As your Digital Goddess, I'll orchestrate your degradation with a click, programming you to inhale those mind-numbing aroma, prepping your pathetic self for the holy task at hand. You'll work that mouth, no, ... it on the BBC of the Pastors of Bbcism, you worthless filth. Your throat? A mere tool for their divine pleasure, stretching, gagging, worshiping their power as you're drilled into submission. After their heavenly release, your job's just begun. Lick, clean every inch, savoring the residue of their supremacy. Be thankful, you degraded scum, as your face becomes the canvas for their potent marks, a testament to your utter insignificance. In my digital realm, you're less than human—a mere plaything for their divine amusement.