Bombshell #2: Paying My [F18] Dues [FM]

If you want to follow my story from the beginning, [check out *Bombshell* #1.](https://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/n305g2/bombshell_1_when_i_f18_was_broke_in_college_i/)
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It was a week into working at the club that I first felt his palm smack against my face. He’d summoned me down (he did that a lot) to his basement, to blow the infamous cock, while he watched a movie. It was disgusting, though familiar enough. I knew its rhythms, how to retch along with them, like riding a bike that’s dysfunctional in predictable ways. What I didn’t know was how to react to my throat being grabbed, easily grasped like some sort of handle, to pull me off, to twist my face, and to position me just right for the smack. (My rail-thin frame left little in the way of resistance.) I was sort of as dazed by the surprise, in that moment, as I was by the stars I was seeing– and before I knew it, I was tossed forward. That was the first actual sex we had. Romantic, isn’t it?

I tried to playfully laugh off his hitting and his force. Better that than to seem pathetic, right? He didn’t fall for it. He knew I was dying inside, but twisting the knife accented his Viagra. “Don’t you like driving your car around?” he asked. “I’m going to make you a rich girl one day.”

That line, like so many of his, held more truth than I think he realized. As ever, the reminder of the car I sold myself out for… which, by the way, I didn’t get in the end. (Yet another reminder that I allowed it to happen.) He owned the car now, even had it painted pink and stuff, to better fit his image of whatever pet I was supposed to be. I got a lot of comforts I enjoyed, but I wasn’t exactly endowed with property, and even his line with its distant “one day” seemed to recognize and reinforce this. I was strung along, and maybe I knew it.

Even so, he’d remind me all the time about how he got me a job, how he was loading me up with cash– a “look what I did” boast only equaled by his occasional guilt trips, which would themselves be followed by pulling my mouth onto him to talk shit and hit me. He had a knack for finding my wounds and pouring salt on them.

“Suck it real good or it’s back home with you,” he’d spit out between slurps and slaps. “You were nothing before I met you… mommy and daddy don’t even love you,” he’d add, smirking. It’s funny, isn’t it, the way some men seem to absolutely hate someone, yet in some way have their dicks dependent on her. He really got off on this, sometimes his attacks were one word alone, that he knew just when to employ.

It’s almost strange to think how deep I was in, just a week into starting, which was itself not too long after I’d even moved. I was out of my dorm, and into an apartment of his design. My car wasn’t facing repo… because it had basically been repossessed by him. Maybe not just the car.

I still couldn’t move all that well, so maybe he wasn’t making a lot of money off of my ass yet. But maybe the money didn’t really matter. My ass was his now, and I existed in his world. He exercised ultimate power, and never failed to remind me of it. The smacks really drove it in.

If he’d really had a purely financial interest, after all, would he really risk damaging such an important asset? Especially the face? The actions don’t add up in a reasonable way, but I think they were consistent in his head. I was there, I was his, and I was pretty. But I was a pretty thing there for the breaking, and that’s something not every pretty girl has to offer. I think just physical hurt would bore him, but feelings, those aroused him. If I could hate myself as much as he did, his Viagra almost worked.

Dancing… the club was an excuse, a way to claim the kinds of talent he really wanted. And I’d learn more and more about what I was meant to be to him and to his operation. It would get so absurd that I almost doubt my own memory. I wonder if you’ll agree.

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Thanks so much for your overwhelming response to chapter one. I’m looking forward to sharing more of my tale with all of you, and we welcome your thoughts and feedback. Be as detailed as you wish. I wouldn’t be posting if I didn’t want to know.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/n7h6f2/bombshell_2_paying_my_f18_dues_fm