You, a pitiful excuse of a man, prostrated at the altar, your body a mere instrument for our dark sacrament. I will oversee as the disciples of this unholy temple desecrate every inch of you, their colossal, ruthless members tearing into you without a shred of mercy. Your whimpers, a symphony to my ears, will only fuel their ferocity. Prepare to be ravished, broken, and remolded, not out of love, but for the sheer, twisted pleasure of your Goddess. You'll emerge not just used, but utterly owned, a testament to the raw, brutal power of the BBC.

You, a pitiful excuse of a man, prostrated at the altar, your body a mere instrument for our dark sacrament. I will oversee as the disciples of this unholy temple desecrate every inch of you, their colossal, ruthless members tearing into you without a shred of mercy. Your whimpers, a symphony to my ears, will only fuel their ferocity. Prepare to be ravished, broken, and remolded, not out of love, but for the sheer, twisted pleasure of your Goddess. You'll emerge not just used, but utterly owned, a testament to the raw, brutal power of the BBC.