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I would then be gagged, and have my wrists taken behind me, and bound there, together, behind the post, to the tying ring, that I might not even be able to rise to my feet, that I might be well held in place, on my knees, until it might please masters to free me, perhaps to work, perhaps to be beaten. My needs, those of a slave, were of no interest to the men. They would decide when, and if, they were to be satisfied. I wanted to seek the feet of Rask of Treve, on my belly, abjectly, as befits a slave; I wanted to cover them with soft, abundant cascades of hair, water them with salty, plentiful tears; I wanted to lick them, deferentially, lengthily, with a small, warm tongue; I wanted to kiss them, timidly, tenderly, again and again, over and over, pressing moist, hot, pleading, hopeful lips to them, not even daring to raise my eyes to his. Please want me, Rask of Treve, I whispered to myself. Please want me, Master! I rolled on my back and looked up at the moons. I lay there, my fists clenched. - (Captive of Gor, Chapter )