Blossom's Story by yvette

When Blossom commented to me one day that her owners had expressed a desire to see her write something about herself for a.s.b. but that she didn't dare because she didn't feel she wrote well enough, I offered to help her edit whatever she wanted to post. It took a little while, but eventually the story came out, and went back and forth between us a few times with changes and additions. I'm very glad that she gave me the opportunity to do this. She's a wonderful friend, and her story is an interesting one.

I have tried to change as little as possible in her story, merely editing for clarity and understanding. It is her story; the words may be mine, but the voice is quite definitely hers.

--Catra

Blossom's Story
Copyright 1994 yvette

I was born in Palermo, Sicily, in 1951. From what I understand from my older sister, my parents came to the United States in 1952, seeing it as the "land of the free, where the streets are paved with gold." Only a month after we arrived, however, my parents were killed. My sister and I had an uncle and aunt who lived here, and they adopted us. My memories start at about age three, and so I really do not remember my parents, or Italy.

My earliest memories are not good ones. While my aunt and sister were away at work and school, i was left with my uncle. This is when he and I would play "games."

"Let's Tie The Little Girl Up," he would say, and so my first sexual experience was then, when i was three. He used to tie me to different things, put hoses inside me, and scrape my hair off with a knife. He would block my nose with tape and when I opened my mouth to breathe, put his cock in.

This went on for years. My sister and aunt knew of course, after a while; my sister tried to protect me. It was, as she quickly found out, a lost cause.

My aunt, on the other hand, enjoyed watching.

I learned the role of a submissive at a very early age. My uncle was a gambler; when he lost, as is inevitable for gamblers, I would be given to those to whom he owed money and told to please them.

When I was thirteen, one of those to whom he was deeply in debt told him that if I went to live with him and his wife, the debts would be cancelled.

They were childless, he said, and wanted badly to have one. I was given to them to bear the child they had always wanted.

Moving in with them was actually nice. I was attending school, and his wife helped me with my homework. I took care of their home as if it were my own, cooking and cleaning. When he came home he brought me treats, and she talked to me...I was so happy to be part of a family.

When I was fourteen and a half, they decided that it was time for me to bear their child. What followed was what I considered to be the first time I truly made love, and what came of that was a beautiful son. I had done my job well and was very pleased.

I had been living with them for about four and a half years when a new phase of my life began. My son was three, and I had enjoyed living with them and watching him grow and taking care of their house. I was now sixteen, and the man decided that now was the time for me to become a slave.

I was a domestic, and discovered that being a domestic was something to take pride in and enjoy. This was my first training. My Master, whom I always call my TopDom, showed me how to greet him and my Mistress properly, and many other things. This went on for about a year, and when I was seventeen he told me that he had decided to send me off for proper training.

I packed a little bag with just a toothbrush and some soap, and after a teary goodbye, I was off to Nice, France. Somehow I knew that this would be the last time i would see my TopDom and Mistress.

When I flew into Paris, I was met at the airport by a young man and a very beautiful woman. I was very apprehensive; I did not know what to do or say--I didn't even speak the language! I was a nervous wreck.

The woman greeted me with a smile and a hug, putting me much more at ease. And I need not have worried about language--she spoke English, and while it was a bit broken, I could understand her.

We took the train to Nice (their rail system is ten times better than ours) and then drove through the country to what looked like a huge monastery, only not quite as Gothic. I remember how I felt as we drove; so tired and yet so excited.

I was greeted at the door by a much older lady. She took my little bag and said "Welcome to my training home. In this place , my trainees may not utter one word, and you will not wear clothing for the duration of your stay. If you break either of these rules you will be punished."

She took me to a little room which she said would be mine. It was very spare: just a bed and blanket. The bathroom was across the hall, and it had no doors and no shower doors. She told me that I could have tonight to rest, and that my training would begin the following morning.

Back in my room, I removed my clothing and she took it all. I didn't see my clothes again for a year. I was exhausted from travelling so much and so I just crawled into bed and passed out. When I woke at 4:30 the next morning, it seemed far too early.

I was told to get used to getting up at that hour, and was taken to the bathroom across the hall and scrubbed to within an inch of my life. I felt raw all over.

When I went downstairs, I saw that I was not the only one being trained here. In the large room were six other women and two men. Some were from other countries, and i remember hearing the older lady, whose name was Leira, speaking English, German, French, and Chinese.

The first few months I would learn domestic chores: cooking, cleaning, sewing. I would become the best domestic anyone could ask for. The first part of my training, however consisted of the proper way to greet those i served.

My greeting was to fall on my knees; if my owner offered hir palms, to kiss them, if not, to kiss hir feet. This is a habit I have carried with me, to greet my owner properly, whether in private or in public. To show disrespect to the one who chooses to own me goes against my training.

Learning to kneel was the easiest part of my training. We knelt when a trainer was in the same room, when a visitor came in, etc...when they left the room we could stand again. I'm still good at kneeling. When I visit my owners I greet my Master at the airport on my knees, and again fall to my knees to my Mistress when we arrive at their home.

Not all of my training was as easy as kneeling though. Cooking especially was more difficult than I had thought it would be. Luckily, they had a culinary expert there to advise us! In France, the food is much richer and the way of measuring different...I had to get used to a whole new way of cooking. We also had to prepare a new dish daily. It's a good thing the culinary person was a great teacher.

When we had been there a month, a new class started. It taught meditation and ways to control our bodies and minds; there we began to learn what our bodies were capable of. We learned yoga, and how to touch so that the touch would be pleasing to those we served. These classes lasted about two months and were the only times we were allowed to talk: we chanted.

After we had begun feeling comfortable in our surroundings we started body training. We would spend a month on one thing and then move on to the next topic. The first month was that of learning how simple touch can put one in a deep headspace. We also learned massage, and how to properly take care of our owners' bodies.

After learning about touch, the *real* fun began! It was time to put what we had learned in our meditation and touch classes to the test.

At this point, I had been in training for three months; now was the time for us to see how far we could take our bodies, to see how far we could let others take us. This was when we finally saw the dungeon.

The room was filled with hanging chains, with ropes and swings and racks. There were tables with cuffs, and stocks. I could barely keep from talking in my excitement. I thought "WOW! This is going to be * fun*!"

For this phase of our training, there was one teacher for every two students, and that was very nice. Our teacher first let us see how it all felt; letting us touch everything. Learning what each thing was used for was fun. Then we discovered how we did with suspension, and how many hours we could bear to be put on a table and stretched.

The next step was to learn how to take a flogging, cropping, and spanking. There is real artistry involved in being dommed properly, and in learning how much one's body can take.

Each month was different; learning how to best use one's mouth for oral pleasure, or discovering the wonders of being dual-fisted. Each orifice was given one entire month of training.

The training for things like fireplay, knifeplay, and electric play was very exciting, and everything was so new! I did not know whether I was going to be using my new knowledge once I left or not, but I enjoyed it very much while I had the opportunity.

We were taken so far out, in body and in mind. Strangely enough, when you are in that headspace, you tend to forget some things. It's like being in a trance.

The very last month I was there, I was given a safeword. Until then, the idea of having a safeword had not occured to me! I finally understood *why* I was given the safeword when I took my final test.

For that test, they chose a fear I had had before I arrived: snakes. The day before I was to leave, I was taken down to the dungeon and put on a rack; cuffed, blindfolded, all I could feel was a dry-slick sensation on my skin. After half an hour, I began to moan, and my blindfold was removed. Looking down to see those snakes on my skin-- I learned that the thing i feared most was not as frightening as I had thought. I had learned to impose the proper frame of mind on myself, and I was not afraid. My trainer said that I had the option to safeword, if I needed to. I didn't need to.

And so it was time to leave; I had completed my training. Being dressed to go home felt *very* strange after having gone unclothed for a year.

Going home felt even more strange, for I was not going back to my first Master and Mistress...instead, I was told that I had a new owner. When I arrived in the States, I would be married to him the same day.

My new Master had a contract already drawn up there in France, and I was to read it on the way back. At the airport he had gotten a club room where we would sign the contract and be married. I had no clue what this man looked like or anything; I was a bit nervous. Getting off the plane, I was collected by someone with a photo of me and shown to a small office.

I dropped to my knees before my new owner and kissed the offered palms.

He was very handsome, and rather quiet looking. I was told that I might speak and I said "I give myself to you, Master. Use me as you see fit."

He smiled. "I will, slave. For a lifetime." We signed our contracts and a Justice of the Peace married us. We flew home and have been happy together for seventeen years now.

My Master/husband now has given me to a wonderful couple. They are learning, and have grown very much in the world of BDSM. I am enjoying my service with them very much, and still live with my husband; we love each other dearly.

Learning how to control one's body and mind is not just what a Dom does for their slave; it is a gift the slave gives to her Master.

I would not change anything about my training; some of it i swore not to talk about, but it was wonderful, and at times I wish that I were still in Nice. However, my purpose is to serve, and I enjoy it with all my soul.

I am thankful to you all for letting me share some of my life with you.

--blossom