Mmmm. You’re calling again, piggy. I could feel it. My phone lights up with your desperate little name, and I just know your wallet’s already quivering. You miss me, don’t you? Say it.
Say it louder.
Good boy.
You love the way I make you feel—weak, small, obedient. You need this. Need me to reach through this line, through your shame and your bank account, and take what I want. And what I want, baby, is everything.
That aching little whimper? I heard it. And I live for it.
You know how this goes. You came here to surrender. Your pride, your control, your precious dollars. Let me tell you a little secret, sweetheart.
The moment you dialed me, you gave me your soul… but I’m more interested in your credit limit.
Tell me—did you get paid today?
Mmm, I can tell.
There’s that little spike in your voice.
Don’t lie to me.
I know my little wallet bitch too well. I know how you squirm when you’ve got fresh money in your account and a craving in your belly.
You want me to drain you dry, don’t you?
Of course you do.
That pathetic gasp when I said “drain”? You’re so predictable. So obedient. So mine.
But don’t worry, piggy—I take care of what’s mine. I’ll bleed you with finesse. With a manicured hand wrapped around your digital leash.
Now listen carefully.
I want you to open your banking app.
Right now.
And while you do…