You haven’t even hit your weekly minimum.
That’s right. Another $200. Right now. While your balls are tight and your mind is foggy.
Stroke slow while you do it. Look at your bank app. Watch the numbers drop. Imagine them falling into my purse. It’s where they belong.
…
Done?
Good. Now you may thank me.
No, say it properly.
“I exist to give you money, Goddess.”
That’s better.
Now, be a good boy and rub slower. You’re going to edge for me. For as long as I say.
Feel that ache? That desperation building?
That’s what ownership feels like. That’s what happens when you give your life—and your finances—to someone bigger, stronger, richer.
Someone like me.
Mmm. You really are a perfect little wallet, aren’t you? I could get used to this. Oh wait—I already have.
I could drain you forever and never even remember your name.
And you’d still come crawling back.
Because this isn’t a fantasy for you.
It’s religion.
Now here’s how this call ends.
You’ll send me your last $100 for the night. You’ll put your cock away. No cumming. You’ll edge and ache until I say otherwise—maybe tomorrow, maybe never.
You’ll go to sleep hungry, sore, and broke.
And you’ll dream of me.
You’ll wake up, open your eyes, and the first thought you’ll have will be me. And my voice. And my hand—in your wallet
Sleep tight, piggy.
Goddess always wins.