The following post is part of a column written by a 40-something experienced faggot who calls himself “Mr. Fag”. CLICK HERE to read all of these posts in chronological order!

I spent a semester abroad in Italy the summer I finally understood what I was.

I was twenty-something, soft, eager, and quietly starving for something I didn’t have a name for yet. Near the end of term a very handsome 41-year-old man—recently divorced, taking a month in a little villa in the countryside—invited me to stay with him for a week. I said yes without hesitation.

When I stepped off the train and saw him waiting, the first thought that hit me was how beautiful he looked in the late-afternoon light. Handsome as the sun. I wasn’t scared. I was excited.

The second we were alone in the car he told me to get on my knees. He needed to cum. I did it right there, like a good fag, and swallowed every drop. That was only the appetizer.

After dinner and a shower the real week began. Every time his cock got hard—which was often—he used me. He’d be watching television and I’d lean over, get him hard with my mouth, then climb into his lap so he could push inside me. He decided early on that all of his cum belonged in my ass. No waste. No exceptions. By the end of each day I was carrying at least five of his loads inside me, sometimes more. Thick, heavy, leaking out of me whenever I stood or sat.

He was powerful—not cruel, not mean, just overflowing with power. He knew exactly what he wanted and he took it. Spit ran down my chin while I sucked him. Cum filled my hole until it was overflowing. Once a day he would stand over me in the bathroom or the garden and piss on me, warm and deliberate, marking me. I trusted him completely. I never flinched. I opened my mouth when he told me to, tilted my head back, and let it run down my chest and stomach. Spit, piss, and cum—every single day. And I enjoyed every single moment of it.

A couple of days in, something shifted. He had me on my back on the couch, legs folded open, driving into me with slow, heavy thrusts while the television murmured in the background. My little soft dick was bouncing uselessly against my stomach. Then the pressure inside me built past the point I could control. My whole body started shaking. My hole clenched hard around him. And without a single touch to my cock I began to cum—clear, helpless spurts pulsing out of my limp dick while he kept fucking me through it.

I looked up at him, dazed, still shaking. He looked down at me and something changed in his eyes.

It wasn’t just arousal. It was recognition. Pure, sudden alpha epiphany. He saw my body betraying itself for him—saw that his cock alone was enough to make a fag cum without permission—and the knowledge hit him like a drug. His thrusts got deeper, more possessive. He growled under his breath, almost laughing, and kept pounding me while I twitched and leaked, completely undone. From that moment on he knew exactly what he was. He started calling himself my alpha out loud, and I felt how true it was.

The rest of the week was the same pattern: his cock in my hole whenever he wanted it, load after load left inside me, the daily shower of his piss, the constant taste of his spit and cum. Every night after he’d finished he’d hold me, stroke my hair, tell me I’d done well. He was sweet about it. He took care of me because he knew I had given myself completely to his power.

Sunday came and I had to leave. He said a friend would drive me to the station. On the way the friend asked if I’d had a good time. I said yes, then admitted I was uncomfortable sitting.

“How so?”

I told him the truth about the week—the five loads a day, the piss, the way my hole stayed open and full, the way I came hands-free just from being used. He laughed, soft and knowing, and said, “Ti ha rotto il culo.” (“He broke your ass.”) Then he pulled over, parked on the side of the road, and told me to lean over. “That’s your job,” he said. I knew he was right. I opened my mouth and did it.

After he finished he didn’t let me sit back up right away. He kept one hand on the back of my neck, looking down at me while I wiped my mouth.

“You’re really a faggot,” he said, almost gently. “Look at you. With that culo rotto you’ll never go back. You’re a fag for the rest of your life now. You better get used to serving real men like us.”

He said it again when he started the engine, quieter this time, like he was simply confirming something obvious. And once more when he dropped me at the station, leaning out the window:

“Remember what I told you. You’re done pretending. Serve real men.”

I didn’t argue. I just nodded, still tasting him, still leaking the week’s worth of cum, and felt how true every word was.

When the summer ended and I was back home I understood something permanent: how right it felt to be a fag, and how much certain men enjoy the power of using one. That week in the Italian countryside became my private reference point. The secret I carry. And whenever I meet a man who recognizes what I am, it still works the same way.

I was cunted that summer. There was spit and piss and cum, and I loved every second of it. And it was fantastic.

Yours,  Mr. Fag

One of my proudest achievements with this site has been the description, naming, and categorization of CUNTING. When it happened to me the first time, I didn’t have any resources to fall back on to help me understand it. Once I finally did on this site, I was deluged by faggots asking me questions and sharing their experiences with it. Today, there simply is no other resource online that contains the wealth of information and real-life experiences than this site.

Mr. Fag’s experience shows just how powerful that experience can be! This was essentially his revelation, the moment he left whatever his life was before and embraced a new truth. It’s beautifully-written, but more importantly, it’s honest. I want all faggots to experience this transformation for themselves!

I also want Alphas to appreciate the power they have to enact this life-changing transformation in faggots. Armed with their Alpha cocks and their Alpha dominance, they are able to pound a new reality into a faggot and force a most dramatic transformation. It’s beautiful in many ways, most of all the fact that cunting cements real ownership for the life of the faggot.

There simply is nothing more powerful than the cunting of a faggot by an Alpha in all of hierarchy. It practically defines hierarchy. I hope every Alpha and every faggot can experience it for themselves!

The following post is part of a column written by a 40-something experienced faggot who calls himself “Mr. Fag”. CLICK HERE to read all of these posts in chronological order!

I’ve always advocated for the breeding of faggots. To me, there is simply no better way to reprogram a faggot’s mind and emphasize hierarchy than mounting and breeding them. I think most Alphas agree with this, particularly given that breeding is so intimately intertwined with their own dominance.

“Mr. Fag” wrote in with a nice meditation on the hierarchical significance of Alpha cum and breeding, and I completely concur with his sentiments:

Dear Sam,

I have been thinking carefully about what breeding means in an alpha/fag dynamic, and I want to share why it matters so much.

Breeding is not merely the physical act of filling a fag. It is the clearest expression of the hierarchy that defines the relationship. When an alpha breeds a fag, he claims him in the most absolute way possible — marking him as his, reinforcing that the fag’s body exists to take what the alpha gives. For the alpha it is the purest form of ownership and dominance. For the fag it is the purest form of surrender and purpose. The fag is not simply fucked; he is used for exactly what he is meant for.

There is deep psychological weight in the act. Every load the alpha deposits is a reminder that the fag’s hole belongs to him, that the fag’s role is to receive, to stay open, to carry the proof of the alpha’s control. It is not soft romance. It is raw, hierarchical, and intentional. Breeding turns sex into something both functional and ritualistic. It strips away the notion of equal mutual pleasure and replaces it with a clear purpose: the alpha takes, the fag takes it.

Breeding is a virtuous cycle. Each time the alpha fills the fag, the alpha is reminded of his power — the right and the drive to claim, to dominate, to assert what is his. At the same time the fag is reminded of his purpose in nature: to open, to receive, to serve as the vessel that makes that power real. The more the alpha breeds the fag, the clearer both truths become. The clearer those truths are felt, the stronger the urge to breed again. The cycle feeds itself, deepening the dynamic with every load.

That cycle is beautiful and powerful. There is nothing crude or shameful in it. It is the honest expression of hierarchy made flesh. Alphas should never be shy from this act. Holding back only weakens the structure both need. Breeding is how hierarchy is lived, how it is proven, how it is sustained. To withhold it is to deny both the clearest affirmation of what they are.

There is also what I call “the privilege of the cum.” Cum is not merely fluid; it is the medium through which hierarchy is transmitted and refined. When an alpha breeds a fag, the cum carries more than seed — it carries authority, presence, and intent. The alpha who breeds regularly becomes a better alpha: more decisive, more rooted in his power, less diluted by hesitation or softness. The fag who is bred regularly becomes a better fag: more open, more aligned with his purpose, more fully shaped by the loads he carries. Breeding does not just reinforce roles; it improves them. Each deposit elevates both participants within the dynamic. The privilege of the cum is that it creates stronger alphas and deeper fags — a mutual refinement that only the act of breeding can achieve.

Breeding keeps the dynamic honest. Without the deliberate act of filling and claiming, the roles can begin to feel performative or diluted. Breeding keeps them sharp. It reminds both that the relationship is not equal, that the fag’s place is under the alpha, and that the alpha’s place is to use the fag accordingly. The aftermath — the fag remaining full, walking around carrying the alpha — is as important as the act itself. It is a continuous, quiet reinforcement of the order that has been chosen.

Breeding should not be occasional or casual. It should be central. When an alpha breeds a fag he is not merely getting off — he is asserting what they are. And when the fag takes it, he is affirming the same thing. That is why it matters.

Yours, Mr. Fag

The following post is part of a column written by a 40-something experienced faggot who calls himself “Mr. Fag”. CLICK HERE to read all of these posts in chronological order!

Dear Sam,

This is Mr. Fag.  In the grand scheme of things of Alpha-fag dynamics, where raw dominance meets yielding surrender, one truth stands eternal: the limp cock is the fag’s crown.  Too many eager holes chase the illusion of hardness, thrusting their pathetic stubs forward like beggars at a feast.  Alphas recoil—and rightly so.  A fag’s cock, rigid and insistent, screams “equality,” shattering the sacred asymmetry of the room. Limpness? That is poetry. It is the visual hymn to your role: soft, dangling, and utterly irrelevant. Watch an Alpha’s eyes light up when your meat hangs slack, a silent vow that this hole is his altar, not a rival shaft.

Limpness isn’t mere optics—it’s physiological gospel for fag’s greedy guts. Pleasure should cascade from the hole upward, a prostate symphony that floods the fag’s system with bliss without demanding the crude machinery of an erection.

True ecstasy is found in the Sacred Circuit:

• The P-Spot Pulse: Anal stimulation hijacks the pudendal nerve, spiking dopamine and oxytocin.
• Blood Flow Prioritization: When the fag remains flaccid, their body directs blood flow to the internal erogenous zones rather than the superficial swell of the shaft.
• The Tension Trap: Forcing a boner chokes the pipeline. Tension builds in the corpora cavernosa, diverting neural energy away from your core and toward a distracting, masculine urgency.

Stay soft, and every thrust becomes a full-body wave. Fag’s glans will tingle passively, the balls will churn surplus seed, and the fag will remain an open vessel for hours rather than a ticking clock.

Alphas sense this instinctively. To them, a hard fag is a distraction—a mechanical competitor in a space that requires a vacuum. A limp one, however, is a pure invitation: “Ruin me, Sir.” It signals that the fag has successfully surrendered their own agency to prioritize his manhood.

We must cultivate this state. It is a discipline, not an accident.

1. Edging via the Rear: Practice solo with plugs, breathing through the urge to touch yourself.
2. Mirror Affirmations: Look at your softness. Recognize that the power is not in what stands up, but in what opens up.
3. Wellness through Yielding: Reduced erectile strain means healthier vessels and the elimination of the “refractory blues.”  The fag becomes an evergreen resource for Alpha’s pleasure.

Limpness isn’t weakness; it is the fag’s superpower. Embrace the hang, brothers. Let it swing free while the real work happens behind the scenes.

Respectfully,

Mr. Fag

I’m not sure what to make of this entry, brother. I tend to agree that Alphas hate seeing fags with hard dicks, but I believe fags should be caged rather than “flopping around”. That’s just my opinion, though.

~ sam the faggot

The following post is part of a column written by a 40-something experienced faggot who calls himself “Mr. Fag”. CLICK HERE to read all of these posts in chronological order!

My latest podcast episode involving true Alphas vs. fake Alphas (listen to this episode HERE) garnered more than the usual responses. I think there are more faggots and Alphas tired of the fake morons and pretenders than even I imagined.

But what is at the heart of this difference between true Alphas and the rest? My friend and fellow faggot Mr. Fag had a thought about what defines a true Alpha that helps to further clarify the difference I was trying to highlight in the podcast. Read on:

Hi Sam,

This is Mr. Fag. I was listening to your most recent podcast about “fake” alphas and couldn’t help but think about something fundamental that belongs to hierarchy as I know it: the Alpha’s manifestation.

Speaking from personal experience, an Alpha doesn’t wait for permission or hints. He simply manifests what he wants, when he wants it. This is the sun declaring its light; the satellite simply orbits accordingly.

It can be as direct as a commanding look across the room that pins you in place. Or words that cut through noise: a low “Come here” or “On your knees.” Sometimes it’s an invitation to touch his chest, thigh, or cock—making the ownership explicit in that moment. Yes, that too: the Alpha decides the fag is worthy to serve in that way right then.

The key is that the decision originates with him. While the fag shows availability to serve, it’s never the fag initiating. A fag has purpose, but the when, how, and if of that service is manifested by the Alpha. He owns the timing and the terms.

This one-way manifestation protects everyone involved. For the fag, it removes ambiguity and pressure—no guessing games, no fear of overstepping, no risk of rejection stinging because you never put yourself out there first. Showing yourself caged or willing to serve simply reveals the fag’s nature. Consent becomes clearer and cleaner: when an Alpha manifests desire directly, the fag can recognize it, respond with obedience, and feel held within the hierarchy. Boundaries are upheld because the Alpha sets the frame from the start.

For the Alpha, it preserves authority and prevents dilution of his dominance. He isn’t negotiating or chasing; he declares, and the natural order responds.

In my experience, the most intense scenes happen when this is crystal clear: the Alpha manifests, the fag recognizes and yields. No blurred lines, no role confusion—just hierarchy in motion.

I share this because I think it’s the mechanism that truly allows a fag to live himself. I’d value hearing more of your thoughts on this, Sam.

Respectfully,

Mr. Fag

I completely agree with Mr. Fag on this, of course. When it comes to true Alpha behavior, there can be no doubt that natural-born Alphas have an indefatigable confidence and commanding presence to get whatever they want from fags or any others. As Mr. Fag rightly points out, these kinds of Alphas don’t need to waste time and breath pursuing what they want or doing a lot of convincing … they simply exist, draw attention, and make simple commands loaded with the expectation of obedience.

It honestly seems so simple, but you can see how phony Alphas try too hard to achieve this effect and fail miserably. I do think the reason why I’ve been so successful with straight Alphas is because I recognized that trait early in my life (and I’m assuming Mr. Fag was the same way), which helped me make more accurate judgement calls about the Alphas I served.

And, as Mr. Fag correctly identifies, this genuine Alpha manifestation snaps every other part of the hierarchical order into place, allowing the rest to naturally assume their proper role. Much of this happens on a subconscious level, of course, but keen students of hierarchy can see this happening clearly and openly.

This Alpha manifestation is so serious that I’ve always taken it upon myself to teach Alphas these principles with plenty of worthy examples so that they might embrace it properly. It’s vital that Alphas understand their important role in hierarchy, how every action, glace, or command they choose has ripples of effect to the inferiors around them. It’s a huge responsibility, but true Alphas embrace that responsibility.

I thank Mr. Fag for taking the time to help unlock this fairly in-depth teaching! I there are more aspects of this particular subject to discuss, which we will do in further articles!

The following post is part of a column written by a 40-something experienced faggot who calls himself “Mr. Fag”. CLICK HERE to read all of these posts in chronological order!

Recently I’ve been receiving intelligent, post-like missives from a 40-something faggot who, like me, has experienced so much as a faggot that he’s formulated quite a few thoughts and theories on hierarchy. While I have yet to meet this faggot, his contributions are notable-enough to be pulled together into a column on the site. You can access all of them in the link above.

And before I start, I just want to give a little catty side-eye to the name the faggot gave himself. “Mr. Fag” sounds way too much like an oxymoron to be believed. However, I’m leaving it as is.

So after Mister Fag’s last well-received post about the Hierarchical Third Eye (CLICK HERE), he’s returned to discuss the important subject of self-actualization as a faggot.

Hi Sam,

This is Mr. Fag, the one who wrote you about the ability of Alphas recognizing fags. Building on my last note regarding the instinct of recognition—I want to be precise about the mechanics. After decades of navigating this, it has become clear to me that the height of an Alpha’s experience is entirely dependent on the quality of the man kneeling beneath him.

Being a faggot is not a lapse in character; it is a specialized calling. For those of us wired this way, it is the only path to total alignment. But the foundation of that alignment is a paradox: absolute self-command.

A seasoned faggot does not come to an Alpha as a broken thing seeking to be fixed. He arrives as a finished product. He owns his truth without apology. He maintains his body, his finances, and his mind with professional rigor—not out of ego, but because a high-performance engine requires a clean vessel. He builds himself up specifically so he has more to surrender. He hones his value so that when he offers it up, the sacrifice actually means something.

This isn’t submission born of weakness; it’s submission born of power. By embracing this role without the friction of shame, you hand an Alpha the ultimate gift: undiluted proof of his own gravity.

A real Alpha—a man truly at the top of the hierarchy—has no interest in a self-loathing mess. That is a liability, not a devotee. He wants the man who is confident in his inferiority. He wants the fag who can look him in the eye and articulate exactly why he belongs at his feet. When a self-respecting man drops to his knees and says, “Use me because you deserve it,” the Alpha’s superiority is no longer a theory—it becomes a lived reality. It is intoxicating because it is earned.

The dynamic is a virtuous cycle:

• Self-maintenance enables superior service.
• Superior service earns total dominance.
• Total dominance provides the clarity of subspace.
• Clarity reinforces the identity.

For the seasoned faggot, this isn’t a demotion. It is a mastery of place. We don’t fight nature; we facilitate it. We provide the mirror in which a true Alpha finally sees the full scale of his own power.

I’ve stopped looking for permission. I simply answer the calling. I thought this perspective on the “dignity of the depths” might interest you.

Respectfully,

Mr. Fag

I’ve often discussed (in sometimes brutal terms) the importance of faggots to maintain themselves to the best of their abilities for the very reason discussed above. I’m glad my brother articulated it so well.

Any truly high-quality Alpha with even a modicum of self-respect (and believe me, they have more than just a little of it) wants to be served by the highest-quality fags. After all, a faggot (like a female) decorates an Alpha’s life and is a reflection of his glory. Overweight, insecure, self-loathing abuse faggots are not owned by high-quality Alphas unless that fag has a lot of money (which is a rare combination).

So be honest with what you see in the mirror and what kind of Alpha you dream to serve. Start presenting yourself in a way that would make an Alpha proud to own you!

Thanks to “Mr. Fag” for this contribution!