When Chifag was up to $600 earlier in the week, he tried to resist draining even more. That futile effort quickly buckled against my supreme power, the faggot leaving me with an even $1,000.
Why stop there? Chifag wrestled with that question for a few days and ultimately decided that he couldn’t. I didn’t mention the loser in the first part of this post, but he was busy sending cash while I focused on the first two subs I wrote about.
“Are you telling everyone I’m obsessed with breaking records?” he asked in an email, referencing those earlier posts on Tumblr.
“Are you obsessed with it or am I?”
“I don’t think I’m obsessed,” the faggot answered. “I think you’re more focused on fucking me over than records per se.”
True, I like records because of what they represent, not because I’ve exceeded some arbitrary milepost. If you’re not familiar with Chifag’s story, I should explain a few things about him.
In the first couple years that I knew Chifag, he was a preeminent example of a slut, eagerly gushing money to countless cash masters. His pledges of loyalty were meaningless, and his credit cards were almost all maxed out, any progress he’d made in paying them off quickly overwhelmed by new rounds of tributes to all the men he salivated over.
Reading about what I’ve done to Chifag, you might imagine that he’s in worse shape than ever, perhaps even on the brink of total financial collapse. But that isn’t the case. Obviously I’ve put a significant dent in the faggot’s wallet recently, but before I started that work he proclaimed some substantial progress: he’s close to paying off one of his credit card consolidation loans in full and he’s saved $4,000 in cash.
Chifag’s deeper devotion to me, the shedding of the slutty habits that marked the earlier history of our relationship, have actually left him in a better place. Those records represent his increasing conviction that I’m the man he needs in his life, the purpose that motivates his existence.
“And you’ll thank me for the opportunity to serve your purpose every time you’re lucky enough to do it,” I wrote in another message.
$200 showed up, Chifag’s first tribute of the night.
“That’s a start,” I observed. “A tiny drop in the bucket, but a start. I deserve so much more than that, don’t I, Chifag? Like I said, that’s why losers like you exist, to sacrifice for perfection. You’ll be pathetic enough to give me everything, sooner or later. It’s inevitable. I’m going to win and you’re going to lose–that’s what queer trash does.”
After that, Chifag ran into a snag with my payment processor, presumably for trying to send way too much way too fast.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized about the forwarded message saying he needed to contact support.
“Sorry in every possible way.”
“What do you want me to do?” he asked.
That was an annoying question. If you’re familiar with previous mentions of Chifag, you might instantly recall that he frequently made use of Amazon gift cards.
“You really need hints? How else have you transferred cash to me, moron?”
Ten minutes later, I saw a $300 Amazon gift card arrive.
“Well, well, look at that! Stupid loser managed to figure it out. Even when you’re draining you struggle to do it right, Chifag.”
The $200 credit card payment that had been delayed finally came through. That meant he’d already drained $700.
“I’m so stupid,” he wrote in another message. “If I wasn’t such a pussy, I’d ask you to do that Teamviewer lock out thing and just do whatever you want to me.”
“But you are a total fucking pussy,” I replied. “Have I ever used Teamviewer on you at all? I don’t remember doing it. Would be great if you sat there helplessly watching me rape you, though. Presumably while whimpering and fingering your worthless little ‘manhood.’”
Another $200 payment hit my inbox.
“Fuck yeah. Much better, right faggot?”
“Fuck, it’s better for the mission of queer trash destruction,” he answered. “Queer trash obsessed with breaking records.”
“Why does the queer trash exist?” I prompted.
“So your big fucking cock can take everything from it. Destroy it.”
“Those records just represent that I’m taking what I deserve. More, more, more. My dick’s never going to be satisfied. How could I ever be satisfied? I know what you are and I know what I am.”
“Fuck, God you’re right,” Chifag wrote back. “Your dick is designed to pillage and destroy and never let up.”
$200 more in my account, $1,100 total.
“Once you saw perfection there could be no escape from it.”
Worshiping for years and still worshiping now. If I’m here in five years, Chifag will be here too.
At this point, the faggot was running out of available credit. He’s made substantial progress paying down his balances, true, but he’s also closed cards, meaning there’s little to work with when he gushes. The $4,000 he’d stashed in an online savings account wasn’t practically available. Craving more decimation, Chifag asked if I could use his Paypal credit, the only other option once his cards were exhausted. I directed him to try buying gift cards, but that wasn’t working–I’d have to think of another way to drain it.
Fortunately, the faggot still had some capacity to send cash. This time it was $100, leaving him with $23 in available credit on a card.
After four days and sending a total of $2,200, Chifag approached me on Skype for the first time (everything I’ve written about in the last week was through email).
“I’m sorry I’m such a stupid queer,” the faggot greeted.
“I’m still plotting,” I vowed. “I hate that there’s a source of credit I can’t seem to tap. Stupid loser with no credit…”
“Fuck, I really wanted to see that dick.”
$2,200 and he finally felt worthy. Haha.
“Of course you do,” I wrote. “You live for that dick. It’s fucking destroying your dumb faggot ass.”
“YESSS! Probably safe to try another $200?”
I mentioned that I was hoping to hit $2,000 for the day. I’d achieved $1,000 a few times in the prior weeks, but I wanted something more substantial to mark my comeback.
“I’d already made $500 when your pathetic queer trash self presented.”
“Fuck. You’ve been raking it in recently,” he praised.
“That was easy once I came back for real. You’re not the only fag who’s totally obsessed.”
The faggot’s $200 came through.
“I’m sorry I’m not sending more,” he lamented.
“I know you are. How terrible to not be able to fulfill your sole purpose. It’s worth everything.”
“Because your dick is more important than anything,” Chifag affirmed.
“Just like every bitch is obsessed with it so is every fag.”
“Fuck yes! Bitches want it to ruin their cunts and faggots want it to take everything they earn, because it’s the rightful owner of both.”
With that statement Chifag dispatched his last $200 tribute. I’d taken $1,600 from him that night, plus the $1,000 a couple days earlier. Fucking incredible.
“I have to go shortly,” the faggot warned.
I called him, grinning widely, sprawled in that same position that everyone loves so much.
“Hi god,” Chifag greeted.
He was gone less than two minutes later. The faggot wasn’t kidding about having to go–I presume he had to start getting ready for work.
“Damn. Well, at least I got a glimpse,” he concluded.
I could say that brief glimpse of perfection made the whole interaction worthwhile, but it was worthwhile even without it. Chifag doesn’t serve to see me on cam. He serves because that’s his purpose, to sacrifice for greatness; he serves because submission is the most satisfying aspect of his existence.
And that record I mentioned, that $5,000 figure that persistently comes up, well, you know the cliché: records exist to be broken. All in good time.