February 16, 2026 – Hierarchy University

Advice for Alphas Alpha Alpha Jake Jase breeding Cunting faggot God Alpha Hierarchy Master Jase Straight Alpha

Mentoring Alphas Through Cunting, Part THREE!

February 16, 2026 No Comments

The following post is part of a thread chronicling the life of domination of a God Alpha named Master Jase. CLICK HERE to read all posts in this thread in chronological order!

You can access PART ONE of this series by CLICKING HERE and PART TWO by CLICKING HERE.

Step by methodical step, Master Jase has been teaching new young Alpha Master Jake how to cunt faggots (and the importance of doing so). It’s like Yoda teaching Luke about The Force. But Master Jase understands the importance of what he’s teaching Master Jake, so he wants to get it right.

After some preliminary steps in parts 1 and 2, Master Jase finally moves to the third part of his plan: the actual cunting of a faggot in real time.

Cunting fags will always be my thrill, but a close second is teaching and watching another alpha cunt their fags. Jake is a natural. My home slut was willing to demonstrate, and for two days, his pussy was left untouched until last night. I will keep it brief, but it was an absolute success. Jake watched in awe as I put my home slut through the motions. Observed how deep I pushed. Watched as I manipulated my slut. How I paced myself. How I spoke to him.

As I cunted my home slut, I told Jake what to look out for. The breathing and panting, the trembling and twitching of muscles, the arching of the back and body, the changes to the face and mouth, the involuntary spreading and whole body jerking, etc. I pulled out of my home slut and had him clean my cock while dazed, and ordered Jake to attempt to cunt his fag.

Jake is a natural. As all alphas are. He poked and prodded, but put into practice what he saw and what he heard. The first signs from his fag was the instant head toss back and the toes curling on either side of Jake as he slid in deep. The grin on Jake’s face was a joy to see.

I left Jake to his devices and took both my home slut and the brother fag to Tyler’s room to cunt them. I was there to fuck, to breed, and I damn well will. It was nonstop between the two, sliding one tired, well cunted pussy off my cock and ramming it deep into the other, waiting, needy hole.

It was hilarious when, halfway through power-fucking his faggot bro, Jake knocked and said, “I think I broke him.” He had managed to cunt his fag into a state of blacked out bliss. I could not be prouder of him. I told him to care for his fag while it’s cunted and to still treat him as if he was conscious, that his words will bury into his fag’s scrambled brain.

It will not be long before I allow him to cunt his own brother. It will be what Jake deserves, to have a well-trained, submissive and obedient fag when and where he wants to use him.

From a faggot’s perspective, it’s weird to hear Master Jase talk to Master Jake about faggots as if we were nothing more than hogs on a farm. However, that description is apt. Faggots are so far below the level of Master Jase that it makes sense that he looks at fags as mere things … toys in the hands of Men.

But that is precisely what we are.

It’s awesome to get this peek inside the mind of a God Alpha as he teaches a younger Alpha about the wonders of faggot cunting. I thought some of Master Jake’s responses to what he experienced were pretty funny, especially the comment about having broken it. Cunting a faggot can be just as wild for the Alphas as it is for the fag!

Master Jase is such an invaluable resource. He’s an absolute beast sexually, but he’s incredibly intelligent and expressive. He’s the perfect teacher for an enthusiastic Alpha looking to expand his power like Master Jake!

And he continues to teach me as well!

Reading time: 3 min

Written by: sam the faggot

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Controlled / Stored / Fucked

February 16, 2026 No Comments

I still get that electric shiver remembering that afternoon back in the summer of 2025, one of those raw, unforgettable moments deep into our 8-year relationship as boyfriends, when Declan’s ownership felt as natural as breathing and the KINK3D Viper cage had long been our go-to for unbreakable, comfortable denial. The Viper was perfect by then: lightweight 3D-printed plastic with sweeping armored curves, full underside closure to crush any cheating thoughts, great airflow for endless wear, and my PA ring locked right through it, keeping me throbbing and secure without a second thought.

That morning he’d chosen my exposure uniform: the bright red mesh shorts, ultra-sheer, fine net-like fishnet that hid exactly zero details. They clung tight to my hips and thighs, the tiny holes putting the Viper’s black curves on blatant display in front, PA ring glinting, balls hanging heavy and vulnerable below. In back, the mesh parted naturally down the center seam, framing my ass cheeks completely bare, the vivid red netting contrasting my skin like I was packaged solely for his eyes. He tugged the waistband high, pulling the fabric taut over the cage and stretching it even tighter across my hole. “My perfect boy,” he murmured, fingers tracing the net along the Viper’s outline. “Locked like always, all see-through and desperate. These stay on all day, no covering. I want to watch you leak while you wait for me.”

Chores around the apartment were charged: dusting, laundry, prepping his snacks, every shift letting air tease through the open mesh, the Viper denying me relentlessly, pre-cum slowly soaking dark patches on the front where nothing was concealed.

By mid-afternoon Declan wanted gaming time, so he led me into our bedroom. The jail cell stood in its usual spot by the window: that sturdy gunmetal metal frame, vertical bars on the sides in a grid, horizontal slats across the top for solid strength, bottom padded with a dark gray blanket and rumpled bedding (though today it stayed empty).

He had me kneel in front of it, facing the bars, then pulled out the real police-issue handcuffs, those heavy stainless steel chain-linked cuffs, cold metal loops connected by a short rattling chain, ratcheting with that final authoritative click, double-lockable for no-escape security. He fastened one cuff snug around the base of my balls (above the sac for grip, always checked for circulation and safety, no risks in our play), threaded the short chain through a lower side bar of the cage, and locked the other end. It pulled me forward hard, making me to hunch against the metal frame from the outside, ass pushed out toward the room, Viper-caged cock and stretched balls thrust forward through the sheer red mesh, hole framed invitingly by the parted netting, body pinned helpless and on full display.

“Good boy,” he said casually, patting my head like his favorite toy before leaving with his controller and headset. “Quiet. Don’t move. I’m going to play my video games.”

Hours melted away. Game sounds filled the other room while I stayed frozen outside the cage, muscles burning sweetly from the pull, mind drifting deep into subspace. The mesh let every draft ghost over my skin, the chastity kept me locked tight and desperate, body a living display piece chained to the bars.

When he finally paused the game and I heard his walk, my pulse hammered. He approached slowly, no rush to release. He crouched in front of me, gripped my chin, tilted my face up to look at his eyes. “Look at you,” he whispered, voice thick with affection and lust. “Chained outside your cell stuck by a pair of handcuffs, those slutty red shorts framing your Viper-locked cock and ass like a gift. So fucking beautiful after all these years. All mine.”
He stood, unzipped, spat once on his thick cock to slick it, then stepped behind me. Hands braced on my hips through the mesh; one gripping firm. One slow, claiming push in, no extra prep, stretching and owning me while I gasped against the bars, cuffs keeping my balls pinned taut against the metal, the frame rattling softly with each deep thrust.

He fucked me hard then, every inch possessed, my body jerking forward against the cage with his rhythm. “This is what you’re for,” he growled low in my ear. “My hole. My toy. My good boy who waits so perfectly chained outside like this.”

Hours of knowing I was helpless, he didn’t last long. One final, bruising slam, and he buried deep, flooding me with heat as I moaned brokenly, the chastity holding my cock straining uselessly against its curved plastic prison.

Only after he softened and pulled out did he grab the key. He unlocked the cuffs gently, rubbing the marks on my balls with soothing care, kissing along my neck and spine. He helped me stand on shaky legs, pulled me into his arms, and held me close, stroking my hair, murmuring how much he loved his obedient, displayed boy. That same deep tenderness that’s carried us through 8 years, making every intense bit of control feel safe and cherished.

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