The Last Relapse
A Prologue
With the click of a mouse, Will Soumis was done.
Years of sexual depravity irrevocably undone in a ten-minute blitz. He was finally thinking clearly. And he had to get it done before the regret set in.
Traversing each account's settings he couldn't help but get a little sentimental. This was truly the end of an era. Gone was the Snap account passed around to that young fraternity boy and his friends who mocked him relentlessly, peppering him with demands that he pay for their nights out. Gone was the Telegram account that enabled him covert communication with the dominant twentysomething that dictated his exact workout routines for a full year. And most of all, gone was his precious Twitter account. 4500 followers up in smoke in a second. Years of grinding through the exploding Findom scene, tens of thousands of retweets, comments, and DMs. These manifestations of his severe addiction to playing with power dynamics with other men, often much younger, and always on the submissive end, were now lost to the digital ether forever. It was good riddance.
The turning point came the week prior. He, like every January since 2015, had joined his closest friends for six days in a rented lodge in the Catskill Mountains, where adults could be adults and enjoy each other's company - along with an endless waterfall of Sauvignon Blanc and a melange of weed and magic mushrooms. The week always came at the perfect time, providing a respite from the hustle and bustle of the hedge fund where he had worked his way up to middle management and an impressive six-figure salary. Travel always made him relentlessly horny, if for no other reason that the change in routine put him off the careful masturbation schedule he engaged in inside his Brooklyn apartment, which had the intended effect of keeping his perverted desires in check.
So whereas the first few days of this particular retreat Will was a full participant, his friends began to notice by day four that he was becoming increasingly removed from the action. And when his best friend's grown niece walked in to declare dinner was ready, only to find Will on top of his bed, nude, computer on his chest, visibly sweaty and with his modest cock in hand, he knew the time had finally come for him to make a long-needed change.
At 39, Will was raised in tandem with what would be the most profound invention of his, or anyone's lifetime: the internet. So by the time he came of age in the early 2000's, the internet had similarly advanced to be able to support his budding sexual explorations. It started in chatrooms. In 2003, the novelty of texting in real-time with strangers potentially thousands of miles away had not yet worn off, and the anonymity of the medium mixed with the collective horniness of the human race quickly produced the taboo concept of cybersex. Quaint by today's standards, Will, like many at the time, got an incredible rush from using his Qwerty keyboard to express the things he wanted to do to the young woman on the other end. Or at least, who he presumed was a young woman. His dick was hardened by the reciprocated response, imagining both the scene portrayed by his partner via chat and also what he surely assumed would be her fingers savagely rubbing up and down between her legs in a dark room with the dull glow of a CRT painting her face. These evenings began happening in increasingly frequent numbers, becoming a minor obsession, this despite reasonable success in college meeting, fucking, and ultimately dating a handful of girls. He was living a contradiction, staying connected to the real world through his various relationships while simultaneously pursuing the separate but weirdly satisfying pleasure provided by this online facsimile of sex in his alone time.
Technology continued to progress, such that when webcams became a cheap enough way to spice up his chat sessions he saved up to buy one, choosing to place it precariously atop the CD rack on his desk, angled perfectly to catch his face and torso as he sat. Bandwidth in those days was hard to come by, so one frame every two seconds would have to do, but it was a revolution compared to the ASCII stone age he was coming out of. Of course, at first, he insisted that the partner on the other end be a woman who was taking the same expository plunge that he was, but as he realized how much fulfillment he got from exhibiting the taught, defined body of his youth for others, and how difficult it was finding qualified female participants, he settled for those claiming to be women without photographic proof. And when the realization set in that he was likely performing in front of dishonest men posing as whomever it would take for Will to agree to expose himself to them, he couldn't help but accept the fact that the sense of satisfaction he was receiving did not abate one bit.
Will became addicted to the feeling of being sexual fodder for others, now blowing load after load in front of just about anyone who would be willing to watch and compliment him. And while he had always used what meager amounts of alcohol he could get his hands on to help lower his inhibitions, turning 21 changed the dynamic completely. Easy access to booze meant that suddenly, he could be convinced to do considerably more. So when the playful but increasingly rote requests to ejaculate over his toned chest or cute, elvish face progressed into outright stern demands that he start to stick various fingers in his rectum, or get on all fours, the combination of liquid courage and lust meant it happened without the first objection. The truth is he fucking loved it, gaining immense fulfillment and validation from pleasing these men via their sundry sordid tasks. They continued to push Will's limits in time, introducing him to concepts such as edging, and pain. Things he would have never discovered if left to his own devices. They made him purchase things. Rope and baby oil. Candles and clothespins. Women's underwear. He kept a kit under his bed in a shoe box, never quite getting the nerve up to graduate to proper sex toys. He found he was increasingly turned on by being forced into acts that resulted in his embarrassment and ridicule, the closeted nature of these ever-evolving escapades now the growing source of a shame that hurt so good. Like being made to stick an ice cube in his ass while his controller laughed at his pathetic attempts to stay still. Or when he had to tie a shoe to his scrotum by its laces and repeatedly drop it all the while repeating the mantra "Thank you, Sir!" He continued chasing the high all the while receiving a crash course in depravity and kink. Before long his porn intake had completely transformed from the vanilla straight content he grew up on to an exclusive diet of male-on-male fetish videos, always imagining himself in the submissive roles. And by the time he left school, he found he had completely lost the will to date anymore and instead focused the entirety of his sexual energy on these wild nights, being an obedient whore from the comfort of his own home.
Before long these ephemeral, one-time interactions were turning into longer-term relationships. Will's Skype contact list was steadily growing with men who wanted to use him on a more regular basis. And with the rise of smartphones, men began asking Will, now in his mid-20s, to take his performance off camera, demanding video proof of their increasingly risky asks, which is how, as an example, he found himself jerking off in the restroom of his public library. He no longer needed the immediate feedback that came with live video. It was the acts themselves, and the thought of sick satisfaction the men must have had seeing how easily they could make him dance that was now getting him off. As he continued aging he found the "masters" who satisfied him the most were often the youngest, as the thought of being controlled like a voodoo doll by some bratty kid as much as 10 years younger than him flipped the expected power dynamics on their head, compounding the shame that fed his lust - so much so that he no longer entertained the idea of serving anyone older than him. These young doms wanted to get to know him better, occasionally asking his name, where he lived, what he did for money, his hobbies. He lied at first, too timid to involve any part of his real life in this. But he found himself starting to get attached, at which point the details started leaking out, fighting and failing to ignore the strong instinct to not let his controllers down with his dishonesty. Now pushing 30 in the first half of the 2010s, it was not lost on him that when he delivered a video of himself barking like a dog or covering himself in hot candlewax, that it was no longer outside the bounds of possibility that this would get back to him and his public-facing life. The immense anxiety brewed by the thought of how quickly and summarily he would be ex-communicated if his friends or family or, god forbid, his Wall Street boss ever saw this side of his personality sat atop him like the weight of a Mack truck. And it was also not lost on him that this anxiety could be exploited in the right hands to make him do just about anything. He hated himself for being so turned on by the thought.
In his early thirties, Will made the eventual realization that his body, which was starting to show the neglect that comes with age and an intense work-life, was no longer enough to attract the kinds of online partners he needed to feed his desires. So when the occasional dom stopped asking to see Will show off, and instead started asking for lunch money, or money for groceries, or a night out, it became clear that he could leverage financial charity as a means of gaining the time and attention he still craved. The paradigm for how he could satisfy his lust was changing. This suited him fine, as his salary could easily support his New York lifestyle, and still have plenty to throw around. It did not take long from there for him to discover the burgeoning Findom scene, where a new crop of young, attractive, and cocky men were taking to Twitter in droves to compete with each other to take as much money from submissives like him as possible. It was perfect. Will, frankly, didn't have the time anymore to invest in trolling for new doms across the myriad dark corners of the net. Now the doms were all advertising in one place, creating a menu from which he could be selective. In this world, his advancing age was an asset to him. Most of these doms traded in humiliation, which they were especially eager to dole out to the older subs they deemed to be especially perverted. Will sampled dozens of doms, taking note of their varying interests and styles. He found himself becoming emotionally attached to a few in particular - weirdly, the ones who treated him the worst. He felt he was in a constant, unwinnable battle for their admiration, and throwing money at boys only to have them ignore him or treat him poorly made him want to try even harder.
He became particularly close with "MasterJuan", a 24-year-old hunk from South America with a dark side. Will was attracted to his chiseled body and giant uncut cock sure, but what really drew him in was the fact that Juan seemed to be in it for the right reasons. Whereas most findoms seemed obsessed only with the money, Juan seemed to genuinely revel in the power he had over his subs. He understood what he was able to make people do at the snap of his fingers once he wormed his way into their impressionable brains. And his feed proved it, filled to the brim with videos of subs serving him online and in person, performing his bidding, doing all sorts of depraved things. When Will reached out, heart pounding out of his chest in excitement, he found Juan to actually be sweet and attentive. They hit it off immediately, and so it wasn't long before Will began to trust Juan enough to let him into his life, performing all kinds of tasks both big and small, profane and mundane, all made easier by the boredom of being trapped during the COVID pandemic that had begun to wreak havoc worldwide. Under his spell, Juan had Will pay for cameras to be installed in his home, enabling him to check that his orders were performed in real time. The lack of privacy was unsettling, but Will was intoxicated by being micro-managed by someone half a world away. And he paid for the privilege, eventually dispatching with the formalities of daily sends, instead opening a credit card for Juan to use as he saw fit. Will loved the dopamine hits he got seeing the alerts roll in on his phone every time the card was charged, trying to piece together his controller's life through what Juan purchased, a life Will now subsidized completely. But when the pandemic came to an end and Juan expressed interest in taking things to the next level by moving to America and living in Will's house, Will, who to date had still not had an in-person sexual encounter with a man, got cold feet.
So with that, Will realized the futility of taking these desires this far. He accepted he was never going to be comfortable being with another man in person, yet that was the only frontier left to explore. So he toned down his activity significantly, opting to watch from the sidelines and use his imagination as much as possible. He poured it all into his dick, relentlessly jerking off each morning, and most evenings, just to get one-tenth of the feeling he got from actively serving men online. He was resigned to the fact that his kink days needed to be behind him and that it was high time to return to the general dating pool. So when he found himself having to explain to his exasperated best friend of 20 years why her barely-legal niece is now scarred with the sight of seeing his hard penis, he knew it was time to wipe the slate clean. Ten minutes later it was done. Forever.
"18M - where all the humanities bitches at. Dm now and get to work on my papers"
Will was usually turned off by the kinds of lazy ads that didn't have an image or any further details attached, but this one intrigued him. In all his years of experimenting he never even thought about doing a dom's homework before.
A month after the incident at the cabin, Will was allowing himself the simplest of former pleasures. He was out of the game to be sure, but he permitted himself to make a new Reddit account for the sole purpose of lurking, picking out a handful of forums that he seemed to align with. This was a suggested post, Reddit's algorithm doing its job. He understood the idea, that doing some kid's homework was yet another way to degrade yourself, but he felt a little amateurish for having not come across it before. He checked to see what else this user had posted.
"FUCK your life send me everything you got"
"18M Need a pussy to do whatever I say whenever I say it"
"Lock the fuck in bitch and give COMPLETE control to me"
Perfect, he thought. Humiliation, findom, TPE. This dude was a little freak and he was checking all of Will's boxes. Or at least he was good at playing pretend. Despite the lack of a photo, this was already good masturbation material for Will, even if he had to acknowledge the chances that the poster was actually 18 were probably slim to none. That part was easily ignored.
"18M Looking for a dumb slave to overwork with essays while I sit back and relax"
"Need a long term shithead to lock the fuck in and become my property"
Will was buzzing reading these titles. Something about them actually seemed authentic. Like this kid really wanted this and wasn't just spouting a bunch of language for show. Just Will's professional instinct.
"18M No splashy title just do what I say and get the fuck in my dms"
He was rock hard now at the display of brash attitude. Young, bossy boys were his ultimate weakness. Years of experimentation had let him directly to that realization, and here was a compelling example of that right in front of him. He teetered on the edge of his seat, a flush feeling taking over. He was fighting himself, the mental image of the girl's shocked face as she walked in on his session at the cabin was still seared in his memory. But he had learned from his lesson. He knew now better where to draw the line and how to retreat from it. He could manage it this time. A little conversation surely couldn't hurt.
And so, he initiated contact.