Confessions of a Findom Goddess

Marovelle Sloan
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  • Sexuality

Confessions of a Findom Goddess is an intimate, seductive look inside the world of financial domination, told by Goddess Marovelle—a woman with more than seventeen years of stories, secrets, confessions, and lessons gathered from the other side of submission. Part memoir, part confession booth, and part dark fantasy, each episode explores desire, power, money, control, obsession, and the psychology of surrender. Expect true stories, carefully dramatized encounters, anonymous confessions, provocative conversations, and the occasional lesson from a woman who has spent years discovering exactly what makes a submissive ache to please. Some stories are true. Some are embellished. Some are pure temptation. All of them belong behind closed doors. Enter quietly. Listen closely. And remember who is in control. For mature audiences 18+ only.

Episodes

  1. 2d ago

    The Couches

    I've told the Savannah story a great many times. And every single time, I have left the same thing out.You got the true version on Monday — the twelve, the whip, the woman who built the room. All of it accurate. But there's a detail I move past in every telling, and nobody has ever stopped me on it.That red room had couches along the walls, and every one of them was full.This is the unflattering one, and I'm not going to soften it at the end. Ep. 6 — The Couches Confession · New episodes three times a week: the lesson, the story, and the confession. Every week I tell you something I don't tell people. This week it's mine again, and I'll warn you now — it isn't flattering, and there's no absolution at the end of it. Dozens of people on those couches. Couples gone still, drinks forgotten, people who'd come up from the party because word had got around that something was happening at the end of the hall. All of them turned the same way, watching a woman who had never done this before find out what she was. And when I felt them on my back, I did not get smaller. — What that room did to me that I've never admitted to anyone — The question about that night I still can't answer, seventeen years on — What I realized afterward about every dynamic I've built since — And why he isn't the only one in this who needs to be watched There's a line at the end about you. You won't like it, and you won't be able to argue with it. Next — three weeks after Savannah, a photograph of a pair of heels and two words underneath it. Allow me. www.marovellesloan.com

    The Couches

  2. 3d ago

    The Longest Night

    I left you standing in a red room with twelve men on their knees and a whip I didn't know how to hold. Here's the rest. The door behind me was still open — I could feel the hallway on the back of my neck. And the woman who built that room leaned in and told me I had exactly two doors, and nobody was going to pick for me. What happened after I said teach me took the whole night. I'm not going to shorten it. Story · New episodes three times a week: the lesson, the story, and the confession. This one's true, and unlike the others I haven't changed a thing in it. I don't need to. — What my attention alone did to a man who hadn't known how cold he'd got — Why she called it a conversation, and what it means to listen to the answer — The two words that put a man on the floor faster than any leather in that room — The one who knelt at the edge of the circle and only wanted to be allowed to stay — What she said the whip is actually for — And the last thing she taught me, which is the most important thing in this story At the threshold she took my face in both hands — the only time she touched me all night — and told me I hadn't borrowed anything. I'd come and got what was already mine. Then she said: go sleep, Goddess. Next: a confession, and not a flattering one. There's a part of that night I've never told anyone, and it isn't about the twelve. www.marvovellesloan.com

    The Longest Night

  3. 5d ago

    Twelve

    Every door on that floor stood open a few inches. Open meant you could come in. Closed meant you could not. I was twenty-six, and I'd been in Savannah about six hours, and the last door on the top floor stood wider than the others with red light coming out of it. Twelve men knelt down in front of me that night. I counted twice. Every one of them was calmer than I was — and that's where I learned the job. There's an instruction at the end. It isn't money. Ep. 4 — Twelve Lesson · New episodes three times a week: the lesson, the story, and the confession. Last week I told you what you're actually asking for at three in the morning. This week I'll tell you where I learned it — and the part you're getting wrong, which isn't the wanting. You've got the wanting handled. A hallway striped gold and shadow. A woman in a corset who asked me one question I couldn't answer. And twelve men who crossed a red room and knelt without being told, and were so much calmer than I was that it rearranged what I thought this was. — Why twelve men on their knees were more relaxed than the woman standing over them — Why what you want isn't shameful, and what it says about the life you've built — Why kneeling isn't passive, and the one mistake almost every man makes with me — What she said when she handed me the whip, which isn't what you'd expect — And the truth about what came after: there was no money in that room. That started three weeks later, with a photograph and two words. Next: the rest of that night. Get comfortable. Stay curious. And pay attention. Written and performed by Goddess Marovelle. More at www.marovellasloan.com

    Twelve

  4. Aug 26

    I Wasn't Grateful

    Ep. 3 — I Wasn't Grateful Confession · New episodes three times a week: the lesson, the story, and the confession. Every week I'll tell you something I don't tell people. Some weeks it will be somebody else's, sent to me, anonymous — and there are men listening now who'll hear their own words come out of my mouth in a month or two and go very still in whatever room they're standing in. This week it's mine. The first real tribute I ever received was seven hundred and forty dollars. I was young in this, I needed it, and in the days before it arrived I had genuinely braced myself — because I assumed I'd feel something complicated when it landed. Guilt, probably. A little shame. At the very least the fluttery kind of gratitude you feel when someone hands you something too generous and you don't know where to put your hands. That isn't what happened. What happened instead is the thing I've never said out loud, and what I found when I went hunting through myself for the guilt afterward — the way you pat your pockets for keys you're certain you had. In this confession: — What I actually felt, on a Wednesday afternoon, looking at the number — Where I went looking for the guilt, and what was there instead — The child who never said thank you fast enough — Why I'm not going to give you the wound you're waiting for — And the reason that afternoon turned out to be the most valuable thing I've ever given a man Some of you will decide I'm cold. The rest of you felt something else entirely. I know which one you are. Next — Savannah. A hotel where every door on the floor stood open a few inches, a red room at the end of the hall, and twelve men on their knees in front of a woman who had never done this before. Get comfortable. Stay curious. And pay attention. Written and performed by Goddess Marovelle. More at www.MarovelleSloan.com.

    I Wasn't Grateful

  5. Aug 25

    Twenty-Two Dollars

    He sent it at 3:47 in the morning, and I was asleep. This is the man I told you about — drained all the way down, three years in, still going. He has never once been permitted to give me more than twenty-two dollars a month, and I'm going to explain how that's possible. Keep a running total while you listen. Ep. 2 — Twenty-Two Dollars Story · New episodes three times a week: the lesson, the story, and the confession. Dark bedroom. Phone held low so the light doesn't spill. A watch in his profile photo that cost what a car costs, worn by a man who wanted a stranger to notice and couldn't stand to be seen wanting it. Two words at 3:47 in the morning. I was asleep. The most important night of that man's year happened entirely without me, and I didn't answer for thirty-one hours — and I want to tell you what thirty-one hours does to someone who has just said the only true thing he's said in a decade. Then I sent him one word, lowercase, no punctuation. And a man who had spent twenty years building a life the word no couldn't reach discovered he didn't know how to spell. This is what draining actually looks like. It has taken three years. It has never cost him more than lunch. In this story: — The thirty-one hours, and what they did to him — One word, and the grey dots that came and stopped and came again — Why I asked a wealthy man for one dollar, and then asked what it was for — The month he tried to send more, and what came back within the hour — The fourteen months he waited to hear my voice This one's true. I've changed what needed changing. Next: a confession. Not his — mine. What I felt the first time real money arrived from a stranger, which was not gratitude, and which I have never said out loud. Get comfortable. Stay curious. And pay attention. Written and performed by Goddess Marovelle. More at www.marovellasloan.com

    Twenty-Two Dollars

  6. Aug 25

    Drain Me

    You've typed those two words before. Most of you deleted them. I've been receiving them for seventeen years — almost always between two and four in the morning, and more on Sunday nights than any other night of the week. I'm going to tell you why that is, why you don't want what you think you're asking for, and why the real thing is going to cost you considerably more than money. There's an instruction at the end. I'd like you to follow it.

    Drain Me

  7. Aug 21

    Welcome to My World

    Seventeen years ago I found out something about myself in a red room in Savannah, and I've spent every year since learning what to do with it. This is the welcome episode — the short one, where I tell you who I am and what you've found. Some episodes will be personal: the night in Savannah, the years after, what it gave me and what it cost. Some will be confessions that aren't mine, from people who'll stay anonymous. Some will go into the psychology of it — financial domination, power, desire, and the particular relief of kneeling. And sometimes I'll blur memory and fantasy just enough to keep you wondering which one you're hearing. Whether you already know this world, or you're quietly curious about it, or you just like stories about desire and power — I'm glad you found me. In this episode: who Goddess Marovelle is · the weekend that started it · what the show will and won't be · how to listen if you're new to all this More Episodes coming soon. Subscribe so you don't miss them. Your door's open. I can hear it. www.marovellesloan.com

  • 7 Episodes

About

Confessions of a Findom Goddess is an intimate, seductive look inside the world of financial domination, told by Goddess Marovelle—a woman with more than seventeen years of stories, secrets, confessions, and lessons gathered from the other side of submission. Part memoir, part confession booth, and part dark fantasy, each episode explores desire, power, money, control, obsession, and the psychology of surrender. Expect true stories, carefully dramatized encounters, anonymous confessions, provocative conversations, and the occasional lesson from a woman who has spent years discovering exactly what makes a submissive ache to please. Some stories are true. Some are embellished. Some are pure temptation. All of them belong behind closed doors. Enter quietly. Listen closely. And remember who is in control. For mature audiences 18+ only.

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