The slave drops to her knees and elbows, forehead to the floor and her hands clasped behind the back of her head. Her bottom is raised in the air with thighs wide-spread and she waits, ready to either be beaten or to be taken from behind and used like an animal.

Book 19, page 434

"He knelt me there. "Put your head down, to the floor," he said. "Clasp your hands, firmly, behind the back of your neck." "Yes, Master," I moaned. He was then behind me. He put his hands, under my arms, on my breasts, sweetly and firmly. Then he moved his bands back, caressing my flanks. My head was down. My fingers were together, behind the back of my neck. I was in his collar. It was steel, I could not remove it. I belonged to him. My body hurt, from his whip, that of my master. My head hurt, from my hair, where I had been conducted, unceremoniously, to this location. "Please, Master," I sobbed "Not like this! Not you, please!" "The slave is pretty," he remarked. "Oh!" I cried. "Oh!" "You have a lovely ass," he said. "Ohhh!" I said. "You may thank me," he said.