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These girls, too, of course, must obey. They, too, of course, must perform, and perfectly, and in all ways, for their indifferent, callous, contemptuous masters. How ambivalent may be their feelings, those of the subdued, helpless, utterly vulnerable slaves, properties only, resenting the chains that are locked unlovingly on their fair limbs, the cuffings and bruises that seem so unfair and unearned to them, the cruel and arduous labors assigned to them, the severity and perfection of the discipline in which they are held, the seeming indifference to their desperate, manifold endeavors to please in all ways, and yet, strangely, too, despite their pique and ire, their distress and fear, they respond to, and respect, and are thrilled by the uncompromising dominance to which they are subjected. Hating the master they find themselves hoping to hear his step outside the door; furious, they long to be ordered to their knees; angry, they hope that he will hold his whip to their lips, that they may lick and kiss it with grateful deference. "How I hate him!" she thinks. And then the tiny, irresistible voice within her whispers to her, "You love him. You love him!" Let them hope, however, that despite their lowliness and unworthiness, as mere slaves, meaningless properties that may be bought and sold, that their diligence, their devotion and lengthy, attentive labors may win for them at last a grudging smile, a commendatory, half-reluctant, rough caress, a softening of viewpoint, and attitude. - (Fighting Slave of Gor, Chapter )