Just to show ya'll that I have not abandoned you: a repost of a scene Jae and I reminisced about the other day - spanking the Bicycle Man. The photos are not for the faint of heart.

***

Smack

Now, not everybody I see is into heavy intense sensation. But I do have a handful of boys who like it as heavy as I can dish it out.

I’ve written about this kind of scene before, and that may have been what prompted a gentlemen I’ll call the Bicycle Man to come see me. Like the guy in the column, Bicycle Man also likes impact on the ass, just as hard as I can do it. (I can actually get him to the "enough" point, though.)

There are so many different pleasures in BDSM - I could never settle for just one. But there is something viscerally satisfying about hitting something as hard as you can, and since I’m a sadist, I particularly like it when that something is a nicely responsive human body.

And since I’m a generous person, I decided that Jae should meet Bicycle Man, too. I'm strictly a gym queen when it comes to athletics, but Jae played softball in high school and college. Golf, too. She’s got a serious swing.

The three of us had a great time. Wanna see? (The usual disclaimers apply…)

Me lining up the stroke.

She swings and…

The bounce-back.

I do sort of bat like a girl, though, don't I? Jae has great follow-through.

We did catch one stroke just at the moment of impact.

But Jae and I are sure we could capture still more spanking art, so the Bicycle Man will just have to come see us again sometime…

(Original Post: Tuesday, April 17, 2007)

You know, every now and then I have to post pictures of something scary just so ya'll don't forget I am, actually, very mean.
Don't misunderstand me: I'm sweet. I am undoubtedly the nicest, sweetest sadist you'll ever meet. But just because I'm sweet doesn't mean I don't also really enjoy putting needles in people's nipples. Because I do.

This may surprise you, but there are still some kinky things I haven’t done yet. Not many, but some. However, that list has gotten shorter lately. What new experience have I tried? Fisting boys.

(If you’re not into reading about boys being on the receiving end of anal penetration, this would be your cue to leave.

Still here? That’s consent in my book. One more thing: If you’re someone who plays with me, but is never going to get fisted in his whole life, I don’t want you to read this and think “Oh god, I can’t do that, she must not really enjoy playing with me.” That is not the case. I don’t want to do any one thing to the exclusion of all others. This is not a competition - everyone I play with brings something special to the scene. Okay? Okay.)

Now then… I am not new to the idea of getting my whole hand inside someone - I have fisted quite a few women’s pussies. But I hadn’t done any anal fisting. Why not? Well, I have known some anally-accomplished boys, and a couple of them were game to try it, but they were all as cherry at handballing as I was. For my first boy fist-fucking adventure, I wanted someone who’d done it before - someone who knew his own ass very well, and someone I could trust to tell me exactly what I needed to know, moment by moment. To include, “We need to stop now.”

Because anal fisting is not something you just (pardon the expression) plunge into. There is a distinct difference between my hand and a dildo. (Even a big dildo.) Fist-fucking is one of those kink things where, if you don’t do it right, you can damage someone. I don’t mean damage as in “Ow, I’m kinda sore,” I mean damage as in peritonitis. That's bad.

There is also the matter of preparation. I’ve done a lot of anal play, so I’m not freaked out by a little santorum. But I knew that for fisting, someone needs to know how to clean themselves out appropriately. It’s a matter of safety and comfort as much as esthetics. Shit can be gritty. You do not want to rub a gritty substance into delicate tissue.

So I’d read books, and I’d seen some very lovely demonstrations of the art, and I’d talked to knowledgeable people, but the perfect person just hadn’t come along yet.

And then - he did. (Hey there, darlin’!)

So we made a date, and I spread him out and lubed him up and did various pervy things to get us both in the mood, and then I popped on the glove and said “Okay, talk me through this.” I kept pushing - slowly, slowly – and asking questions. “Is it better if I put more pressure this way, or that way? Does it feel good when I do this?” He was exactly what I needed to him to be: communicative, enthusiastic, confident in his own abilities, yet displaying a charming awareness of his vulnerability.

It’s really quite something to watch your hand vanish into someone else’s body. As with many things about BDSM, it instantly re-sets your understanding of what a human body can do. The inside of a woman’s pussy feels, I don’t know, muscle-y-er? That’s not a word, I know. But once you’re past the anal ring, the inside of a boy’s ass feels softer, more velvety. (At least, this boy’s does!)

You can definitely feel the prostate gland, and that’s nice to stroke, but there are other fun places to touch, too. It’s delightful to just wiggle your hand the slightest bit - and elicit a big reaction. It’s tremendously intimate, too. I could feel his heart beating. It’s sort of amazing to feel that and think, Well, yeah - your hand isn’t that far away from it!

And that’s why I do BDSM: I like to play with people’s bodies, and I like it to feel very, very intimate.

Puck and I are so mean. Look what we did! But you know, if someone buys you a box of sixteen-gauge needles and gives them to you, well - what can one do? One has to use them. It would be a crime not to!

Click on the image if you dare. It's a big, big needle! That black thing is a clamp, by the way. Because if you're putting needles that big through nipples, it's important to get some tension on the flesh. Otherwise, it's hard to push the needle through quickly, and you get a sort of dragging effect, instead of the quick punch through the flesh that I enjoy.

Of course, I'm told there are people who like putting needles in really slowly. Now that's mean!

Okay, enough with love and marriage for a few days. Let’s talk about something kinky.

For example, I had another girl join me for a date with Musical Man today, and can I just tell you how truly charming it was to see how excited she got putting sounds into his cock? She’s been happily anticipating this date for days, and she was wiggling and clapping her hands with glee as the moment drew near. Then when she was doing it, this look of profound fascination spread over her face. It was lovely. Musical Man liked it just as much. I was the one who finally had to say, “Okay, kids, I think we should stop now. Yes, I know, you want to keep going, but you’re both totally endorphin-high, so I think my judgment should prevail. You’ve already used a sound big enough to club baby seals with, let’s save something for next time.”

This girl and I have a date with a different man for an entirely different scene later this week. I think my scenes are the most psychologically intense when I’m alone with someone. But for variety, it’s always fun to have friends come over and play. And four hands can certainly do more than two. Co-topping can be challenging, however, so I do not invite just anyone to join me in my play. My boys are very important to me, and I want to create a good experience for them. I have to feel like my girlfriend and my client are going to be in tune, and that their various desires and limits are in accord.

But I am flattered to say that none of the ladies that I have invited have ever declined. One of them paid me a sweet compliment once, saying, “Oh, I totally trust you, Matisse. If you say it’s going to be cool, then I know it’s going to be cool. You wouldn’t let anything happen that wasn’t okay.”

Well. That’s exactly how I want people to feel in my dungeon. Like it's going to be intense, but everything will be all right in the end. I’m glad it’s what I’m creating.

People who do BDSM talk a lot about safewords, and what they are talking about is ways to communicate ease up or stop. But while red and yellow get the most press, there’s another color on that wheel, and it’s green. Understanding how to communicate harder, more, is sometimes a challenge. But some folks have a knack for it.

Take the gentleman I played with yesterday. He’s new to me, it was only the second time I saw him. And the first time I met him, I knew I was going to have to be very firm with him, because he’s rather a strong personality, sort of a classic East Coast type. Not a bad guy, but not a guy who was inclined to follow the rules unless someone was strictly enforcing them.

As it turns out, there may be a method to his madness. He likes impact on his ass, and when I met him, he claimed to have both a high tolerance for pain and a tendency not to bruise easily. Now, I do heavy impact scenes, and I enjoy them. But while I do listen when people tell me they can take a lot, I also reserve judgment until I’ve actually tried them out. As I said to this man, it’s okay if you come back and tell me, “You can go harder this time”. What I don’t ever want to hear is, “Last time we played, you went too far.”

So for our initial session, I gave his behind a very respectable beating, and when he came back to see me this time, he told me straight out I could go harder. Which is one of the right ways to communicate that.

There’s another way to signal green, though, and that is: the provocative smart-ass remark. And this guy, rather in keeping with his general personality, was pretty non-stop with the heavy jabs and wisecracks for the first half hour or so.

(He’s not the only person I know who uses wisecracks to indicate green – in fact, now that I think about it, Armani occasionally does it, and so do some of my other play-partners. And for that matter, Monk and I do it with each other when we play. Our classic come-on: “Oh, is that the best you got?” The answer is always, “Why no, sweetheart, it’s not!” Followed by a serious ratcheting-up of whatever is happening.)

So I read all the smart-assery as, “Hit me with your best shot.” And obliging girl that I am, I did. It was great fun. I don’t generally approve of manipulative behaviors, but hell, I am a sadist, and it was in character for the role-play were doing, so I got right into the spirit of the game and just went to town on his ass.

It wasn’t the single hardest impact scene I’ve ever done, but it was on the high end of the scale. And what made it really interesting was that he barely had a mark on him afterwards. He was red, but I could tell it was the kind of red that’s going to fade in a few hours or so.

And this was not a hand-spanking, either. I used heavy wood paddles and a nasty little two-tailed strap called a Dragon’s Tongue, and those are evil enough. But then I caned him pretty good, too.

Now I think canes are great fun to use, but I don’t cane anyone unless they tell me it’s okay if they have some marks afterwards. Because a cane is going to mark you up. Bamboo, rattan, fiberglass rods, whatever – you do more than a baby tap with any kind of long, flexible rod-type-toy and you will generally get a long red welt, that you can see and feel, within a few minutes. The stripe often turns dark over the next few hours and it usually stays noticeable for a week or two. I have had people tell them it took months for their cane stripes to go completely away.

I could not raise a welt on this man. It was the damnest thing. You can swing a toy from your wrist, your elbow, or your shoulder, and obviously the amount of force you can get behind it increases with each joint you recruit. I wasn’t swinging from the shoulder – well, not much, at least – but I was giving him quite a lot from the elbow, and with a cane, that’s plenty. I have made people cry with less. He just closed his eyes and smiled and shuddered pleasantly. Occasionally I got some wiggling and some noises, but not much. Amazing. The smart-ass remarks, however, did cease.

Afterwards I remarked that the pairing of a high pain tolerance with a resistance to marks was not such a common thing, and that it was a very felicitous combination.

“So maybe you’ll write about me in your blog,” he said, grinning.

“Oh, do I have your permission for that?”

“Absolutely!” he said.

So I did.

What’s Going On?

I’m going to put up one more raw podcast from my very first recording session. I have a date with my sound guy to record some bookend files, but this is another unsweetened one of me telling Monk a story about the first time I ever consciously and purposely took sexual control of a man while in bed with him.

If you're an iTunes user, you can download the podcast from iTunes via this link. (Note: clicking this will open your iTunes program). Or you can just search for "Mistress Matisse" in iTunes.

Speaking of podcasts, I just wanted to say thank you to pervy podcaster and blogger Graydancer for his mention of my podcast in his podcast. Gray is a very entertaining speaker himself - even when he doesn't take off all his clothes - so I recommend him.

Bid On Me: My stuff, anyway. The eBay auctions are going like crazy. Ya’ll love the latex clothes, don’t you? I’ve collected a fair amount of latex, but a lot of it doesn’t fit me anymore, so I’m pleased to pass it along. The current round of sales end today, so carpe diem.

And Happy Halloween!

Ya’ll should know: some days I just feel like being a wise-ass, to pretty much anybody.

Ring ring!

Me: hello?

Caller: Um, yeah, can you tell me what, exactly, it is that you practice?

Me: What I preach. At least I hope so.

To the caller’s credit, he laughed. Good man. We then had a brief “why don’t you go read over my website and see if I’m what you’re looking for” discussion. Because I cannot possibly explain what I do in thirty seconds or less. So he said he would, and who knows, perhaps he’ll find his way back to me someday.

***

Meanwhile – behold my Weapon Of Ass Destruction. Isn’t it a beauty?

It was presented to me by a man whose eyes are not, in fact, bigger than his assshole. (Even though his ass is pretty damn tight.) I’ll call him Chance. Yes, Chance can take this. All of it. Really, really hard.

It’s amazing, especially given than he’s a rather slender guy. I swear he’s missing some internal organs or something, because otherwise I don’t how he’d swallow this monster up. But he does.

It’s not like I don’t give him warm-up. Hey, I’m a good responsible top. I do this thing where I insert four fingers as far as I can into him and then rotate my hand rapidly, as if I were making the gesture for “so-so”. The effect this has on Chance is anything but lukewarm. His eyes roll back in his head and he makes the nicest moaning noises. I can only assume I’m giving his prostate gland some kind of butterfly kiss.

Then I spit on this bad boy strapped to my hips and start working it up into him. It’s a process, but once I'm all the way in, I can rock him like a hurricane.

I’ve never fisted a guy, but every time I fuck Chance, I think, “Damn, this thing is about as big around as my wrist…” So one fine day I’m going to see if a certain gay male pal, who’s an anal expert, will pay Chance and I a visit and talk us through the process. There aren’t so many things left that I’ve never done. It seems like I should explore all the depths…

The new column: America's Next Top Domme, episode two...

And can I just wax rhapsodic for a minute about a very under appreciated portion of the male anatomy? An unsung hero of CBT, it goes by many names - the taint, the landbridge, or more prosaically, the perineum. That bit of real estate, found between the balls and the asshole proper, is a favorite spot of mine for intimate impact play. Last week, I spent the better part of ninety minutes kicking a really brave and extremely fun guy in the genitals. I mean, hard. Call me Mistress Becks on this one. I don't often get to do intense ball-busting, as it is called, but this gentleman can really take it. We've played together before, not super-frequently, but every so often he'll turn up and we'll spend an enjoyable hour or two together.

This time I had him staked out on the floor in the classic four-point position, so when I kicked, I could really get the top of my foot to smack into his balls, thrusting them apart and ending with a teeth-rattling jolt, right on that aforementioned perineum. (His teeth, not mine.) He ended up rather sore and swollen, and quite happy.

Love my life, oh yes I do...

Edited to add: Also? I need this t-shirt.

One other Shibaricon story…And another story to file under: “Do as I say, not as I do.”

It was Friday night at the dungeon party. I had just played, and I was feeling pleasantly endorphin-buzzed. I was taking a stroll around the room, looking at the other scenes, and walked up to a group of people who fall into the category I call conference pals. Conference pals are folks from other cities that I tend to encounter a couple of times a year at the big kink events. Not close friends, but I enjoy them when I see them, and we occasionally swap an email here and there.

So a dozen people, give or take a few, were milling around one of the suspension frames, and it was obvious that some sort of scene was about to happen. So I stopped and began chatting with various people, waiting to see what was going to unfold.

Now, I’m not really sure how the next step developed. As I said, I was pretty endorphin-buzzed, and I was making no real effort to process anything analytically. I was just letting sights and sounds sort of flow over me. It was pleasant.

But somehow, a cute girl was bouncing up and down in front of me, saying, “Matisse! Matisse! You have to single-tail them! Will you single-tail them?”

Uh, what?

The story was thus: three guys were going to do hip-harness on themselves, much in the manner of climbers, and suspend themselves, next to one another, from the suspension frame, and lean back so that they were hanging upside down. Their female friends had announced their intention of tormenting them with whatever kinky implements were at hand.

The whole situation had a rather charming touch of adolescence to it. The guys were showing off their rope skills and their ability to endure a physically strenuous position. The women were testing their mettle by upping the stakes, while still rewarding them with a lot of feminine attention. It reminded me of being a kid on the playground. And while this certainly wasn’t your traditional BDSM scene, we call doing BDSM “playing” for a reason. It is play, for grown-ups.

And then one of the ladies decided: hey, there’s Matisse! She should be the one to apply the sting to the suspended boys.

So let me get this straight: three good-looking men are going to hang themselves upside down, and you want me to hit them with a very nasty whip? Hmmn, do I want to do this? Let me think about that.

One nano-second later; “Sure!”

The whip was fetched. Now, what I knew but did not say was: it was a friend's whip, which means it was a four-foot single-tail. The single-tail I usually use? A three-foot.

Also: I’ve never single-tailed anyone while they were upside down. They were all wearing pants, which meant that their legs and ass would be less vulnerable. (Although a single-tail can bite you through your clothes, for sure.) But their backs would be at an unusual angle, and fairly low.

So, a longer whip than I’m used to, and a different angle of attack, and three guys who I have never played with and don’t know the first thing about. Oh, and let’s not forget I’m endorphin-high.

Does this deter me? Not at all. It’s not like a girl gets this kind of opportunity every day!

“You guys consent to this, right? Good.” I went and stood behind them as they swung into their positions. The frame resembled a child’s swing set: V-shaped supports with a long pole in the middle. They were lined up like bats getting ready for a day’s sleep. Only I was going to keep them from resting easy.

Before I could strike, though, a friend appeared beside me. “Take off your top,” he suggested.

“What?” I was wearing a very sexy Dolce and Gabbana leopard print bustier, with matching panties, and black boots. “Why? They’re facing away from me, anyway.”

“Look, you’re gonna beat the guys, the least you can do is do it topless.”

I rolled my eyes slightly. “I think you’re sympathizing with them a bit too much. And with this long whip, I’ll probably catch myself on the backswing, too.” But there seemed to be some crowd support for the idea, so I shrugged, popped open the tiny hooks and eyes, and discarded it.

So there I was, the Topless Top. I started slow, getting my range and also getting a sense of how much each man could take. It was fun to see if I could catch one man with a good sharp stroke and make the other two react in sympathy/anticipation.

It was also interesting to see how much I respond to verbal feedback. Two of the men were being pretty stoic. One of them, B, I’ve seen play before, and I know he’s a high-capacity guy, so that was all right.

The other, L, I have never seen bottom ever. In fact, I hadn’t even known he switched until then. So I had no idea where I was on his pain-scale.

But the fact that they weren’t making much noise made me inclined to hit them harder. The third man, though, was giving me much more of a reaction, moving and making noises, so I found myself easing up a bit just a bit on the strokes I gave him. Neither reaction was wrong, but if definitely informed my level of intensity.

The scene didn’t last long – there’s no way it could have. Hanging upside down is stressful enough as it is, and I caught them all some pretty stingy strokes. So, maybe fifteen minutes or so? My sense of time wasn’t at its sharpest.

The amusing coda is: because someone present was the official Shibaricon photographer, photos exist of this little event. I haven’t seen any – I imagine it’ll take awhile before the photographer is able to process through all of them. But I’m sure some will float my way sometime, and if I deem it appropriate – and get everyone else’s permission – I’ll put one up…

Ok, I have a busy day, but here's one story from Shibaricon....

It was rather late Sunday night, and I was sort of hanging out in the dungeon, thinking that I should really go upstairs to bed, but not quite wanting to leave the last party.

As I was strolling idly around the room, looking at the various scenes, a gentleman of my acquaintance, whom we shall call L, came up to me and said, “Matisse! You have to come over here and help me.”

What could it be? He led me over to where a lovely young woman was standing tied to a post. Very beautifully tied, in a body harness and lots of tight rope. L explained that she was a reader of mine and that she was terrified of me. So, he said, I should step into the scene for a brief while and do something mean to her.

Now, it’s not something I teach people to do, but it’s actually not at all unheard of for people to do what I call grazing on someone else’s scene. The thing is: You can’t invite yourself, the top has to invite you. And you better be sure the top knows what he/she is doing. And you need to ask some questions about what’s okay to do and what’s not.

Or else…you’d better be like me and think, what the hell, I’ll be able to figure that out as I go along. I am so bad sometimes, I amaze myself. So understand that I am not advocating this kind of thing, but it does happen.

I stepped right up to the pretty girl, who was giggling madly and nervously, and she started sliding, still tied, down the pole, until she was sitting at my feet, butt on the floor and legs out in front of her.

“I hear you’re scared of me,” I said, looking down at her. “But hey, I'm not scary, I’m a pussycat, really…”

I had no toys of any kind with me, so I decided to use one of Monk’s tricks. I placed my booted foot on her tightly bound and charmingly helpless-looking breasts, and started to lean my weight onto them. First a little and then – encouraged by the deep, guttural, good-pain noises she was making – rather a lot. I assume she’s had some kind of warm-up, I thought. Oh well, if she hasn’t, she’s having it now.

Then I sort of rotated my foot a bit. More noises. It looked pretty painful. What fun.

When I took my boot away, there was a nice, boot-shaped red mark on her chest. Then I knelt down and slapped the sides of her breasts a bit, eliciting more nice squeals.

At one point L came up, inserted a piece of banana into her mouth, and informed her that she was not allowed to chew it. She just had to hold it in her mouth while I hurt her.

“Oh, that is so mean,” I said. “See, I would never do anything like that to you. I just do stuff like this.” And I pulled out a trademark of my play with Monk: I got her pectoral muscles between my thumb and forefingers and squeezed, really hard. That got some good loud noises.

Pretty Girl’s husband was standing a few feet away the whole time, grinning and making encouraging gestures. That’s always nice, to have the spousal blessing.

So I did that sort of thing for a few minutes, and then L took back over. I often find it delightful to do little cameo appearances like that. It’s like the tapas of kink.