Tag Archives: D/s

D-Day revisited

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I’ve been thinking back in time to my own D-Day, with my ex.   It was April  2010, close to my birthday.   After all my suspicions about him having an affair, I finally got my answer that night while he slept.  I was going through his computer, it was a simple photograph I had found, but what it represented would blow the lid off his life of duplicity and expose his secret life of sex addiction which began as an adolescent and had spanned decades.

Although I had no concrete proof to that point that he was having an affair, there were signs:

1. Porn – shit tons of it 

He always had loved porn, and encouraged, wait no, forced me to watch it with him. Told me that it would “spice up our sex life” and that if I didn’t said I was being a “wet rag” and “puritanical.”  If I would not watch it he would send me home.   We were only living with each other part-time then, between states, so to be sent home by your Dominant in the world of D/s was crushing.  To me, when he introduced porn, I was already in love with him.  When you are madly in love with a person, you don’t always stand on lofty principle.

To the people who are reading this that  want to say, “you should have just walked out the door”, don’t go there. I will tell you this:  when you are molested and raped as a child, it teaches you several things: that you have no boundaries,  no self-respect, no self-esteem, and no “No.”. Only a healthy person would walk out the door; and that is the important thing to note.

So against my straight-laced self’s judgment,  I began the process of my own journey delving into porn.   I discovered there were different kinds of it.  Soft porn which is the sort of porn that involves most heterosexual couples banging each other missionary style.  Then there is fetish porn.  It encompasses all kinds of things.   Pregnant porn, foot worship, Shibari, needle play, water sports.   He watched lots of BDSM porn:, girls getting beaten up and by their Masters with bondage, whipping, caning, flogging, St. John’s Cross. Chicks getting raped by hooded dudes, some of the more violent porn.  KKK vintage stuff beating up their girls, weird stuff.  Incestual films.  Beastiality.  As well as snuff films.

I saw things folks, that cannot be unseen.

2.  Lots of accounts on various sex sites

I also discovered on his computer about 20  sex sites to which he had active memberships.  When I inquired as to why this was, his answer was that he just never got around to deleting the accounts. When I asked when he would get rid of them of course it was “when I get to it, don’t henpeck.”

3.  Late night phone calls made in the bathroom while I slept

I would wake up to find him sitting on the toilet with his phone in hand and I’d ask him, “what are you doing?”  He’d snap  back at me, “is it OK if I check my voicemail? I have a doctors appointment tomorrow and I just wanted to check the time of my appointment, is that all right with you?.”   To which  I’d say ,”it’s 3:13 AM that’s all,  most people don’t take their phone in the bathroom at 3:13 in the morning.”  To which he’d quip,” I didn’t want to miss it.

He always had an answer for everything, It amazes me how quick he was on his feet. He never missed a beat in coming up with a response. Which is why at the time I wasn’t too accusatory or suspicious  because I know if I was lying, I’d be stumbling and bumbling over my words.  His heartbeat never went over 60 bpm and he look square in my eyes to tell me whatever it was he had to say. He couldn’t possibly be lying and keep a straight face,  right?

4.  The inconsistencies

There were inconsistencies that I would find.   For example he told me one time that he had a throbbing headache and that he was going to lie down that he had been snow-blowing for several hours and that he just need to take a break.  I got this feeling told me that something was off I just didn’t believe his story.  I took the half hour drive down I snuck around the corner of his house to check the snowblower and it was dead cold.   It should’ve been piping hot after four hours of snowblowing and yet it wasn’t.   There were these types of inconsistencies showing up everywhere a lot of the time.

Back to that photo.  He loved keeping pornographic photos of women on his pc.  He said he just loved the female naked body.   Of course in the beginning of our relationship I had felt insecure and even threatened by these images.  Why did he need to look at them? Why wasn’t I enough? He plainly stated it just was the way he was and it was how he’d always been.  He  reassured me that I was beautiful and not to worry about those photographs they were just a two-dimensional image.

On D-Day, the photo I found had never been there on the pc the week before.   I confronted him.  It was a photo of his hand with his Rolex watch, touching some woman’s snatch.   He explained without emotions, that the photo was from years ago.

So I told him then he should have no problem right clicking on said photo and showing me the time stamp that it was indeed from years ago.   He got angry saying that I was being controlling.  I said, “No you’re caught.”  When I insisted he show me , he told me,” get your things and get out, it’s over.”

I began to cry realizing I was right. I didn’t want to be right.   I began to beg him to tell me what happened. Saying I had been so good to him that I deserved answers.   He grew quiet.   Then he softly answered.”you really want to know?”

Yes, I sniffed.

“I went to a gang bang the first summer we were  together but I didn’t participate.  I only went.   I only touched her with a latex glove on my hand.  I was so nervous that I couldn’t even get an erection.”  Like it was somehow less bad that he went and only watched a woman get porked by 10 men on a table in some dark basement but he only took photos and only touched her with a sterile glove? WTF?!!!

I knew he was lying but I asked, “had you ever gone to a gang bang before?

“Yes,” He said ,”but that was before I knew you.  I felt really guilty this time because I was with you.  I thought because I was with you that I wouldn’t do things like this anymore.  But I swear all I did was touch her with a rubber glove.”

I lost it and flipped out and started screaming at him because I knew I was being lied to. I knew all the 13 Bacterial Vaginosis infections I had gotten with him, that I never had my whole life,  had to come from some place.

He asked me to leave.  To continue to pack my things and leave or he would call the police.  So I did.   I called my AA sponsor who came to help me with the boxes.  I left.

Three weeks later he called me.  He wanted to confess more.   That it was a lot more than a gang bang.  Craigslist hookups, swinging, women from AA, women from CVS, prostitutes from the red light district, hookups he got from fuck sites, old girlfriends he never disconnected with, friends with benefits. He even blew a couple of men. WTF? he the devout homophobe was actually bisexual?      I needed to catch by breath.  Oh, he added there was also one time that he paid money to go and watch a woman get fucked by a horse but that was cancelled at the last minute.  Was there anything he hadn’t fucking done?

I was numb.  I think I went into shock except I knew I needed to get to an OB/GYN.  And fast.  There were bits of flora and maybe fauna there were up in my muff that didn’t belong.  No wonder I was getting infections!!!Holy jumped up fear HIV running through my mind at rapid speed.

And yet,  part of me desperately loved him.  Strange to those who have not been through it.  Your brain goes through distinct phases of grief.  Shock is the first.  I could not wrap my head around that any of this was real.  It could not be.  Because I loved him.  I who graduated with honors from college could not have missed shit?!

Cognitive dissonance.  Trying to merge the intellectual part of what you know with the emotional part of you can’t yet grasp.  They are on a seemingly parallel course.

You are not ready for that degree of pain so your mind protects you in its own way.

I did what I thought to be a right course of action.  Like any good empath, caretaker, and codependent  I researched and then signed him up for the local chapter of Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous or SLAA.  He was already in Alcoholics Anonymous AA (as was I) and had 20 years of sobriety. I figured how hard could it be? just plug in the word sex where booze should be and he’ll be all set.

He got a sponsor.   I jumped into S-Anon, the spouses version of the SLAA program, to understand his addiction and help stop my codependency.  I also went to a few SLAA open speaker meetings to hear some first hand accounts of recovery. Never in my wildest imagination did I expect to hear some grandpa talking about how he molested one of his grandchildren and felt really guilty about it.   Hells bells! I had expected to hear just straightforward stories of spouses  cheating on each other?  not some registered sex offender.  It kind of turned my stomach to be honest and yet I felt bad for the guy as he was driven to act out  compulsively but desperately wanted to stop.   Then there was the woman who is having emotional affairs on line behind her husband back. A man who is crying in tears because he couldn’t stop cheating on his wife and didn’t really know why he was doing it because he really loved his wife.   The last man story I heard was a gay man who was having all sorts of sex with all sorts of people.   Ob his lunch break, after work, before work, rest stops. I’m not really sure if he wanted to stop quite yet or what but he recognized that he had a problem.

So he finally got a sponsor in SLAA after going to a few meetings.    So did I.  He got the books, so did I.   But on the way to one of his SLAA meetings one night, he never made it.  He had lied and said he was at a meeting but he was really in a hotel banging someone from who knows where.

It broke something deep in me that has never repaired, thus far.

He later told me he began masturbating at age 13 in between classes in junior high.  He’d go into the bathroom stall and jerk off.   He’d continue this behavior on into high school.  He began sleeping with a married woman who was in her 20’s when he was only 17.   As he got older his sexual behaviors changed more.  As his alcoholism deepened so did his depravity. He laughed and told me that he asked one woman he dated to put a lightbulb inside her honey pot, still attached to the lamp and then turned it on.  He said it lit up her whole tummy.   I asked him why he did that and he said, “to see what it would look like.” I told him I was pretty sure if it broke she could’ve gotten electrocuted and he laughed saying,” well it didn’t break.”

He would go to bars and bring intoxicated women back to his apartment and fuck them after they passed out.   He told me “they got what they deserved.” Then he would steal their panties and they would wake up the next morning wondering where their panties went and he would say to them , “I have no idea I don’t think you had any on.”   Then he would laugh to me and say, “stupid cunts.”   He said by the time he got married he had a huge stash of panties that he kept hidden behind his wife’s dresser.   To this day I believe it was a form of trophies that he was acquiring to relive each of those women and each of those nights.

He was of course not only a sex addict but also a sexual sadist.

I spent a solid year in S-ANON meetings working on no contact with him, learning from the experience , strength,  and hope from others, so that I wouldn’t get sucked back in, should he ever come to hustle me back when he found himself with a hard dick and a thin pool of options.   I chaired meetings, made outreach calls, and shared my story.   I never thought I would hear from him again.  They all told me that I would and that if I didn’t work on myself I’d go right back.  Sex and love are potent ties that can bind.

He came knocking unexpectedly on Valentines Day one year and a half later.   I opened my door and found him standing there with a box of chocolates in hand.   I let him in.   He tried to make a few moves on me but because of all the hard work I did I showed him to the door. His jaw dropped.  I was not the same woman he had left a year and a half before.

Valentine’s Day for those of you who don’t know are days that sex addicts come knocking on their exes doors; as well as other holidays like Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, etc  because they can’t find anyone to screw.  Not.. because they miss anyone  as I was later to find out in the meetings attended.   Those holidays are days that sex addicts can’t find anyone to screw because all of their potential  partners are home with their spouses and cannot  “play.”

It is been eight years since my D-Day.  He continues to contact me sporadically.  I will save that for another post.   His last words when we broke up were, “even if you’re with someone else, I will always own you.”

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For more reading about this period of my life start here:

Of Mice and Monsters

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Of interest, Alcoholism has a success rate of only 8-12% with AA being the most successful program to treat the disease.  It goes without saying that the other some odd 90% spend their time is in and out of rehabs, actively drinking, incarcerated, or die to the Disease or disease related complications

It has been said that sex addiction is more difficult to treat because involves a biological process as a part of the addiction.   95% of  sex addicts will relapse.  Relapse is a part of recovery as with any addiction.  The statistics for long-term recovery are difficult to find but are said to be lower than 8-12% as with alcohol and drug addicts.


The Manchurian Candidate

 
“Do you realize, Comrade, the implications of the weapon that has been placed at your disposal?……His brain has not only been washed, as they say, it’s been dry-cleaned.”
Doctor Yen Lo
The Manchurian Candidate (1962)
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It had always been the thrill of the chase where I got my adrenaline rush.  If I could have easily attracted a man, I didn’t want him. It was always that forbidden fruit, the one that was just out of reach was the one I wanted.  The distant, distracted, “hard-to-get”, down right disinterested guy.  Now that was my candidate.  That’s where I used to set my sights.
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A man’s intellectual complexity always  piques my interest, however it’s the power exchange that kept it.  How boring indeed would it be to color neatly in the lines, follow all the rules.   Ah, but to attempt a coup d’etat! To usurp the power.  And that’s what I always had done.
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Our brain is the largest sex organ we own.
The mind fuck had been at the center of what drew me to D/s.  It needs to be stated that for my mind to be tapped into, I knew I would need to find a worthy adversary.  A Dominant I surmised, that could perhaps surpass my own intellect and psychological savoir faire.  A Napalm lover that had the power to blow my fucking mind with the possibility of me sustaining damage drew me like a moth to a flame.
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Back when I was living the lifestyle, I was surrounded by a community of people who believed that BDSM was some kind of higher evolution.  That the lifestyle was a more evolved way of being.  Practically proclaiming to be near the pinnacle of Maslow’s hierarchy of self-actualization for fucks sake.   That through the lifestyle, a “deeper” level of intimacy and trust can be achieved; a richer bonding experience takes place than in a standard “vanilla” relationship can possibly bring to fruition.   Almost sounded cult-y if you weren’t already entrenched in it.
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It took me a few years on a therapist couch to discover that most of these blokes are re-enacting their own trauma histories, myself included.   Most of the Dominants  I find, have childhoods riddled with victimization of merciless bullying at the hands of their peers and/or sadistic caregivers.  I also found that most Dominants have major control issues which is why they need to be the one in the position of power wielding the crop, cane, flogger, or paddle.  You won’t find them being hog-tied, bound, or otherwise put into a position where they will be made vulnerable.  Submissives paradoxically, are the ones who are more inherently dominant, they are the ones who are more risk takers, able to be bound, caged, suspended, lit on fire, clamped, whipped et cetera.   It’s not about trust, they have brass balls.
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But knowing all this information is useless.
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Recently at 3:00 AM on a quiet evening while watching TV, I received an unexpected text on my social media account from my ex-Dom years after he dumped me.   “ How about passing the time by playing a little solitaire?
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Although his question differed it  activated me in the same way as Raymond Shaw.  Hypnotically,  I began to pinch my nipples hard and tug at them over and over, the way he used to, until my pussy was dripping wet.  When I could bear no more I grabbed my dildo and in doing so  I instantly became his whore once again.  Screaming in pain, screaming in bliss, screaming to no one but the empty space around me as I came, just as he taught me to do.
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Maybe my brain has been dry cleaned.
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Where are those dudes who grab you in the middle of the night and throw you in a van to an undisclosed location to de-program you?  Oh yeah, that was the 70’s.  Nowadays you go and talk to a therapist about your feelings and sit with the distress and Linehan your way through life.
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Shit, nothing says lovin’ like hired goons.   And it sounds so much fucking easier than sitting with this shame.

Pipe Dreams

 

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I always took great pleasure in my submission.   I am a giver by nature.  I love to please.   I was the type of woman who could give and give and give, to the point that I would become drained and exhausted.  No one that I was ever in relationship with gave back to me, so I became depleted because I gave until there was nothing left.  The gift of my submission was exploited in that D/s relationship 10 years ago, my giving nature has been just exploited in my life overall. Something in me just broke after all that giving and has just never been the same.   I began becoming calcified over time, resentful at all the lies, the cheating, the beatings.  Perhaps a penchant for revenge began to take shape, I don’t know.

On one occasion I had the opportunity to to try my hand at using a cane on my Dominant’s ass.  I reasoned with him that if he was going to make me take a bunch of lashings from it and he was such a tough guy, he should have no problem letting me try striking him once or twice.  He agreed and I did things very carefully showing extreme restraint.  I didn’t want him to go medieval on me following this.  I remember feeling alive, strangely titilated by the experience.  There is too much confounding though.  Was it because of the subject who was spread eagle before me in such a vulnerable position; the very person who for so long had such power over me?  Or was it something else all together.

Since leaving my Dominant, I began a LTR with a vanilla man.   We have been together for 6 years now.   Over the years I’ve often missed being in a D/s relationship as well as missing kink itself.    There is an intensity I just haven’t experienced again,  outside of the lifestyle.  I’ve tried sliding in bits and pieces of kink, rimming him, tea bagging him, sliding just the tip of my tongue all up and down his frenulum, sucking, tugging and biting on his nipples; extending foreplay so long that his arousal is so heightened that there’s pre-cum dripping off his shaft and he’s begging me to fuck him.  Things designed to elicit maximum orgasm and pleasure for him.  Tantric elements and things of this sort.   Of course I’ve hidden the fact that I’ve fantasized about wanting to taking a strap-on to his tight little virgin ass while I reach around and stroke his manhood so that he cums harder and better than he ever has his entire life.

He would never go for this.  He is too vanilla.  He’d never let me spank him in the right place so that he’d be wanting to be spanked.   He’s too sexually repressed.

I often wonder what it would be like to return to the lifestyle but this time from the other position, from being the dominant one. Could I make a good Mistress?

I am not a sadist.  I do not enjoy inflicting pain.  I don’t even like hurting a caterpillar.  However,  I can see myself using pain for teaching, learning, exploring.  If I felt like it would better my partner in some way, I may consider it, but only the minimum amount necessary to achieve a means to an end.

Within the context of a loving, monogamous D/s relationship, I could definitely see myself using pain to enhance sexual pleasure. Anyone who has ever done kink knows there is a thin line between pain and pleasure.   Deliciously so.   This I miss.

Alas, this is all a moot point, for I am with an extremely straight-laced, dare I say almost puritanical man with regards to sex.  He thinks kink is sick, dirty, and the people who do it are “fucked up” and “crazy”.  On many occasions he has said to me “I just don’t understand why a person would want to get whipped.”  Try as I have over the years to explain and bridge the gap, there is a disconnect.   Perhaps if one has never delved in, one can’t understand.

Sometimes you have to let certain things go and realize the grass is always going to appear greener in another yard.   Sometimes that’s okay.   Life will be okay even without strap-on fun.

 

 

 

 


50 Shades of Switch

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Back 6 years ago when I was a submissive to my Sexual Sadist Narcopath Dom, I remember standing in front of the sink one evening, washing the dishes from dinner.   All of a sudden, I felt his hands from behind around my neck squeezing so hard I couldn’t  breathe, couldn’t speak.  Instinctively, frantically, I tried my best to pry his hands off, to no avail.   My vision began to see little stars in the periphery,  twinkling.  I was terrified that I was going to suffocate in that damned kitchen.  Then without warning he simply let go.

As soon as I could catch my breath I asked, “why in the hell did you do that?!!”

He replied cooly,”to remind you who is in charge.”

I was silently horrified.

Much later that evening, we were watching television in the bedroom and he asked me to get him a drink.  I of course obliged.  Upon my return, I set the drink down and I began massaging his back.

I sat behind him and ran my fingers through his hair and tossled it about the way he loved so much.  I began massaging his traps firmly and then made my way slowly up to his neck.  I let my hands slip around his neck and I began to squeeze as hard as I possibly could, until I could hear him gasp and choke.  He in turn tried to pry my hands off.

I leaned close and whispered in his ear and said , “if you ever put your hands around my neck again like that, I will fucking end you….. do you understand?   I waited another 15 seconds or so.   Until he murmured “Yezz.” Then I let go.

You may think that’s the end of the story but of course not.  I received an ass-whooping so severe as soon as he could get a hold of me, that I couldn’t sit down for a good two days.  But I still smile as I type this because it was ever so worth it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Puppet

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I try and pinpoint the exact moment when I realised that my emotional movement was being controlled by his dark choreography.   I wasn’t aware until the merciless incessant tugging, left me tangled in the cords, unable to move.

It was then I knew, I was dancing for the Devil.

Liberation first begins with the realization one is captive.

I cut the strings.

I am bound no more.

To all the girls and boys out there who have become insidiously ensnared.

Freedom is within your reach….it always has been.


Drawn to Illicit Sex

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World English Dictionary
illicit (ɪˈlɪsɪt)

— adj
1. another word for illegal
2. not approved by common custom, rule, or standard: illicit sexual relations
For the purposes of this post I am using the latter definition.

The sexual abuse I had endured as a child left me so terrified of my own sexuality and of men that it left me completely disconnected with and at times dissociated from my body.  When I finally ended up dating it was nearly all abusive men, active substance using men, and narcissistic men. It seemed strange that over and over it was the wrong guys. Bad luck I thought.

Why couldn’t I have been the girl who got asked out by some nice fellow and progressed in a slow and steady fashion within a relationship?   I’ll tell you why because I was a victim of incest at the hands of my brother and it had been going on since I was 8 and it didn’t end until I was in the middle of high school. And by then I wanted to commit suicide.

So when I grew up, I had become THAT girl. You know the one that tells my date my entire life story over a few drinks in under ten minutes and then let’s him finger fuck me underneath the table at the restaurant, while telling him as he is doing this, that I want to take things slow.

Or I have a guy friend who says he’s hoping my recovery moves more quickly because he’d like to fuck me. After a tongue lashing from me, on how I value our friendship, and that we’ve been friends for so long and he can’t do this! I climb right up on his lap, straddle him, kiss him, gently bite his nipples, rhythmically move my hips over his pelvis while my body betrays me as I get wet under my skirt all over his jeans.

Oh wait, here comes the shame again, along with guilt. Why couldn’t I have just tongue lashed him and left it there? What’s wrong with me.

After restaurant guy finger fucked me, I hid in my apartment for weeks every time he rang my buzzer. So much shame. Eventually he didn’t come around anymore, Thank God. When you couple shame and guilt, this wedding along with a lack of ability to dialogue about your emotions… You spend your life either running or hiding. Building thicker walls to keep people out so you don’t get hurt again.

My shrink says lots of incest survivors  are at higher risk for developing sexual problems and problems with setting adequate boundaries overall.  When your body is not your own as a child, because your brother has access to you 24/7 you don’t ever have a “no,” to his sexual advances. You can never escape.

As an adult it was quite an easy transition for me to slide into the world of BDSM, fetish, and kink .

I was too busy figuring out how to stay alive amidst trauma in childhood and adolescence and I never learned the healthy boundaries needed to navigate adulthood. So the cycle repeated.

I’m a walking talking paradox. I really DO want to be the girl who goes slow and have healthy boundaries AND also, I don’t. I crave that which is taboo, and sometimes I recoil from that which is taboo.

I think back to Stanley Kubrick’s film, A Clockwork Orange. If I’m wired to respond sexually in a maladaptive and deviant way for so long, what are the odds I can re-wire now? There is a saying that once a cucumber has become a pickle, it can never go back to being a cucumber again.

What if I am that pickle?

What if there is hope for all of us for redemption?


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