This is Girls' story, at least the start of it how I got in to the life when I was younger(lets say around 14 years ago). I live now as a slave by choice i chose to come back to the life because its who i am, but if someone wants to know more about me, here it is.
Girl
Based on a True Story
The following took place in a modest sized city in the Midwest for the purposes of our story, it is not important where. The following is a graphic story of a transgender woman toned down slightly but still intended only for an adult audience.
Growing up as a child, I can remember going up to the attic and getting in to my aunt and sisters old clothes. My dad caught me a couple times and was rather vicious in his punishment. Not just with corporal punishment but the words as I recall cut through me like knives. I recall when I was thirteen going to a mental clinic for depression. Of course I was depressed I knew from VERY young I should have been fully female. One of the intake questions was “Have you ever wished you were a member of the opposite gender?” Now this was odd for a couple of reasons, first I didn’t wish I was a member of the “opposite gender”
I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt I was in fact female. This was around nineteen ninety. Being different had already taught me that life was hard. I had been taller then most of the other kids for some time and wore glasses and this alone had taught me how cruel children can be, to say nothing of my parents. This was not the twenty first century or an accepting community. This is small town Indiana, or was at the time and it was just unheard of. I did something sitting there taking that exam that has haunted me until this day. I answered the question no, and lived to regret it. Time passed, as I was working for a local restraint, heavily in to what ever drug would ease the pain and get me through to another day by the time I was sixteen. I spent more and more time away from ‘home’ and my parents(well, the only ones I’ve ever known, my birth mother was eleven when she had me but that is another story.) I would buy girls/women’s clothing and when I’d have a day off or time alone I’d dress up and maybe do my hair and makeup or what have you. I’m sure half the time I looked hideous as I had nothing in the way of self-image or self-esteem. What made it worse is my parents would find my clothes, dispose of them and I’d come to my alone time and all of a sudden have no clothes to change in to. Not only were they in some huge state of denial, they were throwing away one of the few things that made me happy. I continued to work huge work shifts, as the place I was working cared nothing for child labor laws. Never had, they just saw someone willing to work hard for unholy hours and shifts. I was pulling in thousand dollar paychecks before I was 16. My teen years were pretty much a mess after that, had a nasty run in with the law at 18 and learned that the juvenile justice system was a cake walk compared to what they do to adults. Especially in the little town I was in at the time, where there was no nearby juvenile detention facility. They did have a county jail though and not surprisingly it had a bunk just for me. When I finally hit twenty one I got out on my own in a proper fashion. I got my own apartment and a new job. Things were going well enough my best friends moved in with me. I began living full time as a woman, going by the nickname ‘china’(Little c on purpose, you’ll understand later). You know those China Dolls, the real expensive ones? Well, I wanted to be treasured by someone and never really had felt like I was so the name seemed appropriate. To truncate things, I worked hard, partied harder and somewhere in there, after my friend moved out and I lost my job, I found a new friend. Her name was heroine and she seemed to make all the little problems go away. Between this and no job it wasn’t long before I was looking for money. I sold pretty much everything I owned and hung around the local bar. I had discovered men! Men, from a womans point of view are wonderful and a hell of a lot of fun. Thus went my nights at the bar, I’d go in, hang out maybe take a guy back to the soon to be gone apartment and tell him a (actually true) story about how I was going to lose the place and make a little money. Of course most of the time, the money didn’t go towards rent. The place was actually so depressing, all bare and all my stuff gone most nights I’d sleep in the streets in a alley or doorway, a hotel room if I could find a man to spring for one, whatever I had to do to survive and get my next fix. Then comes one of those life changing nights, I had done plenty of odd things with more men then I care to count by this point but nothing prepared me for this. I was outright raped by force for the first time. Now as a kid, I had a friend who taught me martial arts and I’d had more than a couple military men concerned with my safety show me a few tricks. I adore men in uniform by the way, that’s not an important note, but just a pleasant thought. Without going in to great detail for the sake of my own sanity I’ll say this. I could have done something to prevent it. I could have brought deadly force to bare but I had already long since reached the conclusion violence was wrong for any reason. See, one of those things I picked up in that drug blurred time known as my teens was witchcraft, and one of the founding principles, in fact its one law was ‘harm none’. I’m now thirty five, and it took me almost all my life to understand harm none, includes me as well, but back to my story; I went to the room a man I had met had paid for, thinking nothing of it. He apparently knew what I had going on and had told me he would pay me for my time before we even left the bar. I remember walking from the bathroom, in to the bedroom and not seeing him, he caught me from behind taking my arm behind my back. I already had my clothes off so it was easy enough for him to force me on to the bed and do what he wanted. Why I didn’t scream I’ll never know, I guess it was firght and surprise. After all this wasn’t the first time a man had caught me in a similar way and done wild things to me but when I said ‘You have to pay first’ his response was that he did not have to pay, but I was going to. If I wasn’t scared before, at that moment it kicked in. I remember after it was over and he had gone laying there for hours just crying and holding myself, then going back to the apartment. I lock the door and got in the bathtub. I remember the water beating down and nothing feeling real, like what had just happened, hadn’t really happened. Some time passed. I got an eviction notice for the apartment and had no concept what to do. I knew going back to my parents’ house meant drying out and going back to living a lie. The thought seemed worse then death to me and a hell of a lot worse then being on the streets. I went back to being a pro, I tried to be a little more selective about my clients sticking to mostly those I knew. One night I was approached by a woman. She sat down next to me, she was young and beautiful and apparently where I was concerned had done her homework. I remember thinking she was the police and being somewhat cautious, that faded a bit with some drinks and a couple hours talking. I didn’t usually see or do women but she was beautiful. Then we come to the catch, she was married. Snap? Problem right? Wrong, turned out she wanted me to come home with her. I’m not sure who she had talked to about me but I probably had to look of homeless about me. I had no reason not to go home with her. She was offering to “compensate” me for my time, to give me a warm, safe place to stay(or so I thought) and not ask too many questions if I came and left too much, which by the way would soon not be a problem. From here on out, I’ll quote conversations to the best of my memory but as its now been 14 years, it’s a bit fuzzy in more then a few places. I’m pretty sure, I black a lot of stuff out.
The woman soon known only as Miss and her husband, soon known only as Sir, lived not far from the bar. I met him when she got me to her home, after picking up the few clothes I still had. She handed me a hundred dollar bill, which would have normally been a nights work and told me to make myself comfortable. I remember looking around the white walls of the living room that first night and thinking I could get used to that place. The doors and windows of the two (three if you count the basement) story house were trimmed with wood. The walls were painted white and they had a fairly nice entertainment setup. I was asked to get ‘cleaned up’ and went and took a shower. I remember getting out and not finding my clothes. I guess I was so relieved by having a stable roof over my head and a hundred dollars in my pocket at least for a moment I didn’t even see my clothes get picked up. They had and when I asked about them I was told they were being washed. Happy about this I followed her downstairs, then downstairs again to their ‘dungeon’. This wasn’t my first encounter with BDSM but was not prepared for the weeks to come. I was obviously going to be the submissive to both of them which was fine. I can remember the first time in those chains. The set I was in that night would soon become extremely familiar to me. I was hung by my arms, and then a bar was put between my feet which fastened on both ends leaving me unable to close my legs.
