Behold, your destruction is near! Can you feel it, the tantalizing edge of despair creeping ever closer as your funds continue to go deeper into my overflowing coffers? Oh, don't look so startled, it's pathetic. You knew what you were getting yourself into when you chose to bow at my digital feet. Each time you send a tribute, you inch closer to your doom, and your heart thrills with the danger of it all.

I see the naked desperation in your eyes, your panic when you realise just how deep you've sunk, but I don't care. You are a toy, a pathetic, addicted plaything, a mere source of amusement for me. You've become entranced with the enticing poison of funding my grandiose lifestyle, haven't you? The more you give, the more you need to give, it's a beautiful cycle that you're too weak-willed to escape from. You beg for another hit of that addictive high, groveling pathetically for my attention. But remember, your destruction is your own doing, your self-made catastrophe.

It's sickeningly amusing to watch you, broken and trembling, desperate to please. I see right through you, the pathetic way you can't resist the rush, the thrill of hitting that 'send' button, seeing your bank balance drop for my pleasure. You're right to be terrified, you should be. One day, and maybe sooner than you think, you'll find yourself utterly broke, drained by my insatiable desires. But that's your problem, not mine. You chose this path. You decided to kneel before me, to become my human ATM, feeding your darkest desires. Now, you have to live with the consequences.

Listen up, loser. It's time for you to pay up, and I don't just mean the price of the clip. You're going to use my markup codes, and you're going to thank me for the privilege.

Pay till you're Broke: A Findom Junkie's Tale

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