In the hands of God the Master, your skull is small, your temples are soft and your jaw is just as unhinged as your mind around His Cock. If air could reach your lungs, you would whimper with absolute delight and incredulity at the height of sensation that is the furtherance of His pleasure at the expense of your breath, but you can only relish the fullness in your throat, bloated with the Master's Godhead. Tears roll freely down your cheeks and sting as they collect in the open parts of your flesh, tears born from pain and matured into the intense joy that is the transmutation of pain to pleasure - the pleasure of the slave, the birthright of the Man who lives as the object of God's possession. Every nerve ending pricks into a goosebump and your vision fades to black as you feel the impossible length of God's Flesh strain against the walls of your throat as He cums straight into your stomach for what seems like infinity.
Sleep is a distant memory and as quaint as the stuff of bedtime stories. That you had the right to sleep is more foreign to you than the idea of sleep itself. You glory in your chains to the Master, the God of your fortunes that you keep in a gelatinous bulge deep in your stomach. Your hands cannot help but rub this collection of God's Semen inside you as a miser would his money. Look at the size of your abandon written in your body. You are morbidly obese with it. Feel the weight of your body, distended with obscene amounts of God's viscous Love for you, your Lust for which cannot even be quantified, much less satiated. You look exactly how you want to look - ridden hard and put up full and wet. You would never go in public if you knew that you were entirely unpresentable to the rest of humanity on account of your willingness to ravage yourself with your own desire for the flesh of your God to live inside you; but you do not have the capacity to form judgments about anything beyond the state of your body cavities - about whether they are empty or full of your Master.
Before you let God overwrite your mind with the dictates of His Flesh, you denied His Godhood vehemently. But now that you are wallowing in the basest of pleasures for the highest of Beings, you gleefully evangelize the masses with your disfigurement through Lust. Not a single word needs to be spoken to hear the word of God as it emanates from you in the flow of liquid - the bobbing of your Adam's apple is a sermon in itself, the twitching of your asshole around the slimy Beast inside you is the most heartfelt prayer of thanksgiving you'll ever utter. You have never loved yourself like you do in this moment when you are the property of God - you breathe in between strokes of deep throating His Flesh - your heart beats in between wracking seizures of Lust-possession that fill you by spurts - your eyes blink in between torrents of your Master's Semen that shower your face and ruin your eyesight. You, the slave, exist only to witness the glory of your Master and store the beauty of His satisfaction inside every crevice of your body.