Story of Gor, Gorean Panther sells Kajirus to an old hag

Older women also have slaves


 

She turned into an Old Hag – First Story

Here’s a little fan-fiction based in John Norman’s world of sci-fi, beasts, heroes and sexism – Gor

“I hear you’re being sold to some haggle toothed old Free Woman stupid slave boy. I bet she is covered in warts and hair,” the tiny blonde panther called at him.

“Yeah. That’s what you deserve. Some ugly crone who’ll touch you with her bony fingers and make you lick her wrinkled and smelly feet!”

“But she’ll not even want a thing to do with you since your dick will be shriveled and useless once you look at her without her veils on!”

“Now see here ‘boyyy’.” She drew out the syllables for emphasis. “You wouldn’t dare touch us. You are far too lowly and wouldn’t risk our wrath. ” Her pointed little emaciated chin tilted up proudly.

He growled back, “I could hurt you in ways that wouldn’t leave marks, slut. . and I, slut, am a man. You seem to have forgotten this…” his voice almost a hiss by the end of his monologue.
“He’ll do,” called out a feminine but confident voice to the side of him.

He was surprised to see the stoic figure of a veiled and completely covered Free woman staring back at him. She was the picture of modesty with even her hair covered; her cold eyes looking down at him were the only visible part of her, even the outline of her body was obscured by the shapeless dress she wore.

He growled while he stared back at her.  Just as he stood close enough to her, the panthers at her side grabbed him and knocked him over the head with something blunt. As his vision started to fade at the edges,he fuzzily heard his thought’s amazement that the Free woman never stepped back, never hid behind the figures of the panthers as he moved towards her, she never blinked.

He woke up later that night. A quick glance out windows of the cylinder told him it was dark outside now.

He was naked and must have been cleaned, as the dirt and grime was gone from his skin, and his smell no longer offended his own senses. But he was unbound. That was a mistake.

“Good morning slave.” That same cold but somehow melodic voice called out from behind him.

He spun to face the bitch, sucking in a breath as he ended the aggressive spin, losing some of his combative stance as he caught sight of her….something had changed?

In the flickering light of the fire, she was naked and bathed in shadows and dim light. She sat hunched in a chair with gray hair draping her bare shoulders , he noticed she had overgrown yellowing fingernails.

Her face was wrinkled like she was 100 years old but she wasn’t particularly ugly or anything. It was her eyes, though, that scared him most. She was staring intently at him, smiling, almost giddy about what was going to happen next.

He shook his head to clear it of the bewitchery of her eyes. Then he began to take long strides towards her. It was simple enough he thought. He would overpower her frail body and discard her. Find some clothing and be on his way. She couldn’t afford to report it for fear that her reputation would be ruined once it was discovered a slave had abused her body.

When he was a moment away from being able to reach out and swing a hand to grab her, her hand tucked to the side of the chair and wrapped around something leaned against it. Lightening fast her arm flew, sending the tip of a long, thin metallic switch into his shoulder.

He fell to his knees convulsing as the electricity shot through him, sizzling his nerves. It was a slave goad. His eyes rolled back into his head as he tried to remain conscious against the pain. She kept that point trained against his shoulder, unrelenting in her cruelty, proving that she would not be at the disadvantage.

He started the slow progression of crawling forward as he coughed and choked on his own bile and pain. She pulled the goad away and gave him reprieve. She twitched her wart invested bare foot as a silent signal that he should kiss it and acknowledge her as his Mistress.

His Mistress cackled,  her arm flew, she sent another shot through his weakened body, his eyes bulged out their sockets, she kept the electricity flow steady, bodily fluids passed from his penis, finally he passed out.


  Sold to an Old Hag – Second story

Here’s a little fan-fiction based in John Norman’s world of sci-fi, beasts, heroes and sexism – Gor

He was to be sold as a slave by the panther Woman that had caught him; to the highest bidder! He was shackled like an animal, an animal at a slave market.

The crowd of villagers laughed as he tried to get up.

‘Lie sssstill you beast!’ muttered the panther woman as he tried to get up, poking him with the butt of her spear. ‘Be grateful Red hair has other pressing matters and does not know you have not been fed to the sleens!’ she chuckled ‘I will make a tidy profit selling you as a slave’

An old hag dressed in dirt stained rags and a cloak that flowed from her head to the ground, elbowed her way to the front of the crowd. She liked what she saw and was keen to purchase the young handsome slave, but only if the price was right.

‘Ahhh, this one would make an excellent slave for my farm’ she warbled to the blonde Panther woman.

‘Excellent choice Lady, would you like him collared first?’, the panther eager to create interest in the male and even keener to make some coin.

He didn’t like the idea of being sold and he liked the idea of being sold to this old hag much less. He sighed with relief when she declined to have him collared, but his heart missed a beat when the old hag asked the village black smith to have him branded with her mark prior to the purchase.

“Excellent choice Lady’, the black smith nodded , as the panther moved slightly , the black smith approached, he trust the slave’s face to one side, within ihn , he could smell the searing of flesh, he roared out in pain. His flesh sizzled as  his forehead received the old hags brand.

A thin cruel smile came to the panther’s face as coin was exchanged for the branded male, the shackles and chains disappeared as if they had never been there. The black smith hurled him at the old hags feet, still in pain and dazed , he looked up at the black soulless eyes of his new Mistress.

The old hag jerked a rope around his neck, pulling him , he was forced to follow through the jeering crowd of villagers. He followed her to a run down farm, the smell of bosk dung filled his nostrils, though he could see no animals  near the farm. As she pushed him through the front door of her squalid home , he realized in horror, the sickening smell came from the old hag.


© Lunacaleengpanthers/various

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