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As the body of a woman is it not theirs, a fitting belonging, like the whole of a woman, of men? I have always wanted to show it, to display it, and I am grateful that I must now do so. Must we always be content with a disarranged veil, the hem of a skirt, lifted about an ankle? Better the slave in her collar, given no choice but to be bared before masters! Does not the free woman, in her heart, yearn to cast aside her robes, and show herself as what she is, woman! Does she truly wish to bargain with the promise of her beauty, dangling it before her like a closed purse, whispering its hints from behind an opaque screen? Are not such mercenary ones better put on the slave block, in chains? The beauty of a woman is not a thing of shame. Who could think so? Does she truly think it a thing of shame? Surely her beauty is not a thing of shame, not a blemish, or crime, to be concealed from view. Does she truly wish to conceal her beauty? Does she not rather, in her heart, desire to reveal it? How different is it, truly, from that of a thousand other beauties, that of grass and wine trees, that of tabuk, of sleen, or kaiila? Is it not a thing with which to be pleased? Let the slave, brazen in her sex, be proud. Let her say to the free woman, 'Here I am, a female, found pleasing by men, and collared, for their pleasure. Are you so much? I am helpless, and theirs. I must be obedient, and fear the whip! Would you not be so ? Abuse me, and hate me, if you wish. - (Mariners of Gor, Chapter )