A good friendship was the price I paid

Twenty-odd years ago, when I was in my late teens and early twenties, if you asked me to define my sexuality I would have said I was a “rubber slave”. Like many men I’d paid to be dominated because it seemed like the only way to experience my fetish, only my heart wasn’t really in it. Yes, I wanted to be with a woman while in rubber, but the “being dominated” bit always sat a little uncomfortably. So much so that twice I asked the Mistresses I saw if they would school me as a Master.

By the time I married I was reasonably happy being a rubberist and nothing more. My natural desire to be in control manifested itself as a dominant in our relationship. Initially she submitted, but quickly it became apparent that she had no interest in it, my fetish or anything beyond a purely vanilla relationship.

This, and countless other factors, saw our marriage collapse.

I was low. I was depressed. I was questioning my self-worth.

It was at this moment that an overwhelming desire to be submissive came over me. I wanted someone else to take control of me. I wanted someone else to be responsible for my actions and determining what I should and should not do. Not a professional mistress that I paid, but someone that I could truly belong to.

Which is where my best friend stepped up to the crease. I’d helped and supported her as she’d faced her own troubles and now she returned in kind. She knew I was kinky, knew about my fetishes and I talked freely with her about them. We were mates, friends, nothing more. Until I surrendered to her.

It started off quite silly. We’d chat on IM, teasing one another endlessly. Then came the sexting, the nude selfies and finally the instruction to send her a selfie right there and then. Small problem – my soon-to-be-ex was out and I’d taken the opportunity to dress in latex. After some deliberation I sent her one anyway.

And we talked more. She wanted to know what it meant to be submissive, what she’d have to do be my Mistress. We swapped links to videos about things we’d like to try and do and it all started to feel like it was heading somewhere.

Tasks were set. I bought a chastity cage and spent a month locked in it when she went to Africa to visit relatives. And no, the teasing didn’t stop.

When we met for days together there was always an undercurrent. She enjoyed tormenting me in restaurants and shops, enough to make me uncomfortable, not enough to draw attention. In the evening, when we returned to her flat, I would be hurt and humiliated. She’d tell me about the other men she was sleeping with. Sometimes she brought me over to sit in the next room and listen, or even to be allowed to watch. A couple of times the men she brought round were gay and it was she who watched.

All the while it felt like I had a huge weight lifted from my chest.

A few weeks after I’d finally left the marital home I made a video for her. She told me she wanted one and so I filmed it. I made all sorts of confessions to the camera about how submissive I was and how I was going to be her slave. I sent it to her and she asked me questions and that was when things started to change.

I started to realise I wasn’t being submissive. Every thing that we had done had been at my instigation. Whether sub-consciously or not I’d prompted and suggested ideas that were things I wanted to do. Things that I thought a good submissive should do for “his” Mistress. It was me who had bought her the rubber dress she wore. It was me who bought the strap-on she used. It was my toys and equipment that we used when she “dominated” me.

I was topping from the bottom in the worst way. I was abusing our relationship and our friendship.

We talked about it on IM. She admitted she was going along with it because she thought it was what I wanted. She told me she enjoyed seeing me being submissive and bossing me around, but it wasn’t something she’d want all the time. And she felt it a bit overwhelming at times, particularly when I was goading her to humiliate and hurt me more.

The control freak in me had returned. Perhaps at the start I had been content with her playful teasing, but as I went down that dark hole of divorce I wanted more extreme experiences to validate how low I was feeling. I felt safe with her because I trusted her, because I could talk to her.

Our relationship came to an end. No matter how much she reassured me it was fine and that she was more than happy to continue, perhaps even to switch roles, I felt like I’d abused her.

Looking back I think I was harder on myself than I deserved. I was in a low place and she was what I needed at the time and was willing to be there for me, just as I had been for her. It was also an experience that banished the thought of “submissive” as a choice for me as even then my need to be in control trumped all.

I did pay a high price for this knowledge. I lost a very good friend and confidante. Yet without paying that price I doubt I would be where I am now with the woman who has captured my heart and far greater self-awareness than I had before.

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About Razz

I'm a creative dominant type with a love of BDSM and fetishism. This blog is an outlet, so don't take anything you see or read too seriously.

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