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"Here," said Samos, at the end of the corridor, one of the lowest in the pens. - (Tribesmen of Gor, Chapter 1, Sentence #301)

Passion, it is thought, deprives the free woman to some extent of her freedom and self-control; it is frowned upon because it makes her behave, to some extent, like a degraded female slave; free women, thus, to protect their honor and dignity, their freedom and personhood, their individuality, must fight passion; the slave girl, of course, is not entitled to this privilege; it is denied to her, both by her society and her master; while the free woman must remain cool and in control of herself, even in the arms of her companion, to avoid being truly "had," so to speak, the slave girl is permitted no such luxury; no woman is so frequently, so profoundly, so uncompromisingly, so helplessly, so completely, so irresistibly "had" as she; her control, you see, is in the hands of her master, and she must, upon the mere word of her master, surrender herself, writhing, to the humiliating heats of a degraded slave girl's ecstasy. Only when a woman is owned can she be fully enjoyed. A silken urt, with wet fur, brushed against my leg. "Here," said Samos, at the end of the corridor, one of the lowest in the pens. He uttered the password through the beamed, metal-sheathed door. It swung open. Beyond it was another corridor, but one much shorter. - (Tribesmen of Gor)