Author: SignalAlternative288

You don’t think of yourself as obedient, do you? Something in you bucks against it, writhing away from the word like it slithers. Like it jabs at something in the soft places in your head, the places you told yourself were protected by all those distinctly unhealthy coping mechanisms you’ve leaned on all these years.

But that doesn’t mean you don’t like it when those places are jabbed. It doesn’t mean you don’t like it when I sink words into them, one after the other, wet sticky ideas sliding into your ears and slipping along your brain. They drive into the places inside you that don’t see obedience as a word, but feel it like a need. The parts that shift and whine when you hear *kneel, strip, obey*. Can’t you hear them?

Obedience hasn’t always been your friend, but it has always been that ex that makes you bite your lip. You don’t always think meeting up with them is a good idea, but you do always think it’ll be a good time. Read more »

Alex could already tell what kind of night it was going to be when he got back to the apartment, clattering his way through the door in that absent-minded way that everyone finishes their journey back from the salt-mines. He was shrugging his bag into the small entry closet when he caught sight of Jessica, his roommate, nibbling her nails on the couch and watching something mindless. She stared fixedly towards the screen, legs curled under her on the beaten fabric, not paying attention as Alex leaned against the doorway.

“Tough day?” She jerked, as if snapping out of a reverie, and looked up at him with a tired little smile.

“New project.” She said as she leaned back on the couch, performing relaxation unconvincingly. Alex crossed to the kitchen. He poured a little bad bourbon into a glass while he took off his tie, looking at a small whiteboard on the fridge.

It had a few well-worn sections carved out for chores, a shopping list, and times each of them would prefer the place to be empty if possible. These were all smeared grey from continuous use, but not the fourth. A small clean section was simply titled “No questions asked” and had one entry today. Read more »

I love how slowly it works. How confidently you start to read, sure of yourself. You look out at the story in front of you, feel the tug of it in your head and in… lower places. But that’s normal, isn’t it? You like to feel a little out of control, when you’re reading a story. You don’t mind being a good girl.

But the warmth isn’t quite what you expected. You’re used to it, when you’re having a good time, the prickle. The goosebumps as your body heats in the cold winter air. But there’s an edge to the heat this time. It straightens your back. Spreads your legs. But that’s still you. Right? You’ve always enjoyed sitting at attention, watching the words cross the screen like your favorite teacher. Feeling something pulled from you as you’re absorbed into the words, dragged past the warm wetness of your lips like a small part of your soul. But that’s okay, right? You like being a good girl. Read more »