Feeding Mistress

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Feeding Mistress
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The foods and feeding of slaves on Gor


The Psychology of slaves dependent on Masters for food
Food from the Masters hand (or also only eating when permitted) is one of the methods used to impress and reinforce slavery
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

Again, using food to control and encourage the behavior of slaves
I was hungry, and it was now dusk.
"When do we eat? I asked Ute.
"After the masters," said Ute, referring to the guards in the plural, "if we please them."
"If we please them?" I asked.
"I am always fed," said Lana.
"Do not fear," said Ute, laughing at me, "you are white silk!"
I looked down.
"You will please them," Ute reassured me. "We all will. Why do you think they asked for us?"
"Perhaps we should have eaten in the food line," I said.
"And be beaten?" asked Lana.
"No," I said, confused.
"A hungry girl often serves better," said Ute. Then she laughed at me. "Do not fear," she said. "If they like you, they will throw you food."
-Captive

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.
-Slave Girl

Granting Feeding permission to slaves
slaves could not eat unless permitted
A gorean custom of hospitality was to allow the guest to grant permission to slaves
Sometimes Verna would say, "Drink," and I would pour wine into her goblet, saying, "Yes, Mistress," and sometimes Rask of Treve would command me, saying "Drink," and I would then, similarly, serve him, saying "Yes, Master."
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

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

Pouring wine to a bowl for a slave to drink
He then, from his own cup, poured some wine into a small bowl, which he handed to me.
"Thank you, Master," I breathed.
With his head, Rask of Treve gestured me to one side, and I went and knelt to one side, as I had before.
-Captive

Feeding by hand in flight, on tarnback
Ahn after Ahn, the tarn flew.
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

Making a game of feeding slaves - simple entertainment for men
Lana, Ute and I knelt in a line, facing the players. Our hands were bound behind our backs with binding fiber.
The men, wagering, tossed us pieces of meat.
We caught them, in the firelight. A catch was two points. A piece which was dropped was fair game for any. We fought for the dropped pieces. The retrieval of such a piece was one point. Ute dropped a piece and Lana and I fought, each holding to a part of the fallen prize, rolling and tearing. I struggled back to my knees, tearing my head to one side. "Mine!" I cried, swallowing the meat, almost choking, laughing.
"Mine!" cried Lana, gorging the other half of the meat.
"Point for each," adjudicated one of the guards.
-Captive

Given stew, bread, vegetables & fruits in slave pens I did not care particularly for the wooden bowls of stew and bread we commonly had at the public pens, but I was hungry and ready to eat even such, and with enthusiasm. In vegetables and fruits, and, if our group had trained, acceptably, after the evening meal, before being returned, hooded, to the public pens, we would be given candies or pastries, or, sometimes, a swallow of Ka-la-na wine.
-Captive

We knelt in a circle, eating from the wooden bowls of bread and stew. We were given no utensils. Our fingers served to pick out meat and bread, and the gravy we drank. The girls chatted, and most seemed to have forgotten the ordeal of the morning.
-Captive

Gruel
Yes sometimes slaves were fed gruel - apparently early in training to impress slavery, and encourage swift progress in training to "earn" more flavorful foods.
"Eat!" said the man. My face was thrust down, into the trough, half into the moist gruel. His hand was in my hair. I feared for a moment I might suffocate. I pressed my face down into the gruel. I opened my mouth. With my teeth and lips, and tongue, desperately scraping, scooping, pulling, licking, biting, pushing down, moving my head, I tried to get as much into my mouth as I could. My head was then pulled up, and held back, by the hair. I swallowed what I had in my mouth. It was not easy to swallow it. I knelt before a wooden feeding trough, with other girls. The man crouched beside me. My eyes were closed. Gruel was upon my face and in my hair. He then threw my head forward again, over the wooden rim of the trough, and pushed my face down again, deeply, submerging it, to the ears, in the gruel. Again I struggled to get as much as I could into my mouth. Then his hand left my hair and I lifted my head from the moist substance. I blinked, gruel upon my face, its particles like wet, unmelting snow on my eyelashes. He had gone further down the line. I struggled to swallow what I had in my mouth. I pulled a little, weakly, at the light, lovely manacles which confined my wrists behind my back. I looked at the other girls, to my right. They, too, were similarly manacled. We were not yet permitted to use our hands in feeding.
-Dancer

I did not care for the gruel much, as it was tasteless and flat. I ate it, however, as it was incumbent upon me to do so. Too, I was hungry, and it was undeniably nourishing. It, like other aspects of our diet, the fruits and vegetables, and the cylindrical pellets we were given, seemed intended to slim our bodies and bring us to a peak state of health. The gruel was appropriate enough for us, I supposed. It was clearly a form of animal feed.
-Dancer

I recalled the morning we had left Ko-ro-ba.
We had been called from our cells well before dawn. Each of us had then been forced to eat a large bowl of heavy slave gruel. We would not be fed again until that night. In the courtyard of the pens, under torchlight, with brushes we were forced to scrub the stink of the pens from our bodies.
-Captive

Fed bits from their Masters plates
In their serving the girls, of course, had ignored Peggy and Florence. It was as though they were not present. They were only slaves. But, of course, Miles of Vonda and Tasdron, of Victoria, their masters, had given them food from their plates. Florence had eaten well but Peggy had eaten hardly anything at all. She could hardly take her eyes from the mighty Callimachus.
-Guardman

Fed pastries while kneeling with their Masters at a party
"Master?" asked the small, chained slave in bluish gauze.
I took another pastry, and, with a movement of my hand, dismissed her.
She went then, again, to Miles of Vonda.
"Please, Master, that one," begged Florence.
He took the indicated pastry from the tray, gave it to the slave, and continued his conversation with Tasdron.
"Thank you, Master," said Florence, and, kneeling behind her master, began to eat the pastry.
-Guardman

"Master, may I have that pastry?" asked Florence, indicating the one she desired.
"No," he said.
She knelt back.
But I noticed that, in a moment, he had given it to her, and she knelt back on her heels, her knees closely together, holding it with two hands, eating it.
-Guardman

Fed dates from a tray, by hand
I fed her some dates, by hand, putting them in her mouth, from a tray of food I had brought up from the kitchen.
-Guardsman

I held a date before her, and she leaned forward, stretching her chained neck to reach it, and I drew it back. She then knelt back again, on her heels. Whether she were to receive the date or not was my decision I then gave it to her, putting it in her mouth.
"My Master feeds me," she whispered. "The slave is grateful."
I then put a shallow porcelain bowl of water on the floor, and pointed to it.
She drank from it on her hands and knees, lapping from it, as a she-sleen. "My Master waters me," she said, looking at me, from her hands and knees, the chain hanging from the collar on her neck. "A slave is grateful."
In so simple a fashion, by hand feeding, and floor watering, not permitting the slave to use her hands, I had demonstrated to her, in the Gorean fashion, that her food and water, even such simple things as whether she was to eat or drink, or not, were in my control.
-Guardsman

Allowed to eat dates, larma slices, and pastries
"You may now sit back against the foot of the couch," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
I joined her there.
We then, from the tray, feeding ourselves, taking dates, and slices of larma and pastries, breakfasted and chatted.
It is pleasant to have breakfast in bed, so to speak, with a naked young lady, especially when she is chained by the neck to your slave ring.
We chatted of many things, including our former lives, on Earth, and our experiences in the university. She was loquacious and animate.
-Guardsman

Black wine
"I have a surprise," I told her.
I brought up from the kitchen, where I had been keeping it hot, a vessel of black wine, with sugars, and cups and spoons. Too, I had brought up a small bowl of powdered bosk milk. We had finished the creams last night and, in any event, it was unlikely they would have lasted the night. If I had wanted creams I would have had to have gone to the market.
Immediately the girl, kneeling, prepared to serve me. "I believe Master prefers his black wine 'second slave,' " she said "Yes," I said. I watched her pouring the beverage. She did so carefully, deferentially, being careful not to spill a drop. I noticed how her breasts depended from her body. How marvelous it is to be served by a beautiful woman. "There are two cups," she whispered. "One is for you," I said. "Black wine is expensive," she said. "Pour one for yourself," I said. "Even though I am a slave?" she asked. "Yes," I said. "Am I a high slave?" she asked. "Do you wish me to hold your head back, my hand in your hair, your back almost breaking, and force the spout of the vessel between your teeth, pouring the wine as it is, black and scalding, down your throat?" I asked. "No, Master!" she said. "Your brand is pretty," I said. "Thank you, Master," she said. "You are not a high slave," I said. "You are a low slave. You are the lowest of low slaves." "Yes, Master," she said. "And do not forget it," I said. "No, Master," she said. "Now pour yourself a cup of wine," I said. "Yes, Master," she said. "May I mollify my beverage?" "Yes," I said. I watched her as she mixed in a plentiful helping of powdered bosk milk, and two of the assorted sugars. She then left the small, rounded metal cup on the tray. "Why do you not drink?" I asked her. "A girl does not drink before her master," she said. "I see that you are not totally stupid," I said. "Thank you, Master," she said. I then sipped the black wine. She, too, then, after it was clear that I had drunk, lifted her own cup to her lips. "Yes," I said, "you may drink, Slave." She then, head down, holding the small cup by its two tiny handles, sipped the beverage.
We drank the black wine in silence, sipping it, looking at one another.
How beautiful she was, and I owned her!
-Guardsman

Given cheap wine, yellow bread, vegetables & meat
I now sat on a heavy bench, some five feet in length, before a stout, rectangular table. These things had been put in the cell for me. I wore a light, repcloth slave tunic. On the floor, on straw, was a blanket which I had been given. Though the cell door was locked, I was not chained. On the table was a bowl of cheap wine, some wedges of yellow bread and a wooden bowl containing vegetables and chunks of meat.
-Fighting Slave

Fed fried vulo & bosk meat
The girls looked at one another, wonderingly. The seaman unbound their wrists from behind their backs, and filled two trenchers, steaming now with bosk and vulo, which he thrust in their hands.
-Hunters

Fed by guards, whatever foods were cooked and at hand
We were taken from the wagon and, chained outside, kneeling, were fed. In the two days since I had been captured, prior to our encountering the caravan, we had had only berries and water, and bits of small game, cooked by the guards and thrown to us in scraps. Now, chained, kneeling in a circle, we passed about, one to the other, a bowl of hot soup; then each of us was given a sixth of a round yellow loaf of bread, which we ate with our hands; then, before each of us, on the grass, he guards threw a large piece of cooked meat. I was famished and, burning my fingers, I clutched at it, and, half-choking, thrust it half into my mouth, tearing at it with my teeth and hands, the juices running at the sides of my mouth.
-Captive

slaves rented to serve at a party, fed by hand in kitchen
There was then a swirl of music and the dancers had finished. We well applauded them. They had been superb. They stood before us in their blue silk and golden collars, their heads down. Then, smiling, to another swirl of music, they turned and hurried from the room, going to the kitchen, where their master would be waiting for them. They were barefoot. There were golden bangles on the left ankle of each. In the kitchen they would be stripped of their costumes, which were not to be soiled. They would then kneel and be fed by hand.
-Guardman
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