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In her belly now, as she knelt in the grass, a rope on her ankle, burned slave fire. - (Prize of Gor, Chapter 21, Sentence #187)

She wondered if the man could smell her desire, her need, her petition to be treated as a mere object, to be his, as a possession or a toy, to be uncompromisingly subjugated. She realized, and had earlier learned, that the former strait-laced, female Ph. whom she had been, she who had specialized in gender studies, she who had been so smug and haughty, she who had been so proud of her degree and her publications, she who had been respected, even esteemed, for her unquestioned political orthodoxies, she who had been invited to attend many conferences organized to promote pathological political agendas, she who had been once no more than a miserable, frustrated, lonely activist, a militant bluestocking, was now no more than a young, lovely, hot slave. In her belly now, as she knelt in the grass, a rope on her ankle, burned slave fire. She moaned, and trembled, a slave almost incandescent with need. But she knew that she was not to be permitted any satisfactions. She had not yet been sold. - (Prize of Gor)