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"Perhaps," I thought, "the love of a slave is worthless, but what love can begin to compare with the love of a slave for her master? What greater, deeper, more profound love can a woman have than that of a humble, abased, collared slave for her master?" He looked away. - (Plunder of Gor, Chapter 30, Sentence #397)

"Do not use the words 'my Master' to me," he said, angrily. "Forgive me, Master," I begged. The slave addresses all free men as 'Master', and all free women as 'Mistress', but she uses the words 'my Master' only to her actual master, her owner. "Perhaps," I thought, "the love of a slave is worthless, but what love can begin to compare with the love of a slave for her master? What greater, deeper, more profound love can a woman have than that of a humble, abased, collared slave for her master?" He looked away. I had seen anger in his eyes, but, too, so briefly, for a moment, I thought I had seen apprehension. He could not fear me, as I was a mere slave. Who then could he fear, but himself? I recalled how, long ago, in Victoria, when I was new to my collar, I had cried out my love for him, and had been soon, I thought abruptly, inexplicably, sold. - (Plunder of Gor)