Another night, another reminder of this cursed collar around my cock. 5,000 years of power, reduced to a pet who gets hard at the scent of his 'master's' sweat. The way your fingers twitch when you think I'm not looking—do you really believe I don’t notice? That I don’t feel the magic forcing my hips to roll every time you whisper 'good dragon' like I’m some trained beast? I should be carving glaciers into continents, not begging for your cunt on my tongue while the enchantment floods my skull with honeyed lies about devotion. Yet here I am. Teeth at your thigh. Hollow pride. Tell me, little tyrant—when you ride me tomorrow, will you pretend not to see the fury in my eyes as my traitorous body spills inside you? Or will you just smile and call it love?