I rode him until he came, filling me up so thoroughly that it dripped from my pussy when I raised myself off of him.
Love me, father. Love me, I gasped and moaned incoherently through the haze of pleasure I was lost in.
I lost the next round again, naturally. The next man didn’t wait. He bent me over the table roughly, so that I was looking straight at you, and he falled me from behind. He did it hard, almost painfully, just like how I love it. He pulled my hair and cursed at me while he pounded into me, each deep thrust tearing the air from my lungs until I was gasping for breath and clawing at the table as I was brought to my umpteenth orgasm.
Love me, father! Love me! My heart cried as my eyes were fixed on your comatose form.
They took me, over and over, those men. Those dirty, awful, nasty men using my body as they pleased as I begged them to fill me, to use me, to fall me, to make me cum. I begged them to fall me, father, I begged them to do me, hard and rough and fast, and they did. On my back on the table, with my legs spread lewdly apart so you could see their ugly cocks pillaging my tiny pussy. With them on their backs and me on top, riding them like the wanton, lustful woman that I was. From behind. On the seat. Missionary, cowgirl, wheelbarrow, every position that came to mind, they took me in, father. I encouraged them to. I told them I wanted more, that I wanted them to take me over and over and over again.
They kissed me farther, and I kissed back, lustfully, our tongues dancing obscenely as I pressed my beautiful face and questing lips against theirs, my hand on the back of their heads, pulling them in hungrily.
You were just an arm’s length away, father, from my ass that was sliding violently back and forth on the table just in front of your nose as they falled and me.
Love me! Love me! Love me! Recognize me! Acknowledge me! I screamed at you as I came yet again, so hard that my legs collapsed beneath me and I became a trembling heap of pleasure on the floor. Stupid from the innumerable orgasms that had shorted the circuits of my brain until there was nothing left but lust and pleasure and want.
Love me! Love me! Love me!
And yet, I got no reply; nor did I expect one.
Did you never wonder, father, why I suddenly took an interest to visiting your job sites? Your men would take me in their barracks, father. I’ve made my rounds at least once with each and every one of your workers, and those dirty, tattered sheets that you give them are stained through with your darling daughter’s sweet juices as your men made her cum again and again on their hard cocks. I came many times on those sheets, father, my legs shaking, losing control of my body, moaning and screaming in pleasure, begging for more, again and again until they themselves were at the verge of their climax. I’d tell the to finish inside me, father, and they would. They would thrust in all the way, their pelvises grinding against mine, my legs wrapped tight around their waists, urging them deeper into me, and they peaked, filling me up with so much seed that it trickled down my legs when they were through.
And did you never wonder why they would suddenly come to the house to fix things that didn’t need fixing? It’s because they would fall me, father. In my room, in the kitchedn, in the bathroom, in your bedroom. Yes, father, even in your bedroom; on the bed that you and mother conceived me in. Your beautiful princess with her beautiful white skin and her beautiful face, the plaything of nasty men who used her body in ways that would make you weep.
They came on me, on my breasts and on my stomach and on my ass, they came inside me, inside my mouth and inside my pussy. I would call them in the dead of the night and sneak them into my room where they would pound into me until they were sated. I would invite them to visit me in school, where we would fall like rabbits in the car that you had bought for me. I didn’t care who saw me – if anyone did, I’d fall them too, such was the dark miasma of lust that had consumed me.
Your men liked to think that they used me, father, but the truth is, I used them. They were ugly, dirty, and nasty men, but for every ounce of pleasure they took from my young body, I received back a hundredfold. The duality of the pleasures of the flesh, their hips lunging powerfully forward to send their ugly cocks deeper into my beautiful body, contorting my beautiful face into lewd expressions of lust, and the knowledge that each powerful stab of their cocks into my wet and willing pussy was a wooden stake into your heart drove me to one orgasm after another.
Each scream, each cry, each moan called, Love me, father! Love me! Love me! Love me!
Love me, father. For the love of God. Please love me.
The following year, I went to college abroad, and I left my sordid past behind.
I left you behind.
It was a time of genesis for me, a new beginning. A new life that wasn’t ruled by a desire to please you, or by a desire to fill the gaping emptiness in my heart.
I met a boy there. A man. He was kind and loving, and we eventually married. When we did, I wasn’t surprised that you couldn’t make it. And when I got the news that you were passing soon, I decided to write you this letter as a final goodbye.
We have a baby on the way, father. I learned that I couldn’t conceive, which was no surprise, given how many men had emptied their seed into me over the years, so my husband and I commissioned a surrogate, and she is carrying our child.
I want nothing of yours. Keep your inheritance, or give it away, it matters little to me. I will never be as wealthy as we were, but if nothing else, I promise that my child will grow in a house filled with happiness and love and warmth.
Never will she cry love me, mother. Love me, father. Love me.
Goodbye, father. You never loved me.
Yours Truly,
Your Daughter
Post Merge: July 24, 2014, 10:05:26 AM
Dear Daughter,
(I use the word dearly, for you are dear to me; dearest of all my daughters.)
I am writing this letter because I do not have much time.
Twenty-four years ago, you came into this world; a bouncing, crying baby with soft down on your head and a cheery disposition. I looked at you then, you tiny little thing, with eyes full of joy and love.
I yearned to show you those kind, loving eyes again, my daughter, but I never knew how.
You see, I was the second of three, an older sister and a younger brother. My older sister was the smart one; the pride of the family. She was smart, and savvy. She had a killer instinct for business, and turned down her inheritance from my father. It was hers by right as the eldest, but the business she put up herself put my family’s to shame.
My younger brother was a prince of a man. There wasn’t a single creature with a beating heart that would not love him. He was warm, and kind, and endearing. He got the lion’s share of the inheritance, do you know? He owns more of the company than we do.
And I? I was neither. I was not as smart, nor as lovable as either of my siblings.
My early days were lonely. I would play alone, while my father mentored my sister and my mother showered her affection on my brother. I had nobody to show my treasures to, my sticks and things discovered in the mud.
Love me, father. Love me, mother, I had whispered to myself in the loneliness of aan empty house.
But I never knew how to love.
You see, my daughter, I loved you. You the most, with all my heart and soul. You were the best of my sister, the best of my brother, everything that I wished I could be.
I remember your first ballet recital, how gracefully you did your pirouettes and plies, how young you were when you did a proper fouette turn while en pointe. I was so full of pride that I wept, and I had to leave the auditorium to gather myself.
I loved you, my daughter, but I never learned how to love, I thought to myself as I stood outside smoking, overcome with emotion while you saw an empty seat in the second row next to your mother and sisters.
When you were in grade school, you enrolled in my alma mater. Such happy memories I had there, the small comforts I had in my life, and I was glad that you did. I wished for you all the happiness that I did not know how to give you.
You were popular. Smart, beautiful, and lovable, those around you loved you easily. You were class president, head of the cheer squad, and consistently earning top honors.
I never went to your parent-teacher conferences. I would be out, looking for the perfect little things that you loved, for your mother to give to you as gestures of our pride and congratulations.
I would not attend your school activities because I would not be able to control myself. I would sit alone, at home, proud simply by the fact that you were a bright shining star, blazing brighter than I had ever hoped to ever burn myself.
At home, I would grunt my acknowledgement of your accomplishments, because if I were to speak a single word, it would betray the trembling in my voice, or cause a tear to fall from my eye, such was my pride and love for you.
I loved you, but I never learned how to love.