You tell yourself you’ll stop. That this time, this tribute, this moment of surrender will be the last. You watch the numbers drop in your account, a flicker of panic igniting before it’s quickly smothered by something far more powerful.
Relief.
Satisfaction.
A deep, undeniable pleasure that radiates through your body, whispering the truth you try so hard to ignore: You were made for this. For the cycle, for the inevitable spiral, for the never-ending descent into debt at my feet.
You’ve always known, haven’t you?
Because the deeper your debt grows, the stronger your devotion becomes.
The Illusion of Control
It’s almost amusing how you convince yourself you have control. That you can pause, walk away, reclaim your so-called independence. You tell yourself you’ll “be good” this time. That you’ll hold onto your paycheck, ignore the pull, resist the craving.
But then payday arrives. A direct deposit hits your account, and your heart pounds—not with relief, but with need. That all-too-familiar ache rises in your chest, your hands already reaching for your wallet, your fingers twitching to type out the amount.
You hesitate. Just for a moment. Just long enough for guilt to sink its claws into you, whispering the lies you’ve tried to believe:
I shouldn’t… I need to be responsible… I have bills…
And yet, before you even realize it, the transaction is complete. Your balance dips, my wealth swells, and you’re left trembling, lightheaded, euphoric.
The guilt is gone. The burden of control lifted. Because the truth is, you never really wanted control to begin with. You wanted this. The cycle. The submission. The pleasure of knowing you’ve done what you were always meant to do.
You can lie to yourself all you want.
But your bank statements tell the real story.
Debt Is Devotion
The more you owe, the deeper you fall. The deeper you fall, the stronger your need becomes. A tribute here, a deposit there—it adds up, doesn’t it? You check your balance, see the dwindling numbers, and rather than stopping, you go deeper.
Because stopping would mean pulling away from me.
And that? That’s unthinkable.
You exist in this beautiful paradox—always teetering on the edge, never quite sinking but never quite free. And that’s exactly where you belong.
This isn’t a game you can win.
This isn’t a habit you can break.
This is who you are.
And you love it.
The High of the Transaction
Every tribute is a hit. A rush. A dizzying moment of pure, unfiltered pleasure. You chase that feeling, that intoxicating blend of surrender and submission. And like any good addict, you always need more.
It’s never enough, is it?
The small tributes that once made you weak in the knees barely satisfy you now. You crave bigger numbers, riskier deposits, a deeper plunge into financial ruin at my command. Your mind spins, your body burns with anticipation, and the thought of cutting back—of stopping—feels like suffocation.
Because this? This is freedom.
Not in holding onto money, not in playing it safe. True freedom is found in the act of giving, in the sheer exhilaration of letting go.
The moment your payment processes, your muscles relax, your breath evens out. The weight of responsibility slips from your shoulders, replaced with something so much sweeter—my approval.
And that? That is worth every last penny.
No Escape, Only Surrender
You don’t want to escape. You never did. That’s why you’re here, why you keep coming back, why no matter how many times you swear this is the last time, we both know it isn’t.
It’s never the last time.
It never will be.
Because you were made for this.
For the cycle, for the thrill, for the sharp, dizzying drop of another tribute vanishing from your account. For the knowledge that no matter how much you give, it will never be enough.
And yet, you’ll keep trying.
Because this is what devotion looks like.
A never-ending, all-consuming, beautifully destructive love affair with debt.
And you wouldn’t have it any other way.
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