From Something Totally Bad Something Totally Good Came Of It

In high school I worked at the mall and got off at nine. I had my mother's car and we had to park on one side of the mall. The quick way to get to the car at that hour was to go through the mall access corridors, and out the back loading dock. I opened the door to the loading dock and this man was killing this girl. I never saw who he was and the cameras never got a good picture because of the shadows and he had a cap on.

It left a lasting impression on me and I had this 'unnatural' fear that I was going to be a victim myself. I went through college harboring my terror and onto work after college. One night, it was late because we had to finish a report, I told my supervisor about my fear. He listened and told me that those experiences had to be worked 'out', but that needed the help of a professional in the field. In the meantime he would walk me to my car.

Our parking, especially in the winter months was dark even at six o'clock. He would leave his desk, and walk, me to my car and watch me lock the door before walking back to his office. During those walks I would talk to him about personal things. My stomach hurt, I had twisted my ankle playing volleyball, my period was killing me, I was hungry, I needed new underwear. I walked beside him, close to him and sometimes he put his arm around my shoulders and brought me into him to lay my head on his shoulder. I went with him to the mall one day at lunch to buy underwear at VS and I showed him what I bought and he approved or turned it down. In the car he asked me what kind of underwear I had on and I pulled my skirt up to show him.

At another night, he drove because we were joining some other work friends he parked behind the restaurant, where the parking was. He pulled me over and kissed me and put his hand between my legs until I opened my legs and let him feel me up. It was like giving him the keys to the kingdom, when he took me home he laid me out and ate me before getting on me and screwing me. Holding my face with both hands he injected his sperm in me.

Now it was my turn to listen to him, to learn what he expected of me, to be prepared to have what he liked at my apartment. To wear the underwear he liked and to give him permission to kiss me when and where he wanted. I held his hand to the car, I held his hand in the movies, I held his hand to cross the street. He called me honey, babe, sweetheart. I called him Dave, Master, King, but mostly Master. I never questioned that he owned me or that he was my Master.

Sex was often, mostly missionary holding my face to inject his sperm in me, but sometimes he caught me off guard and I got sex in the living room and once on the floor of the bathroom. I did lay beside him on the couch and softly sucked his dick while he watched television, and I let him get his hand up and in my panties or bra. He liked my nipples and liked me straddling him on the sofa and letting my nipples on his mouth, like feeding him gr**es. I never told him I loved him, I told other people that I loved him. He would hold me so I couldn't move and tell me I was his.

In one year from the day I told him my experience until he had complete access to me, for sex, for picking up his shirts at the cleaners, for making reservations for us to go on a cruise. I was the woman in the relationship and he was the man. I took his name and I let myself get pregnant. One day he asked me how my fear was coming along and I told him I never thought about it. I was cured, married and pregnant. Only once in a great while did I think about that night at the mall. Poor girl, I didn't know her, and her m****red was never caught.

It's really unfair, from that experience I got my husband, who watches over me like a hawk.