Cash Cow

I've been having quite a difficult time making decisions about how many (if any) "real life" friends I want to tell about this journal. You see, I am notoriously terrible at keeping my own secrets. I love being able to have my life as a open book, but obviously the information revealed in this journal doesn't quite facilitate itself to complete transparency. I can only imagine the horror I'd have to go through if people at my day job discovered that I hook on the side.

Anyway, you're not here to read about my personal woes. You want more stories. I can respect that.

Cash Cow advertised himself on the internet as an extremely submissive man looking for a dominating woman to "use him like a human ATM machine." He possessed every broke sex worker's dream fetish: he wanted to be financially dominated. I, of course, jumped on the chance and sent him a stern, but alluring email describing my features and promising him that I could be "the gold digger [he'd] always dreamed of." Cash Cow bit the bait and we began to talk.

There was a slight glitch in my plan, however. Namely being that I had never dominated anyone professionally and only very rarely in private. You see, I'm a kinkster in my not-for-profit bedroom, but I am most often on the submissive side of the kink. So before I'd compose my next commandeering email to Cash Cow, I did research on the web to see how other financial dominatrices (yes, there are such people) worded their webpages. I was actually grateful that Cash Cow hadn't pressured to meet with me right away, because writing out carefully worded emails threatening to suck him dry of all his savings until he was broken, poor and totally at my mercy felt like much-needed preparation for being able to spit out insults and threats at will when we finally met.

For a couple of weeks, Cash Cow sent me emails describing his desire to lavish me with cash and gifts. I told him what size and style of lingerie I preferred and ordered him to give me a token of his appreciation upon our first meeting. He had daily assignments and punishments when he didn't do what I told him. I was clever: because I didn't know what an appropriate punishment would be for someone who wanted to be financially dominated, I made him come up with his own. And oh my how he did. Cash Cow decided that his punishment for not calling me when he had promised one day would be to go downtown during his lunch hour to a porn video booth, wear the lacy panties he so loved, expose himself until another man walked into the booth, and suck him off. So he did it. Twice. Cash Cow sucked cock on his lunch hour and drank a protein shake for dessert. Supposedly, this was for my benefit.

As the days passed by, I got tired of the constant emailing and wanted to finally meet in person so that I could begin to profit off of this venture that was beginning to waste my time. But, surprise surprise, Cash Cow began to act shady when I tried to confirm a date and location. Even though he had advertised himself as financially submissive, Cash Cow didn't seem too eager to part with his money. After sensing my frustration, he sent me a pathetic email telling me that he didn't have a lot of extra money because he had a wife and a kid to support and that he would rather give me gifts of lingerie instead of money. No fucking dice, dude. I sent him a curt reply reminding him that his personal ad had claimed that he wanted to be financially dominated and that I was not pleased with this attempt at backpedaling. He sent me an apology and tried to convince me to come out for a drink with him ("My treat, of course," he simpered, "I think we'd really get along!"). Fat fucking chance, Cash Cow.


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