Author: Susan Mwanza

By Tia Levings For Dailymail.Com Published: 12:16 BST, 11 August 2024 | Updated: 13:39 BST, 13 August 2024 550 View comments My children and I must have looked slightly odd living in our rural Tennessee coal town. We dressed modestly, like a prairie family you might see on TV. My five pregnancies were close together and I gave birth at home.Bonsai Casino My husband and I homeschooled our kids when it was still unusual to do so. But our neighbors couldn’t possibly have guessed my shameful secret — I was trapped in a Christian Fundamentalist cult. I was forbidden from going to the library, having a job, voting in elections or even taking my children to the doctor. I called my husband ‘My Lord’, could only wear dresses and was ritually spanked if I ‘stepped out of line.’ Going into the marriage, I knew of my husband’s beliefs but there was no way I could have known where it would all lead. We married in 1994, and even from the start, things had never been particularly easy for us. Going into the marriage, I knew of my husband’s beliefs but there was no way I could have known where it would all lead. (Above) Author Tia Levings on her wedding day He had a fierce temper and would sometimes sit on my head or slam me into a wall. But he would always assure me that there was another pastor or congregation or Christian self-help book that promised a solution to his rage. And even though I walked through our home on tiptoes, between the fights, I thought we were truly happy. Then, in 2003, after 10 years together, something changed. I’d just come home from running errands and, unloading the car, I looped grocery bags up my arms. Doing it in one trip made it look like I’d bought less. He was sitting at the computer, his back to the door, and was startled when I stepped inside. My eyes locked on his screen. There was an image of a woman hung, trussed like poultry, mouth gagged, eyes blindfolded and completely exposed. ‘It’s not what you think,’ he said. I set the bags down. My body felt hollow. ‘He doesn’t watch porn,’ I thought. ‘What was going on?’ ‘It’s art. Don’t worry about it,’ he said. Hoping this was true, I blinked and waited for an explanation. He pushed back the wheeled desk chair and began: ‘I’ve something to discuss from our new book.’ He was talking about the work of Doug Wilson, an influential author, pastor, and publisher in Idaho.  My five pregnancies were close together and I gave birth at home. My husband and I homeschooled our kids when it was still unusual to do so. Even though I walked through our home on tiptoes, between the fights, I thought we were truly happy. Then, in 2003, after 10 years together, something changed. We’d bought his books on marriage at our annual homeschooling convention. Wilson preached that men were responsible for everything in their homes. That included the wife’s spending habits, entertainment, weight, rebellion, housekeeping, and responsiveness to sex.  And the family leader would answer to God for the behavior of everyone under their dominion. Most everyone we knew in our Reformed Presbyterian and Baptist circles owned these self-published books. But what did they have to do with bondage porn? In truth, none of these books preached violence against a spouse. But the husbands swapped sick ideas the same way we wives swapped recipes.  ‘Oh c’mon,’ my husband said casually unpacking the bags. ‘Correcting wives for bad behavior is hardly a new concept. Think about it.’ I didn’t know what idea my husband was gearing up to, but I knew I would be powerless to say no. ‘A man can’t haul his wife to the elders every time she’s in rebellion,’ he said. ‘It’s impractical. The solution is Christian discipline.’ I kept my eyes down, per his rule not to challenge him. I reached for the broom and swept the squares of golden sunlight on the wood floors. My eyes darted for the door as I tried to quiet the noise in my head. He told me that there was no endpoint to his dominion or my submission. This was church-sanctioned BDSM – with no safe word. Over the next several weeks, I sat at the computer and obeyed his command to learn more about being ‘Taken In Hand’. He directed me to membership forums and even a handbook on the subject. My children and I must have looked slightly odd living in Lutherville, Maryland . We dressed modestly, like a prairie family you might see on TV. According to these teachings, a man like my husband needed to gain control of his anger – and Christian Domestic Discipline promised an end to random violence by sanctifying kink with Christian theology. Hitting me became holy. Twisted thoughts clouded my mind: What if there was wisdom in making ‘appointments’ for violence? What if this made our marriage better? But still, I wondered how much more humiliation I could take. ‘I need you to write the contract today,’ he said a few days later, referring to a supposed agreement that wives were instructed to sign. Steve from Blue’s Clues played on the TV, entertaining the kids as he spoke. I listened, never slowing the stroke of my mop. ‘There’s a script on the online forum,’ he said. ‘Can’t you print it?’ I asked. Sometimes he gave up on ideas when they required extra effort. ‘No, it has to be your handwriting, so it looks like this came from you.’ So, I sat at the desk, writing a promise I didn’t mean on ivory stationery, with black ink smelling of plastic: ‘I will not accuse my husband of domestic violence due to Christian discipline.’ Mu husband warned me we’d do it soon, ‘over something small, to get used to it.’ A week later, I stood in the kitchen, sliding a metal spatula beneath fresh cookies to frost with the kids. ‘You overspent,’ he said, examining the grocery store receipt. ‘Just a dollar eighteen,’ I whimpered. ‘Go to our room,’ he replied. The children were outside playing, and he motioned for me to get on the bed on all fours, then started to pray. His leather belt hissed as he removed it. I buried my face in the pillow as he struck me, and silently screamed into the feathered down. As a Christian, I believed I’d be rescued from my suffering.  Years later it occurred to me that a savior wasn’t coming.  It was up to me to save myself. In October 2007, Tia and her children finally escaped in the middle of the night. She now works to expose enslavement, rape, child neglect and other abuses that occur behind closed doors in fundamentalist Christian patriarchies. The above was adapted from an excerpt of: A Well-Trained Wife: My Escape from Christian Patriarchy by Tia Levings and published by St Martin’s Press Published by Associated Newspapers Ltd Part of the Daily Mail, The Mail on Sunday & Metro Media Group

By Tia Levings For Dailymail.Com Published: 12:16 BST, 11 August 2024 | Updated: 13:39 BST, 13 August 2024 550 View comments My children and I must have looked slightly odd living in our rural Tennessee coal town. We dressed modestly, like a prairie family you might see on TV. My five pregnancies were close together and I gave birth at home.Gay porno My husband and I homeschooled our kids when it was still unusual to do so. But our neighbors couldn’t possibly have guessed my shameful secret — I was trapped in a Christian Fundamentalist cult. I was forbidden from going to the library, having a job, voting in elections or even taking my children to the doctor. I called my husband ‘My Lord’, could only wear dresses and was ritually spanked if I ‘stepped out of line.’ Going into the marriage, I knew of my husband’s beliefs but there was no way I could have known where it would all lead. We married in 1994, and even from the start, things had never been particularly easy for us. Going into the marriage, I knew of my husband’s beliefs but there was no way I could have known where it would all lead. (Above) Author Tia Levings on her wedding day He had a fierce temper and would sometimes sit on my head or slam me into a wall. But he would always assure me that there was another pastor or congregation or Christian self-help book that promised a solution to his rage. And even though I walked through our home on tiptoes, between the fights, I thought we were truly happy. Then, in 2003, after 10 years together, something changed. I’d just come home from running errands and, unloading the car, I looped grocery bags up my arms. Doing it in one trip made it look like I’d bought less. He was sitting at the computer, his back to the door, and was startled when I stepped inside. My eyes locked on his screen. There was an image of a woman hung, trussed like poultry, mouth gagged, eyes blindfolded and completely exposed. ‘It’s not what you think,’ he said. I set the bags down. My body felt hollow. ‘He doesn’t watch porn,’ I thought. ‘What was going on?’ ‘It’s art. Don’t worry about it,’ he said. Hoping this was true, I blinked and waited for an explanation. He pushed back the wheeled desk chair and began: ‘I’ve something to discuss from our new book.’ He was talking about the work of Doug Wilson, an influential author, pastor, and publisher in Idaho.  My five pregnancies were close together and I gave birth at home. My husband and I homeschooled our kids when it was still unusual to do so. Even though I walked through our home on tiptoes, between the fights, I thought we were truly happy. Then, in 2003, after 10 years together, something changed. We’d bought his books on marriage at our annual homeschooling convention. Wilson preached that men were responsible for everything in their homes. That included the wife’s spending habits, entertainment, weight, rebellion, housekeeping, and responsiveness to sex.  And the family leader would answer to God for the behavior of everyone under their dominion. Most everyone we knew in our Reformed Presbyterian and Baptist circles owned these self-published books. But what did they have to do with bondage porn? In truth, none of these books preached violence against a spouse. But the husbands swapped sick ideas the same way we wives swapped recipes.  ‘Oh c’mon,’ my husband said casually unpacking the bags. ‘Correcting wives for bad behavior is hardly a new concept. Think about it.’ I didn’t know what idea my husband was gearing up to, but I knew I would be powerless to say no. ‘A man can’t haul his wife to the elders every time she’s in rebellion,’ he said. ‘It’s impractical. The solution is Christian discipline.’ I kept my eyes down, per his rule not to challenge him. I reached for the broom and swept the squares of golden sunlight on the wood floors. My eyes darted for the door as I tried to quiet the noise in my head. He told me that there was no endpoint to his dominion or my submission. This was church-sanctioned BDSM – with no safe word. Over the next several weeks, I sat at the computer and obeyed his command to learn more about being ‘Taken In Hand’. He directed me to membership forums and even a handbook on the subject. My children and I must have looked slightly odd living in Lutherville, Maryland . We dressed modestly, like a prairie family you might see on TV. According to these teachings, a man like my husband needed to gain control of his anger – and Christian Domestic Discipline promised an end to random violence by sanctifying kink with Christian theology. Hitting me became holy. Twisted thoughts clouded my mind: What if there was wisdom in making ‘appointments’ for violence? What if this made our marriage better? But still, I wondered how much more humiliation I could take. ‘I need you to write the contract today,’ he said a few days later, referring to a supposed agreement that wives were instructed to sign. Steve from Blue’s Clues played on the TV, entertaining the kids as he spoke. I listened, never slowing the stroke of my mop. ‘There’s a script on the online forum,’ he said. ‘Can’t you print it?’ I asked. Sometimes he gave up on ideas when they required extra effort. ‘No, it has to be your handwriting, so it looks like this came from you.’ So, I sat at the desk, writing a promise I didn’t mean on ivory stationery, with black ink smelling of plastic: ‘I will not accuse my husband of domestic violence due to Christian discipline.’ Mu husband warned me we’d do it soon, ‘over something small, to get used to it.’ A week later, I stood in the kitchen, sliding a metal spatula beneath fresh cookies to frost with the kids. ‘You overspent,’ he said, examining the grocery store receipt. ‘Just a dollar eighteen,’ I whimpered. ‘Go to our room,’ he replied. The children were outside playing, and he motioned for me to get on the bed on all fours, then started to pray. His leather belt hissed as he removed it. I buried my face in the pillow as he struck me, and silently screamed into the feathered down. As a Christian, I believed I’d be rescued from my suffering.  Years later it occurred to me that a savior wasn’t coming.  It was up to me to save myself. In October 2007, Tia and her children finally escaped in the middle of the night. She now works to expose enslavement, rape, child neglect and other abuses that occur behind closed doors in fundamentalist Christian patriarchies. The above was adapted from an excerpt of: A Well-Trained Wife: My Escape from Christian Patriarchy by Tia Levings and published by St Martin’s Press Published by Associated Newspapers Ltd Part of the Daily Mail, The Mail on Sunday & Metro Media Group

By Tia Levings For Dailymail.Com Published: 12:16 BST, 11 August 2024 | Updated: 13:39 BST, 13 August 2024 550 View comments My children and I must have looked slightly odd living in our rural Tennessee coal town. We dressed modestly, like a prairie family you might see on TV. My five pregnancies were close together and I gave birth at home.Gay porno My husband and I homeschooled our kids when it was still unusual to do so. But our neighbors couldn’t possibly have guessed my shameful secret — I was trapped in a Christian Fundamentalist cult. I was forbidden from going to the library, having a job, voting in elections or even taking my children to the doctor. I called my husband ‘My Lord’, could only wear dresses and was ritually spanked if I ‘stepped out of line.’ Going into the marriage, I knew of my husband’s beliefs but there was no way I could have known where it would all lead. We married in 1994, and even from the start, things had never been particularly easy for us. Going into the marriage, I knew of my husband’s beliefs but there was no way I could have known where it would all lead. (Above) Author Tia Levings on her wedding day He had a fierce temper and would sometimes sit on my head or slam me into a wall. But he would always assure me that there was another pastor or congregation or Christian self-help book that promised a solution to his rage. And even though I walked through our home on tiptoes, between the fights, I thought we were truly happy. Then, in 2003, after 10 years together, something changed. I’d just come home from running errands and, unloading the car, I looped grocery bags up my arms. Doing it in one trip made it look like I’d bought less. He was sitting at the computer, his back to the door, and was startled when I stepped inside. My eyes locked on his screen. There was an image of a woman hung, trussed like poultry, mouth gagged, eyes blindfolded and completely exposed. ‘It’s not what you think,’ he said. I set the bags down. My body felt hollow. ‘He doesn’t watch porn,’ I thought. ‘What was going on?’ ‘It’s art. Don’t worry about it,’ he said. Hoping this was true, I blinked and waited for an explanation. He pushed back the wheeled desk chair and began: ‘I’ve something to discuss from our new book.’ He was talking about the work of Doug Wilson, an influential author, pastor, and publisher in Idaho.  My five pregnancies were close together and I gave birth at home. My husband and I homeschooled our kids when it was still unusual to do so. Even though I walked through our home on tiptoes, between the fights, I thought we were truly happy. Then, in 2003, after 10 years together, something changed. We’d bought his books on marriage at our annual homeschooling convention. Wilson preached that men were responsible for everything in their homes. That included the wife’s spending habits, entertainment, weight, rebellion, housekeeping, and responsiveness to sex.  And the family leader would answer to God for the behavior of everyone under their dominion. Most everyone we knew in our Reformed Presbyterian and Baptist circles owned these self-published books. But what did they have to do with bondage porn? In truth, none of these books preached violence against a spouse. But the husbands swapped sick ideas the same way we wives swapped recipes.  ‘Oh c’mon,’ my husband said casually unpacking the bags. ‘Correcting wives for bad behavior is hardly a new concept. Think about it.’ I didn’t know what idea my husband was gearing up to, but I knew I would be powerless to say no. ‘A man can’t haul his wife to the elders every time she’s in rebellion,’ he said. ‘It’s impractical. The solution is Christian discipline.’ I kept my eyes down, per his rule not to challenge him. I reached for the broom and swept the squares of golden sunlight on the wood floors. My eyes darted for the door as I tried to quiet the noise in my head. He told me that there was no endpoint to his dominion or my submission. This was church-sanctioned BDSM – with no safe word. Over the next several weeks, I sat at the computer and obeyed his command to learn more about being ‘Taken In Hand’. He directed me to membership forums and even a handbook on the subject. My children and I must have looked slightly odd living in Lutherville, Maryland . We dressed modestly, like a prairie family you might see on TV. According to these teachings, a man like my husband needed to gain control of his anger – and Christian Domestic Discipline promised an end to random violence by sanctifying kink with Christian theology. Hitting me became holy. Twisted thoughts clouded my mind: What if there was wisdom in making ‘appointments’ for violence? What if this made our marriage better? But still, I wondered how much more humiliation I could take. ‘I need you to write the contract today,’ he said a few days later, referring to a supposed agreement that wives were instructed to sign. Steve from Blue’s Clues played on the TV, entertaining the kids as he spoke. I listened, never slowing the stroke of my mop. ‘There’s a script on the online forum,’ he said. ‘Can’t you print it?’ I asked. Sometimes he gave up on ideas when they required extra effort. ‘No, it has to be your handwriting, so it looks like this came from you.’ So, I sat at the desk, writing a promise I didn’t mean on ivory stationery, with black ink smelling of plastic: ‘I will not accuse my husband of domestic violence due to Christian discipline.’ Mu husband warned me we’d do it soon, ‘over something small, to get used to it.’ A week later, I stood in the kitchen, sliding a metal spatula beneath fresh cookies to frost with the kids. ‘You overspent,’ he said, examining the grocery store receipt. ‘Just a dollar eighteen,’ I whimpered. ‘Go to our room,’ he replied. The children were outside playing, and he motioned for me to get on the bed on all fours, then started to pray. His leather belt hissed as he removed it. I buried my face in the pillow as he struck me, and silently screamed into the feathered down. As a Christian, I believed I’d be rescued from my suffering.  Years later it occurred to me that a savior wasn’t coming.  It was up to me to save myself. In October 2007, Tia and her children finally escaped in the middle of the night. She now works to expose enslavement, rape, child neglect and other abuses that occur behind closed doors in fundamentalist Christian patriarchies. The above was adapted from an excerpt of: A Well-Trained Wife: My Escape from Christian Patriarchy by Tia Levings and published by St Martin’s Press Published by Associated Newspapers Ltd Part of the Daily Mail, The Mail on Sunday & Metro Media Group

By Tia Levings For Dailymail.Com Published: 12:16 BST, 11 August 2024 | Updated: 13:39 BST, 13 August 2024 550 View comments My children and I must have looked slightly odd living in our rural Tennessee coal town. We dressed modestly, like a prairie family you might see on TV. My five pregnancies were close together and I gave birth at home.Gay porno My husband and I homeschooled our kids when it was still unusual to do so. But our neighbors couldn’t possibly have guessed my shameful secret — I was trapped in a Christian Fundamentalist cult. I was forbidden from going to the library, having a job, voting in elections or even taking my children to the doctor. I called my husband ‘My Lord’, could only wear dresses and was ritually spanked if I ‘stepped out of line.’ Going into the marriage, I knew of my husband’s beliefs but there was no way I could have known where it would all lead. We married in 1994, and even from the start, things had never been particularly easy for us. Going into the marriage, I knew of my husband’s beliefs but there was no way I could have known where it would all lead. (Above) Author Tia Levings on her wedding day He had a fierce temper and would sometimes sit on my head or slam me into a wall. But he would always assure me that there was another pastor or congregation or Christian self-help book that promised a solution to his rage. And even though I walked through our home on tiptoes, between the fights, I thought we were truly happy. Then, in 2003, after 10 years together, something changed. I’d just come home from running errands and, unloading the car, I looped grocery bags up my arms. Doing it in one trip made it look like I’d bought less. He was sitting at the computer, his back to the door, and was startled when I stepped inside. My eyes locked on his screen. There was an image of a woman hung, trussed like poultry, mouth gagged, eyes blindfolded and completely exposed. ‘It’s not what you think,’ he said. I set the bags down. My body felt hollow. ‘He doesn’t watch porn,’ I thought. ‘What was going on?’ ‘It’s art. Don’t worry about it,’ he said. Hoping this was true, I blinked and waited for an explanation. He pushed back the wheeled desk chair and began: ‘I’ve something to discuss from our new book.’ He was talking about the work of Doug Wilson, an influential author, pastor, and publisher in Idaho.  My five pregnancies were close together and I gave birth at home. My husband and I homeschooled our kids when it was still unusual to do so. Even though I walked through our home on tiptoes, between the fights, I thought we were truly happy. Then, in 2003, after 10 years together, something changed. We’d bought his books on marriage at our annual homeschooling convention. Wilson preached that men were responsible for everything in their homes. That included the wife’s spending habits, entertainment, weight, rebellion, housekeeping, and responsiveness to sex.  And the family leader would answer to God for the behavior of everyone under their dominion. Most everyone we knew in our Reformed Presbyterian and Baptist circles owned these self-published books. But what did they have to do with bondage porn? In truth, none of these books preached violence against a spouse. But the husbands swapped sick ideas the same way we wives swapped recipes.  ‘Oh c’mon,’ my husband said casually unpacking the bags. ‘Correcting wives for bad behavior is hardly a new concept. Think about it.’ I didn’t know what idea my husband was gearing up to, but I knew I would be powerless to say no. ‘A man can’t haul his wife to the elders every time she’s in rebellion,’ he said. ‘It’s impractical. The solution is Christian discipline.’ I kept my eyes down, per his rule not to challenge him. I reached for the broom and swept the squares of golden sunlight on the wood floors. My eyes darted for the door as I tried to quiet the noise in my head. He told me that there was no endpoint to his dominion or my submission. This was church-sanctioned BDSM – with no safe word. Over the next several weeks, I sat at the computer and obeyed his command to learn more about being ‘Taken In Hand’. He directed me to membership forums and even a handbook on the subject. My children and I must have looked slightly odd living in Lutherville, Maryland . We dressed modestly, like a prairie family you might see on TV. According to these teachings, a man like my husband needed to gain control of his anger – and Christian Domestic Discipline promised an end to random violence by sanctifying kink with Christian theology. Hitting me became holy. Twisted thoughts clouded my mind: What if there was wisdom in making ‘appointments’ for violence? What if this made our marriage better? But still, I wondered how much more humiliation I could take. ‘I need you to write the contract today,’ he said a few days later, referring to a supposed agreement that wives were instructed to sign. Steve from Blue’s Clues played on the TV, entertaining the kids as he spoke. I listened, never slowing the stroke of my mop. ‘There’s a script on the online forum,’ he said. ‘Can’t you print it?’ I asked. Sometimes he gave up on ideas when they required extra effort. ‘No, it has to be your handwriting, so it looks like this came from you.’ So, I sat at the desk, writing a promise I didn’t mean on ivory stationery, with black ink smelling of plastic: ‘I will not accuse my husband of domestic violence due to Christian discipline.’ Mu husband warned me we’d do it soon, ‘over something small, to get used to it.’ A week later, I stood in the kitchen, sliding a metal spatula beneath fresh cookies to frost with the kids. ‘You overspent,’ he said, examining the grocery store receipt. ‘Just a dollar eighteen,’ I whimpered. ‘Go to our room,’ he replied. The children were outside playing, and he motioned for me to get on the bed on all fours, then started to pray. His leather belt hissed as he removed it. I buried my face in the pillow as he struck me, and silently screamed into the feathered down. As a Christian, I believed I’d be rescued from my suffering.  Years later it occurred to me that a savior wasn’t coming.  It was up to me to save myself. In October 2007, Tia and her children finally escaped in the middle of the night. She now works to expose enslavement, rape, child neglect and other abuses that occur behind closed doors in fundamentalist Christian patriarchies. The above was adapted from an excerpt of: A Well-Trained Wife: My Escape from Christian Patriarchy by Tia Levings and published by St Martin’s Press Published by Associated Newspapers Ltd Part of the Daily Mail, The Mail on Sunday & Metro Media Group

By Tia Levings For Dailymail.Com Published: 12:16 BST, 11 August 2024 | Updated: 13:39 BST, 13 August 2024 550 View comments My children and I must have looked slightly odd living in our rural Tennessee coal town. We dressed modestly, like a prairie family you might see on TV. My five pregnancies were close together and I gave birth at home.Gay porno My husband and I homeschooled our kids when it was still unusual to do so. But our neighbors couldn’t possibly have guessed my shameful secret — I was trapped in a Christian Fundamentalist cult. I was forbidden from going to the library, having a job, voting in elections or even taking my children to the doctor. I called my husband ‘My Lord’, could only wear dresses and was ritually spanked if I ‘stepped out of line.’ Going into the marriage, I knew of my husband’s beliefs but there was no way I could have known where it would all lead. We married in 1994, and even from the start, things had never been particularly easy for us. Going into the marriage, I knew of my husband’s beliefs but there was no way I could have known where it would all lead. (Above) Author Tia Levings on her wedding day He had a fierce temper and would sometimes sit on my head or slam me into a wall. But he would always assure me that there was another pastor or congregation or Christian self-help book that promised a solution to his rage. And even though I walked through our home on tiptoes, between the fights, I thought we were truly happy. Then, in 2003, after 10 years together, something changed. I’d just come home from running errands and, unloading the car, I looped grocery bags up my arms. Doing it in one trip made it look like I’d bought less. He was sitting at the computer, his back to the door, and was startled when I stepped inside. My eyes locked on his screen. There was an image of a woman hung, trussed like poultry, mouth gagged, eyes blindfolded and completely exposed. ‘It’s not what you think,’ he said. I set the bags down. My body felt hollow. ‘He doesn’t watch porn,’ I thought. ‘What was going on?’ ‘It’s art. Don’t worry about it,’ he said. Hoping this was true, I blinked and waited for an explanation. He pushed back the wheeled desk chair and began: ‘I’ve something to discuss from our new book.’ He was talking about the work of Doug Wilson, an influential author, pastor, and publisher in Idaho.  My five pregnancies were close together and I gave birth at home. My husband and I homeschooled our kids when it was still unusual to do so. Even though I walked through our home on tiptoes, between the fights, I thought we were truly happy. Then, in 2003, after 10 years together, something changed. We’d bought his books on marriage at our annual homeschooling convention. Wilson preached that men were responsible for everything in their homes. That included the wife’s spending habits, entertainment, weight, rebellion, housekeeping, and responsiveness to sex.  And the family leader would answer to God for the behavior of everyone under their dominion. Most everyone we knew in our Reformed Presbyterian and Baptist circles owned these self-published books. But what did they have to do with bondage porn? In truth, none of these books preached violence against a spouse. But the husbands swapped sick ideas the same way we wives swapped recipes.  ‘Oh c’mon,’ my husband said casually unpacking the bags. ‘Correcting wives for bad behavior is hardly a new concept. Think about it.’ I didn’t know what idea my husband was gearing up to, but I knew I would be powerless to say no. ‘A man can’t haul his wife to the elders every time she’s in rebellion,’ he said. ‘It’s impractical. The solution is Christian discipline.’ I kept my eyes down, per his rule not to challenge him. I reached for the broom and swept the squares of golden sunlight on the wood floors. My eyes darted for the door as I tried to quiet the noise in my head. He told me that there was no endpoint to his dominion or my submission. This was church-sanctioned BDSM – with no safe word. Over the next several weeks, I sat at the computer and obeyed his command to learn more about being ‘Taken In Hand’. He directed me to membership forums and even a handbook on the subject. My children and I must have looked slightly odd living in Lutherville, Maryland . We dressed modestly, like a prairie family you might see on TV. According to these teachings, a man like my husband needed to gain control of his anger – and Christian Domestic Discipline promised an end to random violence by sanctifying kink with Christian theology. Hitting me became holy. Twisted thoughts clouded my mind: What if there was wisdom in making ‘appointments’ for violence? What if this made our marriage better? But still, I wondered how much more humiliation I could take. ‘I need you to write the contract today,’ he said a few days later, referring to a supposed agreement that wives were instructed to sign. Steve from Blue’s Clues played on the TV, entertaining the kids as he spoke. I listened, never slowing the stroke of my mop. ‘There’s a script on the online forum,’ he said. ‘Can’t you print it?’ I asked. Sometimes he gave up on ideas when they required extra effort. ‘No, it has to be your handwriting, so it looks like this came from you.’ So, I sat at the desk, writing a promise I didn’t mean on ivory stationery, with black ink smelling of plastic: ‘I will not accuse my husband of domestic violence due to Christian discipline.’ Mu husband warned me we’d do it soon, ‘over something small, to get used to it.’ A week later, I stood in the kitchen, sliding a metal spatula beneath fresh cookies to frost with the kids. ‘You overspent,’ he said, examining the grocery store receipt. ‘Just a dollar eighteen,’ I whimpered. ‘Go to our room,’ he replied. The children were outside playing, and he motioned for me to get on the bed on all fours, then started to pray. His leather belt hissed as he removed it. I buried my face in the pillow as he struck me, and silently screamed into the feathered down. As a Christian, I believed I’d be rescued from my suffering.  Years later it occurred to me that a savior wasn’t coming.  It was up to me to save myself. In October 2007, Tia and her children finally escaped in the middle of the night. She now works to expose enslavement, rape, child neglect and other abuses that occur behind closed doors in fundamentalist Christian patriarchies. The above was adapted from an excerpt of: A Well-Trained Wife: My Escape from Christian Patriarchy by Tia Levings and published by St Martin’s Press Published by Associated Newspapers Ltd Part of the Daily Mail, The Mail on Sunday & Metro Media Group

By Tia Levings For Dailymail.Com Published: 12:16 BST, 11 August 2024 | Updated: 13:39 BST, 13 August 2024 550 View comments My children and I must have looked slightly odd living in our rural Tennessee coal town. We dressed modestly, like a prairie family you might see on TV. My five pregnancies were close together and I gave birth at home.Gay porno My husband and I homeschooled our kids when it was still unusual to do so. But our neighbors couldn’t possibly have guessed my shameful secret — I was trapped in a Christian Fundamentalist cult. I was forbidden from going to the library, having a job, voting in elections or even taking my children to the doctor. I called my husband ‘My Lord’, could only wear dresses and was ritually spanked if I ‘stepped out of line.’ Going into the marriage, I knew of my husband’s beliefs but there was no way I could have known where it would all lead. We married in 1994, and even from the start, things had never been particularly easy for us. Going into the marriage, I knew of my husband’s beliefs but there was no way I could have known where it would all lead. (Above) Author Tia Levings on her wedding day He had a fierce temper and would sometimes sit on my head or slam me into a wall. But he would always assure me that there was another pastor or congregation or Christian self-help book that promised a solution to his rage. And even though I walked through our home on tiptoes, between the fights, I thought we were truly happy. Then, in 2003, after 10 years together, something changed. I’d just come home from running errands and, unloading the car, I looped grocery bags up my arms. Doing it in one trip made it look like I’d bought less. He was sitting at the computer, his back to the door, and was startled when I stepped inside. My eyes locked on his screen. There was an image of a woman hung, trussed like poultry, mouth gagged, eyes blindfolded and completely exposed. ‘It’s not what you think,’ he said. I set the bags down. My body felt hollow. ‘He doesn’t watch porn,’ I thought. ‘What was going on?’ ‘It’s art. Don’t worry about it,’ he said. Hoping this was true, I blinked and waited for an explanation. He pushed back the wheeled desk chair and began: ‘I’ve something to discuss from our new book.’ He was talking about the work of Doug Wilson, an influential author, pastor, and publisher in Idaho.  My five pregnancies were close together and I gave birth at home. My husband and I homeschooled our kids when it was still unusual to do so. Even though I walked through our home on tiptoes, between the fights, I thought we were truly happy. Then, in 2003, after 10 years together, something changed. We’d bought his books on marriage at our annual homeschooling convention. Wilson preached that men were responsible for everything in their homes. That included the wife’s spending habits, entertainment, weight, rebellion, housekeeping, and responsiveness to sex.  And the family leader would answer to God for the behavior of everyone under their dominion. Most everyone we knew in our Reformed Presbyterian and Baptist circles owned these self-published books. But what did they have to do with bondage porn? In truth, none of these books preached violence against a spouse. But the husbands swapped sick ideas the same way we wives swapped recipes.  ‘Oh c’mon,’ my husband said casually unpacking the bags. ‘Correcting wives for bad behavior is hardly a new concept. Think about it.’ I didn’t know what idea my husband was gearing up to, but I knew I would be powerless to say no. ‘A man can’t haul his wife to the elders every time she’s in rebellion,’ he said. ‘It’s impractical. The solution is Christian discipline.’ I kept my eyes down, per his rule not to challenge him. I reached for the broom and swept the squares of golden sunlight on the wood floors. My eyes darted for the door as I tried to quiet the noise in my head. He told me that there was no endpoint to his dominion or my submission. This was church-sanctioned BDSM – with no safe word. Over the next several weeks, I sat at the computer and obeyed his command to learn more about being ‘Taken In Hand’. He directed me to membership forums and even a handbook on the subject. My children and I must have looked slightly odd living in Lutherville, Maryland . We dressed modestly, like a prairie family you might see on TV. According to these teachings, a man like my husband needed to gain control of his anger – and Christian Domestic Discipline promised an end to random violence by sanctifying kink with Christian theology. Hitting me became holy. Twisted thoughts clouded my mind: What if there was wisdom in making ‘appointments’ for violence? What if this made our marriage better? But still, I wondered how much more humiliation I could take. ‘I need you to write the contract today,’ he said a few days later, referring to a supposed agreement that wives were instructed to sign. Steve from Blue’s Clues played on the TV, entertaining the kids as he spoke. I listened, never slowing the stroke of my mop. ‘There’s a script on the online forum,’ he said. ‘Can’t you print it?’ I asked. Sometimes he gave up on ideas when they required extra effort. ‘No, it has to be your handwriting, so it looks like this came from you.’ So, I sat at the desk, writing a promise I didn’t mean on ivory stationery, with black ink smelling of plastic: ‘I will not accuse my husband of domestic violence due to Christian discipline.’ Mu husband warned me we’d do it soon, ‘over something small, to get used to it.’ A week later, I stood in the kitchen, sliding a metal spatula beneath fresh cookies to frost with the kids. ‘You overspent,’ he said, examining the grocery store receipt. ‘Just a dollar eighteen,’ I whimpered. ‘Go to our room,’ he replied. The children were outside playing, and he motioned for me to get on the bed on all fours, then started to pray. His leather belt hissed as he removed it. I buried my face in the pillow as he struck me, and silently screamed into the feathered down. As a Christian, I believed I’d be rescued from my suffering.  Years later it occurred to me that a savior wasn’t coming.  It was up to me to save myself. In October 2007, Tia and her children finally escaped in the middle of the night. She now works to expose enslavement, rape, child neglect and other abuses that occur behind closed doors in fundamentalist Christian patriarchies. The above was adapted from an excerpt of: A Well-Trained Wife: My Escape from Christian Patriarchy by Tia Levings and published by St Martin’s Press Published by Associated Newspapers Ltd Part of the Daily Mail, The Mail on Sunday & Metro Media Group

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