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In the past few months, since my sale in Victoria, I think the major change that had taken place in me, which muchly transformed me, was the kindling of my slave fires. They had been kindled by masters, as they wished, I given nothing to say about it. Periodically they would rage, and I would become, sometimes to the amusement of masters, cruelly needful, even beggingly so. What can so humble a woman as needing attention so desperately that she must beg for it, and hope that her petitions, often lodged at a master's feet, will be favorably received? How different this seemed from Earth where I, and others, had been sought, and might acquiesce or not, with a kiss or not, as it pleased us, to the importunities of males. But here, on Gor, at least for slaves, whose slave fires raged, the situation was much the reverse. I had sometimes felt ashamed, crawling to a master on my belly, begging for his touch, until I recalled I was a slave. How helpless we were on Gor! How much here, on Gor, were we at the mercy of men, our masters! How cool and superior to us were the exalted, refined, proud, serene, aloof free women! How they despised us for our needs! But did they not know we were collared? Would they be different, stripped and chained, their slave fires lit, fiercely burning, at a master's feet? Why should the masters sometimes smile at me, lying before them, on the tiles, my body scarlet, lifted, my eyes piteous? Why should they find this amusing, when it was they who had made me so? I had had no choice. - (Plunder of Gor, Chapter )