A Story of Erotic Wealth Transfer from Ms. Smyth of The Smyth Fund { FinDom Short Story }

Description: You thought you could handle it. just a taste. just a few moans. just the sound of my pleasure curling through your cheap little headphones while you stroked like a fool. but then i started to breathe - slowly, softly, like silk dragging across your cock and conscience - and suddenly, you weren't just listening. you were paying. paying for every sound i made. paying because my moans didn't arouse you - they owned you. paying because the deeper my pleasure got, the more you believed it was your purpose to fund it.your arousal became a balance sheet. your obedience, a stream of payments. you told yourself you could stop. you told yourself you'd only send once more. but every time i gasped, every time i cried out, every time i came - again and again - you paid. faster. more. and by the end, you weren't even hard anymore. just broken. drained. still stroking. still sending. because i didn't need to touch you to ruin you. i just had to moan.