Death of the Woman You Used to Be

Content Warning: This is a story about rape, captivity, torture, and mind control. It is smutty fiction and intended only as a bit of kinky fun. Anyone who takes these ideas seriously is abhorrent. 

This is where it ends.

It starts with a fight. With you struggling until your muscles go limp; screaming until your voice breaks. That's the day your true self is born. The girl who has felt her weakness. The girl who has learned reverence for a man's strength. The girl who knows her place. On that first day she is only a small voice in the back of your mind, but she will grow.

The voice is nurtured during long months of restraint: chains, gags, rigid schedules, and locked doors. With imperceptible slowness your true self takes firmer and firmer root in your mind. The nagging whine of the woman you were grows softer, more distant. You begin to internalize the restraints. You stop testing if the doors are locked. They've always been locked, they must be locked. One day he doesn't put the gag back in after finish with you. Your first instinct is to remind him. You stop yourself, and feel embarrassed for nearly speaking without being spoken to. It never occurs to you how far your values have shifted. It's one example among a thousand that the woman you used to be is losing influence over your mind.

The withered remains of that unhappy creature tries to rationalize. You're being obedient because you need to appear obedient. Need him to become complacent so he'll make the kind of big mistake that will allow you to escape. Later you realize he's been taking you out in public for months. You could have escaped at any time, but escape doesn't have the appeal it used to have.

Now we're back at the end. All that is left is this girl. The true you. The girl who understands her place in the world. She knows that to be controlled is to be loved. She knows that to be obedient and pleasing is to be happy, and she is very, very happy.