Under The Whip

Trigger Warning: This writing briefly and lightly references experiences of abuse. The mention is not graphic or detailed, but reader discretion is advised.

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This week feels…complicated. Bittersweet. Heavy. Gentle and raw all at the same time. And I’m choosing to be extremely vulnerable right now. I’m writing about a chapter of my life I avoided unpacking for a very long time, not because it didn’t matter, but because it mattered too much.

I had a childhood friend I met when I was 14. When I turned 19, we became romantically involved, and I truly believed I had found the love of my life. He was the first man I ever lived with after leaving home. He stood beside me while I took custody of my siblings. He helped me survive my parents’ volatile divorce. He held space for me when the most important person in my world passed away.

My family convinced him to marry me. There was no proposal, just, “Let’s get married,” two years in. A month before the wedding, I called it off. I didn’t understand why at the time, only that I wasn’t ready. We didn’t break up, though, and looking back, I think that’s when we should have.

Instead, we packed up and moved away from my hometown to his. I met his family for the first time, and discovered he had a daughter he had never told me about. That betrayal cut deeply. I won’t unpack all of it here, but I made one thing very clear, if he wanted to be with me, he would not be a deadbeat father. I had already survived one of those.

Shortly after, I became extremely ill. So sick that I nearly died. Doctors couldn’t figure out what was wrong for a long time. I couldn’t get out of bed. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. And during that time, the only thing he seemed concerned about was sex. When I told him I physically couldn’t perform, he became upset, and later asked if he could see other women “until I got better.” Because of my trauma, I said yes.

That choice is mine to own. My fear of abandonment came from childhood wounds and watching the man my father was. That part is on me. What was on him was asking that question at all, especially when I was so sick.

While he went on dates, I stayed home barely able to function. A friend of his (our rommate) would check on me while he was gone. Eventually, I packed a suitcase and went back to my mother’s, originally for a doctor’s appointment, and stayed for three months. We didn’t speak during that time. When I went back to collect my things, he begged me not to leave. He made promises. I went back, and unknowingly stepped straight into the same patterns I grew up watching.

Eventually, doctors figured out what was wrong with me. With proper medication, I found a new normal. I got a great job. He got a great job. We moved into our own place. From the outside, things looked better. That’s when the abuse became an everyday thing.

I got into professional gaming. He complained that I never made time for him, so I stopped gaming. He immediately got on the console and ignored me. I found other hobbies. When he finished gaming, he complained I was always on the computer, then took my place there. One night, I finally snapped and asked if he wanted me to just sit quietly in the corner until he decided I was worth paying attention to.

This isn’t all on him.

At the time, I didn’t understand my mental health. That doesn’t excuse my behavior, but it explains some of it. I was young. Volatile. When we fought, we fought. Screaming. Throwing things. Toxic words. There was one moment it turned physical.

And that was the moment I knew the romantic relationship was over. I ended it immediately. I refused to tolerate physical abuse, no matter how much he begged. We agreed to be friends. I moved into my own room. Life became calmer. Functional. Or so I thought.

Years later, his daughter came back into the picture . She was in a terrible situation. We sat down and talked. He wanted to fight for her. So we got legally married at the courthouse. Custody battles turned into criminal court. Eventually, he was granted full custody. The mother lost all parental rights.

Yes, I know exactly what I did. And despite everything, I would do it again. Because I became her mother.

We stayed married on paper and for her stability. No arguing in front of her. No chaos. I stayed home to raise her while he worked. I couldn’t have children of my own, and loving her filled something sacred in me. But he controlled and abused me through her. If I didn’t do what he wanted, no matter what it was, he threatened divorce and taking her away. Adoption papers were started, all of the time, and then stopped repeatedly, and when when his new girlfriend said she’d leave if I adopted her, that was the last time I attempted to legally adopt her. That broke something in me. For the first time in my life, I hated him. Still, I never walked away from that little girl. She became my purpose. No matter what happened between adults, she deserved stability and love.

Eventually, we moved to the East Coast. New opportunities. Closer to my family I chose to remain in contact iwth. Our daughter thrived. That’s when I met Damon.

He accepted all of me. The complicated parts. The legal marriage. The reality that we were staying together until she was grown. He became an incredible stepdad, and one of the greatest blessings in my life, alongside my daughter.

When she turned 18. And I went blind. Divorce was postponed. Surgeries followed. Medical treatments. My legal husband stayed so I could keep insurance, and I am grateful for that. He softened. Found a partner of his own. The treatments couldn’t save my eyes. But they gave me clarity.

Today, we filed the paperwork. Both of my Masters were with me. My legal husband was there. We walked into the courthouse and closed a chapter that lasted 23 years. In April, I will be legally divorced. It will be finalized, and

finished.

I feel sadness, for what couldn’t be fixed, for a childhood friend I no longer wish to see again, for the familiarity I’m leaving behind. And I feel relief, deep, steady relief.

I can breathe.
I’m not trapped.
My life is no longer on hold.

My daughter is grown, thriving, building her own life. We’re moving forward. I’m moving forward, with intention. I’ve done the work. Therapy. Accountability. Growth. Boundaries. I know now that sometimes love isn’t enough. Sometimes timing is wrong. Sometimes damage goes too deep. And sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is walk away.

I’m not ashamed of my tears today.

Despite everything, he gave me the greatest gift of my life, the chance to be a mother. For that, I will always be grateful. But even when a door needs to close, it still hurts. This space, this life, was familiar. It felt like a security blanket. And now I’m stepping into something unknown.

I am happy.
I am sad.
I am excited.
And yes, I am terrified.

But I am strong. I am enough. And I know, without question, that I can walk away when I need to. After 23 years on this rollercoaster, I’m finally stepping off. And I’m ready to see what comes next.

Disclaimer: Before commenting, please understand that any negative or harmful remarks will not be acknowledged or responded to. This writing is not meant to belittle him or myself. It is shared as part of my process of moving forward, healing, and reclaiming peace. Respectful engagement only. Anything else is met with a block.
 

I Need People to Stop Pretending It Is

I want to talk about something that gets constantly misunderstood in power exchange dynamics, especially by people who claim authority but avoid responsibility. **Discipline is not the same as funishment. **They are not equal. They are not interchangeable. And they do not create the same reactions in my body or my mind.

When I am given impact as discipline, it carries meaning far beyond sensation. It comes with the very real knowledge that I have seriously misstepped. That I have displeased my Masters. That I failed to meet the expectations I knowingly agreed to when I entered this dynamic. That weight matters. It humbles me. It grounds me. It reinforces my place. And most importantly, it holds me accountable.

Funishment, on the other hand, can exist for many different reasons. It can be playful. It can be corrective lite. It can be teasing, erotic, or motivational. It does not carry the same emotional gravity or internal reckoning. And that’s okay, because it serves a different purpose. What is not okay is, when a Dominant or Master says they refuse to spank or give impact discipline because I enjoy kinky things, or because I am a masochist.

In my opinion, that mindset is irresponsible, and yes, abusive!

Enjoying sensation does not magically remove the corrective power of discipline. Context matters. Intent matters. Tone matters. Authority matters. Discipline is not defined by whether I can enjoy pain, it is defined by why it is being given and what it is meant to correct. Using “you’d enjoy it” as an excuse to avoid discipline is, quite frankly, lazy. And in my experience, it often comes paired with something worse.

Ignoring!

I want to be clear here: there is a healthy way to create space. Being told to remove myself until my behavior is corrected, or until I can speak with respect, is valid. That is structured. That is communicated. That is still leadership. But flat out ignoring me? No response to texts. No emails. No calls. No eye contact. No conversation face to face. That is not discipline. That is not correction. That is emotional withdrawal.

And that is not healthy, it is abusive.

Discipline reinforces my dynamic. It reminds me of my place. It tells me that my actions matter enough to be addressed directly. It shows me that my Masters are willing to do the work of leadership, even when it’s uncomfortable. It shows me that I am seen. When someone tells me they won’t discipline me because I enjoy kinky things, impact play, and that I am a masochist, what I actually hear is, *I don’t want to take responsibility. *And I’m done accepting that.

Dominance is responsibility. Authority is effort. Discipline is care, even when it doesn’t feel good. So no, discipline and funishment are not the same. And using that confusion as an excuse to disengage is not protecting me. It is failing me. Bottom line: refusing to spank me or give appropriate punishment because I might enjoy sensation is lazy and abusive. So please, stop doing it.

Cheating Is a Violation of Consent, and Yes, I Believe It Is Abuse
My response to a blog post

Disclaimer - This piece briefly references my own experiences with abuse. I do not go into detail and only mention one or two aspects in passing.

I want to be very clear about where I’m coming from, because context matters. I have never cheated on any romantic partner I chose to be in a relationship with. Ever. I have cheated at games when I was younger. I have cheated people out of money when I was younger. And I have absolutely cheated myself out of good opportunities through self sabotage. I have also been cheated on.

And that last one is why I am saying, unapologetically and from lived experience: **cheating is a violation of consent, a complete betrayal of trust, and yes,, abuse. **This is my personal opinion, shaped by my own history, my own trauma, and what I have witnessed over decades, of being my father's daughter.

Why I Call Cheating Abuse
When I say cheating is abuse, I am not talking about morality, religion, or purity culture. I am talking about harm. When I choose to be in an exclusive relationship with someone, and we mutually agree that we are only with each other, that agreement is a consensual boundary. I am consenting to that relationship based on that agreement. I am placing trust in that person not to violate it.

When that trust is broken, the damage isn’t abstract.

Cheating left me with deep emotional wounds. It shattered my ability to trust. I tried to stay with someone who cheated on me, and it was one of the most painful things I’ve ever done. Every interaction became filled with doubt. Were they lying? Were they still cheating? Could I believe anything they said?

The answer was no. There was no way to rebuild trust after that betrayal.

And the damage didn’t stop there. I carried those trust issues into future relationships. I developed severe anxiety. It triggered abandonment wounds rooted in childhood trauma. I had to create very firm boundaries just to feel safe again. And yes, when you knowingly cause emotional or psychological harm, that is abuse to me. Physical harm is not the only kind that matters.

This Isn’t Just About Me
I didn’t only live this, I watched it.

I watched someone I loved endure 18 years of constant cheating. I watched what it did to her sense of worth, her stability, her ability to leave. My father cheated on my mother repeatedly. He would find a new woman, drain the bank accounts while my mom was at work, and disappear. I would come home from school to an empty house, no furniture. He was “kind” enough to leave my toy box. He didn’t leave my bed, though. I would need that when I was forced to visit him. Which I never wanted to do, but judges didn’t care about children being abused when I was growing up. Not even sure they do at all.

People love to justify cheating by saying, *“It’s better for the kids if the parents stay together.” *That argument is absolute bullshit. What actually happened was this, my mother had no support. Four kids. No help. Every time my father begged her to come back so he wouldn’t have to pay child support, she returned. And that instability shaped me deeply.

By my early twenties, I was terrified to set boundaries in relationships. Terrified to say no. Terrified that if I did, I would be abandoned. I stayed quiet, compliant, and afraid, not because I wanted to, but because that’s what survival taught me. So no, cheating “for the kids” is not noble. It is damaging. And using children as justification disgusts me.

Addressing the “Cheating Isn’t Abuse” Argument
I’ve seen a lot of arguments lately that try to frame cheating as ethically justified, often dressed up in language about autonomy, sex positivity, or rebellion against monogamy. And honestly? Much of it is misinformation rooted in a shallow understanding of consent and trauma. Yes, statistics about infidelity vary wildly. Yes, monogamy is culturally enforced. Yes, divorce is hard. Yes, sexual dissatisfaction is real.

None of that negates this truth, Consent is contextual.

If I consent to an exclusive relationship, and my partner knowingly violates that agreement while continuing to benefit from my emotional labor, trust, and commitment, my autonomy is impacted. My body, my mental health, my emotional safety, and my ability to make informed choices are all compromised.

Breaking an agreement may not be the same as sexual assault, and I am not equating the two, but minimizing the harm because “it’s not rape” is intellectually dishonest and emotionally cruel. Saying cheating isn’t a violation of consent ignores how consent actually works in relationships. I did not consent to share my emotional life, sexual health risks, or relational energy with unseen third parties. I consented to exclusivity.

Monogamy, Polyamory, and Personal Responsibility
I am not anti polyamory. I am not anti ENM. I am not anti sexual freedom. I am anti lying. If you are sexually dissatisfied, you have options, and none of them require deception.

• You can communicate honestly
• You can negotiate (and accept a no)
• You can leave

What you do not get to do is stay, lie, and then frame your betrayal as ethical rebellion. If you asked for an open relationship and your partner said no, that was their boundary. If you know you cannot be happy honoring that boundary, then the ethical choice is to walk away. Staying and cheating is not kindness. It is cowardice.

“But Leaving Is Hard”
Yes. Leaving is hard. Divorce is devastating. Economic fallout is real. Children complicate everything. I know this intimately. But choosing the option that causes ongoing, invisible harm instead of short term upheaval doesn’t make it right. It just spreads the damage over years, and often passes it directly to the children who are watching and learning what love looks like.

Children raised in homes where betrayal is normalized often grow up believing that suffering is the price of connection. I am living proof of that.

Where I Am Now
I am not healed. I am a work in progress. Baby step by baby step. What I am deeply grateful for is that I have two amazing partners in my life now, partners who understand that I carry childhood trauma, that I survived an abusive marriage, and that I am actively working to be better than the person trauma tried to turn me into.

I have come a long way in the last ten years. Therapy helped. My stubborn refusal to stay broken helped more. I made promises to myself, • I will never tolerate cheating again • I will never be afraid of someone walking away from me
• “No” is a full sentence •Boundaries do not require guilt or justification

And I will stand by this belief until my last breath,

If you think you need to cheat on someone to be happy enough to stay, do them a favor and leave. If you truly care about them, prove it with honesty. If you have children, understand that what you model becomes their blueprint. Cheating doesn’t protect relationships. It destroys people. And I will never stop naming that harm for what it is.

A Conversation Worth Having

A few weeks ago, a friend and I were talking about something we saw on a BDSM/kink forum. An 18 year old had joined and posted an introduction listing practically every kink and fetish from A–Z.

At first, my reaction was simply, “Everyone starts somewhere.” New people are allowed to be excited, curious, and unsure. That’s part of the journey.

But both of us still felt a tug of concern. At that age, most people haven’t had the time or experience to research all those areas, let alone understand the safety, consent education, or nuance behind them. Frenzy is a real thing as well.

Then we saw the replies.

Not from peers close to her age, but from men 30, 40, even 50 years older, immediately flirting, trying to “guide” her, or pulling for her attention. Instant red flags. Instant predatory energy.

And let me be clear: I am not shaming age gaps. Preferences exist on all sides. Consensual relationships with age differences can absolutely be healthy.

But what raised concern was the pattern something many of us have seen too often. When I came into the lifestyle at 19, the men interested in me were rarely my age. And I didn’t know better yet. Looking back, I wish I’d had someone to teach me safely, to protect me, and to tell me what red flags I wasn’t old enough to recognize.

A quote I once heard in a class came back to me,

“My existence does not represent a hardship for you.” - Miki_Rei*

That young woman’s presence doesn’t harm me. She isn’t a problem. She isn’t disrupting my kink life or my dynamics. Getting angry at her would be pointless, and honestly unwarranted.

The real issue is the people who wait for newcomers because they know the newcomers don’t yet understand vetting, negotiation, boundaries, informed consent, or what ethical power exchange requires.

And realistically, many brand new 18–19 year olds don’t know those things yet.

That’s exactly why predators target them.

These individuals swoop in under the guise of “teaching” or “guiding,” but the majority are not acting in good faith. Many are manipulative, coercive, or outright abusive. I’m not speaking in generalities, I’m speaking from personal experience. Before meeting my Master Damon, I had more encounters like this than I want to admit, and yes, I fell for a few.

One so bad it left me in debt. The other so bad it left me ina coma for three weeks.

Now, let me also say this, I love men. I love men who are ethical, honorable, grounded, and capable of the dark and delicious intensity that kink can offer. The surrender to such men is intoxicating.

But anyone, man or woman, who uses kink as a hunting ground for inexperienced people is a danger to our community.

And it is not just male Dominants. I’ve seen experienced submissive women manipulate new, eager men who want to learn how to be Dominants. I’ve watched subs play emotional or sexual games with them, use them, then leave them confused or damaged.

For people like this, it is almost a sport,
“Take what I want, ruin fast, vanish clean.”

And yes, that does create hardship for the rest of us.

We’re trying to build a community where kink is understood as consensual, ethical, and empowering. A place where we can be ourselves without being labeled abusive, dangerous, or deviant. A place where we teach the world that BDSM isn’t coercion, it is enthusiastic, informed consent. We cannot build that while allowing this behavior to thrive in the shadows.

It is no surprise communities gatekeep. It is no surprise play parties are intensely vetted. It is no surprise mistakes that should be teachable moments become exile level rumors. People are scared. And they have reason to be.

What we truly need is accountability and community support:
Dominants checking other Dominants when they misuse power
Submissives checking other submissives who manipulate new partners
Doms supporting Doms

Subs supporting subs
Peer groups that uplift, teach, and protect rather than tear down
Mentorship built on ethics, not ego
Preferences aren’t the problem. Age gaps aren’t the problem.
Newcomers aren’t the problem.

Choosing someone because they lack knowledge and are easier to manipulate is not a preference.

It is abuse. And that IS the problem!