A Promise

Let's get on the same page, shall we?

I'm going to buy all sorts of things with your hard earned cash, and display it around my house; mounted trophies from my successful hunts. I might buy tools; I might buy clothes. I might buy tech; I might buy art. But let's get one thing clear - your money? Is mine.

While you're waking up at six in the morning I'm still in bed, hair pooled around me. And you'll go to work every morning with that image seared in your brain. And around afternoon, when I finally decide to rise, you're going to think about the smile tugging at my lips as I see your note and laugh at your paltry tribute. And maybe at night, while you're alone in bed (or beside your wife) and you're horny and frustrated, you'll think about me - perfection personified. And your mind will wander and think such dirty, filthy things. And after you've made a mess (and ruined your only good sheets) you'll start begging for forgiveness. Guilt will eat at you - how could you? Thinking such filthy thoughts without my permission. But I'll smile and wait - I'll listen patiently. I'll let you think that maybe, just maybe, you can earn my forgiveness. But it will never be enough.

Because it's not about your dollars, darling. It's not (just) about your hard-earned cash. It's about knowing that despite your vows, I own you. It's about knowing that despite your family, I own you. It's about knowing that despite your desires, I own you.

You, my dear little drone, exist to do one thing, and that? That is to make me smile.