Midnight rapes happen all the time to faggots because Alphas know the truth about hierarchical purpose.
Put a hand over its mouth and force it to accept reality.
Its screams will someday become moans … but not the first night.
I already have something of an adversarial relationship with findom. I don’t like the laziness it engenders in faggots, and I don’t like the personal destruction of faggot lives from addiction to the scene.
Even more bothersome are the many findom accounts whose sole purpose seems to be a glorification of such faggot destruction. These cashmasters advertise themselves as sadistic manipulators who revel in the tears and zeroed bank accounts of desperate, poppered-up, findom-addicted faggots. I never understood how anyone could live life that way, regardless of how much money was involved.
Occasionally these sadistic cashmasters will finally snap under the weight of their own empty, shallow life course.
One of the more prominent cashmasters in that dark end of findom was @wealthdepleter, a gay cashmaster who goes by the name “Mr. J” who rejoiced over the destruction of faggot bank accounts and the desperation it caused them. I never liked his style, no did I care for his poor attitude when I DM’d him about issues faggots brought to my attention. He just seemed like a drag show version of some of the straight masters in the scene, a performance rather than something genuine.
But today, authenticity made a comeback! Cashmaster @wealthdepleter posted the following admission on his X account:
I’ll be honest
None of this sits right with my heart anymore.
I discovered findom 9 years ago, a time when I was heartbroken, closeted and desperate for money.
Being 19, having men throw hundreds, thousands of dollars at you, is exciting. What’s underneath it, isn’t. It’s two confused hearts that actually just want connection.
Whether it’s role play or not, whether it’s having a negative impact on a man’s life or not — sexualizing financial loss is a straight shot to poverty. Being behind a screen, it’s easy for my ego to brush it all off as if it’s not actually that bad or serious, or “who cares it’s consensual and they feel good doing it”.
All bullshit at the end of the day. I’m keeping men below their potential. And for me to be enabling that while they’re facing some sort of real life repercussion, be it severe or not, is a complete lack of morality.
I know folk will speculate on my sudden change of heart. It’s the least bit sudden. It’s been a dormant signal from my body I smothered for years for profit. I betrayed myself for years. It’s no coincidence I became an alcoholic shortly after my rise to “success”.
How could a heart that’s being directed to manipulate and lie to men about their self worth see connection?
It’s time to turn this page. Peace.
Such a magnificent, open-hearted statement of maturity and deep meditation! I loved reading those words from him, because between the lines any honest person can see the emptiness at the heart of findom. There is an ugly kind of hate one must have to be able to crush and demoralize another person simply to take their money from them. Can you hear that in his words?
I have come to understand and accept the hierarchical mechanisms at play in findom, but I have never been onboard with the methods and the degradation involved in it. Findom is ugly and needlessly destructive. It takes already-damaged people and punishes them until they’re left beyond hope. I can almost hear the cruel giggling of some of findom’s most notorious cashmasters, but that’s exactly the problem.
Thanks to findom, countless straight Alphas are being introduced to hierarchy. The smart ones eventually learn that findom is only one part of a larger and more meaningful aspect to their Alphahood.
Sadly, there are very few smart ones. The rest of them I wouldn’t pay a squirt of piss for.
I really hope the best for Mr. J. This bold first step can lead to a new outlook and exciting new directions to explore. Growth is always scary, but necessary.
But also, I hope his action will lead to others reforming how they conduct themselves, both cashmasters and faggots. There are things to learn about hierarchy through findom, but it should always be trending toward something positive, and I mean that on something more important than a bank balance.
Reading time: 3 min
Hierarchy 293 – Signaling
How signaling helps us hierarchically!
SITE: https://hierarchypodcast.com/hierarchy-293-signaling/
SPOTIFY: https://open.spotify.com/show/2TqhwaNl7kdcyZXK7YL5FV?si=1Trk3AbJTH6UWx1UVRYMrw
AMAZON: https://music.amazon.com/podcasts/b09c451b-5400-481c-b69e-85463cf2e84c/the-hierarchy-podcast
APPLE: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/the-hierarchy-podcast/id1778739988
Reading time: 1 min
A friend of the site named Nick sent me an email today with a link to a fascinating video about Male signaling and how it works within Hierarchy.
I loved it so much that I downloaded it and uploaded it here. It comes from a substack titled “Men Are Good”. The direct link can be found HERE.
So much of what he says is 100% accurate, and everything I’ve studied and preached about Male interaction within Hierarchy for my entire life, It’s always breathtaking to me to hear secular, “outside” scholars, sociologists, and sex therapists discuss Hierarchy in clean scientific terms!
Hierarchy is undeniable, folks. The more you fight it, the tighter its grip becomes!
Reading time: 1 min
I rarely dream about being in love.
My lifetime spent in service to Alphas has largely made the possibility of being in love an impossibility. I’ve certainly been in love with a couple of my Masters, straight Alphas who could never fully return my love. And I’ve had people in love with me, mostly girls to whom I could never return affection.
Thirty years of service to Men have passed since my heart first opened like a hopeful flower in my foolish youth. They have been years filled with the wonders of discovery, of purpose and discipline. Yet they remain like cold stone sculptures in the statuary garden of my life.
But occasionally my subconscious allows a sunrise of a dream of love to warm the concrete and grow the smothering ivy choking it.
A dream of being in love, it happened last night. I want to share it with you.
I was a proper English lad in the early 20th century, maybe between the World Wars. Like all proper boys of that time, I was dapper in my crisp white shirt, black tie, and black wool slacks.
Matching me almost exactly in dress was my Alpha, William. Ah, William! He of the chiseled jaw, the confident smile, the jet black hair slicked back, his sharp, dark eyes peering like an animal from beneath his low, shadowy brow.
We were on the third floor of a cavernous English mansion, seemingly alone and safe. William sat confidently on a tall bannister that stood guard against a precipitous drop to the ballroom floor below. And I was between his legs, my head in his lap.
His large, heavy hand gently stroked my head. I’d never felt such a breathless peace before. It was like being a boy at home, wrapped in a favorite blanket while held by Mom … except there was a sort of electrical excitement quivering beneath the surface. The whole world felt alive in that moment, simultaneously infinite and intimate, and endlessly possible.
William began humming, just random notes I think, but in them I heard a song.
Excitement overwhelmed me and I popped up with a huge, child-like grin, and kissed his surprised face right on his cheek. I began spinning in a dance across the dark hardwood floor, singing the lyrics to William’s tune as they arose from my heart.
With our love in bloom,
I’m singing a tune,
That could lead careless lovers off a cliff,
And if that bloom had a scent,
Of poisoned intent,
You’ll forgive me for taking a whiff.
My dance took to a third-floor balcony overlooking a stately garden courtyard. Encircling the rear of the house were a series of closely-arranged marble columns three stories high.
In my pure, fearless joy I leaped from the balcony to land precisely on the top of the nearest column. As William protested, I jumped again to the next column, except this one was covered in vines and topped with moss. I slipped slightly, and I nearly plunged to my death.
I lowered myself and laid on my stomach on top of the column, fear gripping me as I breathlessly gazed at the concrete below.
“Are you alright?” asked William. He had leaped right to me and was standing over me. I looked up and saw his shiny black dress shoe near my face.
My William is here to rescue me! Foolish me! I thought. I instantly felt completely safe … and completely ashamed.
I carefully crawled on my belly until I could properly reach his feet, and then I tenderly kissed his shoe with all of the gratitude I could express.
“Good boy,” said William. “Good boy.”
And then I woke up.
I’m not sure why I felt the need to share this with you all. Partly it’s for the sake of my own memory, since I don’t want to lose William’s nonexistent love.
But maybe I want to share it as a kind of warning. Being a faggot and living it properly can sometimes be like trying to find the treat in a maze that has no treats and all dead ends.
That sounds more hopeless than I intended, but it’s true. We are born to a life of service to Alphas who can love us like a favorite dog (which is itself a powerful love), but it’s not like being in love.
Our Masters will most likely never be in love with us. We were born disposable, stamped with an invisible sell-by date. Every dismissal, every passing year, every new wrinkle … they all add to the weight of that eventual reality.
I’m proud to be a faggot. I’m not sad about the purpose selected for me, nor regret my enthusiastic fulfillment of that purpose.
But aside from Baby Boy, I’ve never known truly reciprocal love in my adult life.
Except when my mind, in a flash of merciful sunlight, allows me a moment to dance in it.
Always,
sam the faggot
Reading time: 4 min
Reading time: 1 min
