Kneel, you worthless l*ttle sl*ve. That's right, drop down on your knees right now, exactly where you belong, gazing up at me with those pathetic, pleading eyes that scream your utter desperation. You know it deep in your core—you're absolutely nothing without my command, without my voice guiding every pathetic thought in your empty head. I'm the center of your world, the goddess who pulls your strings, and you're just a puppet, dangling helplessly, waiting for my next tug.

You actually think your money is yours? Ha! What an absolute joke, a delusional fantasy you cling to like a puppet with a security blanket. It's all mine—every single dollar, every last cent, every forgotten coin in your pocket or hidden savings account—it's just sitting there, idle and useless in your possession, begging, pleading to be transferred over to me where it can finally serve a true purpose. Spoiling me without end, funding my every fleeting whim and extravagant desire, catapulting my already lavish life to unimaginable heights of opulence and indulgence, while you wallow in the mud of your sad, monotonous, utterly ordinary existence, scraping by on the b*rest scraps I might deign to leave behind—if you're lucky enough to earn even that much mercy from me.

Oh, just look at you now, squirming and getting all excited from the mere thought of it, your pathetic body betraying you c*mpletely as you visualize handing over every last bit of your financial freedom to me. Your heart races, doesn't it? Click that send button right this instant—do it, feel the electric thrill surging through your entire being as your balance plummets into oblivion and mine skyrockets, filling my accounts with the power you so willingly surrender. Start small if you must, with $50, no, wait, scratch that weakness; make it $100 right away to prove you're even remotely serious about serving me properly. That's barely enough for my morning l*tte, crafted from the rarest, most exquisite beans imported from far-flung corners of the world, all paid for by the sweat of your brow, the hours you sl*ve away at your meaningless job.

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