“May I feed myself?”

“May I feed myself?” she repeated, as before.
“No,” I said.
Tula and Mila gasped, and then smiled, feeding.
“Shall I cast a handful of pellets on the ground for you,” I asked, “and then you may, head down, not using your hands, feed?”
“Please do not,” she said.
“Perhaps you would prefer to be fed by hand?” I asked.
“I am very hungry,” she said.
“Would you prefer to be fed by hand?” I asked.
“Yes!” she said, shortly.
“You may then beg,” I said.
“I beg to be fed by hand,” she said.
I then, a pellet at a time, fed her, she reaching, delicately, to obtain the pellet.

Smugglers of Gor, p. 344

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