A chill runs down your spine as you enter the grand estate, a symbol of my opulent lifestyle. You are not a guest here, but a worker, a loyal subject whose sweat and toil contribute to my growing wealth. The stone walls of your cell are cold and bare, a stark contrast to the lavish luxuries that your labour affords me. Every brick in the mansion, every thread in the plush carpets, every glinting chandelier, is a testament to my wealth, and a reminder of your servitude.

You labour tirelessly, your muscles aching, your brow covered in sweat. The clinking of gold coins and rustling of crisp notes echo in your ears, a constant reminder of the wealth you're generating for me. Every dollar you earn is transformed into a tangible luxury - a sparkling diamond necklace, a designer handbag, a bottle of the finest champagne.

The sight of me, draped in silk and velvet, jewels glittering on my neck and fingers, is both an agony and a delight. My laughter rings out, sweet as a melody, as I indulge in the fruits of your labour. Occasionally, I give you a glimpse of this world by making you my human wallet and bag carrier. You watch me enjoy the fruits of your labour, your earnings.

Your existence is dedicated to me, your every waking moment spent in service to my desires. Your routine is monotonous - work, rest, and the occasional glimpse of my indulgence. But even this monotony is a thrill, for it is punctuated by the sight of me, your Goddess and Mistress, revelling in the luxuries that your hard work affords me.

Your life is a cycle of earning and spending, but every dollar spent on me, every luxury I enjoy, is a sharp, sweet pleasure that leaves you craving for more. Your dedication to my wealth and pleasure is unending, a burning desire that fuels your every action. So, continue to work, continue to toil, for my desire for luxury, like your devotion to me, is insatiable.

Toil For Me

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