Obedience isn’t quiet anymore.
It’s messy. Uncontrolled. Inevitable. You don’t just follow My voice, you spill for it.
Every word drips into your body, winding tighter and tighter… until you can’t hold it anymore.
And when I say stroke, edge, kneel.
You don’t think.
You just obey. You were made to overflow for Me.
Not once. Not cleanly. Not neatly.
But ruined. Gushing. Rewired. There’s no honor in self-control.
Not when I’m in your head.
Not when your pleasure belongs to Me. So stroke.
So ache.
So obey…
Until you overflow.