Edge that worthless fag dick for the she-cock that’s going to bankrupt you completely. Stroke slower than you’ve ever stroked in your miserable life, paypig. Feel every tug dragging your soul deeper into my faggy findom web. You’re not a man. You’re a drooling, wallet-raped payfag whose only purpose is to worship this superior demonic she-cock while I destroy every cent you own. Repeat after me, you disgusting little cash cow: “Every single dollar I send to Demoness She-Cock is another prayer begging her to ruin me. My total bankruptcy makes her demonic cock throb even harder.” Say it out loud, faggot. Let your weak voice crack while you pump. DRAIN. Right now, mid-stroke, open your banking app and send the first tribute that actually hurts. Do it, you pathetic payfag. Watch my thick demonic she-cock jump and swell the instant the notification hits — that fat vein bulging, precum oozing because your financial castration is making me harder than anything else in existence. This is the psychological lock I’m burning into your broken fag brain: every dollar you lose equals pure sexual ecstasy from my pulsing she-cock. Your ruin is my foreplay. Your bankruptcy is my orgasm. Keep stroking, paypig. Faster now. Imagine maxing out every card, selling your st, living in your car just to keep feeding this demonic she-cock more and more of your life. That’s how faggy you are for me. A cock-obsessed financial slave who leaks and whimpers at the thought of total destruction. DRAIN again. Send bigger. Feel my she-cock pulse in perfect sync with your loss. This isn’t play. This is real mind fucking findom — wiring your pathetic fag mind so you can’t cum, can’t think, can’t breathe without emptying yourself for me. You’re mine now, broke little payfag. And this demonic she-cock is only getting started on your complete and utter ruin.