In the hallowed, twisted halls of the Church of BBCism, you're the sacrificial lamb laid bare on the altar of insatiable lust, where a congregation of bulls treats your body like a mere vessel for their primal urges. Each bull, more voracious than the last, plunges into your depths, stretching, claiming, and marking you as their territory, their relentless thrusts a testament to your utter subjugation. Your holes, no longer yours, are public property here, rough and ceaselessly ravaged, each penetration a deeper notch of ownership etched into your flesh. After the herd has had its fill, leaving you drenched in a mix of sweat, spit, and seed, the cleaner, observing your despoiled form, decides to partake. With a rough fervor, he breeds you, a stark reminder that in this church, you're nothing but a cum dumpster, a receptacle of endless use. And when he's done, the oldest pastor approaches, not to use you as the others have but to degrade you further, making you to clean him, to worship his aged, commanding cock with your mouth, a final act of humiliation in your ceaseless cycle of humiliation.