Domination & submission _ the BDSM relationship handbook ( PDFDrive )

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.