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And if you are not like a sinuous she-sleen in heat, it is rather because you are more like a sleek, curvaceous little she-urt in heat! You are a meaningless little slut in whose belly have been kindled slave fires!" "I hate you, Mirus," she said to herself. - (Prize of Gor, Chapter 24, Sentence #53)

Too, had it not been his whip that she had first felt as a slave? Certainly no slave is likely to forget her first whipping. But certainly her "thighs did not steam for him," and the mere sight of him did not "lubricate her for the mastery," nor had she followed him "like a she-sleen in heat"! No! Never! That was absurd! "Lying little slave girl," she said to herself. "Your thighs steam for any man, and the sight of any virile male lubricates you for the mastery. And if you are not like a sinuous she-sleen in heat, it is rather because you are more like a sleek, curvaceous little she-urt in heat! You are a meaningless little slut in whose belly have been kindled slave fires!" "I hate you, Mirus," she said to herself. "You have called me plain and stupid, and I am neither. I am so sorry that you tired of me! What a disappointment for you, that you made so little money on me! I was not interesting enough for you to have at your feet! You let me go! You rejected me!" But then she said to herself, "But we are both of Earth. You extricated me from amongst the men and beasts at the tent, who might otherwise, in their impatience, have subjected me to the whip or bastinado. - (Prize of Gor)