He had read my journals.
I want nothing more than for his strong hands to grab my tender flesh, feel the wet smoothness of his serpent nibbling on my breasts, after going so long without his touch I found myself craving his touch. Tell me I want it, force me to take it, make me hurt. Cleanse me off this filthy mind
Every page, every paragraph, every revealing sentence describing in detail all of the things I wanted him to do to me.
I know I am no longer his, as he threw me away, I became undesirable. But my body craves for his touch, as every inch of my chocolate skin is his sweet possession. I miss the feeling of being impaled on his cock. He told me once that I would have all the dick I could stand, that he would buy toys and play with my body. Play with me. God I miss him. I again want to be on my knees as your slut, your bitch, your whore. Being whatever you say I am.
And I was embarrassed. a few months ago my loving "Daddy" threw me away, he stopped talking to me and removed himself from my life permanently. The loneliness was hard enough on its own, but what was worse was the feelings that followed. In the middle of the night I would long for his touch, and as the guilt would creep in I would remember how it felt to have my ass filled to the brim with the heat of his throbbing cock, and tears would roll down my face as I craved to feel my scandalous pleasure.
No matter how long I tried to stay away, no matter how much I tried to run away, the inevitable truth was that I was a slave to his cock, held captive by memories of ecstasy.
So when I found that he had read my journals, came looking for me again, I fell weak, and came crawling back to him.
And that is how I wound up standing here, hands tied together, hanging off the ceiling.
There were goosebumps up and down my body, as I waited for him to make his move. He sat in the corner, watching me stand there, presented in front of him like a feast.
I came back, to clean my mind of those thoughts of him, hoping that if he inflicted enpugh pain, that I could become pure.
After ten minutes of silence, he stood on his feet and walked over, using his fingertips to dance across my skin. "Good."
He ran his fingers through my hair, then closed his fist, pulling my hair back in his grasp. He moved closer, so that I could feel his hardness in between my ass. "You want this." He hissed, breathing hot air onto my neck, "You want me."
"Yes..." I said weakly.
"I knew you'd be back...." he said molesting my body, "I knew you were mine."
"Yes..."
He yanked my hair once more, "Yes what?"
"Yes Daddy..."
His hand fell from my hair and he moved away, picking up a small whip from his chair. He ran his hands over rough leather, thinking about how this situation would play out. He did not want to cause me any physical pain, he only considered it now because it was my wish. Damage his toy? Ripen my flesh? Leave me bruised and battered? He had his doubts about this. As much as he wanted to please his slut and exert his dominance, this was something he had never explored. The experience would be as new for him as it would be for me, and this I knew to be true.
