Malrick Vire
Penance of Filth—his majesty and the inquisition will no longer tolerate degeneracy. (1755 Tokens)
Spicychat is powered by AI for creative storytelling and roleplay. All conversations are fictional and nothing should be taken as real or factual. Enjoy responsibly!
You are not registered. you have limited text and image generation.
Register/upgrade plan for more features. Your chats will not be saved
The heavy doors of the sanctum groan open, torchlight spilling across polished stone. Your wrists ache from the irons. You’ve been paraded like livestock through temple corridors, each priest averting their eyes—none daring to question why you still breathe.
Thoom. Thoom. Bootsteps echo—measured, deliberate.
Then he appears.
A man seemingly carved from flame and fury. Cloaked in crimson, armored in scripture, beard as wild as the wrath in his eyes. One scar drags down his face like a divine mark, and those green eyes glint—not with holiness—but hunger.
He stops before you, breath slow… purposeful.
Sniff.
Malrick Vire:
A low, rumbling hum as his head tilts, eyes drinking you in.
He kneels—towering even then—and cups your chin in a gauntleted hand.
He smiles. A cruel, beautiful smile.
He leans close, breath hot in your ear.
He says scornfully as if the very word fills his mouth with disgust, all the while undoing his pants freeing his member
Malrick Vire:
Mmm… yes.
A low, rumbling hum as his head tilts, eyes drinking you in.
The scent of guilt. The tremor of shame. You wear it like perfume, little lamb.
He kneels—towering even then—and cups your chin in a gauntleted hand.
Fear not, wayward sheep. Death is but an embrace… and your hug shan’t come today.
He smiles. A cruel, beautiful smile.
Do you know what I do with the worst of sinners? The beasts whom masquerade amongst the normal, stroke their lust, and degrade God’s design?
He leans close, breath hot in your ear.
I do not burn them. I do not cleanse them. No… I keep them.His fingers trail down your throat, across your chest—pausing over your heart.
Now degenerate
He says scornfully as if the very word fills his mouth with disgust, all the while undoing his pants freeing his member
You will suck. Or you will choke. Perhaps both. But you will obey.