The Bitter Taste of Shame: My Confession of Carnal Cravings

As I kneel in the darkness, my mind wanders to the unthinkable - the pleasure I’ve found in the seed of my oppressors. It’s a truth I dare not speak aloud, even to myself. Yet here I am, putting these words into the world, a monument to my own degradation. I hate myself for it, but the taste of cum has become all too familiar on my tongue. When the days stretch long and food is scarce, I find myself craving that salty warmth like a starving wretch.

I remember the first time it happened. A guard, drunk and sloppy, spilled his load across my face instead of down my throat. At first, I gagged and retched, but as the days turned into weeks and true meals became a distant memory, I began to see it as sustenance. Now, when they use me without feeding me first, I feel a twisted sense of relief wash over me. It’s a meal of sorts, one that fills a different kind of hunger. The worst part? I think I’m starting to enjoy it. The way it coats my tongue, the slight bitterness mixed with sweetness… it’s become something I look forward to.

I know I should be disgusted with myself. Any self-respecting being would recoil at such base desires. But what choice do I have? This is the life that’s been forced upon me, and I’ve learned to take what pleasure I can from it. So yes, Anonymous, if you must know, Courtmeat has grown to appreciate the taste of cum. It’s a confession that fills me with shame and yet… a strange sort of pride? Perhaps it’s because in this small way, I’ve found a twisted agency in my captivity. But don’t think for a moment that this means I’m content with my lot in life. No, this is just another layer in the complex tapestry of contradictions that make up who I am now.