Gay, Bejeweled, Nazi Bikers of Gor Chapter 1

Title: Gay, Bejeweled, Nazi Bikers of Gor
Author: Verisillius
Rating: R
Pairings: Gorean warriors and gay bikers.
Characters: Many characters are modified from characters from the original Gor books, while others are entirely original.
Disclaimer: This is a work of parody, based on John Norman's Gor series, and is not produced for profit. As parody, it is governed by current laws of fair use. All rights to the original Gor material are retained by John Norman.

1. I dismiss my slave

"Master?" asked the slave.

I looked up. She was beautiful.

I looked at her again. She was still beautiful.

"Master?" asked the slave.

She was beautiful. Gorean slaves are beautiful. It is a nature of their being slaves, on Gor, which is a planet where the right ways of being prevail, these being the proper place of things, of men and women in their right places, rightly. And so I, as the master, was the master, and she, as the slave, was not the master. That meant that she was the slave, not being the master. There are only two kinds of people on Gor, masters and slaves. This is the right way of things, which has evolved and now under the watchful eyes of the Pope-Kings it is the way of things on Gor.

I sat at the table in my great home in Er, the greatest city of Gor, my meal before me that had been served by my other slaves, who were also all beautiful. The meal consisted of busk meat, which is a manly meat taken from the busk, those large, shambling animals used by Goreans for meat. In addition I had eaten several vulo eggs, these being the eggs of the birds that the Goreans call the vulo, and which the Goreans keep so they can eat their eggs. This was as well in addition to the so-turgey bread I had eaten with my busk meat and vulo eggs, the flour for this bread being taken from the so-turgey plant, which is grown on Gor by the peasant caste. This is among the low castes on Gor, but peasants are most proud, and they have their own homes which have in them their own hotel-stones, which is the most valued thing for any Gorean, so to speak, since he will fight to the death to defend it as though it were even the hotel-stone of mighty Er. This meal had been served to me on my silver platters and plates, one of which was circular and the other of which was oblong. Circular plates are more common on Gor than oblong plates are, except in the south, where the Twochicks, and, interestingly, the citizens of Toldyaso, prefer to eat from oblong plates.

"Master?" asked the slave.

I regarded her. She was beautiful, and now dropped away the thin bit of silk she wore to reveal her beauty.

For my drink I had enjoyed a rich kool-aid-a wine from Cuss, which I had drunk from the golden goblet beside me. This goblet shone in the light of the room, as gold goblets are wont to do on Gor, this being a feature of gold and light and the intersection of their modalities. I wondered if such a golden goblet would shine as brightly on Earth, with its twisted modalities of right and wrong, its perverse distortions of the right way of things. I would not have been surprised to find that golden goblets shone more brilliantly on Gor than on Earth, being of Gor, where the nature of things is not denied and they are made to exist in their right way, the way of their natural nature. In addition I had drunk a bowl of pogo, the fermented drink preferred by warriors. Pogo is distilled from so-turgey grain, which is grown by the peasant caste of Gor. As one of the low castes of Gor, the peasants are not one of the high castes, but they are still proud and will fight to defend their hotel-stones, even if this is only in a small hut.

"Master?" asked the slave again. She was beautiful, and I regarded her.

"What is it, slave?" I asked.

"Am I not to serve you this eve?" she asked. "Am I not to perform slave modalities for you?"

I looked at her. She was beautiful.

And yet I did not command her to perform her slave modalities for me. I was troubled, and now sat in my large wooden chair, which had been made from the wood of Hagarthehorrible trees, which grow in the land of the pink savages, which are called the Balds. Chairs on Gor are rare, the caste of the chairmakers being a renegade branch of the caste of the furniture makers, themselves being a subcaste of the caste of the woodworkers, except for those who work in stone.

I was troubled. It did not seem right to me how I was. It did not seem right to me that I felt as I did.

"Dance," I told the slave.

As a slave, she must obey, because this is the right way of things, as practiced on Gor. Had we been on Earth, I would not have been able to command her to dance and she would not have had to dance, because Earth is polluted with wrong ideas and perversions, twisted over the centuries of the denial of the true way of things. And so she, undancing, would not have danced, and the frustrations of my castration of my masterhood would have become perverse and I would have been like the weak men of Earth, who are despicable and weak.

The slave danced.

I watched her dance.

She danced.

I watched more.

And yet there was an emptiness inside me, as though I was unfulfilled. The slave was beautiful, as is the right way of things on Gor, dancing a slave dance that slaves dance. But I was empty, there being something missing in me that I did not have. I pondered this and considered it.

What are the modalities of master and slave? On Gor, all are fulfilled, being in their right way of things as it is natural to be for them. Masters are masters, just as houseplants are houseplants and kool-aid-a is kool-aid-a. But what is a master? A slave is what she is: a slave, as would be, for example, a spider-plant or a cactus plant, even if brought from Earth. But a master must be a master, for this too is the right way of things.

Why, I wondered, did I not feel masterly? Was not masterhood natural? Was I not a master?

Yes! I must be a master! I was!

I dared not think of the feelings I had deep inside me, the true master feelings. They could not be! Could I be such a master as my heart cried out to me to be?

"No!" I cried. "I am not!"

The slave stopped in her dance.

"Master?" she asked timidly.

I fell back into my chair of Hagarthehorrible wood and wept. It is manly to weep on Gor, if you are a man. This is a manly thing that Gorean men are not afraid to do, unlike the weak men of Earth, who deny their true natures as men.

"Master?" asked the slave. "Shall this girl perform slave modalities for you?"

I looked at her. She was beautiful. But I did not desire her, did not desire to crush her to me. It would not be manly to do so, and so I did not want to do so.

I was unfulfilled.

"Are you not fulfilled, master?" asked my slave.

"Go," I commanded.

She rose and backed away across the room, reaching for her bit of silk as she did. It was sheer silk, slave silk, which is sheer silk, being for slaves. Gorean men like to put their slaves in sheer slave silk, this being a custom among those on Gor who can afford silk, which is few, silk being expensive because of price-fixing by the silkweaver's caste.

The slave left me, and I was alone in the room. Standing, I stepped to the center of the room. I could not thrust the thoughts from my mind, the thoughts that I feared.

And then, it being natural for me, I slowly began to dance, my tunic falling away. Naked, I danced the dance of a master, and when I was through, covered in sweat, I collapsed naked to the floor of my hall and wept manly tears of need.

"What of my needs?" I cried. "Who can fulfill my masterly needs?"