All too often people with blogs like this, show different things in BDSM, information concerning each aspect of the lifestyle, and even post funny stories just as I have. They project such calm acceptance and happiness, oh happy happy joy joy. A veritable picture of sunshine and happiness.
But… real life is far different. When I met S.(Sir) I was mentally very unstable. I was ok in real life, I mean I had a child and had to be. Day to day was routine was just that very routine. However my history in the lifestyle had really screwed me up.
My first Master, Steven had me in an abusive relationship and I had no idea. So in reality I was looking to go back into another relationship something like that. It was all I knew. Thank god S. did not want that.
Yes I am aware that calling Sir S. could become confusing so that is why I named my first Master. It just so happens my Sir now has a name that starts with S. too however, I don’t wish to talk about my present, but about what exactly makes up ‘Me’.
When I was fourteen I was the victim of an horrific attack and in hospital for weeks. I was left for dead but something in me made me crawl out to the road and a nice old couple stopped, bundled me into their car and got me to the hospital. I retreated into this silent world. I lived in the country but Steven, a friend of the family offered to look after me as I had to have lots of follow up treatments and he lived in the city. I knew him and he always treated me nicely. He was a friend of the family. He was well off and I had a cross between a nurse and a tutor hired to take care of me and to make sure there was no gossip. Everything had to be above board and proper.
What no one knew was that Steven was a Master. I certainly didn’t observe anything to tell me he was. Mind you I wouldn’t have known if I had seen it. He was strict with me but fair.
I slowly recovered and found some peace but I was still really screwed up by what happened. I had years of therapy throughout my life. Mental illness has been a constant companion since the rape.
Slowly I was groomed in just little ways. I had to set the table just so, as he liked it, make sure his paper ready for him and little things that set him up as superior. He would buy me nice clothes and there was no sexuality in these things. He never touched me like that, so no abuse there. He would have me try on the clothes and do a sort of fashion parade and tell me which he preferred and I would wear them the most. The clothes were always age appropriate and definitely not sexy. I would strive to do all he asked of me and lived for the times he said ‘good girl’. A trend that was hard to break.
When I was about fifteen and a half, Steven got himself a girlfriend, a much younger girlfriend. I found out she was eighteen. I would see them together and they would laugh and have small shows of affection. That was the first time I felt jealousy, hot and nasty jealousy. She was not much older than me, why did he need her? I noticed she wore very strange necklaces and she would never sit with Steven but at his feet. He would stroke her hair, grasp her wrists stupid stuff that just confused me. It was a shock for me to understand I was seeing Steven in a different way than I once did. For an older man he was still good looking, dressed well and there was something in his bright blue eyes that sometimes made me feel ‘strange’. It was the look of a predator.
I knew what sex was, well what happened to me wasn’t sex it was a crime but I was certain Steven was having sex with this girl and I didn’t like her one little bit. I might have been a bit nasty to her and I was punished for it. Being sent to my room was so humiliating.
Then I turned sixteen which meant I was ‘legal’. Steven’s girlfriend was suddenly gone and he was back paying me attention. If I did anything wrong Steven told me I was sixteen and by now I should know what is right or wrong, if I misbehave I will be spanked. I laughed and said he wouldn’t dare. He did dare. I was across his knee before I could say another word. It was not on bare skin, just over my clothes.
I was slid off his legs onto the floor and got up indignantly rubbing my ass. I stormed from the room but underneath all of that, there was something that frightened me. I enjoyed it. It wasn’t something that happened often and I was left wanting. When I deliberately behaved badly for a spanking I was told if I wanted one I must ask for it. There was no way I was going to ask. I think I lasted about 3 months.
There were the subtle touches on my skin, stroking my hair, a finger stroking my thigh when I was wearing jeans. When it all got too much for me to bear and I was completely confused I spoke with Steven. It was the most difficult talk I ever had. I mean what if I was reading it wrong? What if he was disgusted by what I said? I hawed and hemmed. I went around and around not knowing how to ask. I asked why his girlfriend had gone and he answered cryptically, ‘She wasn’t my girlfriend.’
‘What was she?’
‘Can I be your something else?’ I blurted out.
He laughed at me and I honestly stomped my foot.
He dismissed me but I kept trying. I didn’t realize he had programed me so my youthful eagerness could be reeled in. Eventually he said to me I could not be his girl because I was too young and it requires a mature person to understand what it means. Say that to a sixteen year old and you know the outcome. He spoke about a submissive girl and I thought a submissive was a quiet little girl that does as she is told. That’s easy. What about if he tied me up? That’s cool too. Oh everything he said sounded exciting. Oh how little I knew. There was no mention of whippings that would go on so long I was hanging limply in the ropes, or being humiliated until you feel like a nothing. No that was not mentioned. What was never mentioned were safe words or limits of any kind. I had to agree to what he considered right for me. Could I agree to that? Steven had showed me nothing but kindness and safety so I quickly said yes. Funnily enough he had a contract ready for me to sign and I was certain it was legal. I know now that it wasn’t worth the paper it was written on. I had become his slave and from now on I was to call him Master.
My first sexual encounter was ripped from me when I was attacked and my second was with a man that was older than my father and a Master. I must say he was very gentle with me and slowly showed me what a delight sex could be and I was floating on air. Yes he spanked me but it confused me because he would spank my bare ass until I was crying then he would make me climax then start over again. Pain then pleasure endlessly. He was a clever ‘rigger’ and he bent me in all kinds of ways. He never explained sub space or sub drop and left me to sort out my rioting emotions. As time past the pain got stronger and stronger. I was whipped so badly at times I had to find away to let my mind travel so it wasn’t engaged in what was happening to me, then he would make me have an orgasm and that brought me back with a jolt. I was so used to pleasure and pain I became what is known as a pain slut. It is addictive and harsh and leaves you feeling weak and powerless. I would do anything for pain. Saying this still has the power to make me cry.
By the time I was eighteen I became his perfect slave but I was broken. My spirit was down-trodden and I didn’t even understand how much of me I had lost. I was shared, publically whipped and told to get involved in a group sex situation. There was more but I don’t need to mention what. Most punishment was painful but another one was very hard for me to bear. I was placed on a short leash attached to the foot of the bed and just given a thin blanket for the night. I had dreadful nightmares, I do still but not frequently but back then they were horrendous. Without Steven beside me in bed I would end up screaming. He then took me to another room. This punishment was the worst for me. A dark room, feeling cold left me terrified.
I was completely dependant on him. I never went anywhere alone. Mum would come down to the city and visit but I never told her what was going on. I mean I was eighteen years old and an adult. My mother and I had never been close and my father was an abuser and got handy with his fists. What she should have see was the hollow look on my face that matched her own. A smile can’t hide it. She would say goodbye with these words, ‘Be a good girl and do exactly what you are told.’ Oh if she only knew.
My brain was well and truly washed. My sexuality had been trained with needs that scared me. I met other slaves and I learned things on how to care for myself, because it is a slave’s duty to look after herself. They told me about bio oil for the welts and how to apply a medical cream to avoid any infections. Some of the girls had shaved heads and though Steven threatened me with it if I didn’t ‘perform’ well, he never did it. I think he liked pulling it too much or using it as an anchor point for bondage.
I could go on saying things but you get the idea of what it was like for me. IT WAS ABUSE.
I know that there are people that thrive like this and that is fine if it is their choice. What makes this harder for me is I never really had an informed choice. I was blindly led into it and being so young and not understanding what was being offered I was not mature enough for it and he knew that. BUT IT DIDN’T STOP HIM.
I can’t say I didn’t love him, I did. I lived for the words, ‘you have been so brave, darling.’ and ‘Such a good girl.’. He could also be cold and cruel. At times I would look in his eyes and know I was in for it. I learned to switch off from these times which made for a very big wooden chest in my mind where I stowed it. Over the years I have striven to empty it in a safe way but there is still a thing or two in it.
And then he died and I was free. Well my body was. When Steven did pass a number of old Masters came forward and tried to become my Master but I would not do it. I had a young daughter and I had no wish to bring her up in this type of relationship.
I grieved. For two years I grieved. I was lost, lonely and frightened. I figured a cruel relationship was better than no relationship. So I went looking on the internet, in the times of chat rooms and I met a really nice man. He did not want to be involved in a relationship like I had before. He simply listened to me. He was so charming and easy to talk to. What I didn’t realize then was he had already begun to help me become strong and he never stops. My S. is amazing.
And that, my dear readers was the beginning of everything….
And btw this relationship is so far from my first experience and it is a joy to live in it, but you already know that.
Sir and kitten
This is what I have now…
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