Domination & Submission: The BDSM Relationship Handbook

by Michael Makai

  Family-related D/s relationship issues don’t always have to be quite so potentially disastrous. Sometimes, they can be simply annoying, frustrating or even amusing. I once made the mistake of telling my eighty-three-year-old father about my D/s lifestyle during a long and monotonous road trip we took across the states of Texas and Louisiana. To this day, I still can’t fathom what might have caused me to think that it would be a good idea to have that particular conversation with him, and he swears that it never happened at all. Trust me, it did.

  We each have very different tastes in music, and after hours of driving in silence, I was about ready to crack. So I gave him some background about the BDSM lifestyle in general, talked a little about the D/s and poly mindset and philosophy, and even tried to put it all in the proper context by explaining how the poly D/s relationship I was in at the time worked. I thought I had done a pretty good job of it all, until I realized that, in the course of the last thirty minutes, he’d really just focused on two little words.

  “Sex slaves?” he asked. “You’re telling me you have sex slaves?”

  “No, Dad.” I replied, “Technically, they’re not slaves, they’re submissives. There’s a difference. And besides, that’s what I’ve been trying to explain to you. It’s not all about sex.”

  “Right,” he nodded, and pondered the point for a moment before continuing, “But, they’re basically sex slaves, right? You can tell them to do anything, and they have to do it, no matter what?”

  I silently cursed myself for starting this conversation, but knew I had no choice now but to continue with it. I explained, “Dad, it’s not like that. It’s not like that at all. These are loving relationships. My girls do what they do out of love and devotion, and an intense desire to serve and please their Master. They don’t do it because they have to.”

  “But... you’re their Master,” he countered. “That pretty much makes them your sex slaves, right?”

  Desperately wanting this line of discussion to end, I simply replied, “Yes, Dad. I guess you could say they are sex slaves.” I suddenly understood what it was like to be one of those poor bastards who confesses to a crime he didn’t commit because he just wants the world to start making sense again; he just wants to wake up and have it be over. At that point, I probably would have told him that my girls were sex slaves from the planet Gor if that’s what he wanted to hear, especially if it would drive a stake through this discussion’s heart and finish it. Unfortunately, Dad was nowhere near done.

  “What about that little blonde girl you introduced me to a couple of years ago, when I came for a visit. Was she a sex slave?” Yes, Dad. “And that tall brunette you brought with you to my wedding? Was she a sex slave?” Yes, Dad. “And what about that hot Eurasian girl, the one with the epic tits? Was she...” Yes, Dad, all of them! They were all sex slaves, every last one of them! Can we just talk about sports, or something, now?

  But, no such luck. My father spent the next half hour naming or describing every woman I have ever known since I was a teen, asking, “Was she a sex slave?” I started looking for spots along the highway where I might be able to slow down just long enough push him out of the car into a hedge or culvert. I sought solace in the fact that he would eventually run out of names to ask me about, but then he did something just plain weird. He began listing practically every woman that he’d ever been involved with, and asking me if I had ever dated their daughters. Perhaps it was just his oh-so-subtle way of saying, “Hey, I’ve had my share of experiences, too!” but all it really did was make me want to run up to the nearest Louisiana State Trooper and lunge for his gun in the desperate hope that he might shoot me and put me out of my misery.

  The rest of the trip passed without any discussion of my lifestyle or my relationships and for that, I was exceedingly grateful. A few days went by, and I began to think that perhaps I’d been a bit hard on him; that maybe my perceptions had been tainted by my tendency to become easily annoyed. In fact, I’d forgotten all about it when I took him by my office to introduce him to my boss and to a few of my co-workers. Dad was spry for an eighty-three-year-old, but his hearing had gotten progressively worse over the years. This sometimes resulted in the volume of his own voice being inappropriate to the circumstances, and unfortunately, this turned out to be one of those circumstances.

  At the office, we chatted with my boss for a few minutes and then I took Dad down the hall to meet a colleague and friend, who just happened to be a stunningly beautiful, shapely brunette. Dad slipped effortlessly into the role of a charming and witty raconteur, telling funny stories and flirting shamelessly with her and the other women who worked in that department.

  As we said our goodbyes and turned to leave, Dad leaned in close to me to deliver a stage whisper which was, in fact, loud enough for everyone within fifty feet to hear. He said, “Please tell me she is one of those sex slaves you’ve been telling me about!”

  Health Issues

  When you have your health, you are truly blessed. Conversely, when age, illness or injuries prevent you from doing the things you enjoy most, life sucks. It’s a sobering thing to contemplate the fact that we will each someday have to come to terms with age or circumstances that make certain types of BDSM play impractical, painful, or dangerous. It’s at times like these that it is important to remember that we are more than the sum total of our kinks, and that we should never allow ourselves to be defined solely by our dungeon activities.

  Who you are trumps what you do.

  I once had a friend tell me, “I could never be a submissive.” Frankly, I hear this all the time, and I’m rarely surprised by the reasoning or misconceptions behind such statements, but this woman was the exception to the rule. I asked her why she believed she could never be a submissive. She replied, “I could never be a submissive because I have bad knees.”

  In her mind, a submissive was someone who kneels. Bad knees meant no kneeling, and therefore, she concluded that she could never be a submissive. I told her that kneeling doesn’t make you a submissive; any more than standing in my garage makes you a car. Since then, she has enjoyed many happy years as a submissive in the lifestyle.

  Other health issues which could significantly complicate your D/s relationship include BDSM play-related injuries, mental health issues, and sexually transmitted diseases. The wisest strategy to employ in each of these cases is to take preventative precautions, seek immediate medical treatment as appropriate, and don’t let these setbacks make you bitter. As long as you are able to find some measure of joy within yourself and in your partner, there’s hope.

  The D/s Break-up

  Break-ups happen, but they should never be allowed to break your spirit, or to convince you that there aren’t good people out there who are definitely worth the effort of loving them. It can sometimes be all too easy to fall into the trap of thinking: there were problems in this D/s relationship, therefore D/s relationships must be the problem. D/s relationships fail for many of the same reasons other kinds of relationships fail, many of which we’ve already covered in this chapter. One way to cope with the disappointment and sadness associated with the end of a relationship is to think of the experience not as a failure, but as a process of discovering one more way not to do it in the future. You may end up kissing a lot of frogs before finding your Prince (or Princess) Charming.

  Once you and your partner have reached a point where you have made every possible and reasonable effort to save your relationship without success, then it’s time to do the right thing and put an end to the mutual misery. The challenge, of course, is to do so without recriminations or by causing unnecessary pain for your partner. Just because your relationship has become dysfunctional or you can see no clear path to where you had hoped to be going doesn’t mean you’ve stopped caring about your partner. Be sure to let your partner know that your feelings probably haven’t changed; the only thing that has changed is your ability to make the relationship work.

  When a break-up occurs, I think it
’s critically important that we do whatever we possibly can to avoid lashing out at or hurting our former partners. I like to think that there are really just two kinds of break-ups. The first is the “I’m a cat person; you’re a dog person, and I love you but this is never going to work out, so let’s stop hurting each other” kind of break-up. And then, there’s the “I’m a cat person; you’re a dog person, and I thought I loved you, until you put my cat in the microwave oven” kind of break-up. I probably don’t need to tell you which type we should be striving for.

  Regardless, a D/s break-up is never an easy thing, nor should it ever be. The saddest and most painful experiences of my life have been those instances where I had to say goodbye to someone I loved deeply. Sometimes, love simply isn’t enough to sustain a broken relationship. Sometimes, mistakes are made that can’t be undone, or things are said that can’t be unsaid. Frankly, it pains me greatly to even think about some of those agonizing, gut-wrenching decisions and experiences, much less tell you about one. But I think it’s important, and so I will. Her name was Joanne, and I loved her very much.

  Joanne sat on the edge of the bed, wringing her hands and looking deeply troubled. She’d been anxiously waiting all day to speak to me, and now that I was there, she wasn’t quite sure where to begin. She knew that bringing a grievance to me always required a certain amount of tact, and to be sure, she was usually quite adept at it. But today she just didn’t know if she would be able to keep her volatile emotions in check long enough to say what needed to be said.

  “Master, this rift between Jade and me doesn’t seem to be getting any better. I know you said that I should be patient, and give her a little time; that I should try to see things from her point of view, but...” she sighed, struggling to contain her emotions. Joanne had moved here from Colorado a year ago to form a polyamorous family with Jade and me, and while the two women were certainly close, they weren’t as close as Joanne had initially hoped they would be.

  Over the course of the past twelve months, it had become increasingly apparent that Jade was essentially a monogamous heterosexual submissive who envisioned herself in a poly vee relationship, with me as the hinge. Joanne, on the other hand, was a poly bisexual submissive who had envisioned herself in a full triad relationship, where all three partners are equally loved and sexually attracted to one another. Obviously, this was a source of some frustration for the two women, and frankly, I wasn’t exactly crazy about how things had developed, either. But this was not a perfect world, and on the whole, the three of us were generally happy.

  “I love her like a sister. I really do, Master. You know that.” She continued, “I would do anything for her. But she has this wall that she has built around herself that I just can’t seem to break through.”

  I nodded, looking into her lovely blue eyes, and wiped away the tears that were beginning to well up there. “Maybe that’s the problem, baby.” I said, “Maybe you’re trying just a little too hard. The more you try to break through her defenses, the more she will fortify them. You can’t break into a person’s heart and expect to be welcomed with open arms. You need to wait for her to open a door and invite you in.”

  She pondered this for a moment, and replied, “But Master, she isn’t going to invite me in. She is perfectly happy with the way things are. And what makes this even more frustrating to me is the fact that you’re not doing anything to fix this!”

  I was surprised and somewhat perplexed by this charge since I had, indeed, been working quite diligently both in the open and behind the scenes to keep the peace between my two wonderful submissives, and to subtly nudge each toward compromises that they could both live with. I said, “Believe me - I’ve been working very hard on this. You’re just going to have to trust me to work this out.”

  That’s when Joanne blurted out the sentence that changed everything in an instant. I’ll probably never know if she really meant what she said. All I know is that some things, once said, can never be unsaid, nor forgotten. What she said was, “That’s the problem, Master. I don’t believe you, or trust you.”

  I replied, “If that is true, then we obviously have nothing more to say to each other. You may consider yourself released. Goodbye, Joanne.”

  I stood up and walked out of the front door and out of her life forever.

  Avoiding the Train Wreck

  It may seem as though we’ve just been through an exhaustive list of things that could possibly go wrong in a D/s relationship, but the sad truth is we’ve barely scratched the surface. My goal is not to sour you on the idea of pursuing your D/s lifestyle dreams, if that’s what you’re considering. But I do want you to be aware of what could possibly go wrong, so you can see it coming and, perhaps, even avoid it.

  We began this chapter with a wonderfully illuminating quote by Rex Stout: “A pessimist gets nothing but pleasant surprises, an optimist nothing but unpleasant.” Perhaps you’ve noticed how trouble always seems to follow certain so-called optimists the way fat kids go for cake. Happy thoughts don’t keep potential problems at bay. The truth is trouble doesn’t really care whether you’re happy or unhappy. Trouble only takes notice when you are prepared.

  Relationship train wrecks don’t just happen. Something sets that train in motion. Someone has their hand on the throttle, as the engine accelerates ever faster to its cataclysmic demise. No one expects it to happen, so precautions may seem just a tad silly. Yet, after the fact, everyone will say they saw it coming.

  For the ill-fated passengers on board, the discussion is entirely moot.

  My Two Cents on What Can Go Wrong

  As much as I hate to admit this, I didn’t learn what I know about these kinds of D/s blunders and catastrophes second hand. Many of these mistakes, I’ve made myself. Sometimes, I made the same mistakes again and again before coming to my senses. Sure, it’s easy to look back now, years or even decades later and think “Could I have been any stupider?” Unfortunately, the answer is, yes, I probably could have.

  There will always be limits to what we can know, but our potential for stupidity is infinite.

  Earlier in this book, I promised to end each chapter with a brief, yet intimate peek into my head as my way of giving you the only truly unique thing that I have to offer. For the most part, it’s been an enjoyable exercise. This installment, however, is personally painful to me.

  It’s often been said that a Dominant is never wrong. This, of course, is a myth. We’re wrong all the time; we just hate admitting that we are wrong. Mark this day on your calendar, because I am about to admit that I was once absolutely unclear on the concept of extreme masochism.

  Her name was Faithie and she was a chat room friend who seemed like the ideal submissive. She was an engaging, intelligent, spirited and beautiful woman who loved many of the same kinds of BDSM play that I did, so we seemed perfectly matched to one another. Sure, she’d mentioned that she was an extreme masochist, but the word extreme means different things to different people. I was swimming in a sea of new relationship energy, so I didn’t pay a whole lot of attention to that particular fin in the water.

  Eventually, our relationship progressed to the point where we believed we were deeply in love, and that she should be collared. To that end, we arranged to spend three days together at a posh resort in Santa Fe, New Mexico. We met for the first time in the hotel lobby and retired to our suite, where we spent the next 48 hours in fetish heaven. There was spanking, whipping, paddling, rope-play, and oodles of kinky sex. I was one happy Dom. But apparently, Faithie needed more. On the afternoon of the third day, she reached into her suitcase and pulled out a small block of wood, a hammer, and some ten-penny nails. Would you please drive these nails through my nipples? That would be lovely, Master. Thank you so much!

  I thought about it. I really did. And I politely declined. I realized in that moment that I’d just learned about a limit that, up to that point, I never even suspected that I had. Faithie, however, was undeterred. She put away her hammer and nails, an
d returned with a small pouch containing the biggest damn safety pins I’d ever seen. Master, would you be willing to use these safety pins to close up my pussy? Pretty please? Just this once?

  This time, I didn’t have to ponder it long at all. My answer was a polite but firm no.

  I will not pin your pussy once.

  I will not pin your pussy twice!

  Not with a needle. Not even with ice!

  Won’t close it with a safety, or other sharp pin.

  Won’t close it at all! Might want to get in!

  I don’t want to nail your pretty pink nipple.

  Not one of them, both of them, or even a triple!

  I will not do it on the table.

  And not on the floor. I’m just unable!

  Masochists, I do understand.

  I’ll give them spankings with my hand.

  I’ll paddle, and whip and chain their asses.

  I’ll even dip them in molasses!

  But I never have, nor shall I start,

  Punch bloody holes in body parts.

  The closest I’ll get, is I’ll cut you loose...

  And send my regrets to Dr. Seuss.

  “Many have a wrong idea of what constitutes true happiness. It is not attained through self-gratification, but through fidelity to a worthy purpose.”

  - - Helen Keller

  Chapter 15: Rainbows & Unicorns

  This final chapter is about happiness. Your happiness.

  We’ve spent a great deal of time discussing the almost infinite number of ways that a Domination/submission relationship can go off the rails. To leave you in a state of apprehension, viewing this lifestyle from a cynical perspective would be unfair, both to you and to the lifestyle. While this life and these kinds of relationships aren’t for everyone, there is a lot to like about the lifestyle for those who are well-suited for it. Actually, that is an understatement. There’s a lot to love about it.