Book 27. (1 results) Prize of Gor (Individual Quote)
| Chapter # | Sentence # | Quote |
|---|---|---|
| 22 | 652 | How vulnerable we are! How they make us theirs! They play us like czehars, drawing what music they will from our bodies! How arrogantly, how imperiously they master us, their slaves! And Ellen envied the slave within the tent. |
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Book 27. (7 results) Prize of Gor (Context Quote)
| Chapter # | Sentence # | Quote |
|---|---|---|
| 22 | 649 | "Please, Master, I love you!" Ellen heard. |
| 22 | 650 | "Permit me to yield! I cannot stand it! I fear I will die! Oh, oh. |
| 22 | 651 | Please do not bring me again and again to this point, so, cruelly, without permitting me to yield! Just one more touch, Master! Please, another touch, just the tiniest touch! It is all I need! I am your slave! Do not be so cruel! Show me mercy! You have conquered me a thousand times! I am hopelessly and abjectly yours! I love you, Master! I beg to be permitted to yield!" Men, the arrogant, masterful beasts, thought Ellen, biting her lip, grinding her fingernails into the palms of her hands. |
| 22 | 652 | How vulnerable we are! How they make us theirs! They play us like czehars, drawing what music they will from our bodies! How arrogantly, how imperiously they master us, their slaves! And Ellen envied the slave within the tent. |
| 22 | 653 | Would that I were in her bonds, thought Ellen. |
| 22 | 654 | I, too, would weep with passion, and beg to yield, and if my master, in his mercy, saw fit to grant me the caress of permission, I would weep with ecstasy, his, and beg to please, again and again. |
| 22 | 655 | Will he not be kind to her? Does he not know she is only a slave? There was then a soft, rapturous, prolonged, grateful, inarticulate cry from within the tent, partly muffled, for the master had perhaps placed his hand firmly over the mouth of the slave, that she might not disturb the camp. |
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"Please, Master, I love you!" Ellen heard.
"Permit me to yield! I cannot stand it! I fear I will die! Oh, oh.
Please do not bring me again and again to this point, so, cruelly, without permitting me to yield! Just one more touch, Master! Please, another touch, just the tiniest touch! It is all I need! I am your slave! Do not be so cruel! Show me mercy! You have conquered me a thousand times! I am hopelessly and abjectly yours! I love you, Master! I beg to be permitted to yield!" Men, the arrogant, masterful beasts, thought Ellen, biting her lip, grinding her fingernails into the palms of her hands.
How vulnerable we are! How they make us theirs! They play us like czehars, drawing what music they will from our bodies! How arrogantly, how imperiously they master us, their slaves! And Ellen envied the slave within the tent.
Would that I were in her bonds, thought Ellen.
I, too, would weep with passion, and beg to yield, and if my master, in his mercy, saw fit to grant me the caress of permission, I would weep with ecstasy, his, and beg to please, again and again.
Will he not be kind to her? Does he not know she is only a slave? There was then a soft, rapturous, prolonged, grateful, inarticulate cry from within the tent, partly muffled, for the master had perhaps placed his hand firmly over the mouth of the slave, that she might not disturb the camp.
- (Prize of Gor, Chapter 22)