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Perhaps it was the rain, or the spillage from the gutters to the street below. - (Plunder of Gor, Chapter 19, Sentence #29)

To be sure, there are a thousand ways a girl can signify her needs, and her supplications that her master will condescend to satisfy them, glances, subtle movements, seemingly inadvertent proximities, tiny sounds, kneelings, licking and kissing the feet and ankles, and then raising one's eyes, tear-filled, begging, to the master. How much we are at the mercy of men, once the brutes have, at their inclination, or will, ignited our slave fires, latent in any healthy female. Do free women scorn us for our needs? Do they despise us for our vulnerability, our helplessness? Let them then wear the collar and strive to resist the flames burning in their own bellies! And will they not be successful until, at last, overcome, they crawl to their master, they, too, begging, whimpering, petitioning his pity? I did not know why I had awakened. Perhaps it was the rain, or the spillage from the gutters to the street below. Then I heard it, or thought I heard it, again. Was it not a scrape, or a tiny scratching sound? Surely not. What could be heard in the storm? The rain would mask out a thousand noises. - (Plunder of Gor)