A history of sorts - Part five

By the end of the second year, I was very rarely sleeping with Jane. She had told me bluntly at one point that she had wanted me as a housemate solely because she'd figured anyone so 'easy' with men would be willing to sleep with a woman as well. By the end of the year, she'd made a lot of new 'friends' thanks to her domme status, and I was of less relevance to her. I became more of an afterthought than the main focus of her attention.

It was quite useful, as it gave me the free time to swot up on the year's coursework, and I once again sailed through my exams easily. My regular meditations had eased the vast majority of my stress problems, and I had only suffered a few butterflies-in-stomach moments the night before an exam this time.

I was getting pretty good at meditation by then. I was using imagery to help with the trance state, imagining myself floating in the water next to a dazzlingly colourful coral reef. Sunlight, rippled by the surface waves, danced on the branches of stunning coral growths, gorgeous schools of fish darted all around. . . all very pretty. As my trance deepened, I sank slowly deeper in the water. The sunlight faded, but the life around me became luminescent, so it was just as bright., and still felt safe. Eventually, I would sink to the sea bed, a vast expanse of white sand, illuminated only by the glowing coral and it's luminous life. I would sink to rest on the bed, and watch the darting rainbow colours of the schools of fish whirling above me. Often, they would form into images, small dreamlike scenarios that depicted memories of the day, or representations of what I was thinking, or just strange images I didn't understand. Then they would break back up into thousands of independent points as the fish went their separate ways.

Some images repeated, and were regular features. Probably the single most common vision showed me being beaten by an indistinct figure. Sometimes I was over their knees being spanked, sometimes over a chair being caned, sometimes tied to a post being whipped, sometimes . . . Well, it varied a lot, but it was always me being put through hell by a furious attacker. The punishing figure would be shouting at me, things like "Slut! Bitch! You must be punished! You will suffer for what you've done! Whore! Cow! Scream! Cry! Howl in pain!". Quite a litany, eh?

I figured it was just memories of Jane and of some of the experiences she had arranged. After all, she had a spanking fetish, and loved calling me names. And in deep trance, it's very hard to be in control of what's happening, so I never looked closely enough at the punishing figure, always focussing on watching myself being punished.

To reach deep trance, you see, I had to completely still my mind of any thoughts and be completely at peace. Since it's not possible to hold your mind empty whilst still thinking, it's very tricky to keep your awareness that you're meditating: The awareness kind of floats just outside your consciousness. Usually, letting myself become aware of it shattered the trance state. So I just watched the images, passively, not finding them in the least remarkable. It's like you aren't surprised in dreams when you can fly - it seems a bit of fun, instead of making you think "Flying's impossible, this must be a dream!"

So whilst I was able to put myself into this dazzlingly beautiful word, in a dreamy state where I could see visions from the depths of my subconscious, I wasn't able to do anything much. It was a state of relaxation, of passivity. Much as I would have liked to be able to stay aware and in control, I couldn't. Not for a long time.

But, back to the real world. The second year ended, and we had to arrange accommodation for the next year. Jane didn't want to live with me again, she was off in search of greener pastures. I was somewhat relieved by that, but also somewhat worried. I didn't want to loose my status as a submissive.

This came up in conversation with one of the doms she had loaned me out to with increasing frequency over the year, whom I'd always gotten on well with as a person, as well as in my role as a sub. He offered to take me on as his sub, and let me live with him. He warned me that if I said yes, I should expect far more sexual use, along with his main fetish, which was humiliation. He would do his utmost to humiliate and degrade me into a totally depraved sex-toy.

I had found, more and more, that I was attracted to humiliating sex, such as being used in front of an audience, and being handed around like a toy. It wasn't Jane's primary interest, but it was his, so I agreed. I moved my stuff out from the house I shared with Jane, and into his.

I went through my final year at university, and carried on living with him afterwards. I won't bore you with a long litany of all the things that I did while with him, I'm sure you can imagine the kind of thing: Parties where I knelt in the middle of the room naked and sucked any cock that was placed in my open mouth; Sent to some house naked except for a long coat so I could be screwed by the man I didn't know there; Put in front of a computer with a webcam and told to entertain the online guests; and so on and so forth. Looking back on it, I can't remember a time when I felt any real emotion about the whole thing. I was completely numb to it all, completely indifferent, but still feeling driven to do it.

It all came to a head when he engineered a masterly scenario, a truly brilliant move. I came home from work one Friday to find nobody home, and a note pinned up. His handwriting, instructing me to go into my room and put on the clothes that were in there. I did so, and there was a short silver skirt, a tacky hot-pink blouse, a black bra, and some black stockings & high heels. I put them on, and found another note under them, with more instructions.

I was to get on the train and go into the city. I was to get out at a certain station, and go to a particular street. Once there, I was to stand around under a streetlight, and wait. If anybody enquired what I was doing there, I was to pretend I was a prostitute waiting for my next customer. Eventually, one of the passers-by would be, not a random stranger, but a friend of my Master. Nobody I knew. He would act no differently to any of the other passers-by, and he would be my customer. I was to go with him, and do whatever he wanted me to.

The note assured me that the person who 'hired' me would definitely be the man my Master had arranged for. It gave no details as to how that was being guaranteed, or how I would know if something went wrong. It simply said it was impossible that anything could go wrong.

So, on the surface, it was just me being sent to have sex with a man I didn't know - almost trivial to me by then. But by leaving me so in-the-dark, it ensured that I would be standing on the street, dressed like a whore, and be 'hired' by a man who, for all I knew, might genuinely be a random passer-by who wanted to screw a hooker.

It was very, very hard for me to stand under that streetlight. I was shivering slightly the whole time, and it wasn't from cold. I had to fight to keep from shaking violently when one man asked me how much, then decided I was too expensive, and carried on. Had he been genuine? I wondered. Or just another accomplice, there to make me even more nervous. Was this all a big set-up? Were there no precautions in place, and I was genuinely being turned into a prostitute? Would I go home in the evening and be congratulated on my first night of being on the game? What was really going on here???

Even the 'it's happening to somebody else' numbness wasn't enough to drown this one out. I was terrified, excited, and yet also incredibly turned on. The possibility that he was turning me into a whore was terrifying, but also intensely humiliating. And being humiliated was my fetish, after all. I have never been so aroused as I was that evening - it was almost painful.

Finally, after I'd been standing there for nearly an hour, a man asked my price, nodded, and had me follow him into an alley. He told me to stand against the wall with my legs apart. I was very grateful to lean against the wall, as I was finding it very hard to stand unaided. I closed my eyes, hoping it would stop the world from spinning. I heard him open a zip, and felt him step right up close. I heard a metallic noise, and a rustling of fabric. Then I felt his cock pressing against me.

I always thought it was just a figure of speech when a writer said "time stood still". But it happened to me right then - it felt like that instant lasted for years. I was both desperately afraid of letting him enter me, and desperately eager for him to do so. I was completely torn, and the anticipation was agonizing.

Then time started up again. His cock slid right into me. I came. I'm pretty sure I screamed. I know I got a death-grip on his jacket and pulled him tight against me. He pulled out, and then thrust back in. I came again. He thrust again, I came again. And again, and again. I don't know how long he fucked me, but I came non-stop while he did. When I felt him cum inside me, I nearly passed out. The world vanished behind a grey mist, and I felt so light-headed I wouldn't have been surprised if I'd floated away.

For a moment, the now-familiar image of myself being punished floated in front of me, and I saw myself crying as what looked like a cat-o-nine-tails struck me again and again. For the first time, I saw the face of the torturer. It was mine. I wasn't just being attacked, I was the attacker as well.

The image vanished, the world came back, and as he stepped back from me, I slid down the wall. My legs were too shaky to support me, and I was gasping for breath. As my breathing eased, I felt something slide into my open mouth. No prizes for guessing what it was. I sucked him to a second orgasm, and then he stepped away again. This time, he zipped up his jeans, reached into his jacket pocket, and handed me a banknote, folded in half. He turned and left.

After quite some time, I recovered myself enough to look at the money. I unfolded it, and inside was a small note in my Master's handwriting, telling me he was proud of me, and I should come home now.

I felt a flood of relief at that, as I realized that the man I'd just had sex with really had been sent by my Master, and hadn't just been a random passer-by. I re-arranged my somewhat dishevelled clothing, and made my unsteady way back to the station. A train arrived shortly after, and I got on. As it rattled along the track towards my home, I wondered about the image I'd seen. Why on Earth was I the one wielding the whip, as well as the one being scourged? Why was I seeing myself hurting myself? It made no sense to me. And yet, it was a persistent image, appearing in almost every meditation. It must mean something, surely?

I hadn't reached any conclusion when the train pulled into my station. When I got out, I saw my Master was waiting on the platform. He drove us home, and asked me about how it had gone. I gave a somewhat jumbled and incoherent account, but I remember raving about how many times I'd had an orgasm, and how fantastic it had been, and how clever he was for thinking it all up. He listened enthusiastically to start with, with lots of questions and comments. But he became quieter and more withdrawn as I went into detail. It didn't really register until we got home, where I finally noticed he was acting very cold towards me as he told me to go in and go to bed while he parked the car. I asked if I'd done something wrong, but he said no, it was fine.

Mystified, I went to bed as instructed. As I drifted into an exhausted sleep, the image of myself screaming abuse as I brought a cane down on myself bent over a table flashed in front of my eyes, but I fell asleep too quickly to take much notice.

Over the next few days, I became more and more confused. My Master continued to be rather distant and bad-tempered with me. He used drastic punishments for my slightest mistakes. He forbade me to leave the house for anything other than work. We were supposed to be going to a party, he cancelled it. He fucked my ass every night, but other than that didn't even seem interested in having sex.

I was at a loss. What was going on? I asked if I had done anything wrong again, and he snapped that no, I hadn't, and if I asked again I would be punished. But he continued acting strangely. He stopped insisting I be naked in the house, and instead had me stay in my work clothes. When I asked for permission to go out one night for a co-worker's leaving do, he refused. We still rarely had sex, and he didn't do any BDSM-related activities.

I wanted to speak about it, as it was making me feel really uncomfortable. But he'd told me not to.

The final straw came from work. There was a management position available, and it was offered to me. It paid a lot better than my current position, and I had some student debts to clear. I wanted to take it. He told me to refuse it. I pointed out that I could really do with the money. He said a submissive shouldn't even consider a position that put her in as dominant a role as management.
I pointed out that my status over the last few weeks couldn't be described by anyone as a submissive's.

Talk about the snowflake that caused an avalanche. He went nuts and started shouting furiously that he was my Master and I had no right to question him. I argued that he hadn't been acting like a master, he'd been acting like a jealous boyfriend. It wasn't easy for me to argue, after several years of cultivating a passive, do-as-you're-told attitude, but I knew I had to do it this time. I wasn't getting what I needed, and that couldn't go on.

He tried to end the argument by sneering at my "desire to sleep around", but I threw that back in his face by asking who had arranged for me to sleep around for the last two years. There was shouting, recriminations, and finally he tried to end it by saying he was my Master, I was to shut and up do as I was told, whether I liked it or not. He was my Master, and he was ordering me to stop arguing with him.

I felt like he'd slapped me in the face with that line. Did he really think so pathetically little of me?

I knew that instant that it was over. If he really thought he could just completely mistreat me and then just tell me I wasn't allowed to complain. . . Well, it just couldn't happen. I said so. "I'm going to pack. I'm leaving."

He said "No you're not. You don't have my permission to leave. I order you to stay!"

"You're not my master any more. You can't order me. I'm leaving."

And I did. It wasn't easy, both mentally and because he didn't want to let me go. Finally, I threatened to call the police, and he caved in. As in sitting on a chair crying when I went out the door.

I went into town, and booked into a B&B. Then I collapsed onto the bed and tried to sort my thoughts out: They were a total mess.

I realized at last why the sudden change in his attitude. His scenario had worked too well. Maybe he hadn't expected me to be able to do it, or maybe he'd expected me to do it but not enjoy it. I don't know, but I AM sure he didn't mean for me to enjoy it as much as I did. I told him I'd had non-stop orgasms from start to finish, and he realized that he'd never be able to induce the same. He would never be able to equal the sex I'd had that night, it seemed to him, so he felt threatened. He'd tried to cut me off from everybody but him, because he thought it was the only way he could still "be the best". If I didn't have anyone else, I would cling to him, he must have felt.

Instead, he'd driven me away. I couldn't live under those conditions.

At work the next day, I accepted the promotion. Then I started looking for a new place to live. The salary increase helped with that, and I managed to find a place that I couldn't afford yet, but would be able to as soon as I got my new pay. I arranged for a moving van at a time when I was sure he would be out, and got my stuff transferred to my new place.

Then I was at a loss. For the first time in a long time, I was on my own. Nobody controlling me, nobody arranging things for me. Nobody sleeping with me. I considered going out to some of the sleazier bars to get picked up, but rejected it. Just sex wasn't enough any more, it hadn't been for a long time. I wanted to be controlled, used, dominated. I didn't know anyone who'd do it. I'd never really been in the BDSM scene, I'd been under the charge of people who were.

And my dreams where haunted by that damned image of me being tortured by myself. It was actually interfering with my sleep.

I was lonely, confused, and feeling needy. I tried to work out where to go to get what I wanted, but couldn't even decide what I wanted. Sex? Control? Humiliating sex? Did I even want sex? I'd never really enjoyed it all that much, after all. The best sex I'd ever had had been when I'd been in a maybe-role-play acting like a prostitute.

A few times, I actually considered dressing up sleazy and going out on those streets again. It would mean plenty of sex, after all, and the men are most definitely in control when they're paying for you, and it's certainly humiliating. I once got so far as putting on the clothes. I couldn't bring myself to go any further.

I tried meditating. My mind was a raging whirl of contradictory thoughts, maybe if I calmed it down enough I could start making some sense of it. It took all evening, it was so hard to calm myself down and still my thoughts. But as I grew sleepy, the mental whirlwind died down, and I was able to quieten it enough to see myself floating down that coral wall again. After the turmoil of the last few days, the peace and stillness were blissful, and I sank to the bottom very quickly.

I looked up, and watched the beautiful glowing life swirling around me. Patterns formed, broke, and formed again, and I watched happily. And then they resolved into that damned image again, two 'me's, one screaming rage and abuse at the other as she hit her again and again. I watched, and finally asked myself, Why do I keep seeing this? And I answered. Because this is me. This is what I'm doing.

Ever since that first night at university, when I'd been stupid enough to get drunk and go home with a strange man, I'd been wracked with guilt. Rather than face up to it, I'd tried to avoid it, to convince myself that I shouldn't feel any guilt. Instead of accepting that I'd been stupid and working through it, I'd buried it.

But repressing emotions doesn't make them go away. It just makes them harder to deal with. When you feel guilty, you feel you've done something that deserves punishment. By shoving my guilt down into the depth of my mind, I'd just put it where it could influence me without ever knowing it. Our of guilt, I'd tried to punish myself. I'd turned myself into a slut to punish myself for acting like a slut. I'd let Jane turn me into her slave so she could give me the punishment I felt I deserved. I'd sought out sex that was humiliating and disgusting because I felt I deserved to be put through such unpleasant situations.

I'm sure Jane had realized that, right from the start. There were too many times when she'd done something to me that made no sense under her "you like serving people" explanation, but made perfect sense from a desire for punishment. Daily spankings, for instance. I doubt that she had passed her knowledge on to her successor, though.

The realization of the meaning of my past behaviour filled my mind as I watched my subconscious' representation of it in front of me. I saw it for the first time with understanding of what it meant. I saw myself crying in pain as I was punished, and I heard myself screaming in rage as I administered the punishment.

"You deserve pain! You're a slut! Worthless bitch! You must be punished!"

The harsh words ran through my mind, as they had so many times before. And I finally realized how tired I was of hearing them.

Yes, I'd been stupid. Yes, I'd done something I should have been ashamed of. Yes, I'd made things worse instead of better. I'm human. We make mistakes. Right then and there, I decided I'd punished myself enough. I'd made mistakes, and I'd paid for them.

As I made the decision, in the scenario in front of me, I saw the 'me' that was being punished get up off her knees, turn to the other 'me', and scream "Shut UP!"

The image shattered, and I woke up from the trance. I felt. . . empty. The maelstrom of thoughts that had been there earlier were gone, and nothing had replaced them. I felt more alone than I ever had before. I had resolved the guilt that had been the dominating force in my mind for years, and now that it was gone. . . I didn't really know how to cope. I felt like a cripple who's been healed and can finally throw away that crutch - it might be good to be free of it, but could I remember how to walk without it?

It wouldn't be easy. But I was sure that, slowly, I'd remember.