Dancer of Gor
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Rediscover this brilliantly imagined world where men are masters and women live to serve their every desire.
Dancer of Gor is the 22nd book in the Gorean Saga, but you may enjoy reading the series in any order.
was excellent, in its melodic lines, its moods, and shifts. It was one of my favorites. But never before had I danced to it in terror. Never before had I danced to it before men. Then it finished in a swirl and I spun and sank to my knees before them, my head down, my hands on my thighs, in a common ending position for such a dance. Never before, (pg. 33) however, I think, had I been so suddenly and deeply struck with the meaning of this ending position, it following the beauty of the dance, its
doubt, even then, as to the fact that you are in their arms, and who is in command. I could see, too, though it was harder now, the posts in the distance, between which the wire was strung. The wire was slave wire, with its closely interwoven latticework of sharp, swaying strands, and, numerous and closely set, at intervals of less than a hort, its barbs and knifelike prongs. I shuddered. A slave could be cut to pieces on such wire. I left the entrance of the tent and walked about the tent, to
thought them done, terrifying me, there had been another! The thing had six digits! It was then alien, as far as I knew, not only to Earth but Gor. It was from (pg. 371) somewhere else! I was suddenly wild with terror, not the numbing paralyzing terror, which I now understand the thing was waiting to pass, but a different sort of terror, now a wild, helpless terror. I put back my head, wildly. I opened my mouth, widely. I took a breath to scream. But no sooner had I opened my mouth, widely,
girl, forbidden speech, save for moans and whimpers. I had understood many of the commands given to her, of course. I had begun to learn this language. I looked at her. It was possible she was of this world. Men here, I had learned, were every bit as ready, and as prompt, to put their own females to their purposes as the females of Earth. Our origins made no difference in these matters. What was important was what we had in common, our sex, simply that we were females. To be sure, the girls here
“One might think almost,” he said, musingly, “that you are not a virgin. It is interesting to speculate what you will be like when you have been adequately opened and regularly utilized.” I kept my head down. “It will probably not even be necessary to encourage you with the whip,” he said. I did not dare to speak. “But the whip will be always there, should you require refreshening on your status, or become to any degree less then perfectly pleasing,” he said. “Yes, Master,” I said. “You may