Excerpt: "Book Night" by Darragha Foster

STOP NOW AND READ NO FURTHER IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 YEARS OLD. The below-listed tale is way too saucy for a general audience. Now, go away, or I shall taunt you again.

Helpless Appetites, or

What Happens when one takes the Gor Series to Heart
By Darragha Foster
With apologies to John Norman

Helpless Appetites, he said. Helpless appetites that he, alone could satisfy. He alone could quell my passion and my release my burgeoning desires. Sounded like a challenge to me. I went for it. I’d been eyeing Antwon for some time. I wore deep v-neck shirts and flirted with him during group. Educated, with black horned-rim glasses and a conservatively dressed, he was the most handsome African-American man I’d ever seen. Something about him just sang to me. I wanted him. For weeks he’d walked me out to my car. It was all I could do not to push him into my backseat and ride him to glory. I couldn’t read him at all. Was he attracted to me?

It seems he was, indeed—and he had special plans for me. He met me outside our usual venue and invited me to his place—for a private reading. A private reading, my ass. I would have screwed him in the parking lot—so sure, I went home with him.

The man likes Gor. I was met by a huge framed Boris Vellejo painting from the cover of Tarnsman of Gor inside the front door. It was the red silky ties and yellow pillows on the front room floor that made me believe this was going to be more than just a normal roll in the hay.

He handed me a goblet of wine. “Slave wine?” I asked.

“Of course,” Antwon replied. “Drink it, then kneel.”

“Kneel?” I replied. “You’re being a little presumptuous thinking I’m going to go down on you already, aren’t you?”

“Tonight, you shall call me Master. You shall wear my collar and act as a slave should.”

“Ah, a little role-playing. All right. But I’ve never been into the whole Master/slave thing. It’s degrading and demeaning to women,” I replied.

“Oh, really? I have seen the gleam in your eyes when you read the line, be proud of your slave heart aloud to the group. You have the strong heart of a slave. You have the broad heart of a woman who knows she can be owned. It is almost impossible for a girl to keep her thoughts or feelings from her master. He knows her too well.”

“All that you get from hearing me read aloud?” I asked.

“Kneel,” he again commanded.

It took him over an hour to get me to kneel. He held his hands behind his back and calmly, very patiently, encouraged me to give myself over to him. To give up control. Control. I had never given up control.

He recited from Beasts of Gor, the book we’d been reading in our literature circle. It had been introduced to the group as a joke. After we finished the first in the series, Tarnsman of Gor, we agreed to read the entire series. “Once a girl truly understands that she is a slave, and there is no escape for her, once she understands it truly, emotionally, categorically, intellectually, physiologically, totally, deeply, profoundly, in every cell in her beautiful body, a fantastic transformation occurs in her. She then knows she is truly a slave. She then becomes wild and free, and sexual, and cares not that she might be scorned by the free either for her miserable condition or helpless appetites; she knows she will be what she must; she has no choice; she is slave.”

I balked. “I will call no man Master. Ever.”

He brought his hands around. In them he held a simple leather collar.

I shook my head. “I am not a slave.”

He laughed. “On Gor, it is said that free women are slaves who have not yet been collared.” He was quoting again. Magicians of Gor. I was beginning to hate the series.

“It’s a reading group, Antwon, not a slave market,” I replied.

“Wear my collar. Find the joy and serenity that comes from being owned. You shall want for nothing, experience everything and truly understand what it is to be a sexual creature. When you wear my collar.”

“I am in control of my destiny. No man…” I began.

“And yet, you are on your knees before me. Your ego is all that is standing between you and true happiness in my arms. Under my cane. In my collar and in my bed.” Antwon took a step forward. He reached out with his large, smooth dark hand and stroked away an errant wisp of red hair from my eyes. “Wear my collar. Accept your true nature. Let me feed your helpless appetites until you are full in both body and spirit. When you call me Master, it shall be as pleasurable for us both as if it were an orgasm.”

I was caving. “Safe words?”

He shook his head. “None needed. I will treasure you. Protect you. Worship you. Take you to new heights.” He deftly unfastened his button fly with one hand.

I wanted him. His thick penis beckoned to me from beyond the shadow of denim and dark blue boxer briefs. I wanted him. In me. Now.

I reached out for him.

He shook his head. “Only if you wear my collar.”

“You want to make love to me as much as I want you to make love to me. Why the charade? Why not just do it?” I asked.

“Because, you are so beautiful, there, on your knees before me. I am compelled to make you mine as a man should take a woman,” Antwon replied.

“Yeah, on Gor. Honey, we’re in the suburbs.”

“You kneel before my Homestone. This is Gor. Be beautiful for me.”

I really wanted to have sex with this guy. I felt warm, wet and anxious between my legs. My nipples had hardened and I swear my pulse rate had climbed to a dangerous level. What would one night of a little Master/slave play do to me? Would I be harmed? Would I be healed?

I bowed my head, thinking only of his perfect, full lips kissing me between my legs, in that place that wanted him so. I thought of that moment when he would enter me, hard and hot. I knew some quotes, too. Slave Girl of Gor. I whispered, paraphrasing the quote to fit my situation, feeling the words upon my lips like a gentle kiss. "How beautiful I must look to him. I sense his incredible maleness; the animal maleness of him. For the first time in my life I understand what might be the meaning of the expression "male," and as I lay before him what might be the meaning of the expression "female." How beautiful I must look to him, lying bound, totally vulnerable at his feet. How such a sight must stir the splendor of his manhood. I am caught and helpless, his to do with in lust and pleasure, and joy, as he pleases, helpless to escape him, free for him to work his will upon me."

He again stroked my cheek, and slipped his collar around my throat. As he secured the latch I nearly exploded in orgasm. He sensed that. “You may not come until I tell you to.”

I reached out for him.

He struck my hand. “Not until I say so. You are so helpless and needy. My needy little slave. Do you need me?”

“Yes,” I replied. The collar felt heavy; weighty. At the same time, I felt so free. I did need him. I did.

“Yes, who?” Antwon encouraged.

“Yes, Master,” I said softly.

“You may crawl to me and pleasure me orally,” he instructed.

I devoured him. I wanted to swallow him whole—I wanted to choke on his size. I mouthed him and stroked him in rhythm to my own internal mantra, I do have helpless appetites. I do have helpless appetites. I do have helpless appetites.

I could taste his ardor. His maleness brimmed. He replaced my hand with his own and stroked his orgasm down my throat, paraphrasing yet another snippet of Slavegirl of Gor. "I took her by the hair and thrust her head down into the furs. A man can truly love only that woman who is truly his, who belongs to him. Otherwise he is only a part to a contract."

Reeling with want for Antwon, for my Master, I replied after a hard swallow, "A woman can love only that man to whom she truly belongs."

Antwon whispered, using his foot to push me back onto the floor. "To whom do you truly belong, Slave?" he asked.

"To you, Master," I said.

"You please me, Slave Girl," he said.

He dropped to the floor beside me and kissed my collar.

It was going to be a lovely evening. God, I love Book Night.