The Sa-eela is one of the most moving, deeply rhythmic and erotic of
the slaves dances of Gor. It belongs, generally to the genre of dances commonly known as
the Lure Dances of the Love-Starved Slave Girl. The common theme of the genre, of course,
is the attempt on the part of a neglected slave to call herself to the attention of the
master. The Sa-eela, usually performed in the nude, as though by a low slave, and by a
girl freed of all impediments except her collar, is one of the most powerful of slave
dances of Gor. It is done rather differently in different cities but the variations
practiced in the river towns and, generally in the Vosk basin, are in my opinion, among
the finest. There is no standardization for better or worse, in Gorean slave dance. Not
only can the dances differ from city to city, but even from tavern to tavern, and from
girl to girl. This is because each girl, in her own way, brings the nature of her own
body, her own dispositions, her own sensuality and needs, her own personality, to the
dance.. For the woman, slave dance is a uniquely personal and creative art form. Too, it
provides her with a wondrous modality for deeply intimate self-expression..
The Sa-eela, of course is not the sort of dance which could be performed by a free woman.
Peggy now danced upon her knees, at the end of the table using the table in the dance,
thrusting her belly against it, and touching it with her hands, and her body and lips.
Peggy, then was back from the table, on the tiles, on her back, and sides, and knees, and
then prone, and again supine, and then writhing, as though in frustration and loneliness.
Stands before the Master, hands lifted, their backs together above her head.
T observed the dancer, closely, the striking of her small, clinched fists on the tiles,
the scratching of her fingernails at their smooth surfaces, the turning of a hip, the
flattening of a thigh, the lifting of a knee, the turning of her head, the piteous
scarrering of her hair from side to side. She lay on her back, and whimpering, struck down
in misery, stinging the palms of her hands, bruising her small heels. She might have been
in a cell, locked away from men.
She then rolled to her stomach, and rose to her hands and knees, and head down remainded
for a moment in that posture. It is at this moment that the music enters a different
melodic phase, one less physical and frenzied, one almost lyrical in its poignance. She
crawls some feet to her left and lifts her head. She puts out her small hand. It seems
that it there encounters some barrier, some enclosing, confining wall. She then rises to
her feet. Swiftly she hurries about, in the graceful, frightened haste of the dancer, her
hands seeming to trace the location of the obdurate barriers, those invisible walls which
seem to contain her. She then stood and faced us, and put her head in her hands, bent over
and straightened her body, her head and hair thrown back. "I?" she seemed to
ask, looking out, as though some rude jailer might have come to the gate of her pen. But
there is of couse, no one there, and in the performance of the dance, that is clearly
understood. Then, in poignant fantasy, within the pen, she prepares herself for the
Master, seeming to thoughtfully select silks and jewelry, seeming to apply perfume and
cosmetics, seeming to be bedecked in shimmering diaphanous slave splendor. She then
crosses her wrists, and moves them, as though they have been bound. She then extends them
before her as though the strap on them had been drawn taut. It then seems that she, head
high, a bound slave is being led on her tether, from the pen. But, at the gate, of course,
her wrists separate, and her small palms and fingers indicate for us clearly, that she is
still confined. She retreats to the center of the pen, falls to her knees, covers her head
with her hands, and weeps.
The next phase of the music begins at this point.
She looks up. There is a sound in the corridor, beyond the gate. She leaps up, and backs
against the wall of her pen. This time, it seems, truly, there are men there, that they
have come for her. She puts her head up; She turns away; she feigns disdane. Then it seems
as she, startled, looks about, on the floor of the pen, calling to them, lifting her head,
holding out her hand piteously to them. She pleads to be considered.
It then seems, as she shrinks back, lifting herself to the plams of her hands, frightened,
that the gate to her pen has been opened. She kneels swiftly in the position of the
pleasure slave. Obviously she fears her rude jailers. Twice it seems she is struck with a
whip. Then she again assumes the postion of a pleasure slave. She nods her head. She
understands well what is expected of her. She is to perform well on the tiles of the
feasting hall. "Yes Masters!" it seems she says. But how little do her jailers,
perhaps only common and boorish fellows, understand that this is precisely what she too,
deeply and desperately desires to do. How long she has waited, in cruel frustration,
unfulfilled and lonely, in her cell for just such a moment, that precious opportunity in
which she a mere slave, may be permitted to display and present herself for consideration
of her master. How can they understand the poignance, and significance of this moment for
her? She is to have an opportunity to present herself before the master! Who knows if she
in such a large house, one with such cells and jailers, may ever again be given such an
opportunity.
It then seems that she is hauled to her feet and that her wrists, tightly and cruelly, are
bound behind her back. Her body and head are then bent far over. Her head twists. It seems
a man's hand is in her hair. Not as a high slave, clothed in jewelries and shimmering
silks, tastefully bound, is she to be conducted to the site of her performance, some
aristocratic banquet; rather, cruelly bound and nude, she is to be thrown before masters
at a drunken feast. She then with small, hurried steps, bent over, described a wide circle
on the tiles. Then, it seemed, she was thrown to her knees, and then her side, before us.
Her hands were still held as though tightly bound behind her. She looked at us. We were of
course, the "masters," before whom she was to perform. She rose to her feet. She
twisted as though her hands were being untied. She then flexed her legs and lifted her
hands over her head, as she hand in the beginning, back to back.
The final phases of the Sa-eela then begin.
In these phases the girl, in all her unshielded beauty, and naked except for the collar of
slavery, attempts to arouse the interest of her master.
Peggy's body gleamed with sweat. She had small feet, and lovely high arches. Her body was
superb.
She had now entered into the display phase of the Sa-eela. In this portion of the dance
the girl calls attention to the various aspects of her beauty, from the swirling sheen of
her cascading hair, to her ankles, from her small feet to her tiny, fine fingers.
The music now, pounding and throbbing, mounted headily tword the climax of the Sa-eela.
In these, the final portions of the Sa-eela, the slave in effect, puts herself at the
mercy of the master. She has already presented before him, almost in a delectable
enumeration, many of the more external and rhythmic aspects of her beauty. She has
displayed herself hitherto before him rather as an object in which, hopefully, he might
take an interest. A woman may do this, of course from many motives; such as fear or her
desire to be purchased by an affluent master, only one of which might be her authentic,
poignant desire to be found pleasing by him. for her own sake. In such displays there can
be, though there often is not, a subtle psychological distinction, detectable in the
behavior, between the merchandise, so to speak, and the girl who is displaying herself as
merchandise. In the first case, where no true distinction exists, which is the authentic
case, the girl in effect says, "I am for sale. Buy me, and love me!" In the
second case, the girl in effect says, "Here is a fine slave. Are you not interested
in her?" In the second case of couse, the Gorean is interested, though the girl may
not understand this clearly, in not only the merchandise but the girl who is displaying
the merchandise. She might truly be terrified if she understood that it was herself he
intended to own, and in fact, was going to own, she the exhibitor of the merchandise as
well as she, the merchandise exhibited. Goreans, as I have mentioned, are interested in
owning the whole woman, in all her sweetness, depth, complexity and individualism.
The girl now, in all her helplessness, in all her desperation in all her sensual splendor,
was dancing not aspects or attributes of her beauty before her master, but was dancing her
own passions, her own needs and desires, her own piteous needful, beautiful, intimate and
personal self before him. There were no restraints, no reservations, no compromises, no
divisions or distinctions. Her needs were as exposed as her collared body. She danced
herself before her master.
The music swirled to its climax and Peggy, turning, flung herself to her back on the
tiles. As the music struck its last, rousing note, she arched her back, and flexed her
legs, and looked back at him, her right arm extended piteously back toward him.
Guardman of Gor, pg. 260
