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How often in history, she thought, it had been only a woman's beauty which stood between herself and the sword. - (Prize of Gor, Chapter 9, Sentence #112)

And she was not displeased. What female, and particularly one such as she, on this world, would not wish to be attractive, even luscious? She shuddered. She recalled that the young man on Earth, now her master, had suggested to her that her very life might depend on such things. How often in history, she thought, it had been only a woman's beauty which stood between herself and the sword. How grateful she might be then when she felt her hands roped behind her and a leash put on her neck! The other girls in the room, those such as she, were in their tunics! Why was she not then in her tunic? Long ago she had ceased to feel such a garmenture was inexcusable and insufferably improper, that it was scandalously outrageous. To be sure, she supposed in some sense it was still all these things, and by intent, but now, too, it seemed appropriate, delicious, provocative, maddeningly exciting, sexually stimulating to the wearer and doubtless, too, to the bold and appraising onlooker beneath whose gaze its lovely occupant found herself without recourse. But even on Earth she had, she was now aware, viewed such garmentures rather ambivalently, perhaps even hypocritically, viewing them, or pretending to view them, on the one hand with the prescribed indignation and rage, and, on the other, wondering curiously, and excitedly, what she herself might look like, so clad. - (Prize of Gor, Chapter 9)