The Truest Control Ch. 07

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Liz takes Roger past the point of no return.
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Part 7 of the 8 part series

Updated 06/07/2023
Created 03/11/2016
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Whatever Roger might have hoped to gain from removing Liz from his life backfired disastrously. He realized this immediately the following day at work. If he'd been unable to do his job before, he was much more unable to do it now. He couldn't even begin to work on a task without his thoughts drifting to Liz within a matter of seconds. He tried again and again, but no matter how many times he tried to get something done, he just couldn't concentrate.

This continued through most of the morning. Roger didn't cause any more disasters since he couldn't do anything at all, but he realized that if he was unable to do anything, it would quickly come to people's notice. By the time the morning was turning into the afternoon, Roger gave up and realized that he would have to do something about the problem before he could return to work, so he went to speak to his boss and announced that he was going to take the advice that had been given to him and take some time off for medical leave.

"I think you're making the right decision," the boss said gently. It was obvious from even a casual look at Roger that he was not well and unfit for work. "You've been working a lot lately, which we appreciate," the boss continued. "But you have to look after your own life and health, and I think I can say it's apparent that you need some time to do that now. Please take care of yourself and get better soon; we'll be glad to have you back when you're ready."

And so Roger left his work in the middle of the day for the second time in a row. He walked out of the building confused and hesitant, not knowing where to go. The rest of the day stretched out in front of him like a canvas, a canvas which he could paint whatever he wanted on. What would he do with this free time that had been afforded to him?

The problem was he didn't have an answer. He'd been locked into a routine for so long of going to work, coming home, and waiting to go to work again that he didn't know what to do now. He went home and sat down on the sofa for a while, but he just couldn't relax. His thoughts continued to whirl in his head faster than he could grasp onto them, and his entire body felt heavy and stiff, as if his blood were made of tar.

Finally, he decided that this was a good time to try and crank out a good orgasm. After all, he no longer had Liz to control his orgasms, and much of his confusion and general feeling of being unwell was probably due to the fact that he hadn't emptied himself out in a long time. So he went upstairs to her bed-it took him a moment to remind himself that this washis bed again and not hers-and after taking off his clothes, he settled on the bed and began to stroke himself.

It sometimes takes a while for people to realize the things which they knew all along. Often people will realize something which they don't want to admit to themselves, and so they keep the idea in the back of their mind for a while. When they come back to the idea, it's not so much a process of realizing something new as a process of admitting to themselves what they'd known all along and coming to accept that reality. Roger had known the truth since last night; after all, Liz had explicitly said to him that he wouldn't be able to orgasm anymore without her butt covering his face, but he hadn't actively thought about this since then, probably because he knew it to be true but hadn't been ready to come to terms with it. This was why he hadn't tried to masturbate last night, or this morning before work. It was only now, with an indefinitely long period of free time allocated to him, that Roger attempted to masturbate and admitted to himself that doing so wasn't working and wouldn't work anymore.

It just didn't elicit a response from his penis. Roger would do the same things he had done in the past, touching himself in the ways that had always caused him to get an erection and then an orgasm, but it was like rubbing a towel bar or some other inanimate object. At best, he could manage a tentative erection which would last for a while, but he couldn't achieve anything close to an orgasm. After the state of dizzying sexual excitement which Liz had brought him to over the past few days, he had become numb to his own touch. If Liz had been sitting on his face, he would have spurted in a matter of seconds, but without her presence, he had lost the ability to orgasm. He needed to smell her butt, to feel it pressing against his face and pressing his head down, to experience the joy and humiliation of licking her in her most intimate places. Without this stimulation, he was unable to orgasm. He tried to fantasize about it, which successfully made his penis harder, but it was no use; thinking about it was a pale shadow of actually experiencing it, and he'd experienced it just last night, an experience so intense that it was seared in his memory.

He tried and tried. For hours he was naked on his bed, stroking himself with increasing desperation. He rubbed himself sore, only stopping when the chafing became so bad that he could see the skin on his penis turning red and raw. It was no use; he'd rubbed the skin so much that continuing was more painful than pleasurable, and so he had to stop. Once again, Liz had trapped him by getting him into a state where masturbating would lead to a chafed penis before it led to an orgasm. He was now locked into a body that was still full of semen, but with no way to expel any of that fluid. She'd turned him into a man who was destined to be desperately horny, perhaps for the rest of his life.

As he flopped down on the bed in defeat, his head lolled to one side, and he caught a glimpse of something behind the dresser, a twinkle from a reflection of light that seemed to be caused by something shiny. As Roger gazed at the source of this visual curiosity, he was just barely able to make out, in the darkness, the lens of a camera. And then he understood: Liz had planted a camera that she could use to watch his bed, probably a webcam that was broadcasting onto the Internet somewhere. It was likely that she was watching him right now. And who knew who else might be watching? For all he knew, Liz might have set up a public site somewhere where other people could see him masturbating on his bed at home. The thought was so humiliating that he felt a surging need to masturbate some more, but he just couldn't do it. In his horny state, he loved the thought of how sneaky and manipulative Liz had been, and rather than trying to unplug the camera, which would only have upset her even more, he decided to submit and leave it where she'd put it. If he was ever going to orgasm again, he needed to play by her rules. Maybe if she saw that he was willing to submit to her, she'd come back and sit on his face to help ease some of the relentless pressure that swelled deep inside Roger.

So instead of trying to masturbate, Roger decided to put on a show for Liz. She liked watching him humiliate himself, so maybe she would like it if he did it some more. Roger decided to do some shopping. He'd never been to a sex store before, but it wasn't hard to look up the location of one online, and after finding one that looked promising, he went in and bought a set of sex toys and bondage equipment. Coming home with his purchase, Roger wasted no time in stripping naked, getting back on the bed, and turning to face the camera. "Hi Liz," he said, speaking directly to the camera. "I'm sorry for what I said and did to you. To try and make it up to you, I thought maybe you might like to watch me humiliate myself some more. So I bought a few toys to help." Then Roger put a floor-mount dildo on the bed, the kind which has a broad flat base that is made to sit on the floor. It didn't work quite as well on a bed, but it would have to do. Then Roger gagged himself with a ball gag that had small holes in it. The holes were parly to allow the wearer to breathe through their mouth if necessary, but partly also to allow drool to escape. Liz liked to see Roger drooling with lust, so he hoped that this would help.

And then Roger settled himself on the dildo, so desperate for stimulation that he took it without lubricant.

Why am I doing this? Roger wondered as he slid up and down on the dildo, his gagged face wearing an unmistakable look of appreciation as the dildo penetrated him.Is this really what I want to be doing? Roger couldn't help but wonder. But he couldn't think of anything else to do. There just wasn't anything he was interested in doing with his spare time, and his neglected prostate gland was so desperate for stimulation that he realized he would have ended up doing something like this even if he hadn't had the opportunity to perform for Liz on camera. There was nothing else left to do. There was no escape from the trap of sexual frustration which Liz had locked him into. There was no alternative other than to submit and do what she wanted.

Roger finally collapsed on the bed in exhaustion when he couldn't hump the dildo anymore. Again, he wasn't sure of how long he'd been on top of it. Time seemed to disappear when he was in this state of sexual submission; Roger was transported into another world when he was a slave, a world where time did not exist, a mental state of being where there was only domination from Liz, submission from him, and all the other things which Liz brought, including manipulation, control, humiliation, degradation, pain, desperation, and her smug, gloating victory as his owner and his queen.

It was somewhat later in the evening when Roger heard the chirp of his phone announcing that he had a new text message. Getting up, Roger walked to his phone and read the message. It said:

"That was a good performance, slave. I want to sit on your face and rub my wet pussy all over your nose and mouth. Maybe if you keep this up, I will someday."

"Please, Queen Liz, I need you so badly," he texted back. "Please, come and sit on my face. I swear I will do anything for you."

He waited.

And waited.

No response came. She knew that the longer he waited for her, the longer he went without contact with her, the more punch her words would have when they suddenly popped up. He had no alternative other than to wait.

It went on like this for a few days. Roger lost track of time in his state of desperate arousal. He was in no condition to sleep well, but when he became too exhausted to stay awake, he would drift into a fitful sleep that would last a few hours before waking up again. When he was awake, he used the sex toys which he'd bought to further embarrass himself on camera. He kept his phone by his bed, and every now and then, perhaps every few hours, it would announce a new text message from Liz, but these messages were always maddeningly insubstantial, things like "I hope you're having a good day." Sometimes they would simply say "Hi." She was sending them just to torment him, to see him jump for his phone every time it made that sound, to leave him disappointed when the messages were nothing more than a friendly greeting. Every time, he responded with how urgently he needed her, begging her to come back to him, but she usually didn't respond. Once she replied with a message that simply said "Patience," which gave him hope that if he kept this up for long enough, she'd reward him, so he kept going. But most of the time when he texted her, she did not answer. She knew he was doing this precisely because it made him even more desperate for her. It was like the Chinese water torture, in which the victim's sanity slowly falls away, drip by agonizingly tormenting drip. That was what she was doing to him: chiseling away his ability to think about anything but her, one tiny piece at a time.

It was on the third day-though Roger didn't know it, because he had no sense of time anymore-that Liz finally sent a helpful text message. It said: "You've been saying a lot about what you want and need from me. Have you maybe given any thought to what I'd like from you?"

This was the key to unlocking the puzzle. As soon as he read this message, Roger knew what he must do.

"Please, Queen Liz," he texted back to her. "Please let me send you the money. I'm sorry I reacted so badly when you asked for the money. I'll send it to you right away. Just tell me your bank account number and I'll log into my bank account online and transfer you the money immediately. All five thousand dollars. I promise. Please!"

"Give me the login and password for your online banking account," she texted back.

Even in his current state, Roger paused at this. He knew that he would have to obey, knew that there was no alternative, but he couldn't help but realize that this was a line which, once crossed, there was no coming back from.

He sent the information to her.

After a couple of minutes, he received a message from her: "The banking site uses two-factor authentication. I'll need to verify it using your e-mail account. Give me the login and password to your e-mail account."

Roger hesitated for just a moment. His e-mail account contained all of his private communications with friends and family going back for several years. His entire life was in there. To give her access to that was... no, he couldn't think about it. He had no choice but to obey. He sent her the login and password.

This time he had to wait quite a while for a response from her. He was almost certain that she wouldn't just log in and look around; she would probably change the passwords on both accounts, too. He actually checked a few minutes later, and sure enough, he was no longer able to log into either account. She had changed the passwords on both of them. He was now locked out of his own e-mail and online banking accounts.

Liz, on the other hand, had full access to both, and for the first time since meeting Roger, she was deeply surprised when she logged in. Roger wasn't just able to afford the five thousand dollars she'd asked for; he hadhundreds of thousands of dollars in his account, and he didn't seem to be doing anything with it, just saving it up.

"Why do you have all this money?" she finally texted him. "Where did you get it all from? And why aren't you doing anything with it?"

"I got it from working," Roger replied. "I've had my job for a long time, and I just saved up the money. I'm not using it because I don't have anything I need it for."

"Why do you even still have your job?" Liz asked. "You have so much money that you could probably retire already. You don't need to work anymore." Roger was a young guy, only in his thirties, but considering that he already owned his house and had very few expenses, he could easily quit his job and live for the rest of his life on what he had now.

"Because I don't have anything else to do," Roger replied simply.

Liz wished that Roger could have heard her laughter. What a complete fool he was. He was sitting on all this money, not doing anything with it at all, and he was such a boring nerd that he went to work even though he didn't have to, just because he had nothing else to do with his life and his time and efforts. What a joke. Liz had a plan for him that would transform his life, and so it was fine with her if he lost his job. It was inevitable that it would happen anyway; she just wanted to make sure that all the pieces were in place when it happened so that they would be ready to transition into their new life together.

"Forget the five thousand," she texted him. "Now that I know how much you have, you will transfer it all to me. Every single cent." And then she wrote her bank account number and her bank's routing code. "You will do this today," she concluded.

"You have the login to my online bank account," he wrote. "Why don't you just transfer the money yourself?"

"I want you to do it," she wrote. "Since you can no longer log into your account online, you will go to a branch of the bank physically and fill out a transfer slip. Then you will close your account there." She had two good reasons for making him transfer the money himself. The more practical of the two reasons was that if he went to the bank in person and physically signed the transfer slip that confirmed the transfer of the money into her account, it would be basically impossible for him, or anyone else, to later suspect or allege that she had transferred the money through his online account without his permission or authorization. But the second reason she wanted him to do it was simply because she wanted him to get used to the feeling of giving to her. She didn't want to take from him; that made her seem greedy. It was much preferable for him to get into the habit of giving everything to her willingly.

And so he did. If he'd really wanted to, he might have still found a way out. He could have gone to the bank and explained that his password had been changed and that he needed access to his account. But instead he transferred the money to her. All of it. Every single cent, just as she had asked. He closed the account and then walked out.

"It's done," he texted her after he walked outside.

"Good," she replied. "One last thing. Give me the login and password for your work e-mail account."

"Yes, Queen Liz," he replied, along with the requested information.

"Beg me to do it," she wrote.

Roger didn't hesitate. There wasn't any need anymore. It had all gone much too far for him to back out anymore. "Please, Queen Liz, send the humiliating video of me fucking myself on a dildo to every single one of my co-workers."

"Well, since you asked so nicely," she wrote back, "I'll be happy to fulfill such a polite request. Tomorrow you will go back to your work, sit at your desk, take your clothes off, and begin masturbating at your desk until they physically remove you from the building."

He knew he didn't have much longer at work anyway. He was no longer able to do his job, so he was going to lose it one way or another. If he was going to lose it anyway, then doing so in a way which showed his devotion to Liz was probably as good a way to mark his departure as any.

After he got home from being fired, he sent her a text message telling her what had happened. A few seconds after he sent this message, there was a knock on the door. He walked to the door and opened it.

Then she walked inside, and his life as he knew it ended.

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