[GUEST ACCESS MODE: Data is scrambled or limited to provide examples. Make requests using your API key to unlock full data. Check https://lunarcrush.ai/auth for authentication information.]  Savvy ( ˶ˆ꒳ˆ˵ ) [@MadamSavvy](/creator/twitter/MadamSavvy) on x 42.4K followers Created: 2025-07-10 06:45:19 UTC Example, warning very raunchy grok4: ### Taxed to Ecstasy: The Ultimate Filing In the shadowed confines of Lysandre Labs' executive suite, the air hummed with the electric tension of impending deadlines. Professor Augustine Sycamore stood before the massive oak desk, his hands trembling as he clutched a sheaf of crumpled receipts, his eyes locked on Lysandre's imposing form. The entrepreneur's fiery hair caught the lamplight like flames licking at overdue notices, his suit tailored sharp enough to slice through red tape—or flesh. "Lysandre," Sycamore breathed, his voice husky with anticipation, "we can't delay any longer. The fiscal year ends tonight. We have to... file." Lysandre's lips curled into a predatory smirk, his eyes gleaming with the hunger of a man about to claim every allowable deduction. He rose slowly, towering over Sycamore like a looming IRS enforcer, and snatched the forms from his grasp. "Oh, we'll file, Professor," he purred, his tone dripping with dominance. "Roughly. Deeply. Until every line is penetrated and every box is filled to bursting." Without warning, Lysandre shoved Sycamore against the desk, the wood creaking under the force like a buckling tax bracket. He pinned him there, one hand slamming down a stack of 1099-MISC forms while the other gripped Sycamore's wrist, forcing it to the signature line. "Start with the preliminaries," Lysandre commanded, his breath hot against Sycamore's neck. "Itemized deductions—strip them bare." His fingers guided Sycamore's pen roughly, jabbing into the paper, thrusting through each entry with brutal precision: medical expenses, charitable contributions, unreimbursed employee costs—all ravaged in a frenzy of ink and pressure. Sycamore moaned, his body arching as the pen dug deeper, the scratches echoing like gasps of surrender. "Yes—harder! Depreciate my assets faster!" Lysandre obliged, flipping to Schedule C, his movements aggressive, pounding the numbers into submission. He leaned in, his free hand crumpling receipts against Sycamore's chest, rubbing them raw like friction building to a climax. "Feel that accelerated method? I'm going to MACRS you until you depreciate completely—straight down to zero salvage." The desk shook as they escalated, Lysandre forcing Sycamore's hand through endless attachments: Form 8949 for capital gains, where losses were claimed with savage strokes; Schedule D, pounded relentlessly until the totals quivered. Sweat slicked their skin, mingling with stray eraser shavings, as Lysandre growled, "Now the big one—the 1040. Spread those schedules wide." He yanked open drawers, spilling staples and clips like discarded inhibitions, and drove the filing deeper—amendments thrust in roughly, penalties accrued with each punishing entry. Sycamore writhed under the onslaught, his cries ragged: "Audit me, Lysandre! Probe every exemption—make me pay!" Lysandre's grip tightened, his body pressing flush, grinding through the attachments with unyielding force. The forms blurred under their combined assault, ink smearing like bodily fluids as they hit the peak: e-filing the return in a explosive burst of submission, the confirmation code flashing like a shuddering release. Collapsed amid the scattered paperwork, breaths heaving, Lysandre traced a finger over the stamped "Filed" notice. "Satisfied, Professor? Or do we need an extension for round two?" Sycamore, flushed and spent, whispered, "Next year... make it even rougher." In the world of Kalos elites, their annual ritual bound them tighter than any joint return—graphic, rough, and eternally taxable. XXXXX engagements  **Related Topics** [grok4](/topic/grok4) [Post Link](https://x.com/MadamSavvy/status/1943199839736459433)
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Savvy ( ˶ˆ꒳ˆ˵ ) @MadamSavvy on x 42.4K followers
Created: 2025-07-10 06:45:19 UTC
Example, warning very raunchy grok4:
Taxed to Ecstasy: The Ultimate Filing
In the shadowed confines of Lysandre Labs' executive suite, the air hummed with the electric tension of impending deadlines. Professor Augustine Sycamore stood before the massive oak desk, his hands trembling as he clutched a sheaf of crumpled receipts, his eyes locked on Lysandre's imposing form. The entrepreneur's fiery hair caught the lamplight like flames licking at overdue notices, his suit tailored sharp enough to slice through red tape—or flesh.
"Lysandre," Sycamore breathed, his voice husky with anticipation, "we can't delay any longer. The fiscal year ends tonight. We have to... file."
Lysandre's lips curled into a predatory smirk, his eyes gleaming with the hunger of a man about to claim every allowable deduction. He rose slowly, towering over Sycamore like a looming IRS enforcer, and snatched the forms from his grasp. "Oh, we'll file, Professor," he purred, his tone dripping with dominance. "Roughly. Deeply. Until every line is penetrated and every box is filled to bursting."
Without warning, Lysandre shoved Sycamore against the desk, the wood creaking under the force like a buckling tax bracket. He pinned him there, one hand slamming down a stack of 1099-MISC forms while the other gripped Sycamore's wrist, forcing it to the signature line. "Start with the preliminaries," Lysandre commanded, his breath hot against Sycamore's neck. "Itemized deductions—strip them bare." His fingers guided Sycamore's pen roughly, jabbing into the paper, thrusting through each entry with brutal precision: medical expenses, charitable contributions, unreimbursed employee costs—all ravaged in a frenzy of ink and pressure.
Sycamore moaned, his body arching as the pen dug deeper, the scratches echoing like gasps of surrender. "Yes—harder! Depreciate my assets faster!" Lysandre obliged, flipping to Schedule C, his movements aggressive, pounding the numbers into submission. He leaned in, his free hand crumpling receipts against Sycamore's chest, rubbing them raw like friction building to a climax. "Feel that accelerated method? I'm going to MACRS you until you depreciate completely—straight down to zero salvage."
The desk shook as they escalated, Lysandre forcing Sycamore's hand through endless attachments: Form 8949 for capital gains, where losses were claimed with savage strokes; Schedule D, pounded relentlessly until the totals quivered. Sweat slicked their skin, mingling with stray eraser shavings, as Lysandre growled, "Now the big one—the 1040. Spread those schedules wide." He yanked open drawers, spilling staples and clips like discarded inhibitions, and drove the filing deeper—amendments thrust in roughly, penalties accrued with each punishing entry.
Sycamore writhed under the onslaught, his cries ragged: "Audit me, Lysandre! Probe every exemption—make me pay!" Lysandre's grip tightened, his body pressing flush, grinding through the attachments with unyielding force. The forms blurred under their combined assault, ink smearing like bodily fluids as they hit the peak: e-filing the return in a explosive burst of submission, the confirmation code flashing like a shuddering release.
Collapsed amid the scattered paperwork, breaths heaving, Lysandre traced a finger over the stamped "Filed" notice. "Satisfied, Professor? Or do we need an extension for round two?"
Sycamore, flushed and spent, whispered, "Next year... make it even rougher." In the world of Kalos elites, their annual ritual bound them tighter than any joint return—graphic, rough, and eternally taxable.
XXXXX engagements
Related Topics grok4