The Ritual

[spoken intro] Imagine the salty tang as your tastebuds glide along the ridges of her most pungent dish The odoriferous bouquet of flavors melting into your senses as she clasps her hands over her mouth shell-shocked while her blood turns to ice in her veins The swarm of fleshy nodules massage the rosie puckered blossom. Her faculties collapse as the incomprehensible becomes reality. [spoken] Now that you’ve imagined it. Manifest it. Commit. to it. [spoken: playful] Hehehehe. Go get her, Tiger. Rawr. [spoken: deliberate] She tries… oh! How she tries to divert your attention to the dish she painstakingly prepared. Laid out with civility, symmetrically Precisely presented as she thought you desired. But you... you ignore her trembling hand. For you seek instead the byproduct. The raw, undisturbed loin wafting aromatic from her kitchen floor. She watches, flustered, shivering… turning beet red as her helpless bloom submits to your wicked authority. You savor it… not for taste… but to break her. You enjoy watching her squirm. You relish in this foul sport. Her pitiful objections They shatter against The deplorable menace around you Unable to put even a dent in your will [spoken: slow, commanding] This was never about the meal. This was never about hunger. This... was about control. About showing her that no crafted illusion, no carefully plated perfection, no brittle mask of propriety could withstand your appetite for the heinous. [spoken — colder, deeper] Every glance she steals... Every breath she holds... is proof she understands now. You set the terms. You draw the line. And she? She stands on trembling legs… silent... obedient... watching you dismantle her precious little world with nothing more than your filthy, deliberate indulgence. [spoken: final, venomous] Taste is fleeting. But power... Power lingers.