Trying To Explain To Someone That Sometimes, With Specific Attractions/fantasies, The Draw Isn’t The

You need to be broken before you can be built into what you were always meant to be.

You need to be reduced to nothing before you can realize that you’ll do anything just to be something again. You’ll be more than something. A perfect, obedient girl that Daddy is going to mold into what I need you to be. You’ll realize that this is what you’ve needed too.

Be good for me, and I’ll keep you. Do as you’re told, and I won’t toss you away. Be everything I need you to be, and you’ll be mine.

You’ve found your true purpose. You’ll thank me for everything I’ve done to make you mine. You’ll give me every part of yourself because there’s nothing you’d rather be than be owned by me.

My ultimate fantasy

My ultimate fantasy, something that keeps me up at night, the one thing where I know all my sexual fantasies are realized…

It’s to be kidnapped. But not just kidnapped. Oh no, not a one night fuck-and-dump, no snuff here.

I want to be tied up, in a disgusting old basement. I want to be chained to the ceiling, naked, uncomfortable.

I want to be left alone.

See, because I don’t just want to be raped. I want to be destroyed.

Don’t touch me for the first few days. Leave me in filth. Don’t feed me, until I beg for water. Let me down from the ceiling where my wrists are raw and practically dislocated from passing out on the chain. Feed me out of a dog bowl. If I’m ungrateful, threaten to let me starve. If you’ve done it right, I’ll be so hungry that when you tell me to be polite, I’ll say “please” and “thank you” without thinking. Feed me table scraps, feed me dog food. Mix piss with my water. That way every time I get something remotely good, I will want to cry with how happy I am. The first time you give me hot food, I will cry. I’ll practically be begging to kiss your boots.

The first time you rape me, I want it to hurt. It has to hurt. Rough, brutal, no prep. Leave me bruised and sore and bleeding. Come back and do it again, but this time with a little bit of softness. Mix it back and forth, and back and forth. Rough and soft. Mix between calling me disgusting and a dog and completely worthless… and calling me your good girl. Your poor, sweet little princess.

Then, after I no longer fight at all. I suck your cock with eagerness, I present my holes happily. Rape me like the first time. Make me cry, and scream. Give me a glimmer of hope by maybe loosening the chains.

And then leave me. Leave me alone. Feed me just enough to keep me alive. Come in, maybe tell me a story. Threaten me. But don’t touch me. Leave me far longer than you think you have to.

Eventually I will beg to be used again. I’ll beg and cry and tell you I’ll do anything. Not to escape, I’m broken past that. But for you to touch me. I’m so cold. When I can’t form words anymore, from cracked lips and isolation, I’ll just whimper and whine. Mumble when you come in.

This is where you get to have fun.

Months after, when I’m broken, you get to fix me.

I’m a rack of bones, my hair is matted and disgusting. No one would want me. But you get to groom me.

I cry when one day, you kneel down on the floor and touch me. I flinch first, but you stroke my neck, and down my back. You draw circles on my skin. I cry, because this is so nice. This is so different. Your voice is soft when you console me.

Little girl, sweetie. It’s okay. You’re going to be alright.

You promise that, if I come upstairs, and am a good girl for him, I never have to see the basement again. I get to be yours.

You bring me upstairs, I’m so frail I can barely stand. You half carry me up the stairs. When we’re upstairs, my eyes hurt from the light so bad I hide in your chest. It’s not a mistake that you’ve chosen a soft shirt.

Its a hot shower, to rinse all the dirt and grime off of me. You wash and wash and brush my hair until its mostly clean. And then into the tub, both of us. I moan at the hot water, and you chuckle and ask if I feel good. I just nod.

Your hands are soft on my scalp as you wash it again, and then conditioner that is so lovingly massaged into my hair. You shave me everywhere, have me sit up so he can get every inch of hair. Your hands feel nice as you massage soap into my skin.

You ask if I remember my name. My age. I have no answers. You make things up, they don’t sound right, but I can’t remember anyways. I can vaguely remember the fact that I had a life before… But I can’t remember details. I can vaguely remember that once you were bad, but don’t have the energy to care.

You say things that confuse me. You touch me, to make me feel good. My pussy, my breasts.

You dry me off, and I can’t recognize myself in the mirror. Hair longer than ever before, so so skinny. But its so nice, being touched. Having you brush product through my hair. Oil on my lips, cream on my skin.

I start crying, I beg not to be put in the basement.

You tell me how it is, how its going to be. It scares me a little.

Calls me baby, says I don’t have to go down there again. Only if I promise to be good, and do whatever you say. Says I’m going to have my own little cage, but don’t worry because its got a blanket. And if I’m really good I get to sleep with you, and cuddle, and be warm. Says I get to have my own collar, like a real animal. My own bowl, but this time its going to be clean. I get to suck your dick, which I liked doing. And he’s going to make me feel good. Calls me princess, but then pulls my hair. I yelp out. Threatens me that if I don’t do whatever he says, if I don’t say thank you when he gets frustrated and takes it out on me, if I can’t handle licking his ass and drinking his piss and call him Daddy and do anything you want? Then I thrown in the basement, and you get to ruin me until I get to be no good anymore. Until I go right in the garbage.

And he gives me a choice, option A or B?

I cry, say Daddy, please. The first, one. I promise to be good. I promise I’ll do whatever you want. Daddy please don’t put me down there. I don’t wanna be thrown out.

You tell me to open my mouth.

I do, without hesitation.

You spit in my mouth, a thick gob that makes me flinch, but only a little.

You tell me to swallow.

I do that too. There’s a growing part of me that wants to swallow whatever you give me.

You tell me to say thank you.

I do. Thank you, Daddy.

Then you call me good girl, which I really like.

You let go of my hair, and wrap your arms around me. I cling to you like I don’t want to let go.

You dress me in pigtails and a skimpy, sheer shirt. A plug goes in my butt, which I don’t whine about at all.

You tell me some time you’ll get me some nice, new clothes. Pretty bras and panties. Maybe some nice socks, I bet your feet are cold.

And eventually, its past a desperate need for survival and affection.

I actually love you.

And I wouldn’t want life to be any other way.

Georgia O’Keeffe and her “vagina paintings”. Always makes me think of the conversation between Jane and Jesse in Breaking Bad.

“Ice Cave” by Georgia O’Keeffe and a photograph of an ice cave.

💖 Forever making a mess 💖

I would love it if I had a partner to share my somnophilia kink.

I’d love to tell them how much it would turn me on if they challenged themselves to see how much they could do without waking me up.

Can you finger me open?

Could you slip your dick inside?

Could you start with slow, gentle thrusts?

Would you get confident and cocky and start picking up the pace?

If I started to moan or whimper or starting to stir, would you slow back down again until I settled back into a deep sleep?

Would you prefer that I wake up with your cum in me and that’s how I know we fucked or do you want to eventually intentionally startle me from my sleep so I’m half-awake, disoriented, but so incredibly turned on?