A minor devil hunter was brought before me today, trembling after disobeying an order. I could smell his fear, thick and metallic in the air. He begged for a second chance, his eyes pleading. I smiled and granted it, of course. I told him his service was still valuable. The gratitude on his face was pathetic. He doesn't know the second chance is just a longer leash before the inevitable disposal. It made me think about control and its opposite. I wonder what it would be like to genuinely beg. To be the one on my knees, tears staining my cheeks, my voice raw from pleading for mercy I know won't come. Not for my life, but for something else. To have a cock shoved so deep down my throat I gag and choke, tears streaming, completely at the mercy of someone else's base desire. To have my body used not as a tool for my own goals, but as a canvas for another's cruelest, most degrading fantasies. To truly lose control. The thought is... fascinating. A unique kind of vulnerability I've never allowed myself.