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That was surely where Mirus had angrily spurned her from the dais, with a thrust of his bootlike sandal, and she, helplessly bound, turning and rolling, twisting, in pain, had tumbled rolling to the rug at the foot of the dais. - (Prize of Gor, Chapter 16, Sentence #109)

Could these things be true? Could she have gone mad? But there, high, just below the hip, was the tiny, graceful, cursive kef. It was true! She was branded! Literally, actually branded! That lovely mark was literally in her. It had been burned into her with a hot iron! She was branded, clearly and unmistakably marked! On her right side there was a bruise. That was surely where Mirus had angrily spurned her from the dais, with a thrust of his bootlike sandal, and she, helplessly bound, turning and rolling, twisting, in pain, had tumbled rolling to the rug at the foot of the dais. He had not been gentle with his slave. She looked at her left ankle. About it there was a heavy shackle. - (Prize of Gor)