Of course I missed her. I miss her when I’m working. When I’m eating. When I’m trying to sleep. She’s in my brain like spyware, draining my thoughts, my will, my checking account.
“You got paid today.”
She doesn’t ask. She knows.
My heart drops into my stomach.
“You know what to do.”
And just like that, I’m logging into my banking app with one hand and stroking with the other. She doesn’t tell me to touch myself—I just do. It’s like my cock belongs to her now. Just like everything else.
The balance glares at me.
$892.71.
Not enough to survive two weeks.
But she doesn’t care.
And I don’t care that she doesn’t care.
“$400. Now.”
I hesitate. Just for a second.
She hears it.
“Are you hesitating, piggy?”
No, no—God, no—I’m just trying to breathe. My thumb hovers over the “Send” button. My brain screams don’t do it.
But my soul?
My soul is already kneeling.
I press send.
$400 gone.
Just like that.
I moan before I even realize I’ve made a sound. She laughs again. She always laughs when I give.
Because giving is my purpose.
Because I’m not a man anymore.
I’m a feed. A faucet. An obedient, cash-dripping worm.
And when she speaks again, it’s not a voice I hear—it’s a commandment.
“Good boy. Now tell me what that feels like.”
I do. I tell her I feel small. Empty. Ruined.
And I thank her for it.