Gorean Commands and Positions

Belly

Prostrate; Obeisance

One picture of a few varied forms of "Belly."
This picture is the most common form taught, although,
it is the least common form presented in the books;
and, when the woman is commanded to "Belly,"
the command to part her legs, is, when wanted, added to the command itself.
The most common is to simply rest, prone, on your belly, as a form of obeisance;
the face, arms, and legs just follow, naturally placing themselves.

Hardly had his delicate foot touched the button than a panel slid aside and two handsome men, of the most symmetrical form and features with shaven heads and clad in the purple, plastic tunics of slaves, entered the room and prostrated themselves before the dais.
At a signal from Sarm they leaped to their feet and stood alertly beside the dais, their feet spread, their heads high, their arms folded.
“Behold these two,” said Sarm.
Neither of the two men who had entered the room had seemed to notice me.
I now approached them.
“I am Tarl Cabot of Ko-ro-ba,” I said to them, extending my hand.
If they saw my hand they made no effort to accept it.
I assumed they must be identical twins. They had wide, fine heads, strong, broad bodies, and a carriage that suggested calmness and strength.
Both were a bit shorter than I but were somewhat more squarely built.
“You may speak,” said Sarm.
“I am Mul-Al-Ka,” said one, “honored slave of the glorious Priest-Kings.”
“I am Mul-Ba-Ta,” said the other, “honored slave of the glorious Priest-Kings.”
“In the Nest,” said Misk, “the expression ‘Mul’ is used to designate a human slave.”
I nodded. The rest of it I did not need to be told. The expressions ‘Al-Ka’ and ‘Ba-Ta’ are the two first letters of the Gorean alphabet. In effect these men had no names, but were simply known as Slave A and Slave B.  PRIEST KINGS OF GOR; 3; Page 94

“Rest now,” I told her. “Lie on your stomach, head to the left, with your legs spread, and your hands at your sides, backs of your wrists to the ground, palms facing upwards.”
“Yes, Master,” she said.  EXPLORERS OF GOR; 13; Page 308

“You see me in a collar,” I said, angrily. “You know what a collar does to a woman!”
He smiled.
“I have been owned,” I said. “I have had masters. They have made me this way!”
“So men do have their vengeance,” he said. “The scheming beauty is needful.”
“Yes!” I said.
“Speak clearly,” he said.
“I am needful,” I said.
“You are more than needful,” he said.
“You may or may not believe I love you,” I said, “but about my arousal, my need, there is no disputing.”
“That is true,” he said. “You are obviously, now, a needful slave.”
“Please,” I begged.
He left the chair and, crouching beside me, not hurrying, freed me of the ropes.
“Touch neither me nor yourself,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I moaned. My body was flaming with
He regarded me for a few moments. I moaned.
Then, for a brief moment, he took me in his arms. His hand was upon me, intimately. “I love you! I love you! I love you!” I cried, jerking in his hands, pressing against him, trying to cover him with kisses.
“Stop,” he said. “To your belly.”
Then I was on my belly, on the tiles, my hands at the sides of my head, prone, before his curule chair. He resumed his seat.
I lifted my head and upper body, wildly, agonized, to regard him.  KAJIRA OF GOR; 19; Pages 426-427

“Belly,” I said to Feiqa.
Immediately Feiqa, trembling, went to her belly on the stained, sooted stones near the fire.
“I will not have a slave in my house!” said the free woman.
Feiqa trembled.
“I know your sort” cried the free woman. “I see them sometimes with the wagons, sleek, chained and well-fed, while free women starve.
“It is natural that such women be cared for,” I said. “They are salable animals, properties. They represent a form of wealth. It is natural to look after them as it is to look after tharlarion or tarsks.”
“You will not stay in my house!” cried the free woman to Feiqa. “I will not keep livestock in my house.”  MERCENARIES OF GOR; 21; Page 19

“Would you have cried out, Lady Cara?” he asked.
“Yes!” she said.
“In spite of all I have done to you?” he asked.
“Because of what you have done to me!” she wept. “I would die for you!”
“Why?” he asked.
“A slave girl owes all to her master, her passion, her being, her life, everything. It is yours, my Master!”
“Belly,” said he to her, and she lay then on her belly, beside the desk, in her chains.  MERCENARIES OF GOR; 21; Pages 153-154

“Belly,” he said. I went to my belly there, in the shoot. I law there on the wood. Beyond this point the shoot seemed to be level for a way. On the ascent portion of the shoot, and where I lay, toward the end of that section, there were, every two feet or so, small crosspieces, these, I suppose, to aid tarsks in the climb. One was beneath the palms of my hands and my right cheek. Another was at my belly, and another was below my knees  DANCER OF GOR; 22; Page 124

“Warm me?” I laughed, bitterly. “I am already flaming!”
“If I sent you forth on the floor in your present condition,” he said, “you would probably belly to the first male whose sandals you saw.”
“Perhaps, Master,” I said, bitterly. If he was so cruel as to deny me his touch, of course, I would, driven by my needs, have to made do elsewhere. It was Mirus, of course, who had not lit these flames in my belly. It was for him that they burned. The particular man is terribly important to the woman. He is a part of the whole that enflames her. To be sure, the slave is so needful and alive that it is not hard for her to see the beauty in any man. If I were sent forth upon the floor, however, in my condition, as it was, I do not think I would have bellied to the first man I saw. I would still have been able to look about, and select one out, one suitable incendiary to the wholeness of my need, and then prostrate myself before him. No, I was not so desperate that I would have bellied to the first man I saw. At that time, I did not even realize I could ever be so desperate as to do that. I would learn later, however, that I was wrong.  DANCER OF GOR; 22; Page 243

I leaped to my feet and moved sensuously but, too, as though prodded and shoved, as though driven, herded, to the slave wagon. Tupita gasped. I seized the slave whip and thrust it between my teeth, harshly, as might have a man, and then I flung myself to the dirt. Then, bit by bit, sometimes on my knees, sometimes as though I had tried to rise, and had then again been thrust to my knees, sometimes on all fours, sometimes as though trying to rise to my knees, and being forced again to all fours, I made my way to Mirus. As I approached him it seemed I became more and more terrified, and contrite, and then, at the conclusion of my dance, I put my head down and placed the whip humbly before him. I then put my head down again licked and kissed it, and then I put myself on my belly, prostrated before him, a slave at his mercy. “Forgive me, Master,” I begged.  DANCER OF GOR; 22; Pages 441-442

“Lie down,” I said to the warder, “on your belly, in the straw, your head to the wall. Spread your legs as widely as you can. Cover your head with your hands and arms.”
She sobbed, but did so. In this fashion she could not see what might transpire behind her, she could not easily rise, and she would have some protection from debris, if the outside of the cell wall should be struck.  RENEGADES OF GOR; 23; Pages 233-234

“Belly,” he said.
She slipped to her belly on the deck, her hands up, beneath her shoulders. She lifted herself a little from the deck, lifting her head, still half concealed in hood, to Calliodorus and Aemilianus. Her lips were lovely, and trembling.
“Go to your back,” said Calliodorus.
She lay on her back.
Suddenly she lifted one knee, and pointed her toes. She had realized then, suddenly, that something was being done to her analogous, in its small way, to putting a girl through slave paces. She tried her best to be appealing.
“To your belly, again,” said Calliodorus.
He had hardly spoken before she was on her belly, as before. Quick was she, she would show him, to obey.
“Kneel,” he said.
She returned to her kneeling position.  RENEGADES OF GOR; 23; Page 364

“Use me, Master?” said a coin girl.
I looked down at her, a small brunet, half naked in a ta-teera, a slave rag. About her neck, over her collar, close about it, was a chain collar, padlocked shut, with its coin box, and slot.
“Master?” she smiled.
I was angry. She had doubtless come to a circle, knowing that fellows in need, ones without slaves, such as I, might be found there. Her attitude seemed to me insufficiently respectful. She was not even kneeling.
“Oh!” she cried, spinning to the side, cuffed.
I snapped my fingers. “There,” I said, pointing, indicating a place before me, “kneel there, facing away from me.” Swiftly she crawled to the place, obeying. “On your belly,” I snapped. Swiftly did she fling herself, a slave who might have been displeasing, in terror, to her belly. I seized her ankles and parted them, widely, pulling her toward me. “Perhaps you deserve a full lashing,” I said. “No, please, Master!” she wept. “How much are you?” I asked. “Only a tarsk bit, Master!” she wept. I considered the matter. I could afford that. I dragged her back to me. She gasped, mine. “Oh!” she cried. “Oh! Oh!” Then I thrust her from me, and stood. She was then on her side, looking back at me. She was grasping. I kicked her, angrily, with the side of my foot. She winced. “Forgive me, Master,” she wept. “I beg forgiveness!” “Perhaps you will learn manners,” I said. “Yes, Master,” she said. “Perhaps you will know enough next time to be respectful, and to kneel before men,” I said. Yes, Master,” she said. “Forgive me, Master!” I looked down upon her angrily. I think she feared she might be again cuffed, or kicked. Then she crawled to my feet, and kissed them. Then she looked up at me. “Buy me, “she begged, suddenly. “It is to a man such as you that I wish to belong!” I dragged her to her knees by the hair and, she sobbing, trying to hold me, thrust a coin, a tarsk bit into the coin box. I then thrust her back to the dirt, on her side, and, turning about, angrily, left her. “Master!” she called after me. “Please, Master!” In a time I turned back to regard her. She was where I had left her, except that she was now kneeling. Her shoulders shook with sobs. She had the coin box, on its chain, lifted in her hands. Her head was down, and her hair fell about the coin box. She pressed her lips to it, again and again, sobbing. I did not think that she was a poor slave. I think rather that she merely needed a strong master.  MAGICIANS OF GOR; 25; Pages 56-57

Phoebe ceased struggling and Marcus released her, stepped back a pace and regarded her.
She stood before him, angrily, defiantly, her small fists clenched.
“I suppose you could be thought of, as of Cos,” he mused, “in the sense that you were once of Cos.”
She trembled.
“So in that sense,” said he, “take off your clothes, female of Cos, and get to your belly, with your legs widely spread.”
“I am not of Cos!” she said, suddenly. “I am only a slave, Master!”
He regarded her, unwaveringly.
Swiftly she drew off her tunic, over her head, and put herself to her belly and as he had stipulated.
He looked down upon her.
She sobbed, subdued.
The other slave was very quiet. It seemed she scarcely dared to breathe.
“Perhaps the wrong girl is first girl,” said Marcus.
Phoebe sobbed, her head to the side.
“May I speak, Master,” whispered the new slave.
He looked at her. “Yes,” he said.
She went to her belly before him and reached out her tiny hand, timidly, to touch his foot.
“Yes?” he said.
“Have pity on her, Master,” she said.
“You would speak for her?” asked Marcus.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
Phoebe looked at her, in wonder.
“It is only that she loves you so much,” she said.
“I do not understand,” said Marcus.
Phoebe sobbed, looking away.
“She is telling you that Phoebe is jealous of her,” I said.
Marcus crouched down beside Phoebe.
“Is that true?” he asked.
“Yes, Master,” sobbed Phoebe, her eyes closed.
“But you are my love slave,” he said to her.
She sobbed, with joy. He touched her and she trembled beneath his touch like a vulo.  MAGICIANS OF GOR; 25; Page 339
 

Kudos to you, Mr. Norman for writing the Gorean series!
A rich, yet utterly simple saga; a world, a time, a people;
those of the Counter-Earth .. the planet .. Gor.
Thank you!

The material presented herein was researched and compiled by me, naia{Saul}.
The material referenced comes from John Norman's Gor Series, The Counter-Earth Saga.
This is a work in process.
Please, do not take, copy, duplicate, or use this work as your own.
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