I think it’s sweet when you say you want to do whatever it takes to make me happy. But honey, it’s simple…MONEY!!! Lots of it. That is the only thing that truly makes this Findom Phone Sex Mistress happy. When I say, is that a large bankroll in your pocket, or are you happy to see me? Your answer should be yes to both. Your credit cards need to have an exceptionally large credit limit, or even better, no limit at all. That’s when you know a man is really rolling in it. Of course, there are very few of you who are capable of accomplishing that status. I welcome e-gift cards sent to my email, but anything less than $100 is a sign of an underachiever. That amount in itself is pathetic, so really, do better. And it should be a no-brainer to gift me sizable tips as a thank you for our calls. Request whatever amount of time for a call you wish, but the amount you actually pay me should exceed the fee for the time requested. You are taking up my time. My time is very valuable. So, before you even start to dial my number, make sure you have your credit card in hand. Don’t bother to call if you know your card is going to decline. I mean, really?? And if I haven’t made myself clear, I only want real paypig subs to call me. Actual, genuine money slaves who will worship and honor me as their Mistress. Men who understand that their money is my money. I don’t have time for you broke losers who wish you could be my human ATM and get off on the ‘idea’ of it. You know who you are, with your little dicks and lightweight wallets who cum in two seconds and hang up. A real man, a true finsub, respects me as his Mistress; he longs to hand over his wallet without question. They are willing to completely surrender to me and treat me like the Queen of currency that I am. They put their money and their life in my hands to own and control as I see fit. THAT is what a real finsub is. If this is not you…you are simply not worthy of my time!!
I am going to take your money on our financial domination phone sex calls. I’ve always known I was pretty. Not just sweet or soft or harmless-no, I’m the kind of beautiful that men mistake for salvation until they realize I’m the storm. It’s a weapon, and I sharpen it every time a man thinks he’s in control. A glance, a laugh, a brush of skin—that’s all it takes. They’re eager, desperate, already reaching for their cards before I’ve even asked. And I never do ask. I imply. I let them offer, let them beg to be useful. I don’t want love—I want leverage. And when they think giving me everything will make them irreplaceable, I smile, thank them… and remind them how easily I forget names.
