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I pointed to my mouth with my pinioned hands, and whimpered, pleadingly. - (Conspirators of Gor, Chapter 18, Sentence #790)

I was with them, my wrists braceleted before my body, but was not yet on the wagon chain. I heard steps approaching. It was he in whose keeping I was! I instantly knelt, and lifted my braceleted wrists to him, pathetically, tears on my cheeks. I pointed to my mouth with my pinioned hands, and whimpered, pleadingly. It was only last night, in the paga tavern, that I had been put in the modality of the mute slave, but almost from the first moment I was suffering. I had struggled again and again last night, in the tavern, on the way back to the wagons, when my shackling was being attended to, to make clear my contrition, and my resolve to be more pleasing. I so desperately wanted to speak to him, to return myself to his favor, such as it might be, to express my shame and sorrow at my overweening, unconscionable pride, my insolence. - (Conspirators of Gor)