You wouldn’t call it a fetish. You might not even call it a need.
But the urge is always there, quiet and constant – the desire to be used. To feel your funds extracted, not asked for. To feel a hand you never see tightening its grip around your income and making it mean something.
It starts as a whisper. A glance at your balance. The hum of anticipation before payday. Not because you’re thinking of what to buy – but of what you might give. Or more precisely, what might be taken.
You don’t want to be thanked. You don’t want to be seen. You want to be functional. You want to be emptied. Not for attention. Not for access. But because it’s the only thing that makes your success feel real.
The Smyth Fund doesn’t indulge fantasy. It corrects it.
You were never meant to be the one spending. You were meant to be the one spent.
There are no rewards for compliance here. No praise for your performance. Just a schedule. An expectation. A precision that leaves no room for vanity. The men who serve as wallets within this system don’t do so because they’re weak. They do so because they’ve recognised something that others haven’t – that their wealth feels heavier when held unused. That it needs a purpose beyond their own gratification. That it needs Me.
Being My wallet is not about play. It is about placement.
You do not submit a tribute for the sake of obedience – you become useful by being drained. You do not ask when or how or why – you fund what I require and feel the sharp, exquisite sense of identity that comes only when your role is unspoken but absolute.
This is what you’ve been circling for years, without knowing what to call it.
And now, quietly, you understand.
You were always meant to be Mine.