Your existence is simple: work for money, give it to me, repeat until you’re empty. You’re not a man—you’re my machine.

You’ll sit at home, refreshing your balance, watching it shrink. I’ll sit out laughing, living off what I drained from you. That’s your weekend ritual now.

Saturday night: I’m drunk on your money. You’re drunk on humiliation. Both of us get exactly what we want.

The way you’ll zero yourself for my cock is fucking hilarious 🤣 Active doing video calls, customs etc

I want my aftershave reimbursed. £140.