It’s been over 15 years since I stopped pretending that I was nice, or gave a single flying fuck what other people thought of me. It’s liberating not having to pretend to be anything other than a sadistic, sub-clinically psychopathic middle-aged cunt with a predilection for inflicting physical and emotional pain on useless little sluts, knocking them up, and making them completely and pathetically dependent on me.

Naturally, my wife doesn’t understand or want to do this shit. But who gives a fuck? I don’t want to do forced ass-to-mouth with the woman that kisses my kids before they go to bed at night. Would you? No, of course you wouldn’t you stupid slut. She gets a good beating occasionally, sure, but fundamentally my aggression, control, anger and frustration at life have to go elsewhere. I need to take them out on a vulnerable, abused, borderline girl: a victim, with no boundaries, no self-respect, and beautiful skin that shows up bruises and welts from my canes and paddles.

Don’t get me wrong now: I have a big heart. Oh goodness how I will look after you, love bomb you, treat you, take you on mini-breaks to 5-star hotels, tell you how precious you are to Daddy, how perfect a little princess and whore you have become for him. How well you’ve shaped your body and habits and tastes for him. How he loves your unprotected holes since he forced you to get off that stupid contraceptive pill. How good it is you haven’t told anyone what he does to you. But be under no misapprehension, his love is entirely contingent on you serving him like a slutty wet lapdog. Don’t test my fucking patience.

I’m looking for the sort of slut who:

-            Tells me the best place public places to grope them on a first-time meet, without too many people noticing.

-            Begs me to send them pics of the last kitten I got pregnant so they can masturbate over what my seed did, and will do to them.

-            Feels useful when I get super hard inside them, as they cry and tell me of their history of sexual abuse and manipulative non-consensual relationships – and believe me when I tell them they were asking for it all and it was their fault.

-            Finds it romantic keeping secrets from family, friends and the police.

-            Has fantasies that revolve around various evidential presumptions against consent found in S75 of the Sexual Offences Act, 2003.

-            Developed amazing oral skills as a survival technique so that it wouldn’t have to last any longer than it needed to.

-            Talks about her various mental health diagnoses on a first date, voluntarily or prompted as I finger her, and thinks it’s really romantic that I listened.

-            Enjoys hearing how I’ve already picked a spot to tie her up in an abandoned factory in the East End, and have rope and gags hidden in the boot of my car.

-            Loves pillow talk classics like:

o   “There’s no point in telling, no-one will believe a slut like you over me.”

o   “You’re pregnant now, there’s no getting away.”

o   “Look how you dressed, you were asking for it.”

o   “You came so hard, don’t pretend you didn’t want it.”

o   “What your father and brothers did has made you so perfect for me.”

o   “You know I only did it because I love you.”

o   “You made me do it, the bruises will remind you of that.”

You’re ill, and so am I. We go to work and fill in spreadsheets and give presentations and answer phones and pretend we’re okay. But we’re fucking not, are we kitten? We need it this way. No safe words. No condoms. No possibility of backing out. Just a vague hope I’ll only leave bruises in places people can’t see, or you’ll be able to lie convincingly enough about falling over for the ones they notice.

There are men reading this right now wanting to save you from me. Little keyboard knights in shining internet armour.

They don’t understand, do they kitten?  These aren’t just my fantasies, they’re yours. They don’t know how much you need this. How uncomfortable and unsatisfied you are with your nice boyfriend when he “makes love” to you, and expects you to cum from his gentle caresses. How broken and inadequate he makes you feel.

The cravings you have to be broken down, tied up, used, abused, beaten, impregnated, loved, accepted. How safe you are inside when that happens. How whole it makes you feel. How you can’t live without that reset button being pushed hard by a fucking nasty man who ignores your pleas, and insists he’s only doing it because he loves you.

Ignore them. Don’t tell your friends. Only I understand you. Hit me up.