As a faggot, I’ve always been fortunate to serve, worship, and obey dominant, powerful Men.
When I lived abroad in the UK I rented a one bedroom flat. Being the faggot that I am I immediately placed a flat share advert offering a free bedroom.
I had a fairly decent response resulting in about 8 Men coming to view the flat. All were confused about why I’d be offering a free bedroom - the only bedroom - in a nice flat, in a nice neighborhood, and wondered where I would be sleeping. I explained to all of Them that I preferred to live with Others and, if I was inviting Them to stay with me, it was only right that They should have the bedroom as They were my guest.
Most were weirded out by this and figured there were strings; however, two of the Men asked me this directly and, as a dutiful faggot, I replied that there were no strings attached and explained that I enjoyed “serving the needs of Others” and would welcome the opportunity to serve Them during Their stay.
Only one of the Men seemed to apprehend what I was intimating, and I never heard back from the other Man. But that one Man accepted the free bedroom on the spot and moved in that evening.
He was in His mid-20s and was working as a line chef at a local restaurant. He said He wasn’t making much money, had been living out of His car, and didn’t mind living with others - especially as an alternative to His car.
On that first night, as I helped Him unpack and get settled, He remarked “I’m not gay and don’t get into that kinda thing, but I’m cool with it if you’re that way…are you?”
I paused and chose my words carefully: “that’s cool. I’m definitely into Guys, but wouldn’t say I’m exactly what You’d call gay - I’m something kinda different I guess.”
He said nothing at first and kept unpacking. But then He stopped and asked, “what the fuck does that mean, mate? What are you then?”
I felt nervous and concerned this was happening so soon after His moving in, but replied truthfully: “I guess I’m what You’d call a faggot. I am submissive and inferior to Men like You - well, all Men really - and my highest purpose is to serve, worship, and obey Men. It is just my nature.”
I paused before continuing “So, that’s the real reason why You have the bedroom…it would be ridiculous and absurd for me to place my own comfort ahead of You - a Man - and while I wouldn’t ever expect or demand anything from You, if there are ways I can please You or serve Your needs, I am duty-bound to obey and will be grateful for the opportunity to do so.”
He didn’t say much at first but eventually just said, “Okay. Cool I guess. You do your thing - as long as it doesn’t affect me I cool with whatever.”
That was it for about a week.
But then I began to notice small changes in His behavior. He began to put his dirty laundry into my hamper. He stopped cleaning up after Himself. He left towels on the floor and wouldn’t flush after using the toilet.
Of course, I was more than happy to do His laundry and would placed His clean and folded clothing on His bed. I was grateful to clean up after Him, pick up His towels and replace them with fresh towels, and flush the toilet after Him.
Within two weeks of moving in He had begun to assert Himself further - telling me what to pick up for Him at the market, inviting His friends over without letting me know, and taking over the whole flat.
A week later, He told me that He’d really enjoy breakfast and a fresh cup of tea in bed in the morning; He didn’t order me to do this, but I understood and obeyed. When I delivered His breakfast the next morning she complained to me about the long hours in the kitchen, on His feet all day, and said His feet were killing Him. Of course, I offered to massage His feet and He quickly agreed.
So there I was, three weeks in, kneeling at the foot of His bed, massaging His bare feet as He munched on the breakfast I had prepared for Him. I was in faggot heaven! I was so grateful and appreciative for the opportunity to have a Man I could serve, worship, and obey, and I looked forward to my continued and future servitude.
Within a month, He had fully accepted me for what I am and had begun to address me as “fag” or “faggot” whenever addressing me. He had fully embraced His superiority and dominion over me and had no qualms commanding me as He pleased.
Then, one Monday morning, He walked into the kitchen wearing only a heavily worn tank top - stained with what looked to be dried cum and stinking of His sweat and masculine body scent - and nothing else. His dick was at half mast.
I couldn’t help myself - I was transfixed - as I hadn’t had the privilege of seeing His cock until that very moment. It was uncut, long and thick. I may have actually been drooling.
He literally poked at me and asked, “so are you any good at sucking dick?”
He stayed at His place for another year and a half, during which time He availed Himself of my holes regularly (telling me, and eventually His friends, that it was preferable to jerking off).
And indeed, He introduced His Friends to His faggot and would regularly send me over to one of His Friends to perform my duties - whatever these might be - from housecleaning, cooking, massage, or a warm wet hole for Them to use and enjoy.
During His final months, He took particular delight in using me while watching the footie on TV - using me severally as a footrest, a beer runner, foot massager, and urinal (“come here, faggot…open your faghole, I gotta piss and I don’t want to miss the play”.)
Eventually He found a new job working at a Michelin starred restaurant in Cornwall and had to move out. Happily, He gifted me to a Buddy who promptly moved in and took His place.
It’s good to be a faggot.
gummygunk
kianamaiart
andulkaphoto
