back, then disappeared from Jerry's view. He hacked and spat then twisted his head to look down, his own collar digging into the corner of his jaw, catching sight of Freddie kneeling submissively beside the rape-frame, head down and shivering. What the... "Hey." His dry-mouthed voice broke, he spat again, and said in a firmer voice, "Hey, Freddie. Freddie!" The kneeling figure didn't react. Jerry's mind spun, the pillow-biting fudge-packer had called him 'Mistress' but Freddie didn't react to his own name for some reason, what was he thinking... ah, of course. "You, slave," Jerry commanded, his contralto voice a couple of octaves above his previously masculine bass. Freddie looked up, his eyes brightening. "Yes, Mistress! How may this girl serve you?" Jerry jerked at the straps holding him down like a trussed chicken waiting to be stuffed. "Get me out of this thing, slave." Freddie leapt to his feet. "At once, Mistress!" * * * * * Charlie-Kur loped up the path towards the front door of the villa in a four-legged gait like a grizzly bear, moving faster than any observer might have expected. The two guards in leather armour at the door gaped at the monster charging towards them, then one of them turned and ran off into the garden bushes. The second guard held his ground, trying to bring his own spear up into a defensive pose ready to fend off the attacker but Charlie-Kur let his altered body's fighting instincts take over, getting inside the spear's sloooow sweep and then the Kur's claws came up in a disembowelling slash that shredded the hapless guard's leather armour and only stopped at his spinal column. Charlie-Kur was at the doors, prising them open even as the dead guard folded in half and collapsed in a puddle of blood and viscera. A securing bar inside creaked and then snapped with a ringing sound and the doors opened wide. Blood, he could smell it, well the Kur's enhanced nose could smell it, not moments-old fresh like the door guard's blood and bile, but not stale either. His head swivelled, refining the direction the blood smell came from, down the corridor, around the corner, a body lying at a door, another dead guard, into the sleeping quarters beyond, another body, Althenius yes! and a trace of 'Bob' in the air. Finally! The furs at the end of the sleeping platform were redolent with a distinctive feminine scent, only half-remembered by Charlie, but a unique identifier for the Kur's sensory capabilities. Charlie-Kur looked around and noticed the broken latticework and peered through into the dark space beyond. Arrass, the smell of blood and metal, a Warrior's smell, he had been here, had broken through and dealt with Althenius as he had promised and then had taken 'Bob' away from this place. The Kur sniffed at the carpets, the wall, the two of them, Arrass and 'Bob', gone that way. It broke into a lope again, out into the corridor, to an open side- door and through the gardens to a pathway. Charlie-Kur stopped and looked ahead. The path led to the tarn stables, a feathery-dusty smell of giant raptors. For a moment the Kur revelled in the possibility of combatting one of the tarns then Charlie took over again, clamping down on the Kur's primal instincts to fight and conquer. Find the 'Bob', rescue the 'Bob'. Find the 'Bob', rescue the 'Bob'. He pounded that mantra into the Kur's mind repeatedly as it stood upright and swayed, conflicted and then Kur-Charlie was in motion again as the wind shifted, bringing a smell from the tarn stables, of more blood. Meat too. * * * * * I'm not going anywhere near that fucking thing, was Bob's first thought as he caught sight of the giant bird standing leashed to a short pillar in the middle of a fenced paddock. It's frickin' HUGE! And that beak, and its talons... Since he was chained up and gagged and being carried by Arrass under one arm he didn't get a choice or a say in the matter though. Arrass put the girl down on the ground near the tarn, ignoring her panicked utterances and feeble attempts to wriggle away from the bird. Her squeals attracted the bird's attention and it turned its head inquisitively, trying to track whatever was making the sounds. It had a large form-fitting hood on its head covering its eyes, blinding it to distractions that might make it difficult to handle, well more difficult to handle. It made a darting strike with its beak at the ground close to the girl and she responded by squealing even louder which didn't help. Arrass sighed, he didn't have time for this. He could just escape on the tarn by himself, leave the stupid disobedient slave behind chained in sirik to be claimed by whoever won the fight going on at the slave quarters but... he sighed and dragged the girl away from the tarn, rolled her over on her face and spanked her several times. She bucked and whineded as her butt reddened, then he grasped her by the shoulders and stared into her tear-streaked face. "Quiet," he hissed. "Be very quiet." He tugged at the slave-whip's handle which was tied into her mouth. "Or I will give you the opportunity to make as much noise as you desire. Do. You. Understand?" Her eyes - such pretty eyes, he thought inconsequentially, as blue as the open skies - widened in shock and fear as the words percolated into her mind. She nodded, looking down. Good. For some strange reason he didn't want to whip this girl but she was trying his patience in a way he would never tolerate from another kajira. It's not like she was fresh to the collar, he had owned her before he sold her to Charles and he owned her again now after paying gold, too much gold for an otherwise worthless piece of girl-flesh but... He put the girl down on the ground, pressing a finger to his lips to reinforce his command for silence, then went about the business of dragging the tarn rider's dead body away from where it had fallen close to the tarn-bridle post. He had cast his spear at the fleeing man, catching him squarely in the back and severing his spine before he could get to his tarn and escape or circle back and attack Arrass from above. A quick thrust with his short-sword had finished the job before he had retrieved his spear and continued slaughtering the other occupants of the stables compound. The smell of blood and meat had made the bird excitable, treading from foot to foot as its head turned from side to side and he didn't have any tarn handlers to help him pacify it. Once the tarn hood came off its primary hunting sense, its raptor-keen eyesight would be given free rein and he wanted no further distractions to get in the way of a swift untroubled departure. The girl was quiet now though which helped. Bob trembled, tears leaking from his eyes, shock and fear and exhaustion from the roller-coaster of recent events, the violence and terror combining to suddenly take a toll of his limited emotional resources. He was hungry and thirsty and chained-up and a girl slave and collared and branded and gagged and damp and cold and... he sniffled, wallowing in self-pity and helplessness. He was ready to just give up, to accept he was stuck here on Gor for the foreseeable future, maybe forever, as a girl, a kajira with a collar around his neck, a sex toy to be fucked by men - he stopped to consider what that meant, the physical and emotional differences from his previous male existence, worrying more that he was considering the idea of being penetrated as a girl, as a slave as not so bad, really, after all he had the equipment, it would be a shame not to put it to use, what would it be like, would it, could it be pleasurable? Women had orgasms too after all - and even if Arrass tired of him and sold him, well it happened to other girls on this rotten mudball every minute of every day and they survived it somehow. He remembered his plan, concocted before everything had happened in the past few hours - hours, no minutes, it had been less than an hour since he had woken up on the furs at the bottom of Althenius' sleeping platform, he was going to pretend to be a good little slave until he got rescued or managed to escape somehow. 'La kajira.' Well he had been rescued but it wasn't quite in the manner he had expected or planned for. Now what? He watched Arrass standing by the giant bird, stroking its neck to quieten it down, imagining him stroking his own long blonde hair in the same manner, Arrass' hand sliding down his neck, tugging gently at his collar to remind him of his place on Gor, his strong fingers continuing down over his breasts, rolling his nipple between thumb and finger - Alice had enjoyed that sort of foreplay, he remembered, would he find it similarly pleasurable if it was done to him? - and then being lifted and turned and laid down on the furs and Arrass' heavy masculine weight descending on his welcoming pelvis, his legs opening wide as Charlie's face grinned down at him... He blinked, where had Charlie's ugly mug appeared from? He snickered, his reverie irretrievably destroyed. What now? Plan A, he decided, the only plan he had to deal with things until Charlie turned up, if he actually turned up, or something else happened, Farnsworth maybe, Dream Diver or some other Xanadu miracle or whatever. If he suffered a fate worse than death because of his plan or in spite of it, well he'd live with the consequences, that is as long as he didn't get pregnant, he wasn't gonna be anybody's baby mama. He struggled upright, fighting his close bonds as best he could, assisted by the fact this body, maybe the only body he would ever have from now on was remarkably limber. Show time. Time to leave, thought Arrass, the tarn had calmed down somewhat now that it was no longer being distracted by sounds of feminine distress and the smell of blood and meat. Get the girl secured on the tarn saddle and go. He turned to collect her and blinked. She was positioned in nadu, the cloaks wrapped around her fallen from her body, her breasts thrust forward, shoulders back, her head up and her collar dramatically visible, her eyes flaming, a proud display of femininity in captivity, a kajira easily worth five gold coins or a sword's edge or a spear thrust. He felt a sudden pang of lust, of desire, he wanted to take her on the ground here, now, regardless but he had to leave, now, his Warrior instincts telling him enemies were approaching. The fighting at the slave quarters was over, the victors were on their way, time to leave. He swept the girl up in a princess carry and she snuggled into his arms like she belonged there forever, looking up into his face as if he was the only thing in her world, her luscious lips working around the whip handle as if she desired, wanted, needed something else filling her mouth. He felt himself stiffen again and threw her face-down over the saddle. A tarn saddle's pommel was equipped to hold a slave, the straps at her knees, waist and shoulders were quickly buckled into place and snugged down over her sirik chaining. She didn't struggle, for a wonder, she settled down like she had been transported like this a thousand times, obedient and accepting. He noticed her hands were no longer clenched but open, soft and inviting, no longer opposing his will as expressed by the steel circlets he had locked around her wrists. He climbed into the tarn saddle before her, adjusting his seating for comfort as his loincloth seemed a little tight for some reason, scabbarded his spear in the saddle's lance-holster and then he reached over the girl's secured body to pull the tarn hood off the giant bird's head. The tarn lifted its beak as the bright morning light flooded its large eyes and it let out a loud cry. Arrass quickly unsnapped the bird's hold-down leash from the pillar and the tarn took two or three jolting steps forward, stretching its tent-like wings. He pulled at the complex reins that coupled to the bridle-like harness around the bird's head and the tarn stepped forward for a few more paces, its wings beating hard and then they were nearly airborne just as someone, some... thing ran through the paddock gate a few yards behind them. * * * * * Jerry stood up unsteadily, his branded leg threatening to fold under him as Freddie unbuckled the last strap holding him down to the rape frame. He was free at last, well, he touched the collar round his neck, free in body anyway. Keys, find some keys and get this damn thing off my neck but first things first. The creature had disappeared but it might come back, more men might come in here too, some of the bodies on the floor were still moving... Jerry spotted the playboy who had been beating off to get an erection before raping him, he was one of the more fortunate ones on the floor still breathing although half his face was missing down to the bone, claw marks running up into his torn scalp. He stared at the whimpering fucker, well would-be fucker and decided to revise his priorities. He needed to get the hell out of here soon but he'd get some revenge in first. There were a few knives and swords lying around, the result of abortive attempts by the men in the room to defend themselves against the hell-monster that had rampaged through their midst. Jerry picked up one decent-looking knife and ran a thumb along the blade edge lightly, testing it. Yep, not too sharp, good. Really sharp knives didn't hurt worth a damn. He bent down slowly, making sure the would-be fucker's one good eye could see him holding the knife and then he started cutting. By the time Jerry had rolled the fat slob over and stuck his severed dick and balls up his arse the newly-minted castrato had mostly bled out and he was dead or at least a long way down on the road to Hell. Jerry didn't care much either way, heck even if the dickless wonder survived... He stood up again, grimacing at the pain from his leg but wondering again why he wasn't disabled by the branding he had endured, he shouldn't be able to walk or even stand but whatever, he'd take advantage of the situation. Freddie was kneeling submissively among the stiffs and writhing wounded, his girl's face looking rather greenish but his eyes following Jerry's every move. "You want to do one of 'em too?" Jerry held up the bloody knife, waving it around the room. "Help yourself." Freddie shook his head, looking down. "No Mistress. It's forbidden for a slave like this girl to handle weapons." Jeez, thought Jerry, you're really hard into this aincha? "Right, keys, supplies, then I'm outta here," he said abruptly. "You wanna come with me, at least as far as the outside?" Jerry didn't know what this fucking planet was really like but he had a good grasp of wilderness survival techniques courtesy of his crazy-ass Christian cultist parents who had spent their time collecting guns and planning for the imminent breakdown of society during the End Times which were coming real soon now. It was why he had moved all the way across the continent to go to college on the East Coast, to get away from the hothouse insanity of his home. His boyhood summers had been spent camping out and hiking in deep wilderness and living off the land, interspersed with endless church sermons by wild-eyed travelling preachers prophesying Armageddon and hellfire raining down on the ungodly liberal sodomites. The sermons weren't going to be much use to Jerry right now, the years of survival training well maybe. As Freddie rose to his feet there was a voice at the door. Jerry spun round. It was a man in leather armour carrying a spear shouting excitedly in that weird-shit language they all used here. He stopped suddenly, stunned at the carnage and then he caught sight of Jerry standing in the midst of it all holding a bloody knife. He shouted something, Jerry made out the word 'kajira' in amongst the gobbledegook and then he stepped forward, bringing the spear down to thrust at Jerry's midriff. It was instinctive, pure reflex, a second later the hilt of the bloody knife Jerry had been holding was standing out from the man's throat just above the leather armour covering his chest. The man's knees buckled and he collapsed, blood spouting from the knife-wound in his neck. How'd I do that? he asked himself as the man shuddered and died. Throwing a knife like that wasn't something he had ever learned, not even at the evangelical Junior Warrior of God campouts he had been forced to attend as a kid. He thought about pulling the knife back out of the body but decided, no, there were plenty more where that had come from. He picked up a short sword and went to the door and looked around but no-one else was visible. As he turned back there was a cry, like a bird, an eagle maybe but way too loud, over on the other side of the low-roofed main building across the gardens. He waited a second but nothing else happened and he turned back into the charnel house. Freddie was busy filling a sack with food, bread mostly, some processed meat and funny-looking vegetables of some kind, probably rations for the slaves or break-time supplies for the men. Jerry nodded, Freddie the Fruit wasn't totally useless it seemed. He would take the cocksucker along with him when they left this shithole and decide later whether Freddie could accompany him afterwards. Two people could carry more supplies than one, but if he turned out to be dead weight in the wild then it would be sayonara and he?d be left behind. Looking like that and behaving like he did he?d turn himself in or get recaptured quick by someone, acquire a new owner. He?d survive, on his knees probably but he seemed content to act like that for some reason... ?Find us some water too, flasks or bottles,? Jerry ordered as he started searching some of the corpses and wounded men, looking for keys, weapons, coins, whatever might come in handy on his upcoming travels. It would be cold at night, it might rain, they needed footwear, sandals or boots, clothing, cloaks to make a tent with, something to make a fire, compasses, would they work here? he could improvise something maybe... As he pulled a mostly clean man?s tunic over his head and down past his titties ? I wish I still had that fur bikini thing -- he was distracted by the crying and begging of the slaves, the females the monster had unaccountably left unharmed during its rampage. Most of them were kneeling collar-chained to rings on the wall, their arms handcuffed behind their backs but a few of them were confined in small cramped cages along one wall, they were the ones that had been branded and gang- raped first. The cages were locked and the keys weren?t to be seen, maybe somewhere in the blood and body parts littering the room. He was trying to decide whether to waste valuable time locating the cage keys but his eyes fell on the red-headed girl in one of the cages and he suddenly decided, nope. Looking at her he felt an antipathy bordering on outright hatred for some unfathomable reason. It was time to get the hell out of here. The slaves could take care of themselves if they could get free otherwise tough shit, ladies. Freddie had cleverly rigged the sack of food as a sort-of backpack, leaving his hands free. On a whim Jerry pulled Freddie?s wrists behind his back and snapped a pair of the weird-ass slave handcuffs they used on this planet on them. There were plenty of that sort of thing around in this place after all. Freddie didn?t fight or pull away as he secured his hands behind his back, indeed he seemed to enjoy being handcuffed by Jerry for some reason. He remembered how servile Freddie had been back at the Camp of Schendi place, it seemed he had continued in the same vein after arriving here and maybe that was why he was allowed to roam around free in this place by the dipshits running their rape-?em-and- brand-?em production line rather than being chained by his collar to the wall with the other slaves. He added a pair of ankle slave cuffs to his pack, because... well, they might be useful for something later, he told himself. He hoped one of the many keys he had collected would open the lock on his collar, he didn?t have time to try any of them here. If not, hitting it with a rock enough times should break it open, maybe. If Freddie wanted shot of his own collar then the same went for him but the way he was acting maybe he preferred wearing it, go figure. Jerry looked around, was there anything else he should take? He knew the perils of trying to carry too much on a long hike but the temptation to take everything just in case he needed it was very strong. It was time to leave, it was past time to leave. He hitched up his belt, tightened up to the last notch around his impossibly narrow waist. It held a small select collection of knives as well as a short sword in a scabbard. He picked up his own bulging pack and swung it easily onto his shoulder. This body might be female and weigh only seventy percent of his own much-preferred male form, but it was all whipcord muscle, something he might be glad of in the near future. He picked up a spear in his free hand, another weapon he didn?t consciously how to use but somehow he had an idea this body knew better than he did in that regard. He gestured to Freddie, a finger to his lips signifying silence and then went to the doorway of the slave room and looked around the gardens outside. All clear. He signalled Freddie to follow and headed out towards the low wall that surrounded the complex of buildings. There?d be a gate or a door somewhere, maybe unlocked, he vaguely remembered being led in coffle with the slaves from the ship through such a door from the landing site beyond the walls the night before. Worst case he could climb over the low wall even with his bad leg if he had to and then... hell, he didn?t know what his future prospects were but he looked back at the building he was leaving behind, the future that place represented was something he didn?t want any part of. He put his free hand on a knife-hilt. ?Goodbye, ladies,? he whispered to the slaves still caged and chained within the blood-splattered building he had just left. ?Enjoy the rest of your life in this shithole.? He headed down the garden path cautiously, Freddie following him obediently head down but, unknown to Jerry, with a smile of satisfaction on his feminine features. * * * * * Charlie-Kur loped up the path towards the stables gate, following the two intermingled scents of Arrass and Bob. They were close, close, where were they? A disturbed pile of fetid manure at the side of the gate caused him to stop and wrinkle his nose, Bob? and then he was through the gate and into another bloody battlefield, bodies and moaning wounded scattered over the hard-packed earth. The Kur-mind salivated at the sight but the Charlie-mind repeated the mantra, find the ?Bob?, rescue the ?Bob?. The scents had changed, faded, the water spill at a trough an indicator that the two he sought had tried to throw him off the scent maybe? The Kur stood erect, stretching, lifting its head high into the air to catch a clue and then there was a scream, a giant raptor?s call from nearby. The Kur?s head slewed around and it dropped into its distance-eating lope again. There, there, in that paddock, a tarn, the ?Bob? is there, go go go. Arrass pulled on the one-strap rein as he saw the Kur ? what was a Kur doing here, at Althenius? villa? ? charging across the paddock towards the tarn. They were only just off the ground, the Kur could leap and catch the tarn, up, up, UP! The tarn?s wings beat harder, faster, they rose but slowly slowly. Arrass pulled on another rein, the tarn swerved away from the oncoming creature but lost height, then the wind across the paddock picked up and he felt the bird rise more swiftly. The Kur pivoted and jumped off-balance and missed grabbing the tarn?s talons as it tucked them up into its body for flight proper. Arrass straightened up the tarn?s path and looked down at the monster below. He saw it bend at a body lying near the paddock and then he swerved the tarn again as the Kur reached back and threw a sword at them, obviously trying to bring them down. The sword went tumbling past his right shoulder, just missing a crippling hit on the tarn?s wing and they gained more altitude as the wind increased. He circled the paddock, maintaining his height to keep clear of any more projectiles but the Kur was just standing there, staring up at the tarn as if it had lost something precious to it. Arrass considered attacking the Kur ? he had his spear with him, it was not a proper tarn lance but he could swoop down and cast it at the giant creature, the tarn?s speed adding to the shock effect of the missile. If he missed or the Kur dodged the spear he?d be past the creature?s claws and fangs before it could react and climbing to safety again, trading speed for height but he decided against the attempt. He had never fought Kur but he had heard of their abilities, they were not dumb animals and getting close to that one down there even on tarnback might be a fatal error on his part. Besides he had another job to do now that the sleen Althenius was safely disposed of, to contact his fellows in the Sardar faction and return with a war party to raid this place. If the Kur was still here when they arrived then they would fight it together but he suspected it would be long gone by then. Charles, he might still be at the villa when they got back, maybe alive, maybe changed. He would have to find out what had happened to his friend and perhaps decide what he would do if Charles was now a collared kajira, slave papers describing his new female form properly made out, his status as a member of the Caste of Metal Workers irrevocably lost. Arrass hefted his belt pouch, Althenius? plundered purse had contained a large number of gold coins. For the sake of friendship he might go as high as five gold coins to purchase such a kajira, he mused. Explaining to the figure kneeling before him, collared, that he wasn?t going to free ?her? would be hard but necessary so that his friend would more quickly come to accept the reality of his future existence as a kajira here on Gor. Only a fool would free a slave, it was said and Arrass did not consider himself a fool. First things first though. He looked around the unfamiliar landscape below and decided to head for the rising sun until he could find a safe place to land, make camp and prepare for the longer trip to come. The saddle packs might well contain maps, tarn riders often travelled long distances and required such aids to find their way. The air this high up was cold, he could see goosebumps appearing on the naked skin of the girl strapped to the saddle in front of him. He needed to search through the packs to find something to keep her from freezing, a slave sack perhaps? And a gag. Definitely a gag. As the tarn flew off Bob turned his head and looked back and down at the villa he had been ?rescued? from. He could see the giant shaggy figure that had charged at them in the stables paddock. It was beating at the ground in fury, obviously angered that its prey had been taken from it. He felt relieved that he hadn?t been caught by the monster although his current position, chained-up and whip-gagged and strapped face down over a saddle on a giant bird flying around on a fucking different planet was not the best of all possible outcomes for him. There?s no place like home, he thought whimsically. If I was only wearing magical red shoes I could click my heels together and wake up back in my own bed, hell I?d settle for waking up chained on the furs in my bedroom like usual. That last thought triggered an unfortunate biological reaction that was almost hardwired into him after so many Pavlovian repetitions. Oh God, I need to pee. Arrass noted the girl strapped across the saddle bow before him was starting to squirm again. Was she really that much in need? She was still White Silk, a virgin but the way she had presented herself to him in nadu earlier, her brazen desire, obviously a Pleasure Slave in the making, well... He patted her butt reassuringly, his touch making her twitch and shudder. ?Patience girl, we?ll land soon.? He realised he was hungry and thirsty after his exertions, the girl would be too of course. ?I?ll give you some water once we?re on the ground. You can drink your fill then, I promise you.? The girls? desperate squirming only increased at his words, she started moaning and whining again through the whip-gag in her mouth. Ah, a girl in need... that?s a simple problem to solve, but not today. Business first, the furs later. He smiled broadly and patted her butt again. Later he decided that patting her butt the second time had been a crucial mistake on his part. After he cleaned up the mess, that is. The villa fell behind the tarn, its rider and its unwilling cargo. In the paddock Charlie-Kur seized control, ruthlessly suppressing the raging Kur-mind and stood upright, gazing fixedly in the direction of the tarn?s flight until it disappeared from sight. He had clearly seen Arrass in his armour riding the great bird with Bob?s long blonde hair streaming down one side of the oddly-shaped saddle and now they were both gone who knows where. Following them was impossible, the tarn flew faster than the Kur could run and it left no scent or other spoor it could be tracked by. He sighed, wondering what to do now, what would happen next and then a few seconds later suddenly, abruptly the giant Kur figure blinked out of existence.