Hello. I’m Tori.

A slave. A survivor. A coach. A woman who kneels because she chooses to.

Author’s note: This is the first piece in a series. If you’re reading this and feel a pull to keep going, the next one will be waiting for you.

I am a slave. A second wife in a polyamorous relationship. A survivor. A certified life and relationship coach. An adult content creator. A woman with a BS in psychology and a Master’s degree in progress. A mother. A caregiver. A woman who has been broken so many times that I’ve lost count — and who has put herself back together, piece by piece, until she became someone she actually likes.

I am unashamed of any of it.

Let me start at the beginning — or at least the beginning that matters most right now.

I spent over thirty-eight years being told I was worthless.

It started in childhood — being rejected by the one human who should have loved me more than anything: my mother. Then it was reinforced throughout my life, woven into everything. The way I was spoken to, the way I was touched, the way my body and my time and my consent were treated like they belonged to someone else. I was married at fifteen to a man twice my age. I was a child. I didn’t know that then. I know it now.

For over two decades, I was abused in every way a person can be abused. Physically. Sexually. Mentally. Emotionally. I was used. I was traded. I was told that my suffering was saving someone else’s soul. And I believed it, because I didn’t know any other way to survive.

But I did survive.

I survived because I am stubborn. Because somewhere deep inside me, there was a voice that refused to stop whispering: You are worth more than this. It took me longer than I’d like to admit to listen to that voice. But when I finally did, I walked out the door with nothing but the clothes on my back and a determination to never be small again.

Today, I kneel because I choose to.

I am a slave to my Master — a man who has spent years earning every ounce of trust I have. He didn’t take my submission. I gave it to him. Freely. Willingly. Joyfully. And that makes all the difference in the world.

I am also a second wife to him and a collar sister to his wife. And all three of us are married to one another — we love each other fiercely. We are an open polycule. Three for now — who knows what the future holds. Built not on control or coercion, but on choice. On love. On three people who have looked at each other’s scars and said, I’ll stay.

I know what people think when they hear words like “slave” and “Master.” I know the assumptions. I used to make them myself. But what I have found in this dynamic is not oppression — it is freedom. It is the freedom to be fully myself, including the parts of me that want to surrender. Including the parts of me that find strength in yielding. Including the parts of me that are soft and strong and deeply, unapologetically mine.

I am also a life and relationship coach. I have a BS in psychology, and I’m currently working toward my Master’s in counseling psychology. But everything I know about trauma, about healing, about kink, about polyamory, about the way human beings break and rebuild — I learned first in life, in my own bones. Then I understood it in textbooks.

I coach because I wish someone had been there for me. I coach because there are people out there — LGBTQ+, kinky, polyamorous, traumatized, questioning — who need to hear that they are not broken. That the way they love is not wrong. That the things they want are not shameful. That they can heal. That they can find people who see them, really see them, and choose to stay.

I coach because I believe that everyone deserves to feel safe in their own skin. And I know what it takes to get there.

I am also an adult content creator. That part of my life is mine to hold, and I don’t apologize for it. My body is my own now — something I spent decades believing was not true. Creating content is one of the ways I reclaim it. If you’re curious, you can find me. If you’re not, that’s fine too. I don’t need everyone to understand every part of me. I just need to be honest about who I am.

So here I am. Standing in front of you, fully myself.

I am strong. I am soft. I am scarred. I am healing. I am a woman who has been to hell and back, who now spends her days helping others find their way out.

I am a slave who kneels because she wants to — not because she has to.

I am a coach who has sat in the classroom and in the wreckage, and who knows that the two are not the same.

I am Tori. And this is my story.

If you’re ready, I’ll share more of it with you.