The following post is part of a thread highlighting the exploits of Master Dean, the God Alpha son of Master Dino and twin brother/owner of Jimmy the faggot. CLICK HERE to read these posts in chronological order!
When God Alpha Dino moved his extended family of Alphas and faggots from their mountain fortress to an island in the Atlantic Ocean, I worried that the extreme change in environment and lack of easy medical care might not be best for them (especially given the number of toddlers involved). I kept my reservations to myself since it wasn’t my place to question the move at all.
But how foolish I was! The change in environment was the perfect place to finally unleash the absolute power of the five Alphas there: Master Dino, Master Chad, Master Dean, Master Cal, and Master Phillip. They have all reverted into primal Alpha beasts like their ancient ancestors. Mostly naked and roasted by the sun to a deep, rich, coffee brown, the Alphas take profound pleasure in training together, hunting together, and breeding together.
The many faggots with them (called “the rainbow” because each is named after a color) have also reverted back to the way ancient fags served Alpha clans of the past, by cooking and gathering and caring for Alpha offspring. Oh, and being used again and again for sexual pleasure by the horny Alphas of the tribe.
It’s the way it has always been, and Master Dino’s family has become its embodiment on this isolated island paradise.
Of all the Alphas on the island, I’m probably closest to Master Dean. He’s the most directly intellectual of them, and a gifted writer. And while I’m nothing compared to him and will never be counted among his friends, he deigns to make me feel worthy in small ways that feel like the universe to me.
In keeping with that spirit, Master Dean occasionally writes to me for no reason other than he was thinking of me, as he did recently:
Hello little one,
I am refraining from My studies and, in mid-contimplation, thoughts turned to you. I trust you are well. We all certainly are thriving. I can see the Children outside, faggots with the young Ones and Chadwick and Phillip with the oldest group. It looks as if Our Savior is thrilling the youthful Spawns with an adventurous yarn as He demonstrates how to dress a boar for storage. They all laugh and alternate for the premium spot beside Our boisterous, blood-spattered Leader. My Son especially loves hunting and absorbs every word and action of His Uncle Chad. Concurrently, the Prince follows Me, drinking in My educationed speech, and is in awe of My medical knowledge. If someone is ill, Prince is at My side as I examine the patient. But both Boys worship Their respective Fathers as well.
Bunny is well and on a mission to serve Phillip and Spike, His Son, until the Men are drained. My little whore is well and happy. I honestly was unsure of the outcome for bunny for a time. I was assured of My baby’s recovery when, after 2 days of bed rest after open heart surgery, she asked for My semen. Not food or drink, just My penis and ejaculate.
Cal just entered and nosily read what I am writing. He says hello. I must tell you He is a fine specimen of a Alpha Man, tanned, just developed muscularly, and His scent is amazing. I may be compelled to enter a contest of strength with My Brother and see Which comes out on top-or bottom depending on One’s desires. Ha. I amuse Myself.
Chadwick continues to lead by example and with education in the best manner for Children. Not one disobeys His command or fails to understand all He teaches. I, too, am never questioned or disobeyed. I am aware that Chad informed you of His faggot son, gavin. he is definitely a faggot who loves all Men but is almost insanely in love with Chad. The little whore has been caught with Chad, who is unknowing of anything when sleeping. (c.c. can attest to being taken by Chad while He sleeps. My Brother copulates while snoring.) Regardless, I caught gavin with a sleeping Savior absolutely worshipping Chad’s tumescent penis, licking and sniffing until He ejaculated that huge emission as I walked in. Unnoticed, I stood watching as that faggot reveled in a Man’s cum. I thought it best to remain quiet and exit. I told Chadwick about the experience and He decided to ignore it but We all now make sure gavin is unable to enter a room where Chad sleeps. Neither want to discourage gavin’s desires or warp his emotional self, his natural desires. he is a faggot. It seems We have another bunny and Pop situation here as gavin is now totally inseparable from Chadwick whenever He is available to gavin.
Well little one, I could continue to infinity but I think it’s definitely time for an Alpha contest with Cal. His scent was intoxicating. Who knows, I might actually ‘lose’ and be compelled to give My ass to My Brother. Ha. (Still amusing Myself) Afterward, I’m positive of some type of orgiastic taking of the rainbow. It’s been almost a week since All Men gathered to take all faggots. It’s definitely the moment.
Good day, little one. Your King is feeling jubilant and aroused. I mustn’t tarry.
Your Master, Dean
King of faggotry.
I really cherished that update. Master Dean sounds so relaxed, so complete within himself. He knows he rules along with his brothers at the summit of hierarchy, and his place is forever ensured. Their island Kingdom is just the literal manifestation of that promise.
It was great to hear about Master Chad’s classes with his many sons in rapt attention around him. Is there a sight that better represents Alpha mentorship than Master Chad passing his knowledge to his sons??
When Master Dean described smelling Master Cal’s pheromones on the breeze and getting aroused, it really brought home for me just how much this island paradise is transforming all of them into their primal states. They have left “modern society” behind, choosing instead to live life by the ancient code of Natural Law!
The part about Master Chad’s son Gavin would probably disturb most people. But rather than becoming instantly offended, a little thought would reveal a great truth: the deep knowledge of hierarchy that Masters Chad and Dean have help them to accurately detect and handle these peculiar needs of their growing sons. Also, regardless of what Gavin grows to be, he will always have a safe, inclusive, and encouraging place in this family built on hierarchical values!
I’m a very lucky faggot indeed to know this amazing family over such a long period of time!
But best of all, I get to know and serve one of the great God Alphas of my life, my wickedly intelligent Master Dean!
The following post is part of a thread following Kamal, a faggot who has a desire to serve his Alpha professor uncle Farid. CLICK HERE to read all of these posts in chronological order!
The most difficult help requests I receive from fags involve submitting to family members. Every time I’m asked for help with these, I’m filled with dread. I don’t want to give advice that leads a fag to be ostracized from a family home or into the hands of abusers.
It was even scarier when Kamal approached me about helping him submit to his straight Alpha uncle, because Kamal is Pakistani and that comes with extra baggage. However, I agreed to try and help because Kamal was so honest, open-hearted, and thoughtful. I felt he would have the best chance for success.
And sure enough, it was a success! As I reported last time, Kamal’s uncle, Master Farid, gladly accepted Kamal as his faggot!
I’ve been waiting on pins and needles ever since for the follow-up to this story (and frankly, so have my readers), but Kamal had some trouble getting it together to send … until now.
Just read his magnificent account, which blew away all of my expectations!
I am writing to you from a place I did not know existed until two days ago. I have tried to find other words to describe what has happened, but only yours suffice. The way your website describes certain things are just how i experinced them and there is an honesty in your writing, the refusal to hide the fact that there is much to lose, maybe a lot of pain along the way, but much to gain and to be oneself honestly for the first time is truly an experience without compare. I thank you for your cautious optimism and honesty.
The morning after Farid spoke the words that would restructure everything, I woke up and made my way down to breakfast in a daze. My aunt was there, speaking to him about some wedding in her family—her sister’s daughter, I think, or perhaps her cousin; the details dissolved in the heat of seeing Farid sitting there in a threadbare vest. She was asking him to attend the wedding and he was explaining, with that patient academic tone he uses, that his commitments at the university made it impossible. He offered instead to drive her to her sister’s place, which is a few hours away, and to spend a day or two there with her, which would allow him to explain his inability to attend the actual event to her family in person, and to give her more time with them so she could help with the preparations. As he told her this, he glanced at me quickly, and when I sat at the table he looked me in the eye without stopping his conversation with his wife, but I understood immediately from his gaze that he was lying. He had no academic obligations. The obligation that made his attendance impossible was me. He was buying us a fortnight alone together.
It was decided he and his wife would leave in a day or two, and I would not see him until he returned. The knowledge sat in my stomach like a stone, tense and heavy and radiant.
For the next few days, this tension shifted into something physical. Whenever we were alone and he involved himself with me—his hands on my skin, his mouth taking mine in the quiet hours when the house slept—he was overpowering and reticent simultaneously. Whenever I reached for more, he deftly side-stepped the request. When I asked to be fucked, he would simply touch me elsewhere or pull away with a calm smile that contained no refusal, only delay. He told me we must wait until his return. He spoke of the first time he would penetrate me as if it were something sacred, something he wanted us to be fully present for, without other cares. He said our first time would be something pivotal. “A fulcrum fuck?” I joked and he laughed, genuinely amused. I think that explains why I can’t remember the rest of that conversation. I tend to get lost in a euphoric haze when he’s happy with me.
Two days later, they left. The house emptied of everything but possibility, and I used that emptiness to prepare.
I had a professional full body wax so that I would be smooth for him, because I know he likes that. I also made sure I did some of the chores my aunt had been planning to do for him but had not been able to complete. I did his laundry and ironing perfectly, polished all his shoes that needed polishing, mended a few items of clothing that had lost a button or needed some trivial repair. My aunt and uncle had taken her car so that she would have it with her; my uncle was taking the train home. So I washed and detailed his car as best I could, working my hands into the leather until it gleamed with the same attention I wanted to give to him. Basically, I made sure that anything that had to do with him was perfect.
When my uncle returned, I was in class, so I could not welcome him home. But I made sure to cook his favorite meal for him, the one my aunt makes when she wants to thank him for something. When I returned to the house, he was waiting for me on the terrace. He embraced me warmly and kissed me. It was electric. It felt different than the kisses from when my aunt was there. This was deeper, more overwhelming, like he was not only there with me in the kiss but directing it, supporting it with his hands on my back, guiding my mouth open with a pressure he had not used on me before.
The air was warm and the jasmine smelled as it only can on the last night before it begins to wither—that particular intensity of something at the height of its bloom, aware of its own ending. A languid breeze paid its last respects and moved as if tethered to us, waiting for something to begin. He looked at me for a long time without speaking. His eyes moved over my face with a scrutiny that felt like reading.
Then he said: “I am going to fuck you now, Kamal. It will hurt, maybe even terribly. But I need you to feel the pain. I need it to destroy everything that’s only yours in you, the parts of you that can live without being mine. Or, I can stop and we can both walk away as we are.” I must have looked visibly distressed because he laughed and said, “But don’t worry, I won’t.”
His hands came up to hold my face and he kissed me again. It was a dominating, possessive kiss. When it ended he moved just an inch away and told me to leave him, to prepare and be ready when he called me.
During the hours between his words and the event, I prepared and whilst waiting in my room I read your text, Being Cunted. I marked the pages where you spoke of the proper mental state required for this transformation. For the first time, I understood from the inside what it meant to be prepared. I spent that afternoon in a state of profound stillness, accepting that whatever I believed myself to be until that moment was merely a placeholder for the truth you described. I sat in my room with the book open on my lap and felt my own consciousness thinning, becoming permeable, ready to be rewritten.
When the time came, he led me into his bedroom. Farid did not touch me at first. He sat on the edge of the bed and looked at me. This lasted for what felt like ages, though it may have been only minutes—time had already begun to behave differently, stretching and contracting according to his attention. He stripped me slowly, his eyes moving over my body with clinical ownership, cataloging every inch he was about to claim. I stood before him naked and trembling, feeling every inch of my skin exposed to his judgment, my hands hanging useless at my sides because I understood that I was no longer permitted to cover myself.
“You are so beautiful.” he said. Then he came for me.
He arranged me on the bed, pushing me down onto my stomach without a word. He used his hand to open me, unravelling me with an aggressive patience that left no room for hesitation. His fingers worked with a deliberation that felt like surgery, like he was clearing a path through me. I felt the weight of him pressing me into the bed, the heat of his clothed body against my bare back. Then he took me.
“If it hurts, feel it.”
He fucked me with a controlled violence that I had never imagined possible. It was not chaotic; it was precise and overwhelming, each thrust delivered with a certainty that suggested he had always known exactly where I ended and he began. He used my body as if it were a tool designed specifically for his pleasure, driving himself deep into me again and again with a rhythm that felt inevitable. I felt my breath leave me, my lungs seizing as he found the depth he was searching for.
I felt something inside me let go. Not break—release. He fucked me past the point where I could track time or distance. I began to weep, and shake, my body convulsing with sobs that seemed to come from somewhere beneath my ribs. I was aware of being gone from myself, floating somewhere above the bed while my body remained pinned beneath him, still receiving, still being used. The room blurred into shadow and light. In that state of near-unconsciousness, using your word, I understood that I was being cunted. The knowledge arrived not as thought, but as sensation, a cellular recognition of what was being carved into me.
He finished inside me. He did not pull away immediately; he held me down with his full weight until I stopped gasping, shivering, trembling. But I continued crying. And he seemed okay with that.
He whispered quietly in my ear, telling me how proud he was of me, how I had proved him right to want me, how strong I was for never having asked him to stop, even when he hoped I would. He kissed me and I remember nothing more.
When I woke the next morning, I discovered The Void.
It is not a metaphor. It is a literal, physical location in my body—a singular point of ache situated low in my belly, just behind the pubic bone. It felt as if a piece of me had been scooped out and replaced with an ongoing hunger that could only be satisfied by him. This Void did not vanish when he left the room or when I returned to my normal life.
Days later, it is still there. I feel it while I am sitting in lectures at college, listening to professors speak about literature and history, my pen moving across the page while my body orients itself toward his absence. I feel it during meals with my friends, as I smile and talk about mundane things, the conversation flowing around me while I remain anchored to this ache. It is an ongoing bodily reminder of the only man who can make me feel whole, the only one who has ever owned me.
My outward life has become a performance. I speak to friends, submit my work to smiling professors, I attend dinners, I laugh at jokes that float aimlessly through the air, but it is all an act, a performance by someone who no longer exists. The Kamal they think they know is gone; he was happily and willingly remade in the shape of Farid’s desire.
I want to say to you also that I could not have understood what was happening to me without your writing. Your words provided the only interpretive frame that made my mental state possible. Without them, I might have tried to categorize this event through the lens of romance or simple lust, and it would have remained elusive and its moment unknown. You gave me the vocabulary to accept the transformation as a revelation of what always was, waiting beneath the surface of who I pretended to be.
Now, when the ache becomes unbearable during the day, I return mentally to a specific sensory anchor: the smell of jasmine in furious bloom upon a warm beating breeze just before he spoke to me. That is where the shift began. That is where I left myself behind.
It is impossible for me to ever tell my family what has happened or who I have become. They see a dutiful son and student; they do not see the faggot who carries Farid’s seed inside him as a permanent mark of ownership. They do not see The Void. They do not see me.
But you do. And because of you, Farid does.
Thank you.
Kamal.
I almost had tears in my eyes reading this account the first time. The events described are so glorious, and Kamal’s expressive depictions of both the physical and emotional elements of his cunting (as well as The Void) are spectacular. I’m practically speechless.
What Master Farid did to Kamal is not easy, especially upon deflowering, but Master Farid did manage to cunt Kamal on the first fuck. It makes me wonder if Master Farid has owned/used fags in the past. If he hasn’t, then Master Farid has an innate understanding of how a faggot is to be used and claimed! As I’ve said before, Alphas have these instincts … but they don’t always act on them.
I chuckled when Kamal described The Void perfectly. I wasn’t expecting that additional perspective, but Kamal’s entire journey into true faghood through cunting and voiding is one of the most complete documents I’ve ever read. It’s a masterpiece!
Fags, read it again and again. This can be the result if you act in honesty, faith, and courage! Straight Alphas are out there willing to own you and give you experiences like this. You’ll never know the satisfying completion of purpose that Kamal feels now unless you try!
To my dear Kamal, thank you for sharing this with me and for trusting me! I think you’re beautiful inside and out, and I can’t wait to hear more of your discoveries as your Master Farid trains you and takes you deeper into your submission!
hi! i want to know your thoughts on incest. is it acceptable if a father claims his son as a faggot? if so what age is acceptable to start.
Thank you for your question!
Let me preface this response by saying that, in general, it’s illegal in most countries and definitely considered to be morally wrong by most people. But I think you probably know this already.
But Hierarchy is Natural Law, so it doesn’t always conform to every man-made law of modern society.
Hierarchically-speaking, “incest” of the kind you mention is not necessarily wrong. Of course, the son should have some agency over himself and be old enough to understand and consent.
But once those conditions are met, the act of a father taking his faggot son as his own servant is an act of deep love and concern. No father wants his faggot son out in the world being bullied and harmed by careless Alphas. Better to take full ownership of him, train him, and prepare him to fulfill his purpose himself.
And I’m not speaking from an irresponsible or uninformed perspective. I’ve known multiple faggots who are owned (or have been owned) by their fathers, and in each case both the fathers and the sons were deeply fulfilled by embracing their roles with each other.
It may not suit me or most of my readers, but I’ve seen enough joy and fulfillment from these ones to know that this “taboo” element of hierarchy is valid. I’ll never disparage them or their choices.
Hello Sam. I’ve been following your page for ages and I recently saw you posted some interesting around alpha fathers and their submissive sons. It really resonated with me as I am proud to say I’ve been serving my alpha father for over 30 years. And yes it’s a very sexual and dominant relationship too in which he has so cunted me several times.
I know many people will say this type of dynamic with your biological father is wrong but I honestly believe it’s been the best relationship I’ve had. My dad as also known I was a faggot before I ever did – referring to me as one since I was a very young boy. Everything he has done has been to teach and guide me to accept who I am and that I was born a fag, submissive and that being those things is a beautiful part oh who I am.
Thank you very much for writing to me, brother!
I’ve covered this type of situation so often that it deserves its own chapter or two in my big book of hierarchy! Like cunting or Alpha latency, I think I’m the only one documenting and cataloguing this phenomenon of Alpha fathers claiming their faggot sons.
I know the topic is uncomfortable to many people, but there is something important this tells us about hierarchy. Ultimately, it shows that hierarchy is unsympathetic to any of the boundaries society tries to place on power. They simply don’t apply. An Alpha father sees his faggot son as property first and foremost, even before the natural bond a father has with his son. Obviously your father cares about you, and likely it was that love that motivated him to claim you (in order to protect you). I know many people will not see what your father did as “loving”, but I think they’re missing the larger issue of power that guides the lives of all Alphas.
Brother, I’d love to feature your story here if you’re willing to share it. If not, I understand. I do appreciate your willingness to add your unique testimony to this growing and controversial side of the hierarchical movement.
