Little White Beads Part I

Just me at the sex again, big surprise there. Love to all the most awesome and badass folks on DUP. I hope you have a great weekend. I sold practically all of our furniture. When my brother finds out I didn't charge top dollar as he wanted (I can barely get people to pay six dollars on Letgo. I hear perpetually, Will you take five?), I might not exist anymore. Seriously. Sorry for being so usually candid. But I'm in shock. I bought a phone plan with unlimited data for cheap, still on my mom's dinosaur of a phone. There's always WiFi now. I still can't believe it. Trying to get the city to call me back. Might have water this weekend. Haven't had a hot shower in weeks lol. I met someone really nice who actually liked my writing. They asked for a fantasy of mine. I started this piece, and said a lot of the same thing. But it feels like something else came out I'd never really thought about before. Possible explanations... I know the previous piece was angry. I think the violence of emotion is directly correspondent to the horrible worship in me for males. If people only knew the extent... I need to respond to beautiful comments. I'm always so grateful even though I'm absent minded and stressed out. I'm shutting up now. Great weekend to all.  
 
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“I feel like I know you. I understand exactly what you need,” he said, standing behind her, his mouth close against her ear.  
 
And yes, he knew. Something in him innately, instinctively knew everything in her. Everything she deeply, darkly, secretly craved.  
 
He was younger than she was. But he was taller than she was. Despite the fact she was older, she felt small against him, inferior in his arms. She felt overpowered. The sensation was impossibly wonderful.  
 
He had captured her wrists in one of his hands and had pinned them above her head. His other hand roamed slowly, teasingly gently around her body. Avoiding the places she needed it most. He was hard and she could feel his dick pressed against her ass. When he talked to her his breath filled her ear, tickling it and arousing her even more.  
 
 
She tried to squirm against him, to get closer to him. To be able to feel his rigid sex pressed harder against her. He somehow managed to keep her still. He was stronger than she was. Much stronger. The thought in itself was delicious.  
 
 
He moved his lips away from her ear and began to lightly, delicately kiss the skin at the back of her neck. He murmured softly against her. She could literally feel his voice against her skin. “So what do you want?” he asked softly.  
 
 
Her desire for him was overwhelming. She could barely choke out the words. “You. Please. You. Your hands. Your body. Your dick.”  
 
 
It seemed somehow he managed to pull away from her somewhat, though they were still touching. He was deliberately teasing her. She loved it too much.  
 
 
He laughed softly against her neck. “Well you're going to have to work harder than that for it. I'm not really sure you're worthy of my dick and cum. You're going to have to prove you're worthy enough to take it. Are you?”  
 
 
She kept trying to push harder against him. She needed to feel how hard he was, she needed to feel the firmness and strength of his stomach and torso against her back. “Yes,” she tried to plead with him. “I promise I'm worthy enough. Please make me worthy.”  
 
 
“What do you call me?”  
 
 
She swallowed a lump of desire in her throat. “Daddy.”  
 
 
“Good,” he murmured. “That's a good little girl. You're going to obey me. You're going to do exactly what I say. Follow every command. You're going to do exactly what I want and give me anything and everything I want.”  
 
 
Oh. My. God, she thought in her mind. There was something in him that devastated her, some agonizingly beautiful play and mixture of animalistic primitive lust and simultaneous sensitive tenderness that cut her to the core and made her feel like she could fall down upon her knees and beg him for everything he was, which was perfect and beautiful and haunting and heartbreaking.  
 
 
She wasn't sure why she was like the way she was. In her opinion, she felt people's sexual appetites and fetishes were developed from their childhoods, from the early sexual experiences they'd had, from different stimuli present in their environments. It was the clinical definition of what was truth for her…  
 
 
She'd probably been prematurely introduced to sex. She had been very young. Her stepfather owned a huge collection of porn in their attic. No one knew she knew of it, that she spent as much time as she could looking at the pictures. She was not too young to recognize she was violently sexually aroused by what she saw. She also felt very scared and confused. Her stepfather sometimes acted a certain way with her… It was little things that one probably couldn't pin down if they tried… Certain looks, gestures, seemingly accidental touches at different times of the day… But at the same time she was infinitely unsure. It didn't seem to make sense. She loved her stepfather dearly, she ached and yearned for him to love her back… But it seemed like he hated her. He drank all day long. He'd fly into sudden rages if she did the wrong thing. She was always anxious, trying to not do anything that would inspire his anger. The fury in him deeply frightened her. Because when it happened it seemed to happen so quickly, and when it happened there was no stopping it. He'd run at her and grab her hard and spank her harshly, and he was very strong, and for some reason it always hurt really bad. The pain of the spankings seemed to knock the wind out of her. It was like her skin was too soft and vulnerable. One time he'd grabbed her by her leg and lifted her upside down high in the air, and her nightgown fell across her face to where she couldn't see anything, and for some reason that just made it worse, not just the embarrassment of having her underwear exposed but not being able to see when his hand would meet with the damnably too fragile flesh of her bottom. All she could remember of those moments, whenever she'd try to look back later alone in her bedroom, was the overwhelming terror of him, and the voice screaming inside her mind, Just let it be over as quickly as possible. Please, just let it be over soon… The more she cried the more it seemed to anger him even more, so she'd instinctively try to be as quiet as possible, and at some point she'd learned to bite down hard on her lower lip to keep herself from making noise. The only thing you could do was get through it, and hope he'd spend and satisfy his rage as quickly as possible.  
 
 
So it was logically very confusing, his other behavior towards her sometimes. She was aware enough that she instinctively knew he desired her sexually, despite the fact she was so young, and his stepdaughter. But the magazines he collected… The pictures… She ached and burned with violent need and arousal. She yearned to be able to talk with her mom about it, but she felt somehow what she was doing secretly was very wrong, and that whatever this thing was that filled these endless magazines was something only adults were allowed to enjoy and experience.  
 
 
But she felt tortured by need. She was too young to know or even conceive of orgasm or release or satisfaction or an end to the yearning. She didn't know a person could touch themselves and achieve climax and satisfy the hunger. She simply tossed and turned in her little bed for what seemed like hours every night. She'd hold the little white rosary in her hand she'd been given on the day of her first communion and squeezed each little bead tightly in her fingers and prayed, Please God, let a man appear before me…  
 
 
So maybe her early formative sexual years had shaped who she was, her various fetishes and proclivities. Once, in her early twenties, with a guy she desperately wanted but who did not reciprocate her feelings, whom she was best friends with, when he seemed to purposefully tease her and enjoy riling her up late one night as they both sat drinking beer and listening to music in her car, she became so frustrated and upset by the realization she would never have him like she'd hoped and dreamed of for months that she suddenly screamed out in anger and sent her car keys flying out the window and sailing halfway across his front yard in the moonlight…  
 
 
But his hot breath at her neck brought her back to the present...