I own you. Completely, totally, infinitely. So much that you will stare at my face for the whole video laying it out for you in my enchanting voice.

I own you. Absolutely, irreversibly. How much do I own you? I just have to snap my fingers and you leave everything you are doing, hop on a plane and fly to wherever I am, just for the slight chance of waiting on me in some club or restaurant, like an invisible servant, an insignificant slave, born to serve superior women. I might not even know your name. What difference does it make?

Goddess Charlotte Stokely

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