Gorean Commands and Positions

Feed / Eat

The girl was apparently unwilling to speak more of this matter, and so I did not press her.
I had almost finished the meal. “You have done well,” I congratulated her. “The meal is excellent.”
“Please,” she said, “I am hungry.”
I looked at her dumbfounded. She had not prepared herself a portion and so I had assumed that she had eaten, or was not hungry, or would prepare her own meal later.
“Make yourself something,” I said.
“I cannot,” she said simply. “I can eat only what you give me.”
I cursed myself for a fool.
Had I now become so much the Gorean warrior that I could disregard the feelings of a fellow creature, in particular those of a girl, who must be protected and cared for? Could it be that I had, as the Codes of my Caste recommended, not even considered her, but merely regarded her as a rightless animal, no more than a subject beast, an abject instrument to my interests and pleasures, a slave?
“I am sorry,” I said.
“Was it not your intention to discipline me?” she asked.
“No,” I said.
“Then my master is a fool,” she said, reaching for the meat that I had left on my plate.
I caught her wrist.
“It is now my intention to discipline you,” I said.
Her eyes briefly clouded with tears. “Very well,” she said, withdrawing her hand.
Vika would go hungry that night.  PRIEST KINGS OF GOR; 3; Pages 47-48

He took the meat in his hand and gave it to Kamchak, who bit into it, a bit of juice running at the side of his mouth; Kamchak then held the meat to the girl.
“Eat,” I told her.
Elizabeth Cardwell took the meat in her two hands, confined before her by slave bracelets and the chain of the Sirik, and, bending her head, the hair falling forward, ate it.
She, a slave, had accepted meat from the hand of Kamchak of the Tuchuks.
She belonged to him now.
“La Kajira,” she said, putting her head down, then covering her face with her manacled hands, weeping. “La Kajira. La Kajira!”  NOMADS OF GOR; 4; Page 54

“If you attempt to leave the wagons at night they will sense you out and rip my pretty little slave girl in pieces.”
“It is true,” I warned Aphris of Turia.
“Nonetheless,” said Aphris, “I will escape.”
“But not tonight!” guffawed Kamchak.
“No,” said Aphris acidly, “not tonight.” Then she looked about herself, disdainfully at the interior of the wagon. Her gaze rested for a moment on the kaiila saddle which had been part of the spoils which Kamchak had acquired for Tenchika. In the saddle, in their sheaths, were seven quivas.
Aphris turned again to face Kamchak. “This slave,” she said, indicating Elizabeth, “would not give me anything to eat.”
“Kamchak must eat first, Slave,” responded Elizabeth.
“Well,” said Aphris, “he has eaten.”
Kamchak then took a bit of meat that was left over from the fresh-roasted meat that Miss Cardwell had prepared. He held it out in his hand. “Eat,” he said to Aphris, “but do not touch it with your hands.”
Aphris looked at him in fury, but then smiled. “Certainly,” she said and the proud Aphris of Turia, kneeling, bent forward, to eat the meat held in the hand of her master.
Kamchak’s laugh was cut short when she sank her fine white teeth into his hand with a savage bite.
“Aiii!” he howled, jumping up and sticking his bleeding hand into his mouth, sucking the blood from the wound.
Elizabeth had leaped up and so had I.
Aphris had sprung to her feet and ran to the side of the wagon where there lay the kaiila saddle with its seven sheathed quivas. She jerked one of the quivas from its saddle sheath and stood with the blade facing us. She was bent over with rage.
Kamchak sat down again, still sucking his hand. I also sat down, and so, too, did Elizabeth Cardwell.
We left Aphris standing there, clutching the knife, breathing deeply.
“Sleep!” cried the girl. “I have a knife!”
Kamchak paid her no attention now but was looking at his hand. He seemed satisfied that the wound was not serious, and picked up the piece of meat which he had dropped, which he tossed to Elizabeth, who, in silence, ate it. He then pointed at the remains of the overdone roast, indicating that she might eat it.
“I have a knife!” cried Aphris in fury.
Kamchak was now picking his teeth with a fingernail. “Bring wine,” he said to Elizabeth, who, her mouth filled with meat, went and fetched a small skin of wine and a cup, which she filled for him. When Kamchak had drunk the cup of wine he looked again at Aphris. “For what you have done,” he said, “it is common to call for one of the Clan of Torturers.”
“I will kill myself first,” cried Aphris, posing the quiva over her heart.
Kamchak shrugged.
The girl did not slay herself. “No,” she cried, “I will slay you.”
“Much better,” said Kamchak, nodding. “Much better.”
“I have a knife!” cried out Aphris.
“Obviously,” said Kamchak. He then got up and walked rather heavily over to one wall of the wagon and took a slave whip from the wall.
He faced Aphris of Turia.
“Sleen!” she wept. She threw back her hand with the knife to rush forward and thrust it into the heart of Kamchak but the coil of the whip lashed forth and I saw its stinging tip wrap four times about the wrist and forearm of the Turian girl who cried out in sudden pain and Kamchak had stepped to the side and with a motion of his hand had thrown her off balance and then by the whip dragged her rudely over the rug to his feet. There he stepped on her wrist and removed the knife from her open hand. He thrust it in his belt.
“Slay me!” wept the girl. “I will not be your slave!”
But Kamchak had hauled her to her feet and then flung her back to where she had stood before. Dazed, holding her right arm, on which could be seen four encircling blazes of scarlet, she regarded him. Kamchak then removed the quiva from his belt and hurled it across the room until it struck in one of the poles of the frame supporting the wagon hides, two inches in the wood, beside the throat of the girl.
“Take the quiva,” said Kamchak.
The girl shook with fear.
“Take it,” ordered Kamchak.
She did so.
“Now,” he said, “replace it.”
Trembling, she did so.
“Now approach me and eat,” said Kamchak. Aphris of Turia did so, defeated, kneeling before him and turning her head delicately to take the meat from his hand. “Tomorrow,” said Kamchak, “you will be permitted after I have eaten to feed yourself.”
Suddenly Elizabeth Cardwell said, perhaps unwisely. “You are cruel”
Kamchak looked at her in surprise. “I am kind,” he said.
“How is that?” I asked.
“I am permitting her to live,” he said.
“I think,” I said, “that you have won this night but I warn you that the girl from Turia will think again of the quiva and the heart of a Tuchuk warrior.”
“Of course,” smiled Kamchak, feeding Aphris, “she is superb.”
The girl looked at him with wonder.
“For a Turian slave,” he added. He fed her another piece of meat. “Tomorrow, Little Aphris,” said he, “I will give you something to wear.”
She looked at him gratefully.
“Bells and collar,” said he.
Tears appeared in her eyes.  NOMADS OF GOR; 4; Pages 141-143

“Where are we!” demanded the second girl. “I demand that you release us! I demand an explanation! Get us out of here immediately! Hurry! Hurry, I tell you!”
Flaminius paid the second girl no attention. “Eat your gruel, Virginia,” said he, soothingly, to the first girl.
“What are you going to do with us?” asked the first girl.
“Eat,” said Flaminius, kindly.
“Let us out!” cried the second girl, shaking the bars. “Let us out!”
Virginia Kent picked up the gruel pan and put it to her lips, taking some of the stuff.
“Let us out!” cried the second girl.
“Now drink,” said Flaminius.
Virginia lifted the pan of water, and took a sip. The pan was battered, tin, rusted.
“Let us out!” cried the second girl yet again.
“What is your name?” asked Flaminius of the second girl, very gently.
“You are mad!” cried the girl. “Let us out!” She shook the bars.
“What is your name?” repeated Flaminius.
“Phyllis Robertson,” said the girl angrily.
“Eat your gruel, Phyllis,” said Flaminius. “It will make you feel better.”
“Let me out!” she cried.
Flaminius gestured to the guard and he, with his club, suddenly struck the bars in front of Phyllis Robertson’s face and she screamed and darted back in the cage, where she crouched away from the bars, tears in her eyes.
“Eat your gruel,” said Flaminius.
“No,” she said. “No!”
“Does Phyllis remember the lash?” asked Flaminius.
The girl’s eyes widened with fear. “Yes,” she said.
“Then say so,” said Flaminius.
I whispered in Gorean to Ho-Tu, as though I could not understand what was transpiring. “What is he doing with them?”
Ho-Tu shrugged. “He is teaching them they are slaves,” he said.
“I remember the lash,” said Phyllis.
“Phyllis remembers the lash,” corrected Flaminius.
“I am not a child!” she cried.
“You are a slave,” said Flaminius.
“No,” she said. “No!”
“I see,” said Flaminius, sadly, “it will be necessary to beat you.”
“Phyllis remembers the lash,” said the girl numbly.
“Excellent,” said Flaminius. “Phyllis will be good. Phyllis will eat her gruel. Phyllis will drink her water.”
She looked at him with hatred.
His eyes met hers and they conquered. She dropped her head, turning it to one side. “Phyllis will be good,” she said. “Phyllis will eat her gruel. Phyllis will drink her water.”
“Excellent,” commended Flaminius.
We watched as the girl lifted first the gruel pan and then the water pan to her lips, tasting the gruel, taking a swallow of the water.
She looked at us with tears in her eyes.  ASSASSIN OF GOR; 5; Pages 130-131

“Open you mouth, Slave,” said the girl.
I did so and, to the amusement of those watching, she forced the wet past into my mouth.
“Eat it,” she said. “Swallow it.”
Painfully, almost retching, I did so.
“You have been fed by your Mistress,” she said.
“I have been fed by my Mistress,” I said.
“What is your name, Slave?” asked she.
“Tarl,” said I.
She struck me savagely across the mouth, flinging my head to one side.
“A slave has no name,” she said.
“I have no name,” I said.  RAIDERS OF GOR; 6; Page 25

He did not unbind me to feed me.
“Open your mouth,” he said.
He thrust yellow Sa-Tarna bread into my mouth. I chewed the bread and, with difficulty, swallowed it. He then, with his tarn knife, from a piece of raw bosk meat, cut four small pieces of meat, which he placed in my mouth. “Feed,” he said. I chewed the meat, eyes closed, swallowing it. “Drink,” he said. He thrust the horn nozzle of a leather bota of water between my teeth. I almost choked. He withdrew the nozzle and capped the bota, replacing it in his saddle pack. I closed my eyes, miserable. I had been fed and watered.
The tarn flew on.  CAPTIVE OF GOR; 7; Page 256

Verna sat cross-legged, like a man. I knelt, as a serving slave.
She threw me one of the oysters.
“Eat, Slave,” she said.
I ate.
In so doing this, she, the guest, had signified that I might now feed. It is a not uncommon Gorean courtesy, in such situations, to permit the guest to grant the feeding permission to the slaves present.
“Thank you, Mistress,” I said.
Rask of Treve then threw me a piece of meat, that I might satisfy my hunger, for I had not been fed.
With my hands I ate the meat, a collared slave, while the free persons drank, and conversed.  CAPTIVE OF GOR; 7; Page 301

“Feed,” I told her.
“Yes, Master,” she said. The slave then fed.  HUNTERS OF GOR; 8; Page 195

I had returned late to the compartment. Miss Blake-Allen, head to the floor, knelt when I entered. In the cafes I had feasted well. I had had verr meat, cut in chunks and threaded on a metal rod, with slices of peppers and larma, and roasted; vulo stew with raisins, nuts, onions, and honey; a kort with melted cheese and nutmeg; hot Bazi tea, sugared, and, later, Turian wine. I did not forget the slave, of course. Crusts of bread did I throw to the boards before her. It was slave bread, rough and coarse-grained. The beauty ate it eagerly. She had not known if she was to be fed that day. Sometimes the slave is not fed. This might occur for aesthetic reasons, as, for example, if her measurements, which are generally carefully kept, should minutely depart from her master’s conception of her ideal curvatures; sometimes merely to remind her of on whom she depends, totally, for her very life; sometimes as a training or disciplinary measure; sometimes merely to startle or puzzle her; what has she done; she is not told; has she not been sufficiently pleasing; she is not told; the girl, frightened, anxious, redoubles her efforts to please in all the thousand spheres of her slavery, intellectual, physical and imaginative; no master, it is said, who has not denied his girl food knows her; pleasant indeed are the surprises which such a fellow, who thought thitherto he knew his girl, upon the completion of the simple experiment, receives; the girl’s wits are sharpened; she becomes resourceful, helpless, desperate, attentive, inventive; “Feed me, Master,” she begs. “Feed me!”; at the conclusion of such an experiment, when she is fed, it is always, kneeling naked, from his hand. The lesson is not soon forgotten. Few things so impress the dominance of a male on a woman, and her dependence on him, as his control of her food. This dominance, provided it is absolute, thrills a woman to the core.  TRIBESMEN OF GOR; 10; Pages 47-48

In the camp, hitherto, my captor had confined me to degrading handouts, which he would place in my mouth, or make me reach for, kneeling, not using my hands. Eta now came forward. She held two copper bowls of gruel. Next to me, she knelt before my captor; she put one bowl down before me; then, holding the other bowl, she handed it to my captor; one of the men pulled my head up by the hair, so I could see clearly what was being done; my captor took the bowl of gruel from Eta, and then, saying nothing, handed it back to her. Now he, and his men, and Eta, looked at me. I then understood what I must do. I picked up the bowl of gruel, with both hands, and, kneeling, handed it to my captor. He took the bowl. Then he handed it back to me. I might now eat. I knelt, shaken, the bowl of gruel in my hands. The symbolism of the act was not lost upon me. It was from him, he, symbolically, that I received my food. It was he who fed me. It was he upon whom I depended, that I would eat. Did he not choose to feed me, I understood, I would not eat. My head down, following Eta's example, I ate the gruel. We were given no spoons. With our fingers and, like cats, with our tongues, we finished the gruel. It was plain. It was not sugared or salted. It was slave gruel. Some days it was all that would be given to me. A girl does not always, of course, take food in this fashion. Usually she prepares the food and then serves it, after which, if permitted, she eats. Many men permit a girl, for most practical purposes, to eat simultaneously with him, provided he begins first and it does not interfere with her service to him. Thus he gets his girl, fed, more swiftly to the furs. Much depends on the man; the will of the girl counts for nothing. In some dwellings a girl must, before the evening meal, hand her plate to the man; he will then, normally, return it to her; if she has not been completely pleasing to him, on the other hand, she may not be fed that night. Control of a girl's food not only permits the intelligent regulation of her caloric intake but provides an excellent instrument for keeping her in line; control the food, control the girl. Food control, for the man, also has unexpected rewards. Few things so impress a man's dominance on her, or her dependence upon him, than the control of her food. So simple a thing thrills her to the core. It makes her eager to please him as a slave girl. I finished the slave gruel. It was not tasty, but I was grateful for even so simple a provender. I was hungry. I felt starved. Perhaps the brand had made me hungry.  SLAVE GIRL OF GOR; 11; Pages 65-66

Following Eta's example, to my pleasure, we prepared ourselves plates and cups. We then, while waiting for the men, ate. As long as a male had taken the first bite, the first drink, at the meal, apparently there was little objection to our also partaking. We did so with gusto. Gorean amenities are more carefully observed, usually, at the evening meal, which is more of a gathering and an occasion than the other two or three meals of the day. At an evening meal Eta and I would, under threat of discipline, wait before eating until the master, and each of his men, had begun. We did not, commonly, however, provided it did not interfere with our service, wait until the men had completed their meal before commencing ours. We, thus, finished nearly with them, or a bit before. Thus, after we had cleared goblets, and bowls and dishes, if they were used, we were soon ready, unimpeded, to devote our attentions to the serving of wine and paga, or our bodies for their pleasure, were they desired. To indicate the greater significance of the evening meal, as compared to the other Gorean meals, no slave girl may touch it without first having been given permission, assuming that a free man or woman, even a child, is present. "You may feed, Slave Girl," is a common way in which this permission is given. If the permission is not given, the girl may not eat. Should the master or mistress, or child, forget to give this permission, it is merely the misfortune of the slave girl.  SLAVE GIRL OF GOR; 11; Page 74

I put the chocolate down. I began to bite at the yellow bread. It was fresh.
“Perhaps Mistress should take smaller bites,” she said.
“Very well,” I said. I then began to eat as she had suggested. I was a woman. I was not an adolescent boy. Again, even in so small a thing as this, I began to feel my femininity keenly. Too, again, I became very sensitive of the depth and pervasiveness of the sexuality which might characterize this world. Men and women did not even eat in the same way.
“Exceptions can occur under certain circumstances, of course,” said the girl. “Mistress might, for example, in the presence of a man she wishes to arouse, take a larger than normal bite from a fresh fruit, and look at the man over the fruit, letting juice, a tiny trickle of it, run at the side of her mouth.”
“But why would I wish to arouse a man?” I asked.
The girl looked at me, puzzled. “Perhaps the needs of Mistress might be much upon her,” she said. “Perhaps she might wish to be taken and overwhelmed in his arms, and forced to surrender to him.”
“I do not understand,” I said, as though horrified.
“That is because Mistress is free,” she said.
I had understood only too well, of course. But I was terrified to even think such thoughts.
“Slaves, I suppose, occasionally have recourse to such devices,” I said. I was eager to learn.
“A device such as that with the fresh fruit,” she said, “is more appropriate to a free woman. We do have at our disposal, as slaves, however, a number and variety of begging signals, such things as groveling and moaning, and bringing bonds to him in our teeth, wherewith we may endeavor to call our needs to his attention.”  KAJIRA OF GOR; 19; Pages 61-62

“She bellies to you,” said the man. “She likes you.”
“Perhaps you have warned her that if she does not belly to the first man in the market she is to be whipped,” I smiled.
“No” chuckled the man, “but it is true that I have denied her the touch of a man for two days.” The sexual relief of a slave girl, like her clothing and her food, is also something under the total command of the master.  SAVAGES OF GOR; 17; Page 75

I then bought her a pastry from a vendor. “Eat it,” I told her, “slowly, very slowly. Make it last a long time.”
“Yes, Master,” she said.
When a woman is ordered to eat a pastry in this fashion, she knows that she is barely to touch it, and then only once in a while, with her small teeth. Rather, primarily, almost entirely, she is to address herself to it with her tongue. This puts her under a good discipline, is a good exercise for the tongue and tends to increase sexual heat. N the case of the free woman the tongue is usually something which serves rather conventional purposes, for example it helps her to talk. In the case of the slave girl, however, it serves other purposes as well.  PLAYERS OF GOR; 20; Page 52

“Eat,” I said to Flaminius, spooning some vulo and rice into his mouth. Then, in a bit, I took the bowl, the spoon in it, to where the girl lay. “Kneel,” I said to her.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
I then took bits of vulo from the bowl and held them out to the girl. I also put some rice in the palm of my hand, from which she took it. I heard Flaminius gasp in anger. “Do you object?” I asked. His slave, before him, was eating from the hand of another man. To be sure, we had all eaten earlier, as well. Then, however, I had had Yanina eat from a pan on the floor.
“No,” said Flaminius, hastily.
Yanina looked up at me. She had taken food from my hand.
“Are you sure you do not object?” I asked.
“No, no!” he said, quickly.
I then put the bowl aside. I also picked up my sword sheath, the belt wrapped about it, the blade housed in it.  PLAYERS OF GOR; 20; Page 380

“Open your mouth,” I said. “Eat.”
She looked at me.
“Yes,” I said, “you will be fed as what you are, a slave.”
I then out one of the tidbits into her mouth, and, in a moment, angrily, she had finished it. It is not unusual for a slave’s first food from a new master to be received in a hand feeding. It may also be done, from time to time, of course, with all, or a portion, of a given snack, or meal. This sort of thing expresses symbolically, and teaches her also, on a very deep level, that she is dependent upon him for her food, that it is from his hand, so to speak, that she receives it.  MAGICIANS OF GOR; 25; Page 477
 

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.
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