The poorest of the wealthy

I feel like this one is requested by the entirety of the bdsm community.
It's about financial domination. Personally, when I see that phrase, I translate it as "scam." But I've been told that it CAN be real. That it CAN work, and CAN be a legitimate form of power exchange, not just someone trying to steal money from someone.
So I tried to think how to tell a story about financial domination in a pretty extreme way, but consensual and realistic.
I hope you like it. Please comment and let me know, especially if you are a fan of financial domination.

Loving in Poverty



Jeremy opened his eyes when the second set of bells went off. The plane was at the terminal, and the door was open. He was among the first off the plane; one of the fringe benefits of first class. He adjusted his tie and his cufflinks as he strolled to baggage claim, stopping at an ATM to withdraw the maximum the machine would give him. It wasn't long before he was in the back of a car, heading back to his apartment. He stopped the driver at the post office next door, paid his fare, and went inside.

He opened their box and reached in to get the battered envelope. Inside was ten dollars. He sighed, putting the ten dollars into one pocket, and pulled out the five hundred in cash from his other pocket. This he placed in the envelope, then returned the envelope to the box and locked it again.

He took the elevator up to his penthouse apartment and unlocked the door. After turning off the alarm, he locked the door again and looked around the huge apartment.

There was a crate on the floor to sit on, a hot plate on the counter in the kitchen. Only one of the cabinets had a door, and there was no refrigerator. No stove. No television. No furniture.

He filled the single pot with water from the tap and put it on the hot plate, then went to the bedroom.

Inside was a single blanket, a foam pillow, and a cell phone charger. He put his phone on the charger and put his suit case on the floor. He hung up his suits in the closet, took off the expensive -and only- shoes he owned, and began to undress. He took off the cuff links, untied the silk tie, removed the rolex, and emptied his pockets into a small bowl in the closet. He hung up his suit, put his shirt in a bin for the dry cleaner, and pulled on the course hemp pants that had been hanging on the cheap wire hanger that now strained under the weight of his suit. He had to move a bit to allow the pants on over the plastic cage locked around his crotch, but he was used to that.

Barefoot, in a ratty t-shirt and uncomfortable pants, he headed back out to the kitchen. The water was starting to boil. He pulled out a packet of ramen noodles from his one cabinet, broke them apart, and put them into the pot to soak. Eventually, he dumped the flavor packet in, mixed it together, and then poured the mixture into his one hand-made bowl, then took his spoon with him and went to sit on the crate and eat his meal.

He was almost finished when the phone rang from the other room. He put the bowl on the bare floor and padded into his bedroom to check the phone.

It was her.

“Hello?” he said, just in case she had someone else calling him. She did that some times. She'd hire someone to make a phone call, just to see how he answered. When she had first started doing that, back when he answered the phone in a way he thought was appropriate, she would laugh at his embarrassment, then remind him that she had paid the caller with his money.

“How was your trip?” It was definitely her.

“It went well, Mistress.”

“And how did it feel to sleep in a bed?”

“I slept on the floor, Mistress. Just like you ordered.”

“Good boy,” she sounded so proud of him. “I was afraid you'd get soft on me, being out of town.”

“I'm never out of your control,” he said. And he meant it.

“I know that, boy. And I'm glad you know it too.”

“Will I see you soon Mistress?”

There was a brief silence on the other end. “I'm not sure,” she said. “I was thinking about going shopping tomorrow. You always buy me the nicest things.” She snickered at that. “Did you get your allowance?”

“Ten dollars, yes Mistress. Very generous of you.”

She laughed. “It's for the week,” she said.

He sighed. He'd been afraid of that. “Yes Mistress.”

“Did you put your tribute in the box like I told you?”

“Yes Mistress. Five hundred dollars.”

“Oh, good boy!” She sounded excited. “That's going to make shopping so much fun. I'm so pleased.”

“Thank you Mistress.”

She laughed again. She always laughed when he thanked her for spending the money he worked so hard to make. “I might take my boyfriend out on a date with all that money.”

“As you wish.”

“Does that bother you?” She asked. “That I have a boyfriend, I mean. Does it bother you to know that he'll be eating expensive food, that he'll get to sleep in a bed and fuck my brains out, and that you'll be the one paying for it? Does that bother you?”

“No Mistress. It's your money Mistress.”

“Damned right,” she said. “Everything you have is mine.”

“Yes Mistress.”

“You're being such a good boy. No reason I should be the only one having a good time. I think I'm going to put your key in the box tomorrow.”

It had been almost a month. “Oh, thank you Mistress!”

“You can stay unlocked all day,” she said. “But I want you to put the key back when you leave your tribute. And I want you to be locked up again when that happens.”

So he would be able to unlock, to be out of his cage, only for the day. Only while he was at work. At the office. He gritted his teeth. “Yes Mistress.”

She laughed again, knowing he would spend the day playing with himself, office or no. “You better take advantage of my charity,” she said. “I don't know how long it's going to be before I let you out again. Could be months. Maybe even a year.”

He swallowed and whimpered a little. She would do it, he knew that. She was not one for idle threats. “I will Mistress.”

“Good boy. Go to sleep now. Keep leaving your tribute, and maybe I'll see you at the end of the week.”

“Yes Mistress.”

Tuesday, he found the key, just as she promised. He kept himself unlocked all day long, leaving his desk every few hours to cum in the bathroom. He followed the rules, always cumming into his tea cup. Five cups of tea, all with the same bag of tea, all flavored with his cum. Before leaving work, after his last cum and his last cup, he locked himself up again.

He left the key in their box, along with one hundred dollars.

Wednesday, the money and the key were gone. There was nothing there. He kept drinking tea with the same bag, trying not to think about whether or not it had soaked up his cum. He just worked, left the tribute in the box, and went home to more ramen.

Thursday, there was a thermos in the box. He didn't need to open it to know what it was. She had made him soup. Soup he had to drink every drop of. Soup he had to pretend he couldn't tell was made with her urine instead of chicken stock. He left the empty thermos, along with the tribute, in the box at the end of the day.

Friday, he treated himself to a candy bar at the office and got the last few cups out of his tea bag before it finally fell apart. He worked throughout the day, knowing that these first few days being locked up were the hardest. It would get better soon. He'd start to forget about it, start to deal with his lusts. He worked hard to keep his mind off things.

When he went stopped at the box that night, there was a new envelope for him. Inside was cab fare -fifty dollars- and an address. He never went into his apartment, just called a cab and gave the driver the address.

It was a hotel. A nice hotel. He gave the cabbie the full fifty, even though the fare had only been twenty three dollars. He knew better than to try to hold onto money. The cabbie was happy, and drove off having no idea that Jeremy had just tipped him with more money than he'd spent on food for a week.

There was a reservation in her name. The penthouse suite, of course. He was given a key, and he headed upstairs immediately. He knocked on the door before opening it, in case she was in the middle of something.

She was waiting for him in the bedroom. She wore a wisp of lingerie, beautiful leather boots that hugged her legs up to and over her knees, and a strap on harness. It wasn't her biggest cock, just a small and relatively gentle one.

She smiled at him. “You like?”

He nodded, unsure what to say.

“You've been such a good little servant,” she says. “I'm so proud of you.”

“Thank you Mistress.”

“Now it's time to choose, though.”

“Choose what?”

Want to find out? It's in Book Two