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The last time I had begged him not to leave me, but he had thrust me from him, laughing. - (Smugglers of Gor, Chapter 11, Sentence #188)

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. The guards in the dungeon were more merciful, and I, and the others, sometimes vied to please them. I twisted about in the leaves, under the moons. - (Smugglers of Gor)