There are basically two visions of “time wasting” in findom. The first sees any interaction without a tribute as time wasting–the typical “Fuck you, pay me” dom; the second reserves the label for exceedingly talkative subs who 1) want something immediately for a tribute later or 2) insist that you make a substantial investment of your time in them because of what they’ll supposedly be able to offer in the future.
If we’ve talked, you know I’m not a “Pay now or get blocked!” kind of guy. I don’t tolerate having my time wasted, but I’m also patient when it’s appropriate, as will certainly be apparent detailing two years of interactions with Finally, who added me way back in June 2015.
“Hi, Sir,“ he greeted. "i saw your latest post about fear and i just had to reach out to You. i hope You can guide me to be a good fag for you, Sir.”
He said that he’d been lurking and reading my blog for months, “About Fear” inspiring him to reach out.
“What took you so long?” I asked.
“I had a bad experience with another cash master (who was my first), and it really turned me off from the scene to a point where I still don’t think it’s for me. However, I want to test it out again because You seem to be a much more benevolent master.”
Finally had initially gone for an especially abusive asshole who, on learning the cash slave’s real name and address, had threatened to publicly expose him. The guy ultimately backed down, but the fag was out $1,000 and scared shitless. With that horrible first experience, it’s no wonder Finally limited himself to passive lurking.
After discussing how I differed from this other dom, I asked the fag what he was looking for.
“I’m not really sure. I told myself that this isn’t my scene, but I thought maybe if there was a better Master then I can get back into it,” Finally wrote. “I’ve always had cash slave tendencies. Even when I was a teenager, I always offered to pay for the McDonalds meal or the movie tickets for some of my male friends.”
Looking back, many cash slaves realize that they’ve always been “helpers” in life, serving men in innocuous ways they may not have immediately appreciated or understood. Even as kids and teenagers, they felt that urge to sacrifice, to please superior men.
“How old are you now?” I asked.
“30, Sir.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“I work in corporate finance, Sir.”
Just my type, right? Haha. Finally confessed that he’d served me indirectly once before, buying a video that I had offered on another site.
“Honestly, I don’t even watch porn videos anymore. I just jerk off to Your blogs, I re-read your posts over and over again. The last post really did me in and I knew I had to reach out.”
He’d presumably watched that video at least a few dozen times too. When the discussion turned to tributing, Finally disclosed that he was also talking to another cash master.
“I want to find the right fit,” he claimed.
I didn’t mention it at the time, but I immediately recognized the other guy’s name–he was eventually exposed as a total fake, though that fact was mere gossip at the time. Not tipping my hand, I posed a question: “So what makes the right fit? After one bad experience, you probably don’t even know…”
“True!” Finally acknowledged. He wound up describing his conception of the “right fit” as a master who’s educated, has goals, isn’t totally destitute, and isn’t a total asshole.
Lofty expectations for a scene overrun by fly-by-night bottom feeders, but that’s why the faggot had come to me.
Finally earned six figures working his corporate job but barely had anything to spend. Putting in 60-70 hour weeks, he tried to find fulfillment in a fancy condo, a brand new luxury car, and a hoard of needlessly expensive material things. Despite all of those purchases, the faggot wasn’t happy–something essential was still missing. He advised that his budget would be tight until “next March, when I get my annual increase.”
“You’ve got almost a year to go,” I pointed out.
“Ugh, I wish I found You before [the first guy]. That money could have gone to You, Sir.”
$1,000 wasted because of a horny impulse that wasn’t even satisfying. So unfortunate.
“Fuck, this is so conflicting,” Finally continued. “The professional, educated side of me always tells me ‘You’re too smart to give away your hard earned money.’ Then the other side says 'Do it, it’ll please him. Don’t you want to please him and get validation?’”
“Why do you want to please me?” I questioned.
“I haven’t figured that out yet,” the faggot admitted. “But something about your attitude…I’ve read your chats with [Monkey, once an authority on the scene] and You have this attitude that just draws me in…this confidence! I portray myself at work as an arrogant self assured type A person, but deep down I love being brought down.”
Your salary? Your job title? What you portray to friends or coworkers? All irrelevant. None of that will ever change the fact that you’re a sub. You can pretend what you want, run and hide endlessly, but those cravings never disappear and that reality never changes. Your facades can’t alter the truth.
“Well, I appreciate Your time, Sir,” Finally concluded. “I’m going to assess myself, but the thought of tributing to You is very enticing!”
“The thought is one thing. You know where to find me.”
The faggot messaged me again the next day.
“Feeling any weaker?” I asked.
“In terms of my resistance? Fuck, I’m still so conflicted. It’s not just the rational educated side of me. I keep thinking back to my last experience when I even start to think about tributing. Half of me is saying be proud that you’re fighting this urge, and half of me is saying be ashamed for not tributing to a Superior.”
Finally wasn’t actually proud of fighting the urge, of course. His hesitancy was based entirely on his horrible first experience, the threatening and coercive encounter that left him questioning the cash scene, not his role as a sub. He never doubted that.
“Be ashamed,” I suggested. “I’m not [the other guy].”
More than two weeks later, the cash faggot asked how I was.
“Eager to see you be weak,” I answered.
“Not sure if that’s going to happen anytime soon,” Finally confessed. “I’m too scared. Fuck, that was the worst excuse. I need to go read that post again about fear.”
“You’re full of bad excuses.”
“I really wish I could be one of your slaves,” the faggot claimed. “Reading your blog is basically the only thing that gets me off when I jerk off now.”
“Stop wishing then,” I commanded. “It’s an easy step.”
“The psychological barrier is not an easy step. I’m not like [another sub] who professes to be some weak minded individual. I portray a confident alpha male at work.”
“Your phrasing says a lot about that,” I objected. “You aren’t a confident alpha male. You portray one. So what are you when you aren’t portraying?”
“A faggot,” Finally immediately declared.
Seeing a guy so traumatized by a pathetic excuse for an “alpha” really bothered me. Many greedy upstarts, hell-bent on seizing every dollar they can possibly obtain, seem blissfully unaware that BDSM is supposed to be based on trust and consent. It’s disgusting and it constantly hurts people.
That initial wound wasn’t everything, though. The faggot also decried the fact that he was “fucking selfish.”
“And I say that with disdain for myself,” he added. “It’s hard for me to give up luxuries in life.”
So be it then. More than a month later, after a couple more skittish exchanges, I issued a command: “Don’t message me again until you’re ready. We’ve done enough chatting.”
Finally at some point paid a pitiful $30 and then disappeared for four months, presumably knowing that he wouldn’t be able to satisfy my demands. Our next substantial conversation was about the scene, the faggot sharing some fascinating information that he’d been privy to. At least he was offering some value. That discussion eventually turned to a few of my competitors.
“Can I give you a fag’s perspective?” Finally asked. “You know how when some people can’t afford the real deal but there is a cheaper knock off, a lot of people will buy the cheaper knock off?”
This is more on point than it’s ever been now that several of my cash slaves have established their own “alpha” personas modeled on what I’ve built. I can’t believe so many subs fall for those acts, but it’s not my place to call them out.
“They want to be me,” I observed back in January 2016. “And who wouldn’t?”
We all know the truth about that: there’s only one Supreme.
The next time Finally messaged, he advised that he was one month away from his March raise.
“Finally,” I wrote, repeating the word that had come to epitomize this cash slave.
Silent for the rest of 2016, I wouldn’t hear from the faggot in any substantive way until July (last month), when he reappeared.
That’s when everything changed.