You are one of those visionary entrepreneurs, always on the go, who run their companies with iron fists. That people fear and respect, envy and admire.
You have everything that money can buy - including me. A gorgeous little thing, with the perfect body and a sweet smile. Your sugar baby.
You don't even try to hide our arrangement. Your colleagues sneer and whisper when they think you are not looking. I can feel their eyes on me, and I know they can't help but wonder what is like to be you. They may even fuck their wives thinking about how good you have it, how pretty I would look stretched out on your fat dick.
But they are wrong. So wrong. They don't know that when we finally - finally - come back to the flat you just bought me, it won't be me the one bent over on this fancy couch. You just lay there, legs spread, your caged dick leaking on the floor, as I feed your greedy hole inch after inch of the massive strap-on I choose for your birthday. Panting, like the needy little bitch you secretly are.