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Do not scorn me, nor mock me, until you yourself, perhaps, on a distant world, someday wear a collar, until you, yourself, as a slave, have known the touch of such a man as Rask of Treve. - (Captive of Gor, Chapter 16, Sentence #102)

He had, cruelly, mercilessly, unfairly, giving me no option, elicited from me fantastic depths of sensation of which I had not even realized my body was capable. His touch, as that of a master, had commanded my body, totally, and I had swum in sensation, clutching him, fearing that I might drown with pleasure in his arms. Laugh if you will, but I could call him nothing but "Master". Do not scorn me, nor mock me, until you yourself, perhaps, on a distant world, someday wear a collar, until you, yourself, as a slave, have known the touch of such a man as Rask of Treve. I opened my eyes. The moons now reared over the palisade, low in the night sky, looming. My throat had been encircled with slave steel, and I had been taught its meaning. - (Captive of Gor)