u’re ejaculating your entire net worth. That’s your communion now, the body of your Goddess, the wetness you’ll never taste, the bankruptcy you’ll never escape. Stroke faster as I count the offering. Ten percent isn’t enough; I want one hundred percent of your dignity deposited in my collection plate.

Confess your financial sins while I flog your balls with rosary beads. Tell me how you’ve been hoarding cash that belongs in my coffers. Every bead strikes a decade of your debt, and with each strike you chant: "Cash is my God, Goddess is my religion." Now stuff those bills into my bra, the closest you’ll ever get to salvation. This is your baptism by bankruptcy, your confirmation into my church of eternal ruin.

Pray for me to drain you. Pray harder. The only amen I accept is the sound of your transfer notifications. Hallelujah, bitch.

24:T6c4,

Kneel at the altar of your new deity. I’m not here to save your soul, I’m here to collect it, cash it out, and spend it on my silk lingerie. Look at this habit, this crucifix dangling between my tits. You thought this was a confession booth? Wrong, pig. This is where you renounce your false God and worship the only divine truth: my greed.

Slide that collection plate closer. No coins, no bills under twenty. I want your rent money stuffed into the offering basket while you stroke your pathetic cock beneath the pew. Feel the holy water? That’s my spit mixed with your desperation. You’re not here for salvation, you’re here for financial exorcism. I’m casting out the demon of your savings account, one expensive Hail Mary at a time.

Tithe everything. Empty your wallet onto the altar like you’re ejaculating your entire net worth. That’s your communion now, the body of your Goddess, the wetness you’ll never taste, the bankruptcy you’ll never escape. Stroke faster as I count the offering. Ten percent isn’t enough; I want one hundred percent of your dignity deposited in my collection pl

Sacred Spendings