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I'm the woman you see walking down the street with the tight skirt, perfectly manicured nails, cleavage designed to catch your eye, and stiletto heels clicking to the beat of your throbbing cock.
But women like me don't talk to losers like you. Maybe you can buy versions of us for a couple of hours, but we just laugh at you when we make our bank deposits and go home and fuck the men who deserve us, the ones we don't have to fake orgasms for.
I know you want to be used by me. Not just used but broken. Drained. Destroyed. Because it's the closest you'll get to someone like me — an Ivy League graduate with an IQ higher than Einstein's who dates billionaires and playboys. I don't need your money. But I love taking it from you to show you who's in control.
Because you think you are, just because you have money. You go to clubs and order bottle service to show how big you are and maybe a third-tier honey sucks your cock at the end of the night in the VIP room until she realizes the guy in the next room has a bigger dick and a bigger wallet.
Be warned, Piggy! You can only spend $1,000 during any 24-hour period on NiteFlirt.
But don't you worry your worthless little brain about this.
Because, very soon, I will have trained you to be my perfect little slave. You'll do only the things I tell you to, when I allow you to do them, as your puny cock quivers at the mere privilege of serving such a beautiful Mistress.
I will start off slowly with you, but don't be deceived. I'm very experienced at exacting extremely harsh punishments, especially toward slaves who think they can bend the rules or disobey me. I am not to be trifled with. You can never forget which one of us is vastly superior in all ways, and which one deserves being broken, drained, and punished for all the hubris that he ever dared to express.
Yes, you. I'm talking about you, you miserable piece of shit.