Plunder of Gor by John Norman Read Free Book Online Page A

holding me, “thinks she is going to be troublesome. Gag her.”
    â€œShe looks pretty, squirming,” said the second man.
    â€œShall we remove the nightgown?” asked the third man.
    â€œNo,” said the fellow in whose grasp I was, “she is not of great interest. That can be done later.”
    Tears sprang to my eyes.
    â€œShe might have promise,” said the second man, “given slave gruel and the whip.”
    I could not speak, so held.
    Paula was kneeling to the side, frightened. When the men had appeared, so suddenly, the bolts flashed to the side, she had gone instantly to her knees, startled, her eyes wide.
    Had she welcomed this intrusion?
    Why had she not screamed, not run?
    I had been so startled I had not had time to scream. Almost immediately I had been seized, turned, and the massive hand clapped over my mouth.
    Instantly I knew myself helpless, the prisoner of such strength!
    I looked wildly at Paula.
    Even now, no one held her!
    Why did she not scream, cry out, run?
    Did she not see the plea in my eyes, that she should scream, run?
    â€œShall I use a readied gag?” asked the second man, “a slave bit?”
    â€œNo,” said he in whose grasp I was, “let her know that materials suitable for rendering a woman helpless are conveniently at hand. Perhaps she will find that instructive.”
    â€œWhat of this one?” asked the third man, gesturing to Paula.
    I, helpless, struggling, wanted to cry out to Paula, to rise up, run to the door, scream, anything. But she remained kneeling, trembling.
    â€œLet her alone,” said the man holding me. “She is clearly intelligent. Certainly more so than this one.”
    â€œShall we leave her clothed?” asked the third man.
    â€œFor now,” said he in whose grasp I was.
    â€œShe looks extremely interesting,” said the third man.
    â€œI look forward to seeing her stripped,” said the second man.
    â€œShe should bring us good coin,” said the brute, appreciatively, in whose arms I was helpless.
    Paula seemed startled.
    â€œPlain Paula,” I thought to myself. “Surely she was too short, too widely hipped, too amply bodied! Did she not dress poorly? Did she not lack flair, and dash?”
    I could see now that the second man had gone into the bedroom and was rummaging through drawers. In a bit he had returned to the living room, some cloth in his hand, and, apparently, two pairs of my nylon stockings.
    The heavy hand was removed from my mouth, and I opened my mouth widely, wildly, to scream, but, at the same time, a wadding of cloth, silken panties, was thrust into my mouth, stifling any sound, and a moment thereafter it was bound in place by loops of two of my nylon stockings, drawn back tightly between my teeth.
    â€œThere,” said the fellow, standing back, who had gagged me.
    I shook my head, protestingly, tears in my eyes.
    My protests, muted, scarcely audible, were unavailing.
    How frightful it was then, to be silenced by the will of others. This was the first time I had had that experience. I had never been gagged before. I would grow familiar with such an experience. And how conveniently it had been done, and with familiar, approved garmenture! Did we not, in a sense, then, carry our own bonds with us? I had been effectively silenced, and with my own garments! Later, of course, a mere look, or word, would silence me. Indeed, I would soon learn to request permission before I might dare to speak.
    Men would decide if and when a woman, or, better, a woman such as I, would be permitted to speak.
    I was then put to my belly on the carpet, and my hands were taken behind me, and fastened together, closely, by means of one member of the second pair of nylon stockings. My ankles were then crossed and bound together by the last stocking. I tried to turn. I felt a man’s shoe on my back, pressing down, pinning me to the floor. “Lie still, kajira,” said a