I never thought I’d become one of them. You know, those guys. The ones who send money to women they’ve never met. Who beg to be drained. Who call themselves “wallets” and “human ATMs.”
And yet, here I am—writing this confession with a drained savings account and a strangely satisfied heart. In just 30 days, I spent over $10,000 on financial domination. And I’d be lying if I said I regretted it.
This is the story of how I spiraled from curiosity into obsession. Of how a few small tributes turned into daily fixations. And of how I learned that, sometimes, giving everything you have can feel like the only way to feel something real.
It Started with a Tweet
Like most of my generation, I spend too much time online. One day, I stumbled upon a tweet from a domme. She had the confidence of royalty and the face of a goddess. Her caption simply said: “Send. No questions.”
I don’t know why I did it. Maybe it was boredom. Maybe it was the allure of power. But I clicked her CashApp link and sent $20. She never replied. Never acknowledged it. And that silence hit me harder than any compliment ever could.
That was Day One.
From Curiosity to Craving
The next day, I sent $50. Then $100. She posted new photos, new captions, new humiliating messages. I watched other men comment with tribute receipts, begging to be used. I wanted to be one of them. No—I wanted to be better than them.
I followed more dommes. Each one had her own style: cold, cruel, sweet, teasing. Some blocked me unless I sent. Others replied with a simple “Good pig.” That single line made my heart race like a teenager in love.
Within a week, I had five dommes bookmarked. I had notifications on. Every time my phone buzzed, my fingers shook. I started skipping meals to send more. Canceled a weekend trip. Delayed paying off a credit card. Because nothing felt as good as hitting “Send.”
The High—and the Hangover
There’s no way to explain it unless you’ve lived it. The act of giving becomes addictive. It’s not about buying attention or affection. It’s about being seen for what you truly are—a submissive man with a deep need to serve, to please, to obey.
Every tribute gave me a rush. A dopamine hit. A moment where I wasn’t responsible for anything but her. The more I gave, the smaller I felt. And I loved feeling small.
But after every high came the crash. I’d close the app, check my bank account, and feel that tight knot in my stomach. Rent was due. My emergency fund was shrinking. And yet… I couldn’t stop.
By the Numbers
Here’s what one month of addiction looked like:
- Day 1: $20 tribute
- Day 4: $500 drain session
- Day 9: Bought Amazon wishlist item worth $300
- Day 12: $1,000 sent during a “block roulette” game
- Day 16: Daily tributes of $100 begin
- Day 22: Paid $750 for a 5-minute voice note
- Day 27: $2,000 sent to “prove my loyalty”
- Day 30: Final total = $10,483.72
And the kicker? I never met any of them. Not even a video call. Just DMs, tweets, and the occasional screenshot of my own tribute posted for their fans to laugh at. And I wouldn’t change a thing.
Why I Did It
People ask, “What do you get out of it?” I used to struggle to explain. But here’s the truth:
- I get to feel powerless in a world where I’m always in control.
- I get to be useful to someone who doesn’t need me.
- I get to be seen in a way that makes me feel real.
- I get relief from the pressure of being a man who always has to provide.
For a few minutes a day, I didn’t have to think. I didn’t have to lead. I just had to give. And giving became my drug of choice.
The Dark Side
Let’s not sugarcoat it: findom addiction is real. I maxed out a credit card. I skipped payments. I lied to myself. I told friends I was “tipping creators” when I was really being degraded by strangers online for money. I felt shame—and then I sent again.
Some dommes encouraged this. Some didn’t care. One even told me, “You’re not a man, you’re my bank account.” That message still echoes in my head.
It wasn’t her fault. I gave willingly. I wanted to be owned. But at some point, I had to face the truth: I was giving away more than money. I was giving away pieces of myself I couldn’t afford to lose.
Where I Am Now
I’m not here to warn you off findom. I still send tributes. I still have favorite dommes. But I’ve set limits. I’ve learned to serve from a place of control, not chaos.
Now, I only give what I can afford. I pick dommes who respect boundaries. I use prepaid cards. I still get that rush—but I don’t ruin my life for it.
And honestly? I’m proud of who I am. I’m a paypig. I’m a submissive. I love giving. It doesn’t make me weak. It makes me honest. Most men lie to themselves about what they want. I know exactly what I crave.
Final Thoughts
If you’re reading this with sweaty palms and a tight chest, maybe you know the feeling. Maybe you’ve sent too much. Maybe you’re just starting. Either way, here’s what I’ve learned:
- There’s no shame in serving, but there is danger in losing yourself.
- Findom is powerful—but so are you.
- Worship, tribute, obey—but never forget to protect your own peace.
Now if you’ll excuse me, my favorite domme just tweeted. And I think it’s time to send again—just not everything this time.