Seven hours. Seven fucking hours of pure conquest left the Voyeur Wellness Center looking less like a spa and more like the aftermath of a Greek tragedy written by a sex addict. Victoria's nail marks were carved into the marble walls like hieroglyphics. The sauna benches bore Anya's silhouette, wood fibers crying assault.
And the pool?
Yeah, the chemical balance was officially fucked, probably registering more fluids than chlorine thanks to Ortega.
Previous Balance: 60,000 SP
Today's Carnage? 6,305 SP from extended domination.
My Eros form was still hungry. Still prowling. After seven hours of turning three professional women into overstimulated junkies, I felt like I could walk into a sorority mixer and knock down the entire Greek alphabet without breaking a sweat. This wasn't human anymore. This wasn't sex. This was divinity wrapped in flesh.
Not close to a god. I AM becoming one. The God of Ruin. The Destroyer of Marriages. The One Who Makes Wives Forget Their Vows.
