You leave the workplace with a visible erection and wonder who notices. When you make a beeline for the ATM and enter your PIN, you think of Me. You make sure it is your bank; you want no service charges diverting the cash.
When you get some precious time alone, you think of Me. You've doffed your work wear for a pair of trackies because you know that I like your look in them. That it makes Me even more horny to use you. And you want to be used. Hard.
From your wallet, you extract the notes that should be taken away from you. You hesitate for a moment, then you reach in for another. That's better. Your thick cock is leaking uncontrollably now, with the urgent throb of a horny cashfag's tool. You know that this is right. That you should serve. That you should suffer. And you know that right in this very moment, you are serving Me. You're following My orders. Doing as I directed. This feels so right.
That cashfag cock throbs again. It's getting hard not to cum by the time your tongue hits the envelope. You seal it with your saliva—and address it to Me. As you think about just what you are doing here, your anus twitches convulsively. And you pump off without touching yourself.
A wave of relief washes over your entire body, and as the copious seed drools from your spent cockhead, there is an overwhelming, renewed recognition of what you are: A fag. A cash cunt. Serving your purpose. Right here in this very moment. Before bed, you place the envelope near the door to take to the post office. You sleep; your dreams are intense.
I've felt horny and wired ever since I commanded you to pay—and you submitted, agreed that it was your only choice to obey. I've been walking around for days feeling high on this surge of power. And waiting for today when the envelope arrives at My door. I lock the door behind Me as I take it into the house. I think of you and your service to Me and before long My trousers are yanked down around my ankles, My thick length pulled out to greet you.
For this is a sexual sacrament, what we are doing. The cash notes that I pull from this envelope—which I will enjoy any fucking way I choose—this is your body. The explosion of seed that I flood across them—this is My blood; My DNA that I use to mark and claim this instantiation of you. The cash that I spoil with my fluids—it is your face that I am soiling.
And your vulnerable arse. Being opened by a cock that is thicker and meaner than you may believe you can handle. This is happening. It is your insides that I am flooding now, as I cry out with lust and greed. It's not up to you. I am possessing you. I own you. I take you. I use you. You are Mine.
This is symbolic and real at the same time. Because we both know that everything that this $ervice represents is something that I will also do to you in the flesh. And it is very fucking satisfying.
Sitting at your desk at work, you look up at the clock. You track the hours that have passed and calculate your rate of pay. You are busy, but you are also restless. It's because you know that there is an imbalance that must be corrected. Looking down, you see how fat and hard your cock has become again. The rigid cock of a committed cash slave serving a Master. You reach for your wallet with one hand, and a fresh envelope with the other.
I've dealt with boys and slaves that get addicted to cash service, but no one warns you that cash mastery could be addictive as well.
Had a hot chat with a boy last night, he wanted to serve someone and I've been craving and apprehensive about getting into demanding cash service for my own reasons. However my libido made short work of that inhibition last night, I was horny as a coyote sniffing out a bitch in heat. I wanted to play, and no one was on anywhere. I was ready to go, come on, bring in the pigs, I want my bacon, but my yahoo list was dead and gray, the chatrooms were all empty. Fuck!
Then this boy is on, we had talked before and he ended up serving me very nicely. Little bits, 25 credits in little tributes, like a line of morsels on a conveyor belt, all I had to do was reach out and grab each one. Gripping it tight like a sub's balls in my gloved hand. He tributed again and again, and I loved it.
He blew his load and was very happy...but I wanted more. I bid him a good night, we'll play tomorrow, but I wanted more and I wanted it now. I had to calm down, get a hold of myself. Like a Wolf looking for a juicy young buck to tear into, I was hungry. I got off my computer and went to bed, working out a load to my favorite thoughts, blew a nice one after edging myself so much with the boy...but something was amiss...
...I'm still hungry.
I just thought I'd take some time and explain who I am and what I'm looking for.
I'm a dominant here, a Master. I am looking for submissives to play with, and I want a boy who wants to play with me. My domination style is what I like to call "gentle-handed". I have more fun gently stroking the face of a sub with my gloved hand, I enjoy tying them up and gently running my fingers down their body and making them moan and sigh. I like to turn on my subs and make them beg to serve me more, because it's what they want.
Here, I'm looking for boys who want to give me money, give me gifts, take me out to dinner, to the bar, lick my boots, and do my chores because it gets their dick hard and makes them drip with sexual excitement. I like my boys horny as fuck.
No I won't blackmail you, I'm not going to hack you, I'm not doing anything unmutual. Why? Because I don't like playing that way. It's not fun to me. Fun is having my sub, slave, pig, boy, cow happy to serve and be used by me. I feed off of that happiness, that ecstasy. That's what turns me on.
I like a lot of different types of boys, shy boys, a little scared but wanting to explore. I like taking them in, wrapping them up tight, and possessing them, keeping them safe. Boys who know what they want and tell me up front. I also like boys who know their limits, limits I want to respect.
I take this cash play seriously, boys. I will not accept money from poor boys, boys who can't live without it but beg to have it taken from them, money that is due to overdue bills, or gas you need to get to work. You tribute me money that won't be missed. I have returned money in the past, and on several different occasions. I have turned away boys suffering from addiction to the play, and who were risking destroying their lives. You will submit to me when you are in balance, boy and don't you fucking lie to me or go behind your lover's back about this either. I will not be your goddamn "mistress" Master.
Are you ready?
Are you healthy?
Are you balanced?
Are you eager to serve me?
Answer me. I await your message, dear boys.