Slut_loves_pain
Experienced
- Joined
- Jan 22, 2004
- Posts
- 55
Hokay
Time for some shameless honesty and shameful honesty and by the time I'm done writing no doubt I'll have shared way TMI but oh well.
When I was 6 I was gangraped by a group of young men. After that everything went to hell. I had an extremely abusive mother, an incestuous father (and his best friend) to deal with for the next 9 years.
In that 9 years I'll make a list of things I've 'endured'... I mean this in the sense of abuse and not BDSM but I'll use some of the same terms.
- Golden showers
- Drinking urine
- Collars, leads, dog boxes/kennels
- Cold baths
- Restraint, binding, hogtying
- Isolation
- Gagging
- Burning
- Beating with sticks, leather, metal, plastic
- Strangulation
- Hanging
- Insertion of all kinds of strange objects
- Douching (boiling water, bleach....)
- Suffocation
- Starving
- Enforced silence
- Forced eating
- and of course the good old rape, sodomy and oral.
There is of course more.
At the age of 9 I began to masturbate. From the word dot I only EVER fantasised about violence. It was a war scene, I was a prisoner, there was a room full of them. I would be 'rescued' by a boy I liked, or even hornier, he would be tied down and forced to watch.
As I grew older I began holding my breath, inserting objects into myself, tying myself with belts, sticking a plastic bag over my head, the fantasies got more elaborate with death, maiming, permanent injury to genitals, branding. After THAT I became unable to orgasm without imagining that my breath was being cut off as these things were done to me.
In short I was acting out in fantasy aspects of what was happening to me in daily life. I thought I was a fucking monster. I would be forced to sit alone and read my Bible, day after day I would turn to Lot, King David's daughter and son that committed incest, anything involving women and violence. I was homeschooled in Mennonite curriculem and soaked up everything I could on martyrs, Joan of Arc (it fascinated me that she was raped before she was burned) I imagined being burnt alive. It matched the pain from the match burns on my breasts and arms and buttocks. Those are still there, in scar form.
When I was 17 and independant I had the unfortunate luck of being taken and gang-raped by a local bikie gang. Lucky lucky me. After the STD's cleared and my PID was sorted I went to masturbating about what??? Rape. What a freak.
From 17 onwards I was sexually active in vanilla relationships (But always with men 10 years or more older than me) and getting no pleasure out of them at all. The temptation to get out on the corner and convince someone to hurt me was very very strong. I was a pretty fucked up cookie from 17-19, ending up with a psychologist who saw my intellect and believed my past (after many that didnt) and kept me out of the inpatient ward and sane.
With his help and my husbands love I got better, but still I fantasized about the same things, had to hold my breath to orgasm, tormented myself EVERY day about what I was thinking.
At 21 I took 3 months out from my marriage and sat with me and my computer and my thoughts. I ended up lurking here, reading till 3 in the morning and rather self-destructively posting on Dating sites looking for men who were prepared to roleplay a violent attack with me. I felt like I had to HAD to release the pain from my system somehow.
Till I figured it out. I was NORMAL. That was mostly due to all of you, due to ownedsubgal's honesty and of many others here that I learnt I wasnt alone, that I was allowed to want to be tied up. I was not the only girl in the world who wanted a hand over her mouth in the middle of the night and a dick shoved in a dry pussy.
I got back together with my husband but I was deeply unhappy because knowing of my history like he did, he could not reconcile the two and was sure I'd flip out on him as soon as he tried something.
Then I met a DJ in a club and wow!!!! It was lust and D/s at first sight and from that day on I've been a whole complete person. I'm one of the lucky ones who has D/s in RL and it has gone so well.
He has sometimes done things that have triggered awful memories but has listened to me and calmed me afterwards. I no longer have the urge to have the more extreme things done to me AGAINST my will when I can have BDSM every night, thankya ma'am. My therapist knows of my BDSM lifestyle and is very very supportive (and dare I say envious).
I keep my husband and my Master in my life.
I like being 'told' to get drunk, stoned, or just in the mood, and then 'told' to get the fuck to my room now bitch, and be tied up and have his cock forced down my throat.
Most days I can say what I do now and what happened then are not related. But lately I cant.
How honestly can I say that being tied to my bed by my mother and having objects forced up me as a child has NOTHING to do with having the exact same thing happen now. (apart from a little thing called consent, of course)
Some days, the down days, I cannot seperate the two, I do feel guilty, and its killing me. Like today.
The dead truth is. If that hadnt happened to me, I would not like BDSM. I cant deny that
So I feel guilty about being involved in BDSM. Like its something I need to 'fix' OR worse, that will go away if I heal enough. Frankly I dont want it to go away. I LIKE it. But I still feel like a monster.
Time for some shameless honesty and shameful honesty and by the time I'm done writing no doubt I'll have shared way TMI but oh well.
When I was 6 I was gangraped by a group of young men. After that everything went to hell. I had an extremely abusive mother, an incestuous father (and his best friend) to deal with for the next 9 years.
In that 9 years I'll make a list of things I've 'endured'... I mean this in the sense of abuse and not BDSM but I'll use some of the same terms.
- Golden showers
- Drinking urine
- Collars, leads, dog boxes/kennels
- Cold baths
- Restraint, binding, hogtying
- Isolation
- Gagging
- Burning
- Beating with sticks, leather, metal, plastic
- Strangulation
- Hanging
- Insertion of all kinds of strange objects
- Douching (boiling water, bleach....)
- Suffocation
- Starving
- Enforced silence
- Forced eating
- and of course the good old rape, sodomy and oral.
There is of course more.
At the age of 9 I began to masturbate. From the word dot I only EVER fantasised about violence. It was a war scene, I was a prisoner, there was a room full of them. I would be 'rescued' by a boy I liked, or even hornier, he would be tied down and forced to watch.
As I grew older I began holding my breath, inserting objects into myself, tying myself with belts, sticking a plastic bag over my head, the fantasies got more elaborate with death, maiming, permanent injury to genitals, branding. After THAT I became unable to orgasm without imagining that my breath was being cut off as these things were done to me.
In short I was acting out in fantasy aspects of what was happening to me in daily life. I thought I was a fucking monster. I would be forced to sit alone and read my Bible, day after day I would turn to Lot, King David's daughter and son that committed incest, anything involving women and violence. I was homeschooled in Mennonite curriculem and soaked up everything I could on martyrs, Joan of Arc (it fascinated me that she was raped before she was burned) I imagined being burnt alive. It matched the pain from the match burns on my breasts and arms and buttocks. Those are still there, in scar form.
When I was 17 and independant I had the unfortunate luck of being taken and gang-raped by a local bikie gang. Lucky lucky me. After the STD's cleared and my PID was sorted I went to masturbating about what??? Rape. What a freak.
From 17 onwards I was sexually active in vanilla relationships (But always with men 10 years or more older than me) and getting no pleasure out of them at all. The temptation to get out on the corner and convince someone to hurt me was very very strong. I was a pretty fucked up cookie from 17-19, ending up with a psychologist who saw my intellect and believed my past (after many that didnt) and kept me out of the inpatient ward and sane.
With his help and my husbands love I got better, but still I fantasized about the same things, had to hold my breath to orgasm, tormented myself EVERY day about what I was thinking.
At 21 I took 3 months out from my marriage and sat with me and my computer and my thoughts. I ended up lurking here, reading till 3 in the morning and rather self-destructively posting on Dating sites looking for men who were prepared to roleplay a violent attack with me. I felt like I had to HAD to release the pain from my system somehow.
Till I figured it out. I was NORMAL. That was mostly due to all of you, due to ownedsubgal's honesty and of many others here that I learnt I wasnt alone, that I was allowed to want to be tied up. I was not the only girl in the world who wanted a hand over her mouth in the middle of the night and a dick shoved in a dry pussy.
I got back together with my husband but I was deeply unhappy because knowing of my history like he did, he could not reconcile the two and was sure I'd flip out on him as soon as he tried something.
Then I met a DJ in a club and wow!!!! It was lust and D/s at first sight and from that day on I've been a whole complete person. I'm one of the lucky ones who has D/s in RL and it has gone so well.
He has sometimes done things that have triggered awful memories but has listened to me and calmed me afterwards. I no longer have the urge to have the more extreme things done to me AGAINST my will when I can have BDSM every night, thankya ma'am. My therapist knows of my BDSM lifestyle and is very very supportive (and dare I say envious).
I keep my husband and my Master in my life.
I like being 'told' to get drunk, stoned, or just in the mood, and then 'told' to get the fuck to my room now bitch, and be tied up and have his cock forced down my throat.
Most days I can say what I do now and what happened then are not related. But lately I cant.
How honestly can I say that being tied to my bed by my mother and having objects forced up me as a child has NOTHING to do with having the exact same thing happen now. (apart from a little thing called consent, of course)
Some days, the down days, I cannot seperate the two, I do feel guilty, and its killing me. Like today.
The dead truth is. If that hadnt happened to me, I would not like BDSM. I cant deny that
So I feel guilty about being involved in BDSM. Like its something I need to 'fix' OR worse, that will go away if I heal enough. Frankly I dont want it to go away. I LIKE it. But I still feel like a monster.