At that time, my self-esteem had already hit rock bottom, and only that morbid desire that occasionally surfaced within me made me feel "proud" to be scum for that macho. But I needed to get out of there, and I managed to do it thanks to external circumstances, as I felt incapable of anything on my own.

Undoubtedly, such a traumatic experience had nullified my willpower. I had to start looking for a job, but I needed a break.

In those days, I focused on my language classes and searched the internet or the newspaper for any interesting job offers. Things weren't going too well, but I was in no hurry.

I still remembered how it all started: those suggestive emails from my boss, at first involving girls humiliated by their masters, then submissive boys... And that's when that rope around my neck began to tighten.

I no longer kept those emails because, having left the company, I no longer had access to that email and couldn't see anything. Better that way.

I remember my inbox overflowing with my boss's address, and in the subject line, sexist, mocking, and highly humiliating comments. He loved to humiliate with simple remarks; he was an artist at it and knew how to make me feel like the most inferior being in the world. He didn’t need to make me swallow his piss or lick his cock; his mere perversion and character were enough to make me feel inferior.

Evidently, after having consumed his own shit, I was no longer a person to him but a pariah he could do whatever he wanted with.

But three months had passed, and everything was behind me. The problem was that it wasn't easy to escape from such a strong and intense experience. Many nights, I found myself glued to the computer, trembling with perversion, excitement, and fear, with an email half-written to my old boss, as I remembered his address perfectly, but it was a message I luckily never sent.

I had simply become a wanker of those lived morbid experiences; it excited me to write him an email telling him he was my God and that I was his slave and always would be...

I would go on and on, telling him a thousand things, confessing that I was still excited by all that, but then I'd hit cancel because I didn’t want him to have even my email address. It had taken so much to get out of all that.

The aftermath of my sexual torment was that I could no longer get aroused seeing a woman; I liked them, but I didn’t feel sexually excited. It was as if the thrill of being humiliated had annihilated any other kind of sexual desire.

If that was truly the case, I was lost; I would have to seek help, go to see a psychologist or some specialist. But I felt incapable of telling anyone what was happening to me. I was terrified and didn't see how to regain my sexual desire for women. I only got hard thinking about those terrible humiliations I suffered in that office day after day.

I so desperately wanted to esca...