I love coming back to the scene after a long vacation. In the first four days of September I’ve already taken more cash than I did in all of August. I haven’t finished that long blog post that I previously mentioned–I keep getting interrupted, which really isn’t a problem–but I know you’re all hungry for updates. Here you go.
After the events I wrote about in Sidetracked Stoner appeared.
“Hey,” he greeted. “Know what happens when I drink 7 long islands?”
“Haha. You give me the Teamviewer password and I get closer to my goal of $1,000 for the day?”
The faggot hesitated, but thirty minutes later I was logged in and typing $20 into the payment form. As I was about to press ahead, Stoner deleted the number, signaling that he wanted me to take even more. I tried $30, but he deleted that too. $35 was just right.
With Stoner’s cash, I was only $100 short of reaching the goal, but after a few quiet hours I doubted that I was going to make it. I enjoyed a few celebratory beers, and that’s when Effortless messaged me.
“Hey, what’s up?” I asked, not immediately recognizing who he was. Effortless had added me to Skype for the first time, presumably after reading my post about Yahoo Messenger.
“Nothing, I’m a bit horny.”
“Always love to hear that. What are you in the mood for?”
“I sometimes hit up masters as a game,” Effortless answered. “If they reply, I lose.”
“So you lost. What do I win?”
He sent his Teamviewer ID and password. I sent myself $50, and that’s when he revealed himself.
“Am I still Effortless?” he asked.
I ramped it up from there, knowing that Effortless was eager to see the numbers climb, moving in $5 increments from $60 to $75. I had $370 in total when Teamviewer closed, easily crossing the $1,000 mark.
“That did it,” Effortless revealed.
Yeah, definitely still effortless, even when I’m being unnecessarily chatty. In my buzzed reverie, I retreated to a sandwich, now totally confident that September would be an awesome month.
The next day, I encountered Switch, who a few days earlier had purchased a couple items from myAmazon wish list. While he was sending cash, I opened up the packages to try the boxers and shorts on. He can’t get enough of my big bulge.
Switch’s internet connection was really shitty, so he only saw me on cam for a few minutes, but all he could imagine afterward was sniffing the new underwear once they’re well-worn. Maybe some day he’ll be lucky enough to have that honor!
It gets better. Remember the new cash slave I opened “Sidetracked” with? Yeah, he’s already come back for more.
“Drained a $20,” he greeted. “Had to scratch the itch.”
“A day without draining and you crave it again.” Fuck yeah!
The new slave had already read Sidetracked three times. He also reported that he was feeling less guilty then he thought he would. He recently started a new job and is earning more money than he ever has–I’m sure that helps. Maybe that’s why a $300+ drain didn’t have as substantial a bite as it previously did. Rather than hiding away for weeks, the cash slave was offering his bank account up again.
The new guy sent another $20 as we discussed the scene. He admitted that he’d dreamed about me “for ages,” apparently for most of the time that I’ve been around. Why didn’t the cash slave ever contact me? He was concerned about Paypal showing his real name. That can be a legitimate concern; many of the guys out there claiming to be alphas aren’t worthy of slaves’ trust. Some will get desperate for money and resort to making threats. It’s pathetic, but I can guarantee it won’t ever happen with me.
“So don’t deal with destitute beggars,” I summarized. “That’s easy.”
“That’s another nuance,” the cash slave wrote. “You have tons of cash. I have little. Yet I hand my little to You.”
“Having cash gets me off,” I explained. “Handing it over gets you off.”
“All I can do now to not send more now. Biting my lip.”
“You want to.”
“I want to,” he agreed.
“Do it then,” I commanded.
“Fuck. Sent.”
Another $20. “And I know it felt good.”
“It felt incredible. Shit.”
“You’re just putting your cash where it belongs,” I assured the cash slave. “In my hands. No better place.”
“Fuck, you’re killing me!”
I said that $60 for the night wasn’t enough. I deserved more than that.
“But I’ve drained so much,” the cash slave protested. “More than I should have.”
“And you’re going to drain more. That’s your fate. You want to hand your money over to a man. And you’ll do it.”
“Fuck, fuck!”
“Go on, cash slave,” I ordered. “More for me.”
He sent $30 that time, agreeing with what I’d said: “You deserve it. It’s my fate.”
“You can deny it all you want. You’ll be back begging to pay.”
“Can I see you?” the cash slave asked suddenly. “Your posts make it sound incredible.”
After another $30, I started the cam.
“Fuck,” the cash slave wrote immediately.
“A lot to handle?”
“That smile.”
Realizing how easily I could strip everything left in his bank account, the new guy resisted draining from that point. But showing myself had exactly the effect I wanted: “You will be in my mind now all the time.” Now all of the stories he’s been reading for years finally make sense; now he’ll be another one of the stories, another cash slave hopelessly enslaved to my will.
Finally, I’ll move to Empty, who drained $200 at the end of August after a nearly four month absence. I turned the cam on, but I told him he was going to have to send more if he wanted to see my armpits, lifting my arms up to show the sweat-soaked fabric underneath.
“Fuck,” the faggot wrote at the time. He was weak but apparently heading out the door anyway, so he managed to escape then.
He wouldn’t avoid me for long. Just a week later, Empty messaged me again. I asked if he’d been thinking about me since our last encounter.
“Yes,” he admitted.
“Can’t blame you,” I wrote. “I’m so hot.”
“Yeah, you are, Sir,” he agreed.
“Especially with sweaty pits.”
“Fuck.”
“You know what you need to do to see them,” I prompted.
I expected resistance, but Empty caved immediately: “Ok, Sir. I’ll do it.”
After another $200 payment, I turned the cam on.
“Needed me tonight, didn’t you?” I asked.
“Yes, Sir.”
I pulled at the fabric of my shirt. “Should I take it off?” I did, pointing the cam at Empty’s favorite spot.
“Fuck yeah. Man I want to bury my face in there!”
“Totally worth it.”
“Yes, totally.”
“Those pits make you want to lose more too. Right, faggot?”
“Fuck,” Empty typed. After a few minutes of waffling and complaining, I inevitably had my way, bringing Empty’s total to $400 for the night.
Can you imagine how I grinned when the faggot relented? There’s nothing quite equivalent to the sensation of power I feel in those moments.
Empty’s account close to zero (the faggot’s been serving others), he had to stop there for the night. He claimed that he couldn’t keep getting drained at the end of our conversation, but I expressed my doubt: “Those pits will always be on your mind…”
Keep the cash flowing, everyone. I’m ready to take more. Let’s make September a record month.