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It was he, I recalled, who had regarded me, more than once in the meadow, he before whom I had, with a slave's awareness, a slave's tact and wisdom, a slave's sensitivity and need, understanding herself to be looked upon by a male, twice widened my knees. To be sure, he was a Gorean male, and looking upon him, I became heated. How could it be otherwise? I was a slave. What they do to us! How they make us theirs! Doubtless he had been curious as to what it might be to have me in his arms! Had the stranger sensed this? Was that why he had had him feed me, when I had knelt before him, bound hand and foot? Doubtless he had been curious to know what it might be to have me in his arms! He was now to know! Was that all I was to the stranger, only a slave, no different from any other slave, only another meaningless slave? "Oh, oh," I moaned, softly. "Are you not pleased?" he asked. "Yes, Master," I sobbed. "Thank you, Master". - (Dancer of Gor, Chapter )