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She must not cry out! Tears burst from her eyes as she clenched her fists, in her own frustration, in the throes of her own starved needs. - (Prize of Gor, Chapter 22, Sentence #658)

Will he not be kind to her? Does he not know she is only a slave? There was then a soft, rapturous, prolonged, grateful, inarticulate cry from within the tent, partly muffled, for the master had perhaps placed his hand firmly over the mouth of the slave, that she might not disturb the camp. In a moment his hand must have been removed from her lips, for Ellen heard, "Thank you, thank you, beloved Master! I love you, Master! I love you, Master!" Kind master, beloved master, thought Ellen. Ellen sought to control herself. She must not cry out! Tears burst from her eyes as she clenched her fists, in her own frustration, in the throes of her own starved needs. She must not cry out! I am a slave thought Ellen. I want a master! I want a master! Then Ellen looked up, suddenly, frightened. Where was the lantern? Where the men? Quickly she looked about, and hurried in the direction it had last been moving. - (Prize of Gor)