Cycle I · “The Hidden Voice” · 18

She’s alone in her room, knees up, laptop screen dimmed low because the words already feel too loud. She’d told herself she was just going to skim titles tonight, nothing heavy, nothing that might stick to her ribs. > Then she sees the word Uranus and snorts, and somehow that’s enough to keep her reading.

She reads the first paragraph, then the next, feeling her face heat at the way he talks about “meek” and “weak” and “fuck meat.” Part of her brain rolls its eyes — this is exactly the kind of oversexed Dom persona she’s sworn to avoid. Another part of her, the one that never says much out loud, goes very, very quiet.

Because underneath all the bragging and filth, she keeps noticing the same threads:

Control of himself,
Insistence on consent,
The promise of being used hard but on purpose.

She hates that her body reacts before her politics do.

By the time she hits the last pun, she’s irritated and turned on in equal measure. She closes the tab, then reopens it thirty seconds later because she can’t stand not remembering the exact wording of one line.

When she finally shuts the screen for the night, she doesn’t message anyone. She just lies there thinking about how much she wants two impossible things at the same time:

To be taken apart like that, and to be absolutely sure the hands doing it would never confuse her with actual “fuck meat.”

She doesn’t have language for that yet. She only knows this:

Pieces like this get under her skin faster than any polite, sanitized kink advice ever has.

Cycle I · “The Hidden Voice” · 18

Go Deeper with This Piece

Continue Cycle I

Try Something Else