“Just Escape”

, “When you are held captive, people expect you to spit in your captor’s eye and get killed”

Patty Hearst

People have often asked me why I didn’t try to escape.  Giving reasons that there must have been opportunities.  Just run to a police officer, just run to a security guard.  Yes, I was often in places that I could have done just those things.  But when you are brutalized as a captive those options disappear.

This is the narrative of my one and only escape attempt.

A client, Brian, told me he knew what the situation I was in was like.  He said he knew Bruce, my pimp, knew what was happening to me.  I was young and I trusted him.  Even though I had been raped and brutalized so many times by Bruce to impress upon me what would happen if I ever tried to escape.  Still, when the time came, and someone came forward and said he would help me.  I accepted.  So many years later, I still suffer the scars of the consequences of the night I tried to escape.  Brian promised to hire me the following night and help me get away from Bruce.  My secret hope was that Brian would give me a place to stay as I was homeless unless I was with Bruce.  Bruces’ driver Chuck drove me to Brian’s house the next night, everyone played their role that this was just a client who really liked me and wanted a second night.  Brian had shown me the first affection since being abducted by Bruce.  I had bought his line.  I was about to be caught.  I’m going to switch now to first person as it is important that the reader of this article see from first person.

It was a warm late summer evening.  The humidity made the leather outfit I was wearing for the client from the previous night even hotter.  The sweat was coming through my makeup in tiny beads.  Maybe it was stress as I realized I was about to break the ultimate commandment of the man who I called master. Which was I was going to attempt to leave.  We got to Brian’s house, Chuck told me he’d wait down the street so as to not attract attention.  I walked up to the door, rang the doorbell and Brian emerged welcoming me.  He brought me up the stairs into his combined kitchen and huge living room.  When I got to the top of the stairs, I instinctively froze.  Bruce was there, four other men were there, and soon Chuck would arrive.  Bruce said in a spooky, eerily calm voice “You know what you just did, don’tcha Hole”?  Immediately everything that had so harshly been pounded into me came back into focus.  I told Bruce, calling him Master as he demanded that I knew.

Get on your fucking knees Hole, Bruce shouted.  I did it without hesitation.  He threw a dog collar at me and told me to put it on the tightest notch possible.  He handcuffed me behind my back, attached a leash to the collar and asked the other men what to do with the little bitch.  They all agreed unanimously that I had to die that night for what I had done. And die slowly.  I had little doubt that was going to be the end result.

I was lead up the stairs pulled strongly by a leash attached to the dog collar to the second floor and saw when I got to the top of the stairs that it was like a medieval dungeon with the odd sense that everything was painted black, the ceiling, the walls, the floor.  It had a dungeon sense, but with a strong goth feel.

They strung me up by my wrists, with the familiar shearing pain ripping into my shoulders.  I had learned in the previous months to go limp and not let the pain cause me to move around much as that only brought more punishment.  Bruce tightened the collar and pulled tight against it as I hung there until I lost consciousness only to have an electrical jolt to my breasts wake me back into consciousness.  He spit in my face calling me a betrayer, a lying piece of shit.  He asked me if I deserved to die for what I had done.  I knew the only answer was yes.  He told me that was progress.  At least I understood the gravity of the situation.  Chuck came past Bruce and slapped me in the face over and over calling me a stupid whore, followed by the once sympathetic Brian who shoved his fist inside me than punched me repeatedly in the stomach and face.  The men took their turns with me.  Some wanting sex involving the dungeon equipment, another very violent anal intercourse.  At times I felt as though I were floating away.

End Excerpt