Teasing the Edge of Secrets

I've carried this weight for years, this burning shame that twists my gut every time I think about it. It started with betrayal, my ex's cheating with my own blood, and somehow that pain fueled something dark inside me. I claimed her kid as mine, lied to everyone to keep control, and then I crossed lines that still haunt me. At first, it was just touches in the dark, her small body under my hands, the thrill of secrecy mixed with rage at what her mother did. God, the way she'd gag when I'd push too far, it was messed up, but in that moment, it felt like payback, like I was reclaiming something stolen from me. Then came that night in the bathroom, the cold tile underfoot, her bent over the toilet as I lost myself in the heat and the wrongness of it all. I rubbed lotion on us both, held her down, and took what I wanted, filling her until it spilled everywhere, making her clean up the mess with her own tongue. It was raw, brutal revenge wrapped in forbidden desire, and I hated myself even as I craved more. Now, years later, she's grown, all curves and fire, and that old hunger is back, stronger than ever. I want to relive it, to feel that power again, but it's eating me alive. What kind of monster does that make me? Yet, deep down, I don't regret it; it's part of who I am, this dark flame that won't go out.