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It felt like the perfect morning. David had run for 12 kilometres, in glorious sunshine, along the river bank then looping back around to his modest but cosy home. Feeling the hot shower water on his head, washing the sweat away, he felt invigorated, healthy, and ready for the world. He was eating nutritiously, cooking, avoiding alcohol, reading the books he had always intended to read. He was actively pursuing his more wholesome interests. He felt like the man he had always imagined that he wanted to be. Something of a loner still, to be sure. But he was happy. Maybe for the first time, as an adult anyway, he felt relaxed and contented.
His ruinous addiction, that strange thing, the thing that had taken such a hold on his whole life, felt like something from the distant past. Another lifetime even. Hard to believe it had been less than a year since he had been in the grip of it. Flat broke. Indebted. Sunken in depravity. His brain turned to mush. Consumed wholly by it. Rock bottom, as they say.
He felt calm, reflecting on his strange past as he munched a banana, comfortable and clean in his weekend baggy clothes. David had never wanted to be a success story or a high achiever. But he felt proud to have rebuilt his life, and his modest finances, got his brain working productively again, and living like a normal person.
He had gone from being thousands of pounds in debt, with nothing to show for it, to being comfortably in the black and living well within his means. Buying himself little modest luxuries again. A nice bag of coffee. A new pair of jeans. A visit to the cinema. Today, he would even take the plunge and buy the pair of running shoes he had coveted for months. Hundreds of pounds. But he knew he would enjoy feeling their quality and their sprightly bounce on his morning runs. He felt like he had earned it. Knowing that would make him feel good when he put them on.
He took the still-warm coffee cup and lay down on the bed to rest his legs for a while. He browsed the news half-heartedly. Terrible things were happening all over the world, and everything seemed to be getting worse, but it did not get him down or spoil his mood. David had learned to live in his own moment.
Sunshine coming through the window gave the room a beautiful light, and a warm feeling over his slowly recovering thighs. He felt the warmth reach his penis, and it made for a little stirring in his loins.
Why not, he thought. He logged in to his “adult” account, strictly self regulated to be beautiful but wholesome images only. Lovely women in states of semi-nudity. Loving couples enjoying passionate sexual positions. Enough to encourage arousal and help him to masturbate quickly and rid himself of sexual desire. Nothing cruel. And definitely, absolutely most certainly, no Findom.
His small penis became more engorged as he browsed. Although poorly endowed himself, David enjoyed seeing women getting pleasure from bigger men, with very large cocks. He paused for a moment to admire a picture. A thick, heavily veined, still flaccid cock, hanging menacingly from a tall, broad-chested man’s fly. A woman on her knees in front of him, her pretty face and lipsticked mouth just inches away from the tip. Anticipation on her face. Salivating at the prospect of sucking it. Feeling it inside her.
David was fully erect now, but held off from touching himself. He browsed on, despite his intense enjoyment of that picture. There was something in him that always wanted to see the next image. There was a woman on all fours, a look of ecstasy on her face, being penetrated by a large tattooed man. A position David could not imagine even being able to do, even if a woman wanted to, given the small size of his penis. Something about knowing that always made him very aroused. This pleasure was reserved for his superiors. Real men. Hot women. He was almost ready to touch now.
He browsed a little more, enjoying the beauty of the women he saw. He was highly charged now, but browsing casually, feeling the pleasure of it.
Then, from nowhere, there was a picture that stopped him in his tracks. His heart started thumping, so hard he could almost hear it. His penis shrank back, shrivelling bahis siteleri almost to nothing. His whole body responding with fear. How was this picture in his timeline? He thought he had taken all precautions to remove any trace, any chance of it. But there she was.
Miss Marianne.
Even more stunning that he remembered. Looking down at the viewer, sure in the knowledge of her ice-cold beauty and power. Her brown hair tied up behind her head, emphasising her god-like cheekbones. Piercing green eyes. Blood red lips. Fully dressed, in a smart blouse and business skirt, but somehow more erotic than all the other pictures he had seen combined.
His tiny penis was fully stiff now. Throbbing.
I could just take a little look at her profile, he thought. Just while I’m stroking myself. What harm could it do?
Heart thumping hard, he clicked on her name.
Oh God. The next picture was sent to torment him. Teasing. Her hair down. Casual, arrogant look on her face. A condescending grin. A little hint of her lacy white panties, just visible past the inside of her raised thigh, over which draped the skirt of a flimsy yellow summer dress. Her nipples protruding from inside the dress, no bra there surely. Her bare shoulders browned by the sun.
He scrolled on. There was money. Gloating. All the things that he knew would push his buttons. Pathetic simps getting drained of their cash, hoping to get Miss Marianne’s attention and approval. Just like he had done.
He had to find another picture. Try to masturbate in a normal way, like a normal man. He was a normal man now. Surely he could look at an erotic picture of a hot woman and that would be enough for him. She was just a hot woman. Nothing more.
The next picture he came upon was a gym picture. A tight, pale blue sports bra top, hugging her beautiful breasts and compressing them into an athletic looking frame. Tight matching leggings on her shapely thighs, with a torturous cameltoe too. Heavenly. Oh, Marianne.
He knew he had to try to climax quickly. He had to have that moment of clarity and get out of here before he did anything stupid.
Almost involuntarily, his thumb scrolled on.
The torment got worse. Her cruel comments. More erotic than the pictures. The way she gleefully rubbed the noses of life’s losers in their misery and their pathetic degradation. Reminding them that no woman wanted them. That they were sexually inadequate. That no woman wanted a small penis. That they could only get female attention by paying.
Many dommes were just acting when it came to cruelty, and it wasn’t hard to see the theatre in what they did and said. But Miss Marianne was different. She enjoyed it. You could smell it. It was like she got turned on herself by being cruel. She liked the challenge of phrasing something in the most cutting and piercing manner she could, in a way that would reach right into the soul of a submissive man.
Then there was the money. She loved money. She loved and embraced her own insatiable greed. She was ruthless, and would never stop until she had caused the maximum financial damage to her prey, before moving on to the next hapless victim, betrayed by his own desires, by his own penis.
Marianne could smell weakness. She had a sixth sense for vulnerability. She knew when a man was horny and there for the taking. And boy did she enjoy that power.
David started to stroke harder, hoping for a quick release and escape. Again his own hand betrayed him, slowing down, wanting to prolong the sick pleasure he was now wallowing in.
He needed to see more.
Just scroll on, he told himself. Look for another sexy picture. Whatever you do, don’t refresh the page. If you refresh, you might see something new, something current, something happening right now, and it will feel a little like interaction. Yes, that’s the biggest turn on, the point of it all – interaction… but that’s why you have to avoid it.
He found another picture. Impossibly hot. A mirror shot, taken from behind. She was applying lipstick, leaning forward. Wearing nothing but Calvins. Her cleavage protruding as she leant towards the mirror. Her firm ass in the snug grey panties canlı bahis siteleri on the dressing table seat.
He stroked harder, looking at her body. Thinking about her beauty, her superiority, and her cruelty.
He was almost there. But then he felt himself slowing again.
Then he refreshed the page.
New things to look at. Money. Men were paying her. Right now. Rewarding her for being so hot. For being so cruel. So superior.
New payments kept coming. At least two men sending to her. Competing with each other. He kept refreshing, wanting to see more.
From a memory reaction, his fingers started to Like the posts as the money poured in. He loved how rich she was, and he loved seeing her get richer.
He refreshed again.
The next post knocked him and hollowed him out.
“I see you David.”
How could she know? Was it another David? Heart thumping loud again.
Another post.
“You like seeing me get richer, don’t you David? Why don’t you join in? Just a little tribute won’t do any harm. I know you want to.”
More money came in. His mind was racing. Cheeks flushed. Heart pounding. Cock twitching uncontrollably.
“Your little penis is telling you to pay me. Isn’t it David?”
She was pure evil. Reeling him in. He could feel her power like a physical force. How did she know it was him? There was nothing on his profile to indicate it was him, nothing about findom. It was like she had psychic powers or something.
He felt his head swimming. A sensation of falling. Losing control. His head was light, his tiny penis rock hard.
His fingers moved. Outside of his control. The app store. He saw it swirling hypnotically. Installing the payment app. He should have destroyed his login. Taken more precautions. There it was, shiny green on his phone, with a dollar sign to tempt him in. He clicked. It logged him in. Like he had never been away. Like all those months of wholesome recovery had never happened.
She was the first profile he saw. Miss Marianne. His heart was pounding furiously. He clicked ‘Pay’. £25. No harm in that. He checked his bank balance. This was fine, it wouldn’t make any difference.
He waited. Not sure whether to message her and give himself away on his clean profile.
He refreshed.
She had tweeted: “Again, David.”
He obeyed. Another £25. Still no harm.
His tiny penis was throbbing and leaking now. He felt that glorious weakness.
She responded publicly again.
“I want more, David. You know that. Send £50. Now.”
He had stopped checking his bank balance now. All he could think about was Miss Marianne. He just wanted to obey her. To be a good boy for her. He wanted her to have more money, as she deserved.
He sent £50, immediately. As instructed. His tiny thing twitching uncontrollably as he pressed the buttons.
He refreshed. Nothing.
There was an agonising wait.
He was craving acknowledgement from her. Being noticed by Miss Marianne. Even appreciated. Being part of her life, just for a sweet second.
He was desperate for her. The seconds felt like hours. He kept refreshing. Desperate and degraded again now.
Finally she responded.
“Good boy David. You may approach.”
He felt himself shudder. He felt genuine fear. But his little cock was telling him to do it. Miss Marianne is all that matters, it seemed to be saying.
He clicked to DM her. Fingers shaking as he typed.
“Thank you for taking my money again, Miss Marianne.”
He felt like he could hear her laughing in triumph.
She made him wait for a reply.
“Been trying to quit again have we, little David?”
He felt a wave of shame.
“Yes Miss Marianne.”
There was a long, agonising pause.
“We spoke about this, didn’t we David? You can’t quit. This addiction is in you, forever. You will never be a normal man. You’ll be much better off accepting that, and committing to serving your superiors properly. And permanently.”
“Yes Miss Marianne. I know you are right Miss Marianne.”
“I think you need to pay again David. For trying to escape.”
“Yes Miss.”
“Send another £100, then thank me when you’ve canlı bahis done it.”
He obeyed. Eagerly, willingly. Thrilled to send her more money.
“Sent Miss Marianne. Thank you, and sorry for trying to quit.”
“You’re welcome, little David. Did that make your tiny dick hard?”
“Yes, Miss, very hard.”
“Ugh. That tiny thing ought to be a reminder to you. How did you expect to pass yourself off as a real man with a penis that small?”
“I… I don’t know, Miss Marianne.”
“We talked about this too, didn’t we David? Real men have cocks that are for fucking. When we want them to. What do men with tiny little dicks like yours do, David?”
“We… we pay, Miss Marianne.”
“That’s right David. You pay. Now do it again. Another £100. To compensate for having such a small penis.”
David gulped. The tiny penis throbbed and demanded he obey.
He clicked again. His fingers moving involuntarily now.
“Sent, Miss Marianne. Sorry for having such a small penis.”
“So you should be, you pathetic worm.”
“Yes Miss. Thank you for letting me pay.”
“I’ve been missing out on a lot of money from you while you’ve been trying to quit and pretending to be a real man, haven’t I David?”
“Umm… yes Miss. Sorry Miss Marianne. I won’t do it again.”
“How much is in your bank account, David? Show me.”
He sent a screenshot. He was shocked at how much it had gone down. Like he was in a dream. Only £237 left.
“That’s too much money for a paypig David. What are you going to spend it on anyway?”
“I… well… there’s these running trainers I wanted to buy. I’ve been running a lot.”
“Running trainers? Hahaha. Right. Paypigs don’t need that, David. You are forgetting your purpose in life, aren’t you. What is your purpose in life, David?”
“Working and paying, Miss Marianne.”
“That’s right little David. Working and paying. Not selfishly buying things for yourself.”
“Yes Miss Marianne. Sorry Miss Marianne.”
“I’m going to a casino tonight, with a real man. I could be using that cash to throw away on a roulette table and having fun wasting it. And you’re talking about buying something for yourself with it? That’s not fair, is it David?”
“No Miss Marianne.”
“So — what should you do with that money David?”
“Send it to you, Miss.”
“Yes David. Do it now. Send it all.”
He felt like he was outside himself. Watching someone else’s fingers as they typed out £237 and hit the Pay button. All his money gone. For her.
“S… Sent Miss Marianne.”
“Ha! Good boy, David. That wasn’t so hard, now was it?”
“No Miss.”
“Do you want to see my bank balance David, as a little reward? Would that amuse you?”
“Oh yes, Miss Marianne! Please!”
His little cock was twitching again feebly.
“Now, remember David, this is just my current account. I have lots of accounts for keeping all my paypig cash stored.”
She sent the screenshot. It was over £70,000. Obscene.
“Oh my God, Miss.”
“I know David. I still deserve more though, don’t I? That’s why you pay me. Think about how little difference it made to me though David. I don’t even need your money. I just enjoy seeing you destroy your bank balance for me. Isn’t it fun?”
“Yes. Yes Miss Marianne. You deserve more. I will pay more when I have more.”
“Good boy. Perhaps you should take out a loan for me?”
“Yes Miss Marianne. Thank you for the suggestion. Good idea Miss.”
“Good. Now I’ve drained you of your money, you are of no further use for me today. You are dismissed.”
“Yes Miss Marianne. Thank you Miss Marianne.”
David was left alone, with his empty bank balance and his tiny throbbing penis. He looked at the hot pictures of Miss Marianne, and all he could think was that she deserved even more money, and he wished he could pay her more. He looked at his bank balance, then at her obscenely swollen bank balance. He looked again, felt his degradation, and revelled in it. Finally, he exploded in pathetic, depraved orgasm. All over his clean bed.
The moment came, but it was too late. His moment of clarity. His new life was gone now, and he knew it. He would be thinking about Miss Marianne all day, and then in the morning he would want to pay her again. He was a beta male paypig. Born to pay and serve. Nothing more. His mind was almost blank. All he wanted was to be a better paypig.
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