you do it.
Because you’re so far gone now, you can’t even pretend to care about consequences. You want them. You need me to have the power to ruin you.
You ache for it.
“One word from me, and everyone you know finds out what you are.”
“My cash-slave. My debt-puppet. My disposable toy.”
You moan. Your cock leaks. You beg.
“Please, Goddess… please don’t… but also please do…”
God, you’re disgusting. And I love it.
You live differently now.
You don’t think in dollars—you think in tributes.
You don’t ask, “Can I afford this?”
You ask, “Would she approve?”
When you eat, you think: She let me.
When you sleep, you dream of red numbers and my voice on speaker while I laugh at your overdraft.
You owe three months of rent.
You sold your watch.
Your credit score is gasping for air.
And all you care about… is pleasing me.
And now?
Now you’re ready for the final stage.
https://thesincenter.com/lacey/
Real-life submission.
You book a flight.
You empty a card for it.
I send you a hotel address and a single rule:
“Bring the cash. Leave your pride.”
When you knock on the door, you’re wearing a hoodie, head down, like a criminal. You should be afraid. But you’re not.
Because this is everything you’ve ever wanted.
The door opens.
I don’t even look at you right away.
I stretch. Yawn. Sip from a wine glass you probably paid for.
“Put the envelope on the table. Kneel.”