Since I have some recent data to work from, I can finally answer this ask.
- I get up at 6:30/7:00-ish to see how you’re doing after the beating you took the night before. You’re on the couch or floor because you don’t deserve a bed. I allow you to rest your head in my lap for a few minutes, pet your hair, and then kick you off me when I’m done.
- I ignore you for a couple hours.
- Around 9:30/10:00-ish, I send you out to fetch breakfast, because you’re too incompetent to be trusted in the kitchen. You try getting playfully lippy with me before you walk out the door, so you get the back of my hand before I get in the shower. Breakfast is delivered without further incident.
- Around 11:00, we get in the car. You forget to put on your seatbelt because you’re a moron, so I pinch the shit out of you until you address the problem.
- By 11:05 we’re on the road, and you’re trying to concentrate on driving while I play with your neck, pull your hair, and periodically slap the back of your head when you’re rude to other drivers. You’re rude a lot, so you get slapped a lot.
- By 11:30, I’m fully awake and you’re being relentlessly mocked, belittled, and patronized like it’s my job. (Which it kind of is.) Everything you do or say is being noticed and subjected to some form of critique. You’re laughing most of the time, because I try to make your degradation as funny as possible. Sometimes your face goes all sad because a dig really hits home, and that’s when I start laughing.
- We go to lunch. You hold the restaurant door for me, carry my jacket, and plate the appetizers. You eat what I’ve picked for you because you have the palate of a bored toddler.
- We go sight-seeing. We take photos. We look a bit like a regular father and daughter having a day together. Except I keep slipping up behind you and whispering in your ear that you’re a filthy little pig and I could prove it at any time. So you’re squirming throughout, because you are a filthy little pig, and you’re afraid I just might let everyone know.
- We have dinner, which is a lot like lunch. You reach for your purse when the check comes… I don’t let you buy this time, but you know you should always offer, ‘cause I own everything you have.
- We head back to your place. We watch some of the TV and movies you’re too young and tasteless to have seen, and I explain why you’re lucky to have me there to explain pop culture history to you. Explain everything to you, honestly. You’re an idiot, after all.
- You say the wrong (right?) thing. You get slapped. The slap becomes a shove. The shove becomes a kick. Then you’re humping my foot and begging me to fuck you, and I’m laughing again, because you haven’t even come close to earning that. Then I’m yanking you to your feet, pulling you up on your tip-toes by your neck, and stripping you with my free hand. I’m alternating between laughing and growling when I start punching you in the gut. After you’ve been doubled-over a half-dozen times, I shove you back on the couch, lean over you, and my fist finds your face. You, naturally, are trying to hump my knee the whole time, because again, you’re a filthy pig.
- You get dragged to the bedroom by your hair and thrown over the edge of the bed. I prop the iPad up in front of you and make you stare at photos of girls on Tumblr who are prettier than you while I beat your ass with a belt buckle. You’re a wimp in addition to being a filthy pig, so eventually you’re gasping for air and trying to collapse. I let you drop, make you spread yourself, kick your cunt a few times, and then tell you to fuck yourself while I decide if you’re a good enough girl to eat my cum and piss.
- I decide you are.
- When we’re done, I slap your ass and send you to the couch. The cycle begins anew.