Cycle I · “The Hidden Voice” · 11

She tells herself she’s just reading for “research.”

That’s what she always calls it when she scrolls into the explicit stuff at night, headphones in, everyone else asleep, screen dimmed low. She skims past the teeth and tongue and technique and catches herself nodding along:

Yes, rhythm matters.
Yes, I like having control.
Yes, it feels powerful when they can’t think straight anymore.

By the time she hits the paragraph about face fucking, her brain is already halfway ahead of her:

If I really trusted someone…
If it was the right person…

There’s a chat open in another tab. Someone she’s been flirting with keeps sending:

“You’re the one in control.”
“I’d only take it if you wanted me to.”
“Anyone like you would love that.”

She flips back to the piece and rereads the line about control being “surrendered, or taken.”

For a second, her thumb hovers over the camera icon. She could send something. A picture. A clip. A little proof that she’s brave, filthy, devoted enough.

Instead, she locks her phone, stares at the black screen, and listens to her own pulse trying to climb out of her throat.

It’s not that she never wants to give that kind of control.

It’s that, for the first time, she can feel the difference between:

“This is what I want,”

and

“This is what someone is very good at wanting from me.”

And that gap, right there in the dark, is where she quietly decides:

Not with him. Not like this. Not tonight.

Cycle I · “The Hidden Voice” · 11

Go Deeper with This Piece

Continue Cycle I

Try Something Else