A kinky world of hurt

Wake up and smell the latex, New Yorkers.

It’s the worst-kept secret since the invention of the open-palm spanking. Throughout this city, from luxurious salons to dingy dungeons, someone is getting smacked around. And likes it.

Who knew? The novel “Fifty Shades of Grey’’ opened eyes to the joy of rubber, role-playing and a stern talking-to. But last week, we learned that the urge to hurt can turn a perfectly pleasant lady into a fire-breathing lunatic.

Frankie Santiago, a 27-year-old submissive “slave’’ known at underground bondage parties as “Althea Lyn,” allegedly went nuts on her live-in “master’’ — investment banker Edward Sonderling, 53, a guy who maintains the body of a 30-year-old. Law-enforcement sources say tiny Santiago shattered the windshield of Sonderling’s car and texted threats. She’s charged with stalking, criminal mischief and aggravated harassment.

Santiago dished out more pain than she ever received during her regular morning whippings at the couple’s East 57th Street flat, cops allege. This was for the oldest of reasons: She did not want to be replaced by another, hotter, tied-up-and-kicked-around gal.

This is not about sex.

Santiago, a fashion student, told The Post, “I like leather and latex.’’

She added, “I don’t give a f--k about the other women. He’s a very successful man. He’s going to have a lot of women.’’ But the idea of Sonderling beating the backside of another woman sent her into spasms.

In the perfectly legal world of discipline, where worshipping a loved one’s (hopefully washed) feet is considered more gratifying than an expert Lewinsky, pain purveyors were aflutter.

Mistress Domina, who manages one of the city’s leading dungeons — “We accept all major credit cards’’ — was appalled. Not that Sonderling was allegedly stalked after administering his regular morning spanking. But that he spanked at all; most men prefer to be pushed around.

“Ninety-five percent or more [of men] are submissive,’’ said Domina, who doesn’t want her business’ name revealed because clients freak out at publicity. She charges upward of $200 for an hour in one of seven “fetish fantasy rooms’’ in which a dominatrix tends to a client’s fetishistic fantasies, using “ropes, whips, canes, masks. Saran Wrap for mummification.’’

This is a little too much information.

For reasons known only in the boardroom or bedroom, some hyper-successful masters of the universe like to don a little girl’s short, plaid skirt.

“These men are powerful in their jobs. They want to give up control and be dominated,’’ said the owner of The Dungeons of Mistress Elizabeth on East 38th Street, who didn’t want his name printed. Anything goes. Except “we don’t do sex.’’