Mistress Matisse's Journal

As I muse today about how the important people in my life have a habit of evolving outside of the boundaries I anticipated placing around the relationship... Please enjoy a story about me, Max and Jae, originally published here, in July 2004.


Me, Max, and Jae

As Max and I approach the fifth anniversary of our first date, I’ve been thinking about the fact that if my submissive, Jae, didn’t have such a big clitoris, Max and I might never have gone on that date at all.

Max and I had been encountering each other socially in the BDSM community for a while before the thought crept into my head: You know, he’s actually sort of attractive. I examined that idea with surprise, because Max belongs to a group of people I had, until that time, regarded with a distinct coolness. He’s a heterosexual male dominant.

Understand, it wasn’t that I thought that all straight male tops were jerks. Just most of the ones I’d met. As my acquaintance with Max progressed, I liked him more and more. But I was baffled—his behavior didn’t match my concept of a straight Master. He never engaged in verbal pissing matches with other dominants over who had the biggest kinky repertoire. He didn’t act as if every submissive woman was his potential conquest. And he didn’t leer at Jae and me with that sleazy can-I-watch? energy when he saw us together at parties. There was something almost irritating about his refusal to be an overbearing twit. Being sexually attracted to a walking, talking challenge to your assumptions really isn’t the most comfortable state of mind.

Jae noticed. “That Max guy—you like him, don’t you, Mistress?”

I shrugged. “He’s okay—I mean, for a breeder-boy top. But it’s easy to be cool when you’re just chatting at an event. I bet he’d be different if he was playing.” As I said the words, an idea formed in my mind. “Yeah, I bet he would be different. And I think we should see for ourselves.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think I should set up a little test for Max. Sure, he’s Mr. Suave if we’re just talking, but I want to see what he’s like when he’s playing with a cute girl.” I gave Jae a meaningful stare.

She grinned. “I’m game.”

So, a few nights later at a play party, I asked Max to help me do some rope bondage—his specialty—on Jae, as part of a longer scene between she and I. Unaware of the undercurrents, Max agreed and we decided we’d tie Jae to one of my favorite bondage props, a six-foot, solid wooden stretcher.

I took her aside. “Okay, are you ready?”

She nodded. “Want me to get naked?”

“Yeah. No, wait—let’s give the guy a break, there’s absolutely no way he’ll be able to maintain with your coochie in his face. Leave your panties on.”

“Whoops,” she said. “I’m not wearing any.”

I rolled my eyes. “I should have known. All right, I think there’s a stray pair at the bottom of my toy bag, go dig through there and put them on.”

She went off, and Max and I set up for the scene. The plan was to essentially lace Jae to the board with ropes, so that we could then stand the board up and lean it—and Jae—against the wall.

She returned, wearing a black lace thong that I recognized as a pair I’d used as a gag in another scene. Doubtless a little the worse for wear, but perfectly serviceable as a fig leaf. Or so I thought.

Jae lay down on the board and we began to wind the ropes tightly around her body. Max displayed no particular interest in Jae’s near-nudity, directing his attention mainly to me as he talked about types of ropes and knots. I chatted back at first, but as we were tying her legs, I became distracted by a wardrobe malfunction. Not mine—Jae’s. Each time we wrapped rope around her legs and hips, the fabric of the panties was pulled more tightly, and it was becoming obvious that there was a small rip in the stretchy lace. And that rip was pretty much dead-center over her clit.

In a lesser woman, this might not be so bad. But Jae likes to call herself “well-endowed,” and while I haven’t gone around measuring other women’s clits to get a statistical sample, I think she’s right. I could already see a bit of pink flesh just barely contained by the fraying fabric.

“I think we should stand the board up, and then put some more rope through her legs, to support her,” said Max calmly.

Nothing in his tone or his manner suggested that he’d noticed anything unusual about Jae’s underwear, or, in fact, that he was noticing Jae’s body in any sexual way at all. I felt that now-familiar flicker of annoyance that he wasn’t living down to my expectations. As we got on either side of the board to lift it upright and set it against the wall, I thought, All right, cool cat. You’re doing good so far. But let’s see how you handle this.

Aloud I said, “Okay, why don’t you show me how to do it.”

He picked up a coil of rope and knelt down in front of the board, with his face roughly even with Jae’s waist. He threaded the rope through the handles of the board and then between Jae’s spread-apart legs, creating a harness for her lower body. And when he tightened the ropes in the creases between her thighs and the outer edges of the thong, it happened. The tension of the ropes overstressed the already-stretched fabric, and it ripped open to reveal Jae’s labia and clit, squeezed forward by the pressure of the ropes holding her in place.

So much for the fig leaf, I thought. The contrast between the black lace and the pink flesh was quite striking—I could not have drawn more attention to Jae’s clit if I’d painted red concentric circles around it. And with Max on his knees in front of her, his face was about six inches away from the target.

I crossed my arms and waited. Now he’ll say something stupid, I thought. How could he not? Her clit looks like Pinocchio’s nose, for God’s sake.

He finished tying off the line and stood up. “I think she’ll be okay for a while like that, but you’ll want to watch her to make sure it’s not too much pressure on her femoral artery.” He smiled at me. “Let me know if you need any help getting the board back down.” And then he walked away.

“Well, fuck me,” I said softly. I looked at Jae. “Did you see that? He didn’t even blink. Your pussy pops out like a jack-in-the-box and he doesn’t say shit. That’s impressive.”

“Maybe he’s gay,” said Jae, a trifle sulkily.

“Oh honey, it’s not that you’re not pretty. I think he just has very good manners.” And I think I’m going to have to reevaluate my whole position on straight male dominants.

An hour later, I found Max and handed him a coil of rope. “I think this is yours. And thank you for your help.”

“You’re welcome. And thanks for asking me, it was fun.”

I smiled at him. “So, I was wondering, would you like to go do coffee sometime?"

Labels: bdsm dynamics, Jae, polyamory, relationships