The heavy oak door of the dungeon creaked open, torchlight spilling across ancient stone. Rose entered, more goddess than mortal, every line of her body alive with command. Her golden hair cascaded like a halo, spilling across the black leather corset that clung to her divine curves, her breasts rising and falling with imperious grace.

She paused, smiling as only a goddess could — indulgent, dangerous, eternal. “On your knees,” she purred, her words rolling like velvet thunder, “where you belong.” Her subject trembled, not in fear, but in rapture. A single gloved finger traced along their jawline, her touch scorching with worship and branding with devotion.

Her laughter shimmered through the air, low and melodic, gilded with promise. “Tell me your truth,” she whispered, her voice curling around the senses like silk dipped in fire. “Do not hold back. Nothing is too much for your goddess.” The words pulled shivers from the kneeling form, devotion spilling freely, raw and desperate.

Rose’s eyes burned with a brilliance that could undo a soul. In her presence, boundaries dissolved, and the night stretched into eternity. She was Mistress, she was Goddess — radiant, irresistible, and utterly sovereign. And in her world, there was no such thing as too much.