I knelt back. I again felt my throat. No collar was there! Madly, feverishly, I pulled up the skirt of they tiny brown tunic, to bare my left leg to the waist. Yes! Yes! Yes! There was no mistaking that small, beautiful sign. How beautiful it was! How well it marked me! It was my brand. It was truly there! I had been branded!

 
I again went to all fours, shaking, almost collapsing, now laughing, now weeping! I was overcome with elation, with joy, with relief.  These emotions, from the depths of me, burst upward, like light and lava, like the throwing open of shades and the risings of suns, like floods, like tides, like treasures, like hurricanes, like fire, powerful, irresistible, precious! No longer did I suffer the sense of loss.

No longer was I isolated, or wandering alone, apart from myself, not knowing myself, lost from myself. Forgotten then was the cry of alienations, of anguish. I had not been returned to my  former condition or meaninglessness, that of nothingness, in which, I denied to my real self, it forbidden to me, must pretend to false identities, must conform to uncongenial stereotypes imposed upon me from the outside.

Here I was free to be what I was! Here I might feel, truly feel! Here one need not live as if indoors, sheltered from the sunlight and rain, here one might look upon truth as it was in itself, not as it might be distorted in the labyrinths of prescribed protocols, here one might touch real things, like grass and the bark of trees.

"Witness of Gor book 26: pages 98 and 99."