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"Please," I begged. "Please, please," I whimpered. I lifted my body, piteously, to them. "Slut!" hissed one of the chained slaves. I could scarcely understand what I had done. It had been done so naturally, almost reflexively! I felt suddenly shamed, miserable, and revealed, exposed, vulnerable, piteous, displayed! Why had I done that? Had it to do with the changes in me which had been wrought by Speusippus of Turia? Had it to do with those sensations which he had induced in me? Had it to do with that frightening, intriguing horizon I had sensed in the hut, the sense of distant, remote, ecstatically unspeakable sensations, of piteous, wild, strange, insistent truths, of far ragings of emotions and feelings, like approaching storms, in which I might be swept up and caught, of possible realities in the grasp of which one could be no more in command of oneself than a bit of helpless, buoyant cork lifted and swirled on the waves of primeval seas. Or was it the action of a terrified woman sensing she had no option, if she would live, merely the act of a woman desperately bargaining for her very life with the only coin at her disposal, her beauty. - (Kajira of Gor)