I realize that I was dealing with a hot button issue in an earlier post when I suggested that a Master had every right to force an uncooperative kajira to the furs.
For the real person it is hard to find a new level of submission, a new place of submission when one is angry and rebellious, and yet it is the adrenalin and excitement of the M/s relationship that sometimes those real emotions have to be expressed and brought into check.
There are other ways to do this than either forcing furring or punishment
What better way than to command a rebellious, angry kajira to pleasure the Master with a dance?
The girl sits sulking at the Master's feet, steam coming out of her ears about some decision of the Master's that does not suit her. Amused the Master sees his girl in a foul temper and tosses her some dance silks and ankle bells and commands her to the dance sands.
She tosses him a look of fury and thinks to disobey. He makes it clear that she can dance her way back into his good graces or feed the sleen that night. Her delicate mouth opens and closes as she bites back the words of fury and she hurriedly, gracelessly dons the silks.
She steps onto the dance sands and raises her hands above her head in the attitude of a captured slave tied to a slave post. The Master approves her start position and signals her to stay in that attitude while he admires his property. Getting up from his seat he walks around the kajira. Seldom has she felt his eyes so hard upon her, so assessing whether she be worth keeping or not. With the clinical hands of a horse trader he feels the roundness of her ass, the firmness of her bosom, his curled whip brushes her hair back from her shoulders and traces downwards along the line of her body. She feels his judgement and knows she wants his approval... and yet she still feels anger and hurt within her heart.
Tears of anger, humiliation and hurt form in her eyes as she watches the Master return to his chair and clap for the music to begin. She taps one little spoiled foot in the sand looking for the centre of the rhythm of the dance but her mind is elsewhere and so as she begins her dance her movements are automatic, lifeless, her carriage lacking pride and passion. As she completes a turn she sees the Master's eyes upon her like burning coals in the night and feels the heat of his displeasure within her feminine folds. Involuntarily as she meets the Master's eyes, her body assumes the position of the submissive animal, she falls to her knees and in her dance crawls on all four towards him like a she-sleen... and just as dangerous and snarling in her temperament. The Master chuckles softly and approvingly at the spirit of the girl that he owns. Uncurling his whip, he cracks it sharply, an inch away from the girl. Her eyes flame. Her heat rises.
Obedient to the whip, the girl rises into the attitude of the proud Gorean dancer. She may be fed to the sleen that night but she will make the Master miss her if he does. Her hands form delicate waves down her body drawing attention to her pleasing shape and she sets her breasts in motion, shimming under the Master's gaze, the nipples obviously in a state of alertness under the fine fabric. As she whirls in a tent of her silks, one after the other is stripped from her by the Master's clever whip handling and the looseness of the Gorean knots that allow dance silks to be easily removed.
Her outrage as she is stripped is delightfully amusing to the Master but if she falters in her dance step the whip that is cracked on the silks will find flesh instead and so she must keep to the figures of the dance. Her predicament is not lost on the girl. She is her Master's property and so she must please to live. As she accepts this truth she finds a different look in the Master's eyes, willing her to submit to him in all things.
The thing that has angered her is like a burning coal within her, and yet she knows she must accept it, just as her thigh accepted the burning branding iron that singed her Master's initial deep, deep into her flesh with pain and burning.
She takes the burning coal of her Master's will into her soul and lets it set her dance on fire. She dances her fury, her pain and her slavery. She falls to her knees with the weight of the collar and writhes in the sand. The Master looks at his girl with pity and love as she struggles in the dance to find her way back to him. That look is a silken thread to the girl.... a way to journey back. Arching up into the Gorean bow position she demonstrates just how agile she is as she raises herself to her feet. Her hips undulate in figure 8's with a sharp accentuating lift setting her slave bells to a tinkling crescendo. Her eyes never seem to stray from her Master, no matter how she dances. She communicates her fire, her heat, her passion and her love. His eyes ask a silent question and her lowered lashes and blush give the answer. She has found shame at her rebelliousness and is once more secure in the collar.
Without punishment or disruption the Master has brought his girl once more to heel by forcing her to remember how to be pleasing and to remind her of how much she wants to succeed at pleasing him, how bitter she would find it to fail at the duty of exquisite beauty and absolute obedience.
When my Master is well pleased with a dance, he will sometimes leap into the dance sands to dance with me with abandon as a preliminary to another sort of dance...
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