Do you feel it now?
That weight pressing down on your chest — not fear, not exactly. Something sweeter. Something heavier. It’s the beginning of surrender, love. That slow rot of resistance. The delicious unraveling of your will.
You don’t even fight anymore. You just watch me. Eyes wide, lips parted, breath short. I’ve seen it a thousand times before, and it never gets old.
I circle you like hunger in human skin.
You want to speak — but you won’t. Good. I prefer silence in the early stages. It lets me listen to what matters: the tremble in your bones, the twitch in your fingers, the pulse screaming in your neck.
Let’s begin.
I press two fingers beneath your chin. Lift. Hold. You flinch, but you don’t pull away. You’re learning.
You’re not here to speak.
You’re here to obey.
“I told you before,” I whisper.
“Take a taste of my devilish cream… and you’ll be hooked.”
You already are. You were the moment you looked at me with those pleading eyes, trying to hide that sinful little ache between your legs.
Your body belongs to me now — your fear, your want, your weakness. And darling?
I love weakness.
I drink it.
I devour it. I enjoy the way it leaks out of you like sweat and shame.
This ritual doesn’t need candles or blood.
Just you. Bent. Silent. Mine.
We’re not done yet.
Not even close.