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, burned, 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.

Justified.

Jet black furniture contrasted the crisp white dungeon walls. This was different, not our normal space. Lighter and colder, my two least favourite things, but still, it was a welcome change of scenery.

He stood before me with his eyes wandering around the room. I have always admired his curiosity and willingness to explore. When I had entered, I had given the space nothing more than a quick glance. ‘Spanking bench, spanking stool, St Andrews cross, table with cleaning products’, The efficient recognition of where everything was situated within the space along with their function so that I could immediately start plotting what I could, and inevitably would, do to him.

His sable shirt was slightly open at the neck and showing off the steel chainmail collar which states he is mine. I know it is always there, but noticing it made me smile. His gaze immediately shifted towards me and he took in a deep, shaky breath as I began to close the distance between us. Holding the slightly crooked smile on my lips only seemed to make him nervous. A good effect in my opinion.

One by one, keeping eye contact all the while, I slowly unbuttoned his shirt and slid it from his shoulders to let it fall loosely to the floor. He shuddered slightly as I gently brushed over the line of his collar with a claw and followed down to do the same to one of his nipples.

Having Scottish roots flowing through my veins, I have found the kilt to be something distinctly masculine. Tonight he was wearing one, deliciously  so, for me. His arousal was evident through its folds, I could smell his scent in the air and it made me all the more eager to play. A soft, hungry growl passed my lips as I pulled him by his neck jewelry towards the St Andrews cross and began to fasten him in with his back towards me.

The dungeon door opened and a head popped inside to have a look around. A distinct reminder that we were playing in a public place. A bearing of teeth and a growl being a quick assurance to the visitor that I did not wish for prying eyes. The head disappeared as quickly as it had arrived and I walked over to the door to gently push it shut once more. I picked up my cane (Sasha) and took in a deep breath to quell the annoyance of being interrupted before returning to where he was now secured.

His nerves had kicked in and he was trembling. Gently tracing his spine with the tip of my cane only seemed to heighten his fear. I was relishing every moment.

“Why do you fear so? Is it because we are in a public place?” I asked in as soft a voice I could collect with the violent thoughts running through my head.

“We have played in public places before, Mistress” He said as his leg started to twitch with nerves. “I do not fear eyes on us”

“Then perhaps it is Sasha you fear?” I asked as I gently slid the cane up the inside of his leg to the crotch, lifting the kilt enough to reveal a little of the tempting soft rump underneath.

“Sasha is only a tool, Mistress” He said through shaky breaths and shudders.

“You tremble, your nerves betray you and I can smell your scent on the breeze. You are oozing fear! I taste and enjoy every drop. But if it is none of the above, what is it?” My voice had broke its gentle tone. I could no longer steady it. The hunger was taking over, my sadistic nature getting the better of it and my own breaths were becoming fast and impassioned because of it.

“I no longer fear you, Mistress, because I trust you completely and I do not fear Sasha because she is just a tool. The only time I truly feel fear is when you are both together and Sasha is in your hand.”

A grin slowly formed on my lips and a whoosh cut through the air as I quickly drew the cane backwards and away from his body. He jumped slightly at the sound and I slowly raised his kilt with my free hand to expose the soft backside flesh that had been teasing me, I held Sasha back a few moments for effect.

“Your fear is justified” I said as the air was cut and the first impact of the evening made his body arch in a visually orgasmic fashion.

No Champagne.

Written by Benjamin.
Edited by Aemilia Hawk.

A story about one of our play sessions that my Benjamin has been asking me to write for some time. However, lately I have not been in the mood to write short stories. So, I told him to write up the story from his perspective and that I would publish it on the blog after adding to it and editing it.

Enjoy.

It was a Tuesday evening and I made my way to the dungeon for the usual session with my Mistress. I thought it would just be a regular session. I was wrong.

On arriving at the house doorway, I paused slightly in the entryway before ringing the bell. It is very similar to visiting the dentist. There is a clean smell but at the same time, an unnerving sense. Once you step beyond the barred metal door, you give up all rights and you are at the whim of the Mistress to do as she pleases.

I rang the doorbell and waited for the clicking sound of heels which I normally hear as Mistress approaches the door to let me inside. I waited and I listened. I heard no sound this time.

Suddenly the door opened. It was the house slave.

“Good evening, the Mistress is expecting you and is awaiting your arrival upstairs.” he said with a welcoming smile.

I glanced at my watch to double check that I had arrived on time. I was a few minutes early.

“Is everything alright?” I asked as I stepped through to the hallway.

“Everything is fine, the Mistress is waiting for you in the purple room tonight, she demanded that you be sent up as soon as you arrived. Enjoy your evening.”

As I made my way up the thin staircase, I could see the dull glow from the dungeons candles seeping through the curtain door and as I entered, the first thing I saw is Mistress sitting on her Iron throne, smoking a cigarette and looking quite relaxed.

I try my hardest not to show any nerves. She always says that she can smell fear. So far she has never been wrong. But I manage to greet her as normal. There was a short silence as I waited for her reply. The tone of her voice can usually give away some clues as to how heavy the evenings play will be, but this time the words were soft and sensual.

“Come here.”

I approached slowly to stand in front of her and I offered her my usual gift which she accepted gracefully. There was a certain glint in her eye as she placed the gift to one side and in a single word told me to undress.

My nerves kicked in again. Normally I am undressed by the time she enters the dungeon but I turned away and begin to do as I was told.

“Face me. I wish to watch.”

With her watchful gaze upon me, I returned to face her and begin to take off my clothes piece by piece to place neatly in the corner. She smiled as I removed the last item and then gestured to the floor in front of where she sat. A signal of her wish to have me kneel at her feet.

After a few peaceful moments of sensation, Mistress running her claws through my hair and behind my ears, she leaned forward and whispered for me to stand in front of the slanted post, which I did immediately. She followed, but slowly. Standing from her throne and making sure every click of her heel could be savored as she walked towards me.

Normally just my hands and feet are secured, but this time she also secured my waist and made sure my movement would be limited.

“I want you fully secure tonight” She said in her voice like silk. “You will understand why in a few moments.”

I took in a deep breath and tried to think of something to say. I decided that it is probably best to say nothing at all.

Once secure, Mistress walked slowly towards the door, pausing only briefly to turn and smile at me before disappearing out. She returned a minute later carrying a large black box with silver accents. There was no mistaking her vintage violet wand (Angele) which she placed directly next to me on a waist height spanking stool.

My trepidation built as she took her time connecting all of the leads into the machine along with the body contact pad attachment. Then slowly lifting one side of her Steampunk skirt to reveal her left stocking top, she sensually slid the pad inside. For me this was breathtaking to watch, but unexpectedly she then lifted the other side of her ruffled skirt to reveal a small dagger tucked inside the top of her other stocking.

The dagger was tenderly removed and Mistress stood for a few moments before me, watching my expressions intently and caressing the blade tip with her claws. When she is not pressured for time, she likes to take her time, which can be all the more unnerving.

Eventually, she turned to one side and switched on Angele. The machine is not like a modern violet wand which would hum and whirr, Angele rumbles and growls, and had now electrified both my Mistress and the dagger in her hand.

Mistress returned her gaze and looked at me with such tenderness that I became oblivious to what she was about to do. The look in her eyes was one of content and pure confidence as she leaned in close to press the dagger against my chest and hold it still against the skin.

The initial shock of cold steel upon the skin outweighed the electrical discharge. As long as the dagger was pressed firmly and not moved, the electricity would not be felt.

“Now you see why I want you secure” she said softly as her body leaned in close for a few moments to press against mine.

And then it happened; she quickly stepped back and drew the dagger in a diagonal line across the bare of my chest. With the electricity running through it, it had the same sensation as if the knife was burning through the flesh and cutting deeply. A red line appeared in its wake, tracing the daggers branding and you could smell the scent of burning flesh.

Mistress paused and held the knife still, stopping the pain. She then leaned in close, again to press her body against mine before tracing the line she had just drawn across my chest with a claw. She deeply inhaled the scent in the air and a grin of utter pleasure formed on her lips.

“No Champagne” She said in that deceptive soft tone and referring to our normal safe word, revoking the privilege.

So, I took in a deep breath, closed my eyes and tried my best to find my sub space.

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.