You’ve been sending money for so long, haven’t you? Every transaction—my receipt. Every tribute—my confirmation that you’re exactly where you belong: paying for what you’ll never possess. And now, I want you to get a good look at it. Every penny you’ve sent, every pathetic little transaction—they’re mine now. You’ve funded my pleasure, but you’ll never get to experience it. You’ll never be inside me, no matter how much you pay. So, take all your receipts, all that money you’ve willingly spent—and I want you to cum all over them. You can’t touch me. You can’t have me. But you can dirty your proof, marking it with your shame. Because that’s all your little cock will ever get—disposable, pathetic, and used. Your receipts are reminders of just how far below me you’ll always be.