215: Scandalous Soliloquies and Spitted Sows

PUBLIC: 1 color artwork
ACOLYTES and higher: 1 color artwork + 2 sketches
DISCIPLES and higher: 1 color artwork
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Dear Patrons,

Here are three short soliloquies of three different points of views, one that of the facilitator, one of the participant, and one more of the sacrifice. Hope you like this, fellow diners. Bon appétit!




Imagine if you will, the liminal space, between what is seen on the outside, the bustling crowd of eager gamblers and seekers of merriment, many whom are eager for a lucky roll of the dice or a line of lucky sevens on the slot machine. To those not seeking fortune but entertainment and wonder will find those too, the peacock magicians and entertainers of yesteryear, bringing back the nostalgia of Golden Ages past, all on display where hopes of fortune bring limitless possibilities. That is the lure of Sin City.

But these are tame joys compared to what lie beyond this liminal space, that barrier that separates the simulacra and the primal exemplars which these imitations aspire to be. An imitation or the real. An object that aspires to be what their designers intended or the object that is. Who are the gatekeepers of this liminal space? Who allows the rationed trickle of curious spectators who might yearn to be participants after tasting the milk of the hallowed cow... who would so willingly sacrifice their lives, wealth and labor just for a taste of the sacred forbidden?

Steps into the void, through the passage of this liminal space, to another world of darker... more seductive... more impossible... possibilities. These are the fantasies of the unattainably wealthy, the powerful, the ones who desire the thrill that the outside world will not be able to provide.

We have briefly seen the breaking of the barriers that help conceal our activities from the scrutiny of outsiders but we have quickly patched the cracks and eliminated the weaker points of this liminal space. However, it is inevitable... then and now. Kintsugi. A Japanese art of breaking and remodeling the pottery to strengthen, and rebuild the item anew, more beautiful, more interesting than its blander prototype. Our secrets will sometimes reveal themselves in succinct ways, enough to lure the curious and the outraged. What is the joy of sanctity when it is completely unknown, what is a fallen tree in the woods where no one is able to hear it's magnificent collapse? Without the occasional slippage, how can we find and tempt new disciples?

First they assume the role of moral authority, but through delicate designs we can coax their eventual loyalty as cohorts. We must choose wisely who will serve and who will perish. We have perfected our designs having stood at the edge of oblivion many a time for thousands of years. We survived the cataclysm of Minoa and the great flood of the Younger Dryas. As universal as concepts of horror, sex, mystery, and magic, nothing tempts the curious more than a peek into the darkest shadows of the human soul.

And what better than this palace of possibilities. Secret corridors. Candle-lit catacombs. Passageways that lead into rooms hidden in plain sight behind two-way mirrors. On one side, fake replicas, tacky tourist trinkets and on the other, the forbidden feasts and horrors beyond imaginings. That's the difference between the worthless and the priceless.

You have been given the Golden ticket to the Chocolate Factory. Do not let your moral high-ground destroy you. Not by us, mind you. But your own curiosity. To be denied these secrets will... eat at you from within... no pun intended.

Choose wisely. Live, survive. Know. Or shrivel with your righteous ego. I can see you are conflicted so we'll give you time to think. Two days, no more. After which, this opportunity will be denied to you forever.

Yes, yes... Think about it.




I know you've been gone for only a week and I already miss you. I received your present today and it's hanging in the dining room wall. I thought of putting it up above the fireplace, but I don't think I can stand seeing myself up! Or whenever I watch TV. It's a little too much, don't you think? But in the kitchen, well, with the games that we play... wink wink... I thought that would be the most fitting place for your masterwork! And it does make me hot and wet thinking about you and me and our naughty little games in the kitchen.

I must admit, when you said you were an artist, I didn't think you could draw that well! I swear when you told me you wanted me to undress, that you just wanted to see my boobs, not that I'd mind. But I must say you are indeed a man of many surprises, and many talents! And you didn't even need to take a photo and oh how you captured my likeness so well! I know you can cook, but I didn't know you can draw too!

But there's one thing you forgot to do is to sign your masterpiece! Promise pretty please you'd do that when you return, won't you? So I can say that I own a piece of the famous Peter Greene!

Peter, Peter Peter, my Peter Pan. Thank you for showing me a side of man that isn't that I see all the time in the world. Perhaps, all is not lost for your gender after all. Aaaand... promise me too, you won't tell my friends about this. They will never forgive me if they ever saw this side of me. I have a reputation to uphold after all!

Okay, I need to keep this letter short, but I just have to end this by saying, Peter, you're different from other men I've met. You do see me for what I have inside, not just my pretty outside. There's something about you that brings out the best (and worst!) in me. It sounds so corny but it's so true and I didn't really know that I needed to feel like this until you came along. I just wanted you to know that. You make me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. You don't know, all the other guys are just all about themselves, and their posturing, oh my God, it's so annoying. I smile and roll my eyes when they're not looking. But with you, I just don't. You see them, good looking dude bro types trying to impress me, but you're different. I'm not saying you are like James Bond, but you are James Bond... and I usually hate James Bond! You listen to me, you empower me, you treat me like a Goddess, an individual. You're almost single handedly destroying my career as a feminist activist! You've ruined me! Oh my God.

Okay, before I gush some more, I better stop. And I know, once you get back, we can talk about it, where you can meet my friends... and I'll come out in public about you. Just... not yet. Not now. Don't tell anyone yet please. But it's close. Very close.

Okay... I swear this is it. I'll end by saying... I can't wait to see you again.

Your secret love, G.




Look at her. See the rod through her mouth and crotch, the most private of privates. Can you believe what you are seeing? It's as if it was meant to be. It lines up perfectly, don't you think? Isn't it violating don't you think if you can imagine her alive, and seeing herself in this state? Oh... how delicious it must feel for us to stop and think just for one moment, that she isn't meat right now, but a woman, a very human and gorgeous woman, who would be very cross with us at the moment. I'd like to take a second to stop and think about that.

And as I take a piece of her ass and put it in my mouth to chew and swallow. Tasting her. Her tender ass on my tongue and chewing at it with my teeth. Oh. She would be very, very cross with me indeed!

Now, wait... wait another moment, take a pause before you cleave her torso into morsels, give me a moment to enjoy this vision. Oh, yes... yes... the taste of her ass in my mouth is even more delicious! I can't begin to stop thinking that I had almost passed up on this opportunity those many years ago. This... this, my friends, is truly the Food of the Gods. And that's who we are, my friends... the almighty. King of kings... devourer of queens. It is no typical chess game here. Here. We, the kings are truly Gods.



BONUS: Two sketches for your perusal. Can you say... spitroast?

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