What is Financial Domination?
Financial Domination comes from a deep need for a loss of control. Financial Domination can be played in a myriad of ways but the main idea is a dominant woman seductively or harshly manipulating money from a submissive male.
For the submissive the idea of having a woman take money from him or manipulate him into a state of wanting to give money to her is incredibly erotic. In some cases the submissive male even dreams of complete financial ruination. This is extreme but has been done by many femme dommes in the past. Usually Financial Domination just involves the taking or giving of money either on a scheduled basis, through coercion or blackmail, or just out of an intense need to give.
Now for those of you who are reading this thinking, ‘you’d have to be nuts to get off on that,’ let me remind you that everyone has their own erotic fantasies however if you’ve ever taken a woman on a date, you’ve been financially dominated. If you’ve ever been screwed over in a divorce, you’ve been financially dominated. So don’t be too quick to judge. For some it’s painful, for others it’s very hot.
This is another fetish that has an underlying current of humiliation as well, but again it depends on the individual. To hear a woman laughing and telling you what a sucker you are can be very arousing.
Financial Domination can be done by phone, mail, live sessions or just about any way that’s imaginable. Being a Sugar Daddy is a more controlled form of Financial Domination but usually involved sex. The true fetish doesn’t involve sex at all because the dominant female wouldn’t dream of having sex with an unworthy submissive. The fact that he’s giving to her is simply because he feels that he isn’t worthy of the money but she, being more powerful and beautiful, should be made to enjoy her life with his money but without any tangible benefit to him. The mere fact that he has given the money is the benefit to him.
I use this metaphor a lot when I’m describing the feelings of the submissive in Financial Domination. When you go to a Christian church there is a time in the service where the plate is passed around and every one gives money to help keep the church running. No one there expects anything from that offering. They certainly don’t expect the pastor to get down and say blow the congregation in gratitude. (Lol that’s probably a whole other fetish.) No, in fact you give because you WANT to, you want to make sure your church is there for you next week, that the pastor can eat for the week and the bills can be paid. It’s the exact same thing with submissive men. If it’s done correctly they look at the woman as a goddess, a deity. To offer up money to their goddess is just the right thing to do. Her life is ALL that matters. As a submissive male you want to eat, sleep and breathe this woman. She IS your religion.
What does it feel like to be wrongly convicted
I was wrongly convicted of murdering my wife. I recall that first night in jail. It was not unlike being punched in the face. I was stunned, numb, and not sure of what lay before me. All personal control had been yanked away. What I wore, what I ate, where I slept, and where I could not go were all dictated by the State. In that situation, the absolute power of government becomes blatant, coercive, Orwellian.
The first few months of prison life are about adaptation. It’s a different society, a subculture of power — physical, emotional, and spiritual. There are simple rules. Obey and internalize those rules and you’ll get by.
As the years pile up, feigned apathy becomes your outward mask. But on the inside, anger and bitterness consume you. Revenge occupies your so-called free moments. At other odd times, you fantasize about living a normal life… or escaping to a tropical paradise… or dying in prison. You imagine building houses, establishing relationships with the opposite sex, or burning down the houses and the relationships of your enemies.
But as the decades accrue, an acceptance and an understanding of life creep in. If you’re lucky, you become calmer, more relaxed, more sure. You see the value of faith, hope, and of course, love. You come to appreciate pure things, like the behavior of animals and the joy of small children. It sounds cliche and almost banal, but time wears a man down.
In the end, if you are lucky, you see that our trials are what improve us. And if you are very lucky and somewhat insightful, you see that whatever your trial has been, it is exactly what you needed. Our trials make us who we are.
What’s it like to have a bad LSD trip?
Well I didn’t think it was possible with the quality of most LSD I see these days, but it seems I finally achieved my lifelong goal of overdosing and completely flipping out.
It was a Friday night and my trusty acid dealer arrived with the small squeeze-bottle vial. Usually she laughs hysterically at the number of hits I want to take, telling me I scare her. This time however, she just looked concerned and said “this is supposed to be really good stuff. Are you SURE you want to take 10?” At this I replied that I was so sure and she proceeded to squeeze the drops onto my tongue. 1,2,3,4,5,6- ok swish around, then 7,8,9,10. With the usual hug and ‘have a good trip!,’ she left me to my usual –coming up on large amounts of LSD- antics. My especially active roommate was gone for the weekend, and so I locked myself in my room and watched the end of this really strange Japanese zombie movie called ‘versus.’ The time was 1:50pm
The LSD came on stronger and faster than I had ever experienced. Usually I wait about two hours, wondering if I got ripped off. This time I ate very little in preparation, and by the 25 minute mark things were seriously near the overwhelming point. The white walls became trillions of colors with a repeating pattern that looked like the symbol for a cold front over and over again. I have only gotten sick on acid once before, but the intensity of the come up left me curled up on my bed with my face in the comforter, rolling around to try to stave off the nausea. I’m sure some out there know what I am talking about- its no normal nausea, it’s inconsistent and comes in rapid waves. What was initially an ecstatic mood at getting what seemed to be excellent acid turned into fear- this was coming on way too strong, way too fast. I remember lying on my bed looking at the different sized whirlpools swirling in the drywall and thinking “Just hold on, motherfucker!” For some reason I kept conceptualizing the amount of time I had been waiting for this trip, and it seemed to be a very tangible ‘amount’ of days bathed in this dreary sunset light and it made me feel unbearably depressed so I tried to banish it from my mind.
By this point it was about an hour in and things were getting really intense. I looked at the underside of my hand and wrist and saw the veins scintillating and moving quickly like highways of ‘loading’ bars on the computer with the diagonal lines moving. The visuals were making me sick so I closed my eyes and saw this universe pattern with millions of different sized dots and stars made of different day-glo colors. It was all intensely beautiful but I felt too sick to appreciate it. I stood up to make my way to the bathroom to try to speed up the inevitable and found my balance was insanely off. I stumbled and almost fell over, then crawling over to my toilet and sitting cross-legged in front of it, cursing it for being so tall and not being usable with me in that sitting position because it was the only position I could think of at the moment. The visuals at this point were not as noticeable because I was looking around too fast to settle on something, and frankly was concerned with my survival more than the trip. I knew in the back of my head that no one has ever died from LSD itself, and so as long as I maintained some small measure of control and didn’t fling myself out a window or something I would be fine. It certainly didn’t feel that way though, I felt violently ill and my mind kept going back to how the current trip must compare to ergot poisoning. I kept trying to put on music to calm myself but it seemed loud and like it would alert my roommates that something was wrong with me so I kept turning it up then down, the mouse making ridiculously long trails on my computer screen. None of my usually fully memorized favorite songs and album titles made any sense, and I kept going in circles on iTunes trying to find something, all the while becoming more and more disoriented and frightened. I kept picturing paramedics bursting in my room and shoving tubes down my nose, and my parents crying and standing over my hospital bedside. A part of me said “no, I’m not going to let that happen.” Ironically my unstable window shades took this opportunity to come crashing off the wall and knock everything off my desk, making me trip over them in the process. Landing on my bed with low music playing, I laid there, trying to calm down and think what to do next to help myself. These strange sequences of action kept entering my head, like “ok turn down the music. Now lay on the ground. Ok now pull out phone. Now try to find headphones.” These very mundane actions helped me feel centered and not so totally freaked out. I fully expected either my roommates, the police, or EMTs to bust in my room any second. I kept thinking I was going to die, even knowing about the toxicity of LSD, and my mind kept flashing to what the last thing was I wanted to say to God to rationalize my short life. I stumbled to a notepad and started to write “mom-I love you” then crossed it out as it suddenly seemed completely random and trite. Was this really the last message I wanted to leave the world? Instead I opted for printing in huge letters “HOLY SHIT” for some reason crossing the T at the bottom and making it look like an I. I was totally fucked up, the carpet was undulating and each object on my floor took on massive significance in what I thought to be the light of my last moments of life. Eventually I passed out on my bed for several hours when my crisis came to a pitch- I shut my eyes and tried to narrow my experience to the smallest amount of stimuli possible, focusing on my breathing. I guess this made me fall asleep because the next thing I remember was waking up around 6:00 pm, knowing the worst was over and thanking God and the spirits of the universe that I was alive and O.K. The trip was far from over, however, and the visuals were still going full force. My whitewashed walls were plastered with thousands of little amoeba shaped blobs each with numerous different bright colors contained within. I remember being stunned at the rainbows that seemed to form a halo around every object. By this time the sun had set, and turning on the lamps in my room sent cascades of crystalline light in all directions. With my totally ridiculous fear of dying past me, I was able to turn on my favorite music (A Japanese producer named Yasutaka Nakata) and enjoy the totally beautiful, ecstatic visuals that slowly died down, coming back briefly in waves until about 11 o’clock.
In retrospect, I never thought I would have an acid trip I wouldn’t be able to handle. I pride myself on my experience with psychedelics and voraciously read books, websites, anything I can about them and the experience we humans have with these substances. I was unprepared for the completely rapid and alien change my world went through in less than half an hour. I am mad at myself for freaking out, I contemplated calling 911 during the worst parts, and just imagining what could have happened had I done this sends shivers down my spine. A hospital is NOT where you want to ride out an acid trip. Reading this back to myself, I think “Why couldn’t I have just calmed down and enjoyed it??” At the time, this was impossible. My trip was like a freight train that gathered and gathered speed until I did the only thing I could-became unconscious.
I hope no one gets scared or chooses not to partake of LSD because of this trip report. I love lysergic acid diethylamide, it is an unbelievably wonderful sacrament that has been bestowed upon the human race, and I truly believe that a direct experience of reality, beyond labels or concepts, could push the human race off the destructive path it is currently on. But I am beginning to preach…
What is a typical day in prison like?
I can only say from my experience.
I was in a cell. There are also dorms, and I haven’t been in a dorm.
I was in a 2-3 man cell (new guy had to sleep on floor).
I woke up around 5:30 AM or just before( you get used to it). Then there was a count.
At that point you had the option to go back to sleep until breakfast or do something else, such as watch the local news on T.V., work out or try to shower.
You could also read, or do something. I usually got up and started moving around.
Around 7 you’d do another count where they actually looked in you cell to see if it was in order, and then chow.
Have some breakfast. Then, the day started really. I had a job, so I’d wait around in my full uniform, to see if they came for me that day. Sometimes they didn’t come. (M-F). After that I’d chat with some people, mess around, play a few games of chess or whatnot and maybe read a little bit.
Then there’s another count: This is where you line up and the guards just come around and count every head they see, sometimes look in you cell or maybe give a speech about things in the unit going well or poorly.
Then Chow (lunch) This is around the time I came back from work on the days that I did go. Id eat, bargain with the food depending on what was on offer. (I liked to get an extra hamburger on Wednesday so I’d hustle that)
Then I’d work out for 2-3 hours about 3-4 times a week. After lunch until dinner was the best time for me. I hated waking up in jail so bad, but when it came nigh-time, it became like a whole viable world in there and I knew after I worked out that I’d be sleeping soon which was my favourite part of doing time.
Then dinner came. At this point everyone would be winding down, and if I didn’t do a late work out, I’d read by myself, or just take a shower and be clean and socialize, maybe casually shoot some hoops or take a walk around the unit. This is something that I did quite a bit. I’d just do laps around the unit with my headphones in, or more rarely, I’d walk around with another guy, just talking.
I shoudl say that I read quite a bit. I read over 350 books while I was in for one year.
In addition I read countless magazine articles and newspapers.
In the morning or afternoon when I was waiting for work etc, I would do some work, or academic study. I would read biographies, or study some subjects like math, drawing, or random. I read and write letters around this time, and did crosswords, puzzles, and played a little chess.
Then in the evening after dinner, I would read a novel, or something fun, or light. In many cases this was actually literature, something that I could sink my teeth into more than T.V.
I hardly watched T.V., but there were some guys who basically did their whole time watching T.V. or sleeping.
THe evening after dinner was the happiest time for me. Generally people were in a good mood. Although I am not religious, sometimes I woudl go out to the prayer circle that was held un the basketball court. I liked the positivity of it, and the guys, all would give one another a hug. Being in such close quarters all the time it just felt nice to have a positive prayerful space.
Then I’d hit the cell before we got locked down, just to be out of everyone’s way in the last run-up to lock down. I felt like I was being the cool guy who leaves the party early. I’d hit my bunk and grab a book, or write a love note to my wife.
They came and locked the doors at 1030 after I’d been laying down for a bit. My cellys all would stay out until the very last second, so in that last hour or so I had the place to myself to clean up the cell again (another constant activity) or use the bathroom, and brush my teeth by myself.
Then we’d have to sit there for another half hour until they came and counted us again through the cell door before we could turn off the lights and go to sleep. I had a reading lamp and would just lay there reading until my eyes got tired.
There are also highliths and benchmerks of certain days.
There is laudry night and then laundry day. You have to be present and get your clothes and sheets.
There is commissary day which is like Christmas, you get all your treats for the week (2weeks or more sometimes)
There are also the weekends which are a little better rules. You can be out of your cell more, and you didn’t have to go to work for most pwople.
There are visits which are amazingly huge.
There are phone calls. I always chose times when the phones were slow, and dragged a chair over there to chat with the wife or someone like my mom or brother.
THen there’s the usual killing time bullshit.
There’s shakedowns, when they come and ruin everyones day and schedule and everything by tearing up your cell and fucking up everyones trip.
There’s holidays which work in a similar way to the outside, people are just people, and Christmas hits everyone.
There’s a tremendous amount of sadness. Just writing this makes me feel so amazingly grateful that I’m not inside anymore and am not going back in. I make every decision predicated on not going back to that nightmare. It’s so easy to go in and so hard to get out.