Excerpt of a Sex Slave, Day One
The following is an excerpt from my experiences in prostitution and a significant portion of my speaking presentations to give a first person account followed by discussion of sex worker rights, my support for full decriminalization of prostitution and why the two which seem so far apart are merged.
Into my hunger, loneliness, homelessness and desperation came a man named Bruce. Attractive, well dressed and very charismatic, he approached me in a suburban mall and offered to “help” me. He could provide me with food, shelter, clothing, work–and I really wanted to work. I wanted desperately to be off the street and to have something to do. In essence he knew exactly how to manipulate a desperate teenage girl with his promises to fulfill all my needs. The manipulation began within minutes of meeting him. When I questioned whether or not this “work” was prostitution, he retracted the offer and began to walk away. Desperate, I ran after him, pleading with him to give me another chance and to forgive my insult.
We were walking to his car, he was discussing his amped up Chevrolet Monte Carlo of which he had painted in his signature color orange. I was excited to have an audition for a job hoping as my personal situation regarding food and housing was non existent. Just his offer to take me to a restaurant for a steak dinner if I got the job was incentive to be agreeable to nearly anything. When we got into his car, the warm summer heat had raised the temperature, the black leather seats feeling like they burned. Bruce then gave me an unpleasant and surprising piece of news. He explained because he was highly successful, he was very concerned about corporate espionage and that the ride to his office was part of the audition which if at any time I failed, we would turn around and go back to the mall. His instruction was that he would have to blindfold me. He gave me two pieces of cotton, told me to put them over my eyes then he paused, apparently waiting to determine my response. I had none. I had learned my lesson with the previous question. He then blindfolded me although he seemed to take care that it was done gently. He then gave me a big pair of sunglasses to put on, although they kept falling off because the blindfold covered my ears. This development scared me, but I knew it was too late to change anything. The drive was both description of his office and more questions about my past. His description of a downtown Cincinnati office didn’t seem to match what I was hearing as it continued to sound like we were going into a rural area. But I said nothing.
Arriving at his office, I knew the situation was all wrong. I could tell we had gone inside something and it wasn’t a parking garage but instead a garage. He told me to wait there as he came around and got me out of the car. He explained that he had a lower level office and liked to take the stairs as it was good for exercise reasons. My instincts were screaming that this was all wrong, it smelled the scent of a musty summer cellar. At which point fear had taken over and the tears were coming down so fast they had overwhelmed the cotton and the blindfold and were visible to Bruce. His voice was now completely different than the minutes before. He was no longer the cool, completely sympathetic man. His voice booming through what was now obviously a cellar, he screamed that professionals don’t cry except when they fail an audition or are fired. I had done neither so far.. But now I was going to have to prove myself.
I was ordered to strip to my bra and panties because I was going to have to dance on stage to prove I was still worthy of continuing the process. I hesitated for a moment and felt a devastating slap to my face that literally sent me flying, follow by being picked up by my throat and brought to a “stage”. I was once again ordered to strip, this time fully. He told me to put my hands together raise them over my head. I didn’t respond quick enough as I got another brutal slap in the face. I put my hands together and felt some kind of leather straps placed around them. The floor of the “stage” then collapsed and I was hanging by my wrists from the ceiling. Bruce then punched me in the stomach and told me he’d be right back. I heard a minor sizzle and felt a sharp sting hit me on the back over and over. Bruce demanded that I stopped squirming but the pain was severe and it was very difficult to breath from that position as it felt like all of my body weight was on top of my diaphragm. Everything in my mind began to blur and I felt really light headed. Eventually I willed myself into not moving and he stopped with the whip. He then told me I had been hired and could accept the position or hang there forever. I took the position.
The next few days were “training”, all day sessions of sexual torture in his dungeon. Hours bent over some specially designed table hands tied behind my back while sucking a huge dildo. Hours of being stretched on machines designed like flat crucifixes that stretched every fiber of my body, being suspended by rope from every conceivable position. There were so many other machines that I “trained on” that it becomes overwhelming to illustrate. There were extensive times of sensory deprivation locked in closet handcuffed with a leather hood over my head exposing only my nose and headphones blaring either music or static. I would always emerge very disoriented from the sensory deprivation. Nothing seemed to be in proportion visually. His business associates were constantly there working with him on training me. I was raped over and over by these men under the guise of teaching me to be a professional submissive. Which they accomplished. I learned that I had no rights to anything. Not even to go the the bathroom without permission and often times permission was not granted. There were rules during training that at least one orifice should be filled with something 24 hours a day. When I made a mistake, the punishments were severe. I was instructed that any escape attempt would mean a very painful death. Different death scenarios were explained to me. Many days during training I simply laid chained to the floor in the cellar and did not move for hours because the pain was too severe.
What followed next–the “training”– was months of being tortured, starved, dehydrated, sensory deprived and raped. I was supposed to learn how to “want” to be a slave and “want” to be punished. To that end, I had to beg for everything, using phrases that Bruce had written. I had to apologize for being alive, had to thank him for each act of torture and beg for more. If I resisted, the punishments got worse, until I gave up and agreed. The concept of a safe word didn’t even exist. I knew only that Bruce advised the clients not to do permanent damage, not to mess up my face or do anything else that would knock me out of work.
Once he was satisfied that my training period was nearing the end he began to refer me to “clients” who would use my body for their fetishes. Many would hire both me and Bruce’s dungeon. Others wanted outcall either for their dungeon or some fantasy role play in which I was the submissive. They paid Bruce to rent my body to rape in as many ways as they could devise without killing me. I was held underwater in bathtubs, whipped, hung, shocked with electrical current, and paid to have me tell them how much I was enjoying it.
One of my early clients portrayed himself as a nice guy who was going to help me escape, which I agreed to try. It turned out to be a test of my “loyalty”, the failure of which resulted in a savage night of gang rape, beating, being hung by my wrists and ankles, and an attempt to hang me by my neck which left me physically scarred and damaged my vocal chords for life. I nearly died that night and did not attempt to escape again for over two years.
to be continued
Jill speaks in first person about these events in speaking presentations. To hire Jill to to the contact tab on the navigation bar.
Copyright 2010 Jill Brenneman All Rights Reserved. Portion Copyright Jill Brenneman, Katherine DePasquale 1997, 2010.
