Letters of Love - Daisy

(This is an entrant for the Letters of Love 2022 Story Event and is written from the perspective of Daisy from my Corrupted Desire series. Timeline wise it would have been written some time after chapter six of Corrupted Desire.)

Dear Sir,

I know why you want me to write this letter. It's the same reason you make me do anything. It's a game for you. So you can look at this letter and laugh at me. Or, even more likely, so I can agonize over what to and what not to write and go through all this mental shit just for you to never read it at all or just fucking destroy it.

I know that's why you want me to write this. Just to put me through more agony.

But, and this won't surprise you, your reasoning doesn't matter. You ordered me to write you a love letter. So I'll write you a love letter.

I do love you.

The only reason I've never said it is because you ordered me not to. You said if I ever fell in love with you, you'd release me. So I put all my emotions into my worship of you and pushed any feelings of love deep down.

But I would feel it every time I put my bag in that corner. Every time I kneel before you. Every time you allow me to touch your cock. Every time you allow me to suck it. Every time I'm allowed to taste your cum. Every time I'm allowed to feel it dripping all over my naked body, shuddering and whimpering in the prelude to an orgasm you won't let me have.

I know I get more out of those things than you do. All I can really do for you, that you enjoy, is to offer you my pain. My misery. My depression. I can already feel how much you're enjoying it right now.

And that's okay.

That's more than okay. Please, Sir. Please. Accept my pain. If it pleases you, let every tear that falls from my face belong to you as much as the rest of me does.

I love you, Sir. I adore you. I worship you. I live for you, I'll kill for you and I'll die for you. I exist for nothing less and nothing more than to be your toy. Your slave. Your thrall. And I do it knowing I mean absolutely nothing to you. That I mean less than nothing. That even as your thrall, you'll never see me as anything more than a momentary, meaningless orgasm. And even then, that's only if I'm lucky.

That was probably enough to get my point across. I could probably end the letter right here, but I'm assuming I'll only be allowed to love you while I'm writing this. Then I'll have to push these feelings where you can't see them again. And doing that is agonizing, Sir. I want you to know that.

I just want to spend every waking moment serving you. Pleasing you. Worshipping you. Killing for you. Torturing for you. Even fucking for you.

Remember how devastated I was the first time you sent me to fuck someone else? It hurt me so much, Sir. I didn't want anyone else and you knew that. But now I know the true value of it. I'm your slut. There's a part of me that will always fight that but it's true. And being your slut means debasing myself. Making myself feel like absolutely worthless shit for your benefit. And how better to prove that than for you to just give me away to anyone on a whim and force me to confront that voice saying that I'm only acting this way because of you?

But we both know that isn't true. Don't we, Sir? You said it yourself. You broke me in a few days. You barely had to try. Because I was already broken. All you did was reach your hands inside my cracks and tear me apart, rebuilding me in your image from the rubble.

And that's the weird thing, isn't it? Even in my misery, I am happy. Even though you hate me. Even though you never allow me to touch you anymore now that you have her. Even though you ignore me. Even though you make me watch as she pleases you. As she makes you cum. As you tell her how good she makes you feel. As you talk to her. As you tell her all the personal things about yourself you wouldn't tell me.

I'm still happy. Even if I stay right here. Kneeling next to you as nothing more than a statue who you barely acknowledge. This statue will adore you. Will love you. And when you want my pain, I'll give it to you. I'll relish it.

That's what love is, when it comes down to it, right? Caring about someone more than yourself? Putting their needs before your own?

I love you.

I love you.

I love you so fucking much.

Thank you, Sir. For allowing me to feel this. Even if it hurts so much more after. Even if you never allow me to feel this again. Even if you punish me for feeling it in the first place. Even if you release me.

Thank you for allowing me to worship you.

Love,

Your slut