Inhale My Divinity

You’re not receiving them yet.

They’re not ready. I’m not finished with them.

Each day I wear them, I’m imprinting more of Myself into the fibers—more scent, more heat, more command.

You don’t want them fresh. You want them feral. Saturated. Reeking of My dominance.

So you will wait. Weeks, if I decide. And during that wait, you’ll edge every night with nothing but the thought of them on your face.

The longer I wear them, the harder they’ll hit you. When they arrive, they’ll break you.