Children have an uncanny, intuitive knowledge of power and hierarchy. Even at age nine, Terry knew she could create situations where she could control the fate of her one-year younger brother, Robby. She had several of the neighborhood boys take him into a field and hold him down, where they first gave him a very traditional pink-belly and then they cut switches and laid into his bare arms, stomach and thighs until his tears and cries had mixed and subsided. When they finally let him go, Robby went off to deal with his confusion and his anger. He ran his fingers over the thin, raised welts, again and again. As his eyes dried, he studied the criss-cross pattern of random excitement applied by older children. Robby spent the rest of the day watching his anger fade with the welts, remembering their pleasure at the application of the switch, and gradually realizing his own juvenile arousal.

The next day I begged them to do it all again. Being oh so cruel, they refused.

We all come from five thousand years of pharaohs and slaves. Guess which side you were on. Then, about two hundred and twenty years ago, a group of all white men said, “we can do better” and Thomas Jefferson locked himself in his room with his violin and his slave and came up with “all men are created equal.” These words contained an immutable and irrefutable truth. Within sixty years, major powers began outlawing slavery (Great Britain did it first). Then, we began to realize that as long as there was an economic pharaoh, there would be slaves, and the labor movement began. Shortly after that it became clear that the residue of slavery, racism, would have to be forever banished if the truth we all craved was to become reality. In the historical wink of an eye, we next began to address sexism, the oldest ism, the ism that existed before the barriers of locality began to fall, allowing racism. Today, it is our privilege to continue the clean up, and now we include ageism as well. Soon we will realize that the right to the equal pursuits of happiness include the right to pursue the sexuality of our choice. We see this process beginning as “all persuasions welcomed” becomes a concept accepted by more and more people, around the beloved terra firma.

There is one central theme in all this, intrinsic to understanding modern SM sexuality. It is a theme created by the fall of pharaoh. It is reflected in the work place, the eating-place, and the play space. Simply put; there is a difference between involuntary servitude and voluntary submission.

“Offer slave!!” The slave strains to offer. Tied in bondage so restrictive that nothing can move, blindfolded so that Master can not see the eyes, gagged so that there can be no sound, the slave lets me know the offer has been made. The breath has grown more even; it comes from a place even deeper than before. A voice that cannot be heard is crying out, “take it all, my beloved Master.”

I teach my slaves that offer is a very complex action. It is not simply a motion that protrudes the breasts, or pumps up a cock, or makes any other part of the body more available. The slave is taught that it is not an offer until it is a craving. The slave must crave the next level of intensity so totally that I cannot resist the offer.

Slave shine was tied in the bondage chair, the one Madame and I had designed, where he was receiving a very substantial whipping from the lash of The Baroness and Madame Sang. This was a textbook, classic, page 96, serious flogging. I was watching from the stairs that led down to our little inferno. Whenever I noticed shine starting to emerge from the submission, I would lean into the edge of the heat and in soft and low voice say, “Offer slave.” Each time the breathing became more regular and the trance more encompassing. Each time, shine strove to crave a blow harder than the previous one, but far more importantly, he craved the ability to satisfy the two remarkable women who had accepted the gift of his sexuality. To offer is to crave so deeply that the offer cannot be refused.

SM is an art. It probes into the psyche and expands our definitions of our selves. The art calls for knowledge of tools, materials and techniques. Then, like all the arts, it calls for individual creativity that leads to better communication amongst the people that share an interest in the art form. “Offer slave” is a part of the vocabulary in my approach to the art. This is high-powered sexual communication. Even the act of offering can create new inspirations. My Domlust soars when a slave learns to offer. When I feel slavecrave, I know that I am free to create. I have been offered a loving canvas on which to paint.

“Offer slave” is a fun orgasm toy. “Offer me an orgasm slave!” mayipleasecomeMasterplease. “NO SLAVE, OFFER ME AN ORGASM!”

Masterhereismy orgasmpleaseacceptit. “NOT YET SLAVE, OFFER MORE.”

Notice that was not-offer me it again; it was offer me more. You now know that that means crave. Crave to give Master the profound satisfaction of your orgasm. “HOTTER SLAVE, OBVIOUSLY I CAN STILL RESIST YOUR PLEA. OFFER SO DEEPLY THAT I CAN NOT REFUSE YOUR GIFT!” ohMasterpleasestopori’llcomeMasterpleaseacceptmyorgasm. “BETTER SLAVE, DEEPER THIS TIME.” The slave’s voice becomes more distant and yet closer. The slave is more lost than before, and yet that much closer to finding the depths of slavesoul in an offering. Hundreds of near orgasms later, I allow the slave relief. The writhing is exquisite; the slavemoans totally arousing. The gift is worth the wait. “Master, did my orgasm please you?” is a beautiful sound. I have had an excellent experience. The gift of slavecome is a powerful aphrodisiac. The slave’s offering has made me crave. I take all that has been offered and explode in the head-swirled saturations of Dominance. And then, the slave thanks me! It is as if the canvas has thanked the artist for the gift of self.

I stabbed my friend Barry Rhodie. Right in the gut. I was about ten or eleven. Barry was my most country-boy, large, macho friend and neighbor. We were two rowdy boys, playing knife fight with our jackknifes. I lunged at Barry, expecting him to fall back, after all that is what Danny Kaye did when Basil Rathbone lunged at him. Only thing was: I didn’t know they had rehearsed their scene. I lunged at Barry, just as he came forward at me. Wow! He looked so shocked. Fortunately for us both, the Swiss Army knife with the pocket scissors has a very tiny blade. It sank in about half way, about three quarters of an inch. It was summer, we had our shirts off, and suddenly I was looking at the buried blade, and the little bit of red seepage. I wanted to get Dad, The Doctor, but we both knew if we did that, we would not be allowed to play together ever again, or at least for two or three days. I did know what a gauze pad was though, and I knew you could put alcohol on a cut and it would keep out the infection, so that’s what I did. I made a little gauze patch and got it ready to tape on, first carefully ripping the strips of white medical tape and putting five or six of them on the back of a chair ready to make the bandage, just as I had seen my Dad do. Then I covered a gauze pad with alcohol and went to swab out the wound. That did not go so well. When the alcohol entered the patient’s abdominal cavity, my super macho buddy screamed, and I mean screamed. Well, what else could I possibly do? Nervous and sadistic little me broke out laughing. That made Barry laugh. It was a completely ridiculous situation and we both knew it. Now what? I simply asked Barry if he wanted another round of the alcohol, since he had screamed so pretty. Barry, totally shocked at the inherent sadism in the question, looked at me like I had lost my fragile pre-pubescent mind. That look made me laugh harder. He looked so confused, wounded, and above all, my biggest friend looked completely vulnerable. Sensing my control, I continued to clean and dress the wound.

About two weeks later, I hurled a dart at the dartboard, just as Barry turned his back to me and stepped directly into my line of fire. I now know, that even as a child, I did not believe in safe, sane, and consensual play.

It’s the way the eyes glaze over. It’s the flush in the cheek. It’s the foundation for devotion. It’s a heart racing like never before. It’s labia engorged to the maddening point. It’s cock so hard it foretells the unavoidable explosion that must be avoided at all costs. It’s the tone in the voice; the tone that says, I am yours. It can be the very basis of a relationship.

It’s slavelust. It is what makes this Master desire his slaves. It is what lets me know that I can go further this time; that my slave is whatever I want to do. It is the tool for introduction. It is the path for creativity. It is what makes the slave crave perfection for the Master. It is what makes the slave servile. It is what makes the slave love the Master. It is what makes the slave.

“What is the purpose of a slave?” “The purpose of a slave is to stay as hot as the Master wants for as long as the Master wants, and to serve his pleasure at all times.” Every slave I’ve had in the last ten years has learned this mantra. I don’t mean that they’ve learned to say it, although they all have. I mean that in their slavesoul they’ve learned that this is what makes them slave. I will gladly leave a new slave aroused for days until they understand slavelust. I will play with them as much as I choose (and I choose to play with them as much as time permits) and leave them on the edge of orgasm again and again. I will stroke the cheek and pinch the nipples and slap the cock and rub the pussy and watch as the delirium sets in and resides in the slaveheart for days or even weeks. Lucky slave. I will enjoy the total dedication to Master that evolves as slave realizes how hot they are becoming. I love to see, to take as my own, the enlightenment, understanding and insight into their slavesouls as slavelust and my palm and fingertips become the slave’s world.

“More sex, slave. Send it from your swelling, throbbing clit into my fingers. Send it from your slavesoul into your cock to my palm. Get me hotter slave! Deeper slave. The slavelust is so very deep in you. Reach for it. You need to reach deeper and GIVE ME MORE SEX, SLAVE.” The body desires the orgasm, but not as much as the slave desires to please. The slave craves explosion, but that is secondary to making the slavelust grow for my pleasure. Do not ask for whom the balls toll, they toll for Master. They call out not for orgasm, but for greater desire. “If you come this month slave, it will be for my pleasure, and right now, I only want you hotter. MORE SLAVE.”

If you are a sexual being, (why else would you still be reading this?) then you know what it feels like to lust for someone. You may know the other side of this yin/yang. You can recognize when someone is lusting for you. This energy is the starting point. If you want to introduce your lover to some Dominant energy, try this. Sometime when the lust is flowing and the pheromones are in bloom, kiss your lover; but just barely. As soon as your partner starts to respond, pull back. Watch the startled look in the eyes. Do it again. This time, when your partner goes for your lips, pull back and tell them not to grab. Then do it again. Tell them they must be still. Tell them it’s rude to grab. Then kiss, barely kiss, again. And again, and again. Now pay attention as the desire begins; the want of your lips, the need for the kiss to be longer and deeper. These short unfulfilling kisses will make the lust rise and race. Often, you will need to be quick, almost reflexive, to get your lips back as lust overwhelms your partner’s control, and they make a stab for your lips. When nipples harden and breath quickens, you’re seeing slavelust begin. The first time this was done to me, by my friend (not Dom, just friend) Star, I could feel the entire dynamics of our relationship changing. Star teased me like this for about thirty minutes. I felt myself slipping into a place where I craved nothing more than the fullest touch of her lips on my own. By the end of the half an hour, Star could have tied me up, or down, and done anything her little novice heart desired. I was stricken with slavelust. oh please, just a kiss. i beg you. just a kiss.

slave’s lust for Master’s touch. They lust for our pleasure. They lust so they can be taken further and further into their slavesoul. They lust because a Master knows how to make them lust. They lust because they trust their Master. They lust because they have little choice; “The purpose of a slave is to stay as hot as the Master wants for as long as the Master wants…” They lust because they need satisfaction, and their satisfaction exists for their Master, not for their own selfish needs and being. The better trained the slave, the better they are at providing Master with slavelust. “Reach deeper inside yourself slave, and give me your reason to be.” slaves lust because they no longer exist for their own pleasure, but for their Master’s pleasure. Their lust is not common lust, it is slavelust. Their passions are literally for their Master. We do what we want with their passions, when we want their passions, which is why it is the Master’s responsibility to take the slave to this level of communication and leave them there. Leave them in their slavelust so they can be used. fully and totally used, at a moments beckoning. Leave them hard, or wet, for long periods of time, or for fleeting and ethereal moments. Brush their lips or whip them into frenzies and they are lost in slavelust. Help your slave to understand the importance of slavelust. Guide them to the depths of this power filled current. Teach them to call it forth, for you. Help them to find their slavelust and let them offer it to you. For days, weeks, months and lifetimes. It is important to remember: a slave’s world can fit in the palm of your hand, as well as the center of your soul.

And later in the book...