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Unlike some of them, I had known I was a slave, even on Earth. Doubtless, in time, they, too, would come to understand that they were slaves, and had always been slaves, lacking only the master and the collar. They would come home to themselves, in being owned and mastered. What hormonally normal woman does not wish to kneel before a master? Is this not clear enough from their dreams, and their feelings? Who does not wish to be a man's belonging? Who does not wish to feel his bonds, his lips and hands on one's body, owning it, possessing it, subduing it, treating it as he wishes, so casually, so thoughtlessly, so imperiously, caressing it into submission, forcing it to yield to him the pleasures of the master, and forcing us, as well, to endure, should it please him, whether we will or no, unspeakable, spasmodic ecstasies of rapture, ecstasies which we will beg to yield, again and again, as his ravished slave? "What was your caste?" I had been asked. "I had no caste," I said. "She is a barbarian, can you not tell?" had said another girl. "Listen to her," said another. - (Smugglers of Gor, Chapter )