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Were her bound curves that different from those of other helplessly trussed beauties? What had been in her eyes, as she had looked up at me? She did not even recognize me, I who had brought her to rope and iron! How uncertain she had been, how trembling and frightened, and dismayed, on the block, naked, routinely turned about, presented for the perusal of buyers. - (Smugglers of Gor, Chapter 8, Sentence #23)

She was a slave. Who can understand the motivations of men, of oneself? I was angry with her, she no more than another marked collar slut. Still she had looked well at my feet in the warehouse. Were her bound curves that different from those of other helplessly trussed beauties? What had been in her eyes, as she had looked up at me? She did not even recognize me, I who had brought her to rope and iron! How uncertain she had been, how trembling and frightened, and dismayed, on the block, naked, routinely turned about, presented for the perusal of buyers. I recalled the first time I had seen her, in her quaint, concealing, barbarous garments, and how our eyes had met, and her eyes had widened, and her lips parted, and it seemed she might fall, and she was so frightened, was so much like a startled, wide-eyed, helpless tabuk doe finding herself beneath the gaze of a lari. She had turned about and fled, as though she might have escaped, if we had found her of interest. I had entered her on the list as a possible acquisition, and she was put under surveillance. - (Smugglers of Gor)