The summer I turned twelve years old, things started to change. I was always "more developed" than other girls my age, and had a sense of maturity not often seen in pre-pubescents. I only began to notice how older males looked at me when my uncle drooled over his beer as I exited the pool with my brothers. His leer caught me off guard, made me uneasy and sick to my stomach. Life continued, day to day, but I felt him getting nearer and nearer as time wore on. He partied at the house every weekend with my dad, he began to stay over nights, and then demanded I bring him a towel into the shower. These small instances began to accumulate doubt in my mind. Eventually the tension between us culminated when my parents left us with him for the weekend. When night came, and the house was quiet, he made a beeline to my room, I could hear his drunk shuffle outside my door and I knew what was coming. The first rape was the most painful, I cried the rest of the night and into the morning. He took me over and over again in that first hour. His palm pressed hard against my mouth. His belt buckle left welts that didn't fade for days and the bruises on my inner thighs kept me from my horse back riding. The next weeks until school began were my worst. I told no one and suffered through the encounters with silence. He raped me anywhere he could, taking all he wanted and leaving nothing behind, none of my soul, no whole part of my body untouched. I think this is the point in my life where I became hardened against the world and it's expectations. The dark relationship with my uncle continued until I was sixteen, when I began to fight back. I would fight, the beatings would get worse. But when I fought back, I became excited. My pussy started to drip then minute I slid away from him and made him pull me back to him. I kicked him and made my own back arch from the excitement. When he slapped my face in punishment and called me a little slut, my nipples hardened. I bit his finger extremely hard and he punched my lower back as he continued to thrust into my unwilling vagina. The moment his fist impacted with my back I came with triumph. My first orgasm was wild and filled with abandon of a tortured soul released.He twisted my head around and with look of utter disgust, hurled me onto my bed and left the room. I lay there, spilling my essence onto the bed with my body shaking and desperately wanting to begin again, to feel the pain and that pleasure simultaneously. I believe my uncle noticed the change in me, and when he realized he was in fact pleasing me instead of hurting me, he stopped. For him, the erotic feeling stemmed from taking and not giving. My nature had been corrupted and by railing against him, I found my own pleasure. Many will deem this story sick beyond the most twisted angle, but I am determined that I am not insane, just "dirty" or "tainted" by the world's standards. It was a relief when his rapes ended, but he left a black mark on me that will never fade. I have an insatiable desire for men ten to twenty years my senior, and fighting against the man fucking me roughly and harshly is the best height I can reach. I want nothing more, at this stage in my life than to be degraded as used as my dominant partner pleases. The outside of me is very dominant. I am a Sophomore in college, an honors student, a published poet. I am five feet eleven inches tall and a formidable figure to men my age. The sexual me is a submissive kitten that has to be taught repeatedly what she can and cannot do. I thrive on pleasing my dominant and survive on the sexual system of rewards and punishments. At sixteen, I was just beginning to comprehend my sexual abilities. When I first liberated myself from my abusive uncle, I thought I was actually sexually dominant. It would be over five years later that I learned I was, in fact, a submissive. Up until that moment I had convinced myself I let those men do as they pleased. A dear friend taught me that I needed those men to do as they pleased, in order for myself to reach utter satisfaction, paradise, and true sexual pleasure. I began as a rape case, a victim, a girl. Though I consider myself still developing in my sexual endeavors, I have learned much, and I hope to share all my sexual exploits, in wet, sweaty, dirty, gritty detail. I want to spread the knowledge that you are not alone in your submissive (to the extreme lifestyle). You are, in fact, most likely in a majority. All powerful women want to be taken, dismantled, examined, and used for ultimate pleasure, they just aren't willing to admit it. I loved not being in charge, being utterly lain to waste and I adored listening to the men as they finished with me and told me no woman had let them do what I had let them do. I have fulfilled fantasies, I have dreamed dreams and then lived those dreams. If you are in the bus that I am going to hell in, perhaps you will stay tuned to hear of how my endeavors so began and how I came to be writing this story, at the request of my most recent and most satisfying dominant.