Results Details

She loved him. - (Prize of Gor, Chapter 11, Sentence #309)

What are these strange feelings, she wondered, which I am beginning to feel, these enticing, delightfully tormenting feelings? Will I be able to resist them? Will they take me over, will they conquer me, will they put a rope on my neck and drag me zealously, helplessly, eagerly, panting after them? Am I to become their captive, their victim and prisoner? Am I to wear their leash, their bonds, as a helpless slave? Am I to become one of those low girls who whimper and scratch at the sides of their kennels? She was beginning, she feared, to feel sensations sometimes referred to vulgarly in Gorean as the burning, or the fires, in the slave belly. If she had been alone with her master, so serving, she would have begged for his least caress. Even had he impatiently cuffed her to the side, she felt that she might, in gratitude, have crawled back, begging to lick and kiss the hand that had administered the blow. She loved him. He was her master. She was his slave. "Surely you are aware," said Mirus, her master, to the woman whom she did not know, she in the lovely off-the-shoulder gown, "that in the history of Earth, for thousands of years, slavery was an accepted, approved, and prized institution". - (Prize of Gor)