Here’s another post in the sex blog genre I think of as “people telling us how it feels to like what they like.”

Mistress Matisse is a professional dominatrix. But, you know that sort of perpetually bored sneer that so many dominatrices seem to display in their advertising? I’ve never gotten any whiff of that boredom in her prolific internet writings.

Indeed, it would be a mistake to imagine that hurting her clients bores her:

A little electricity runs up my spine, down my arms, and into my hands. My vision changes – the outside edges get dim and blurry, but whatever I’m focused on gets very sharp. My voice changes too, sliding back into a bit of a Georgia twang. I walk differently – bouncing a little on the balls of my feet – because the adrenaline that’s singing in my blood lifts me up off the ground slightly.

When I feel like that, I am not going to bother much with weaving subtle threads together, or going for a long build-up of psychological tension in my play partner. I admire that sort of thing, but in that space, my elegant sophistication and my carefully-learned feminine graces fall away from me like unzipped clothing, and I am a roughneck with a pretty face. I’m going to pick up something that’ll hurt you and just start hitting you with it. If I lack a tool, I’ll use my hands, or my feet, or my teeth, or any other part of my body I think would be effective. I’ll try to ramp it up at a speed you can handle, but try is the best I can promise, because there is something in me that wants to come out, and it wants out right nownowNOW.

I am not cool and calm about it, either. I take a great deal of sadistic glee in what I’m doing. There is a certain way I laugh when I’m really being mean – I don’t laugh that way at any other time. At particularly satisfying moments, I also tend to do what my friends call “the happy sadist dance” which involves wiggling my hips, clapping my hands, and sometimes hopping from foot to foot.

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