The following is a work of erotic fiction. Although it may be based on real life events, the content, names, and all details should be viewed as fictional and should only be read by readers 18 and over. This post was created from an idea by faggot sportsgear and written by Alpha Lyon.

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I let myself in with the key you left for me. I get to work, knowing that if I do my chores, I might be rewarded. 

I start with the laundry, carefully sorting them by colors, lingering on the part that touched your skin and absorbed your sweat and musk. I sniff at your underwear, your socks, the pit stains of your T-shirt. I tell myself it’s to see if they’re dirty, but we both know the truth: it gives me life.

As the water starts to soak away your scent, I go to the kitchen and prepare your post-workout peanut butter sandwich with just a touch of honey. I pour your whiskey, Neat, classic, masculine. I want to put my lips where I know yours will be, but I don’t dare.

I hear the door open as you walk in, and before I can turn around to see you, I smell your pheromones, sending me immediately into the bliss of subspace.

You say nothing to me as you sit down on your couch and turn on the TV: a Man only speaks when he has something to say.

I kneel between your wide-spread legs, arms holding out your sandwich and drink in tribute. A few drops of honey leak from the sandwich and onto your fingers. You focus on the TV, but extend your hand for me to lick the sticky nectar from your digits. I can taste a faint residue of metal from the weights which linger on your calluses, but do not complain, for this is a gift.

You lean back and take a sip of your drink, letting out a small and unapologetic belch. My tiny dick presses against its cage under my shorts. Again, I do not complain.

I take your feet, one at a time, and carefully undo the laces. I slide your shoes off and am transported by the smell. I roll your socks off, feeling the sweat-soaked soles. I long to savor their flavor, your flavor, but that is a selfish want. I place them neatly to the side with your shoes; I know how much you detest a faggot with a disregard for order; and orders.

I slowly work my way up your hairy muscular legs. You do not stop me, and I know this is your way of telling me to continue my ascension. I make my way up past your treasure trail to your chest. I kiss every dried drop of sweat that clings to your skin and body hair. They are not the kisses of a lover, but kisses from one who worships a greater man. 

You place your arms behind your head with effortless confidence and another sign of where my face should be next. I start by sniffing your right armpit until I feel your hand grip the hair on the back of my head. You force my face to be buried in the valley of your pit. I stick my tongue out and taste your amazing Alpha pheromones directly from the source. Another layer of equality is stripped away.

Once I have cleaned your whole pit, I move towards the left one, but not before I worship your huge chest. I open my mouth, eager to roll your Alpha nipples on my tongue until they are firm and full. I do not spend too much time lost in my haze before moving to your left pit. I do not need the firm hand on the back of my head to know what is expected of me, but still, you place it there. And I feel safe.

You stop me, and for a brief moment, I wonder if I had done something wrong.

“I have to piss.”

You see me get a little nervous. You know this is something I have wanted for a while. You also know that it is something I have never done with any other man, because they were never worthy. Not like you.

You grab the back of my head and say

 “It’s ok faggot, this is how you learn.” 

And again, I feel safe.

You slowly push my head down to your sweaty jockstrap. I nuzzle my face in it and take one deep breath like I’m hitting poppers. You pull my head away. You lean forward. You spit in my face to remind me of my place. You ask me the question, almost rhetorically:

“Are you ready to be of full use to me, faggot?”

I gulp and say, “Yes, Sir!”

You slowly pull the pouch of your jockstrap to the side, freeing your flaccid Alpha cock. I have seen it many times, yet I am always amazed by its reveal.

“Open wide,” you order.

“Do not touch your nub,” you remind.

“I’m going to make you a piss-fag,” you promise.

Mouth opened wide, I await the transformation, deepening my faggotry. After a few seconds, the first few drops hit my tongue. I flinch, but just from the surprise of how warm your piss is. The saltiness is amazing and I immediately can’t get enough of your Alpha piss.

Once my mouth is full, you cut the stream and allow me to swallow. I’m surprised at how much I loved feeling your warm piss flow down my throat, quenching more than just my thirst.

“Please, Sir! Please may I have more. Please empty your bladder down my faggot throat!!! Please, Sir! It’s what I need. Please, Sir!”

You smile at my eagerness despite my boldness to ask for something from you. You lower your dick into my mouth and tell me, 

“Do not suck my cock. That is not your purpose right now. You are my faggot urinal. You are to get my piss out and nothing else. Understand?”

I struggle to get out a muffled, “Yes, Sir!” around your thick, sweaty, Alpha dick in my mouth. I start to feel my mouth getting warm. I can’t believe you’re emptying your entire bladder full of Alpha piss down my fag throat. I can’t believe I am debased like this. I can’t believe I want nothing else in the world than this moment. I’m embarrassed and humiliated. Who lets someone piss directly in their mouth? But my tiny dick starts to betray me as it strains in my cage and I know the answer to the question: a faggot. In that truth, I’m at home in my rightful place, serving my purpose both in the hierarchy and to my Alpha Owner. 

Once you finish, you pull your dick out and ask me what I am. 

“A faggot, Sir.”

You pause, and I know in your silence that I did not give the correct answer. I try again.

“Your faggot, Sir.”

You lightly slap my face and say,

 “Good, faggot” 

Your words give me an Immediate surge of energy and a renewed sense of self. 

You stand up and tuck your dick back in the pouch. You walk away from me and I see your amazing Alpha ass, lifted by the straps of your jock. My mouth begins to water. You stop, but do not turn around as you say,

“I see you, faggot. Don’t get any ideas. You’re never going to get this ass. Besides, your dick is too small even if you wanted to fuck something.” 

I apologize and assure you that is not what I was thinking. 

“Then what were you lusting after, faggot? Say it. Don’t sit in silence. I know when something is on your mind, boy”. 

“Well, uh… I was hoping… If it’s not out of line for me to ask…” I stammer, conflicted between revealing my thoughts as ordered and being respectful by ignoring my wants.

“Spit it out faggot.”

“Could I please worship your Alpha ass and hole? I promise I won’t try to stick anything in. But I need to worship every part of your body, Sir”

You pause, considering how to handle my answer. You tell me to go lay on the bed with my head off of the side. I hurry past you, not wanting to disobey.

You follow behind and slowly lower your ass above my face. You order me to lick it. Your ass tastes just like I thought it would: subtle hints of sweat and Alpha musk ever present. My senses are overloaded. Another layer of ego stripped away. I wanted to do this for hours. I may have. I lost all sense of time.  It could have been minutes or hours that I was worshiping your Alpha ass. I didn’t want it to end.

Eventually, you stand up and tell me to kneel. You sit on the edge of the bed. Is this it? Is this the moment I look forward to every session?

“Start sniffing the jock, fag.”

It is. It is time to worship the last part of you. And I feel the familiar surge of submission; always the same. I could cry from excitement. A dream coming true.

I stick my nose in your pouch and take the biggest breath I can. Your sweat, musk, and pheromones fill my lungs. I am in heaven. 

You lift yourself up and I know I am allowed to remove your jockstrap. Your Alpha cock is revealed once again in its full glory. It starts to get hard. Swelling. Blood coursing through your veins. Precum leaking in anticipation.

“Suck me.”

You command. I comply.

From my training, I remember the very distinct difference here. “Suck me” versus “suck me off”. My goal is not to make you cum. My goal is  to make you feel as good as possible. For as long as possible.

The head of your dick brushes against my tongue. I taste a sweet drop of precum. A switch is flipped. I had been a dirty fag when I delighted in swallowing your piss. But now? Now I am a dirty fag in cock sucking mode. I can’t get enough of your Alpha dick. It’s almost like I’m on a plane and your cock is my oxygen mask. I just need more and more down my throat as it slowly swells from “firm” to “rock hard”. The bigger it gets, the more I start to gag and choke. But I do not complain. No one complains from pleasure.

You grab the back of my head. You apply force to make sure I take the same amount down my throat as I did when you were soft. I hear the unnatural sounds my throat is making and feel the drool running down my chin. My eyes water. But I do not complain. I am in my happy place. My safe place. My sub space.

I am pulled from this bliss only when you stop. You remove your cock from my mouth and I feel an immediate emptiness. You stand me up. We are the same height, but I feel you towering over me. I hear a small clicking sound of something being shaken. Then I smell it. Black Rush poppers under my right nostril. I do not have to be told. I inhale as deep as I can. My ears begin to ring as I hear,

“Hold, faggot.”

I obey. I know better than to exhale. I do as I’m told. My head begins to spin as the chemicals rush. I feel detached yet hyper-present. I feel only one need. I need to serve my Alpha.

After about 20 seconds, you tell me to exhale. You feed me more poppers up my left nostril. Again, I hold. I hear you order me to pull my pants off. I obey. You stand next to me and laugh. I do not need to know what you find funny. My tiny caged dick is pathetic next to your Alpha cock. 

You grab me. You throw me face-down on the bed. I know what happens next. I wait for the sound of the condom being unrolled on your cock. But the sound never comes. Instead, I feel your huge dick head. It is wet with precum and spit. It rubs against my tight hole. You tell me to take a deep breath and relax before feeding me two more hits of poppers. On the second hit you tell me to hold it in. Finally I exhale. And as I exhale, I feel your big bare cock forcing its way into my hole. 

I scream a bit. You wrap your arm around my neck. You whisper in my ear,

“Take that Alpha cock. Make my dick feel good. Be a good slut for me, faggot.”

I can’t see straight. The poppers. Your pheromones. The anticipation of your huge cock about to rearrange my insides. I’m a total mindless faggot. I’m in fagspace. I’m just a faggot hole to be used and worship my Alpha. Whatever Sir wants, he gets. I know Sir will protect me. And I trust him without question. 

Two more hits of poppers and then it truly starts. I feel you slowly start pumping the full length of your Alpha cock. I moan like a faggot in heat every time your cock makes the slightest move or twitch or flexation.

Then it happens.

My ass finally lets free. You notice I’m considerably looser now. You take this as a sign. You start thrusting a little faster. I scream out.

“Please fuck me hard, Sir! Please, Sir, use my hole! Make me your faggot cum dump, Sir!”

Your thrusts become shorter but faster. Your balls slap against my ass. Occasionally they hit my tiny cage as it awkwardly bounces under me. 

Your thrusts get longer again. With each stroke, you pull all the way out to admire your work. My hole starts gaping every time you pull out. But not without a whimper of empty longing from me. I need to be filled again. You know this, because you are not a “man”; you are a “Man”. The more you stretch me, the more I moan. I am lost in fag space while you get lost in your Alpha rut. Time has no meaning. Only you using me has meaning. 

Your rhythm changes. You lean down and whisper in my ear,

“Time to remind you who you belong to, faggot.” 

I let out a half coherent, “Please, Sir. Make me your faggot cumdump. Use me for your pleasure. it is what I need and what you deserve. I exist to please you.”

You start grunting. They are different. Tinged with animal instinct. Unbound by a latex barrier. Could it be? Is this really going to happen? The thing I’ve fantasized about for what feels like forever?

Your grunts get louder. Your fucks get shorter, but harder. Then with one definitive thrust, I hear it. You let out the world’s biggest Alpha roar. Your Alpha cum fills me. There is only so much my ass can hold. There is no condom to collect it all. It leaks from my ass. You keep pumping as you empty your seed into me. But I can’t handle my ecstasy any more. I try as hard as I can, but I squirt my inferior fag juice while you fill my ass with your superior seed

You gradually slow your thrusts. I can feel your cock become soft in my ass. I feel your weight on top of me as I reemerge from my sub-space. Your scent covers me. I want nothing more than this moment. 

Finally, you pull out. I feel your absence.

“I gotta shower.”

You roll off of me. I hear the water start to run. I put fresh sheets on the bed and carry the dirty ones to the laundry room. I put your clothes in the dryer and put our freshly soiled sheets in the washer. But not before I lick the cum spots from them one last time. I have fulfilled my purpose. I have given my Alpha pleasure. My last act of service is in showing myself out.