Hello, I am new-ish to your page and site. I am a 23 year old sub. In the past year or so, I have been craving the ideas of being a cuck and being exposed to my friends, exes, and men in my family. I love humiliating and the idea of the people I love knowing that I am a complete beta male whose only purpose is to serve Alpha men. But deeper than that, I feel like I deserve this life, I deserve to be exposed and ruined. My question for you is how do I go about this? I have tried previously to message them and have always chickened out.
Thank you for writing!
Well, first of all, you’re not a beta male. You’re a faggot. This is an important distinction. You’re resisting calling yourself that, which is odd given that you like humiliation. But before anything else, you need to admit that and be able to express that openly.
As for the rest: stop chickening out. Embrace what you are and you become fearless. There are plenty of ways to do this, but first things first. You need to develop inner courage.
Declan came home and saw my chores weren’t done. That was all it took.
No yelling. No discussion. Just calm, firm control. I was corrected, and when I came back in, he detained me.
Hooded. Shackled. Lifted and locked helpless inside the cage while he went about his night like nothing was wrong. Total power. Total calm. Total ownership.
What happened next and how the night ended shows the real total power exchange.
Our lives are often completely normal at times, just a real boyfriend relationship. But that can change quickly, and I’m reminded exactly where I belong.
We film as much as we can, but this isn’t pretend or role-play. This is real life for us.
What you’re seeing is genuinely how we live.
🔥 A lot of detailed stories + many videos + pics on our JFF.
Full story + 1️⃣ hour video on our JFF This isn’t fantasy. This is our real life.
Locktober Day 21 (October 21) Day 482 locked in chastity
It’s Hump Day… and I’m still locked, still obeying, still owned and controlled by Declan.
Last night, Declan and I decided to unwind a little, just the two of us, a few edibles, and Mamma Mia 2. Yeah, I know… but trust me, watching that while high was next level. The colours, the music, the warmth of his body beside me, everything felt amplified.
I was curled up next to him, wearing nothing but my collar and boxers. Declan was lounging back, one arm resting behind his head, the other idly tracing the outline of his cock through his shorts. His way of reminding me that even when we’re relaxed… he’s still in control.
Just after midnight, he suddenly said,
“Hand me your iPad.”
I didn’t even think twice. I passed it over, eyes still glued to the movie. About twenty minutes later, there’s a knock at the door. It startled me a little, it was late, and I wasn’t expecting anyone. Declan didn’t move, just smirked.
“Go get that.”
So I got up, bare chest, collared, messy hair, and opened the door. A delivery guy stood there holding a massive McDonald’s bag. He looked me up and down slowly and smiled.
“Here you go, sexy.”
I froze. My face went hot.
Before I could even respond, my iPad buzzed with a message:
“My number in case you ever want it 😉”
Then the order closed out.
I turned back to Declan, still standing in the doorway in nothing but my boxers, and asked,
“Did you order this?”
He nodded, grinning.
“Yeah. Go plate it for me.”
I carried everything to the kitchen, the smell of fries and burgers filling the air and started arranging the food on plates. Declan always eats like a king, and I love making it perfect for him.
When I brought it over, I instinctively sat down next to him to eat, but he shook his head slowly and tapped the floor.
“No, babe. On your knees. I want you cockwarming me while I eat.”
I felt that familiar rush of heat shoot through my body, half fear, half desire.
If you’ve never experienced it… cockwarming is when you hold your partner’s cock in your mouth or hole, completely still. No sucking, no movement, no pleasure for yourself. Just serving. Just being there, his.
I knelt in front of him, hands behind my back, opened my mouth, and he guided his soft cock between my lips. No motion, just stillness. His scent. The weight. The quiet control.
He ate in total silence while I knelt there, drooling around his cock, staying perfectly still. His cock would grow and shrink and I continuously gagged from the movements. The movie kept playing, music, laughter, colours dancing on the screen but all I could hear was his chewing, the occasional swallow, and my own heartbeat in my ears.
When he finished eating, he placed his plate aside and leaned back. His hand slid to the back of my head and his cock started to thicken, pulsing between my lips.
Without warning, he pushed deeper, down my throat. My reflexes kicked in and my hands moved forward, trying to balance.
“DID I SAY TO MOVE?!?”
I froze instantly. Hands went back behind my back, posture straightened, and I let him take full control.
He began to thrust deep, hard, slow strokes that made my eyes water. He watched the movie while using my throat, keeping that same calm expression, like I was just another part of his night. And then, with a low groan, he came hard, shot after shot flooding down my throat while I swallowed every drop.
When he finished, he let go of my head, leaned back, and said quietly:
“Go get me a drink. Then you may eat.”
I stood, wiped my mouth, brought him his drink, and only then did I grab my plate of cold fries and burger with no ketchup or anything on it.
That’s life as his. No complaints. Just service. Love my man. Love his cock. Wish I could use mine. 🍌💦
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.
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.
If you want the full humiliation, the behind-the-scenes footage, and the stories that don’t make it here, join us on JFF. You’ll see everything up close. 🔑 JustFor.Fans/ZackDeclan
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) ——————————
If you want the full humiliation, the behind-the-scenes footage, and the stories that don’t make it here, join us on JFF. You’ll see everything up close. 🔑
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!
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:
The strength of the book’s core definitions
The limitations of its consent-and-respect framing
The absence of ritual violence as a constructive principle
The underdeveloped role of public degradation and exposure
The need for a vertically stratified metaphysics of faggotry
