Deeper

me: Sir, that’s my emergency fund…

SirCameron: I said we’d talk about it. Not today. But soon. For now, keep your minimum $500 in checking. Send me everything above it.

I have $625. That’s $125 above minimum.

me: Yes, Sir.

I send $125.

Balance: $500 exactly.

SirCameron: Perfect. Now let’s discuss your orgasm.

Finally. I haven’t cum in five days. I’ve edged probably 30 times.

SirCameron: You want to cum very badly, don’t you?

me: Yes, Sir. Please.

SirCameron: Here’s the deal. You can cum tonight. But it will cost you $200.

me: Sir, I’m at minimum. I can’t—

SirCameron: Credit card. You’ve already added $800 this week, what’s another $200? Unless you don’t want to cum that badly…

I want it so badly I’m shaking.

me: I want it, Sir.

SirCameron: Then send $200 and you have my permission. But here are the rules: You will film yourself. You will say “Thank you Sir Cameron for letting me cum” before you orgasm. You will send me the video. Understand?

Fuck. He’s never asked for video before.

me: Yes, Sir.

SirCameron: Then send the money.

I send $200 from credit card.

Credit card balance: $13,007.

SirCameron: Good boy. Now film it. Make it good.

I set up my phone, angled at my bed. Strip naked. My cock is already hard, has been hard on and off all day. I start stroking, slowly at first, then faster.

I think about everything. About sending him nearly $1,600 this week. About my credit card debt climbing. About the cologne I bought him that I’ll never smell. About being one of several pigs funding his luxury life. About my savings that he’s eyeing.

“Thank you Sir Cameron for letting me cum,” I say to the camera, and then I’m over the edge, cumming harder than I can remember, spurting across my stomach and chest, the orgasm rolling through me in waves.

When I finish, I send him the video.

SirCameron: Good pig. That’s what obedience earns you. Same time next week if you’re good. Maybe.

---

Monday at work, I can barely concentrate. My credit card balance keeps haunting me. Over $13k. At 19.99% APR, that’s… I don’t want to do the math.

Sir messages at lunch:

SirCameron: Thinking about your savings. $8,000 sitting there doing nothing. How much interest does it earn?

me: About 0.5% annually, Sir.

SirCameron: Pathetic. You know what I could do with $8,000?

me: What, Sir?

SirCameron: Take a trip. Buy a new watch. Invest it properly. Actually use it instead of letting it rot in your mediocre savings account.

My heart is pounding.

SirCameron: Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to send me $2,000 from your savings. This week.

me: Sir, that’s my emergency fund…

SirCameron: You have $500 in checking for emergencies. You don’t need $8,000. You’re hoarding money that should be mine. $2,000. Wednesday.

me: Sir, please, can we talk about this?

SirCameron: We are talking about it. I’m telling you what’s happening. $2,000 Wednesday, or I double it and you send $4,000. Your choice.

I’m hard under my desk at work. Terrified and aroused.

me: I’ll send whatever you need, Sir.

SirCameron: Good boy. But I’ve been thinking about your savings.

My stomach drops.

SirCameron: $8,000 sitting there. That’s MY money just sitting idle. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to open a new savings account. A high-yield one. And you’re going to add me as the primary account holder.

me: Sir, that’s my emergency fund…

SirCameron: Correction. It’s MY emergency fund. You’ll transfer all $8,000 into the new account. I’ll control it. If you have an actual emergency, you ask me for permission to access YOUR OWN MONEY. And I’ll decide if you really need it.

My cock throbs. This is so much more than just sending tributes. He wants complete control over my safety net.

SirCameron: This is the next level, pig. You want to be truly owned? This is what it means. Your emergency fund is MY fund. You’ll have your $500 minimum in checking for daily emergencies—flat tire, whatever. But that savings? Mine to control. Are you ready for this?

I should say no. This is insane. If he decides I don’t “need” money for something, I’m fucked. But my hand is already on my cock under my desk.

me: Yes, Sir. I’m ready.

SirCameron: Perfect. You have until Friday to set it up. Send me the account details and proof of the transfer. From now on, you don’t have savings. I have YOUR savings. Say it.

me: You have my savings, Sir. I don’t have savings anymore. You control my emergency fund.

SirCameron: Good pig. Now send me $100 to celebrate your new level of submission.

I send it immediately.

me: Sent, Sir.

SirCameron: This is just the beginning. You have no idea how much deeper this is going to go.

---

It’s been four months now. I did exactly what he told me. Opened a high-yield savings account with him as the primary holder. Transferred all $8,000. Now when I log into my banking, I can see the account, can see MY money sitting there, but I can’t touch it without his permission.

My checking account stays at exactly $500 unless it’s payday, and then within days Sir drains it back down with his demands. My credit card debt has climbed to $13,800—a mix of the cologne purchase, the random tributes I’ve put on credit when my checking was at minimum, and the $50 here, $100 there that adds up.

Every Wednesday, $250 goes to him like clockwork. But it’s the random demands that really get me—$75 while I’m at work, $125 when he’s out shopping, $100 just because he feels like it. Nothing ever over $250, but it’s constant. Always chipping away at whatever’s above my minimum.

I should be panicking. Instead, I’m harder than ever.

SirCameron: Look at what I’m wearing.

He sends a photo. New designer shirt, fitted perfectly to his build. He looks expensive. He looks powerful.

SirCameron: Your money looks good on me, doesn’t it?

me: Yes, Sir. You look incredible.

SirCameron: Thank you. You contributed $150 toward this. Along with my other pigs, of course.

The casual mention that I’m one of several doesn’t even sting anymore. It’s just reality. I’m one wallet among several keeping him in luxury.

me: You’re welcome, Sir. Thank you for letting me contribute.

SirCameron: Good attitude. Now, I’ve been thinking. That apartment of yours. $1,400 a month. That seems excessive for a pig, doesn’t it?

My breath catches.

SirCameron: When your lease is up, we’re going to talk about downsizing. You don’t need all that space. You could easily live somewhere for $900-1,000 a month. That would free up another $400-500 for ME every month. Doesn’t that sound perfect?

He wants to control where I live. How I live. Lower my standard of living so he can raise his.

me: Yes, Sir. That sounds perfect.

SirCameron: That’s my good pig. We’ll discuss it more when the time comes. For now, send me $150. I want sushi for dinner tonight.

I check my balance. $723. After this I’ll have $573. Rent is in two weeks. But I send it anyway.

me: Sent, Sir. Enjoy your sushi.

SirCameron: I will. And you’ll eat your cheap leftovers and get hard thinking about it, won’t you?

me: Yes, Sir.

SirCameron: Of course you will. You’ve come so far, pig. Remember when you hesitated over $100? Now you send $150 without question for MY dinner while you’re worried about making rent. I’m proud of you.

Those three words—”I’m proud of you”—make me feel more than any orgasm ever has.

me: Thank you, Sir. That means everything.

SirCameron: I know it does. Now edge for me. Five times. Think about how I control your savings, your checking, soon your rent. How I’m reshaping your entire life around serving me.

I unzip right there at my desk, stroke my cock, edge five times thinking about everything he controls. My checking account at minimum. My savings that I can see but can’t touch. My future apartment that he’ll choose based on how much money it frees up for him.

me: Thank you for controlling me, Sir. Thank you for reshaping my life around serving you.

SirCameron: Good pig. You can cum this weekend. If you’re good. We’ll see.

---

I used to wonder what I got out of this. Why I let a man I’ve never met in person drain my accounts, control my finances, control my SAVINGS, deny me pleasure, and treat me like property.

Now I know.

I get to be useful. I get to serve someone superior. I get to sacrifice for someone who deserves luxury while I scrape by. I get to feel owned completely.

My checking balance is usually $500. My savings—$8,000 that I earned, that I saved—sits in an account I can see but can’t touch without his permission. My credit card debt grows every week, currently at $13,800. I eat cheap food, skip purchases I want, stress about money constantly.

And I’ve never been happier.

Because it’s not my money anymore. It never was. It’s always been his. I’m just the vehicle that earns it.

He controls where my money goes. Soon he’ll control where I live. What’s next? My car? My job? My entire existence reshaped around maximizing what I can give him?

The thought should terrify me.

Instead, I’m achingly hard.

SirCameron: What are you thinking about right now?

me: How much deeper this is going to go, Sir. How much more you’re going to take.

SirCameron: Good pig. You’re finally understanding. This is just the beginning. Every aspect of your life is going to be optimized around one thing: serving me. Your apartment, your car, your spending, your free time. All of it exists to maximize my take.

me: Yes, Sir. I understand.

SirCameron: Do you know what’s beautiful about this? You’re going to help me do it. You’re going to suggest ways to cut your expenses. You’re going to find ways to earn more. You’re going to beg me to take more. Because that’s what you are. My wallet. My pig. My property.

me: Yes, Sir. I’m your wallet. Your pig. Your property.

SirCameron: And you fucking love it.

me: I fucking love it, Sir.

SirCameron: Good. Now send me $100. Just because I want it. Just because you exist to give it to me.

I send it without hesitation. $473 left now. Rent in two weeks. But that doesn’t matter.

me: Sent, Sir.

SirCameron: Perfect. That’s my good little pay pig. We’re going to have so much fun together. This is only month four. Imagine where we’ll be at month twelve. At year two. At year five.

I close my eyes, cock hard, bank account dwindling, future uncertain.

And I smile.

This is just the beginning.