“Back on Paypal, huh?” Cash Cow asked at the end of August. It was the first time he’d written since I drained $445 from him back in June, an indication that he would need to be used soon. We chatted for a few minutes before the fag dismissed himself: “Off to bed now ALPHA…hope we can catch up after Labor Day. Miss the big ALPHA cock.”
True to his word, Cash Cow presented himself yesterday.
“How’s it going, SIR?”
“Just horny as fuck,” I answered.
“Why’s that ALPHA?”
“Haha. When am I not?”
I quickly corrected that explanation: I was going out to dinner with the fuck toy last night, the anticipation of stretching her pussy out again afterward keeping my dick hard.
“Why, you getting fucked?”
“Would like to do a little but cannot do as much as before,” Cash Cow claimed.
That kind of stated limitation is basically the cash slave equivalent of “just the tip.” Once you’ve gone that far, of course, self-control immediately melts away. It’s never just the tip–your mind, your body inevitably only crave more.
Sure enough, I was soon logged in with Teamviewer and looking at the faggot’s screen, starting a Skype call and seeing my image fill the space. Whether Cash Cow knew it or not, the game was already over.
“Fuck, look at that,” Cash Cow exclaimed on seeing me. “Alpha.”
The faggot had already opened my credit card form and my Amazon wish list in his browser. I started with cash, sending myself $50.
Cash Cow had a brand new bottle of poppers and immediately went to work huffing, moaning and grunting as he stared at my grinning perfection.
“And now I have your cash to pay for that dinner,” I said about my date.
“Yes, Sir. Fag eats sandwiches at home while you go out to expensive dinners. You live in luxury and relax while fags work for you.”
“It’s an awesome life!”
He grabbed the bottle again, two sniffs on each side, taking his fourth at the exact moment that I sent $50 more. Pure bliss.
We chatted about my plans for the evening, the faggot always eager to hear about my sexual conquests while he rubs his pathetic little clit and works his bulbous udders. With another $50 taken, Cash Cow suggested that I do some shopping.
“You remember all those notifications last year?” I asked as I browsed my wish list. “Every time something shipped, every time something was delivered. Going to be really hot to see those again, isn’t it?”
I selected the adidas Alphabounce shoes, checking out and paying $120 with Cash Cow’s Amazon store card. That wasn’t enough to quench his thirst for exploitation, though–he wanted me to spend even more. As I scrolled through the relatively sparse list (it’s tough to find things you want when you’re going on $20,000 in purchases), the faggot urged me to buy another pair of shoes. I added the adidas Ultraboost to Cash Cow’s cart, checking out and putting an extra $180 on the fag’s card.
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“I don’t even spend that much on shoes for myself,” he commented after the orders were placed.
“You shouldn’t,” I assured him. “You don’t need expensive shoes–that would be a waste. Much better that I have anything I want.”
“Yes, alpha,” he agreed.
By now Cash Cow was getting really worked up. I had him sniffing again while I collected $50 more, bringing me to $220 in cash and $300 in gifts. So much for only doing “a little,” right? The faggot had exceeded his last session by $75. Like I said, there’s no such thing as “just the tip.” When you ask for the tip you’re really begging to be fucked by the whole monstrous thing.
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And I’m a great fuck. The cash fag’s breathing and moaning had accelerated, his arm desperately flailing against his little nub while he looked at me.
“Fag’s going to cum, Sir,” he declared. He quickly corrected himself, asking my permission to empty his load.
I grinned again. “Yeah, faggot can cum.”
Twenty seconds later he was yelling out in ecstasy, panting as his arm finally came to a stop.
“Thank you, Sir,” Cash Cow acknowledged.
“Now you can look forward to seeing those shipping notifications again,” I teased. “See you soon, faggot.”