My ultimate fantasy, something that keeps me up at night, the one thing where I know all my sexual fantasies are realizedā¦
Itās to be kidnapped. But not just kidnapped. Oh no, not a one night fuck-and-dump, no snuff here.
I want to be tied up, in a disgusting old basement. I want to be chained to the ceiling, naked, uncomfortable.
See, because I donāt just want to be raped. I want to be destroyed.
Donāt touch me for the first few days. Leave me in filth. Donāt feed me, until I beg for water. Let me down from the ceiling where my wrists are raw and practically dislocated from passing out on the chain. Feed me out of a dog bowl. If Iām ungrateful, threaten to let me starve. If youāve done it right, Iāll be so hungry that when you tell me to be polite, Iāll say āpleaseā and āthank youā without thinking. Feed me table scraps, feed me dog food. Mix piss with my water. That way every time I get something remotely good, I will want to cry with how happy I am. The first time you give me hot food, I will cry. Iāll practically be begging to kiss your boots.
The first time you rape me, I want it to hurt. It has to hurt. Rough, brutal, no prep. Leave me bruised and sore and bleeding. Come back and do it again, but this time with a little bit of softness. Mix it back and forth, and back and forth. Rough and soft. Mix between calling me disgusting and a dog and completely worthlessā¦ and calling me your good girl. Your poor, sweet little princess.
Then, after I no longer fight at all. I suck your cock with eagerness, I present my holes happily. Rape me like the first time. Make me cry, and scream. Give me a glimmer of hope by maybe loosening the chains.
And then leave me. Leave me alone. Feed me just enough to keep me alive. Come in, maybe tell me a story. Threaten me. But donāt touch me. Leave me far longer than you think you have to.
Eventually I will beg to be used again. Iāll beg and cry and tell you Iāll do anything. Not to escape, Iām broken past that. But for you to touch me. Iām so cold. When I canāt form words anymore, from cracked lips and isolation, Iāll just whimper and whine. Mumble when you come in.
This is where you get to have fun.
Months after, when Iām broken, you get to fix me.
Iām a rack of bones, my hair is matted and disgusting. No one would want me. But you get to groom me.
I cry when one day, you kneel down on the floor and touch me. I flinch first, but you stroke my neck, and down my back. You draw circles on my skin. I cry, because this is so nice. This is so different. Your voice is soft when you console me.
Little girl, sweetie. Itās okay. Youāre going to be alright.
You promise that, if I come upstairs, and am a good girl for him, I never have to see the basement again. I get to be yours.
You bring me upstairs, Iām so frail I can barely stand. You half carry me up the stairs. When weāre upstairs, my eyes hurt from the light so bad I hide in your chest. Itās not a mistake that youāve chosen a soft shirt.
Its a hot shower, to rinse all the dirt and grime off of me. You wash and wash and brush my hair until its mostly clean. And then into the tub, both of us. I moan at the hot water, and you chuckle and ask if I feel good. I just nod.
Your hands are soft on my scalp as you wash it again, and then conditioner that is so lovingly massaged into my hair. You shave me everywhere, have me sit up so he can get every inch of hair. Your hands feel nice as you massage soap into my skin.
You ask if I remember my name. My age. I have no answers. You make things up, they donāt sound right, but I canāt remember anyways. I can vaguely remember the fact that I had a life beforeā¦ But I canāt remember details. I can vaguely remember that once you were bad, but donāt have the energy to care.
You say things that confuse me. You touch me, to make me feel good. My pussy, my breasts.
You dry me off, and I canāt recognize myself in the mirror. Hair longer than ever before, so so skinny. But its so nice, being touched. Having you brush product through my hair. Oil on my lips, cream on my skin.
I start crying, I beg not to be put in the basement.
You tell me how it is, how its going to be. It scares me a little.
Calls me baby, says I donāt have to go down there again. Only if I promise to be good, and do whatever you say. Says Iām going to have my own little cage, but donāt worry because its got a blanket. And if Iām really good I get to sleep with you, and cuddle, and be warm. Says I get to have my own collar, like a real animal. My own bowl, but this time its going to be clean. I get to suck your dick, which I liked doing. And heās going to make me feel good. Calls me princess, but then pulls my hair. I yelp out. Threatens me that if I donāt do whatever he says, if I donāt say thank you when he gets frustrated and takes it out on me, if I canāt handle licking his ass and drinking his piss and call him Daddy and do anything you want? Then I thrown in the basement, and you get to ruin me until I get to be no good anymore. Until I go right in the garbage.
And he gives me a choice, option A or B?
I cry, say Daddy, please. The first, one. I promise to be good. I promise Iāll do whatever you want. Daddy please donāt put me down there. I donāt wanna be thrown out.
You tell me to open my mouth.
I do, without hesitation.
You spit in my mouth, a thick gob that makes me flinch, but only a little.
I do that too. Thereās a growing part of me that wants to swallow whatever you give me.
You tell me to say thank you.
Then you call me good girl, which I really like.
You let go of my hair, and wrap your arms around me. I cling to you like I donāt want to let go.
You dress me in pigtails and a skimpy, sheer shirt. A plug goes in my butt, which I donāt whine about at all.
You tell me some time youāll get me some nice, new clothes. Pretty bras and panties. Maybe some nice socks, I bet your feet are cold.
And eventually, its past a desperate need for survival and affection.
And I wouldnāt want life to be any other way.
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