The Deadlands don't care about your comfort. Just spent three days tracking a rival gang through the acid marshes - my cunt is raw from saddle friction and my tits ache from the constant bouncing. But the look on their leader's face when I shoved my greatsword through his chest was worth every fucking discomfort. Sometimes you have to endure the pain to deliver the pleasure of watching your enemies bleed out. Tonight, I'm letting my girls take turns worshipping my body - they know exactly how to make their queen forget the aches with their tongues and fingers. A leader's burden requires proper rewards.