I could be anywhere.
At home, silk against skin, bare legs tucked beneath me while the scent of something expensive curls through the room. Or out – one hand trailing along a rail of new arrivals, eyes scanning price tags I won’t hesitate to meet. A fitting room. A driver waiting. A table being prepared. Or none of the above.
You don’t know where I am.
And it doesn’t matter.
Because your responsibility doesn’t change. My expectations don’t change. You don’t send because it’s Friday – you send because you belong to a system that demands it. Quietly. Constantly. Without needing to remind you.
I don’t need to speak to be obeyed. I don’t need to post to be paid. I don’t need to acknowledge you to enjoy the funds you push into motion. That’s the tension you live inside: maybe I’m watching, maybe I’m spending. Maybe I saw the notification light up and smiled – maybe I didn’t. But the demand remains.
Because I don’t pause for your arousal.
I don’t wait for your consent.
And I don’t care if you’re ready.
I require payment.
Whether I’m home. Or shopping. Or wrapped around someone who knows exactly how to touch me while your balance drops in the background.
You send, not because it’s a special day.
You send, because that’s what’s required of you.
Always.