I have talked much about my failed marriage because for a very long time I didn’t want to be reminded of all the trials and tribulations that I had gone through, but recently I saw another poster on here going into details about her marriage and I thought I’d like to share with you guys about my ex husband as well.

My ex husband was a sadist:

I divorced my sadistic husband more than a year ago (1 year and 8 months to be exact) and now I finally am feeling free to talk about him. To be honest I do miss him alittle bit. He was a sadist but he was not an evil man. And … now that the pain has healed, the memory of his hot cigarettes burning me makes me wet and it’s moments like those that make me realize that I’m a masochistic slut who deserved the kind of abuse I received.

I guess the worst part was he never showed me any mercy when he was torturing me; even when I begged him to stop, he would continue. I hated him back then, but looking back now, I think it was exactly that kind of treatment that I crave the most now. After my divorce most men I have met so far seemed to be too gentle and were always asking me for consent so much as that they actually turn me off just by asking. I was never able to find a true sadist like my ex husband again. 

He would never ask for my consent or care to be gentle. He never visited BDSM clubs because he felt those things were fake and silly. He preferred real torture, real pain, and real slavery, and that was why he sought after Asian women, because he believe only inferior Asian women can truly embrace the kind of slavery that he desires. In addition to China, he has travelled to Vietnam, Thailand, Russia, Georgia (a country near Russia), Belarus, the Philippines, Saudi Arabia, Dubai, Iran, and North Korea. I believe he may actually be one of the few Americans in the world who have ever been inside North Korea. He told me he first visited Dandong, a small third tier city in North East China and it was from there that he was granted permission to go into North Korea. He said he enjoyed seeing tiny Asian slaves being tortured and imprisoned and it turned him on just from watching it. 

And at home, he had imposed in his household the kind of dictatorship that had always fascinated him. First of all, the house in which we lived were all made out of gold. It was …. strangely reminiscent of Trump hotel. Everything was glittering with gold. He had a chair that was made of pure gold, and that was his throne. I must prostrate and kowtow before him whenever he sat on his throne. And his words were divine. I was never allowed to challenge him or talk back to him, and when I failed to please him, he would order me to “go to the basement and wait for your punishment.” He kept a tally of how many times I failed to obey him and would administer my dose of punishment based on that. 

The basement of thouse was converted into a soundproof dungeon. There he would chain me to an iron bed without mattress, spread my legs as wide as possible. Sometimes he would pull my legs so far apart that I would be in extreme pain as I feel my leg muscles straining. Then he would take off his pants and lower his ass crack into my face, and ask me to rim him with my tongue. Once he was sitting comfortably on my face, he would clamp my pussy lips open with stainless steel clamps. And if I scream in pain, he would sit deeper into my face and smother his ass into my mouth. Then all night long he would torture me with whips, chains, crowbars, and his favorite: lit cigarettes. He would burn my thighs, my stretched pussy lips, my pussy mold, my breasts, my tits, and everywhere else that he wanted.
As the torture progressed through the night my pussy would become sobbing wet and I would end up cumming a few times being tortured this way. I never admitted to him that I liked it because I felt ashamed of actually liking it. But I think he knew anyway.

I would also add that my ex husband was a very skilled sadist. He had had sex slaves all over the world before I married him and after I left him, he immediately had another girl (a Slavic girl from Belarus) move in with him. I guess that is perhaps one reason I was not able to forget him, because I realized how worthless, exchangeable, and expendable I was to him.

In addition to lit cigarettes, other things he did to me included, making me sit on a dildo covered with hot sauce, using rubber bands to hit my pussy, using whips to to whip my pussy. He also smeared wasabi on my pussy when we were eating sushi one time. He also used push pins to torture me, He would strip me naked, make me stand on top of a small stool, and then scatter a whole bag of push pins on the floor right beneath the small stool. Then he would hit all over my body. At some point I would lose my balance and fall off the stools and I would land my feet into the push pins.  

I admit that I’m still obsessed with him. The pain he caused me was immense, and even though I had hated him, I now only feel sadness and wetness inside my pussy as I remember the way he tortured me.

A few days ago I saw him with his new wife. That moment, my heart literally jumped to my mouth and it was beating incredibly fast, like it was ready to pop out of me. I wish I could strip naked and throw myself at him and beg him to take me back, but I also know that I have to move on and find my new self. And I guess that is why those gusts of confused memory were shifting back into my mind just now.
I mean, it was true, he was a sadist, but he was also a very smart and creative man. He was just so creative he always came up with novel ways to torture me, and I hated him so much for it. He once attached two crocodile clamps to my labia and those clamps were attached to a long chain with weights and he made me crawl around in the dungeon while he whipped me with a belt. But he also knew the limit of the flesh I guess because even though it was extremely painful, it never caused me permanent damage. I had always feared that if I had stayed with him longer, one day he would have my poor punished pussy completely pulled off and shredded to pieces, but honestly it never happened and I feel like a fool for not trusting him as much as I should have. He was my king, my dictator, my fascist, and I was his slave, his subject, his concubine.

I just miss him so much now I feel tears inside my eyes. I absolutely hated him for causing me so much suffering. The iniquity of what he did to me was simply unforgivable. During those nights of torture, he would pull my clit hood away from my clit and tape them with duct tape so that my clit was fully exposed. Then he would trail the very tip of the lit cigarette around my clit and watch my clit throb in terror. I ended up having an orgasm when he burned my clit. My clit was throbbing in both pain and pleasure and I couldn’t believe myself admitting it, but I actually ended up squirting as I was hit with one powerful orgasm after another as I buckled my hips against the chains while screaming in horror. 

He also force-fed me ashes from the cigarette. Sometimes the ember from the burning cigarettes fell into my mouth and burned my tongue. I was his human ashtray, he said. 

He made videos of my torture sessions and shared them on some telegram chat group which is based in some foreign country. I saw it only once and it was all in some foreign languages so I have no way of knowing which telegram channel it was and where he stored my videos. 

The more sadistic you are to my pussy, the wetter I seem to get:

To this day my pussy mound and cunt lips are still covered with small black marks that look like peppercorns. Those were left from the cigarette burns and they are a reminder of the abuse I had endured and the thing is, whenever I look at those marks, my pussy always becomes sopping wet. I hated him for turning into a masochist. I had to restrain myself from rubbing my pussy as I kept telling myself, “He marked me. He burned me. I’m his slave. He burned my clit away. My only pleasure is in suffering pain.” 

I’ve been told by some friends who knew me that I’m a very sick woman and that I need therapy. I just want to rant to those who are willing to lend their ears to me. That’s all. There are not many safe spaces where a masochist slut like me can freely share my feelings in the world. The world does not condone nor do they understand me.Thank you for reading this poor, sick, masochist slut’s rambling.