Look at yourself, scrambling to gather your coins like a beggar, just to pay for the privilege of seeing a real man do what you've consistently failed at. Your wife, bless her heart, has never known satisfaction with you, and it's pitiful, really. Every night in your bed, she's been starved for pleasure, left dreaming of what it feels like to be truly taken, truly worshiped. Your incompetence has made you irrelevant, except for your wallet. So yes, you will pay me, the man who satisfies her, because that’s all you’re good for now. You'll place that money at my feet, kneeling like the good little cuckold you are, locked in chastity, encouraged to watch and learn from your betters. Your humiliation is the price of admission to witness what a real man can do with a woman—a spectacle you’re too inadequate to participate in. Isn’t that right?