I love how he makes me feel.
So small, so little, and so his.
Who would have thought that the boy whose journal I used to read secretly years ago would turn out to have such a powerful hold over me.
I’m sure that when he came over two nights ago he could feel my racing heartbeat when he held me by the throat. It always feels so amazing when he wraps his hands around my neck, just above my collar. It reminds me that he’s my Daddy, that he loves me, and that he knows that I would do anything for him.
After a long night of fucking, I love to wake up to find that he’s left bruises all across my neck. They always sit perfectly, just where everyone can see them. As soon as they start to fade I always ask him for more, to squeeze harder around my skin and to pull my collar tighter, so that the marks don’t go away.
“I love how you beg. You’re so good at begging for me.
You’re Daddy’s little whore, aren’t you? Aren’t you you little slut?”
“You know I am, Daddy. You know I’d do whatever you told me to.”
“Such a good little girl.”
