Her Paypig: Part 2

Stuart's phone buzzed on his kitchen counter, the signed photo of Morgan clutched in his sweaty palm—her massive tits spilling from a bikini top in the pic, scrawled message reading

'Thanks for the groceries piggy - Morgan'. Heart slamming against his ribs, he fumbled the device to his ear, 4-inch cock throbbing rock hard in his pants, pre-cum soaking his boxers from the grocery humiliation. 'H-hello?' he stuttered, voice cracking like a boy's, knees weak as he leaned against the fridge.

Morgan's husky laugh poured through the speaker, tits bouncing as she paced the dungeon, bare feet slapping tile, ginger hair whipping her shoulders. Nipples pierced with silver bars stood erect, pussy grinding against latex pants with each step.

'Listen up, piggysub42,' she barked, voice dripping command, fingers twisting the tiny steel chastity cage in her other hand. 'This is your goddess Morgan. You impressed me today, paying for my groceries like the broke loser you are. I want to go shopping tomorrow—Saturday. And you're paying for every fucking cent. My new paypig funds it all.'

Stuart's breath hitched, cock twitching, tip leaking more slick as he pictured her double F tits heaving while she shopped.

'Y-yes, Morgan! Oh god, I-I can't believe you're calling me,' he stammered, free hand dropping to squeeze his bulge through jeans, hips bucking involuntarily. Her famous streamer voice owned him already—her bitchy tone from streams now real, bossing him. 'I'll pay! Everything! Be your paypig, please!'

She smirked, sauntering to the kennel cage, unlocking the door with a metallic clank audible over the line. 'Good piggy. Meet me at 10 AM at the mall.

Wear something pink.' Her cunt clenched, juices flooding latex as she imagined him in her kennel whimpering. 'Say it: you're my wallet bitch now.'

'I-I'm your wallet bitch!' Stuart gasped, rock hard shaft pulsing, balls aching for release he knew she'd deny. Blushing furiously alone in his apartment, he nodded to the phone like she watched. Virgin cock strained, veins bulging, as her dominance flooded his brain—this streamer wants me as her pig. 'Anything, Morgan! Shopping, paying, all of it—yes!'

'Pathetic. Send $200 tribute now to prove it, code's on your pic.' She hung up with a click, tossing the phone aside, massive tits swaying as she lubed the urethral insert on the cage, green eyes gleaming. Tomorrow, he will be locked.

Stuart stared at the screen, cock spurting a ruined load into his pants untouched, trembling in awe.

Stuart pulled up to the mall entrance in his beat-up Honda Civic, cock already straining at half-mast in his white trousers after wiring Morgan $600 that morning—$200 from last night plus an extra $400 'just because' tribute she demanded via text.

Heart pounding, he stepped out in his pink shirt tucked neatly, plain white shoes scuffing the pavement, palms sweaty as he waited by the doors. Virgin nerves twisted his gut; this famous bitch owns me already. His 4-inch dick leaked pre-cum into his briefs, bulge faintly visible if anyone looked close.

Morgan's Porsche screeched to a halt nearby, engine growling before she killed it. She emerged like a goddess of ruin—long straight ginger hair cascading down her back in silky waves, black lipstick smirking on full lips as she chewed gum with loud pops.

Fishnet stockings clung to her endless legs, thigh-high boots stomping concrete with authority, short black skirt riding so high it barely covered half her juicy ass cheeks, teasing the latex thong beneath. Her short belly top stretched sheer over double F tits, pierced nipples poking through fabric like bullets, toned abs flexing under a zipped leather jacket that she left half-open to flaunt cleavage. She blew a massive pink bubble, letting it snap against her teeth, hips swaying in a spoiled strut straight toward him.

'Hey, bitch piggy,' she drawled, voice thick with entitlement, eyes raking him up and down like trash. Gum popped again as she circled once, boot nudging his white shoe. 'Sent the cash? Good boy. Let's go shopping—your wallet's getting drained today.'

Without waiting, she spun on her heel, ass cheeks jiggling under the tiny skirt, fishnets whispering as long legs carried her through the mall doors.

Stuart stumbled after her, cheeks burning crimson, eyes locked on that hypnotic ass—skirt flipping up with each strut to flash the curve where thigh met cheek, boots clicking like commands. His cock surged fully hard, tenting his white trousers obscenely, pre-cum spot blooming dark.

'Y-yes, Morgan! Lead the way!' he blurted, tripping over his own feet to keep pace, gaze dropping to her calves flexing in fishnets, then snapping back to the ass sway that owned his brain. Shoppers stared, but he didn't care—her bitchy bubblegum scent trailed him like a leash.

Inside the bustling mall, air thick with perfume and chatter, Morgan beelined for a luxury boutique, hips popping side to side, forcing him to jog to match. She snapped fingers over her shoulder. 'Carry my bags, piggy. And eyes up here when I say—or I'll make you lick the floor.'

Morgan strutted ahead through the crowded mall corridors, boots thudding commandingly on tile floors, short black skirt flipping up with every hip sway to bare the lower curves of her ass cheeks straining against the latex thong.

Fishnet stockings rasped softly as her long legs flexed, toned thighs pumping like pistons, drawing stares from every direction. She swung her ginger hair in a glossy arc, rolled her eyes at a gawking group of teens, and blew a fat pink bubble that popped wetly against her black-lipsticked mouth.

Stuart stumbled two paces behind, clutching her designer handbag in both trembling hands held out front like an offering, pink shirt damp under the arms, white trousers nearly tented with his 4-inch cock throbbing rock-hard, a fresh pre-cum stain spreading across the fabric.

She halted abruptly at a high-end fashion boutique, spun to face him with a bitchy smirk, and shrugged off her leather jacket. 'Hold this too, loser,' she snapped, draping the heavy garment over his free arm so her handbag dangled prominently from his gripped fists—impossible to hide his loaded-down servitude.

Tits bounced freely now under the sheer belly top, pierced nipples scraping the fabric into stiff peaks, abs rippling as she chewed gum louder. 'Don't drop shit, piggy.' Then she pivoted, ass cheeks clenching visibly under the skirt, and marched inside.

Stuart juggled frantically—jacket slipping on one arm, handbag swinging in the other—before spotting a wheeled shopping basket by the door. He yanked it after her with a rattle, wheels squeaking as he hurried into the store, cock leaking steadily into his briefs, balls aching from the denial of even touching himself since her call.

Morgan ignored him at first, snatching silk blouses off hangers, tossing them into the basket with careless flicks: a cropped leather jacket next, then strappy heels that clicked when she tested them, lacy thongs she dangled mockingly before dropping in, designer jeans ripped at the knees. She piled it high—six outfits, three pairs of boots, glittering jewelry—racking the total to $400 without a glance at prices.

At the counter, the clerk rang it up, eyes flicking curiously between her flaunted curves and his humiliated load-bearing stance. Morgan leaned on the glass, tits squishing forward, gum popping as she scrolled her phone. 'Paypig handles it,' she said flatly, not even looking up.

Stuart fumbled his wallet with shaky fingers, swiping his card for the full $400, receipt printing as the clerk bagged everything into glossy totes and thrust them at him. He stacked them precariously atop the wheeled basket, jacket and handbag balanced somehow, face beet-red, stutter starting: 'A-all s-set, M-Morgan...'

She snatched a fresh pack of gum from the counter display—his money, of course—unwrapped it with her teeth, and blew a bubble bigger than before, letting it burst sticky across her lips.

'Pathetic,' she laughed, rolling her eyes skyward as she strutted out, hair whipping behind like a cape. Legs scissored in perfect rhythm, ass rolling side-to-side under the teasing skirt, fishnets stretching taut over calves that flexed with each boot plant.

Stuart stumbled after wobbling under the weight, bags rustling, his erection pulsing visibly now, pre-cum soaking through to darken his white trousers crotch.

'God, you're such a joke,' she tossed over her shoulder, voice dripping spoiled venom, hips popping extra for the show. 'Online? Piggysub42 spamming my chat, "Queen Morgan, take my wallet!" Vocal little simp, dropping hundreds on my streams just to watch me tease simps like you. But IRL? Quiet, blushing, stuttering piggy bitch, hauling my shit without a peep. Bet that tiny dick's dripping for me right now, huh? Eyes off my ass unless I say.'

She glanced back, black lips curling in triumph, catching his gaze locked on her jiggling cheeks. 'Kneel and lick my boots clean later if you stare again. Keep up—or I'll make you buy the whole store next.'

Her laughter echoed bratty and entitled, drawing snickers from passersby as she led him toward the next luxury trap, his world narrowed to her strutting form and the burn of total ownership.

Morgan veered sharply into a dimly lit lingerie boutique next door, hips snapping side-to-side under the micro skirt, bare ass cheeks flashing with each stride as the latex thong rode up deep between them.

Fishnets whispered against her skin, thigh-high boots stomping possessively, ginger locks cascading down her back like a fiery waterfall. She popped her gum with a loud smack, rolling her eyes at a mirror reflection of her own perfection, tits heaving under the sheer top—pierced nipples diamond-hard, poking insistent peaks through the fabric stretched tight over her underboob.

Stuart lurched behind, wheeled basket clattering under the stacked totes from the last store, leather jacket slung heavy over one elbow, her handbag clutched desperately in both sweaty palms thrust forward.

His 4-inch cock strained brutally against white trousers, a thick wet patch blooming at the tip where pre-cum oozed nonstop, balls churning with denied need. Eyes glued to her rolling glutes, he watched the skirt hem lift to expose the thong's black string vanishing into her crack, then flicked up to her bouncing rack swaying hypnotically.

'Eyes up here, creep—or down there on the floor where you belong,' she sneered without turning, voice a spoiled purr laced with bitchy command.

She snatched a handful of silky panties off a rack—crimson lace bikinis that would hug her pussy lips, sheer black g-strings barely more than floss, emerald thongs with pearl beads for clit friction.

Tits jiggled as she stretched for higher shelves, grabbing push-up bras in satin that would cradle her F-cups like trophies, garter belts dangling straps, seamed stockings in nude and black fishnet. 'Bet you're throbbing watching me grab these, huh? Tiny dick leaking just imagining them on my body you'll never touch.' She dumped the armful into his basket with flicks of her wrist.

He nodded mutely, face furnace-hot, cock twitching visibly as she bent low for crotchless panties—red silk splitting open at the pussy and ass—holding them up to taunt, then tossing them in.

More slutty pieces followed: nipple cutout teddies in mesh, cupless corsets laced tight, vibrating bullet bras she tested with a smirk. Basket overflowed now, fabrics spilling silky over the edges as she strutted deeper, ass clenching with every pivot, skirt threatening to ride full moon.

'Carry it steady, bitch piggy. Dropping my new slutwear means you buy doubles.' Her laughter bubbled bratty, gum bubble inflating huge before bursting sticky on smirking black lips.

At the counter, the total blinked $867 on the screen. Checkout girl—a pierced brunette in her twenties—raised brows at the pile, then at Stuart's humiliated stance, trousers crotch darkened shamefully. Morgan leaned in, elbows squishing her tits forward till cleavage spilled, scrolling her phone lazily. 'He pays,' she drawled, popping gum inches from the girl's face. Stuart shoved forward, arms full, fished out his card with fumbling fingers, swiping it through as veins throbbed in his temples. Receipt spat out; bags multiplied, piled atop the basket till it groaned.

'Don't worry,' Morgan cooed to the clerk, black lips curling wicked as she eyed Stuart's bulge, 'he'll never see me in these. Just my little paypig wallet—funds the hot girls, stays home jerking his sad micro-cock to my streams.'

The girl snorted a laugh, covering her mouth, eyes dancing with amusement as she handed over the final glossy tote. Stuart's cheeks ignited crimson, ears ringing, cock surging painfully at the public roast—humiliation flooding him hotter than lust, pre-cum dribbling fresh down his thigh inside the briefs. He stuttered nothing, just stacked the new load, vision blurring on Morgan's triumphant grin.

She snatched a complimentary thong sample from the counter—his dime again—stuffed it in her cleavage, and spun out, hair flaring, boots clicking queenly. 'Next store, loser. Keep stumbling—love watching you sweat for me.' Ass swayed mockingly ahead, tits bouncing free, leaving him to wheeze after in total, throbbing surrender.

Morgan strutted ahead through the bustling mall corridor, micro skirt flipping up to bare the latex thong wedged tight in her ass crack, fishnet-clad thighs flexing with each arrogant stomp of her thigh-high boots.

Ginger hair whipped as she tossed her head, tits straining the sheer top, pierced nipples scraping fabric visibly. Stuart trailed, knees buckling under the avalanche of glossy bags—lingerie totes spilling satin straps, previous hauls sagging the wheeled basket, her leather jacket draped heavy, handbag gripped white-knuckled in his free hand.

His 4-inch cock pulsed rock-hard in soaked briefs, white trousers tented, fresh pre-cum streaks darkening the fabric as eyes locked on her swaying glutes clenching rhythmically.

A cluster of three fans—two guys and a girl in their early twenties—spotted her, phones whipping out. 'Morgan! Photo? You're killing it today!' the tallest guy gushed, eyes dipping to her heaving rack. She halted with a dramatic sigh, popping gum loudly, then flashed a black-lipsticked smirk.

'Sure, losers—line up.' She posed, one hand on cocked hip thrusting her ass back, the other flipping hair while chest arched forward, nipples diamond points. Stuart hovered awkward behind the bags, face already heating.

Click-click as flashes popped. 'Who's the bag boy?' the girl fan giggled, nodding at him. Morgan spun halfway, snatching her phone from Stuart's clutch to selfie them all, then laughed bratty. 'Oh, this? My little paypig out for the day—funding my slutty hauls while his micro-dick leaks in his pants. Isn't that right, simp bitch?'

She slapped his cheek lightly, bags rustling. Fans erupted—guys howling 'Paypig! Simp alert!', girl cackling 'Total beta cuck!'—phones zooming on his crimson blaze, trousers bulge twitching exposed. Stuart ducked head, stammering silent, cock throbbing harder from the roast, balls aching as laughter echoed off tiles. Morgan shoved phone back at him. 'Smile next time, wallet. Byyyye, fans!' She blew kisses, striding off, leaving him to scurry after amid snickers.

Food court sprawled ahead, greasy aromas thick. Morgan claimed a central table amid crowds—prime humiliation spot—plopping down cross-legged, skirt hiking to flash thong-covered pussy mound. 'Sushi platter for me—extra wasabi, dragon rolls, miso soup. Large Coke. And whatever sad slop you want, piggy. Go fetch.'

Stuart dumped the bag mountain around her chair—totes piling like a fortress, jacket flung over back, handbag plunked beside—then shuffled to the counter, cock chafing painfully. He ordered, swiped card for $78, balanced trays back through stares, setting hers precise in front: glistening rolls speared with chopsticks she snatched immediately.

He sat opposite, surrounded by luxury loot hemming him in, picking at his plain rice bowl as she slurped soup noisily, tits jiggling with each lean. 'Mmm, useful piggy today—bags, wallet, all mine. Read your old chats, y'know. That stream where I teased wanting real submissive obsessed men to lock up? You begged me to cage your pathetic cock, own it forever.' She chewed a roll slow, eyes gleaming wicked over the rim.

Stuart's fork clattered, face exploding scarlet—memory slamming: typing desperate in chat, 'Please Goddess Morgan, lock my worthless dick, make me your denied pig!'—never dreaming they would meet in real life. 'I-I... that was just...' he mumbled, vision blurring, cock surging fresh pre-cum into the steel confines of his briefs.

She smirked, black lips curling, then unzipped her handbag deliberate—crowd murmurs nearby as forks paused. Out came the tiny flat steel chastity cage, gleaming merciless under fluorescent lights: 1.5-inch tube, ring base spiked inward, lock dangling tiny. She slapped it dead-center on the table, right by her half-eaten sushi, for all to glimpse. 'Your choice, bitch. Be my locked paypig—send tributes, carry shit, throb denied forever—or fuck off, no more me. Ever.'

He stared, pulse hammering, humiliation crashing with lust—public eyes flicking over, whispers starting. Nodding frantic, blush nuclear, he whispered hoarse, 'Y-yes Morgan... anything for you.'

She barked laughter, head thrown back, tits bouncing wild. 'Pathetic! Knew you'd fold.' Sneer twisted her face bitchy as she scooped the cage, thrusting it into his trembling palm—cold metal biting skin. 'Bathroom. Now. Lock that sad cock up tight. Send pic proof when done, piggy. Hurry—my boots need shining next.' She waved dismissive, popping another roll, as he bolted up, bags rustling forgotten, cock leaking desperate toward the restrooms.

Stuart slammed the stall door, heart slamming against ribs, back pressed to cold metal as he yanked down his white trousers and briefs in one frantic tug.

His 4-inch cock sprang free, rock-hard and veined, tip slick with pre-cum drooling in thick strands from the slit. He gripped the base tight, staring at the gleaming steel chastity device on the toilet lid—tiny flat tube no longer than his thumb, spiked ring base glinting under harsh lights. Holy fuck, this is real. Morgan—famous Morgan, my stream goddess with those double F tits and pierced nipples—wants my cock locked.

Me, her paypig, spending the day hauling her bags, dropping cash, now caged for her. Crush fantasies exploded: her snobby sneers, boot stomps, ass sway in that micro skirt. Streams flashed—her in latex cop gear whipping donation goals, teasing 'locked simps tribute harder'—he'd typed desperate begs, never dreaming she'd claim him live. Lottery win: her bitchy dominance real, kinky core exposed. Cock throbbed wild, balls tight.

He spat in palm, fisted the shaft fast—up-down strokes slick and urgent, foreskin peeling back over purple head. 'Fuuuck, Morgan...' he gasped, hips bucking, free hand bracing wall. Pre-cum splattered porcelain; five pumps in, orgasm ripped—thick ropes of cum erupting from his piss-slit, jetting white globs into the toilet bowl, splashing water. He milked every drop, cock twitching spent, shrinking flaccid to soft 2 inches, balls loosening loose.

Panting, he snatched the cage. Cold ring first—slid over limp cock and balls, spikes pricking skin inward as it seated snug behind sack. Tube aligned next, flat steel swallowing his nub whole, pressing seamless against pubes.

Click-snap—he pressed the mechanism; it clamped auto-locked, keyhole vanishing flush. No escape. Tugging tested: immovable, his cockhead mashed flat inside, already stirring tingle from denial. Trousers hiked up, bulge gone—flat pouch now, white fabric smooth. Pic snapped quick: close-up steel gleaming, sent to her phone with trembling thumb.

He shuffled out, face furnace-hot, dodging stares from urinal guys smirking at his flush. Bags loomed like a throne around her table; she lounged picking sushi remnants, eyes locking as he dropped into the seat opposite, knees jelly.

'Proof?' she demanded, black lips smirking. Phone buzzed—his pic. She leaned forward, tits spilling near plate, then slid one manicured hand under the tablecloth casual. Fingers groped his crotch bold—palmed the flat steel bulge, squeezed testing, thumb tracing the lock seam through fabric. 'Mmm, snug little prisoner. Good piggy—locked tight for Morgan.' Her nails scraped teasing, sending denied twitches inside the cage.

She beamed wicked, unzipping her handbag again. Out dangled a thin gold chain necklace, tiny keys threaded on—two gleaming bites fitting his cage. She stretched it over her head slow, settling it deep in cleavage: keys vanishing between massive double F tits, pierced nipples framing the valley like sentinels. 'Now you're mine proper. Keys stay here—tits own your cum factory.' She jiggled her rack deliberate, keys tinkling faint, drawing food court glances.

'Food's cold. Let's shop more, caged bitch.' She stood abrupt, snatching her jacket and bag; Stuart scrambled, heaving the bag mountain—lingerie totes, prior hauls—trailing as she led to the shoe wing, hips rolling hypnotic.

First store: designer heels. Morgan flopped in a plush chair, boots kicked off, fishnets flexed as salesgirl fawned. 'Black stilettos, 6-inch spikes. Red platforms next—fuck-me pumps.' She tried pair after pair, strutting catwalk style, ass cheeks flashing thong, tits bouncing. Stuart swiped $420—boxes stacked high. 'Paypig perks,' she cooed, slapping his cheek.

Next boutique: boots galore. Thigh-high latex ones, buckled ankle crushers, wedge knee-boots in patent leather. She modeled each. '$310—add to the pile.' Fans whispered nearby, phones sneaking pics; Stuart blushed nuclear, cage pinching his cock.

Final stop: luxury sneakers and strappy sandals—$170 more. Morgan piled them testing arches, toes wiggling painted black. 'All mine, wallet.’ The total for these shoes hit $900; receipt fluttered as he loaded arms fuller, back screaming.

Mall exit beckoned. Her sleek sports car purred curbside—low-slung coupe gleaming. Trunk popped remote; Stuart crammed bags in organized chaos: totes tumbling, boxes wedged, heels poking out.

She smirked as she said, 'Follow me, caged loser.' She snatched her handbag and jacket, strutting away—thigh-high boots thudding tile, short black skirt flipping to bare ass cheeks and thong string, ginger hair cascading wild down her back, double F tits jiggling keys in deep cleavage. Stuart lurched after, arms empty now post-shoe dump, chastity cage painful with each step, denied erection pulsing spikes deeper.

She halted beside the mall ATM, hips cocked, one boot tapping impatient. Fans gawked from afar; a couple whispered, phones lifting. Morgan spun, eyes drilling his flushed mug. 'One more tribute, piggy. $2500—payment for locking that worthless dick in my cage, and for wasting my precious day babysitting a drooling simp like you.' Gum snapped; her pierced nipples poked sheer top taut.

Stuart's cheeks ignited nuclear crimson, ears ringing humiliation, cockhead mashing flat steel harder, balls aching blue. Public drain—no escape, her snobby glare owned him. 'Y-yes, Morgan,' he stammered, voice cracking tiny, fumbling wallet to card slot. Machine whirred; $2500 cash spat out in crisp stacks. Trembling palms extended the wad; she snatched it casual, stuffing her handbag without count.

'Kneel,' she barked, boot sole grinding curb. 'Kiss my boots. Thank me for caging your small pathetic cock, and for wasting my time on a disgusting piggy today.'

Blush tsunami—heart hammered exposed, stares burning from passersby, teens snickering, a mom shielding kid eyes. Knees buckled anyway; he dropped public, pavement biting shins, lips pressing her dusty boot leather fervent—first toe, then instep, tongue flicking shine.

'Th-thank you, Morgan, for locking my small pathetic cock in this chastity cage,' he mumbled loud, voice quivering shame, cage spikes gouging swell. 'Thank you... and s-sorry for wasting your day with a piggy like me.'

She smirked down, superior bitch queen, then hawked thick. 'Open wide.'

His mouth gaped obediently as she leaned in and spat her pink chewing gum glob straight onto his tongue as she said, 'Swallow.'

He gulped in down as his cock was rock-hard in the chastity cage.

Morgan threw her ginger locks back all dramatic, all sassy spoiled venom, her tits bouncing with the keys sparkling between them.

'I'll be in touch soon, piggy.' Boot nudged his chin up dismissive; she pivoted, strutting to her sports car, leaving him kneeling dazed, the chastity cage throbbing as he was completely denied.