I had never felt so adrift in my life. I had always been confident and thought of myself as fully grounded: the sensible one. Now I felt as though I were leading a bizarre double life. One part was normal and predictable. I was a second year college student taking Accounting at the city college. I was a pretty girl, though a bit nerdy, and liked to read and play with numbers. This sort of thing was just so not me!

I live with my parents and brother and sister in a respectable four bedroom suburban home. I rarely date, preferring to read and surf the internet when not doing my homework or working my part time job as a waitress. I was utterly, at least in my own mind, unremarkable and 'normal' to the point of being boring.

Two weeks ago I'd approached David Conway, the Vice President of the bank which held the mortgage on my home. My father had lost his job and had a drinking problem and had borrowed too much to pay back any time soon. If something wasn't done we would be out of a home, and, given my father's credit record, and lowered income, God only knew where we'd end up.

He had a startling proposition. In exchange for pushing back the payments I would give up my waitress job and work for Conway part-time. At a lot more money. That, in itself, would not have caused me any stress. Quite the contrary, in fact. But David Conway was a strange and perverse man. He was a tyrant who required instant obedience.

And he wanted more personal services from me than most any other personal assistant would ever have agreed to perform!

I had half suspected it from the interview, and almost resigned myself to what I thought would be groping and perhaps even pressure for sex. I hadn't expected the spankings! I hadn't expected the dominance games. I had feared I would have to have sex with him but hadn't imagined it could be so incredibly intense, so shockingly pleasurable, or so rough and degrading!

He used me like a whore! And yet, despite my shame and anger, my body, and yes, my mind, responded as if I was one! I had no idea why. In fact, I was bewildered by my response to him. I hated him, and given a choice would never see him again. But I didn't have that choice. I needed to keep him on side with the deal I'd made. I needed to keep my family in possession of our house.

That was what I clung to, yet hovering around that sense of almost martyrdom in submitting to his perverse lusts was the thing I really didn't even want to admit to myself - that the thought of going back to that office filled my body with a strange dark fever lust. I had never really been much for sex, and certainly had found my earlier sexual experiences with boys messy, unpleasant, and not really all that exciting at all.

Yet when Conway used my body, when he bent me over and just... just used me like a whore, my body burned with hunger, lust and passion, and the orgasms were more intense than I'd imagined it possible to experience!

What was fucking wrong with my head!?

That was what kept filling my mind - along with the flashbacks, the mental images of what he'd done to me, of what I'd done, and the echo of heat, pleasure, shock and other intense emotions which had accompanied it all. It had been four days since my last session, and every day that passed made my stomach churn with more anxiety as I approached the next one.

The helplessness was the worst, and the lack of knowing. For whatever he wanted me to do, I would have to do, and I had no idea what he would ask of me the next time. So there was no way to mentally prepare myself for it.

Acting 'normal' around people at school, around my family, made me feel strange. No one seemed to sense any difference in me, yet I felt different. The things he'd done...!

And there my mind would flash back again to images of what Conway had demanded of me.

Really, they weren't all that shocking, I supposed. Of course, I'd given him oral sex. No big deal. That was really not even really sex, after all. He had made it worse by insisting I learn how to deep throat him, but I was actually rather proud of myself for doing so. I hadn't been at the time, of course. It had been difficult. But now I was rather proud of my new-found ability.

He'd spanked me more than once. That was bizarre! I'd heard of it, of course, of couples playing games that involved spanking. But I'd never imagined I'd be part of such a couple. Not that we were really a couple. He was much older than me and already married, after all. But thinking back on the spankings confused me, as well.

They'd been traumatic, painful, humiliating, and hot, very, very... hot. Now when I masturbated, and I was doing so much more often than ever before in my life, those spankings, or fantasies of them, often played a major part in my excitement. That and the riding crop, the stinging blows across my bottom as I was bent over the table, just before he took me for the first time...

What really unnerved me, though, was not just the sex, or the... dominance he insisted on, but the lack of passion on his part. He didn't really seem angry when he spanked or cropped me, and he didn't seem especially lustful when he fucked me. It was as if he were performing a normal work function in disciplining and using my body.

Though I wouldn't describe him as cruel, there was no warmth in his voice as he gave me curt orders, just the arrogance of command. And it really didn't change when it came to sex. He ordered me to bend over and spread my legs in the same tone as telling me to get him coffee, or reformat a letter. It was as if it were all part of my job, and he was simply seeing to me in that fashion.

Training me at my 'job'.

At nineteen it was all extremely confusing, even without throwing in the bewildering flare of hormones, emotions and the continuous assault on my pride and dignity.