Tag: bdsm

The 24 Signs You Are in a Consensually Toxic Relationship

Ashtyn Drapela

This list really starts with number 2 because the most important part of this checklist is that you consented at one point or another. If you feel like this list describes you and you did not meet the criteria for number 1, please reach out for help.

  1. You consented to a consensually toxic or abusive relationship.
  2. Your partner humiliates you by calling you names like “cunt, bitch, whore,” etc.
  3. Control is a key factor in how they engage with you such as monitoring your behavior.
  4. They blame you for their own abusive behavior, “If you didn’t make me so angry I wouldn’t have…”
  5. Your partner frequently gaslights you by denying facts and toxic or abusive behavior.
  6. You are insulted in creative and backhanded ways, like, “Your big ears are lovely.”
  7. Whether you are polyamorous, monogamous, or something in between, your partner acts out their jealousy and possessiveness.
  8. Sometimes they lash out at you for no fault of your own. Like hitting you in the back of the head when they’re frustrated by a project.
  9. Speaking of hitting you in the head, did you know you can get a nose bleed from being boxed around?
  10. You can also get a nose bleed if they ram your face into the carpeted floor. You may also get carpet burn on your forehead.
  11. In public, your partner embarrasses you like giving up intimate details of your sex life.
  12. Your partner might take unflattering photos of you. The pictures could be posted to social media.
  13. Oftentimes your partner hints that they’ve started an OnlyFans account without your permission.
  14. They criticize your hard work or the fact that you’ve fallen behind on your chores despite depression.
  15. Your partner maintains strict control over your social media accounts, even requiring you to ask permission to change your passwords.
  16. They read your personal, private messages and emails and reference them in conversations.
  17. With or without your knowledge, they track your location and movement. This could be through an app like Life360 or a hidden car tracker.
  18. They demand all your time and attention to the detriment of your other relationships.
  19. Your partner might claim their personal problems are somehow your fault. For example, they blame you for being late to a meeting when you had nothing to do with it.
  20. Manipulation is their bread and butter. “You don’t want to disappoint me, do you?”
  21. They relish the bruises on your face and promise to try harder next time they’re punching you.
  22. You are habitually threated with physical violence in order to modify your behavior.
  23. Your partner controls your food intake with no explanation. “You’re not eating lunch today.”
  24. Despite a known history of childhood abuse, they may yell loudly to frighten and trigger you.

This was a fun list to make. Remember kids, you can’t effectively abuse your partners if you don’t know them well enough. This list might have just been a “24 Ways to Fuck with me Specifically” for all I know.

WLW Spanking Erotica

Ashtyn Drapela

“Daniela Norton, if you do not get in this car right now I will phone your parents home early.” Rachel fumed. It was Halloween night and despite being 21 years old, Rachel would rather have been at home studying for her next test. Her friends were notorious partiers but she was a golden child. Straight A’s in her college courses and no-nonsense as a zipper. You could trust her to get any job done. But Daniela tried her seemingly inexhaustible patience. 

The last few months, Rachel was hired to babysit the Norton’s twin daughters, Daniela and Grace. Well, one of them anyway. Young Daniela wasn’t a bad egg. Honest. She was just always off on adventures. Her impulsive nature and flair for dangerous activities led her parents to hiring Rachel. They just couldn’t trust the 17 year old on her own. Sure, it was semi-embarrassing, but the girls had known each other since they were babies and Rachel was a toddler. 

Her twin sister, Grace, was everything the name implied. She was willowy, graceful, and soft-spoken. Where Daniela was brash, Grace was gentle. Her favorite activity was tea parties with her friends in decathlon. Grace who was currently sitting serenely in the backseat though there was hardly enough room to breathe in. 

“Daniela, I swear, it’s as though you try and get into trouble. I’m at the end of my rope here.” Rachel said through clenched teeth as the teenager got back in the truck. Rachel’s Daddy had fixed it up for her to go off to college. However, luckily for the Norton’s, she had opted to go to a local community college. It still came in handy, though, Rachel thought. She’d hate to be riding their bikes in this weather. 

It was a blustery evening with pin pricks of rain in the wind against Daniela’s cheeks. She pumped her arm to roll the old fashioned window up. Rachel had turned her back for one second and Daniela found a kitten to tend to two houses away. She was always finding strays somehow. She seemed to speak their language. 

Truly speaking, Rachel was more upset at the B- she had received on the quiz Friday. The last straw had been turning around to find Daniela gone in a trick-or-treating crowd. Rachel had deposited Grace in the truck and went circling the streets for Daniela. 

“Grace, please go to your room and begin your homework.” Rachel said sweetly as they pulled back into the Norton’s driveway. Grace nodded her assent and began towards the house. 

“I’m sorry, Rach. Honest! I am. But this kitten was so-” Daniela started. 

“Daniela, I don’t care. I told you to stay close to me tonight and you deliberately disobeyed me.” Rachel pursed her lips and pointed to the front door. “Go inside and get in time-out.” 

“Awww, come on, Rach. I’m too old for-” 

“You’re too old is right, you know better than to wander off.” Rachel said primly. 

Daniela sighed and exited the truck before going to her spot in the corner of the living room. 

As Grace was grabbing a glass of water before heading up to the room, she giggled at the sight of Daniela in the corner. When no one was around her sister sure was a bitch, Daniela thought, her cheeks flaming red. 

“Fuck off.” She said, turning to the doorway. 

Rachel stood in the other doorway with her mouth agape. “What did you say to me?” 

“No, I was talkin’ to Gra-” 

“That is it, Daniela Mae Norton.” Rachel’s hands rummaged through her school bag on the couch until she emerged victorious. A wooden hairbrush. She dashed forward to grab Daniela by the forearm and pulled her towards the couch. Sitting herself down, Rachel quickly tugged Daniela over her lap, tucking her legs under her own. 

“What are you doing?” Daniela gasped in surprise. 

“I’m giving you a spanking that you well deserve.” Rachel said angrily. Her own mother had dispensed many spankings over her childhood. She was well-versed in the ritual of a sore bottom herself. She tugged down Daniela’s yoga pants and the yellow panties with small pink flowers, too. 

Daniela really struggled then. Her hand shot back to prevent it, but Rachel easily pinned it to the small of her back. The first few smacks of Rachel’s hand on Daniela’s unclad, pert bottom resounded loudly on the wood floors. 

“Ouch!” They both thought, though they would not say it. Rachel’s hand was on fire and Daniela’s bottom was stinging like crazy. It pinked up nicely in the lamplight. Daniela’s stomach clenched as she suddenly felt something cold on her rosy cheeks. 

Rachel circled the hairbrush slowly. She raised her arm and brought it down on the left cheek, and then the right, and then the left. Over and over. Like a metronome. Left. Right. With Daniela kicking her legs and letting high pitched squeals erupt. She kept going until Daniela’s bottom was an ugly purple with blood bursts under the skin. 

Daniela was sobbing mutely and laying limply, no longer kicking and screaming. It seemed she was… rutting against Rachel’s knee. Rachel was breathing heavily as she stared at her handiwork. It was a beautiful mess of bruises already. She felt her labia engorged and sensitive as she tensed her leg muscles around Daniela’s legs. 

Rachel noticed a deep, musky smell. Something clean and sexy. She spread Daniela’s ripe cheeks and saw how wet she was for Rachel. 

“You liked that, huh?” Rachel said smugly. She dipped one knuckle into the hot, wet pussy lips Daniela was sporting in front of her. Daniela didn’t respond to the question, instead, she let out a low moan. She ground her clit into Rachel’s knee and let little breaths of awe escape her. Now she knew what all the fuss was about. This felt amazing. 

Rachel came to her senses and ripped her knuckle away. “We shouldn’t be doing this. I’m your babysitter.” 

“I’m not a baby.” Daniela whined, forcing her legs open more. “I turn 18 in less than a month.” 

Rachel brought down a hand onto the lips of Daniela’s pussy in a sharp smack. Daniela yelped and shot up off Rachel’s lap. 

“You sure act like a baby sometimes.” Rachel muttered.

Daniela had no good retort, so she stuck out her tongue. A movement on the stairwell caught her eye, she turned to look, rubbing her backside. She caught Grace’s costume, a pink tutu bobbing back up to the second floor. They had been seen. 

“Grace saw you spank me. She’s probably going to tell on you.” Daniela said fearfully. 

“Your parents gave me permission ages ago. From what your dad says, you’re lucky it was me. He mentioned a switch.” Rachel replied. Daniela gulped, she hated switches with a fiery passion. Her dad was normally a belt man, but even her parents grew weary of her behavior. Spanking was for the spanker more than the spankee, anyway. Why couldn’t she just be like Grace? They looked so similar or Daniela would swear she had been swapped at birth.

Rachel stood up and stretched her neck and wiped the sweat from her brow. “Well, get along upstairs and work on your homework. Lights out at 9.” 

Daniela pulled her yoga pants back up and frowned. “We’re not even going to talk about this?” 

“Nope.” Rachel popped back. “Move it, missy, I haven’t put this hairbrush up yet.” 

Daniela hopped to it, passing Grace’s room to her own. She saw her sister working quietly at her desk. “I know you were watching, nosy.” Daniela hissed. 

Grace turned and gave her an angelic smile, “Prove it.” 

“Girls! Are y’all working on homework?” Came Rachel from downstairs. 

“Yes, ma’am!” They both called back before sticking their tongues out at each other. 

BDSM Thought Experiments: Irrevocable Consent and Memory Loss

Ashtyn Drapela

My Master and I play the question game all the time. Which basically means, we take turns asking random things. This time, my question was, “If I had amnesia, would you consider my irrevocable consent revoked?” It’s an interesting notion because how irrevocable is it, then, if his answer is yes?

Amnesia can be caused by a variety of factors including injury, illness, or substance abuse. If you consider how frequently someone like me takes blows to the head, it’s something important to question.

Consent is an active part of most healthy and respectful BDSM or vanilla sexual relationship. It involves actively seeking and participatory receiving of agreement from partners before engaging in activities. However, navigating consent can become complex in the context of memory loss, like amnesia.

That being said, my Master and I practice something called irrevocable consent. You can read more about that here on Hannah the Scribe’s blog post “What Makes Irrevocable Consent Okay” or “Why I Chose Irrevocable Consent as a Label, What It Means to Me, and Why I Write About It.” To summarize, “no safe words, no limits.” I do not have the power to end my relationship, play, dynamic, etc. This is how I wanted it when I consented. This is how I currently want things, though now I consider it a moot point. I consented to slavery. Wanting things doesn’t matter.

If I had my memory of the last few years erased, would I want my consent revoked? Or rather, would the person I be like to? I’d like to think that I wouldn’t. I honor my commitments and I hope this other version of myself would as well. Sure, I wouldn’t know the ins and outs of what giving that consent once looked like. However, I would know that I gave it based on these blog posts and personal anecdotes from friends and family.

There would be a lot of growing pains, too. I’ve learned a lot of valuable lessons in the last few years. Things hard won. A peace I never knew existed before Master. Losing that would be an immeasurable back-step. Going back to that chaos, would he even still want me?

Okay, well, I asked him and he said he would still want me. 😛

Kink and Polyamory Relationship New Years Resolutions

Ashtyn Drapela

Today, I looked through a pile of old documents and treasures. Letters, pictures, ticket stubs, brewery coins, and even rocks. We reflect on the old as we get started towards the new. In the past, I have set yearly goals for myself, but never in the context of polyamory and kink.

2023

My polyamorous goals of 2023 are as follows:

  • Write vows and have a wedding ceremony for my Master and myself.
  • Go on weekly dates with my husband.
  • Find a cute girl to gush over and fall head-over-heels in love with.

My kink goals of 2023 involve:

  • Drowning lessons
  • Complete a class list for Master
  • Book classes for us to teach at
  • Be involved in a gang bang
  • More suspension!

Flowers for my Master

Ashtyn Drapela

My Master is a worthy man. A great and a good man. He is kind and thoughtful. He is demanding but fair. That I be exemplary in his name is all he asks. When I fail he lifts me back up. Should I falter, he is there to put me back in my place. He teaches me things so that I can be successful. He places great trust in me and I widen myself to meet his expectations.

The Master is a cruel man. A nasty and brutish man. He is quick to anger and quicker to condemn. He delights in every shuddered breath and piercing scream. He does not indulge. He commands. The Master rips and snarls and sneers. He does not ask. He poses hypotheticals. He teases, but only in choices of the macabre.

My Master considers things. He will take a problem and chew for hours. Then he will attack it every single way he knows how to do until it is solved. He allows me to escape into his worlds. He structures my days and makes events a celebration of life. My Master indulges me when I please him.

The Master destroys things. He will take something he loves and beat it for hours. Then he will call it pathetic and lazy and worthless. He drags me back from escaping his hell. Day or night has no meaning as time stands still in his presence. There is no pleasing the Master.

I love every inch of him.

A Story for Another Day 1

Ashtyn Drapela

Back in December 2021 I had some sort of full-on catastrophic, traumatic mental breakdown for me and everyone involved. It was Yulemas, which is a kind of Friendsgiving for Christmas time, at my then-boyfriend’s (now-Master’s) house. We had all spent the night drinking heavily. At one point, I was bent over a kitchen counter and punished with a honing rod as a pervertible. At another point, my then-boyfriend’s then-wife slapped me.

Safe to say it was a crazy night for us all but oh-ho-ho it was about to get so much worse. The Mistress leaves for the night and my then-boyfriend begins wailing on me. He takes one of the wine bottles and with me laying on the floor in front of him, pours wine down my throat. I drink as much as I can, though some got all over my hair and neck.

He proceeds to strangle me by the neck and hit my face over and over again. Blissful. Magical. But then he leaves abruptly with us in his living room and he and his then-wife in their bedroom.

I begin to sob. I’m inconsolable. He left me. He left me for her. Earlier that night, without discussing it with her then-husband, my metamour announced that she and my Master were trying for a baby. I was triggered beyond words thinking about how empty my life would be if he left me because of her. And what do I always do when I’m in emotional distress?

Run away.

Fast-forward to being tucked into bed a drunken mess, I manage to shake my husband and my Master and duck out of the house with no shoes on. It was a blustery, winter night after a day of rain. My socks were soaked in seconds as I rushed along the sidewalk towards…

What I was going towards didn’t matter. It was only going away that mattered. Away from all the hurt. I could go back. I knew it even in the strange, dreamlike feelings I was having. But first I needed to breathe and I couldn’t do that until I hid. I climbed an iron fence into a field of mud. Tiny burrs prickled my frozen feet as I stepped forward into the paddock as a horse trotted up to me.

She was white and gleaming in the moonlight as I stood dumbfounded. I had grown up around horses, so I held my hand out to her nose and slowly began patting her neck. She nuzzled into my back with her large jaw. I looked around for something to get on top of her with, thankfully there were not any stools.

To be continued…?

The Smallest Spoon – Emotional Sadism in a BDSM Scene

Ashtyn Drapela

Really, the first clue should have been when he shoved me in the chest until I fell over. But it wasn’t until much later that I realized the traps my Master had been setting.

“We’re all out of small spoons,” I said, handing over a bowl of cereal for breakfast. Master is particular when it comes to utensils. Small spoons are good, small forks are abhorrent.

“Why are we out?” He pounced at the opportunity.

“B-because I need to do dishes?” That wasn’t true. My other husband’s chores were dirty dishes. He had been grading all weekend and hadn’t had time. A few nights before, Master had begun putting dirty dishes in the dishwasher in order to be helpful. However, it triggered some powerful memories in me of my parents angrily doing the dishes. I asked him to just let me do them.

“Why couldn’t you hand wash one?” His face was stone cold.

“I’m sorry. I can go get one now.” I turned to go but he put out one hand to stop me.

“No.” He handed me his controller to the videogame he had been playing.

I held back tears while I completed whatever task he asked of me. Looking back, I assume it was to make sure I was okay enough to leave his presence.

After making a beeline for my office so I could cry in peace, I got to work. I started a load of dishes, cleaned the cat pans, put up laundry, and mopped. It didn’t matter what I did, I still felt a heaviness in my heart. I was in the kitchen making sure we had all the ingredients for pork chops when he left his office. He didn’t once look at me as he got his own drink from the fridge. A task normally left to me. Uh-oh.

Tentatively, I followed him back to his office. I stood outside his door, listening quietly as I shored my resolve. Knocking twice with one knuckle, I opened the door and smiled as widely as I could.

“What are you feeling for lunch today? We have a few options.” I showed him the recipes. As we discussed, I noticed his clipped tone. His dismissive attitude. He chose the pot pie.

“Are you okay?” I asked, my hand on the door knob ready to leave.

“No.”

“What’s wrong?”

“You.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Yeah.” He crossed his arms and frowned, “Why are you so lazy?”

My heart dropped and my eyes filled with tears.

“Why couldn’t you have taken the 3 seconds to be exceptional and washed the spoon?” He continued.

“I’m sorry.” I choked out. “I’m sorry. I just- I didn’t think of that.” I broke down in a sob.

“Come here.” He held out his hand.

I shook my head and took a step back, fearing his wrath. “Please, I’m sorry, I’ll remember next time.”

“Come. Here.” He repeated.

Stepping forward, hot tears left streaks on my cheeks. I took his outstretched hand.

He removed my glasses, a move usually reserved before blows to the head, and I shuddered. But he didn’t strike me. He pulled me into a hug. I sobbed against his shoulder, repeating his words in my head. Lazy. Good for nothing. Disappointment. I needed to run. I needed to get away. I ne-

“I need to go,” Came out unbidden through wet gasps of breath, “I need to go, I need to go!”

My default response mode. Flight.

“You’re not going anywhere. I’m fucking with you.” He admitted with a smile.

“Not real?” I asked, disbelieving.

He invoked our safe word to show the seriousness of his words, “I’m just fucking with you. I’m being cruel.”

Despite his words, I began sobbing in earnest. Master had known how deeply his words would cut me.

How to Start BDSM or M/s Relationships or Contracts

Ashtyn Drapela

Most people do BDSM for psychologically healthy reasons. It is with those people in mind that this is being written. Very early on in dating, they are transparent about needs, are willing to be vulnerable, set aside ego, and maintain those throughout the relationship to the best of their ability.

Healthy dynamics have:

  • Commitment to communication
  • High level of trust
  • Focus on partner’s happiness
  • Co-construction of a reality that satisfies needs of both partners
  • Compatibility doesn’t mean identical kinks
  • Use of deeper protocols when issues arise

What level of commitment are you and they willing to make towards communication? Complete transparency?

Do you leave yourself vulnerable to trusting me with your body and soul, boy? Do you leave yourself vulnerable to trusting me with letting you hold it, Ma’am?

Compatibility doesn’t mean identical kinks. One does not need to meet every inexhaustible fantasy reservoir our minds think up to be compatible in bed or in mind. It’s about how you make the ones you do match matter. Or, sometimes in M/s case, it doesn’t matter if only the Master wants it. It will happen.