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Psychological Torture and Manipulation

Who am I you ask? I run the Circus. I am the boss. Let’s get one thing straight right now, shall we? You will STOP, listen and learn. You are here to obey me. I won’t allow you to shop around like it’s a goddamn supermarket. No. Your simian ass is here to amuse me. You will be broken down like the beast of burden that you truly are. Your pathetic little cum-worm is mine now. I own it. It is only to be used when it pleases me, not you. You will submit to my every whim, you will breathe me in. I am the very source of your existence. You won’t feel the sting of my venom till it’s pumping steadily through your veins, infecting your little mule-brain, forcing you to excrete your objectionable male spunk-juice. Filthy-little cloven-hoofed, pud-wacker that you are. You are my new marionette, to be played with and contorted at my will. I will pull the strings, and you will dance for me. You will soon long to hear my sweet, high-pitched giggle. It will provide you with the sustenance you need to go on. It will wake you in the middle of the night, moving you toward my arena, my playpen. I will rejoice in the pain that longing for my beauty has caused you, knowing that you can’t go on with your normal existence, the weariness of your current bondage. So without further ado, step right up, you pathetic cum-junky, your front row ticket awaits! HAZAAAAAAAAAAH!