To be wanted.

Just don't try anymore. Put your head down and take it, because you deserve it, because you are stupid and this is your fault. You deserve to be punished. He is your God, and you almost worship him. No squirming or fighting; you want to run and hide and scream and hit but you know, you know, that once he is gone you have nothing and you are nothing.

So tonight, when he's done with his casual thrusting and rolls of the top of you, don't notice the filthy sheets or the shabby blinds on the sole window in the room. Indeed, try to forget all about that window and the promise of the outside world that it brings.

It is RIGHT that he should use you like this.
This is what you were made for, and you are only good as long as he is there to take advantage of you.
Whatever you do, don't think.
Thoughts are dangerous unless they are his.
So just lie back and take whatever this night brings, on a breeze of whisky and day old perspiration.
You are his.