[Stu54]

As my therapy sessions continued the subject matter we discussed got deeper & deeper, darker & darker - and there were many questions, always something new, always questions that were revisited as I tried to make sense of it all !

My wife is my rock, and I love and trust her implicitly. This trust is the sole reason I was able to introduce her to my world of **** play.

Possible trigger:

This world eventually led her to actively participate, first by inserting sex toys and other foreign objects into me, then engaging in **** fisting, eventually providing me with the 'pleasure' of being caned or subjected to other forms of discipline and degradation.

During a recent conversation about dominant and submissive roles in our relationship, she finally understood my perspective, saying to the effect of: "I get it— if you were gay, then you'd only ever be a bottom, never a top' !"

I knew I wanted to see her in the dominant role while I assumed a submissive one. But why? Was it to strengthen, test, or diminish our relationship, or does it even matter?

At that time, she didn’t fully grasp the concept of role play. I encouraged her to be the dominatrix, allowing me to take on a submissive role and challenging her to accept this dynamic, to punish, abuse, or degrade me as I willed her to do.

What role was she playing in my mind? Was it that of my mother or my father?

And what role was she envisioning for herself? What began as **** play morphed into abuse, punishment, and self-degradation. Why did she unwittingly continue to engage as **** play morphed into something more sinister ?

Possible trigger:

Sometimes I would stretch and tighten a rubber band over my prolapsed **** sphincter and interrupt the blood flow, allowing it to engorge and resemble a vagina. Why ? And will any of these past activities have a role in any future activities that we might explore?

I had so many questions !

The 'fun' we enjoyed had a dark side that neither of us had considered.
It felt like punishment, and I needed to be punished because I was 'bad,' a naughty little boy.

Engaging in these activities reinforced the message that I wasn’t worth it, that I was a failure in life, and therefore needed to be treated accordingly—just a piece of meat to be punished or abused, all in the name of 'fun.'

Frustration permeates my life, manifesting mostly at work. This frustration peaked in mid-2017, prompting me to see my GP, who then referred me to a psychologist for a psychological assessment after which I was offered a subsidized Mental Health Plan.

The situation was confrontational, but I had to confront my demons because I was completely broken.

Possible trigger:

My frustration had boiled over to the point where I was sitting on the tapered end of an unopened 1.25L plastic soft drink bottle, forcing it past my ***** and into my rectum. It felt like I was splitting myself apart.

This activity occurred three or four times a day—when I returned home from work, before going to bed, when I woke up in the middle of the night, and even when I woke in the morning before going into work.

For convenience, the bottle remained in the bathroom and I was abusing myself multiple times each day until I finally woke up and realized that (1) mentally, I was starting to break down again, (2) physically, I was potentially causing myself long-term injury, and (3) I didn't understand why I was even doing it. I just knew that this time I was going to pursue my demons to the end and get them off my back !

Sometimes I just wanted something 'in' me for comfort or fulfillment, but then the practice escalates. Engaging in this activity raised the question: Is it for 'sexual' gratification or is it for punishment? And further to that, if it’s for punishment, then why do I feel the need to punish myself?

A revelation came to me one Monday evening: my dad had intimidated and bullied me into submission, intimidating me until I had no fight left. After that, I just became frustrated, bottling things up until I exploded—it's like I'm always on a 'slow simmer.'

I’m sure that when Dad was no longer in a position of authority, he intimidated me out of his own frustration. Who really knows? But I was always afraid to step out of line, and in the end, I became so discouraged that I stopped trying to step out of the shadow cast by my parents.

Dad and Mum were control freaks. Dad used intimidation, while Mum used emotion. I have never really felt free from their control. It’s as if I’m hardwired to feel intimidated and under threat, which causes me to be unbelievably defensive in my actions and reactions.

I become instantly judgmental, overreact, get angry or frustrated, and withdraw—essentially just sulking.

I never lashed out at my kids, but I definitely yelled at them when I got frustrated. They say I was tough, I must have been - but I didn’t know any another way. I felt so frustrated, unable to let my demons go or get my message out.

The ongoing sense of failure, of not wanting them to be like I was, of wanting them to be all the things I wasn’t—it all overwhelmed me because I was never allowed to just be me.