Intellectually, I grasp that vore—particularly the macro/micro variety—is considered a minority fetish. I’ve accepted that almost no one will acknowledge their vorish desires in polite company. I’m perfectly okay with being called a kinkster, a perv, a freak. I’m not here to proselytize or recruit or vanilla-shame.
But as open-minded as I would like to be, I fundamentally cannot understand how anyone could be physically attracted to another person and not want to slide their tongue over every square inch of their tasty skin, not want to hear their cries muffled as they slip between their lips, not want to compress their pliant flesh between their molars, not want to feel their passionate writhing against their gums and palate.
Bodies are built for sensation, and nowhere does that happen with more intensity than in the mouth. Half the romantic poetry ever written features metaphors of hunger and consumption. Our ancestors have been eating each other for hundreds of millions of years. It is the oldest form of domination on the planet.
A kiss is just a taste.
Originally posted: 03 Jan 2018