Cosplayers Of Gor - Part 9 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 9. by Albedo. ([email protected]) It was late in the evening when Charlie swung onto the approach road to the Xanadu Institute. He slowed down to gape as it came into sight - it had changed again, it was now surrounded by a tall stone wall looking vaguely medieval with ramparts and, he blinked, were those braziers on the top? Where was the wire fence and floodlights from his last visit, and was that a drawbridge? He came to a stop at a normal-looking traffic barrier some distance from the wall. A conventionally-uniformed security officer checked his name off against a list on a datapad before he was permitted to proceed, the tires on his pickup truck rumbling over the wooden planking of the lowered drawbridge. His eye was momentarily caught by movement in the honest-to-goodness moat below the bridge and he blinked, not sure he had seen what he thought he had seen. Alligators, yeah well this was Florida after all, but that toothy scaled head looked a lot more snakelike and prehistoric than anything from the modern day. A plesiosaur maybe? He shrugged, reminding himself he hadn't planned on going swimming today anyhow as he drove under the arched stone entryway and its raised portcullis. Inside the towering walls the car parking area, previously a sea of gravel, was now paved with flagstones. The Xanadu Institute building itself resembled a medieval-looking stone-built castle, grim and foreboding with turrets and slit windows replacing the early 90s business-park concrete and glass panels he remembered from his previous visit. Even the incongruous gun turrets on the roof had been replaced by what looked like ballistas and catapults. He tamped down on his curiosity even further, he was here to do a job, get Bob back but it took some effort to remain calm as he found a parking space between what appeared to be a compact flying saucer and a dragon wearing an odd-looking saddle and bridle. The dragon turned its head, gazing at him for a moment through the pickup's side window with startlingly-intelligent eyes before it turned back, obviously indifferent to its new neighbour. Xanadu, riiiight. Charlie got out just as Belle, Farnsworth's assistant- slash-bodyguard appeared at the Gothic-arched front door of the building. She wasn't wearing bikini armour as he had half-expected given the way things had changed around here, instead she was dressed in her "normal" fetishistic French Maid outfit which looked incongruous against the swords-and-sorcery backdrop. Her impossibly-tall high heels click-clacked across the stone flags as she approached Charlie. "Meester Charles, Docteur Farnsworth is expecting you. Please follow me," she said as Charlie heaved his bag out of his pickup's cab and closed the door. He enjoyed the view as he dutifully followed the hip-swaying figure of Belle up the steps and into the Institute. Beyond the heavy nail-studded door the scenery changed abruptly, back to what he supposed passed for everyday in the Institute with carpeted corridors, office doors, security cameras and all the regular furnishings the interior of any modern-day office building might boast. Well, apart from the pair of hulking chrome-and-glowing-plexiglass humanoid figures cradling futuristic rifles that stood flanking the reception desk, that is... "Trouble?" Charlie whisper-asked Belle as they stood at the desk, nodding at the out-of-place extras from a bad SF TV series. She shook her head. "Eet has been dealt with," she replied. Charlie's overflowing buffer of follow-on questions was quickly diverted to dev/null as the red lights in the eyeslits of the robot(?) guardians seemed to focus on him. It's been dealt with, she said. I'm good with that. A moment later the slim dapper figure of Doctor Farnsworth appeared. "Mister... ah, Charles." They shook hands, Charlie uncomfortably aware of increased attention from the two desk guardians as they did so. "Come, come, this way." Farnsworth led the way down a short corridor towards a set of double doors with Belle following behind them as always. "No elevator today?" Charlie inquired. He had been sort-of looking forward to visiting the Institute's Secret Underground Lair again. "Elevator?" Farnsworth looked puzzled for a moment before he shook his head. "Ah, no. That particular, ah, facility has been decommissioned. The Empress of the Mole People objected to its presence in what she regarded as her rightful demesne and an agreement was reached to avoid any future conflict of interests." Charlie decided it was better not to ask for more details, clamping down hard on his curiosity as Farnsworth pushed the double doors open and they entered the room beyond. Xanadu, it's just Xanadu... Inside the room waited a familiar-looking large recliner and the similarly familiar diminutive hooded figure of Dream Diver. Farnsworth turned to Charlie as Belle crossed to a table carrying drinking glasses and bottles. "Charles, I've studied your plan, such as it is to rescue your friend Mister Jones," Farnsworth frowned. "Having perused the literature you referenced which forms the basis of your intended actions I have concluded it has only a limited chance to succeed and you will incur great risk to your own well-being even attempting it." "Yeah it's risky as hell and I'm gonna haveta wing it for the most part once I get there," Charlie nodded. "But-" "But you are ready and willing to go ahead with this effort, knowing the risks, knowing you could truly die?" Farnsworth studied Charlie's face then nodded. "So be it. I have briefed Dream Diver and they are ready to assist you as much as they can on your dream voyage to Gor." Farnsworth gestured towards the recliner as Belle returned to his side carrying a tray with a glass of orange juice. Charlie presumed it had something in it to send him off to dreamland like the last time he had done this. "Let us begin." * * * * * * * * Haven't these assholes ever heard of washing machines? Bob thought to himself as he pushed a sodden mass of cloth around in the soapy water in the big wooden washtub with a stick. It was hot and steamy in the laundry building, part of the fortified castle-like compound Arrass apparently owned here on Gor. He glanced left and right, along the line of female slaves dressed as he was in a brief tunic made of rough cloth, all similarly collared and branded and busily working away at identical washtubs. They actually did have washing machines, he decided despondently, HE was a washing machine, at least for the moment, he even had a slot someone could put quarters in, he thought sourly... There was a stinging flick on his insufficiently-covered female butt and he jumped, the chains on his ankles jingling. The slave girl behind him holding a riding-crop said something in Gorean to the effect of, "Stop goofing off and keep those hands moving, lazy slut." Bob bent back to the tub, industriously working the heavy wet mass of cloth as the supervising slave moved on down the line, the crop in her hand ready for use on the next layabout. It was weird, he had spent the entire trip back from Althenius' place dreading a Fate Worse Than Death and... nothing had happened to him. The other three 'rescued' girls, well he had heard them screaming and pleading in the overnight camp on the return trip as the brave warriors celebrated their 'victory' and it was clear that they hadn't been spared the Bad End he so desperately wanted to avoid himself. Now they were all back here, wherever that was, the rapes continued but it was even weirder, the girls here, collared slaves seemed, well, okay with what they were put through daily. Some of them even seemed to enjoy being dragged off into a dark corner and thoroughly fucked by one of the guards. Was it the Gor books, the author was big on the idea of all females being submissive and such, all the 'I hate men' female characters eventually ended up slushy and wet for their rapists once they were collared. He touched his own collar, fingering the twist of white silk cloth that marked him out from the other rape-bait. Would he end up the same way, falling head-over-heels for Arrass and content to remain a slave? Would he someday beg to be fucked? If this was really Gor, someplace that shouldn't actually exist outside the books then it was practically a given. His heart sank at the thought, yet in a corner of his mind there was a faint treacherous whisper of 'would it really be that terrible? Accepting you're a girl permanently, at least you'd know where you stood.' Which he tried to firmly reject, not wanting to lose his last vestige of hope of getting away from this place, returning to Earth, getting out of his collar, getting out of this female body and back to his own proper male form. Charlie, where are you... There was a sudden burst of Gorean behind him, loud and biting as the supervising slave slashed painfully at his butt again with her crop. Angered, he started to turn to tell her to quit it, forgetting he was ankle-chained and... * * * * * * * * Sarel stood at the open door of the laundry, idly chatting to the guard on duty while studying that slave girl his Captain had made such an effort to rescue from the traitor Althenius' hands. It was puzzling, she was pretty enough, too skinny for his own tastes, yet she still wore a twist of White Silk tied around her collar, marking her as inviolate to all the men in Arras' war band. The other girls working at the line of washing tubs and the drying racks, well they were all Red Silk and fair game and he had sampled most of them one time or another. They were slaves after all, but that particular girl, a barely-trained barbarian wench who spoke little or no Gorean? He scratched his head, wondering what his Captain was thinking, what he was intending to do with her. Arrass had a new interest now, one of the girls they had found locked up in the slave quarters during the raid on the traitor's villa. That red- headed slave slut attended him in his quarters while this blonde girl had been put to work in the kitchens and laundry rather than, as most of his subordinates expected, being put to the furs the moment they had all returned in triumph to their base. It was not remarkable that a Master might tire of a particular slave as Arrass apparently had tired of this girl but normally such girls would be sold away from the camp or passed on as a reward to a subordinate or, well, something more definite done with her, and moreover she was being kept strictly White Silk? A pretty puzzle. She was probably a screamer, he decided looking her over again. Maybe he'd ask Arrass for her, at least for her first time? He prided himself on his skills in the furs, his ability to wring the best out of the girls he bedded however reluctant or scared they might be to begin with. It never hurt to give a girl a good start in her future life in the collar. When she was sold out of Arrass' camp she might remember him fondly for his act of kindness in educating her on how to properly pleasure her future Masters. Yes, he would approach his Captain tonight- There was a crash and a splash as the blonde wench Sarel had been observing turned, stumbled, tripped over her ankle chains, lurched against the washtub she had been working at and sent it flying, wash water and wet cloth spilling onto the tiled floor of the laundry. He nodded to himself as she ended up falling inelegantly on her butt, legs splayed. Of course she was terminally clumsy, he had nearly forgotten that particular aspect of her makeup. Her loud stream of curses was also noteworthy, despite being in that barbarian tongue. The name 'Arrass' did seem to make up a large part of her vocabulary though. The door guard headed into the maelstrom as other ankle-chained girls stumbled into each other trying to avoid the flooding wash water and the supervisory slaves screamed at them and wielded their crops in a futile attempt to restore order and the laundry room descended into chaos. As another washtub was knocked over Sarel stepped away from the open doorway and headed off towards the tarn stables. It would be quieter there, just the screeching of the giant birds to deal with. He turned the idea of asking Arrass for the girl's first use over in his mind as he hurried away from the laundry room. Surely his Captain wouldn't object to the reasonable request of a sword-companion? He imagined the blonde girl on the furs beneath him, naked except for her collar and the chain connecting it to the ring on the end of his bed platform. She couldn't trip or stumble or break anything if she was securely chained up, could she? Could she? * * * * * * * * After drinking the spiked orange juice and climbing up on the recliner Charlie quickly dozed off, Bob and Arrass uppermost on his mind thanks to Dream Diver so it wasn't that much of a surprise when his dream-thoughts became oddly real and he found himself standing in some kind of medieval- style room with wooden roof beams holding up the ceiling and tapestries on the walls. Arrass was there, sitting in an ornate chair, wearing a red tunic and sandals and holding a goblet. Beside his chair knelt a red-haired girl, her knees wide and naked other than a collar around her neck and filmy silk at her groin. Red Silks, Charlie noted disgustedly. He had a good idea what the red silks signified in this asshole world after binge- reading the Gor books. "Friend Charles!" Arrass smiled widely and leapt from the chair to clasp arms with Charlie. "Tal!" Arrass' grip felt real so this dream was as real as it got, maybe not quite a hundred percent Gor like their previous time together but close enough. He gripped back. "Tal Arrass," he replied curtly, glancing at the unfamiliar girl again. He had sort-of expected Bob to be at Arrass' side, in Bibi-form of course. Who was she, and where was Bob? Arrass raised an eyebrow at the curt tone of Charlie's reply but shrugged it off. "I never got a chance to thank you for your help at Althenius' villa, Charles." He gestured to the girl. "Bring wine for my guest, Curla." "Yes Master." The girl rose and hurried from the room through an open archway. Arrass noted Charlie's eyes following her retreating figure. "You are intrigued by the girl, yes?" Arrass nodded sagely. "Curla was one of Althenius' captives, taken from Earth on his Voyage of Acquisition. I captured her when we raided his villa after I escaped. She was in a girl-cage in the slave quarters." Charlie had a sudden flash of memory, of Kur-Charlie rampaging in that slave room, there had been girls locked in some kind of cages at one side, had one of them been red- haired? Arrass looked over at the archway pensively. "Strangely enough Curla insists she had been a man in an earlier existence, before she was brought to Gor and enslaved... The collar suits her well enough now, no matter what she remembers of her previous life or how much she desires to return to being a man." Arrass gestured. "Sit, sit." There was a chair opposite Arrass' own now, it had appeared as if from nowhere along with a low table with goblets and a dish of cakes and sugared pastries. Charlie sat down as the red-haired kajira who bore the slave name Curla reappeared carrying a large ornate flagon. She knelt beside the table and poured wine into a goblet. The girl picked it up before Charlie could do so and gently kissed the side of the goblet before proffering it to him, head down. That was frikkin' gross, thought Charlie but he sipped at the wine regardless, peering at Bob over the rim of his goblet. Arrass matched his measured sip and put his goblet down as Charlie did, his eyes watchful. "What have you done with B- Bibi?" Charlie cut to the chase. "Abrupt as always, friend Charles," Arrass laughed. "No, we two are asleep at the moment, yes? This encounter between us is within a dream. The Physician Farnsworth's doing?" Charlie nodded as Arrass picked up his flagon and took another sip of wine. "Right now the real Bibi is awake and working hard in the laundry while wearing a rep-cloth tunic and ankle chains and, at a guess, a foul expression on her features which does no justice to such a pretty face." He took another sip of his wine and shook his head. "She never smiles..." He put the flagon down and spread his hands. "Anyway, I had reason to be displeased with her recently and I decided that some rather repetitive and tiring labour in my laundry might do more to correct her behaviour than a whipping would." Charlie forced his temper down again. Save it, I'll need it later. "Perhaps she will come to accept that there are worse positions for a slave under my hand than being a red-silk kajira in my household." He reached out to pat Curla's head. Stay on target. Charlie knew that getting angry right now and attempting to attack Arrass willy-nilly in this dream wasn't going to help Bob. Stick to the plan. "You took my property. I want her back," he said bluntly. Arrass raised an eyebrow as he held out his goblet. The guy-now-kajira named Curla kneeling attentively to one side topped it up from the flagon and he sat back, his free hand falling naturally to the hilt of a scabbarded short-sword resting against the right-hand side of his chair. "We could argue ownership of the property in question but in all respects Bibi is mine now. You sold her to me, I paid gold for her, I have her slave papers properly attested to the sale and witnessed by the Physician Farnsworth, she is on Gor with me, she wears my collar." Arrass shrugged. "And as you yourself said when we first met, possession is everything in such matters." He gestured with his goblet. "So why are you here making demands when you already know what my answer would be?" Charlie had binge-read the Gor books cover to cover over the past couple of weeks, skipping over the pseudo-philosophical screeds and purple prose justifications of assholishness and misogyny while looking for something, anything that might help him get Bob back to Earth, away from abusive clowns like Arrass. He had learned a lot amongst the bullshit and wank fodder for idiots. One of the action scenes, for example... He took a deep breath and stood up, pushing the chair away behind him. Do it. "Kajira challenge," he said in a loud voice. Arrass' face froze for a second, then he turned to Curla still kneeling at the table. "Go. Hurry." She jumped to her feet and ran off through the doorway as Arrass put down his goblet and slowly stood up, his face cold and expressionless. He changed as he rose to his feet, his red tunic covered by a metal breastplate, a helmet forming over his head. By the time he was upright an armed and armoured Warrior of Gor stood before Charlie, a scabbarded shortsword at his hip. Arrass' left hand gripped a spear identical to the one Charlie had seen him carry at Althenius' villa, had seen him use to lethal effect there. Arrass shifted the large disc-shaped shield on his back to balance it and free his arms for battle. The room changed too, the chairs and the table vanishing leaving only Arrass and Charlie facing each other with nothing between them. Charlie took a quick glance down at his own self. Unlike Arrass he wore no armour and carried no weapons. He was dressed in his usual cargo pants and a jacket-of-many-pockets which would offer little or no resistance to the sharp steel of Arrass' spear and sword. The biggest edged weapon he carried was the finger-length blade on one of his multitools, worthless in any kind of a fight against Arrass. Farnsworth's warning came back to mind, he could truly die here in the same manner Althenius had died. This was reality for Arrass, he was dominant in this theme-park dreamworld so if Arrass stuck that spear through Charlie's guts he'd feel it, he'd bleed profusely from the wound and he'd likely die from blood loss, shock and sepsis. The wine he had drunk had tasted real, the smell of Curla's flowery perfume still lingered in his nostrils. Arrass' weapons would be real for him in the same way and he might never wake up again back on Earth. Arrass prepared to kill his friend Charles. He readied for a spear thrust since the giant of a man was easily within striking range. If Charles backed off quickly as he should to prevent this he would essay a cast with the spear to free up his sword-arm and bring his shield into play. His motions and thoughts were automatic now the kajira challenge had been made. He and Charles would fight to the death and the winner would take Bibi as his undisputed possession. He felt a brief moment of regret at the necessity of killing a friend but a kajira challenge must be answered and he, Arrass was of the Warrior Caste. Charles... wasn't. His stance, his lack of armour and weapons, his demeanour standing there said everything to Arrass' experienced eye. He was large and strong, yes, but slow and clumsy, not trained from infancy to the spear and sword and the lethal ways of combat as practiced on Gor. Charles would die at his hand like a bosk in the slaughtering pen. And then Arrass' eyes widened. Fucker! thought Charlie as he focussed on Arrass' stance, his readiness to fight, to kill the challenger before him. Th'bastard's gonna KILL me! And then he's gonna rape Bob and pass him around his homeys t'fuck and whip him and... A red fury filled his veins as he let his anger and resentment of Arrass, of Gor, of those fucking dipshit books burst loose in his mind. He piled fear and terror on top of the emotions burning hot in his veins and... The figure before Arrass suddenly changed. In place of the Earth-born man stood a monstrous Kur, a foot taller and more compared to the hulking member of the Caste of Metal Workers that had issued the kajira challenge a few seconds before. The Kur wore a war harness, several large throwing knives sheathed on a broad bandolier running diagonally across its wide furred chest. A sword, a one-handed weapon for a Kur perhaps but a giant blade in reality hung at one hip, a short-handled war axe of inconceivable size balanced it on the other hip. Arrass' eyes were fixed, however on the halberd-style polearm the Kur held easily in one clawed hand. Its metal shaft was noticeably longer than the giant creature was tall, a wicked axehead topping it with a matching spikeblade balancing it on the opposite side. The Kur thumped the butt of its halberd on the carpeted stone floor and opened its fanged mouth. "Kajira challenge!" it roared in barely-comprehensible English. It shifted its weight and gripped the halberd in its two hands, adopting a pose Arrass immediately recognised as that of an expert in melee warfare with such a frightful weapon. Arrass backed off two steps, three, four as the Kur quickly, oh so quickly prepared to swing the halberd. His spear, he could try throwing it but... no. He instinctively knew what to do, the right thing to do, the only thing to do. Kur-Charlie focussed his attention on Arrass, observing the human's footing, the set of his shoulders, the track of his eyes as Arrass decided on his next move. At the same time he brought the halberd back for a diagonal sweep forward and down, ready to block the thrown spear he expected momentarily now Arrass had opened the distance between them. If Arrass avoided the halberd's sweep and he avoided the spear cast then the Gorean would close again, Arrass trying to get inside the halberd's lethal reach with his shortsword. Then he would... he froze. A trick? Arrass held his arms out, pointing his spear innocuously at the ceiling. "The girl is yours!" he shouted. What? Kur-Charlie deflated, literally. A moment later he was Charlie again, human again, with only a couple of multitools to defend himself with but the figure of Arrass was dressed again in a simple tunic, his arms and armour vanished like Charlie's changed shape. Arrass sat back down on his chair which had reappeared in the dreamworld. Charlie sat down on his own chair somewhat gingerly, not quite sure that he was out of the woods yet. After all they had just tried to kill each other, was that it? Arrass clapped his hands and Curla returned through the archway once again with more wine, seemingly unaware of what had transpired in her absence. "Try the pastries, Charles." Arrass gestured at a dish on the table. "Ah, not the black-edged ones, they were the result of Bibi attempting to prepare food in the kitchens. They're... well." Arrass looked worried for a moment. "I hope she turns out to be a better laundress than she is a cook. I fear for my smallclothes and my spare tunics." Charlie snorted. Bob wasn't much of a cook back home, he was more a mac- and-cheese kind of a guy and only a master of the eat-out school of cuisine with occasional order-in delivery if the weather was bad and his budget allowed. It looked like interplanetary kidnapping, slavery and an enforced sex-change hadn't remedied that failing in him. "So she's not to your taste then?" quipped Charlie. Arrass guffawed, spraying wine in all directions at the bad joke. He was still chortling as he wiped his face. He waved off Curla as she went to fill his goblet again and she settled down again in nadu beside his chair. "Sadly, friend Charles, she isn't to my taste, not any more." His face sobered up. "After I had dealt with the traitor I came into possession of Bibi who was, after all my property thanks to our transaction back in Farnsworth's office." He gazed at Charlie shrewdly. "I knew you would want her back. But..." He shrugged. "Things were in flux, I was among enemies and I decided that it would be better to leave quickly with Bibi rather than try and locate you again. Besides I needed to make contact with my comrades quickly, to return and secure the traitor's holdings and any treasures it might contain." He reached out and patted the kneeling Curla on her head. "I hoped you would... survive in some manner and that we might meet again in better times." Arrass suddenly sat upright. "Ah! The Kur I encountered at the villa, that was you?" Charlie nodded brusquely. Arrass smiled. "So you did change..." he muttered under his breath before continuing. "Well. It turns out my decision to fly off rather than land and confront you with weapons in hand was wiser than I realised at the time." He raised one hand, as if holding a spear. "I have sometimes wondered what it would be like to face a Kur in battle, a test of my Warrior's heart." He let his hand fall. "Thanks to your challenge today I now know, and I find my heart lacking in that regard." He bowed to Charlie respectfully, his hands on his thighs. "I thank you, friend Charles for that lesson in humility." He laughed. "It is not something taught in the schools of swordsmanship or on the spear fields but humility is something I now believe a Warrior needs to learn." "So what happened after you left?" Charlie asked. "Fortunately I met up with a raiding party of my comrades, tarnsmen of the Sardar faction, almost immediately. It seems my Priest-King masters had observed the Kur ship landing at Althenius' villa and had sent a war band to deal with Althenius. We returned to the villa early next morning." He shook his head. "There was no-one left there other than three slave girls," he reached out to pat Curla's head again. Charlie noted the look on her face as he did so, adoring and yet fearful at the same time. Did Bob's face look like that when Arrass patted him on his head? He kept his anger under control, he had what he wanted now and blowing his top at Arrass risked him losing Bob again. "The guards had already abandoned the villa, apparently taking Althenius' body with them as it wasn't anywhere to be found." He shrugged. "The sword-blow I dealt him was fatal, I assume they wanted to give him a proper Warrior's funeral rather than leave his body to be fed to urts as I intended." Charlie grimaced and Arrass pretended not to notice his friend's squeamishness. "You, well the Kur had gone by the time we got there. You returned to Earth?" Arrass inquired. "Yeah, I woke up just after you flew away," Charlie explained. Arrass gestured to Curla. "We took the slaves left behind as well, of course, as war booty. Some of them mistakenly thought we would free them and return them to Earth but..." He shrugged, patting Curla on the head absent-mindedly again. "A collar is a collar. A kajira is a kajira. Only a fool would free a slave, they say." Curla looked down at the carpet. "Yeah, but Bibi?" Charlie brought the conversation round to what was important. The girl-once-a-guy Curla and her unfortunate sex-changed companions weren't any concern of his. "Memories are deceitful. I cannot remember now why I felt that way about her and she with me but here and now and in this reality, those feelings are no longer present." He picked up one of the black-edged pastries and stared at it. "I was on the point of offering to sell her back to you anyway, Charles. I know just how much--" Charlie raised a hand to forestall Arrass verbalising his misconceptions about his relationship with Bob, the guy he shared an apartment with and yelled at when he didn't clean up after himself. "Yeah, well. So, if you're happy to return her to me that's fine." He waved his hand around the dream-room. "How do we make that work? I can't really stick her under my arm and take her with me, can I?" Arrass thought for a moment, then smiled. "Leave it to me. It may take some time, I will have to talk with the Priest-Kings again to arrange the return of your love-slave in a suitable manner." My WHAT? Charlie blinked in stupefaction at Arrass' words. Arrass reached across the table to grasp Charlie's forearm again. "Farewell, friend Charles." The room fuzzed in front of Charlie's eyes and then blackness engulfed him. The last thing he saw before he woke up back in the Xanadu Institute was Arrass' bearded grin. * * * * * * * * Farnsworth looked over his hand-written notes once last time then capped his pen as Charlie settled back in his creaking chair, coffee cup in hand. It was some fancy blend, not his usual acrid homebrew but it was coffee and he needed the boost after everything that had happened. "A surprisingly successful endeavour, Charles. My sincere congratulations." He gave a thin-lipped smile as he handed the notepad to his ever-present French Maid assistant. "Please type that up for me, Belle." "Oui, Docteur." She turned and left the office in a highly invigorating manner. Charlie indulged himself by letting his gaze follow her out of the room before he turned back to meet the knowing expression on Farnsworth's face. Busted. "So, you expect Mister Jones to be returned to Earth in some manner, hopefully in the near future, yes?" Farnsworth went on. Charlie nodded. "That's what Arrass said. He needed to contact the Priest-Kings to arrange it. He couldn't just put her, I mean him in a taxi after all." "Good, good." Charlie raised an eyebrow as Farnsworth went on to explain. "Remember, the primary reason the Xanadu Institute was willing to support your efforts to rescue your, ah, companion was our intention to make friendly contact with the Priest-Kings. Arrass is back on Gor where he thinks he belongs, doing the bidding of the Priest-Kings and thus we have our communication channel in place." "Yeah," Charlie said unenthusiastically. He wanted to get back to the apartment even though he knew Bob wouldn't be there, not so soon but the Gor thing was funny about time, Xanadu didn't seem to worry about clocks and such. If anyone had entered the apartment or had just suddenly appeared in Bob's bedroom the alarm system would have tripped and he'd have gotten an alert on his phone and there hadn't been anything, but still... Farnsworth escorted Charlie out of the castle-like Institute building and waved as he backed his pickup out from where he had left it in the courtyard. The flying saucer was still there but the dragon on the other sidehad gone, replaced by a single-seater sled-like vehicle which, if he remembered his movies right, might have been a time machine. As long as he didn't scratch my paintwork when he parked up, I don't care. Charlie rumbled over the drawbridge as dawn broke in the east, heading for home and his bed. These dream adventures really took it out of him and he was tired even though he had spent the night asleep, sort of. He checked his phone again before he hit the State road, still no alarms or alerts from the apartment's security system. Ah well, he had work piled up in front of him and it was time to start ploughing his way through his list of deferred and postponed customer visits and make some money, but more sleep first, after breakfast at Molly's place. He put his foot down and accelerated down the nearly-empty highway. * * * * * * * * Charlie dropped his toolbox at the apartment door and sighed. It had been over a week since his overnight visit to the Xanadu Institute and his dream voyage to Gor, his confrontation with Arrass and, he hoped, the successful rescue of Bob. And... nothing. No news, no mysterious email messages, no phone calls, no notes pushed under the door, bupkis. Arrass had said it might take time to return Charlie's 'property' but how long before he heard anything? He unlocked the front door and disabled the alarm before parking his toolbox on the ready-to-go-to-work shelf at the entrance. It was only as he headed along the corridor towards the kitchen and the blessed coffee maker that he heard a muffled noise coming from... his bedroom? Charlie eased his way stealthily towards his closed bedroom door - he didn't remember, hadn't he left it open when he went out this morning? He glanced over at Bob's room, that door was wide open and he could see the end of the Gorean sleeping platform that sufficed for a bed, complete with furs and the heavy metal ring suitable for securing a slave. No Bob there, the alarms in the room would have warned him if he had suddenly appeared, so... he shook his head, the odd noises were coming from HIS room, not Bob's room. He pushed his bedroom door open and peered in cautiously, then froze in shock. It was Bob! Bibi rather, but Bob was back! He pushed his way into the room, a big grin on his face before the situation Bob was in caught up with him. Bob-as-Bibi was lying on Charlie's oversized bed face up, obscenely spreadeagled with his wrists and ankles secured with metal cuffs and chains to the four corners of the bed. He was naked except for some translucent wisps of white silk at his groin and of course the everpresent slave collar around his slim neck. A wide leather strap was secured across his face thoroughly gagging him, reducing him to frantic mumbles and no more. He shook his head wildly at the sight of Charlie's dumbfounded face as his muffled utterances doubled in volume. Charlie stood transfixed for another moment then... "I'll go get my tools," he said over his shoulder as he lumbered back out through the door.