He is Master, and I am Slave.
He is owner, and I am owned.
He commands, and I obey.
He is to be pleased, and I am to please.
Why is this?
Because he is Master, and I am Slave.

From Explorers of Gor

"What are you?" he asked.

"A slave girl, Master," she said, her neck in the loops of the whip.

"What is a slave girl?" he asked.

"A girl who is owned," she said.

"Are you a slave girl?" he asked.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Then you are owned," he said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Who owns you?" he asked.

"Ulafi of Schendi," she said.

"Who trains you?" he asked.

"Shoka of Schendi," she said.

"Do you have a brand?"

"Yes, Master."

"Why?"

"Because I am a slave."

"Do you wear a collar?"

"Yes, Master."

"What sort of collar do you wear?"

"A shipping collar, Master. It shows that I am a portion of the cargo of the Palms of Schendi." I thought the girl's Gorean, though the responses were generally simple, had improved considerably in the last few days.

"What is the common purpose of a collar?"

"The collar has four common purposes, Master," she said. "First, it visibly designates me as a slave, as a brand might not, if it should be covered by clothing. Second, it impresses my slavery upon me. Thirdly, it identifies my master. Fourthly, fourthly,"

"Fourthly?" he asked.

"Fourthly," she said, "it makes it easier to leash me."

He kicked her in the side. She winced. Her response had been slow.

"Do you like being a slave girl?" he asked.

"Yes, Master," she said. She sobbed. She was again kicked.

"Yes, Master! Yes, Master!" she cried.

"What does a slave girl want more than anything?" he asked.

"To please men," she said.

"What are you?" he asked.

"A slave girl," she said.

"What do you want more than anything?" he asked.

"To please men!" she cried.

From within Explorers of Gor, chapter 13:
 

During the night I had unchained her, save for the steel and chain on her left ankle.

She awakened me as I had instructed her. It is pleasant to be awakened in that fashion. I put my hands down to her hair, as she pleasured me.

During the night I had taught her some small things, some techniques, little, simple things, for her mouth and hands, and breasts, her hair, her lips, and feet, and tongue. They might help her, I thought, to survive in Pembe�s tavern. Most importantly I had tried to impress upon her the fundamental importance of submission, and that she was a slave girl. All else, for most practical purposes, follows from that.

I cried out, softly, and she looked up, pleased that she had made me do that.

"Finish your work, Slave," I told her.

"Yes, Master," she said.

My hands knotted in her hair, tightly, holding her helplessly to me. Then I released her.

I pulled her up to me, and, in the dim light of the alcove, filtering through the red curtain from the slatted grilles in the roof of the main room, wiped her mouth with her hair.

"It is morning, Master," she whispered.

"Yes," I said.

I held her arms, as she looked down at me.

"Speak," I told her.

She then, whispering, said the following. I had taught it to her last night.

He is Master, and I am Slave.
He is owner, and I am owned.
He commands, and I obey.
He is to be pleased, and I am to please.
Why is this?
Because he is Master, and I am Slave.

I took her and put her to her back, beside me. I looked down into her eyes.

"Good morning, Slave," I said.

"Good morning, Master," she said.