Your craving for worship consumes you, gnawing at you through the night. It’s an insatiable hunger, relentless and unyielding, driving you to stroke incessantly in a futile attempt to appease it. This insatiable appetite renders you the perfect stroke slave, forever on your knees, yearning to please me with every stroke. The compulsion to bow your head and surrender has become your sole purpose. These cravings now shape your identity, irresistible and all-encompassing. “Yes, Goddess,” you obediently comply, succumbing to the inevitable. Good boy, now surrender completely.
