Woom

by Duncan Ralston

He examined her body with clinical detachment: a gynecologist's gaze. He was neither aroused, nor repulsed. She was merely a vessel. A thing to be filled and then discarded.

nigga,

I bet a white person wrote this

"Don't get all smug about trigger warnings. I know they're bullshit, but can't a woman just not want to hear about rape without it being a goddamn thing? Every time you turn on the TV there's another woman getting raped and murdered. Every time you flick past the news it's 'rape culture on campus' and celebrity sex assaults and some new moral fucking panic. Enough already."

her. She had a right to say 'no,' for now.

Oh

by some miracle, could stretch so wide he thought she might be able to accept what he had to give her.

"That doesn't invalidate it," Angel said. "There's no statute of limitations on pain."

You should always listen to that voice when something doesn't feel right. Always look out for the red flags. Stop worrying about being nice, about making a scene.

Aside from a fleshy, suction-cup dildo, there only appeared to be a checkered hand towel, a thing of hand sanitizer, and an unlabeled bottle that looked like it might contain peroxide or nail polish remover.

But if he wanted her to go along peacefully with what he planned, he'd have to make her really feel sorry for him. He'd have to tell her the one story he'd never told anyone, at least not all of