A masochist is defined as someone who derives sexual gratification from pain. I do not identify as a masochist- when I experience pain, particularly in a sexual context, I do not derive pleasure from it. I feel the sting of a leather belt or the sharp bite of a nipple clamp for exactly what it is- a fucking ouch. Why, then, would I ever request such a thing from a sexual partner? How could I ever begin to crave it?
As you know, my exploration of BDSM is a key strategy for me to cope with stress- the mindfulness exercise that submission grants me has no equivalent in the vanilla world. The requirement to react and absorb instead of strategize and drive forces me to fight my natural instincts, sinking me into a state of awareness of my body and mind that I don’t often experience otherwise. This started, of course, with orgasm control – Mr. Grey taught me to surrender control to him and gave me permission to exist and experience pleasure in my body in a different way. It wasn’t until later in my practice that I learned that pain, too, could present an opportunity to focus my mind.
My first exposure to pain in BDSM was as a corrective measure. As I was learning orgasm control from Mr. Grey, he largely used impact play when I failed a particular task. If I came without permission or made a noise when I was supposed to cum silently, my ass would pay the price- and he did not hit me for pleasure. The sharp sting of his hand or his belt was a powerful motivator for me to refocus on his instruction. I submitted to his punishment dutifully, but not eagerly- I would much rather have experienced pleasure at his hands than pain.
This changed for me one fateful evening. I was under an immense amount of pressure at work and hadn’t seen Mr. Grey in a couple of weeks- to say that my edges were frayed would be an understatement. I desperately needed a couple of hours of submission- an escape and release from my crowded and exhausted mind.
Mr. Grey texted me an hour or so before he was planning to arrive and instructed me to begin edging myself. I obeyed, leaving the door unlocked as I headed to my bed. I started to play, channeling my work pressure and frustration into my clit through my fingertips.
I got so worked up that when I heard the door slam as he arrived, I almost came in anticipation. He took his time coming up the stairs, which was further torture for my desperate-to-cum self. He undressed slowly, maintaining intense eye contact as he stepped out of his clothes. I was not to speak until spoken to, so I continued to pleasure myself as he watched. He sat beside me on the bed, passively playing with my nipples. “I know you need some release, baby, and if you are a good girl you will have it,” he said.
“Yes Sir, I will be a good girl for you,” I promised desperately.
He put his index finger into my mouth, feeling around my tongue before I started to suck. I craved his touch between my legs. “Please, Sir, I want you,” I whispered, bringing my soaking wet fingers up to his mouth. He licked them and moaned.
He took his finger out of my mouth and circled my nipple, making it wet. He then blew on it, sending a shiver throughout my body. “You can’t cum until I say,” he reminded me.
“Yes Sir, I’ll be a good girl for you,” I repeated.
His touch was impossibly gentle at first; his fingers barely brushed my slippery clit before they danced away from it, gently massaging my lips. They eventually returned, pressing down on the sides of it, threatening to stroke but instead remaining perfectly still- it was as if he could feel the throbbing in his fingers and knew that I was hovering over the edge. “Hold onto it, baby, I’m going to rub you now,” he warned. I took a deep breath and gritted my teeth, trying to focus on anything but my building orgasm.
He dipped his finger inside me, bringing my arousal to the forefront of my mind. There is something about feeling how wet I am that just makes me even wetter. He started to stroke my rock hard clit, and I squirmed underneath him to relieve the building pressure.
“Don’t move,” he commanded in his quiet way. I swallowed hard, knowing that he had just made my task of not cumming infinitely more difficult. I imagined restraints on my wrists and ankles- invisible shackles holding me in place. I sank into the mattress, relaxing my body and trying to filter the building tension away from my clit out into my fingertips.
He pressed harder, incrementally picking up the pace to a steady rhythm. With each escalation I breathed deeper, determined to follow his instruction- determined to make him proud.
“That’s it, good girl, hold on,” he encouraged.
I clung to his words, letting his praise fill me and fuel me. He pressed harder, and I realized that I was much closer to the edge than I had thought. “Please Sir, I can’t hold it much longer,” I breathed. I focused every ounce of energy on not moving my body, but my inability to flex around his touch had me sprinting toward the finish line. “Please Sir!” I cried out.
“You’re almost there, just a little bit longer,” he promised. I looked up into his eyes, my gaze no doubt feral. He lightened his touch, just a little, and held my gaze. “That’s it, don’t move- you’re doing so well,” he purred.
Time stopped; we remained still, eyes locked, his fingers skillfully stroking me while my body remained immobile. “Are you ready baby?” he asked quietly.
“Yes, Sir, please!” I exclaimed, my words somewhat garbled.
“Don’t move,” he reminded me. I took a deep breath, steadying myself before he said “cum.”
It’s a short command, but I obeyed long before he finished the word.
A ripple of electricity exploded through me, but to my credit I didn’t move a muscle. I absorbed the pleasure into my body, my limbs rigid and tense but unmoving. I screamed in an effort to relieve the tension, willing his fingers to stop electrocuting me with every flick. His touch eventually slowed, his strokes becoming softer as he let me come down.
I was breathing heavily, and grinning ear to ear- that was the first time that I had cum without moving successfully. “Such a good girl,” he said, kissing me deeply. I was proud of myself, and was revelling in his praise as well.
“Thank you Sir,” I replied, still breathless at the exertion and focus that it took me to achieve my (his) goal.
“I think you’ve earned a reward,” he said slyly. I smiled- I much preferred rewards to punishment.
“Yes please,” I said with a grin.
He kissed me again, dancing his tongue along my lips. He kissed down my neck, nibbling at my earlobes. His kisses were completely decadent, and I moaned more than once. He spent quite a bit of time on my nipples, teasing them to attention with his tongue, nibbling and sucking on them. When he started to kiss down my stomach, I grew nervous- my orgasm had been intense, and I wasn’t sure that I was ready for another- as if I had a choice.
He settled himself between my legs, parting my lips just to blow on my clit- it felt like he was holding a flame to me. My shiver turned into a moan as his tongue licked my slit. “Enjoy this, baby- you’ve earned it. Cum whenever you need to,” he said before taking my clit between his teeth.
His tongue was precise; he licked and sucked and flicked me until I was squirming and moaning underneath him. He secured my legs open with his arms, preventing me from lessening his impact.
After I came, he paused just long enough to say “again,” before diving back between my legs. I had four orgasms before he finally relented.
I was floating on a cloud somewhere above us when he finally entered me; his cock slid in effortlessly, inch by inch until he completely filled me. He moved slowly at first, coating himself in my wetness and letting me flutter back to earth. He fucked me with long, slow strokes. I could feel every inch of him enter and pull back, and the feeling was nothing short of delicious- until he flipped me over.
The edging and forced orgasms had left me completely drained and at his mercy, so he flipped me onto my hands and knees with ease. I screamed when he buried his cock roughly inside me. His slow, deliberate pace was now unhinged. He grabbed my hips tightly, bringing my ass back to meet his every thrust. The intensity and depth of his cock was overwhelming; all I could do to hold on was scream.
I came without even knowing it, my release just fueling his desire. His cock invaded the deepest parts of me, demanding more and more each time. He grabbed a handful of my hair before he emptied himself into me, each thrust owning me more and more as he came.
We both collapsed in a satisfied heap. I nestled my way into his embrace, letting each of us come back to each other on our own time.
“I really am proud of you,” he said. “You have come so far- I knew you could do it, but it was really awesome to see,” he said. “Next, we will work on cumming silently.” I gulped at the thought.
We talked for a while longer, debriefing the scene and checking in with each other. We settled into a comfortable silence, his hands idly stroking my back as mine rested on his chest.
“What is it?” he asked. I looked at him, puzzled.
“What do you mean?”
“You still seem tense,” he said. I thought about the session that we had just had, and the overall exhaustion that I still felt in my limbs.
Was it exhaustion, or was it tension?
“I don’t know,” I said, genuinely confused. The more I tuned back into my body, the more I felt an indescribable hum just under my skin. “I feel kind of antsy,” I conceded, “but I have no idea why- or how, after so many orgasms.”
He stroked my breast, pinching my nipple in quiet contemplation. I gasped, the sudden pain gone by the time the air filled my lungs. He sat up slightly, pinching me again. This time he held on for a few seconds, enough to make me bite my lip.
“Ouch!” I exclaimed.
“How did that feel?” he asked, somewhat redundantly in my opinion.
“It hurt,” I said obviously.
“I am going to do it again- tell me how it feels,” he instructed. I was not in on his plan, but knew better than to question him. He pinched me again, rolling my nipple painfully between his finger and thumb. I winced, and he reiterated- “Feel it,” he said.
I tried to follow his instruction; I focused my mind on the pain. He twisted my nipple, and I felt tears behind my eyes. I looked up at him, focusing on his face instead of the pain. When he released my nipple, I released my tension.
“How did that feel?” he asked.
“It hurt,” I said cheekily. He raised an eyebrow, equal parts threat and challenge. I thought harder. “It felt…intense,” I began.
“What did you feel when I let go?”
“Relief,” I replied. He smirked.
“Well then it looks like we aren’t done,” he said vaguely. He rifled through his bag of tricks while I laid beside him wholly confused.
“I want to try something with you,” he explained. “I think I can get rid of the itch, but you have to trust me. Do you remember your safe words?” he asked, holding clothespins in his hands.
I stared at his new implements for a beat before I responded. “Yes Sir,” I said, and recited the safe words.
“Good girl. Lay back, please. I am going to hurt you,” he said as casually as a weather report.
My mind began to race, but my body had been conditioned to obey him. I laid back, placing my hands at my sides and taking a deep, centring breath.
“I think I will need to restrain your hands,” he mused, more to himself than to me. He bound them quickly with rope and suspended them over my head. I was immediately more vulnerable, and more curious.
“Up to this point we have used pain as punishment,” he explained as he teased my nipples with his fingers. “Pain has many uses, including release,” he said, pinching my nipple again as punctuation. “Some subs get immense pleasure from pain, though I haven’t noticed that in you yet. I don’t get the sense that you enjoy your punishments,” he said with a smirk.
“I don’t,” I said emphatically. I gasped again as he twisted my nipple.
“Nevertheless,” he said, moving to my other nipple, “pain can still be a useful experience. I am going to hurt you now, and I want you to pay attention to how your body and mind respond, can you do that?”
“Yes Sir,” I said doubtfully. I trusted him immensely, but I was not excited at the promise of pain.
“Good girl,” he said gently.
I screamed in pain as the first clothespin was clamped directly on my nipple. I wanted it off immediately, my reflex desperate to swat it away- except my hands were tied. I pulled uselessly against the restraints, squirming in hopes of flicking it off me. It didn’t take long to realize my efforts were futile.
“Breathe, baby,” he encouraged. “You’re okay- I know it hurts, but you need to breathe through it,” he instructed.
I locked eyes with him, trying to centre myself in his gaze to quell my panic. I breathed deeply, and found that the pain started to lose its edge. I took a few more deep breaths, visualizing myself locking the pain into a box. I gained control over it and muted it to a dull roar.
Just in time for the second clothespin to clamp onto my other nipple.
I sucked in my breath and held it, pulling against the restraints again in a desperate move to remove the clothespin. “Breathe,” he reminded me sternly.
I let the air out of my lungs, trying to pack the new pain into a more manageable space so that it didn’t consume me. The sensation had a razor-sharp edge that demanded my full attention; there was no room for me to think about anything but controlling my reaction and finding somewhere to put the pain. I had to feel it to control it, giving it my full attention before trying to repackage it into something manageable. It was a mental and physical feat, so when I felt the pain start to dull, a sense of accomplishment began to fall into place.
“Good girl,” he said, snapping me out of my reverie. I had somewhat forgotten that he was in the room. He flicked my aching nipples a few times, each time requiring me to reassert my focus.
“These are going to hurt just as much coming off,” he warned. While I was desperate for the relief, his words made me nervous. I had managed to dull the pain to a mumble, and was not looking forward to a resurgence.
He removed both clothespins at the same time. It felt like he had set my nipples on fire. A wave of pain crashed over me, and tears sprang to my eyes. Fucking ouch. I screamed and pulled at the rope securing my hands. My legs kicked as the panic took hold- fight or flight indeed.
Mr. Grey put his hands on my breasts, gently massaging away the pain that he had just inflicted. “You’re okay, baby, breathe,” he coached. I let the sound of his voice carry me back to him.
“What was that like?” he asked.
It took a moment for my scrambled brain to remember the English language. “Focused,” was the first word that came to mind. The pain was focused, my mind was focused- everything came into laser focus when he hurt me.
“How do you feel now?”
“Relieved,” I admitted. He remained silent, letting me reflect on the experience. Even I had to acknowledge that his strategy had worked- he had scratched the indescribable itch that I had been feeling. I felt more centred after he’d hurt me. The journey through the pain had challenged my mind and body in a new way, and I was more relaxed for it.
I think he was surprised to hear me quietly whisper “More, please.”
I think I was surprised that I meant it.
For the first time, I wanted him to hurt me.
He left my arms tied but settled down alongside me, cradling me in his arms. He kissed me as a display of gratitude and pride as his fingers moved to my now tender nipple.
I closed my eyes in anticipation of his assault. “Look at me,” he ordered quietly. I focused on his eyes as I felt his fingers constrict around my nipple. His grip gradually tightened, the intensity of my stare matching the intensity of the pain.
I looked up at him, silently begging him to relent- or perhaps silently surrendering to his touch. I cried out as he twisted my skin, his vice-like grip creating tears at the corners of my eyes. “Please, Sir…” I begged.
“Breathe, baby,” he reminded me. I swallowed hard, forcing air into my lungs as I tried to compartmentalize the pain.
“That’s it, baby, you’re doing it- just breathe through it. You’re such a good girl for letting me hurt you,” he praised. I held onto his words like lifelines, each one an encouragement to hold on.
When he finally released my nipple, I melted into him, my gratitude for his mercy bleeding through me. He let me take a couple of breaths before he started on my other nipple. I remembered his instruction, and this time responded more quickly. I winced as he tightened his grip, but I swallowed my moan into deep breaths. I focused on his eyes, allowing our connection to fuel my resilience. I desperately wanted to please him- to demonstrate that I could take what he was giving. My mind was consumed with this goal and worked to coax my body into absorbing the intensity of his touch.
When he released, a tear of relief fell from my eye. He kissed me deeply, murmuring his pride and thanks into my ear. He released my hands, allowing me to embrace him. We remained like that for a while, both honouring the deepening of our bond. I had asked him to hurt me, and he did.
It was a new dimension in our partnership, one that I was both excited and terrified to explore. The very definition of be careful what you ask for.