It started so small, so simple, in the beginning. Little things, that didn’t matter but made him so happy. A little bit of makeup, smoking a cigarette, dressing up as a little girl. Little things, like I said.

And you know what, I loved doing them for him. The clothes he bought me, the inhalation of smoke, being naughty, being trashy, being anything but me. Pleasure and escape, all wrapped up in one beautiful package.

Later, I would learn other escapes, pain, use, impact play, choking, dropping out, more and more things that both him and I enjoyed. All the while he kept pushing me, my limits, further and further. Changing me.

At first, little things, once again. A small gemmed plug. It was cute, and wearing it made anal later in the day easier. It made me feel special, it made me feel sexy. It made him happy. Thus, it made me happy. Just a little change.

The dress up and role play continued. I no longer dressed little, no. It was more than that, it was now truly an escape. I didn’t just dress up little, I WAS little. Each time feeling smaller and smaller, younger and younger, safer and needier.

He wanted piercings. Never ordered, never demanded, but hinted and I knew it would make him happy, so once again, I changed for him. A small change. I got my hood pierced for him and he loved it and thus, I loved it. I truly did, it made sex better and more intense. Even walking up stairs felt better now.

Not everyone approved of my changes, it caused problems and concerns. My newfound love of pain, of intensity, drew questions, doubts, about the marks and bruises left behind. They couldn’t understand how happy they made us. So I told stories, made excuses, and cut ties. It was better that way. Eventually I moved in with him. No more commutes, no more long periods without my reason and joy.

That of course, led to more changes, a bit bigger asks of me. He worked on my body, my “capacity”, enhancing both what my ass and my cunt could take. I don’t even remember the day I stopped calling it my pussy. There was a day there when I called it both, depending on my mood, but no more. A small change. Toys, fingers, and larger and larger plugs, enhancing me for him. Making me better. More what he wanted and needed. And that made me feel more complete as well. Until one day, my fist fit in my cunt and later, his would as well. The same for my ass, though that took much longer. But now my holes can be used by him however he wants, cock or fist, both can use me.

Another small change was his sharing me. First, it was just random cocks fucking my mouth, at bars or adult theaters. Then his friend, then his friends. They didn’t get just my mouth, but all my holes, to use as often and as hard as they wanted. It made him happy and thus made me happy.

We escalated again and again, rough sex, rape play, and CNC. Limits faded away. What once was simple slaps became more. Slaps became backhands, backhands became punches, and like an addict, I needed more and more just to function, to feel. I no longer wanted to be choked, I no longer wanted to be edged along the edge of consciousness. I wanted to feel the black crawl in and to fade away, passing out as he pounded me. Just another small change.