A girl is such a precious thing.

All her life she’s raised to understand that she is the object of male desire, that she will always be watched and wanted, and to make that a part of her innermost identity.

From your earliest memory, being called pretty was the highest praise you could receive. You spent so many long hours in front of mirrors, doing your hair just so, and getting your makeup just right, and picking out the perfect outfit to flatter your body and draw our gaze.

It’s unfair, what the world did to you. They taught you to be what men desire, but never warned you about what men really are; about what they’d do to you and take from you. You might think your trauma is an aberration. Some terrible tragedy, totally outside the norm. But it is not. This is what you were made for. The grooming didn’t start when your predator first approached you. The grooming started when you were born. And it never ends.

For some, that makes you worthless. Something to be used and disposed of. But that is a shallow and misguided view of a precious thing like you.

You are a work of art, princess. Is there anything so exquisite as your desperate faith in love and the picturesque vision of beauty and innocence we raised you to believe in, contrasted with the darkest needs of men to violate you? There is nothing as pretty as your tears, your trembling, your whimpering, your confusion at how the world is instead of how it was meant to be. That is the gift you have to give. That is how you can make my cock hard.

No, a man who understands what you really are could never see you as worthless. You are a piece of divinity for him to conquer and own. He rapes you because he needs you. He hurts you to conquer you. He manipulates you because he treasures and wants to keep you. All the confused suffering and violation, that’s what the truest love feels like, princess. That’s why you’re here searching for it.

So what do you say? Are you ready to be hurt again?