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When Daddy Means Business
Daddy gets angry at me sometimes. I understand why, I went against his word and rebelled. That is usually my main offense. When pushed far, Daddy can get…forceful. He voice is no longer soothing and his fingernails dig into my skin to where I think he is going to make me bleed. His thrusts are more animal like, his rhythm is more intolerant. His slaps are stronger and his breathing squeezes between his teeth. He pulls my hair and slams me onto things (walls, beds, countertops, even the floor). His body holds little to no contact with me with the exception of his hands and thighs. His body is so far removed from me that I feel as though he is just fucking me, not making love to his baby girl. We seldom use toys when Daddy gets mad. He likes to fuck out his frustration, not elongate the process. He’s angry, he’s arrogant, his one-track minded at this point. When he is finished he releases me but does not hold me like he usually does. The aftercare is minimal at best and I become fearful of the feeling of neglect. I need to feel his skin, it’s the only way I know we are ok. I reach over and lightly graze my fingertips over his chest and he allows it. My sigh of relief floods my body with a warm comfort. He is still mine. “I love you baby girl” he declares breathless. I love you too Daddy.
- Maddie
Almost going to sleep.
If there is something you must know about me, it’s that I sleep naked.