No face. No mercy. Just my tattooed legs straining in tight leggings as I endure a raw, private battle. Hear every gasp, every wet plop of my degrading release. You’re allowed to witness your Goddess’s suffering – legs trembling, ink glistening with sweat, my contempt echoing with each vulgar sound. This is your punishment: to crave the filth of my struggle. I wipe. I flush. You stay desperate. Pay for the privilege, maggot.
