It’s been a year and a half since I met Empty, but I still have a trove of material (80 pages of chat logs) that I never published from, always figuring I’d get back to it when things were “slow.” When I started writing this post in September, I assumed I’d finish it in a week or two; I wound up having one of my best months ever, collecting more than $10,000 in tributes and approaching an all-time record. You can understand why it languished, but this is a great place to start finishing my folder full of partials.
Empty, if the name is new to you, first approached way back in October 2015, quickly becoming one of my favorite fags as he drained thousands and lavished me with pricey items from my Amazon wish list. At the end of Empty’s Confession, the last post I wrote about this faggot, I mentioned that the Thanksgiving meal was mere hours away. A day later, Empty was messaging me while I sat in the airport and then again when I’d finally arrived home.
“You can’t get enough of me.”
“Exactly, Sir,” Empty typed. “I miss you already.”
I was watching porn and horny, a perfect time to strike. “Go send $100,” I ordered.
“Ok,” Empty agreed. “I downloaded Teamviewer,” he added.
“Oh, you want to see what it’s like?”
I explained how it worked: I would gain total control over his computer, the ability to send myself money as I pleased.
“Wow,” Empty marveled.
A few minutes later I was logged in and opening Paypal, sending myself an easy $100. Then another.
“Fuck, that was so quick!”
“I wanted to give you a good demonstration,” I teased. “How does it make you feel?”
“Powerless,” the cash faggot replied.
Perfect. “All you have to do is sit there touching your dick while I help myself.” I added another $100 to my haul.
“Again? Fuck. How much are you going to take?”
“Are you concerned?” I asked.
“Just feels weird not having control.”
Haha. “You think you had control before?”
“No,” Empty admitted.
“I can do whatever I want with you.” By now I’d proven that in several epic sessions, collecting more than $5,000 of the faggot’s cash.
“Yes, Sir.”
“I’ll show you.” I pressed send money again, typing in my email and entering $200 this time.
“Fuck!”
“So easy.”
“I don’t even know how much money is left in my account,” Empty complained.
“You want to check?”
“I dunno…”
“Why is that?”
“Because you may rape harder.”
Fuck yeah, that’s exactly what I had in mind! I finally called Empty on Skype (yeah, I’d drained $500 before bothering to let him see me), knowing that would eliminate any resistance he could muster. Moments later he was logging in to his bank account, enabling me to see exactly what his balances were.
“What are you?” I asked.
“A cash fag.”
“My cash fag,” I corrected.
“Yes, Sir. Fuck.”
I clicked the Paypal tab again, typing in $250.
“Good cash fag.”
“Yes, Sir, I am. That’s $750 total, right?”
Yeah, it was, and with $400 still left in checking, I definitely wasn’t finished.
“Are you done now, Sir?”
“Not sure yet,” I answered, my hand still on my dick. “Still so horny.”
“Fuck!”
“Love fucking that wallet,” I typed, grinning at how much I’d already amassed.
“I know you do.”
“You love it too,” I assured the faggot.
“How do you know?”
“You’re touching yourself right now as I rape you.”
“Fuck.”
“Probably hoping I’m going to take even more.”
Empty claimed otherwise, but we all know that was bullshit. The cash fag had discovered in our very first session that nothing equaled giving me what I demanded. Submission was the most intoxicating pleasure the slave had ever known, a sensation that he’d become totally obsessed with.
“You can’t just say no?” I questioned.
“Not to you. Fuck, Sir. I love your smile so much.”
That’s what Empty stared at as I clicked the send button again, mentally computing the amount left in the cash fag’s checking account. I typed that number–$400–in to the form, pressing send again and crossing $1,000 for the day.
“All mine,” I wrote, a supreme expression of contentment taking over my face.
“Fuck! All yours now.”
“Feels so good to empty it out.”
I pulled my shirt off, lifting my arms up and pulling my hands behind my head, my arm pits–one of Empty’s favorite parts–now exposed. A little reward to express my satisfaction.
“I’m so much more of a man than you are,” I boasted.
“I know. Yes, you are,” Empty admitted, probably working his dick harder than he had the entire session.
“You’re just a submissive faggot.”
“Yes, I am. Your submissive faggot. I love watching you. I can’t resist you.”
Having literally just drained Empty’s bank balance to zero–taking more than $1,000 from that single slave in an hour–I was on top of the world, jerking my rock hard dick until thick lines of alpha seed spurted out.
“That was good,” I typed, almost panting after an intense orgasm.
“Glad I could watch that.”
“You’re glad any time you get to watch me. Talk to me for that matter.”
“Exactly, Sir,” Empty acknowledged. “You own me.”
“Feels good to lose that,” I said about the load.
“Worth all of my cash. Fuck. What am I going to do about my money?”
“What about it?”
“I can’t stop letting you take it.”
“You’ll make more money,” I assured him.
“But it will end up in your bank account.”
“Some of it, yeah. I can be a little demanding.”
“I love that though,” Empty admitted. “It’s who you are.”
“It’s hard not to take whatever you want when you know you can do it.”
Empty had always craved a dominant man and I fulfilled that desire perfectly. The faggot absolutely loved to obey; there was no greater pleasure for him than my pleasure, no feeling better than complete surrender. When we interacted he felt the freedom to be himself, to admit all of his inadequacies while basking in my superiority.
Appropriately enough, Empty contacted me for the first time in almost four months the day after I first resolved to write this post about him. Why did he wait four months?
“Was trying to save money,” the faggot wrote.
Haha. I asked why he decided to message me again.
“Was just thinking about you recently,” Empty answered.
How often do you think that happens? My money is on all the time. What image do you think Empty had in mind? My smile? My sweaty pits? My big dick? I didn’t ask, but I instructed the cash fag to open Paypal.
“Logged in,” he wrote.
I told him where to send the cash.
“Not much though, right?” Empty questioned.
Haha. Who was this faggot kidding? “Who said that? I didn’t.”
“No, but…”
“Start with $100,” I suggested.
“That’s a lot, though.”
Blah, blah, blah. With a little more coaxing Empty did as ordered. He’d been away for a long time–his bank balance a fraction of what it once had been–but he still couldn’t resist my orders for very long. Within minutes I’d extracted another $100 from him.
So easy, and I know it always will be.