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.