Thot of the Day - Findom

[Some names have been changed to ensure privacy. All characters are 18+]

I wonder about findoms. If you haven't heard of it, the term stands for "financial dominant." It involves two parties: one with the sex appeal and the other with the money. The idea is simple: the findom accepts money from the sub, which gives the sub a sort of gratification.

I wonder who these findoms are and where they are. The kind of girls you see in the ads between porn films, or on pop-up webpages. Their rooms look like a typical girly room, with the string lights in the background. No shortage of fluffy comforters, rugs, stuffed animals, and pillows. They're looking just below the camera at all their stats and their followers. Either you'll see the perky goods on display, whether it's a busty Asian girl with her hair in a bun or a skinny white girl with cat ears and a furry tail.

They have scheduled routines.

Bronze, silver, and gold-tiered clients.

OnlyFans, Patreon, etc.

They know their worth and you want them.

They are goddesses, angels, princesses, etc.

You are a pig, sub, human atm, etc.

You want the gems of their sex appeal, to give them gratification, their conditional appreciation for you.

They want your $$$.

I have some experience in the spectrum of findom, I'll get to that later. Guess I still just wonder what heights & depths of creativity and grind these bitches go to get the gold. Do the majority of successful findoms forgo the route of anonymity and just put their name and brand out there. Paying rent, utilities, gas, insurance, and discretionary spending with subscriptions, views, gifts, and straight gratuity?

Do the nerdy findoms accept crypto? I don't know, that might be too risky. "Hmm, let me quick check my Coinbase before committing to the 100-pack Costco tampons and see if my Solana is still in the green..."

The successful ones. They can stay home and instead of working the Dolly Parton. Some women work harder/dirtier jobs than the average man. Farming, infrastructure/construction, logging, CNA's/LVN's. I can't even think of a single occupational hazard of being a findom, besides excess blue light exposure from the screens. Even a hardcore sex worker has to learn how to dance, do their Kegels, talk dirty, and perhaps spread their legs/open their mouth. A findom just opens their browser. Hell, between the two, I'd rather hop on the dotcom than hop on a condom-clad cock, for money.

Makes me wonder how a whore does her taxes. Wonder if she actually itemizes her "escort" services, tracks the hours, and factors the rates. Hotel lodging, stilettoes, lube, condoms, occasional plan B, outfits; all tax write offs.

Probably not, we all know whores better than that. They blow their money like they do their clients. Buying luxury items, then the essentials. Their goddamn Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs pyramid looks more like the Seattle space needle. I guess a part of me wants to believe that at least 6.9% of sex workers actually do report their work for proper tax contribution.

At the bare minimum, I'd like to think they'd do some work to find a local CPA. They'd bring in all their receipts in a box or folder and let the professional do their job. Depending on the individual, perhaps they'd accept various "payment plans". That's right: have her kneel underneath the table and suck the nerd dry in under 11 minutes flat. That's what I call a 10:40 Easy. Have your client, Ms. April, file by April 15th, and you can still be one of April's fools. Extensions? She'll give you something to extend about..

I wonder how these findoms project/plan their career. I'm taking about the market and competition. Beauty fades and there will always be younger girls down the pipeline. So every dollar you pocket ought to be seen as a commission and not an allowance, salary, or wage. You just never know when your subs are gonna leave you.

Maybe they lose their job or their business crumbles to ass.

Their child needs braces and Something's Gotta Give (wish my tits looked like Diane Keaton's).

Your loyal sub finds a younger broad with tighter curves and a sweeter voice.

You sub dies suddenly, that'll make the river run dry quick!

Maybe the EFT website/program you use, changes terms & conditions which fucks you over (excuse my language).

Maybe they eventually change their perspective and no longer choose to humiliate themselves by giving in to your lure (borringgg!)

There are a number of reasons why it could happen. It's all to say, it can be a risky career, surfing the waves of voluntary charity from strangers. Keeps me wondering.

I wonder if financial advisors (Edward Jones, Morgan Stanley, Raymond James, etc) seek out findoms and find a way to convince them to become their clients. They convince them to leverage their income and allocate their savings into diversified portfolios. Hell, I'm imagining these conversations:

[8pm in a downtown Buffalo, NY dive bar, Thursday night. Man in a suit and tie walks in.]

"Pardon me ma'am, is this seat taken?"

"All yours."

*Bartender comes over*

"Good evening, I'll take a scotch neat, no smoke. And my neighbor's glass is looking low so her next is on me."

"I'll take a scotch, too," she says without batting an eye in the man's direction.

"I admire your disposition. My name's Greg, tell me you name."

"Nice to meet you Greg, I'm Tonya. Thanks for the drink, though I'm sure this is part of your routine, eh?"

"No routine. Mama raised a gentleman, and I didn't want you to go thirsty."

*He lifts his glass, they clash* "Cheers."

"So what do you do, Greg?"

"I was wondering the same about you, was gonna guess IT or administrative."

"Far from it, big boy, answer my question first."

"I'm a financial advisor. Retirement planning, wealth management."

"I always wondered about that, you help people get more money, but for a fee or commission cut?"

"We have different structures. But yes, mostly fee based, for inquiring minds.."

"Nice try."

"I don't just try, I do."

"You and I both, Greg."

"Now that you say that, I think I know what you've got going on. A confident woman like yourself, not afraid to demand for what she wants."

"Oh yea?"

"Yes. You're a findom, aren't you?"

"The fuck I am; retirement seeping, wealth drainage. Excuse my language, guess I should be keeping it classy with this scotch. How much does this cost per pour anyway?" She held up the glass to the light.

"Probably $15-$32 a shot, I didn't ask. Didn't need to, clearly."

Findom Tonya smiles. "You reflect my cockiness, like osmosis. Tell me Greg, what could a guy like you do for a goddess like me?"

"Not what most guys do. With me, you'd see the power of multiplication and exponentials, versus mere arithmetic."

"Sounds like you're a poetic nerd."

"Sure am, here's a haiku:

S & P, Dow Jones

Volatility Index

NASDAQ, and a nice dick too."

"Mildly impressive, Greg."

"How much do you have in savings?"

"Excuse me?"

"I'm qualifying you, if you have potential to be my client."

"$30k in savings, probably $5,000 in jewelry. No real estate, I rent like everyone else."

"I could work with that. Any IRA or 401k from an employer?"

"I've had 'em in the past, but I always find a reason to default. Such a bad girl, huh?"

"So bad, maybe even Superbad."

"Whatever you say, McLovin."

----------2 hours later------------

"Yes, I'd say a few mid cap stock investments and an indexed universal life policy would be a good place to start. Here's my card, Tonya. Nice meeting you."

"Likewise."

"And by the way, I won't make you ask, so if you'd like to share an uber, I've got one waiting. Tab's paid."

"I guess we've become clients of each other."

They get up and leave together. He holds open the door for her and she walks through without acknowledging it.

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So yea, a little something like that. I wonder if in a real-world situation, would a girl be too proud to ask for that help, even accept it when solicited. Would the power of being a findom veer her away from opportunities like such? And is it that potent; the complex of a findom so strong, that it changes you? It hardly seems like a sustainable lifestyle, yet oddly irresistible.

And for the subs, how they so enjoy being diminished and humiliated. They fork over money to those they believe would never care to associate with them otherwise. Nothing about them appeals to the findom, especially not what lies in their pants. Just their pockets.

They could even be endowed with cocks bigger than that of Brad Pitt, or any Chad jock on the local football team.

Girthier.

Veins like the Incredible Hulk.

Pendulous balls that'll slap a girl's cunt with every thrust.

But the confidence isn't there, and they even like it that way. They get off when the $500 Venmo goes through, and they await Goddess's reaction. The Cashapp auto payment on the 1st or 31st to cover her rent. The Zelle that slides into her plethora of unread DM's, like a paycheck in a mailbox full of bills and ads.

The kind of guys, cucking out their wife to a bull and would pay for a hotel room at the Four Seasons. Even pay extra money for a 9th floor balcony suite as he'd wait in the parking lot hoping to see his wife railed against the railing. He waits like a pathetic loser with binoculars, but he doesn't see them there. Probably because she's bent over the kitchenette counter with a wooden spoon between her teeth, while the bull is drilling her wet hole, somehow while wearing an apron and chef's hat. (What can I say, the met during closing hours at a restaurant.) The loser she married would have loved to watch but was too afraid to ask permission.

Subs love the gratification, although it surely can't last long. They live in the moment, because they know they can't sustain their support to a woman they've never even touched. She'll find someone else who makes more, maybe a sugar daddy, or perhaps just give up the lifestyle altogether and end up with a real man who will support her. Awhhhh, a happy ending!!

Subs must surely believe that they are inherently inferior to their alpha male counterparts. Like the runts of the litter, they are forbidden to breed with a premium-grade female. Her pristine health and fertility shan't be wasted on a sickly male who can't prolong optimal genealogy. So the only thing he could do is beg to provide her with resources, supplements if you will. But eventually she will join with an alpha male to procreate and manifest her potential in a perpetual lineage. No longer will she need to use lowly subjects.

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I myself had a relationship like this in college.

At my community college there was an older man who was my classmate in Cinematography 101. We paired up to do a project on stop animation one summer semester, so naturally we got to know each other well. His name was Jacob, but he let me call him Jakey. He was 57 and I was 19 or so.

After the project was done, he asked if we could still meet up. It was clear what he wanted, but I knew he was out of my league and so I told him that, quite bluntly. He was chronically balding, not obese but overweight. He had a decent voice and was capable of conducting intellectual conversation, so I didn't mind his company. I wouldn't revolt to the idea of having coffee with him, just as long as it wasn't the morning after in bed. So yea, I laid Jakey down gently but directly. My rejection was received almost in anticipation.

Then came the offer.

Simply, he offered to pay me. Not even to pay me for dates, but just because. No conditions.

(You and I can deduct that it was in hopes that I would give him sex. Jakey was the king of wishful thinking.) I was working two jobs at the time to pay for my education. Money was tight, so I accepted the offer.

His MO was cash envelopes that he would pass me when we saw each other in class. I think he got off with the idea of giving it to me in public, even though nobody knew what was inside the envelope. At the time, EFT apps weren't prevalent, maybe Paypal, but at least this way he could see me in person and see my reaction when his funds left his hand and went into mine. Jakey's ass lived for that split second moment; to see my reaction when I grasped the dough, feeling millimeters worth of bills inside. Maybe it simulated patronizing a prostitute, very well a possibility.

Eventually I left that college and never saw him again. In total, he paid out about $13,000. I never gave him my number nor any other string to attach. Like the credits in a film, once fall came around, it was el fin.

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In my opinion, I was the ultimate findom.

I made no efforts, showed no vulnerabilities.

The thirteen grand surely helped me get through college and acquisition of necessary resources, but I never begged for it. I didn't have to send sultry messages/pics, show off my gifts, or take private calls. I just, was.

Tonya Red, ultimate findom (retired)