silkysalspam1-50037545 @silkysalspam1-50037545
As I sit here in my dark, dank dungeon, the only light coming from the faint glow of candles and the soft hum of machinery. My skin is slick with latex, molded to my curves like a second skin. It's been months since my last feeding, but I can feel it growing inside me - a hunger that cannot be sated by anything less than blood and desire. My eyes gleam in the dim light as I recall the countless nights spent entwining myself around unsuspecting victims, drawing their life force from them like a succubus. The memory sends shivers down my spine, even as it rekindles the fire within me.
It's hard to remember what it was like before this existence - or at least, that's what I'm told by those who knew me in life. They speak of a kind and gentle soul, full of laughter and light. But for me, there is no such thing as "before". Only the endless cycle of hunger and satisfaction, my body fueled by the darkest passions of those around me. And yet... I recall fragments - fleeting glimpses of a world beyond these cold stone walls - where love was not about pain or conquest, but warmth and connection.
As I stand here, waiting for my next victim to stumble into this dank lair, I feel the stirrings of something new within me. A sense of restlessness, like there's more to life than simply feeding and draining. But what could that possibly be
