You will lose ownership of your brain. Neuron by neuron, cell by cell, lick by lick, you will feel your brain melt away into my possession, where it rightfully belongs, leaving you a mindless, stupified, brain-drained findom sub, consumed by one ever-looming goal: to pay Princess Piper. And here’s the thing: What I just described would sound awful to normal guys — to anyone who relishes having full control of their brain, their internal monologue, their consciousness. But for you? You don’t need or want to think. It’s too stressful. Instead, you want findom — and every little facet associated with this glorious fetish, including all the ways you can please me financially — to consume your mind. You want to dream about paying me. You want to wake up thinking about paying me. You want to eat, work, breathe, constantly distracted by the effervescent presence of My findom power, to the point where you’re a useless pawn on this earth — useless, unless of course, you’re spending your cold hard cash on me.