Physical Description
    Name: delilah{Tegutai}
    Age: approximately 44 Gorean years (deduct 18 years to get my RT age!)
    Height: 5'6"
    Weight: 140 lbs.
    Eyes: winterpale blue
    Hair: rich, deep brunette, wavy and hip-length
    Brands and Piercings: four-horns Tuchuk brand on left outer thigh; custom-made four-horns-and-talenders brand on right outer thigh, covering the personal JAK brand of Jakira; personal K brand of Krul on lower left abdomen; septum pierced with the golden nose ring
    Training Level: pagar slave
    Rank: senior slave trainer; fighting slave spar trainer
    Special Skills: senior healing slave; trained bola runner; dancer
    Slave Sparklies:************************

Biography
    As sometimes happens, a haughty and highborn woman of the Scribes bore a female child she deigned not to keep. Before she was even a month old, this girl-child was sold to the slave house of Saurus of Corcyrus and given the slave name cynda. Treated well in the House of Saurus, among the finest slave houses in the city, cynda’s childhood was not an unhappy one as she learned the domestic tasks of the household slaves. Having been born to a woman of the Scribes, she was even taught to read and write to increase her sale value. Knowing no other life or home, and with no thought of fleeing, cynda was not chained in the kitchens or secured in the kennels as night, as were many of the other slaves, but was instead given a tiny room adjoining the great feasting hall. Gradually, the child’s golden locks darkened to a lovely, rich mahogany, though her eyes remained palest blue.

    Although not particularly unkind, Saurus gave cynda no illusions of freedom. Thus, at the age of seventeen, she was trained extensively in the pens of the House of Saurus and prepared for her sale. Now she was merely another girl among many who slept on the straw of the slave pens. Occasionally, rumors would trickle through the slave pens of growing unrest in Corcyrus and of the bitter war with Argentum, but there was little time to think of such things. Word soon came that Ar had joined with Argentum, but still the training in the House of Saurus continued.

    Then, the night before graduation, cynda awoke to a peculiar acrid odor slowly drifting through the slave pens: fire! Ar had invaded! The slaves, cynda among them, huddled in their kennels, terrified, knowing that they were only so much booty in a siege Corcyrus could not hope to win. Minutes later, the alarm bars were sounded: the House of Saurus had been overrun with soldiers of Ar!

    It was not long before cynda and her fellow slaves had been freed from their kennels only to be shackled in long coffle lines. With sheets thrown over their bodies and heavy coffle collars locked overtop, the captive slaves, cynda among them, shuffled blindly through the streets of burning Corcyrus. Perhaps an ahn later, these bonds were removed only to be replaced by the tight confines of tarn baskets. Naked and terrified, cynda and hundreds of slaves like herself were flown to Ar to be sold to the highest bidder at the Cerulean, its finest auction house.

    Before she reached her eighteenth year, cynda felt the sawdust of the auction block beneath her bare feet for the first time. Terrified and nude, she danced beneath the whip of the auctioneer and was sold for twelve pieces of gold to a slave caravan bound for Turia. Gathering berries and cleaning leather by day and chained to a slave pole in the center of a canvass-covered wagon by night, cynda and her fellow sisters in bondage slowly traveled far from the lands of beautiful Corcyrus and opulent Ar.

    cynda never reached nine-gated Turia.

    The caravan had not been long upon the open plains in the area known as ChatCity before it was raided by the Paravaci, one of the four fearsome tribes of the Wagon Peoples. Terrified of these barbaric people with their colorfully Scarred faces, cynda strove to be a perfectly obedient slave in her new camp collar. Soon the camp fell to bickering. Many Masters and Mistresses sought other areas of the plains. Eventually very few remained to sit around the camp fire. Just before his death, the Ubar freed cynda from her collar and gave her his blessing to wander in search of a new home. cynda, nearly fainting with relief, took a suitable Free Woman’s name, Jacqueline, and fled a place which had only confused and terrified her.

    In her travels, Jacqueline met with a kind man by the name of Jarred. Rather than enslaving her, Jarred took her under his wing, and together they traveled many areas of the plains until they reached the lands known as Webmaze. There, Jacqueline was welcomed warmly and found the home she had been seeking for so long. When Jarred moved on, Jacqueline bid her traveling companion a fond farewell and remained with the Webmaze Tuchuks.

    For a time, Jacqueline was simply grateful for the warmth of her family’s fires, the homey interior of her small wagon, and the usefulness of plying a trade she knew well from her former bondage, that of Seamstress. A city girl who had not been with the Paravaci long enough to learn the ways of the wagons, Jacqueline gradually adapted to plains life and grew to love the bosk, the grass, and the open skies.

    Eventually, Jacqueline felt a restlessness within her. Pondering that perhaps she had grown bored of the Seamstress trade, Jacqueline decided to try her hand at training a kaiila—but not just any kaiila! Mustering her courage, she traveled to the Barrens and approached Chief StoneS Spirit Thunder, offering her Seamstress’ garments, feathers, colored thread, and beads in trade for a fine mount. The proud, stern chief had a black and white paint, a blood red bay, and a dappled grey brought forth, well-dispositioned fillies all. Choosing the grey and naming her Galena, Jacqueline took her leave with pounding heart, casting fearful glances over her shoulder the entire way.

    For many hands, Jacqueline busied herself with the breaking and training of her young beast, teaching herself to ride as she went along. Hundreds of bumps and scrapes and one beautifully trained mare later, Jacqueline realized she still hungered for something she could not quite define. Setting the Seamstress’ needle and the kaiila trainer’s saddle aside, she apprenticed herself to Dark Ravynn and took up the Stone Cutter’s chisel and hammer, trying her hand at the sculpting of marble and granite.

    Then one day, in the midst of carving a kaiila figure, Jacqueline’s eye was caught by the beauty of a serving slave. Seeing the joy and freedom of the girl, the dance in her steps, the unrestrained beauty, Jacqueline suddenly understood the emptiness of her own existence. But then she turned her eyes to her free sisters, Dark Ravynn, Lilli, Niccola, Kitria, Karanis; to her free brothers, Ariakas, Blaze, Grakor, Gryphon, Krul; and to her Ubar -- all of them so proud of her -- and was afraid. Would they not be disgusted by her? Would they not turn their backs on a shameless slave who had masqueraded as a proper Free Woman for so long?

    And so she buried her feelings deep within, hiding them as her discontent and restlessness grew.

    Time passed. One day, after more than a year as a Free Woman among the Tuchuks, Jacqueline’s heart began to pound as Ubar RAGNAR called his camp to attention. In just a matter of days, there was to be a festival in which Frees and slaves would exchange roles for fun and learning. The news filled Jacqueline with elation: For just a few days, she could be a slave without actually submitting and losing the respect of her Brothers and Sisters! Every single night of the festival, Jacqueline was there, dressed in gossamer silks and serving her heart out. Many came to whisper in her ear, “No offense, but you ought to be a slave!” Jacqueline answered them with smiles and laughter, but deep within her, a voice whispered,     It feels so right… and they can see it now!

    All too soon, the festival was over, and Jacqueline returned to her sewing, her stone carving, and her kaiila riding. Now she truly felt like a lifeless, empty husk without purpose or meaning. In anguish, she finally confessed to her closest sisters, “I wish the festival had never ended! I wish I were still a slave!” Their responses astounded her. Not one of them begrudged her; not a single sister withheld her love and support.

    And so it was that Jacqueline knelt before DarkRavynn, who did the honors while Ubar RAGNAR was recuperating from another of his many battles, and accepted a camp collar. Its inscription, {MTC} was read to her. Jacqueline repeated the ritual phrases with tears in her eyes and was given the slave name, delilah.

    Being a slave does not always mean instant fulfillment and happiness, of course, and finding her rightful place at the feet of Masters and Mistresses was not the end of her story but only another chapter.

    delilah served as a camp slave for well over a year until her desire for a private owner became apparent to her slave belly. Again she felt a sense of restlessness, a sense of being unfulfilled. Ubar RAGNAR saw her need and was kind, and for a second time, the slave now known as delilah found beneath her bare feet the sands of the auction block. Yet delilah’s quest for permanence became a fragile, fading dream as her ownership changed hands numerous times.

    Just when it seemed that all hope of happiness had departed, she was sold to Master Krul, he who had been her dear friend when she was a Free Woman, he who had awakened the depths of her slave belly with his quiet strength and strong but gentle hand. The sale price was met--a new saddle, black in color, with matching bridle and girth; 20 arrow heads; 13 hand-axe handles; and a facial chain for Ubar RAGNAR’s helmet--and delilah joyously assumed the position of female submission as her heart Master’s collar was locked around her neck. With heart filled to overflowing, she danced only for him:



    ~*~ slipping from my Master's wagon, the sweetly rounded hips of a slave roll with liquid ease beneath sheerest layers of white and pink shimmering with hundreds of tiny pearls…i move to Him, a pale moth drawn helplessly to His flame, falling to my knees a few paces from the One who holds my very essence in His hand… fully in His view, dark tresses upswept in a smooth bun to expose the sensual curve of neck and shoulder as wispy ringlets trail at my nape, i turn my face to him, the motion revealing the single tear-shaped pearl dangling at my forehead on a thin golden chain, my only adornment ...raising one arm and turning my face into its delicate arch, i slowly trail the fingers of my other hand from a velvet ear lobe to the ring of steel loosely gracing my throat, tracing the letter lovingly etched there before slipping my fingertips to the top of my shoulder...as the tones of a gentle melody drift along the night breezes, i slowly begin to sway...~*~

    ~*~ the music pervading my senses, i respond exquisitely to its caress, rising to my knees as if lifted by the notes themselves...slim fingers undo the loose knot at my shoulder, a strip of ivory silk coming free only to expose a new layer beneath...my hand circles slowly above my head as i unwind the diaphanous material from my swaying form, the long pearl-kissed veil alternately hiding and exposing me to my Master's view as it slips through my free hand...feeling lighter as the material falls from me like a dazzling smile that hides pain, i lay this glittering burden at His feet, baring my emotions to His view as i offer up my trust without restraint...~*~

    ~*~ as the music grows more intense, the melody driving me to new heights of awareness, i sweep my hands downward to the fullness of woman's hips, deft fingers tugging free another gossamer veil, gently pink like the interior of a sea shell stranded on a dry beach by the waves which had once nourished and sustained it...as this strip of fabric tangles in my hands, i reach out helplessly... finding nothing, i draw back unto myself, shrinking and small, head bowing with acceptance as the tide recedes, never again to touch...the final tears of that long ago pain fall to dissipate like drops of sea water evaporating from a smooth shell...stretching my body along the sand, i lie curved and pale, the wadded veil extended in trusting hands, the pain and fear of abandonment stripped from me at last....~*~

    ~*~ freeing my hands of this burden, i roll to my back and immediately lift, facing away from Him with sinuous spine arching and fingers trailing in the sands behind me, soft upswell of bosom reaching for the luminous moons above…suddenly the tempo of the music lulls, and i dip backward again, the currents of sound no longer buoying me...sheer veils ripple with the effort of waiting, caught in a game of time...again the music beckons me upward, and again it does not sustain me as i collapse backward before the completion of my rise, the flames within me restless with frustration as i seek and fail, healed yet unfulfilled...~*~

    ~*~ helplessly, i roll again to face Him, searching Him out with desperate eyes as i rest upon my stomach.... crawling low on my belly ‘til full lips hover at His feet for one sensual, breathless moment, i push upward and draw my knees beneath me, resting back on the cusp of delicate heels before again bending backward in a cruel and lovely arch...on an upswelling melody, i lift and reach, a pale and pink-tipped flower unfolding to His sun, dark head lifting last of all as i give myself over to His power and the knowledge that only through Him, and Him alone, can i rise...~*~

    ~*~ Cupid's bow lips curving tenderly, i slip one foot from beneath the pliant curve of my bottom and slide the leg before me with toes pointed, leaning forward to grasp my bare ankle, delicately veined.... i slide my palms upward along taut and sculpted calf, along dimpled knee, past creamy thigh and upward to the smooth column of waist.... as one hand rests upon my navel, belly rolling with the sweet melodies, the other slips to the opposite shoulder to loosen a final layer of silk, the veil unwinding in a slow descending spiral as i free the cunning loops of material from my body and draw them under my extended leg, the fabric pooling in my hands…~*~

    ~*~ i dance bare before Him, His moth, His shell, His flower, the layers of pain, fear, and despair now stripped from my soul as i symbolically lay the last vestige of my past at His feet.... daring to look into His eyes, lips slightly parted as my breaths quicken, i reach to undo my neat bun, nimble fingers plucking free the two hidden pins to send a cascade of sable waves tumbling to the sweet dimples at the base of my spine... in this simple, sensual act before the One who owns me, i confirm that i am His, my search having come to an end....bending forward, silken tresses slithering over my shoulders to shroud His feet, i lay myself prostrate and tenderly lift His boot to my neck, entrusting my life to Him as the music slowly fades...*


    In the arms of her Master and her beloved mirror sister, jale, her little family within the larger family circle, ~delilah~{K} had truly found her place. For eight months and twenty-nine days, ~delilah~ knew only joy in her collar; but on that fated day just before the nine month mark, the trust she had in her Master was broken and the devistated slave begged release. Tears streaming down her face, she ran to Ubar RAGNAR and threw herself weeping at his feet, unable to imagine what her future would now hold. And he lifted her up and called her his daughter, placing the title of Ubar's Ward upon her. His personal wagon, DRAGONSLAIR, became her home as well, and she eventually took the title of Slave Training Instructor and the role of Camp Singer.



    Though it was sometimes difficult for Delilah to find a song in her heart, it was music that kept her soul alive. Immersing herself in camp activities gave her little time to think, and for several months her days were spent instructing slaves, riding her new dappled grey kaiila stallion, Sonnet, composing and singing songs, cooking meals, sparring, engaging in target practice with rotten tospits, and riding herd during migration to the camp's summer lands. Sometimes Delilah would find herself gazing at the joy of a serving kajira with a certain wistfulness, but she would always find another activity to drive away the sadness and longing.

    Then, one day, the Outriders returned with a familiar face among their ranks: Trel, the camp Iron Master, had returned from family business in Treve. As he greeted her with eyes of silvered steel, Delilah shivered at the recognition of a Master's gaze. Trel's playful banter started immediately. Delilah did her best to avoid the brash, almost arrogant man's double entendres, each with an allusion to the steel of a collar or to the kajira hiding within a free woman, but her witty, nervous rebuttals did nothing to quel his persuit. Within a matter of days she was forced to admit that slave fires still burned beneath the long leather dress of a free woman, and with trembling hands and quiet heart she stripped herself before Trel and submitted to him of her own free will. With the closing of Turian steel, she had again come full circle.



    Though she was not a love slave, delilah found happiness in her place on Trel's chain. fiaine, Trel's first girl, was a much-loved sister; and within a few weeks, delilah's friend and former Mistress, Talena, also submitted beneath Trel's silver gaze. Her sisters at her side and a strong Master's steel at her throat, delilah tried to forget the only Master who had ever enslaved her heart. But delilah's contentment was not to last. A rift grew between her Master and the Ubar who still called delilah his daughter, and Trel left Maze Tuchuk with his three slaves. The small company traveled to an area of the plains known as DarkSide where Trel founded DarkSide Tuchuk Camp. delilah and talena were heartbroken and despondant, for DsT simply did not feel like home. Though saddened, they knew they had no choice but to beg for release; and so delilah and talena returned to Maze Tuchuk and were placed in camp collars.

    The upheaval of those months showed delilah that there were only two certanties: MTC was home, and Krul was still her heart Master. When the eyes of Krul and delilah met across the dusty camp, it was as though that fateful day of her release had never happened. She knelt to him and spoke as a slave--truthfully, passionately, holding none of her feelings back. By the end of a week, she was again Krul's property for the price of a shiny new pair of spurs.





    delilah spent nearly three years in Krul's collar, but it was not meant to last. Krul remained with the herds for longer and longer periods of time without word, until even summer migration did not bring him home. And so it was that RAGNAR, Ubar of the Maze Tuchuks, declared that Krul had abandoned delilah and jale, claiming ownership of both girls and immediately gifting them to his adopted daughter, Kelsey.

    The Corcyran-born Tuchuk slave bore the collar inscription of {Kels} with the knowledge that she would proudly serve her dear friend until such time as a Master demonstrated his worthiness to own delilah. Ironically, Krul returned to camp only days later, on the night that she accidentally called another man "my Master." That man was Tegutai, the simple Tuchuk-born Scarrer with the blue-black hair and the raptor gaze; for in Krul's long absence, delilah's heart had moved on. Though Krul had been delilah's heart Master, it was in Tegutai that she recognized her love Master, that perfect compliment to her slave belly. But Tegutai spurned her from his presence with a rude shove of his boot, for he was not her owner, and her form of address had been improper.

    It was not until months later -- nine months from the moment delilah had known she was in love with Tegutai and seven months from the time she was given to Kelsey -- that she was able to call him "my Master" without fear of rebuttal. For the price of a fine kaiila mare, delilah changed hands for the last time on the evening of March 26th, 2007.

    And so it is that this story comes to an end. She is delilah{Tegutai}, and so will she remain until the end of her days upon Gor.





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