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I was overwhelmed by a sudden, momentous sense of meaningfulness. - (Conspirators of Gor, Chapter 4, Sentence #631)

That was the first time I had fed thusly. Oddly, I was glad to feed, even grateful. Could I be, I wondered, a slave? And how significant this would have been, I thought, had the scraps been cast to the floor not by Nora, but by a man! I was suddenly overcome, almost unable to move. I was overwhelmed by a sudden, momentous sense of meaningfulness. How meaningful suddenly seemed my posture, my garmenture, the bells on my ankle, the collar on my neck. How small I seemed, how degraded and mocked, and how worthless, how helpless! And my sense was not just one of meaningfulness, as profound as that sense might be, and as comprehensible as such a sense would be, given the circumstances, but, rather, startling me, and frightening me, one of fittingness, of propriety, of rightfulness! Could it be that I, despite my antecedents and background, my upbringing, education, and indoctrination, was a slave? Since puberty I had suspected that some women were slaves. Were not the blossoming subtleties of my body, and those of others, such that they had been carved out over countless generations by the lusts of men? Were we not delightful prizes, goods, like fruit and animals, to be seized and exploited? Had we not been selected to be delights to possessors? Had we not been selected to be roped and snared? Had we not been, in our way, bred for the auction block? Yes, I thought, there must be rightful slaves, women who cannot be whole, cannot be fulfilled, who will never know true happiness except at the feet of men, owned, and mastered. - (Conspirators of Gor)