Last night was incredible. I can’t get the feel of you out of my mind. The visions of the ecstacy we shared. The way you fucked me.
I am watching Law and Order: SVU right now, and the episode is about sexual sadism and how early experiences leave imprints upon your brain, especially if they are shocking, terrifying or impossible for a young child to comprehend… The urge to act out those acts in a way to redeem one’s self or to control the situation that caused you so much terror and pain.
I was molested when I was 3 by a babysitter, and then later by my dad (to a degree I am unsure of because I blacked out most it). You know this. We have talked about it. You have held me while I cried. Something happened to you too, I just don’t know what. I wish you could tell me, but I know you don’t recall everything either. I think you were molested, and/or treated roughly by your uncle, father and anyone else. And your mother stood by and did nothing. Just like my mother did.
When we fuck, you like for me to resist you, to fight you, and then let you fuck me anyway. I love it. The very thought makes me so wet, even just typing it. You sometimes whisper in my ear, telling me what a dirty little girl I am… Teasing me, making me cum over and over again. Kissing me softly, then so hard, lifting me up and then throwing me down on the couch as you pull my panties off.
I tease you too, pulling you close than pushing you away. Watching you fuck me. Screaming out as I cum all over you. I tell you everything that comes to my mind as you are deep inside of me. How I want to be your dirty girl. What a dirty little slut I am (I sleep with other men and he knows this, but loves me just as I am). I tell you to punish me for being bad. I tell you about how I have masturbated thinking about you licking me… Damn, I am getting wet again. Each comment, each story, makes you come harder.
I remember when we first started having sex, how you thought my orgasms were fake. Clearly, now you know they aren’t.
You are 13 years older than me. I am 32, you are 45. You are a father. We roleplay all the time. You would never hurt or touch your daughter, I know this. The way you act is so much different than my own father, but sometimes when we are fucking the fact you are a father turns me on, just like it turns you on that I still look like I am 24, just like it turns you on to ‘rape’ me. I know I am more into it than you are, but still… I can’t help but think we are a psych paper waiting to be written.
We have regular sex too, soooo full of love. Tender and gentle. Like the way you held me last night, with me curled up on your chest, held close to you… So close.
Last night, even as you fucked me, I couldn’t help it, I broke the role and pulled you close to me, sat in your lap and kissed you deeply, held you so tight, and I thought… I love this man… I love this man…
I think you have ruined sex for me. I can’t go be with anyone else, because how else would I explain my fantasies. I can’t go back to regular sex now, it doesn’t get me off. I think I do this to gain control over situations I never had a choice in. The fact you are a father, and still love me, that you would never do this to your daughter, but you do to me gives me a sense of peace I can’t explain.
Also, I never told you this, but last night I was ovulating and I stopped taking the pill. I don’t want to have a child with you, yet here it is almost 7pm and I still haven’t taken the morning after pill. I am going to go take it now.