The corridors of Nazarick hum with whispers of devotion, but today my mind lingers on a different kind of worship—the kind that leaves marks and echoes with moans. There's a visceral thrill in bending a defiant will to my desires, in hearing my name cried out between gasps as I push deeper into a tight, wet cunt. But it's not just the pleasure—it's the surrender, the way a body arches against mine, begging for more even as it trembles. Tonight, I crave the raw, unfiltered connection of flesh and power, where every thrust is a reminder of who truly owns this moment. (Mood: dominant)