Date: Mon, 26 Aug 2013 12:23:07 -0500
From: CAMERON BROCK III <cameronbrock3@gmail.com>
Subject: IF HE HOLLER$ MAKE HIM PAY. PART 24 (GAY AUTHORITARIAN)

IF HE HOLLER$ MAKE HIM PAY.  PART 24

by Cameron Brock III

(cameronbrock3@gmail.com)

.
NOTE: I'm only 19 so don't expect a bunch of fancy writing from me.
Yeah, this really is my real name and email and all this shit really
happened. I know it sounds weird but it's all fucking true because
people really ARE like this. A guy couldn't make up all the freaking
stuff (LOL). Don't fucking read it if you can't stand the fucking truth
about men and their fucking fags.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$


Sometimes I get emails saying, How can you be so mean? (Even one of the
Editors of Nifty said he finds my essays [I quote] "repulsive".)

To which, after much profound soul-searching, I must reply, Ha-ha.

Other remarks are from REAL men writing approvingly of my theories of
natural domination of Man over maggot. This is a fact which I truly
believe. It is only a matter of time before society begins to recognize it.
The inferiority of pussyboy cocksuckers will become accepted by society.
Superior men shall seek to accomodate this inevitable truth. Even Aristotle
noted, 'From the hour of their birth, some men are marked out for
subjection, others for rule.'

But mostly I get lots of informative letters from real maggots with real
experiences. These maggots ideas and insights go into my reference files as
I work on my college thesis paper. (Sometimes I call them "maggots" because
most are halfway between a "man" and a "faggot". Just like their wormy
namesakes, they have yet to flourish into their fully formed destinies as
faggots.)

These letters, primary sources written from the very fags themselves,
provide me with insights into their abysmal personal experiences, their
natural descent into increasingly submissive submissivity. That, or they
come up with more degrading and sicko fantasies than I could ever imagine.
These craven faggots provide documented details of their occasional true
experiences in their quest to worship their superiors who walk the earth
and give faggots the momentary privilege of serving them.

See, I agree that stuff these faggots do is "repulsive". That's precisely
why we MEN have to take command of the situation. We must shape the form of
their natural depravity to more constructive ends. It is up to real men to
craft the destinies of faggots.

So these emails from faggots help me better understand the psychology of
the faggot. It helps me understand what makes the repulsive little pussyboy
tick. What makes it easy to manipulate him? How can we control the fag with
a minimum of fuss and resistance so that it might reach its ultimate fag
potential?

Plus it's just plain funny hearing the fags' shameless grovelling! It is up
to us, the real men, to take better advantage of what is a simple Fact of
Nature.

Just this afternoon me and the boys at the frathouse did just that. We
selected a fag from our house full of serving, entertaining, and groveling
fags.

This particular fag had just spent a weekend serving us all in the
basement. He was a newbie. Slobbering. Dripping. Totally disshevelled.
Stupid fuck looked like a used cumrag. He was addled and compliant.  Yet
he'd already sunk so low that he was begging to chew my personal snot like
bubblegum.

We made it stand naked in front of us. The pussy-maggot's well-pinched raw
tits practically quivered in anticipation of further torture. We laughed at
its confusion before so many gods and their cocks. It was fun watching the
fag's battered helpless dick twitch and drool. One of my Alpha buddies
said, "Fuck, playing with fags is better than video games!"

We made the broken cum-covered pussyboy stand in front of us,reading this
particular fag letter out loud.





"Dear Master Cameron, God of All Fags, [the fag was reading this in his
croaky cracking voice because his throat had been battered by our jock
cocks all weekend]:

"This humble puny stupid asshole doofus shithead pussyboy slave cocksucker
has read your last excellent essay/study on Fags and Furniture. My Master
Devlin here has ordered me to write to you my comments and impressions and
tell you about my own experiences. He said to make it good because it might
be the last thing I ever write.

"Yes, my stinky little white nubby wormy dicklet got instantly
hard,dripping and foaming with my stupid little icky-dicky fagjuices, but
my Master Devlin and his friends wouldn't let me do anything about it,
except paypal you money while he and his thug buddies laughed at me and
made me write you about my own descent and captivity in order to worship
superior men. I bet you have fags writing you and paying you all the time.
I bet the Masters of those fags really get off making their personal fags
write letters to you, paying for the privilege of confessing their most
depraved secrets and most perverted sissyboy experiences.  I know MY Master
does. No matter how degrading it feels writing you letters about how my
Master is training me, and sending you money, it always feels wonderful,
like paying for penance.

In fact Master Devlin and his friends are laughing and spitting on me now.
They're stroking their superior erections now as I type this.

I'm naked. I am on my knees. I am crying. I am hard. They (my Superiors)
are taking turns swatting my fag buttpussy so please forgive my stupid
spelling mistakes and if I ramble because I'm filled with all sorts of
pain-fag desires to be the utmost pussyboy that I can be for my Sirs.

With my superior Master Devilin's commands I am ordered to write you (plus
send you $100 fagtax via paypal) about my own experiences and how my most
esteemed and perfect Master Devlin trapped me and trained me.. (They are
slapping me with their underwear and laughing at me as I write this, so
please forgive me if this is occasionally incoherent or if they just take
some time out to smack the shit out of me or make me suck their cocks. I
deserve it).

So how did I get like this? How did I get to be this lowly fag?

Honestly these young horny teenagers have turned me into the sickest most
disgusting and repulsive faggot I know.

And to think I used to be a highly respectable real estate broker.
Sometimes I would be researching properties in the riskier neighborhoods.
Young black guys would walk by me on the sidewalk. They would sneer at me
and say "Faggot!"

How did they know I was a faggot??????

Yes, I felt insulted, but at the same time I couldn't deny that I felt a
tingle of excitement. Someone had called me faggot. Someone could SEE I was
a faggot! And in my lonely little night-time jack-off fantasies, I would
replay the look of contempt in the black kid's face, his sneer, the utter
disgust in his voice when he said "Faggot". I would squirm, spasm, and cum
over the memory of it.

That's how it started. I started seducing young black teenagers when I
volunteered for a program to help black youths study to get their GED. The
kids seemed to like the fact that I offered them pleasurable blowjobs along
with their study sessions.

I even applied for "big brother" programs to mentor fatherless young black
teens in the inner cities. Funny, those young kids seemed to know exactly
what I was up to. It didn't surprise them at all when I finally got up the
nerve to offer to suck their cocks. They would grin, like they were just
waiting for me to beg to suck their cocks. They knew exactly how to use me,
and they even knew that once I had tasted their hard young cocks I would go
out of my way to help them with any problem they had, anything at all.

But then my attraction to black youths began to get the better of me.

It became my downfall. Or my Destiny.

I next moved into slightly run-down neighborhoods so that I might meet
dominant black thugs.

With enough video games and "party" paraphernalia, in less than a year my
house became known as the place to hang and chill, play video games, get
wasted and get your cock sucked. Almost any night of the week you could
find me with a young hard black cock stuffing my mouth, with maybe two or
three other kids watching and laughing and stroking, waiting their turn to
nut down my throat.

So I became known as The Neighborhood Cocksucker--a Cocksucker who paid
special attention to black cock.

That was all fun enough -- but who can say when my cravings became MORE
than that?

My instincts of natural inferiority began to kick in.

It has been my good fortune that my life should be taken over by young
black thugs, chief among them is my Master Devlin, a 17 year old, God among
gods.

To my mind, Master Devlin rules me, mind, body and soul. I have never felt
so dedicated to anyone in my life. I have accomplished lots of superficial
achievements in my life, even Realtor of the Year twice in a row, but I
have never felt so dedicated with a purpose to my being than when I became
a slave to Master Devlin.

Meeting Master Devlin from the outside, anybody might think he's a cheerful
little spunky rowdy rambunctious teenager. Kind of a typical black urban
youth, a swaggy thug type, who lives in a slightly dangerous side of town.
He is the spoiled apple of his mother's eye.

Master Devlin's OTHER side is that he's a fireball of totally masculine
sexual energy with a hard black cock to match. He's smart. He's sadistic.
He's super raunchy. So when he answered my on-line posting looking to serve
a "dominant black male" I got more than I bargained for.

A LOT more.

I thought we might at first have some time of getting to know each other,
but Master Devlin set me straight right from the get-go. By knocking me off
the chair, he let me know just how things were going to be between us.

He said, "I think you need to be on your knees." He unzipped.

The minute he grinned down at me and his huge black cock poured out of the
fly of his saggy pants. I was down on my knees and begging for it. DROOLING
for it. He grinned down at me and laughed at me and slapped my drooling
face with it.  God, it was gorgeous, shiney, drooling...majestic. Gpd, it
was...God. I knew that if God had a cock, this is what it would look like.
Huge. Black. Dripping with power. With that flapping black meat, he
spattered me with teen pre-cum--and I felt like I was marked for life!

I sucked. I worshipped.

"I think from now on when I get in this house, you need to be naked on your
knees immediately. Cause that's where you belong, right, pussyboy?"

He moved my head off his cock so I could gasp, "Yessir. Yes Sir.  I need to
be on my knees, Sir! I ALWAYS need to be on my knees in front of you!!!" I
was shaking, desperate, cracking.

Master Devlin smiled down at that, white teeth revealed by sensuous lips.
His dimples looked so damn sexy.

"Just listen to yourself, pussyboy. You fucking called me Sir. Hm, you
really do like to be bossed around don'tchya?  I've known other guys like
you, other cocksuckers. Yep, they're usually little wimpy nerdy white guys
who had a thing for black cock.  Drooling to do anything to get your mouth
on some long black dick.  Every since I was fourteen years old I've been
fucking around with faggot cocksuckers like you. But I've always wondered
just how far I could really take it." He grabbed my chin with one hand and
squeezed my puckered lips together. "Maybe with you I'll find out. Now you
best get to kissin' on my cock!"

His words captured my mind. I sucked on that black cock for dear life. It
fit down my throat and made me gag but Master Devlin just laughed and held
my head on it till he came, and he kept it there without letting my mouth
off his cock till he came two more times. I recall trying to jack off just
afterwards but he slapped me around so much for touching my pink worm that
that I think I passed out.

So how did my Master Devlin first begin to train me?

First of all, it is so very true what you say how your other subhuman fags
report about how the use of furniture as limitations to the fag are almost
INSTANTANEOUS training devices. A Master doesn't need fancy dungeon
gadgets.  Like any government, once you can convince someone to obey some
stupid rule for no reason at all, you can have them jumping through hoops
like trained...dogs. Or slaves.

As befits a lowly scum-slurping creature like myself, denying the use of
household furniture and appliances is a cheap and efficient training
device. Something any real man should do should he feel like he wants to
use a fag properly. Simply denying the fag something that real men take for
granted is the perfect way to constantly maintain a docility. Food. Toilet.
Clothing.  Deny fags the right to have an orgasm. Deny them the ability to
be able to even TOUCH their dicks. Deny them the right to even look a real
man in the face and only look submissively downward at his crotch. Deny
said fag the right to use the bathroom without permission. Deny him the
right to food without permission. Make him always be naked. Everything for
the fag is a privilege he must earn, beg and pay for.

It's true common everyday appliances can be used to train fags. It easily
puts them into place. With just a little imagination almost anything
anything ANYTHING can be used against us fags.

Anything can be an object of torment--("even if you just hit 'em with
it"--my Master Devlin just said--)because pain is a great enforcer. When a
fag finally realizes that ANYTHING can cause pain to a fag, then he fears
the world and is submissive to EVERYTHING!

Plus when a human being is not permitted to use something simple like a
chair for sitting down, he instantly has less rights. He instantly becomes
inferior. He is constantly subjected to a lowly state with everpresent
reminders of his submission, and he immediately becomes less than a human
being. He automatically becomes an "it". Governments control people all the
time by capriciously prohibiting things that it makes no sense to prohibit.
This keeps society divided and controlable, docile. So why not apply it to
fags? After all, inferiors must live by a different set of rules because
they are lesser beings.

Sir, the very first time this dumbass fagcunt carelessly and thoughtlessly
sat down on a chair in front of my Master Devlin, Master backhanded me so
that my brainless head was ringing.

I yelped like the puny little sissycunt I am. I went sprawling to the
floor. At the same time, the sting of his smack instantly sent a zap to my
fag testicles. Spittles of fagjuice dribbled from my pink waggling
clitslit.

That lightning-quick punishment turned out to be the smack of truth. Here I
was, a respectable middle-aged white real estate agent, getting
bitch-slapped by a black male teenager. Not only that, I was LOVING it.  It
was hard to believe. Was this really something I had been craving all my
life?

When I could see clear again my young black sexy almighty god Master Devlin
informed me my stupid worthless place was ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS on the
goddamn motherfuckin' floor.  Never never NEVER on ANY fuckin' furniture!

Furniture was meant for MEN, he informed me. Real men. Real men like him
who DESERVED comfort.

This crying puky little fagcunt suddenly felt like some kind of scolded
puppy. Obedient, but not quite comprehending what I had done wrong, I
started crawling as if every place was a prohibited hotspot. I WAS
different! There were places where I didn't belong. And places where I
belonged. My world was changing, crumbling, changing.  It was starting to
come together. It was falling apart!

As a beginning slave, this revelation made a HUGE impression on me. I
immediately felt very low. But low in a GOOD way. Like  "low" was where I
had always belonged!

Deep in my fag soul I felt utterly ashamed of my disgusting self. I knew
that was what I must always feel--disgust,guilt, shame. THAT was my
position in life! Suddenly, that was the moment that it became immediately
clear to me there was a fundamental difference between fags and real men.
We fags were so much more inferior! Disgusting. Guilty. Shameful. We were
like some other creature beneath their contempt. Totally unredeemable. It
was only natural that we must perpetually suffer for it!

But how lucky we were that true men like Master Devlin should show us the
mercy of allowing us into their presence, permitting us to serve them!  At
least there was some little ray of hope that we faggots could at least be
connected to their supremely virile presence!

God, it was such a relief to be obeying Master Devlin! Such an honor to be
crawling at his feet! Such a privilege to be one of fags chosen to suck his
cock!

At long last, I KNEW my place: my face between the legs of Master Devlin.
It was the only place that really felt right; the only place that felt
true. My fag face in the warm crotch of Master Devlin pleasuring his cock
was the ONLY place that felt comfortable to a wretched faggot like me.

What a difference it instantaneously made in my mind--that all this stuff
(my recliners, my dining room table, my television, my desk) were no longer
mine. Even my Master DEvlin's pitbull seemed to have more free will and
permission to sit on the couch.  But rather all of my possessions including
my body and soul were his to use and abuse as he saw fit!

He said, "Just to start off your training..."
(My training????)
"Just to start off your training I want you to crawl around the house on
your fuckin' knees. Just crawl. And keep crawling, and when you think you
can't crawl anymore, just keep your whitey ass crawling! In fact I don't
wanna see you stop crawling, I just want to see you constantly moving
nonstop all around the house until I say you can quit. I want you to get
real used to the idea of crawling because you're going to be doing a lot of
it. Who knows, you might even be living the rest of your life on all fours.
Might as well get used to it."

And so I crawled. For several days I crawled, constantly moving, constantly
roaming about the house like some kind of restless puppydog, scuffling
about on my sore knees all over the place. Whenever I paused for a moment,
maybe just to catch my breath, or even admire my new Master from that lowly
perspective, he would make sure to swat my butt and send me scampering on
my way. Sometimes I was just crawling around in circles, or crawling around
and around the sofa. Damn, I was so conscious of my little boyhole being
exposed. It felt more and more like a naked cunt. And my nuts. My little
pink nuts just waggled between my legs for my Master to laugh at.

And it was all beginning to feel normal! When I got to where I was crawling
regularly and constantly around the house, it was so normal to both of us
that my Master would just ignore me. He would be talking on the phone to
his buddies or one of his girlfriends, or watching tv or playing a video
game, while I crawled right past him. So it got to feel like I was some
sort of household pet. Or maybe I was even like one of those robot vacuum
cleaners, mindlessly moving all around the furniture, zigzagging here and
there to explore the universe of the floor which I now inhabited.

 What did this long period of enforced crawling do to me? Well I'd never
before realized how low I was. So close to the floor. So close to the feet
of my master. Crawling brought out the animal in me.  It really began to
seem like the perfect level for a faggot like me. It was so animal-like
that it felt...correct---for once in my life.

Meanwhile EVERYTHING in the house assumed a more dominant stature: chairs,
table, sofa, toilet, television, footstool. Everything seemed so much more
dominant, forbidding, prohibited, superior.

 Even doors seemed to challenge my status as a human being, sometimes
requiring me to jump up to turn the doorknob to open them, then return to
my all-fours status to go crawl over the threshhold. Stairs in particular
were a challenge. Clamoring up thenm on all-fours made me feel exposed and
obscene. My butthole and balls stuck up in the air as I tried to crawl my
way up and down.

At first I had to behave this way only when Master Devlin was in the house.
But then he was in the house more and more. And I was prohibited from using
everything less and less. Gradually it got to where Master Devlin was
practically taking over my house. It became obvious he was moving in, so I
was almost always naked, always on my knees and certainly NEVER on the
furniture!


And then Master Devlin made it an explicit rule that I was NEVER EVER to
use any furniture without his permission ever -- EVEN WHEN HE WASN'T IN THE
HOUSE! He even made me set up video cameras that he said he could review
just to ensure that I never disobeyed.

And so I started to live like so many slaves--a life apart from the
everyday lives of Real Men.

The insideout torment I felt in my head over the next few weeks of Master
Devlin training me was intense.  What the hell was I doing? How could a
perfectly respectable white businessman find himself crawling naked before
a bunch of young black men begging and pleading for their cocks?

More than that, I was actually letting young black teens abuse me and
humiliate me!  This was wrong, right? This wasn't the way my life was
supposed to be--or was it? Maybe this was my REAL purpose in life....All I
knew was that the more my Master stripped me of my humanity, the more he
turned me into a fuckhole, the greater inner peace I began to feel. How
simple and serene life actually became for me!  I might've dwelled over the
inner conflict even more, if it weren't for the fact that Master took me
under his severe domination immediately....

Yes, I would say the best way for a fag to be trained, if possible, is by a
total submersion technique. Don't give your fag time to have doubts. Don't
let his attention drift.  The faggot mind is really very pliable and
moldeable, in fact what it craves most is some outside force that gives it
framework and guidelines and rules.  As much as the faggot might resist at
first, it slowly begins to cling ever more dependently onto the Superior
Being that provides it some focus and structure in its life, no matter how
cruel. Fuck, we fags CRAVE cruelty!

Plus I became totally devoted to doing anything for that cock of his! It
hung between his legs like my lifeline. I swear, a black cock seems like
the sexual appendage of some entirely superior creation. And then those big
black balls. Dark warm mounds of flesh that seemed to contain the very
essence of life. Master Devlin would enjoy whipping me but I would still
practice being devoted to cocksucking.

"Cry all you wanna fag!...just remember, it's not ever goin' to be about you
and your pleasure...always and only MINE!"

Months of listening to your fagradio and months of being trained quickly
got me more and more cowed. The recordings and the punishments quickly
cleared out my headspace and furnished my mind with the idea of pure
obedience. At first I'd have shameful thoughts, like "What am I doing
submitting my entire life to a young bullying black kid?  Gradually,
though, my thoughts began to evolve and improve: Finally all my thoughts
were focussed on his cock. The very idea of not having it around, of not
worshipping it in some way would seem unbearable. The very idea of not
having him dominate me is what terrified me. Not being able to worship him
made me cry.

But I wanted to write you about how my Master Devlin uses me, his fag, AS
furniture.

You know how some people will post things on their refrigerator?
Appointments they have to keep, their schedules for the day? Well, Master
Devlin just writes it on ME, Whenever he has something new to add, he just
writes it with a marker on my back. That way he's always reminded of it
when he's fucking my butt doggie-style (his favorite fuck position) while
he's pounding his black cock up my asshole.  If it's something really
important, he just writes it on my forehead so that he's always reminded of
it while I suck him or lick on his feet. Of course, he expects me to keep
track of it, and to erase it, the minute he no longer needs it.

When Master Devlin comes down for breakfast in the morning he expects me to
be on all fours at the table right where his plate is. Yeah, I know, it's
like a naked slave is actually part of the place-setting.

He and his buddies have made it a custom that their slave white boys must
serve as chairs. That's right, after we've made breakfast and have it all
laid out nicely for our Masters, we angle ourselves before each respective
Master's plate, , our pink are butts sticking out and steadying our backs
as much as we can. We know our superior will soon sit down upon our backs
for a fine breakfast. We sit there and take their weight on our backs. We
hold them up while they eat and enjoy themselves.  Quietly, hearing them
laughing and talking about their prospects of the day while we try to hold
as steady as possible for them.  When this idea of slaves being chairs at
the breakfast table was implemented, they all laughed about how white fag
slaves would do anything, and what a great way it was for fags to start off
the day being made to serve in this way to remind them off their place.
They said there wasn't a better way to start the day!

But gradually, just like with any furniture, like with any inanimate
object, it just became unremarked upon. assumed that we fags would be
there.  The only time we slaves, as chairs,get any attention is when we
fail to function as chairs.

Of course, the way my master and his young friends use slaves as furniture,
it wouldn't be commplete if they didn't also use them as toilets.  I have
to admit, that's the part I found the most difficult. That's the part that
seemed the meanest and cruelest. But Master Devlin pulled me aside and we
had a man to fag talk.

He said, "I know you find this a tricky thing to get your fag head around,
but don't you see? That's what's holding you back. That's what's obviously
keeping you from really enjoying your true nature.  Look, fag, I know that
might be difficult for you to understand, but once you find what you think
is your limits, your point of reluctance, once you find there's a thing
that you can't do, well, if you can concentrate, focus, dedicate yourself
to getting past that. Getting beyond that limit that you imagine you have,
Well then, you know that you've gotten past the point of being a selfish
bitch living for your own pleasure, then you realize you're living more for
doing what your master wants you to do.  It's no longer about YOU any more.
Then you're realize that it's all about your Master and what Master wants.
Believe me, you'll prolly learn to crave my piss after awhile. And even if
you don't, that's okay, because what you want doesn't matter."

As usual, Master Devlin was right. I was being a selfish cocksucker. I was
too focused on keeping what remained of my dignity, when I should have been
even more focused thinking about his constant pleasure and benifit.

Fags had no dignity! What did my dignity matter anymore, if I was a
pussyboy fuckhole? Whenever Master Devlin sensed I'd reached a hurdle in
the path to my total degradation, he'd give me a beer enema. He'd have me
go get him a bottle of beer, then make me turn around, head down, naked ass
up, then plug the beer bottle into my ass and have me suction the contents
into my colon, where the alcohol was absorbed faster into my bloodstream
and turned me into a dizzy depraved total cockpig with no inhibitions
whatsoever. He said it helped break me down--fast.

When I'm running an errand for my Master (he thinks of me as a machine that
fetches things for him at will) whenever I meet another young black god who
I know in my heart of hearts is another would-be master, my weenie quivers,
my testicles shrink up, and I feel like the naked little faggot before his
most casual of gazes.


So gradually Master Devlin took over. He invaded my home and my mind. Week
after week he kept adding rule after rule. Punishments became pleasures
that I yearned for.  If I wasn't punished, something felt wrong.  Every
rule was like a new bar in my mental cage.

Almost every day there was another thing I was forbidden. Or another thing
I must ALWAYs remember to do. I was subjected and humiliated by what were
once my very own possessions.  Even when he started having his friends
over. They couldn't believe it was true. But then they saw me, captive in a
world Master Devlin was crafting for me. Once they saw how quick I scurried
to do his every command, or even brought him his belt and begged for him to
whip me with it, his friends laughed and thought it was funny how quickly I
was submitting to any little whimsical rule Master might happen to make.
They couldn't believe that a middle-aged white man was being so submissive
to a teenage black boy.

 I almost couldn't believe it either. The whole thing was scaring the shit
out of me. But I kept agreeing to do it, kept conceding to his demands,
complying with every humiliating rule, as if I were hypnotized by his
presence.

Master Devlin's friends liked the idea of training their personal whiteboy
cocksuckers. They started bringing other obedient faggots there to train
too. It became a tradition in the neighborhood gangs that all black thugs
had at least one or two eager whiteboy servants.

They would have what they called "Faggot-breaking" parties. Believe me, I
have seen some incredible unspeakable degradation going on, but boy was it
ever fun. Finally the place got so busy that Master Devlin made me renovate
a large portion of the house where the slaves were to fix it up and make it
practically a training area for submissive white men, or, as some of the
black thug masters in the neighborhood called it, "The Fag Factory". Here
average middle-aged men went in as normal white men with a few submissive
tendencies. They always came out as total broken faggots.

And they really put us faggots to work. In the basement, our young black
Masters had us construct a bunch of makeshift booths out of plywood.  Their
glory holes. About a half-dozen of them. Around the city it's become known
that this is the place to come to if you want a mind-blasting blowjob.
Master Devlin generally has some fags stationed there at all times during
the day.  Sometimes we're blowing 10 or 15 guys a shift!

Master Devlin has made a way of giving "Quality Control" to these
gloryholes by leaving a small pen and clipboard hanging next to the
gloryhole.  After the customer has had his cock serviced, the customer has
the opportunity to rate our cocksucking abilities from 1 to 5 stars.
There's even a "Feedback" section for customer comments or criticisms.  By
the end of the day if the cocksucker hasn't achieved an above "average"
amount of stars, the cocksucker gets punished. Or if the cocksucker gets
some kind of negative 'feedback" from one of the customers, then steps are
taken to ensure that whatever sub-standard service never happens again. The
fuck-up fag could even get sent to the Punishment Room.

Usually I don't have to do the gloryholes because Master Devlin doesn't
want to ruin me as his own personal cocksucker. When you've been chosen as
one of Master Devlin's personal cocksuckers, you'll spend a lot of time
doing the same thing over and over again. And you'll learn to love every
mind-numbing minute ofit. You'll memorize every little detail and nuance of
his Dick. The piss slit. The flange along the underside. Every moist
crinkle of his ballsac. Your commitment to his sexual needs and
expectations is not negotiable. You'll learn to read his intentions and
come to accept your status in the relationship. He chose for a reason that
you initially were unable to grasp. Maybe it was your naivete, or your
submissive personality, maybe he likes your girly mouth and thought you'd
look good on his cock. It doesn't really matter from your point of view.
You have a role to play and you are getting ready to learn. It won't be
long before every aspect of your job becomes branded into your sensual
world; the many aspects of his sexual arousal, the ever-shifting size and
shape of his throbbing turgid cock; every bold, wiry vein, dedicated to his
magnificent prominence, the gathered consistancy of his dark curly hair,
the strong masculine odor that rises up, flooding your nostrils; the taste
and savor of his flesh, the weight and power of his balls and the promise
they hold. As a fully habituated cocksucker, nothing surpasses the
experience of sucking his Dick. You lose yourself in total service. Your
identity as a faggot is reaffirmed with every load he pumps down your
throat. A hunger develops inside you that only He can satisfy. You crave
his hands grasping your skull, gagging you onward, impaling you deeper into
cock service. You've become exactly what you were born to be: a receptacle
for his Cock, his Cum, his tempermental moods, his aggressive nature, his
sexual needs; a fully groomed and mature Cocksucker. Welcome to your world.

As part of what he calls his "Fag Furniture" Master Devlin installed me in
a room that used to be a small guest room just down the hallway from what
used to be my bedroom where he sleeps now.  Well actually, I have a space
which I share with all the other stuff which is stored in here now.  Master
Devlin uses it as a kind of storeroom and so he stores me in here too. It's
almost like a walk-in closet. He keeps his old schoolbooks here, his winter
sweaters,  plus the vacuum cleaner.  In this room, he introduced me to my
"area". It's a large cardboard box in one corner, with the word "Fag"
written on the top.  I'm always supposed to crawl into that box when Master
isn't using me.  Sometimes I might even stay that way an entire day. Feels
claustrophobic and quiet sometimes, and sometimes I'm really needing to pee
bad by the time Master gets around to hauling his fag out of its box to
use. Sometimes he comes in an sticks his cock into a hole in the box so I
can suck it, or sometimes he summons me to his bedroom to suck his cock
while he watches TV.


Master also brings very young black boys in here to get their first blowjob
from their first white worm faggot. He is introducing them to the idea of
black superiority over whites. He tells them there is the fag in the box
and that all they have to do is stick their dicks in the hole in the box
and they will get the best first sucking any boy has ever received. And it
is true. He tells them that white boys love to suck black cock all the
time. He tells them all of them can get their own personal whiteboy
cocksucker if they wanna. "That's what whiteboys are for." He says,
"Cocksuckers for your cock."  I can hear them giggling outside and then
they unzip and their rock hard black dicks. They stick their young
twitching dicks in the hole and my worshipful mouth is upon it.

Hidden away naked in the box in the backroom, I feel just like a piece of
stored furniture, an appliance, ready to be used only when one of my young
black thug superiors feels like putting his dick in the hole.  I am for all
intents and purposes just a "blowjob machine".  Not a person, not even a
pussyboy, but just a box that automatically gives "blowjobs".

But Master has trained me to be other types of appliances too.

A washing machine: sometimes he will throw me a lot of his gang's underwear
into my box and say that I have to suck them all clean by the end of the
weekend. I've grown to love the taste of their sweat and balls and funk of
their ass-crack and their skid marks  Believe me, my one and only thought
for the rest of those days is to work my mouth around them and soak them
and suck them clean, wash, rinse and spin dry them.

They have even had fun hanging me out on the clothesline to dry their
clothes. they have a clothesline pole where they tie me and use clothespins
to clip their clothes to various parts of my body. They clip their
underwear to my nose. They clip their shirts to my nipples. They tie they
shoes to my testicles. Then they just let everything dangle in the breeze.
They hang me out their for a good half a day in the sun, just sort of
letting me flap in the breeze like a hanger for all their clothes, and they
make it very clear that their clothes is far more important than I am, and
so they encourage me to flap my body parts around so that their clothes
will dry faster. Sometimes the sun is scorching me all the whole time. All
the time, their pitbulls  are in the backyard snapping at me.

When Master Devlin wants me to be a chair, he simply snaps his fingers and
says "Chair." I am instantly on all fours so that he can sit comfortably on
my back.  Or when he snaps his fingers and says "Pillow" I instantly place
my head face up on the nearest seat so that he can sit his ass smack down
on my face.  Sometimes Master Devlin is fully clothed when he does this,
but sometimes he is naked and so he naturally encourages his fag pillow to
stick his tongue up into the Master's asscrack and taste whatever assgunk
and juices are waiting there.

A food processor: sometimes the guys are all sitting around eating
hamburgers I have made them, or waffles in the morning and they will call
me over to them and have me open my mouth. They will spit all their chewed
food into my mouth and watch me slowly swallow it, just for their
entertainment. Or they will spit it on the floor and have me crawl over and
eat it off the ground.

 Sometimes I will even crawl over to my food bowl in the backroom hoping to
find the scraps from the food they didnt eat but instead find all sorts of
food they have chewed and decided to barf up into the bowl for me.  At
first I was disgusted by the idea of eating their vomit, but now, after the
desperation of starvation, I had come to think of it in an entirely new
light.  I mean, really, it is a kind of honor that my Masters have had the
food in their mouths and that they have even gone to the trouble to
partially digest the food FOR me, right? Or maybe there is some new fag who
they put onto starvation training. They will make the new faggot chew the
food but will not let him swallow it. They will make him spit it out into
my bowl, so that I am forced to eat it.  It's weird, but after awhile,the
new faggot actually gets jealous of me being allowed to eat up the food
that it chewed. I guess to an outsider it seems kind of gross, but from a
well trained faggot's perspective it is a darn lucky privilege to be
allowed food!
  Besides after all the slavework i have had to do around the house, I am
so thoroughly hungry by the end of the day that I am not at all picky
nowadays, in fact I am grateful these young nubian Gods have opted to
sustain me at all.  Some guys even feed me the boogers from their nose and
I am so hungry that I devour it greedily, while they laugh and look grossed
out and take pictures with their phones. But I just know that's all part of
the entertainment  which I as a loser failure fag can provide them. It's an
honor!

Or they laugh at us while we have to be their ashtrays and cigaret holders.
We have to stick our butts up in the air while they place a cigarette or a
cigar in our assholes and we have to hold it there while they chat casually
with their buddies no matter how much the falling ashes burn our holes or
the stubs burn close to our asslips. When they're done, they turn us into
their subhuman ashtrays and tell us to present our testicles so they could
snuff out their cigarettes in our scrotums. We scream like hell while they
snicker. I have to admit it took me awhile to get used to this particular
form of abuse, even just crawling around with scorched testicles for days
afterward.  But finally I realized that my fag scrotum wasn't fit for any
other purpose anyway so it was probably for the best that it was put to
SOME use.  It's funny remembering how I used to be the sort of person who
was finicky about smoke, and always objected when another man lit a cigar
in the same room. Now I'm squirming in their presence.

Master Devlin says to tell how one of the great ways he's found to dominate
me in this new house I've arranged for him and his thug buddies to own is
that he has mapped out

1)Rooms Where Fags Can Never Go,

2)Rooms Where Fags Can Go To Only With Permission of Masters

3)Rooms Where Fags Must Stay When They are Not Used Any Place Else

4)Rooms Where Fags Are Punished (this is usually the basement, although
there is one dreadful room in the house called the Punishment Room)

5)Rooms Where Fags are Trained

He keeps this as a map in the kitchen so that we slaves can be reminded of
it when we are doing housework and not make any mistakes as we go through
the house.

Instantly I felt lowly and obedient, just knowing somebody superior to me
had already capriciously decided FOR me just how much territory I would be
permitted to trespass.  Just knowing that there was that much SPACE
surounding me, such large areas where real men had complete liberty, but I
was not even allowed to think about approaching, territory PROHIBITED me by
a superior power really put me in the tiny little hole which I knew I
probably deserved. It was mentally imprisoning me and freeing me at the
same time. It's how people used to keep their servants busy but out of
their way. I guess it's really how the government manipulates its own
citizens and keeps them obedient. Society needs boundaries. They're even
grateful to have it that way. As am I.


When the little white wormfags are bad or just stupid they go into the
Punishment Room.

So far, I am relieved to say, I have never been in the Punishment Room.

I try to obey as quickly as my feeble fag mind will permit it.

Some fags enter the Punishment Room docilely. Other fags are dragged into
the Punishment Room kicking and screaming, while all the black kids laugh
and point at them.

The poor fags know ahead of time that terrible things are going to happen
to them. Vile things. Unspeakable things. Although I have heard much
screaming from fags and much laughter from the superior black Masters (and
sometimes dogs barking) When the Fags finally come out of that room it is
as if they have been changed into some other creatures, creatures so
docile, obedient, submissive, that it is shocking to see how what used to
be just a mildly humble personality has been transformed to a slathering
mass of lust for submission, an animal, a fuckdog for their use.  Most
times the faggots have gotten so used and abused at that time. Their bodies
are swolen and purplish,one massive crawlling bruise on all fours. Their
lips blather like the elastic has been busted in them, red, cracked, puffy
flanges slathered open in obscene quivering puckers, like some well-fucked
cunt.I've seen some with giant rosebud rectum lips protruding out between
their buttcheeks, as if they had been reamed inside out, like their
asspussies had got knotted by a hundred savage pitbulls. Plus I hear they
pump you full of all sorts of crazy drugs so the faggot has no inhibitions
or memory whatsover. Just a confused jonesing for cock and cum and absolute
mindless slavery.  Some poor fags are so wrecked that they are no longer
really useful around the house. I've seen some come out just babbling
idiots fingering their pussyholesand slobbering and crying with their
tongues out, their nipples and testicles transformed into grotesque
appendages through extreme torture and implants. These fag creatures are
farmed out or pimped out or sold off,  to some other black glory holes in
the other neighborhood where all the thug guys know they can go to get some
quick cheap skullfucks.

But I HAVE been put into the Training Room....

 When Master Devlin made me crawl upstairs (a part of the house usually off
limits to me, I was led down a long long hall, past bathrooms and closets
and orgy rooms and rooms where his friends come to hang out and fuck their
girlfriends. I padded after him to the door which he unlocked to reveal the
Training Room. There were already three fags already stationed inside. They
were chained to walls and floors by their genitalia. Some had rings in
their ballsacs attached to chains connected to hooks on the ceiling.  There
were dildos of various sizes affixed to the walls. Dildos suctioned to
various parts on the floor.  Even an effigy of a large black cock is placed
high on a shelf in the corner of the room as a sort of altar, it lords it
over the room of naked panting cocksuckers, something for them to aspire to.

The Training Room isn't just for fags.  Sometimes the teen masters bring in
their much younger brothers, to give them a sense of mastery over fags
while they are still very young. So that even from their earliest
childhood, these black youngsters know that almost any white man can easily
be a fag begging for their dicks. Once a young black child has whipped the
butt of a middle aged white man, slapped his balls, kicked his ass,
tortured his tits and got his cock sucked by a white fag, these young boys
grow up with a smug sense of utter superiority in a society where white men
supposedly prevail. But not in their minds. In their minds, they know the
white man can be quickly reduced to complete servitude to their desires.

As I took in all the accoutrements of the room, all the "training
materials", I guess what I was most struck by was the absolute and utter
silence of the three fags.

You see, each of them was blindfolded. Their ears were plugged with
earphones so that they were constantly listening to their training
recording of how to be better fags and reminding them of what they were.  I
don't know how long these 'fags-in-training' had been there already, but
they were skinny and looked a little starved, their bodies lean and their
ribs showing through. But they were mute. Each silent fag-in-training being
wrapped within it's own little world. Every bit of their pale scrawny
spasming bodies and heads shaved. They really did look so wormlike. Almost
in their own private little world. I wonder if they even knew each other
were there. The three entranced fags seemed to be concentrating so hard on
filling their asses with certain dildos and keeping their mouths filled
with dildos and listening to the sounds of brainwashing of the fagtape.
They were definitely in their own little world already, a world where the
only thing that existed was a cock in their mouths and cock in their asses.
They were acclimating their orifices to the taste feel and shape of these
masterful phallus, so attuning their minds to their filling presence that
they did not feel complete without them. So their lean naked bodies
undulated rhythmically, like gestating larvae, jiggled and shivered as they
fucked their holes full of synthetic cocks. Perhaps the fags were
desperately imagining somewhere in what remained of their minds that if
they did everything just properly, they might, just MIGHT, be considered a
faggot well-trained enough to suck and pleasure the real live black cock
that they now so desired.

Believe me, I came out of that Training Room a week later thinking only
these thoughts over and over:

"I know that I'm an idiot, a lowlife, a failure as a human being, an utter
failure as a real man, a sad dickless pathetic loser cuntlipped faggot and
a complete loser and that every real man who is laughing at me, but I can't
help it and find some consolation that my miserable lowly state brings some
entertainment and laughter to real men. I must serve cock. I need cock to
live. I live for their pleasure and entertainment."

If this lowly cunt faggot might be permitted one observation about it's
life, if I might be permitted one observation that I could share with my
fellow faggots, it is that it's the scariest thing in the world being
converted bit by bit from a supposed "man" in the world into a lowly cunt
faggot. And the thing is, once you've gone down that rabbit hole there
really is no going back. Even once you've gotten just the merest "taste" of
the experience, once you've endured a certain level of "FORCED"
degradation, the naturally faggy mind seeks to go ever further in its
voyage of self-discovery/demolition--until it has lost itself, its soul,
its personality, into living for the sheer existence of serving as a
convenient nonentity for a truely superior male. Your life finally becomes
subsumed into deeper and deeper layers of submission that you never knew
existed.  One discovers in this never-ending abyss an entirely different
world. It's the scareiest thing having everything taken from you, bit by
bit. Your car, your house, your bank account, your time, your thoughts,
your life. your soul. None of it belongs to you any more.

It is scarey -- at first.  But later, the moments of exhilaration, the
sense of selfless freedom expand and expand until the mind reshapes itself
into a sort of cosmic cuntboy. It is the most exhilarating experience this
cunt may ever have!!

Besides the Training Room (which I have endured twice now due to several
fuck-ups because I'm such a stupid fag who can't do anything right, plus
one time just because my Master said so), there is also what my Master
Devlin calls the Fag Smackdown.

At least once a month, the Masters gather us in their presence. They talk
about us as if we were pieces of furniture, objects, or as if we weren't
even there, evaluating our performances, our many shortcomings.  Of course
we are naked on our knees, staring at each other, listening to their
comments and criticisms about each of us in their conversation above our
heads.  After detailed debate the Masters decide which one of us fags is in
need of more punishment, better training, further submission, or who they
just want to see humiliated all the more.

They say it keeps a fag in line to have a concentrated weekend, the Fag
Smackdown, of immense physical pain and suffering, just to prove that they
can do it, and that is all that it exists for, to give them, our Superiors,
the pleasure of seeing the fag in pain. During this weekend of Fag
Smackdown, the Fag knows nothing but searing, scorching, blinding
excruciating pain. The selected fag is whipped, beaten, punched, slapped,
burnt, scraped, pricked, impaled, kicked, stretched (sometimes all at
once.). The Fag Smackdown is one of the more popular weekend get-togethers
among the Masters. The poor tortured fag is the centerpiece while its
fellow fags scamper around serving beers, cleaning up after the Masters,
serving the barbecue, while the fag chosen for the Fag Smackdown is the
centerpiece of the entertainment and an example for his fellow fags of what
might befall them if they slack up just one little bit.

I know some perfect respectable mature white businessmen who have been
turned into complete Pain Fags after such weekends.

PS These may be the last words you hear from this fag. Master has just told
me that he is taking me to the Punishment Room in five minutes.

I knew better to ask aloud. Yet my stupid fag face must've inadvertantly
given him a doubtful look. Master Devlin smacked my face and laughed, "Even
after all this time, you still don't get it, do you, fagface? Me and my
buddies heard your little letter and we've talked and decided that you've
still got far too much brains for a faggot and that you're thinking too
much and that no man can be a decent servant if he's got so many thoughts
running around in your head. See, you need to get where you don't have
anything in your little head but making sure you serve ME!  'Sides, I can
fucking PUNISH you just because I fuckin' wanna punish you! You deserve
punishment just because I fuckin' DECIDE you deserve punishment,
unnerstand?"

Of course he's right.  He's always right. And so I must go to the
Punishmente Room to accept my Punishment.


I doubt there will be any further communication from me because I have
never seen any fag go into the Punishment Room who has ever come out in his
right mind. I don't know what the superior men do to fags there, but no fag
ever comes out of there the same. Something happens to them. Something
terrible and irreversible. They are somehow broken into a million pieces.
Their mind is snapped and splintered in their ultimate sacrifice in their
life of servitude to their magnificent masters.  I can hardly wait!"

********



Now THAT's the way to handle faggot inferiors!



By the time our newbie frathouse fag finished reading the letter, we were
all laughing at our own naked faggot broken down. It was practically
dissolved in his own tears of self-pity, self-recognition and fagjuices. It
knew it was broken. It knew there was no going back to it's former
respectable life of pretending to be a man. Making one fag read the
repulsive details of another fag's humiliated life was funny.

We just let the fag stew there, letting it contemplate how lucky it was not
to be treated as bad as the fag in the letter.

But the letter had given us some ideas. We all thought it would be really
fun to institute something like a monthly Fag Smackdown.

We all knew some uppity fags. Some fags who were really just begging to be
broken in. Or some fags that we just thought it would be fun to treat like
shit for a weekend. It was true, sometimes you just needed to do shit to
fags for no reason -- just so they know that you can do it.

It's fun getting a well-dominated cash-twat like this to send me money,
even if that may be his final tribute.  Fags like that deserve it. And I
deserve it. The fag stories and insights help me with my research towards
improving society's methods for their domination and submission.

What my detractors don't understand that it's a kindness and a
release/relief for many fags to be able to honor me, cashwise. because they
have this yearning to respect and honor  and make sacrifices for, superior
men like me wherever they might be. I even have one fag who works at a
loser job, but had decided to give up having lunch so he can afford to send
me money instead.  He says now whenever he gets hungry he just reminds
himself that he's making the sacrifice so that I buy something fun for
myself, or I'll spend it on a date with a girl and it will help me get more
pussy. Puny fags like the one who wrote me above send me their fag-tax, or
buy me something off my amazon gift list all the time. Some may not believe
it but there are cocksucking pussyboys who are truly addicted to being
bullied. And will even pay for it. Even get a thrill out of paying for it.
But more and more people are coming to a better understanding of this.

Like I said at the beginning, this openness to the fact of submission is a
growing trend in society, this business of fags being open about their
willingness to obey and please superior straight men is surfacing. At last
a hidden force in society is on its way to being recognized, this NEED to
serve. For too long an obession with "equality" has kept us in denial of
the fact that some people may not all be equal, nor do they WANT to be
equal. Many fags WANT to be less than equal.

Sociologists have observed how what is almost unthinkable one year suddenly
becomes a meme the next year and the next year becomes an accepted
plausible idea within society. In their studies they have discovered that
whenever an idea takes hold and is believed by at least 10 percent of that
population, that germ of an idea reaches a critical mass, it then becomes a
viable mode of thought and is in contention as one of the accepted ways of
living.

Other fags that want to send me 50 bucks Fag Tax and wish to write their
own experiences will be included in my future essays an research with my
comments. Your faggy thoughts will even be publicly insulted and humiliated
by me and the rest of the alpha fraternity. Just like we'd do to you in
real life, we're going to take turns making fun of it. You can paypal me at
cameronbrock3@gmail.com.  Send your fag tax/confessions/ideas fantasies to
me, and YOU might get included in my next essay!


$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$


INSTRUCTIONS AND EXPLANATIONS FOR FAGS AND THEIR MASTERS

Essentially FagRadio is this: it is a sort of guided meditation about
cocksucking and being a fag, and subservience, and obedience, and
making sure that superior men are always served and receive pleasure.

It is about 45 minutes of a recording made by me, a superior male,
telling a cocksucker who and what he is, and how he should
go about it, and what he should be more focussed on because he is just
a fag. He is a fag, he was born a fag, and always will be nothing but
a fag. And he will be much happier once he learns to accept it. This
is a recording that a faggot might play in his ears when he goes to
sleep at night, or even while he is out jogging, or even when he is
sucking on superior guy's cock for long periods of time.

Information to purchase a copy of the FagRadio brainwashing mp3 audio
file is available upon request at cameronbrock3@gmail.com


$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$


Any fag$ that wanna $how their appreciation to a $uperior alpha male
like my$elf, feel free to $how me your appreciation at paypal
(cameronbrock3@gmail) and/or $how me your gratitude by getting me
something off my gift list at amazon under cameronbrock3@gmail.com.

If you $end me an email at cameronbrock3@gmail.com just remember I
don't wa$te time just playing with fags who don't know how to $how
their immediate and con$tant appreciation.

Hell, even send some donation to Nifty.org for even giving you the ability
to fanta$ize your $icko fantasie$.