The Girl from the Dock by Arealius, Scribe of Port Olni

This Gorean Fan Fiction was generated using MetaAI. 
Please note that the Gorean Saga is a fictional series, and its world,

customs, and values may not align with modern societal standards or moral principles.

Gor is Copyrighted by John Norman

The Girls from the Docks

by Arealius, Scribe of Port Olni

Aanisah's eyes scanned the dock, her heart racing with every step. Just hours before, she was on a riverboat, bound for the city of Ar. But Captain Orsen's lecherous gaze changed everything.

"You'll be staying here, girl," he sneered, his eyes roaming her body.

Aanisah tried to protest, but Captain Orsen's grip tightened around her wrist.

"You're a kajira, aren't you?" he spat, pulling her close.

Aanisah struggled, but he overpowered her, using her lewdly. Tears streamed down her face as she realized her helplessness.

Afterward, Captain Orsen's expression turned cold.

"Give me your papers," he ordered.

Aanisah hesitated, clutching her freedom papers and fine clothing.

"Don't make me ask twice," he growled.

Aanisah handed over her belongings, and Captain Orsen tucked them into his belt.

"Now, get off my boat," he said, tossing her worn leather satchel onto the dock.

Aanisah gathered her remaining belongings and fled the dock, disappearing into Port Olni's crowded dock. Fear and uncertainty gripped her. Without papers or fine clothing, she was vulnerable.

Aanisah wandered the dock of Port Olni, her eyes scanning the bustling harbor. The smell of saltwater, fish, and tar filled her lungs as she clutched her worn leather satchel. Fear and uncertainty still gripped her, the encounter with Captain Orsen etched vividly in her mind.

As night began to fall, casting long shadows across the dock, Aanisah spotted a ramshackle structure – an empty paga den, its wooden sign creaking in the gentle breeze. She hesitated, then slipped inside, seeking refuge.

The den's dim interior enveloped her, the air thick with stale wine and smoke. Aanisah's eyes adjusted slowly, she made her way outside to huddle in a narrow alley between the paga den an empty merchant stall. Across the way three men with a kneeling girl. One of them wore tunic and fur-lined cloak marking him as a woodsman or peasant.

"...refuse to buy her," the tall, bearded man with gray hair said, his voice firm. "She's beautiful, I'll admit, but I've no use for a kajira with spirit."

The woodsman's face fell, his eyes darting to the girl beside him. Aanisah's gaze followed, and her heart skipped a beat. The kajira's flaming red hair cascaded down her back like wildfire, her emerald eyes flashing defiance.

"But, noble sir," the woodsman protested, "she's trained, obedient—"

"Obedient?" The red-haired kajira's eyes sparkled with amusement, and she spoke, her voice husky. "I am, until the whip's applied."

The bearded man scowled. "I'll not have a kajira who'll knife me in my sleep."

The woodsman leaned forward. "Come, the city slaver, consider her beauty—"

"Beauty's not enough," the city slaver said, his voice unyielding. "I've no use for trouble."

Aanisah watched, transfixed, as the woodsman's face darkened. He grasped the kajira's arm, pulling her close. "Very well, I'll find another buyer."

As they departed, Aanisah sensed unease. The city slaver seemed principled, but the kajira's words lingered – obedient until the whip's applied. Aanisah shuddered, knowing the whip's cruel kiss.

The city men departed, leaving Aanisah alone in the alley. She pondered her own situation – no papers, no fine clothing, and no protection. But something within her stirred, a spark of defiance. She would survive, even thrive, in this unforgiving world.

As she settled into the shadows, Aanisah's thoughts turned to the red-haired kajira. What lay ahead for that fiery beauty? And what would become of Aanisah herself, lost on Port Olni's dock? 

Aanisah rummaged through the discarded food behind the paga den, her stomach growling with hunger. As she scavenged, she kept a wary eye on the surrounding area. The dock's bustling activity had slowed, with only a few stragglers remaining.

As she finished eating, Aanisah noticed one of the two men who had rejected the woodsman's kajira still standing outside. The man, the city slaver, leaned against the building, his arms crossed. His gaze swept the dock, and Aanisah felt a shiver run down her spine.

She tentatively emerged from the alley, her bare feet making barely a sound on the stone of the expansive dock. the city slaver's eyes locked onto her, and he straightened, his expression unreadable.

"Where do you think you're going, little one?" the city slaver asked, his voice firm but curious.

Aanisah's heart quickened as she realized she had no choice but to answer. "I... I'm just looking for a place to stay," she stammered.

The city slaver's gaze roamed her body, lingering on her bare feet. "A kajira, I see. And a runaway, no less."

Aanisah's cheeks flushed, but she stood tall, trying to appear confident. "I'm not a runaway," she lied. "I'm here to meet someone."

The city slaver raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And who might that be?"

Aanisah's mind racing, she recalled a conversation she overheard on her way up river. "Arealius," she said, trying to sound convincing. "I'm here to meet Scribe Arealius."

The city slaver's expression changed from curiosity to amusement. "Arealius, the journalist and explorer?" He chuckled. "You're a bold one, I'll give you that."

Aanisah's heart sank, thinking she'd made a mistake. But the city slaver's expression turned thoughtful. "Very well, I'll play along. What business do you have with Arealius?"

Aanisah seized the opportunity, trying to sound confident. "I'm... I'm a model for his paintings."

The city slaver's eyes sparkled with intrigue. "A kajira model, how... fascinating. I think I'll take you to meet him. He's always looking for new girls to use."

Aanisah's mind reeled as the city slaver offered his arm, leading her down the dock. What had she just gotten herself into? And what would Arealius be like? She glanced up at the city slaver, his expression unreadable.

As they walked, Aanisah realized she had to keep up the charade. But for how long? And what would happen when Arealius discovered her true identity – a runaway kajira with no papers and no protection?

The city slaver smiled to himself as he dressed Aanisah in fine, free women's attire, complete with a veil to conceal her features. He intended to compound her problem, making it easier to claim her for the kennel. But, in his haste, he overlooked one crucial detail – her bare feet.

As they walked through Port Olni's winding streets, Aanisah struggled to keep pace with the city slaver, her bare soles sensitive to the rough stone pavement. She clutched the veil, anxious about the impending meeting.

Upon arriving at the city inn, the city slaver announced, "We're here. Arealius' favorite place to drink. The rumor is that he is a close friend of the innkeeper," the slaver snorted as if he had made a clever joke. 

Inside, the gallery's opulent decor and soft lighting enveloped them. Arealius, a man with a hard face and piercing blue eyes, greeted the city slaver warmly. Beside him stood a stately woman, Lady Sorana, the High Scribe of Port Olni.

"What brings you to the inn Master-Slaver?" Arealius asked, his gaze flicking to Aanisah.

"I've brought a... friend," the city slaver said, his smile faltering as Arealius's eyes narrowed.

"Ah, yes. Your... friend." Arealius's gaze dropped to Aanisah's bare feet, and his expression turned incredulous. "You've forgotten the finer details of free women's attire."

Lady Sorana's eyes sparkled with amusement. "It seems our city slaver's made an... oversight."

The city slaver's face reddened as Arealius and Lady Sorana exchanged a knowing glance. "Come girl," Arealius said. "We'll hear her story... privately."

The three of them adjourned to a secluded room in the city gallery, leaving the city slaver's plan in tatters. Aanisah's heart raced as she realized these individuals might offer her salvation, not servitude.

As they stood, Arealius leaned forward, his eyes locked on hers. "Tell us, girl, what's your story?"

Aanisah took a deep breath, the veil trembling in her hands. "I... I was on a riverboat, bound for this very port, sir. But Captain Orsen—"

Lady Sorana's expression turned sympathetic. "We know Orsen's reputation. Continue."

Aanisah recounted her ordeal, and the city slaver's subsequent manipulation. Arealius and Lady Sorana listened intently, their faces etched with concern.

When she finished, Arealius leaned back, steepling his fingers. "We'll help you, girl. But first, we must verify your claims. Lady Sorana, will you—"

"I'll investigate Orsen's activities," Lady Sorana said, her voice firm. "And our city slaver... will ensure the girl's safety in the kennel until then."

"Don't worry, girl. You're under our protection now. We'll uncover the truth, and justice will be served."

As Arealius' words wrapped around her like a warm cloak, Aanisah felt a glimmer of hope. Perhaps, in this chaotic world, she'd found unlikely allies.

Arealius, a cartographer and historian of the caste of scribes for Port Olni, and Lady Sorana, the High Scribe, stood with Aanisah in a secluded room within the city gallery. The air was thick with tension as Aanisah revealed her story.

"I was a slave, previously known as Kristie," she began, her voice trembling. "Captain Orsen took my papers, including my manumission papers. The city slaver provided these clothes."

Lady Sorana's eyes narrowed. "He took your manumission papers, knowing what that would mean?"

Aanisah nodded, tears welling up. "Yes, he said I'd have to earn them back."

Arealius's expression turned sympathetic. "Are you branded, girl?"

Aanisah nodded again, staring at the floor.

Lady Sorana made a disgusted noise. "What was your caste before you were collared?"

Aanisah took a deep breath. "I started as a physician's slave, eventually earning my freedom. I was brought from Earth as a barbarian, sold in Lara, and trained as a physician's assistant."

Arealius' eyes sparkled with curiosity. "You can read and write in Gorean?"

Aanisah nodded. "Yes, I learned quickly as a physician's assistant."

Lady Sorana's gaze turned gentle. "But you have no proof of your freedom."

Arealius outlined their options: "We can act unaware, violating our caste oath; turn you into the kennel; or take you into our household until you prove your freedom or earn it from us."

Aanisah begged, "Not the kennel... anything but that place."

Lady Sorana suggested, "Take her into our house?"

Arealius arched his eyebrow. "Begging is slavish, stand up, girl."

Aanisah rose, wiping her tears. "I prefer the third option, if you force my hand."

Arealius explained the implications: "In this city, a captured woman is property of the Ubar. Submitting to a man makes her his property."

Aanisah understood, her voice firm. "I understand. I'm not afraid of hard work."

Lady Sorana warned, "Our expectations are high. We're of the second-highest caste. No foolishness will be tolerated."

Arealius added, "My work is dangerous. You'll be traveling with me."

Aanisah took a deep breath. "I understand danger. I feared for my life daily as a slave."

With resolve, Aanisah removed her veil and stepped forward. "I submit to you and your companion... Master."

Lady Sorana smiled at Aanisah's wording.

Arealius turned to Lady Sorana. "Do you bear witness to this woman's submission of her own free will?"

Lady Sorana replied formally, "I do bear witness."

Arealius nodded solemnly. "Welcome to House Barbosa, Aanisah."

Aanisah felt freedom slip away, replaced by determination. "Would you like me to undress... Master?"

Arealius's expression softened. "No, Aanisah. We have much to discuss. Your safety, duties, and place within House Barbosa."

"Lady Sorana guided Aanisah toward a nearby door. "Come, you are now Neeve, and I am your mistress. Let us prepare you for your new life."

Editors Note:

In the Gorean setting, a fictional world created by John Norman, a woman's submission to a freeman is a significant aspect of their societal norms and relationships. Here's an overview:

Conditions of Submission

Free will: The woman must willingly choose to submit to the freeman.
Public declaration: She typically declares her submission publicly, often through explicit words or actions.
Rituals and ceremonies: May involve traditional rituals, such as kneeling, kissing the man's hand, or receiving a collar.

Ramifications

Protection and care: The freeman is expected to protect and care for the woman.
Obedience and loyalty: The woman pledges obedience and loyalty to the freeman.
Social status: The woman's status is tied to her relationship with the freeman.

Legal Aspects

Contractual agreement: Submission is considered a binding contract.
Gorean law: Governed by Gorean law, which emphasizes the freeman's authority.
Witnesses and documentation: Often witnessed and documented.

Key Considerations

Consent: Submission must be consensual.
Respect and trust: Mutual respect and trust are essential.
Gorean values: Honors Gorean values: loyalty, honor, and strength.

Please note that Gorean relationships are fictional and not representative of healthy relationships. This information is for entertainment purposes only.