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BDSM-Fetisch-Geschichte: Rough Play bis zur Bewusstlosigkeit

BDSM Fetish Story: Rough Play Until Unconsciousness



“You almost killed her!”

Again and again the words echoed in the mind of the man who was trying to find his way through the country lanes. Small and stocky, but with a captivating charisma. The path almost seemed to split for him, he put one step in front of the other so determinedly. Jogging was the right thing after the previous, turbulent evening. Physical activity was his preferred way of relieving emotional stress. The calm was occasionally interrupted by the sound of an animal, conveying a false sense of peace. Once again the memorable sentence pounded against the walls of his skull. The forest and his beloved jogging did not calm his spirit today.

Damn, he had brought guilt upon himself! Accompanied by pangs of conscience, the man reached a clearing. A wide wooden bench invited him to linger and offered a view over meadows and fields. The smartphone vibrated. His mood was gone. Exhausted, he sank onto the seat. Intuitively suspecting who the message was from - his sub.

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He had been active in the world of BDSM for many years, got to know enriching people and was a valuable companion. He felt like a Dom and accompanied subs to profound insights. He loved each of them and gave them everything he had at his disposal. He maintained friendships with his ex-subs even after their time as domination and never let anyone speak badly of that, because that was how he was at heart. He was happy to offer his help to others when he was needed.

His sub refused. He didn't know why. Jealousy was taking its toll on the relationship. Did she have reason to believe that she wasn't everything to him? Why did she distrust his arguments? Didn't believe his assurances? How can BDSM work if there is no trust?

“You almost killed her!”

This statement ran through his consciousness like nitric acid. If it were just jealousy, he could live with that. But his emotional distress went deeper. His sub was pushing him to his personal limits. He was now afraid of seriously hurting her during a session. He was aware that he had played a part in the escalation of some game situations. He didn't dare to bring up the subject in any conversation with like-minded people. His self-doubt was greater.

“A Dom has control over himself, otherwise he is not a Dom! The sub can never be passionate enough. I appreciate that about her!”

He could practically hear people talking, so he swallowed all his thoughts.

And yet the ground threatened to slip from under his feet. He found no understanding from his beloved. Although he truly loved her, she was the one who depressed him emotionally, drove him into a mental corner and provoked rash actions.

He reflected on himself, weighed up the pros and cons. For a long time he saw the parts as being solely his own. He explained his feelings to his sub. The conversations all ended the same way. She could not understand his concerns. Why didn't she recognize his suffering?

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Was he not allowed to set clear lines that he wanted his sub to respect? Did he have to be part of every dynamic she wanted? Damn it, the toxic spiral was destroying him! The man he once was, radiant with enthusiasm and generosity, became a shadow. Manipulative behavior has nothing to do with submission.

"Don't you have your sub under control?" The voices echoed in his head. In his opinion, the sub is the center of everything that happens. Her fulfillment becomes his fulfillment. The power imbalance is the starting point for a shared journey whose goal is truthfulness. The same rules apply to him as to her. She has the opportunity to verbalize taboos, just like he does. The constant challenges were exhausting.

At some point it stopped being good for him. Unfortunate situations did happen, he was aware of that. He was not a dreamer, but a realist. What bothered him was the poking at weak points.

Somewhere, a forest dweller screamed, tearing him from his thoughts. His fingers trembled as he read the message.

His suspicions came true. She wrote how intensely she enjoyed his passion. He shouldn't be angry with her. Because she wanted to pass out, she insulted him until his hands squeezed her throat tighter and tighter. She wanted to help him to surpass himself. So she slapped him, laughed at him and shouted at him, saying what a worm he was. She was happy and proud of him that their relationship had reached a new level and that he was willing to give up his taboos for her. He lovingly looked after her in her absence and, as promised, did not call an ambulance. She wanted the Dom to whom she gave herself over to be just as eloquent. Next time she wanted to be unconscious for even longer. He could squeeze harder and not bring her back so quickly.

Attached to the letter were image files showing strangulation marks on her neck. She was proud to wear the marks of his love. A scarf to conceal her only at work, to avoid annoying questions. "I love you, my master. You are the best!" the message concluded.

He felt sick and spat out the bile that formed as he looked at the text and images. She didn't realize how much he was suffering. He died a thousand deaths in the moments of her unconsciousness. He hated himself deeply for letting himself be driven by her insults.

The ice they were walking on was getting thinner. He took the hard line for her sake. If he didn't, she criticized him and gave him the feedback that he was a failure. When she hit him in the face yesterday, she completely overwhelmed him. The burning sensation on his cheek was the last straw. He forgot himself. His sub rolled her eyes and lay limp beneath him. Before that, she had asked him not to do any emergency work. Her sexuality was her business, she argued.

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Not once in the preliminary discussion was his feelings discussed. He loved her and longed for nothing more than her fulfillment. He did a hell of a lot to achieve this. He faced his resentments because she was important to him. But he did not want to be driven to violence, even if it was her wish. He was extremely worried as she lay motionless beneath him. He thought he had strangled her. When he checked her pulse, her words came to mind: "If you call 911, I'll leave you!"

The memory made his heart beat faster. His arm muscles twitched. A light film of sweat formed on his forehead. At first, his sub preferred kinky games and full-body bondage. Then she expressed her desire for rough play. She wanted him to rape her and choke her until she lost consciousness. Fear of death, felt in reality, drove her adrenaline levels up and made her addicted to the ever-increasing kick.

Fear. For her well-being. For himself. For the dynamics to escalate. What is at the end of this consuming spiral? What? There was a bitter taste in his mouth. When had this shit started? When would it end? And how?

"I can't take it anymore and I don't recognize myself anymore! My job as your Dom is to protect you from yourself. Please let's backtrack and find each other again, like we used to." He put his fingers to the keyboard. Determined to stand up for himself - and for both of them. This bad relationship had to end, otherwise they would go under together.

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So he wrote to his sub: "I'm glad you're well. I'm relieved because I was very worried. Let me check on your marks later." Her reply was prompt: "You can look forward to it, my lord. I will receive you in lingerie. Maybe your hands will be around my neck again as a sign of your love? Or a belt, what do you think?"

Breathing heavily, he stood up, started jogging and settled into the winding path ahead of him. Somewhere between the trees he heard the twittering of a robin, which was appreciating the beauty of the day with its lively chirping.

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