Hope of Tina Dance

No Criteria for this dance. The girl just dances her hope that she is so beautiful, feminine and marvelous that she could be acceptable as a slave.


“May the melody also be,” said she, “one in which a slave may be well displayed.”

“A block melody?” asked the flutist, addressing his question to Philebus.

“No,” said Philebus, “nothing so sensuous. Rather, say, the “Hope of Tina.”

Approval from the crowd met this proposal. The reference to “block melodies“ had to do with certain melodies which are commonly used in slave markets, in the display of the merchandise. Some were apparently developed for the purpose, and others simply utilized for it. Such melodies tend to be sexually stimulating, and powerfully so, both for the merchandise being vended, who must dance to them, and for the buyers. It is a joke of young Goreans to sometimes whistle, or hum, such melodies, apparently innocently, in the presence of free women who, of course are not familiar with the, and do not understand their origins or significance, and then to watch them become restless, and, usually, after a time, disturbed and apprehensive, hurry away. Such women, of course, will doubtless recall such melodies, and at last understand the joke, if they find themselves naked on the sales block, in house collars, dancing to them. Some women, free women, interestingly, even when they do not fully understand such melodies, are fascinated with them and try to learn them. Such melodies, in a sense, call out to them. They hum them to themselves. They sing them in private, and so on. Too, not unoften, one one level or another, they begin to grow careless of their security and safety; they begin, in one way or another, to court the collar. The “Hope of Tina,” a melody of Cos which would surely be popular with most of the fellows present, on the other hand, was an excellent choice. It was supposedly the expression of the yearning, or hope, of a young girl that she may be so beautiful, and so feminine, and marvelous, that she will prove acceptable as a slave. As Temione was from Cos I had little doubt that she would be familiar with the melody. To be sure, it did not have something of the sensuousness of a block melody about it. Yet I thought, even so, she would probably know it. It as the sort of melody of which free women often claim to be completely ignorant but, when pressed, prove to be familiar, surprisingly perhaps, with its every note.

“Why do you wish to dance before me?” asked the burly fellow of the slave.

“Did Master not wish to see a woman dance?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“Surely then,” she said, “that is reason enough.” He regarded her, puzzled. It was clear he did not recall her, but also clear, for he was no fool, that he suspected more was afoot that a mere compliance with a masterly whim, even though such whims, for the slave, in many contexts, constitute orders of iron.

“Why do you wish to dance?” he asked.

“Perhaps,” she said, “it is that a master may be pleased, perhaps it is simply that I am a slave.”

I saw Philebus’ hand tighten on the handle of the whip.

“Do I know you?” asked Borton

“I think not, Master,” she said, truthfully enough.

She put her hands over her head, her wrists back to back.

“She is beautiful!” said a fellow.

“Dance, Slave,” said Philebus.

“Ah!” cried men.

To be sure, Temione was not a dancer, not in the strict trained sense, but she could move, and marvelously, and so, somehow, she did, swaying before him, and turning, but usually facing him, as though she wished not to miss an expression or an emotion that might cross his countenance. Yet, too, uncompromisingly, she was one with the music, and, particularly in the beginning, with the story, seeming to examine her own charms, timidly, as it, like the “Tina“ of the song, she might be considering her possible merits, whether of not she might qualify for bondage, whether or not she might somehow prove worthy of it, if only, perhaps, by inward compensations of zeal and love, whether or not she might, with some justification, aspire to the collar. Then later it seemed she danced her slavery openly, unabashedly, sensuously, so slowly, and so excitingly, before the men and, in particular, before the burly fellow. Surely now, all doubts resolved, there was no longer a question about the suitability of bondage for such a woman.

“She can dance!” said a man.

“She should be trained!” said another.

“See her,” said another.

“Has she not had training?” asked one of Philebus.

“No,” said Philebus. “Only days ago I bought her free.”

“See her,” said another.

“It is instinctual in a woman,” said another…

The collar looked well on her neck. It belonged there. There was no doubt about it.
How she looked at the burly fellow! He was now so taken with her he could hardly move.

Now the exquisite slut began to sense her power, that of her beauty and desirability.

She had determined, I now realized, from the first movement she had leaped to her feet, obedient to the command of her master, Philebus, that she would make test of her womanhood, that she would, courageously, regardless of the consequences, risking contempt and perhaps even punishment, display herself before him, this rude fellow who had once so scorned and tyrannized her as a free woman, as what she now was, ultimately and solely, female and slave. To be sure, she, new to her slavery, had perhaps not fully realized that she had really no choice in the matter but, willingly or not, must do so, and to the best of her ability, in total perfection.
Borton moaned in desire, scarely daring to move, his eyes glistening, fixed on the dancing slave.

– Vagabonds of Gor

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