Submissives & Slaves: Who am I? How did I get here?

[aussiesubgirl]

I probably do conform to the stereotype mentioned above in the post by Sister Honey. I am the eldest child in what was a strict Catholic family while I was growing up. From the age of 4 to 11 I was sexually abused by my next door neighbour's hugely fat, brutal and mildly retarded 20-something son, something I never told anyone about as I feared so much for how much it would hurt / kill my parents to know that.

But even from a VERY young age (~5 yo) I had sexual fantasies about being tied up and fondled by strangers, beautiful women restrained to a bed in suspender stockings and probed and touched by all manner of masked Doctors etc (I found and stared for hours at my Dad's stack of Playboy magazines probably a year before these fantasies started hence the details I could put into them!!)...I even used to draw pictures of the scenarios - being a quiet, shy and somewhat 'loner' child I was a very naturally talented artist and could draw almost anything I wanted....and drawing those images gave me a deliciously dull, but fluttery feeling in my tummy....until one day my father found the drawings under my bed and I came home from school to find them pinned to my bedroom door (for everyone in the family to see) and asked to explain what that filth was...I remember getting a severe beating that afternoon with my father's belt and have never felt so much shame before. Even the sexual abuse made me feel less shameful (probably only because it was/remained concealed) than having my dirty drawings and ideas exposed to my family who were my entire world at that tender age.

I have had lots of lovely, loving and caring relationships, but never really found true fulfilment from my previous sexual relationships and my (as it has been called) 'excessive' and 'voracious' sexual appetite was exciting at first to my BF's but after a while it managed to exhaust and emasculate many a man...it didn't even work with women - my girlfriend (that I loved deeply) and I had wonderful, exciting sex at the beginning of our relationship, but unfortunately even she eventually fell into the common female stereotype of not wanting sex once the relationship had become 'comfortable', committed and established. Out of love for her I made the sacrifice of denying my own highly sexual nature, but years of lonely masturbation in the dead of night, trying not to wake her and frustratingly tender but unsatisfying cuddling (but nothing else) was the end of us.

My analogy of previous sexual relationships is that it was like constantly having an orgasm that built up and up but was ultimately cut short right at the end...so even though you enjoyed yourself, it was never quite deep enough, it was somewhat hollow and unfulfilling, leaving you strangely depressed and empty...

Just recently I have started dating a man that completely overwhelmed me from the very first date...the minute I met his eyes, I started to shake (and embarassingly sloshed white wine on my black boots!) and then could barely say 2 words to him for the first 2 hours of our date! Luckily he was patient and knew how to calm and soothe me...and after a few hours (and more wine!) I relaxed in his presence...we had a wonderful night together that ended with a kiss the likes of which I had NEVER had before...his hands reached around me but instead of the tentative, reverent embraces I was used to his hands went straight into my hair and roughly forcing my head to be still with my long blonde strands wrapped around his hands (I used to hate having my hair pulled -but now I love it!!) and gave me the deepest, most savagely satisfying, possessive kiss of my life...there was something so powerful about him, not just his large beautiful body, but in his personality, a confidence and charisma that practically oozed from every pore....because I am still such a 'good girl' it went no further than a kiss and I sent him back to his hotel...but we met again just a few hours later after we had both slept a little and all in all our "first date" lasted for 5 days...

After seeing each other for less than 3 weeks (we had been having sex since the 4th night of the 5 night date - I couldn't resist any longer, although he made me make the decision!!) one particularly flirty day of texting (he lives in another city) turned very kinky and with talk of spankings and tying me to the bed, and it ended with me calling him Master (I don't even know where it came from cos by that stage I had never read any BDSM lit or seen BDSM porn!) I was so turned on and wet from playing the "naughty girl" I was almost coming - via SMS!! Only in todays world...LOL...he gave me some instructions and said he would drive down and see me, and I was beside myself with anticipation...

Within an hour he arrived at my door (he must have REALLY floored it!) and I opened the door dressed as he requested and a trembling, shy, slightly embarassed smile on my face...I had never done or said anything like this before but it all seemed to come so naturally to me it was frightening. But what was more frightening was the hard look on his face and the strange light in his eyes....he seemed like he had become a totally different person, still the incredibly sexy man I had fallen so hard for, but now with a cold as steel personality replacing the funny, caring and chivalrous man I had seen for the last 3 weeks....I could not look him in the eye anymore. Even though my pussy was still dripping wet like never before, I was so scared I almost lost my nerve then and there in my front doorway...especially since I instinctively knew that this man had the physical strength to do whatever the hell he wanted with me, and it dawned on me I did barely know him - God knows what this man was going to do to me! But being stubborn and proud (often to a fault) I would not let myself back down...also I detest people who do not live up to their word and talk the talk but won't 'walk the walk', so I raised my chin stubbornly to meet his eyes and saw the faintest twist of his mouth in a suppressed smile - before it vanished into harsh rebukes for failing to follow one of his orders (he demanded I get us a bottle of wine and I had no cash on me to buy it and frankly was not really able to walk to the shop to get some considering my almost trance-like state of arousal from our messages)...

Even though part of me knew his 'anger' at me was all part of the game (that I had almost unwittingly initiated by a fairly innocuous, flirty line like "I've been a naughty girl"), I could not bear to have him disappointed in me and I hated him being cold and angry with me. I didn't even consciously think it, but my mind with an unspoken force immediately knew I would do anything to make him happy and loving with me again...

I was swept along into the game, feeling like I was being sucked into a black vortex of filthy, overwhelming desire...scared as all hell, like never before, but locked into his will like a deer in the headlights. We had established a safe word while he was on the trip up to me, but being stubborn I thought i would not need to use it. I wanted to prove to him I was strong and brave (despite feeling the complete opposite) and that I was liberated and confident enough to live up to the kinky promises I had made over the phone. He was alternatively cruel and hard on me and deliciously gentle...the swaying back and forth was messing with my mind in such a way I could barely remember my own name let alone remember to call him Master when I addressed him - earning me more cruel and hard punishments...my fear went through the roof when he reached into his backpack (the only thing he brought with him) and showed me a small but wicked looking folding knife. I swear my heart tried to burst through my chest, but my pussy clenched and throbbed at the same time, keeping pace with my thumping heart. He used the knife to cut my black nightie from my body, then forced me to choose which of my breasts would receive pleasure and which would receive pain.
He gently sucked and played with one of my hyper-sensitive nipples, then turned and tormented the other by biting and smacking and crushing it cruelly in his large strong hands. He kept alternating between this agony and ecstasy for what seemed like and hour till my left nipple was bruised, purple and starting to bleed.

Then he humiliated me by forcing me to stand bent over, my arse placed right in front of his face, while he heavily spanked me causing red and purple bruises to arise almost immediately...stripped totally naked in front of the second floor window. I live on a very busy street in the middle of the city with lots of pedestrians at all times and I would have been clearly visible to anyone who happened to glance up as well as the other neighbours across the street whose windows looked directly into mine. The pain but more so the shame was overwhelming. I felt the tears rising up in my throat like a hot bubble of bile. Images of other long hidden, shameful things in my past rose up to assualt me and I was suddenly outside of my body - seeing myself in this position, in front of a man I felt like I barely knew - especially at this moment - horrified that a family on the street out for a perfectly normal Sunday stroll would see me and all my shameful secrets would finally be known to the world.

He could not see this breakdown happening to me as I was faced away from him, but when he ordered me to turn around, kneel in front of him and unzip his pants he saw my tears running silently down my red hot face, and my desperately stubborn chin was quivering with the pain of repressing the need to burst out into loud noisy crying....my hands shakily went to his jeans to do as he demanded, then he stopped them catching both wrists in one of his hands and held them till they were still. I couldn't meet his eyes and kept the focussed blearily on the carpet in front of me, but I knew he was looking at me hard and searchingly, examining my face in minute detail. He was holding my wrists together stretched out in front of me, which pressed my naked breasts together and scraped the brusied and broken nipple against the soft skin of my arm, causing me to whimper very faintly. He demanded I look at him, but I could not do it. I was overwhelmed with disappointment that I had failed him, diappointed him and that I was not strong enough for this 'game'. I knew that I had a safe word to use (established while he was on his way to see me) but I could not bring myself to use it, again out of stubbornness, a desire to prove myself to him and the intense need to please him.

Because he knows me even better than myself, he began to quietly talk to me in his deep strong voice, asking me gently but firmly if I needed to stop. Awash with shame and disappointment because part of me did not want to stop but the fear of being mentally broken by the images in my head was even stronger than my desire. All I could do was nod dumbly as the tears flowed faster and faster and I began to sob. He held me against his strong naked chest (god how I love that big strong chest) and I just stared numbly at the hairs curling across his pecs to his pierced nipple. I felt like I had fallen down a steep, dark hole and could not climb back out.

After about 5 mins of stroking my hair and letting me calm myself, he softly demanded I
talk to him and tell him what I was thinking and feeling. Not being very good at verbally expressing my feelings even at the best of times, it was as if my tongue had been cut from my head. I desperately wanted to tell him everything, help him see that I wanted more than anything to please him and that he had pleased me, it was my own mind that had betrayed me, not him...but the words would not come.

He gave me some chilled wine to drink as my mouth had gone completely dry. And again he wanted to know why I did not use the safe word. Tears welled in my eyes as I stared at the floor, knowing I had the control that could have stopped this before I felt so vulnerable, but I refused to use it. I had caused this myself. Again, he knows me better than myself and immediately guessed at the reasons. He verbalised the reasons that were running through my head but could not be forced from my mouth.

He placed my flimsy robe around my shoulders, helped my arms into the sleeves tenderly like dressing a small child, stroked my hands still held lightly in his and calmed me enough to finally be able to speak to him. We had one of the most raw, gut wrenchingly honest conversations two people could have that night. Each person completely beyond being able to play any more games or pretend. After what seemed like an age (the sun had gone down by this time so it must have been at least 2 hours), he reached over into his backpack again, and my heart sunk. Was he going to start again? I wasn't ready.

But instead he pulled something small out of there and asked me to hold out my wrist. He looked deeply into my eyes, and said "I bought something for you. And I was going to give it to you if our day went well today". Then he wrapped a thin leather band around my small wrist and buckled it onto me. His deep, sexy voice told me gently that as long as I kept this on I would belong to him. Again, tears started to hotly form in my eyes at the implication (in my own mind) that I had ruined the day by my weakness. I desperately wanted to belong to him, and for him to have given me the leather band of his ownership in the glow of happiness and sated sexual gratification rather than misery and weakness.

My heart was wrenched with love that he gave it to me regardless, and that he wanted the world (and me) to know that I belonged to him. He stood up and took my hand to lift me from my still kneeling position on the floor, barely able to move because of the pain in my raw buttocks and legs that had gone cold and numb. Still holding my hand he lead me upstairs and lay with me, holding me in his huge strong arms, gently stroking my hair till I was in an almost trance-like state again - but this time of love rather than arousal.

In the weeks that followed he had to leave the country for three weeks (his job requires him to travel constantly to distant and remote locations for weeks at a time). I also was away from home for my job, and we had sporadic contact. I ached for him. I could not get the images of that day from my head, but they no longer shamed me. They aroused me in deeper ways than I could have imagined before. Sometimes whilst working, an image would literally force its way into my mind and my chest would restrict so tight that I could not breathe, and my pussy would instantly flood with juices.

While separated by distance, we sometimes talked about the day we referred to as "that Sunday", and I told him that I wanted to trust him and trust myself again enough to try to fulfil both of our fantasies and needs in that special way I now KNEW I needed. My Master often says that pain and fear means you are getting close to something...and I knew I was on the edge of discovering a new me - the real me. I dreamt nightly of how I could show him that I was worthy of trusting me again to try to be better, stronger and more worthy of his ownership.

He returned and we resumed our previous sexual relationship (the way that it was before "that Sunday") - which is still spectacularly, wonderfully dirty and physical. He is still the only person I have ever met that can satisfy my needs - even in a 'vanilla' sense. We did not stray too far into the kinky side of things beyond some rough sex, light spanking and anal play (which I do not consider kinky anyway - just natural and wonderful). But the memories of that day stood between us, and being unspoken in many ways meant that they started to chip away at my own self-trust and my trust in him. I felt that him not wanting to dominate me again (as I so desperately wanted) was a sign that he had given up on me, and that killed me.

Desperately disappointed that he did not try to lead me there again....I felt too lacking in self worth to initiate it with him, too afraid he would reject me for failing him last time - and thought it would also offend his Dom nature should I try to manipulate him to make it happen. We danced around the subject briefly on his last night in town, but as we had plans with friends that night we headed out before doing anything about it. And giddy with lust from our conversation I drank too much and it went straight to my head. That ended our last night together with me fast alseep all alone.

He left again on Monday, for another 3 weeks. We are only 5 days into the first week of his absence now, and I have spent every night throbbing with unsatisfied desires (I have self-imposed chastity upon myself until he returns as I want to wait for his touch to release me from this prison and as punishment for my failure the first time) and started to try and work out why I felt the way that I did, what a 'submissive' actually is and why it made me so incredibly weak with desire.

This site has been crucial in my journey of discovery, as well as the BDSM library. Teaching me what I love, what repulses me, what frightens but intrigues me and where my hard and soft limits are. I told him last night via the internet that I was ready to try again and I needed him to lead me. And where he leads this time I will follow. His imagination is breathtaking in its scope and darkness so I don't imagine I will get away with anything lightly and gently next time but I am at peace with that and wriggling with anticipation of what his strong, capable body and devious mind can do to me.

Thank you all for helping me realise I am not a shameful freak and that this can be part of a healthy 'normal' (whatever that is!) life.

I apologise this has gone on muuuuuuuccch longer than I ever intended but has been incredibly cathartic for me...its not like I can tell my very straight vanilla friends this story!!

XXX
Aussiesubgirl
(soon to be inducted by her Master Todd)