T-W-I-S-T-E-D : Twisted

What do you possibly know about what’s twisted?? A thing so dark and amoral that you can’t possibly talk about it to anyone. Something so unethical, so ugly, so strange and illicit that you would walk on eggshells everytime someone talks to you. Well, I do have one of those twisted secrets and you know what the good part is….  It’s that I love and cherish it. 

My father is my only family. My father is my whole world. He was tricked by some girl for his money and this is how I was created. Originally, the girl thought about ending my existence in the mother womb but he paid for a full pregnancy so she went through with it and delivered me directly at my father’s feet. 

My father needed something to vent his anger at, to blame for everything, to justify the constant complaining in his head that he couldn’t possibly let anyone hear. My only use for my father has always been this. From the moment, he would become stable and sane, I knew our long, dark nights lighten by that cheap bulb in the basement would end. 

Since my 15th birthday, I’ve been trained to receive his hatred, his frustration, his anger, his insanity. Such a troublesome personality or should I say troublesome personalities. By day, my father is this hardworking office superior, the kind and nice one that encourages and motivates his subordinates. By night, he’s this brutal whipping beast, the torturing master, the homosexual incest sadist. I would get chained naked on weekends, blindfolded, gagged with access to little water and no food. He loves to see me weak. He would take me like this for hours, keeping me from ejaculating. And as he cums at the end of it, he would finally let everything out and would be able to endure his day life. 
But father has been forced by his boss to see a psychiatrist when he had a sudden and explosive unexpected outburst (due to the fact that I was obligated to go to a field trip for school that weekend). At first, he became even angrier but now, I don’t know what he told that woman or what magic she used on him, he started being less harsh and violent. And a few months from now, father had not touched me for weeks and was thinking about destroying the dungeon that harbored my screaming nights. He even set up a dinner with this woman that he at the start presented to me as his girlfriend and at the end of the night his fiancée, since he proposed to her. 

What was that? Father was moving on with this girl, leading a healthy life, thinking about having a family of their own, leaving my marked self behind?? I wouldn’t allow it. And as I come back from the supply store with everything I needed and walked down the stairs to our secret nest, I still agreed with my way of thinking and my last decision. And as I looked at my detained crying father, restrained by his own straps and chains, bearing pain and pleasure by his own instruments and with a scared look on his face, probably wondering what I’ll do to him next, I said : “Shall I train you too to the way you should be? “.

My actions followed naturally, like I always knew what to do, like it had been printed in me since birth and as I caught for a second the crooked smile, that warmed my teenage years, on his face, I knew he wasn’t far from coming back to the lovely punishing father I always had. And I intensified my moves, impatiently waiting and anticipating the moment we will be able to enjoy again our sleepless darkest nights in this cold-walled basement who gave birth to our twisted, eternal love, thinking : “Father, I will remind you of who is your one family and don’t you dare forget again that I’m the only one for you as you are the only one for me. “

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