How better can one degrade them?

How better can one degrade them?

But how strange it is that they so thrive in their degradation. Do they not understand what has been done to them, or do they understand it only too well?

How is it that they kiss your feet in gratitude, leap instantly to do your bidding, kiss their fingertips and touch them to their collars, buck and squirm in your arms, gasping and writhing in grateful, uncontrollable, orgasmic ecstasy, kneel, heads bowed, before you.

How radiant and joyful they are in their collars! Are they not born to thongs?

Is it so strange that they find their joy and fulfillment at a man’s feet, or is it merely to be expected, given a genetic heritage of the surrenders of love, without which a woman cannot be whole?

Swordsmen of Gor, p. 671

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