Girlchatter; Vondan Pairs; Gretchen

I enjoy listening to them prattle on with one another. There. I've said it. Girlchatter is not unpleasant to me; not that I pay it much mind most of the time. I think it is the tone of their voices, whether passionate about a topic or indifferent. They spoke of many things last evening while I enjoyed several cups of a local varietal after a satisfying supper of thinly sliced tarsk steaks and braised vegetables. I interjected only sparingly. Some of the topics were light, such as the application of cosmetics, the performance of slave dances, how beautiful Thentis is to them and so on. Each of them has been allowed to select training in the House of Clark while we are here that improves them, opens them up to new experiences. It is not completely altruistic on my part. Their worth is much improved by the addition of a skillset or two.
Joy is learning to play the lyre and how to paint. She was a 'photographer' before being acquired and brought to Gor. I understand the concept of this 'photography' and have spoken of the mechanics involved before. One 'paints' with light in a sense onto small canvasses called 'film'. It is a craft not practiced on my world. She will paint with colors, pigments derived from ground roots and certain minerals here. Nirah paints. Slave girls, not unlike the Artists of my Caste, much reveal themselves through what they choose to paint. It is a form of expression. Nirah is a dark and sometimes troubled woman, deeply emotional with an endless capacity for love. She harbors regrets and doubt, but hope is stubborn within her. Seeing what Nirah splashes onto canvasses has me curious what Joy might reveal of herself given the rudimentary knowledge and supplies necessary to create.
There is much talk about the training each of them has either chosen or been mandated to take. "I feel like a high slave," the girl Sana exclaimed to the others. She is rarely indulged, even less so than the other slaves I own. She was, not long ago, given training in the municipal pens of Jort's Ferry. This, however, was training in the House of Clark in Thentis; one of the largest slaving Houses in the world. It was not inconceivable that she would feel like a high slave. She is not, however, such a girl and needed to be reminded of it. "You are the bottom whore of my chain and due a whipping," I told her. Earlier in the evening, seeing me engaged in conversation with another guest of the House of Clark, she felt it necessary to intrude, to announce her presence with "Greetings, Masters" as if her arrival was momentous enough that we should consider pausing to acknowledge it. Indeed. She will soon learn that it was not. She did, however, provide the spark for the most intriguing debate of the evening, one that did not fail to draw a reaction from every girl at the table.
Sana, the girl Six, posed the question to Joy. I do not remember the exact words, but she asked, in effect, "Do you ever think your mother might have been of interest to Slavers?" It seemed a reasonable question to me. Joy is exceptionally intelligent, rich with emotion and a prime physical specimen; lean and tall with a lovely bosom and eminently graspable flanks. Her hair, too, is auburn, a lovely red-brown shade of full, thick curls. Much of this, if not all of it, she may have gotten from her mother. Assuming this was all true, I conjecture it would only be the Drying and Withering Disease, pervasive on Earth, 'aging' they call it, that would have caused her to be overlooked.
"Not every woman on Earth is a fitting candidate for slavery," Joy informed Sana rather angrily.
"My mother, for one, is not."
"Nor mine," Samantha told her with equal vehemence.
"Was she not attractive? Did she have fat ankles?" the girl Sana asked them, finding herself outnumbered.
It was not, at that moment, the most prudent thing to say. I did not interfere. It was a squabble between slaves, a hotly contested debate that brought many emotions to the surface. Even if Sana were to suffer a two-on-one drubbing from her former first girl and the blonde barbarian, I thought it was well worth the price of admission. Joy, in fact, at that point, advised her to change the subject. The threat of violence, I thought, was implicit. From Samantha, the threat was rather explicit.
"On Earth, talk like that would get your ass kicked," she said.
Portia watched the exchange impassively. Gorean born, living much of her life as an outlaw amongst women in the woods, she well knew the potential for women, any women, to become slaves. It took, only, the whim and determination of a man to make it so. Any man. Elise offered her perspective as well early on in the debate which failed to get acknowledged in the heat of the discussion.
"I have heard tales of mothers and daughters enslaved together when a city falls," she remarked.
"They are generally separated, sold into different markets."I reminded her of the 'Vondan Pairs' that were popular amongst elite collectors during the skirmishes between Ar and the cities of Saleria some thirty years prior. Briefly, there was a market in the purple booths for sisters sold in pairs or a mother and her daughter(s) sold in one lot. While it is true that a Slaver would prefer to separate such women to avoid the psychological hurdles that must be overcome, the lure of silver tarsks and even gold tarn disks can make the additional effort worth his while. I once knew a fellow who owned a 'Vondan Pair'. It was, actually, a quartet; a mother and her three daughters. This, of course, was only partially accurate. In truth, they were only four slaves. Of interest, the 'mother' of the quartet was the first girl and, also of interest, the most attractive of the four. The other three, I thought, surpassed her in potentiality, but their propensitiy for submission and love doubtless had a genetic antecedent. The owner was a wealthy Slaver of Turia who was licensed to practice his trade in the City of Ar. He was regarded as a maverick of sorts, a breeder of women who set trends. He sought to market the 'Vondan Pair', keeping the name for historical reasons whether the slaves were of Vonda or elsewhere. Often it was a sister-sister duo sold in a lot. It was an interesting experiment, to be sure, and a profitable one for a time, but eventually the whim of the market shifted to other fancies. Fortunately for him, the women were easily separated and sold into different markets as is traditionally done. 'Vondan Pairs' or not, they were still saleable goods.
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I sat in on the first lesson of deportment and skills necessary to be a handmaiden to a Mistress given by Gretchen to the girls Elise, Samantha and She. Joy and Sana, too, knelt beside me, observed. It did not go well. Gretchen, apparently, is not accustomed to dealing with opened women. The first girl, handmaiden to the lofty companion of Clark of Thentis, was ill-equipped to handle them.
"They cannot be taught. They know the touch of men. You have wasted my time and your own. Good day," she told me.
A bold girl, to be sure. A quarter of an ahn beneath the rape of a man would do her a world of good. She might, then, even be beautiful. Were I the one to open her, I would not hesitate to paint the kef on her inner thigh with her virgin's blood, signifying the end of her delusion, denial and frigidity. It would not serve my purposes, however, to liberate her. Let her be cold and largely useless in this world save the one task she excelled at. I instructed her to continue, ignoring her protestations that the task was impossible. Her attempts to subdue her charges, instill fear in them, only seemed to irritate them. Elise, in particular, informed the woman in no uncertain terms that she was well aware of what was expected of them as she was, herself, born free. She then advised Gretchen that she might start teaching and stop threatening. When it seemed hopeless enough that any instruction would take place, I commanded the girls to put their heads to the floor and beckoned Gretchen before me. It was simple what I told her.
"You will not be able to threaten them. They know the whip of a man. They know, well, that if they fail to learn they will answer to me," I told her. "Simply teach them the deportment and skills necessary to be the handmaiden of a Mistress."
"Gretchen will have her lesson plans in order the next time these women are put before her," I told her further.
She was told, as well, to fetch them in groups or for one on one instruction as she saw fit.
"Yes, Master," she answered. She assured me, too, that she would put as much time into the endeavor as her schedule permitted. Of note, I have already been informed that the girl, Gretchen, has little on her agenda during the afternoon and evening ahn of the day for the foreseeable future. Clark of Thentis is an excellent host.