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Even then, I supposed, somewhere, there reposed an iron by which my thigh would be marked, chains which might encircle my limbs, collars which might enclasp my throat. - (Smugglers of Gor, Chapter 11, Sentence #167)

I recalled an incident, from my former world, which had occurred in an unlikely venue, the aisle of a large, crowded emporium, when I had been seen, and looked upon, and looked upon, though I was fully clothed, as a slave might be looked upon. Had that gaze not, as though mighty hands, parted and torn away my clothing, revealing, as though for a master's consideration, what had impermissibly dared to conceal itself within? I had sensed myself more than regarded; I had sensed myself considered, appraised. How strange how a single moment, a chance encounter, can alter a consciousness and transform a life, reordering an existence and its meaning. Even then, I supposed, somewhere, there reposed an iron by which my thigh would be marked, chains which might encircle my limbs, collars which might enclasp my throat. Was there not, even then, a large, heavy, towering block waiting, somewhere, whose sawdust my bare feet might tread, from which I might be vended? I stirred, bound. I recalled how I had lain at his feet, supine, stripped and tied, hand and foot, looking up at him, in something like a warehouse. I had seen him but once more, through the bars of an exposition cage, prior to my sale, in a place called Brundisium. - (Smugglers of Gor)