Sociopath Community

omg creep leave me alone ;-;

tl;dr

tl;dr

This is a sex story I wrote during my spare time in the ISIS army training days, in the name of Mete, my sweet sexy daughter <3 ;3

Daddy's Girl (chapter one)

“That’s a good girl, come on,” 
 
“Dad? Daddy?” I questioned hastily. My heart started to thrum
like  humming bird wings and my stomach clenched. Fear. It was dark, so
dark.
 
“I said come on here, I ain’t gon’ hurt ya.” His voice sounded
gruff, filled with alcohol probably. I timidly walked over to where he
stood next to the couch. I could see the outline of his form; he
staggered slightly as he stretched out his hand to pull me into his
arms. 

His hold wasn’t as comfortable as I remembered. It had been a
while since he 'd even talked to me let alone hugged me—since my recent
fourteenth birthday…and the day my mom died.
 
“You look just like her…” he whispered. 
 
“Ow, dad, you’re hurting me.” 
 
“Shhh,” he stroked my hair, his hand inched down, lower to my
shoulder. I shuddered; he towered over my small frame. My breath caught
in my throat and my heart felt as if it was going to burst out of my
ribs any second now. I was so scared.
 
“Daddy?” I squeaked.  
 
“Mmmm,” he grunted, “so soft...” his hand inched down even lower.
This wasn’t right; dads aren’t supposed to do this to their daughters,
are they?
 
“Ouch daddy,” I cried, tears began to stream down my face. 
 
“Shut up and quit your whinin’!” 
 
“Please, stop, daddy please.” I whisper-begged. 
 
I felt the sting before I realised what he had done. He had
back-handed me across my cheek. Pain shot through my skull and tears
automatically spilled out of my eyes.
 
He was touching me in places I knew dads weren’t supposed to
touch. I begged him to stop. The memory is distant now, like my mind
refuses to remember certain parts. 
 
But I remember how the light of the moon shone against his ragged
face above me, he hadn’t shaved in days. I remember his blood shot eyes
and the evil expression on his face, an expression I didn’t know could
exist in the real world let alone on my daddy. I was always a daddy’s
girl, for as long as I can remember. His hand was securely held over my
mouth as the heavy weight of his body pressed into mine.  
 
Silent tears spilled continuously down my face, and I froze. My
insides froze, my world froze. Things like this only happened in books
and in movies, so I thought. I was an innocent girl at only fourteen,
not yet comprehending the vast level of evil that the world could hold.
 
I was an innocent fourteen year old girl when my daddy raped me.
 
I would never be the same again. 
 
 
 
 
“You don’t want to do this.”
 
My hands trembled around the cool metal as the memory shot through my
mind. Disgust raised goose-bumps all over my body. I savagely wiped at
the tears that streamed down my face, merged with my mascara and
eyeliner. 
 
“You fucking bastard! You disgusting pig! You make me sick!” I screeched.
 
“Lyndie,”
 
“Shut up! Shut the fuck up!”
 
“I am so sorry honey,” he begged. Who would have thought it? Tears on a grown man’s face.
 
“You don’t deserve to live.” I whispered in a hate filled voice. 
 
“Honey, just put it down,” he tried calmly. Anger rose within me, how dare he!? My grip steadied, but the tears kept falling. 
 
“Don’t call me honey! DON’T!” I screamed at him. 
 
“Please,” he whispered. 
 
I surveyed him for the first time in two years and compared him to
the grueling image that was permanently stitched into my mind. He was
cleanly shaven; his light blue eyes glistened with tears. The light of
the moon shone against his face, almost making him look….angelic.

tl;dr

It's called perspective taking and mentalizing, reported by scientists to be found even in macaques and baboons (they use it for stealing behind your back or anticipating a competitors move during fights). It's also something that develops after like the age of 4. Now, I'm not calling you guys developmentally stunted or mentally deficient, but science is a mean bitch, and facts speak for themselves...

If you suspect it's plagiarized you can always use Google to verify it (: And I fucking knew I would get accused of writing it from personal experience lol, daddy jokes are a tradition by now here. I thought it'd be hotter for readers to read it in the girls narrative voice instead of the voice of the man that raped the chick. Kind of having the girl tell you the rape story, it's definitely hotter.

by Jimmy Savage

And I fucking knew I would get accused of writing it from personal experience lol

 I don't know how you can write from the victim's point of view without having experienced it yourself.

Whenever I write a murder story I always write from my point of view, as the murderer, because I can't really imagine how the victim might think or feel in that situation, aside from the fact that they may be experiencing fear.

Some empathy would help.