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She's the one exception I feel totally comfortable with her. I'm a hermit, preferring my books and thoughts to human company, while my wife loves to socialize. In social situations, I rarely open up to other people. I studied my shoelaces while my wife introduced me to her leather-clad co-workers. She wanted to share the rest with the subs and doms she worked with. On my wife's lap she carried a pair of Tupperware containers with peanut butter cupcakes, which a friend had baked. That afternoon, we headed to the dungeon. I know it sounds strange, but it works for us. When our nerves say, "no more," we have the power to stop, a choice we didn't have when we were young. If pleasure cannot come without pain, at least we're the ones inflicting it. Our abusers took control from us, and sadomasochism is a way for us to wrest control back. As kids, pain - both physical and emotional - and sexual pleasure became all knotted up together for my wife and me, to the point that there's no hope of untangling them.
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I was bullied during a sexually confused time and the kids at school did things to me that I don't feel comfortable putting into words. She thinks this is because a babysitter molested her when she was very young, forcing her to take off her clothes and lie in bed with him. Not only did we desperately need the money, I hoped that working there would help my wife deal with some of the issues she has with sex. When my wife was hired at the dungeon, I was overjoyed.
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My wife had asked me to open the door, just a crack, to my darkest self - and it turned us both on. Another part - God help me - was enjoying it. Part of me felt detached, watching in silent judgment as I hit my wife, that inexcusable sin. So I slapped her a second time, praying silently that the neighbors couldn't hear us. Her head flopped limply to the side and her cheek burned bright from the blow. I sucked it up and slapped her across the right cheek. Still, if I have one weakness, I am pathologically incapable of saying no to her. Harder!" While I’m no conformist, I certainly wasn’t eager to start whaling on my wife, even if she badly wanted me to. She asked me to cuff her to the headboard and slap her across the face - "Hard.
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But my wife is what's known as a lifestyle submissive - in the movie "Secretary," she'd be the Maggie Gyllenhaal character - and the day came when she finally asked me to assume the position of dominator. This whole chapter in our lives still surprises me, since I’ve never been an S&M enthusiast. "Typical wife-beater line." In another room, Mariska Hargitay would be counseling my wife, telling her it wasn't her fault. I imagine being in the interrogation room with Christopher Meloni, telling him my wife was asking for it, that she enjoyed every blow. I imagine how the "SVU" detectives would respond. Long before my wife got her job, we were doing weird, kinky stuff in the boudoir, too. I know there's nothing to be ashamed of, but my face goes red with guilt, anyway. She thinks they're sexy, admiring her mottled behind in the bathroom mirror. I can't meet these people's eyes, even though my wife proudly displays her contusions. Sometimes, when my wife and I walk down the street together, I wonder what passersby think of me when they glimpse the handiwork of her clients on her shoulders and thighs. Men fork over hundreds of dollars to chain her up and whip her. My wife works as a submissive at an S&M dungeon.
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Later that day, we were headed to the dungeon. I let her get her licks in while she could. My wife won, finishing me off with a move that would be illegal even in a street fight. This is how we are in the bedroom, too, where it's a constant shifting of dominance, rough and wild, neither of us on top for long. I am proud to say I am married to a woman who can kick my ass. We bite, scratch, punch and twist each other's limbs into painful pretzels. I know many couples enjoy a bedroom tussle, but when my wife and I grapple, we're out for blood. My wife chose "cop-who-rapes-his-wife," while I, the sentimental one, opted for "little-girl-in-a-coma." We broke this impasse the same way we make other minor decisions: With a wrestling match. "Do you want to watch cop-who-rapes-his-wife or little-girl-in-a-coma?" I asked. While we eat breakfast, it's tradition that we watch "Law & Order: SVU" on Netflix. I always wanted someone to take care of, just as she always wanted someone to take care of her. The arrangement suited both of us perfectly. My wife never asked me to shoulder all household chores I insisted. I do all of the cooking, the cleaning, the laundry, buy groceries and run all errands, even for those embarrassing feminine hygiene products. I got up around seven on my wife's birthday and made her breakfast, as usual.