Consensual Non-Consent

Trust. Fear. Control

Consensual Non-Consent

The knock is too soft. Hesitant. Almost polite.

I don't move, just wait. Let the silence stretch, let the air thicken.

The second knock is different. Harder. Insistent. There's a pause, then the door handle shifts, and I hear the sharp exhale of breath as he realises it's unlocked. He steps inside, his movements controlled, deliberate. I don’t look up, but I can feel the weight of his presence in the dim light. I know this dance, the way tension coils in my stomach, the way fear, real fear, but chosen, invited, flutters just beneath my skin like a trapped bird.

He doesn't speak. He doesn’t ask if I’m ready. That was established long before tonight. There are no safe words because this isn’t a game or something we play lightly. This is something darker, deeper.

Some might even say this is trust in its most twisted form…