Beatings.

Lately, beatings occupy my mind. The consensual/non-consensual kind. From the moment I first picked up a flogger, pain toys and their usage have been a true fascination that never grows old. Contrary to popular belief, not everyone who comes to see me enjoys receiving pain; actually, most are rather scared of it. My favorites are those that ask specifically for what I have come to think of as a “fine beating”.

Taking time to secure you with ropes, cuffs, chains and the like is sometimes a necessary beginning. At others, I cherish the opportunity to simply order my subject of the moment to hold position over a spanking horse, onto the overhead chains or pressed up against an available wall. Previously making you choose from my arsenal of paddles, crops, canes, floggers and whips 3 items you most would like to feel me use on your skin. Of course, no part of the body (within reason) is off limits. Back, chest, inner thigh, palms, genitals, foot bottoms. A careful warmup with whatever draws my eye first.

Memorable beatings usually include my singletail, a treasured possession. Few are able to stay the distance with that implement and my arm which at times feels unstoppable. I leave horizontal marks ladders on one side of the back, verticals neatly arrayed along the other, just for giggles. Once warmup for me and my subject has ended, I work from top to bottom, neck to bottom of thigh mirroring those movements on the front. Constant check in to see the condition of my canvas while I slowly paint delicate red streaks from 3-4 feet away.

What’s this all about? I happily identify as a sadist, deriving pleasure from the administration of pain to others. Pain is my gift, a pure expression of my desire towards the one serving me whether that service lasts for the hour or a lifetime. It is the quickest method available to take you away from your ego, whatever keeps you from being your most elemental, submissive self. It is your willingness to submit to my desires and take that journey which completes the circuit.

All courtesy of the mutual gift of a beating.

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I scored “100% Sadist” – New York City’s Mistress Martine Phoenix

The term “sadist” refers to one who  practices  sadism, which is defined as:
1. The deriving of sexual gratification or the tendency to derive sexual gratification from inflicting pain or emotional abuse on others.
2. The deriving of pleasure, or the tendency to derive pleasure, from cruelty.
3. Extreme cruelty.
[After Comte Donatien Alphonse François de Sade.]
(from The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language)
I scored “100% Sadist” on this quiz, forever floating around the FetLife neighbourhood. Online quizzes don’t normally resonate. However, this one defined my outlines quite clearly. The sadist in me enjoys your discomfort. I laugh to myself, watching you squirm in humiliating positions at my feet. I feed off the electricity of your sensations in response to sharp kisses from my favorite whip.

Being a sadist is not only about physical pain. My senses are heightened by your frustration, teasing you unmercifully, toying with your desire. Sometimes, feeling your confusion and uncertainty is enough to get me going. I can easily sense the mental disarray created by distance, cool looks or subtly cutting words.

It’s almost scary, the pull I feel probing you, finding those tender areas, places I can worry at, setting you off balance. In my younger years, I tried to keep this need under wraps, the need to make my playmates uncomfortable in some way. I enjoyed completely altering the mood of a room, a palpable shift set off by some seemingly innocent remark, making everyone squirm. Now that I’ve grown up some, I am sought out for this tendency.

 

photo by Victorian_Manor/Rigor_mortis

photo by Victorian_Manor/Rigor_mortis, 2013

This behaviour is not usually accepted in women. Nurturing and schadenfreude don’t really go together. However, I don’t move in society’s usual circles; my pleasure in this existence is having the freedom to do as I wish and indulge in what pleases me. What a relief and comfort to inhabit a realm where I can express all facets of my personality to its fullest extent.

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BDSM fiction – sissy’s First Visit (part 1)

As we spoke on the phone, her velvety tones were irresistable; that, my friends, sealed the deal. While I had initially been attracted by Mistress Martine Phoenix’s beautiful pictures and enticing interests, just listening to her voice put me over the edge. Dropping to my knees while still on the phone, I humbly begged to be her servant. She only laughed cruelly. “Silly boy, what can you possibly offer me?”

I told her of my five years experience in the scene, my skills as a writer and lastly, most importantly, of my desire to serve her! She paused as if in thought. “You can write? Perhaps I may have some use for you. What are your interests?” I hurriedly told her of my desire for humiliation and corporal punishment and how I wished to serve her. I told her of my experience as a houseboy and that if she but mentioned the word, I would be honored to cook and clean for her. Mistress Phoenix regarded me for a moment before answering, “I believe that I can use you. I want additional stories for my web site and you may be just the slave to provide them. However, I have no need for a houseboy.” She laughed as if struck by a sudden thought. “I can use a sissy maid, though; you DO like humiliation, don’t you? Well, here’s the deal, bitch: you come to me, pay for a session and I will begin your transformation into my sissy maid. You will write about your degradation and experiences while serving me. If you do well after the first session, I may make you my bitch. What do you say? You have thirty seconds to decide.”

The chance to be her sissy maid and write about it? Oh, the humiliation! Oh, the chance of a lifetime! I jumped at it, begging for the opportunity to be her property. Telling me to prepare myself, she ordered me to arrive at the studio no later than 6pm the following evening. She gave me directions and hung up the phone. I was trembling, scared, excited and totally elated. I prepared myself for my new life.

I found myself waiting to ring the studio buzzer at 5:55, arriving early to make sure there would be no mistake and could barely contain my excitement. The receptionist greeted me, “Mistress Phoenix will be with you shortly. Go into the dungeon, strip and call me when your clothes are folded neatly by the door. I would hurry, if I were you. Mistress Phoenix wants you naked and kneeling when she arrives.”

I followed directions and called the receptionist when I finished. She came, glanced at me and took my clothes. “These aren’t folded neatly, I assure you that Mistress Phoenix will be notified. Are you wondering what I am going to do with these? They will be shown to Mistress Phoenix in their current state. She will give them back to you if and when she decides!” With that, she walked out smirking. My humiliation had already begun.

From my lowly position, I heard the clicking of heels approaching the door. It opened. “You must be the new slave, writer and soon-to-be sissy.” I kept my eyes focused on the floor and was graced with a glance at her beautiful feet encased in her high heels. She ran her hand through my hair and slowly stroked the side of my cheek. Roughly grasping my mouth she squeezed and forced my head up. “Look at me! You won’t get the chance often, you lowly wimp. Tell me what you see!”

She was perfect, beautiful beyond words. However, I tried. “Mistress Martine Phoenix, divine Goddess! You are so wonderful, so beautiful. Your dreadlocks are perfect, your catlike eyes and full, luscious lips make me weak! And oh, Mistress, you have the body of Venus come to life. Please do what you will with me. I exist to serve you!”

Mistress Phoenix looked fantastic in her leather corset, black leather skirt and knee high leather boots; certainly the picture of a Goddess. One of her hands grasped my face, another carried a cruel cane. She slapped my face and told me to look down again. “Listen carefully, slave; I am going to lay down the rules that will govern your time with me. If you disobey my rules, you will be punished. If you forget my rules, you will be punished. From now on, your name is Babette, my French sissy.” She walked behind me. “Starting today, you no longer have a cock and balls, you have a clit.” She kicked me in my new clit. “I expect it to be shaved when you serve me. You will not speak unless spoken to. You will kneel on all fours when in my presence at all times, unless I give you different orders. When you kneel, your head and eyes will be kept down and your legs will be spread. When I say ‘up’, you will rise to your knees only. You exist to serve not only myself and my female friends, but anyone that I order you to.” She grabbed my face and allowed me to look at her again.

“Do you understand my rules?” I gasped that I did.

She moved behind me, “I understand that you failed to fold your clothes neatly. Let’s see, you have two shoes, two socks, panties, pants, a belt, a shirt and a watch. That’s nine articles of clothing and you will receive a stroke with the cane for each article. Count!” Her cane rose and fell nine times; I struggled not to scream. Next, I felt her hand softly stroke the welts she had made. “If I need to punish you for disobedience again, it will be two strokes instead of one. Now, thank me for correcting you and crawl to the table.”

Mistress Phoenix then strapped me to the bondage table face up. Walking away she cheerfully stated, “Babette, you lucky slut, I am going to give you plenty to write about today!”

To Be Continued…