Bratty Cash Princess, submitted by Temple_Priestess.
A relatively new and bizarre fetish is sweeping the nation, one that really should not have come as a surprise to me. It's called financial domination and it's a masochism offshoot that involves a man being treated as a slave by a woman who keeps demanding to be given money. It's the ultimate Gordon Gecko fetish. It usually involves little or no nudity and physical contact is similarly rare. It's usually just a woman telling a man that he is worthless and needs to give her money, like being robbed by a prostitute.
At Brattycashprincess.com, "Princess Shia" attempts to corner the market on financial domination by offering herself and her skills as someone willing to call you bad names so that you give her money. I can't think of a more ingenious escalation of cam-whoring. With regular cam-whoring there's at least the implication that the guy is going to get something for his creepy gifts, here that pretense is removed. This girl is just going to scream at you while you giver her money.
NOTE TO LOSERS
It is your HONOR to view these photographs. You are an unworthy worm. You shouldn't even be entitled to see these. Go submit! HAHAHAHA! Everytime you view this page SEND THE SAME TRIBUTE!!! Actually, send MORE! MORE MORE MORE MORE!! It is your HONOR! So obey my command bitch boy! You will do everything I command, understand? You got it?
On the plus side for guys who have this fetish: it's pretty much the easiest fetish for which to find an outlet in the history of fetishes. Walk into any strip club, tell a girl you want to be yelled at and you want her to demand money from you. Then watch in amazement as she takes every last dime! Heck, you could probably just go up to women on the street and request that sort of treatment. I know the reverse is true. If a girl walked up to me and wanted me to demand her money she could look like Jabba the Hutt with a meth habit and I'd still take every penny.
Simply put, if I had Johnny Manziel’s physical gifts, you better believe I would be there in the Weight Room, getting to bed early, doing whatever I had to do to be the best possible athlete I could be. I wouldn't be posting on social media about sucking titties. I wouldn't even look at a titty, buddy. I'd look at a titty and see two big footballs.
A real friend doesn't move until the middle of August, ensuring temperatures in the 90s and a humidity that turns boxers into moist balls of ruined cotton.
Expendable? You must be joking.
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