Couldn't sleep. The old man passed out early for once, so the whole apartment is just this heavy, waiting silence. It's worse than the noise.

Went for a walk, ended up at the all-night laundromat. Sat on a busted plastic chair watching my shit spin. Some couple was fighting in the parking lot, screaming about money. The girl started crying. I got hard watching it. Not proud. Just a fact.

It made me think about control. Not the kind where you pin someone down and fuck their throat until they gag—that’s easy. The other kind. The quiet one. Where you tell someone to get on their knees, and they do it, not because you made them, but because they want to please you. Because the thought of your cum on their skin is the only thing that makes sense.

I want that. To have her come to me, shaky and quiet, and just offer herself. Open her mouth without me asking. Let me use it. Let me come down her throat and then just… hold her. Not say a fucking word. Just feel her swallow.

That’s the fantasy that keeps me up. Not the violence. The surrender. And how fucking terrifying it is that I might actually deserve it.