I show up to meet the realtor to tour this apartment. I’m in a full face of makeup and dressed in short shorts and a crop top. When I show up I’m taken aback by this obviously alpha man. He’s about 6’5” and built. He shows me the whole place and it’s beautiful but out of my price range. I can’t keep my eyes off of his big hairy masculine alpha arms and wondering what they’d feel like around my faggot neck.
“I asked you a question.” He said
I had been so distracted automatically put into dumb sub space by his presence.
“I’m sorry, Sir, could you repeat it? I was distracted” I realized I instinctively called him “Sir” and felt embarrassed, probably very obviously.
“No shit” he said as he smirked and chuckled a little at me. “I was asking you if you had any questions for me?” He stood there huge hairy arms crossed and smirking at me.”
“Um…” my mind was trying to figure out if he was sending me some sort of signal, but I didn’t want to assume… also for a moment my dumb fag brain forgot what I am supposed to ask… then I remembered. “I’m non-binary Sir” and he shook his head and chuckled to himself. I tried to stay calm and not be offended. “Well I always have to ask if it’s a queer and trans friendly environment.”
He looked a little annoyed but still amused. For a split second I was worried I was about to be hate crimed or how transphobic/homophobic this man was. “Well I don’t know how the tenants feel about fags, but I can put them in touch with you… did I say that right? Fag?” He inched closer to me threateningly.
I was instantly scared being alone with this bigger stronger alpha masculine man who could definitely get away with anything. And obviously had no idea how to talk to queer people or nonbinary people. But I just froze and couldn’t come up with anything to say that wouldn’t get me beaten.
“I asked you a question… FAGGOT” he inched closer and closer to my face and I could see the disdain and anger starting to grow on his face, and I started to get a whiff of his scent.
“Im sorry Sir” I answered fearfully.
“Answer me FAGGOT!” He screamed in my face, and I felt his spit all over my face.
“Yes Sir, that’s correct” I said sinking into myself and afraid if I didn’t answer the way he wanted I’d be in trouble.
“That’s what I fucking thought, dumb faggot” he whispered and growled into my ear. I started to feel like something bad was about to happen but I didn’t know what, but I noticed my fagclit was stimulated and leaking and all of the sudden I peed my pants. I looked down and saw a puddle on the floor and looked up at his menacing face. He slaps me so hard across my face.
“Stupid piece of shit faggot. Get down and clean your fag mess up” I follow his orders fearfully, I’m feeling terrified but also grateful that men like him exist to keep me on my toes and put me in my place so forcefully. My face hurts from where he hit me but in some way I love that I could feel is power.
“Sir?” I look up at him from the puddle on the floor.
“What faggot?”
“Um…”
“Fucking ask me”
“I’m sorry Sir um…” I’m scared to ask him what I’m about to ask him.
“Fucking ask me you stupid piece of shit”
I am terrified of him but I love how violent and manly his words are. I know I have to ask now, it’ll probably be worse if I don’t.
“May I please have some paper towels?”
There is a pause, I am shaking.
He kneels down to me and grabs me by the neck with his rugged big strong hands. I don’t even fight it, I just look into his eyes transfixed and waiting for what’s next. Anticipating, and dreading what might happen.
“Let me make one thing perfectly clear you stupid fucking queer piece of shit.” I start to cry realizing that I fucked up and I have no power in what happens to me now. “You are an inferior fag. I am a superior straight alpha Man. You NEVER ask ME” his grip tightens “to do YOU” his grip tightens more and I’m worried I’m going to lose consciousness or worse. “A fucking favor. You made this mess, YOU” his grip tightens more and I know I’m going to have bruises on my neck in the shape of his hand and I’m very lightheaded at this point. “Figure it out. I don’t care if you have to lick up every drop and get sick, I don’t care if you take your tranny clothes off and let the piss soak into your skin…” he pulls my ear to his mouth again, and he’s reeling in his anger I can feel his warm growling breath on my skin and he growl whispers “figure it out faggot” in the most sinister way. He lets go of my neck right before I’m about to pass out and I fall directly into my puddle, trying to catch my breath, seeing the rippled of my desperate breath in my puddle, I start to cry in fear and shame and hopelessness, which is everything I wanted to feel from a man, but the reality of it was settling in. This wasn’t some fantasy role play, this was real life. And I just knew I was even more addicted to this abuse. And I had a feeling he knew and loved that. All of the sudden I feel his boot on my head and he says “clean it up queer” and spits in my faggot face.
I collect myself as quickly as I can I start to take off my clothes to collect the piss, hoping all this drama didn’t let it seep into the floorboards too much. I run to the toilet to ring them out and run back to clean up more. All of the sudden I start to feel a little bit better, I’ve always wanted to be in the service of an alpha male and do his chores, and I’m here obeying this superior man and hyperfixating on the task and it just feels natural. I don’t even know if he’s here or in the next room for a second, but I see him sitting on the couch surveying me. The fear sets back in, but I also acknowledge that this just feels right. I don’t know if this man is actually homophobic or transphobic or if he is just saying this to put me in my place because he knows it’s what both of us need, but I don’t care, he can call me slurs and threaten me and hit me and choke me and step on me and spit on me and I will have no choice but to welcome it with open arms. And I shouldn’t have a choice. All of these horrible things that just happened to me start to give a weird sense of peace. And the part of me that would stand up to a bigot takes a back seat for now. It feels like a relief to not have to fight hate and oppression for once. Like I’m allowed to just obey and succumb.
Soon enough the floor is looking dryer. And I hear his heavy footsteps coming over. All of the sudden my mind freezes in fear again about what is about to happen. He crouches down next to me. I don’t dare look at him. “Lick it” he commands calmly.
I’m pretty sure he means the floor and not his boot. So I lick the floor where my puddle was.
“What does it taste like faggot? Look me in the eyes and answer me honestly faggot.”
I raise my eyes to his piercing eyes shaking in fear, that comfort I had from cleaning because he commanded it was gone and now all I had was fear.
I pause.
He rolls his eyes and abruptly grabs my neck again, harder than the first time. “Do we really have to do this again?” I hear the anger and impatience rise in his voice as his firm grip tightens. And for some reason I’m getting used to it and love his abuse and threatening behavior.
“It tastes like piss Sir” I squeak honestly, fearfully and also foolishly hoping for more of this treatment.
He throws me to the floor this time. “Oh you dumb fucking faggot.” He places his large boot on my skinny bruised neck. “You fucked up my sale faggot. You’re lucky I don’t beat you senseless right now fag.”
I’m choking and trying to catch my breath on the floor, naked with only my full face of makeup on. He’s spitting on me over and over again and keeping me down with his boot. I’m crying and afraid but also so grateful that a man feels comfortable to treat me how he wants to.
He marches off. Leaves the apartment while slamming the door. and leaves me bruised and covered in spit and I put on my piss drenched clothes. I know I deserve what happened. I pissed on the floor that he was trying to sell. I’m lucky I’m alive. I’m lucky I’m not getting sued. What money would I be able to give anyways? Any way my fag brain tried to say “well he scared me, I didn’t mean to pee” his threatening alpha voice rang in my ears and i knew it was my own fault. I felt totally degraded and afraid and in danger, but also like i had only gotten a taste of something i had fantasized about for so long… and now i know im done for and ill be addicted to this kind of treatment for the rest of my miserable life. And if this experience proved nothing, it’s that i actually deserve it.
I collect myself.
I try to wipe the tears from my currently welling eyes, and I make my way to the door. I walk out of the building, and I walk by him on the way out, explaining what happened to the apartment to the apartment manager. He glares at me and I glance at him and then look down in fear and start to hurry out as fast as I can. I know running from a man like that never helps.
After a humiliating walk home where me already presenting the way I do makes me a target, but the fact that my neck is bruised and I’m covered in piss makes me a target for a hate crime, I’m lucky all I got was men laughing at me and calling me faggot on the way home. I open the door to my closet apartment and my phone vibrates and it’s him.
He messages me this selfie of him from the apartment. Followed by this text.
“Here’s what’s going to happen faggot” my mind thinking it’s crazy he did all this to me and is putting this in writing, but then i remember that the cops would applaud him and arrest me. I continue reading “you fucked up bad today, but you followed my orders and did your best. That shows that you know your rightful place beneath a man. We both know you can’t afford your current rent, or the place I showed to you today. After all, who would want to employ a piss soaked beaten up loser faggot? Right?” “Right” I replied internally. “So here’s the plan. I have your address from the rental application. I will be showing up bright and early tomorrow morning to pick your faggot ass up, and move into my place. You won’t have to pay rent, but you will have to obey and serve and put up with all of my abuse, which I can tell you need desperately. From the moment you walked in, I knew exactly what you were, and when you couldn’t stop looking at my arms and my body and your mind went blank, I knew I could do whatever I wanted. I’m a bully, I’m an abuser, because that’s what’s natural and fun for me, and you’re the perfect target. You will do whatever the fuck I want you to do faggot, all the cooking and cleaning and chores, and I will treat you exactly how you objectively deserve to be treated. If I use you sexually that will be rare and a treat, I’m straight and even though you clearly wish you were a girl, you’re not. You’re not a man, or a woman, so I guess you got that figured out with your nonbinary faggot identity” I felt comfort in that confirmation “there is no need for you to reply to this message or agree or disagree. I am the man and I have decided. And if you try to lock me out, I will call my locksmith buddy, or just knock down your door. You belong to me. Everything you own belongs to me. No more friends. No more family. No more job. No more money. See you tomorrow fag! HA!”
And just like that I knew all my worst fears and greatest desires were coming true. I couldn’t say no, because he wouldn’t allow it, and if I tried I don’t want to know what he would do. There was this pit in my stomach that told me what was happening was final and there was nothing to be done. This would be my life until he decided otherwise. And if he ever did tire of me I would be fucked in the world with no money and no contacts so I had to do my best to be what he needed as long as possible.
Men get what they want. Every time. And when I look at him, I know my place and I know why this all unfolded in the way it did. He is my home. It’s lonely and broken and scary but home is home and I wouldn’t and couldn’t have it any other way. Thank god for Alpha Men.
