| The sexuality of a free woman is largely inert; the sexuality of a slave girl, on the other hand, has been deliberately and seriously activated.
. . . The sexuality of the aroused slave girl is incomprehensible to the free woman. It is nothing she will ever understand. It is a color she cannot see, a sound she cannot hear. Beasts of Gor Book 12 Page 225 “Frigidity is a neurotic luxury,” I told her. “It is allowed only to free woman, probably because no one cares that much about them. Indeed, frigidity is one of the titles and permissions implicated in the lofty status of a free woman. For many it is, in effect, their proudest possession. It distinguishes them from the lowly slave girl. It proves to themselves and others that they are free. Should they be enslaved, of course, it is, for better or for worse, taken from them, like their property and their clothing.” “Not all free women are frigid,” she said. “Of course not,” I said, “but there is actually a scale, so to speak, in such matters. But just as some free women are insufficiently inert, or cold, to qualify, strictly, as frigid, perhaps to their chagrin, so none of them, I think, are sufficiently ignited to qualify in the ranges of “slave-girl hot,” so to speak. A free woman’s sexuality may generally be thought of in terms of degrees of inertness, or coolness; a slave girl’s sexuality, on the other hand, may generally be thought of in terms of degrees of responsive passion, or heat. Some slave girls are hotter than others, of course, just as some free women are less cold than others, whether this pleases them or not. Whereas the free woman normally maintains a plateau of frigidity, however, the slave girl will usually increase in degrees of heat, this a function of her master, his strength, her training, and such. The slave girl grows in passion; the free woman languishes in her frigidity, congratulating herself on the starvation of her needs.” “Do free women know what they are missing?” she asked. “I think, on some level, they do,” I said. “Else the resentment and hatred they bear the slave girl would be inexplicable.” “I see,” she said. “Beware the free woman,” I said. “Yes, Master,” she said. Beasts of Gor Book 12 Page 243 – 244 “Is there no cure for a free woman’s frigidity?” she asked. “Of course,” I said. “Total enslavement?” she asked. “Yes,” I said. She said nothing. “Every woman has a need to submit herself to a master,” I said. “When she finds herself at the feet of her master her body will no longer permit her to be frigid. There is no longer any reason. She is now where nature places her, at his feet and in his power. She kisses his feet and, weeping, feeling the heat and oils between her lovely legs, cannot wait to be thrown to the furs.” She did not speak. “But I do not speak here merely of the simplicities and negativities of a cure,” I said. “I speak rather of the beginning of a career, a helpless, flowering biography of service, love and passion.” “You speak of a woman being made a slave girl,” she said. “Yes,” I said. “I wonder if I will be pleasing to a master,” she said. “Any slave girl,” I said, “with the proper management, and master, can become a wonder of sexuality and love.” “I think I will love being a slave girl,” she said. I shrugged. What did it matter, what her feelings were? She was a slave. “No wonder the free women hate us so,” she said. “Of course,” I said. “You are everything that they desire to be and are not.” She bit her lip. She looked at me. “Are free women permitted to watch us being sold?” “Of course,” I said. “Why not? They are free.” She looked at me, miserably. “Ah, yes,” I said. “I see. It would be quite humiliating, one woman, a slave, being sold, while another woman, a free woman, observes.” “Yes,” she said. Beasts of Gor Book 12 Page 245 “Do you find me of interest, Master?” she asked. “Yes,” I said. “How can a girl who is only a slave be of interest?” she asked. “Your question is foolish,” I said. “All men desire a slave, or slaves. It is their nature. Thus, that a woman is a slave, even in itself, makes her extraordinarily interesting. Her slavery in itself, apart from her intelligence or beauty, is found extremely provocative and exciting to the male, because of his nature.” “But aren’t free women more interesting?” she asked. “All women are interesting,” I said. “But consider the matter objectively. Anything that was interesting about you when you were free remains interesting about you now. But now you are additionally interesting because you are in helpless bondage. Too, slavery, because of its relation to a female’s genetic predispositions, tends to free her to be herself, rather than an imitator of male-type values. It frees her individuality by liberating her from the necessities of pretense. Too, slavery, by removing certain inhibitions and demands alien to a female’s deepest nature generally results in an increase in her beauty and energy; she is no longer as constricted and miserable, and needs no longer spend energy fighting to suppress herself and her natural desires, surely a grotesque and pathological misapplication of effort, a tragic waste of time and energy. That the girl, thus, becomes more beautiful and energetic does not, of course, diminish her interest. Indeed, similarity, routine, identity, boredom, those things which tend to make a woman less interesting, tend often to be functions of widespread conformances to externally imposed demands and images. It is thus that the free woman, though interesting, being female, is usually, sadly, a bound prisoner of her own prejudices, a rigid, constricted, ideologically restrained organism, an imitator of images and stereotypes alien to her own nature, a puppet obedient to principles foreign to herself. How can a woman be free until she obeys the laws of her own nature?” “I do not know,” said Arlene. “Interest, of course, is somewhat subjective,” I admitted. “Some men may prefer neurotic, frustrated, rigid, imitative, conforming free women, mouthing the correct slogans and adopting the correct views on all matters, and eager to slander all who disagree with her, but other men, perhaps naive types, would just as soon own an intelligent, beautiful, reflective, loving slave, a girl who thinks for herself, but must nonetheless obey him, regardless of her will, in all things. The matter seems a simple one. Let men choose between such women. Let men choose between them, between the stereotype and the truth, between the pain and the pleasure, between the unhappy and the happy, between the tasteless and the delicious, between sickness and health, between suffering and joy.” She looked up at me. “But regardless of the truth in these matters,” I said, “you are objectively my slave. Thus, whether you are or are not of interest is not really much to the point. Whether you are of more or less interest than your duller sisters in their intellectual cages congratulating themselves on how free they are is not important. What is important is that I own you. From my point of view I find you, and girls like you, far more interesting than your smug sisters. They seem generally much alike, even in their mode of dress, and tend in their thinking and conversation, because of their conditioning, to be repetitiously similar. Free women, though they need not be, are often boring. Who does not know, for example, what a female ‘intellectual’ will think on a given topic, provided it is a topic on which agreement is expected?” “I am, then, of interest?” she asked. “Yes,” I said. “A girl is pleased,” she said. “I found you of interest when you were free,” I said, “and I find you of much greater interest now.” “Yes, Master,” she said. “Part of this,” I said, “is doubtless that I now can, and will, do with you exactly as I please.” “Oh, Master?” she asked. “There is a sense, of course,” I said, “in which you are supposedly of less interest than a free woman.” “What is that,” she asked, “Master.” “Suppose,” I said, “that I was, in my compartments, entertaining a free woman. In such a situation you would be expected to efface yourself, and humbly serve. You would not speak unless you were spoken to, and then presumably only to respond deferentially to commands. You would remain in the background, a mere instrument to serve us. In no way would you in the slightest be permitted to detract from the impression or effect the free woman desires to create or compete with her in any way. You would be nothing in the room but an almost invisible convenience.” “I see,” she said. “And yet this is all on the surface,” I said, “and largely a matter of theory.” “Oh, Master?” she asked. “Yes,” I said, “for in the depth of the situation your presence is felt profoundly by the free woman. Indeed, she will hate you with a ferocity which is difficult for you to understand. For you are a reproach, in the depths of your womanhood, to her superficiality. There is more excitement she knows in your slightest movement, the turning of your head, the tiny movement of a wrist or finger, that of a girl in bondage, than in her entire, tight, proud, righteous body. She can never touch you in the profundity of your existence and reality unless sometime she, too, should learn what it is to be only a collared slave. She knows that you have found your womanhood and she has not. Thus she hates you. She knows the free man is anxious for her to leave, that he may hurry you, his slave, to the furs. Thus she hates you. It is you whom he has put in his collar, not her. It is you he rapes in his arms, not her. It is thus that she despises and hates you. She must rise and leave. You will remain, and serve. She hates you, and, with a depth and intensity which is difficult for you to understand, envies you.” “But why?” she asked. “Because you are a slave,” I said. “I see,” she said. “Thus,” I said, “that is a situation in which a free woman is theoretically of more interest than a slave, but, upon closer analysis, the center of interest, even in such a situation, because of her latency, her womanhood, her helplessness, what can be done with her, is the slave.” “I see,” she said. “Beware of free woman,” I smiled. “Yes,” she said, “I think I would be very afraid of them.” “And you should be,” I said. “They can often be terribly cruel to slave girls.” “I do fear them,” she said. Beasts of Gor Book 12 Page 274 - 277 Page12 |