Results Details

I am yours! I am ready! Be merciless! Be ruthless! Take me! Take me! "Perhaps you were curious," he said, "as to the modalities of discourse required of you at supper this evening," he said. - (Prize of Gor, Chapter 11, Sentence #968)

Oh, I hope that he likes me, if only just a little! Please, Master, like me, if only a little! Take me, she thought. Take me! I am your slave! You are my Master! We are your slaves, oh Masters. Do you not use us as you wish, ravishing us whenever, and however, it might please you to do so? Oh, take me, beloved Master, she thought. I am yours! I am ready! Be merciless! Be ruthless! Take me! Take me! "Perhaps you were curious," he said, "as to the modalities of discourse required of you at supper this evening," he said. "Master?" she said. Inwardly she reeled, in shock. She had expected, at any moment, to be thrown back, to feel the rug's harsh nap on her back, to feel her ankles seized and her legs, he laughing with exultation, spread cruelly, widely. - (Prize of Gor)