She was Owned, Surviving Incest and Child Prostitution

I don't think it easy to understand a life spent owned, in forced service, every day of one's life. There is childhood filled with overseeing guardians but a child still owns of themself. 

But, to be owned and forced to perform as a sex slave, on any given day, on the majority of the days, that is truly being owned by another.

First, my father owned me, used me for his daily sexual yearnings. Then, satisfied, he loaned me out to his boss at work, as a favor and for cash, twice remembered, more times thankfully forgotten.

That was still not enough. This small under four year old body was also freely given weekly to the subset of father's friends three. Every Friday night without fail, my body was given for their use.

That is how it started, the earliest years. Then, a homeward bound trip, a permanent move back to father's hometown and I met a most evil and vile grandmother who became my new co-owner. Father retained primary rights so he continued in his sexual assaults while grandmother owned me on occasion when father felt like sharing.

The evil grandmother, I hesitate, I cry, the evil grandmother taught me to satisfy all of her sexual needs as grandfather had been gifted with their oldest daughter, my aunt, specifically for that purpose. So, grandmother needed a sex slave for herself, and just like my father, grandmother sought to share my body to sexually satisfy friends, relatives and acquaintances mostly for money with only a few favors.

That is my childhood. A child owned and trained into sexual service.

Maybe I am beginning to understand that I am no longer owned, no longer a sex slave, no longer pressed into service to feed my relatives incestuous urges or put food on my siblings table.

Maybe I'm beginning to have a sense of freewill and of not being owned.

I dreaded my life back then. At times I hated every moment. At times I plotted to die. 

Yet

Here 

I 

Am

With a horror story few can ever read, fewer can hear, fewer still that can listen and not be plagued with fits and nightmares.

I lived an unbelievable nightmare and I want to tell my story. 

I'm sorry my truth sickens you.

I'm even sorrier my relatives got away with such crimes.

For I am but one, the main one true, but their evil desires were inflicted on more than just me.

I witnessed their sins. But I am not guilty.

I did nothing to promote such heinous sexual abuses except by being born into their lineage. A lineage that receds back in time.

I am the fourth generation of those sexually abused, molested, raped and sold.

It's no wonder it has taken me so long to understand 

What is it like to not be owned?

Amy Maureen Murphy