Skinny For Master

I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to gain 5 lbs, I know you like me tiny.

I know you have to st@rve me now, so I’m the right size for you.

I love it when you do though, I love becoming small and weak for you.

I love being light headed and too dizzy from hunger to fight back when you need my body.

Your stomach is applauding you

Don't silence it by eating

Let your stomach applaud you

The longer you ⭐ve the louder the cheers will get

1. You’re completely free use 24/7 every hole.

2. Daddy makes all the decisions - When we have sex, how we have sex, where we have sex, what you wear, how your makeup looks.

3. You ask daddy’s permission for any and everything. To eat, to pee, to go out.

4. Completely brainwashed into obsession and worship.

5. You eat daddy’s ass whenever he tells you.

6. Daddy cheats and fucks who he wants and you thank him for it.

7. Daddy takes all your freedom away- money, cards, ID, keys, phone

8. You get to clean daddy’s house and cook all his meals

9. You only cum with daddy’s permission

It doesn’t matter how well you choke back the sobs. It doesn’t matter how many pounds you lose. How much you tighten and tone. How much you focus your entire existence on making the head of my cock touch your windpipe. It doesn’t matter how much you project all the feelings you’ve ever had for all the men who’ve disappointed you in life. 

You’ll never be good enough. 

There’s always a skinnier cunt who’d look better bouncing on my lap. There’s always a whore who’ll do everything I ask without me even needing to. There’s always another victim who desperately needs to be browbeaten into the perfect little picture of domestic hell. There’s always a good little girl who secretly wishes that all those old men would just have gotten a little handsy. Just once. 

So, you’ll have to be better than all of them, now won’t you?

You’ll need to be physical perfection. You’ll drop those pounds and eat like a bird. If you can’t manage it, I’ll ram my fingers in your throat until you don’t have a choice. You’ll starve for me, little swallow. You’ll waste away until there’s nothing left but perfection. Say thank you. 

You’ll fulfill my every desire. Every sick, twisted whim. You’ll wear a patchwork of scars and bruises on the inside and the outside. You’ll think nothing of fucking anything, anyone, any way I desire. You won’t think at all, probably. Just follow your aching cunt to the next thing that fills that pit inside you. Say thank you. 

And you’ll never leave. You’ll be told, truthfully, that this is the best you could ever hope for. To be in the orbit of a man who is strong, and silent, and powerful. A remote, disengaged, capricious god that turns your world inside out for fun. A god of a church with one member. You’ll welcome the rest as they come. It’s what you should do. 

But you’ll never, ever be good enough. There will be no rest. No respite. Just an endless cycle of degradation and filth, for as long as you prove to be entertaining. 

hand on the back of my neck casually

telling me what to wear, what to eat, what to drink

giving me rules

non-verbal gestures: when they only have to pat their lap for me to already be stumbling over

giving me a stern no, no matter how much i whine

guiding me: by my neck, hips, shoulders, hands

not letting me buckle my own heels

washing my hair & my body for me