BDSM

Blending Sadism and Masochism – Essay

A friend asked the question “Can a masochist be a sadist?”

This, I think, is a deceptively simple question. By that I mean that if one unpacks it, it has a number of levels to it or points of view at least.

When I first hear the question, I initially began analyzing it in terms of what I know about psychology, simply puzzling out whether the two traits could occur simultaneously within the same individual. The possibility doesn’t seem unreasonable at all. Perhaps qualified psychologists could set me straight on that point.

Another angle to look at, though, is on an experiential level. I’m not so much concerned with definitions or boundaries as I am what it could mean to an individual. I had to examine this very closely myself, because my particular sexual sadism is very driven by empathy. It is in knowing a woman is feeling the pain and especially if I see it in her face, that I become most aroused.

This scene from the TV show “Community” is one of my favorites in mainstream even though you can’t see her butt.

But she does give great face and great voice

She’s a good actress (assuming the switching wasn’t real… hmm… imagine the rehearsals… okay I wandered off. Where was I?) A yes. The pain.

She was clearly in pain and so my empathy kicked in and I was quite aroused. Now if empathy is the ability to put yourself in someone else’s place and almost “feel what they feel”, then my arousal is partly based on imagining for myself what she’s going through. I can’t call it masochism really, because it’s not a conscious imagining and if it were, I’d be imagining being her and not me. But it’s not a big stretch to imagine sadism and masochism coexisting in the same experience.

I really don’t understand masochism on an experiential level, but I can extrapolate from my own sadism, and indeed my sadism is founded on that extrapolation in the form of empathy.

So stretching my imagination further, if I attempt to imagine myself to be a masochist, the only way I can even get close to that space, is to romanticize the suffering I might experience. I can be the handsome hero, captured by the enemy compound and they send a beautiful and sadistic interrogator to get information from me. Understanding how much I like spanking or whipping an attractive woman, I can imagine how she might feel about spanking or whipping me if she finds me attractive and happens to be sadistic in that way.

So now, occupying this pseudo-masochistic (HA, that sounds like ‘sadomasochistic’. Did I coin a new term? Suggested definition: not actually a masochist,  but willing to pretend…) space, how would sadism enter into it? I suppose if as a sadist, I’m focused on the masochist’s pain and reaction, then as a masochist wouldn’t I be focused on the sadist and her reaction? And I imagine that as she becomes more and more aroused with the experience of spanking or whipping me, I can imagine empathizing with that and therefore, exhibiting a sadism through her.

It’s a fascinating experiential knot

Thank you for the question, Alias

Everyone, let me know what you think. What’s your experience? Are you a switch? How do you experience that? If you play mostly or all on one side of the power exchange coin, tell us about your experience with ‘the other side’ even if it’s only in your imagination.

Who knows, you may persuade me to share my ‘other side’ fantasy

-Quai Franklin

“Namaste”

“Play On” (song by Quai Disciplines)

Bottoms and Tops, gather around

You’ve got a space where your voice is found
Listen up, all you beautiful freaks
Find your stations and let the voyeurs peak

Guardian angels dressed in black
Girls in tartan skirts give me a heart attack
Shibari artists weaving their dreams
No means of escape from their web it seems

We do what we do. Play on
We live how we live. Play on

Bend over that bench. Hike up her skirt
Teach her a lesson for being a flirt
Whack after whack, is there anything better
Look at her backside. Could it get any redder?

Heat up the wax. Lay a body down
Make a colorful creation. Hear a moaning sound
In the center ring there’s a new display
Mistress with her pretty boys. Dig it – pony play

We do what we do. Play on
We live how we live. Play on

Getting What She Wants (for Olivia)

O, much to her own surprise, found her way back to her car with relative ease. Despite being distracted, having a sore bottom and upper thighs, and an annoyingly unsatisfied wet pussy, she felt that her body simply knew the way back to her car. It must have known, because despite walking somewhat slowly and with some discomfort, she found herself there much sooner than she had expected.

She gazed dreamily at the car and mindlessly fumbled through her bag for the key. Part of her thought about the loophole the man had left her – “if you come back”. He hadn’t said how long she had to wait before coming back. At the same time, the common sense part  of her brain told her that she was out of her mind. She had just been chained and whipped by a strange man who lived alone out in the woods. Good-looking or not, this just wasn’t smart. In fact, her common-sense brain told her, you ought to go straight to the police or the F.B.I. or something and report this… this… sexual assault! That’s what it came down to. She had been sexually assaulted and kidnapped. He could, and maybe should, do hard time.

O climbed into the car and sat down slowly. As gravity pressed her body into the seat, the soreness of the strapping became more pronounced. She winced and pouted, thinking, “He didn’t have to strap me so hard. Damn him.” She drove off.

Every hill and bump in the road made her squirm with soreness and arousal. Several times during the journey home, she found herself gazing longingly at the handbrake, considering pulling off to the side of the road. Her thoughts of fulfilling herself intermingled with feelings of outrage at having been whipped.

“Oil his strap? Oil his strap?! What the fuck was that? I’ll oil his strap, and choke him with it,” she said out loud to herself.

The effect of the arousal, along with the endorphins, gradually dissipated her anger and made her sleepy instead. Several times during the drive, as the sun lowered itself onto the horizon, she had to snap her head back up to an awakened state. O tried turning her stereo up louder and that would work for a while, but was not going to be a permanent solution. She new she had to pull over and get some coffee or something.

Scanning along the side of the highway at the options available, she finally saw a friendly-looking diner ahead of her that had a welcoming and non-dangerous look about it. Her plan was to have some coffee there, freshen up, and then get back out on the road.

Once inside she ordered the coffee and a slice of pie to go with it, thinking the sugar might be good to help her stay awake. There weren’t many other patrons there, and the few that were there seemed more like part of an extended family for the diner, than just occasional patrons. O looked around at the interesting-looking individuals and began to imagine and wonder what their stories were. While seated at the counter and engaged in people-watching, she didn’t notice when the man sat next to her. He was brown-skinned, with long dreadlocks and he had a very familiar feeling about him. She knew she had never seen him before, but she felt like they were on a similar wavelength somehow.

“Apple pie and coffee,” he said. “Is that not one of the best combinations ever?” He smiled at her.

O shrugged and said, “I dunno. I like the combination, but there are so many great combinations…” She wondered to herself why she had chosen to be so elaborate in her response.

“I can dig that,” the man chuckled. “Hi. My name’s Arthur.”

O smiled slightly and nodded, “Hi, Arthur. I’m O.”

“O, nice to meet you. I just thought I’d say ‘hello’ to you because you looked a little lost here and I thought you could use a friend,” he said.

“Lost? What do you mean?” she asked.

“Well… maybe my mistake. Maybe lost is not the right word,” he said.

“I’m not lost. I know where I am. I’m just a little… I don’t know.. I had this weird experience and it’s got me a little freaked out,” O explained.

There was something about Arthur that just made her want to open up. He made her feel safe and yet, she felt like he could understand her desires. His energy, his presence, felt to her like he might be open-minded enough and willing to oblige just about any request she might have. But was this feeling a delusion based on arousal and endorphins? Who knew…

“Look, O. I don’t want to pry, but just let me say that I am a good listener and some people find me helpful in gaining insight into their lives and their situations,” he said.

The server behind the counter poured coffee refills for both of them, smiled, and walked back into the kitchen. O was practically bursting. She wanted so badly to tell someone, but she didn’t think any of her friends would understand. She thought they would probably just scold her for taking such a crazy chance and offer to help find the criminal who did those things to her. She knew she didn’t want that and knowing there was no way to avoid that if she told them, she elected not to tell them. Which meant to her that she could only tell a stranger, and that meant that she would either have to tell this stranger who was offering to listen, or try to engage some other random stranger to listen to her at another time. This clarified her decision.

O told Arthur the whole story, at least all the physical details. She still found it incredibly difficult to say how aroused she had gotten.

“What a huge thing to happen to you,” Arthur said to her, looking into her eyes. “I’m glad you decided to share this.”

O nodded and let her gaze drop to his coffee.

“May I ask a question? I don’t mean to judge you, of course. I just want to help?” he asked.

She looked back up into his eyes, seeing no judgment there – only a caring and a strength and a wisdom that seemed to come from knowing what it’s like to have experiences and desires outside of what people liked to call “the normal”. She nodded.

“Why are you telling me about this instead of the cops?” he asked. “You said he gave you a whipping with a strap. You were chained up. He sexually assaulted you.”

O pressed her face into her hands and tears began to stream down her cheeks. In a comforting and re-assuring gesture, Arthur put his right arm around O. With his left hand he pulled a bill out of his shirt pocket and laid it on the counter. Easing her off the counter stool, he walked her outside where he hugged her and let her rest against his chest until she was ready to speak again.

“I must be sick or something,” she said.

“Why? Why do you say that?” Arthur asked.

“Because,” she said, “I want to go back!” She pushed him at that moment, almost spitting out the words.

He nodded reassuringly. “No. You’re not sick. Listen… the heart, the soul, they know what they want. And they don’t care what makes sense or what doesn’t. And the bitch of it is, you can’t have a real life without following your heart.”

She looked up at him as if to say ‘You’d better not be lying to me’.

“I don’t know though, if I’m really listening to my heart or not. I … I didn’t tell you… I… um…” she tried to explain.

“You got aroused?” he asked.

She blushed and rolled her eyes.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he said.

“It’s not so much that I’m ashamed. I just think that maybe I want to go back now because I have a need.. an itch that needs scratching… It’s probably clouding my judgment,” she said.

“I see,” he said. “Well then, if you want to know the truth, then there’s one thing you have to do.”

Her mouth dropped open at the realization of what he was saying.

“You need to have your orgasm,” he said, calmly. “Once that need is met, you’ll be able to see clearly what you really want.”

“I can see what you’re saying,” O said, “but what can you do?”

“Forgive my bluntness, but it seems a big part of what got you so aroused was being spanked, if I’m not mistaken,” he said.

He was not mistaken. Upon hearing the word “spank”, O felt another surge of excitement pass through her genitals and the base of her spine. She closed her eyes and shook her head, wanting desperately for the floor to open up or to turn invisible.

“If you’re willing, I will leave my name with the diner or the police or whomever, and we’ll go to my house. There, I’ll spank you and do whatever else is necessary for you to come. Your choice.” he said.

‘This is crazy. This is crazy. This is crazy,’ she thought. No other thoughts were coming to her. A fire had been lit within her, a fire that didn’t want to wait until she could drive back to her room and try, maybe fruitlessly, to arrange for some privacy. She had already struck a blow for independence and freedom. To turn back now, would be a betrayal to herself.

She agreed to Arthur’s proposition, and after making the necessary security and safety arrangements, she followed him in her own car to his nearby home. Once inside, they embraced, almost completely still, absorbing one another’s presence and essence. Their eyes locked and they had an impulse to kiss, but he stopped it.

“We shouldn’t kiss. We don’t want to confuse things further,” he said. “We’re hear to help you clarify how you feel about the man you met.”

O nodded in agreement. Arthur sat down on his sofa and while she was still standing, he unbuckled her belt and unbuttoned her jeans. She stood there with her arms to her side, wanting this to be his choice. This had to be his show. It was the only way it would work for her – for them both.

He tugged her jeans down over the curve of her hips, the friction partially pulling down her panties. Turning her by the hips to face away from him, he pulled those down too. When jeans and panties were down to her knees, he turned her again to her side. She shuffled awkwardly, limited by the state of her pants. Then he pulled her over his lap. Using his left arm to hold her by the waist, he reached down with his right hand and pulled a phone book out from just under the sofa. He rested his right foot on it, raising her hips, arching her back more, and causing her wet pussy to be further exposed.

He began spanking her firmly and evenly, noting that her bottom still bore red marks from the recent strapping. Clearly it was a recent strapping, as what would have normally been a warm-up spanking made her squirm and squeal with each spank. Her head jerked with each spank, and soon she began kicking. He wanted to focus on her sweet spot, spanking her hard enough to make waves that would echo through her pussy, hard enough to make the arousal build, and not so hard as to eclipse the arousal. The kicking was standing in the way. So he trapped her legs at the knee with his right leg, continuing to spank her over his left knee.

Taking a moment, he adjusted her position by putting his left foot on the phone book and moving her out some more so that her mound rubbed against his knee. Her legs spread so that she was almost straddling the knee. He started the spanking again, keeping the steady rhythm and gradually increasing the intensity, noting how her moans mutated from pained to pleasure in pain to mostly pleasure. She let out an erotically charged “Unh!” with each spank now. These continued to increase in intensity as the spanks continued to land on her reddened backside. O felt like her ass was so thoroughly spanked, that it was almost consumed in spanking. And her pussy was trying to put out that fire with it’s own flowing fountain, ineffectual at putting out the fire.

O pounded the sofa cushion in front of her with her fists as the orgasm rose within her. The all-consuming rush of it, flowed out from her base up through her torso and down through her legs. Her toes curled tightly. She wanted it to go on and on throughout time, but part of her started becoming more aware of her vulnerability and this made her feel like a mere mortal again.

As the orgasm reached its denouement, the spanks began to feel like spanks again.

“Ow! Ow!” she said, “Okay, okay!”

Arthur chuckled, stopped spanking O, and began to rub her bottom and her back. O let out a long sigh.

He un-trapped her legs and let her up. She tried to stand by pushing her self up, but ended up flopping back down. He caught her.

“Woah there,” he said. “Sit here a minute. Take your time. It’s been a big day for you, O.”

She couldn’t disagree and so curled up next to him. He put his arm around her and stroked her hair. They sat there in silence for a few minutes, O being nurtured, and Arthur being her momentary hero.

“So,” he said, “Clarity achieved?”

“Yes,” she answered, “Clarity.”