“Your breasts are beautiful,” I said.

“Your breasts are beautiful,” I said.
“I think I will, accordingly, keep them bared. Too, this seems fitting, not only because you are a captive, but given the heat in the delta. In this way you will be more comfortable. Perhaps when you were a free woman, that is, not yet a captive, in your barge, on the islands, and such, in your robes of concealment, you often wished you might go about stripped, or, say, in slave strips, that sort of thing, surely, at least, barefoot in the scanty garments of a female rencer.”
“I do not understand,” she said. 

Vagabonds of Gor, p. 428

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