Lots of stupid, naive little whores on here fantasise about being beaten, raped, abused. It’s never happened to them before – they’ve been lucky right? They contact me and ask me how I would do it to them. To tell them how I would defile and abuse them.

Maybe they imagine they might actually go through with it. Or maybe they are just pathetic little fantasist cunts seeking a thrill from a nasty old married man who also happens to be literate. I weed them out quickly. I sense their bullshit. I know a traumatised young slut from a mile off – they smell different, even on the internet.

I think you know what I mean, don’t you kitten? Because you smell and sense it from me too.

Reddit is full of idiotic keyboard sadists who like to pretend to be real fucked up to bag a wet little slut like you. Some have even got as far as disappointing you in person, haven’t they? The type who tell you how into rough sex they are on chat, then spank you a few times before busting their nut in a condom. Pathetic, utterly pathetic.

It’s like a sixth-sense. A predatory instinct for wounded little animals, vulnerable, stripped-bare, without defence. A city, broken into and left without walls. We were both violated early. Now we are doomed to relive it with each other. To beat and fuck and cum some meaning into what happened to us.

It’s okay, I’m not always like this, not always so cynical about my pursuit.

I’ll make you feel loved, adored, wanted. I’ll compliment your little wounds. I’ll kiss and run my fingers over the cuts and scars you gave yourself. I’ll forgive your hypersexual past – the times you got paid for it – the times you rape-baited in parks and at parties. I’ll forgive your eating disorders, and how you drink and smoke to forget. I might even secretly drug you before I use you, because isn’t that part of the reason you get so fucked up in the first place?

I’ll make your past make sense. You’ll tell me everything your priest or uncle or step-dad did to you, and you’ll feel so good and useful as I get rigid inside you as you’re doing it. Your face will flush bright red with shame as I laugh at you when you cum, and I call you a little incestwhore, a broken little rapeslut. I’ll do the things you tell me that abusive first-love did – hold you down the way he did, drag you by your ankles across the bed, slap you when you say no and use my full weight to enter you anyway – and smile as you come back for more because you’ve caught a bit of Stockholm Syndrome and can’t wait for the next time I abuse you.

I’ll tell you what you already know: it was your fault, you were asking for it, you can’t really have meant it when you said “no” given how much you enjoyed it. And you’ll tell me I’m right, yes daddy, you know best, you knew I wanted it really and that’s why you ignored my stupid cunt pleas for you to stop. And even though I’m telling you all this right now in advance, in public, on a fucking internet forum, you’ll still mean it just as much, and your heart won’t be able to stop giving itself to me just as sincerely as if I’d never told you anything.

You’ll do the things my wife can’t and won’t do, and that I don’t want her to do, and instead of feeling worthless you’ll feel good and valid. You’ll clean my cock off your ass. You’ll beg to drink and to be covered in my piss. You’ll measure your temperature each morning and count the days of your cycle and pray and beg for me to use you when you are fertile so that you can create the next generation of sadistic borderline-psychopath.

You’ll know when I hit you that it’s love, even when you are pregnant, and you’ll photo your bruises for me as they change colour, wearing them proudly as if they’re the fucking Victoria Cross. You’ll stand against the wall in my hotel room, hands and arms bound by rope to stop you defending yourself, and get wet as I set up the camera stand, imagining me jerking off later as I watch myself beat your pristine white body until it’s 50-shades of purple. Tasting your stream of tears as they run down your tits and stomach.

You know that becoming my perfect whore is your destiny. That debasing and changing yourself for me is your calling. That getting used for all my needs, to take out my frustration and aggression and control and anger at life on is the highest calling a pathetic broken whore like you can have. My beautiful, perfect, vulnerable, abused, borderline girl: my victim, with no boundaries, no self-respect, an ass that shows up bruises and welts from my canes and paddles, and breasts that grow and darken to feed my unborn child.

And afterwards I will hold you, in perfect union, and tell you that there’s no point in telling, because no-one will believe a slut like you over me.  That you’re pregnant now, there’s no getting away from me. That you were asking for it, and that no one who cums that hard didn’t want it. That what your step-dad did to you has made you so perfect for me. That I’m the only one that could ever love you, and your bruises will remind you of that. And you’ll feel so warm inside – because I know and accept and love your brokenness – and you know noone else ever could. You just need to keep serving me and debasing yourself so that I never stop loving you.

You’re ill darling, 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 honey?  These aren’t my fantasies, they’re yours. They don’t know how much you need this. How uncomfortable and unsatisfied you are with your nice boyfriend or husband 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 wishes, and insists he’s only doing it because he loves you.

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