The 24 Signs You Are in a Consensually Toxic Relationship

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.

BDSM Thought Experiments: Irrevocable Consent and Memory Loss

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. 😛

Flowers for my Master

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

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

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.


“What’s wrong?”


“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

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.

How to Keep Your slave Happy

Masters and Mistresses, how do You keep Your slaves happy?

How do You keep Your slaves from leaving You? How do You keep them following You? Why should You be their Leader?

My Master knows exactly why i wouldn’t leave. Have you told your Masters why you wouldn’t leave, lately? It’s follow or leave. Where is the line for you? At any point you can leave, but that’s it. It’d be over forever. This special little moment in time when you were Theirs.

Is the line yelling? Is it clipping off body parts? Is it shoving you in a closet for hours when you have childhood trauma from that?

All break-ups happen because of communication or unreasonable expectations. The same is true of M/s. If my Master has the expectation that i would let Him put a file into my nail bed, He’s got another thing coming. There are a lot of tortures I would follow Him to, but He knows where the line is.

Do you know your line?

8 Interesting Facts of the Science Behind BDSM

  1. 47% of women have fantasies of dominating someone sexually.
  2. Masochism gives us a temporary relief from all the burdens of self-hood (Krafft-Ebing 1965).
  3. Consensual Master/slave relationships go back from now to ancient times.
  4. 68.8% of people (or rounded up to a nice 69) have “kinky sexual fantasies.”
  5. The most successful relationships very early on in dating are transparent about their needs.
  6. In most BDSM relationships, compared to vanilla relationships, the perceived compatibility of a couple was close to actual compatibility.
  7. When asked if they had done at least one BDSM activity, 48.8% responded yes. However, when asked if they had fantasized that number goes up by 22%.
  8. Those outside of the gender binary and those who are switches are critically under-researched.

(From a class by Brad Sagarin, the head of the Science of BDSM Research Team.)

My Roller-coaster Year with the Mistress 2

To recap, my year with the Mistress ended recently so I’m reviewing our time together. We spent many evenings together over the first half of our relationship.

That next weekend after Easter, we went to the Astros’ game (also high out of our minds) with my Master and my husband as well. I remember how strange it was to not be following behind her and instead following my Master. I was much more used to following her through a crowd, at any rate.

The weekend after that was finally the trip she invited me on. The one I would have been stupid to refuse as far gone as I was on her. I met her two friends. I made a good impression as far as she was concerned. We got high and did puzzles and a hike. We went on a brewery crawl.

On our way home at the airport, the airport in Charlotte on a Sunday is not my happy place, I missed my flight. I spent two hours just trying to get past security. I was so anxious I straight up disassociated. She found me on the other side, gripped my wrists and promised me, “This will never happen again. I will take care of everything.”

And she did, she walked me to the help desk, talked to them about what happened (it was no big deal because literally there was a line of people before and after me with the same experience), and took me to my gate. She protected me from myself and from external forces.

We both considered this our anniversary weekend. The first weekend where we were truly, well and good alone. Where I performed services for her in anticipation of her needs. (Like pre-slicing the bagel I knew she would eat based on the morning previously.)

I started following her around like a lost puppy after that. A love-sick puppy. We either had sleepovers or I’d be over at her place up to two to four times a week. Except her trip to Pittsburg where we only shared a phone call. I loved talking with her on the phone. It was one of the few opportunities she gave me to talk.

We went to concerts and musicals and breweries and even spent a weekend in Colorado. Again, high out of our minds on weed and love. I had such an amazing time.

It was just two weeks after that, the highest of the high, that we had The Fight. Two weeks later, we celebrated her birthday and that’s where it all went downhill for our M/s side…

Displeasing the Master

Displeasing one’s Master is hardly the intentional act, right? Maybe most of the time, anyway. We’ll excuse when I’m ‘spicy’ as a break in mental faculties. I can spend my whole life avoiding my Master’s wrath but it’s going to happen. When it does, what do you do?




Or stand your ground?

For me, planting my feet and defending myself came naturally. Defending myself from injustice mattered the most. Running away took precedence. Not being a servant was the default for me.

The three distinct personality traits my submission takes: the slave, the little, and the puppy. And all along, the puppy knew. The slave saw one Master and one Mistress, but the puppy?

“The puppy has one Master.” I said it on the trip to Corpus Christi, one week before The Fight. “Mistress can only have the slave.”