Marissa Eliazabeth Lawton was blessed with the best life had to offer: great beauty, a kind nature, above average intelligence, and sharp wits. The only child of a wealthy financier, she was being groomed to follow into the family business. She attended a small, but, prestigious New England college for women, where aside from her studies , she enjoyed a variety of activities. Her favorite was riding her horse. She spent many afternoons galloping across the New England countryside, her long chestnut curls flying in the wind, her light green eyes alive with pleasure. It was during one of these afternoons that her life was changed forever....
~*~ ~*~ ~*~
After a long gallop through a wooded area, she came upon a lush meadow with a small stream winding through it. She thought it was a perfect place to water her horse and rest a bit. As her horse drank, she reclined against the trunk of a hugh tree...and was soon asleep....
~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Rolling on her side...she stretched...grass tickling her cheek. She blinked a few times, then jerked upright rubbing at her eyes.
She looked around her in amazement - she was no longer in the meadow. Her beloved horse was nowhere to be seen. She struggled to her feet..feeling woozy. In each direction, a grassy plain stretched away from her....
Suddenly she bolted..running long and hard, not knowing which direction she ran in since the sun was directly overhead. Ahead in the distance- she could see a row of trees..maybe a forest. She noticed that she felt terribly thirsty..and pangs of hunger were making themselves known in her belly. She took off her sweater and tied it about her slender waist. After brushing the hair from her face, she unbuttoned the top three buttons of her oxford blouse. Looking down at the moisture collecting between her full breasts she thought..."I will need a bath before long." Squaring her shoulders, she set off for the trees.
It seemed like she walked forever..her long black boots full of dust...wisps of hair clinging to her wet cheeks. When she walked under the trees, it was much cooler. She listened carefully..but all she heard was the twitterings of birds. A few steps further and she found a tree with some rich red fruit hanging from it..she pulled one off and smelled it. It seemed safe enough, so she took a bite. Finding it sweet and juicy, she kept eating as she walked. A short time later, she came to a small pool...its clear water looked so inviting...so she looked around her...knowing she was alone...she quickly stripped off her sweaty clothes and stepped into the water. She waded to the middle and sank to her knees..the cool water made her nipples rise...and she laughed softly. She ducked under the water and rinsed the dirt from her face...soon she was splashing like a child.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~
She never saw them coming, the men in strange garb who spoke in a language she had never heard. They surrounded the pool...there were six of them...gesturing to her and calling out what sounded like orders. She ducked down in the water to hide her nudity from them...and they began to laugh. One of them waded into the pool and took her by the hair...dragging her out. She tried to cover herself as they surrounded her...pulling things from their packs. She was thrown to the ground...her arms pulled back and secured...a metal circle like a collar was closed about her neck...she was yanked to her feet again...a short chain was attached to a small ring on the collar. One of the men struck her on the back of her knees with a spear...making her kneel. He looked down at her and said harshly "Kajira!"
Re: ~a girls story~
i've been toying with the idea of having some sort of literary contest.that would be voted on by the users of this board.i think we would have to make those that vote register to keep it fair,the prize, ummm knowing your the best? what do you think
Re: ~a girls story~
I think a contest is a wonderful idea. It was also fun to see tesa's background story. joy's background is that complex as well and it is nice to see that there are others who give that much thought to their character and what makes them the way they are. :)
::feels like an idiot::
It took me till today to realize there was more than one forum on this board. Even though I kept going to it daily..
I wish I had thought out a background when I first made mari way back when [well way back for me] I would like to do that now, but it seems so much harder to do things backwards. One day.
I'm still waiting on your story, joy.. ::lips tighten as she whispers:: sissypoo ::then blows an annoying little kiss at her:: =)
Joy's story
Or what's a nice girl like joy doing in a place like this?
A little more than a year and a half ago joy was a photography student and part time reporter for a newspaper living on the east coast of the United States. She was a feisty, independent young woman - a rowdy girl sometimes - who had been raised to speak forthrightly, value her intelligence and to look at life with as much humor as possible. She was not spoiled or pampered, nor abused, but had been raised with love and kindness. During a winter holiday break from school joy had been invited to spend the weekend with friends. She packed what would become joy's rather infamous "bag" on Gor, snickering and listening to her younger brother as he watched the stupid television show "Gilligan's Island." "Maybe I should pack a few evening dresses and some scientific equipment just in case I don't make it home," she laughed. At the party she argued with her boyfriend, grabbed her bag and left. She wasn't far from home .. the neighborhood was safe. What could possibly go wrong? Had the slavers been watching her for some time or did they just happen upon an upset young woman? Did it matter? The result was the same - joy ended up on Gor. A raid on the slaver's caravan wreaked havoc and joy took the opportunity to escape. She wandered for some time, finally making her way to the Waterfalls where she was immediately recognized as an outsider. joy did not make a particularly good first impression when she threatened to throw one of the kajira into the falls because the slave had an unfortunate bitchy streak. joy became a kajira not long after ... and just over one earth year ago, she first saw Master Varhan in the gardens - a quiet woodcarver with an air about him that made her want to tease him into laughter. The rest as they say is history.
Driver: Wanted
For a few coins and a poem or two over a cup of paga, I was able to obtain this from a Scribe who once worked for a Slaver. I was told the document served it's purpose. If anything, it is an interesting read. There might be more than a bit of coincidence to it, however.
I worked for the slaver, Tenalion, of the city of Ar. This account is written under his orders. I no longer work for him. I am his captive. Tomorrow, at the fifth ahn, I will be executed. It is his hope that my account will be read and serve as a lesson to those that would oppose his will.
My name is Stephen Benson. I am in my late twenties, average looking, average build. I was a citizen of Earth at one time in New York City. Looking for work, I answered an ad in the Sunday Times classified section that read, simply; DRIVER: WANTED.
For the next five years I worked as a driver. Deliveries, picking up passengers, and get-away work. My employers were businessmen, just not honest businessmen. The job paid my bills, and more importantly, my debts. Little else mattered to me. This level of apathy allowed me to be put on every type of job. Bank heists, hit and runs, car-jacks. All of it. I soon became well liked in the organization. They began to trust me. I would even attend social gatherings such as weddings and holiday get-togethers of the 'family'.
One evening over coffee, I was let in on a big job that would take place up the coast, New England. It would be fairly simple. I would wait in an assigned area and await directions on a cell-phone. I would pick up a passenger with merchandise and drive him where he wanted to go.
"What's the cargo?" I asked. I was told it was better I didn't ask questions and was handed a roll of bills. Good enough for me. Driving all night to get to there, I arrived in the sleepy no-name town in the middle of the New England states. The exact state isn't relevant. Suffice it to say it was a semi-rural area where people still left their doors unlocked at night.
The phone rang. I was told where the pickup was to be made. It was only three blocks away. I rolled up with the lights dimmed slowly. On the sidewalk, in the moonlight, I saw the listless body of a girl, a leggy auburn haired beauty, being stuffed into a body bag. I slowed down. The man responsible for the girl's condition tossed her in the backseat lengthwise and then he got into the frontseat with me. He simply pointed. I started to drive again.
I turned to ask him, "She dead?".
"No," he said. "She is the merchandise."
It hit me then, that I was to pick up a passenger and merchandise. The fact that it was this girl floored me. I took a hand from the wheel to light a cigarette. A deep draw as I glanced to the backseat. She wasn't moving. I drove on as he directed, nervously. What was it to me? I sweat a little. Damn, I had a sister. It could be her just as easily.
"She going to come to anytime soon?" I asked.
The man, who was rather cold, emotionless, up until this point, laughed a bit. "I am sure she will be up for her brand and collar."
Christ. Brand and collar? What the hell kind of prostitution ring was this? I couldn't think. The roll of bills in my pants pocket seemed very heavy now. I slammed on the brakes. The car lurched forward, catching the passenger by surprise, his head smacked the dash. When he looked up, dazed, the barrel of my gun was between his eyes. I shot him three times.
It took me a good half of an hour to remove his body and hide it in the high grass alongside the freeway. It took another half of an hour to clean the mess passably enough from the passenger side of the car. I wasn't thinking. I was just doing. I had to throw up before I could get in and drive again. The girl wasn't moving. I didn't have any idea where I was going or what to do. I couldn't go back to New York. Ever. It probably didn't matter where I went. I was marked now. I drove, sweating, tasting the bile in my throat.
There was a strange light in my rearview mirror. I looked over my shoulder. It wasn't there. When I turned to the road again. The light was there, in front of me, glaring off of the hood. I couldn't see. I remember nothing after that until I awoke, a foot kicking into my side. My head hurt, when I tried to stand, I couldn't. The foot kicked me again. I spit up blood. The floor beneath me was of stone. There were chains on my wrists and ankles. I was having trouble focusing. The voice was calm, deep.
"You have betrayed. You will be dealt with," the words pounded in my head though they were only whispered. I would later find out that the voice belonged to Tenalion of Ar. To my astonishment, I would also find out the Chronicles of Counter-Earth I read as a kid were all too true. I would have to come to grips with the fact that I was on another world. The girl in the backseat was brought along too, I was informed. She had been marked for several months as merchandise. It amused them to show me the bill of sale on her. I could not, of course, read it. It was translated for me.
"One girl. Hair: auburn. Height: medium to tall."
Even now she was in a field, probably frantic. It was the wish of her owner, the man who placed the order, to watch her for a time and take her himself. It was no matter to Tenalion or his men. They had their money. The girl would become a slave. I would become an example.
signed, Stephen J. Benson
Edited by Szol at: 7/14/99 12:21:22 pm Edited by Szol at: 7/14/99 12:25:14 pm
The Story of the Driver, Chapter 2
"Wake up, Stephen J. Benson, he of Earth."
I had fallen asleep, writing the confessional, the journal of my apparent betrayal not only to my employers of Earth, but to these fellows of this counter-earth, Gor. I supposed this was it, time to face the punishment for my crimes. A guard last night had mentioned public impalement. Man, why couldn't these sunsabitches just shoot me in the face? I was told last night by the guard that impalement was a fitting death for a free man, and one fitting for a traitor. Christ, it would take ahns, he said. I assumed from the fact that my execution time was given as a specific ahn, that an ahn was comparable to an hour. Hours? Hours on a freakin' pole, sinking into my back? I tensed in the chains, testing them.
"Stupid captive, you are well chained. Do you think this is some sort of cinema, where the protagonist can free himself from certain death, righting then, his wrongs? I assure you, there are no movie houses upon Gor. You are well, and perfectly chained. Think more of your earth cows in line for their gutting at the slaughterhouse. This is more akin to your position."
I was fairly certain it was the slaver, Tenalion himself, behind me, trying to rouse me awake. I wondered at his patience. I wondered why I wasn't kicked and beaten awake. Freakin' sados. Man, this bastard was probably enjoying it, telling me how screwed I was. I pulled again on the chains. Both my wrists, my ankles and my head were held well to the floor by short chains depending from shackles, from a collar around my neck. Was I a god-damned dog? In any case, I was well-secured. I couldn't see my captor, but yeah, I was sure it was him now. Tenalion, respected merchant of imbonded females in the great city of Ar. He rose. I heard the sound of his feet stepping away. The sound of heavy boots, then approached me. I heard the whistle of what I now know to be leather sailing through the air.
The Story of the Driver, Chapter 3
In and out of consciousness I weaved. I felt the son of a bitch's whip maybe twenty, twenty-five times when I blanked out the first time. Christ, this was a beatdown. I kept the thought in the back of my head that they damn well better impale me. Someone would pay for this otherwise. It made me smile. Now I was damn well talking to myself. Sado bastards.
"Messin' wit' yer head, Benny." At least that is what Two-finger Slim would have said. I could hear his voice in my head clearly. Of course, Two-finger was more than a few cards short. I hated to be called Benny. It would be nice to be back home now to hear him call me that so I could kick his ass.
They were gone now. I was hungry. It must have been approaching dinner time. The internal clock never fails. Time to hit the diner, Benson. I began to laugh. Who the hell was that girl to me anyway? Pick the guy and the cargo up. Drop him off. Where in God's name did I get off judging wrong from right? Sure as hell didn't change anything. If I believed the stories, she was a slave now. Instead of a pocket full of twenties, I was chained to the floor while these idjits toyed with me. God damned back is on fire. Wrists and ankles caked with dried blood. How in hell am I supposed to sit still chained like something less than a damned dog? And dammit I was hungry.
I began to yell. I laughed too. I think the pope's head would have exploded to hear the stream of profanities flying from my mouth. It made me laugh louder. I didn't hear the shuffle of sandalled feet until it was right next to my head. His voice was calm and cool. It was Tenalion. I would have loved to jam a pool cue down the freak's throat.
"Captive, Stephen J. Benson, he of Earth, is hungry?" he asked.
one slave's story
She was captured on the high bridges of the fabled city of Ar shortly after her 23rd birthday. The brillant blue robes and veils torn from her body by the tarnsman that captured her.
Under his dark gaze her body was quickly appraised, the thick lustre of her honey mane, the generous swell of her breasts, the dusky hued nipples rising under his casual caress. Slender hips trembling, her long legs flailing helplessly as his low cry of pleasure with his find echoed through the evening skies, his strong hands deftly bound before him on his saddle and took her from her beloved city.
Upon reaching the mercenery camp, she was quickly collared in cold steel and due to be sold on the slaveblocks as quickly as possible. Her captor chose to keep her, mildly intrigued with her beauty and grace, the wild fire of her fury and passion.
She came to love this man, her handsome merc but was all too soon torn from his grasp by the cold hands of death. Wandering the country side she was taken by a traveler of the city of Sardaria and was taken into his chain. Quietly she learned his ways, how to meet his every demand, never truly trained more then to warm his furs and serve his meals she was often sent into the city taverns to earn him coin and it was there a visiting Master of Thentis found her and claimed her as his own.
Once again though she is left to herself as its been many hands since she's seen her beloved Master. The sheer red silk sarong gracing her hips and his collar about her throat is all she has left of him. Her heart aching and left to her own devices she continues to serve in the taverns once again, hoping beyond hope that he returns or that a Master will finally take liking to this woman and claim her as his own.
The men on either side of me were larger than me and unlike me, armed. I suppose it didn't do much for my health to be uncooperative at this point. So I shrugged and said sure. I pushed through the double doors and saw the freak, Tenalion, at the head of a long banquet table. There were a lot of goons like the one's who escorted me here, as well. They, like my friends outside the doors, were armed. I figured what the hell. If I believed the talk, they were supposed to impale my ass long ago. Tenalion told me to close the doors. I turned and did this. When I turned around, some jackass had loosed a bolt that nearly took my head off. Zipping by my head, it thunked itself good in the door behind me.
"Messin' wit' yer head, Benny".
Why the hell did I always hear Two-finger at times like this? Anyway, the son of a bitch was right. They were messing with my damned head. Earlier, when Tenalion had asked if I was hungry in his piss-on-you attitdude, I told him yeah. That was when I felt some meaty fingered puke behind me lifting my head and shoving a bowl of some god awful soupy oatmeal crap beneath my chin. He then shoved my face in it. My response was an excellent little volley of profanities, none of which he understood. It was only the fact that he didn't like my tone, Tenalion told me, that got the side of my head cracked to the tiles. Touchy bastards. They both left me there, face full of cream-o-wheat, in the god damned chains. Now I was here, a few hours later, bathed and clothed like some Robin Hood reject. Who the hell wears this, really? Tunic? I laughed. There was nothing else to do.
Approaching me, a big mountain of a bastard, a man came forth. He had gripped my arm. Something about those meaty fingers. The oaf nodded to the door, I assume at the bolt they tried to air my head out with, and laughed. That was when I lifted the curled fingers of my right fist into his chin. I think the idjit bit his tongue, he was whining like a schoolgirl and about to choke the life outta me. Tenalion spoke. When he did, I saw there were at least a few of his goons that knew English. You could tell the ones that did, they nodded and made gestures like they got it or something.
"Earlier, Tauron helped you eat. You were chained and could not very well feed yourself. Just now, he commented on your ability to evade the bolt. You have struck him for his kindness. That was not very friendly, was it Stephen?" he asked.
I, of course, could do little but shake my head. Guy had a good grip. He was stupid though. Stance was too wide. A back kick, heel buried into his cookies did a lot to loosen his grip. He crumbled like a ragdoll, breathing heavy, clawing for me. He sneered a lot, too. I stepped out of his arm's reach while he composed himself and answered.
"No, not very friendly at all, but then, I am accustomed to feeding myself. Not too keen on having monkeys take potshots at me either, so I could care less what his opinion of me is."
I took a deep breath, looking at each of them. Easy, Benson. Don't go overboard with the tough guy stuff. They only got bows and arrows, but you got squat. Your piece ain't nowhere to be found and you won't last five minutes playing Jacky Chan with these scrubs. It was then I felt the swing of Tauron's fist at my ankle from the floor where he lay. I drove a heel into his fingers, crushing them onto the ground and then kicked that heel between his eyes.
"if you are done playing with Tauron, I have a few things I would like to discuss with you," Tenalion said, chiming in.
He waved a hand and two of his goons brushed past me. They took the heels of Tauron and dragged him out. I watched. The doors thudded closed and I turned around. Slaverman of Ar, Tenalion, indicated I should have a seat. One of his goons, the guy at his left, even got up from his chair and kindly pushed me into it. How could I refuse? Tenalion then dropped a folder in front of me. He opened it. It was then a pair of hands settled heavily onto my shoulders. Damn they grow these pukes big here.
"Do you recognize the document?" the Slaver asked me. I did. It was a lot like the paper they taunted me with when I came here. I remembered the girl then, again, and began muttering. I should have minded my own business. This was an acquisition form. None of it was written in Gorean, though. I could read it well enough. It was in English. Strange.
"Messin wit' yer head, Benny."
Yeah, no kidding. I read over it. 5'4". Blonde. Pale skin. Intelligent. I wasn't sure what his game was. That could have been anyone. Sheesh, I knew ten girls off the top of my head like that. He moved his hand from the bottom of the paper. In plain English, right there, it was written:
The Story of the Driver, chapter 5
Of course I tensed. I mean, what the hell. How did they find out my Sisters name and description? The big puke behind me held me down firmly at he shoulders. I hung my head.
"We know everything about you, Stephen. Your mother, Gail with her job at the drugstore. Off every tuesday and thursday. She works the dayshift. Your father, John. Nice man until he has been drinking. Tina. Beautiful child. First in your family to go to college. Accepted at NYU. And then there is you, Stephen..."
He continued to drone on and on, son of a bitch knew everything. What in hell did he want from me? I sat there, head hanging, beginning to sweat. I had tuned him out, but I knew he still spoke. Tenalion liked the sound of his own voice. I felt the weight of the guy behind me shift. Lazy bastard was getting tired of hearing his boss speak. I couldn't blame him, but his grip was loosening just enough. I planted my feet firmly to the floor for leverage. My hanging head ducked just a bit more and then snapped back. With the motion my waist lifted beneath his hands just enough. I heard the crack of bone and the crush of tissue. I had broken the puke's nose on the back of my head. I heard him back stumble into the wall. I rose. What in hell was I thinking? Three crossbows were levelled at me. I was frozen midair, fingers in clutch mode. I wanted to choke the life out of the slaver. He ignored me for the moment and spoke to the disgruntled goon behind me.
"Excuse yourself. You seem to have had an accident," he told him. I heard his grumbling. I had cheapshotted him. I couldn't blame him for being pissed. I sat back down. The crossbows and the bolts, however, were not lowered. I remembered how deep one of those damned bolts had sunk into the door. Be patient, Benson. You are not making friends too good here.
"It seem I have your attention again, Stephen. Good," he said, seeming affable enough. "We have not filled this current order as yet," he indicated, nodding to the acquisition sheet. "Of course, there are many who fit this description that we could go with. I had just thought it advantageous we had a girl whose family we were already in dealings with."
I spit on the floor, disgusted. I heard the fingers of his goons tensing in their gloves on the triggers, ready to make my head a piece of swiss. Three here, plus Tenalion. Two outside the door.
"Youse ain't got a chance, Benny." Great. Two-finger again. Filling me in on the odds. Can't shake that voice from my head. Not sure I want to. Tenalion was patient. He held all of the cards. The folder before me was drawn away. I looked up.
"Perhaps you would be inclined to do an odd job here and there in service to my House?" he inquired. He knew my god damned answer. I had no doubt what his 'odd jobs' would be. Thing about these powerfreaks, once they get what they want, they keep sucking you until you're dry. Nothing you can do about it. I should have minded my own business. I was only a driver.
prologue to the Story of the Driver
from the journal of Tenalion, slaver of Ar the sixteenth hand of En' Var _______________________________________
Se 'Kara approaches and with it the second turning. The man, Benson, has left the service of my House rather abruptly. He has never fully acclimated to the realities of Gor it seems. Brash, thick-headed and delusional only scratch the surface in describing this man. It has been nearly two years since I showed him the acquisition papers with his sister, Tina Benson, named as the intended quarry. It had been a bold stroke of genius. Never had I seen a more devoted sword-for-hire. Quickly he learned the language and the art of swordplay. To teach him the codes of a Warrior would have been pointless, however. He was a tool to be used. A pitiful and weak willed man of Earth. Easily manipulated.
It was unfortunate that he came across his sister that afternoon, slavesilked and perfumed as a woman like her should be. We call her tina now. The name she once wore has been granted to her as a slave's name. It is convenient to have something to call out when you wish her to fetch something. Too, earth names are fitting for slaves. Upon seeing her, he sliced through four men, taking them down, one then the other as if they were not skilled rarii. She watched him from a window, crying. My hand was on her shoulder. I allowed her this indulgence, to watch. My other hand lifted to Stephen J. Benson, the palm inward. He spit defiantly at the grass. I suppose this was a gesture intended to do great insult to me. Certainly, it was rude. The swords I have in my pay then became too numerous for even his arrogance. As they rushed him across the lawn, he made his escape from my property. This was yesterday.
Earlier today, I chose to use the girl, tina, once Tina Benson, promising liberal arts student of NYU on Earth. It is my hope the man, Stephen J. Benson, once in my hire, does not choose to let valiance cloud his judgement. The girl, tina, is no longer his sister. She is a slave. Should he return, I will likely have him killed.
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