Book 27. (1 results) Prize of Gor (Individual Quote)
| Chapter # | Sentence # | Quote |
|---|---|---|
| 22 | 650 | "View more quotes about permit">Permit me to yield! I cannot stand it! I fear I will die! Oh, oh. |
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Book 27. (7 results) Prize of Gor (Context Quote)
| Chapter # | Sentence # | Quote |
|---|---|---|
| 22 | 647 | On her hands and knees, crawling, she heard a woman's voice, from within a tent. |
| 22 | 648 | Something in the voice, in its helplessness, its piteousness, in its gasps, its intonations, suggested that the woman might be struggling futilely, weakly, pulling against bonds. |
| 22 | 649 | "Please, Master, I love you!" Ellen heard. |
| 22 | 650 | "Permit me to yield! I cannot stand it! I fear I will die! Oh, oh. |
| 22 | 651 | Please do not bring me again and again to this point, so, cruelly, without permitting me to yield! Just one more touch, Master! Please, another touch, just the tiniest touch! It is all I need! I am your slave! Do not be so cruel! Show me mercy! You have conquered me a thousand times! I am hopelessly and abjectly yours! I love you, Master! I beg to be permitted to yield!" Men, the arrogant, masterful beasts, thought Ellen, biting her lip, grinding her fingernails into the palms of her hands. |
| 22 | 652 | How vulnerable we are! How they make us theirs! They play us like czehars, drawing what music they will from our bodies! How arrogantly, how imperiously they master us, their slaves! And Ellen envied the slave within the tent. |
| 22 | 653 | Would that I were in her bonds, thought Ellen. |
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On her hands and knees, crawling, she heard a woman's voice, from within a tent.
Something in the voice, in its helplessness, its piteousness, in its gasps, its intonations, suggested that the woman might be struggling futilely, weakly, pulling against bonds.
"Please, Master, I love you!" Ellen heard.
"Permit me to yield! I cannot stand it! I fear I will die! Oh, oh.
Please do not bring me again and again to this point, so, cruelly, without permitting me to yield! Just one more touch, Master! Please, another touch, just the tiniest touch! It is all I need! I am your slave! Do not be so cruel! Show me mercy! You have conquered me a thousand times! I am hopelessly and abjectly yours! I love you, Master! I beg to be permitted to yield!" Men, the arrogant, masterful beasts, thought Ellen, biting her lip, grinding her fingernails into the palms of her hands.
How vulnerable we are! How they make us theirs! They play us like czehars, drawing what music they will from our bodies! How arrogantly, how imperiously they master us, their slaves! And Ellen envied the slave within the tent.
Would that I were in her bonds, thought Ellen.
- (Prize of Gor)