Questions and Answers

You remind me of my real father, yet I still want to call you Daddy. It goes through my mind, what if you are him? What if I’ve played with myself and cum to my fathers blog. By then what if you aren’t? How will I know? Daddy, is that you?

[CONTENT NOTE: Here be dragons.]

Come in here and sit down. Right goddamned now!

Move, or I swear to fucking Christ— *finally*. Sit.

I don’t— Jesus. Just… Jesus. How— how do I do this? You’re—

No— shut up. Shut the fuck up. Don’t you say a word. Not one word.

How could you? That’s what I want to know. How *could* you? Don’t you realize what you’ve done? You’ve— it’s all ruined. All of it. Everything.

Tumblr asks aren’t really anonymous; you know that, right? I can see your IP address. I can see when someone’s contacting me from inside my own home. My own goddamned *home*.

Nononono— I told you to shut the fuck up! You sneaky, conniving little *bitch*! You’ve got the fucking *nerve* to invade my, my— you come into a place where I should be able to— I mean, how fucking *dare* you? I can’t have anything for myself? From the day you were born, you’ve eaten away at my bullshit life, and you just won’t stop. You’ll never stop until you have it all.

How long? How long have you been fucking *spying* on me? Has it just been since you’ve been home on break?

No, no, stop it. Stop crying. You don’t get to cry yet.

Longer? How long? Is this your disgusting little roommate? Did she— did she put you up to this? I knew it, the moment I met her. I knew what she was. Worthless. Fucking. Whore.

I knew— I knew I should have done something about her— *to* her. Normally, when I meet one like her, like that, so unexpectedly… I can’t just let it pass. I either start getting in her head right on the spot, or I decide to take my time and make her beg. But I don’t let it go. I *can’t*. I can’t meet a broken little bitch in the wild and not give her at least a little of what she’s asking for.

But because, I don’t know— is a sense of responsibility still a thing? Can you even conceive of— do you even know what that is? Of course not; you’re a stupid, selfish brat who never thinks of anyone else. Not in the ways you should. Not in the ways you *should*, fucking *slut*.

So it seemed like— like the right thing, to pass her up, for you. To protect you. Keep you from seeing what’s left when I’m done.

*So* stupid. Leaving you alone— she infected you. You just sat there, in that squalid sty you pigs inhabit, getting high, allowing her to put her fucked-up ideas in your head. I thought you were smarter than that. You’re mine; you *should* be smarter than that. It doesn’t seem possible, that you can be this disappointing.

Three months— Christ, this is such bullshit. Three months away from home, with that filthy little whore— that fucking *contagion*. And you’re lost. That’s all it took. How can that be all it takes?

I’ve been logging the network traffic in this house since you got your first tablet. You’ve been— you’ve mostly been a good girl. I’d see you now and then, looking at things you shouldn’t, but you didn’t make a habit of it, so I ignored it. Maybe I shouldn’t have. I’m doubting everything now. You, more than anything.

But after you sent me that fucking ask, I checked. Since you’ve been home this time… I couldn’t believe it. Videos of men choking girls with piss. Photos of slave bitches getting their holes sewn shut. Stories about— for fuck’s sake, don’t get me started on some of the sick shit you’ve been reading.

If your mom could— she’ll never forgive me for what you’ve become. For what happened on my watch. You’re not the only one who’s lost now.

When I saw the IP, it all— I could see it all spread out before me. The— the fucking *magnitude* of your failure. If I’d allowed myself to look at you the right way, I would have noticed it years ago. I would have seen I was wasting my time. My money. My life.

There’s not enough of her inside you. She was— she was so *good*, your mom. So pure and perfect, just the best thing in the world. All the shit— the shit that I write about, these things I do— none of that was for her. *Never*. She was made of love. Not like you.

She was everything. You’re… *nothing*.

Do you have any idea how many girls like you there have been? How many nights she went out to the bars and brought one home for me? She was like an angel of mercy; she— she *fed* me. When I needed peace, she found it and forced it to its drunk fucking knees for me. She gave me all of the best experiences of my life. And then she helped me cover them up.

All she asked was that I protect her. And you. From the world… and from me.

But now? Now I can never live up to my end of the deal. I can never repay her, because you decided to take all of the opportunities and privileges and endless second fucking chances you’ve been given and throw them away. You let that little goth whore fill your head with sickness, and then you brought it home and showed it to me. Taunted me with it.

I wish— I wish I could go back to my old bullshit life, before I knew. Before I could see so clearly that you— you’re not my pride and joy. You never were. In the end, you’re just the last cunt your mother procured for me.

Take off your clothes. I’m ready to answer your question.