“What sort of slave are you?” he asked.

“What sort of slave are you?” he asked.
“Master, please!” I begged.
“Speak,” he said.
“I confess myself master’s love slave,” I whispered.
“My love slave?” he said.
“Yes, my master,” I said. “I know that you may not care for me. I know that you may despise me, that you may hate me. But it does not matter. I do not care. As worthless as my love may be, that of a meaningless slave, know that it is yours, unstintingly, irreservedly, all of it. It is yours, entirely. I am your love slave.”

Witness of Gor, p. 1099

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