A dance: by Adaugo

Please note that the Gorean Saga is a fictional series, and its world, customs, and values may not align with modern societal standards or moral principles.

This is written by the slave by the old name of Adaugo. 

Adaugo moves with hesitant steps, glides into the center of the dance pit, her dark skin shimmering in the low torchlight. Tiny beads woven through her long, breaded hair click softly as she moves, betraying her nervous anticipation. She lowers her gaze, lips parted in uncertainty, arms drawn inward protectively as she senses the expectant eyes gathered around her. She breathes deeply, determined yet visibly unpracticed, body swaying with subtle, awkward grace—as if the rhythm within her is new, and she knows this dance is something her spirit is only just learning to awaken.

Adaugo fingers trembling as they reach for the tambourine resting by her side. She draws it into her hand, the beads in her braided hair chiming with the motion. Steadying herself, she closes her eyes briefly, letting the cool surface of the tambourine ground her. With a measured breath, she begins to tap out a shy, uncertain rhythm, each beat gradually gaining strength and confidence as her imagination takes hold. The pulsing sound lifts her spirit, overtaking her nerves. Her body sways in time to the rhythm she creates, limbs growing fluid and expressive. Lost in her self-crafted music, her eyes open, shining with new resolve; she smiles softly, forgetting her surroundings. Her only purpose now, to be pleasing to every eye watching as her dance melds with the living heartbeat of her drum.

Adaugo plays the tambourine skillfully. As the sound of the drum grows stronger beneath her skilled hands, the young girl lets her imagination go. She pictures the crowd, each Master and onlooker, falling under the hypnotic spell of her rhythm and the gentle sway of her hips. Her steps slow and teasing, a shy dancer but never shy in her own desires. Her gaze sparkles with mischief as she moves deliberately to a spot where the light frames her silhouette, hips swaying in mesmerizing patterns that seduce those watching. In that moment, she forgets her earlier hesitation; her boldness shines through, openly communicating her longing. Her sensual hunger is clear and unafraid to tempt. She knows the rhythm she pulses and the dance she weaves are as much an invitation to her use.

Adaugo pours with each accelerating beat her entire being into the dance. Her hips roll in slow, deliberate circles, arms undulating above her head as she turns. Her body weaving a wordless story of use and pleasure, her flexibility flaunting the endless possibilities of her form. Freed now of any restraint, unashamed and heedless of past nervousness, she moves with bold abandon, lost to everything but the rhythm and her own rising desire. Sweat traces glossy patterns across her dark skin, veiling her in a sheen that glistens in the light. The air grows thick with anticipation and with the primal musk of her arousal. The scent teasing those who witness her surrender to the dance. Her quickened breath and flushed cheeks are testament to the heat building inside, her vivid imagination stoking the flames of her performance, compelling every eye to follow the story she so brazenly displays.

Adaugo plays the final, intoxicating beat to her tambourine. Her movements slow, hips and limbs coming to languid rest. She stands bathed in the dim glow, sweat glistening on her dark skin, beads tinkling softly in her braids. The heavy musk of her arousal still lingers in the charged air, mingling with the thunderous silence that follows her last turn. Heart pounding, she dips low in a graceful bow. Her gaze bold, lips parted in satisfaction, offering herself fully to those she’s entranced. In that quiet moment, she is utterly exposed. Her spirit and desire laid bare for all to see. With a faint, knowing smile, she retreats from the pit, the memory of her dance alive in the eyes of every witness, her own soul still trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure and pride.