~~standing on the sideline watching the Jarls as they talking about their recent hunting trip watching making sure no horn was left high and dry...the Paga Den's requested for the nightly dance to which it was ebediyet to show off her dancing skills...
~~ebediyet asked the muscians if they could play "Hope for Tina" so she could dance for the FreeMen...they nod and she thanked them then got ready...the other slave girls quickly filled the horns of the Men and was able to take some of the best seats in the house upon the laps of a handsome FreeMan after they served them all...the music was about to begin as ebediyet sashayed to the sandpit...
the "Hope of Tina" dance
~~the lil bond sashays slowly...tentatively to the sandpit...her cheeks flushed...her heart racing...she peeks to the Men whose eyes are upon her...gazing to them in earnest...as she reaches the center of the pit... standing very still...
~~hearing the opening strains of the delicate melody of “Hope of Tina” her soft blue eyes drop to the ground...and she begins to move...almost imperceptibly at first...her hands skim her thighs and across the slight swell of her hips...her feet move lightly in the cool sand....each note of the soft music is both familiar and mysterious to the girl...who moves instinctively...full of apprehension and excitement both...following her body’s cues...
~~she turns slowly before an invisible looking glass...as though examining her reflection...her hands entangle in her honey-colored hair...lifting it...exposing smooth fair shoulders and collared neck...her fingers trace the delicate skin there...her eyes close as she turns again...hips dipping and swaying in time with the music...her body exploring its potential with each movement...
~~round and round she moves...her hands releasing her hair...the wild tangle of lustrous waves fanning around her as she dances...she pauses for a moment...as if considering...running her hands down the length of her body...then moving to her neck once more....her soft lips dance with a hopeful smile...in her mind...her reflection is as clear as if it were truly there...only the person looking back at her is more beautiful...more graceful...and is owned by a certain man....worthy of his collar...
~~blindly she pivots within the sandpit...her eyes still closed...lashes thick and dark against porcelain cheeks...subtle pantomimes in her movements reflect her vivid imagination...she inclines her head... revealing her neck once more...as though a personal collar snaps shut around it...she cringes and recoils as though struck with a whip...she purses her rose colored lips as though for the kiss of a Free Man...each reality of the slave is displayed with child like wonderment in her dance...
~~slowly her dusky blue eyes open once more...seeming to glimmer more blue now...widening as she gazes down upon her undulating form...she raises arms high overhead...stretching soft skin taut...delicate muscles straining as she arches her back...thrusting full...youthful breasts forward...evermore bold in her movements...her yearning is clear on her face...her cheeks burn bright crimson with the changes inside her...she throws her head forward...golden hair cascading down to hide her body...then wantonly she tosses it back...exposing not only her body but that which burns inside her...a new woman...emerging...her hips sway more dramatically still...more womanly...their sensuous swaying betray her need to be pleasing in the eyes of Men...
~~she steals yet another glance...finding their eyes upon her...expressionless...yet watching her still...desperate...vulnerable...she drops roughly to her knees...her body folding in on itself...her hands come forward to brace her...and she lifts her now wanton eyes to Master Ridge..pleading...and begins a brazen crawl toward him...her back arched...catlike...she stops after three short paces...her eyes reflecting hope...fear...and animal instinct to please...
~~slowly...decidedly...she pulls herself upright...rocking back on her heels...her back arching into a delicate bow...she holds her head high...with pleasure and esteem at what she is becoming...and casts her blazing sky colored eyes to the ground...her palms come to rest lightly on her thighs that kiss...she peeks to Master Ridge again...beneath his watchful eyes...her hands turn over gently...her palms now skyward in supplication...she lowers her eyes...her chest rising and falling with her ragged breaths...her heart beating wildly as the music slowly fades to silence...
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 'Hope of Tina,' a melody of Cos whuch would surely be popular with most of the
fellows present, 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 femine, and marvelous, that she will prove acceptable as a slave.
'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.
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.
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.
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."
Vagabonds of Gor, page 37-40