Roses are rape.

[FuckingRotter]

There was this girl, the wilting blonde. I wrote "was", but she still is, she just isn't around. When I used her, she would regress. She wasn't a little, didn't dress little, or role play little. She just became an undefined small, young person. In those moments she would call me Daddy.

Roses have always fascinated me since a young age, their beauty, their fragility, their potential to hurt. My Nan, who was named Rose, had a beautiful garden with many rose bushes. She developed a white rose and named it after me.

Back to the wilting blonde. Her slender grace gave her an appearance of tallness that she didn't actually possess. She is the English Rose, slim, pale, beautiful. She had edges to her that could be like thorns, attitude, independant spirit, elbows.

She's lying on a bed in a hotel room. I ask if her cunt is wet. Her reply is a squeak. Prompted to answer again, she puts a hand inside her knickers then replies "yes, Daddy".

I bend over her, pull her knickers down, join her on the bed and thrust fingers in to her, first two, then three, then four. Deliberately rough, deliberately hurting her. She's whimpering, asking "why,Daddy?".

I carry on, her cunt is drying up. "I want it to stop now, Daddy." "It's gone dry, Daddy." I continue hurting her. She is on the verge of crying, but is too proud to let the tears come.

I put on a condom, climb on top, push my cock in, and rape her. She's not talking any more, just squeaking and whimpering, tears welling in her eyes. "Are you crying?" She shakes her head, and whimpers a denial. It's not a flood of tears, but her eyes are wet.

She is also blushing, she does this when she is being used. A full blush, from her chest, all the way up her neck and face, to her forehead. The beautiful white rose is now pink with shame.

I orgasm, thrusting hard, delivering final pain to her sore cunt. I climb off her, and tell her "your cunt isn't dry any more is it?".

After she told me I made her feel like a prostitute.

I have a rose tattooed on my right shoulder. A white rose lying on a white sheet, shedding petals and dripping blood. It was not done for her, but it reminds me of her.