x Broken Little Doll x

All I do is sit here and think about being fucked and abused. People talk to me. I don't listen. I try to watch their lips.. I try to think about something else.. anything else.. but all I can see in my mind is you. Above me. Flipping me on my belly. Yanking down my panties and stuffing them between my lips. The grin I see just before you hold me down with your boot on my back, and a pillow over my head. I can hear it. Your groans. My slick, wet pussy as you fuck it. My whimpers and cries. The way your hand slaps against every inch of my visible skin until I'm red, welted and marked.

I thought you'd never hurt me. Always so protective of me. Possessive of my voice alone. And then I let you kiss me. You didn't stop. I thought you would stop. You didn't. You only pushed harder until the bark of the tree made marks in my back. Your teeth puncturing my lips. My blood like liquid between our tongues. And that only made you harder. Until I screamed. You liked that even more. So close. So hard against my belly, I knew there was something wrong with me... because even your hand around my neck, and stars in my eyes didn't erase the warmth flooding through me. Not even when it went nearly dark. And all I could see was you-- alive as you fucked me like a vessel. Dead inside, but branded and alive.

Who cares if I don't respond to you? Send threats. Send what you're thinking about doing to my body while you're stroking your cock for me. It's in your head anyway... just tell me. That way I can read about it all day and night while I lie here getting off to terrible things and terrible men.

you love broken girls, don’t you? you can’t help that your cock gets so hard— too hard when you see me cry. when you see i’ve drank too much again. you just come closer. first it’s just a kiss. your hands, lifting my bum until I’m seated on the island counter. you don’t mean anything of it— that’s what I tell myself. the bottle of bourbon beside us has been there, it was my choice… not yours… right? you didn’t plan to let me fall back. and the way my legs spread only makes sense. it’s me, after all. your touch, your cock, your scent. it quiets the noise. just like the burn does when you push the glass against my lips. so many sips. it spills out of my mouth. you’re sloppy with it. Distracted. Because now…. you’re there. Between my legs. Inside of me. In and out and… you’re so, so deep. When did you get here? When did you start fucking me? Why are you laughing? Wait…. what are you doing? Don’t… just wait… what are you going to do to me?

I like the way you watch me when I’m not looking. I know you do. You know things you shouldn’t. You always know things you shouldn’t. You’re the reason for my missing panties. For the ache between my legs when I wake with them missing. The taste on my sticky lips. Do I look pretty when I sleep? Or would you rather my eyes were open, and full of fresh tears for you? You can wake me. I’ll still take it.

you fuck me and then you leave me. waiting right where I belong. and still, I can’t help but slip my fingers between my thighs— touching myself at the thought of you violating me.

squeeze. keep squeezing. harder. it hurts. but I love it… I love the control you have over me…. make me weak. put me to sleep, and use my limp little body to get off. not a sound. not a movement. just a pretty, quiet, absent girl. a vessel for your use.

send rape threats. I like reading them when I touch myself before I go to sleep…

make me gag on it + tell me allllll about how stupid women are.

I love the look on your face when you’re between my legs, staring down at my pliant, motionless body. cock swelling inside of me because there is nothing that gets you off more than seeing my lights go off. seeing how beautiful I look under your hand when I can’t speak or think.