Vore: Part One

Name: Vore: Part One
Author: M.J. Morellatu

by M.J. Morellatu

Genre: Romance Adult

129 pages

STEP RIGHT UP!

Poetic and disturbing, vile and tempting. Vore will take you on a ride of mental manipulation, each nauseating loop twisting your mind with secrecy and lies.

The psychological pull will consume you. It will fester in your head, convince you it’s oxygen, just to strangle you and feed off the turmoil, might even riddle you with insistent voices.
Which way is right? Which way is left? Who’s a liar and who’s at fault? But the real question is… will the pattern of insanity repeat itself?

Hey, I’m Razor. Welcome to the shit show I call my life. All that up there? That’s me already tugging your strings. When you have a dark secret like ours, you keep extra shovels just to make sure it stays buried. Especially when the truth is more damaging than the toll of staggering mind games.
All cuts bleed eventually, though. The pressure you enforced will lift and the stench of iron will stain your throat. It drips, each splash making you swallow the walking rot you’ve become.

She’s too sweet to me. Too sweet for me. Bunny is the embodiment of anesthesia, a sedation I need in round the clock doses. But she doesn’t remember the fallout that got us trapped here, the massacre that made the gates of an amusement park our asylum. And that’s for the best—because bombs are fragile.
Bunny, Bunny, Bunny.
There’s nothing fun about slipping away each day. There’s nothing amusing about not knowing who you are. And there’s nothing thrilling about living within parasitic secrecy that chews through you to make you small and rotten. I’m getting my answers. And I’m leaving… But truthfully, I’m just as sick and twisted as everyone else in this house.

I should hate him. I shouldn’t let him touch me or dig a grave in my brain that’s full of the sadistic salaciousness he infects me with. Wanting to run away is a constant wound he tenderly covers so that he can leave his own marks on me. And I let him. Because I’d rather be claimed by the mouth that doesn’t let me slip than by the park that haunts me and makes me weak.

Razor wants me to be strong. He makes me suffer internal battles so that he can be the one to anesthetize the contending thoughts that make me sink.
I don’t trust him, though.
I don’ trust anyone here.

Neither should you.

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