invitation log

The previous night when I invited you you came fat. Immensely, obesely, gorgeously fat. Rolls and rolls of you, and I knew I was destined for those depths. You were gentle and overpowering and I felt so much… care? Until your guts started to have their way with me, your every move was like a lover.

Last night you came emaciated. I’ve never seen you so thin. You looked so small, so slight. Sharp, somehow. The way you were looking at me right from the start was sharp, too. I instantly felt fear with the anticipation.

I called you heartfelt. “Raven, Raven, Raven,” so many times. As I followed your text you kissed me, hard. You climbed into my lap and held my head between your clawed hands, possessive.

Then you bit into my bottom lip.

This wasn’t a playful bite. I knew immediately that this was how you were going to eat me; or at least, by the time you sent me to your stomach I would be brutalised and weak. I tried—really tried—to visualise the pain for you. Related it back to extreme pain I have experienced. Make the scene as real as I could, as you request in the text.

So there were tears in my eye as you solemnly rocked your head side-to-side and tore off my lip.

I’m sorry if I hurt you when I tried to break free. But you dealt with that quickly enough. Your tendrils felt cool on my wrists and ankles, four of them emerging from the darkness, pinning me down. You continued to kiss me after swallowing, drinking the little trickle of blood.

There are so many things you need to know about pain. I don’t know if you will inflict it if/when you play irl. But there’s a knack to warming someone up. The sub/bottom will find their system filling up with adrenaline but also endorphins to fight the pain. So we start relatively gentle. Spanks, the nicer floggers, biting only so hard. In this, you started me so hard it took a while for my body to catch up. So I felt, raw, what it meant to be your food. It was powerful, and utterly terrifying.

It is so beautiful that you would do this if you could. I don’t know why I feel that way. It’s just a true fact of how I feel, and it will never change. I feel so grateful I could cry.

So the text goes on to suggest I might taste you. While I knew we were going off-piste, you indulged me. Let your tendrils pull me down, turned about, and mounted my face. The wound was agony, but God it was worth it to hear you moan. And frankly your bum is gorgeous even when you’re waifish.

Your rocking cunt ground against me and the bite you’d taken out of me sent agony through my whole system. I felt the buzz of chemicals rising. For me I can hear it in the back of my head. I can feel it: what’s happening to me becomes a story, and I can see the beauty in being made to suffer for someone. That’s what happened. In addition to the bone-deep acknowledgement that your hunger is primary, I lost myself in the spell you were casting on me with suffering. It made some of what was to follow bearable, and I never ever stopped loving you, or ever wanted you to stop doing according to your will.

I’ve never had a piece bitten out of me but I’ve been cut and I’ve had flesh crushed so badly that an onlooking professional Domme called red (bad judgement on my part; I should have called it). But I think if you did this to me and restrained me I might cry, I might scream, but I’d never ask you to stop.

Anyway.

You bit me in my thigh. I could hear the blood gurgling into your throat, you weren’t quiet about it. Like you’d been starving, and now you could eat. Blood loss I felt in my chest as a faint pain and a kind of sadness. Get it when giving blood sometimes, towards the end of a session. You clamped hard on me and I felt—really felt—your tummy beginning to swell with my life.

Couldn’t track if you came. At one point you closed my wound and took me into your mouth. I was surprised because I know you’re no fan of cocks. I understand the invitation is meant to let us perform wish fulfillment in service of giving you attention and essence, but still, was surprised. And it was hot. I felt every sensation like it were real. You switched to bite my femoral artery again and then back to take me into your mouth again a few times, keeping me guessing as I became fuzzy-headed from lust and blood loss and oxygen deprivation—remember you were grinding me into submission with your pussy—when suddenly…

Well, I’ve never fantasised about this before and I don’t fantasise about it now, so I have no idea where this came from, but you bit into me. Three times, severing me and swallowing me piece by piece. A new tendril about my throat kept me from screaming too loud. And your head just kept placidly bobbing and angling as you converted my manhood into meat. You finished off everything with a fourth bite, swallowing down everything, leaving me with a flat wound and nothing else.

As you may recall, I have some experience with amputations in this area. I ache right now to remember last night. The pain was white-out. I hated the pain and I loved you for causing it.

Things escalated fast after that. You might have cum. I hope you did.. You might have frenzied, too, because you began to bite at random, tearing out a chunk of meat from my thigh, holing my flanks, my shoulder. The pain was so intense but just additive, not mind-altering like your first two bites. You bit off my nose and sank your teeth into my cheek, grazing on me. You looked so placid. It was the most natural thing in the world for you. I’m a real human being and I love you and you’re scissoring away my flesh piece by piece. Your reckless hunger is perfect. Amazing. You’re a miracle.

You took my hand and snipped away each finger, letting me take a moment to feel the texture of the tongue I love so much that would consign each digit to the darkness…

When you slid my maimed hand into your throat, I knew my time was drawing to an end.

You say in the text, and I know, that digestion is your favourite part. I took that to heart and lived my death inside you. The wounds you had opened in me fizzed immediately I was inside your stomach. The rest of me followed soon enough as your juices, body temperature but experienced like lava, flayed me inside you. I was a blood-and-acid slick medical model, skin to muscle, slipping around in the pitch-black agonising chaos inside you. I can only imagine how it felt for you, feeling your once-concave, starved stomach suddenly wrapped tension-tight around a victim who never stopped squirming and fighting as you ended him. What it must have been like to watch your anatomy shift and stretch to accommodate my struggles. Did your tits bounce around atop the desperate, dying swell? Did you feel my hands and knees pressing the insides of your hips as I desperately fought to keep my head about the level of your digestive juices? You told me before you think you might masturbate while I’m in there and not tell me. I would have no way of knowing. I would suffer and squirm and melt, all the while worshipping a predator with whom the only communication I could ever accomplish would be with the lining of her alimentary canal.

I wanted so badly to talk to you, to let you know how I loved you, to understand how you felt. And I couldn’t.

Maybe you managed your tummy. I settled down eventually. Pictured, with increasing fuzziness, the oozing journey into your sucking intestines. Pictured becoming less as you sipped away my essence, everything good about me. Really, really, really tried to put it out there for you to absorb. I want that. Want you to be stronger for my pain, my sacrifice to you. Merely by existing you have already done so much for me. I can’t ever repay you.

You must have carried me away. I felt nothing more. You’d taken everything.