How did I get like this? For the people who keep asking "what happened to me" or "who did it"

I'm a prostitute who became more and more turned on by rape and abuse over time (warning, long)

I was always into kink. early exposure to porn, some grooming online etc definitely played a part but there was always a part of me even before then that was just pre-set somehow to be excited by it. Rough play, getting tied up while playing spies, even seeing torture scenes in movies or reading them in books made me feel something intense and confusing. I would watch BDSM porn, read literotica and fan fiction, and that fed the feelings and made the kinks more 'extreme'. what started as basically a tickle torture kink and wanting to be tied up and spanked grew into watching insex videos and reading more and more intense and bizarre stories that often had a cnc/rape theme to them.

but when I became a prostitute, things changed even more. I had already been assaulted once before I started. it was actually just being molested but it was by someone I trusted (not family or anything, just a man who has convinced me I was safe with him) and for about 40 minutes non stop, and I still consider it one of the most traumatizing of all my assaults because of the impact it had on me. I developed PTSD. I shut down. I lost all my friends, stopped studying, and I could barely function. I was constantly triggered, on edge, kept feeling his hand around my throat and his fingers pushing between my legs while I was trying to catch the train or go to bed. I remember at one point sitting in the shower with the shower cable wrapped around my neck because it felt so different to a hand and it was the only way I felt like I could get some relief from the feeling.

I didn't enjoy being molested, physically. Part of me always thought I would because of the CNC/rape kink I'd developed. but it was in a somewhat public place, I was terrified of being spotted, I was upset and confused, and honestly he just wasn't great at what he was doing. his dry finger scraping against my dry not aroused clit felt anything but arousing. he pinched and twisted my nipples, he kissed me and stuck his tongue in my mouth which tasted like tobacco. he was in his 60's and not an attractive man at all (there are so many attractive men in their 60's, he was not one of them). Except for right at the end, he briefly put his mouth on my clit and I started to feel a bit good, part of me almost wanted him to keep going to see if it got better. But when I got home there was this kind of excitement mixed in with all the big confusing feelings, "no one knows that just happened! I just did that".

I spent a year being miserable, isolated, and feeling broken. And by the end of it I'd turned back to my only real coping mechanism, talking to horny men on the Internet who wanted my body. It was ironic maybe? That my PTSD and flashbacks from being assaulted pushed me back to the very people who would assault me given the chance. around the one year anniversary of my assault something snapped in me and I needed to see them in person. But I couldn't accept the idea of doing that, until I thought about being a prostitute and charging money for it. It was different somehow, it didn't count. plus I needed a job, and I couldn't get hired anywhere else. I had major issues around independence and relying on other people too after an abusive and neglectful upbringing so bringing in any money meant the world to me. I put up an ad, and I started taking clients. I still lived with family so I would sneak out and they would pick me up in their cars at night and drive somewhere quiet (or to their homes if I was lucky).

obviously, this was a dangerous set up and things started to go wrong pretty early on. It started with them refusing to use condoms, most of the time not even asking. I was on birth control though, so I just let it happen. Then it turned into my first anal rape. He had asked me if I offered anal in the car, and I'd said no and held firm to it. But being naive I told him I was an anal virgin as part of my explanation to why he couldn't. looking back I'm sure that made him more determined, knowing he would take my anal virginity. he drove to this empty construction site in the middle of nowhere and we got out of his car. He played with my tits and kissed me, then bent me over the hood/bonnet and pulled up my skirt and pulled my panties down. At first things were going fine, by my messy standards of fine. No condom, but he was just playing with and fucking my pussy. Then his finger started to wander...

I was on edge when he started brushing it against my asshole, but I thought "well I told him he couldn't fuck it, he's just touching it so that's not the same. I didn't actually say he couldn't do that."

then he started to slide his finger in (although I'm not sure slide is the right word, it was more of an awkward dry forcing of his finger into me). And again I was a bit freaked out, but I thought "he's still not actually fucking it, I didn't say he couldn't put his finger in it, maybe he's just going to play with it and I should have been more specific. He's not actually doing anything wrong." it was uncomfortable, especially as he started to slide it in and out, but I kept my mouth shut and pretended it wasn't happening. Then a second finger pressed inside. Something was happening to my body by this point. I could feel my pussy getting more and more wet while he fucked it, my legs felt weak, I was breathing heavier.

finally he pulled his fingers out, and I was so relieved. it hurt, and it was uncomfortable, and it made me feel weird, and I just wanted it to be over. And then he slid his dick out of my pussy, and pressed the head against my asshole. I froze completely. I couldn't talk, I couldn't move, I felt cold and hot at the same time and my skin felt weird and my breathing was suddenly shallow and strange. I could feel the memory of a hand around my throat. my brain was running at 100 miles an hour but all it was really thinking was a million different versions of "I should stop him. no. he's not really going to do that. he won't. no. I should stop him. this is my fault." And then he pressed harder and harder until something gave way and the head popped inside me. For half a second I didn't feel much, and then the burning started and the sharp stinging ache. my breath caught in my throat, my hands tried to grip down on the bonnet, my knees wanted to buckle, I felt slightly sick. but he just grabbed my hands against the car and pushed deeper and deeper inside me slowly but surely until his balls were pressing against my soaking wet pussy. I clocked out mentally, I don't know how long he held me there and fucked me. I do remember feeling a string of pussy juice dangling down between my legs, that had swung sideways far enough to stick to one of them. I didn't scream, I didn't beg him to stop, I just lay there and moaned and grunted while he raped me. My body was going crazy, even though I was hoping and praying that it would end soon and the pain would stop. Eventually he reached down and started to rub my clit and it pushed me over the edge. I came, shaking against his car with his dick violating my asshole. he finished not long after, cumming in my ass, and let go. I didn't know what to do, I felt so ashamed and so responsible for it. I just pretended everything was normal and fine. he pulled my panties back up and drove me home.

I had cum and blood coming out my ass, it took more than a week for the bleeding to be fully gone, but I told myself that this time I wasn't going to be upset by it and freak out. I convinced myself the only reason the first assault upset me so much was because I had let it, I'd obsessed over it and made it into a big deal. This time I'd just not to that and it would be fine. So the era of repression and denial began.

I was abused regularly by my clients, even after stopping car work and starting to work in brothels for safety. I was beaten, choked, strangled. I had my ass raped more times than I can count. I never learned how to set boundaries or stop them or defend myself, I just went back to the same place freezing up. And then instead of just freezing, I started touching myself. And then responding, engaging. After a while part of me hoped they would assault me, it felt so much more intense. They would start to quietly touch my asshole and my brain would change settings somehow. A second before I would have been so convinced I didn't want my ass touched, let alone fucked. then as soon as a finger brushed against it my mind would be screaming out to them to do it, to use it, to push themselves inside. I would be frozen, shallow breathing, tense, but inside me just a voice going "yes yes yes please". And then the line started getting blurred as I actively started to respond. moaning louder as they touched my asshole, following instructions they gave me, no longer just not fighting but actively pressing back on their dicks. I believe most of them would have gone ahead with it without any positive reaction from me, but I'll never know because I egged them on half the time. I was so full of shame around it, I never told anyone else. especially not other prostitutes.

I smoked weed every day after work to numb out my mind as much as possible. on my weekends or evenings I would take hallucinogens often, once every couple weeks, and mix them with drugs like MDMA nitrous oxide and whatever random lines made their way around to me. I took higher doses, stronger drugs, half my money went on it. I managed to stay away from the big ones, crack meth and heroin, but I still ended up dependent on my drugs of choice. I have persistent hallucinogenic perception disorder now and sometimes full on acid flashbacks feeling like I'm tripping even years later. I coped through denial, ignoring it, shutting my brain down as much as possible.

Now I'm sober. I've been to therapy for years. I did EMDR, somatic therapy, I've arguably processed a lot of the trauma. The part that never left though is the version of the that I created to switch into when I was assaulted. the part of me that says "yes yes yes", begs for more, gets soaking wet, cums harder than any other context. She was a coping mechanism at the time, now she's a liability. One tiny show of force control or disrespect and I switch over. My brain numbed out, my body going crazy, not able to protect myself or be safe or make good decisions. just obedient, horny, desperate. And she's addictive. Being in that space mentally, nothing else is like it. It's like sub space, but just extreme. There have been times my life has legitimately been in danger and I've been completely helpless mentally to even try and do anything about it. my life totally in the hands of irresponsible men who sometimes don't even understand the risk they are taking or do but don't care. And the problem is it doesn't really happen when I feel safe. Safe controlled play with a partner I trust doesn't really trigger it without touching on the exact right triggers and roleplay that I haven't found anyone irl who wants to engage with (but had a couple lucky 'touching on the right thing' moments with people who were one shot wonders and never did it again).

So I come online instead and play with people on here. It's slightly more safe than IRL because my physical body is safe, but I'm just as stupid obedient and compliant. Whenever life is rough, when I'm feeling isolated, when I'm not coping, when I'm not able to get any support from other people, I come back to this instead. Numb out my mind, touch myself, flood it with dopamine. Bring up the triggering memories and feelings. The funny thing is, it takes the intensity out of them the rest of the time. the flashbacks are easier to cope with, the thoughts are easier to sit with, because I did it all first with the help of my horny brain taking the burning sting out of it all and stopping me from trying to fight my own memories and thoughts. I accept and embrace them, and rub my clit to them, and then when it's over they are still accepted in a way they never were before.

All of the therapy I've done has lifted some of the shame from it for me, enough for me to openly talk about it through kink. Which funnily enough has made me more openly kinky. it's a weird little cycle where I engage better in therapy after the kink stuff, and I engage better in kink stuff after therapy.