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Alas, I, so little trained in the art form, for an art form it is, was only too painfully aware of how far short my efforts must fall from those of a skilled performer. - (Witness of Gor, Chapter 16, Sentence #170)

"No, Master," I said. "Continue," he said. And so again the music began, and again I danced. Alas, I, so little trained in the art form, for an art form it is, was only too painfully aware of how far short my efforts must fall from those of a skilled performer. Could I do more than squirm, and writhe, and plead with my body, for mercy? But perhaps my desperation might amuse him? Perhaps he was merely interested in registering, with bemused tolerance, the inept, pathetic strivings of an Earth-girl slave to please him, hoping not to be beaten. Perhaps he was having me do this merely that he might at the end, for my clumsiness, lash me? Yet, too, I did not want to betray the dance. I loved it. - (Witness of Gor)