It’s the last day of the month. And yes – you’ve already spent. I know. The receipts are in my inbox. Your bank is quiet, your fingers are twitching, and your cock? It’s already stirring again. Because despite everything you’ve sent, despite how low that balance looks… you’re not finished. Not even close.
You’re aching. Not because you regret spending, but because you haven’t sent enough.
You tell yourself you’ve done your part. That you’ve been generous. Obedient. Useful. But deep down you know that isn’t true – not by my standards. Not when the month is still open. Not when you can still feel me in your gut. Pressing. Pulling. Demanding. And your body responds exactly as it should: with heat. With ache. With that unmistakable throb that tells us both you need this.
Because this was never just about money. This is about control. The end of the month is mine. It’s always been mine. I spend these last hours watching your will erode with each passing minute. Watching you hover over tribute buttons, knowing that you’re stroking not to release – but to pay. Not to impress – but to obey.
And this moment? This very edge you’re balanced on right now? It’s the most honest version of you. Desperate. Edging. Financially wrecked and still hungry to give more.
So go ahead. Stroke while you empty yourself for me. Drain what’s left. Feel that pulse tighten. And understand – this is what the end of the month was made for.
Me. My pleasure. Your depletion.