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"I do not want your respect," I said, "I want your touch". "Perhaps, then," said he, "I should deny it to you". "No, Master," I begged. "Please, no, Master!" And in her shame, writhing to his least touch, the once selfish, self-centered, haughty, spoiled Elinor Brinton, again conquered, found her joy, and glory, and then she again accepted herself as what she was, a slave girl, and in this acceptance, she lost all shame, and yielded fully to the ecstasies enforced upon her, and which she, under pain of death, as a slave, was not permitted to resist. This was truly she, her honest reality as a slave. Surely then he could see that she was no different from others, the girls locked in the work shed, the girls in the tents, squirming on their chains, all eager to be called to his tent. "Do you think, hot, little slave girl," he asked, "a master cannot see through your pretenses?" My pathetic charades were obvious to my master. - (Captive of Gor, Chapter )