Yes

It's six weeks later. The sun is going down, and you're flipping through the news on your phone while sat on an armchair in the corner of your living room. You were just starting to consider what you're going to stick in the microwave for dinner, when you hear a heavy vehicle, like a van, backing up up your driveway. It takes a moment for you to remember what kind of delivery you should be expecting, and in excitement, you get up to run and see if you're right. In fact, someone begins pounding on the front door insistently before you've even left the room, and you throw it open moments later to find a delivery guy with the Studs 'R' Us logo on his cap... And his body armour.

"Oh thank God, you're in." He looks tense, and holds out a receipt of delivery for you to sign, and a pen, while three other men in protective clothing bail out of the van and unlock the back. "Traffic was a nightmare, we were afraid we were going to have to abort delivery." He checks his watch as you're signing, and you notice for the first time that he's got what looks like a heavily-modified taser gun dangling from his belt. He calls over his shoulder at the rest of the staff: "We're green! Get the Hot Potato inside, we've only got nine minutes until it's active."

You hand him back the form and he takes it, before beckoning for you to back up into the living room. You ask what a 'Hot Potato' is, and his answer is straightforward enough, although it has you a little worried. "You're an investor, right? Just checkin'. Yeah, 'Hot Potato' is company lingo for a high-aggression package that won't recognise company personnel as friends, and that can potentially have a harmful effect at a distance." You watch over his shoulder as his colleagues manoeuvre the four-foot-tall wooden crate to the middle of the living room and cringe each time they bump it against a door-frame or piece of furniture.

"Time bombs. After one's prepped, we've got a limited window to get it where it needs to be and get on our way, otherwise we have to press the pre-activation emergency fail-safe. Then you'd get an apologetic phone call, along with a refund and a new delivery date. Most expensive button we could ever press."

Almost as quickly as they arrived, they're leaving. You just have enough time to ask whether you should open it once they're gone.
"He won't need your help getting him out, trust me. Thanks for choosing Studs 'R' Us and all that. Have a nice life..." He chuckles and winks before he hops in the passenger seat of the van "... You pervert."

They drive off, and you hurry back inside, heart pumping with adrenaline and nerves. You take a seat in the armchair where you were sat only a few minutes ago, and watch the crate... And wait. You can't tell how many minutes are left, so you calm yourself down, and try to imagine what you've let yourself in for. Magic seemed a good idea at the time - you can imagine all the kinky benefits - and domination just happens to be your thing... But you can't help but wonder if you might have gone overboard mixing the two together. The delivery guys seemed to take getting out out of here in a hurry pretty seriously, and you'd imagine they deal with risky deliveries like these all the time... Or at least you'd expect so? I mean, you never thought to ask over the phone, but surely this wouldn't be even close to the worst 'Hot Potatoes' that Studs 'R' Us have sold... Right?

That thought is interrupted, not by a crack or a crash, but by an explosion. With a flash of light and a wave of scorching heat, followed by the smell of burning ash, the crate bursts into flames and in mere moments is a pile of embers and charred bits of wood, and your 'stud' walks forward, unscathed and unfazed. You freeze in place, uncertain of whether to duck for cover, or run away outright. He is about four-and-a-quarter feet tall at full height, which is actually surprisingly tall for a kobold, in your estimation. His scales are deep red, his eyes a vicious yellow, and he's actually outfitted in what appears to be a dark hooded robe, with crimson and gold trim to it. It's no knock-off, either- you can make out some exquisite leather elements, lots of pockets with metal buckles, and you think he's even wearing some gold jewellery. An amulet, some rings, and the like. A ride of bony horns line the sides of his head; short for the most part, but menacing nonetheless. They increase in length further to the back, with the last pair even coiling down and forward, like those of a ram.

He casts his gaze around ambivalently, as though appraising his surroundings, while you simply sit there in shock. When he looks to you, though, your fight-or-flight reflexes kick in, and you stand up. This is the wrong move, as it turns out, as he holds out a clawed hand in your direction and unfolds his wings to their full extent, allowing you see them for the first time. He clenches his fist, and an invisible pressure closes on you from every direction, and your feet actually lift off the floor! Then you see him gesture downward in a sweeping motion, before the whole room seems to rush up towards you, and you find yourself slammed face-down on the rug.

Shit! Oh shit, this is bad!

You groan, slightly sore, and roll over onto your back. Doing so, you see from a worm's eye view as calmly walks towards you, and looks you dead in the eye with a stare that communicates nothing but contempt and disgust. Then, to add to your growing list of concerns, he lifts his right leg off the ground, and brings his foot down on your neck, just lightly enough to make it not too difficult for you to breathe, while making it abundantly clear exactly who is at who's mercy. You think of bringing your hands up to begin a struggle, before thinking better of it. He seems to notice your lack of resistance however, and leans in a little, before speaking in a grating, malevolent voice that has you sweating in no time.

"I am Lord Kan'rik Dragontail, the sole pure-blooded descendent of Tiamat, and the unsurpassed and uncontested sorcerer-king over all I deign worth claiming. I will say this only once: you, along with this residence and everything within it, now belong to me." As if to accentuate the point, he presses down a little harder, scratching the side of your neck slightly with the four claws on the end of his foot. You see no incentive to argue, yet... Did he just claim to be related to Tiamat? As in the pure evil, multi-headed dragon-goddess of all malevolent dragons? Either he's lying to you, or he's not just a run-of-the-mill megalomaniac... He's completely deluded and dangerously insane!

"You will refer to me as 'master', 'my lord', or 'sir', unless told otherwise. Your name, as of now, is nothing else but what I choose to refer to you by in a given moment, until such a time as I see fit to tell you otherwise. Your only purpose in existing, for the rest of time, is to see that my every command and whim is taken care of, with unwavering loyalty and the full commitment of your entire being, and then to thank me for the blessing of being allowed to serve. Fail me, in these regards or any other, and I shall bring suffering down upon you the likes of which all the infernal denizens of the Nine Hells could not even begin to conceive of. Are we perfectly clear?"

You answer; "Yes, my... My 'lord'."

You're afraid, more afraid than you've ever been... But you can't help but remember that this is a kobold who currently has his foot on your throat. You're not sure if he is capable, technically, of killing you- though the suffering bit you have no doubts about. You certainly have no problems with getting 'into character'... And yet, it's just a little bit more difficult to take him seriously than if he were, well... Taller. He narrows his eyes, listening carefully to your response, and you wonder if he has some idea of what's going through your head.