Do unto others?

One of the things which I pride myself on is the fact that every BDSM activity that I partake in, everything that I inflict on others, is something that I have personally experienced the sensation of (with the exception of the obvious, e.g. penile sounding).

I have been canned, flogged, spanked, paddled, whipped, cut, electrocuted, tortured, skewered,┬áburned, bloodied… The list is quite extensive.

My point is that, regardless of how sadistic I may be feeling at any given moment, I would never put anyone through something which I am not willing to go through myself (even briefly, just to see what it feels like).

In fact, it is through diverse experimentation like this that I have figured out that:

  • I have a sliver of masochism. However, I am not truly masochistic (I do not derive physical pleasure or relief from pain, however I do understand it and I do consider it a bit fun on occasion if the mood and setting is complimentary, e.g. Touching nipple to nipple when using a violet wand body contact pad with the setting turned on full so you have the effect of sparks or lightning passing between the nipples).
  • I am incredibly sadistic (I derive physical and intellectual pleasure from inflicting pain and suffering on others. I have also discovered that part of what makes me better at inflicting pain is the fact that I study human anatomy/biology and that I personally experience and research each activity).
  • I am naturally and instinctively far more dominant than submissive (I am also in the firm belief, through years of sociological D/s experiences and encounters, that everyone has at least a little of both in them; despite some Dominants claiming that they are 100% “everyone on the planet should kneel before me” dominant).

Call it an ethical judgement or personal morality if you like, but my main question is: Why is it that I do not see or hear more peoples stories of experiencing things themselves before inflicting things on others? Has that Dominant in the corner of the club experienced what they are putting that submissive through? Or am I, yet again, part of the minority in that I practice what I preach and inflict?

Responses to this post would be greatly appreciated. I am incredibly curious to know of other peoples stories and opinions on this matter.

The best cruelty.

“It is just a little cut, Mistress.” He said as I inspected his nipple closely.
A very faint and miniscule red line adorned the tip. It looked beautiful.
“Too eager with the razor while shaving?”
“Yes Mistress.”
“The smallest cuts are always the most uncomfortable.” I said as I ran my tongue over a fang and continued to inspect the tiny wound with interest.
My sadistic mind began to tick over the possibilities. For me, this is automatic.
“Lay down.” I said forcefully as I pointed towards the bed.
He hesitated for a few seconds but did as he was told. For him, this should have been automatic.
I spent a few minutes chaining his wrists and ankles down. It gave me time to mull over the ideas forming. I decided simplicity would be best. Nothing quite beats tactile contact with a sharpened claw in an open wound. Regardless of how small the wound.

Have you ever heard the expression “You need to be cruel to be kind”? Well, it works both ways.
The best cruelty, the kind you can taste in the air and which sends a sadistic rush of pleasure down the spine, comes with kindness, relaxation and a false sense of security.

I removed a surgical latex glove from its container (I always keep a box of these handy, they have so many uses) and watched his expressions as I seductively walked towards where he was laid on his back.
He was already erect. But the gentle hip sway, the slow process of one foot in front of the other, the click of heel on tiled floor and direct eye contact with a knowing smile was an assurance he would remain so.
The glove was placed over his member. It was simply to keep his juices contained and off my rather expensive clothing. His eyes widened as I lifted a leg over his waist and sat on his stomach. His look was one of slight worry and he had good reason to. It was likely he was questioning why I was being so nice.
Stockinged thighs wrapped around body, a slight pelvis muscle flex to further distort attention and a forward lean to draw eye to cleavage.

I was being really “nice”.

Subtly on my part and oblivion on his part, my own attention returned to that miniscule bloodied cut.

I gently caressed the clean, unscathed nipple. A touch as soft as liquid silk. No doubt running shivers down his spine from all the tease up to this point.

And then he felt it. My other hand, unseen, unheard, unnoticed, had slowly made its way to the gashed nipple. My pointed claw pressed forcefully inside the cut and he grunted, his face turning red with the pain and his attempts at keeping the moans of agony contained. He struggled, but the chains held his limbs securely and the weight of my body on top of his kept him from attempting to dislodge the claw.

The expression on his face (aside from the pain): one of shock and realisation as to what I had been doing all along. It was equally as beautiful as that tiny nipple wound when I had fist seen it.

And now it was my turn to be the one with that rush of pleasure down the spine.