When my boyfriend, Mr. P, told me a couple of days into our most recent experiment with chastity that if I didn’t do the scene soon, he’d start deliberately picking fights and creating disharmony in our usually level and very rarely rocky relationship, I took heed. Within seconds, I could feel the control being silently taken from me; the pressure of having to perform starting to bear down. If my emotions didn’t ebb and flow to the same rhythm as his need for abuse, then he was going to actively bring it out of me — even if not necessarily consciously. It was an important piece of honesty, which I praised him for, and appreciated his expressing it to me. But it didn’t lessen my predicament in any way.

See, I wasn’t ready yet. Not nearly. My head was swimming with intriguing and intense behavioural modification methodology, since part of the grand scheme is learning to transform some facets of our darker natures into that which can be better integrated into our base personalities. Namely, his, since mine can be expressed through my fiction, or even being particularly forceful in my demeanour. His, however, needs direct, merciless abuse.

Do you have any idea how difficult it is to abuse the one you love? More so, if you have been abused by people who, at points of your life, have claimed to love you?

Talk about a mindfuck.

But he needs this, and to a degree, I do, too. We’ve discussed at length how it’s okay for me to indulge my curiosity regarding how far I can actually push him in chastity: how intense, extreme, and how long he can last. There are times I can’t even keep my inner sadist down, it needs to tear into someone or something with such reckless abandon, it even scares me. While his inner masochist is brought out through chastity, I don’t really know a ‘safe’ way to take my inner sadist out for a spin. Nothing short of honest-to-goodness, real, overwhelming anger and rage.

And that goes against some of my core beliefs in my practise. One should never punish another’s submission through expression of their own rage. Submission is a gift; to be valued, treasured, and rewarded. Now, the inner sadist in me just loves any hint of masochism, because it wants to take advantage of that like crazy. But that’s likely because the sort of sadism in which I resort most naturally is physical: I love caning, paddling, straight up spanking — anything that causes real, genuine pain: Light CBT, and moderate-to-heavy nipple torture. But, see … he’s not a physical masochist, and I know this. He’s an emotional masochist — which, I have no trouble working with. Except, when it comes to the deeper cravings for abuse, and I’m in more of a nurturing frame of mind — well, that’s when things get … complicated. At least, they can. Without even quite realising it, he’ll start to do things that frustrate me — more than anything, becoming overcritical over known irritants — almost just for the sake of it. It reminds me of a TV-movie exorcism. When the shaman, or what have you, wants the demon to present itself inside of the possessed, he (or she) will begin to taunt and disturb, and before long, tormenting it, in hopes that it will make itself known.

My inner sadist can only take so much before it says, ‘All right, that’s it. I’ve had enough.’ But then all bets are off. It doesn’t matter if it’s a game; if it’s well-meant, if, underneath it all, it’s operating off of love. Because anger has presented itself — raw rage — deserved, or not, hardly matters. Now, it just wants satisfaction. It needs to be satiated — and that means however it seems fit. Which usually involves physical punishments, furious outbursts and displays of cold, hard fury. The time for negotiation has ended. Now, it’s on — whether the subject of its ire and abuse wants it or not.

I’m sure anyone with a brain in their head can see why that scares me — the therapist, the well-meaning, logical, non-abusive person. The one that does not hurt the one she loves — at least, never intentionally, and never, ever gains satisfaction from doing so. It’s only during these darker moments of my soul that I derive any kind of joy out of bringing agony and pain. And it’s only if it’s been needled, and begged, and pleaded, and practically forced out of me; the snake will not go back into the can, at that point. (Have you ever tried to stuff the snake back into the can once it pops out? While not exactly impossible, it’s tricky. It’s out and out it wants to stay. Everything around me takes on a greater intensity. I begin to view the world through crimson-coloured glasses. Anything could be a target. It’s stressful, annoying, and leads to even more frustrating scenarios — especially, because this modus operandi doesn’t gel as well as it could with my boyfriend. He craves a different kind of abuse — which, once I’ve reached that point, I could hardly give a fuck what he — or anyone else, for that matter, wants. Or doesn’t. Now, it’s about me. I’ve been pushed to this point, so damn it, it’s on.

Both of us enjoy strap-on play. A lot. I love the fact that I’m able to take him like I’ve been taken — well, as close as can be mustred, given our respective sexes. I love getting to play at being the one with the cock. Sometimes, I decide to use it as a weapon, but I typically prefer being loving, and treating him rather how I enjoy being treated. I’ll make love to him gently, with soft whispers and lots of caresses — I’ll even allow him to touch himself, so long as he doesn’t masturbate to orgasm. (Not yet.) But if I’m feeling sadistic, and I’ve decided upon a harder scene, (which he always inquires about ahead of time) then I’m ready for it — mentally, especially, which is key. I’m ready to be ‘abusive’: cause him pain without harm; hurt him without lasting damage. It comes from a place of love. I can distance myself from the need to nurture and show him love in the usual ways I do, and I can really enjoy it without getting too caught up and losing myself in the genuine pleasure I take in experiencing his agony, fear, and vulnerability. I usually seek to protect his vulnerability — not abuse and disgrace it. But, in those times when it’s been agreed upon by us both way ahead of time, I will. And, again, it’s fine — because it comes from a place of real, unabashed love, respect, and caring.

My anger is a whole other story. It’s pure fury — hard, fast, and burns quickly. If there’s real reason, and it feels deserved, then it may smoulder for some point thereafter, potentially winding down into sadness which I nurse privately. If it isn’t, or is resolved relatively soon (as ours have been) then it dissipates as suddenly as it came. This is minorly incompatible with his vision of ‘abuse’. He doesn’t want it hard and fast, with shouting and demands to strip and submit to a punishment that hasn’t been fully explained to him, outside of it’s non-negotiable. He wants some say, to be able to decide which sort of punishment to which he should submit (or, at least, be able to debate it with me) and then it should be carried out slowly, more deliberately, and not immediately. It should be something with which I tease, taunt, and test him. Reminding him of the punishment that he has coming. Draw out the suspense.

It’s oddly enough, a smarter and safer way of handling these sorts of situations for both of us. It gives me a chance to let the real anger subside, so that I’m not becoming the sort of person I warn against and heavily disparage in my practise and personal life, and the punishment then becomes sufficiently eroticised for him, so that it’s an enjoyable experience that brings us closer together rather than bringing us apart. It hasn’t been the easiest switch to make for me; there are days where I still just really, really want to whack him — but another thing I discuss often in my writings and with my clientele is the need for delayed gratification. That includes me, too. I may desire nothing better than to make my boyfriend strip, cuff him, force him down over the side of the sofa, and wail on him until I’m satisfied when I’m that angry. But I’m breaking one of my most crucial tenets by allowing myself to indulge a behaviour I consider detestable. There are easier, safer, and, in the long-term, more positive ways in which I can satisfy my inner sadist, and he his inner masochist.

For us, that may require a bit of planning ahead, and doing things a bit differently than is utmost-natural for both of us; but relationships are all about compromise. Even those in which there is a power exchange. Yes, especially where it’s total — either some of the time, 24/7 or just in sexual situations. If there isn’t, it’s not a relationship. It’s a one-sided affair where one partner is being used at the expense of the other. Those aren’t healthy — even if the sex is amazing. In the end, it’s not worth it. Sometimes, you’ve just got to spare the rod, and spoil your beloved. That should be natural enough for anyone to enjoy — sadist, masochist, and everything in between.

Tags: Abusive Sadism, Delaying Gratification, Emotional Masochism, femdom relationships, healthy femdom, Healthy Masochism, Healthy Sadism, lover is craving abuse, Male Chastity, Need for Abuse, Sadism