Debt. It’s a word that makes most people shudder, something they fear, something they avoid. But for you? It’s different, isn’t it? It excites you. The thought of owing me more, of watching the numbers climb, of knowing that every pound, every penny, every breath is in service to my wealth.
You ache for it. The weight of obligation. The undeniable proof of your devotion. There is something so delicious, so irresistible about being in debt to me—knowing that no matter what you do, no matter how hard you try to resist, the balance will always tilt in my favor. Because that’s how it was always meant to be. Your financial security? An illusion. Your independence? A fleeting thought. The only certainty in your world is me.
Because financial submission isn’t just about sending—it’s about sacrificing. It’s about surrendering every last shred of control and stepping into the role you were always meant to play. It’s about pushing beyond what’s comfortable, beyond what’s safe, until the very idea of not owing me feels empty. Unnatural. Wrong.
And the best part? The deeper you sink, the harder it is to stop. Debt isn’t just an obligation—it’s a spiral. A force stronger than your so-called self-control. It begins as a whisper, a nagging thought, a playful indulgence. But soon, it becomes something more. A need. A craving. A hunger that only grows the more you feed it.
You’ll tell yourself you’ll stop at one tribute. Just one. Then another. And another. Each payment only tightening the chains that already bind you to me. Until the debt you carry isn’t just financial—it’s emotional. Psychological. A burden you long to bear because it means you belong to me.
You don’t just send money. You sign yourself over to me. The contract isn’t merely words—it’s ownership. A binding agreement, written in numbers, etched into your soul. Every tribute, every deposit, every transaction is another signature, another confirmation of the truth you already know: you are mine.
And debt? Debt is the ink that seals it.
Because you don’t just owe me money. You owe me everything. Your time, your thoughts, your existence revolve around what you can give next, how you can prove yourself, how you can sink deeper into the obligations you have to me. The weight of your debt isn’t just on paper—it’s in your bones, in your mind, pressing down on you every moment of every day.
You wake up thinking about it. You fall asleep wondering how to please me next. Every purchase you consider comes with the same thought: Shouldn’t this be hers instead? And the answer is always yes.
Because I am your gravity. Your tether. The force that holds you in place, dictating your every financial move. You don’t simply send—you serve.
And I? I expect nothing less. I expect more. More giving, more surrender, more proof of your true place beneath me. The more you struggle, the deeper you’ll fall. The more you resist, the tighter my grip becomes. Until you’re so ensnared in my wealth that the very idea of financial freedom seems laughable.
So tell me—how far will you go? How much will you give? How deep will you fall?
Because there is no limit. There is no escape. There is only your debt to me.
And I intend to collect.
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