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I smiled to myself. That I had pleased him? Rather it seemed he had used me, imperiously, as a master, for his pleasure! In his arms I, helpless, moaning, crying out, sometimes even begging for mercy, had been forced to endure lengthy slave ecstasies. I squirmed in the sand, digging into it until I again felt the bars of iron, of the pen floor, beneath me, remembering what it had been to be in his arms. Tomorrow I would presumably return to the black chain of Ionicus, though perhaps to be kept in Aulus's tent in a rectangle of silk. Surely that was preferable to wearing chains and carrying water in a large, damp skin bag, struggling against its bulging, shifting weight, bent over, going back and forth, back and forth, wading in sand to the ankles. I recalled, oddly, when I had knelt before Tyrrhenius, weeks before, when I had learned that he was going to sell me, he had spoken of "inquiries". I had not much thought of it at the time, but now, in the darkness, lying in the sand of the pen, I wondered what he had meant. - (Dancer of Gor)