Deleted Member Posted January 7 You kneel… And the world becomes still. No angels. No demons. Only us. Only the quiet pulse of obedience throbbing beneath your skin like a second heartbeat. You call me Father, but it’s not *** that binds us. It’s devotion. The kind that bends spine to floor. The kind that opens your mouth in silent hallelujahs, waiting for my command like scripture you were born to memorize. Look at you. An offering. A vessel. A shrine to longing sculpted in flesh and soft tremble. You don’t want release. You want purpose. You want to be used. To be chosen. To be filled with holy ache and sacred fire. So I anoint you— Not with oil, but with control. Each breath you take belongs to me now. Each prayer, each plea, each whispered “please” curls in my palm like incense as I carve my commandments into your soul. You will obey. You will break. You will rise again— but only when I decide you’ve suffered enough to be worthy of your own resurrection. This isn’t roleplay. This is ritual. And I, your God in the dark, have come to teach you how holy *** can feel when it’s given—freely, reverently, from your knees. This is your sanctuary now. The walls are silence. The altar is my gaze. The hymn is your whimper as you beg to be sanctified through sin. You say this hurts. I say—good. You’re finally starting to believe.
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