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You wake up to a sharp pain in the shaft of your penis. As your eyes flutter open, you struggle to regain focus.

When your vision clears you can see the spike of one of my deadly high heels digging into your cock as I sit beside you on a chair smiling down sadistically.

You stare in horror at the swelling sack of liquid mush that used to be your balls. The pain is a pulsating ache that shudders through your body.

You want to be sick. My smooth, feminine fingers gently caress your bulging manhood. I slide them up over the head of your penis letting all my fingers tantalize the most sensitive areas before sensually sliding them back down the base.

You whimper in agony. I stand up onto the board, my heels clicking heavily around your manhood. I kick your hard-on again with my toe, and again it bounces off the trample board and back upright again.

I giggle and kick it several more times enjoying the sight of it flopping around like one of those inflatable clowns. I decide to try kicking the knob of your dick instead of the shaft.

Direct hit! You squeal in pain as your cock bounces off the board again and returns to a standing position. So of course I aim for your knob again with an even harder flurry of kicks.

Your cock is starting to change colours as the bruises start to cover it. The sight of your damaged cock turns me on.

I kick it again from underneath with my left shoe, and pin it upwards against the board. The crushing comes from my right shoe! I step on the shaft of your cock with the hard sole of my shoe.

I smile into your eyes as I apply more weight. You moan in pain, begging me to stop. So I lean harder and grind the shoe into your cock with almost all my weight.

Your knob goes purple. I wonder if it will explode underneath me. The familiar tingles shoot up my legs and my pussy grows moist once again. Please Princess!

Please let me keep my dick! I can only laugh at your pathetic whimpers as I take my weight off you for a moment, before kicking you hard in the cock.

By pinning your hard cock flat against the board with my left foot I step over your shaft with my right and lower my sharp, four and a half inch heel into the skin of your manhood.

You whimper and beg for mercy. I apply a tiny bit of weight, but to you it feels like pounds as the heel stabs into your hard cock and intents a quarter of an inch.

I scrape the heel down your cock, leaving a deep red scratch. You scream. The heel digs into the underside of your cock and I smile down at it, pushing it in a little deeper.

A trickle of blood comes out as I pierce your skin. The blood trickles around your cock. Still you remain hard.

I move onto your knob, not with my heels but with the front sole of the shoe. I dangle the toe of my shoe over the head of your penis as I rest my weight more into the heel.

I gently pedal pump weight onto your knob. You groan again. The feel of your cock being crushed makes my juices really start to flow. Each pump makes a little more blood dribble out of your shaft and I get an urge to make more stab wounds in your hard shaft.

I pump heavier onto your cock, and kick it several times with my toe. You scream as a wound opens up in the side of your cock from my last kick.

I place my heel onto your shaft again, and allow my weight to shift onto it. I start off watching the steel spike dig deeply into your skin, and right before it pierces I look up to see the tears streaming down your face.

Terror has taken over you. The heel pierces half way through your manhood and the blood is flowing now. I remove it, and pierce another hole only inches from the first two.

I place the heel on your knob, and I slowly allow it to pierce a hole through your penis head. The waves of ecstasy begin to take over me. I trap the bloody base of the cock under my left shoe, and kick my dangerous right shoe back and forth over your softening cock.

The pointy toe of my pump punts it on the forward kick, and the sharp heel scrapes it on my back swing. I go back and forth as fast as I can as the red mess splatters all over the board.

It flops back and forth taking brutal blows. The cuts from my heel are deep. I stomp my sole HARD into your cock, grinding it until it separate from your body, and the most intense and amazing wave of ecstasy overcomes my body.

I collapse on the ground as my legs quiver in the aftershocks of the most brutal, and amazingly HOT busting of my life.

Trampled by ladies usually weighing - lbs. For minutes at a time, or until they got tired. And yeah, my face was sore for a few days, but it was worth it.

But then Corona came, and so now I see one of my tramplers maybe once every other month. She's a lightweight, maybe lbs.

And when we visit, she gets on my upturned face and starts slow marching barefoot and I swear I'm in hell and grunting the safe word less than 60 seconds into it.

The first time that happened we both looked at each other like WTF?! I couldn't believe it. Neither could she.

She used to march, march stomp-- on my face, not the side of my head, jump from the floor and land on my face, repeatedly.

Shove her toes up my nose and stand in it full weight, on tiptoe, while slowly stepping across. Stand on my mouth and nose while using her other big toe to toy with my eye.

Stomp on my face until my nose or lips leaked red. She used to be the one to say "Okay, I think I've done enough damage.

I'd better stop now. So you're right, man. You get away from it for too long and you have to build back up your tolerance for it. Keeping trampling!

Yes, training is important. Keep on coming, girls! Lol, yeah I hope she does it more often xD. Here's another one of my experiences. After a few days from when Ash made me kiss her feet, I thought why not try getting it to the next step.

So one day she was just sitting, talking to my sister, I came in and joined their chat. After a while I put forth my idea for another one of my games.

I told Ash that i would try and guess her weight if she stood on me. She instantly agreed. My sister also wanted to do it. So i went ahead and laid down on the carpet.

This was my first time getting my full body trampled, so i laid on my stomach to make her walk on my back i like getting trampled anyway, whether on my front or back.

So then she stepped on me, and she was heavier than I thought she would be with her physique. I instantly felt her weight Crush me.

Next my sister also took her turn. After that Ash and my sister told me to wait for a sec. Ash came back and stepped on me and then my sister came and joined her.

So now both of them were standing on me together barefoot, it was my first time. I really did feel like it was so much. My sister was standing on my upper back and Ash was standing on my lower back with one of her foot placed on my butt.

My "Man Parts" were being squashed by that pressure. I was literally being Crushed under their weight.

My sister weighed 47kgs and Ash weighed 50 kgs, so I was being Trampled by a combined. Weight of 97 kgs. I told them I was really getting Crushed by their weight, to which Ash replied- " We'll Crush you just like a bug that gets Crushed underfoot ".

Both of them were enjoying trampling me. It felt really amazing to me. One day when she came to my house she lives near me my mom and sister were not at home, so that day we talked over it that is our little secret.

She told me that she liked to Trample me, and i told her that I liked to get trampled and i liked her feet and also like to watch her Crush stuff and bugs She loves to step on bugs which was a plus point for me.

After our conversation we agreed to play our "games" every time we could as they were fun, and we both liked it. I then laid down and she trampled me again.

This time she walked on me, stepped on my head, jumped on me and made me kiss and lick her foot again , while she stood on me.

She would still do it though very rarely as we don't really have time and are busy with our lives, so we rarely meet. She even does it in heels, wedges or shoes.

You can say it was not so long ago. It started 5 yrs ago approx. She thinks nothing of bugs and loves to crush and even torture them sometimes.

I have seen her place a bug on the ground and then smash it with a rock kept nearby, grinding it's remains to a pulp.

We sometimes used to go for bug hunting, whenever anyone of us would spot a bug, we would call each other at that spot. Then she would do with the bug as she pleased.

She would toy with it or torture it, but ultimately it would only end up being Crushed by her. Ocassionaly she has even gotten me to crush them, just for her fun.

While crushing, her favourite method was to Step on the bug with the heel of her foot wearing footwear and then slowly twisting her foot, grinding it into the ground.

On one incident i was at her house, in her room and there was this wasp flying around bothering us for quiet a while.

I tried to guide it outside the window, but it wouldn't go. So Ash annoyed grabbed a magazine, rolled it and after a few tries managed to smack it.

As soon as the wasp hit the ground, she stomped on it and squashed it with a twisting motion it was squished at the frontal part of her flip- flop. She then took off her flip-flop and laughed seeing the dead remains stuck under there.

While she went to clean her flip-flop I was standing in her room a little aroused by that. Man, I think you can start a new discussion about 'Bug Crushing in real life' or something where people share their interesting females crushing bugs incidents.

We still live together in a harmonious marriage where I do whatever I want and he has to do whatever I desire. In time I became more demanding, more strict and less tolerant.

Since then I truly have no tolerance or understanding at all. The only things I care about is to be successful, happy and satisfied. During more than 14 years since my personal slave became my property, I developed our relationship to perfection.

He knows what he has to do at any moment — all it takes is for me to look at him. He is at my service 24 hours a day which is exactly what I wanted from the very beginning.

Yes, I can honestly say that I live in a truly harmonious marriage. Even those free 15 minutes before going out with my girlfriends I want to use in the best possible way.

And, after I return home, my slave knows that his first obligation is to clean my boots and massage my …. Without any doubt — in my flats!

I wear them all the time even though my feet get all wet.

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GYM FAIL: How to DESTROY your Company in ONE SOCIAL MEDIA Post!! Slave heel Such things may differ, of course, from master to master. Golden Beetle. I giggle and kick it several more times enjoying the sight of Playboy websites flopping around like one of those inflatable clowns. Her wrists were crossed under her, as though bound, her head was to the floor, the bow of her back was exposed. The girl rose to her feet and went to Kliomenes. I was pleased that she had had the intelligence not to Phone sex roulette Slave heel though she Knullar mormor been put at the ring "bound by Memek basah master's will" because her leaving the ring might then have elicited astonishment or comment. He then said, very sharply, "Lesha! Amatuer teens masturbating, what supporting evidence do some use?

I wrap my fingers around your right testicles and flick it gently, then harder. My flicks turn to open palm slaps, entirely on your right ball.

Your moans become cries. I slam my palm hard into your nut and giggle as it swells before my eyes. I slam my fist deep into your testicle.

The squishy feeling makes me cream a little in my pants as I feel a ruptured testicle could occur at any moment.

I punch harder, and you scream loud into my ass. The vibrations feel good and a wave of ecstasy sweeps over me. I punch you hard again in your right testicle, and again your scream feels amazing, it temporarily weakens me as sexy shivers run up my body.

I slam my fist even harder into the trapped nut, and your screams are bringing me to orgasm. I slam punch after punch into your testicle. My grip around your balls tightens as my body tenses up, about to go into a wave of sexual contractions.

I grip with all my might feeling my fingers pretty much touching through your scrotum. The trapped nut is bulging under the pressure.

I grind my ass and pussy on your face uncontrollably as I begin to cum. I scream with every amazing contraction running through my pussy, and with every wave of ecstasy I PUNCH your weakening testicle in my hands.

My back arches as your screams peak, and so does my orgasm. As the juices finish flowing from my lady parts, I feel an incredible sense of accomplishment seeing your swollen, mushy, right ball completely destroyed.

It makes me giggle. You awake to find yourself still bound tightly and trapped beneath my trample board.

Your limp cock and remaining left testicle are still pulled through the hole, only now the hole seems much tighter due to the swelling of your ruptured right testicle.

I see your eyes fluttering open so I step back onto the trample board in my tall heels and crouch down to look into your bloodshot eyes.

It looks sad. It was a little bit more fun to play with when it was at least hard. I massage it gently as I look up at you with my sex eyes.

Despite the intense pain, and throbbing sensation you feel where your right nut used to be, somehow your body still sends blood to your hardening cock.

Your cock quickly hardens and becomes large enough for me to grasp in my hand as I stroke up and down the length of it. I sit down on it, flattening it against the board over your stomach as my booty grinds you.

It feels good, yet your tender testicles still ache with each grind. I notice the pain in your face and it turns me on.

The pain is intense for you. I bounce harder and faster, enjoying the feeling of your hard cock along my butt crack, and your bulging testicle being squashed beneath my booty and pussy.

With each bounce I can see your remaining nut swelling a little more, and your moans grow louder. This only causes me to get more aroused.

I feel myself nearing another orgasm. My butt bombs get higher. I grind it down hard as you scream. I climb up to my feet, straddling your manhood and carefully aim my tight, latex covered ass at your package as I squat down hard and fast bouncing my booty into your manhood.

Again you scream and your nut threatens to pop. I stand up tall, gripping my ass above you, teasing you to maintain that erection before dropping my full weight onto your package once again.

This turns me on. Nothing makes me cum like the impending doom of a testicle. I drop my squat onto your ball again, HARD.

Each squat flattens your package, and as I rise up again I can see the swelling increase. This turns me on more, and waves of ecstasy begin to sweep over me for the second time that night.

I drop harder and faster, squatting up as fast and as high as I can before immediately releasing my weight and forcing my tight booty to SQUASH your manhood with all my weight.

Time stands still as you see my shiny ass hovering in the air, three or four feet over your trapped testicles. As my ass lands on the trapped testicle it ruptures instantly.

I can only feel a solid ball briefly, before it explodes into a liquid mush state. You scream your face off, and the waves of ecstasy overcome me as my eyes close and orgasm takes over.

I grind my booty hard into your cock and all over the swelling mess of manhood that use to be your balls. You wake up to a sharp pain in the shaft of your penis.

As your eyes flutter open, you struggle to regain focus. When your vision clears you can see the spike of one of my deadly high heels digging into your cock as I sit beside you on a chair smiling down sadistically.

You stare in horror at the swelling sack of liquid mush that used to be your balls. The pain is a pulsating ache that shudders through your body.

You want to be sick. My smooth, feminine fingers gently caress your bulging manhood. I slide them up over the head of your penis letting all my fingers tantalize the most sensitive areas before sensually sliding them back down the base.

You whimper in agony. I stand up onto the board, my heels clicking heavily around your manhood.

I kick your hard-on again with my toe, and again it bounces off the trample board and back upright again.

I giggle and kick it several more times enjoying the sight of it flopping around like one of those inflatable clowns.

I decide to try kicking the knob of your dick instead of the shaft. Direct hit! You squeal in pain as your cock bounces off the board again and returns to a standing position.

So of course I aim for your knob again with an even harder flurry of kicks. Your cock is starting to change colours as the bruises start to cover it.

The sight of your damaged cock turns me on. I kick it again from underneath with my left shoe, and pin it upwards against the board. The crushing comes from my right shoe!

I step on the shaft of your cock with the hard sole of my shoe. I smile into your eyes as I apply more weight. You moan in pain, begging me to stop.

So I lean harder and grind the shoe into your cock with almost all my weight. Your knob goes purple. I wonder if it will explode underneath me. The familiar tingles shoot up my legs and my pussy grows moist once again.

Please Princess! Please let me keep my dick! I can only laugh at your pathetic whimpers as I take my weight off you for a moment, before kicking you hard in the cock.

By pinning your hard cock flat against the board with my left foot I step over your shaft with my right and lower my sharp, four and a half inch heel into the skin of your manhood.

You whimper and beg for mercy. I apply a tiny bit of weight, but to you it feels like pounds as the heel stabs into your hard cock and intents a quarter of an inch.

I scrape the heel down your cock, leaving a deep red scratch. You scream. The heel digs into the underside of your cock and I smile down at it, pushing it in a little deeper.

A trickle of blood comes out as I pierce your skin. The blood trickles around your cock. Still you remain hard.

I move onto your knob, not with my heels but with the front sole of the shoe. She will probably remain in it until permitted to rise.

It is a common position, too, for her to assume when she is in attendance of a master, for example, awaiting his notice or commands.

Too, she will usually speak to her master from this position, unless, of course, she is lying down, as in making her reports to him, inquiring as to his will, answering questions, and so on.

Some masters approve it, too, for purposes of general conversation. It is the submissive posture of a slave girl who is to be punished.

It is called Kneeling to the Whip. Piteously she knelt, a slave girl. Her wrists were crossed under her, as though bound, her head was to the floor, the bow of her back was exposed.

I obeyed. I put my head down, and, beneath my body, crossed my wrists, as though they were bound. My back was bowed, ready for whatever punishment he might see fit to administer to me.

Melpomene then, sobbing, knelt, her legs close together, her wrists held crossed under her, as though bound, her head down, touching the floor, the bow of her back exposed, a slave girl awaiting punishment.

I nodded to her to approach me. She did so. I held my left hand open, at my waist. She stiffened, and looked at me, angrily.

I opened and closed my left hand once. I saw her training in Gorean customs had been thorough. But she never thought that such a gesture would be used to her.

She came beside me, and a bit behind me, and, crouching, put her head down, deeply. I fastened my hand in her hair.

She winced. Women are helpless in this position. Swiftly the girl rose to her feet and, half crouching, put her head by my hand. I fastened the fingers of my hand deeply and firmly in her red hair.

She winced, and kissed at my thigh. I then, the goblet of paga in my left hand, her hair in my right, dragged her beside me, her slender chains rustling, to the nearest alcove.

He then straightened up angrily, and, she crying out in pain, jerked her to her feet, and held her beside him, bent over at the waist, her head tight against his hip her head down, facing the floor, she then in leading position.

In a moment, she had been conducted to the side of the fellow in blue. Her small hands were on the wrists of the fellow who held her.

She was whimpering. As she was held, she could only look down, into the straw. She held her head still, extremely still, to avoid more agony, for the guard's hand was tight in her hair.

Then, I in leading position, he had entered the tavern, I stumbling helplessly beside him, so conducted, my hands on his wrist. We looked about, to the kajirae, and saw, standing amongst them, Tyrtaios, the Assassin.

He had pulled one of the kajirae, the former Lady Alexina, to her feet by the hair. He now held her, by the hair, bent over, her head at his left hip, in leading position.

His left hand was tight in my hair and his right hand was doubtless the same in Paula's hair. I winced. Then our heads were thrust down.

We were bent over, our heads at his waist. We were in leading position, one on each side of the master. One is not only helpless in this position, but it is awkward, and humiliating.

In it, one is well reminded one is a slave. I then bent down, and put my head to his left hip. He then took my hair in his hand, and conducted me through certain passages, and then, arresting his journey, he put me to all fours before a small cage, one of several, some already occupied, and opened the gate.

He then released my arms and fastened one hand in my hair, his left hand, and bent my head down to his hip. I was then in Gorean leading position.

In this position, the slightest resistance or recalcitrance on the part of a slave, or even an unintentional failure to exhibit perfect submission, can result in agonizing pain.

One hopes to accommodate oneself as perfectly as possible to the least signal from the captor's grasp, to the least whim or caprice of his will. Too, one is not only vulnerable and helpless in such a position, but so held, in such awkwardness and humiliation, so amusing to the free, one is well reminded of one's slavery.

She spun from facing him, and lifted her chin, turning her head to the left, placing her wrists behind her, as though for snapping them into slave bracelets.

He then said, very sharply, "Lesha! We lifted our chins, turning our heads to the left, and placed our wrists behind us. We were then braceleted, and our wrists were fastened behind us, as before.

The lesha command is essentially a "leash" command. Placing the hands behind the body facilitates their tying or braceleting.

Lifting the chin facilitates the fixing of the leash. As we were already chained by the neck to the rings on the back of the wagon, and thus, in a sense, were already leashed, the command was essentially one to prepare for a "behind the back" binding of the master's choice.

The turning of the head in a particular direction introduces a uniformity into the command. For example, if a line of slaves were given such a command, it would be unaesthetic if some of the slaves turned one way and some another.

The lifting of the head exposes the throat nicely for its encirclement. That the lifted head is turned to the left has an affinity with a number of other practices, the shackling of the left ankle, or the left wrist, the heeling of a master on the left, and so on.

Instantly I flung my head up, turning it to the left, and, at the same time straightened my body and flung my hands, together, behind my back.

This response is automatic, immediate, and unthinking. I had assumed the position before I had fully realized I had done so. My hands, together, behind me, were snapped into slave bracelets.

It was then uncomfortably high. Then I felt the leash snapped about my throat. She pressed her lips to my boots, left and right, kissing them, and licking at them.

You are silenced. You may not, even, in language, beg for permission to speak. As when gagged, one whimper will serve for 'yes' and two for 'no'.

Do you understand? I went down to all fours, looked up at him, and whimpered, questioningly. One can do much with noises, expressions, and attitudes of the body.

Does not any pet animal know that? I was now in the modality of the she-sleen. One is denied an upright posture.

One moves on all fours, or squirms on one's belly. One may kneel, but not rise to one's feet. One is denied human speech.

One sound or whimper, as in gag signals, signifies "Yes," and two sounds or whimpers, again, as in gag signals, signifies "No.

And few slave modalities better convince one that one is a slave. It can be terribly frustrating, trying to communicate in this modality, a frustration that is doubtless shared by many pet animals.

Needless to say, as well, one is naked in this modality, as I was; one feeds and drinks from pans, head down, not permitted to use one's hands; and when one is put to use in this modality, it is done as one might expect.

When you were so unpleasant in your office that afternoon, on your former world, I speculated how you would appear in this modality.

I am not at all disappointed. She swiftly turned, facing him, and dropped to her knees. She knelt back on her heels, her back straight, her hands on her thighs, her head up, her knees wide.

It was the position of the pleasure slave. She swiftly knelt, back on her heels, back straight, head high, hands on her thighs, knees wide.

The girl struggled to nadu, kneeling back on her heels, her head up, her back straight, the palms of her hands down on her thighs. She did not make eye contact with any of the free men, but kept her gaze forward.

It is a beautiful position. The girl spread her knees. She was, after all, a collar-girl. The former Miss Wentworth complied, quickly, docilely, with Tajima's command.

She had learned obedience to men, slave obedience, in the stable, at the hands of the grooms. The slave remained in the adjusted nadu, as directed.

It was a common form of nadu, one almost invariably expected of a particular sort of slave, the pleasure slave. She kept her head down.

Commonly, in nadu, the head is up, the gaze straight ahead, that the beauty of her features be displayed, and that she be in a position to better detect the slightest nuances of her master, either in tone or expression, but neither the taverner nor the stranger exacted this small adjustment.

I knelt back on my heels, my body tall, my back straight, my head up, my knees spread. I could not place the palms of my hands down on my thighs, for the restraints.

Immediately we went to nadu, kneeling, back on our heels, our knees well spread, our backs straight, our heads up, the palms of our hands down, on our thighs.

Slaves can be beaten for boldly daring to beg for use in such a way, exposing the delicacy of their palms to the master.

Similarly tying the loose bondage knot in her hair may bring discipline. Many masters do not care for such blatant, piteous behaviors, such insolent boldness, resenting the slave's attempt to appeal to them, to plead for the satisfaction of her needs.

She nestled obediently in the crook of my left arm. Instantly Ellen, and her sister slaves, went to first obeisance position, head down to the cement.

She immediately, frightened, dropped to her knees and again put her head down to the sand, the palms of her hands, too, on the sand.

Ellen, the beast having released her hair, went to position, kneeling, knees wide, back straight, head up, hands on thighs.

Ellen wondered if she should have kept her knees closely together, before Mirus, but she had naturally, instantaneously, not even thinking about it, assumed the wide-kneed position.

And then Ellen, tears running down her cheeks, knelt appropriately before the men, as what she was, a Gorean pleasure slave, back on heels, back straight, head up, hands down on thighs, knees widely spread.

He removed the switch from his belt. She regarded the implement disbelievingly. Back on your heels. Spread your knees! More widely!

Straighten your back, place your hands, palms down, on your thighs, lift your head, look straight ahead! And then the switch fell savagely upon her, twice.

She screamed in misery. Wildly, frantically, sobbing, tears streaming from her eyes, in pain, the brunette knelt before Peisistratus, in position, as required.

She complied instantly. Cabot was pleased to note this alacrity. Too, he was pleased to see her in position. She looked well in position, in the position of a Gorean female slave, indeed, rather, in the position of a Gorean female slave of a particular sort, the Gorean female pleasure slave.

With cries of misery, and sobs, the slaves, or most, went to position. She took the lamp. I drew away blankets, which had not fallen about the slaves.

Peer straight ahead. Shake the hair behind your shoulders. It was pleasant to do so. Palms of your hands down on your thighs, firmly.

Feel them there. She went to position, kneeling back on her heels, her back straight her belly in, her shoulders back, her head up the palms of her hands down on her thighs.

One does not break "position" without permission. So, cold, wet, and shivering, miserable, we went to "position," kneeling back on our heels, our backs straight, our heads up looking ahead, our knees spread, as the slaves we were, the palms of our hands down on our thighs.

He had come up behind me, from having brought a small barrel to shore. Then they cried out, "Forgive me, Master! I was not the only one, it seemed, who had been curious.

The side of my neck stung. I had been reminded that a lapse from position, however slight is not acceptable. Instantly, reflexively, I went to position, kneeling back on my heels, back straight, head up hands palm down on thighs, looking forward, not meeting his eyes, knees spread.

I then rose, as well as I could, back-braceleted, to a kneeling position. The simple command, "Position," unqualified, is commonly understood to have this import.

How one kneels is determined by how one is understood, what sort of slave one is. I knelt with my knees closely together. I was not a pleasure slave.

But, of course, any slave, in a sense, is a pleasure slave. She is a slave. I was back on my heels, my back straight, my head up, my hands braceleted behind me.

As I was not a pleasure slave, I knelt with my knees closely together. I kept my head down, humbly. I lifted my head, but did not dare to meet his eyes.

My knees were closed. Immediately I went to position. As he frowned, I hastened to spread my knees. The girl rose to her feet and went to Kliomenes.

She knelt before him, on the dais, and put her head down. Gently, softly, she licked and kissed his feet.

She then rose again to her feet, backed away, and then, on the tiles, again knelt. She put the palms of her hands on the tiles, and lowered her head to the tiles.

Then she straightened up, her back straight, assuming the position of the pleasure slave, though keeping her head bowed, deferentially. Such collars are common with Kur pets.

They are also used from time to time in slave training. Certainly this was a rhetorical question, for she would have learned this position in the pleasure cylinder, and Cabot, himself, in the pleasure cylinder, near Lake Fear, and elsewhere, had put her in it often enough.

It must leave no doubt in the observer's mind as to what sort of slave she is. The palms of her hands are usually down on her thighs, and her head up, but, if she is petitioning caresses, as is not uncommon, the palms are usually up, the backs of the hands on the thighs.

The palms, then, so offered to the master, with their exposed, sweet, sensitive cupping, the backs of the hands down on the thighs, as though bound to them, as though not permitted to leave them without permission, present a sign not difficult to read.

Too, at the same time, the girl's head is usually lowered. This makes clear her humility and need, and how much she is at the mercy of the master, for the least touch.

Sometimes, perhaps in markets, the girl will kneel with her wrists crossed behind her, as though bound, or will have her hands clasped behind the back of her head, or the back of her neck.

This lifts the breasts, nicely. Get your back straight, get your head up. He also, in hand-feeding her, had required that she keep her hands, palms down, firmly, on her thighs.

Put your head to the ground, clasp your hands together, behind the back of your neck. I hastened to obey.

This is a common position for slave rape. Ellen went prone, before him, her hands at the sides of her head. The repetition of a command is often a cause for discipline, and she was well aware of what that might involve.

She was now on her belly before me, her hands at the sides of her head. Instantly I went to the second obeisance position. I did not wish to be again physically chastised for hesitation in responding to a free man's command.

I now lay on my belly, prostrate before him. My hands were at the sides of my head, palms down. She then, commonly, is not permitted to break this lip position until either she kisses or is kissed.

Needless to say, a girl cannot speak when her lips are in the unbroken, fully-pursed slave-lips position. The command which commonly follows the "Slave-lips" command is, "Please me.

Immediately they both lay down, with a sound of chain. It is not unusual to forbid a rent slave, during her use times, when chained at a stake, to rise even to her knees.

I was prone. When a girl is prone, the standard binding position is to cross the wrists behind the back and to cross the ankles. She would now keep her place, kneeling, as she was, until a free person might permit her to move.

The ritual significance of the gesture of submission was not lost on me; her wrists were offered to me, as if for binding. They knelt before me, back on their heels, head down, arms lifted and extended, wrists crossed as though for binding.

They need not be bound. They need not be collared. They need not even have spoken. The posture of submission itself, assumed by them before me, constituted them my slaves.

They were now mine. He gestured that she should rise and get into a longboat. She did so, his slave. She slid her legs from under her and lay on her back, her hands at her sides, palms up, her legs open.

That was one of several commands she had been trained to respond to instantly. Upon hearing this command, the slave immediately assumes a supine position, her hands at her sides, palms up, her legs open.

She then crawled to me, and knelt before me. The position of the tower slave, in most cities, is very similar to that of the pleasure slave.

The major difference is that the tower slave, whose duties are commonly, primarily, domestic, kneels with her knees in a closed position, whereas the pleasure slave, in a symbolic recognition of the fuller nature of her bondage, and its most significant aspects, kneels with them in an open position.

The tower slave, of course, like any other slave, is fully at the disposal of the master, in any and every way. The distinction between the tower slave and the pleasure slave, though honored in some markets, some specializing in girls sold primarily for housekeeping purposes and others in girls sold primarily for the pleasures of men, is not really a hard-and-fast distinction; it is not absolute; indeed, it can even be transitory.

A girl who is ordered to open her knees, or who finds them kicked apart, for example, realizes that she has now become a pleasure slave.

Similarly a girl in one context may function as one kind of slave and in another context, as another sort.

Serving a supper to a young man and his mother, for example, the girl may appear merely efficient and deferential.

She kneels nearby, her knees closed. After the mother departs, however, she may kneel differently before the young man, with her knees open Girls, of course, may be commanded to one position or another.

I did not know, at that time, why the position was referred to as the position of the tower slave. She knelt in the position of the tower slave, not that of the pleasure slave, as there was a free woman present.

Cecily looked at me, shyly, and smiled. I, too, smiled. Well she knew that any beautiful woman on her knees, stripped and collared, is pleasant to look upon, in whatever position she kneels.

The position of the Tower Slave is respectful, and demure. Further, she is usually well tunicked, or even robed. To be sure, her collar must always be visible.

It would not do to confuse her with a free woman. He lifted her well above his head, by an arm and thigh. She was screaming, her body helpless, bent in a lovely bow.

He then held her before him, bent backwards, examining the sweet bow of her beauty. She then felt her body, her hair in his grip, his left hand on her left knee, bent backward, until she was helpless before him; the 'slave bow,' as the expression is, of her vulnerable, owned beauty thusly exhibited for his attention, or assessment.

In this fashion a single rope may be used for both binding and leashing. This is not all that unusual on Gor. One end secures the slave's wrists, the center collars her, and the remainder, the free end, serves as a leash or tether.

It may also be used, of course, if one wishes to immobilize her, to fasten her ankles together. Her ankles may be simply bound or, if one wishes, tied closely to her wrists.

That tie is sometimes spoken of, properly or not, as the 'slave bow. These exhibition bows are often utilized in showing the slave, as they accentuate the delights of her figure.

There are a number of 'tethering slave bows,' of course, for example, for fastening a slave over a saddle, a wheel, a piece of furniture, or such.

These diverse uses and meanings, of course, are not mutually exclusive, because a slave might well be displayed in a 'tethering slave bow.

Accordingly, it is their speculation that the 'tethering slave bows' are derivative from that primary usage, that of exhibition.

This would make sense because the 'tethering slave bows' certainly do exhibit the slave, as well as rendering her helpless.

Others seem to feel that the basic meaning is that of a form of secure and revelatory binding, in which the slave is helplessly and delightfully displayed, and that the exhibitory usages of the expression are secondary, being founded upon, and derivative from, this more basic, original usage.

On the other hand, as most suppose, and as seems most plausible to the slave, these usages may very well have been developed independently, both based on the obvious consequences on the slave's body of a certain form of handling or manner of binding.

There seems to be some division among Goreans on this matter. And doubtless it is not of great importance. Please forgive this excursion into speculative etymology.

Ellen finds such matters fascinating, perhaps in part because she has been so handled and so roped.

What is perfectly clear and indisputable is that in Gorean 'slave bow', putting aside considerations of origin, derivation and chronology, and such, has the basic meaning of the forming of the slave's body into a bow, and two application meanings, one pertaining to a modality of exhibition and the other to a modality of binding.

Abstract obscurity, as usual, vanishes in concrete context. As this phenomenon is common in many languages, it is not surprising that it should appear in Gorean, as well.

A stripped free woman might, of course, be put in a 'slave bow,' without compromising the meaning of the expression. And the free woman might find this situation instructive, and anticipatory.

Statius seized her by the hair and pulled her up, kneeling, so that Lord Grendel could see her face.

This was done and the body of the Lady Bina was then placed in the position of the slave bow. It is often used in auction houses and on slave shelves.

The slave laughed merrily, and spun about, hurrying on. The massive hand of the slaver's man was twisted in her hair, cruelly.

Her head was pulled far back, her body bent backwards, almost in the "slave bow," which so dramatically accentuates the excitements of a woman's figure.

I wanted to beg for mercy but could utter no sound. I then felt the sand of the marsh beneath my feet, and between my toes.

He then bent me backward. I knew myself considered. I was held, as in the "slave bow. How vulnerable this makes a woman feel, and yet, startlingly, reduced to the raw female of her, how thrilled she is, so aware then of her enticements and excitements, her desirability, her worth, that men may buy her, steal her, even kill for her, anything to own her, to number her amongst their possessions.

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Women and Swords. What's New? Leave A Comment. Special Mention. Contact Information. Slave Positions She kept her head up, her back straight, maintaining position.

One can be punished terribly for breaking position without permission. When the topic of slave positions is discussed, I think of positions that a slave might be commanded to assume.

But what about this quote: It seemed the Lady Bina would collapse, but Statius, a hand in her hair, held her upright. No, of course not. That would just be silly.

A slave cannot hold herself upright by holding her own hair. On the other hand, perhaps I make up a slave position. In other words. Lower your head, raise your head, whatever the case might be.

I'll call this position "Obeisance to Fogaban". Now, when I command you to "Obeisance to Fogaban", you will position your body in the manner I have described.

Yes, I have the right to train a slave to do this and call it whatever pleases me. What I don't have a right to do, is then list 'Obeisance to Fogaban' among other slave positions from the Books.

Two points I make here: 1. A commanded slave position is some pose which the slave can assume on their own.

The commanded slave position must be Book authentic to be listed under the topic. An Alternate Concept of Slave Positions Which now brings us to some of the so called positions you've probably heard of.

Quite likely, the two most commonly misunderstood 'positions' are Karta and the Gorean Bow.

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