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Chains are arousing to a female who knows she is a slave, and what she is for, and yet these were not the chains of a man, a master whose helpless possession and plaything one might know oneself to be, but those of a mistress and a beast, to neither of which, I gathered, was I of more interest than a small, silken, pet sleen. - (Conspirators of Gor, Chapter 11, Sentence #57)

I would sometimes twist, and sweat on my mat. Sometimes I would pull a little at the chain on my left ankle, fastened on one side of the threshold, and that on my right wrist, fastened to the other side. I knew myself chained, and as a slave. Chains are arousing to a female who knows she is a slave, and what she is for, and yet these were not the chains of a man, a master whose helpless possession and plaything one might know oneself to be, but those of a mistress and a beast, to neither of which, I gathered, was I of more interest than a small, silken, pet sleen. I would with my left hand sometimes touch the collar on my throat. Sometimes I would try to pull it off, but it was locked on me. What is the point, I wondered, of being in a collar, if it were not the collar of a master? I was uneasy. - (Conspirators of Gor)