When I refreshed my email last week, I immediately noticed Chifag’s name in a slew of messages. He’d sent an Amazon gift card, $100 in cash, and forwarded the confirmations of both.
“Looks like some faggot is working its worthless little clit again,” I replied.
Chifag forwarded another payment confirmation in response.
“Fuck yeah,” I typed. “I need a good Christmas, right Chifag? That’s all subhuman scum like you is good for. Keep running up that card.”
“OMG yes!” the faggot wrote back five minutes later. “And I love how you’ve gotten even crueler in what you say to me.”
It’s easy to be cruel to Chifag given that he’s persistently pissing me off with fuck up after fuck up. I reminded him of that: “It’s an insignificant piece of shit. The useless faggot trash proves that over and over again when it pathetically cowers from the real man who gives it the tiny speck of worth it has.”
A $300 Amazon gift card and another $100 in cash arrived.
“Fuck yeah, loser. Cash, gift cards, wish list purchases–that’s the reason it exists, to benefit me, to line my pockets with what I deserve. And what is that, faggot? Everything it has. Every available bit of credit it has. There’s no limit.”
“Fuck, it’s so true,” Chifag agreed. “I am a fuck up at everything except getting used by you, and you deserve the credit for that.”
“At everything except getting used by me?” I questioned. “What are you thinking? You’re a fuck up at that too, faggot.”
A cash slave is good at getting used when an orgasm doesn’t cause him to lose sight of his role and purpose. That doesn’t sound like Chifag, does it? He’s famous for losing thousands because he’s extraordinarily inconsistent, spending months denying his nature only to gush money when his cravings become overwhelming. I’ll repeat what I wrote the last time I mentioned Chifag: the need to be dominated and controlled will inevitably recur as the satisfaction and fulfillment previously achieved by submission fade away. That’s why faggots experiencing the cycle necessarily cast aside their worthless resolutions; it’s the reason Chifag is fated to always crawl back.
After I commented on that, $35, $75, and $100 payment notifications arrived (I have no idea why the dumbass chose those random amounts). Chifag affirmed that he wanted to be the inspiration for other fags to serve, in contrast to his previous pathetic request that I not post about our last encounter.
“Posting inspiration for other fags live on Tumblr now,” I revealed.
“Thank you. I wanted to save myself, but that (a) ceased to be a possibility the first time you raped me, and (b) isn’t as hot as watching you take everything and destroy what’s left of my tiny brain.”
Happy to see Chifag embracing that truth, I reminded him of exactly what his role is: “You go to work and earn my money. Otherwise you should just shut up and look to me when there’s anything to be done, any decisions to be made. You’ve demonstrated over and over again that you’re a moron who can’t be trusted with anything that matters. You need to be completely controlled and dominated if my resources are going to be properly managed.”
After reading those words, Chifag–his irrelevant clit as hard as it could possibly be–spent thirty minutes trying to use his checking account to increase the frequency of his payments, though he never managed to make that work. He drained another $200 on his card in the meantime.
“I want to make your dick hard for Christmas,” he proclaimed. “I’m not trying to add up the amounts. It’s possible I’ll be maxed out with too little in the bank to pay my bills.”
“Sounds perfect to me. Exactly what my stupid fag thing deserves, right? To be completely and totally fucked over by me.”
“You deserve to max out all my credit cards and overdraw my bank account,” Chifag agreed.
“Total destruction. That’s the faggot’s inevitable destiny.” Another $100 arrived. “Don’t you feel so much better now that you’re handing over what’s mine, Chifag? This is exactly the way it should be. Faggot scum exists solely to benefit a real man. To make me grin and make my perfect dick hard.”
With more than $1,000 accumulated, I was getting turned on and had started tugging at my cock, an image that was driving Chifag crazy.
“Been stroking while you’re completely helpless and my conquest mounts. I love adding up all the destruction–you know what it does to my dick. Ruining you makes me feel so fucking powerful.”
“God dick has everything, faggot trash has nothing.”
“I keep piling up money, fag shit keeps piling up debt,” I wrote. “That’s perfection. If my dick is hard nothing else matters to the worthless scum.”
Wanting to ensure that I’d be kept happy, Chifag started using a timer for his payments. Now he was dispatching $100 every ten minutes.
“Every time I see that notification my dick stiffens up even more. Fucking love destroying you, faggot. There’s nothing better for me than these moments of clarity when you stop trying to deny what a pathetic loser you are and accept your destruction.”
“I can’t imagine how perfect your dick looks. Loves driving queer trash deeper and deeper into debt.”
“You know what it looks like when I’m fucking you over. Rock hard and leaking precum. Gives pathetic faggots a purpose, doesn’t it?”
“Please let me see,” Chifag begged. “Please! I want to watch it destroying me.”
Unsurprisingly, the faggot was hiding in my Skype list yet again. He messaged me from a fresh account that had added me a month earlier without saying a word.
“Stupid Chifag thing here,” the faggot greeted about ten minutes later.
“Overdue.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Fuck up.”
“No better description of me,” Chifag admitted.
“I don’t know about that. Weak, pathetic, useless, worthless, pitiful, moron. Subhuman faggot scum.”
“And another $100 from the weak, pathetic subhuman faggot scum for the perfect, massive god cock.”
“Fuck yeah!”
I started the Skype call, Chifag finally seeing me after hours of building up to it.
“OMFG. Fuuuck.”
“Loser,” I teased, touching my dick.
“Pathetic loser,” Chifag acknowledged. “Disgusting. You’re perfect! OMGGGGG.”
“Tell me about how perfect I am, faggot.”
“You are a god. A fuckin’ real man, but far beyond even other straight men. Perfect dick, hot body and face, greedy and fuck…perfectly designed to make fags weak. So you can ruin them. OMG. I am so scared to know where my credit card balance is.”
“Why does it matter?” I asked. “Better off in my hands. That’s why you exist. To hand it over.”
“I know. I obviously have spent a lot of time trying to pretend otherwise.”
“Yeah. You’re a fucking moron trying to deny that this cock owns you.”
“A really ridiculous lie to myself. Impossible even for a dumb fag to believe when it’s totally destroyed.”
While Chifag sent more money, I contentedly worked my dick, which had swollen up even more.
“Fuck. God it’s fuckin’ huge!”
“I’m a real man,” I explained. “Not a faggot loser like you.”
That’s where our conversation really should have taken off, payments accumulating to the point of threatening old records. Alas, after draining $500 during the Skype call–more than $2,000 for the night–Chifag started to complain that he was getting tired, which usually indicates that he shot his load. Looking at me for so long, it’s hard to blame the faggot, but my goal for the holiday had been to cross the $4,000 mark.
That’s fine, though, since it’s just a matter of time until I take Chifag beyond that level; I have no problem with being patient. And the loser has given me good reasons to be especially vengeful when his needs eventually overtake his sober mind again. A few hours after our conversation ended, I noticed that the faggot had canceled the UA joggers he’d purchased from my wish list at the beginning of this drain. I presumed then that he’d also canceled $750 worth of Amazon gift cards that were still processing, and obviously he did since they never arrived. Fucking pathetic.
You know what that means, right Chifag? You owe me $800, and I’m going to do substantially more damage than that when I next have the opportunity to decimate your credit card. Enjoy pretending, shuffling through that miserable and unfulfilling cycle, but I’ll be here waiting for your next concession to destiny, eager to inflict my brutal retribution.