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... ge—muscular cleavage, the kind that came with scars, protein powder, and war crimes.

"Rise, mortal snack," boomed a voice that sounded like a vibrator possessed by a demon.

He blinked.

Mistress Matronica stood over him in her absurd armor made of polished bedposts, chained bras, and what suspiciously looked like the headboard of a destroyed love hotel.

Her abs flexed.

Her thighs flexed.

His willpower did not flex.

Henry screamed. "Where am ...

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