Carry it for me… just long enough.
I want you to carry it for me… just long enough.
I want to keep you off that birth control like I have been for months now, pretending I’m just too impatient, too addicted to how you feel raw. I’ll fuck you slow and deep on the nights you’re most fertile, filling you again and again while whispering how much I love breeding my broken little girl. You’ll smile through the fear because you think this time Daddy actually wants it to stick.
You’re already so fragile. So tired from the last ones that tore you apart inside. But I act like I don’t notice. I’ll hold you after, stroking your hair, telling you how beautiful you’ll look when it finally takes. I’ll even rub your belly weeks later when the test turns positive, acting excited while my cock twitches at the thought of what’s coming.
I’ll keep using you through those early weeks — rougher than I should, gripping your hips hard, pounding against that tired, scarred womb like I can’t control myself. You’ll whimper and ask me to be gentler and I’ll just kiss your forehead and say, “Shh, let Daddy love you properly.” All while secretly hoping every thrust loosens something fragile inside you.
And when it finally happens — weeks later, when you’ve started to believe this one might survive — I’ll be right there pretending to be devastated. I’ll hold your shaking body while your womb empties again, while another little spark I planted slips away in pain and blood. I’ll comfort you with my voice soft and steady, telling you it’s not your fault, that we can try again…
But deep down I’ll be throbbing with dark satisfaction, knowing I helped guide your body to fail you one more time. Watching my sweet, broken girl lose what I secretly never wanted her to keep.
Because this is what keeps you mine. Your hope, your terror, your endless cycle of getting filled and then quietly ruined. My perfect, leaking, devastated little victim.