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"You move well, slut," snarled Mirus. - (Prize of Gor, Chapter 11, Sentence #586)

Perhaps they had never met a true man, she thought. She wondered if women of her own world, or many of them, realized that they might be graceful and beautiful, and feminine. Did they understand that even small labors, like clearing a table, might be performed beautifully, gracefully? Did they understand that anytime, at their various activities, even, say, during their day, at their various forms of work, or play, or whatever, they might be beautiful, and graceful, and women? Or did they fear the scorn, the ridicule, the cruelty, of the female haters of their own sex? She hoped that her sisters on a far world might one day become conscious of themselves, truly, despite what might be the consequences attendant upon such an awakening. "You move well, slut," snarled Mirus. She had not doubted that he was watching her. "Is master aroused?" she asked. "You will rue that," he said. - (Prize of Gor)