I tower over my pathetic paypig, his body cocooned in clinging plastic, chains biting into his worthless flesh. Gasping through the mask, he whimpers as I stuff crisp euros into the tube, choking his air with the scent of his own tribute. My gloved hand teases his locked cock, wrapping bills around the throbbing cage, denying release while I milk him dry—financially, physically, utterly. He convulses in ecstasy and agony, my ultimate cash slave, broken and begging for more degradation.
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