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"Yes, Master!" Well now was I aware of how I might have responded had they been concerned less to routinely open a young slave and had they been more patient, slower, less merciful. - (Conspirators of Gor, Chapter 8, Sentence #370)

How helpless she would be, so in his power! I feared to be so chained. I wanted to be so chained! How many ways a man has to conquer a woman I thought, the chain, the whip, the switch, the commanding her to her knees, her lips to his feet, a gesture, admitting no questioning, the casting to her of a rag, fit only for a slave, the ordering of her to her tasks, the masterful seizure of her beauty, a kind word, a caress! "More, more, more, Master!" I begged. "Yes," I whispered. "Yes, Master!" Well now was I aware of how I might have responded had they been concerned less to routinely open a young slave and had they been more patient, slower, less merciful. What if they had been tortuously slow, reading my body, playing upon it, as on a czehar or kalika, bringing forth what music they wished? Could I help what I was, female, and slave? A thousand modalities attend the mastership, and the slave learns a thousand yieldings, and submissions. She may be seized, and put to use in any place, at any time, in any way. She may be used abruptly, and cast aside, and rejoices to have been granted even so much. - (Conspirators of Gor)