Six months ago I looked my ex boyfriend right in the eyes and told him I was finished with him and every man like him. He was controlling. He was abusive. He was misogynistic. I told him my pussy would never belong to a man ever again. Then I walked out with my girlfriend on my arm and never looked back.

We moved in together quickly. Every night we would laugh about him while we buried our faces between each other’s cunts, tongues slow and worshipful, convincing ourselves we were finally free. Real lesbians. Untouchable. Superior.

He never forgot.

He disappeared for weeks and came back changed. He had sought out people who specialize in breaking girls like me. He learned their methods. He studied how to turn proud dykes into obedient cock sleeves. And when he was ready, he came for us.

One night the door to our apartment splintered open. He moved fast, silent, efficient. Rope, tape, a van waiting in the dark. By the time I stopped screaming we were both tied up and taken to this room. No windows. Just a bed, harsh light, and the man I once left behind.

Before I could make sense of what was happening, I was already in the middle, exactly where he planned for me to be.

My wrists are bound tightly behind my back. My ankles are roped together and pulled up so my ass stays high and exposed like livestock. The position forces my back into a painful, humiliating arch. My face is pressed hard between my girlfriend’s spread thighs. Her cunt is soaked and swollen from fear and unwanted arousal, and I have no choice but to keep my tongue working inside her. I lick slow, deep strokes across her clit the way she used to love, except now every flick makes her sob and grind against my mouth against her will, as the ropes around her skin tighten leaving burns across her body. Her juices coat my lips, my chin, my cheeks. I choke on her taste with every breath. The wet, obscene sounds of my tongue lapping at her fill the room.

Behind me, my ex is taking his time.

His thick cock slides into my cunt inch by inch, stretching my once-proud dyke cunt wider than it has ever been. I can feel every vein, every ridge. And the worst part is how wet I am. My body is betraying me in the most disgusting way. Slick is pouring out of me, coating his shaft, dripping down my thighs in shameful strings. My walls flutter and clench around him even as tears burn my eyes. My clit throbs painfully with every slow, deliberate thrust.

He grips my hips hard and pushes deeper until his balls rest against my soaked skin.

“Feel that, you stupid fucking dyke?” His voice is low, calm, and full of cruel satisfaction. “That sloppy wet sound is your lesbian cunt greeting its owner. You swore you were done with dick. You told me you were a lesbian now. Look at you. Dripping like a cheap straight whore the second a real man touches you. Your body already knows the truth even if your dumb little brain is still fighting it.”

He starts to fuck me with long, powerful strokes, each one forcing my face harder into my girlfriend’s cunt.

“I trained for this, baby. I learned exactly how to cure confused little carpet munchers like you. This is conversion therapy. Real conversion therapy. I am going to fuck the gay right out of your worthless dyke body until the only thing that makes your cunt cream is a man’s cock. Until the only cock man enough to make you cream is mine. Keep licking her. Deeper. Make your girlfriend cum on your face while I breed you. Show me how much of a pathetic failed lesbian you really are.”

Every thrust knocks the air out of me. My hips start moving back against him without permission, chasing the brutal pleasure I hate myself for feeling. My nipples are tight and aching. My clit pulses harder with every degrading word. More slick gushes out around his cock, running down my legs in humiliating rivers. I cannot stop it. My body is surrendering completely.

He leans over me, voice dropping even lower.

“You are not leaving here until both of you are cured. I'm keeping you both Collared. Leashed. Trained to spread your legs the moment a man snaps his fingers. You left me for pussy. Now I am taking it all back. And when I am finished, you will thank me for breaking you. You will beg me to keep you and your girlfriend as my personal converted fucktoys.”

I am sobbing into my girlfriend’s dripping cunt, tongue still working desperately while my own traitor pussy milks his cock with every stroke.

I left him because I thought I was better than this.

He came back trained, patient, and merciless.

He likes to personally choose the meanest and scariest men to use me by force.

Daddy always prefers multiple older men in a gang as opposed to one, single violator.

And my Daddy knows me well.

He knows that my whore cunt will get soaking wet from being violently assaulted by only one, single man while Daddy watches us.

He knows that my mind won't break with only one violator.

My Daddy knows me.

He knows my past.

Daddy loves to use my past trauma against me.

It gives Daddy a huge thrill to direct a gang of men, one that He personally handpicked, on how to best reenact my past trauma in exactly the way it most damaged me.

Daddy knows how this will break me every single time.

Every.

Single.

Time.

My Daddy adores me.

He says He adores putting me back together again after I am left brutalized and broken by His group of violent, mean men.

He says it's His favorite thing to do.

Daddy likes to rebuild me and make me feel confident and safe again.

Until the next time He feels like breaking me.

This is what makes my Daddy happy.

I want to suck him off while he goes through my phone and cuts off every one he doesn’t like

I want him to control what I where and what I do

I want him to cry and get angry when I try to leave him or break his “rules”

I want him to make himself the center off my life