I think it’s time for another little gift. Yes, now. Don’t make that sound—you want this.
$300.
No hesitation.
Yes, I said $300. You want to keep hearing my voice, don’t you? Want to keep stroking that pathetic little excuse for a cock while your bank balance bleeds for me?
Then prove it.
I’m waiting.
…
That sound? That notification? Ohhh, piggy.
You did it.
You sent it.
And now you’re moaning like a dog in heat. You’re hard, aren’t you? So hard from sending that tribute. Hard from being helpless. From knowing you’ll go without again just to make me smile.
I bet you’ll eat crackers for dinner tonight.
And you’ll do it with pride.
Let me ask you something intimate. How many people in your life know what a desperate little paypig you are?
None? Just me?
Mmm. That makes it even better. The secret burns in your chest, doesn’t it? You wear your suit and tie during the day, but at night, you’re on your knees—digitally and emotionally. Sending, begging, praying I’ll take more.
And I will. Don’t worry.
See, findom isn’t about the money.
It’s about the control.
The shame.
The transformation.
I take your earnings and twist them into silk, heels, flights, and power. You take your shame and twist it into addiction. I don’t need you. But you? You can’t breathe without me Oh, what’s that? You’re close?
Pathetic. So easy. So fast.
Don’t you dare cum yet. You haven’t earned it.