Please stop

Red traffic light.

I want to reassure anyone reading this that I am fine, now.

But for a while, I was very much not fine. Not fine at all. I’m uncertain whether I should be doing something about that or not.

I met a man last year who became my Master. I was his slave.

I am poly. He told me he was poly, and that all of his relationships were open. So far, so good. I’d had a previous bad experience with a Master who turned out to have a wife who very much didn’t know he was poly, so this new chap being very definitely poly was a plus! He’d been in the BDSM lifestyle quite a while – privately as a player, but also as a pro-photographer and as a pro-Dom. I didn’t think I could make a safer choice.

Meeting him, I was still needy in the wake of my previous breakup. I didn’t take the precautions I should have. I didn’t check out with all his other slaves & submissives that they all knew about one another. I trusted his word, and the details he gave me about each of them. That’s on me.

We were extremely compatible. We fell for one another very quickly, and I subbed hard, too fast. He wanted a lot of protocols from the word go – a tracker on my phone, all photographs I took on my phone to be uploaded to a shared dropbox folder, daily protocols for various things, protocols for how I was to act when I visited him. I said yes to them all, willingly. None of them felt onerous or abusive. I was given the choice as to whether I wanted to do them, and I could have dropped any of them at any time. He wouldn’t have stopped me from doing that and he wouldn’t have broken up with me over it. He didn’t question my whereabouts ever or try to control me, just said that having the tracker helped him feel more connected to me when we were apart. I had a mutual track on where he was going, and yes, it did indeed help me to feel more connected to him when we weren’t together, as did the daily photo updates.

We exchanged those three little words. We loved one another. He was sweet, and kind, and lovely. He adored the level of trust I gave him. He owned me. He asked it he could carve his initials into my flesh and I said yes, yes – yes please. But I warned him that he had to be sure when he decided to do that, that he was keeping me. Thankfully, he held off from doing it.

We played with CNC. Something he’d always wanted to try was to have a slave take sleeping tablets, so that he could do whatever he wanted to them whilst they were unconscious. I leapt at the chance to show him how much I loved and trusted him.

It never, ever occurred to me that he would do anything to harm me whilst I was unconscious, and he didn’t. I didn’t even have any marks on me when I woke up, just his cum inside me. I loved it. God, how I loved it. He was everything I wanted in a Master. I wanted more. More, more, more.

And then, he started to slip up.  I’d asked about sexual health risks before we had sex. He told me out of the 7 girls who subbed to him who he did & didn’t have sex with. I weighed up the risks and made my decisions. Our sex was unprotected on the basis of what he’d told me.

He lied. It turned out that he had had sex with all of them, unprotected. Recently.

I gently explained to him that was not on. He told that he’d been careful to check out their statuses before he’d had sex with them. That he was tested regularly, that I was safe.  I said that it wasn’t OK to make decisions like that for me, that he’d taken away my agency. He was upset. He understood. He realised he couldn’t do that anymore. He said it had only been once or twice. That he just tried it out with them but it wasn’t an ongoing thing.

We went over what ethical poly was. He didn’t seem to realise that you were supposed to tell everyone about everyone…

We’d made a video of the two of us together. We both loved it. He showed it to one of his other girls without my consent.He told me about it after the fact, and said that it hadn’t felt quite ‘right’, and that he’d decided that any other videos we made would be ‘just for us’. I subsequently discovered that he’d told the other girl that he’d asked my permission before showing her the video…but he hadn’t.  Still, once we’d had the talk about it he understood not to do it again. He even made videos of himself just for me, making himself just as vulnerable as I was to him. I had copies of those videos. The trust was mutual.

Then…it turned out that his ‘alpha slave’…well, she didn’t know about me. She also didn’t know about any of his other girls. That had become a ‘complex situation’ apparently. She was ill. She was emotionally fragile. But hey, it was OK, because she was married to someone else…she was poly, so she was fine with poly! When she was in a good place, he was going to tell her, and it’d all be fine!

I should have got out at that point, I know. But I was an idiot, too in love & too submitted to him to see the truth. I thought I could help him work it all out – he seemed to want to do that, desperately. He would ask me for advice, almost daily. He said he appreciated my love & care & trust. That trust had always been the biggest draw to him in D/s, and that he was going to sort himself out. I had a way of talking to him and giving him advice that was gentle and loving, and he could talk to me where he couldn’t talk to his other girls….He was going to do this difficult thing…this week…he was going to tell her this week…

and then, in the end, it got done for him. His ‘alpha slave’ walked in on him in bed with one of his other girls. All hell broke loose. He stayed in contact with me, he asked my advice, he kept reaching out….and then his messages got fewer. When they came he said he was having a bad time. He’d been self-harming. He was only sleeping 1 or 2 hours a night. He was on the verge of a breakdown. His PTSD was kicking in….

More weeks went by. I worried about him…then, as he refused to let me see him to help, I got angry. I thought his alpha slave was controlling him. I was angry with her, and then with him. I sent an irate email. He responded badly to my anger. Very badly. He said my message had substantially changed his view of me…that I had put back his recovery, that he was on the verge of ending it all. That I was being mean about his alpha slave and that all my talk of poly & compromise had been rubbish. I grovelled in response, terrified of losing him, terrified that he would hurt himself. He told me not to worry. That his alpha slave was looking after him now. He was going to mend his relationship with her first and then he’d see me…and then we’d see.

3 more weeks went by. I texted him once a week to wish him well. The first time he messaged me back. The 2nd two texts went unanswered.

Then he finished with me by email. Apparently he’d got carried away. He’d neglected his work & relationships because of me. He was very sorry, but he couldn’t give me what I wanted, needed, and deserved.

He had told me that he never finished a D/s relationship unless it was face to face. But me…the woman who apparently had given him more trust than anyone else ever had …I got an email. The tracker on my phone disappeared. Our link on fetlife was gone. All in a few hours.

I was inconsolable. I reached out to him, begging to see him. I was so, so worried for his mental health. I was also a slave who had engaged in CNC with him, who had been lied to, who’d had my agency taken away, who he’d potentially exposed to a sexual health risk. My daily protocols had been stripped away literally overnight.

It sounds ridiculous to anyone who hasn’t been a slave, I know. Even writing it now, it feels ridiculous to me. How the hell could I have got myself into that state?

But I was a mess. A suicidal mess.

In the end, he agreed to see me. He said he’d always intended on seeing me, that he didn’t like finishing with a submissive by email or text, that he’d finished friendships with men who did that, but that he’d felt I had the right to know his decision straight away, and so the email had seemed like a good idea. We met up and he looked…well, he looked awful. It was obvious to me that the breakdown story he had told me was real. He clearly hadn’t slept in weeks. I went from desperately needing his love and support straight back into slave mode. So I snapped to and said anything to make him feel better. I was cool, calm, and collected. I gave off a relaxed vibe. I told him he needed to heal, needed to take his time, that he couldn’t rush things. I did everything I could to make his life better, and in this case that was acting like a woman who was not his slave. We talked for just under an hour. In that time I watched his body language change from tense and closed to relaxed and open. He asked whether I could forgive him, if I would be able to try again, and I said that yes, of course I could….because I was an enslaved idiot. I walked out of his flat giving him a cheery wave, showing nothing of my anguish.

He told me that he was going to take some time to sort himself out, but that he’d be in touch with me again once he’d done that. He was going to want other people in his life besides his alpha slave. He had finished with all his other submissives. The alpha slave had only ever been told about me and one other woman (the lady she walked in on him with), so she is still (so far as I am aware) in the dark about all the other women he’d been with.

I waited to hear from him….but nothing came. No message. I got on with life, I started to heal myself, I didn’t know if he would ever actually get back to me…but all the time I worried about him. I kept beating myself up over the angry message I’d sent him. I felt that it was my fault he’d finished with me. If only I hadn’t got angry…he wouldn’t have finished with me. He wouldn’t be having a breakdown. He’d be OK. So I clung to the hope that we’d be able to work it all out, that he’d get therapy, that he’d get help, that he’d sort things out with his alpha slave and that we could be together again. All those silly things you tell yourself when you are a slave who got unceremoniously dumped overnight.

Then an unfortunate coincidence…a friend of mine booked a shoot with him, not knowing his connection to me. Once discovered, she cancelled the shoot. But she also showed me his messages to her…and it was clear to me…he wasn’t sorting himself out at all. In fact, he didn’t seem to be suffering from a breakdown in the slightest anymore. He seemed like he was A-OK and back on track. He was speaking to her about submissives in exactly the same way he’d spoken to me in his initial messages.

The scales fell from my eyes very suddenly. I saw that he actually…well, he just didn’t care. Not at all. He wasn’t sorting himself out like he said he was going to. Instead, he’s just switched his feelings off. He’s simply…going to bury everything. Which means he’ll do it again. Maybe not straight away, but I really think he will.

Do I think he’s an evil man? No, I don’t. Not at all.  I think he needs therapy, and I think he’s using BDSM as a form of therapy. But my God, I think he’s dangerous to women like me because of that. He violated some serious boundaries and I doubt he has any comprehension of the gravity of what he did.  I doubt too that he has any idea of the danger to the mental health of a slave if she’s dumped overnight in the way I was.

After a brief flurry of angry messages, I blocked him a few days ago, knowing that he won’t try to contact me anyway. He’ll simply be glad that I’ve stopped bothering him. He’ll heave a sigh of relief that he doesn’t have to deal with me.

 

And now, I wish I’d never met him. Not because I didn’t love him, because fucking hell, I did. I did love him. But I wish I’d never met him because I can’t shake the feeling that I should DO something…for the girls who’ll come after me. For his alpha slave. For any girls he starts fucking behind her back. For any clients of his. They might not be as strong as I am. Except I can’t, can I?

If I stand up and say something, I’ll just be a jilted lover who is angry. After all – I agreed to everything we did. I wanted the CNC. Hell, I asked him to do more than he did! He didn’t physically harm me and I would never, ever accuse him of that. And I stayed, even after I knew about him betraying my trust and the trust of others. I am in fact the bad one – I’m ‘the other woman’, even though I didn’t agree to be that.

But a part of me wants to write to him to say ‘Please…please don’t do this. It’s clear that you are not mentally stable enough to play these games, you simply don’t understand the emotional & mental danger you are putting yourself or others into. Please, please…go and have therapy, and step away from BDSM in the meantime’.

I don’t think I will. I doubt he’d listen, anyway, so what would be the point (or would there be a point even if he didn’t listen? Agh, I don’t know.)

Please – if you ever read this, know that I’m saying this not because I hate you but because I loved you: Please stop. Please go and sort yourself out. Please get professional help to do that. Step away from BDSM until and unless you are safe to play these games ethically. Because the next girl might not be as strong as I am. You are a sweet, lovely, caring man. But that doesn’t make you safe.

Jesus. Even though I haven’t identified him here, and even though I doubt anyone could know who he was or who I was, I’m still terrified to submit this post. Because I’m frightened of someone he knows seeing it, or of him somehow finding out about it, and him being angry with me or hating me because of it.

And isn’t that ridiculous?

 

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