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What woman knows if the man who looks upon her, perhaps casually, perhaps appraisingly, is a master? How I hated the brute who had first discerned me in the aisle of the large emporium, he who had brought me to the degradation of the collar, for which I had yearned, he at whose feet I longed to lie, a submitted, nude, and collared slave. - (Smugglers of Gor, Chapter 39, Sentence #104)

He did not know, of course, that I was a barbarian. Yet, what difference should that make? Certainly many barbarians were taken for the markets, and thus deemed suitable for kajirae. I recalled a given master, perhaps the first who had ever looked upon me, though I could not be sure of that. What woman knows if the man who looks upon her, perhaps casually, perhaps appraisingly, is a master? How I hated the brute who had first discerned me in the aisle of the large emporium, he who had brought me to the degradation of the collar, for which I had yearned, he at whose feet I longed to lie, a submitted, nude, and collared slave. "You may lower your heads," said the bearded fellow, the leader. We lowered our heads. I felt a boot-like sandal, with its high, wide thongs, thrust between my knees, and then they were forced apart. - (Smugglers of Gor)