Confessions Of A Woman Who Spent 16 Months As A Full-Time BDSM Slave

July 27, 2017 | No Comments » | Topics: TRUTH

My childhood

I was an accident. Both my parent made that pretty clear in my mind, for almost all of my childhood and teenage years. My father was 53 when I was born and my mother 38. They had been unhappily married for 20 years and one night, my father forced himself on my mother years after she had stopped taking the pill and 9 months later, I arrived.

I grew up miserable. My father was an alcoholic. He worked as a carpenter and worked long hours outside of the house. As soon as he came home, he would start drinking and later in the evening, beat my mother for an offense or another he thinks she did to him.

My mother on the other hand is I guess a co-alcoholic and somehow thinks that our life was normal, that every husband in the world is like my father and every wife is like her. You know women who try to pretend that their husband loves them even if he beats her? My mom’s rationalization isn’t that he still loved her but rather than love simply doesn’t exist. She was always a stay at home mom and if she left, not only would should she be alone in life but she would have no money. Needless to say, neither have any real education.

Both pretty much ignored me all my life. If my mother was hungry, she would prepare a meal for lunch when I came back from school, otherwise, I learned to fix myself a sandwich quite early. Only supper was guaranteed to be on the table because my father ate with us.

I couldn’t receive any friends, because of my father and I couldn’t visit any friends, because of their father who were just as bad as mine in my mother’s mind.

So I grew up limited only to meeting kids in school which sucks because real friends see each other outside of school.

I sucked in pretty much every subject. Not getting any help on homework and my inability to sleep until late at night because of my parent’s arguing didn’t help.

But the worse was that nothing rang a bell in my mind. It was all normal. It was life. Movies and TV showed fiction including when it involved happy families.

I began lying to friends about my family but I couldn’t realize that they were actually telling the truth. I couldn’t conceive of parents who actually loved their kids. That was on TV, with monsters and fairy tales.

Teenager years

Around 11 or 12, I began drinking. My father left bottles everywhere and I would take a few sips to help me calm down during the fights. I spent my evenings locked up in my room and drinking so I would try to ignore what was going on outside of my room. Like I said, I was mostly ignored. I was like a dog you had to feed. You could fight in front of it, because it couldn’t understand you.

At 12 however, you aren’t a little girl anymore. Guys started to notice me. I was usually wearing awkward clothes and no one bothered to buy me a well-fitting bra.

I was desperate for attention and certain boys quickly discovered it. I lost my virginity at 13 to a guy who was a year or two older.

Drugs

Soon, I was offered light drugs like marijuana, acid blotters and ecstasy. I didn’t need more to get in the sack with a guy so I guess that’s why I never tried cocaine or anything stronger.

Drugs helped me avoid my problems and allowed me to fly through the days either without feeling anything at all or by letting me feel things that had nothing to do with my daily life.

But more importantly, I don’t think I ever took any drugs alone. I would take them with boys who offered it to me in exchange for sex and they all thought that it was the drug I was after when I think I wanted some love and affection. The drugs were just a nice bonus.

Most of the time however, I felt depressed and a few time took a lot of pills to apparently kill myself, but in reality, I think I mostly wanted to know if people would miss me when I was gone. I don’t really want to talk about that, not even with my boyfriend in private.

Death of my father

When I turned 16, my dad died of rectal cancer gone general. He didn’t even realize he was sick until a few months before his death. I had known he had problems on the toilet for years but we never thought it was something that awful.

He refused all treatments and chose to simply die at our home, peacefully. In reality, he simply screamed orders at my mother all day long since he rarely left his bed. He had a colostomy and it disgusted him profoundly until he died.

For a little while, I thought it would be better with my mother now that he was gone but obviously, her problems weren’t caused entirely by him. She mourned for him for years like a normal widow, but in an excessive manner. She stopped making meals altogether but continued buying the same groceries as when we were three in the house, letting a lot of the food spoil.

BDSM

That’s roughly when I started dating a guy who was into BDSM. Sorry it took so long to get there.

He was one of the guys who used to give me drugs but 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 he 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.

Alone in the dungeon

But one day, the dungeon master became furious when he saw weeds and pills in my partner’s bags and expulsed and banned him, leaving me alone in the club.

I should have followed him, but I guess I was already too stoned to do so. 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, 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.

Of course, back then, I couldn’t realize any of that. 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.

Enter Frank

But I met Frank (fake name). Frank was one of the masters visiting the dungeon. He was 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.

I think he had noticed me the first time I went to the dungeon with my ex, but perhaps he looked at all girls as possible future slaves. All I know was that 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 gotten banned and I was now cut off from my supply of both drugs and sex to get my mind off of my solitude.

Accepting the proposition

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 he wanted a house slave. That I could leave anytime I wanted by saying my safe-word 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 off, stuff like branding and needles or tattoos. He did have to explain a few of them to me. I guess today that my motivation was mostly to live somewhere with someone who would care for me and Frank was the closest I could find. We talked a lot and the next day 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.

It’s only when we came back to his loft that I began my 16 month journey…

My beginning as a slave

Frank carefully helped me pack my few things in boxes for storage and in all seriousness, asked me to strip naked.

At first, I felt ashamed, but a few soothing words from Frank helped me calm down. He boxed my clothes too and I ended up not wearing anything until the day I decided it was enough, 16 months later.

Well, I did wear panties during my periods, but otherwise, I was fully naked around the clock, for more than a year.

Frank works in a factory on shifts. He sometimes works the night shift, sometimes works the day shift, etc…

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.

Getting used to 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 Frank 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.

Today, 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.

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.

Only twice did someone else had sex with me, thought in one of the cases, I have no idea if it was really someone else.

Long term roles

You see, some of the things he did were long term rules or roles. I once did pet play for a full month (well roughly three weeks), from the end of my periods to the beginning of the next one. I played the role of the puppy night and day.

But the worst part for me to endure were the 3 weeks or so I spent blindfolded. Not once in those 3 weeks was I allowed to see anything, but I was expected to continue to follow my routine.

At first, I hit everything and I did think to cheat while he was at work, but I remained faithful and spent the whole period blindfolded. During that time, Frank received friends over and I had sex with someone but I am not sure if it wasn’t Frank himself. It sure felt familiar. The other time was for a threesome.

Eventually, he kept pushing more and more. His little stint with the blindfold was notable one of the tipping points. For days after the removal, I was hypersensitive to light and the Chilean miner crisis recently showed me there was a real danger to his fetish.

Getting out

One day, he decided to tie me to his 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 to put on my pale carcass. Without any sunlight in 16 months, my skin had never been so white, and I had lost quite a lot of weight under his care. He didn’t drop me on the street like I was afraid he would do or like my mom told me men acted when you said no to them. He asked me the date I thought we were and I was off by a good 3 months, under evaluating my stay. I had just missed my second birthday while in his presence and I was now 20 years old.

I had left the dungeon that night on a hot summer day and when I came out, snow was everywhere. 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.

I stayed with Frank for another 5 months but I wasn’t his slave anymore. We did continue to have sex and even do 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.

Finding a job and moving out

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.

Three months later, Frank and I agreed it would be better if I moved so he helped me find a small apartment and even paid for the first few months to help me get on track, allowing me to find used furniture and even all of the appliances. We stayed in touch for a while, but he was busy finding my replacement. When he did, he stopped calling me as he was now busy with his new slave. I had met her. She wanted to confirm that Frank wasn’t a psycho and I reassured her that I was fine. Frank promised he wouldn’t do the same mistakes he did with me.

Now

I eventually made a new boyfriend, a regular customer at my restaurant, and now I am the receptionist for the office he works for. Somehow, what happened in those 16 months almost helped me reboot my life. I don’t think it was because of the BDSM itself, but perhaps it was simply because someone had loved me and taken care of me almost like a child for the first time in my life.

Conclusion

What scares me today from time to time is that if he hadn’t begun to impose long term rules like the no speaking part, I might still be there, without the attention of a dentist and slowly losing sense of who I was.

But I grew out of that and slowly defined who I was and what I wanted and didn’t want and even learned today to say no to my boyfriend, something my mother was never able to do.