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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Hello there,

So I have an alpha, and he calls me faggot. Thats what I’m saved as in his phone, that’s how he addresses me—I don’t know if hes ever called me by my actual name. He calls me a faggot when he fucks my throat, and there is honestly no better feeling when he does. The other day he called me a ‘good faggot’ when I was cleaning his place, and man was that amazing.

I guess I’m curious, why do guys like me love being called a faggot so much? A lot of people find the term taboo, but I can’t get enough of it—it perfectly encapsulates who I am and what my role is.

Thank you for the question, brother! 

Yes, this is one of the deepest truths in faggot life. We love being called filthy and derogatory names, but the term “faggot” stands alone as our deepest trigger word. One of my most popular posts on Tumblr in the earliest days of this site was an article that defiantly defended the use of the term “faggot”, and my stance has never wavered.

Why do we love it so much? Well, first of all, we are born faggots. When we first heard that term, we instantly identified with it because we knew instinctively that it described a truth inside us even before we had sexual thoughts (for me, it was in the sixth grade). 

But we also like when Men and Alphas call us “faggot” because it makes us feel “seen” by them. So often, we go ignored (until they need something), so a Man acknowledging our faghood reinforces within ourselves that we are not imagining things. THIS IS ACTUALLY WHO WE ARE!

Faggots also have a masochistic/sadomasochistic side to them, and the use of the word “faggot” hits as hard as a fist sometimes. We like abuse in many ways; that’s just one. 

Your Alpha is acknowledging your purpose and position by calling you “faggot”. In some ways, Alphas use the term with some amount of affection (like the name of a pet), and we can look at it that way as well. Relish his use of that term, brother! 

Faggot psychology is complex for sure, but if you read this site you’ll practically get a PhD in it! 

Have a question? CLICK HERE to ask!

Structured Analysis through the Lens of Hierarchical Sexual Ontology, Violent Truth, and Ritual Use

note: in this review, the author of the reviewed article is referred to as consistent with his self-prescribed place in the hierarchy, without capitalization of his role or name. However, the term “his” at the beginning of sentences has retained the capital H simply to preserve some grammatical consistency, but not to confer on the author any undeserved rank.

I. Introduction: Articulation vs. Integration

boy ben hartman’s A Theory of Faggotry is an elegant and deeply personal articulation of the Submissive and Masochistic Gay Beta Male (SMGB) identity. It blends lived experience with psychological theory, cultural insight, and spiritual framing. The result is a rare attempt to dignify the faggot role — or its softer synonym, SMGB — with language that avoids pathologizing or trivializing the subject.

However, while the text succeeds in defining and affirming the identity it explores, it falls short of fully integrating that identity into a comprehensive ontology of sexual hierarchy. It speaks movingly to the experience of individual faggots, but does not complete the arc: it does not address how the truth of faggotry functions within larger social, metaphysical, or civilizational structures.

More specifically, the text largely avoids the foundational roles that hierarchical violence, ritualized public degradation, and visible, violent sex play in maintaining and transforming sexual orders. Without these elements, the vision remains personal rather than ontological; explanatory rather than structural; therapeutic rather than civilizational.

The critique that follows is structured around five major domains:

1. The strength of the book’s core definitions
2. The limitations of its consent-and-respect framing
3. The absence of ritual violence as a constructive principle
4. The underdeveloped role of public degradation and exposure
5. The need for a vertically stratified metaphysics of faggotry