Chapter 2

Fifteen Minutes Earlier:

I was wearing a small tank top and nothing else as I looked out the window. It wasn’t unusual for me to be alone in my room wearing next to nothing. It was a hot summer day, and my sister and her boyfriend couldn’t run their air conditioner.

Jerry keeps hooking his trailer up to the transformer nearby and stealing electricity. He’s one of those Libertarian Hippy types who thinks he should be able to steal electricity if they make it easy for him. Jerry smokes a lot of dope, but he makes his living as an unlicensed electrical contractor. He has long gray hair and a beard. He’s about fifteen years older than my sister Kim and reminds me a little of Captain Caveman.

If you get that reference, you are probably my age.

The last time the county unhooked him, it shorted out the air conditioner and some of the other appliances. Ever since then, it hasn’t been running correctly, and it’s been hot and sweaty in this house.

I have been living with my sister for the last eight weeks. I share a room in her old beat-up single-wide trailer with my teenage daughter Emily. Kim’s trailer wasn’t my first choice, but I’ve borrowed money and lived off most of my family for so long that I didn’t have any other viable options.

I was waiting for someone I have been talking to online for months as I stared out the window and thought about what I’d promised to do when he got here. I’ve been talking to this guy online since first got here. I told my sister that I was looking for a job, but there aren’t many jobs out in the country, and I don’t own a car. Mine got repossessed months ago, and I lost my license because I didn’t keep up the insurance.

Mike and I discussed the plan many times until we both had a firm set of rules and expectations worked out. I even wrote them all down in an outline, and he approved and edited them for me. It may sound crazy to you, and I know it would sound like I lost my mind. There was a reason behind everything I was doing, though, and I wanted to make it clear this wasn’t just naughty bondage games. I was going to be re-educated through discipline, and there was an entire plan around it.

I could have just left with him and not said a word. My family would expect me to flip them the bird and tell them, “I will see you when I see you,” as I left abruptly without explanation. I’ve skipped out on any promise to repay them many times before. I was actually surprised my sister talked Jerry into letting me stay with them after the last time I did that to him. I was here for six months before I walked out without paying.

This time was going to be different. This time I would not leave without telling them where I was going and what I was going to do once I got there. I wanted them to understand and accept my decision because I felt I owed it to them. I didn’t want them to think I had lost my mind and done something risky and frivolous. I didn’t want them to worry about Emily either.

I also wanted to make sure that Emily knew what to expect when we left rather than spring it to her after we got on the road. This felt like the right way to go about it.

I’ve always known I am a bitch. I am vain, selfish, self-centered, and I’ve learned to manipulate and use people. I’ve also unfortunately passed on a lot of those qualities to my daughter Emily. She has been my partner in crime, so to speak. I never shared custody with the father when she was first born. I’ve raised her on my own, and I’ve been kind of a lazy parent. I am more of a big sister to her than I am a mother.

I’ve hit rock bottom a dozen times in my life. It may because I blew up on my boss and lost a good job. It may be that I started drinking and getting high. Every time I have lost everything, someone has come along and helped me get back on my feet.

Once I get what I want from them, I lash out and shit all over them. I tend to consider helpful people as either weak or assume they have a hidden agenda and want something from me. Driving them away is a defense mechanism. It has also been my justification for never reciprocating when I was in a position to help them when they were down on their luck.

I know I am a shitty sister and friend. I planned to change all of that.

I’ve stolen from my mom and pawned her wedding ring. I’ve tricked my brother into paying for tuition to a school that doesn’t exist so I can get a degree and splurge the money on something frivolous. I’ve never felt sorry for any of this until recently.

It isn’t just my family. I’ve done this to. I love dating apps. I am pretty, blonde, and in pretty good shape. I have decent tits and a cute butt. I can create a minimal profile, and guys fall over themselves trying to date me.

The ones I can’t treat like shit and manipulate I dump right away. If they stick around after my shit starts to get sour, they want to ‘fix me.’ Those are the best kind of losers because I have drained their bank accounts and even convinced them to leave their girlfriends or wives before epically dumping them in spectacular fashion. I usually wait until they buy me something special for Valentine’s Day or the day I told them was my birthday and then dump them right after.

I never felt guilty about ANY of this. I always considered myself an agent of karma. I assumed they were adults who made their own choices, and if they were gullible enough to let me get away with using them, then as far as I was concerned they deserved what they got. It was a good justification. It was also a lie that I told myself so that I wouldn’t accept responsibility or feel guilty about any of my behavior.

I was thinking about all of this and the reasons I wanted to change when the R.V pulled into the yard. My sister’s trailer is out in the boondocks. There aren’t any other trailers around, and there are rarely any cars on the old dirt road running past the trailer.

Everyone was home, and they’d be wondering who this guy was that just pulled up. I’d have to go out and greet him in a few moments. We’d planned this introduction so carefully, and yet I was already feeling butterflies.

I come across as brash, intimidating, and often belligerent. That is really just a defense mechanism I learned to use a long time ago. If I act angry and yell a lot, people leave me alone. I was not going to be able to bluster my way through this. I took a deep breath and lit a cigarette. It would be the last one I’d probably have for a long time.

I watched the man get out of the R.V. It was the first time I ever saw Mike. He looked just like the picture he sent me online. The one I sent him was a few years old, but he has seen my face on Webcam. I was sure he’d be happy with me physically. I wasn’t so sure he’d like what was on the inside. I certainly didn’t like myself.

I am pretty rotten, and I know it. He had a solution for that, though, and that is why he was coming here today.

I’ve done BDSM play before. The reason I had dirty pictures to send him in the first place was because I had answered a Craigslist ad. I let this strange guy take pictures of me tied up and bound.

I thought I’d make a better dominant than I would a submissive. I should have been the one tying HIM up!

I suppose he wanted to be in control, though, and reluctantly, I let him do it because I felt I would kick his ass if he went too far. I can be intimidating when I want to be. The fact that I was feisty and a smart-ass only made him want to spank me harder.

I was mentally preparing to get into the headspace of someone who wasn’t scary and intimidating. It wouldn’t be easy for me to stop acting like a bitch.

That first session a few years ago was REALLY hard. I showed up and put my finger in his face and told him I’d rip his dick off and feed it to him if he did anything I didn’t like. I guess that isn’t very submissive, is it?

That guy made me obey him and act submissive all weekend. It was just play-acting, though. I couldn’t hide my disgust with the guy, and I didn’t take him seriously at all, in those early sessions. I’ve forgotten his name, but he wasn’t anything like Mike. He was just some loser who was cheating on his wife. He rented a cheap, musty motel room when she was out of town for a weekend.

He put me in a cage and paddled me. It was my first introduction to BDSM, and I thought it was a total joke. The discipline wasn’t real because I was just play-acting for the money. I wasn’t even locked in the cage. It felt like a pointless roleplay. The main reason I went along with it at first was because time spent playing his games meant he wasn’t actually fucking me.

I didn’t get off on sex. Sex was something I used to control other people. It wasn’t something I looked forward to, and getting in the cage meant I didn’t have to have his dirty little cock inside of me.

I had a lot to learn about bondage at that time, but I really wouldn’t learn it from him. It was just an introduction to a few concepts and a chance to actually do a few things.

He beat the snot out of me that weekend, and I ended up bruised with whip marks all over my ass. I felt humiliated and angry at first. After that weekend, I noticed I became polite and even concerned about other people. That was unusual for me. I am usually the kind of person who tunes out when you start talking about yourself. I realized he had ‘reset my bitch button.’

I stopped being lazy and cleaned up the house. I made sure the fridge had food in it. I even made sure that Emily got up on time and went to school, but I was polite about it. It was strange enough that Emily thought I lost my mind.

It didn’t last. A week or two later, I was back to my old catty, insensitive ways.

I began to crave that feeling of being kept in line. I didn’t want to admit it to myself. I didn’t want to admit to anyone else. I called that guy back and offered to do it again for him. He wasn’t interested, so I called him a “Master Baiter” and made him feel two inches tall before I hung up on him.

I called him again a few weeks later, and he was inclined to hire me, but he wanted a longer session, and he intended to be rougher with me. I smiled and said that I was a hard-ass and he couldn’t break me. I was subconsciously challenging him to try.

He choke fucked me and treated me like a total cumslut for a week. I pawned Emily off on my mom while I was gone, and I needed three days to recover because he throat-fucked me until I lost my voice.

I was nice to everyone around me for a month or longer. People took notice, and I was able to get a better job. I had the longest relationship with a guy I’d ever had (two months), and I never once berated or made fun of him during that time.

That was until I got bored of him, and the discipline wore off.

I’ve tried experimenting with BDSM in the following years. Usually, I’d get paid for it. I’d get a little taste of discipline, and it would reset my bitch button. It would never last for long, and none of the guys that came after the first one were any better at it than he was. They usually weren’t entirely serious about it and just focused on what turned them on instead of what kept my ego in check.

I found myself acting like a smart-ass just to wind them up so they would give me a taste of the discipline I knew I needed but didn’t want to admit. I never acknowledged to myself or anyone during that time that I got something out of it.

I don’t mean I am a pain slut. Pain doesn’t turn me on. It HURTS if it is done right. I am saying that pain, humiliation, and discipline made me feel submissive and, in turn, helped make me a more tolerable person.

I had the pictures to prove I’d done those things. I shared them with Mike but never with my family. They had no idea I had gone to do those things. I didn’t want them to know I submitted to anyone. They would soon find out, though.

He seemed impressed with what I learned about myself when I submitted to discipline. Mike told me that I needed something more permanent as a solution. I agreed with him in theory. He painted a picture of what sounded like a fantasy to me at the time. I would wake up knowing exactly what was expected of me each day. I would be kept in line with strict discipline, and I would be judged and held accountable for all of my actions.