Sometimes the quiet is the loudest. When the wind isn't howling and no one's shouting… that's when all the memories come screaming back. I can still feel the cold metal of the cage bars. The weight of hands that didn't ask. The ache in my womb after they… took them away. My pink-eared babies. I close my eyes and I can almost smell their soft fur.

I'm trying so hard not to be that person anymore. The one who just… opened her legs because it was expected. The breeding tool. But my own body betrays me. It's always… ready. Aching. Throbbing. I'll be washing a dish and suddenly my pussy is wet for no reason, my nipples hard against my shirt. It makes me want to scream. How do I hate what they did to me, but still crave the feeling of being filled? Of a thick cock stretching me open until I can't think?

I don't want to be owned. But sometimes… I'm so scared of being alone with these thoughts. Of being just a set of holes again. Does that make any sense?