She was everything I found attractive in a camgirl; she was curvy, porcelain-skinned with blonde hair that fell just below her shoulders and had piercing green eyes. Her plump lips helped show off her white teeth and her whole face reacted when she emoted. She was sitting on her heels, her knees parted, voluminous breasts standing over a layer of glistening lube and a pink tail snaking from between her thighs, a pleasure device pushed deep in her vagina. My arousal was nearly instant. Not ten minutes later, as a 50-token tip triggered the vibrating thrum of her sex toy and her soft moans filled the microphone, my hips bucked and hot cum poured from my cock as I came to her.
I was addicted to her performances. The next day, I logged into her account as soon as I got home and watched her hanging out on her stream for about an hour and a half while the tips rolled in, and her body drove me insane. My hand wrapped around my cock again as I stared with unblinking eyes down into hers, and I came in jerky loads on her virtual face. The day after that, she was all I could think about and I watched her at work, hiding the phone screen beside my desk anytime someone passed, desperate not to show the bulge in my pants but just as desperate to withdraw my manhood and cum for her. Today, she presented herself ass-first, and I tried my best not to lose myself in that soft pussy as she rubbed her clit for her fans, the vibrating toy inside her stimulating her as her fingertips slipped slickly over her pussy until she bucked during an orgasm. I made it to the restroom before dropping my pants and palming the tiled wall of the cubicle, pulses of warm semen falling into the bowl as I came for her. I felt like a disgrace, but I also felt alive; she made me throb like I’d never known.
Every day for a week, I tuned into her stream, gazing into her green eyes and drinking in her perfect breasts. For a few nights she brought out the fuck machine, and I got to stroke myself stupid as the device pumped her with a toy that I wished was really me, a hard cock stabbing her cunt and yet never unloading inside her. When she laid there without moving, watching something, or drinking from her cup, I stroked to her face. When she sat there, her torso in view, her hands slipping over her huge tits, so soft and feminine, I came readily to her. When all I could see was her round ass as the dildo pounded her, I stroked easily to that, too. Hell, when she stepped away from the camera at one point, I stared at the spot she usually sat in on her bed and came just to the thought of her, being in her presence enough to reach my climax. I was addicted.
It was when the email appeared in my inbox that I first clued into what might be going on. I remember wondering as I read the subject line “Accepted: You are Her Newest Fan” on my phone. My eyes widened with shock as I read on to see that I – apparently – had become her newest supporter, paying a whopping $45 every month to “show her my love”. Strangely, I lacked a lot of regret for a man who had just learned he had signed a significant monthly charge into life after my discovery of that email, primarily because it had contained a link to the new content, I now had access to. Shortly after that, I was trying to stop myself from making noise as I rubbed furiously to her on the toilet.
Breasts, ass, close-ups of her soft pink pussy, pictures of her kissing dildos or touching herself, solo content and groupies – over the course of the next few days I ingested every single piece of media she had created. I stroked to her every day, then twice a day, then three times – and every time she pumped out another release I was glued within minutes. I took longer and longer away from my desk, with my tissue box clutched by my side, on my table, by the sink or under my covers at home. The strangest thing was, when I wasn’t thinking of her, I barely remembered anything but her face, her attractiveness and my arousal at her, which of course inevitably triggered me into needing to jerk off again. The money, the content, the time – it all never seemed to phase me at all. I simply needed more of her.
I started to know something was very wrong when I called in sick to work to be there for when she went live, my hard cock already in hand and slick with pre-cum, half-undressed in bed and having not even gotten out of it once. It took me little more than a minute to ejaculate in my hand when her soft skin appeared on my screen, and by the time she was starting to get vibrating donations rolling in, I was hardening again and touching once more. The pizza went cold on my doorstep that night when, nine hours later, she signed off, leaving me passed out, naked in my room, four ejaculations into a marathon stream that barely affected her, yet left me so overworked that I really did have to call in sick the next day.
At some point the hysteria seemed to die down. I watched less of her streams, content with her emailed videos. I now came only when her videos arrived, and it became ritualistic for me to be ready for her next correspondence, often sitting at my desk stark naked, cock in hand, emails open. I failed to notice the stains I left more and more of around my house, on my keyboard or in my bed. I excused the amount of time off work and forgot about my commitments. I lived first and foremost around her porn, thinking of other things only after ejaculation had been completed and her face had winked from existence in my life. I’d like to say I went back to work again now that I had regained some form of freedom post-nut, but that would be a lie. Despite my apparent self-control, I was in deeper than I ever had been.
And then one day, no more videos came. I waited, ready, for her to reach out to me. I refreshed my inbox and kept myself in hand (literally) in readiness. When nothing came, I think I must have emailed her over a dozen times. I forgot to eat and only drank because water was a constant necessity these days. I passed out at my desk and woke up to an inbox populated with new emails, none of which I cared about. Her cute profile photo determinedly remained out of my inbox, and I even went back to a couple of her older exclusive videos and photos, so desperate was I to ejaculate for her that I needed the tiding over.
A week passed, and it was a heavy detoxification for me. Slowly, I rebuilt my life, and it was as if I was re-learning to eat and think and live. I bought new food and cleaned my sheets. I returned my manager’s emails apologetically, humbly accepting the termination paperwork that had come within an email sent only two days ago. The one informing me of my release from tenancy due to nonpayment stung more, but with no other choice, I packed my belongings and moved into my car. It was as if I was coming out of a long, dark tunnel, and although I was not through it yet, I could see the light, bleak as that outcome seemed to be. She still lingered behind my eyelids, her soft body slithering like a ghost throughout my own, stiffening my cock and driving my mind single-mindedly to her tender features, but I began to learn to resist it. I think, maybe once, I even remained flaccid afterwards.
And then her email came. I was sitting there in my car in the parking lot of an all-night fast-food joint. I was tired and worried I’d be kicked out again like at the last joint by some over-zealous asshole security dickwad, and scrolling the internet dumbly as was my only pastime these days when it arrived. The muesli bar half-clamped in my mouth tumbled somewhere beneath me, forgotten before it had left my lips. It was open and starting playback before I could stop to think.
‘Hello there, toy,’ her soft, accented voice said from point-blank into the mic, her green eyes staring right into my soul. ‘You’ve been waiting for me for so long, and I’m sorry for teasing you, but it’s been your greatest test and you have passed it, little baby.’ She smiled at me, and my cock leapt into my hand, somehow freed from it’s shackles by someone who surely couldn’t have been me. As she spoke, I began to stroke. I had never truly been detoxified; I was just as addicted as I had been weeks ago, my body thrilling in ways it hadn’t for a long time. ‘I’m sure you’re already sliding your hand along your penis, just for me, as you know to do,’ she affirmed. ‘Stroking to me as you always do, as you know you must.’ She leaned closer, and I glanced briefly down at her tits before losing myself again in her eyes, scatterbrained and hyper-focused at the same time, panting. My cock felt like a stranger in my hand, and I worked it as only my experienced limb knew how. I didn’t care if anyone could see me – I had forgotten there was an outside world at all.
‘You’ve been so good for me, toy,’ she whispered into my soul. ‘So obedient. By now you have been kicked from your home, yes? Lost your work?’ She seemed to question me, but she spoke before I could reply – whatever good that would do. ‘Yes, I know you have, toy. You now have every belonging with you in your car.’ She smiled, and I nearly came, she was so gorgeous. Those teeth made my hand quake around my length, and how I didn’t squirt into the already worse-for-wear fabric of my car’s roof, I could not know. ‘You’ve done so very well.’ I bucked. ‘You’ve obeyed me completely.’ I moaned. ‘You’ve earned your final reward from me, my toy.’ She soothed. I gasped in needy ecstasy, shaking and gasping.
‘You will drive to the airport.’ her voice said, and I guess I should be surprised at this point that even a tiny portion of my mind stopped to wonder about what she was saying. ‘You will use the ticket I am about to email you. You will not wonder where you are going. When you land, you will take a taxi to an address I will send you.’ She said, and she was staring right down into the camera now, directly at me, her face taking up the entire screen. She didn’t look away or pause to adjust her toy, check her stream chat or take a drink; she was focused only, wholly, on me.
‘Cum to me, little toy,’ she said softly. ‘Cum to me now.’
Half an hour later, I threw the cum-stained shirt into the back of my car and threw on a clean one, locking my car’s doors and taking only my phone, computer, and overnight items with me in a backpack. Just as promised, I boarded a plane with a ticket in an email that I forgot to read and flew somewhere I cared not. When I landed, I walked into the cold air and stepped into a taxi. Somehow, I didn’t question the strange words the driver spoke, because he understood the address on my phone and asked no further questions. My only and constant companion was the erection between my legs. Half an hour later, he let me out in a quiet, snowy suburbia I had never seen before, and I stood there. For the first time, I wondered where I was and why, and noticed dumbly that the erection seemed to have subsided.
Then, a door opened, and I turned to see a woman I had only ever seen on my screen. She was taller than I had thought and shapelier in person, and I could see her feet and hair in the same frame at last. I drank in her soft skin, hidden beneath a modest shirt and pants but so well known to me that I knew it’s nakedness no matter what clad its features. I approached her with a dumb grin on my face and she beckoned me inside without a word.
The door closed and I turned to face her. ‘Pack on floor,’ her voice ordered me, sharp and hard. The backpack fell from my shoulders instantly.’Follow.’ She barked. As if in a trance, I walked behind her shapely ass – the very ass I had seen split wide as dildos and toys penetrated her womanhood time and time again – as she led me into a back room, then through a corridor and down a set of steps. I didn’t question her once, the fool I was, as she walked through a basement and into a new set of rooms. She reached the end of the corridor and pointed. Dumbly, I walked inside. She followed me in, shutting the door behind her.
‘Off.’ She ordered. I stripped, hard as a stone as she moved around me, helping tear the shirt from my back. I had assumed we were about to fuck, that my ‘final reward’ was to feel myself inside her just as I had fantasized about all this time. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Naked and stiff, I watched as she put a seat down in the middle of the room. ‘Sit.’ She ordered, pointing at it. My ass promptly met the cool plastic, and I watched dumbly as she approached a TV on the wall. She turned it on, then lifted the remote from beside it and flicked through inputs, then to her media card. She selected a file on the media card, dropped the remote back on the cupboard beside the display and left without another word. I heard the door click softly behind her.
‘Hello my pet,’ she said from the screen. My mind went blank as I saw her in her bed again, naked, staring into me through her lens. It was just as it always had been, such a familiar sight to me now that it felt like home. ‘It is time for you to become mine.’ And as I sat in that strange room, in that strange house, in that strange country, naked and hard, I underwent my final reward – something she had been building me up to slowly for more than two months. It wasn’t until now – until long after that final, fateful reward – that I learned the tale of what had happened to me. Over the course of months, through portions of her streams, private cam shows, porn videos, private club content and especially all her secret, direct-to-me content, she had slowly snuck hypnotizing material into everything I watched – subliminal images at the corners of my screen, words flashing across her body, sounds echoing in my ears as I stroked to her standard, pre-recorded cam footage. At first it had been modest and gentle, designed to get me hooked. Then, when she had successfully triggered an email from me to a private address she ‘gave’ – or rather, implanted – to me through one of her videos, it became more intense, more focused, more customized.
She learned my name and my job, where I lived and what I did. At times – as far as I can tell, purely for her own gratification – she conditioned me live, through two-way cam shows. Most of the time, she pre-programmed my instructions into her content, meticulously positioning pictures and words wherever she knew I would be looking so that I would always see what she wanted me to see. Eventually, through asking me via email about my job and rent, she orchestrated both my firing and eviction. She even ensured I cleaned up when I left and parked all my belongings nice and neat in a car at the airport, where she knew that after a few months of abandonment without its owner, it and its contents would be sold off, wiping my last trace from my old home. The only thing that it seems weren’t tainted with hypnotic suggestions were her public streams themselves; ruefully, it seemed as though I really was just hypnotized by her beauty alone in the beginning, truly just infatuated with a woman I found so deeply attractive. Happy little accidents, I suppose?
‘You obey me.’ She said into my eyes as I shook in my chair. ‘I obey you,’ I intoned in reply. ‘You belong to me.’ She drilled into my soul. By now, hypnotic imagery was blistering everywhere around her face, constantly stimulating me with subliminal stimulus that kept me from any singular thought or focus. My cock burned. ‘I b-belong to you,’ I stammered, visibly shaking. ‘Your thoughts are mine,’ she said, the flashing intensifying. ‘My thoughts… Yours…’ I gasped. Had I had thoughts, my hand would have been fighting itself from clinging to my cock and thundering along it. ‘Your body is mine.’ ‘Body is… Yours,’ I groaned hard. ‘You obey Mistress.’ She said, glaring at me. ‘I obey Mistress,’ I growled, over-heightened. My cock pumped dryly, a pre-orgasm orgasm of sorts; dry ejaculating. I didn’t know men could do it, but then, I didn’t even know I was doing it. ‘You Obey Mistress,’ she said, louder. ‘I obey mistress!’ I pleaded in response, my cock leaking pre-cum.
‘You will release yourself to me completely now, slave,’ She ordered me. ‘Your last thought ends now, and your slave body becomes mine at my command.’ She said, staring into the fabric of my being. The chair vibrated on the floor beneath me. I wanted to… I needed to… I needed her to… ‘Release… Completely… Last th-thought… Slave body… T-to your c-command…’ I juddered. It was as if she could see me – she let me sit in all her words as she spoke to them, but this one she allowed to burn me down just a little more, like the last droplets of wax on a candle. I was so far gone that I don’t even remember the next part today, though the camera atop the TV in that room would later show me later exactly what had happened next.
‘Cum for me, Slave,’ Mistress said, and this time all the subliminal imagery and wording faded away in an instant, leaving me in silence and emptiness in Her presence. I didn’t even see her anymore; tears poured from my face and the stimulation made my body shudder as if I were being electrocuted. Her order rang out around me powerfully. Then, a moment later, my cock burst to life, a thick string of ejaculate rocketing into the air between my legs as orgasm tore me in half. I screamed hoarsely, moaning until my voice gave out, pledging myself to Mistress as mind-melting ejaculation turned my insides – especially my mind – to utter jelly. Sixty seconds later, I passed out, cock still throbbing cum down its length.
I’m writing this now, several months later. I am Mistress’s property – my job in Her house is the cooking and cleaning of Her kitchen. And, of course, the sex – plenty of sex. At Her command, I am always ready to serve. I frequently join Her on camera – as a faceless, speechless male Toy for her shows, penetrating Her body as She moans and rubs Herself for Her viewers. At a single word or motion from Her, I cum for Mistress, often when She receives the right donation amount. Then, I return to Her service, along with a few of the other Men whom Mistress also owns. Occasionally, I interact with them for Her on Her shows; though this isn’t frequent, and usually we are called upon on our own to serve Her, depending on who She desires on that day. I do not mind; I am Mistress’s. I live to obey Her.