Pillory Table & D/s Eating Torment

hmmm—i get the romance behind attaining an altered consciousness. for me, deprivation is not technique i like to use—i prefer weed or mushrooms.

i am a wimp when it comes to pain. sure, it can be a very powerful and effective tool when trying to achieve a certain perspective or reach a level of mental clarity, but i guess it’s not a tool that i’m very adept as using. i guess i prefer certain drugs that alleviate pain and suffering to break my mental barriers. well, to each their own—a teacher used to tell me that it didn;t matter if i drove a jalopy or a corvette, the important part was that i got to my destination, whatever it was. just make sure whatever method i chose managed to work, she’d preach—the particular kind i chose was not terribly important.

Sensory deprivation can be done safely I think. Though it’d be too big a risk with someone not as trustworthy as Alexandra.

We’ve yet to really explore the effects physical pain on my mind. “Emotional pain” - degradation - is powerfully mind-altering. I don’t know if I’d call being reduced to the level of a not very bright four-year old clarifying. It is very liberating, at least after the fact. Kind of terrifying during.

I used to love psychedelics. But I used them so heavily and often that eventually I became bored. Anymore I prefer a weak rum and coke or a little wine.

I have extensive experience subbing (M2M) with dom trainers restricting my food intake, forcing exercise, to alter consciousness, compel obedience, achieve aesthetic pleasure

I wish you’d felt like sharing the experiences.

So many people have asked me how I “got into this scene” that I figured this board is as good a place as any to tell the whole story. Hopefully others will relate to it and find it a turn-on—if not, oh well….. Feel free to ask any question after you get through this all.

Before recounting my first actual training experience, some background is important. I grew up on the East Coast and until age 5 was at normal weight. Then when I started school, I slowly gained weight and spent all of elementary school as the fat, smart kid. When I hit puberty, the change in my metabolism, a bit of dietary education around calories, and my discovery and eventual love for running resulted in me losing all the excess weight (about 50 pounds) and due to learning better eating habits and running 5-10 miles every day—which I did literally EVERY DAY for a little over 10 years through high school, college and grad school, no matter what the weather, no matter how sick I was, no matter where I was—I maintained a slim athletic build. In addition, I began playing various sports—spent a year wrestling, another swimming, started cycling and playing tennis regularly with friends, took up boxing at the local gym—and generally became known as a jock. My weight stayed at a steady 165 until I began weightlifting in college, at which point I discovered that it was fairly easy for me to add lean muscle mass at which point by the end of college I weighed 175-180, while still maintaining a 32” waist.

Stayed this way through my 20’s until at age 29, two things occurred: repeated injuries to my legs, due in part to the obsessive running routine—cartilege in my knees began to give out, pulled tendons, etc. etc. etc.—necessitating long layoffs from running. And a noticeable slow-down in my metabolism. I continued my weightlifting routine—at that time a 3x/week lowweight/highrep toning routine—but without the daily cardio, I began to gain weight, eventually after about a year and half hitting a high of 232 pounds, with a 38” waist. I attempted to lose the excess by various means and succeeded in getting down to around 202 pounds in about a year, doing more cycling—stationary and road—but at that point decided to consult a personal trainer at my local gym to get some advice and support.

I had seen him around for a while, figured he was gay (though it turns out he called himself bisexual) and thought he was very hot. Sort of the opposite of my body type—I am endo-meso: stocky, peasant-Italian, big strong legs and glutes, tendency to gain fat and muscle easily. He was one of those formerly skinny guys that with lots of dedication had carved out a very well-defined, muscled body—nice big shoulders arms and chest, slim hips and lean runner/cyclist legs—the sort of guy who loses weight when he’s upset or stressed. In addition to being very hot physically, I found his attitude also very hot—serious, no-bullshit, a little gruff, about as obsessive as me (I had seen him workout and train others), but polite and professional.

So we began training. He did an overall evaluation of me—turned out at that my lean muscle mass at the time was 165, meaning that at 202 scale pounds, I was carrying 37 fat pounds or 18% bodyfat, only a little over the acceptable 15%. He used the caliper method, having me strip to my underwear and specifically and methodically pinching all the areas of my body where bodyfat had a tendency to accumulated. He did it without saying anything, except on my waist, where he whistled and said, “more than an inch here, man. Not good.” I had had my bodyfat determined before but through underwater weighing. The caliper thing was incredibly erotic. He ended by then tape measuring me in all the usual places, neck, chest, arms, waist, hips, thighs, calves, using a pen to mark the points on these parts of my body where I was largest and writing all the measurements down. “I need to keep a record of this to measure progress or lack of progress,” he said. “It’s good to get taped every week to make sure you are not falling down and are keeping to the program.”

He quickly told me that someone my size and build should really not be permitted anything over 12% bodyfat and that 8-10% would really be preferable to achieve a good look. I was very turned on by the rather objective way he had of discussing me—as if I were a piece of meat to be weighed, evaluated and controlled—as well as the naturally dominant manner he had of approaching my training—things were “acceptable” “permitted.” It came I think from him coaching high school wrestlers and boxers, but boy, did it make me hot. So he changed my routine—adding in daily cardio work and shifting me over to a mass-gaining weight-lifting routine—higher weights, lower reps, more sets per body part, greater frequency. The goal here, he told me, was to add lean muscle while “stripping off the excess blubber.”

I remember him casually saying things like, “You don’t need that fat. No one needs more than 5-10 pounds of body fat on them” or “That’s the problem with eating well. Guys with your build can’t get away with that. Got to watch everything.” He did seem pleased that I was in generally good shape and beneath the body well-muscled, about which he said, “You carry the poundage well, but why be pudgy when you can be tight, right?”

The first three months I met with him twice a week for workouts—He’d weigh and measure me, always recording it on my chart. I had started one hour daily cardio—either swimming, stationary cycling, stairmaster or sometimes an easy treadmill run—on top of which I made sure to cycle about 50-100 mi. per week on the road with friends or on my own. He would meet me after my cardio for weight-training and with his spotting and forcing reps, we got my lifts up pretty high pretty quick. But due to my slow metabolism, adding some muscle mass, and not really being terribly strict about my diet, I only lost 10 scale pounds in those months, down to 192, and came out with a bodyfat percentage of a little under 15%. I had dropped down to a 34-35” waist, but at the end my trainer declared it all, “OK progress, but not where you should be.”

Throughout this period it was very clear that a very intense mutual attraction was going on. He and I had the same sort of obsessive, intense mindset about these things, he definitely enjoyed the control and mild humiliation that had gone on between us under the guise of motivating me, and he knew I was totally into him and into his training of me. Due to mutual interests, we began to meet outside the gym, for various events, and at about this time, we were at a party together when I reached for some tortilla chips, only to have him slap my hand and say, “Hey man. Should you be eating that?” It was so out-of-the-blue: I mean no one had ever attempted to control my food intake or had in a way publicly humiliated me about my eating that I just stopped and found myself saying, “No, sir. I shouldn’t. Thanks.” Our eyes met and we knew that this sort of domination/submission thing was incredibly erotic for both of us. When we left the party together that night, we started to make out against his car at which point he said to me, “I can see how hot you’re going to be when you lose this fat. But you really gotta watch that diet, man.” Then he pulled away from me and said, “See you at the gym on Tuesday.”

That was the point at which the whole relationship shifted. Nothing had been explicitly said but we both knew what was happening. He enjoyed the dominance, teasing and control. He wanted to use my desire for him to both gratify himself and make me achieve my physical potential. He knew it turned me on. I knew he knew it. And so, down the path we went.

**

When we met for training he said, “I think where we’ve been falling down is by ignoring your diet. You need more help with it, since you really don’t have the discipline. I think I need to be training you in that area as well. You should have lost all this blubber by now.” I remember being incredibly flushed and turned on when he poked my lovehandles. “Right?”

I just nodded. “You’re right.”

“So this is the deal. I want to see you at 185 by the first of the month (4 weeks away, a 10-pound loss). You are restricted to 1200 calories per day and are going to write down everything that goes in your mouth. At the end of the day you are report in to me. You are going to lose this fat in the next four weeks, by whatever means necessary. I’m going to be on top of you. If you can’t follow this restriction, then we’ll have to take other steps.”

“What if I meet the goal?” I asked.

At which point he leaned over and gave me a long French kiss. “Take a guess.”

So that was how the formal dominance began. It was all before e-mail and the Internet, so I called in my food every night, copied my food journal and handed it in to him weekly, and he began slowly tightening the restrictions around my diet. Certain foods I was completely forbidden: any form of baked good, anything fried, no alcohol. In addition, I was allowed three meals a day and two pieces of fruit mid-morning and mid-afternoon. I was to do my hour of cardio before eating anything in a day, and I was not permitted to eat after 8pm at night. I was most certainly hungry almost all the time, since I was maintaining a very active workout schedule—daily workouts of at least 1.5 hours—but I knew he was correct, that such strictness was necessary. I also was highly motivated by the idea that he and I would have sex once I “made weight.”

What I didn’t quite expect were some of the ways in which he began to assert his dominance once I had gradually adjusted to this routine of calling in my food and following his orders. Having only lost 5 pounds in three weeks and therefore 5 pounds away from goal with only a week to lose it, he said to me casually, “Let’s see how you do with no food tomorrow. Nothing for 24 hours. And I think on days when you aren’t lifting you should do an extra half-hour of cardio, just to get that fat off you.” That was a first for me and I remember feeling a little overwhelmed, since I was already fatigued from the restricted calories and the heavy workouts, so eating nothing and working out more seemed a little frightening. But I had gotten curious myself about my own limits so I did it, added a half-hour of swimming to my hour on the stairmaster that day, and drank nothing but water. I almost passed out in the afternoon from very profound fatigue, but after sleeping for about 2 hours, the hunger pangs and exhaustion passed and the next morning I had actually lost 3 pounds on the scale.

When I reported this in to him, he said, “Well, that’s what I was hoping. From now on, till you hit goal weight, you are going to have a weekly fast day. Understand.”

I managed to hit 185 that month, at which point, of course, goal weight was revised down, because I had lost about 3 pounds of muscle from the intensive workouts and restricted calories, so my bodyfat at 185 was only 12.5%. I did look lean but there were definitely pockets of bodyfat noticeable around the sides of my waist, on my lower belly, on the top of my ass and inside my thighs, even more noticeable because I was in such good shape. He pointed these out during the monthly measurement session with tapemeasure and caliper, and told me, “Really, I don’t think I will be satisfied until I see your abs. It’s tough I know but you let yourself go for so long so that’s part of the reason we need to get tougher.”

That was the point at which I was restricted to 1000 calories per day, with the standard one-day weekly fast, and my diet was now to be stripped of nearly all carbohydrates, leaving me as many vegetables as I wanted, along with at least 100 g of protein per day. I was permitted coffee but no sugar. Likewise, no more rice, potatoes, bread, starches of any kind, really—nothing but meat, broiled or grilled, vegetables/salad and water. Lots of water—3-4 liters per day. I was permitted one tablespoon of olive oil for my salad but no other fats of any kind –no butter, no nuts, no other oils.

The very odd thing about this stage of the restriction was that I had somehow moved past continual gnawing hunger and the elimination of carbs in a strange way gave me a sort of a high—I would get continual hot flashes, felt very horny most of the time, and except for occasional crashes of energy, felt good. I would of course about half-way through the cardio work lose all energy, but learned soon to just hunker down and do it, almost like going out of my body.

When I achieved goal—10% bodyfat, at 179, with 161 lean pounds (losing some more muscle but more fat)—he made good on his promise and we began a sexual relationship since I was now “in acceptable condition.” This marked the next stage in his control, in a way, because he was very good (and aggressive) in bed and it was almost like his physical training of my body, his control over my diet and appearance, had merged into a whole relationship that was of a single coherent piece. Since I would be staying over his place sometimes, he introduced other forms of control over me, usually by simply doing them with me too turned on, too curious, too grateful to resist. I find some of these among the more exciting parts of what he and I did together.

Examples: if we were eating a meal together at home, he would often tell me that we were going to share a meal, which meant that I sat and watched him eat a normal meal and that I would be permitted to eat whatever he left and didn’t want. This became known as “leftovers.” He would say, “I think we should have leftovers tonight,” which meant I ate what he felt like leaving for me on his own plate—very little usually. I didn’t ever complain about this, because I knew I was at the lowest weight I had been, I looked incredible, and that this level of control was both effective and necessary. Plus I loved the domination and knew it turned him on.

Another thing he began to do was to order for me when we would go out, sometimes telling the waiter/waitress that I was in training so I was only going to have a diet coke and a salad. Other times he would say, “Can you bring another plate, we’re going to share,” which usually meant he ate most of it and let me have very little. Because he was naturally lean, he generally ate anything and everything, and would often torment me by telling me how good certain things were while simultaneously praising me for my discipline and my dedication to “not being a fatboy again.”

Daily weigh-ins were required and even though we both knew that any gain was a fluctuation in water retention, if the scale was up even a single pound, it meant “total restriction,” our code for complete fast except for water. On those days, though, our sex was usually pretty incredible, so I slowly became conditioned to enjoy the light-headedness and exhaustion.

Various other games got played with me during this period, as he continued to exert and take pleasure from his dominance and my submission. He was occasionally order sexy clothes from catalogues—small size shirts or underwear, when due to my musculature I would need medium size, or pants/shorts in waist size 29” when I was 31”. They were of course too tight and he would tease me about whether or not I was getting “big” again, maybe I needed a few more workouts, a little less food. He once bought me a huge box of chocolates and didn’t say anything about it—I knew it was a test and that he was probably going to see if I was really dedicated by checking up on whether or not any were missing, so it sat for a long time on my sideboard in my place, untouched, no one really knowing that it was a symbol of a whole secret dominance/subsmission thing going on between us. Occasionally he would very casually offer me things like ice cream or cookies when he was eating them, a tacit test to see if I would refuse them. He sometime did this in front of people, but of course no one else knew what this was all about except him and me, which I found incredibly erotic.

People noticed my physical change of course, but not as many as you’d think, since I’d always been pretty athletic and my friends knew I had gained the extra weight due to my knee and leg problems. Plus they knew I was having an affair with my trainer—not suspecting what was really going on or the extent to which the training had gone—so they just assumed he and I were kind of workout buddies.

At around 9 months of this, he began to fiddle some with my eating schedule. For a month I was permitted only to eat between the hours of noon and 6—partly to prove my dedication to him, partly to test my limits, partly to see if we might be able to nudge my bodyfat to “single digits.” This became kind of a mantra at the time—the idea of my being able to go to less than 10% bodyfat and keep it there. Another mantra was the 30” waist—I had gotten down to 31 inches and had kept it for 3 months and now he wondered if I might “give him an inch.” To this end he assigned me an additional abdominal routine to be done daily—upping the work from once a day to twice a day. He’d sometimes feel my belly and say, “Where’s my six-pack?” or give me a little punch and say, “Tighten up,” all designed to make me self-conscious. It really turned me on.

I remember one day him coming home with Xeroxes of research articles about how extreme caloric restriction in mice seemed to have effects on their longevity and he read to me that one of the researchers said that the regime they had imposed on the mice was equivalent to no more than 300-500 calories per day for a 170 pound man. I began to wonder if that was going to be the next step, but he never did that (though, with the periodic days of total restriction, I estimate now that my total caloric intake per day during this period averaged about 800-1000 per day.)

Around this time, as well, he began to link my orgasms to fasting. He referred to this as “cumming on an empty stomach.” In other words, I was only allowed to cum with him or by myself after a 15-hour period without food. For example, if I had eaten dinner (4 oz. meat and a cup of vegetables) at 6 pm the previous night, then I was not permitted to cum unless I had refrained from all food for another 15 hours, i.e., no sooner than 9 a.m. the following morning. The effect of this of course was to greatly motivate me to refrain from all unncessary food consumption, since during this time we would often be having sex, with him enjoying sometimes two or three orgasms. So if I ate nothing, I would be able to enjoy cumming with him and if I had eaten, then the sex would be very frustrating since I wasn’t permitted release.

It was a truly amazing period of my life and this is really the first time I have put it all down. There were so many little games, headtrips, tests and things, and this was now ten years ago, I probably have forgotten some things.

It all ended when he was offered an incredible position in another part of the country and relocated. I think this all happened at a good time, because it was about a year or so and I remember wondering really how long it could all go on. I began to become a little afraid of endangering my health—though I really was in the best shape of my life—and I also could feel that as bizarre and extreme as this had become—all of it a secret from everyone who knew us—it was also sort of losing the “oomph.” He wasn’t a truly sadistic sort of guy, so really breaking me down and harming me wasn’t at all a turn-on for him—or for me. So he wasn’t interested in actually starving me to the point of skin-and-bones or really pushing me over the edge. The control and dominance aspect of it was our mutual primary turn-on and the very strict discipline and the physical results were what we enjoyed. Plus, I can’t say we were really in love with each other—he wasn’t particularly romantic anyway, as you might expect—it really was more of a erotic/sexual coach-trainee relationship. Very absorbing for little over a year.

He moved. We stayed in touch for a while, doing phone sex, but after a few months, the whole thing faded as he got really busy and met his current boyfriend. I began to eat more normally, put on some weight, staying between 180-185, and a 32”-33” waist for many years thanks to sticking to a fairly careful diet and maintaing my workout regime.

I began to advertise in local gay papers for another trainer on the same wavelength, talked to a lot of guys and then finally, about three years later, met Trainer #2.

Thanks, that is certainly an interesting story, experience.