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You don’t deserve release.
 Not yet. Not easily. Not without permission.
 You deserve the ache. The need.
 The slow, pulsing hunger that builds under My voice and burns behind your zipper. This isn’t pleasure.
 This is devotion on a leash.
 You’ll sit. You’ll throb. You’ll whimper.
 And I’ll watch you come undone without lifting a single finger.
 Because you are not in control here.
 I am. And I grant you the right…
to ache for Me. 
To squirm. To pant. To stroke without hope.
 To fall deeper with every second of denial. Now hush.
 And feel it.
 The ache is your offering.
 And I am your altar.