It seems to me that it’s many years since I had a normal life, if I ever did. From my uncle playing with me when I was so young until I was old enough to break away, only to go wild all over Europe, then back into my uncle’s captivity, followed by working as a whore in the capital, then as a slave, sold, conditioned and used by a totally dominant mistress, and now living alone with real freedom for what feels like the first time ever in my entire, short life.

If you haven’t followed what’s been happening in my life since I started this blog and beyond, what follows is a (brief) rundown:

Before eighteen

From early I was left with an uncle to be minded while my parents worked. He didn’t have a wife or girlfriend and sort of put me into that role. I learned a lot about what men and women do before I went to secondary school, a prisoner of small-town secrecy and thinly-veiled threats and a kind of blackmail. It wasn’t unpleasant and it formed in me a desire, really a need, to please others. What I later learned to be light to moderate levels of BDSM became a regular part of life by early teens and I grew to enjoy, then love, then crave it.

At eighteen

Once I reached the age of eighteen and finished school, my father, unaware of uncle’s secret ways with me, thought it would be good experience if I travelled around Europe for a year, as a sort of reward for studying hard and doing so well at school.

Once out on my own with nobody guiding me or ordering me, I went crazy. Every cock and pussy I could find became my target. I took on one man then two at once, then three and then twenty, and more. Nothing was too depraved to try. This was my time for adventure and I became the toy for hundreds of men and women, big, small, young and old, some very old. It was a time of abandon with no sense of self-control or shame or self-esteem. Everything was allowed and I loved every second, even when I suffered seriously high levels of pain and humiliation.

The year’s adventure was cut short when family illness forced me home. After a while my father, always clear boss of our home and healthy again, discovered some email of mine in which some, very mild, sexual adventures were mentioned and he threw me out of the house, ironically to stay with my uncle who would ‘straighten me out’.

Time with uncle

When I arrived at uncle’s house I felt humiliated by father and rejected by my family, who were forbidden to have contact with me. I felt no sense of self-worth and uncle, being an experienced user of me, knew immediately and began to take advantage of my vulnerable state. He, literally, stripped me of everything and made me live naked in a outside shed, to be used by men from the surrounding area, for which he was paid well. I was made to beg for food and to serve uncle’s desires as well as being subjected to many men’s lowest abuses. The way I felt at that time though, I welcomed the abuse and enjoyed all of it. In fact I felt sad only when I was alone and not being used.

It took a while but something in me, maybe the memory of my time of freedom in Europe, made me long for then plan for, escape. Finally, I did escape and travelled to the capital.

Money for sex

Living isn’t easy for a young woman in a city full of others also looking for enough money to survive. Being unsuccessful at finding any regular kind of work I found that with the small amount of money that I had I was able to find somewhere to live and then began to take men to my flat who would pay me for sex. Having escaped from life as a sex slave I became a whore. I found that, as a Eurasian, I was in some demand and become popular. Also, with my enjoyment of being abused, I was able to charge more for allowing myself to be hurt and humiliated.

I was befriended by an older woman and soon we shared a bed as well as friendship. She helped me to attract wealthier men, and women, almost all of who enjoyed a girl they could do anything with, and to. Soon I was working for my girlfriend, taking a share of payments, and specializing in men and women over 50 years old. Before very long I was working more than 9 hours every day of the week, making plenty of money but constantly tired. The abusive sex was making me happy and I could see how, in a year or maybe less, I could give up the life of a whore and enjoy sex for its own sake. I was also becoming strongly attached to a man, a Master, with who I had a close, although by email only, relationship. It was my intention to work for another year then leave and join that man as his willing slave, possibly for life.

Unknown to me there were negotiations happening behind the scenes, conducted by my girlfriend/pimp. An auction had begun among three of my clients, two men and a woman, to buy me as a slave. I had some inkling but until it actually happened and I’d been sold to the woman, I still had hopes for my own plans. That wasn’t to be and I was passed into the woman’s possession, as a possession.

Possessed

As soon as I was bought, my bank account, in which I’d put all of my savings, was transferred into the care of my Mistress. I was taken to her home, isolated in a basement room fitted out as a dungeon, and there I stayed for what I now understand was several weeks. I slept on the floor on rags, was ‘trained‘ physically and mentally without break, except to sleep for a few hours each night. The Mistress had engaged an expert at the breaking and conditioning of slaves. For weeks I was ‘trained‘ and at the end of that time, I had been stripped of all sense of myself as an individual, all sense of a past, of memories or desires. At the end of my training I was a clean slate with only one desire, to serve my Mistress perfectly. The ‘trainer‘ had targeted my ingrained need to be used and abused and had made an object in which there was no me, or rather a ‘me‘ so suppressed that there was almost a zero chance of it ever reappearing. I became a thing, a possession of my Mistress with no worth other than that which she gave me. I had become precisely what I had been conditioned to be from the age of nine.

Every day was pure pleasure working only to serve. I didn’t have to think about myself, my duties were clearly defined, clothes were not needed because I served naked and when ordered to wear clothes, they were provided by the Mistress. Whatever order was issued, I carried it out no matter what is was. I have scars from some punishments and abuses which will never fade short of surgery and I have a tattoo that says dum vivimus servimus which means ‘While we live, we serve’. All of Mistress’s 4 slaves have such a tattoo.

One very great gift Mistress did give to me was her strict insistence that I had to improve my English, as a sort of honor to her and on a more practical level, to be useful for writing things she didn’t have the time or interest in writing herself. I studied hard, every day, and I am grateful for those harsh months of forced study and punishment for failures.

I think Mistress realized she had made an error in judgment after I had been appointed as her personal assistant following the resignation of her long-time P.A., due to marriage. A slave as a P.A. is unheard of and for good reason. A slave is identified as an object and is assigned no value of its own. It is a chair, a rug, a cleaning cloth. I was given responsibilities to organize appointments, meetings, etc, for Mistress as well as monitoring the other slaves’ duties. After I made several mistakes that indicated a possible emergence of a self, Mistress quickly reassigned me to the lowest position she could, that of a demonstration unit for her friend who traded in slaves. I was subjected to the most extreme abuses by prospective buyers of the woman’s other girls. I served as an example of what they could expect from a slave they purchased. Sales were good and I served in that capacity for over three weeks without complaint, a slave does not complain, would not think to complain.

It was a punishment and a demonstration to me of my position. Mistress didn’t want to lose control. In the end I returned to the home of my Mistress but I did not go back to the P.A. position. I became what she had always intended me to be. I became her personal slave, her hand-maiden if you like, dedicated only to her and with no other duties. Soon after I returned Mistress became ill. So many doctors came to the house but nothing helped. Early in the morning about 3am Mistress told me where to find a special number to call, she told me that she really loved me, and then she died.

The number was that of Mistress’ ‘fixer’, a long-time friend of Mistress who took charge of everything. She had a long document of instructions that Mistress had left in case of her death.

• Two of my fellow slaves, zero and jos, were to be recalled from their current assignments and were to become the property of the slave-trading friend for who I’d been a demonstration unit.
• All of the different businesses of Mistress were to be sold
• I was to be ‘de-programmed’ and given my freedom
• Mistress‘ house was to become my property
• The slave fawn was to become my property
• Mistress‘ car and other objects were mostly left to me
• Mistress‘ money was distributed to her former P.A., among Mistress‘ closest friends, and to me

Life after slavery

The de-programming took a little over a week and I still have times when I revert to my slave ways. I guess it’s a permanent part of who I am, up to a point.

Who do you belong to when you don’t know who you are?

Having spent my whole life belonging to others, first to my parents, then to my uncle, then to my pimp, then to Mistress, I am finding it hard to adjust to, being free. I’m not rich but I have enough money to live and be comfortable. I have a totally loyal and dedicated servant in fawn. I looked amongst Mistress’ papers now that her previously forbidden office is mine, in fact I’m writing this from her very desk, and found a dossier relating to fawn. It turns out that she is almost seventeen, was the property of Mistress’ friend for a little over three years, and prior to that she was kept in the home of a family member, an uncle who it seems was similar in character to my own uncle, for ten years. The document details fawn’s character as being devoid of any individual sense of self. Trained from the earliest age to be pleasant, sunny even, to everyone, and to be diligent about her work, she is the very model of subservience. Part of her early training was to expect pain as a sort of ‘treat’ and she, cutely, makes small mistakes from time to time, knowing that punishment must follow. Similar to an animal raised in captivity, fawn would not survive in her own.

So, I have decided to keep fawn, to treat her well, give her those little ‘treats’ when she needs them. I’m finding strange feelings of satisfaction when I punish her. I am experiencing what may be the emergence of a sort of rebellion against the years of my own subservience. Inside, somewhere, I’m feeling a desire to exercise dominance and it feels good, though very, very strange. Perhaps fawn can be my first taste of becoming a Mistress. How strange will that be?

Perhaps the de-programming and this first taste of freedom has produced unintended effects. My first act was to claim my name back. Witness the birth of Mistress Nina.