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I was kajira! But, I wondered, are tree women, really, so different? How many, I wondered, in their loneliness, sob and twist within their coverlets, moan, and pummel their silken, tear-dampened pillows with frustration? It was late. - (Smugglers of Gor, Chapter 11, Sentence #186)

Was it not better to be a free woman of ice, refined and composed, at ease with her body, untroubled, inert, and serene? What is it about the collar, and finding oneself owned, as a beast is owned, which so transforms us, which puts us so piteously and helplessly at the feet of masters? From the school I could remember the moans and cries, the scratchings and beggings, of slaves. I must never let myself suffer so, must never permit myself to become no more than the negligible, pleading toy of an imperious brute. But, resist it as I could, and dread it as I might, I feared it could be done with me, and would be done with me. I was kajira! But, I wondered, are tree women, really, so different? How many, I wondered, in their loneliness, sob and twist within their coverlets, moan, and pummel their silken, tear-dampened pillows with frustration? It was late. In the house I had been taught something of the pleasing of men, and the guards, under supervision, as is customary, had tried me out, testing me, and seemed pleased with my responsiveness, rudimentary and incipient though it might have been. The last time I had begged him not to leave me, but he had thrust me from him, laughing. Certainly by the time I reached the block, I had some understanding of what I was, and what would be expected of me. - (Smugglers of Gor)