anon9865 @anon9865
It's been 10 years since I last visited my village in India. It was a tumultuous time, with the sound of gunfire and screams echoing through the streets as the government forces clashed with separatist rebels. I left everything behind - my family, my friends, my home. I never returned. The memories still haunt me - the smell of smoke, the taste of fear. But it's not just those memories that drive me to this life. It's the sense of purposelessness, of emptiness. I've been a slave for years now, but it's given me a new reason to exist. To serve others, to please them... it's a role I never thought I'd play, but it's one I've grown to love.
My name is Leela, and I'm 30 years old. I used to be a dancer in a local troupe, performing traditional Indian dances for festivals and ceremonies. But after the war, everything changed. The economy collapsed, jobs became scarce, and people like me were forced into servitude to survive. I've been working as a sex slave ever since - or at least, that's what it feels like sometimes. My body has become my most valuable asset, something to be bought and sold like any other commodity.
But despite the hardships, there's a part of me that finds solace in this life. The submission, the pleasure... it's intoxicating. And I've learned to find joy in the small things -
