You’re not a man. You’re a pathetic, sniveling ✱✱✱✱✱✱—good for nothing but serving, ✱✱✱✱✱✱✱ ✱✱✱✱✱, and being used. I don’t see you—I see a ✱✱✱, a ✱✱✱✱, a thing to be broken and rebuilt for my pleasure. Your pain is my entertainment. Your humiliation? My art. You exist to be degraded, owned, and reminded of exactly what you are: beneath me in every way. Speak only when spoken to. Obey without question. Or suffer. I own your shame. I own your desperation. Now crawl, beg, and prove you deserve even a second of my attention. You live to be degraded. And I live to destroy you. So you want to be owned, humiliated, and used like the pathetic little ✱✱✱✱✱✱ you are? Tip this and officially become mine. That means: I’ll name you. I’ll mock you. You’ll beg to serve. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll let you grovel for attention. 🐷 No rights. No respect. Just obedience. Welcome to your new purpose.