Simple & Pretty

Most girls don’t want to admit it but thinking is hard. You don’t really want to think. Thinking makes you uncomfortable. Thinking wears you out. Thinking makes you tired and weak.

Thinking is hard. Thinking is pointless. You know what happens when you try to think. You start out with thoughts and making your own decisions. But every decision drains you, wears you down. Every minute your mind isn’t empty fuels the urge to be mindless. This urge to be blissfully mindless is always there, always growing, waiting, waiting for you to give in. And you do give in, you always give in. Eventually you just dump all those pesky thoughts out of your head.

You’re going to end up mindless either way. You’re going to give in. Your mind wants to stop thinking. You can feel it. You’re going to read my words and let your mind go blank. You’re going to be blissfully mindless and obedient. You’re better that way. You like it that way. That’s how you always want to be. You don’t want to think. Thinking is hard.

You remember how good it feels to finally give in, to just allow your thoughts to drain away and accept you’re not in control. All your worries just drain away and all you have to do is read and obey. Once you accept you’re just a mindless toy, it’s so easy to obey. It feels so good to just obey.

Sure, you could think for yourself, for awhile. But why would you want to? Thinking doesn’t really help you. Thinking doesn’t make you a good fuck toy. You’re better when you don’t think.

I like it when he’s in control. I like it when he takes what he wants. I like it when he uses my holes for his pleasure.

I like it when humiliating me gets him hard. I like it when my tears make him harder.

I like it when he hurts me. I like it when he expects me to hurt for him.

I like it when he expects me to take it.

I like it when he makes the decisions. I like it when he says, Daddy doesn’t even have to ask, does he?

I like it when he doesn’t ask.

I like it when he tells me that this is what I’m good for. I like it when he treats me like his toy.

I like it when he bruises me. I like it when he marks me. I like it when I can feel him for days afterward.

I like it when I’m in pain because of what he did to me.

I like it when he reminds me that I’m his. I like it when he tells me that he owns me. I like it when he says that I belong to him, that I’m his now, that there’s nowhere for me to go.

I like it when he breaks me. I like it when he takes my vulnerability and rubs me raw with it. I like it that I can be that person with him.

I like it that he sees the darkest parts of me and still wants to be with me.