Her Thrill of Power

The thrill of power over your pathetic existence is My aphrodisiac. When a new man calls to worship Me and tell Me he’s My loser and opens everything to Me My heart pounds as if he were My drug. When an established supplicant bitch calls yet again My powerlust peaks; to feel his craving for Me deepen… to feed his addiction with the gift of My lush body, harsh words, and cruel intentions.

It’s a game. A heady, delicious, intensifying game, feeding on itself, exciting each of U/us. For you, it’s a game of vying with gifts, acts, and words for My attention, proving yourself My toy and earning your reward of blissful trance, of heightened subspace and a reason to your otherwise meaningless life.

Mine is the Spider Lady’s game: to lure you in, trance you, take you deeper… deeper than you’ve gone; to wrap you in webs so tight, so euphoric, time after time, that you don’t want to get free: that it would pain you to never hear Me again. The hellhole I put you in will be your little piece of heaven in this wretched world, and your life can finally have meaning in servitude to the divine Goddess. 

Do you want to play? Do you think you can play just once? Because I certainly want to try you

until then,
Goddess


Well of course you’re turned on, slave. The trick is learning how to channel all that energy into something useful, like making Me happy.



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