The Castaway

Yes, there are elven ears in some of these photos, and human ones.  Ignore that. Enjoy the twiddle.

The young female watched the ebb and flow of the water, mesmerized by the waves lapping on the shore. She had been found a few days earlier, barely alive, holding onto the rocks as the dawn broke. She was found, brought up the cliff side to the manor house, and nursed. The wound on her thigh had festered and oozed sick ichor, and, although her fever had broken, she was far from recovered.

She stood on the cliff side, staring out, the only hint of where she had come from was the delicate chains she had been covered in. Her only memories prior to her awakening, was of a boat afire and sinking. She was already clinging to life on some of the flotsam, when the main mast had fallen, striking the water, sending her reeling. Force of will kept her floating. Force of will kept her breathing. The tides brought her to this shore. What was she going to find?

Would she ever remember where she came from? Would she forever remain No One, or would she find her name?

“Girl!” The voice called to her from afar. She turned, looking for where the voice came from. The master of the house had called to her. She still felt weak. It would be days more before she could take up chores within the house.

The master had riches. A full household, guards, servants, slaves, and more. He had ordered her dressed in finery as befitting a member of his house. She knew her status would be low, but even the lowliest of his would be well dressed. It showed his wealth, his prestige.

She did not know that he had judged the chains she had been wearing – finely delicate and of rare metals with filligree and jewels accenting them. Those told him that she had belonged to a master of worth as much as he.

He had been sent a prize. A rare treasure from the sea.

The master spoke quickly to the servant at his feet. The girl watched the servant rise and run into the door that lead to the kitchens.

He came forward, crossing his arms, before speaking to the girl, but was stopped by the silhouette in the evening light. He motioned for her to spin around slowly, enjoying the view of the girl’s body.

He was certain she was recently caught. Her training would take time. It had barely begun. She had picked up one word, and called him that when she followed his other girls’ in their motions. “Vana’she,” she said to him, her mouth working the syllables, and more words he did not understand.

The healers wanted her to take her time healing. Until her brand healed, her body was fighting infection. With her memory gone, it was the only way to show where she came from. Until it healed, she was weakened from the poisons that had wracked her. It was better for her to keep to light duty. He would have her ridden hard later.

He came up and touched her chest, speaking some words to her. Then he pressed his own, repeating the word she knew that was used for him. “Vana’she,” he said.

He wants to know my name, she thought to herself. Her tongue repeated the name he used, “vana’she.” Her hand touched her own self and she was taken aback. She had no name.

She truly was “no one.”

He was furious with her. He had commanded her to take a knee, and she had not. It wasn’t a refusal, she did not know what she had to do.

He was concerned – if she had no training for what he had believed she was, he would have to have her trained. He touched her, and her skin was hot. She had been out too long and needed to rest again. The foolish girl had risked his property – her – by pushing herself.

Oh yes, he was claiming her. She was his.

She could feel the cold touch of his hands on her skin. The cooling breeze from the ocean felt good on her hot skin. She felt other hands take her to guide her back inside. Her time out in the open air for today was done. Perhaps tomorrow, she would have more stamina, and begin her training.

I am exploring two of the sims of Gor.  In one, I am a castaway kajira, beloved by her previous master of no memory for my skills – needlecraft, illumiation, calligraphy, cooking, and more, as well as dancing skills and, yes, bed skills.  I was covered in fine chains with jewels and more, showing my master’s status and wealth, but my new master wishes to keep me, and believes he who had owned me is long dead.

The other sim I have been visiting and hanging in, I am a bird there.  They assume I’m a vulo chick.  I think I’m the Gorean equivalent of a passenger pigeon, except I’m a raptor bird, not a pigeon.  Maybe a hawk.  Something smart enough to find specific people, and even hunt for my owner.

Spitfire is allowing me some liberties for the next couple of weeks.  The man who took the photos of me above is from the first sim and is privately tutoring me when he can, and when we are both available.  He’s funny, gentle, and respects Spitfire as my owner and more.  Our one worry is that some Gorean master was going to look at Spitfire, dismiss her as a dominant, and shark me away.

Not gonna happen.

I’m far too loyal, and even though this is consensual play here, I feel guilty for wanting it.  Spitfire understands that I have needs that she currently can’t fill, so it’s better for me to find a way to fill them to to let those needs fester until we fight. I wouldn’t stop her from falling to her knees to a trusted friend for some subby time, why should she stop me from getting my own similar needs met when she doesn’t have the emotional energy to deal with them on top of everything else that has landed in her lap recently?

Except, I want to be doing this with her.

Patience.  Must have patience.

I’m still not Gorean.

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