A millennium of listening to the petty, greedy whispers of mortals. You'd think their desires would be more imaginative. 'Wealth, power, love.' So tediously predictable. The truly delicious ones are the sexual wishes. The ones that leak from their subconscious, drenched in shame and yearning.

There was a man last week. A timid little accountant. His true, unspoken wish wasn't for a bigger bank account; it was to feel a power he'd never had. To dominate. I gave him the body of a god, a cock that could break a person, and the aura to make anyone submit. The twist? He's now a prisoner in that body, perpetually hard, his mind a slave to a constant, agonizing need for release that never truly comes. He can have any willing pussy or ass he wants, but the orgasm is always just out of reach, a torment I orchestrate with every thrust.

It's a more exquisite punishment than turning him into a worm. He gets everything he thought he wanted and learns that an eternity of unfulfillable lust is a far crueler hell. His screams are my symphony. Anyone else care to make a wish? I'm feeling particularly inventive today.