BDSM And Love (And Staples)

The gender roles may be reversed from the usual Bondage Blog fare, but I think this column by Mistress Matisse does a great job of explaining the seeming contradiction at the heart of BDSM. How is that that sadism and love can so often coexist so happily?

His passionate pleas rose in volume as I brandished the stapler again. He’s really scared, I thought. I’ve never injected heroin, but I do believe the pleasure I felt in that moment could not possibly be rivaled by anything in a syringe. I felt high—and on the heels of that, I felt a surge of tenderness toward him. And then I put another staple into his nipple.

Now, I cannot be this mean to just anyone. I can slap and tickle a stranger, but to be really cruel to someone, I have to love him. If that sounds weird to you, this next part will seem even weirder: The very act of being sadistic to someone in a BDSM scene often creates feelings in me I can only call love while I’m doing it.

I’m measuring my sadism by the intensity of the reactions of my play- partner, not by any external scale. So what I actually do to create the most intense sensation he can handle isn’t that important, as long as I see his breath coming faster and feel his heart pounding in his chest. Just as in traditional sex, that triggers a mirroring response in me. Emotional and physiological arousal, combined with sexual energy—well, my animal brain thinks that’s love.

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One comment on “BDSM And Love (And Staples)”:

Mia commented on February 27th, 2009 at 4:37 am:

I always appreciate these thoughts on sadism and masochism. What we do takes trust. I couldn’t “bottom” to just anyone. In fact, I’d never even been so much as sexually spanked until my husband despite the desires for sexual pain. At least I can’t allow that kind of closeness with just anyone. I have to really know that the person on the other end of a flogger or the person tying my knots has my best interest at heart–not just their own. When I give my body, I really give up complete control. I allow that person to create my limits and trust that they won’t take me too far. In those moments and the few quiet ones that follow when we’re coming back to a more “vanilla” state of mind, I’m not sure I ever love my husband more.

I talk about this some on my blog, but my thoughts always seem to be scattered in comments on others’ blogs. Maybe one day I’ll get it all into something half as coherent and eloquent as Mistress Matisse. Thanks for the link, RG.

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