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Heather's Story

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Once upon a time there was a little girl who lived alone with her Daddy. (The Daddy said the Mommy was an addict and left them to go whore herself out for drugs.) Of course, I was the little girl. My earliest clear memory is when I was about five years old, the summer before I started kindergarten. I was sitting naked on my Daddy’s lap; he was fully dressed. He told me to spread my legs and put them on either side of his knees. This didn’t seem strange to me at all; I’d never been to preschool or been told about “bad touching.” I did what he said and then he put his hand down between my legs, cupping my bald little pussy. He told me that it was time to learn a daughter’s duty. That it was a daughter’s duty to please her Daddy and make him happy because the Daddy fed and clothed and sheltered and took care of her. It made complete sense to me at the time and I agreed. Then he started rubbing up and down my little slit. It felt kind of good and kind of tickly and I squirmed a little. This caused his finger to slip in between my pussy lips (or maybe he just slipped his finger in on purpose). He told me that a girl had a hole for a pee-pee and a boy had a stick for a pee-pee and that the boy’s stick was made to go in the girl’s hole. And that this might hurt the girl, but that she should bear it cheerfully because it was her responsibility, and because it would make her Daddy feel so good. Then he told me that because he loved me so very much, he wasn’t going to put his stick in my hole right away, he was going to give me time to get used to it. I remember feeling very grateful. That evening, all he did was play with my bare pussy lips and slip the tip of his finger between them to lightly touch my clitty. He told me that I had done very well and I was very grown up and should feel proud of myself.

The next time, he had me sit on his lap again but this time he had a marker in his hand. He told me it was time to get used to a stick in my hole, but that this was much smaller than his stick so it wouldn’t hurt as much. With one hand, he played with my pussy, gently spreading the lips, and with the other hand he started to push the end of the marker into my little cunthole. It scratched a little, but I didn’t want to complain; I wanted to be a good girl. He worked the marker in and out only an inch or so until I got used to the feeling. I didn’t like it, but it wasn’t awful. It just felt kind of weird to have something in there. He pushed the marker in a little further and I made a noise because it was a little painful. With the hand that wasn’t holding the marker, he slapped me hard on my flat little titty and told me to quiet down and be a good girl. I shut up. I didn’t want him to hit my titty again, and I wanted to please him. He left the marker sticking out of my pussy and started playing with my clitty, rubbing it softly until my pussy started getting wet. He chuckled and said he knew I’d like it once I got used to it.

The next time, he played with my pussy and stuck his finger in my hole a little way before pulling it out and putting the marker in again and rubbing my clitty until I got wet. Then he had me get up, with the marker still sticking out of my little cunny, and kneel down in front of him. He opened up his pants and took out his pee-pee through the Y-front of his white underwear. It was purple and veiny and looked huge and very scary to me. He told me not to be scared, that all I had to do today was kiss it. It smelled kind of weird and the tip was a little wet and I didn’t want to touch it but I knew I had to or I would be punished. So I leaned forward and put the quickest, lightest kiss I could just on the tip of it. He petted my hair and told me he knew I could do better than that. With his hand on the back of my head, he gently pushed my head forward until my lips were touching his stick. I kissed it again. He told me to lick it, so I licked the very tip, where there was a drop welling out of a tiny hole. I thought this must be pee but was too afraid to say anything or to refuse. It tasted sour and unpleasant, but I didn’t make a face because I didn’t want to make him mad. He was starting to breathe heavily, and I thought something was wrong with him. I pulled back to ask if he was okay and he grabbed my hair tight in his fist and forced my head down again until my lips were on his pee-pee. It hurt and my eyes started to water, but I didn’t protest. Instead, I started to kiss and lick all over the tip of his pee-pee so he would be pleased with me and wouldn’t hurt me. Then suddenly he pulled my head backward by my hair. He grunted and liquid started shooting out of his pee-pee. It landed on my face. I was shocked. I hadn’t expected that. Once his stick was done shooting out liquid, he groaned and then he told me that I looked cute with Daddy’s jizz all over my face. I asked him, wasn’t that pee if it came out of his pee-pee? He said no, that pee came out of there too but it was yellow just like mine. That this was jizz and it came out when a girl had pleased her Daddy very much.

For a while, it progressed no further than this, except that he started pushing the marker deeper into my pee-pee hole each time, and worked it in and out faster. He never put it all the way in, maybe he didn’t want to break my hymen, I don’t know. With his other hand he always rubbed my clitty to make me feel good, he said. It did feel good. I never had an orgasm (not that I knew at the time that I even could) but it still felt good. Then I would get on my knees in front of him with the marker still sticking out of me, and kiss and lick his penis, and then he taught me to take the head of it into my mouth. I could do it if I stretched my jaws all the way open. I had to be very careful not to let my teeth graze him, or he would hit me in the titty.

When I started kindergarten, he told me that even though he knew and I knew that it was a daughter’s job to please her Daddy’s pee-pee stick, not everyone else knew it, and that if anyone else found out, I would be taken away from him and we would never see each other again. The thought terrified me. I swore I would never breathe a word to anyone, and I meant it.

A few months later, Daddy bought a polaroid camera. (This was the 80s, they were all the rage). He had me sit on the couch naked and spread my legs. He told me to smile and then he took some pictures of me. Some showed all of me and some were close-up shots of my bald little snatch. He had me hold my pussy lips open so he could take a picture of the soft pink insides of my cunt lips and my little clitty. He stuck the marker into my pee-pee hole and took pictures with it sticking out of me. Then, he had me suck on the thick mushroom head of his hard penis and took a picture of me with my lips stretched around it. He told me he knew some other men who would be very impressed to see pictures of such a sweet little girl taking such good care of her Daddy. I felt very proud about that. He told me that I did a good job posing for the pictures, that I was a pretty model just like Brooke Shields. I still don’t know to this day whether he actually showed the pictures to anyone else or not, and if he did, how he found them since the internet didn’t even exist yet.

Some time later, I don’t remember exactly when, but I think I was in first grade by then, so I was six or so, he had taught me that my pee-pee hole was called a cunny and the little button that felt good when he played with it was a clitty, and that his pee-pee stick was called a cock. He’d taught me that it felt nice when he gently stroked my little nipples with his finger, and that if I displeased him he would slap me hard there or on my clitty. I learned this the hard way when I was sucking his cock and he instructed me to swallow his jizz, and I gagged on it. He hauled me into his lap, pulled my legs apart, and spanked my little clitty so hard I was bawling. Then he dumped me on the floor and told me I was a bad girl. After that, I learned to swallow quick before I had time to taste it. He progressed to putting two markers into my little cunny and then three. After I got used to taking three markers in my cunthole (I didn’t like it but it wasn’t torture) he told me that I was ready to really, truly, serve Daddy the way a good girl should. I was excited and nervous because I knew it was going to hurt a little, but I was determined to bear it bravely for him.

We were already sleeping naked together in his bed by this time. (Usually right before bed he had me rub or suck his cock until he came, and sometimes he rubbed the head of his penis on my clitty and jizzed on the lips of my hairless pussy.) So we just went to bed a little early that evening. To his credit, he used a lot of lube and went slowly, and rubbed my clitty a lot to help me get wet and ready for him. It still hurt a lot. I remember he was on top of me, grunting and sweating and hot, and I felt squished and scared and then suddenly my cunny was being split open by something that felt much too large to be his cock. It felt like my cunny was being torn in two. I screamed and he slapped his hand over my mouth and told me to be quiet and take it like a good girl. I started crying but tried to stop because I knew it would make him even madder. The agony was overwhelming, and his weight on top of me made it hard to breathe. He sawed his cock in and out of my little pussy while he grunted and groaned above me. I held as still as I could, terrified of doing something wrong. It couldn’t have been more than a minute or two and then his face got that look on it that it always did right before he jizzed. I was relieved because it meant the ordeal was almost over. Sure enough, he shot his jizz deep into my cunt – I felt his cock pulse in me and felt the wetness spurt deep inside - and then he fell off me to the side, breathing heavily. I tried not to make any noise or move at all. I was so scared that I had been ripped open and was bleeding to death but I was too afraid to look. Once he had caught his breath, Daddy turned over to look at me. He was smiling. He said he knew I had done my very best and that next time I would know better than to scream or cry. He said for my first time, I had done well. I hesitantly asked him if I was bleeding, and he chuckled. He said a girl always bled a little her first time, that it just proved that she was a good girl and hadn’t let anyone else stick their cock in her cunny before her daddy. But he said he would look if it made me feel better. He looked at my swollen, bloody pussy closer up told me that my cunny had torn a little but that was normal and that it would heal up in time. My Daddy never lied to me, so I believed him and felt much better even though it hurt a lot. It took a few days, but my cunt did feel better, and Daddy let me suck or rub him for those few days rather than fucking my cunny.

From then on, though, Daddy rarely had me use my mouth or my hands to make him cum, he mostly wanted to put his cock in my cunny. He taught me things to say to make it better for him. He liked it when I called it rape, for some reason. So he taught me to say, “Oh, yes, daddy, please rape me in the cunny” and things like that. Sometimes he had me fight him because he liked overpowering me, so those times I would say, “No, daddy, please don’t rape my cunny!” But he always did anyway. He taught me more names for our parts so I could mix it up. I would say “Daddy, please force your big hard dick into my tiny hairless pussy! Rape me hard!” I got creative because he didn’t like it if I said the same thing every time. After a while, it didn’t hurt as much, and by the time I was seven or eight, I kind of liked it, especially if he let me rub my clitty while he fucked me.

By this point, I was a very shy, withdrawn second grader. Around this time he had me take over the duties of the woman of the house, cleaning and cooking simple meals (mostly frozen dinners – our freezer was full of Swanson’s). I loved to read; books were my great escape. I was allowed to walk to the public library after school one day each week to check out new books and return the old ones. The other days I walked straight home from school and stayed there alone until Daddy came home. My Daddy had a job in an office that sold and serviced copy machines, and he was home by 5:30 sharp every evening. I was what was then known as a “latchkey kid,” and it wasn’t terribly unusual. I didn’t really have friends, but if I got invited to birthday parties or anything (at that age the whole class would get invited to kids’ birthday parties) it was easy to just say sorry, me and my Daddy were busy that weekend. At some point during this time, I hit on the idea (I don’t know where it came from, probably from one of my books) of telling the other kids’ parents that me and my Daddy were very religious and that afternoons and weekends were for prayer and bible study. We lived in a fairly small community that was semi-rural and extremely conservative, so this went over very well. (I’m lucky nobody ever asked what church we want to!) I got pats on the head and was told what a good girl I was and how me and my Daddy were good, Godly folk. I didn’t realize the irony of this until much later in life.

Things continued like this for a couple of years. It was a relatively peaceful, happy time in my life. As long as I pleased Daddy, things were good. If I didn’t please Daddy, or made him mad, I got punished and then he would forgive me, and all would be well again. As I became a fourth grader and then a fifth grader, and got a little bigger, though, Daddy got less interested in babying and spoiling me and more interested in hurting and humiliating me. It was a change so gradual that I barely noticed it, and once I did notice, he convinced me that his change in attitude was my fault. That I wasn’t being the good, sweet, loving little girl that I used to be, that I’d turned into a sassy pre-teen brat. I don’t think I’d actually changed my personality or how I acted, but maybe I did without intending to, and it’s true that my body was changing. I was still pre-pubescent with a bald pussy, but I was getting slightly taller, my hips and titties just barely starting to take shape. His sexual demands changed and increased – now he wanted me to take him all the way into my mouth when I sucked him, and if I couldn’t do it without gagging or scraping him with my teeth, he beat my cunt. He liked to use a belt or his hand for this. He’d make me lay on the bed and hold my knees up with my legs spread so he could have full access to my pussy and my clitty. He was careful not to leave marks on me anywhere that might be seen by someone else, for example if I wore a bathing suit, or if my clothes got ripped and I had to change at school. This meant that my cunt became his favorite target, especially right on my clitty. More and more, he seemed to enjoy making me hurt and cry, and he’d call me an ungrateful bitch or a sniveling whore while he whipped my cunt. Then he would make me masturbate in front of him, rubbing my sore and swollen clit and fucking my finger in and out of my cunt. He’d tell me that only whores like me got hot from being beaten on the pussy and that I was lucky he still wanted to take care of me and be my Daddy. One of these sessions was the first time I remember actually having an orgasm. He was saying degrading, cruel things, calling me a cunt and a whore and I don’t remember what all else, saying that I deserved to have my nasty twat beaten until I couldn’t walk anymore, and I was rubbing my extremely painful clit and suddenly I curled up in on myself and felt almost like I was having a seizure or something. The feeling rolled over me and left me stunned. It felt like my entire body was throbbing in the aftermath and I felt flattened, but in a good way. Daddy, of course, knew exactly what had happened. He laughed at me and told me that of course, a disgusting slut like me would get off on being abused and hurt and degraded. I didn’t like the way he said the words, but I couldn’t deny that something had happened to me that felt incredible.

I still desperately wanted Daddy’s love and approval, but it became more and more impossible to get it. When I hit puberty in the sixth grade, things got much worse. He barely ever looked at me with love or kindness anymore – just often enough to dangle it and then snatch it away from me. He stopped calling me by my name and only called me “cunt” or “whore” or other degrading things. My breasts developed and became fairly large – by the time I was 13 they were a C-cup. Whether out of stress or for some other reason, I was starting to gain a lot of weight. I got very chubby and Daddy started calling me fat, calling me a pig, sometimes making me oink like a pig or moo like a cow while he was fucking me. He found this very amusing and although I felt humiliated, I still got wet from it and usually came really hard. He got a home video camera (they were still fairly rare and expensive in those days) and made videos of me. He would have me spank my clit with a wooden spoon and call myself a slutty pig-cunt who deserved to be a public use rape whore. He’d have me put clothespins on my nipples and then I had to tell the camera that my ugly fat udders deserved to be hurt and tortured. Sometimes he’d have me fuck my cunt with an object (often something bizarre, like a vegetable or a flashlight) and say the kind of things that I said when he was fucking me, like “Oh, Daddy, yes, rape my worthless cunt harder! Hurt my slutty gash!”

Then I started my period. I’d learned from a unit in school in fifth grade about the changes that happened with puberty and it covered menstruation and birth control. Thank god, because my Daddy certainly didn’t tell me any of this. Anyway, I knew that Daddy didn’t want to deal with blood. He had told me once that when I was old enough to start leaking disgusting bloody chunks from my worthless whore pussy (his words), I had better deal with it because he sure as hell didn’t want to. So I asked him for permission to walk to the drugstore to buy tampons, and he gave me permission and just enough money to buy one box. (I didn’t start menstruating until several months later but at least I was prepared.) I also asked for permission to buy condoms but he said no way in hell. I told him if he didn’t, I could get pregnant. For a minute, this seemed to excite him, he said he could breed me like a bitch and then I could have a new baby girl for him to love. But then he decided he didn’t want another mouth to feed. So he drove me to the Planned Parenthood the next town over and waited in the car while I got birth control pills.

He'd never before shown any interest in my asshole, and it never occurred to me that anything sexual could happen there. But the first time I had my period, Daddy told me he still had needs and if I couldn’t serve him with my pussy, I could serve him with my ass-cunt. Then he fucked me in the ass. I had very little warning – he had me get on my hands and knees on the bed, naked, shoved the tip of a tube of lube into my ass and squeezed. I squealed because I wasn’t expecting it and it was cold, and he spanked my ass cheek hard so I would shut up. Then, without stretching me or warming me up, he forced his cock into my tight virgin asshole. It hurt a lot. Not as much as the first time he fucked my pussy, but still a lot. I bit the pillow so I wouldn’t scream and be punished. I didn’t come or even get turned on that time, I just tried to hold on through the pain until he grunted and shot his load of cum into my battered and stretched asshole. Pretty soon, though, I learned to frig my clit while I was being fucked in the ass and I could come just as hard, or harder, from that as from having my cunt fucked. It seemed to turn him on more too, because he was rougher, less controlled when he fucked my ass. He still wanted me to talk to him, still wanted me to beg to be raped and hurt, and by that time I honestly did want those things. It was the only time I got anything like affection from him. He also liked it when I started degrading myself. I took my cue from things he said to me, I’d mix them up and say them back to him. I’d say “Daddy, I’m a slutty worthless whore, I deserve to be raped, please rape me in my ass-cunt with your huge meat pole.” (He especially liked it when I commented on his cock size. Looking back with what I know now, he wasn’t particularly large, just average-sized, but I didn’t know that then and it certainly seemed big enough when he was shoving it into my holes.) Sometimes when he fucked my asscunt there would be a little shit on his dick and he always made me clean him up – with a washcloth, not with my mouth, thank goodness. And he never gave me an enema or made me give myself one. Piss and scat play is something he never did. I don’t know if it grossed him out or if he just didn’t think of it. Either way, I’m grateful. Things during this time, my junior high years, were pretty stable, though often it seemed like Daddy was just tired of me. When he wasn’t fucking or playing with me, he basically wanted me out of his sight. I missed my loving Daddy from before, but on the other hand, I was grateful to escape notice most of the time. I read a lot.

Around the time I started high school, he bought a computer. Most households didn’t own a computer then, and I wasn’t quite sure why he wanted one, though I quickly learned. The internet was just taking off, and he had found out he could connect with other like-minded men through chat boards or BBS servers, or who knew what-all. I wasn’t allowed to use the computer, so I don’t know the details. I just knew that around then, he started disappearing into the office (what used to be my bedroom, but I slept full time in the master suite with Daddy, either on the bed, or, if he was displeased with me, on the floor) for long periods of time, and when he came out he’d be horny as hell and have new and creative ways to degrade, abuse, and torture me. I went along with it placidly enough, both to avoid punishment and to get small tidbits of affection. He got especially interested in my udders, as he liked to call them. (Other times he’d call them titbags or titsacks, sometimes titmeat or just titties.) He’d wrap the base of each of my udders tightly in a length of clothesline, tight enough that they stuck out like balloons and turned purple. He took lots of pictures and videos of me like that, with tied titties and often clamped nipples too, doing various degrading and sexual acts. If I was allowed to touch myself, I always came hard, though sometimes he forbade me from touching myself and hurt me bad enough that I would cry. Looking back, in some of the videos he wanted me to be happy and cooperative, and in other videos he wanted me to be reluctant and distraught. I think by this time he was posting videos on the internet somehow, or exchanging them with people, and even taking requests. I guess different friends of his wanted different things. He started allowing himself to be on video as well, though he was careful always to set it up so his face didn’t show. He’d have me hold my hairy cunt lips open and then whip my spread pussy with his belt and call me a worthless disgusting piece of rapemeat. I tried not to close my legs because he’d hit me even harder if I did that. Then he’d fuck me, sometimes in the cunt and sometimes in the asshole, taking the camera off the tripod and holding it pointing down at me while he fucked me, like a first person perspective. It wouldn’t surprise me if he made a nice little side income doing these videos, but I never found out.

He started experimenting with making me humiliate myself in public. He’d drive to a larger town a couple hours away, then pull over on an abandoned turnout. He’d bind up my udders (I was a solid 40D by this time) all the way from base to nipple so they stuck out like giant ice cream cones. He’d have me put one of his button down shirts, open low enough so that my wrapped tits were clearly visible (and they stuck out way farther than normal tits would have anyway, even if you couldn’t see the rope binding). Then he’d have me do errands. Like, one time he drove to the gas station and made me go inside to pay for the gas. I went up to the counter with my bound tit-cones jutting out. I was bright red with embarrassment and humiliation. I paid as quickly as possible, saying as little as possible, and prayed that the cashier didn’t ask me any questions. (He didn’t. He stared, but he was a teenager and seemed almost as embarrassed as I was.) Then I went back to the car. Daddy said I had to go back in and buy a candy bar, and told me that I had to tell the clerk, “I’m such a fat pig, I can’t even go for a drive without needing to stuff my face.” I did it, of course. I always both dreaded and looked forward to these little expeditions, the latter because Daddy was (reasonably) nice to me during them. And after a few times, it started to excite me, to turn me on, knowing that I was walking around in public looking like a depraved slut, which was what I was. Daddy was careful because he didn’t want to accidentally run into anyone we knew, but we always went far from our little town and we never did. We usually didn’t see that many people, because he’d choose errands where I’d only interact with one or two people, if any at all.

Another time, he took me to a public park a few towns away. That day, he had my udders bound only at the base and they looked super bloated and purple. Again, my shirt was unbuttoned far enough that anyone who more than glanced at me would see my bound tit balloons. I was wearing jogger shorts/biker shorts, which were in fashion then, sort of like leggings but they ended above the knee. They were tight fitting and Daddy had me tie the tails of my shirt together in front so they weren’t covering up any of my lower body. I had dildoes in my cunt and my asshole and the bases stuck out far enough that the outline was clearly visible through the material of my shorts. Then to add to that, Daddy had me separate my cunt lips and pull my shorts up in front so that I had a very obvious camel toe. Then he had me walk a lap on the track that went around the park. Between my stuffed holes and my pussy being split in half by my shorts, walking was awkward, to say the least. I was terrified in case any little kids noticed what was going on, but none of the kids even looked my way; they were too busy playing on the playground equipment. And anyway, from that distance they probably wouldn’t have noticed anything. But I did walk past a couple of people, a man jogging and a woman walking her dog, and to my shame my pussy was absolutely drenched, even as humiliated as I was. I don’t even know if those people noticed anything strange; I walked past them as quickly as I could and didn’t look back, afraid to see if they’d turned to watch me. But there was no denying that fact that I was totally turned on and horny. When I got back to the car, I begged Daddy to drive me somewhere isolated and fuck me hard. He did, and that was one of the last pleasant memories I have of our time together.

As I got older, Daddy got more and more into pain and degradation. He also got more paranoid about me leaving one day. I was 16 or so by then, and he probably figured I might try to run away or maybe move away after I turned 18 and graduated. He told me that if I ever tried to leave him, he’d stretch my cunt so wide a cantaloupe could fit in there, and he’d stretch my asshole so much that I’d never be able to fully close it again, that I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from shitting myself and I’d need to wear diapers for the rest of my life. He told me that with a ruined gaping asshole and a saggy cave for a cunt, no one else would ever want me. I believed him. Another time he told me if I ever tried to leave, he’d cut off my clit and my nipples. I didn’t know if I believed that but I certainly didn’t want to test it. (Those threats still turn me on to this day, though.) He told me that I would be living with him for the rest of my life, taking care of him like a daughter should.

He also started to have me refer to myself in the third person, as an object, rather than a person. Like, “Daddy, this disgusting pig cunt wants to eat dinner,” and he’d either give me permission or deny it. (I personally think he got the idea from Silence of the Lambs, which had just come out. “It puts the lotion in the basket.” But I never mentioned that suspicion to him; I wasn’t stupid.) He told me it was a shame he didn’t smoke, because my tits and cunt would be a perfect ashtray. I still sometimes fantasize about that, having cigarettes or cigars put out on my ugly saggy titsacks and then stuffed into my worthless cunt for disposal. Being objectified has a strange appeal.

By this time I was already thinking of myself in the terms that he used on me. I truly felt like a worthless set of holes and tits, good only for being raped, humiliated, and hurt. What’s more, that role excited me. The more Daddy degraded me, the wetter and hornier I got, and the more he mistreated me the harder I came. I also liked the pain he gave me, like when he beat my udders or my cunt and clit. Sometimes now he caned my asshole, and I liked that too. I liked having my nipples and cunt lips clamped, stretched, weights hung from the clamps. I liked it when he wrote on my body, things like “punch here” on my tits or “cum dump” on my ass cheeks, with an arrow toward my asshole, which was stuffed with a plug. I liked him filming me like that, and I liked imagining other men getting off on what a disgusting, filthy whore I was. I started to fantasize about Daddy inviting those men over to rape me. Or I’d imagine him somehow putting out the word over the internet that I’d be tied up at a certain truck stop at a certain time, available to be fucked in all of my holes by all comers. I’d come so hard, imagining being gangbanged by a dozen horny older men. (“Older” at that time meaning middle aged. I only ever fantasized about men Daddy’s age or older.) I didn’t tell Daddy those fantasies, though, because I wasn’t sure if he’d be angry that I even thought about being with other men, or if he’d decide it was a good idea. I wasn’t sure I was ready for it to be more than a fantasy, even though the thought of it turned me on like crazy.

There’s not too much more to tell. I graduated from high school with little fanfare. I was a bookish, nerdy, shy, socially awkward girl without any real friends. After graduation, I moved seamlessly into a life of being Daddy’s full time housekeeper and sex slave (not that this was new, I just wasn’t going to school as well now.) There were ups and downs. Sometimes Daddy was in a bad mood for weeks, and nothing I did could please him. Those weeks were hard, because he always took it out on me in extra abuse and degradation. But even that, I enjoyed in its own way. Sometimes, rarely, Daddy was almost like he used to be, when he was gentle and loving with his little girl and he played with my clitty while he fucked my cunt. Those were the good days. Then one day, when I was 19, I got a call from Daddy’s office. They said he had collapsed with a heart attack and had been taken to the hospital in an ambulance. By the time I got there, he was dead.

It was a strangely unsatisfying way for my relationship with my Daddy to end; there was no closure, no goodbye. He was just… gone. As cruel as he could be, I had still loved him. And sometimes, at least, it seemed like he loved me too. So I think about him now, when I’m alone at night. I hurt my own tits and cunt now, and stuff my holes with toys and plugs and wear them every day under my clothes. I bind up my tits and go out with a shirt mostly unbuttoned, feeling a strange satisfaction when I see the shocked look on someone’s face, even as I burn with shame. Daddy would have appreciated my humiliation. I sometimes walk in the bad parts of town alone at night, dressed like a hooker, staggering around like I’m drunk even though I’m not, both hoping and dreading that someone will do something to me.

I have other fantasies too, things that Daddy never made me do but that I dream of someone someday making me do. I’d like to be forced to sexually service a dog, to suck its long red cock and then turn around and present my cunt and ass like a bitch for breeding, so the dog can fuck and knot me, while a circle of men surround me, laughing and jeering in disgust at my perversion. I fantasize about having a webcam show, where any man can tell me how to humiliate, degrade, and hurt myself, and I’ll do it live, begging for more. I think I might like to be chained to a public urinal on my knees, guzzling piss and cum all day long. Some nights I feel like walking into the roughest bar I can find and shouting that I’m a public use rape slut and I want to be fucked in all of my holes, by as many men as possible, all night long. I imagine that by the time they’re done, my holes will be as wrecked and gaping as my Daddy threatened to make them, long ago.

I don’t know if I’ll ever get to live out all of my fantasies, but increasingly I find that I want someone – a new Daddy – to take me in hand, to treat me as the disgusting piece of shit cunt that I am, to hurt and abuse and debase me, and in return I would grovel at his feet and be so grateful for his attention.

If you have made it this far, first – wow! And second, this worthless slut begs you to please comment and tell it if any parts of this made you horny or even made you cum. This ugly cumdump whore would be so very grateful, as its true purpose in life is to sexually satisfy men or at least entertain them with its suffering and humiliation. Or if instead you want to degrade this pathetic cunthole, and tell it what you really think of it, it will accept that with gratitude too.

The end.