What a glorious thing it is, blackmail. At its most basic form, blackmail is simply defined as “any payment extorted by intimidation, as by threats of injurious revelations or accusations.” To the layman, blackmail is frightening, cruel, and borderline sociopathic. The thought of someone trying to extort money from you by holding sensitive information over your head makes most recoil—accordingly, you’ll never hear about a positive blackmail experience in mainstream media. Films and television programs portray blackmail as either sinister or as comedic, depending on the context. Never, ever, ever is it applauded or romanticized.
Yet in the darkest corners of humanity lie a different breed of humans who not only accept blackmail into their lives willingly, but crave it. The mere whisper of the word is enough to arouse the neurons in the brain. And these people who so desperately desire to be blackmailed seek out women such as myself to indulge their greatest fantasies. Why? Is it the thrill of the risk that maybe I will be the one to finally expose you? Or is it the thought that a strong, powerful woman knows your deepest, darkest secrets when nobody else in the galaxy can say the same?
Beyond those simple questions, there is a dirtier side to the art of blackmail. One mustn’t simply use their leverage in moments of frustration or desire. In fact, someone truly skilled will sneak up, when the prey is blissfully unaware that his life may be ruined at that very moment. The surprise element is what fills the prey with adrenaline and dread and longing and deepens the relationship. Offering your personal information to an unskilled stranger isn’t fun. It isn’t fulfilling. What fear do you have of someone you don’t truly know? There is the risk that she will, in fact, expose your information to the world should you fail to follow through with whatever it is she seeks. And if she does, your thrill is short-lived. Your erection softens. The fun has ended just as swiftly as it began.
What if you were to build a relationship with a powerful woman? And divulge your greatest secrets, your fears, your identifying details, your weaknesses… over time. A symbiotic relationship that ebbs and flows, and although you’re compensating this woman for her time, you feel heard and appreciated. As you learn one another’s idiosyncrasies, you feel as if you genuinely know her. She cares about you.
And then SURPRISE! You wake up one morning to a strange message from her, and she is demanding money from you. A lot of money. More money than you’re comfortable spending, yet here you are, eyes wide and mouth hanging open with shock, awe, arousal, and fear. This woman, in whom you confided for so long, has turned on you. She has delicately laced her webbing around your entire existence and you hadn’t a clue until now, and you are trapped. It is a suffocating feeling that you hadn’t expected and didn’t experience with the previous women, the women you barely knew. This feels truly dangerous, and she is elated at your panic. This is when the begging starts. The pleading. She won’t really hurt me, will she? This is all a game. This isn’t real.
But it is real, and she is toying with you now. The rest of it had all been part of her grand plan, and now you’re trapped due to your own foolishness and willingness to trust a dominant, powerful woman. She has you precisely where she has wanted you all along… small, weak, and trembling at her feet. Begging for mercy.
It starts with a “hi.” The first message is ambiguous, almost always. You play it cool. You aren’t sure why you’re contacting me again—after all, the last time hurt. A lot. You remember waking up, mind hazy, with a feeling that something was off. That’s when you remember... I emptied your accounts. I didn’t skim from the top, like a dairy farmer collecting cream. I went hard. Fast. Deeper than you’d gone in the past. You’re conflicted, replaying the events in your mind, hard as a rock but buzzing with both anger and fear. Oh, how you want to hate me for using you! You convince yourself that it was a mistake that you won’t make again. You feel calmer knowing that you have taken back control, because you’re a strong, confident man. You don’t need kink in your life, especially if it means waking up to a hard cock and an empty wallet.
Yet here you are... saying hi to Goddess. “What am I doing??” your mind screams. But when you see that she’s typing... your heart begins to race. The rational part of your brain tells you to run, but the bigger part of your brain, the horny, weak, desperate part, is screaming for a reply from Goddess. And reply she does, a simple “hi, bitch.” Your cock tingles and you take a deep breath, jittery with nerves. What are you doing?? What are you thinking??
The conversation starts off casually, peppered with talk of how you’ve been doing and what she has been up to. At this point, I know I have you in the palm of my hand. You’re not really THAT interested in how I’ve spent the past few days. Of course you care about my well being, but the trivialities of my daily life aren’t what is making you so anxious in this moment. I drag it out. I fill you in on everything I’ve been doing. I talk lightly about how many men I’ve destroyed, how much richer I’ve become since we last spoke. Hearing this makes you lightheaded and slightly faint, and the head of your cock pulses with arousal.
When I tell you to send for the first time that night, you don’t hesitate. You obey because you are under this ridiculous illusion that you still have a modicum of control over your actions. On the other side of the screen, I laugh gleefully as your first tribute pops up on my screen. It’s small, maybe $25 or $50, but it’s significant in the sense that the wall has been lowered. That self-control you were SO sure you had is crumbling before your very eyes. You can’t resist. My power owns every fiber of your being and you’re quickly realizing that I could break you with a snap of my fingers. At this point, it’s too late. Upon receiving that modest cash tribute, my own heart begins to pound. Not because I’m easily impressed, but because I know what this signifies. It’s the beginning of something bigger.
When I tell you to do it again, that fleeting fear dissolves. You’re mine. You excitedly click send, anticipating my reaction. Will I praise you? Will I give your efforts any acknowledgment at all? There’s no way of predicting what I will do or say, but I am feeling in my element now. Calmness and focus take over my mind—I’m on a mission to use you, hurt you, pounce on you as if you were a deer and I a lioness. Mercy? Never heard of it. I have sunken my teeth into your delicate soul and I am feasting on every atom of your body and brain like a beautiful, dangerous parasite. You’re resigned to the fact that this will hurt, and you crave it. You ache for the pain of my control. The bigger the tributes get, the emptier your mind becomes. You are nothing more than a puppet for Goddess, a plaything that will eventually be tossed aside when something bigger and better comes along. And despite being aware of this, you long for it. I know how much it aches when you begin sending triple digits on repeat, mindlessly, dreamily focused on nothing more than my pleasure. And knowing that fills me with power, and I am all lust and desire and joy and cruelty and the more malevolent I become, the more you need me inside of your mind.
This feels so familiar to you, doesn’t it? Even reading it has made your pulse quicken. Do the right thing… take that step. Become my plaything. Welcome to your new world, my good boy.
I remember how it felt the first time a man submitted to me when I joined the findom scene. I was nervous, but in the most delicious way—my power was bubbling beneath the surface, teasing me as I engaged in the first power exchange I had experienced outside of my personal relationships. My stomach was filled with butterflies, my energy absolutely electric and my mouth dry. Yet at the same time, it was the most natural thing in the world.
My evolution from “sadistic bitch” to “Domme” was smooth and fluid, as if I had been born to financially dominate weak men. Those closest to me were unfazed by this transition, as they had all seen me delirious with power and sadistic tendencies with most of the men in my life… particularly all of the men who made the mistake of falling in love with me over the years. I took pride in breaking down the male ego, dissecting it, crushing it, then leaving without any sympathy. The boys who desired me were masochists craving my power, fully aware that I was ruthless and unlikely to give a flying fuck about their deep romantic feelings for me.
Knowing how much power I held over them made me laugh maniacally and burst with energy. I loved playing with my toys and taking advantage of their weakness in my presence. Whether I was humiliating them, teasing them mercilessly with my perfect body, or fucking other men in front of them, I had the power. Seeing the submissiveness in their eyes when meeting my own was like a drug to me.
I remain ruthless and sweetly sadistic to those helpless enough to submit to me. My heart still skips a beat when I am breaking down the male psyche, and my breath quickens. Six years into my journey, and I have no plans to slow down. I have built my empire on the backs of subservient men, and I will continue to climb the pyramid until I am at the very top.
Serving me is a gift. Paying me is the highest honor.