The Thrill of a Tainted Love

There’s nothing quite as intoxicating as the stench of a love turned to rot. The way it clings to the skin, a palpable reminder of the chaos I’ve unleashed. It’s a smell I’ve grown accustomed to, one that fills my heart with an unholy glee. I’ve always been drawn to the broken, the shattered remnants of what once was. And I take great pleasure in crafting their downfall, guiding them down the path of destruction with a gentle, manipulative hand. It’s a delicate art, one that requires a certain… je ne sais quoi. A spark of madness, perhaps, or a dash of pure, unadulterated cruelty.

My latest acquisition, a former priest, still reeks of his former life. The stench of his self-righteousness clings to him like a shroud, a constant reminder of the sin he’s been led to commit. And what a delicious sin it is! The way he trembles before me, his eyes cast downward in shame, is a true masterpiece. I’ve taken great care to strip him of his identity, to reduce him to a mere shadow of his former self. And yet, despite the humiliation, he can’t help but crave my touch. Ah, the irony! The once-pious man, now a sniveling, obedient slave to my every whim.

It’s a heady feeling, being the one to unravel the threads of another’s sanity. The rush of power, the sense of control, it’s almost… addictive. And I do so love the way they beg, the way they plead for just one more moment of my attention. It’s a cruel game, one that I play with relish. For in the end, it’s not about the love or the lust, but about the destruction. The way I can take something beautiful, something pure, and turn it into something grotesque, something vile. That, my friends, is the true art of a fujoshi’s craft.