Extortionary Tale: FinDom Fiction
Ashley had been warned. He only wanted to study the game and see how it worked, see just how women put men into virtual cages, and made them suffer and pay. He visited the world of Financial Domination and peered in through the bars.
He watched how the twisted wrecks were eaten out from the inside and stripped of their last penny, then eaten and stripped again without mercy. He saw how they were utterly unable to escape, their addiction to wallet rape, the worship of their Female Captors, even as it slowly destroyed them. It was only natural that he would gravitate to the worst cases, the most degraded and pathetic victims, those trapped in the ultimate sadistic vortex of Mistress Misery.
They begged him to flee, to run, and never look back. They were the shocking results of Her Cruelty, their sunken eyes burning with depraved energy. Ashley reasoned that he was only doing research into a psycho sexual phenomena in order to turn it to his own advantage. He really had nothing to fear, and as a student, nothing to be stripped of. Mistress Misery was nothing more than an interesting case study. It’s true that her dark eyes had a way of holding you, but She seemed to realise that he needed help and offered to assist. He ignored the warning voices…
An old man knelt on the carpeted floor, fully dressed in beige cotton slacks and a pale blue shirt. He whimpered as a wet stain grew around his groin, grew larger, then drips appeared, streaks down his legs. Off cam, there was the sound of female laughter.
“Now go and buy another porn mag, cretin. You’ve got five minutes.”
“No, please,” he begged, pathetically.
Again the laughter came, a nickering, sadistic sound.
“And make sure it’s ‘Sexy Teens’ again, you filthy old goat. And I’ll know if you try and change your pissy trousers, or your nappy.”
He looked at the camera and stared right at the viewer with one long, agonised stare. The dull pain of something caught, beaten, reduced, and utterly without hope.
He hung his head, and groaned.
She laughed again, this time a tinkling, joyful sound.
“Are you crying, loser?” She asked, lilting and amused. “If so, come closer to the cam. You know I love tears.”
The old man went closer to the cam.
At this moment, Ashley heard a loud knocking at his door and he closed the lid of his laptop with a guilty snap.
He knew who it was. He had lost track of the time.
“Morning,” he said, with a little tremor in his voice.
If Mr Solly Ackerman noticed Ashley’s nervous tone, he appeared to ignore it, just held out his hand with a noncommittal grunt.
Ashley handed him the rent for the week and watched as he carefully counted it. Talk about old school, he thought. As he watched him for a moment longer, the image of the old man in the clip came to his mind’s eye. It would be surely impossible for anything to reduce Mr Ackerman to such a pitiable state.
“Two more years,” said Ashley, with a bright smile. “Should be moving out after that. Moving out and moving up.”
“You’ll never amount to anything, Hillcrest,” said his landlord, with a sour look and curl of his lip. Then he turned, muttering something to himself, and went out into the street, shutting the door with a careless clang.
Ashley snorted softly to himself. We’ll see about that.
He watched him slouch off through the window in his greasy coat and deliberate step, looking neither right nor left at the faded houses and pinched gardens converted long ago to parking spaces.
He smiled grimly as he heard Mr Ackerman drive away in his beaten up old Ford. It’s not as though the man had gotten very far either. He would show the man. He had dreams and visions! Oh, yes, it was fine for the old fool to sneer at Sociology but he had no intention of being a grubbing social worker, or ‘doing his bit’ for society. He had taken up Sociology to study humanity’s weaknesses, to see the gaps and loopholes that the ordinary person couldn’t see.
He sat down with a sigh and looked around him. The single room had a bed and a little kitchen bar, with enough space to allow for a single armchair and a television, but that was about it. The television space, Ashley had converted to a computer station with a little table and seat. From there he would conquer the world. It was all you needed these days, a computer and a decent download speed. With those, anything was possible.
As with all students however, instead of accumulating wealth, he had actually run up a considerable burden of debt. He received a small bursary from the home for young delinquents that had taken him in once his foster parents had given him up as too wayward, but it was nothing like sufficient enough to actually meet all his needs.
It was all very well for the girls. A lot of them got lucrative work in the local sex bars, wearing next to nothing and keeping the men amused. They looked at it as a sort of workout round a pole that also made them a fortune. The men were stuck with much more mundane and lesser paid jobs like factory work, or kitchen portering.
It seemed obvious to Ashley that the money followed the females. Even if it were the men that earned the money, it still gravitated there eventually, as if drawn by some irresistible force.
When he had attended the lecture on the ‘Persistence of Female Archetypes in the Modern World’ he had hardly needed to be told that the ‘worship of the Divine Feminine was very much a growing and widespread dynamic among the online community’.
He was however very surprised to discover that there were an increasing number of women posing as online ‘Goddesses’, with adoring male followers and abject worshippers who paid vast sums in cash offerings in return for a single moment of her attention, or in some cases, without getting any attention at all. They did very little but simply look gorgeous and take the cash. They didn’t appear to offer a ‘service’ in any sense of the word.
He had researched it online when he got back to his room and sure enough, he found endless links and pages and sites. Ashley got tremendously excited. He had heard of ‘get rich quick’ schemes of course, but this seemed like a gilt edged opportunity. He found out that quite a few of these women were actually not who they pretended to be. They used stock images rather than relying on their own looks. Why not a male, then? All that would be required was a portfolio of pics and the right attitude.
The male victims didn’t seem to care. They were sacrificing themselves to an idealised fantasy anyway. It wasn’t real. A Goddess figure that didn’t age; that was perfect in every way.
All he had to do was create a fictional woman. He could start a blog about how the money was spent. As long as he didn’t stream live, who would know the difference? He was good with computers. He could use photoshop.
He needed to get a sense of how these sort of women operated, so he went through a number of sites that advertised the sort of goddess worship that so many men seemingly craved.
That was why he had been watching that clip from a blog called ‘Misery’s Pets’, before he had been interrupted by the landlord.
What he had seen there however had made him wonder if he could really pull it off. The really successful ‘FinDoms’, as they were called, were shockingly cruel. He had been following ‘Mistress Misery’ as a typical example, and she seemed to be able to get men to do anything for her, though she was not stunningly beautiful, simply dedicated and sadistic to the core.
She appeared live on several expensive streaming services with explicit content, and from what Ashley could gather, was rarely out of ‘Private’ which meant that someone was paying a premium for her time.
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I am an author of books with strong and explicit Female Domination themes.
I am a Dominatrix / Mistress. I am a bitch.
I live in the Chester area. Note, I do NOT have an Amazon Wishlist.
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