Page 10 of Masters of Play

"What most people don't understand about the BDSM culture is that it's not always about sex," I continued. "In fact, it's often not about sex at all. It's about power, pain, and pleasure."

"Clearly," said Professor Sinead.

His gaze shifted from the couple and landed on the Queen. The older woman sat upon her chair, lifted in the air. Clearly visible beneath the hoisted chair were two half nude bodies, one with breasts, the other with a fully erect penis. Their faces weren't visible as they were buried beneath the Queen's dress.

For her part, the Queen's head was lolled back, eyes closed in ecstasy. A few of the feathers that dotted her silver wig floated around her shoulders and down to the floor as she writhed in ecstasy. She opened her eyes and caught my gaze. I could see the haze of pleasure clearing from her eyes in real time.

Her body went stiff as a rod, and she sat up, closing her legs. Beneath the chair, those pleasuring her gave a startled yelp. The chair teetered as the weight distributed and caught those carrying her off guard. It took a few moments to right the chair. Luckily, disaster was averted, so I continued on with my presentation to Professor Sinead.

"In ancient Mesopotamia, there are stories and depictions of the goddess Inanna where she would whip her subjects until they became aroused," I said, needing to fill Professor Sinead's silent observation with something. "The same images and stories of flagellation can be found in Greek art."

As if conjured up by my words, I saw Josie bent over a post. She was stripped down to her black and white underwear. I wanted to scowl at my friend for having such unimaginative lingerie when I noted that the black sketching on the white backdrop was a series of ones and zeros. My nerdy friend had clearly worn that for her equally nerdy computer whiz of a boyfriend, Frank Gunn.

Usually, Josie and her guys played in a private room. But I supposed they were displaying her boyfriend Duke's new creation. The flogger was a work of art. And, I noted, the black and white designe perfectly matched Josie's scant costume.

I wanted to applaud her monochrome-coordination, but I knew she wouldn't hear any praise other than Master Cornelius'. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the tails dancing across Josie's ass. She went up on her toes, and the rest of the world was lost to her.

When I caught Professor Sinead eyeing my friend with a raised eyebrow, I knew I was jealous. I just wasn't sure if the jealousy stemmed from an academic or emotional source. I was the one explaining the facts about whipping, yet he was watching Josie perform it.

I stepped in front of his gaze, blocking his view of my best friend's increasingly red ass. "And of course there's the Kama Sutra, which was one of the earliest instructive works on sex. There's a whole passage in there noting the six appropriate places to strike one's lover to elicit passion."

Professor Sinead blinked, his eyes slowly focusing on me. That single brow came down to join the other. Instinctively, my shoulders went back and my chin dipped. I did not submit easily, but something about this man made my knees go weak.

As though he sensed my submission, Professor Sinead nodded. He waved his hand like he was a Victorian gentleman and I was a lady in his care. I knew he wanted me to precede him, but the brat in me itched to defy him.

"And then there's courtly love," I said, "which was the most submissive of all."

That caught his attention. He cocked his head to the side in that way that said prove it without actually saying a word.

"Oh, come on," I said. "A manly knight who takes a vow of chastity and promises to take on any feat for his lady, including extreme pain, to win her. Even though he would likely never have her because she was upper class and likely already engaged or married to the lord of the land. She was an object of his affection that he would never possess. It's the ultimate Master and submissive relationship, or rather Mistress and submissive relationship."

"Hmmm" was Professor Sinead's only comment.

I wanted to stomp my foot in irritation. Here I'd brought this buttoned-up scholar to a sex dungeon, and he was completely unruffled. He wasn't impressed with my dissertation. He wasn't aroused by my subject matter. I'd gone after both his heads, and he was completely unfazed. What did I have to do to get a rise out of him?

"We all know the history of the Marquis de Sade and sadism," I went on, just spewing random facts in a clear effort to prove my intellect. "And there's Leopold Von Sacher-Masoch and his stories of spanking and how pain was akin to joy, which led to the idea of masochism. Then came the 1950s’ leather craze in biker culture, which gave us kinksters, our most popular fashion statement. And finally we land here in the present of the Internet age that has allowed us all to find ourselves and come out of the closet."

"Hmmm."

"Hmmm?" I stopped walking and rounded on him. "Is that all you have to say?"

"Your directive was to prove to me that you do not need a quantitative analysis as part of your study."

Oh, I’d forgotten about that bit. "Because I worked solely with observation and lived experiences, the stories told by the people in this club who are self-identified as kinksters."

"You employed a scale to rank their level of… kink."

I had to pause a moment and commit to memory the intonation of Professor Chase Sinead saying the word kink. It reminded me of the sound a key makes when it fits into a lock and turns.

"Yes," I said, "that's right. My extreme meter is calibrated on these members."

"Your extreme meter is a metric, Ms. Prince," said Professor Sinead. "A metric needs quantitative support."

"The extreme meter is the result of my study. I can't use the result in my data collection."

"You will if you want to prove that the meter works."

"It does work."

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