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.