My throne overlooks your pathetic form, chained spread-eagle to the cross, your skin quivering in anticipation of my wrath. I rise, iron glowing red-hot in my grip, and sear your flesh with merciless precision, your howls music to my ears as blisters rise like offerings. Fingers probe your vulnerabilities, then I strap on my monstrous tool, thrusting deep into your core, shattering your will in waves of exquisite torment. You exist only to suffer for my pleasure, broken and branded eternally mine.
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