verbalBTTM

Sunday, June 27, 1993, 01:42 PM Back in our pack’s room, I start to dress, the weight of my new identity settling over me like a second skin. The Omega’s voice cuts through, low and commanding. “Why don’t we start a little training now, faggot?” Before the watchful eyes of the pack, he barks, “Position one.” His tone laced with authority as he fastens a leash to my collar pulling it taught. I drop to my knees without hesitation, the room shrinking under his presence of command. His hand moves with calculated precision, delivering sharp, controlled slaps to my face with his cock, each one a reminder of his dominance. Slowly, he guides himself into my mouth, my submission absolute. My hands grip his thighs, feeling the raw power coursing through him as he swells, claiming the space between us. I work his shaft slowly, eyes locked on his, seeking approval. A flicker of enjoyment in his gaze spurs me on. The Alpha steps forward, pressing a bottle of poppers to my nostril. I inhale deeply, the sharp scent igniting my senses, heightening my desire. My slobber drips from my bottom lip as I redouble my efforts, driven by a primal need to please. Mentor presses my head into the Omega’s crotch, choking out phlegm as tears stream down my face. The Alpha offers poppers again, growling, “Choke harder, faggot,” as the Omega’s hands merge with Mentor’s, their domination absolute. The Beta snaps a belt across my ass, ordering position two. Without hesitation, I grip the Omega's sides tighter, bracing myself as poppers fuel my further ascent into surrender. Mentor and Alpha work in tandem, their fingers—one, then two—probing and stretching me open with deliberate intent. My body yields under their touch, heat rising. Beta steps forward, his thick, uncut Latin cock glistening with spit, and my hole clenches, a wave of lust crashing over me as his saliva slicks my skin. The Alpha urges, “Slut your holes out, faggot, be a good boy.” The Beta kicks my legs apart, driving deeper as I’m thrusted at both ends, poppers pushing me into utter faggotry. The Omega commands, “More tongue, faggot,” parking himself in my throat, relishing my struggle. I work his shaft, staring into his eyes, seeking approval as Mentor spits in my face, his finger digging into my ass alongside the Alpha’s, stretching me for the Beta’s pleasure. My tongue tickles the Omega’s base, my hole clenching to draw the Beta deeper. The Omega’s pulse quickens, his legs tensing as the first spurt releases. I flick my tongue, matching his rhythm, guiding his essence down my throat. His crotch begins convulsing against my face, his balls starting to drain into me, fulfilling my desire for his satisfaction. The Omega grips my head, demanding, “Open your throat, faggot.” Tears well as I obey, trembling under the poppers’ force, my submission absolute. He buries every inch, holding until I can’t breathe, my face blue, tears streaming—a testament to my devotion. The room echoes with my moans, the clap of my cheeks, and the Omega’s climax, my gaze unwavering. As the Beta slaps my ass, his thrusts turn frenzied, signaling his release. “Oh fuck,” he gasps, his final thrust flooding me with his sacred seed. His grip loosens, the other men’s fingers withdraw, and his strength ebbs as he shakes out the last drops, marking me for the weekend. I pump my ass on the Beta’s softening cock, slathering the Omega’s head to complete my service. Sated, I release him, my voice steady with purpose: “I will not allow a drop of my brothers’ seed to touch the earth, sir.” The Omega’s smile mirrors the others’ murmured approval: “Good faggot.” My tongue traces his shaft, reverent, cleansing every trace of my devotion. In this act, I shed my former self, each lick a vow to the eternal bond of this Brotherhood. Mentor’s proud gaze reflects my becoming—a soul forged anew in submission’s fire. Mentor and Alpha pull me aside to rest, praising my effort. “You didn’t quit,” they say, their approval sealing my transformation in this crucible of surrender. Sunday, June 27, 1993, 02:21 PM Searching for the guys, I pass each den’s door, hearing moans and slaps. That sounds like harry—clearly, I’m not the only one getting a send-off. In the living room, I find Master with a drink, reading a book. “May I join you, Sir?” I ask. “Sure,” he says. “What’s on your mind, faggot bindel?” I settle beside him. “I have questions about the weekend.” He nods. “Go ahead”, ass he closes his book. “Why the silence?” I ask. “In the beginning,” he explains, “only I communicate with you to instill my dominance and the Brotherhood’s hierarchy. Once you understood your place—how you submit to all, but a Beta doesn’t submit to an Omega—you began to accept your responsibilities and privileges. You’ll learn more as you grow.” “Why the hoods?” I continue. “The hoods strip away superficial judgments—freckles, features you might reject. Instead, you focus on a man’s capabilities, performance, kindness. They let your animal instincts take over. Get it?” “Yes, Sir,” I reply. “Why no names?” “As a pledge, you didn’t deserve them,” he says. “Now that you’ve embraced us, they’ll be revealed. By the way, I’m Carl Pinkerton, still Master to you, though. Only my husband calls me by name here.” “Yes, Sir,” I say. “Why no clothes?” He smirks. “It’s summer—who needs clothes? That’ll change with the weather, except in the Licentiousness Lounge. No point down there.” harry descends, greets us, and asks, “Where’s faggot worthington?” Moments later, the others trickle downstairs for the ride home. I collect the guys, and we make our way to the car. Sunday, June 27, 1993, 04:20 PM Master pulls us aside, handing each a small gift box. “Open this at home, in private,” he says, wishing us a safe journey. The gates open, and we start down the road. Curiosity wins, and danny opens my box since I’m driving. Inside is a video cassette labeled with my new title, an envelope, and a signet ring. The envelope contains a letter with contact information for my pack and a brief note: “Now that you are one of us, you must be trained as one of us. Your pack will guide your development from this point on; obey them as you would me. You can trust them—they are your brothers. We’ll see you soon. Your password is set as faggot1. P.S. The ring is worn on your right pinky.” The ring fits perfectly—how did Master know my size? Maybe that’s why he’s Master. Jokingly, danny and I clank fists, rings gleaming, and chant, “Wonder Faggot powers activate!” harry adds sound effects, while arthur hums the He-Man theme. “Form of a cumdump!” danny declares. “Form of a cock-slut!” I add. Our laughter celebrates our new lives, fitting like a worn-in shoe. Sunday, June 27, 1993, 04:33 PM On the road home, the four of us realize we’ve left something behind—something we don’t want back. Our boyish innocence, fears, hang-ups, and the lies we told ourselves to fit in are gone. We can’t hide from each other anymore; we’ve seen too much. We entered as frightened boys, adrift on life’s currents, and emerged as men, our purpose clear. Duty calls us now. It’s a duty to each other and our brothers, a lifelong adventure just beginning. Like the ad promised, we couldn’t imagine the possibilities then, but now, with childhood’s blinders gone, we step forward with confidence. My brothers are my keepers, as I am theirs. Forever changed, we look to a world of possibilities, our pledges reaffirmed. We’ll return—not as boys, but as men. End of My Genesis

Nice fuck stick

This is correct thinking, pleasure comes from service. The top serves the hole, the bottom serves the cock.

I love the word faggot, either calling a sub that, or when subbing myself

Spoken like a gentlemen who enjoys serving his fellow man

100% correct sir

You can give perfect head