I think, for me, there’s two parts to it: there’s the physical, the usual parts of vore. A soft, warm body in my mouth, squirming, but better than before because it’s willing, because she’s rubbing up against me just as much as I’m trying to taste and tease her.
At the same time, though, there’s also the psychological, the fact that she’s not only willing to do it, willing to give herself, willing to become food, but wants it, maybe even more than I do… because in all honesty I’m probably too soft for my own good. The idea that someone wants to end, to be subsumed, by me, because of me, to want it so much that it excites them thrills me.
There’s something that’s both inherently dehumanizing, to reduce someone to food, but also intimate about vore, and it only becomes more so when both sides are the ones interested. You can be friends or lovers for years, you can both enjoy the process and make it an even better experience, but once you eat them they’re gone, and you’re the one who did it. There’s some sort of extra, almost unholy spice that kind of act adds to the proceedings.
I like to picture a sushi platter, but with SWs instead. Each one of them dressed in a little seaweed outfit, each one posing cheerfully. More than that, they’re enjoying it, and each other, and there’s even a few bathing in the dish of soy sauce.
Bliss.