What I Kept Silent for Fourteen Months with Him

It took me weeks to write these lines. I don’t know your name and I doubt you know who I am, but after turning it over and over in my head I decided to send you this message. I have to warn you. I don’t know whether you’ll believe me, but my conscience won’t let me sleep and I don’t want you to go through the same thing I did for more than fourteen months. He left me shattered, with no self-esteem and no idea why I get up every morning.

Until a few weeks ago, Adrián — your boyfriend now — was mine. I don’t know whether I’m too late and he’s already started using you, or whether he hasn’t done it yet, but be absolutely certain that he soon will. I’m not talking about manipulation alone: he’s going to turn you into a toy and trap you in his web of desire and humiliation, just like he did with me.

At first everything was romantic. He showered me with attention, bent over backward to make me happy. We still hadn’t slept together, he hadn’t even touched me yet, when he suggested booking a weekend at a tiny hotel hidden in the mountains. I said yes. I prepared myself to give myself to him for the first time, wrapped in his caresses.

But things didn’t happen the way I had imagined. After a candlelit dinner, we went up to the room. I put on the lingerie I had bought for the occasion and a sheer robe. We kissed in front of the picture window, with the snow covering the forest. While he took off his T-shirt, I let the robe fall and showed him my body like I never had with anyone. He held me, kissed me slowly, and almost at once I felt his hands press my shoulders downward, demanding something I hadn’t expected.

I tried to resist. I went for his lips, looked at him bewildered, but he kept insisting, pushing harder. It was clear what he wanted. I had never done it. I was trembling, I was confused, and I ended up kneeling. It wasn’t the night I had in my head, but I wanted him and I had no experience. Maybe a couple of kisses will be enough, I thought. He lowered his pants and his cock rose in front of my face. He only said one sentence.

—Put your hands behind your back, don’t stop looking at me, and open your mouth. You have incredible lips. Use them.

I was paralyzed. I couldn’t believe what was happening to me. I should have stood up, slapped him, and left him there. I’ve thought about it thousands of times, I’ve imagined it again and again, but the truth is I obeyed. He grabbed the back of my neck, tangled his fingers in my blonde hair, and set the rhythm himself. If I looked away or moved my hands from behind my back, he pushed deeper. He didn’t care about my gagging or my coughing. Saliva spilled from my lips and wet sounds filled the room. I tried to move my tongue, clumsily, in a desperate attempt to make it end as quickly as possible.

I felt him start to throb. He was about to finish. I couldn’t take it anymore and pushed at him with all my strength, the idea repulsed me, but I couldn’t get him off me. I think that excited him even more. He drove himself all the way in and emptied himself in my mouth. I couldn’t stop myself from swallowing while I cried out of sheer helplessness, feeling each pulse sliding down my throat. When he finally pulled back, I became aware of my state: a mixture of saliva and semen was leaking out through my nose and dripping onto my chest, staining my bra.

—Not bad for a first time —he said, completely calm—. Go to the bathroom and fix yourself up. You don’t expect me to make love to you like that. Ah, and clean this up before you come back.

In the bathroom I vomited. I threw up even the dinner. I felt dirty, used, and worst of all: I was aroused. My body had betrayed me. I went back to the room and he was standing in front of the window, looking at the snow, his silhouette outlined against the white.

—I know you’re horny —he said without turning around—. Lie down and touch yourself. When I hear you moan like a good girl, maybe I’ll pay attention to you.

And I did. I slid my hand between my legs and started. He didn’t even deign to look at me, and that, absurd as it sounds, turned me on even more. I tried to hold back my moans, biting my finger while he remained impassive in front of the glass. I held out, waiting for him to turn around, but I couldn’t contain the desire and came. I closed my eyes and my body shuddered.

I was still lost in the orgasm when, before I had time to react, he turned me over on the bed, spread my ass cheeks, and fucked me from behind. A brutal scream tore out of my throat. The pain was unbearable. I thrashed, fought to push him away, but he held me tightly and, in a couple of thrusts, he sank all the way in. I was howling, panting, begging him to stop with tears in my eyes. He grabbed my hair and forced me onto all fours.

He began to move slowly, drawing moans from me. I tried to match his rhythm to endure that agony. He pulled my hair, forcing my back to arch. And then the thing I hate most happened: humiliation and pain mixed with a pleasure I couldn’t understand. His fingers sought out my cunt while he slammed into me, and I felt another wave rising inside me. My cries of torment blended with sighs I couldn’t control. That drove him wild. I came again, trembling, consumed by something I didn’t want to feel, just as he finally emptied himself.

***

That was my first night with Adrián. I was still a virgin in a certain sense, because he hadn’t penetrated me straight on, and he didn’t that weekend either, although he destroyed me in every other possible way. I’ve wanted to be very graphic because I need you to understand how, little by little, he turned me into an addict to something that at first disgusted me. He did whatever he wanted with me, without caring whether I liked it or not. He sought my pleasure only as a means to reach his own. And each time it became darker.

With each thing I agreed to, I felt like I was losing another piece of myself, until the day came when I craved it. I lived on the edge of constant arousal, where pain and submission led to pleasure and pleasure to pain, until one no longer existed without the other. There were nights when my body said enough, when I almost fainted, and he made me come to in order to keep going. He tied me up, covered my eyes, filled me with toys, and watched me come in the middle of a torment he controlled with a remote.

Writing this hurts as much as it did then, but it also excites me, and that is what I hate most of all. I let him do so many monstrous things to me that I was no longer myself. A dinner out, a play, a simple walk: any outing could become an excuse to use me. There was always a bathroom, a dark corner, a fitting room. I learned to swallow without drooling and with almost no gagging so my clothes wouldn’t be stained. I stopped wearing underwear, always ready for whatever he decided. But it was never enough for him.

I didn’t know how to break away in time and ended up moving into his house. I stopped looking for work. Without realizing it, I became his slave. A few months ago he started sharing me with his friends. The first time I was on top of him, riding him, when he pulled the chain attached to my nipple clamps and forced me to lean back against his chest while an orgasm ran through me. Then someone I couldn’t see fucked me from behind. I tried to sit up, but the clamps made it impossible, and I could only puff and gasp while the two of them moved inside me at the same time.

—I told you my girl was special —I heard Adrián say—. Have you seen how much she likes it?

The stranger was wearing a mask. When he finished, Adrián held my head and forced me to clean him with my mouth. I noticed that his taste was different, just as bitter, but different. That night the orgy went on for hours. They fucked me standing up, on all fours; while one filled my mouth, the other moved behind me. I admit I came several times, but only when they wanted me to, which seemed to excite them even more. I was little more than the instrument of their pleasure.

Soon there were three or four of them at once, and I had to satisfy them all. They filled me, and my palate learned to tell them apart: it was almost the only way I had to identify them, because the masks were uncomfortable for them and they ended up putting one on me, covering my whole face with only one opening.

I had hit bottom. When I went out into the street and noticed a man looking at me, I thought that maybe he had used me, that maybe his taste was filed away somewhere in a corner of my memory. I was no longer just his slave: I was someone he loaned to whoever he wanted, sometimes without even being there. Until something inside me finally broke and I left.

I know he has recordings of many of those abuses. I know because the woman who was before me, Lucía, I saw her in some of the videos he showed me “to teach me.” I’m sure that in some of the ones he shows you, I’ll be there. I also know that there is material of Lucía circulating on the internet. She’s a dark-haired girl, with huge green eyes, very beautiful. And I know that, out of spite, mine will end up online too. I’ll be the blonde with light eyes. I won’t be able to stop it. I didn’t listen to Lucía when she warned me, and you have no idea how much I regret it. I’ve had to change countries, my appearance, my job. I don’t even go by the same name anymore. I thought I had erased those fourteen months from my mind, but when I saw you in his photos, my conscience wouldn’t let me sleep.

I’ve opened a door I thought was closed, and the memories have come back out of control. I’ve opened my soul to you, and I couldn’t avoid putting here what I lived through. Sounds, tastes, images, sensations I didn’t know were still inside me have guided my fingers over the keyboard while tears wet the table. I haven’t changed as much as I thought: the wounds of the past still dig their claws into my insides. I have to lock my demons back up before they devour me. I won’t write to you again, I couldn’t bear it.

I only ask you one thing: run while you’re still yourself. Good luck.