It’s odd to be writing you a letter under these circumstances; then again, the circumstances between us have never been what one might call “normal.” But seeing as I’m compelled, I ought to begin. Such a divulgence may be therapeutic (I’m skeptical), but I’m told at the very least my mea culpa might offer some mitigation at sentencing…
There is much you may remember, but I’m certain much more you may not. So I will start from the beginning. I admit, I had no intention of things beginning when and how they did. But I was in a bad place. You see, your mother died during your childbirth, and I found it impossible to forgive you. She was the love and light of my life, and to have her taken away from me so suddenly just completely wrecked my psyche. I’ve never been right since. Of course you know all that. What you don’t know is that your mother was also your sister. I had been making love to her young, tender body since she was eight, and had no idea that she would become pregnant by ten. No doubt, her tiny nubile body just was not suited for carrying a child, let alone her father’s.
I resented you. I hated you. To me, you were nothing more than an object. And so that’s where it all went wrong. I was all-consumed with my loss, and gave you just the bare necessities. At first, when you would anger me with your crying, I would yell at you. Sometimes I would shake or slap you. You just wouldn’t learn. You usually wore nothing more than a diaper. But I found you almost repulsive. So it’s with a certain irony that it became so sexually deviant. One night, in one of your fits, after trying everything to calm you down, I was at my wits’ end (I may have been drinking, too). I couldn’t pacify you with any of the old standbys. So in a drunken, sleep-deprived rage, yelling at you for being such an insolent little shit, I screamed, “What the fuck do you want from me? Huh?” as I shoved my cock in your little toothless mouth. “Is that what you want? Eat this cock, you piece of shit.” Of course, you tried to cry and fight it, but I continued to rape your mouth, until you were exhausted with fatigue. Oddly, it was much more about serving some violent intent within me rather than a sexual one.
I felt guilty for months, and like I said, I wasn’t sexually attracted to you per se. But in my perversity I saw an opportunity I had missed with your sister/mother, and that was to train you into a filthy little fuckpig from early on. Your sister had certain reservations, sexually, only because the experiences were new to her. She had already developed certain “tastes.” But I knew if I was going to have a slave-daughter to worship my cock in the most depraved ways, I ought to start conditioning you from a young age. So your “training” served both as an outlet for my sadism toward you and a way to mold a perfect little fuckpet.
So despite the fact that I never found your infant body appealing, I continued my assaults. It became my standard practice that when you cried, instead of a pacifier, I would simply have you suckle my cock head. In fact, I began letting you sleep in my bed, and I would let you suckle my cock until you fell asleep, laying on my stomach. When I did give you a pacifier, I would make sure to cum on it first, just to get you acquainted with the taste. Eventually, I began jacking off into your bottles of formula. When that wasn’t enough in my mind to fully degrade you, I started to cum in a baby bottle and freeze it, until over the course of a few weeks there was a full bottle of sperm for you to drink down. I stroked myself furiously as I watched you drink down the full bottle of man cum.
As your infant years turned into toddlerhood, my fixation of you as a sexual object only intensified. Once you were potty trained, I insisted you not wear clothes around the house, which created some very close calls when the postman or neighbor would knock at the door unexpectedly. I would leave the TV playing pornography most of the day, with the explicit intent of creating in your mind the normalcy of nudity, sex, and the worship of a man’s cock. When I occasionally did let you watch Disney movies suitable for your age, I would lay down behind you as you laid out in front of the television on your stomach, hands under your chin or sucking your thumb, and kicking your feet up slowly in merriment, as young girls often do. I would watch from behind, stroke my cock, and rub your little bum, and licking my tongue up and down your crack, oftentimes blowing a sticky mess all over it. I loved the content obliviousness or indifference you seemed to display, which only reinforced your identity as an object to be used as I pleased.
When you were bad, as you often were (your terrible twos stretched into the threes and fours), I would beat you mercilessly. If a slap in the face wasn’t sufficient, I would take off my belt and whip your ass. Sometimes, I would go too far, leaving welts and bruises or occasionally breaking the skin. But I never once felt guilty. As the father of a young girl, I knew it was my obligation to teach you to obey, obey, obey. And as time went on, my feelings of disgust gave way to conflicted feelings of fondness, even adoration, although only within the context of your subjugation and subordination. I avoided teaching you to read (the irony of writing you a letter is not lost upon me) or sending you to school, because I was intent on making you a dependent girl who’s only skills were in sex, servitude, and deference.
Often times, all I had to do was give you a look or raise my hand to get you to behave. But inevitably, I would hit you anyway. The way you hung your head in quiet resignation gave me a sort of high that “normal” fathers would never understand. Not to mention a raging erection. After striking you or manhandling you or pulling your hair, I would always tell you how much I loved you, and that it was for your own good. And, of course, I would pull out my cock and have you suck the cum out, sometimes as the tears dripped down your face. And I would wipe your tears tenderly with tip of my dick, and in our perverted relationship, this became a perverse reassurance for you. Then, I would blow my load on your face, or in your mouth, or all over your hands, and you would giggle through your snotty little nose and lick up all the sperm before running off to play or watch the dirty movies playing in the living room.
Online, I eventually found slutty little high heels in little girls’ sizes, and lacy stockings. You were clumsy at first, but with practice, you finally got the hang of it. Your pussy was still much too small, but by the time you were three or four, I began sticking your crayons and magic markers up your butthole, which I licked wildly with my tongue on a daily basis. To see you with three or four crayons sticking out of your toddler ass, lying prone on the bed in stockings and high heels, was too much for words. So I would take photos, and share them on the Internet. The perverts would go wild at the sight of your little body. Eventually, our shared interest would be your demise. But I’m getting ahead of myself…
As you aged toward your preschool years, you became obsessed with Princesses, and of course Princess became your nickname. On a trip to Disney World for your birthday, you insisted that I buy you one of the princess dresses they sell, which I was happy to do. You gleefully changed into the long dress, resembling a ball gown, complete with long white gloves and magic wand. Then we had your face painted with beautiful glitter and decorations. You looked stunning. I snuck you into a men’s room stall, sat on the seat, pulled off your panties, and had you grind your bald princess pussy all over my cock until I came on your hairless little mound. I still remember the way you wrapped your arms around my neck and tried to simulate the grown-up kisses you saw in the movies. The thrill of it, trying to keep both of us silent so the other men in the restroom wouldn’t know, was unbearable, especially with the coy little smile you gave when you knew we shared a secret. And, after slipping your panties back up, the thought of my sticky cum still on your little cunny as we continued walking around Disney World titillated me—especially when I would notice you rubbing the wet sticky mess under your dress in either discomfort or lust.
But things were rarely so “romantic,” if you can call sex with a four-year-old in a bathroom stall romantic. At home, I was often a tyrant. I ensured that you learned how to please a man more than just sexually. If you didn’t do your chores, which there were many, you paid a price. You spent a great deal of time in The Cage, a large dog kennel I purchased for just such occasions. You sometimes spent hours in there, and if you had to pee, I made you go in the cage until your punishment was up. If you so much as looked at me cross when I told you to get me a drink, you would end up in The Cage. I began adding straps to the cage bars, so that a collar was tied to the top. When your hands were bound behind your back, you couldn’t use them to hold your weight up, and you sometimes tired and succumbed to unconsciousness as the weight of your body hung from the strap. I was always there, of course, to protect and save you. I would immediately untie you, and then piss on your worthless little face until you came-to.
Sometimes, I would make you kneel in front of the sofa and use your worthless naked slut body to put my feet up. If you moved, I would beat your ass with a reed cane. Sometimes you bled. But you learned to obey. And whenever I was done with whatever I was reading, I would reward you by letting you suck my cock. It is amazing how what was once a punishment turned into a sort of reward for your obedience.
You LOVED cum. You couldn’t get enough. You would suck my cock before bed and first thing in the morning. You would suck my cock as we drove to the grocery store or other errands, and neither of us seemed to worry about the other people who must have inevitably saw your tiny body huddled over my crotch. I continued to freeze my cum, making cum popsicles that you would greedily lick up, making a mess of yourself. I would often lick your smooth wet pussy while I watched you suck on your CumPop.
By the time you were five, I knew that all the attention I paid to your asshole with markers, toys, and my tongue had loosened up your hole enough for daddy’s dick. After playing with it for an hour, and taking plenty of pictures for your online fan club (which you didn’t know about at that point), I laid you down, pulled your flexible legs back behind your arms, and slid the tip of my cock into your asshole. You laughed and giggled, eager to try what you had witnessed hundreds of times in the movies that were constantly playing in the living room. But the pain made you try to kick your legs forward to push me away; a few hard slaps to your face knocked you into submission. With tears and quiet resignation, I slid about half my cock into your ass and came almost immediately.
I became an anal sex addict at that point, and it was all the better that it caused your little baby butt so much pain. As the years went on, I pushed the limits, eager to please your Internet friends, who by now were paying me handsomely for your pictures and videos. I would stick my cock in your ass and then make you suck your butt juices off my dick. By the time you were seven, you could take my entire cock up your ass. Other girls at that age would be proud to bring home a straight-A report card or lead a school play; you were proud to take Daddy’s entire cock in your ass and lick it clean when I was done. That prompted one fan to offer $1,000 to watch you eat your anal creampie. I asked if you wanted a creampie, and in your naiveté, you said “I love pie!” You sat on my lap in front of the webcam and I shoved my cock far into your young ass, pummeling you as I had done so many times before. But as I finished, I grabbed a wine glass I had set aside for the occasion, and as I withdrew my cock, I put the glass under your asshole. I told you to squeeze the cum into the glass, which you did obediently for fear of the consequences for doing otherwise. Then I told you to eat your anal creampie.
Confused, you asked, “Pie? What pie?”
“In the glass,” I responded. One side of your mouth curled up in a wicked grin, to which you grabbed the glass and greedily sucked the sperm down.
“That tastes like Daddy AND Princess!” you replied, and I knew the training had paid off.
But since you had spilled some, you slept on the floor of your cold cage that night in the garage.
By the time you were eight, I decided I would no longer handle you with “kid gloves.” I was growing tired of the routine, I was frustrated with work, and your constant moodswings were, frankly, pissing me off. On one of your worst days, it was bedtime but you failed to suck me off. I ordered you to suck daddy’s cock, to which you replied, “Make me!”
So I did.
I was amazed at your insolence. I laid you on your back and tilted your head over the side of the bed, held both of your tiny wrists with my left hand, and angled my angry cock with my right. I shoved my cock straight into your throat. You instantly gagged and squirmed, but I held firm. You couldn’t breathe.
I held it steady.
Finally I withdrew, but a cock that far down your throat triggered your gag reflex. That night’s dinner came rushing up, but since you were on your back, you puked on your own face. It dripped into your nose, eyes, and hair, and you screamed—but only for a second, because before you could even gasp for another breath, my cock was in your throat again. I raped your face that night, hard, and angrily. You continued to gag and puke, trying to turn your head, but I held you steady and force-fucked you.
I was so angry at you for your shitty attitude that night. Your throat and eyes stung from the bile, but I wouldn’t relent. When I realized you were close to passing out, I paused for a moment, but only long enough to piss all over your face, which only stung your eyes and nose more. I slapped you hard, dazing you, and told you to open your mouth. I began pissing in your mouth, but you immediately closed it. So I punched you, hard, in stomach. You puked more, but when I told you to open your mouth again, you obeyed. I pissed in your mouth, and while it was still open, and while still pissing, I shoved my cock back down your throat. The piss burned your throat, and as I continued to fuck your face, you were now puking my piss up with everything else.
You cried hysterically, like you hadn’t since you were a baby. I turned your piss and puke covered body over and fucked your little ass. You literally shook with sobs, tears running down your flat chest which was already covered in your sticky spit, puke, bile, and piss.
You had become the depraved little fuckpig I had always dreamed of.
After wrecking your ass—there was a tinge of blood on my dick when I finally relented—I shoved my cock into your throat one last time and basically came straight into your stomach.
And then I choked you, slapped you several times, and told you to clean up the fucking mess you made.
After that violent sexcapade, your total depraved domination became almost normal, but somehow, you couldn’t get enough. I would shove my cock down your throat and punch you in the back of the head. Once, you even lost consciousness briefly (I continued fucking your mouth anyway). I would cane your ass with a reed until it bled before I sodomized you, withdrawing only to cum on your open wounds.
To be sure you were sufficiently humiliated and dominated outside of the home as well, I wouldn’t let you leave without something shoved up your ass. Usually it was a large butt plug we ordered online, but sometimes I would shove golf balls inside. I would make you wear short skirts with no panties. I would take my preteen princess to the mall, and parade you around with that butt plug, occasionally having you bend over or prance around in such a way that the old perverted men there could see it.
I punished you and spoiled you simultaneously, although I spoiled you for the sole sake of pleasing myself. By the time you were ten, you were sitting in the nail salon getting a mani/pedi with that butt plug firmly seated in your bum. I would buy you slutty outfits, have you try them on for me in the dressing rooms, and frequently fuck that naked pussy while the butt plug pressed against me through your pussy walls. Then we’d be back out in the mall shopping, as daddy’s cum dripped down the inside of your leg, and you feigned blissful ignorance to shocked passersby.
By eleven, I insisted that you were never to be seen around me without makeup. Along with your weekly manicures, pedicures, and daily shaving of your peachfuzz, you were a perfect bimbo slut daughter. And you were so proud of yourself. You wanted to look just like the stupid sluts in the dirty movies you watched. By the time I caught you rubbing your own clit to porn, I decided to tell you about the men online who had been watching you since you were a toddler. You were thrilled.
You were perfectly obedient, too. When I came home from work, you would take off my shoes, unzip my pants, and suck my cock while I watched the news, without prompting. I loved the look of your lipstick smeared all over my cock, and so did you.
By this time, other men were noticing you, and you were noticing them, and I realized I couldn’t satisfy the insatiable sexual beast I had created all on my own. I heard rumors around town that you were blowing the neighborhood men. And one night, the police brought you home when they found you in a park that was known for some risqué activity; you had snuck out without my knowing one night after I came hard and fell asleep. And when you came home, you had the strong smell of cum on your breath.
I was turned on, but I feigned dismay. I told you that if you were going to act like a whore, you would be treated like a whore. So, like the father who makes his daughter smoke an entire pack of cigarettes when he catches her smoking, I decided you would be “taught a lesson” in similar fashion.