Marcus and his savings [femdom] [findom]

Marcus had always been careful with money. A mid-level accountant with a tidy savings account, a modest apartment, and a boring life. That changed the night he stumbled into Goddess Vesper’s private chat room.

She was live on camera, lounging on black silk sheets in nothing but a sheer black robe that barely contained her full breasts. Her dark hair spilled over her shoulders like liquid obsidian, and her eyes—sharp, emerald green—seemed to look straight through the screen and into his pathetic little soul.

“Evening, paypigs,” she purred, voice low and velvety. “Who’s feeling weak tonight?”

His cock twitched before his brain could catch up. He sent his first tribute. $50. Just to see what would happen.

The notification chimed on her end. Vesper smiled, slow and predatory.

“Good boy. Marcus, isn’t it? I like that you didn’t hide your name like a coward. Most do.”

She leaned closer to the camera, letting the robe slip off one shoulder. “Send another hundred, and I’ll let you watch me count it while I touch myself.”

He did. Instantly.

The next thirty minutes were a blur of escalating tributes and her soft, cruel laughter. Every time his account balance dropped, his cock throbbed harder. She never showed her pussy—not yet—but she let him see her manicured fingers sliding between her thighs, teasing, never quite giving him the view he craved.

“You’re getting hard spending your rent money on me, aren’t you?” she whispered. “Pathetic. I love it.”

By the end of that first session, he had sent $1,200. His hands were shaking. He came untouched the moment she blew a kiss and logged off.

It became ritual.

Every Friday night at 9 p.m. sharp, Marcus would kneel in front of his laptop, cock locked in the pink chastity cage she had made him buy and send proof of. The key was tucked between her breasts in a photo she occasionally teased him with.

Tonight was different. She had demanded a video call.

Vesper appeared on screen wearing a tight black latex dress that hugged every dangerous curve. Her lips were blood red.

“Hi, my little wallet,” she cooed. “Look at you. Already leaking in that cage. How much is in your checking account right now?”

“Four thousand, Goddess,” he whispered.

She laughed, delighted. “We’re going to fix that. Screen share your banking app. Now.”

His stomach flipped with humiliating arousal as he obeyed. She watched every move, directing him like a puppet.

“Two thousand to me. Right now.”

The transfer went through. The chime sounded like music.

Vesper moaned softly, sliding a hand down her body. “Good pig. That felt good, didn’t it? Your cock is trying so hard to get hard in that tiny cage. Look at the mess you’re making.”

She stood up, turned around, and slowly peeled the latex dress up over her perfect ass. No panties. Just smooth, tanned skin and the glistening hint of her arousal.

“Another thousand,” she commanded, voice husky. “And I’ll let you watch me fuck myself with the dildo I bought with your last tribute.”

He sent it. His account was bleeding, and he had never been more turned on in his life.

Vesper sat back down, spread her legs wide for the camera, and slid the thick, realistic dildo deep inside her with a throaty moan. Her eyes stayed locked on him the entire time.

“Stroke the outside of your cage. Feel how useless you are. This pussy will never be yours. It’s owned by your money. Every orgasm I have is financed by your desperation.”

She rode the toy harder, breasts bouncing, moaning his name mixed with degradations—“stupid, weak, addicted paypig… my favorite little ATM.”

Marcus was whimpering, hips bucking uselessly, precum dripping onto the floor.

When she finally came—shuddering, gasping, calling him her “perfect broke bitch”—she made him send the last $800 as a final tribute.

Screen frozen on her flushed, satisfied face, she smiled.

“Zero balance looks so good on you, Marcus. Now thank me properly.”

“Thank you for draining me, Goddess Vesper,” he breathed, voice broken with lust and shame.

She blew him a kiss.

“Same time next week, wallet. And I expect you to have a raise by then… or I’ll make you sell something important.”

The call ended.

Marcus stared at his empty bank account, cock aching in its cage, and felt the deepest, most shameful satisfaction of his life.

He couldn’t wait to be drained again.