As you all know, I had to sign a contract agreeing to 7 days of being 100% slave to my boyfriend in exchange for my birthday gift: a trip to Spain next year.
One of the conditions of that contract was simple and very clear:
47 paddles.
When he got home, I thought I had done everything right.
The fridge was spotless.
The stove was cleaned.
The bed sheets were washed and changed.
But I made one mistake.
I forgot the kitchen.
That was all it took.
He dragged me into the room, cuffed my hands to the cage, locked shackles around my ankles, and then cuffed my balls directly to the cage bars so I couldn’t move an inch.
And then it started.
The paddling.
Did he stop at 47 like the contract said?
Or did my mistake cost me more?
You’ll have to watch the video to find out.
👉 Full story + video are up now on JFF, go watch what really happened.
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Yesterday was Halloween, and I couldn’t wait to finally get out and have some fun. Declan had told me earlier that we’d hit Church Street and check out the bars, so the moment I got home from work, I rushed to get ready.
He’d already laid my outfit out on the couch ,a tight orange prisoner costume. I was about to change into it, but he told me to slow down, finish my drink first, and chill while he “handled something on his phone.”
If you know Sir Declan, you know this, when he’s quiet and focused, it usually means he’s plotting something. And he never warns me.
A few minutes later, he said, “Babe, come to the room.”
The lights were set up already on bright like he was about to film a scene.
I asked, “What’s with the setup? Aren’t we going out?”
Before I could even process it, he made me kneel in front of the jail cage, cuffed my hands above my head, and locked them to the top bars.
He leaned down and said calmly, “Honestly, I’m not sure if I want you going out tonight.”
Then, knock knock.
Someone was at the door.
Declan smiled, grabbed a carved pumpkin, and shoved it over my head. My world went dark except for a hole where my mouth was. I could barely hear or breathe through the thick shell, only muffled sounds.
I heard the front door open. Then metal clicking. Another pair of cuffs.
When Declan came back, he said, “A buddy’s here, he’s handcuffed to the wall in the living room. You’ve been a good boy lately, Zack. So tonight, I’m gonna use you while I cuck him.”
That’s when he shoved his cock down my throat through the mouth hole of the pumpkin. His hips slammed against the pumpkin’s rim as I gagged and drooled, completely blind and restrained.
When he came, his load sprayed inside the pumpkin, hitting my beard, my lips, and even my eye through the cutout. I was left there dripping, unable to wipe it off, while he went back to the other room.
About 30 minutes later, he returned, laughing when he saw my eye swollen and red. “You got cum-eye, bitch. Looks like pink eye now.”
He wrapped a chain around my waist, pad locked it, zip-tied my hands to it, and shoved me into the cage. The cell door closed with a click, and then I heard the distinct snap of a serial tag zip-lock, no escape.
He uses ziptags when he leaves the house while I’m locked away, so that if any emergency happens, I can get away but he will know that the serial number ziptag was tampered with.
“You’re in for the night,” he said. “I’m heading out with the guy for Halloween.”
He turned on the Blue Jays game, shut the bedroom door, and left.
When he came home around 2 a.m., I felt his lips press through the bars, kissing me before cutting the zip ties. Then he replaced the zip lock with a padlock on the door, smirked, and went to bed.
This morning, before leaving for work, he unlocked the padlock and said only:
“Have dinner ready tonight. Clean the house. I left the guy’s underwear on the couch, full of cum. Guess who’s cum! Enjoy.”
So yeah, Halloween ended, Locktober ended, but my chastity didn’t.
It’s November 1st, and I’ve officially entered No Nut November.
My next bail hearing for release is set for December 1st.
Hope your Halloween was wild, just maybe not as locked-up as mine. 🎃
X/🦋: @jktoronto11
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Watch it all now on JFF for a full video:
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“He Said ‘Let’s Cuddle’… Then Threw Me in the Cage”
⛓️💥⛓️💥⛓️💥⛓️💥⛓️💥⛓️💥⛓️💥⛓️💥⛓️💥⛓️💥⛓️💥⛓️💥⛓️💥
Earlier this week was one of those non-stop, soul-draining days at the office. I woke up tired and spent the whole day in meetings, calls, and dealing with everyone else’s problems. By mid-afternoon, I texted Declan saying I couldn’t wait to get home, relax, watch a movie, and cuddle in his arms.
He simply replied:
“Yes, let’s do that, babe.”
That message kept me going. I left work, stopped to grab dinner, and finally walked through the door thinking I was about to have a quiet night.
I put the food down, took off my shoes, and went into the living room to greet my boyfriend. Like I do every single day, I dropped to my knees in front of him without even thinking. It’s second nature now, I kneel, remove his socks, and start kissing his feet. The smell of his workday hit me instantly, a mix of leather, sweat, and warmth. My tongue traced over the tops of his feet, across the arches, and down to the soles.
I could taste the salt and feel the roughness of his skin as I sucked each toe slowly, one by one, while my tongue circled between them. His toes flexed a few times, little signs that he liked it, but he didn’t say a word. He just leaned back, watching his show, occasionally glancing down to make sure I was still at work.
After about twenty minutes, my jaw was starting to ache, and I tried to shift or stand up. That’s when I felt it, his hand suddenly grabbing a fistful of my hair.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going? Mouth back on my toes and shut up.”
My breath caught. That tone hit hard.
Without another word, I went right back to it, licking, sucking, and massaging his feet in silence. The only sounds were the TV and the wet sounds coming from my mouth. I stayed there for another thirty minutes, completely ignored, existing only as his footrest and toy.
Eventually, he said casually,
“Go get me a drink.”
When I got up, my knees cracked. I went to the kitchen, made his drink, and took it to him. He didn’t even look up, just took it from my hand, and I quietly walked to the bedroom to change out of my dress clothes.
I was unbuttoning my shirt when he suddenly appeared in the doorway. He didn’t smile.
“In the cage. Now. Don’t make me repeat it.”
I froze.
My heart dropped because I had no idea what was coming. I really thought we were going to cuddle.
But his expression told me otherwise, this was serious.
As I crawled into the cage, he followed me in with a few items. My stomach turned when I saw what they were: cuffs, a hood, shackles, and a gag.
He said, almost casually:
“A guy named Anthony, the one who paid to extend your chastity for another month, also bought a punishment from my throne. You might not like it, but it is what it is.”
Then he listed what was requested:
👀 Hooded
👀 Gagged
👀 Kneeling
👀 Balls cuffed to the jail cell
👀 Hands handcuffed
He placed the hood over my head, muffling everything. I could barely see or hear. My wrists were cuffed in front of me to the cage, my knees pressed into the floor, and my balls were cuffed through the bars so I couldn’t move more than a few inches. Then he shackled my ankles and looped the chain through the bars, forcing my legs backward until I was completely locked in place, kneeling, bent forward, my face pressed near the bars, unable to move, my breath echoing inside the hood.
I heard him step back and say quietly, almost amused,
“That’s better.”
Time became meaningless. I had no idea how long I’d been restrained. Every sound felt amplified, his footsteps, the TV in the background, even the sound of him pouring a drink somewhere nearby.
Every now and then he’d come over and tease me, tugging at my balls or giving them a quick slap before walking away again.
Then suddenly I felt something cold. A hand spreading something across my balls.
And then it hit.
🔥 A535 cream.
The burn was instant, a deep, searing pain that made me gasp into the gag. I tried to pull back, but the cuffs held me tight. My entire body shook. It was unbearable, and he knew it. I could hear him laughing softly as he walked away.
That hour felt endless.
At times I tried to fight it, other times I just gave up and knelt there shaking and sweating, drooling into the gag while the burn consumed me.
Eventually, I heard another sound, one that didn’t make sense at first. A second voice. A quiet moan.
Declan wasn’t alone.
Through the hood I could hear him, the sound of his belt, the deep grunts, the rhythm.
He was getting a blowjob.
Someone else was on their knees, servicing him while I was caged and burning.
He came hard, I heard it, I felt the tone in his voice change when he finished.
But I wasn’t allowed to see who it was.
When he finally removed the hood and cuffs later that night, he just smiled down at me and said,
“You’ll find out eventually.”
Two days before, I learned that I’ll be participating in No Nut November, and that more punishments are already lined up.
That’s my life.
The life of a slave boyfriend, owned, used, and kept locked for the man I love. 🖤
🩵 Many other features from custom punishments, cage extensions, edging sessions, and slave requests can be chosen directly from Sir Declan’s Throne or through the JFF Store.
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🔗 punishments available at our JFF store: justfor.fans/ZackDeclan
Sometimes Zack is a good boy and boyfriend, but as his owner, it’s my job to make sure he never forgets who he belongs to.
Even when he behaves, that fear of disobeying me needs to stay alive. It’s what keeps him obedient, molded, and mine.
Yes, the ass is his, but it’s an ass that belongs to me.
And I’ll paddle it anytime, any way, and anywhere I damn well choose.
Sir Declan
justfor.fans/ZackDeclan
X/🦋: @jktoronto11
🎁 Declan’s Throne: throne.com/jktoronto11
Punishment.
Yesterday made it painfully clear why Sir Declan set this sentence, being moody for being cucked while he had a weekend date wasn’t acceptable, and he decided I needed to learn the lesson properly.
Day one started with paddles and 4½ hours locked in my jail cell. I was sore, humiliated, and already missing him which is exactly the point.
When he came home from the gym yesterday he didn’t say much. He had me put my hands through the bars of the cage and the cold metal cuffs clicked shut around my wrists. The cuff chain tightened so I couldn’t pull back. Then he latched shackles on my ankles to the cage so I was forced to stand there, exposed and completely immobilized. He pulled my shorts down, and every strike of the paddle landed with a loud slap and a burning sting that worked its way into my thighs and ass. Between hits he would whisper that he loved me and that this was necessary for us to be right, that the pain was part correction and part care.
When the paddling stopped he unfastened the cuffs, ordered me to strip, and shoved me back into the cell naked. The door slammed and the lock turned. I sat on the cold floor with my hands over my chest, breathing in the quiet, feeling the afterburn of each hit and the shame that came with it.
Four hours later he came back. The click of his keys felt like a mercy. He opened the cell and let me come sit on the floor in front of him while he relaxed on the couch. He put his hands on my shoulders and worked out the knots with firm presses. Every so often he’d kiss the top of my head like I was a child he both owned and wanted to protect. We turned on The Simpsons, a small, ridiculous bit of normalcy and the contrast between the tenderness and what I’d just been through made me ache to be better for him.
When it was time for bed I was allowed to sleep with him, but mercy didn’t mean freedom. Sir was hard and told me to work on his cock. I climbed on top and obeyed. His skin was warm against my mouth, his fingers tangled in my hair, and he kept my head down until he emptied himself, hard and hot down my throat. He didn’t let me pull away; he made sure I swallowed every last drop. Afterward he murmured, “Good boy, you didn’t gag this time. Okay, now bed time.” Praise that stung almost as much as the paddles, because it reminded me I’d passed another test.
I expect tonight when I come home from work I’ll be greeted at the door with handcuffs again, escorted straight to the bedroom for more paddles, and returned to my cell to continue the sentence. I don’t like the discipline, but I understand it. I appreciate his guidance, his corrections, and his love, even when it’s rough. I will keep working to be the submissive he wants, to obey, and to earn those small, private moments of tenderness.
Zack
(Owned by Sir Declan)
——————————
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The following post is part of a thread following the service of a young faggot named Tyler who has been claimed by a great Protector Alpha named Steven. CLICK HERE to read all of these posts in chronological order!
I just published THIS STORY about how loved Giovanni feels as the personal faggot of a God Alpha like Master Lorenzo, so I thought this recent message from Tyler might be the perfect bookend to that. Odd how these things go sometimes, isn’t it?
You might remember Tyler being essentially rescued from the cruel hands of a Destroyer Alpha named Adam by his current Master, Steven. Master Steven’s brave stance against Adam in order to save Tyler was inspirational and worthy of accolades. It’s just the way any true Protector Alpha would react.
But faggot psychology can be quite complicated. Very often faggots seek the wrong thing, plagued by deep feelings of unworthiness and self-loathing that craves to be reinforced by the cruelty of hateful Men. Time and time again I’ve seen faggots immolate themselves in the flame they couldn’t resist flying into despite my warnings. This often results in broken hearts, and broken lives.
Notice how even now, as Tyler enjoys a favored place at the feet of his great Master Steven, his defective faggot heart is craving abuse:
Hey Sam,
This is Tyler again. We talked a while ago about my Master Steven. He really saved me and I’m forever grateful for the way he rescued me. He’s also paying for my therapy and it’s been good for my self knowing. But one of the things I learned in therapy is that I have a need for degradation. That’s why I kept going back to Adam no matter how much he hurt me. I still have urges to serve me, but every time I feel it, I focus on serving Steven as my one and only Master.
My question is: Steven is a great Alpha and any fag would be happy with him, but he is a real gentleman. He speaks several languages, he’s really knowledgeable, well-succeeded in his career, and a wonderful man. But he treats me like a princess, he even buys me gifts from time to time. A few days ago he bought me a gorgeous pair of earrings, and I loved them. But it’s such a turn off… he takes care of me, protects me, wants to see me improving in my career and life, he became a real mentor and Master for me. But I have this urge to be treated like trash, like a pathetic worthless fag, just a cumdump and nothing more. He does fuck me well and treats me like a fag in bed, and I serve him domestically, but he treats me too well… he controls me but always to lift me up, and I miss a Man who curses me, spits on my face for no reason, I don’t know how to navigate this because he is a really good Man.
Should I ask him to be a little more brutal with me?
What a mess!
My sympathy goes to Master Steven. He’s truly showing his faggot the kindness and care that many Men wouldn’t dare to show, and his faggot doesn’t want any of it. It’s like a homeless person who begs for food on the street despising the food he’s given because it’s too rich or too sweet. It makes no sense.
I feel sorry for Tyler, too. Clearly, he’s broken in some way that may not ever be fixed. I just wish that faggots who find themselves in remarkably nurturing situations could just find peace and joy serving the Men caring for them. Master Steven is one of the best Alphas out there, and he deserves respect, worship, and adoration for being the Man he is … not this kind of emotional betrayal.
I think Tyler should kneel and confess these feelings to his Master. It’s not going to be an easy conversation (probably more than a little embarrassing), but Master Steven deserves at least an opportunity to respond. Perhaps he has a solution to this, but who knows?
But if he can figure out the solution to why faggots seek self-destruction, I’d love to hear it!
