Money matters to you. You guard it carefully, desperately telling yourself that this time you'll resist. But your raging findom addiction and poor impulse control have other plans. Just one inhale, one deep breath of aroma, and suddenly everything you value shifts. Your pulse quickens, your resistance evaporates, and the hunger comes roaring back like it never left. The desire to spend, to be used, to be fucked over, against your wishes, against your better judgment. There’s something so fucking hot about me taking what’s mine, by any means necessary…
