His Control
The notification lights up my phone at 9:47 PM, and my stomach drops before I even read it.
SirCameron: You’re late.
My fingers fumble as I unlock the screen. Late? I check the time again, then scroll back through our messages. Fuck. He told me to check in at 9:30. How did I lose track of time?
me: Sir, I’m so sorry. I was finishing up work and lost track of time.
The three dots appear, disappear, appear again. Each second stretches. Finally:
SirCameron: Excuses. Send $100. Now.
SirCameron: And that’s on top of your weekly tribute, which is also late.
My heart hammers as I open the payment app. My checking account balance stares back at me: $847. Rent is due in five days. I budgeted $200 for groceries this week. The weekly tribute is $250—I was going to send it tomorrow, on payday.
But Sir doesn’t care about my payday.
I send $100. Then, fingers shaking slightly, I send another $250. The balance updates: $497.
me: Sent, Sir. $350 total.
SirCameron: Good boy. That’s what happens when you disappoint me. Maybe next time you’ll remember who owns your time.
I stare at those words. “Who owns your time.” He’s right. That’s what I agreed to when this started three months ago. That’s what I wanted—what I want.
It began on a forum, a late-night rabbit hole when I couldn’t sleep. I’d been curious about financial domination for years, lurking in communities, reading stories, never quite brave enough to engage. Then I saw his post:
“Experienced Dom seeking serious submissive. I don’t play games. If you’re looking for someone to drain your wallet while ignoring you exist, keep scrolling. I demand absolute control, complete transparency, and total devotion. In return, you get purpose. You get to serve someone superior. You get to know your place.”
Something about the directness made my cock twitch. The arrogance. The certainty.
I messaged him. Told him I was new to this, that I’d fantasized but never served. He asked for my stats—age, income, debt, savings. I told him everything: 34, software engineer, $95k salary, $12k credit card debt, $8k in savings.
SirCameron: Pathetic savings for someone making that much. You clearly don’t know how to manage money. Lucky for you, that’s about to change.
We talked for a week. He asked about my fantasies, my limits, what drew me to this. I confessed it all—the desire to give up control, to be humiliated, to prove my devotion through sacrifice. The way the idea of sending money to a superior man made me harder than anything else.
He sent a photo on day five. I wasn’t expecting it. Dark hair, sharp jawline, wearing a fitted black t-shirt that showed off defined arms. Sitting in what looked like an expensive leather chair, holding a tumbler of whiskey. The photo was composed perfectly—not a mirror selfie, but clearly intentional. He looked like money. He looked like power.
SirCameron: This is who you’re serving. Remember that.
On day eight, he gave me instructions:
SirCameron: Here’s how this works. You send me $250 every Wednesday. That’s your weekly tribute—non-negotiable, no excuses. You will maintain a minimum balance of $500 in checking at all times for emergencies. Everything above that is MINE to control. You don’t make purchases over $50 without asking permission. You send me screenshots of every bank and credit card account by Sunday night each week. You check in with me every evening at 9:30 PM. Break any of these rules, you pay a penalty. Understand?
I should have been scared. Instead, I was achingly hard.
me: Yes, Sir. I understand.
SirCameron: Good. First tribute is due tonight. Then we begin.
I sent it. $250 to a stranger. Watched my balance drop. And came harder than I had in months, my hand barely touching my cock.
Now, twelve weeks later, I’m fully under his control.
It’s Thursday night, and I’m sitting at my desk trying to focus on code, but my phone keeps pulling my attention. Sir has been messaging me all evening.
SirCameron: What did you have for lunch?
me: Leftover pasta from home, Sir.
SirCameron: Good. You’re learning not to waste MY money on expensive takeout.
An hour later:
SirCameron: Send me your checking account balance.
I screenshot it and send: $523.
SirCameron: You have $23 more than your minimum. Send it.
me: Yes, Sir.
I send $23. It feels absurd and perfect. He’s taking everything down to the exact minimum he allows me to keep.
My cock is hard in my jeans.
SirCameron: Are you hard right now?
me: Yes, Sir.
SirCameron: Of course you are. You love this. Love knowing I control every dollar. Take it out.
I glance around my apartment—alone, as always when we do this. I unzip my jeans, pull out my cock. It’s already leaking.
me: It’s out, Sir.
SirCameron: Edge yourself. Don’t you dare cum. You haven’t earned it.
I wrap my hand around my shaft, stroke slowly. Think about my bank balance. $500 exactly. Every extra penny belongs to him. Tomorrow is payday—$2,847 after taxes. Rent is $1,400. Utilities about $150. Sir’s tribute $250. That leaves roughly $1,000 for groceries, gas, and whatever else I need.
Except Sir will want more than just the weekly tribute. He always does.
I stroke faster, approaching the edge, then stop. Breathe.
me: Edging, Sir.
SirCameron: Good boy. Again. Five times. Then stop and put it away. You don’t get to cum tonight.
The denial is exquisite torture. I edge five times, each one harder than the last, my cock throbbing, balls aching. On the fifth edge I have to completely let go and count to thirty before I trust myself not to cum.
me: Done, Sir. Five edges.
SirCameron: Put it away.
I tuck my still-hard cock back into my jeans, zip up. The ache remains.
SirCameron: You’ll thank me for that denial. Send $50.
me: Sir, I’m at my minimum. Payday isn’t until tomorrow.
SirCameron: Did I ask about your payday? I said send $50. Figure it out.
Fuck. I look at my credit card—already at $12,400. But what choice do I have?
I send $50 from the credit card.
me: Sent, Sir. Had to use credit.
SirCameron: Pathetic. Paying me with debt. That’s going to cost you extra tomorrow when you get paid. Plan on sending $400 instead of $250.
My stomach flips. $400. That’s $150 more than usual. But I also feel a dark thrill.
me: Yes, Sir. $400 tomorrow.
SirCameron: And you’re welcome for the denial. You’re going to earn your next orgasm.
Friday arrives. My paycheck hits at 9 AM: $2,847.23.
Sir messages me at 9:03 AM. He always knows.
SirCameron: Payday, piggy. Let’s see it.
I screenshot my account and send it: $3,347.23.
SirCameron: Much better. Send your $400 tribute now. Then we’ll discuss the rest.
I send $400. Balance: $2,947.23.
SirCameron: Good. Now, rent is $1,400 and utilities are $150, correct?
me: Yes, Sir.
SirCameron: Send me screenshots proving you’ve paid them.
I pay rent and utilities, screenshot the confirmations, send them.
Balance: $1,397.23.
SirCameron: Keep $500 for your minimum. Keep $300 for groceries and gas this week. Send me the rest.
I do the math. That’s $597.23 he’s demanding.
me: Sir, that’s almost $600.
SirCameron: Are you questioning me?
me: No, Sir. I just… that’s a lot on top of the $400 tribute.
SirCameron: You paid me with DEBT yesterday. Did you think that wouldn’t have consequences? Send it. Now. Or send $700 and learn what real consequences look like.
My hand trembles as I send $597.23.
Balance: $800.
SirCameron: Good boy. You can keep the extra $300. Consider it a kindness. Now thank me.
me: Thank you, Sir. Thank you for taking what’s yours.
SirCameron: You sent me almost $1,000 this week. How does that make you feel?
I should feel anxious. Scared. Instead, sitting at my desk with my cock hardening again, I feel…
me: Useful, Sir. Like I have purpose.
SirCameron: That’s because you do. Your purpose is serving me. Funding my life. Speaking of which…
He sends a photo. He’s at a restaurant, expensive-looking, with a martini in front of him. The photo is angled to show his watch—looks like a Rolex.
SirCameron: Enjoying a nice dinner. Thanks to you and my other pigs. This martini is $22. You’re paying for it. Send $25.
Other pigs. He’s said it before, but it always hits differently. I’m not his only one. He has multiple subs funding his lifestyle. I’m one of several wallets he’s draining.
It should bother me. Instead it makes me harder.
I send $25.
me: Enjoy your martini, Sir.
Balance: $775.
SirCameron: I will. And you’ll stay hard at your desk knowing you paid for it, won’t you?
me: Yes, Sir.
SirCameron: Are you hard now?
me: Yes, Sir.
SirCameron: Of course you are. You get hard every time you send me money. Touch yourself. Edge three times. Then I want you to think about something: You’re sitting in your mediocre apartment, eating leftovers, denying yourself pleasure. Meanwhile I’m at a $200 dinner drinking $22 martinis. You’re PAYING for my luxury while you scrape by. Doesn’t that make you feel pathetic?
I stroke my cock, reading his words over and over.
me: Yes, Sir. It makes me feel pathetic.
SirCameron: And?
me: And it makes me so fucking hard, Sir.
SirCameron: Good pig. Edge three times and stop. No cumming.
I edge three times at my desk, each time thinking about him at that restaurant. Thinking about the Rolex. Thinking about my $775 balance that used to be almost $3,400 this morning.
SirCameron: Done?
me: Yes, Sir. Three edges.
SirCameron: You want to cum, don’t you?
me: Desperately, Sir.
SirCameron: Then send $100 and ask permission.
Fuck. $100 just for permission. Not a guarantee—just to ASK.
I send $100.
Balance: $675.
me: Sir, please may I have permission to cum?
The dots appear. Disappear. Appear again. He’s making me wait.
SirCameron: No.
My cock throbs painfully.
me: Sir, please…
SirCameron: That’s another $50 for begging. And you still don’t get to cum.
I send $50. I can’t help myself.
Balance: $625.
SirCameron: Pathetic. You just paid $150 to be denied. Put your cock away and get back to work. Maybe in a few days if you’re very good, I’ll let you cum.
Saturday morning I wake up achingly hard. It’s been four days since I’ve cum. Sir has been edging me daily, denying me constantly.
SirCameron: Good morning, pig. Today you’re going shopping.
me: Shopping, Sir?
SirCameron: For me. I need new cologne. Go to Nordstrom. Ask the associate to show you Tom Ford fragrances. Buy Tobacco Vanille, 3.4 oz. Should be around $250. Send me a photo of the receipt.
me: Sir, I only have $625 in my account and need to keep $500 minimum…
SirCameron: You have a credit card, don’t you? Use it. I don’t care about your limits. I want my cologne.
My credit card balance is already $12,500. Adding $250 more…
But I’m also desperately hard reading his demand.
me: Yes, Sir. I’ll go this morning.
SirCameron: Good. And while you’re buying it, I want you to edge in the car before you go in. Then edge again in the parking lot after you buy it. Think about how you’re going into debt to buy me luxury cologne you’ll never smell. How I’m going to wear it on dates, smell good for other men, all paid for by you. Understand?
me: Yes, Sir.
Two hours later I’m sitting in the Nordstrom parking lot, $235 bottle of cologne in a fancy bag on the passenger seat (plus tax brought it to $257). I’ve already edged once before going in, hard cock in my hand in my car, thinking about what I was about to buy for him.
Now I’m stroking again, imagining him wearing this cologne, going out, other men smelling it on him, wanting him. All because I went into debt for him.
I edge hard, stop just in time.
I photograph the receipt and send it.
me: Purchased, Sir. $257.18 total.
SirCameron: Good boy. Now here’s the fun part. You’re going to ship it to me, and you’re going to include a note. Write: “Sir, thank you for allowing me to buy this for you. Knowing you’ll smell this good for other men while I sit home denied makes me understand my place. Your pig.”
me: Yes, Sir.
SirCameron: And add another $50 for shipping and materials. Send it now.
I send $50 from my credit card.
Credit card balance: $12,807.
Checking balance: $625.
SirCameron: Perfect. Ship it Monday. I want tracking. Now, have you been edging in the parking lot like I told you?
me: Yes, Sir. Twice now.
SirCameron: Good. Go home. Edge five more times today. You still don’t get to cum. I’ll let you know when you’ve earned it.
It’s Sunday night. Weekly account screenshot time.
I compile them all, feeling shame and arousal mix together:
Checking: $625
Savings: $8,000 (unchanged – he hasn’t touched it yet)
Credit Card: $12,807
Venmo history: $1,597 sent to SirCameron this week
me: All accounts, Sir.
SirCameron: Look at that credit card balance. You’ve added over $800 to your debt this week. For me. How does that feel?
me: It feels… right, Sir. Like this is what my money is for.
SirCameron: It is. Your money exists to serve me. Your pathetic little salary, your debt limit, all of it is a resource for my benefit. You understand that, don’t you?
me: Yes, Sir.
SirCameron: I also notice you still have $8k in savings. We’re going to talk about that soon. You don’t need $8k sitting there. I could use it much better than you.
My stomach drops and my cock hardens simultaneously.
pay pig • human atm • findom • m/m findom • wallet sub • academy archive