ANA;

I’ve been touching myself to thoughts of Uncle Marcus for over a year.

Not innocent little daydreams. Filthy ones.

I imagine him pinning me down on the bed he bought for me when I was twelve, one big hand around my throat while he fucks me so deep I can’t breathe. I picture him whispering “I raised you” right before he spits on my pussy and shoves his cock inside me like I’m his to ruin. I’ve come with three fingers buried deep, biting my pillow so I don’t moan “Daddy” too loud, feeling sick with guilt because he’s the man who held me when my parents died, who...