This is a typical story:
I was an accident and my parents ignored me all my life and desperate for attention, I slept with boys who gave me drugs. When I turned 16, things changed as there was a death in the family. That’s roughly when I started dating a guy who was into BDSM, he gave me marijuana which I had been smoking for some time. He liked to have it a little rougher. We started visiting a local BDSM dungeon where he would tie me up and whip me or spank me. In the beginning, I thought it was weird, but it was something to do and Steve really seemed to like me. Plus, I was stoned most of the time and barely felt anything. I wouldn’t say I was his girlfriend or anything serious like that. He was just a guy I frequently saw, but then things developed into more or a relationship One day, the dungeon master became furious when he saw weeds and pills in my partner’s bags and expelled and banned him. About that time, I got a job working for a local cafe bar. I stayed with Steve as a boyfriend (he had a bedroom in a shared flat in the annex and therefore noise didn’t transmit too well, although I was living at home. Gradually outside the confines and control of the dungeon he got more extreme and I found I was into this. One day he strangled me so I passed out and work to find him having sex me, this became a regular thing. I was under 18 at the time. He got more bizarre, I woke up after one strangulation to find a bottle up my vagina with him using it like a dildo and when I said it hurt he held me down and tried to break the bottle inside me. I got it out and he banged my head against the wall until I was knocked out and I work to him having sex with me again. My head was bleeding and I can still today feel the damage in my head.
I left Steve and when he turned up at home, I told him if he contacted me again, I’d call the police and explain that he’d tried to kill me and let them see my head. I never heard from him again, but the downside was that I started self-harm, cutting myself.
I went back to the BDSM club one day when I was stoned. I met a few people. I can’t say I had ever presented myself before and felt accepted by them. A few weeks later, I began returning alone regularly, if only to feel welcomed somewhere. I had dropped out of high school by then and didn’t know anything about anything. I couldn’t do the laundry, I couldn’t really cook, I couldn’t talk politely enough to work anywhere. I simply was a reject of society, a complete wreck. I couldn’t see that soon enough I would most likely be left alone on the streets by my mother to become either a prostitute or yet another homeless girl begging for change. It was then that I met Peter. Peter was one of the masters visiting the dungeon, single but he wanted a full time slave girl to live with him. He gave classes on bondage and safety in BDSM and helped a lot of people, but he didn’t want a girl to play from time to time, he wanted a full time slave to keep in his loft in a committed relationship. He paid a lot of attention to me when I was there alone. He did a lot of bondage demonstrations using me as a model and even practiced his suspensions on me which I kind of liked. I had stopped seeing my ex since he had been banned and I was cut off from my supply of both drugs and sex so I began to open to him and one day, after he proposed for the 40th time or so to have me as a slave full time, I simply said yes.
I didn’t know what I was getting into, but I didn’t care. I had nothing in front of me and my mother hadn’t spoken to me in weeks. I left with him to reach his loft. It’s in an old industrial building. It’s a unit in the middle, without windows or interior walls. It only has a small kitchenette in one of the corners and a small industrial bathroom: there was a man’s restroom with a urinal and a booth for a toilet, but the toilet in the woman’s section had been replaced by a shower. The rest of the loft was occupied mostly by home-made bondage equipment, apart for a king size bed.
He told me that I could leave anytime I wanted by saying my safe-word “Jellicle” but that until then, I wouldn’t be allowed to leave his loft unless I needed to see a doctor. We went over my limits but I am not sure I was really sure of what I was getting into, I mostly checked no on his list on a few things I was scared of such as branding and needles or tattoos. My motivation was mostly to live somewhere with someone who would care for me and Peter was the closest I could find. We went to my house so I could pick up my things and say goodbye to my mother who was obviously unconcerned that I was moving away.
Peter asked me to strip naked, and I ended up not wearing anything until the day I decided it was enough, 16 months later, although I did wear panties during my periods, but otherwise, I was fully naked around the clock, for more than a year. One of the first things he did was get rid of all calendars and clocks in the house, keeping only his watch and his cellphone for any time references. He didn’t have a computer or a TV or even a radio so even if I wanted to know the time or the date when he was away at work, it was impossible. He didn’t even have a phone at home, using only his cellphone for communications.
At first, our relationship was like most other couples in that we engaged in conversation, had lots of sex with the added kinkiness of me being suspended or tied or even whipped from time to time. Quickly, as time went by however, it was expected that I would behave more and more like a slave and with less and less freedom of will. He was slowly helping me let go of my resistance to obedience, as he said it. Gradually, I began to enjoy it. When he was there, he would train me in doing whatever he wanted me to do, including cooking, cleaning the loft or servicing him sexually. When he wasn’t there, I was left instructions on what to do, like meditation or even just stretching exercises. Rapidly, I lost track of time and Peter insisted that this was his goal. He wanted me to fully rely on him for all information. I realized that sometimes, a Wednesday would follow a Thursday, but I was expected to just accept it and soon enough, I stopped asking or caring about which day we were.
Now, I realize he was almost brainwashing me, but like my mother, I didn’t see any alternatives. I was warm, I was secure, I was loved and unlike her, the few times I was hit I actually welcomed and enjoyed it as it was usually followed by some of the best sex I ever had and I was hit as part of BDSM. Several times, he invited friends over and no, I was not allowed to dress back up. Most of the people were friends I knew from the dungeon, but I was usually expected to play a certain role, like remain silent for the evening and simply serve food for everything or even just remain on all four and serve as a human footrest for the whole evening. I was asked to service them but it was always discussed with me first and I could use the “Red” safe word to say no without repercussions. If we were on our own, Peter didn’t use safe sex but if we were in company, he always practiced safe sex.On some occasions, I was blindfold and have no idea who was having sex with me. if it was really someone else.
Sometimes we did long term rules or roles, like a 3 week puppy play or 3 weeks of being blindfolded which was really difficult and scary. (At first, I did think to cheat while he was at work, but I remained faithful and spent the whole period blindfolded).
One day, he decided to tie me to his St Andrews cross like he often did and I just said my safe-word. I had enough. I had been forbidden to talk for the previous few months and I no longer felt good about myself like in the beginning. I had forgotten who I was, what I wanted and simply couldn’t take it anymore.
He confirmed that was what I wanted and brought me some of my clothes, I had lost quite a lot of weight under his care. I didn’t know the date and was 6 months out and I had just missed my birthday without realising it. Whilst I though it was summer, it was deep winter, snow and We found my mother but I discovered she didn’t even care where I had been or that we hadn’t spoken for that long. The three of us ate supper without even speaking a word, so I asked Peter if I could stay with him for a while not as his slave. I moved into his one bedroom flat and often slept with him but othertimes on the couch. We did even did a little BDSM play but we were back to the talking phase we had in the beginning. We spoke a lot about what I had gone through and I shared all my thoughts and emotions. He apologized for the last part where he asked me to stay silent for so long. He mostly wanted to be sure he didn’t somehow break me or traumatize me. He tried to convince me to try it again, but it was behind me now. I had others things to do even if I had no idea what.
Two months after I said my safe-word, I found a job in a burger joint, not a big chain but a mom and pop store where I was a waitress serving greasy burgers.
I moved out 3 months later and Peter paid the deposit on my flat and helped me find a small apartment and even paid for the first few months to help me get on track, helping me to find used furniture and even all of the appliances. He was busy finding my replacement and when he did, he stopped calling me completely. I got a job at a better restaurant and eventually made a new boyfriend, a regular customer, and I am now the receptionist for the office he works for.