For the sake of preservation, this thread endeavors to recreate the legendary Tumblr blog str8guys4fags2serve. Written by a young God Alpha named “Jake”, its bluntly honest revelations form the bedrock of Hierarchical truth found on this website and all others. I thank Master Jake for sharing his wisdom. This thread is a tribute to you, Sir. CLICK HERE for all of these posts in chronological order!

Things fell into place as Casa Bill quickly.  Without even prompting from me. Bill started to do our laundry.  Mike was something of an exhibitionist (and with a body like that, why not) and would shuck off his clothes upon entering the  house (sometimes even in the yard), leaving a string of his clothing on the floor as he made his way through the place to his bedroom or the pool or the TV room.  Bill would follow in his wake, picking up his stuff and taking it to the laundry room (and I suspect grabbing a sniff or two of Mike’s sweaty, cum-stained jock).  We would find our laundry clean and ironed and neatly folded and put away.

Maybe Bill did the laundry in order to encourage Mike to go naked.  Bill would simply stare at the boy-god for hours as Mike watch TV, played Wii. or heaven forbid, studied.  (Mike had a fag on campus who attended classes for him and did his assignments, and on occasion took tests for him, so he easily maintained eligibility.)

Bill also started cooking our meals – no easy feat, since Mike must have eaten maybe 30,000 calories a day ( an exaggeration, but not by much).  Bill always had something tempting to eat. 

Bill complained to me that with Mike using his car to get to campus, he (Bill) was having a tough time getting into town to work.  I told Bill that was not my problem and that he was smart enough to find a solution on his own.  So Bill bought Mike a new Toyota.  I told Bill that that car was not suitable for a Man like Mike.  Bill agreed, and so Bill kept the Toyota and Mike kept the BMW. 

After a couple weeks Bill was riding my cock pretty regularly, and Mike was fucking Bill’s ass once or twice a day to boot.  That’s when I brought this guy Kyle, who was on the swim team home.  I told Bill that Kyle would be taking the third bedroom. 

“That’s my room,” Bill said.

“Not anymore.”

“Where am I going to sleep,” Bill asked.  “How about I move back into your room with you?”

I simply stared at him, giving the bitch one of those you’ve-got-to-be-kidding looks.  We walked through the house until I spotted the front hall closet.  “Empty this out and put your stuff in there,” I ordered.  “This is where you live now.” 

The closet wasn’t big enough for Bill even to lay down a mattress and eventually, we went to Costco and got him one of those doggie beds for him to curl up in. 

And that closet became the place where we stored Bill when he was not in use for the rest of the time that we lived there.  It took some mind-fucking to get Bill to understand that the closet was his storage space, but in the end, Bill knew where he stood.

For the sake of preservation, this thread endeavors to recreate the legendary Tumblr blog str8guys4fags2serve. Written by a young God Alpha named “Jake”, its bluntly honest revelations form the bedrock of Hierarchical truth found on this website and all others. I thank Master Jake for sharing his wisdom. This thread is a tribute to you, Sir. CLICK HERE for all of these posts in chronological order!

Bill and I left Starbucks and I followed him home.  His place was about 10-15 minutes off campus, on a couple acres of wooded land – which proved to be convenient.  The house was a three bedroom ranch house, with  a nice in-ground pool in the back.  The pool was surrounded by a really nice patio.  And there was a pool house with a toilet, shower and kitchen behind the pool, backing up to the woods. 

Bill showed me through the house:  the living room, the kitchen, the little gym in the basement, and all three bedrooms (each with their own bath) until finally, the Master bedroom, which was huge, with large sliding glass doors opening to the pool deck and the pool. 

“This will do just fine for me,” I said.

“This is my room,” Bill responded.

I just stared at him.  He squirmed uncomfortably for a minute of so and then  said, “of course, I want you to be comfortable here, Jake.”

I said nothing, because, of course, I was going to have what I wanted and he needed to learn that.  I walked down the hall to the smallest of the three bedrooms (and conveniently, the farthest from mine) and said, “clean out your closet and move your stuff into here.”  And portentously (although Bill did not at that time catch my drift), “that will work for now.”

The next day, I ran into my buddy Mike at the gym at the athletic center.  Mike plays center field.  Mike is about 6’4″, maybe 240 lbs of solid muscle.  While I am firm and wiry, Mike looks like an anatomy text book – every muscle defined.  Mike is fucking unreal.  Mike also is gay, a total top (although he loves to suck my dick and for me to fuck him up the ass).  And Mike is kinky as they come.  I told Mike about my new living arrangement and suggested he come out to take a look and see if it would work for him. 

Bill just about creamed his pants when he first saw Mike, since Mike was dressed in a pair of shorts that were maybe two sizes too small, his thighs threatening to burst the seams of his shorts and his junk on display.  Mike was wearing a sleeveless Under Armour tee short that looked like it had been painted on.  And sandals.  (Mike has really beautiful feet, and we later learned that Bill was a foot man of the first order.)  Bill followed us as I showed Mike around the place as if I owned it.   Bill’s eyes never left Mike and to say that he was aroused is an understatement. 

I explained (didn’t ask) that Mike was looking around to see if the place would be suitable for him to live in.  While Mike was inspecting the house and pool, Bill said to me that he wasn’t going to pay Mike $200 a month to live here.  “No problem,” I agreed.  “But Mike will need transportation to campus, so he’ll need to use your Beamer..”  Bill just gulped, but to his credit, said nothing.  The bitch was learning fast.

Mike declared the second bedroom suitable, and I told Bill to drive Mike back to the dorm to pick up his stuff.  Bill readily agreed.

For the sake of preservation, this thread endeavors to recreate the legendary Tumblr blog str8guys4fags2serve. Written by a young God Alpha named “Jake”, its bluntly honest revelations form the bedrock of Hierarchical truth found on this website and all others. I thank Master Jake for sharing his wisdom. This thread is a tribute to you, Sir. CLICK HERE for all of these posts in chronological order!

By the end of my sophomore year at college I had about reached my limits on dormitory living, even though I had moved into the “Jock Dorm” with all the “privileges” and “benefits” that that was supposed to have provided.  Fortunately, only football and basketball players HAD to live in the jock dorm.  Those of us who played so-called “lesser” sports (like baseball – gimme a break) did not have to live in the jock dorm.  (Professor Fag’s place was out because I also was fucking Mrs. Professor Fag regularly and even though each of them knew I was doing the other, it just would have been too awkward; not to mention exhausting and demanding – they both were such needy bitches.)  

So a couple of months before the end of the school year I started looking for a place to live off campus. I checked out an on-line ad (Craigs List, I think) of this guy who was offering to rent out a room in his house close to campus.  We met at a Starbucks and I could tell immediately that the dude was a total fag. (The dude was totally staring at the crotch of my shorts as I made my way slowly across Starbucks to where he was sitting.)  We chatted up and he quickly (too quickly, really) offered to take me in.  After all the arrangements were made, I finally said, “You know, we haven’t talked about how much.”  He (the fag’s name was Bill) thought for a while and said, “how about $150 a month?  How does that sound?” 

“Well, no,” I said.  “I was thinking that you should be paying me at least $200 a month.”  Bill stared at me, saying nothing, his mouth quivering, but no sounds emerging.  After about a minute or so of that, I stood up and started to walk away.  “I guess you’re not interested,” I said. 

“Oh, no,” Bill quickly recovered.  “$200 a month will be fine.”

“And, you’ll want to wash my car once a week” I piled on. 

“Yes, of course.”  Bill was licking his lips – literally.

I moved in that afternoon.  By the end of the week, I had invited a couple of my buddies on the baseball team to move in too.  Bill didn’t know it yet, but his life was about to be amazingly transformed.

For the sake of preservation, this thread endeavors to recreate the legendary Tumblr blog str8guys4fags2serve. Written by a young God Alpha named “Jake”, its bluntly honest revelations form the bedrock of Hierarchical truth found on this website and all others. I thank Master Jake for sharing his wisdom. This thread is a tribute to you, Sir. CLICK HERE for all of these posts in chronological order!

In two words:  “Not much.” 

Fag Rich has not gotten with the program.  It’s been only a couple of days and the bitch is complaining that he is horny.  I explained to Rich that that is the whole purpose of putting him in chastity – for him to understand that his horniness is of no consequence and that eventually he needs to learn that his life is not about satisfying his horniness, but rather it is about him satisfying mine.  Ultimately, his horniness will be transferred from his cock to his hole.  Once that happens, he will be pleased to know that he will be able to satisfy his horniness by satisfying mine.

He says that he resents having to sit to pee.  I reminded him that only real men stand when they piss.  He needs to get used to it, because even when the chastity device comes off – if it ever comes off – he will sit to piss.

In desperation, he complained about the metal cock cage and asked if he could have one of those all plastic ones.  I said hygiene was difficult if not impossible with the all plastic ones and that I didn’t want a fag hanging around who smelled like a sewer.  He said that he traveled a lot for work and the metal cage would give him trouble at airport security.  I said; “How is that my problem?”   Fag Rich is only beginning to get the picture.

For the sake of preservation, this thread endeavors to recreate the legendary Tumblr blog str8guys4fags2serve. Written by a young God Alpha named “Jake”, its bluntly honest revelations form the bedrock of Hierarchical truth found on this website and all others. I thank Master Jake for sharing his wisdom. This thread is a tribute to you, Sir. CLICK HERE for all of these posts in chronological order!

My fag Rich is starting to become troublesome.  This is part of the reason, as I explained below, I like to deal with one fag at a time.  My main fag, Josiah, is easy.  He’s compliant, content with his station in life, anxious to please, yet he understands that he needs to stay out of the way and let me live my life.  Josiah understands that his purpose for living is to serve real men, and he is gratified beyond belief that I have given him that opportunity to find purpose and meaning in his life.

fag Rich, on the other hand, thinks he’s one of the guys.  Saturday night Rich wanted to go to this hot club downtown, where he always gets past the doorman.  We’ve gone there once before, and like that time, Rich and I picked up a couple of girls and took them back to Rich’s place.  Once again, Rich was unable to completely satisfy the lady and I had to follow through with his chick after satisfying my own lady.  Not only do I resent having to finish up for him, but i find his attitude disrespectful. 

Rich needs to understand that he is not my friend or buddy or even my wingman; that he is my fag.  That his purpose is to serve me.  I am not here to help him pick up ladies – and I def am not here to finish up with the ladies for him.  The problem is that Rich still thinks of himself as a sexual being.  And so I have decided to put the bitch in chastity until he learns that his primary sex organ is his asshole (and sometimes his throat) and not his little dick.  My sense is that Rich is a slow learner and is likely to be in chastity for a while.

For the sake of preservation, this thread endeavors to recreate the legendary Tumblr blog str8guys4fags2serve. Written by a young God Alpha named “Jake”, its bluntly honest revelations form the bedrock of Hierarchical truth found on this website and all others. I thank Master Jake for sharing his wisdom. This thread is a tribute to you, Sir. CLICK HERE for all of these posts in chronological order!

Less is more, they say, but sometimes less is too much.  Often a bit of clothing, carefully thought out, is far sexier than going naked.  And often far more revealing as well:  the hint of public hair above a low slung swimsuit (or sometimes, even more interesting, the hint of shaved pubes); the garment tailored to cling, to outline, and to accentuate what is covered.  A few examples below.

I love dressing to impress.  My dick gets hard when some chick – or guy – catches her or his breath when I walk into a room and they notice that I am, er, “noticeable.”

BTW, the quote is from Shakespeare. 

For the sake of preservation, this thread endeavors to recreate the legendary Tumblr blog str8guys4fags2serve. Written by a young God Alpha named “Jake”, its bluntly honest revelations form the bedrock of Hierarchical truth found on this website and all others. I thank Master Jake for sharing his wisdom. This thread is a tribute to you, Sir. CLICK HERE for all of these posts in chronological order!

Josiah, my current fag, in whose luxury apartment I currently am living asked me yesterday what i thought about the idea of his providing me with a weekly tribute of a set amount.  Josiah didn’t propose an amount.  He said – and I believe it – that he would pay any amount that I thought appropriate.  The problem is that I don’t think any amount for a fixed, weekly tribute is appropriate.

Don’t get me wrong.  I’m not above bleeding a fag financially.  I’m not above bleeding a fag into bankruptcy.  And I don’t think bankruptcy is an imminent problem for Josiah and I’m certainly not above taking things from him.  He’s really a generous soul.  He’s already “graciously” given me the  master bedroom and has redecorated the apartment to my liking.  He sent me and my girlfriend Taylor to Paris on a first class weekend trip.  He’s given me a ridiculously expensive Rolex watch and expensive clothes, gym memberships and the like.  He’s upgraded my Boxter (a gift of my fag while I was in  high school, Walter) to a 9-11 turbo.  I have an American Express Black Card and a Visa Signature card, both essentially with unlimited spending authority, that are in my name but billed directly to Josiah.

My problem with the weekly tribute of a fixed amount is that that takes the fag off the hook.  He gets the idea in his head that that is all he needs to do to keep me happy.  A fag should never be that “at ease.”  He should always be wondering if he is doing enough, if there is anything else (or more) he might do.  A fag should always be in fear that he is not pleasing me enough, that he cannot please me enough.  This goes not only to the quality of the blow job, but also to the sufficiency of the tribute. 

For the sake of preservation, this thread endeavors to recreate the legendary Tumblr blog str8guys4fags2serve. Written by a young God Alpha named “Jake”, its bluntly honest revelations form the bedrock of Hierarchical truth found on this website and all others. I thank Master Jake for sharing his wisdom. This thread is a tribute to you, Sir. CLICK HERE for all of these posts in chronological order!

After a couple of sessions at Professor fag’s house, I became aware that he was not living alone in that house – that in fact a woman was living in that house.  So I asked:  “where’s your wife, fag?”  It was a lucky guess.  He acknowledged that he was married and that his wife was away on a business trip. 

A few days later, I met Mrs. Professor fag, although I didn’t know at the time that the lady was his wife.  I was in the college finance office inquiring about how my athletic scholarship was being credited and I was being helped by this totally hot woman in the accounting department.  She was hot and so, of course, I was flirting.  She was flirting back.  After we got my finances squared away, I invited her to coffee at the student center.  She agreed, and we continued our flirting there.  One thing led to another, and then the discussion centered on where.  I suggested the dorm.  She asked if I had a roommate.  I said I did.  She suggested we go to her place, and I agreed.  Her car was closer so she drove, and fuck if she didn’t drive straight to Professor fag’s place. 

I was both amused and aroused; amused by the coincidence, aroused by the possibility that I would be fucking her in the same bed in which I had fucked her husband only two nights before. 

I was not concerned that Professor fag would discover us, since I knew he had office hours that afternoon and that he was expecting me to stop by his office to let him give me a blow job.  I knew the fag would wait a reasonable (even an unreasonable) time for me to show up and let him at my dick. 

And so I did fuck the lady on her husband’s bed.  It was a glorious fuck.  There was lots of foreplay.  I spent a long time eating out her pussy.  After her second orgasm she shrieked “Oh my God!  I never knew it could be like that.” 

Afterwards, I went straight to Professor fag’s office.  He went down on my cock almost the second I walked into his office and never noticed that the dick he was sucking voraciously was redolent with the odor of his wife’s pussy.  Somehow I was not surprised by this.

For the sake of preservation, this thread endeavors to recreate the legendary Tumblr blog str8guys4fags2serve. Written by a young God Alpha named “Jake”, its bluntly honest revelations form the bedrock of Hierarchical truth found on this website and all others. I thank Master Jake for sharing his wisdom. This thread is a tribute to you, Sir. CLICK HERE for all of these posts in chronological order!

Ah Paris!  My first visit was fucking awesome.

Taylor’s girlfriend Marie Claire also is a fashion model – actually a runway model – which is kind of a highly stylized bitch, kind of like a human greyhound.  She’s gorgeous, but horny as fuck.  She married this French aristocrat fag, maybe 25 years her senior.  Before their wedding weekend was over, I had them both. 

On Friday, the day of our arrival, we checked into our grand suite in our hotel and I spent the afternoon boning the very-luscious Taylor.  I had her in the luxurious, super-king-sized bed, on the floor in the living room of our suite, and in the bath.  Then we rested up, slept a little, Taylor nursed on my cock.  Then about 8:00 pm, we dressed and met the bride and groom to be for dinner – the four of us: Taylor and me and Marie Claire and her husband to be, Jean Claude.  I knew instantly, that Jean Claude was a fag. He quickly proved my instinct correct.  Taylor and Marie Claire “repaired” to the ladies’ room to freshen up, and I suspect, catch up on the fashion industry gossip before dinner.  I decided to head to the Mens Room to wash up and Jean Claude was right behind me.  Once in the Mens Room, he slipped to his knees and without saying a word reached for the fly of my pants with this pleading look in his eye.  I nodded.  Jean Claude unzipped me and instantly, his nose was pressed against my pubes and his throat was massaging my cock.  I let the fag work some for that first load.  Later in the evening, after dinner, and before the brandy and cigars, he got a second load up is tight little aristocratic ass – in the same Mens Room.

Saturday was wedding day, and Taylor and I showed up at the hotel where the wedding too place plenty early.  We were milling with the crowd at a cocktail reception prior to the ceremony when I slipped away to find the toilet.  Walking down the hall, a door to a room opened and a young woman (who I later learned was one of the bridesmaids) stepped out on some errand.  Through the open door, I could see the bride to be Marie Claire, who beckoned me in.  “Quick,” she said as she lay back on a couch and lifted her elaborate wedding gown.  She pulled me down on her and eagerly unzipped me and grabbed my cock and guided it into her cunt (as if I didn’t know where to put it).  She wasn’t even wearing panties or a g-string or any underwear.

I swear, as she walked down the aisle not 15 minutes later, a spot of my cum was visible on the front of her wedding gown. 

The bride and groom were warm hosts at the post-ceremony dinner.  They each separately and together invited Taylor and me back to spend some time with them this summer at their villa in the South of France.  I’ll be looking forward to that.

For the sake of preservation, this thread endeavors to recreate the legendary Tumblr blog str8guys4fags2serve. Written by a young God Alpha named “Jake”, its bluntly honest revelations form the bedrock of Hierarchical truth found on this website and all others. I thank Master Jake for sharing his wisdom. This thread is a tribute to you, Sir. CLICK HERE for all of these posts in chronological order!

This is the weekend I am taking the gorgeous fashion model Taylor to Paris for her girl friend’s wedding courtesy of my current fag Josiah.  (See entry entitled My Current Fag, below).  While lapping a load of my precious jizz out of Taylor’s cunt, Josiah overheard her talking about wanting to go to her friend’s wedding.  Josiah offered to pay for the trip.  So he’s arranged round trip first class air fare for the two of us., a car and driver while we are in Paris and a suite at the Ritz.  He also bought me a custom tux (my third). We also swung by Armani last week for a couple of casual outfits (slacks, sport coats, awesome shirts).  While I already have a couple credit cards billed to him, Josiah also just handed me thousand Euros, cash.  Should be a great weekend in the City of Lights..

For the sake of preservation, this thread endeavors to recreate the legendary Tumblr blog str8guys4fags2serve. Written by a young God Alpha named “Jake”, its bluntly honest revelations form the bedrock of Hierarchical truth found on this website and all others. I thank Master Jake for sharing his wisdom. This thread is a tribute to you, Sir. CLICK HERE for all of these posts in chronological order!

My fag Rich was upset because he could have taken me to the super bowl, but he had turned down the tickets.  That was before he hooked up with me, and he had, at that time, no interest in going to New Orleans for the game alone.  (Too bad because New Orleans is a super hot city – in every sense of the word).  Rich tried to make it up to me by throwing a nice, catered super bowl watching party in his apartment.  i invited a bunch of my friends and we feasted on roast beef and lobster, and fresh oysters and crab cakes (in honer of the Ravens) My buds and I gave Rich the privilege of receiving our loads throughout the evening (especially when the lights were out at the Super Dome and there was a half-hour oif no other entertainment.  There was so much fucking and sucking going on that the caterer’s waiters became involved too, and as a tip for their excellent service, I suggested that Rich suck off both of the waiters as well.

And, Rich already has secured courtside seats for the Final Four.  

For the sake of preservation, this thread endeavors to recreate the legendary Tumblr blog str8guys4fags2serve. Written by a young God Alpha named “Jake”, its bluntly honest revelations form the bedrock of Hierarchical truth found on this website and all others. I thank Master Jake for sharing his wisdom. This thread is a tribute to you, Sir. CLICK HERE for all of these posts in chronological order!

Some fags carry the seeds of their own self-destruction within themselves.  It is up to a real man to identify those fags, to water and fertilize those seeds and to let that destructive force within them blossom.  Like my freshman fag roommate Goeff.  The fag was so fucking in love with me that he would endure the most outrageous abuse and humiliation in the expectation that it would please me.  I learned that the way to ensure this self-destruction is to constantly raise the threshold of what pleases me until it reaches the level of absolute debasement of the fag,  Then just sit back and enjoy the self-destruction of another fag,

I ran into another such fag the summer between my Junior and Senior year at college.  I had taken a job as a lifeguard at the pool at a local country club.  Really brainless work, but with fringe benefits – scores of beautiful, rich girls, with lots of time on their hands and lots of daddy’s money.  A few weeks into the job, I noticed a middle-aged guy also spending a lot of daytime hours at the pool when he should have been off to work someplace.  After a few days, he came over to the lifeguard stand and tried to strike up a conversation.  I chatted with him while keeping my eyes on the pool and the good looking chicks playing around in the water.  But i sensed where this dude was going and happily led him on. 

He invited me out to dinner that night and I accepted.  He picked me up at the house where I had rented a room in his Corvette and before the evening was over I was driving the Corvette (a beast of a car, overpowered and without the subtlety of my Porsche, but the fag didn’t need to know that I had my own Porsche) and the fag was sucking my dick while I tooled around country back-roads.  “This is a cool car,” I said.  He offered to let me use it for the summer,  I accepted.  Two days later i moved into the fag’s house.  I quickly took over the fag’s life, telling it what to wear, having it pay for elaborate parties i would throw, inviting college guys over specifically to fuck the fag.  The fag never complained and always was anxious to please me.  My demands became more and more outrageous.  I made the fag come to the country club pool while I was working just so he could blow me in the Men’s Room.  Often, the fag would leave the Men’s Room with cum all over his face and return that way to his lounge chair until the next time I needed him.  I wouldn’t let him wipe it off.  My friends from school would come by the pool and summon the fag to the Men’s Room to blow them.  The fag always would leave the Men’s Room and stare up at me in the lifeguard chair.  I would nod my approval.  The fag would smile, his face full of cum.

Then, toward the end of July, I completely reversed course.  I wasn’t fucking the fag.  He still serviced a dozen or so of my college buddies and teammates, but he got none of my dick.  I was boffing an endless stream of co-eds and their mothers.  Most were country-club members and friends of my fag.   I would fuck these bitches in his house, in his bed, on the sofa in his living room, on the deck behind his house, is his pool.  And every time when I was done fucking the girl, I would call the fag over to clean my cock.  And he would do so in front of the girl or woman who was part of his country-club social class.  Since I was not fucking him any longer, he was grateful to get any part of my cock under any circumstances – even this most humiliating of all possble circumstances.  And pretty soon, I noticed that when the fag was at the country club pool, no one would use a lounge chair within 30 feet of where he was sitting.  By the end of the summer when I went back to school, no one would talk to my fag.  He moved somewhere – I don’t know where.  But he gave me that Corvette (which I sold to pay for my books and part of my tuition).  Never saw the fag again.   .

For the sake of preservation, this thread endeavors to recreate the legendary Tumblr blog str8guys4fags2serve. Written by a young God Alpha named “Jake”, its bluntly honest revelations form the bedrock of Hierarchical truth found on this website and all others. I thank Master Jake for sharing his wisdom. This thread is a tribute to you, Sir. CLICK HERE for all of these posts in chronological order!

I’ve said before that I really prefer one fag at a time, but that sometimes I have more than one because of circumstances.  Like what is happening in my life right about now.

While there is a small gym in our condo building, I have convinced Josiah to buy me a membership at this fancy,upscale gym in the neighborhood,and I work out there 4-5 times a week.  This guy (I’ll call him Rich – rhymes with bitch) has been cruising me unmercifully for weeks.  Well, a few days ago, he hung around the locker room –musta been 30 minutes – until I finished my workout.  He struck up a conversation with me while we were showering and changing.  He commented on the state of my muscular development and my antennas went up.  We went out for coffee after the gym.  Then a couple days ago, he said he was going that night to one of the hottest clubs in town, that he knew the bouncer and always got in and did I want to go.  Of course I did.  His car and driver picked me up that night and we went downtown to the club.

I had never been there and the place was hot.  Rich was right, we cruised right in past the waiting line of wannabes.  I drank a couple of $20 beers and then switched to $10 waters.  I passed on the coke in the Men’s room.  Rich and I picked up a couple of awesome chicks, and we took them back to Rich’s penthouse condo with spectacular city views. 

i fucked one and Rich went after the other but I could tell that she was unsatisfied, So after chick No. 1 had her orgasm, I gave an orgasm to chick No. 2.  Rich stood by in awe, and then asked if he could eat my load out of her twat. 

“Go for it.”  I said.  And Rich did, with a vengeance.

Rich texted me the next morning, asking if I wanted to do the whole routine again.  I texted back that Rich should consider eliminating the middle man (or middle women as it were) and take my load straight from the source.  “Really” he responded by text.  “As a matter of fact,” I texted back, “why not come over to my office now for a load.”   Robert, my secretary, announced Rich’s arrival ten minutes later.  That was Rich’s first load of the day.  I texted him directing him to come back to my office mid-afternoon, and Rich again was there within 10 minutes.  Robert was bemused; he knows me (and my cock as well).  Rich took me out to an expensive dinner that night after which we went back to Rich’s penthouse and Rich got loads three and four of the day. 

This morning Rich texted me asking if he could stop by my office at 10:00.  I texted back that I’ll let him know if and when he can come over.  Can’t let a fag get pushy.   But Rich is, well, rich – fucking loaded.  And pretty soon those loads are gonna start costing him – big time.

For the sake of preservation, this thread endeavors to recreate the legendary Tumblr blog str8guys4fags2serve. Written by a young God Alpha named “Jake”, its bluntly honest revelations form the bedrock of Hierarchical truth found on this website and all others. I thank Master Jake for sharing his wisdom. This thread is a tribute to you, Sir. CLICK HERE for all of these posts in chronological order!

I don’t think that my fag roommate Goeff set out to be the freshman class whore, but I knew from the first day on campus that the fag was not a virgin when it came to sucking cock.  And it was clear, after only a few days that the fag really worshiped me and would do most anything to please me, once he understood that pleasing me was the road to getting at my cock. 

So, there was potential there.  And to be honest, the possibility of taking over the fags life and turning the fag into a cock-hound and cum-whore was making me fucking hard,   It was a gradual process.  Well not so gradual, but incremental.  Things moved pretty fast.  I wrote the other day about our suite-mate Jeff discovering me drilling the fag’s ass in the shower, and how before the day was out, Jeff also was fucking the fag.  i quickly brought Jeff’s roommate, our other suite-mate into the action.  Two weeks into the semester, the fag was servicing three men, and loving every minute of it.. 

Then, even though baseball season was in the Spring, the guys on the baseball team still had to work out every day.  So I started bringing a couple of guys from the team back to the room after practice.  My fag learned quickly, that he better be there in the room and prepared to service man cock when our workouts were over, so the fag started skipping his chemistry lab just to make sure he was prepared and available for our use.  Then I could see that a couple of the guys on the team were probably going to have trouble maintaining academic eligibility, so I sent the fag to their classes, to take notes for them and ultimately, to take exams for them.  That meant that the fag had to skip even more of his classes, but the fag was learning that he was not there to advance his own education.  He was there for another, more immediate purpose. 

Other guys who worked out with us at the gym learned of the fag and his service to freshmen mankind and started coming over. to be serviced.  I made it clear to the fag what my expectations were.  I took great joy in spreading the word among my friends about my creation and the fag developed a reputation around campus.  The bitch couldn’t go anywhere without being called upon to service cock.  A jock would encounter the fag in the library and pull him into the men’s room to have his dick sucked.  The fag would get pulled out of line at the coffee shop in the student center so he could give head to some guy he didn’t even know. But he did so willingly because he knew that if he refused, word would get back to me and that I would be fucking pissed.  And I kept bringing guys around to our room.  In addition to all that cock sucking, by the end of the semester, the fag was getting fucked maybe 5-6 times a day (and not by me.  I was no longer interested in fucking that loose hole).  But the fag never gave up on trying to please me and to win my cock back into his life.

By the end of the first semester, the fag was constantly walking around in a daze, with cum dripping from his ass and half the time with a cock in his mouth.  He was the freshman class whore – and on academic probation to boot.  But as I mentioned, by this time it was clear to the fag that he was not at university to learn; that he had a different purpose.  It was easy to finish the bitch off in the second semester.  I pledged a fraternity and introduced my frat brothers to the whore living in my dorm room.  The rest is history.  By the end of the freshman year, fag Goeff was kicked out of school, an academic failure.  i never saw or heard from the bitch again.  .

For the sake of preservation, this thread endeavors to recreate the legendary Tumblr blog str8guys4fags2serve. Written by a young God Alpha named “Jake”, its bluntly honest revelations form the bedrock of Hierarchical truth found on this website and all others. I thank Master Jake for sharing his wisdom. This thread is a tribute to you, Sir. CLICK HERE for all of these posts in chronological order!

i wrote the other day about Goeff, my fag roommate my freshman year at college.  Turns out fag was a jock – of sorts.  he ran cross-country in high school, but was too much of a wimp to try out for the track team in college.  But when i learned that the fag was a runner, i made the bitch get up every morning and run 10 miles with me,  Most days, i would end the run by fucking the bitch’s brains out.  Generally, the fucking occurred in our room, but sometimes it was in the shower in the little bathroom that we shared with the two guys in the room next door.  One day one of the guys next door (also named Jeff, but spelled right) came into the bathroom and came upon me drilling Goeff’s ass.  

“What the fuck!” Jeff exclaimed.

“Dude, it’s okay,” I said.  “He’s my fag, loves being fucked.  He’s like a bitch in heat.  You should try it.”

Well, Jeff didn’t just then.  Too surprised, I would guess.  But that night, he came into my room through the bathroom that separated our rooms and after beating around the bush for only a few minutes asked if he could use my fag. 

“Sure,” I said.  “The room is yours and the fag is yours.  I got a date with this awesome girl from my English Lit class.”

The fag just looked up at me with a pleading, desperate look in his eyes, but i just turned my back and walked out of the room.  And so, Goeff was started  on the road to becoming freshman class whore.  

For the sake of preservation, this thread endeavors to recreate the legendary Tumblr blog str8guys4fags2serve. Written by a young God Alpha named “Jake”, its bluntly honest revelations form the bedrock of Hierarchical truth found on this website and all others. I thank Master Jake for sharing his wisdom. This thread is a tribute to you, Sir. CLICK HERE for all of these posts in chronological order!

I am not a fan of violence.  I believe that a good mind-fucking is far more effective in keeping a fag in its place than a beating.  But once in a while a beating is helpful in reminding a fag that it is stepping out of line.

Take my current fag, Josiah Sinclair III (not his real name; see below).  I’ve been living in Josiah’s apartment (well, nominally, it’s Josiah’s apartment) for several months now.  I sleep in the Master bedroom, Josiah sleeps on the floor in the smaller guest bedroom, since the bitch is no longer allowed to use the furniture.  Josiah has bought me this huge flat screen TV, and nice lounge furniture so that I can watch the games and his grand piano and fancy antique furniture has been sent somewhere (def not in the apartment any more).  Josiah understands that if he wants me to stay, he’s got to make the place comfortable for me.  And Josiah really, really wants me to stay. 

Josiah has been very accommodating to my needs and has been pretty good in anticipating my needs and desires.  The bitch has gone a long way in making the sacrifices I expect so that I will continue to allow him to serve.  One area where Josiah has def fallen off the track, however, is girls.  I bring women home sometimes 4-5 nights a week and Josiah resents the hell out of it.  The all night frolicking and fucking, the ladies moaning in orgastic delight, the sight of a woman struggling to deep throat me (a skill Josiah has finally mastered), drives Josiah off the deep end.  He’s jealous, nervous, envious, neurotic – I don’t know.

The other day the fag had the nerve to complain to me about bringing women back to the apartment.  I was stunned by his complaint.  I don’t know what the fuck Josiah was expecting.  Why should I fuck a chick in her cramped apartment (with her roommate hanging around or sent out to walk the dog or to hang out at Starbucks until we are done), when I can bring her back to my beautiful, comfortable place and take all the time I want.

So, I fucking beat the shit out of Josiah.  I pounded his ass for a good ten minutes, all the time telling him that I’ll bring home who the fuck I want, when the fuck I want, and do what the fuck I want in the apartment.  And if he didn’t like it, it was just the fuck too bad.   The bitch immediately started back-peddling and apologizing, but I continued the beating until I was sure he understood.

So Josiah went off to work yesterday dressed in his suit and tie, with an awesome black eye and bruises all over his body, including bruises visible on his neck and face.  Josiah is a banker or a lawyer or something like that.   When he came back from work last night, it was with a nice Rolex watch for me.

I’m pretty sure things with Josiah are squared away for now.

For the sake of preservation, this thread endeavors to recreate the legendary Tumblr blog str8guys4fags2serve. Written by a young God Alpha named “Jake”, its bluntly honest revelations form the bedrock of Hierarchical truth found on this website and all others. I thank Master Jake for sharing his wisdom. This thread is a tribute to you, Sir. CLICK HERE for all of these posts in chronological order!

Sometimes it takes a while to bring out the fag in a guy, especially when the bitch did not know he was a fag, or a more serious challenge, when the guy has been suppressing his fagdom – trying to convince himself that he was not a fag – for years.

But my roommate my freshman year at college was instant fag.  I could tell when I first walked into the tiny dorm room we had been assigned.  I think his name was Goeff, but honestly, from the very first day I called the bitch nothing but fag.  I didn’t go straight to the room upon registering.  Instead, I went over to the gym to talk with the baseball coach about my scholarship and shit.  So Goeff had pretty much set up his stuff and was relaxing, stretched out on the bottom bunk when I got to the room.  I was wearing spandex biker-type shorts, flip-flops and a sleeveless Under Armour tee shirt.  Goeff’s eyes just about popped out of his head as he sprung out of bed extending a hand to introduce himself.  I suspected that my roomie was going to be my fag.  So I tested this out.  I ignored his outstretched hand, and interrupted him as he tried to tell me his name.  I wasn’t at all interested in the bitch’s name.

“You’re on my bed.  You get the top bunk.”  I’m not usually an asshole, but the situation called for this now.

He hesitated for a moment, and then said “Oh sorry.  I’ll switch now.”

He started to unmake the bottom bunk and make up the top bunk.  I stopped him.

You’ll want to switch mattresses too.  You already laid out on the  bottom mattress, so that mattress is yours now.“

So, the bitch unmade the mattress on the top bunk and struggled with the mattresses.  I just sat on one of the desk chairs, my muscular legs spread and my junk on display through the spandex shorts.  Roomie kept glancing over in my direction.  He was sweating.  We were off to an awesome start.  As soon as he finished making up his bed I said,

“Help me get my shit out of the car.”  And he did. 

Once we got some of my stuff up to the room, I suggested that he could make up my bed since he had done such a good job on his own, which he did.  He also set up my computer, and I commandeered most of his desk for my electronic gear.  He said he didn’t mind since he liked to study in bed.  

“You got a car?” I asked.  He said he had his mom’s minivan for a few days, then he would have to return it home. 

“Perfect.” I said.  “There’s not a whole lot of room for stuff in the Porsche, as you could see.  I got a couple of boxes at UPS.  Could you drive me down so we can pick them up.”  It wasn’t intended as a question or a request.  The bitch understood.  “Of course.”

Walter had shipped up two pretty good-sized boxes of clothes, and bless his fag heart, had included a wallet that had a picture of him and me at the beach and a credit card.  When we got the boxes back to the dorm room and unpacked, there was not enough room in the closet for all of my clothes, not to mention all the boots and shoes that Walter doted on buying me and then worshiping, so I took over most of Goeff’s closet as well.  He said he didn’t mind as he folded his clothes and stacked them neatly in the corner.

I rewarded Goeff’s help by taking the bitch out to dinner at an off-campus restaurant.  We put the top down on the Porsche.  I also offered to drive home with Goeff over the weekend when he returned his mom’s minivan, and drive him back to campus.  The fag just about creamed His pants. 

That (Goeff creaming his jeans) actually came later that evening.  I stepped out of the shower in the bathroom we shared with the two guys in the room next door, and strode into the room naked as I toweled myself off.  Goeff just sighed.

“You like to suck dick, fag?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“Yes Sir, you mean,” I corrected.

“Yes Sir, i sure do.”

“The go for it.”

Geoff got down on his knees and reached for my muscular thighs.

“No hands,” I corrected.  “Hands behind your back whenever you’re servicing me.” 

He complied, and went to work on my dick.  I could tell Goeff had had some considerable experience.  After a while I grabbed his head with both hands and thrust my dick deep into his throat which opened up nicely and I skull fucked the bitch.  He blew his load, without touching himself, just about the same time I shot about 6 or 7 searing blasts of my cum directly into the fag’s stomach.  The tone of my first year at college (which also was, as things turned out, Goeff’s last year at college – but that’s a story for a different time) was cast.

For the sake of preservation, this thread endeavors to recreate the legendary Tumblr blog str8guys4fags2serve. Written by a young God Alpha named “Jake”, its bluntly honest revelations form the bedrock of Hierarchical truth found on this website and all others. I thank Master Jake for sharing his wisdom. This thread is a tribute to you, Sir. CLICK HERE for all of these posts in chronological order!

I learned early on, when I was still in high school, that fags NEED to worship real men, that they NEED to humiliate and debase themselves, they NEED to sacrifice.  When a fag sucks my cock in public, like at a party or someplace, it is as much about giving me his self esteem as it is about giving me head. 

The bitch NEEDS to sacrifice and I deny him fulfillment of that need if I thank him or in any way show the bitch appreciation.  Giving me head, getting fucked by me, just being in my presence is the reward the fag seeks.  He understands that he is giving me only what i am entitled to by my natural state as a true Alpha.  I ruin it for the fag if I thank him, if I even acknowledge his submission or even his presence. 

Gifts are the same way.  They begin to count for the fag when they begin to put a strain on his resources – when they are more than he can afford, or when he gives me something extremely important to him personally – like his own courtside season basketball tickets.  The fag gives me these things because (1) he understands that i am entitled to them, and (2) because he gets fucking hard just giving me such gifts.  I ruin it for him if I even say “thanks.”

A fag once took me to a basketball game and we had awesome courtside seats, second row.  I complimented the bitch on the seats and so he gave me his season pass.  I took one awesome girl after another to the basketball games for about a month.  Then one of my dates had to back out – she was on a photo shoot in the Islands somewhere.  So at the last minute I called the fag and asked him if he wanted to go the game with me.  He had some dinner appointment for his business, but he rearranged everything so he could go to the game with me.  His car and driver picked me up and we went to the game,  As we entered the arena, I ran into an old college bud and we started talking.  The fag stood off to the side.  As game time approached, I invited my bud to sit with me and gave the fag my bud’s tickets in the nosebleed section.  I told the fag to stop by from time to time to see if we needed anything.  The bitch did – about 6 times during the game.  He spent more time going up and down stairs than watching the game.  But I know that the bitch was so thrilled to be with me that it probably was the best time at a basketball game he ever had.

For the sake of preservation, this thread endeavors to recreate the legendary Tumblr blog str8guys4fags2serve. Written by a young God Alpha named “Jake”, its bluntly honest revelations form the bedrock of Hierarchical truth found on this website and all others. I thank Master Jake for sharing his wisdom. This thread is a tribute to you, Sir. CLICK HERE for all of these posts in chronological order!

Ever since high school, I have been fascinated by the power i have over fags.  I didn’t seek this out, but once I recognized that I had this effect on fags, I have to admit that I get fucking hard dominating fags.

This is especially so when I come across a guy who has not yet realized what he is, and who I have to bring into the realization of what he is and what his purpose in life is.

They are so innocent.  They delude themselves into thinking that they are just like real men.  But i can spot a fag a mile away – the longing glances at my crotch, the hungry look in his eyes, the nervousness when I approach, or even look in his direction.

I remember once in high school, this student teacher, Mr. Huff, was taking over our English class.  He was still finishing college, getting his Education degree.  He was teaching the class about King Lear but his eyes were on me all of the time.  After about a week, I encountered Mr. Huff in the cafeteria one day.  He was sort of standing along the wall, monitoring (I guess it’s called).  But his eyes were riveted on me.  I finished my lunch and left my tray of dirty dishes on the table – an absolute no-no, we were supposed to bring our trays to the conveyer belt that led to the dishwashers.  As I approached the door, Mr. Huff approached me, but before he could say anything, I said, “Take care of my dirty dishes.  But before you do that, finish what I left on my plate.”  He looked at me, and said nothing but went over to the table where I had been sitting, sat down, and picked up the fork I had been using and ate the rest of the food I had left on my plate.  I stood watching from the edge of the room and just about creamed my jeans. 

For the sake of preservation, this thread endeavors to recreate the legendary Tumblr blog str8guys4fags2serve. Written by a young God Alpha named “Jake”, its bluntly honest revelations form the bedrock of Hierarchical truth found on this website and all others. I thank Master Jake for sharing his wisdom. This thread is a tribute to you, Sir. CLICK HERE for all of these posts in chronological order!

My current fag is Josiah H.E. Sinclair, III. (That’s not his real name, but his real name has a Roman Numeral behind it and is just as waspy.  I’m just trying to protect the guilty here.)  In any event, I’ve been living in Josiah’s apartment for about 8 months now.  Josiah had been cruising me for weeks at a local coffee shop and when we finally struck up a conversation, I told him that i was looking for an apartment.  He said one was available in his building and that he would get the superintendent to show it to me.  But when I went to see the apartment  I told Josiah that I liked his better, and that I’d be just as happy moving into his place, which was, as it turned out, the most spacious apartment in the building. 

Well, following my usual practice it didn’t take more than a few days before I was sleeping in Josiah’s bedroom, and Josiah was sleeping in the guest room.  Within weeks I had imposed a number of other restrictions on Josiah’s use of the apartment and its furniture and equipment.  Josiah was disarmed and disoriented in his own apartment; although in a practical sense, it has become my apartment.  It is Josiah’s only in the sense that he pays the rent and he takes care of cleaning it and stocking the refrigerator. 

But Josiah is happier than a pig in shit nonetheless because Josiah loves sucking my cock and he swoons over the taste of my cum.  Josiah will do anything for my cum, including sucking it out of the cunts of the various girl friends i bring home.

One of his favorites is the lovely and extremely sexy Taylor, a blond fashion model.  A few weeks ago while he was lapping up a load of my jizz from Taylor’s voluptuous pussy, Josiah overheard Taylor telling me that her best girlfriend was getting married in Paris and how she really would like to go to the wedding.  After I put Taylor in a cab that night, Josiah pleaded with me to let him pay for a trip to Paris so that I could take Taylor to her friend’s wedding.  Reluctantly (!) I agreed. So Josiah has arranged for First Class air tickets, a suite at the Ritz in Paris, a car and driver for the three days we will be there.  And, yet another custom tuxedo for me (my third now since high school prom).