PrefaceI wrote this with the hope that individuals experiencing schizophrenic episodes, as well as their family members and friends, can recognize how these episodes can develop and make themselves apparent. Through my analysis, I’ve learned that many schizophrenic episodes follow similar patterns, often triggered by excessive stress on the brain. Based on my own experience and understanding, it feels as though the brain fractures into two different parts, one conscious and one subconscious. The new subconscious part creates a complex puzzle through associations you make with auditory and visual cues that draw you in, compelling you to uncover more of the puzzle each day. The suspected causes and reasoning behind why my brain fracture occurred and how it revealed itself is drawn out inside the covers of this book. I’ve also written in detail about the way I uncovered the clues to the puzzles and the shocking beliefs that I had during this episode.The arrival of the “voices” in my head right at the time where my stress had reached its peak was uncanny and too coincidental to ignore. I refer to them as "voices" but, for me, they weren’t audible in the traditional sense. Instead, it felt more like an upload of information, teleported into my brain by telekinesis by an entity able to communicate directly within my brain. While these entities seemed to have accents and distinct ways of speaking, I think that they built those associations with people I knew from my life—typically friends, enemies, even celebrities. This gave the voices camouflage, allowing them to blend in and exert even more influence over my thoughts.They were extremely convincing, continually stating that my survival and the survival of humanity was at stake. This left me no choice but to believe them and damn were they convincing. It felt as though they were sent by an external force to help me solve the mysteries of the world.In researching schizophrenia further, I discovered that many others have reported similar experiences with voices starting to appear inside their head when they were stressed to their capacity. This has led many, including myself, to wonder whether these voices serve as some sort of intervention to stress, corrupting that section of the brain and breaking it off into a new entity. The consistency of these experiences among people with schizophrenia seems too uniform to be purely coincidental. It seems highly unlikely to me that a break in the brain due to stress overload would produce such a similar pattern of delusional beliefs in so many isolated examples. Are we so much like computers that there can be corruption that creates the same patterns of belief so closely in so many different isolated examples? If so, that potentially opens a whole new world of possibilities in my opinion.The "voices" effectively created a new world for me full of new puzzles that I needed to keep waking up each day to solve to continue my pursuit of the conclusion of their guidance. The voices cautioned me not to reveal their messages or share anything about our "mission," threatening that I wouldn’t like the consequences if I did. Although they initially prevented me from succumbing to the relentless amount of stress I had, the pursuit of the puzzle they created for me cost me much more in the long run.The voices have relayed an interest in helping others with the disease to avoid the same pitfalls of delusion that I willingly stepped right into. I think that’s all we have to hold onto now. Perhaps they believed the delusions as much as I did, and we idiotically perpetuated each of our delusions back and forth (they’re saying that we did, but I don’t fucking believe them right now), deepening the entanglement.Here I sit with the assistance of their guidance recollecting the stories the best we can. I’m aware that most of my thoughts were simply delusions created by listening to the “voices,” but it seems there was something larger than just my brain at play. I’m compelled to believe that based on the similarities of patterns and similarities of themes between myself and others with the disease. Also, my creativity was never one of my strongest suits and the incredible journey that they took me on was unlike anything I could’ve come up with on my own. Frequently I presumed that I was a part of a Black Mirror episode because the themes were so intricate and borderline science fiction.It was as though my brain had been hijacked, and I became a passenger in my own life for several months. To be honest, that’s still how it feels to me, and perhaps it always will. There are some things that I did that I could never have imagined doing before they arrived. They frequently pushed me to the brink of doing extremely dangerous and potentially deadly things and then they would pull me back at the last second. Sometimes they were too late. Did I create that pattern of structure which they mimicked their behavior after through my own actions and the previous events of my life?In the end the way the voices structured their communication and puzzles in a way that led to a coherent conclusion to the puzzle. This also strikes me as strange because the individual stories and events could seem so disjointed at times that it was hard for me to believe they could come to such a concise conclusion.It continues to fascinate me how real and influential these voices were to me. When I first encountered them, they felt supernatural, as though they held an authority you cannot ignore. Let’s face it, when you’re overwhelmed by your current situation you want to believe something greater is real. They took the heed as that “something greater,” that kept me wanting to experience another day, one day at a time. But how would they know that’s what I needed? How could they have known when they needed to show up? How are they programmed to affect the same lost souls in the same type of search for greater meaning?The book is divided into two parts. Chapters One through Six cover the background and events leading to my first schizophrenic episode. The remaining chapters recount the actual stories, events, and experiences I lived through described as accurately as I can remember. In the beginning chapters there are anecdotes and themes of sexual deviancy which I believe contributed to my eventual breakdown. I apologize if any of these details are unsettling, but I felt it was important to provide the full context of everything I think contributed to my breakdown without shying away from details that embarrass me. I think this is important to the integrity of the story.It’s incredible how my brain operated under schizophrenia. It created a web of associations, connecting songs, TV shows, movies, and even simple noises or notifications from my phone to form a pattern of beliefs. These associations were relayed to me by what I recognized as separate entities inside my mind. I genuinely believed these entities were external voices speaking to me from another dimension or realm. It felt as though they had logged into my brain or hacked my consciousness. They would ask me questions, give me directions, and set tasks that I could never have conceived of on my own, leading me to believe these thoughts weren’t originating from my own mind. At that time the only plausible explanation for me was that they were external.I hope you find something valuable in this book, whatever your reason for reading it. I think it is an interesting and valuable story for everyone to delve further into the innerworkings of the mind, to fully embrace how dark and powerful the mind can be. I’m hoping that it might save your life or someone else’s life if you come across someone experiencing these types of delusions in the future.I felt compelled to share this story, believing it could be helpful for anyone affected by schizophrenia. In my mind, if it helps even one person then it was all worth it. I might be lost to the cause, but I truly hope this changes someone’s life for the better or else I wouldn’t have spent all the time it took to write it. It’s been quite the journey. I’m still alive, and the voices are still with me most of the time.This is my story…“Jake this is going to blow up in your face in the worst way. If I were you, I would dread every single phone call, every single email, every single weird look anyone shoots you. If you want to play games with me, I’ll play games with you. I love playing games, but only the ones I win of course. I know your dad has a pretty high tolerance for you even though you’re an idiot, but he’s about to lose that last, hopeful little shred of respect he is clinging to. What a shame. Goddess Jessica”Chapter 1 – Sexual Classical ConditioningI’ve always had a sense that I was meant for something greater, even though I haven’t quite figured out what that was yet. I had always been a kind person ready to lend a hand to anyone, even strangers. I sometimes wondered if people had taken advantage of my generosity over the years, but when it was an attractive woman, I didn’t mind at all. I wasn’t cynical enough yet to build walls or guard my heart yet.I stood 5’10” tall with deep brown eyes that drew people in, while my dark brown hair, usually styled into a purposefully messy, spiked look, gave off a carefree vibe. I went to the gym every day, maintaining a lean, ripped physique at 170 pounds, complete with defined abs and pecs. I didn’t focus much on leg day, but my frame was slender enough that not many noticed.My personality was laid-back, with a sharp sense of humor. I never took life too seriously and was always ready with a joke or a smile. That was me—a mix of contradictions, charm, and unspoken desires, still searching for that elusive "something more.”In high school, I was a bit awkward, so when it was time to start fresh after graduation, I headed to Arizona State University, eager to leave my past behind. I joined a fraternity at ASU, which introduced me to a tight-knit group of guys who became some of my closest friends.The campus was incredible, stretching about 1 mile by 1 mile in the middle of Tempe, Arizona. Mill Avenue extended directly off the campus and was about a ¾ mile strip of bars leading up to a mountain known as “A-Mountain,” because they put a giant golden “A” on it. My freshman year, before I even joined my fraternity, I was at a pre-rush party with some alumni from the frat I eventually pledged to. I got excessively drunk and told them I would paint the letter "A" red and black to match our fraternity colors to get into the frat. I barely remembered the conversation, but thankfully, they never made me follow through with it.Fast forward to post-rush initiation, where we went room to room, taking shots with all of the active members of the fraternity. I ended up taking around seven shots in about an hour and was completely obliterated. I was slurring my words and stumbling, but they hoped I’d sober up on the way to the bar they had rented out, so they loaded me onto the bus anyway. I don't remember much, but apparently, I rested my head on the seat in front of me and vomited all over the floor of the bus. The guys quickly dragged me off the bus and hid me in a pitch-black party room, which had a stripper pole and a couch. I vaguely recall waking up disoriented in the darkness, struggling for about 20 minutes to find the door. When I finally got out, a couple of guys who stayed behind were hanging out in the house. Instead of heading to the bar with the others, I was content just drinking and smoking cigarettes with them on the frat house balcony.I had this faint memory of falling down a flight of cement stairs later in the night, but I woke up fine besides a massive headache and a looming feeling of dread, lying in my own vomit on the floor of the balcony. I managed to trek back to my dorm, which was a five-minute walk to Palo Verde Main from the old frat row by the rail road tracks near Sun Devil Stadium.Despite my drunken antics on our bid night, the fraternity still allowed me to pledge the fraternity – maybe they felt guilty that I had almost died. I was getting a weekly allowance of $120 from my loans, which my dad deposited into my checking account on Mondays. It was meant to last the week, but typically by Thursday, I’d be running low from spending most of it on beer and food. My grades were solid—three A’s and a B—so I figured I was doing fine just maybe partying a little too much. But in reality, I was a mess, getting way too drunk way too often. It wasn’t just about grades as most of my classes didn’t require attendance, so I’d just study a few hours before exams and still ace them. Brief Calculus was the only class I couldn’t pull that trick with, so I ended up dropping it when my last-minute study approach failed. I was just having too much “fun.”During this early time at college, I met a girl named Cecily in my dorm. She was a gorgeous brunette with an olive complexion and dark brown eyes—a total sweetheart. She was high school friends with one of the guys pledging my fraternity, Josh, so we instantly had things to talk about. She also loved Dave Matthews Band, which is how we met. She was playing his music on her CD player, and I popped my head in to her dorm room and said, “Dave?” From there, we struck up a conversation. We began hanging out a lot, even kissed a few times, but I wasn’t sure if those kisses meant anything more.One Saturday night, my fraternity threw a party at the frat house, and Cecily came with some of her sorority sisters. I was sitting with Cecily and another one of the girls from her sorority named Hanna, with my arms around both of them on either side of me. Hanna turned to me and said, “Well, you must feel like a pimp right now.” That was all the signal I needed. I leaned in and started making out with her. Cecily, understandably hurt, immediately left the party. I stayed behind with the other girl, Hanna.Hanna was a stunning Asian girl from Oklahoma, with dark brown hair and eyes. She was built athletically, around 5’5” and 120 pounds, with a toned body from running cross country through high school. Things heated up quickly after Cecily left, and Hanna and I ended up lying down on the futon. I started touching her intimately and tried to take things further by removing her pants. I was ready to go all the way, but she whispered, “No sex.” I respected her boundary and instead kissed her again before going down on her. It was the furthest I’d ever been with a girl as hot as her, and I was completely lost in the moment.Someone accidentally walked in on us and abruptly shut the door leaving us alone again, which startled Hanna, but instead of stopping, she leaned back in, even more determined. She straddled my face, pressing herself against my lips, and I eagerly continued, completely lost in the sensation. After about 15 minutes, she climaxed. She gave me a quick reciprocal act and I was so turned on from pleasing her that it didn’t take long for me to finish.The next day, I had to face Cecily. I played it off like I didn’t know what we were, which is why I went for Hanna and she gave me a second chance. She made it clear we were exclusive now, and I agreed. But less than a week later, I messed it up. I was drunk and horny and texted Hanna, asking if she wanted to come over. I guess I was selfish and looking for more action than Cecily was giving me. Hanna came over to my dorm, and just like before, she straddled my face and let me please her. We both ended up passing out in my bed but I couldn’t remember much other than her sitting on my face. When I awoke she was gone and my roommate gave me the glum news that Cecily already knew everything. That was the end of us.Hanna and I hooked up a few more times after that. The last time, she told me she didn’t want to do anything to me but said I could go down on her if I wanted. I eagerly agreed. I quickly pulled her pants off and pulled her on top of me. She straddled my face, and I went to work for nearly 45 minutes until she climaxed, giving me nothing in return. She left after that, and while I would’ve gladly done it for the rest of my life, that was pretty much the end of our hookups. I still saw her around campus, and sometimes she'd study with a few guys in my fraternity, but that was the extent of us hanging out after those early freshman year encounters.After an eight-week pledge program, I was initiated as an active brother. Our pledge class was huge—45 guys, larger than the entire active fraternity at the time. It was a great group, and there was always something going on. We’d hang out at the house every night we weren’t heading out to support our fraternity sports teams or participating in date parties, socials, or philanthropies. At the house we found plenty of things to do and it was like a party existed every night there. The big parties we put on there were legendary. We had the biggest Christmas party on campus, and one of the brothers built a 14-foot reindeer covered in Christmas lights that you could see all the way from my dorm. The night of the Christmas party there must’ve been 500 people there. The halls were packed shoulder to shoulder with brothers in the fraternity, a few select guests, and an insane amount of girls.Around the time of the Christmas party we had started hanging out a lot with another sorority often. They had assigned girls to our fraternity to coach us for their philanthropy. Philanthropies were events put on by the sororities that multiple fraternities participated in to try to win a trophy declaring them as the winners. There were often a few large events like football, tug of war, or other athletic events. They always threw in a couple additional less objective events so they could manipulate the standings a bit at the end if they needed to. They typically had one or two fraternities in their philanthropies that they had great relations with and wanted to have them place in the top three. These more objective events usually consisted of things like lip syncing or a performance of some kind. Two of the girls that I met from the sorority became a couple of my good friends for the rest of college. Their names were Stephanie and Laura. They were best friends, and Stephanie was a gorgeous 5’3” Asian with a great body, tan skin, a confident, sexy voice, beautiful dimples and the cutest smile. Laura was pretty as well, but not as stunning as Stephanie. She was about the same height with brown hair and eyes, with pale skin, and a very slender build.I had a crush on Stephanie, but she was pursued by most everyone in our fraternity as well as other guys throughout the campus. She was one of the hottest girls in her sorority and at ASU for sure. I was friend zoned from the beginning, but at the time, I was too inexperienced to recognize it. That didn't stop me from pursuing her like a devoted puppy for four years.It was as if there existed an unspoken rule in her relationships: any guy she dated had to accept our friendship. I had even made a few attempts to persuade her to explore a more dominant dynamic between us but she declined my attempts to convince her to use me. I always found myself at her beck and call anyways. Particularly on those bleary Tuesday and Friday mornings our Junior year at 8:15 AM, when she’d swing by my apartment, park her car, and awaken me from my sleep to drive her to her early class. She didn’t seem to have an issue taking advantage of my crush on her when it suited her well. On especially stormy days, I’d even brave the elements to pick her up afterward if I happened to be awake.One rainy day stands out in vivid detail: she called me, drenched and asking for a ride back to her car. When I arrived, I couldn’t pull all the way up because there was a gate blocking the road. In just the 25 yards she needed to walk to my car she was soaked to the bone, her hair clinging to her delicate features. Instinctively, I draped my jacket over her sexy tanned legs, feeling a longing swirl within me.Another morning, after a night spent with a guy, she called me for a ride home. I was hungover myself and let her know I wasn’t really up to it, somewhat fearing that was a slippery slope of allowing her to continually take advantage of me but only on her terms. She must’ve gotten the feeling that maybe the request was too manipulative because she ultimately found another way. I was always willing to do anything for her, willing to drop everything at a moment’s notice.There was also a day our junior year when I was still crushing on her when she was dating a guy from another fraternity, and she was going on vacation with him. She invited me over to her condo while she packed, and then had me help her pick out lingerie for her to wear with him on vacation. In that moment, I couldn't shake the feeling that she was subtly trying to dominate me, enjoying her power while leaving me weaker and more vulnerable to her intoxicating charms.Finally, one night, emboldened by a few too many drinks, I mustered the courage to ask if I could pay her to financially dominate me. She quickly shot me down, saying she wasn't comfortable with it. I suspected she preferred to be the one composing the power dynamic. Not wanting to ruin our friendship, I steered away from asking her about it again, and we remained friends.After my freshman year we lost our Fraternity house. Michael Crow, the President at ASU, had an agenda of claiming eminent domain on the frat houses near the football stadium and we were the first house crossed off his list. College was still fun after that and the fraternity survived without moving into the ASU Fraternity housing offered, which was just like another dorm. We all moved into different apartments throughout the area and would alternate locations for smaller parties. By this time, I had made my closest friends in the fraternity, and we separated into a niche group who would hang out the most often. We would still frequently get together for our sporting events, and other social events, so it wasn’t like losing the house destroyed all the relationships, but it did make it a little more difficult for everyone to get together as much.In 2007, I had a fling with a girl named Laura from Stephanie’s sorority who was dating a guy from a rival fraternity. She had a cute charm that caught my attention over time. We’d been flirting for a while, frequently sexting about all kinds of dirty things—she had a crush on me, and I wasn’t about to turn down the opportunity to hook up with her. One rainy day, she asked if I wanted to watch some movies at my apartment. We had hung out a lot in groups before, but never on a one on one basis, so I figured she wanted to more than just watch movies. She came over to my apartment and we walked up the road to blockbuster.My heart raced as we wandered the aisles of the video rental store. I couldn’t stop thinking about massaging her sexy feet and feeling submissive to her. After some consideration, she picked out Cruel Intentions and The Island, and we headed back to my apartment. It was perfect—my roommate wasn’t home, so we had the place to ourselves. She stretched out on the couch, casually resting her feet in my lap with her sexy feet right in front of my face. I couldn’t help but admire how beautiful they were.After what felt like an eternity, I finally worked up the courage to ask if she wanted a foot massage. She grinned and said, “sure if you want to give me one,” and I started massaging them. My mind raced with forbidden thoughts—I wanted to suck on her toes, to feel like her little foot slave. As we sat there, I slowly leaned forward, laying down with her feet resting on my chest, and as I massaged them, I kissed her toes. They were sweaty, but I didn’t care—I was in Heaven.With a surge of adrenaline, I closed my eyes and started sucking on her toes, my heart pounding in my chest. As I massaged and sucked on one foot, I began touching her intimately through the pajama pants she’d worn, and she responded by pressing her other foot into my face. The sensation overwhelmed me. We eventually switched feet, and I continued, feeling utterly humiliated yet wildly turned on by the fact that I was worshipping this girl’s sweaty, dirty feet. It was intoxicating.At some point, she asked if I wanted to take things to the bedroom. She made it clear that she wanted me to go down on her but didn’t want to do anything to me because she had a boyfriend. I guess that felt less like cheating in her mind. Without hesitation, I led her to my room, where she laid back on the bed, and I lowered my face to her. The thought of her potentially being with her boyfriend recently consumed me, turning me on even more. The idea that I was pleasing her after she’d probably just been with him felt like the ultimate act of submission. She grabbed my head and pushed my face deeper until she finally came.Afterward, we went back to the couch and about five minutes later, the front door swung open, and her boyfriend walked in. I guess we should’ve remembered to lock the door, although maybe that would’ve been suspicious too. My heart nearly stopped, but we weren’t fooling around anymore at that point, so he didn’t catch us. They left together shortly after, and even though I hadn’t gotten any physical satisfaction from the encounter, the memory of being treated like her submissive was more than enough to get me off later.Shortly after that she and her boyfriend broke up because he found out she cheated on him with me. I’m sure she spun the story, probably told him that she didn’t do anything, that I did it all to her. And to be honest, that was mostly true. But she loved every second of it, just as much as I did. The rest of college was a blur of parties and random hookups.Another girlfriend I briefly dated in college was named Briana. She was a fiery 5'4" beauty, with striking brown hair and captivating brown eyes. Her flawless tan skin complemented her incredible figure, and she possessed large, perfectly shaped breasts that added to her draw. Briana had a presence that was hard to ignore, exuding both confidence and charm, making her someone who effortlessly turned heads wherever she went. I had a crush on her long before she even knew I existed. We shared a Calculus class my freshman year, and I always thought she was the hottest girl in the room. She was from Jersey so she had one of those nails on chalkboard accents, but for some reason I found it hot on her. She was direct and almost demanding which I found sexy.It wasn’t until we were introduced by a mutual friend, Dave, one of my fraternity brothers, that I finally got a chance to talk to her. We started hanging out at parties, and eventually, at the beginning of 2008, we kissed for the first time at my apartment.A couple of weeks into dating, we had fooled around but hadn’t had sex yet when Briana went on a previously scheduled trip to Rocky Pointe, Mexico, without me. When she and my friends returned they let me know she had cheated on me while I was there. Oddly enough, I wasn’t too heartbroken, but she started questioning if we should break up. I didn’t want to look like a fool for wanting to continue dating her after her cheating on me and not knowing if she wanted to, so I told her if she had any doubts, we should just end things. We decided to stay friends, but things got messy from there.One night, we were hanging out with one of her guy friends, watching a movie in her living room. I was supposed to take her to a concert in Tucson the next day, but that night, after I pretended to fall asleep on the couch, she took her friend to her bedroom. I stayed awake, listening to them have sex just 10 feet away, and I walked out of the apartment and slammed the door hurt that she didn’t respect me enough to wait until I wasn’t around to hook up with a guy when she knew I still liked her.The next day, I confronted her about it, but she denied everything. We still went to the Taking Back Sunday concert in Tucson, and even after all that, I couldn’t shake my feelings for her. I kept trying to pursue her, despite her cheating on me.After classes a few days later, I went over to her place to hang out and watch tv. We were sitting on the couch, and I couldn’t stop staring at her feet—her tan feet with French-tipped toes looked so sexy. I offered her a foot massage, and she stretched out her legs, wearing tiny mesh shorts and a t-shirt. I started massaging her feet, hoping it would lead to something more. As I moved my hands slowly up her legs, trying to get closer to her, she stopped me, saying it was just a massage. I awkwardly went back to rubbing her feet. Then, we heard the door slam in the kitchen. One of her roommates had come home. I wasn’t sure whether I should stop massaging her feet out of embarrassment or keep going like nothing was out of the ordinary. I decided to just keep going, though I probably looked like a whipped puppy.I was still trying everything I could to win her back, paying for dinners, taking her out, anything. One hot summer day, we worked at her cousin’s wedding—her cousin was a florist, and we were helping to set things up. Briana, always playful, sat on top of a cart while I pushed her around, taking her wherever she wanted to go. We passed an older man who was setting up at the wedding, and she turned to me, laughing, “He probably thinks you’re my little bitch, pushing me around.” Despite the sting of her words, I continued hanging out with her, still hoping I could somehow win her over again.After a few months of following Briana around like a devoted servant my luck finally began to turn one night when I was out at the bars on Mill Avenue. I ran into Lauren, a girl I had seen around the fraternity a few times. She had a twin sister named Andrea, and both of them were stunning—about 5’7” with brown hair, with great bodies, beautiful brown eyes, and big, bright smiles. Lauren had a slight lazy eye, but to me, she was the more classically beautiful of the two.That night, Lauren had just turned 21, and we immediately hit it off. I turned on the charm, making her and her friends laugh all night long. By the end of the night, we exchanged numbers, and soon enough, we were hanging out regularly. Within a few weeks, we were officially dating, and I genuinely thought I had met the girl I was going to marry.Through Lauren, I met a whole new circle of friends that she had known from high school—people like Tim, Dan, Brad, Chris, Mike (two of them, actually), Patrick, Travis, and their girlfriends. We spent most weekends drinking at house parties or heading out to the bars on Mill Avenue. Typically, when heading out to the bars we’d go to our favorite spot, Cue Club.Everything with Lauren started off so well it felt almost like a dream. Within the first year, we were already imagining our future together and discussing potential names for our kids. However, we did come from very different backgrounds. My family had always been relatively stable, with my parents having enough money to provide for everything we needed and not getting into fights very often. Lauren's family, on the other hand, struggled. Her mother had a gambling addiction, which made things even harder for them and her parents fought all the time always seemingly on the edge of a divorce.It felt like I was able to bring some much-needed stability into Lauren's life, especially during that period when she seemed to need it most. Our time together was filled with a lot of fun, laughter, and adventure. Dating during my senior year was a blast, and even after I graduated in 2009, we continued to have so much fun together. The connection we shared felt deep and full of promise.Cue Club was legendary, not just for the drinks, but for the crowd it drew. It was a pool hall located right in the middle of Mill Avenue, which was the main bar street at ASU. The hottest girls from ASU either worked there or regularly drank there. Usually, all three of our favorite bartenders would be working too. Lindsey, the tall, slender blonde, always kept things fun and had a witty sense of humor and coy smile. Then there was Amelie, standing at 5’5”, with a striking figure and a face so stunning she could’ve passed for a famous porn star. And finally, there was Sam who was the queen of the place. At 5’2”, she was tiny but confident, she had this killer smile that lit up the whole bar. She knew how gorgeous she was, and I could only imagine how often she got hit on every weekend. I always thought she was incredibly hot, but she was way out of my league, and besides, I was dating Lauren.Those weekends at Cue Club were some of the best times of my life—wild nights, unforgettable friendships, and the excitement at being surrounded by the hottest girls from ASU.I usually blended in well in most environments, but whenever I drank too much, my inhibitions crumbled, and my sexual urges surged. I vividly remember multiple occasions even after starting to date Lauren where I would spot an attractive girl at the bar, feeling overwhelmed with lust, and rushing to hail a cab just to race home and indulge in deviant porn. My obsession with female domination had been with me for as long as I could remember.After a night of drinking my senior year of college, my roommate Josh came back from the bars to find me passed out with my hand down my pants and my laptop still open. I’d been trying to get off to some hardcore femdom porn, and there it was, displayed for him to see. He was cool about it and didn’t judge me but there was some teasing me about being into weird shit like that.My tastes were wide-ranging and intense. I was into everything: face-sitting, pegging, enforced chastity, toe-sucking, foot worship, humiliation, cuckolding, and even financial domination. These fantasies would spill over into my real life. I’d imagine the hot girls I knew or the ones I saw at bars doing these things to me. The idea of being controlled, used, and humiliated by beautiful women had a hold on me.


Chapter 2 – "Professional" "Life"
In 2009, I graduated into one of the worst recessions since the early '80s, armed with a Business Marketing degree that suddenly felt useless. The job market was brutal, especially for marketing positions—no one was hiring.
With few options, I took my first job as a recruiter for a staffing company at $32,000 a year. It was far from what I'd imagined after four years at Arizona State University. The returning feeling of impending doom crept in. "Is this what the rest of my life will be like?"
My boss was an absolute dictator. Our office was 1,000 miles from the next closest branch, giving him autonomy to manage with as much pressure as he wanted. The hours were brutal, and the positions we filled were so specialized that finding qualified candidates felt impossible. One day, after over a year of consistently performing in the middle to top quarter, he told me to take the day off to "think about how I could improve." No warning, no conversation—just unpaid time off. It was insane.
Financially, I was barely scraping by. My salary and commissions kept me afloat, but not enough to enjoy life. I was living paycheck to paycheck, trying to support both myself and Lauren, feeling like my potential was being wasted.
I stuck it out until 2011, but needed a change. Lauren and I met our friend Mike J at a restaurant in Tempe, where he mentioned interviewing with a large global logistics company for an inside sales position. The role was part of an accelerated program designed to promote employees into field roles within two years. The thought of fast-tracking to outside sales with higher pay and serious commission was too tempting. I applied, interviewed, and had the job within a week. My luck seemed to be turning.
The new company was a welcome change—an inside sales force about 60 people strong, housing national operational teams and our leads department. Most employees were young, fresh out of college, so we'd frequently meet up for happy hours and go out on weekends. It was fun, but the salary and commission were wearing on me and my relationship with Lauren. I wasn't making enough to support both our nights out plus other expenses. I was always barely scraping by.
By the end of 2012, I got the news I'd been waiting for: a promotion to field sales, with options being Houston or Philadelphia. My first stop was Houston, but I wasn't impressed. The parts I saw were rough, and the hotel I stayed in had a murder there just the week before. The bright spot was catching up with Laura from ASU, who'd moved there for her Masters in Psychology.
Things with Lauren had become shaky. After years of distance from her schooling, we weren't even officially dating anymore. It felt like she'd used me as a financial crutch while finishing nursing school. I texted Laura asking if she wanted to meet at the hotel or head to a bar. She agreed to swing by the hotel first. By the time she arrived around 8:00 PM, I was already six Blue Moons deep—drinks courtesy of the company.
We hit the town after a quick beer, ending up at a cowboy bar with punch machines, pool tables, and flirty servers. As the night went on, I brought up something I'd mentioned to Laura before—my interest in financial domination. She was studying to become a psychologist and seemed intrigued by my kink.
Financial domination was a newer fetish involving a submissive man giving a woman money as a power exchange, usually accompanied by humiliation or teasing about her superiority. The humiliation of being used that way appealed to me.
I took a chance and slipped a twenty-dollar bill into her cowboy boot. She looked at me with a curious smile. "Oh, so you really do like this, huh?"
"Yeah, I do," I admitted. She smiled back, clearly enjoying the power exchange. There was something appealing about it—the way she held that control, even in something as small as a twenty in her boot.
We stayed out too late, caught up in the fun. Laura had met some guy she seemed into, but around midnight, knowing I had early interviews, we headed back to the hotel. I asked if she wanted to stay over. She agreed but quickly added, "I can't have sex or anything—I'm on my period." I told her it was fine, and we stumbled back to my room.
As soon as she kicked off her cowboy boots, I casually asked if she wanted a foot massage. She shrugged, "Sure." She was still wearing her socks, damp from the boots and humidity. As I rubbed her feet, I started moving them closer to my face, lying on my back so they rested on my chest. Slowly, I slid her socks off, and her sweaty, bare feet were right in front of me. I grabbed her left foot and slipped her toes into my mouth. She didn't pull away—in fact, she pushed her toes deeper.
She chuckled, making some teasing remark about how much I enjoyed it, but I was too lost in the moment. The combination of having paid her earlier and now worshipping her feet while she barely paid attention made me feel completely submissive to her.
Desperate for more, I pleaded to go down on her. She reminded me, almost dismissively, that she was on her period, but I didn't care. Despite my begging, she refused, relishing the control of having me completely at her mercy without giving anything in return. I continued with her feet until exhaustion overtook me and I passed out.
A few hours later, I woke to my alarm. Her feet were still resting on my chest. The memory of the night came rushing back, and I felt embarrassed about how submissive I'd been without getting anything in return. I let her know I had interviews but she could stay until 10:00 AM as long as she checked out by 11:00. I had to take care of myself in the bathroom before heading out, still flushed with humiliation and turned on by it. I was associating orgasms with the rush of humiliation, and it had taken things to new heights. I was hooked on the feeling.
After the interviews, I told my director Raul I was open to Houston for the higher pay. However, he insisted I visit Philadelphia first. I agreed, so I flew to Philly and was greeted by a stunning sales rep named Lauren with a sultry East Coast accent. I spent the day shadowing her as she made rounds to clients in Center City's skyscrapers.
Lauren was impressive—sharp, efficient, and meticulous. She found a large opportunity with a major motorcycle parts company, and watching her work, I developed a bit of a crush. Beyond her beauty, her professional poise made me realize she'd be the perfect mentor. My potential territory would be just outside the city heart, and Philadelphia had a lot to offer.
After our day together, I called Raul to say I preferred Philadelphia. He said he'd be taking a position as director of that territory, and my direct manager would be Rejesh, a budding superstar from New York who regularly led the company in sales. My role would involve finding new opportunities and bringing in Rejesh to seal deals with decision-makers. I felt confident I could flourish in the greater Philadelphia area.
Raul told me to get a feel for the city that night. After resting, I took a cab downtown. My first stop was Dirty Franks, a quirky bar with dartboards and graffiti walls. I ordered a local IPA before heading to Jimmy's, an Irish pub around the corner. I spotted four men, ranging from late 30s to mid-50s, laughing around the bar. One older man from New Jersey was being playfully teased as a mobster.
I offered to buy them shots, but they waved me off, explaining they were celebrating a wedding and insisted on treating me instead. We drank Tullamore Dew and Guinness well into the night, and I completely fell in love with Philadelphia nightlife. The last thing I remember was raising a glass with them before everything went black.
I woke the next morning at 8:55 AM in a haze. My flight was at 10:15 AM. Still half-dazed, I rushed to pack and barely made it to the airport.
Raul informed me that Rejesh wanted to meet for an interview before finalizing my hiring. If all went smoothly, I'd receive a $7,500 relocation allowance and embark on a new chapter in Philadelphia.
They wanted to move quickly, so I'd fly out just two days later. Rejesh would pick me up and conduct interviews throughout the day. To make the most of my visit, Raul decided I should shadow Eric, a coworker from the inside sales team now doing sales in Baltimore.
Everything clicked during my interview with Rejesh, and I enjoyed shadowing Eric. After work, Eric, his girlfriend Jamie, and I went out with the Baltimore team for dinner and drinks. I felt instant camaraderie with everyone. With Eric and Jamie nearby, I knew I'd have friends to visit. The future looked exciting.
When I returned to Phoenix, I emailed Raul expressing my desire to accept the Philadelphia position. He responded within the hour: my new salary would be $53,000, and they wanted me to relocate within two weeks. My last day in Tempe would be that Friday, giving me two full weeks to pack and settle in Philadelphia.
Rejesh tried to convince me to ship my car to speed up the transition, but I was determined to drive, craving the chance to explore and savor two weeks off. Plus, driving would let me save a chunk of my relocation bonus for rent, furnishings, and a little fun once settled.
I was popular at the office and among college friends, so they threw me a going-away party at Cue Club. Our favorite bartenders, Samantha and Lindsey—both stunning ASU grads—were serving that night. I felt loved.
My friend Ash offered to help with the drive if I covered his flight back. Having him along to split driving shifts sounded great. That night was unforgettable—full of laughter, goodbyes, and excitement for the next chapter.
Towards the end of the night, Lauren and I got a hotel room in Tempe for one last romantic night together. We started making out as soon as we entered, but I'd drunk too much and couldn't perform. Determined to please her, I went down on her, and after a few minutes she teasingly asked, "Do you want me to sit on your face?" This had become a ritual in our relationship. I think she enjoyed feeling dominant, and I loved feeling submissive with her looking down at me. That was probably the main issue—she'd gained too much power and relished manipulating me to do whatever she wanted.
"Yes, baby," I replied, and she straddled my stomach, working her way up until she met my lips. That always got me going, and my arousal quickly returned. Sometimes she'd pin my hands with her knees, teasing me until satisfied. After a few minutes, I was ready again. She shifted and began riding me, but it wasn't quite the same. Sex with her had gotten boring, and I almost preferred being pinned beneath her, lost in fantasy.
We still weren't together—the night was more a hook-up than a rekindling. I was already excited about Philadelphia, ready to explore new opportunities and meet other women. Finally, I felt like I was escaping the rut I'd been stuck in.
A couple days after the farewell party, I loaded my Prius with essentials, ready for a new adventure. As I hugged my parents goodbye, they gave me a card featuring "Oh, the Places You'll Go!" Inside were touching messages filled with encouragement.
My parents had moved to Sun City, Arizona after retiring two years ago. My mom, diagnosed with multiple sclerosis in 2009, faced significant challenges getting around and was often in pain. Despite this, she and my dad Josh seemed content as homebodies. At 56 and 59 respectively, it fit them to embrace a slower pace. They appeared to enjoy their serene existence, supported by my mom's disability income and my dad's retirement savings. With their house bought outright by my grandmother, they seemed set financially.
The night before departure, I went to Tempe for one last bittersweet goodbye with Lauren. I hugged her, kissing her with a mix of love and uncertainty. While I was still attached, having invested so much time, money, and emotion, it seemed like she was drifting away. The intimacy made saying goodbye even harder. We parted, both aware this moment marked a significant turning point.
The next morning I picked up Ash, eager to kick off our journey. Our itinerary included visiting Stephanie in Austin, two days in Nashville, and possibly another East Coast city before heading to Philly.
After 14 hours, we arrived at Stephanie's apartment in Austin. She still looked stunning—same infectious smile and soothing voice. We went out with her friends downtown, effortlessly slipping back into rhythm. She was the kind of friend you could reconnect with seamlessly.
The next morning, Ash and I set off for Nashville, a thirteen-hour drive with snowfall looming. We took turns driving in two-and-a-half-hour increments. We rolled in late, around 10:00 PM, but adrenaline still coursed through us. As we passed vibrant bars lining the streets, we could feel the energy rising.
Ash was particularly excited about the live music scene—he'd played guitar his entire life and become quite skilled. After being grounded an entire summer in junior high with only guitar as a privilege, he'd developed the talent of a seasoned lead guitarist. Ash was contemplating moving to Nashville depending on how our trip went.
We cabbed to Broadway, eager to dive into live music. Nashville is known as the Bachelorette Party capital of the United States, and it lived up to its reputation. The strip was packed with gorgeous women in cowboy boots. Being winter, many wore pearl snap shirts and jeans. They were stunning. "This is the best party city I've ever been to, aside from maybe Las Vegas," Ash declared, and I agreed.
After our first night, we extended our hotel stay. Ash wanted to explore more bars as potential venues if he moved there. I was excited to keep partying. Night two was fun too, but Ash was starting to feel worn out from my pace.
The following morning, we hit the road early, determined to reach Philadelphia by nightfall, giving us Thursday through Saturday to enjoy the city before Ash's Sunday flight.
As I began driving toward Philadelphia, the radio warned of potential snowstorms through eastern Tennessee up to Baltimore/D.C. We met the snow near Knoxville but pushed through. Near Richmond, we encountered thick, heavy snow that significantly slowed traffic. By the time we navigated through, it was past 8:00 PM, crawling at 20-25 mph. Exhausted, we pressed toward D.C. Turning to Ash, I asked, "Do you want to just stay in D.C. tonight?" He nodded, and I found a budget hotel near busy D.C. We arrived around 10:45 PM. Ash was exhausted and hit the hay while I couldn't resist heading out for drinks.
The following morning, we woke to melting snow and hit the road around 1:30 PM. It wasn't until after 7:00 PM that we finally arrived in Philadelphia. Bill answered the door—a friendly figure about 5'11" with blue eyes and sandy blonde hair in a crew cut. He had a kind face, though his heavyset frame suggested he enjoyed good meals.
Within moments, the other roommates, Alex and Ian, shuffled in. "Good to meet you! I can grab beers if anyone's in the mood," I offered. Awkward silence fell as they exchanged glances. Finally, Ian broke it: "Well, actually, here in Philadelphia you can't buy beer right now. It's Sunday, and they only sell it at dispensaries, which are closed. If you want to drink, you need to hit up a bar."
My disappointment must have shown, but I quickly suggested checking out a nearby bar. The new roommates agreed to join, though they mentioned they couldn't stay late since they had work.
We walked to a dive bar about a block and a half away. It had everything: dartboards, a gorgeous bartender, touch tunes, grimy restrooms, and incredible pub fries. I knew I'd be a regular. Ian, tallest at 6'2", brought his girlfriend Marly—a petite 5'5" blonde with piercing blue eyes. She was feisty, and I loved that. Bantering was one of my favorite pastimes.
Ian exuded a relaxed California vibe, having relocated from Seattle for an engineering role at a defense company. With his sandy blonde hair and blue eyes, he embodied effortless California cool.
Unfortunately, my boss turned out to be a total jerk. My Mondays through Fridays quickly spiraled into nightmare territory. On my first day, before I even set up my laptop, he came out, handed me a customer list, and barked, "Hey Jake, set up four meetings this afternoon. I'll go with you." Without a smile or nod, he retreated to his office. I was stunned. I'd just met Rejesh for the second time, had no field sales experience, and was already feeling jittery.
I'd expected a ramp-up period—time to familiarize myself with companies, reach out by email or phone, and set up meetings within a week or two. But no, it was sink or swim. I managed to schedule three meetings that afternoon, but Rejesh wasn't satisfied. I quickly learned he was never satisfied.
I lived in Manayunk, on Philadelphia's far northeast edge, while my office was at the airport in the far southeast corner. My sales territory stretched back toward Manayunk and beyond, fifteen minutes from where I lived. I'd moved to that neighborhood specifically for proximity to my territory, but Rejesh's demands ruined that intelligence immediately.
He made us drive to the office every day before 8:00 AM just to report to him. After that, I'd trek back past where I lived to head out to my territory. I wasn't doing anything productive in the office; he simply wanted to apply additional pressure. It didn't matter how miserable the weather—his rule was crystal clear: show up every morning by 8:00 AM, only to drive back out to territory.
This forced me to wake at 5:50 AM to shower, eat, and get ready, sprint out by 6:50 AM, and endure an hour-long commute to the office. Then I'd turn around and drive another grueling hour-and-a-half to two hours back to my territory. Pure insanity! The inefficiency drove me nuts. Had I known every day would start at the airport office, I would have reconsidered living in Manayunk or taking the position at all.
With this schedule, I couldn't reach my territory until around 10:15 AM. By then, I was already drained from two and a half hours of driving and seething with frustration—every single day. I tried hunting for new opportunities with companies that hadn't used us, but honestly, every place I walked into seemed to despise us. If they'd ever used our services, it was because we'd delivered shoddy work or demanded exorbitant fees, leading them to swear off future dealings. The few clients that still used us did so only for select shipments because we were too pricey.
Philadelphia wasn't the vibrant metropolis of LA or New York; it felt like an aging, perhaps dying city. I was utterly miserable, and my boss did nothing to help. Rejesh was relentless, constantly pressing for updates on every detail. I felt like I was suffocating under his scrutiny. I often wished I'd taken Houston instead.
Lauren and I had gotten entangled back into talking, trying to make long-distance work. She didn't realize how much of a stable force I was until I was gone, so she'd want to talk nearly every night. I was relieved to have distance because I was no longer paying for every dinner or bar tab.
She visited for St. Patrick's Day weekend, which I thought would be romantic, but not only did we not have sex, she acted more like a distant friend than a girlfriend—a distant friend that wasn't even fun. My roommates all loathed her. She came off as pretentious and cold, though I suspected she was nervous and didn't want to lead me on if her feelings had changed. Maybe when she saw me in person, she realized the spark was gone. I was determined to pursue her since I'd invested so much. With my job as chaotic as it was, she was one thing, besides my mom, that gave me some stability. They were the only people I'd share stressors with, and I needed an outlet.
Making new friends in Philadelphia was difficult. Most people had grown up there and weren't interested in new friends. I could usually charm groups for a night at bars, but it seldom ended in exchanging numbers, let alone meaningful friendship. My roommates were homebodies, which didn't help.
By April, Philadelphia was still grappling with frigid 27-degree temperatures. That was the cherry on top of my misery. I couldn't even indulge in pleasant weather; it had to be dismal all around. The driving made it feel like twelve to fourteen-hour days, compounded by suffocating pressure and late-night calls from Rejesh.
All I needed was to endure nine more months, then I'd be free from repaying my relocation bonus. That $7,500 was the sole anchor keeping me from quitting. If I could have marched out right then, I would have, but I hadn't made or saved much money yet.
As summer rolled into fall, my relationship with Lauren remained rocky. On a positive note, Lauren encouraged me to connect with her friend Zack, a Harvard-educated lawyer in D.C. I asked her to set up the introduction. Zack soon texted, inviting me down in a couple weeks. Desperate for an East Coast friend, I jumped at it. The 2½-hour drive was manageable, and seeing a familiar face felt like a needed boost.
That first D.C. weekend was incredible. Zack and I hit it off like old pals. He was charming and effortlessly kept up with my energy—5'11" with striking blue eyes and light brown hair. His infectious smile and magnetic personality made him a chick magnet, and I loved helping my friends score. By weekend's end, I'd helped him succeed twice.
Zack genuinely enjoyed my company; I was a refreshing burst of fun compared to the buttoned-up lawyers he typically associated with. He had a close circle of fellow attorneys we'd occasionally join, but our most memorable adventures happened when it was just us prowling D.C. nightlife.
There was satisfying thrill in helping Zack with women he might not have otherwise approached. We started hanging out at least monthly, a welcome reprieve from repetitiveness. Both unhappy with our East Coast weeknight lives, we shared a common goal of making our way back to Phoenix.
As June approached, my lease was expiring, but we all wanted to continue living together. We searched for a new place closer to the city, aiming for a wealthier, more vibrant neighborhood. Manayunk was fun, but it was a journey to get into the city. We wanted to be closer to action. I thought maybe this would help us get out together more. The promise of better summer weather was welcome too. The frigid winter, combined with work depression and Lauren stress, made it difficult to be happy at all.
We found a great row home in Fairmount with four bedrooms across three stories and a basement. Bill and Alex claimed the basement and top floor—the largest spaces. On the second floor were two bedrooms and a shared bathroom, one significantly smaller. I negotiated for the smaller bedroom, figuring I could get a great deal while living in a prime Philly neighborhood. Ian, still with Marly, opted for the larger room. When the dust settled, my monthly rent was just $175 for twelve months. That left plenty of cash for nights out to try to turn my experience around. The rent was low enough that if I decided to leave for Arizona before lease-end, I could easily manage the cost.
As the Fairmount move progressed and Lauren continued voicing uncertainty about our relationship in nearly every conversation, I decided to explore what else was out there. A new app called "Tinder" had burst onto the scene, offering chances to match with people and initiate conversations for dates. To my surprise, I received interest from attractive women. I started going on dates—one to a Phillies game, another to a Dave Matthews concert in Camden, and gearing up for a highly anticipated Jay-Z and Justin Timberlake concert at Citizens Bank Park on August 13th.
The concert atmosphere was electric when I noticed my phone buzzing with a call from my mom. I didn't pick up because I couldn't hear in that environment, but moments later, a text popped up: "Jake, give me a call when you get this. I have some bad news." My heart sank. "What else could be going wrong," I wondered. I told my date I needed to step out and made my way to a quieter corner.
When she answered, her voice trembled. "Hey Jake, I'm sorry to interrupt your fun, but your grandma has taken a turn for the worse. She's no longer able to speak, and we've started hospice care at home. We set up a hospital bed in the living room. She doesn't have much time left. If you want to visit one last time, your dad and I will buy your plane ticket."
I felt a rush of emotions. I'd never been particularly close to my grandma, but I cared deeply; she was family. It felt important to see her and offer comfort, especially since we'd never shared that close a bond. I promised I'd talk to Rejesh about getting time off.
Trying to enjoy the rest of the concert proved challenging. The information weighed down my thoughts.
The next morning, I emailed Rejesh requesting to fly out Friday to spend the weekend with my dying grandma. He swiftly approved, and I called my mom to book my ticket. I was thrilled at the prospect of seeing her again—I missed her dearly. I missed my dad too and looked forward to spending time with him. Plus, I hoped to drive to Tempe one night to catch up with college friends.
The trip was as good as could be expected. It was odd seeing my grandma lying mute in a hospital bed in the living room while we tried comforting her with words and touch. It was nice spending time with my mom. I didn't realize how much I missed her and how just being around her seemed to lift me up.
My grandma was expected to pass relatively soon after my visit. She held on longer than anyone anticipated, but sadly passed in early September. Since we were the only ones close to her at the end, there wasn't a funeral, making it feel like a quiet farewell.
After my grandma's arrangements, my parents were scheduled to embark on a cruise October 12th to Mexico for my mom's birthday. Meanwhile, Lauren and I had plans for Belize in mid-September. I looked forward to this getaway, hoping it would either breathe new life into our relationship or serve as clear reason to finally break up, allowing me to pursue other women more aggressively in Philadelphia. Though I'd been going on dates and sharing a few kisses, I hesitated to take things further since I was still trying to rekindle things with Lauren.
Finally, our trip week arrived, and I was eager to step away from my boss's pressure and see where Lauren and I stood. Unfortunately, the vacation raised more questions than answers. It felt like the beginning of the end; if she remained so uncertain, I wasn't going to continue being loyal. I craved fun and wanted to explore whether other girls were interested.
Less than a month after Belize, my parents were set to drive to LA for their cruise celebrating my mom's birthday. I can still picture my mother in her vibrant yellow shirt, wheelchair-bound, beaming with excitement as she prepared to board. I hadn't seen her smile that broadly in years. She seemed excited to experience life not cooped up with my dad in Sun City. I was surprised because when I'd suggested they do more things, they'd always resisted.
My sister had gifted them the cruise tickets as a birthday present—a surprise to us all. Their relationship had been strained for years, hardly speaking over the past five. My mom had struggled with substance abuse related to MS medication. She'd shop around for doctors, collecting pills that left her loopy, slurring words and barely able to stay awake. I remember many evenings driving from Tempe to Sun City trying to help when my dad seemed overwhelmed.
There was a time she confided in the wrong doctor about dark thoughts, leading to a week-long stay in a mental health facility. Visiting her there was difficult, a reminder of battles we faced. I watched my mother's health deteriorate alarmingly between 2006 and 2009. The combination of chronic illness and escalating prescription use spiraled further out of control after they moved to Kentucky from 2009 to 2011. When my dad Josh lost his job in Kentucky, they relocated to Arizona, seeking retirement solace in Sun City.
I won't lie—I felt excitement about my parents' cruise. Since it was international, their phones would lose service after day one, giving me needed rest from nightly check-ins. I was used to those calls where I reassured her everything was fine. Really, most of the time I just wanted to make sure she wasn't slurring words and delirious from drugs. This brief break felt like fresh air. Plus, with secret plans to move back to Arizona soon, I wasn't overly concerned about work, so I could enjoy time off checking on her and have a little fun.
The Saturday after my parents set sail, I embraced spontaneity and dove into fun. Eric and Jamie were in town from Baltimore, and we went to Xfinity Live!, a pulsating bar hub near the stadiums. With my relationship with Lauren fizzled, Eric and Jamie made connections with a couple girls who caught our attention. Our day was a delightful mix of laughter, drinks, and flirtation, and after several hours, we retreated to my apartment where the night took a fun turn.
As we continued drinking at my apartment, one girl captured my attention. Standing at 5'5" with straight brunette hair, she had a very nice body and radiated irresistible confidence.
After a couple more beers, the girl and I made our way upstairs to my bedroom. She looked at me with a playful smile and asked what I wanted to do. With the thrill of the moment—her being the first new girl I'd be hooking up with in about six years—I suggested we make out and see where things led.
She'd already taken her shoes off before we got on the bed. She was wearing tight jeans, and I slowly unbuttoned them and slid them down. The anticipation was intense as I touched her intimately. I was eager to please her, but as I got closer, I caught an unmistakable scent—she clearly hadn't cleaned up after a recent encounter with another guy.
The smell hit me immediately, but instead of being turned off, I felt a surge of humiliation and arousal. I was already committed, so I pushed forward. She grabbed the back of my head, pressing my face into her, knowing she had complete control. The realization that she didn't even respect me enough to clean up first only added to the intense mix of shame and desire I was feeling.
When I finally pulled away, I excused myself to the bathroom. After returning, I found her and her friend getting ready to leave. No reciprocation, no return on my efforts—just the lingering sense of being used. It was both disappointing and incredibly intense. The thought of what had just happened would fuel countless fantasies. The sense of humiliation was scorching.
The next day, Eric, Jamie, and I ventured to Bishop's Collar, a lively bar in Fairmount. We settled in for an epic day of drinking while watching college football. By weekend's end, I felt rejuvenated and ready to tackle the workweek. I'd managed to hook up with a girl—sort of—and had an unforgettable weekend.
Monday morning arrived, and I strolled into the airport office at 7:45 AM in a crisp dress shirt and slacks. As the meeting kicked off, Rejesh launched into his presentation. About five minutes in, he suddenly halted, casting a critical eye my way. "Really? No tie, man? Wow. Do you have one in your car you can put on? This is very disrespectful," he scolded.
I felt frustration bubble to the surface. I was already fed up with his antics, but didn't want to jeopardize my job. My plan was to endure until my year was up and make my exit. As Rejesh continued speaking, I shrank in my seat, feeling as small and exposed as possible. Embarrassment washed over me, simmering into anger. In a moment of dark humor, I found myself fantasizing about how I might get away with harming Rejesh. The thought was absurd (I'd never do it!), yet it oddly comforted me. "Sure, you can be a jerk to me. But just know, I could always take you out if I really wanted to," I mused, relishing my fleeting sense of power.
Lost in vengeful daydreams, I was abruptly jolted back by sharp finger snaps. Rejesh was attempting to reclaim my attention. "Alright, everyone, I think we're all tired. You're free to go," he declared, dismissing us with a nonchalant wave.
Despite the humiliation, I managed to say goodbye to co-workers, but couldn't bring myself to acknowledge Rejesh. I climbed into my car and drove back to Fairmount, determined to drown my frustrations in alcohol. The plan was simple: get as drunk as possible, hoping to forget the whole experience and numb the lingering embarrassment. I hit up Bishop's Collar, where I downed seven pints and four shots in a blur.
Around 12:30 AM, I finally decided to call it a night and sleep it off so I could be somewhat functional before heading to my territory in the morning. Thankfully, the Area Manager had caught wind of Rejesh's absurd 8:00 AM demand and overruled him. The nightmare of those early mornings was finally over.
On most workdays, I didn't expect to hear from Rejesh until 10:00 or 11:00 AM, so I'd frequently sneak in an extra hour or two of drinking and sleep in a bit. After being singled out in the meeting, I decided to drink more than usual and enjoy a couple more hours of sleep. At that point, I didn't care; if they caught me and fired me, so be it.
The next morning, I awoke to missed calls—one from Rejesh on my work phone and another from my sister on my personal phone, which struck me as odd. Realizing it was 10:30 AM, I jumped in the shower and threw on work clothes, preparing to head to my territory. Deciding to call my sister back, I braced myself for whatever news she had.
When she answered, her voice was thick with sobs. "What happened?!?" I asked, my heart racing. "You know," she replied cryptically. In moments like that, you don't know anything. "No, Kate. I don't know. Please tell me," I urged.
"Mom died," she said.
"Oh, fuck. Oh my god. Are you serious? What happened?" I stammered, panic washing over me. Kate could only tell me that Mom had passed away on the cruise ship sometime during the previous night. To make matters worse, my dad hadn't even bothered to call me.
I felt completely shattered. Just a month earlier, my grandma had died, and now my mom was gone too. A crushing wave of self-hatred engulfed me as I cursed my decision to move to Philadelphia, convinced that if I'd stayed in Arizona, things would have turned out differently. "Will Dad be calling me?" I asked. She didn't know, explaining he wouldn't have access to their cell phones while on the international cruise. Still, she promised to let him know I wanted him to call if he reached out to her again.
In an effort to keep my boss off my back, I called him to break the news. He listened attentively, understanding the gravity. After asking a few questions about what happened, he assured me I had the day off and likely the next as well. His sincere condolences felt oddly comforting, especially coming from him. For once, he sounded more like a compassionate human being than a dictatorial boss.
As I hung up, a wave of grief washed over me. I sank onto my bed, desperately trying to summon tears, but something felt off—they just wouldn't come. I couldn't just sit at home alone. I needed to do something to distract myself from the horror of my life. Nothing seemed real.
I decided to venture to the grocery store, mindlessly picking up items I didn't really need. Then I spotted a Redbox kiosk and rented a couple movies, desiring temporary escape from crushing reality.
I texted Lauren and Stephanie to inform them of my mom's passing, asking if we could chat when they had a moment. Lauren called almost immediately, her voice tinged with unsettling excitement. "I had a bad feeling that something was going to happen!" she declared, sounding like a detective who'd just cracked a case. My stomach churned in disgust; this wasn't the time for her to flaunt her ego. "How could she be so insensitive when I needed her most?" I thought.
Stephanie called about ten minutes later, her tone sympathetic and genuinely warm. It was a relief to talk to her, and I found myself thinking how fortunate I was to have her in my life.
Returning home, I felt growing anxiety about my inability to cry. I was sad; I loved my mom deeply, yet tears refused to flow. I realized it had been years since I'd cried. In a moment of clarity, I posted a heartfelt message on Facebook to commemorate my mother's life and notify friends and family of her passing. Almost immediately, messages flooded in—people shared their fondest memories, heartfelt condolences, and prayers. "It's nice to feel like people care," I thought.
My roommates, having seen my post, mentioned they were heading to a haunted house that night. They hesitated, sensing it might not be the best plan but urged me to join if I felt up to it. I thought it would be good to get out and keep my mind occupied, so I accepted.
We went to the haunted house at old Eastern State Penitentiary in Fairmount. It was a welcome distraction from the weight of my mom's passing. However, whenever I caught myself laughing or losing my grief through distraction, a pang of guilt washed over me, as if I were betraying her memory by allowing myself to enjoy the moment. After the haunted house, we headed to Bishop's Collar for a nightcap. They'd cautioned me against drinking, and I agreed, choosing to stay sober that night.
While at the bar, I met a girl who was clearly intoxicated. Despite my situation, I kept the conversation light and friendly. She lived just around the corner, and when I offered to walk her home, she gratefully accepted, clearly too tipsy to navigate alone. She stumbled across the street with me holding her up, and when we reached her front door, we exchanged pleasantries and shared a quick hug. As tempting as it was to ask for her number, I held back. Having just lost my mom, I wasn't ready for anything at the moment. It was hard enough to just put one foot in front of the other and keep moving forward.
On the walk back, I took my time, letting my senses take in details of my surroundings. I focused on places along the street I'd previously overlooked. As I passed the Corinthian Gardens next to the prison, I paused to appreciate its unexpected beauty.
Once home, I took some sleeping medication, hoping it would help me get a little sleep. However, sleep eluded me, and I was jolted awake the next morning by my phone ringing at 10:00 AM. The number looked unfamiliar, but I answered anyway, hoping it was my dad calling from the cruise ship. To my relief, it was him.
"Hey Jake, it's your father. I have some sad news—as you know your mother passed away yesterday in her sleep on the cruise," he said, his voice heavy with sorrow. "I'm okay, but obviously sad. They've taken her body to the morgue on the ship. They aren't fully sure what happened, but they'll perform a complete autopsy when we get back to Los Angeles. How are you holding up?"
It was hard to come up with words. "How the hell am I doing?" raced through my mind, but I held my tongue. Instead, I replied, "I'm okay. I mean, obviously sad, but I don't know if it's fully hit me yet."
My dad said he understood the struggle with it not hitting me yet. Unfortunately, he had limited time on the phone because they were out at sea and the call was international. "I love you," he said, and as quickly as that, he had to end the conversation.
"Okay, love you too," I responded, and just like that, the call was over.
My dad still had four days left on the cruise, with their destination city in Mexico approaching. They were set to dock there for the day tomorrow before heading back to Los Angeles. I couldn't fathom how awful that must be: losing your wife and then being trapped on a ship with her lifeless body while surrounded by oblivious celebrators. It seemed worse than hell itself.
That afternoon, I discovered the Corinthian Gardens I'd passed the night before was hosting a planting event, and it struck me as an emotional tribute to volunteer, helping plant new flowers in their garden plots in memory of my mom. I spent the day on my feet, assisting fellow volunteers and fetching water, feeling a bit of purpose amidst overwhelming grief. There was even a sweepstakes drawing for those who helped, with the winner receiving their own flower plot to name. I hoped to win so I could dedicate it to my mom, but it wasn't in the cards and my name wasn't drawn.
My boss had given me the rest of the week off, but he did want to grab lunch nearby after a couple days to check in. He was the last person I wanted to see, yet the prospect of a free meal with my dwindling bank account was tempting, and I thought it might earn me some goodwill I desperately needed. We settled on an Indian restaurant not too far from where I lived, conveniently close to Rejesh's office.
It was my first experience with Indian cuisine, and Rejesh recommended the masala—either lamb or chicken for a newbie. As we sat and ate, the atmosphere felt different; we spoke far less than usual. Typically, Rejesh bombarded me with endless questions, but today he seemed genuinely concerned, almost hesitant to intrude on my emotions. Perhaps he still felt guilty for how he'd treated me in that meeting right before my mom passed.
At one point, he asked if I planned to fly back to Los Angeles to see my mom one last time after they returned. I found the question bizarre. "Who would want to see one of their parents a week after they'd died?" I thought. The idea felt gross and morbid. I imagined her not looking like herself at all—motionless, lifeless. It was a vision I'd rather avoid, but I told him I'd think about it.
Truthfully, I had no idea where I'd find money to fly back to Illinois for the funeral. My finances had been consumed by nights of drinking and getting tangled up in risky arrangements with two girls from college. The weight of it all felt suffocating.
I was drawn to female domination, particularly financial domination, where a woman uses personal information and sometimes manipulative tactics over male subjects involving money through humiliation. The girls I was involved with knew I enjoyed being submissive, and they played along with my desires. I'd often ask them to call me degrading names, which made me feel extremely submissive to them. I found them to be a safer avenue to explore this dynamic than a professional. We had history and knew each other personally, which meant we could indulge in desires but also hit the brakes if things got too intense.
One of these girls was Victoria, a stunning blonde from Texas, standing tall at 5'7" with a long, slender frame, captivating blue eyes, and the kind of body that could grace any magazine cover. We'd attended ASU at the same time and been introduced a few times at events. We even had a picture together tagged on Facebook from a social where we talked for awhile. She'd been crowned Miss Arizona several years ago, her beauty nothing short of breathtaking. At the time, she was dating a promising young baseball player in Triple-A who seemed destined for the big leagues. If you've kept your ear to the ground in Major League Baseball over the past decade, you'd likely recognize his name.
One drunken night just before moving to Philadelphia, I'd messaged her asking if she would engage in this dynamic with me. What that meant was I would send her a weekly amount of money in exchange for her discretion and to engage in humiliating interactions. It quickly developed into her taking a very dominant role, making me do degrading things like kneeling in a tiny closet in my bedroom for hours at a time whenever she thought I wasn't being completely submissive.
In one of our more intense interactions, she'd made me pick out and buy her an expensive set of lingerie. Then, in a twist that left me both exhilarated and humiliated, she instructed me to kneel in a closet, sending her video proof of my submission as she wore the very lingerie I'd purchased while intimate with her boyfriend. I'd given her contact information for my boss and Lauren so she could leverage that to force me to comply with any humiliating demand whenever she wanted. I wasn't allowed to say no and always had to submit when she'd make a demand. I secretly loved it. The intensity I would get from her treating me this way was incredible. The power dynamic between us blurred lines in ways I never expected, intertwining pleasure and emotional pain in a surreal dance of control.
I had a particular fascination with certain power dynamics, and the combination of teasing and humiliation from a girl as stunning as Victoria sent shivers down my spine. It was an intoxicating mix of degradation and desire, making my blood boil with a potent cocktail of shame and arousal. I fantasized about her boyfriend being with her in the lingerie I'd bought, my heart racing as I knelt in the cramped closet like a devoted servant.
By the end, I was cramping and sweating, the air conditioning in that tiny closet nothing more than a cruel joke. It felt more like an attic space with how hot it got. Finally, she let me know they were finished, and when I was allowed to emerge, she laid down a heavy ultimatum: I had to send her an extra $100, or she would share the videos and story of my submission with Lauren and my boss. I complied, knowing the humiliation only heightened my desire; her playful taunts and extra demands to enforce my submission were all part of the dynamic.
I tried to get out of the arrangement about a month before my mom's passing, but she said she wouldn't let me. She stated I would fulfill our agreement until the end of the year we'd agreed upon or else she would share everything with Lauren. I let her know I was struggling financially and she said she didn't care, this was what I'd signed up for. I would pay her all the rest of the money I'd promised even if I had to do it in increments until the contract was fulfilled.
Our dynamic had begun back in January when I moved to Philadelphia and continued until my mother's passing in September. After my mom passed, I messaged her and she let me know not to worry about it at all and just take care of myself.
Her boyfriend was blissfully unaware of our arrangement at first, but eventually she felt guilty doing it behind his back and told him about me, and he wasn't too pleased. When I found out later that she'd told him, I couldn't help but imagine his shock and possibly intrigue at the idea that his girlfriend was engaging with another guy in this fashion at the same time.
The other girl, Sam, lived in Arizona and stood 5'3" with attractive brown hair and striking green eyes. She was one of the bartenders at Cue Club, the bar where we had my farewell party, where her vibrant personality lit up the room. Sam had a boyfriend, and I suspected he was aware of our arrangement, probably laughing together at my expense behind my back. The thought was oddly tantalizing.
With her sultry, petite frame, she'd dabbled in local modeling for the bar and other establishments in the area. She had a toned physique, and she'd demanded videos of me on my knees, begging her to let me be submissive to her. In drunken, lust-fueled moments, I would plead for her to make me do degrading things. Initially, she resisted, enjoying the build-up of my desperation, but eventually, she conceded and commanded me to fulfill my request.
I took a video of myself wearing a collar, declaring my submission to her as I did what she'd demanded and sent it over to her. I could only imagine the laughter that ensued between her and her boyfriend as she shared the video with him—likely a mix of amusement and disbelief at my embarrassing antics.
Victoria and Sam each brought their own unique style, and I found myself paying both of them $75 a week to keep my secret and indulge in the fantasy of being submissive to them. Sam was much more reserved whereas Victoria was very direct and authoritative. It was a way for me to satisfy my cravings within a semi-safe framework that allowed me to explore submission without too many risks.
After my mom passed, I did make it back for the funeral which was held at a church in my hometown. I was surprised how few people showed up. I was expecting it to be fuller of people whose lives she'd touched, because she was such a caring and helpful woman, especially before the disease took control of her life and happiness.
I had booked a flight for Lauren to visit me after my mom's passing, desperately seeking the comfort of someone I believed cared for me, regardless of whether our relationship was romantic or platonic. I was genuinely looking forward to her arrival; I needed emotional support more than ever.
However, after one of our nightly phone calls, Lauren texted me that she wasn't sure if she still wanted to come to Philadelphia. My heart sank, crushed under the weight of this news. In a moment of frustration, I exploded on her. I texted her that if she couldn't commit to visiting, she might as well stay home and never contact me again. With that, I immediately blocked her number, sealing the door on that chapter of my life.
I must admit, I was a complete momma's boy. Now that my mom was gone, an immense void had opened up in my life, one that I desperately sought to fill. I realized I needed to find other distractions to occupy my mind. My mom had always been my emotional anchor, and I'd been eagerly looking forward to moving back to Phoenix to spend precious time with her again.
Throughout my life, my dad had always seemed bothered by my problems, no matter how trivial they might be, which made my mom my confidant and the person with whom I shared my deepest emotions. With her absence, I felt lost. On top of that, I'd always harbored deep-seated submissive desires that had lurked in the background, kept at bay by my mom's presence. I didn't want her to find out about this side of me. I felt ashamed of these desires, but I never fully explored them, afraid she would find out. With her gone, the restraints that had held me back vanished, leaving me to wonder what paths I might now explore.
The girls I'd been playing with were fun, but they were amateurs and former friends, so even though we'd toy with certain dynamics, I figured I'd be able to talk my way out of it if I ever needed to. Perhaps what I truly craved was the expertise of a professional who could provide a more intense experience.
For years, I'd followed the most popular figures in this world online. They always posted content of their subjects completing degrading tasks for them. I frequently fantasized about being the one doing the acts demanded in their audacious displays of power.
The most attractive of them all was a 23-year-old, 5'3", 115-pound blonde bombshell named Goddess Jessica. With tan skin, piercing brown eyes, and an enticing smile that suggested she enjoyed the dynamics with her subjects, she was a vision of pure temptation. I'd been captivated by her photos and online presence thousands of times, attracted by the way she wielded authority over her male subjects.
She was, without a doubt, the most dominant and attractive woman I'd ever seen, and I felt an insatiable urge to fully embrace the fantasy of serving her. With my breakup with Lauren, the relentless stress of my job, and the weight of my mother's passing pressing down on me, I felt as though I had nothing left to lose. I was ready to dive headfirst into a world of intense submission, yearning for the gratification that would come from being dominated by the most commanding woman I'd ever seen. Little did I know this decision would mark the beginning of a downward spiral into darkness, one that would lead me far deeper than I ever anticipated.
Chapter 3 – Goddess Jessica
During one particularly intense moment, my mind drifted to Goddess Jessica. My heart raced at the idea of sending her a message on Yahoo Instant Messenger, confessing my eagerness to serve her. With excitement and fear, I composed a message explaining my desires, my finger hovering over the "send" button.
As I continued pleasuring myself, the moment built to climax, and right before finishing, I spontaneously hit send. A thrilling rush surged through me—one of the most intense experiences I'd ever had. But the euphoria quickly turned to panic.
In a frenzy, I went back to Yahoo Instant Messenger wondering if I could delete it before she read it. I couldn't, and anxiety twisted in my stomach. "What have I done?" In panic, I deleted the entire app, hoping to erase my reckless decision. While the release had been amazing, I couldn't shake the fear of how deeply I might plunge into darkness with her. Better to convince myself she'd never see it.
The intensity of that memory clung to me, however. I'd never experienced such ecstasy, and it felt as though I'd stumbled upon a new realm of pleasure. Determined to recapture that high, I started fantasizing about having sent the message while looking at her captivating images.
With eager anticipation, I went to her Twitter account, ready to immerse myself in the fantasy of submitting to her. As soon as I landed on her page, I realized I'd made a huge mistake. My heart dropped when I saw her latest post—a screenshot of a Yahoo Instant Messenger conversation. I looked closer, and my stomach twisted.
"She's posting our conversation," I realized, with equal parts anger and fear. Alongside the screenshot of my message, she'd included her response, displaying my vulnerability for all her followers:
"Fuck off! I don't have time for a loser who lives in his mother's basement and doesn't have enough money to pay me."
Her words struck like a slap. My mother had just died, and this person had the audacity to respond like that. I was fuming as I furiously typed a response. "Just so you know, I saw your Twitter post, and I make around $75,000 a year. My mother passed away just this past week, so I certainly don't live in her basement. If you don't want me as your slave, I'll find another Domme to serve!"
I knew I could never fantasize about her again. The thought would only ignite my rage.
Later that day, I nervously checked my messages, half-expecting an apology. She'd responded on Yahoo Instant Messenger, saying she was sorry for jumping to conclusions about my finances. "I deal with a lot of guys who waste my time," she explained, her tone softening slightly. She offered me a chance to serve her for $100 a week if I was still interested.
Despite my declining finances, I thought there was no way I could back out now. I didn't have much money leftover from my bi-weekly paycheck, but I thought, "I can manage this." I went to the PayPal app and sent $100 to get us started.
The next day, she confirmed receipt of my payment. In the beginning, our arrangement was exhilarating, filled with purpose and anticipation. I found myself devising clever ways to cut expenses, determined to increase the "tributes" I sent weekly in addition to the $100. She had over fifty active slaves on Twitter, and I was starting from the very bottom. I knew I had to do everything possible to catch her attention. Whenever she posted a link to something new on her Amazon Wishlist, I jumped at the chance to purchase it within my limited budget.
Eager to impress her, I began tweeting responses to her posts, showering her with compliments about her beauty, dominance, and perfection. She enjoyed the praise. She asked for a photo, and I felt a surge of confidence. I was in decent shape from hitting the gym daily, so I sent her a picture where I tried to look as attractive as possible.
To my surprise, her reply was short and direct: "No, I want one with all of your clothes off." My heart raced. "Maybe she's actually into me," I thought. "Or at least she finds me attractive." But deep down, I knew I was mistaken. She demanded I create a Twitter account under the moniker "@WeakLittleBitch" where she could tag and interact with me directly. I did as instructed, in no shape to negotiate with a top-tier Financial Dominatrix.
In addition to the weekly $100 and Amazon gifts, she also offered "Skype Sessions" at $10 a minute, with a minimum of 10 minutes. I was eager to connect face-to-face, wanting her to see I was not only good-looking but also funny and confident. Sure, I enjoyed my submissive role, but I wanted to stand out from her other timid slaves. I aimed to be intellectually stimulating as well.
After saving up, I managed to scrape together $100 for our first Skype session. When the moment arrived, she asked what I wanted to do. Most guys who Skyped with her were just interested in pleasuring themselves while staring at her as she teased them. Sometimes she'd verbally humiliate them or assign tasks, often leading to their finish within just minutes, after which they'd end the call abruptly.
But I had different intentions. I genuinely wanted to get to know her, to delve beyond the surface and explore her personality. This was more than just indulgence; it was an opportunity to form a connection that transcended typical boundaries.
I heard the Skype call ringing and felt anticipation as she picked up. She was every bit as stunning as the pictures, an absolute dream. Lying on her stomach with her face pressed into the frame and her feet playfully kicked up, she radiated irresistible charm. I was dressed casually in a t-shirt, and while my shorts were out of frame, I wasn't touching myself. I wanted to focus entirely on her.
Her voice was unlike any I'd encountered—warm, inviting, and addictive. Her natural way of speaking could put you in a trance. Talking to her was delightful; she teased me, asked probing questions, and genuinely seemed interested in my interests. I had no intention of holding back; I wanted this to grow into a long-term connection, so I opened up about everything, from various fantasies to specific dynamics.
When I mentioned chastity, she stopped me, her eyes widening with excitement. "Chastity? Yum. Would you wear a device for me?" she asked, her tone so confident it made the hair on my neck stand up. I was taken aback by her ability to ask without hesitation. "Uh… yeah, if you wanted me to," I replied, my heart racing.
"Okay, I want you to," she declared. "I'll send a link to my favorite. Buy it and let me know when it arrives. I want you to send me the keys." "Okay," I said, still processing. "Okay, what, slave?" she challenged. "Okay, Goddess," I responded, blushing.
As the Skype call approached twelve minutes, I didn't want to waste more of her time since I'd only paid for ten. I wanted to be a good slave. "Goddess, we're past time. This was amazing. I really appreciate it," I said. Her response was playful and dismissive: "Bye, moron," and just like that, she abruptly shut off her camera. I burst out laughing; this girl truly didn't give a damn. I'd never experienced anything like it, and I found myself fully captivated.
She seemed to view me as one of her more attractive slaves, enjoying posting pictures of tasks she made me do on Twitter. I didn't hold back either; I wanted her to see me as entertaining. Before long, the other slaves began to notice our interactions and started interacting with me on Twitter. It felt exhilarating—I was finally "in the club" after a month or two of trying to earn my place.
When I was feeling cheeky or she wanted to test my patience, she'd demand that I write "lines" for her. These involved typing the same phrase over and over in a computer program, and any mistake would add another line. It typically began with her commanding, "Okay, Jake. Go write 10 lines saying, 'Goddess Jessica is the sexiest, most lovable Goddess in the Universe, and I am an insignificant whiny little bitch.' Send me a screenshot when you're done." But by the time I stumbled over a few keys, that simple request would expand to seventy lines or more.
To make matters worse, my spacebar was unreliable, only working about half the time. So as I furiously typed, it often failed between words, leading to further penalties. The frustration was climbing, and I was dangerously close to throwing my laptop out the window.
During the chaos, she asked about the chastity device I'd ordered. I informed her it had arrived but was a disaster—it was from China and slipped off the moment I tried it on. "Oh, damn," she replied flatly, and just like that, she ended the conversation, leaving me to stew in my failure.
My roommates and I were set to part ways in June of 2014, just a few months after my mom's passing. I didn't have much of a plan. One roommate, Alex, offered me a spot on his couch for $500 a month, and with no other prospects, I jumped at it. It would be nice living with someone I considered a friend, and he was moving to South Philadelphia, which would be better for my commutes. We'd also be within a mile of major sports stadiums and concert venues. A brand-new neighborhood full of bars awaited exploration, which had me excited.
Alex wanted to join a recreational sports league and invited me along. I figured it would be a great opportunity to get out, have fun, and possibly meet some girls. We signed up for a softball league set to kick off the following week.
Over the next few weeks, it felt like she was slowly distancing herself while simultaneously asking for more money. I didn't feel like I was receiving the attention and experience I needed, especially considering the $100 weekly. Our agreement felt increasingly lopsided; if she didn't value the commitment we'd made, I figured the odds of her enforcing it were low. If she wasn't going to appreciate my tribute, I'd simply shift focus to serving a different Financial Dominatrix.
I had no intention of being cruel; I just needed more engagement. The thrilling experiences and explosive releases I once enjoyed with Goddess Jessica had faded, leaving me unsatisfied. So I decided to stop responding to her messages. After a week or two of silence, I sensed she finally realized I'd moved on.
Goddess Rene was a popular Dominatrix on Twitter, known for her commanding presence. Standing tall at 5'9", she was also blonde with striking brown eyes. While she was skinnier than Goddess Jessica, her fit physique had a certain allure.
Rene had an attractive pelvic tattoo that wrapped around her bikini line, written in Latin and translating to "The girl never cries." Her appealing feet were featured in numerous clips, where she'd make her slaves dress up in frilly maid outfits and kneel to worship her. I'd fantasized about serving her nearly as much as I had with Goddess Jessica.
I tracked down Goddess Rene's email through her Twitter and reached out, asking if she offered financial domination and would take me on as her slave for $100 a week. To my delight, Goddess Rene replied within hours, confirming she could take me on, but she was leaving for vacation abroad in just three days, so I needed to act fast if I wanted her to receive the keys in time.
Living in Las Vegas, I rushed to the UPS Store and found a $112 shipping option that would get my keys to her before she left. With myself locked in the plastic device, the thought of my keys soaring through the skies created a thrilling mix of anxiety and excitement. Finally, the day before her flight, she confirmed the keys had arrived. I felt overwhelming relief and a surge of arousal.
I discovered I could still pleasure myself using a Q-Tip through the holes of the device. The compression produced releases that were nearly as satisfying as usual.
As I followed her updates from her European vacation with her husband, I couldn't help but admire her. She looked like the epitome of a milky-white Instagram model, radiating with a dazzling smile, enviable curves, and those attractive feet. I'd fantasized frequently to videos of her playfully showing dominance over her submissives.
She exuded the same dominance as Goddess Jessica but with an even more extensive portfolio of clips where she exercised control in person. It was all too easy for me to envision myself experiencing intense releases under her command. I decided she would fill the void left by Goddess Jessica.
I quickly realized that Goddess Rene didn't engage with her slaves as much as she had early in her career, or perhaps she was simply too preoccupied during vacation to make time for me. I found myself missing Goddess Jessica. Even though our communication had decreased in the weeks leading up to my silence, there'd at least been some connection. Goddess Rene, on the other hand, had simply accepted my chastity keys and dashed off to France, leaving me feeling abandoned and ignored.
That night, as I drove back to my apartment, I received a Yahoo Instant Message that made my heart skip—it was from Goddess Jessica! It contained an ASCII representation of male anatomy. "Nice," I replied, feeling nostalgia. "I'm kind of bored with my current Goddess. Want to give it another shot?" "Sure," she responded, "but this time there will be more rules." I wasn't in a position to negotiate, so I simply replied, "Ok."
A couple hours later, she messaged again with her demands: "First off, you aren't allowed to tag me in more than five Tweets per day. Second, you need to start wearing a chastity cage for me immediately until I say otherwise. And third, I want you to fill out a slave contract this time, so you can't just leave again."
Hearing her insistence on trapping me with a contract sent a thrill through me; I was incredibly turned on at the thought. This was the kind of dominance I craved. I eagerly assured her I agreed to her terms, ready to dive back into the intoxicating world of submission to her.
Goddess Jessica sent the slave contract via email, and as I opened it, I was greeted by a formal introduction outlining the terms of our twelve-month commitment. Opting out would come with a hefty fine of $2,000, a clear reminder of the gravity of my decision. The contract laid out the new rules governing our dynamic:
•	I will complete all tasks assigned to me.
•	I will check in at least twice a week.
•	I will not be needy, cry, or whine.
•	I will maintain a respectful demeanor.
•	I will not talk back or cancel payments.
•	I will always address her as Goddess Jessica, acknowledging her as my superior.
•	I will not attempt to serve other Dommes; doing so will result in a $500 fine.
I glanced over the document, but my desperation to feel her power again made me willing to sign anything. There was also a model release included, as she enjoyed posting pictures of the tasks she had me perform. I skimmed through it and signed at the bottom. Without a scanner, I let her know I'd swing by FedEx/Kinko's the following day to scan and email the contract. I promptly sent her the $100 for the first week, filled with hope that our relationship would be as engaging as it once was. I was determined to work harder, proving my devotion and striving to be the best slave I could possibly be.
I was completely smitten with her, head over heels, and she knew it.
The next morning, I drove to FedEx Kinko's near our apartment, eager to scan and email the completed contract. After paying for the service, I messaged her a couple hours later to check if she'd received everything. She confirmed she'd received the $100 via PayPal but hadn't seen the contract yet. "That's odd," I replied, my heart racing.
Calling Kinko's, I discovered they'd entered her email address incorrectly. As I spelled it out over the phone, I couldn't help but feel a mix of embarrassment and amusement. I'd just given the clerk her full email address, complete with the word "Goddess," and he'd seen the slave contract too. Miraculously, my voice didn't even tremble. Maybe I was still in shock from losing my mom; I was starting to realize just how desensitized I'd become to embarrassment.
Goddess Jessica had met a guy in Hawaii and was spending most of her time with him. I could sense she'd shifted her focus to enjoying herself with her new boyfriend, which was fine. I secretly enjoyed the dynamic. He stood 6'3" with a muscular yet lean build, and while I had no doubt he was attractive (she wouldn't post his face), I convinced myself I could take him in a fight.
Feeling mischievous, I decided to start tweeting a jab or two at him each week, but he hardly ever responded. "Typical alpha behavior," I thought with a smirk.
I was running low on cash, as Goddess Jessica had discovered every possible way to fine me. We'd just embarked on our second stint as Goddess and slave, and it felt like she was conjuring up new fines every single day. After signing the contract, I found myself constantly on edge, wondering when the next penalty would hit. There was no escaping this time; I was locked in for at least a year. It was clear she was determined to mold me into a quieter, more submissive version of myself, but it wasn't exactly the fun transformation I'd hoped for.
After a couple weeks, I decided it was time to try Skype with her again. Maybe seeing each other's faces would rekindle some warmth in our relationship; at that moment, it felt as if I were just a number in her roster of slaves. I'd saved up $100 but with my roommate at home, I couldn't find privacy to call. So I stepped outside and hit the "call" button. When she picked up, I was greeted with a playful "Hey, loser," accompanied by a teasing smile.
We chatted mostly about her day, and she threw a few questions my way about my life as well. The conversation flowed more easily than expected; it felt refreshing compared to the usual barrage of fines and reprimands on Twitter. As we wrapped up, she mentioned she wanted me to do something for her. There was a viral trend going around for the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge, and she wanted to kick it off with her slaves. "Get undressed," she instructed, "and make sure you still have your chastity device on."
"Of course," I replied, a rush of excitement coursing through me. "Now, get in the shower with your chastity device on, do the ice bucket challenge, and then nominate one of my other slaves. Send me the video, and I'll post it on Twitter." I thought it was a brilliant idea and felt honored to be chosen to start it. Perhaps we were on better terms after all. I lied and let her know that I didn't love her, but that I really liked her. I was crossing paths with another Philadelphian on the sidewalk and she responded, "I can promise you that I'll never like you at all, Jake," and he chuckled as he shuffled by me.
I immediately dashed to the store for ice and grabbed a few beers on the way back. After downing about six beers, I felt ready to take the plunge. Around 11:00 PM, I got undressed and hopped into the shower, making sure to keep my voice down since my roommate was nearby. I started the camera, setting it up on the bathroom counter, and announced, "This is @WeakLittleBitch, and I'm doing the ice bucket challenge for Goddess Jessica," before pouring the ice over my head. The icy water was shocking, but somehow, I managed not to scream. I ended the video by nominating another one of her slaves to take on the challenge next.
The next day, while using the restroom, I twisted the chastity cage too much, and the plastic lock snapped off. I chuckled to myself, "I guess I won't need the keys after all."
I was still running low on cash due to all the fines, and I started brainstorming ways to make extra money. I'd seen countless clips that dominatrixes were posting and selling, and I thought, why not give it a shot? I had the looks and muscles, so I decided to take the morning off work and film a POV clip with instructions.
I was pleasantly surprised with how it turned out and posted it on a clip website for sale. Eager for feedback, I showed it to Goddess Jessica. She laughed while watching it with her boyfriend. As a task, she instructed me to do everything I'd said should be done in the POV video and send it to her for leverage. Secretly, I found it incredibly arousing that she wanted me to do that, even though I faked some reluctance so she wouldn't suspect I'd be fantasizing about the thought later.
Outside of my new side hustle, my social life revolved around the bar right below our apartment and playing softball with my roommate on our new team. We weren't exactly the best team, but it was a fun distraction from my drowning financial situation. After our first game, rain started pouring and we took refuge in a nearby bar.
Alex and I hit it off with a couple older guys, Jeff and Rob, as well as a cute Asian girl named Hayley. She had an attractive petite body. After that, we started hanging out together frequently—after softball games, during work nights, and on weekends. I found myself trying to flirt with Hayley, only to learn over time that she was a lesbian. I was taken aback, but Jeff couldn't believe I hadn't figured it out before making an idiot of myself.
Despite her orientation, I didn't give up entirely; I just toned down my advances. We continued going out to bars together, and I met her two roommates, Laura and Amy, during our outings.
Laura stood at about 5'7" with flowing brown hair and striking green eyes. Her body was undeniably attractive, boasting a fit figure and long legs. While she shared the same name as the sorority girl from my Houston escapade, she was a world apart in demeanor. Laura had a sultry look that carried an edge of sass, giving her a sensual, almost mischievous vibe. Despite her lively appearance, she was always genuinely kind to me, creating a delightful contrast that drew me in even more.
Amy stood at about 5'3" with dazzling blonde hair and blue eyes that could stop traffic. A total bombshell with an impressive figure. Unlike Laura, who wore her beauty with a touch of modesty, Amy had a confidence that radiated from her; she knew she was stunning. I'd have been more than happy to date either of them, but they seemed to see me only as a friend, despite my attempts at flirtation.
Both were studying Audiology at the same college in Philadelphia and had moved in together. As time passed, Laura and I began to hang out a bit more, and I started to wonder if there might be a spark between us.
By September, Alex, my roommate, had finally reached his limit with my couch-surfing lifestyle. One night, after a particularly wild evening, I passed out on the toilet—just before my chastity lock broke—and he had to pry the door open, discovering me in an embarrassing position. That might've been the last straw. My finances were still in disarray due to Goddess Jessica's relentless fines, but I managed to find an apartment right off Broad and Girard, an Asian student housing complex near the city heart. At just $300 a month, it was a steal compared to the $500 I was paying to crash on Alex's couch. It was two girls living in the apartment, with one set to move out, so they were ideally looking for a girl. I had to borrow from my 401(k) to afford moving anywhere new because my finances were in such disarray from Goddess Jessica's constant financial pressures.
When I visited the apartment, I was polite and respectful, trying to exude as kind a vibe as I could while meeting the potential roommates and looking at the bedroom, kitchen, and bathroom. The kitchen and bathroom needed cleaning, but for $300 a month I was more than happy to do the work. My two roommates were slender Asian girls who communicated in very limited English, which made things a bit interesting. I let them know I'd love to move in if they'd have me.
A few hours later, I received a text saying that despite my gender, they felt comfortable enough to welcome me. I felt a wave of relief wash over me.
The next day, Alex and I said our goodbyes. He reassured me that even though we wouldn't be living together anymore, we'd still be friends. We hung out a couple more times, but the move ultimately put a damper on our relationship, marking the end of an era.
Now settled into my new apartment, I found myself without cable TV, but I did have internet, which became my lifeline. I dove headfirst into a binge-watching spree, exploring shows I'd never seen before. I devoured Breaking Bad, Dexter, Rescue Me, The Sopranos, and Sons of Anarchy, and they became my primary entertainment alongside occasional nights at bars. Goddess Jessica, however, was relentless in her demands for money, constantly finding new ways to fine me, which meant my bar outings were limited. She'd frequently forbid me from going out, and I felt overwhelming dread under the weight of the contract binding me to her. It felt eerily reminiscent of the dull days when I'd first left her, and I began to brainstorm escape routes. I just needed to find a way to avoid the $2,000 buy-out clause.
To add to my obligations, I was handling DMCA link removal emails for her, as well as summarizing custom video requests from her clients. The DMCA removals were straightforward; she simply wanted me to scour search engines for links to her videos and send template takedown requests to webmasters. The custom video requests were more complex. Many clients would submit vague or nonsensical ideas, leaving me to decipher their intent and summarize what Goddess Jessica would be creating in response. I thought she probably valued my input because I shared many of the same interests as her clients, giving me unique insight into their requests. Occasionally, I'd also send out contracts to new slaves or modify existing ones to cater to specific needs. All this work was tedious and lacked any real thrill. I often found myself spending a few hours each day tackling these tasks, and when I ran out of things to do, she'd instruct me to dig deeper into the internet for more of her clips.
One day, while waiting in a company's lobby for a meeting, I was scrolling through Twitter when I decided to comment on one of Goddess Lindsay L's pictures, complimenting her beauty. Knowing she was friends with Goddess Jessica, I thought it was a nice gesture. To my surprise, Goddess Lindsay L publicly responded, demanding that I purchase five of her clips and send her the receipt immediately or face a block. I was taken aback—there was no way I'd comply. I'd only been trying to be friendly, and I certainly wasn't interested in spending more money when I was already strapped for cash with Goddess Jessica.
In another twist, Goddess Lindsay L tweeted again, tagging Goddess Jessica and saying, "I think this is one of yours? He owes me five clip buys."
Feeling the need to keep Goddess Jessica in the loop, I sent her a message, even though it was early morning in Hawaii. "Hey, I tagged Goddess Lindsay L in a Tweet just trying to be nice and say she's attractive. Now she's tagging you and demanding I buy five of her clips, which I'm not going to do. Just a heads up."
I continued my day, checking my messages periodically. A couple hours later, I finally got a response from Goddess Jessica. "I can't even sleep without you doing something annoying. Buy the five clips from her and then send the receipt. After that, don't message or tag her in Tweets anymore. I can't protect you from her if you do."
Reluctantly, I followed her orders, purchasing the clips and posting a screenshot of the receipt. My bank account decreased to a meager $50, with payday still three days away. Desperate to keep my head above water, I submitted an expense report for my mileage with the company, hoping it would get approved and processed quickly. Luckily, it did.
Another slave, known by the moniker @Lurker, began messaging me privately. He noticed my struggles in submitting to Goddess Jessica and offered to help. He recommended a couple clips, claiming they contained hidden messages that would aid me in my submission. Grateful for his advice, I decided to purchase the clips once I got paid again.
I eagerly listened to one of the clips and then messaged him to share that I hadn't quite grasped the hidden message he mentioned. He simply responded, "Keep listening on repeat until you understand."
Determined, I dove back in, replaying the video and listening intently. However, all I could hear was the same phrase repeated. There couldn't possibly be a hidden message. I turned my focus to the background sounds, the subtle nuances in the clip, and the visuals accompanying the audio. After what felt like an eternity—about an hour and a half—I had a revelation: there was no hidden message at all. He wasn't genuinely trying to help me; he simply wanted to condition me into mindlessly serving Goddess Jessica and sending her even more money.
Fueled by frustration, I messaged him, declaring I'd figured out his little scheme and to simply "leave me alone forever." He replied with a half-hearted apology, insisting he was only trying to guide me on my path. But I didn't want to hear another word from him.
I found that I no longer worried about my friends knowing I had a dominatrix now that I wasn't with Lauren anymore. I started sharing pictures and stories with a select few in my circle. They were added to a group text that included Zack, Patrick, Mike J, and the other Mike, where we chatted about sports, girls, and weekend plans. I'd also give them the latest updates on Goddess Jessica.
I found it amusing that I had an attractive dominatrix, and my friends not only approved of her looks but also enjoyed hearing about my adventures with her. Of course, I decided to leave out the most embarrassing tasks she made me do; I didn't want them to think any less of me.
One of the more degrading tasks I found myself subjected to was called the "Loser Fountain." The premise was simple yet deeply humiliating: drink a glass of water or beer, then hop into the shower, prop your legs against the wall, aim at your face, and open your mouth wide. You can probably guess what came next—yes, self-degradation at its most extreme. Goddess Jessica loved assigning this task to her slaves, me included, demonstrating just how easily she could manipulate us into doing whatever she desired.
I often found myself fantasizing about her laughing at my humiliating video alongside her boyfriend. She had total control over my sexuality, able to compel me into performing any act of degradation she wished. All it took was for me to pleasure myself to the thought of her images and to imagine her demanding I fulfill those embarrassing tasks in person. She had the power to make me do anything.
One particular video featured a police officer arriving at her hotel room in New York City. There, he knelt in his uniform and obediently worshipped her feet while she called him degrading names. It was a potent reminder of her ability to make almost any man submit to her will. Perhaps that was why she sported revolver tattoos pointing towards her intimate area; once a man became addicted to her allure, there was no turning back, and she knew exactly how to trap every man who approached her.
With my bank account always hovering around the bottom and facing an onslaught of creative fines every few days, I desperately sought another source of income. My previous video clip creation had flopped as it sold exactly zero copies, so I resigned myself to letting that dream go. While browsing Craigslist, I stumbled upon an ad from a guy who owned a company that set up bouncy castles for children's birthday parties on weekends. The hours were long and involved plenty of windshield time, but it seemed like a fun gig—and a great workout. Even at just $10 an hour, I figured any income would be a lifeline.
Meanwhile, I'd given up on my daily job. I was stuck on probation due to my failure to secure any new business since my first month or two, my boss was insufferable, and I had no desire to remain there. In my mind, if I lost my job and fell into financial ruin, Goddess Jessica would have no leverage to enforce the contract. She could claim I owed her $2,000, but if I had no money, that figure became nothing more than an arbitrary number.
As my attempts at trying to connect with Hayley faded—she was a lesbian, after all—I began spending more time alone with her roommate, Laura. Perhaps my efforts were finally paying off. I was also annoyed with the constant trips to certain bars, so hanging out with Laura in more conventional settings was a refreshing change. One night, after a fun outing, Laura invited me to sleep over. Given that she lived only half a mile away, her invitation could only mean one thing: "She wants to hook up," I thought, my heart racing with anticipation.
We raided the fridge, laughter bubbling between us as we stumbled upon a bottle of red wine. I poured a generous glass for each of us, and we settled into the living room, sipping wine while reminiscing about the night. Laura, with a playful glint in her eye, eventually asked if I wanted to head to bed. My heart raced; it was a definite yes. I could hardly wait to be intimate with her. She exuded a confident appeal that drew me like a moth to a flame.
As she stripped down to her undergarments, I couldn't help but watch. They hugged her body perfectly, accentuating her toned stomach and the alluring curve of her figure. I followed suit, shedding my shirt and pants before crawling into bed beside her. She switched off the lights, and I thought, "This must be my cue to make a move."
Laura laid down turned away from me, so I snuggled up close, propping myself on my elbow and letting my hand rest gently on her side. She remained unresponsive to my advances. Doubt crept in, and I didn't want to push further, fearing the sting of blatant rejection. I'd dropped enough hints—if she wanted to hook up, surely she would have responded.
Rolling onto my back, I resolved to try and fall asleep instead. The soft warmth of her presence lulled me into a light slumber until she woke me around 9:30 AM. She helped me dress and called an Uber to take me back home. Later that day, I received a text from her asking for cooking instructions for a steak. She mentioned she had a guy coming over that evening and wanted to impress him with a delicious meal. It turned me on to know she was flaunting another man in my face.
I responded eagerly, providing her with detailed cooking instructions as if I were her submissive. The thought of her using my steak recipes to impress some other guy sent waves of arousal through me. I felt utterly used, and the sensation only heightened my desire; it was thrilling and humiliating all at once.
My new apartment was situated just a short fifty-foot walk to the subway. From there, I could zip anywhere from Center City to South Philadelphia near the stadiums in under twenty minutes. As I settled into my new routine, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd spiraled too deeply into my entanglement with Goddess Jessica. It became painfully clear that she never truly cared about me; for her, financial domination was merely a way to extract as much money from me with as little effort as possible.
What had once been thrilling turned monotonous and draining once again. I found myself working every weekend, setting up and collecting bouncy castles, but even that income wasn't enough. I struggled to stay afloat, trying to maintain my position in her good graces while also longing for some semblance of joy in my life. I found myself deep in thought, pondering ways to escape the suffocating grip of the contract without forking over the $2,000 fee.
One day, as I drove home after visiting a handful of clients in my territory, I stopped at four or five of them, casually dropping off my card to log the visits as meetings. It was all part of my plan to keep the gas mileage reimbursement looking consistent. While I was scrolling through Facebook, a post caught my eye—a girl sharing her experience dealing with a sociopath. I'd always associated sociopaths with criminals or murderers, not someone you might bump into in everyday life.
Intrigued, I decided it was time to delve deeper into the world of sociopaths, so I Googled the term. What I discovered was nothing short of shocking. I learned that between 1% and 4% of people exhibit sociopathic traits, and most aren't criminals in the traditional sense. Many of them have learned to navigate society's rules while exerting incredible pressure on others to bend to their will. The traits listed were unsettling: reduced empathy, an inability to care about others, and an affinity for manipulation. "This is fascinating," I thought, though a feeling of darkness was growing inside me realizing people like that were actually out there.
"A lot of these traits fit Goddess Jessica," I realized, my heart racing. "Did I unwittingly enter the lair of a sociopath? How could someone so beautiful harbor such darkness within?" The thought seemed absurd, but the more I explored, the more convinced I became.
I started sifting through her Twitter posts, and one in particular struck me hard: "I have to fly today. Everyone feel bad for me when I take off, when I'm in the air bored, and then again when I land." "Everyone feel bad for me…" I echoed in my mind, the realization hitting me like a ton of bricks. "She can't feel. She's literally stating it right here. She possesses no ability to experience emotions beyond rage and anger. She's a sociopath."
Terror gripped me. This was no innocent role-play; she was intent on dismantling my life piece by piece. I needed to escape this nightmare as quickly as possible. Yet, beneath my fear was a little bit of curiosity. "How do these people exist?" I pondered, both horrified and fascinated by the darkness of her twisted world.
I desperately needed to get out of the agreement, but I knew she'd enforce it ruthlessly. She held all the damning evidence—videos of the humiliating acts I'd been forced to endure. I'd done degrading things for her—all utterly embarrassing acts that, if exposed, would bring severe shame and likely cost me my job. On top of that, she had my work details, my boss's contact information, and even my father's phone number. She had nothing to lose by revealing my secrets, while I stood to lose everything. She thrived in her dominant role, and I was the one who'd willingly subjected myself to her degrading whims. I needed to turn the tables, to create an environment where she'd be the one wanting to end the agreement.
The strain had become unbearable. It felt like a house of cards on the brink of collapse. I decided to stop worrying about her exposing me to my job or my dad; it was time to cut ties completely no matter what. She'd brought in new slaves who seemed to excite her more than I ever did. She even had one create the Twitter handle @GJFavorite, a cruel reminder that I was no longer her top priority. Maybe I never was. They were showering her with money, and she was acutely aware of how much she'd already drained from me. I suspected she enjoyed the idea that when my funds ran dry, I'd finally fall silent, expecting that I could somehow turn off my own voice. Here I was, penning a book about my experiences, not exactly the behavior of someone who'd just shut up and fade away.
What had once ignited my spirit—a thrilling journey with a beautiful woman—had morphed into a nightmare that made me feel nauseous at every waking moment. Even in my dreams, I found no respite; they were filled with themes of her systematically destroying my life. It was clear to me that we'd reached the end of the road. I decided I'd stop paying her that week, even if it meant she'd unleash my darkest secrets upon my family and employer. I was done. I needed out.
Instead of severing all ties with Goddess Jessica, I decided to adopt the "I went crazy" approach. I feared her retaliation, knowing she wouldn't hesitate to use her leverage to keep me under her control. So I concocted a plan: I'd make her fear me instead.
I began to devise a plan that was as bold as it was reckless: I started creating multiple Twitter accounts, each one embodying a distinct persona with its own unique quirks and characteristics. One account was a sassy, witty commentator who thrived on sarcasm; another was a fanatical devotee who hung on her every word, showering her with exaggerated praise. I even crafted an account for an outlandish character who offered bizarre and unsolicited advice, hoping to inject chaos into her carefully curated world. I created mirror images of some of her slaves' accounts in an effort to make them uneasy as well. I was trying to create some chaos in her carefully created world of control.
With each tweet, I felt a rush of exhilaration and defiance, as if I were pulling off the ultimate heist. My responses to her posts were laced with mischief. I could tell from the silence that enveloped her usual crowd that she was beginning to notice the disturbance I was creating. The volume of my tweets was impossible to ignore, and I could only imagine her growing frustration as the flood of different accounts surged through her notifications. It was a digital storm, a rebellion brewing within her own kingdom.
Days rolled by, each one filled with the thrill of my revolt. I delighted in the chaos I was sowing, aware that I was planting seeds of doubt in her mind about my willingness to continue paying her fines. I wasn't just challenging her authority; I was sending a clear message: I was done being her puppet.
Finally, after several days of my coordinated digital storm, an email arrived from her, and a rush of adrenaline coursed through me. The subject line simply read, "Enough." I could already sense the tension in the air, and I couldn't help but grin. This was the moment I'd been waiting for—the confrontation I'd provoked.
I opened the email.
"Jake," it began, her tone sharp as a blade, "this is going to blow up in your face in the worst way. If I were you, I would dread every single phone call, every single email, every single weird look anyone shoots you. If you want to play games with me, I'll play games with you. I love playing games, but only the ones I win of course."
Her words were fierce, dripping with venom. I imagined her pacing her apartment, lips curled in a sneering smirk as she drafted the message, her fingers flying across her phone screen. In my mind's eye, I saw her, eyes narrowing at the screen, her frustration morphing into a twisted thrill. "I know your dad has a pretty high tolerance for you even though you're an idiot, but he's about to lose that last, hopeful little shred of respect he is clinging to. What a shame."
The adrenaline surged as I read her message. I was intoxicated by the rebellion coursing through my veins. I finally felt like I'd regained some power and control in the dynamic. With a smirk of my own, I began to draft my response, eager to continue this cat-and-mouse game on my terms. The power dynamic was shifting, and I was determined to tip the scales in my favor, one tweet at a time.
But in that moment of adrenaline-fueled bravado, a creeping realization began to seep into my consciousness. I'd been channeling Heath Ledger's Joker from "The Dark Knight," reveling in chaos and disturbing the balance of everyone mindlessly following the whims of a sociopath. The thrill of rebellion had transformed into something darker, and a gnawing doubt lodged itself in the pit of my stomach. "Had I gone too far?" I wondered.
The thought lingered. I decided that I'd stop my games. Hopefully she'd learned her lesson.
I knew I couldn't delete my Twitter account—I needed her to see that I wasn't afraid. But the reckless abandon that had fueled my rebellion began to fade, replaced by cautious rationality. I wouldn't tag her in tweets or mention her anymore.
"Forget her," I thought, a mix of defiance and regret swirling within me. I shut my laptop, staring blankly at the wall as a storm brewed inside me. The line between chaos and sanity had blurred, and now, I had to navigate a path back to solid ground. I'd awakened a force I couldn't easily contain.
I was seething with anger at my own naivety, believing that I ever meant anything to her more than my money. I felt utterly used, and the desire for a taste of revenge simmered just beneath the surface. The first time you're played like that, it leaves you feeling disgustingly gross.
I couldn't get her email out of my head. While I didn't believe she was crazy enough to take drastic actions, I couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that she commanded an army of devoted slaves scattered across the United States—men who would likely do extreme things at her whim. She possessed a power that felt almost supernatural, as if she were wielding dark influence. I'd witnessed police officers visiting her hotels in full uniform, only to see them submitting moments later.
Who knew the extent of her network? How far it could stretch? She was a demonic force, leading a real-life cult of men who'd do anything for her. She was the puppet master.
As I pondered my predicament, I realized that just because I hadn't recognized her manipulative behavior from the start didn't absolve her of responsibility. The legalities of our twisted relationship twisted around in my brain—threats of exposure and potential manipulation hung heavy in her emails. I suspected those tactics were illegal, but I'd been the one to initiate everything. I'd willingly walked into this tangled mess, hoping to find something worthwhile.
Determined not to wallow in despair, I made a conscious effort to focus on the positives of this experience. I learned just how much I could bend without breaking. Sure, I was facing some financial turmoil, but somehow, every time I thought I'd hit rock bottom, I found a way to bounce back. Craigslist had become my lifeline, a treasure trove of random jobs that kept me afloat. The distractions caused by Goddess Jessica and my newfound obsession with sociopathy dulled some of the pain I'd felt from losing my mom. I no longer wished for death; instead, I needed to pick up the pieces, buckle down, and claw my way back to stability.
In a strange twist of fate, I found a sense of liberation. I was free from both Lauren and Goddess Jessica, and the prospect of seeking a new girlfriend in Philadelphia filled me with hope. Serving Goddess Jessica had pushed me into the best shape of my life; I'd always tried to impress her, but now I realized I could channel that energy into self-improvement.
The stress I'd endured transformed into a strange sort of confidence. It was as if I'd unlocked something within me, a newfound strength bubbling just beneath the surface. I'd never felt so self-assured, and it felt exhilarating. With every challenge I faced, I grew more resilient, more determined to carve out a new chapter for myself. The shadows of my past began to recede, replaced by the bright possibility of what lay ahead.
Thanksgiving break of 2014 was just around the corner, and I was excited at the thought of heading back home to Rockford, Illinois. I was eager to see my sister, and my dad would be joining us as well. It felt like the perfect opportunity to reconnect with family and catch up with old friends. One friend in particular, Steven, who I hadn't seen since high school in 2006, wanted to meet up and hit the bars. Back then, I'd taken a brief detour through college after a little legal mishap—a DUI during my first summer back in my hometown—which prompted me to stay closer to home to spend more time with my mom before her multiple sclerosis worsened. Looking back, it was one of the best decisions I ever made; she cherished having me nearby.
The night before my flight back to Illinois for Thanksgiving, I'd gone out with Laura and a few of her friends, hopping between a couple bars in Center City. The next morning, I woke up with my head pounding like a jackhammer, memories of the night fading in and out. I vaguely recalled getting sick at the last bar we visited before hailing a cab home. As I groggily assessed my situation, I realized my clothes were still on—but soaked in urine. I fished my phone out of my pocket, grimacing at the state of it. A quick glance at the time revealed it was already 11:05 AM and snow was gently falling outside. My flight was scheduled for 1:00 PM, and I was nowhere near ready.
I quickly stripped off my soaked clothes, jumped in the shower, and slipped into a fresh outfit for the flight. However, a new problem emerged: my boarding pass was on my broken iPhone, which had succumbed to the moisture. I chuckled to myself, "I wonder how many people have ever broken their phone by wetting their pants." It was a morbid sense of humor that offered a fleeting distraction from the chaos around me.
"I'm in trouble," I thought, throwing clothes into my suitcase in panic. In a moment of inspiration, I called the help desk for my ASU email with my work phone, and they worked their magic, restoring my access. I quickly adjusted my preferences with the airline, enabling me to print a boarding pass at the airport, then called a cab.
To my surprise, security at the airport wasn't too bad, and I made it to my gate about an hour before my flight. Needing to calm my nerves, I swung by the airport bar near my gate and drank down a couple Blue Moons in quick succession, hoping it would ease my flight and smooth out the rough edges of the morning. Around 12:40 PM, I finally boarded the plane, ready for the journey back to Illinois and excited to embrace the warmth of family.
I arrived around 3:00 PM, greeted by the familiar sight of my bags tumbling onto the carousel. My sister had driven up to pick me up, and my dad was already there, his face lighting up as he spotted me. We shared big hugs outside the airport, a warmth spreading through me that made me forget about the chaos of the morning. We hopped into their car and headed toward my sister's house in Rockford.
On the way, we stopped at my favorite restaurant, Steak 'n Shake, for some burgers. The food brought back a flood of nostalgic memories, and it felt like a comforting embrace. After finishing our meal, we continued the drive to my sister's place, arriving around 5:30 PM. The kitchen buzzed with warmth as we gathered and shared stories, her husband joining in on the conversation. Their two dogs bounded around excitedly, showing off their playful antics as we caught up with one another.
As the evening wore on, I noticed everyone starting to wind down around 8:00 PM. But for me, this was my vacation, and I wasn't ready to call it a night just yet. I pulled out my phone and started searching for bars in my hometown. This was my first visit since turning 21, and the prospect of reconnecting with old friends and familiar faces I hadn't seen in a decade had me excited. I was ready to dive back into the vibrant nightlife of Rockford, eager to see what awaited me at the bars.
Our town was one of those classic American places where most people grow up, venture off to college for a spell, and then inevitably find their way back to live out the rest of their lives. On Friday nights in the fall, the entire community would come alive, rallying around the boys' football games with a fervor that left no doubt about the hometown pride we all shared. Rockford was more than just a dot on the map; it was a small town to be proud you were from.
As I scrolled through a list of local bars, one name stood out: "Ringos." It had echoed through my childhood, a place I'd often heard about but never visited. Curiosity piqued, I decided to walk over and see what all the fuss was about. The walk across town took me about twenty minutes, my anticipation growing with every step. When I finally pushed open the door to Ringos, the atmosphere buzzed with laughter and clinking glasses, and the bartender immediately recognized me.
"Jake! Is that you?" Jason, a guy who'd been a senior when I was just a freshman, greeted me with a broad grin. We quickly slipped into nostalgic conversation, reminiscing about that infamous day in gym class when he'd playfully shoved me while I was using the restroom, resulting in an embarrassing incident. We both erupted into laughter, and he offered a light-hearted apology. No hard feelings, just a shared chuckle over our youthful mischief.
As I settled in, I spotted a few familiar faces from high school scattered around the bar. We caught up, swapping stories about the years that had passed since graduation. They informed me that tomorrow night would be the big outing in town—the night before Thanksgiving Day—when everyone would head to Pub 12 downtown. I learned that one of the town's legendary football heroes had purchased the building and transformed it into a popular bar. It was just a short stroll away.
Among the chatter, I remembered the triplet girls from high school, and I was thrilled to find out that my two favorites were in town and wanted to join me at the bar. I sent them a message, letting them know what time I planned to arrive. I also hopped onto Facebook, hoping to rally some other friends to come out. "Hey, everyone! I'm headed to Pub 12 tomorrow night. Should be there around 9:00 PM if anyone wants to join!"
The next day, Thanksgiving Eve, my sister, dad, and her husband were bustling around the house, preparing for the big dinner the following day. Their plans for the evening consisted of a cozy night in, but I was determined to paint the town red. As the clock inched closer, I began my walk to Pub 12 around 8:30 PM. My phone's GPS indicated I'd arrive around 8:50 PM, and I felt a thrill of anticipation.
I'd dressed to impress, donning my sharpest attire that accentuated my physique. Unlike my high school days, when I'd struggled with self-confidence and body image, I was now lean and muscular, ready to show off the hard work I'd put into my fitness. I couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement at the thought of possibly drumming up some interest from the girls who'd previously overlooked me.
We all had an unforgettable night that felt like something out of a movie. I ran into a hundred familiar faces—friends from high school and acquaintances I hadn't seen in over a decade. The energy in the air was electric as we shared stories and laughter, each of us marveling at how life had shaped us. Everyone was impressed by my transformation; it felt good to bask in their compliments and reminisce about our shared past.
To my surprise, the night took an unexpected turn when I ended up making out with one of the triplets. We were all caught up in the excitement, and we closed the bar down until 2:00 AM, our laughter and cheers echoing through the night. I splurged and spent most of the money I'd saved for the trip on rounds of drinks and shots for everyone. "It was worth it for a night like that," I thought.
Thanksgiving with my family the next day went smoothly, but the town felt quieter after the wild festivities of the night before. My thirst for adventure was still heightened, and I found myself craving more fun, so I continued to hit the bars at night. However, as the final night approached, my funds were dwindling. I decided to ask my sister for a ride to the grocery store to grab some beers instead. That evening, I plopped down on the couch, settled in with a few cold ones, and switched on the TV.
As the alcohol flowed, I found myself scrolling through Facebook, and to my surprise, I stumbled upon Sarah, a girl I'd gone to college with. She was a year ahead of me and had dated one of the guys in my fraternity. Standing at a petite 5'3" and weighing around 110 pounds, she was a striking brunette with an air of confidence and just a hint of edge. As I drunkenly perused her profile, I noticed she was active on Messenger. In a moment of boldness fueled by liquid courage, I shot her a message, asking if she'd be interested in financially dominating me.
To my surprise, she responded almost immediately, curious about what that entailed. I explained that it involved her humiliating me and assigning me embarrassing tasks in exchange for weekly payments. With a playful sense of adventure, she agreed to give it a try, and I promptly sent her $50 to kick things off. I mentioned I was out of town but invited her to come up with some tasks for me to tackle upon my return to Philadelphia. She quickly replied, requesting a video of me sitting on the ground doing something childish and embarrassing. "Easy," I typed back, grinning at the absurdity of it all.
After my trip to Rockford, I found myself heading to Washington, D.C. more frequently to visit Zack and, of course, to meet new girls. Having recently hit my quarterly bonus numbers, which netted me a little over $4,000, I had extra cash to spend on my adventures. One evening, we stumbled upon a massive bar crawl packed with people, and I boldly approached their table to make new friends.
The night was a blast as we mingled and laughed with that lively group. Zack ended up meeting a roommate named Jose from their circle, who seamlessly integrated us into their parties. It was a breath of fresh air to have more people to hang out with during our trips to Washington, D.C. While we were still busy getting Zack connected regularly, I found myself enjoying the playful banter and just feeling alive again.
I was always on the lookout for new girls who could excel at humiliating me, and since Sam had worked out well from Cue Club, I figured I'd give Lindsey a shot. One hungover morning, as I drove through my sales territory, I found myself scrolling through her pictures on Facebook. I noticed she was active on Messenger and decided to take a bold step.
"Hey Lindsey! Hope you're doing well. I'm into financial domination, where a girl takes money from me to humiliate me and make me perform degrading tasks. Would you be interested?"
To my surprise, she replied quickly, asking, "How much would it be?"
I considered my options, and her striking looks only fueled my excitement. I had some extra bonus cash, so I typed back, "How about $800 to start and then $75 a week after that for you to continue to dominate me, give me humiliating tasks, and degrade me?"
Her response was swift: "OK, that's fine, but I want the $800 now."
I asked for her PayPal details, and she provided them without hesitation. My heart raced as I pulled up the app and sent the $800—it was the most I'd ever transferred in one go. The thrill of it all had me so turned on that I had to cut my sales day short and drive home to take care of myself, fantasizing about how attractive she was.
Even though our interactions in Philadelphia were sporadic, I kept the payments flowing. The money I sent her went to a good cause too—she ended up getting cosmetic surgery, and when I saw her new photos, she looked even more attractive than before.
In December, Zack came to visit me in Philadelphia, and we decided to hit Xfinity Live, the bustling hub and spoke bar complex situated right by the stadiums in South Philly. The place was packed and it was freezing outside. We nearly got turned away because they were nearing capacity. Once inside, we made our way to the main area, where the atmosphere was electric. Fans jostled for space shoulder to shoulder, and cheerleaders were leading chants, making the most of the excitement of the away game.
Looking for a breather, we slipped into a bar tucked away from the main crowd—a cozy burger joint. It was still busy but not as crazy as the main area. We ordered a couple shots and beers. It didn't take long for us to find an unoccupied bench, and we hopped up to stand on it. The energy was infectious, and it was the perfect way to kick off an unforgettable night.
The bar was so packed that we probably looked like just a couple tall guys lost in the crowd, which is why security didn't bat an eye at us standing on the bench. Out of nowhere, two stunning girls—a cute blonde and a sultry brunette—parked right in front of us. Seizing the moment, I leaned in and tapped the blonde on the shoulder. She turned around, squinting at me with an expression that hinted she might punch me in the face. I quickly blurted out, "Hey, have you met my friend Zack? He went to Harvard!"
That was all it took. Zack gave me a playful shove and laughed, "Jesus Christ, Jake," but I could tell he approved. It was a classic line that had never failed me, and this girl was definitely a catch. Her name was Mary, and she, along with her equally cute brunette friend, turned out to be from Philadelphia as well. We spent the rest of the night hanging out, reveling in each other's company.
Somewhere along the line, we blacked out from the endless stream of drinks, but it was clear we'd had an unforgettable time. The next morning, however, we woke up feeling like we'd been hit by a freight train, and Zack needed a ride to the train station.
Both of us were wrecked, probably still buzzing from the night before. Zack made it to my front door first, but as soon as he stepped outside, he hit a thin sheet of invisible ice and went tumbling down all four steps. I hadn't laughed that hard since before my mom died.
Determined not to follow in his clumsy footsteps, I grasped the railing tightly before stepping out onto the icy concrete. But as soon as my right foot touched the ice, it slipped out from under me. I lost my balance and fell forward, crashing down the stairs right next to him.
We lay there for a minute, groaning in pain and laughter, before we finally managed to crawl to our knees and get back on our feet. Zack had figured out a shimmy method that seemed to work well for making progress toward the car, so I mimicked him. It took us a good five minutes to shimmy about 300 feet to where the car was parked, but we eventually made it. I got Zack to the train station just in time, then made my way back to my apartment.
Once home, I realized I needed a lot more sleep to survive the hangover. But first, I decided to indulge myself a little. I remembered an attractive friend of Lauren's named Sovy. She was an appealing 5'3" Asian with curves to die for: enhanced figure, perfect behind, and a flat stomach that made my mouth water. She always had a bit of a sassy edge, so I sent her a casual message saying, "Hey, what's up?"
She replied, "Not much. Just partying and living life. YOLO." She was so attractive. My fingers danced over the keyboard as I typed out, "Hey, if you're interested in having a money slave, I'd do $100 a week and be your submissive, doing whatever you say."
I saw that she read my message, the dreaded "…" appearing as she started typing back. My heart raced in anticipation. I was incredibly aroused, waiting for her response. Finally, it came: "OK, I'm down with that. Send me the $100 now."
Without hesitation, I followed her instructions, excitement coursing through me. The thrill of having this attractive woman calling me degrading names within minutes of asking was electrifying. "Maybe this could be a good replacement for Goddess Jessica," I thought.
She messaged me that she'd have instructions for some tasks she wanted me to complete soon. My excitement was building, and I couldn't help but confess, "Just so you know, I'm really into attractive girls making me do things like degrading acts and other humiliating tasks."
"Noted," she replied. My imagination ran wild, and I finished while gazing at a picture of her in a bikini, picturing myself submissive before her. That appealing figure had me hooked instantly. I knew this girl was going to mess with my mind in all the right ways. But I also felt smarter now that I had some experience under my belt from serving a sociopathic Pro Dominatrix.
A couple days later, Sarah asked where her video was of me doing the childish task. I responded, explaining I was accustomed to harsher tasks but was willing to do the task for her. "Like what kind of harsher tasks?" she asked. It felt like the perfect opportunity to share what truly turned me on. I recounted a time when another girl had made me kneel in a closet while she was intimate with her boyfriend. To my surprise, Sarah immediately expressed interest in doing something similar—for a little extra cash.
We settled on an additional $50, and she informed me that her boyfriend would be home in an hour or two. She wanted me to videotape myself on my knees, engaging in a degrading act while they were intimate. The thought of it sent shivers down my spine, and I was getting aroused.
Determined to build anticipation until she was ready, I waited and just looked at pictures of how attractive she was. About an hour and a half later, I received a Facebook message: "OK. We're getting ready right now. Start."
I walked over to my bedroom door, got down on my knees, and took the doorknob in my mouth. It felt bigger and harder than I remembered. With my phone in one hand, I was still throbbing from building anticipation with thoughts of her commanding me to perform this degrading task while she was with him. After about twenty minutes, she messaged me again. I'd taken a couple breaks because my jaw was aching, but I kept my mouth on it for the majority of the time.
She let me know they were done, but apparently, she hadn't fully enjoyed it. I guess she was too preoccupied with the thought of me doing this while they were intimate to fully enjoy herself. I told her I appreciated the task and sent her the $50 along with the video for good measure. She couldn't help but make fun of me for it.
After that, I laid down on my bed and finished to some pictures of her from college. She'd also become a fitness trainer, so there were plenty of appealing shots of her showcasing her physique. I imagined her with him while I knelt there, her submissive.
We continued our playful exchanges for a few more weeks, with her making me do degrading things on video, but I quickly realized her tasks and humiliations weren't extreme enough to satisfy my cravings. We agreed to part ways amicably, both knowing it was for the best.
One night, in a moment of weakness fueled by alcohol, I shot Lindsey a message, asking if she'd make me get a tattoo that read "Lindsey [her last name]'s Little Bitch" on my behind. To my surprise, she instantly agreed, finding it hilarious that she could show off my permanent label to her friends and the guys she was seeing. The thought of being permanently branded as her submissive turned me on in ways I hadn't expected.
Nervously, I scheduled the tattoo appointment and explained to the artist what I wanted written. When he asked why I was getting it, I simply told him I'd lost a sports bet with her and that she was a good friend. He raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical, but he dropped the subject and got to work. The tattoo was set for a few days later, and I arrived on time, my heart racing with anticipation.
Let me tell you, behind tattoos must be the most painful places to ink. The tattoo artist kept urging me to relax. He let me know that he had one in the same area and knew it was the most painful spot to get tattooed but that he wouldn't be able to keep the lines straight if I didn't find a way to stabilize my body. Ten minutes into the session, I discovered that if I flexed, I could minimize the spasms, giving him a better canvas to work with. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he announced he was finished and asked if I wanted to see it. "Nah, I'll just check it out later," I replied, and he covered it in wrap. I was officially branded as her submissive for eternity.
Surprisingly, the actual feeling of humiliation didn't quite match the excitement I'd felt while fantasizing about it beforehand, but I didn't hate it. Lindsey was thrilled and immediately asked for a picture to show all her friends. It was clear she enjoye