Ton portefeuille se vide le jour de mon anniversaire, coaching masturbatoire

You, a worthless speck in the grand scheme of my world, have the audacity to exist without paying homage to me on my birthday, December 26th. Today, your pathetic existence gains some semblance of purpose as you grovel at my feet, your wallet open and your insignificant manhood in hand. You'll stroke under my strict command, each motion a testament to your servility and desperation. Your first tribute, a measly $26, is laughable, but it's just the beginning. With each payment, a pitiful attempt to garner my attention, you'll edge closer to financial ruin. My mocking laughter rings in your ears as you obey, each stroke making you more of a spineless financial puppet. By the end, your bank account will ..., and your dignity will be shattered, all in honor of your Winter Birthday Queen. You're nothing but an ATM on legs, a source of my amusement and wealth. Embrace your degradation; it's the only gift you're worthy of giving