Slave Songs

The greatest gift

She remembers, long ago, her duties taught to her so deep
they expected her to know all knowledge a good slave would keep.
Duty, service, yielding too, but there's one thing they cannot train,
the deepest thing a slave can do, is save her Master from deep pain.

For loyalty is what that is, a wish to serve in heart and soul
cannot be taught, to be all His, to find in service being whole
and yet keep hold to values true, that even slaves must know and see
and if you think Master would do dishonor, of that set Him free.

And then that dreaded moment came, of which was spoken, years ago
as one she served felt anger's flame, and would of only hurting know
she saw his dreams go up in ash, his love in darkness turn to dust
He did not see what he would crash, but she did, and knew what she must.

And thus she gave that greatest gift, and thus decided Master's fate,
she wished her actions now to lift, stop him from doing harm in hate.
And thus decided right and wrong, and gave a form to what she knew
which brought her grace and made her strong, that moment in what she did do.

But now, after all that is done, she is alone, and yielding is
just empty, it is cold and numb, and as she wonder's what's amiss
she realises that through choice, she lost the service she holds dear.
Through giving that great gift a voice, she's made her soul and service tear.

Now Master's right, and Master's wrong, lie buried deep in her own heart
and gone is now her depth of song, and gone the bliss that was her part.
And though Master forgave her then, and she has payed, she does grieve still
for she alone can find again, that yielding in her heart and will.



Leavetaking of Gor.

Thus the Wheel turns and all this one was shown
what she e'er thought would never change
was turned, turned wildly, which once was up is down,
and Power made all stations rearrange.

A girl gave so much of herself, she struggled much and hard.
Yet some small thing inside her stayed the same.
Of that her creativity, intelligence was part,
and that made her unfit, that burning flame.

Yet anger grew as well, and an unwillingness to cope
with giving over will and view and pride.
And thus the fight was done on an ever shifting slope,
a swim against the ebbing, pulling tide.

And so my failure burns inside my breast.
For me who had been sure that she could yield
and for my dreams, that were with Gor put so hard to the test
And rage grew in me ever time I kneeled.

And when I was called inserious, a whine,
a player of a role and nothing more,
then I did rage and finally the feelings that were mine
broke through the surface to rage wildly 'cross the shore.

And so I leave and though I wept of grief,
those tears don't fill the empty failure, nor
bring to all this strong anger some relief.
and thus I know that I have conquered Gor.


The Collar

For many kajirae their own Collar is
 a sign of their service, of safety and love,
a sign of their duty, a sign of their bliss,
a sign of their Master whom they place above
all that they want for themselves, all their needs,
they'll give Him their life, their soul, or their sight.
Such strength and devotion speaks soft from those deeds,
this one fears she won't find such devotion inside.

Yet she wears a Collar, in silver and gold,
a thing of such beauty, of knotwork that glides
over and under itself, it does hold,
a gold foxhead tight, and surrounding both sides
is set a small hinge and a small, sturdy lock
that is closed with a click and will ever stay closed,
no key and it's closure is strong as a rock,
no way to get out of what this one fears most.

And that fear and that sadness shows this one she is
and might never be a kajira who's true,
for she has not found in that Collar her bliss,
she finds only fear, and her yielding does rue.
And thus she is sad, and depressed, and alone,
and hopes that her Master will not angered be
by fear that runs through all the vows she has done,
yet she wishes to learn, and to strive, but does see
unlike this one's self that to His hands has come,
it is possible fear might remain ever free.



On the cutting edge

I feel the sharp blade run and tingle along
my skin as it slides over nipple and breast,
as I feel it singing a bloodthirsty song,
but I know that depends on my strength in this test.
And I cannot see, for my eyes are forced closed,
by leather of which I can smell it's strong scent,
 and I feel the fear form it's heavy sharp dose,
just as the one who is testing me meant.

The blade then caresses so softly my thigh,
and runs its dark trail over skin that contracts,
yet I must keep still now, and not even sigh,
nor show any fear and no muscle should flex.
A harsh testing this is, a testing of trust,
of power of will of both sides that exchange
their will and their power and maybe their lust,
but respect is the strongest, and that feels so strange.

The sunlight reflects off the silvery knife,
the blade of a polished and finely honed steel,
I know it could easily cost me my life,
with right on my throat the sharp danger I feel.
My skin tingles wildly, I know that I still,
trace the sharp knife near my skin, even though
it does not even touch, but the forse of my will,
makes me aware of each energy flow.

And each test he asks me if I'd like to stop,
but I persevere, and too stubborn to fail
sit still and unmoving, and drop by salt drop,
my sweat runs of fear down my breast's flowing vale.
But he looks impressed, then surprised, then aghast,
as in him respect grows, and caring for me.
Mutual respect, for I know at the last,
his task has been harder then mine was to be.


Casual encounters

A dark, sober room, misty with smoke,
and men do their best to look casual there,
study the others, the barhandling bloke,
and dream of the women that come to this lair.
Adn there I did enter, hid behind my friends,
and I felt so groped by the looks they gave me,
it felt like their eyes were undressing like hands,
I could not stop wondering at what they did see.
So many women around me looked better,
and I felt so ugly, so gross, imperfect.
but it is not lust or the body that matters,
it's all about care and a deep found respect.

Then closeby the phone rang, a man took it out,
and finished his chat in a minute or tow,
and I knew just what I would now talk aobut,
adn started to talk to him out of the blue.
I felt that I liked him, his eyes hid a smile,
he told me he Mastered and I heared him tell
what he knew important, and I liked his style,
he showed a kind soul but was steel-eyed as well.
He showed me his gear and so skilled were his hands,
I felt both so forward, so scared, and so coy.
for he sid it's not just control that he wants,
it's all about sharing a moment of joy.

He courted me just like my husband had done,
and I felt so flattered with all his attention,
untill insecurity quickly had gone,
and then he carefully did dare to mention
that he would enjoy to share pleasure with me,
and asked if I had the courage for that,
that he would make sure to be carefull to see
to it that I would feel safe and not bad.
He made me wear collar and cuffs of his own,
and he made me giggle there, time and anew,
it wasn't just harshness or strictness he's shown,
since humor and laughter he wanted there too.

His eyes smiled as he put me through a slave's paces,
showed in his hand a strength gentle but firm,
and I felt secure and did not lose my graces,
unlike other times, though he oft made me squirm.
He accorded me pity, for which I so yearn,
said time and again: "Oh you poor little one,
that has to take all of these sadists and learn
how to take all this pain that will never be done."
He showed me to bend and yet stay standing tall,
and I wondered how flexible he showed himself there,
I saw it is not about hatred at all,
but all about love, and respect, hope and care.



To stand tall

So here I stand, tall and strong, my eyes are glitt'ring steel
And surely I cannot be wrong when you before me kneel
and power courses through my blood, a heady energy
it brings of surety a flood that's running all through me.

I feel temptation of desire to make you crawl and cry,
And see that your own inner fire for that too does sigh.
To make you suffer, make you bend, take all your power too,
and yet, I know that at the end, this I must do for -you-.

For who am I to stand here so, and feel much better then
you who kneel to me, I know that that is a bad plan.
For I have seen the pain that burns in the heart of those who know
how hate a knife cruelly turns in all their feelings show.

I doubt if I should be the one, to stand here over you
for I am not sure how it's done, and I am frightened too.
I feel so worthless and so plain, kneeling to others' feet,
that I am scared to bring you pain with an unthinking deed.

For your submission is a gift, as mine is such as well
and if I feel my own worth lift, it is with yours that fell.
So my responsibility is to take care of you
as I'd need to take care of me, and see -your- needs clear too.

And even though I doubt the wisdom of my choice to lead
I know that I might be the one, to bring you what you need
I have been there, and I have seen how pain can lift or crush
and so I seek the rosy sheen of pain or gentle blush.

Linnet


Poem by a friend

She sits on her wooden throne
Leather holds her fast
Helpless it seems, legs prone, breast prone
Wires biting into her skin like snakes
She is low, buried in the dark of her mind
A leather hood enshrouding her like a perverse womb

Yet, she is calm, so calm
 She is angry, she is defiant, yes
But there is something about her that is..odd
She seems scornful of what is to be taken...
Freedom, slavery, pain, pleasure..
the pahses of the wheel that spin about
She sees herself burn in the pyre
she hears the imps luagh, and luaghs with and at them.
Pain and suiffering are not walls to enshroud, or paths to be dragged along
 Merely clothes to adorn for a certain season..
She adorns them, as a queen
and sits right on her throne..ordering the lightning to strike...


The Beauty of Gor.

This one was warned time and again, and yet she felt the call,
of a harsh world, so stark and strong, and though she tried to stall,
she could not stay away too long, but went there hopefull, for
she wished she'd deeper get to know that stark beauty of Gor.

And there she found a Master whom she could show all her hope,
and Master Killertrees was He, He told her how to cope,
to show her soul, her need, to all, the yielding in her core
and thus she trained and learned to bear the stark beauty of Gor.

This one trained hard to learn the things a Master wishes of
a skilled kajira, such as grace of service, art and love.
And yet she cannot find a Master of Whom she is sure,
that He can hold all of her soul, that still is scared of Gor.

For this one finds it sometimes hard, to serve and ever yield
to Masters that sometimes are careless, loveless sometimes wield
the power absolute they hold within the bitter lore,
found in the harsh complete control of Mastery on Gor.

And others seem to only use kajirae for their kicks,
and offer nothing in return, see us as dogs with tricks.
Yet this one knows she is no beast, nor slut, nor cunt, nor whore,
for otherwise how could her art sing thusly about Gor?

This one feels lonely and alone, without the guidance of
a Master whom she can respect, who'll hurt her with deep love.
And she fears too to speak aloud, yet opened still this door,
unto the thoughts within her mind that she has about Gor.

This one has fought time and again to show her doubts and train
and she hopes You can understand the doubt, the grief, the pain,
but she's not sure how long she still can bear it anymore
the harshness that's demanded by the stark beauty of Gor.
And yet, she does not know just what the future has in store,
and hopes she can remain kajira, worthy still of Gor.

linnet



           
           

To the Council of Gor

this one has long been struggling to
learn and grow in a lowly slave's role.
Each time she found resistance anew
but not much could keep her far from that goal.
this one is not really a fitting kajira.
she owed much to Master Renard who does keep
her in His house, since He does hold her dear, a
girl whose acceptance of Gor sometimes sleeps.

she does try her best to serve and to please
but really cannot understand all the force
put into the rules that hem in all of these
who live in a slave role, and she feels remorse.
she's doubting her fitingness to serve and to yield
when she would grow deeper into Master's wish
to make her responsible in many fields
of which one the economical is.

Why will not the council allow to kajira
to hold money for Masters that they wish to serve?
It goes against Master's interest dear, a
way looses he to earn with his girl.
And why is it unfitting for kajira to hold
some silvers since they are the backbone of Gor
without all their labours the society told
of will fall down to ruins and rise nevermore..

Gor is a world made by all of us together
we do not completely follow the books,
and each thing we copy we first wonder whether
it fits on the net and possible looks.
And some of the slavegirls have lives out of gor
where they can have freedom where inside they're bound
but these girls will lose all the room that had gained for
the Council decided what counts all around.

Or are kajira honorless to You?
that they could not know what their Masters told
And need rules reminding them time and anew
what they're allowed to do, keep or hold?
So this one pleads the Council take heed
and think out which steps to take or to leave
for if the Council sees this rule as need
this one cannot stay she must believe.
           
           
           
           
           
           

Leavetaking of Gor.

Thus the Wheel turns and all this one was shown
what she e'er thought would never change
was turned, turned wildly, which once was up is down,
and Power made all stations rearrange.

A girl gave so much of herself, she struggled much and hard.
Yet some small thing inside her stayed the same.
Of that her creativity, intelligence was part,
and that made her unfit, that burning flame.

Yet anger grew as well, and an unwillingness to cope
with giving over will and view and pride.
And thus the fight was done on an ever shifting slope,
a swim against the ebbing, pulling tide.

And so my failure burns inside my breast.
For me who had been sure that she could yield
and for my dreams, that were with Gor put so hard to the test
And rage grew in me ever time I kneeled.

And when I was called inserious, a whine,
a player of a role and nothing more,
then I did rage and finally the feelings that were mine
broke through the surface to rage wildly 'cross the shore.

And so I leave and though I wept of grief,
those tears don't fill the empty failure, nor
bring to all this strong anger some relief.
and thus I know that I have conquered Gor.
           
           
           
           
           

'Art d'amors' by Jacques d'Amiens (lines 1203-1221)

I was writing this paper for my medieval studies, and found this bit of text.. I liked it and decided to translate it in style.. it's a 14th century french text.

La, u elle se desfendra
et fera samblant de courcier
si le dois tu voir esforcier;
la, u elle s'estordera,
l'enforcement molt amera
honteuses sont del otroier,
por cou les doit on efforcier,
seul a suel puis c'o toi se'enbat,
outree veut soit sans debat,
et telle i a qui de son gre
t'otroiera sa volente,
que faire vaura cortoisie
ne force faire n'aime mie,
mais durement se desfendroit,
c'outre son gre l'en forceroit:
se de tel afaire le vois,
sa volente atendre dois
et li pries molt doucement,
que souffrir voelle ton talent.

And if she defends herself with might
and seems angry, wish to fight
know then forcing her is right;
if she tries escape from thee
she loves force, that is clear to me.
Women are too shy on sight
to grant themselves of love the light,
and if she struggles one on one,
she wants no talk, but force be done,
and when she gives herself to you
as she is, without ado
then speak not against courteousness
for she likes the forcing less.
See a woman in that way
just be patient for a day
beg her gently and take heed
then she will submit to need.

Translation by Linnet
           
           
Returning..

this one returns again,
to the rigors of the whip, the hard slashings of the crop,
her body hurt and battered and still it will not stop.
she cries and whimpers softly, and she feels it deep inside
this is her soul, this is her life, from this she cannot hide.
Return to how it has to be, how it will always stay,
and yet there's hope inside her that this ain't the only way.

this one returns again..
her soul is light, it burns so fiercely, that she feels the pain
only blaze up in stronger passion as it falls time and again.
the poison of humiliation trickles slowly on her soul,
it touches all her edges and with pain it forms one whole.
Return to feel the shame that touches all that this one feels,
as she knows she is nothing, as she grovels, as she kneels.

this one returns again.
Why does she need that poison that runs all over the light,
that she knows she must force to grow, to strengthen, make it bright?
Is it so she can know where all her limits are, to see
what is her ending, and where is the part that she calls 'me'?
Return to know the boundaries of soul and heart and strength,
the poison makes it feel and tingle all along it's length..

this one returns again
and marvels at the strength that this endurance shows in her,
but still feels she is nothing, does not feel a slave's pride stir.
Yet both things have their value, and both will give their gift,
the shame will make her bend, and the strength her soul will lift.
Return to this that fills her, completely, to the brim,
to make her soul shine brighter, let it grow, and never dim.


Shame

So this is shame, this burning feeling, deep inside my soul,
That makes me wish to hide my face and cry
yet I feel every thing I"m made to do so take it's toll,
desire grows and doesn't let me by.

A Shame is this? is it my doing that lets me debase
myself so deeply for another, or is it his fault?
I do not know, I only know I wish to hide my face
yet all the passion in me rocks and won't release it's hold.

And thus desire grows and with it all that I can give
I would give though I am not sure if that's a good idea
For what will happen if I don't decide the way I live?
This shame, it brings me blushing, need, desire, and great fear..
           


Things I know about me

I really do not understand why it's so hard for me
to really like and love myself, for all that I can be
is harsh and cruel to myself, more cruel even then
the ones I hate for hurting me, those hard, unfeeling men.
I know I do the best I can, and every day I fight,
to see that I am doing well, and let love shine it's light.

I am so scared of doing wrong to others in my life
that I'm afraid to tell the truth if it would cause us strife.
I dare not say to others if I'm angry, hurt or mad,
at what they tried to do with me, all I can be is sad.
I know I do the best I can, but it's never enough.
I never can do well, and never feel for me some love.

I feel my soul is light and strong, but it will never show
to people on the outisde as I feel that they could know.
All they can seem to see is someone ugly in my place,
and they can see my self hatred and loathing in my face.
I know that I am beautifull, but feel it I do not,
I hate myself, my body, what I look like still a lot.

So why do I enjoy humiliation, hurt and pain?
Is it becasue it's all I know inside that I could ever gain?
Am I too scared to try a different outlook on myself?
But I have also tried that, and it never worked out well.
I know I can have better things in life, yet I return
time and again to feelings that make all my passion burn.


Poor words

Master I do not know how to say,
all I feel for you inside my soul,
for one of whom I think every day,
for one who makes me feel sweet and whole.
But poor words will never be enough,
to describe this friendship and this love.

For the normal world can never see,
how serving you and giving all to you
is fullfilling and a gift to me,
and I feel in humbleness I grew.
Master, they will never understand,
why I choose to suffer, serve and bend..

Master I hope you will not forget,
that I'm different from most other ones,
and I know so well my failings that,
I fear that I have not got a chance.
Yet you make so clear time and again,
that you really are my greatest fan.

Master I just hope you will remain,
as open and as honest as you've been,
I feel I have such a lot to gain,
when I understand the things you mean.
Master I'll respect you while I live,
and my heart is all I've left to give.


Cruel and kind

I was sitting, softly humming, on a tropical warm strand,
and was looking out at sea, my toes were buried in the sand,
Then there came a man who passed me, and he greeted me then there,
and we talked a while together, and I tought that he was fair..
And I dreamed about this question: what is cruel, what is kind?
For I feel I'm running wild, and cannot see since I am blind...

He just looked at me and wondered why those stripes were on my skin,
and I told him that I'd misbehaved, which was my greatest sin..
That I am in love with pain, and therefore I will challenge men,
in the hope that they will discipline and grant me harsh pain then.
But he told me I could also ask for what I did not find,
and in asking that I hoped that he would both be cruel and kind...

So I begged him and he took me to a dungeon dark and deep,
and he treated me quite harsh and strict, and asked me why he'd keep
to the actions I expected, for what good 't would do for him?
And I knew I could not ask him just to beat me on my whim.
And I told him I could never know what pleasure he would find,
if he'd lash me as I begged him and be cruel and not kind.

I feared my answer was the wrong one as he looked at me so strange,
but he thought it was a good one, and I saw a profound change,
as he lifted up the crop and started beating me real hard,
and then stopped abruptly which felt the same way as at the start.
And it was a painfull lesson, I submitted and I cried,
but then it turned out that my teacher was not cruel, he was kind..

He looked down on me with iron in his eyes and then he asked,
if I'd found what I was looking for and in the pain had basked.
Adn I nodded for he gave me what I'd asked so beggingly,
but I also felt so lost and very lonely suddenly.
And I let a single tear fall and I told him I was wrong,
and he smiled at me and showed he was not cruel but kind and strong.

And he smiled at me so soft it seemed like sun was shining in the night
of that dark and fearsome dungeon as he held me really tight.
Adn he told me I should not give up myself so readily,
that recieving pain was not all lust would ever be for me.
He had tried to give me lessons in the ways of love and lust,
and by being kind and cruel both that way he earned my trust.

But I fear I'll never learn that lesson further then just that
I will try to hang on to myself and not give me up yet.
For in pain is lust for me and I fear that will never change,
and I do not think that I can my own feelings rearrange.
But I do regard him high, for he worked hard to be that cruel,
and his kindness showed me gently that I'm not too great a fool.

A strange mixture then, these feelings, for someone both cruel and kind
is who I need to fulfill myself, my destiny to find..

Linnet


Gentle strength

Don't be surprised to find me here, this body and this mind,
even if it is so far from what you mostly find.
For I have many different contrasts hiding in my soul,
yet i'm content with what I am, I feel myself one whole.

So proud and yet so humble is no mixture strange to me,
this gentle strength and loving service makes me bound and free,
a study in strange contrasts and a song both low and high,
a dance both new and ages old, a scream and yet a sigh.


I laugh and cry at the same time, I bend and yet I break,
I'm shocked by all I dare to do, and yet laugh at the stakes.
I hold myself in high regard, yet know I am a toy,
I'm shy but also forward, both mischievious and coy.

I surely take care of myself, and know just what I want,
but I choose also to depend upon another's hand,
to punish and to love me, and I know that I know best,
for I will put all that I know in my way to the test.


Strengthening

I have tasted Lolth's cruel caresses
I have endured pain that few can e'er imagine
so if you come to me with hard deeds or accusations
endure what I have done and then we'll speak again.

for you hve not looked in Hatred's glittring eyes,
and you do not know that Fear is Hatred's soul
Fear that gives birth to cruelty,
cruelty that gives birth to pain.

On Fire's song I swear,
upon her purifying heat,
I swear I will grow stronger,
and I will not succumb to cruelty.
I will succumb to love.