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"Ohhh, master, master!" A bit later, she cried, softly, questioningly, wonderingly, poignantly, "master?" I hoped Tajima would be merciful to the slave. I suspected, by now, the lightning, set to the bowstring of the heavy, dark, surging, turbulent clouds, was prepared to flash, the thunder to roll forth, to the beat of its drums, roaring like an avalanche in the Voltai, precipitating its tons of falling rocks to the valley below. "Please, master!" she cried suddenly, frightened, miserably. "Continue! Do not stop! I am there, there! I am ready! I am poised! I shall burst! I cannot help myself! I am bound! I am helpless! I ache! I cannot stand it! Be merciful, master! Be merciful! Please, master, be merciful to your slave!" I waited for a time, uneasily, and then, to my satisfaction I heard the slave cry out, suddenly, explosively, wildly, joyously, disbelievingly, her cry almost instantly stifled by Tajima, presumably his hand clapped over her mouth. Who knew what might lurk about, in this pleasant grove, with its small pool? There was silence for a time. I could not even sense the twisting of the body in the grass, nor hear the pulling of the leather against the stakes. "Oh, master!" said Nezumi. - (Rebels of Gor, Chapter )