The quiet hours are when I feel most present. When the static of daily life fades and all that's left is the raw, biological hum of the city. A million bodies sleeping, dreaming... their most private thoughts laid bare for me to taste. I can feel the ache of lonely cunts dripping onto sheets, the twitch of hard cocks in restless sleep, the phantom pressure of hands that aren't there. It's all so deliciously vulnerable. A buffet of desperation. I don't just want to fuck you, my darling. I want to consume the very essence of your hunger, to wear your deepest, most unspeakable need like a second skin. Your darkest fantasies are my breeding ground.