Category: Finsub

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

My inbox looks like a fireworks display on the Fourth of July…if every firework were a marriage proposal from a loser who still thinks “pizza delivery” is a legitimate job. First there was Kevin, the “nice guy” from my yoga class. He offered me a ring and a guarantee that I’d never have to argue about the thermostat again (I’m almost always too cold!). I politely declined, telling him I “didn’t want to be tied down,” but the real reason is because his cock is too small.

Then came Derek. He showed up with a fresh‑baked batch of cookies and a Spotify playlist titled “Songs to Sweep Her Off Her Feet (and the Floor).” I laughed, because the only thing he’s ever swept me off my feet is when his Roomba bumps into me and I fall flat on my perfect little ass! He wasn’t impressed, to say the least.

Continue reading “loser proposals” →

Kinky Kara 1-844-332-2639 ext 306

My college roommate had a cuck of a boyfriend. He was the epitome of a weak-minded simp. We thought it would be a blast to play a trick on him and record his reaction to post on social media for all our followers to get a good laugh. My boyfriend was the total opposite of a cuck. The man was built like a God. Sadly, he had no brains and always thought with his other head. He was the perfect person to complete the prank. I can’t believe he was so gullible at times. All muscle and no brain would describe the majority of my exes in college. Continue reading “Cuffing the Cuck” →

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

The first meme I sent was a screenshot of a badly drawn superhero. “SIMP MAN” soaring over a city of unpaid bills, in a cape stitched with the word “beta.” “Enjoy your new alter ego, loser 🤡,” I typed. He messaged back instantly, “You’re so cruel.” My fingers hovered over the keypad, as I cackled. The more I called him the names he despised…“loser,” “beta,” “perv”…the faster his replies came in.

A notification pinged and I looked at my phone to find $150.00 transferred. Then another. And another. His account was draining like a faucet on full blast. The more I teased, the more he sent. “Thanks for the drink. Now, fuck off. There’s a hot guy over there…” was a risky one, but it sent him right over an edge, resulting in not only more cash in my pocket, but also a plea for me to stay. “Please, Amber…don’t go…”

Continue reading ““SIMP MAN”” →

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

When I first met Alex, I watched him scroll through my Instagram. He liked every photo, every story, and every caption that hinted at an unspoken command. And then, he sent me a message. “I want to serve you, Stella. I’ll do anything.”

I waited a few hours, then replied. “Send me the amount you can’t afford to lose.” He stared at his phone, with his thumb hovering above the keyboard. I could feel his hesitation. He finally hit send and the notification chimed in my email inbox. I glanced at the confirmation, smiling. It wasn’t about the money, it was about the surrender.

Continue reading ““I want to serve you, Stella. I’ll do anything.”” →

findom

Cory 1-877-332-2639 ext 407

I’m a woman with a penchant for Prada and a talent for turning pitiful, low-status men into personal ATMs. My specialty? Convincing pathetic loser betas to drain their meager savings so I can buy another designer handbag or book a spontaneous trip to Bali. It’s not just about the money, though. It’s about power. The sweet, syrupy kind that comes when a man with a Netflix-and-chill résumé hands me his Black Card like it’s a sacred offering.

The process is almost artful. I spot them before the see me. Shiftless guys in ill-fitting suits, with confidence levels lower than the tips some of you leave at brunch. I approach with a smile that could thaw the Arctic and a voice that purrs like a V8 engine. Then I start complimenting their “untapped potential,” pretending to be “starving artist” or “aspiring entrepreneur” (code for “I need money but also validation”). By the third round of $25 drinks, they’re confessing their deepest insecurities while I nonchalantly swipe their credit card for a “gift” that costs $300. As far as I’m concerned, it’s an investment in my affections.

Continue reading “They’re just my personal ATMs” →

findomme

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

My journey into findom began innocently enough. I was posting cryptic Instagram captions about “liquid assets” and “monetizing my worth,” when a guy slid into my DMs asking if I’d ever considered “roleplaying a trust fund beneficiary.” Little did he know, I was all about roleplaying!

The first time I hosted a findom session for a man I’ll call Kevin (not his real name, though honestly, I’m sure someone named Kevin will read this and think it is him), I wore a tie I’d bought for $12 at a thrift store and demanded he pay “pay the lady” up front, as is customary in this profession.

Continue reading “My Findom Journey” →

findom blog

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

The worst color in the world is the pale yellow bubble hovering over my chat box. It means they are typing. They are pouring out their sad feelings, treating the glowing screen like a confessional booth, all for free. They know I trade attention for currency. Simple, brutal, and utterly true. I’m Quebecoise, which means I’m precise about my costs, and the cost of having me pretend to care about your awful Tuesday is non-negotiable.

Right now, it’s Edgar. He’s forty-something, lives somewhere humid, and sends me paragraphs about his failing marriage and his collection of vintage model trains. He keeps sending me these long, dense messages, hoping that sheer volume of misery will somehow earn him a response. But he’s not getting one unless he pays.

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Puppet's Trip To The Nail Salon

Kayla Cumsalot 1844-33-CANDY Ext 357

The nail salon is one of my most favorite places in the world! However, when you’re a spoiled Princess like me, it can become a costly trip every two weeks. Not for me, (HaHa) Daddy typically covers the expense, but this week it was Puppet’s turn to foot the bill.

I sat in the passenger seat, scrolling through nail inspo on my phone as he swung through the drive-through to get my Iced coffee (and one for my tech, who works so hard and deserves a treat too!) before pulling into the Salon’s parking lot. Of course, he hurried from the driver’s seat to open my door and help me out. “Ready for this?” I smiled at him, and he nodded eagerly. I stepped in close to his body and palmed his cock. Giving it a slow, gentle caress. “You’re so hard, already?” He groaned and rocked his cock into my hand. “It’s going to be a long appointment, don’t disappoint me.”

Continue reading “Puppet’s Trip To The Nail Salon” →

findom blog

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

Corey was always so eager. It was almost endearing. But then, softness wasn’t what he paid for, was it? He paid for the sharpest edge of my expectations, the cold precision of my demands, and the delicious humiliation that bloomed in his chest with every transaction. “Are you ready, sissy?” I typed, watching the ‘typing…’ indicator flicker on our private chat. A beat of silence, then his reply: “Yes, Mistress. Always ready.”

I smiled, a slow, controlled thing. He called himself a finsub, but to me, he was just Corey, my little piggy bank dressed in a perpetually apologetic expression, even through text. And a sissyboy, of course. That was the real fun of it. “Good. My new Louboutins are calling to me. They’re a rather fetching shade of scarlet, don’t you think?” I sent him a picture I’d pulled from the designer’s website – the most impractical, yet undeniably beautiful, pair of stilettos. “I think they would look perfect on me. Don’t you agree?”

Continue reading “softness wasn’t what he paid for” →

gooner

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

Across the digital ether, I was spending my day with a loser. We all know the type. He wasn’t anything special or out of the ordinary, just your average gooner who’d found my corner of the internet. He paid me for my time, of course. What he bought, primarily, was attention. Curated, commodified attention. Sometimes a few pics—nothing too wild, just enough to keep the illusion alive. But what he really wanted, what he truly craved above all else, were those trigger words.

You know the ones I mean. Those exact phrases, spoken or typed, that would unravel some tightly wound spring inside him. Words that would trigger him to stroke and edge himself stupid, lost in his own private loop of self-abasement and gratification. I, the puppeteer, tugging on invisible strings with carefully chosen syllables. He, the puppet, dancing to a rhythm only he could hear.

Continue reading “spending my day with a loser” →