Sometimes, of course, one wants a slave—now—instantly.

Sometimes, of course, one wants a slave—now—instantly.

Sometimes one cannot wait to get them to the blankets or furs. Perhaps it is only a matter of feet, but it is too far. They can be taken anywhere, anytime, and as one pleases, in a garden, on a bench, against a wall, in a doorway, on a carpet, across coils of rope, over a saddle, cast upon bales of produce, beside a highway, in the gravel or mud, on a street, on a polished hardwood floor, on the tiles of a plaza, in a market, privately, publicly, as one pleases. This is totally at the discretion of the master. They are slaves.

This sort of thing, of course, is in marked contrast to the usual unhurried, leisurely, patient nature of Gorean love making, at least with slaves. Commonly, presumably because it is so pleasurable, he is in no hurry for it to end. The Gorean master, then, will often devote a morning, or an afternoon, or an evening, or even the better part of a day, or an entire day, to these enjoyments.

The culture is perhaps different from one with which you might be more familiar. It is a culture more at ease with itself, one less frenetic, one whose sense of time is more indexed to the sun and seasons than the periodic movements of mechanical devices, one with more in common with grass and flowers, and the grazings of animals, and the combing of a girl’s hair, than with pollutions and machines, one to whom industrial and technological regimens and constraints, however awesome, are of little interest, and might well be found foreign and distasteful. For example, it would be quite unusual for a Gorean to make love in less than a full Ahn.

And he enjoys, of course, devoting his full and undivided attention to her, listening to her, licking and kissing her, caressing her, and then bringing her to orgasm again and again, as he wishes, and then, of course, having her later serve him, perhaps refreshing him, say, bathing and grooming him, perhaps then humbly preparing and serving viands, and pouring his wine, and perhaps conversing with him, naked, while perhaps performing small tasks under his supervision, say, polishing his leather, and then he may have her pose for him, or dance for him, and then he may permit her to kiss his whip and beg for more pleasure, and he will then again, if he wishes, put her, perhaps helplessly chained, again and again to the delicious sexual torments which will bring her again and again, she at his mercy, helpless in his hands, pleading, begging, to slave ecstasy. Even in a paga tavern he is unlikely to quickly relinquish the girl he has ordered to an alcove, who has simply come with the price of a drink.

To the Gorean pleasure is not an object of suspicion, of apprehension, or dread, but a lovely part of life. To be sure, cultures differ in their values, attitudes, and requirements. If all this is relative and subjective, then it seems there is nothing to choose from between pleasure and happiness and pain and misery.

This seems to me unlikely, but I am content to express my views, at whatever hazard. I do not insist that others share them. In this it is my hope that I am not unique. Let each choose as he wishes.

Mercenaries of Gor, p. 429-431

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