Recently a top I’ve been seeing has been using breath control on me. At first this involved only pinching my nose shut while thrusting his cock down my throat or putting a rubber hood without a mouth opening over my head and then closing off the nose holes. Last night he put a plastic bag over my head while I was tied up and held it closed until I passed out. When I expressed alarm about this activity, he assured me that he was in control and even said that next time he would introduce me to garrotting. I’m nervous about this. The guy is a great top, and I want to go on seeing him, but how do I get him to stop this?

Brother, thank you for your question!

I was horrified to read what you wrote. Simply put: your life is in danger. I don’t care if this Alpha is a cardiologist with a Nobel prize in medicine – there is NO guarantees when you cause another person to lose oxygen, stop breathing, or pass out. The plastic bag on the head should’ve been the end of it, but he wants to keep experimenting. 

EDIT: a very experienced Alpha on the HU Discord named Master Hadrian added this important information:

Absolutely the right answer. There is NO safe way to do breath control, and the main danger isn’t, as most people assume, asphyxiation. That danger can be managed to some extent. The real danger is a heart attack—lack of oxygen caused your body to send erratic electrical signals to your heart, trying to get oxygen moving to your organs. If one of these random signals hits at the moment your heart should beat normally, the two signals can essentially cancel each other out and trigger ventricular fibrillation, which causes the heart to stop beating and just quiver in effectively—in laymen’s terms, you have a heart attack.

There are basically two types of heart attack. Atrial fibrillation is where you have chest pain, shortness of breath, etc—if you get treatment there’s a good chance you survive. Ventricular fibrillation is when you clutch your chest and drop dead. If a defibrillator is applied immediately, you’ve got maybe a 50% chance to surviving; if not survival rates can be as low as 2%. And you’ve only got a couple minutes to get defibrillated before it’s too late.

With garroting, there’s a host of other risks—damage to the windpipe, damage to the nerves in the neck, brain damage, damage to the spinal cord…

This ‘alpha’ is a fucking idiot

The answer needs to be the firmest possible “no”, and if he doesn’t accept that, then it needs to be “goodbye”. I don’t care if he’s Dr. Fucking Frankenstein and he reanimates dead people every single day – the answer needs to be NO.

Honestly, your refusal is as much a protection for HIM as it is for you. By refusing, you’re preventing him from any chance of becoming a murderer. 

I cannot stress this enough. Your life is in danger. Take action immediately. 

Love,

sam the faggot 

Have a question? CLICK HERE to ask!

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📸 Full pics + 3️⃣:3️⃣2️⃣ minute full video of punishment + full detailed story on JFF:
👉 JustFor.Fans/ZackDeclan

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Yesterday was day 464 of being locked in chastity under Sir Declan’s control (Locktober day 2).

Last night started off like the perfect kind of evening you imagine in your head but never think will actually happen. Sir had already texted me earlier in the day telling me to show up at the gym. As soon as I walked in, his eyes told me everything: this wasn’t going to be a “regular” workout. Between sets he’d whisper in my ear, “I’m going to make your body better for me. Stronger, tighter, more useful. You’re mine to build.” Each word was like a pulse down my spine, a mix of fear and excitement.

After we left the gym, we came home. I immediately started preparing dinner after my shower exactly as he’d instructed earlier in the day. I had all the ingredients laid out; I knew the timing had to be perfect. He likes things a certain way: his plate built just right, sauces in the correct order, and the tray neat so he can eat from the couch. I didn’t even make my own plate at first. Instead, I knelt at his feet, rubbing his arches, running my thumbs over the tension in his heels while he ate.

Halfway through his meal he looked down at me, smiled, and said quietly but firmly, “Go get your food.” I got up and made my own plate, but instead of joining him on the couch, I had to sit on the floor at the coffee table, back turned to him, eating like a servant while he ate like a king. I could hear him breathing, feel the weight of his gaze on me.

We started a movie and for a few minutes I felt that rare softness; he let me curl up next to him, his arms around me, his hand lazily resting on my locked cock through my shorts. But I know him well enough to recognize when that softness changes. His body language shifted. His grip tightened.

He stood up and without raising his voice said in that low, unmistakable tone, “FOLLOW ME!”
As we got in the bedroom, he said:
“Hands over the cage now.” My stomach dropped. I knew what was coming.

The cage already sitting there like a silent threat. I raised my arms. He grabbed my left wrist and clicked the cuff to the top bar of the cage, then my right wrist to the other side. Cold metal. No movement. My body completely exposed.

Then came the first strike of the paddle. Not hard enough to break skin but hard enough to sting and echo in the room. He paused, reached for the permanent marker, uncapped it with his teeth, and began writing across my back in thick black letters: “Owned by Declan.” The ink felt cool at first, then hot as my skin burned from the paddle.

By the time he was done, my ass was bright red, my back a billboard with his name across it, my cock locked and throbbing, collar snug against my throat. He left me like that, wrists chained, ass stinging, for a good 30 to 45 minutes. I could hear him moving around, watching TV in the next room. Every so often he’d come back, rub my ass with his palm, slide his fingers into my mouth and say, “I love you, babe,” before disappearing again. Each time was a tease, a reminder of both his affection and his control.

When he finally released me, he didn’t send me away. He pulled me to the couch, had me lie on my stomach with my head on his lap so he could stroke my hair while watching more TV. My red, sore ass was on display the whole time. His other hand lazily rested on my back where his name was still written, fingers tracing the letters like he was reading them silently.

This is the reality behind the photos and the stories. This is the mix of discipline, service, and care that makes me his.

Hope you enjoy, comment and tell me what you think.

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📸 Full pics + 3️⃣:3️⃣2️⃣ minute full video + full detailed story on JFF:
👉 JustFor.Fans/ZackDeclan

⬆️⬆️⬆️⬆️⬆️⬆️⬆️⬆️⬆️⬆️⬆️

This is the same faggot that asked about sadistic Masters. Is there a place for impact play and those more sadistic sides on bdsm? I understand that pain for the sake of seeing a faggot suffer isn’t healthy. Or are faggots, in your opinion, for rough sexual use, domestic service, financial service, and humiliation only?

Thanks for the follow-up question, brother.

Yes, of course there’s a place for rough impact play. There’s a place for everything in Hierarchy. A faggot is supposed to be whatever an Alpha wants it to be, so everything depends on what the Alpha desires. There are lots of Alphas into abusing faggots, there are plenty of Alphas who want to protect faggots. It runs the gamut. 

Have a question? CLICK HERE to ask!

Hi brother sam. this faggot was wondering if you had thoughts about the relationship between The Hierachy and the gay/bi traditional leather and BDSM community.

the faggot has tried since it was in its early 20s to connect with these places to try to find the hierarchical connection it knew it needed but it always left so discouraged and confused

All these prissy old men going and on about how things used to be in bars in the 70s and lecturing it about how they should have some role in vetting who is owning and controlling it

All this obsession with textiles of all things, as if leather as a material has anything to do with power or authority or intimidation or fear or violence or control, it’s just a material. i mean i get why bikers and vets in the 70s were Alpha for sure They were, but now? It’s just weird, and they’re so sanctimonious about it

And pretty much every in person space is like this, traditional leather dominated, with some minor adjuncts dedicated to… other textiles, like rubber, which again, what does this have to do with power and authority, or props!

And yeah, the tools for sure are clearly related to authority and control and power and violence. But they’re treated like toys in some kind of game

the faggot just doesn’t get it. it has never felt at home. But it so wants to have and be in a community where it can be its inferior self and be around Superiors openly. And traditional leather just doesn’t feel like it! Or maybe it is and the faggot is just overthinking and being too sensitive? it knows its broken scattered fag brain does that without a Male mind to keep in in order.

it is going to Mid Atlantic Leather or MAL this weekend, which for your readers after International Male Leather IML is the largest gay BDSM event in the US, hoping to have some chances to connect with Men that may want it to serve Them, but it feels unsure how to approach the event and community when there is such a disconnect between how the betas there think about things and the truth of the Hierarchy

the faggot wonders if in your experience and in the huge range of letters and experiences you get from your readers whether you had any perspective or views on how believers in the truth can interact with people in these spaces and get the most out of it to develop their best authentic inferior fag selves

Thank you brother sam i love you

Thank you so much for your letter. Believe me, I share many of your thoughts.

I have ALWAYS felt that the leather scene is idiotic. It’s a bunch of guys wearing gear like costumes and playing roles rather than BEING WHAT THEY ARE. The other part that really bothers me about the leather scene are the Masters/Doms/Daddies in their stupid leather vest harnesses. I my experience, these “Daddies” are extremely gay, almost swishy guys who get stuff shoved up their asses about as much as their bottoms. 

A lot of these creeps come from the corrosive, hedonistic scene of the 70s-90s where there was a lot of drug-induced flip-fucking going on. 

In my view, the leather scene is just like the furries and all of that other stupid role-playing shit. It means nothing, it fulfills nothing of any meaning.

That’s why I teach pure Hierarchy. What I teach is not a game; it’s real life. When people plug into Hierarchy, it changes their lives. No leather costume will ever do that.  

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