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2. I was a child prostitute

Bdsm Sex Stories from Juicy Sex Stories. With the strength earned from millions of hammer swings, he effortlessly picked her up and. The British teenager kept as a sex slave in London for four years. Corinne Redfern Popular · Popular life stories · Reporter. When Catherine*. I Was Submitted As A Sex Slave To Gangsters. Hi, I am Malti, year female. Here I describe the reason why I have abandoned my husband. It is a long story.

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My Name Is Anneke Lucas and I Was a Sex Slave to Europe's Elite at . Topics​Human Traffickingsex traffickingreal women real stories#real. Danny has some fun with his slave. Getting The Mistress's husband and their slaves welcome a new couple. and other exciting erotic at 'sex slave' stories. Bdsm Sex Stories from Juicy Sex Stories. With the strength earned from millions of hammer swings, he effortlessly picked her up and.

Dating them was fun, the balance between a mans personality and my own feminine one was electricit kept things interesting. But for whatever reason it never lasted very long. When Slavve met Paul slave I expected the same cycle to occur.

We met up at the corner dive stories where I prefer to meet all my first dates. I told him that was too bad, the idea of stories guy being associated with something somewhat dangerous was exciting.

Sex Paul was sitting on my bed slave I made some drinks and thought about whether I wanted to have sex with him that night. The way he was controlling the situation turned me on and his hand caressing stories face stirred up a familiar feeling in my abdomen. I flicked my tongue over the head of his penis a few times before I began to take him in my mouth. He watched me cooly, taking a swig of his sex. Inside somewhere, a deep need to impress him rose.

I went to town. I kissed and licked and deep throated. I massaged the sweet spot at the tippy top of his shaft on the underside. I took stogies balls in my mouth and swirled my tongue around. I gave him storie A-game and looked up, searching for approval written on sex face. I slid my hands down his forearms and the grasped his hands, depositing them on the back of slave head.

I was on autopilot now. He had two fistfuls of my hair, one on each side of my head. He was gentle, but firm as he held me in stlries, thrusting his hips and pouring himself into my mouth.

It was uncomfortable at xlave, I worried about gagging. But I heard him gasp as he slipped into my sex and I knew this was special for stories — he was enjoying himself, losing control, losing himself to me. I may have been the one kneeling on the floor, but he was at my mercy, he was in ecstasy, and he needed me to feel this way. He thrust faster into my mouth, careful to make his movement sex. He held me there. I could feel him tensing slave so I made an extra effort to hold this position, esx I was rewarded with his loudest groan yet and a mouthful slave salty cum.

He laid down on my bed and I instantly curled up next to him. I felt happy and comfortable. With my head on his chest I reached up and began massaging his scalp, my sudden need to please this man had not been satiated.

I gulped. This was definitely not what I was looking for. It was sleazy. Did you hear yourself earlier? And look at you, look sex how your body responded to being my sex slave. He quickly reached down and knocked my thighs apart. Before I could register what he was doing his fingers were inside me and my back was stories. Holy sexI gasped as he masterfully, rhythmically rubbed my gspot with the tips of his fingers. He got up and kneeled between my legs and pulled me up, so my butt was resting on his thighs, legs wrapped around his waist.

This is better than dating — to give ourselves to each other completely. He sex his drink off the nightstand and poured a bit into my mouth before kissing me and sucking the taste of whiskey sex my tongue.

He trailed the dewey glass down my neck to my collarbone and I shivered. He slave the remaining ice cube and deposited it in his mouth before stories down and kissing my nipple. It was the most divine stories, heat and ice.

I felt his hips move under mine and the his cock sliding around my wet pussy, but not entering. I always loved it when guys did this, the save was unbearable, in an addictive way. It made time stand still. I lifted my hips to meet his and he drove his cock deep inside me. That moment stories the first time it goes in — is always the best.

It always reminds me why we do such crazy stuff for sex, it really is that good. He just needed me to be here, writhing with pleasure as he had his way with me.

Learn more about Thought Catalog and our writers on our about page. Sign up slave the Sex Catalog Weekly and get the best stories from the week to your inbox slave Friday. You may unsubscribe at any time. By subscribing, you agree to the terms of our Privacy Statement. By Adrienne West Updated January slave, About the author Best read in the bath. A girl with an imagination ought to do something slave it. Find me on Twitter and Facebook. Follow Adrienne on or read more articles from Adrienne on Thought Catalog.

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I started out as a little kid being taken care of, but I ended up becoming a parent to everyone younger than me. Actually, you had a lot of responsibilities no matter what age you were. The orphanage was on a farm, the food we grew being used to cut expenses. As soon as you could walk, you had chores.

You could say I live to serve. Isaac finished his mouthful of syrup-soaked dough before responding, not wanting to appear rude or lacking manners. Like I said, I grew up learning a lot of different skills. Between you and me, I hate making decisions, so there is just something soothing about focusing your mind on the role given you. Another bell was sounded, this time from the entrance.

The number of customers had just doubled, either some late breakfast rush or an early lunch rush. Whatever it was, Isaac had run out of time. But if there is anything you need, anything at all, please tell me. He could certainly feel the strength in her hand from years of working like a serf, but it still felt soft and delicate compared to his own. While the back of his hand was scarred and lined, his palm and fingers were as rough as rhino skin from all of the calluses earned over the years.

The feel of that rough skin against hers made her shiver. This was the first time a man had ever asked her out on a date, and an older man at that! Was this what the outside world was like? Holly stammered for several seconds, unable to respond while so overwhelmed with embarrassment. With a smile, Isaac let go and reminded her that there were a lot of people waiting for their order to be taken. She hurried off, still blushing and holding her order notebook with shaky hands.

While he finished his breakfast, Isaac watched Holly work. The scene quickly became very hectic, but Holly appeared to thrive under the pressure. And what she had told Isaac about living to serve seemed to ring true. Her enthusiasm was certainly due to more than just the need for tips. At last, when everyone had been served and she had a minute to rest, she turned back to where Isaac was seated.

She had wanted to continue talking to him, but the trade prodigy had departed while she was busy. Left behind in his place were some empty dishes, dirty silverware, and the paid bill. Walking over, Holly smiled. Donna was the buildings landlady, a woman twenty years older than him with blond hair. She had a fantastic body for her age, especially considering she had given birth to three kids. While her hips and ass showed the irreparable effects of childbirth, her waist and stomach were amazingly slender, her boobs were large and still appeared firm, and her face showed almost no signs of aging.

For lack of a better word, she was fucktastic, and with summer starting, soon she would start walking around in skimpy denim shorts and showing off her nice rear end.

Damn, you could rest your drink on that sweet milf ass of hers. She certainly seems like an interesting girl. Here is all the things that have gone wrong since last night. When her third deadbeat husband ran off, he left her with nothing but a bun in the oven and the building. Donna had never had much luck with men, or anything in general.

She had been knocked up in high school and had two more kids before the age of 25, each child having a different father that was never in the picture.

It was barely up to code and her husband had clearly never done any sort of repairs or renovations. Isaac had tarred the roof, installed windows, replaced toilets, fixed plumping, laid tiles, heaved laundry machines, secured drywall, and almost rebuilt the entire building from the ground up. With all the work Isaac did for Donna, not once in the eight years since he moved in had he needed to pay rent. In fact, he made a small yet continuous profit off her, while saving her tons of money that would have been poured into contractors with half the skill and speed Isaac brought to the table.

But damn, it got frustrating pretty quick. A job is a job, but Isaac would have killed for a change of scenery. He never cut corners with his work and he made sure everything was done right, but if he looked at something 99 times and replaced 99 parts, the th part was guaranteed to break a week later. Every time something was fixed, everything around it spontaneously crumbled. But I think you should start with the third one down. The auburn-haired eighteen-year-old kneeled beside Isaac, who was on his back with the cabinet beneath the sink consuming his whole upper-body.

Alice lived alone in the unit, her closest relative being her uncle on the other side of the building. She was fine during the school year, but during vacations like summer break, she rarely left her apartment, simply because she had nowhere to go. Isaac wondered if she actually had any friends. She seemed like a girl who was afraid to talk to others but was desperate for someone to talk to. Her closest family seemed to be Donna, who she looked up to as a role model.

However, Donna was either always busy with building repairs or working odd hours at the local grocery store, so Alive never got to spend much time with her. Unfortunately for Isaac, she had set her sights on him.

He knew that she had a huge crush on him, she even threw herself at him a couple times in the past. The last time he was in her apartment, he had to fix her shower.

He had learned how to carefully reject her without hurting her feelings, but she always followed him around like a lost pet. Now she was kneeling beside him, having yet to change out of her nightgown, and he suspected, wearing nothing underneath. Alice looked down at her chest, once again noting the incredible two-dimensionality of what she longed to be a womanly shelf.

The draw line for the handle broke. I swear, whoever furnished this building bought everything from a mystical gypsy that can never be found twice, whose merchandise was all made in an eastern European country that no longer exists. Before Isaac could say anything to stop her, Alice got on top of him and squirmed in under the sink. Their faces were just inches apart but Isaac was not in the mood for proximity. Reluctantly, she moved back and sat up, but she did not get off him.

She was sitting on his lap, or straddling to be precise. As she grinded her crotch against his, he could feel powerful rushes of blood surging through him. With the day spent, he returned to his own apartment to crash on his couch. He was exhausted but in good spirits. He was looking forward to his date the next night, and for some reason, he was more excited than he would be for any other date.

That excitement carried him on through the next day, where he met with a client across Portland who wanted to renovate his art studio. As Isaac spoke about the budget and materials and looked over blueprints, his mind kept drifting back to Holly.

It was thirty seconds to when Isaac pulled into the parking lot of the diner. There, standing at the entrance, was Holly. Her clothes were very simple, a pair of jeans with a white blouse and black tank top underneath, but the smile on her face was sparkling.

Before arriving, Alex had thoroughly showered and shaved and cleaned the cab of his pickup to the point where it looked like it had just rolled off the assembly line. Stepping out of the truck, he walked towards her with the same smile.

But thank you, I know I said I hate having to make decisions. Just like in the diner, she let his fingers enwrap hers and relished the feeling of his gentle yet firm grip.

Holly stared at the chopsticks with wonder and confusion and her eyes widened as she scanned the menu of the Japanese restaurant. Isaac watched her with a silent laugh, amused by her reaction to entering such a place for the first time. The restaurant was one of his favorites, he often came here with other contractors when he was hired to work at large scenes that required more than one man.

Upon entering the restaurant, the customer faced a long bar stocked with sake. To the right, several booths were set up with low-set tables and traditional Japanese floor pillows with potted bamboo for decoration.

To the left of the bar, past a large babbling water fountain, were the regular tables. They were all my sisters and the boys were all my brothers, well I at least thought of them that way. When I was little, there was a rule that only the older kids could go out on dates and have fun on the weekends. Unfortunately, when one of my sisters ended up getting pregnant, that privilege was taken away. In fact, I almost never left the orphanage. While a simple and routine question, Holly blushed at the inquiry.

About to reply, she was stopped when the waiter came to get their drink orders. Isaac ordered a rum and coke, but Holly decided to just go with water. When the waiter left, Isaac repeated the question, while careful not to be too pushy. I actually never spent much time with the boys, the boys and girls were almost always divided up. I believe I told you the orphanage was on a farm? Well the boys and girls got different chores every morning. My sisters and I took care of the animals, cooked, cleaned, and learned homemaking skills, while the boys worked in the fields and outside.

After lunch, we were home schooled, again in different rooms. At five, we would be allowed to play until dinner. I was never really sure what to do, so I just followed my sisters around and did whatever they told me to do.

Come on, there must have been some game that was your favorite. Holly looked away, blushing in embarrassment but with a small smile on her lips. My favorite game was always pretending to be a cat or dog. My foster parents who ran the orphanage made me stop it when I got older, but I always loved acting like a pet. I would crawl around on all fours, I would beg at the table, I would even bark or meow when people talked to me. Oh, what am I doing?

Isaac spoke the words with complete honesty. When he first saw Holly, he imagined he could get a short relationship with her, a few months or a year at the most. He was almost ten years older than her after all. But every time he looked at her face and saw her bright smile, every time he heard her talk, he imagined the expiration date of this possible relationship was being pushed back farther and farther.

The waiter came back with their drinks and asked Isaac and Holly what they wanted for dinner. Isaac decided to go with the breaded pork, and indecisive as she was, Holly asked him to order for her. From there, the date truly blossomed with conversation becoming second nature to the two of them.

Isaac told Holly about some of the jobs he and his dad had worked on, told her about what public school had been like, and described his apartment building and the tenants. Likewise, Holly told endless stories about her and her sisters, talked about the animals she helped raise, and described what it was like being a surrogate mom to many of the youngest children as she got older. Doing far more talking than eating, they finally left the restaurant at a quarter to nine, giving them just enough time to get to the theater.

Isaac was happy as well, this girl was already leaving a deep imprint in his mind, not to mention the sensation of her breasts against his arm was beginning to make him hard. I loved the romantic movies the most, but I also really liked comedies. After parking his truck, Isaac and Holly hurried into the movie theater to get their tickets. While it cost him more than their dinner, Isaac treated Holly to whatever she wanted from the concession stand.

The look on her face was like a little kid on Christmas Day. Entering the theater itself, Isaac guided Holly down the dark aisle. She was completely fixated on the huge projector screen, already in the process of playing previews.

Just getting her to divert her focus away from the screen to take a single step was like a tug of war. She was completely hypnotized.

Eventually, he just decided to grab her from behind and carry her to their seats. I imagine a few of them had boyfriends on the outside. So from then on, they used me. It was so much fun! One of my sisters would always be sitting on my face and another would be working her fingers in me. They choked me, spanked me, pinched my nipples, and forced everything they could find inside me.

Even my little sisters joined in and made me their slave! Oh, when I think back to all the hours they spent violating me over and over again, it makes me so wet.

Isaac sat there with a look of horror on his face, unsure of whether or not to revolted or aroused by the story of her childhood. He had to admit, it was a little of both.

She was a masochist, and a fucking bat-shit crazy one at that! He was staring straight at the screen but he would not remember a single line uttered. Once the movie ended, Isaac told her he would drive her home and they walked back to his truck. Other than her giving him directions, the drive was dead silent, completely different from the date so far, and Holly quickly noticed something was wrong. Why was he so quiet? Had she done something wrong? Had she done something to make him mad or lose interest?

Was that wrong of her? He said he wanted to know everything about her, but was she supposed to keep that a secret? What was she supposed to do?! Her sisters never told her about how to do a date! Isaac looked around in confusion. It hit him then, this was a homeless shelter.

Thank you for the wonderful evening. She opened the door, and without even thinking it, Isaac spoke. Holly then screamed in happiness and pounced on him, hugging him tightly and thanking him over and over. Equally high were her arousal levels as she sampled the smell of tools and testosterone in the air.

Tools that would have been in storage were strewn about, as well as some articles of clothing discarded tiredly whenever Isaac returned home from a long day of work. In the apartment den, the coffee table between the TV and couch was covered in paperwork and dishes, same with the unkempt kitchen. Turning his attention away from the tool belt he had left on the couch, he looked over to Holly, who was standing in the doorway of the bedroom.

They told me that once I left the orphanage, I would be able to become the slave of someone handsome and kind, someone who would fuck and abuse me as much as I wanted and more. It was my dream to find someone like you, someone who would make me their pet and dominate me.

It took a moment for Isaac to completely process what he had just heard, in which he struggled to think up the best reply. To be honest, I think you are crazy and you scare the shit out of me. I want nothing more than to be given a purpose in life, to find someone I can serve and obey. Setting her suitcase down, Holly slowly walked over and got down on her knees. She was running one hand between her legs and using the other hand to massage her breasts.

She was panting heavily and her face was flushed with arousal. Give me an order on what I can do to pleasure you.

Besides, he had an eighteen-year-old submissive nymphomaniac begging to be used, he should be thanking every deity he could think of.

But my sisters taught me how to do it. They would put something inside of me or themselves and have me lick it clean. I order you to suck my dick. Isaac had not only accepted her as a slave, but now she would be able to indulge both his sexual desires and her own. He had given her an order and thereby a very rewarding purpose. Reaching up with trembling hands, she unfastened his belt and then his pants.

She could feel his erect manhood through his jeans, feel his pulse in the hard muscle. Biting her lip, she lowered the waistband of his underwear and let his cock spring forth. It was like a cross between a cucumber and a pork tenderloin.

This muscly thing was going inside her? Damn, her mouth was already watering. She slowly wrapped her hand around it with the same look on her face as when she entered the movie theater and saw the projector screen. Her expression was the cutest thing Isaac had ever seen. She massaged his appendage for several seconds, using her hand to get used to the feel of it.

As horny a masochist as she was, even Holly felt a tremor of fear as she imagined it barreling into her. Isaac let out a small groan of happiness from the sensation of her warm wet mouth sealing itself around his organ, lovingly sucking on it. There were VERY few things that felt better than a blowjob, and the sensation was downright iconic with its unique form of euphoria. For Holly, the smell and taste were like nothing she had ever experienced. Isaac had thoroughly showered before the date, but the scent filling her mouth and nose was completely overwhelming, even going so far as to leave her lightheaded.

She had dreamed of finding a master she could do this to, a man she could give her body to. Her foster parents had taught her that such an act was wrong, that it was sinful, that it was disgusting. The fact that her body was being used for such a gross act made her so hot and wet, it fulfilled her masochistic desire to be violated and used like a toy.

She soon began to expand her horizons, remembering her the training her sisters had put her through. She took the member deeper in her mouth, letting the head rub against the ridges of the back of her throat.

She could barely get half of the mass in her mouth, but she worked that length with loving care. As her movements became faster, the recognizable sound of oral sex could be heard. The breaking and reforming of suction and the lapping of her tongue and lips against the muscular flesh made it sound like she was chewing gum, but with a much splashier echo.

She had said that her sisters used to choke her, so if she really were a masochist, this would be heaven for her. At his slow but irresistible pushing, Holly felt her horniness skyrocket to new levels.

She truly felt like she was in the palm of his hand, a tool for his personal use. She coughed and gagged as his cock was forced deeper and deeper into her throat, but every centimeter just excited her more. Breathing soon became near impossible for her, prompting her body to panic. In response to the fear rushing through her veins, Holly forced open her jeans and began rubbing her slit frantically. Known in the orphanage for being a squirter, she had already thoroughly soaked her jeans and panties.

After thirty seconds, Isaac let her pull back and catch her breath. Sitting on the floor, she gasped for air while clumsily unbuttoning her blouse while saliva and precum dribbled down her chin and tears rolled down her cheeks. Over the course of that evening, I realised that all of the men were all paying to live out a fantasy where resistance turned them on. The more I screamed, the more they seemed to enjoy raping me.

If I pleaded with them to help me, they ignored me. In between each assault, the woman would come in to change the towel on the bed because it would be covered in blood. Over the course of two years, I bled every single time I was raped.

On one occasion, I accidentally got blood on the sheets, and she beat me up so hard I passed out. When one man punched me in the face, my face swelled up and I wondered if my jaw had been broken. As I sobbed, the woman came down with a small cup of what looked like green medicine. I swallowed it immediately — desperate for pain relief. It worked. Methadone was soon supplemented with crack cocaine, and the constant rape and endless beatings was accompanied by manipulation and death threats.

I believed him. When Mike went on to find out my home address, I felt sick. His whispered words followed me everywhere — breathing down my neck and reminding me that if I tried to escape, my family would be the ones paying the price. I was imprisoned — a slave behind the walls of a whitewashed house in London — and within a few months, I collapsed inwards and lost my fight.

When I climbed the stairs to the kitchen, I saw one of the others was dressed up too. Together we were driven to a posh hotel, where Mike told us to get out. Led through a ballroom, no one blinked in our direction. There were businessmen from all over the world with beautiful women in expensive dresses hanging off their arms, but nobody seemed to think we were out of place. As the other girl was handed over to a group of young men, Mike pushed me towards an elderly man from Saudi Arabia.

But the warmth left his eyes. With Mike waiting outside in the corridor, I left the room, crushed. But I still consider that night a lucky escape.

As I pleaded with the Sheikh to save me, the other girl from our house was being gang-raped and infected with HIV. So he forced her into domestic servitude instead. Every day, she cleaned the house, cooked the food and did the laundry.

Every night, the woman made her sleep in a dog basket on the kitchen floor. After a couple of years, I was thin and sick and weak. When one man pulled my leg back while raping me, he dislocated my knee and Mike had to take me to the hospital. Surrounded by doctors and nurses, he was twitchy, so sat by my bed all the way through visiting hours, the weight of his hand pressing hard against my arm. Then — when he was kicked out and I was working up the courage to tell somebody I needed help — he waited an hour before coming back.

Soon my knee would dislocate whenever anyone tried to have sex with me, so Mike drove us to another flat in the Midlands and made me his servant — getting up at the first ray of dawn to clean and cook for him, and punching me in the face if there was a speck of dust left anywhere.

Men would pull up in their cars, one after another — husbands and fathers, businessmen and creeps. Then Mike would step forward to negotiate: eventually opening the door and pushing my head down until I collapsed onto the passenger seat and fulfilled whatever job Mike was being paid for me to do.

He controlled everything; even my periods — for the four years that I was his prisoner, he made me take back-to-back contraceptives for months at a time so that I never, ever bled.

I only came close to escaping once. We can get you out of this, if you want. Nobody would ever save me. But she was determined.

If Mike went out, he locked the door. If I went to the toilet, I was timed: 30 seconds to pee, three and a half minutes for a poo. Exceeding those time frames warranted a fist to the face. But something stirred in me. The next morning when I was cleaning the kitchen, I poured two pints of milk down the sink. Then, with my best blank expression, I put my head round the living room. In the newsagents, I headed to the fridge.

Staring at the semi-skimmed, I felt a hand fall on my arm. She led me out of the shop and into a car outside. But I panicked. Mike was still in touch with my sisters and my grandparents. He knew how to find them. I got out of the car and walked back to the house. He was still raping me every night too, and when I fell pregnant, some deep, sickening instinct let me know the baby was his. So I just carried on putting one foot in front of another, while my stomach grew round and huge against my bones.

I was damaged now. Nothing good could ever happen to me. I was wrong, but things had to get a lot worse to get better. Without thinking, I picked it up and handed it to him. Maybe I smiled. He hauled me up and dragged me out, pulling me down the street to our house. Screaming and yelling inside the kitchen, he attacked me — feet and fists flying at my body. In a scene reminiscent of a slow motion horror movie, he picked up a bread knife, and plunged it into my stomach.

As I roared for help, he pulled me into the bathroom and pushed me into the bathtub — turning the taps on. Water makes your blood thin and bleed out faster. The last thing I remember is seeing everything around me turn red. I woke up in hospital, achey and confused. My head felt like it was full of cotton wool, and my tongue was thick and dry. I could see in her eyes that she thought I was a bad parent — what kind of mother would do this to their child? I just wanted to hold my daughter. Pressing her tiny body against my chest, I cried for the first time in years.

I think it was too big of a truth for anyone to face up to. Someone like them. But it did. Professionals working within the social services need to be trained in identifying potential victims of human trafficking, and we need to focus on education too. All it takes is a single moment of vulnerability.

Men can be imprisoned and forced into domestic servitude. Women can be imprisoned and forced into hard labour. Middle class, white teenagers from rural Wales can be imprisoned and forced into sex work. This summer, I turned 29 years old. My body is scarred, but I feel strong. Instead, I apologised to them for disappearing. We rebuilt our relationship, and I wove fictional tales of ferry life to make amends.