Pole Dance
Blood Brothers of Gor, Page 39
Suddenly, the two men with the kaiila quirts struck her
across the back and, before she could do more than cry out, she was, too,
pulled to her feet and forward, on the two tethers.
She then stood, held by the tethers, wildly, before the
pole.
Cancega pointed to the pole.
She looked at him, bewildered.
Then the quirts, again, struck her, and she cried out
in pain.
Cancega again pointed to the pole.
Winyela then put her head down and took the pole in her
small hands, and kissed it, humbly.
"Yes," said Cancega, encouraging her. "Yes."
Again Winyela kissed the pole.
"Yes," said Cancega.
Winyela then heard the rattles behind her, giving her
her rhythm. These rattles were then joined by the fifing of whistles, shrill
and high, formed from the wing bones of the taloned Herlit. A small drum,
too, then began to sound. Its more accented beats, approached subtly but
predictable, instructed the helpless, lovely dancer as to the placement
and timing of the more dramatic of her demonstrations and motions.
"It is the Kaiila," chanted the men.
Winyela danced. There was dust upon her hair and on her
body. On her cheeks were the three bars of greases that marked her as the
property of the Kailla. Grease, too, had been smeared liberally upon her
body. No longer was she a shining beauty. She was now only a filthy slave,
an ignoble animal, something of no account, something worthless, obviously,
but nonetheless permitted, in the kindness of the Kaiila, a woman of another
people, to attempt to please the pole.
I smiled. Was this not suitable? Was this not appropriate
for her, a slave?
Winyela, kissing the pole, and caressing it, and moving
about it, and rubbing her body against it, under the directions of Cancega,
and guided sometimes by the tethers on her neck, continued to dance.
I whistled softly to myself.
"Ah," said Cuwignaka.
"It is the Kaiila!" chanted the men.
"I think the pole will be pleased," I said.
"I think a rock would be pleased," said Cuwignaka.
"I agree," I said.
Winyela, by the neck tethers, was pulled against the
pole. She seized it, and writhed against it, and licked at it.
"It is the Kaiila!" chanted the men.
"It is the Kaiila!" shouted Cuwignaka.
A transformation seemed suddenly to come over Winyela.
This was evinced in her dance. "She is aroused," said Cuwignaka.
"Yes," I said.
She began, then, helplessly, to dance her servitude,
her submission, her slavery. The dance, then, came helplessly from the
depths of her. The tethers pulled her back from the pole and she reached
forth for it. She struggled to reach it, writhing. Bit by bit she was permitted
to near it, and then she embraced it. She climbed, then, upon the pole.
There her dance, on her knees, her belly and back, squirming and clutching,
continued...
Winyela now knelt on the pole and bent backwards, until
her hair fell about the wood, and then she slipped her legs down about
the pole and lay back on it, her hands holding to the pole behind her head.
She reared helplessly on the pole, and writhed upon it, almost as though
she might have been chained to it, and then, she turned about and lay on
the pole, on her stomach, her thighs gripping it, her hands pushing her
body up, and away from the pole, and then, suddenly, moving down about
the trunk, bringing her head and shoulder down. Her red hair hung about
the smooth, white wood. Her lips, again and again, pressed down upon it,
in helpless kisses....
Winyela, helplessly, piteously, danced her obeisance
to the great pole, and, in this, to her master, and to men...
In her dance, of course, Winyela was understood to be
dancing not only her personal slavery, which she surely was, but, from
the point of view of the Kaiila, in the symbolism of the dance, in the
medicine of the dance, that the women of enemies were fit to be no more
than the slaves of the Kaiila. I did not doubt but what the Fleer and the
Yellow Knives, and other peoples, too, might have similar ceremonies, in
which, in one way or another, a similar profession might take place, there
being danced or enacted also by a woman of another group, perhaps even,
in those cases, by a maiden of the Kaiila. I, myself, saw the symbolism
of the dance, and, I think, so, too, did Winyela, in a pattern far deeper
than that of an ethnocentric idiosyncrasy. I saw the symbolism as being
in accord with what is certainly one of the deepest and most pervasive
themes of organic nature, that of dominance and submission. In the dance,
as I chose to understand it, Winyela danced the glory of life and the natural
order; in it she danced her submission to the might of men and the fulfillment
of her own femaleness; in it she danced her desire to be owned, to feel
passion, to give of herself, unstintingly, to surrender herself, rejoicing,
to service and love.
"It is the Kaiila!" shouted the men.
"It is the Kaiila!" shouted Cuwignaka.
Winyela was dragged back, toward the bottom of the pole
on its tripods. There she was knelt down. The two men holding her neck
tethers slipped the rawhide, between their fist and the girl's neck, under
their feet, the man on her left under his right foot, and the man on her
right under his left foot. But already Winyela, of her own accord, breathing
deeply from the exertions of her dance, and trembling, had put her head
to the dirt, humbly, before the pole. Then the tension on the two tethers
was increased, the rawhide on her neck being drawn tight under the feet
of her keepers. I do not think Winyela desired to raise her head. But now,
of course, she could not have done so had she wished. It was held in place.
I think this is the way she would have wanted it. This is what she would
have chosen, to be owned, to serve, to be deprived of choice.
The tethers were removed from Winyela's neck. She then,
tentatively, lifted her head. It seemed now she was forgotten.
Blood Brothers of Gor, Page 35 and Kajira of Gor, Page
141
Notes
From these quotes and everything that drifter has ever been taught there is much controversy over the "pole" in the pole dance. So to clarify the matter she has asked Master Ubar. In the dance pit of Tyros there is a stationary pole.
That having been said, when drifter prewrites a pole dance she writes it as if unbound. However, she keeps in mind that ANY Master at any point may bind her to the pole and order her to dance.
In this dance it is best to always keep in mind that the pole is not just an inanimate object. For any girl dancing a pole dance the pole becomes her Master. Remember that and dance to him, for him, on him. This is one of those dances where a girl will no doubt become graphic and aroused, if she does it right so will the Master. ~winks and giggles~
how to write a pole dance
The basic steps of this dance are much the same as those of the need dance. However there are some things that you must remember when posting. drifter has laid them out for you below.
Step one again getting to the pit and to the pole. Remember that this dance is centered upon the pole. It might help to think of the pole as a guard standing in the center of the pit. How would you approach, where would you be? If you are not comfortable with that approach, then perhaps you might post that you are being "carried to the pole and bound there".
Step two kissing the pole. Why must this be done? Well in drifters experience, it helps a girl to place the pole firmly in her mind not as a cold inanimate object, but as the Master that she must please. This dance is perhaps the most difficult one to perform the first time, because it is only in pleasing this pole that the Masters who watch will be pleased.
Step three performing for the pole. Here you may be a bit, standoffish, not terribly so, but reluctant to make love to the pole. Warm up to it, as you would in other dances. But do not forget in this dance the Pole is the central figure.
Step four here is the story of your dance. What would you have this Master do to you, how would you react? Might you seek his strength, might he punish you, how does your body react to the things this Master does in your mind.
Step five again here you will realize that in your mind and heart while you dance this pole has become your Master. Make it known that you desire this Master, that you can not imagine life without him. Realize that as slave you are subject to the wishes of all men, EVEN if that wish is to be slave to a simple pole.
Step six acceptance of this fact should bring joy to a slave. Revel in the realization, show your joy, you are slave to a pole and will remain so until commanded differently. Love the pole with the joy of your heart.
Step seven well this is where you end the dance. There are many ways to do so. drifter has seen girls have an orgasm and fall back into the sands hands pleading with the pole as the music swirls to nothing. On the other hand she has also seen girls panting and sweating curl themselves around the pole slide to its base and remain motionless. This decision is yours, but remember there must be a definite end to the dance.
Pole Dance
performed by
~*verena*~{DE}~R~
on September 20, 2003
second place SlaveFest
With a sultry drift of icy azure eyes, her sooty lashes dusting the apples of blushed cheeks, warming purrssssssssss flow from the girl's candied lips, while ripening breasts tease His leathers she flows from His lap. Slithering silently downward, her warmed breath hauntingly caresses His flesh as her toes tingle at the touch of His furs. Bronzed thighs pressed widely apart the soft flow of nectars traceable on silken skin, her tendrils of golden curls tangled as they flow over His feet, the eternal fire of the emerald at her throat disappearing behind a veil of sunshine, as her whispered words caress Him in a loving embrace. The sultry gaze broken only by the hush of the Palace as she lifts from His feet, her wanton desires churning deep within, fingertips trickle over defined ribs to the circle the button of rippling flesh. Long sculpted legs tense as they sweep forth, toes pointed , lush kajira hips rolling like the waves of the Thassa crashing with each thrust. Crimson silks shimmer with each step drawn, clinging against her holding her hostage to the pleaures of her Master. Two tiny bare feet sink into the warmth of the sands, the soft shiver of her flesh traced by each following eye
Planting tiny feet in the sands, a girl's sultry eyes lift upwards with a silent sigh as full breasts crest the edges of rustling silks, at the sight of flaming torches lighting a shimmering tall shaft of sleek polished wood, that center pole. Toes curl to the touch of warm sands as they spray behind each lifting foot, her slowed sinful movement of hips enticing His gaze her trembling fingertips reach out to touch the pole. Trembling with emotion at the slender smooth feel of its caress, leaning forward her lips hungrilly press to warm its side with a glistening flicker of a silken tongue. Quivering lips pull from the kiss, the haunting look of fear filled eyes, as the tall form stands motionless to her touch. The fires of desire burning deep in her core, while the sounds of the kalika gently flow, entwined with the soft melting beat of a slaves heart, the free flow of silks ripple over her flesh, each curve of her body enhanced.
Tenderly fingertips swirl down its unending length seeming to capture the circle of light reflected in the sparkle of dancing flames in the sand. A soft spray of sand falls from her hand when she turns pressing the soft curve of her hips, her warmth, leaning upon His unbending form. Tossing a fiery glance over a slender shoulder, tiny hands clench into tight fists. The caress of her warmth gone while hips flare in to a brazenly bold assault, the girl defiantly moves towards the edge of the sands, every muscle tensed. The swirl of sand sprays against the poles base as tiny bare feet twirl, drawing her body around to face Him, the gaze piercing as she looks to Him with contempt. The low lumbering growl flowing from her throat, as the kolar tightens against silken skin. Swallowing hard feeling HIs kolar tightens it's grasp upon her untamed spirit, as if it were His hand taking from her the last breath.
The throbbing of a slaves heart reflected in tiny fingertips, which rise to gently trace the edge of His kolar slowly trickle over trembling flesh to catch in the knot of crimson silk with a soft whimper her resolve is melted before Him. The soft mist of scarlet slowly draws over each breast, the impassioned sway of lush hips, while silks flow silently to her toes. With each fluid step wet thighs slide smoothly against the other the girl moves back toward the circled edge of light, a soft sultry smile crosses her lips as a ring of scarlet lays cast in the shadows, slowly pleading eyes lift, her nakedness veiled by a silken shower of sunkissed curls caresses her form while cherried lips desire the kiss of her Master. The willowy flow of her body melts to His strength, while slender arms lift in a tender embrace fingers flutter as if to steady the tremble of a slaves heated desires, needing the kiss of her flesh to His, held in a heated embrace.
A whimpered moan flows from her lips, echoing the wild beats of her heart, trembling lips fear the loss of His warmth, while her body curls around the wood in a blanket of lust. The pulsing throb of rosy pink petals glide down the post leave the essence of nectar, thighs lock at its base in a heated embrace, her tiny writhing form shadowed by the long length of His unyielding stand. Her gasping breaths heard as she struggles to cling to its sides, the shudder of flesh , bucking and grinding, sweetened nectars flow drenching the wood with each pump of her hips. Losing her hold, as the turns in the sands, tiny granules glisten on oiled flesh, fingertips splay in the warm shimmering sands....Tangled tresses of buttery gold cling to damp skin as they tumble over muscled back, lifting her chin, the kolar tightening, icy orbs of shimmering sapphire rise in a sultry gaze.
glistening thighs tremble wide in the sands... heated and crying the pleasure begins...lifting her ass, in a sultry sway... displaying her need, and marking the way... the imagined touch of His whip as she shudders and pleads...soft trails of scarlet flow on her flesh, the raised lines of kisses from the hot tongues of leather, opening the glistening pink of her heat, hips rocking in the motion to the sound of the beat... the curl of her spine absorbing the thrusts she wiggles and moans with no spoken word...enthralled by the grasp of the touch of the post its probing and shifting with each tiny stroke...satiny skin covered in glisten beads.... sweat trickles in trails sending shivers of pleasure...as it flows tween her breasts, in a river of wamth....
twisting and turning the bending post presses its form into her core...the sound of the drums feverishly crash..., her heart drawn to Him more with each beating lash... hips lifted by Hands embraced by His power.... the need of a slave to serve but one Master.. she turns to the post her lips qivering with joy.... trilling and thrilling the sound of a flute...the stutter of cymbals...and lilt of the lyre...the glistening of sand.... on bronzed silken skin.... the sound around her matching her fire....the arch in her spine .... tangled curls of gold.... body dropped to the sands aching and moaning as thighs open wide.... clutching and hugging its firm wooden sides.. the pelting of thrusts from her hips to its grasp....the savage beat of the drums as she shudders and groans.... the sound of her breath with the final gasp......... then silence......... broken by a wild animal's cry.......
The larl mated and owned... mastered and tamed, her thoughts not her own.. she rolls to her belly, pressed deep in the sand , shaking, and crawling and inching toward Him......the ache and the pleasure felt deep within, as arms sweep forward, fingers tremble and stretch...whimpering softly as glazed eyes close her submission complete, her soft panting quiets as she lifts to His feet, raising her chin, tight on her throat shimmers His kolar.......... she drops to His furs with her last whimper words ~v~
~* la kajira *~
