For context: This was written on Nov. 1 2015, about 2 weeks after my experience in captivity.
Last weekend I was kidnapped and locked in a small room over a 30 hour period by two Sadists who I’d only met once before. This had been planned over several months and while I knew the basics of my captivity, I knew little of the details, and trusted them to take me as far as they could without completely breaking me.
During my captivity, I was given little food and kept awake by strobe lights and loud music or horrible sounds. I was beaten mercilessly and without warning. I was tortured through electricity, drownings, waterboarding, rape, and humiliation. I was shamed. Deeply shamed. I was called names. I was left chained to a bed frame with no mattress. I was cold. Alone. I cried. I was interrogated. Beaten again. I begged for it to stop. I had ice water poured on my face. I was left in my own filth. Drowned in my own piss. I was spared no mercy and shown no affection. This wasn’t easy. it wasn’t fun.
But it was powerful. It changed me.
At the beginning, I was afraid. For a long time I didn’t see anything. My captors never spoke to me – just beat me without relief, never letting me know when they were in the room or not. Eventually, they broke me down. Through humiliation and torture they moved me from a place of fear, to a place of acceptance. A place where I understood my fate. I was theirs to be used. And there was nothing I could do about it. By then I had been ground down to something less than human. Left in a cage to rot. I no longer knew what time it was, what day it was. My body was no longer mine.
I tried to hold on to piece of me. A scrap of clothing. A piece of bread. Anything to keep me from sinking further away from reality.
But they took it all. The scrap of bread..they wretched from my hands. The clothing…ripped from my body. Any moment of intimacy…denied.
And that was the hardest part for me. Not the beatings or the torture or the rape or the shame.
It was the cruelty.
My captors rarely allowed a moments reprieve from the ongoing torture. When given water, my jaw was held open, forcing me to drink more than I needed. When being beaten, I grabbed for a leg, to steady myself; only to have it kicked away. A blanket was given to me for a time…only to be ripped from me but left close enough to see…forcing me to lie shaking in the cold. Every beating was hard. Every new torture exacting. I told them I’d do whatever they want – they said they were already doing it. They rarely spoke to me – only threatening me, interrogating me, or telling me what a shameful whore I was.
And they were right. I was a shameful dirty whore. Because I wanted all of it. I wanted to lie face first in a pile of my own filth. I wanted to be humiliated: raped until i squirted over and over again, only to have the dirty condom thrown in my face. I craved human touch so badly that I would hope they were coming in to rape me. Because that meant a level of human closeness I desperately needed. But I loved the degradation…the shame. I was constantly soaking wet. When something especially heinous would happen, they would check and feel my desire: laughing and disgusted at the dirty little toy.
When thinking about this weekend, I thought I might be bored. During the times in between. Because there were lots of those too.
I never even came close. Pretty early on, I started to go in to a trance like state when they left me. The crying would finally stop and my breathing would calm. I would zone out, sometimes worrying my captors with how still I had become. And I never thought about anything but right there. That room. That moment. I didn’t worry about what had just happened. I didn’t think about my home or my dog or my life outside those walls. Quickly, the walls became my only reality. The bed my new home. The only thing I really thought about was when they would come back next. And at first I was scared. I didn’t want them to come back because I knew they would hurt me.
But slowly…that changed. I started desperately hoping they would come. Because I needed them. I wanted to show them I could be good. And maybe I could even touch one of them…or pleasure them. Maybe they would let me touch them.
At the end of it all, I was left for a long time. Laying face down and not moving. Wherever they’d leave me I’d stay in that position. I didn’t want to anger them. I wanted to show them I could be good. And I was laying there for a long time. And then there was light. And someone came into the room. And they told me I was free.
And then they left.
And I laid there. Cold, shivering, alone. Finally free.
But I couldn’t move.
A brief side note: This was an incredibly powerful and horrible and sexy and dirty and wonderful experience for me. I think I might even still be dropping a little bit but I have nothing but warmth in my heart for my kidnappers. They gave me exactly what I wanted (and way more) and I am so fucking lucky that they were willing to make this filthy little toy’s dream come true. So yea. Thanks.