Of Mice and Monsters III

 

 

 

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Of course I knew he might be into S&M when he asked me at the beginning of our relationship to enter into a BDSM contract.   I was walking in with my eyes wide open.   He said that the use of kink would build trust and bring us closer.   Closer than vanilla couples.    That, appealed to me after having been wounded by a would-be good guy in a “normal” long-term relationship.  He said it may involve some light bondage and pain but nothing that I wasn’t comfortable with.   That we would never do anything that I wasn’t comfortable with.  Which all felt like I was going to be in control of what going on.

The oldest trick in the book:  The illusion of control.

I was green at that time and knew nothing of this subculture.   I didn’t know jargon like: SSC (Safe, Sane, and Consensual) and RACK (Risk Aware Consensual Kink).  He was certainly not going to tell me either.   That was the point, to leave me in the dark and to leave him with all the knowledge and power.

In due course I did learn that he like to inflict pain.  He like to spank using his hand.  He like to use a paddle, crop, flogger, whip, cane, nipple clamps, hot wax, Ben Wa balls, anal plugs, ropes, blindfolds, handcuffs, ball gags, whatever the hell he wanted.  Bloody yes he had all the tools a good dominant doing BDSM would have in his bag-o-tricks.

He asked me one night to go pick out some porn to watch for the evening.  This was awkward for me because at this point in my life, I had only seen maybe a few porn movies period.  He had an extensive porn library.  There was very little of what you could consider soft-porn. You know, mom getting pile-driven, doggy style in the bedroom.  I mean there was one like that and maybe two MILF type genre CD’s.  But the vast majority were really fucked up stuff.    Titles like: Granny’s Gone Wild: depicting elderly women getting poked, Transsexual 3-way Fun, Gangbangs 3,  Incest Fantasies, Down on the Farm,  Raw Pussy Hardcore Beatdown, Teens Bound 2 Cum,  Forced Fucking,  Hardcore Bitches-n-Pets.   I was in absolute shock but tried to look outwardly like I was okay with this.  I mean, I was such a people pleaser at this point in my life, God forbid, I might offend him by looking like the wind just got knocked out of me.

After viewing the titles, I deferred to him to pick one out and he picked one of the more violent films.  We sat naked in bed and began to watch.    The movie began with the young girl literally being first verbally degraded by two men.   I cringed.   Then it escalated with her being slapped across her face numerous times.  He sat motionless.   Then they began beating her down.   Kicking her a few times while she begged for them to stop.  More intense slapping, choking her, all the while degrading her verbally.  I watched in horror, not just at the film but more so at him.  For as he watched, he quickly got an erection with each scream she made, each plead, as the violence being inflicted upon her increased, the harder he got.   Conversely, I was so calcified from watching as if reflexively, I did put my bathrobe on.

I realised at that moment, I was sitting in bed with a sexual sadist.

And yet, my emotional connection to him wouldn’t allow me believe that.  I wanted to believe that this was just some sort of small piece of him.  That this couldn’t possibly real. Because he had the capability of being sweet.  Gentle.  Caring.  Yet this, what I was taking in right here, right now was incompatible with that sweet man.   This was a dichotomy.   One that I could not explain.  So I stuffed it away down into the recesses of myself where I could not even hear my own thoughts.

However, somewhere in me, deep down, I knew that the dream I had with this man of marriage, a home, raising kids, and a dog named Scruffy was all about to go right out the proverbial window.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Of Mice and Monsters II

It smelled of mold and mildew down there.  The air always had a cold damp quality to it.  Because of my asthma, I had never liked going there.  All the walls were entirely lined with neat rows of shelf-stable food.  Enough for a small family to survive an Armageddon.  I always thought it strange.  Then there was the safe.   The massive safe hidden behind the stairs.  Standing at well over 6 feet high, it was large enough with which to store a body.

All throughout our relationship, I was never permitted there while he opened the safe.  It was always one of those unspoken rules.   The mystery that shrouded the safe added to my wonderment of its contents.  The only light was from the lone 60-watt bulb dangling from the ceiling.  There were two dirty tiny windows meant only to allow light and ventilation.  They were both sealed tightly shut.

He was cooking spaghetti and meatballs that night and asked me to run down to grab a can of diced tomatoes.  I headed downstairs and began searching the shelves for the requested item.

Suddenly I heard him shut the basement door and then slide the metal chain latch  over.  Then I heard his footsteps on the floorboards above me trail away.

I bolted up the stairs heart racing and called out his name all the while feverishly trying the door handle in hopes it would open.  It did not.

He did not answer.

It hit me then.  The sheer and absolute terror.  The blood in my veins ran cold as I realized I have become entombed in this cellar.

I yelled at the top of my lungs and began pounding my fists on the door, “PLEASE!!! PLEASE!!! I’m begging you!!Let me out!!!

Still no answer.

More screaming, more begging, more pounding on the door,” I’m BEGGING you to please come back, I don’t have my inhaler, please let me out!!”

Silence.

My tears turned to full on sobs realizing I would might never get out of this basement.  My mind began to race:   Would I die from an asthma attack and suffocate or would I die from thirst/dehydration since there was only food down here but no water.    That I would never get to say goodbye to my family….

Seemed like seconds turned to minutes and each minute felt like an eternity.

When suddenly I heard his footsteps again and then the metal chain sliding to unlock the door.

“Why are you crying?” he laughed, “You didn’t think I was going to leave you down there forever did you?” He chuckled,” I was just fooling around with you.”  He pulled me in close and hugged me.   I felt relief, repulsion, anger….   The Stockholm Syndrome with which I was quite familiar, was unfolding right in front of me.  I simply couldn’t see it.

I don’t know how long I was actually locked down there.    It was long enough to know that I was not dealing with a garden variety “Daddy-Dom” into some weekend kink.

In retrospect, I think that’s why I stayed.  He intrigued me.  I thought with all my psychological acumen, I’d find out what made him tick.  But by then it was nearly too late for that.  For what I’ve failed to mention….was that by then I was in love with the monster.