“Master is leaving?” she asked.

“Master is leaving?” she asked.
I brushed her waist and flank with my foot. She shrank back a bit, on her belly, to the side. Women are so unutterably beautiful. I then put my foot on her, and let her feel a little of my weight, but not much. I then thrust down a bit, and stepped away from her. It had been an admiring, spurning caress. She lay there, the chain on her neck, on the mat.

Mercenaries of Gor, p. 566

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