The way he exploited them. Singled them out, and had them brought to him. Made them call him papa. Abused his authority over them. Made them feel small and made it impossible to escape. A dirty, disgusting old man, taking advantage of young impressionable girls.

Yes, I know, it's horrible. I feel for the victims, I really do. They are so so brave brave brave coming forward, and waving their anonymity to be on live TV, inspiring other victims to tell their stories. #MeToo. I have a rational, moral brain just like you, that tells me all these things.

And then I have another part of my brain that asks whether they came when he raped them. Whether they ended up getting wet for him and feeling disgusting at themselves afterwards. That asks whether they still find themselves turned on at night by the thought of an older, powerful man taking advantage of them and play with themselves in their lonely little beds to the kind of dirty stories I write on Reddit. Then go and tell their therapists they're in danger of responding to my ads, and what should they do?

I know, I'm sick. Burn the witch. #YesMeansYes

But I'm not the only sick one, am I kitten? You have all the right hashtags on your X. You are a feminist warrior with your friends. You believe women's rights are human rights.

But you also felt a horrible feeling of electricity in your pussy when you read the title of this post, and you started feeling bad as soon as you clicked on it involuntarily. And you are still reading, aren't you, getting wetter at the thought of the type of disgusting older man who would write this? What they might do to you. What they might break in you. How they might not take "no" for an answer, and use you just the way they fucking want anyway, because it's their right, and your purpose to serve them.

It sickens you doesn't it?

But the cognitive dissonance does nothing to quell the urges. Maybe it makes them even stronger. Maybe your pussy gets wetter knowing how wrong and sick you are - how society and your friends would judge you for even entertaining this. How alone you are in this.

You couldn't tell them how you feel, far less that you believe men might really have rights over your body. They would be disgusted. They would ostracise you. They would bury you in hashtags and collective unthinking approbium.

But Daddy will understand little one. Daddy will keep your dirty little secrets. Papa will tell you it's okay to think the way you think - that society doesn't understand what we do - and that's why it has to be our little secret. He'll tell you that codewords are for controlling little whores who want to test whether their partners and real mean and will rape them anyway. That all those men you had to encourage to be rough with you - who shyed away after one spank or hair pull - are indoctrinated beta cucks and keyboard warriors and are part of the reason you and the world need men like me so much.

We will play dangerous games together princess. Feed each other's sickness until it feels like health. Make each other wrong because it feels so right, and manipulate you into thinking it was your choice and fault. Exploit your weaknesses and fill them with my strengths. Take your brokenness and jagged edges and fit them against mine like a puzzle piece, and make ourselves whole together.

What a wicked game to play, to make you feel this way.