When I admonished Chifag here in December, I concluded my statement with a simple reminder: I always win. After waiting more than a year for the faggot to break, my patience was finally rewarded with an almost $4,000 victory.
That Chifag avoided draining to me for a year was meaningless. He was still reading my blog, looking at my pictures, watching my videos, and fantasizing about being at my hands. His desire had never dissipated, which meant his fate was already assured.
After our last encounter in 2014, Chifag limited his communication to emails, which we exchanged approximately once a month. The initial messages were always brief and never substantive, gentle reminders about a truth we both acknowledged: that the cash slave would eventually return to be used again.
"I have wasted a small amount since the start of the year," the faggot confessed in May, "but I have been mostly good. I have two credit cards paid off. I'm sure you understand my mindset better than I do."
I pointed out that he was going on six months without a drain.
"Hopefully that doesn't mean double destruction," Chifag wrote.
"I'll do whatever I want and you'll thank me for the privilege," I assured him.
"Fuck. Yes and yes. Both are inevitable. No other possible outcome."
Chifag was hiding, using email to maintain distance, and spilling cash to lesser men, but he recognized what his fate would ultimately be. He had no doubt.
I'll skip ahead to November, when Chifag wrote this: "I owe you so much it scares me to think of you taking it all at once." In a weak moment, Chifag had reached out to another master who'd encouraged him to drink, the sloshed faggot parting with $3,000 in a single session. Three times as much as my record.
"You really fucked up," I replied to Chifag's disclosure of the amount.
"I know," he affirmed. "I'm an idiot. Probably no point in asking about the consequences I assume. I basically stole it from you."
I felt angry for the first time in eleven months of exchanges. The cash fag had avoided me for all that time in the name of sparing his finances; he'd paid several credit cards off, including one with a $15,000 credit line. Now he'd lost $3,000 to some totally unknown guy? Within ten days I noticed him paying someone else. I called the faggot out.
"I know that you're probably going to wreak destruction on my cash pussy that I can't now imagine," Chifag predicted, not trying to deny what he'd done.
More than two months passed without an email. Then, at the beginning of the February, he offered a few words: "I'm such a dumb fag."
I assumed the stupid pussy had wasted more money since we last talked, and I was annoyed receiving the regretful reports after each significant transgression. I offered instructions for his next moment of weakness: "Hey, moron, here's an idea for you: next time you're fingering that worthless little dicklet of yours, go at least take something off my wish list instead of trolling the cash sites for loser 'masters' to hand it over to. You don't even have to tell me it was you if you're afraid I'll come after you and make it hurt. But I sure am sick of getting shorted, faggot."
A week later, Chifag had already fucked that up. He'd spilled almost $1,000 to someone else. Thinking back on all the gaffes, I calculated that the cash slave had lost at least $6,000. Tired of Chifag's bullshit, I demanded that he cease reporting his pathetic mistakes: "Don't bother telling me how much of a fuck up you are until you've done something for me," I commanded. "No more words from you until you actually start making up your failures, rather than touching yourself fantasizing about what I'm going to do to you at some indefinite point in the future. I'm sick of that. Cry to someone else about being a pathetic loser if you're going to be worthless to me."
Chifag never replied. Three weeks later, he forwarded an order confirmation from Amazon:
The faggot had finally acquiesced to my will, buying the Nike Frees off my wish list. He'd also sent $25 in cash as we traded messages.
Chifag had settled for imperfect replacements and substitutions for far too long. "Definitely not the same as being at my hands," I wrote. "Being unable to tell me no as I take whatever I want."
Another $25 arrived. "Being totally powerless," Chifag replied.
"You're deluding yourself when you pretend to be in control," I assured him. "You'll always be a cash faggot, and that pussy will always be an inch away from gushing while I ream it."
"You always win," Chifag wrote, referencing what I'd posted about him in December. "Faggots always lose."
"You know how hard I'm going to have to wreck you to drill that truth in?" I asked.
Chifag sent $50 more.
"That's why you paid the credit cards down, right?" I teased. "So I could have my way with them."
The faggot had spent more than a year fucking up. He'd proven that he shouldn't be trusted with money or with credit; it's all better in the hands of a real man. My hands.
Chifag was at work, but that wasn't stopping him. An hour passed, but eventually he was able to dispatch another $50.
"That cash pussy is gushing for me today," I wrote. "At long last."
$100 more. I could tell from the pattern that anything I wanted would be mine to command. Chifag asked how much the next payment should be.
"You're at $250 in cash for the day. $250 sounds pretty fucking hot, doesn't it?"
After a few minutes the cash was mine. A massive wet spot must have been forming in Chifag's pants as he struggled to control himself at his desk.
"The faggot whore is getting what he deserves now. We're ending your mismanagement of my money, putting it where it belongs, in my hands. Open it up and keep it coming."
"How much?" he asked, probably rubbing at his swollen clit.
"$250 more, you stupid whore."
Chifag sent it. After a year living as the lowest form of pathetic loser, worshiping inferior life while proclaiming my superority and perfection, wasting vast sums of my money, the faggot deserved to be decimated.
"$250 again," I demanded. "Can you imagine the grin on my face right now as I'm giving these orders?"
The cash fag kept talking about how I should take more control, monitoring his accounts and otherwise restricting his ability to stray. That's his most significant fantasy, a line he's always been afraid to cross.
"You know what the weak pea-brained faggot is going to say a week or so from now, right?" I challenged, remembering how every other interaction has inevitably played out. "In the face of all the countervailing evidence, the pathetic dumbass will profess to be in control and not in need of my firm hand."
"I know," Chifag wrote back. "I'm so stupid."
"Tell me how much you need me, faggot."
The slave professed that, despite his frequent attempts to deny the truth, he needs to be cash raped by my perfect cock. I am better than anything he deserves, and being useful to me is his highest aspiration. "I need you more than anything," Chifag wrote. "You are the greatest purpose there could be. I exist to be fucked and abused by you."
In the final message of the email thread, I unleashed a year worth of anger and frustration: "You don't deserve to know me at all. You're nothing. You're lower than the dirt I walk on, and it would be an honor for you to lick that off my shoe--which you would do gleefully if presented with the opportunity to have contact with something I had touched. That's what a desperate lowlife faggot you are. All that struggling to avoid me and you could never get me out of your head. You never stopped worshiping my cock. You never stopped thinking about me. You need me, despite all those attempts at denying it. You're just another pussy to be abused and brutalized at my hands. That's why you exist, faggot."
After fourteen months of hiding, Chifag now revealed himself on Skype. He'd added me back in October without ever saying a word.
"Fuck you're perfect," the faggot typed. "That email. Every pussy on Earth exists to be brutalized and abused by you. You're a fuckin' GOD. I'm sorry I exist."
"I figured you were hiding somewhere in my contact list already. October 17 add. Delete. December 7 add. Haha. So fucking pathetic."
"I know," Chifag acknowledged.
"Now look at yourself. Gushing for hours while sending me emails."
"I know. Everything about me is fucking pathetic. I'm sorry."
The faggot can't help that. Some men are just inferior. They can't all be like me.
"I want $500 now," I ordered. "I could annihilate you if I wanted to. Pray I don't."
"Sent," Chifag said without protest.
I asked if he was touching himself. Apparently the cash slave's clit was raw from hours of being eagerly rubbed as I had exacted a portion of my restitution.
"Not like you're going to use that dick for anything anyway," I assured him.
"Nope. It's pointless."
"You know what a real man's dick looks like."
Chifag immediately thought of mine. "Fucking big, thick, powerful, and perfect."
I was ready to escalate even further, calling the slave on Skype.
"OMG," the cash fag typed after I appeared.
"You haven't seen me in more than a year. Can you believe what a moron you are?"
"I know. You've gotten even more perfect," Chifag said about my face. "Fuck. You somehow got even hotter."
We chatted about how low the cash fag was compared to me and I demanded $500 more in cash.
"I'm so fucked. Sent. Is your god dick happy?" he asked, obviously hoping for an opportunity to see it.
I moved the cam to show my cock.
"OMFG. Shit."
I was feeling horny before Chifag had appeared, and now that I'd appropriated $2,000, it was especially obvious. Chifag has a couple videos that show me jerking off, but nothing compares to seeing my rock hard dick live while I'm exercising my power.
"$500," I directed as I stroked.
"Fuuuckkk. Oh fuck. I have no idea where my total is."
"High," I assured him. "Can't you tell looking at my dick?"
Chifag dispatched the next round of cash. He didn't try to add the numbers up; they didn't matter.
"Broke my old record, that's for sure." It was slightly more than $1,000, so I'd already more than doubled it. "Took a fucking year because you're such an idiot, but it's done now. Cash pussy decimated."
"Fuck I love you," Chifag wrote.
"I own you right now," I informed him. "No defenses. Weak and vulnerable. Anything I ask, you'll do it."
"Fuuuckk."
"Like I said, pray I don't completely obliterate you."
"Fuck, please. I know you could. Shit."
Watching me work my cock, my grinning face in the background, Chifag knew that was true. I could have told him to type $1,000 into the form and I guarantee he would have done it.
The faggot acknowledged how defenseless he was. He was begging me not to completely obliterate him, to leave something that I might take later. I assumed Chifag was destined to run away again; I knew that another year might pass before I could make him submit.
"Maybe I should crush you," I suggested, ordering a small payment of $300 as I weighed where to go next. "Fucking beautiful," I typed after he sent the money, one hand still working my cock. "All your cash where it belongs. In my hands."
"I love seeing that smile, you laughing at fucking me up."
Almost immediately, I compelled another $250, Chifag's total for the day now exceeding $3,000. I was flying so high on my own power that I could have cum at any moment. My rock hard dick was totally engorged, easily exceeding both of my hands as I wrapped them around to tantalize Chifag with its size.
"Dumb faggot cash cunt," I wrote.
"Fuck, you're the hottest thing ever. Fuck. That look on your face."
I was contemplating my next move, evaluating how hard I should press knowing with certainty that my desire would be fulfilled. "Thinking," I summarized.
"Deciding my fate," Chifag observed, knowing exactly what the expression meant. He'd seen it before.
I stared into the camera and the cash faggot stared back totally in awe.
"Fuck it," I concluded. "Fuck you. $500."
"Oh, fuck," Chifag typed, totally overcome. "Sent. Jesus."
I was still stroking as I checked my balance, which was now extraordinarily high. "Stupid cash cunt. So fucking easy. I walk over you."
"I know," Chifag confirmed.
"Fuck yeah. Go hide. You're my faggot. Hiding won't change it. Always mine. Even if I have to wait another year. You'll be crawling back. Begging me to fucking destroy you."
"Fuuuck. I know," the cash fag admitted. "Jesus."
"I could make you do anything," I assured him.
"Please don't, please."
"Who owns you faggot?"
"You do, god. I'm your thing, your property."
"What would you do for me?"
"Anything," Chifag answered.
"Anything," I repeated. "Anything I command."
That instant overwhelmed him. In a later conversation, Chifag claimed that he didn't cum then, but our session basically ended after that climactic moment. I had completely broken the faggot down, extracting more than three times what I'd taken in our last session and almost exceeding my own record for what I've taken from a single slave in a single day.
I collected more money from Chifag a few days later, but he's been silent since then, having already deleted two Tumblrs. Haha. Nonetheless, I guarantee he's been checking this page hoping to find this story posted. When he relives this experience, his little clit will be oozing yet again.
"It's hard to get the images out of my head," the faggot wrote a few hours after the massive cash rape had concluded. He never will. If Chifag has retreated back into the silent darkness, the temporary embrace of his fears won't alter his inescapable destiny. He won't be able to find a void that can hide him away from my light. The images and impulses, already seen and felt, will never vanish. Chifag is mine forever. We both know that.