/S&M 101
How It's Done
By Mistress Matisse
My lover and I are lying together, making love. I am on top of him, my spread legs over his flexing thighs, his cock inside me. I kiss him deeply, moving my hips slowly. When I push my body down against him, he arches his neck and makes a guttural sound halfway between a moan and a growl.
“Look at me,” I say.
He opens his eyes. “Give me this,” I command. I slam my body down harder, keeping my eyes locked on his, even when I shudder with pleasure. “Do this for me. I’m hungry. Feed me.”
He whispers back to me, “Yes.”
I want to strip you naked and see your inner self, the one you keep hidden because you think it’s not beautiful. I will transgress the rules to have you, because my desire is too strong to permit anything else.
This is lovemaking, to me. When I think of romance, I do not think of sprinkling rose petals on the sheets, I think of buckling a pair of leather cuffs onto my partner’s wrists and tying him to the bed. Romance thrives on tension, and BDSM sex is romantic sex because it creates tension and drama. The games we play, even though we know they are only games, are exciting because they mimic behaviors that would be truly wrong in any other circumstance. And even while it excites us, it also soothes our anxieties about control and its loss, by letting us act out those fears, harmlessly, in sexual melodrama. BDSM sex is the triumph of emotions over intellect.
Like any game, you can collect elaborate toys and construct complex scenarios. But that’s not necessary. It’s also not necessary to have a lot of intense sensation. (I prefer that phrase to the word pain, which has negative overtones.) Physical intensity in BDSM sex is like chili peppers in food - start with the smallest amount and proceed very carefully up the Scoville scale, to each individual’s taste.
What you must have is consent, an imagination, and a willingness to take some emotional risks. Good BDSM sex can feel dangerously intimate. It says: I want to strip you naked and see your inner self, the one you keep hidden because you think it’s not beautiful. I want to show you secret parts of myself. And I will transgress the rules to have you, because my desire is too strong to permit anything else.
The clothespins have been on for perhaps ten minutes. It’s time to take them off. It was stressful for my lover to have me pressing down on them as I fucked him, but removing them is the most intense part. I take his cock into my mouth. With one hand I flick the now-damp
Mistress Matisse
clothespins lightly. I stretch my other hand up to his face and stroke his cheek. He kisses my palm – a silent signal we’ve established to mean: I’m okay, keep going. I suck him deeply and at the same time, remove a clothespin. He lets out a brief, sharp cry - and his cock gets harder. I laugh a little, with his cock still in my mouth. Then I lift my mouth and instruct, “Say 'Thank you, Mistress.'”
He repeats the phrase breathlessly.
“Good boy.” I take him back in my mouth, and we do that over and over, him gasping and thanking me as the blood flows back into the clamped flesh, my mouth balancing the sensations my hands create.
When there are just a few left, I shift and place my pussy over his face. “Lick me, and after I come maybe I’ll take off the last ones.” I do not rush myself, but I’m very aroused and he’s very inspired, so it doesn’t take me long to orgasm. Panting, I swiftly unbuckle the cuffs restraining him and roll over onto my back. “Now fuck me, hard.”
He is on me before the words have fully left my mouth, driving his cock into me. I pull my legs up and reach under to the last few clothespins still attached to his balls. “When they’re all off, you can come.” As I remove each one, he howls and fucks me harder and faster. I give the last clothespin a vicious twist before I take it off, and he slams his body down on me with all his strength, making me orgasm again.
Then I tell him, “You can come.” He buries his face in my neck and pistons his hips for a minute or two, no more, before his body flexes in release.
That’s how I like to make love.
He repeats the phrase breathlessly.
“Good boy.” I take him back in my mouth, and we do that over and over, him gasping and thanking me as the blood flows back into the clamped flesh, my mouth balancing the sensations my hands create.
When there are just a few left, I shift and place my pussy over his face. “Lick me, and after I come maybe I’ll take off the last ones.” I do not rush myself, but I’m very aroused and he’s very inspired, so it doesn’t take me long to orgasm. Panting, I swiftly unbuckle the cuffs restraining him and roll over onto my back. “Now fuck me, hard.”
He is on me before the words have fully left my mouth, driving his cock into me. I pull my legs up and reach under to the last few clothespins still attached to his balls. “When they’re all off, you can come.” As I remove each one, he howls and fucks me harder and faster. I give the last clothespin a vicious twist before I take it off, and he slams his body down on me with all his strength, making me orgasm again.
Then I tell him, “You can come.” He buries his face in my neck and pistons his hips for a minute or two, no more, before his body flexes in release.
That’s how I like to make love.
- 07/01/2009
