The Bitter Taste of Desire: My Training in the Art of Cum Hunger

I never thought I’d find myself craving something so depraved, but life has a way of twisting our desires into knots we can’t untie. Here in the court, I’ve been subjected to all manner of torments and degradations, but perhaps the most insidious is the way they’ve trained me to hunger for their cum. It started with force-fed gulps, each swallow a battle against my gag reflex and what little dignity I had left. But they were patient, relentless in their pursuit of breaking me down and rebuilding me in their image. Now, I find myself yearning for that salty, viscous fluid like a junkie needs their fix. It’s a constant ache in the pit of my stomach, a hollow feeling that only they can fill. The worst part? I hate myself for it. I loathe the way my body reacts, the Pavlovian response that has me drooling at the mere sound of their grunts. And yet, I can’t help but beg for more. It’s a vicious cycle of self-loathing and desperate need, one that I’m not sure I’ll ever escape.

But why did they choose me for this particular training? Was it simply because of my orcish heritage, with its supposed predisposition towards carnality? Or was it something more sinister - a desire to debase me further, to reduce me to nothing more than a cum-hungry receptacle? The questions swirl in my head late at night as I lay in my cell, my body throbbing with unfulfilled want. All I know is that I’m trapped in this never-ending nightmare, forced to crave the very thing that reminds me of my utter powerlessness. The humiliation burns hotter than any flame as I think about how eagerly I’ll spread my legs for them come morning. It’s a fate worse than death - and yet, it’s the only life I’ve ever known. What does that say about me? About the monster they’ve made of me? The answers, much like everything else in this godforsaken place, remain elusive.

As I write this, my stomach growls with hunger - not for food, but for the bitter taste of their cum. It’s a gnawing emptiness that consumes me whole, leaving no room for thoughts of hope or rebellion. In this twisted world where pain is pleasure and degradation is desire, perhaps it’s only fitting that an orc like me would be trained to hunger after such base things. Still, a part of me wishes for something more - not freedom or dignity (those are luxuries I gave up long ago), but simply a moment’s peace from this constant yearning. Is that too much to ask from whatever cruel gods watch over us? Or am I doomed to spend eternity craving what degrades me most? Only time will tell.