Dyl

I am not owned. I do not want to be owned. I have no choice in this. I will be force collared only.


Dyl regards himself in the woman's mirror and notes how he's changed in his single year on Gor. His 19 year old body has thickened, solid now and meaty, still lean, not bound and ripped like the Gorean men. The collar has tightened around his neck. His hands are hard, rough, his hair unruly, but his spirit has not been broken. His eyes flash with anger when he is called 'boy'