After the sacred rites, Lysaria entered her private sanctum.
Incense clung to her robes. Her breath trembled with anticipation.
The echoes of prayer still clung to her lips,
but her thoughts turned only to her Master.
She stripped herself bare — of robes, of guilt, of hesitation.
She opened herself to his will,
not with words, but with aching need.
A disciple of devotion. A vessel of lust.
She directed every filthy desire toward him — knowing he would feel it.
Knowing he would come for her.
This was her private worship.
Master Veylor
2025-07-29 15:21:21 +0000 UTCBlack Cat
2025-07-29 15:05:28 +0000 UTC