The Park Slope Husband Preparing for a Dominatrix Session

By
Photo: Getty Images

New York’s Sex Diaries series asks anonymous city dwellers to record a week in their sex lives — with comic, tragic, often sexy, and always revealing results. This week, an editor whose wife doesn’t know he wants to be dominated: married, straight, Park Slope, 43.

DAY ONE

8:00 a.m. Today is all about preparation. I have an appointment booked with two dominatrixes tomorrow ($1,200 a session) and I want to be in the right state, physically and mentally, to submit to what we have planned. As usual, my wife knows nothing about it.

I have a light breakfast, knowing I won’t eat again for more than 30 hours. In the shower, I shave my ass carefully. It puts me in a deliciously slutty headspace to do these things. The buildup to a domme session is as much a part of the scene as what these two amazing women will do to me. I see them every two months or so.

To build up the fires, I forgo my usual morning masturbation. I usually get myself off once a day; when I was single it was at least twice. I’ve been married 13 years. My married sex life is very vanilla and in recent years has become very sparse. When we do have sex, she has orgasms regularly. But even so, I can’t tell if my wife wants to do it or if she is going through the motions to try to keep me happy. I have asked this question, but I still don’t know; she likes talking about our sex life even less than she seems to like having sex. Suggestions that we change it up, or that she should feel free to talk about what she wants, have led nowhere.

11:00 p.m. I drift off to sleep in quasi-sub headspace. Thinking about my preparations today and what’s coming tomorrow makes me squirmy. The dommes I am seeing are an incredible pair. I used to see them when they were on staff at a dungeon, but now I see them freelance. I scheduled this appointment weeks in advance, thanking them for the way they treated me last time and specifying a few more details to improve the experience. Seeing dominatrixes has allowed me to discover the things that really make me tick sexually. I try not to be too exacting in my requests or in person — like any relationship, there is negotiation and evolution.

DAY TWO

8:00 a.m. My wife leaves early to fly to an academic conference for two days. I haven’t eaten in 24 hours. But I don’t feel hungry; I feel light. And empty. Ready to be filled with the demands of my dommes and aroused by the idea of devotion. I pop a butt plug in to test out how ready my body is for anal play. I take it out after 15 minutes. Things look good. Making myself a good client for my mistresses is important. I have seen about a dozen over the years, and my current dommes are the best by far: the most playful, inventive, cruel, and supportive.

10:00 a.m. In a bathroom stall at work, I insert the butt plug again. Having my ass filled helps maintain my subby mentality and should make vigorous strap-on penetration easier.

11:00 a.m. I swallow a Viagra at my desk. I don’t have difficulty getting erections, but this will make sure I stay hard for the duration of the two hours I have booked — much of which will be spent doing things to every part of my body but my cock.

11:30 a.m. On the way to my “lunch meeting,” I sip 4 ounces of vodka mixed into an Ocean Spray cranberry bottle. This is to loosen up my tongue and quash any nerves. I wish they’d hurry up and legalize pot in New York.

12:30 p.m. In the bathroom at the midtown dungeon, I give myself a series of enemas to make sure there is no awkwardness during the session.

I proceed to a goth-themed room in the dungeon where my session is happening. The dommes arrive less than a minute later. Over the next 120 minutes, Mistress Sara and Mistress Kayla blindfold, gag, and hog-tie me. They also expand every expandable orifice in my body. It is kind of a blur. At times I feel an internal focus that mostly blocks out the room, in which I feel myself as an object, bent and bound, folded and forced, humiliated and penetrated. At other times I open my eyes wide to stare deeply at our reflection in the mirror, trying to remember every angle, every view and sign of my submission.

As Mistress Kayla bangs my ass with a dildo significantly larger than my cock, Mistress Sara slaps my face with her strap-on, insulting me for failing to accept her face-fucking. This is especially disappointing because I have been practicing at home, forcing myself to deep-throat a dildo during my daily jerk-off session. But there is a big difference between slowly working a silicone cock into my own throat and taking a porn-style mouth pounding.

Nearing the end, they put the strap-ons away and spread an absorbent pad on the floor. I am finally allowed to make myself come as they piss on me. Afterward, I lie still for four or five minutes, coming down slowly. Then, recognizing that we are over the time I’ve paid for, I stand and we start to clean up.

3:30 p.m. Back at work, I gorge on a burger and fries, ravenous and still floating on an endorphin rush.

5 p.m. Greasy food was a mistake.

9 p.m. My stomach still isn’t feeling great. But the residual hotness of today’s session is enough to overcome that. I get myself off easily, thinking about it.

11 p.m. I find a Cybill Troy clip I haven’t seen before and get myself off again.

DAY THREE

7 a.m. Enjoying my big empty bed and the soreness of being so well used. Celebrate with more masturbation, replaying yesterday’s session in my head, me starring as a helpless puppet. I suspect most straight dudes are completely missing out on this exquisite aspect of sex: the luxe indulgence of being an object, the joy of being fucked.

9 p.m. My wife returns tomorrow. Indulge in some languid self-love and get myself off once.

11 p.m.: Fall asleep in the midst of a second attempt.

DAY FOUR

8 a.m. I manage to get in one last unhurried masturbation session. The furious urgency is fading, but it feels good, like the reverberation of my domme session two days ago. My muscles are still sore, my jaw tender from being stretched wide. An incredible privilege to feel this way. I wish I could share this with my wife. Secret glances, a whispered command, the playful gestures that make sex a delight and not a chore.

10 p.m. She is back home and tired. We watch an episode of SVU, a dumb show she loves that is full of sexual violence and moral outrage. A while back, we watched the first episode of Billions on Showtime. In the show, Paul Giamatti is a U.S. Attorney who is sexually submissive to his wife. I tried to use that as a conversation starter with my wife. She said that every aspect of it was disgusting to her. Haven’t brought it up again.

DAY FIVE

8:30 a.m. I am back to my usual routine, jerking off hastily in the bathroom.

9:30 p.m. My wife is still tired from work travel. I give her a backrub, trying to show that I can be physically affectionate without it always having to lead to sex. (Not that I would mind.) We kiss good night, as we always do, without an ounce of passion.

DAY SIX

5:30 a.m. I wake up early and take my phone into the bathroom. Find a hot new dominatrix account on my porn Tumblr. She appears to post her own photos, specializing in strap-on selfies. She livens up my usual fantasies, and I get off easily. I hope she keeps it up. Having followed sex writers for almost 20 years, from the era of usenet groups through Blogspot, the rise and fall of Google Reader, Reddit, and Tumblr, I know that a lot of new posters burn out quickly. Somewhere I have a bookmarks folder full of defunct sex blogs.

9:00 p.m. My wife asks me if something is bothering me. No, I say: just tired. I know that our disconnect is damaging, but I feel unable to address it without making things worse. If I talk about my feelings and desires, she will (1) get angry at the implication she’s not good enough, and (2) tell me what I want is disgusting. She’s done it before. Still, I don’t want us to split up.

DAY SEVEN

8:30 a.m. Huzzah, my new favorite Tumblr domme is still at it.

Noon A delightful lunch out with my wife. We split a bottle of wine and have a great time. I want to connect these two lives. But it seems more likely that I would lose both — she would despise me and the cost of splitting up would probably make domme sessions rare.

Ugh. I like to think I am not a terrible person, but I might be.

My odd desires have only grown as I have explored them. I don’t really feel shame about my kinks. But the potential for hurting my wife makes me feel awful.

2:30 p.m. Back home, I Google a list of sex-positive therapists, not for the first time, and imagine for a few minutes that my wife and I could go to counseling, awaken her libido, and work our way up to occasional domme-sub play.

9 p.m. I scan eight weeks ahead on my calendar, hoping my mistresses will be available.

Want to submit a Sex Diary? Email sexdiaries@nymag.com and tell us a little about yourself.