It was inevitable.
Finding a Dom is hard enough. You must bravely fight through
the barbed wire of greed, then avoid the simplistic middle finger poking you in
the eye, and don’t forget the yawningly boring and deeply depressing: “Hey fag
serve me”. Of course, you must double check verification, analyse images which have
been digitally enhanced beyond belief, but that’s just the start of the climb up the mountain of service.
You struggle forwards, wondering what the Dom’s motives might be, and you
analyse their words, check the details on their profile and then, to your
horror you discover that you aren’t reading the words of a Dom but the words of
HAL9000’s cheeky second cousin, ChatGPT!
Dear friends, dear SUBS, spend time before spending tips,
and if HE sounds too good to be true, step away and start again.
This BLOG was created by ChatGPT…
When I came to this wonderful website, the second time
around, in the first few hours I was encouraged to leave the site and head to
another platform. I smiled. I understood the ‘game’. The ‘Dom’ who insisted I
walked away from this site so that MasterOfAll would receive nothing for his incredible
efforts, then demanded, within the first few seconds of our engagement, £100. The
Dom wasn’t remotely interested in me, he didn’t care whether I was happy or
not, he wanted money. I declined his demand and he was churlishly, childishly furious and
has tried, at occasional intervals, to convince me and more importantly himself,
that what he was doing was right and that I am a fool.
What a load of old bollocks! There are no rules in this findom world. Everyone, whether Dom or sub, chooses their own unique path. I don’t subscribe to the rules set by others and that makes a great many men quite cross. For them, I have only this to say: I don’t care. I have my own rules, designed to keep me safe in a dark, deceptive world. Treat me with respect and you’ll receive my respect. Treat me like a fool and I’ll assume you are a fool. Behave impatiently, ungraciously, greedily and with an uncalled-for callousness and I will slam the door in your face. I'd rather be alone and unowned forever than to be the slave of a liar.
I'm submissive but not everywhere, and I’m here to find a
good man and to give to him the best of myself. The best isn’t just cold, easy money
but care, respect, devotion, decency and even my love. I'm not easy but treat me honestly, patiently, compassionately and who knows, I might be all yours…
I'd like to address some rumours that have been going around in the last few days. That Slave, I meant to write, Cynic and myself are in fact the same person!
Yes, we are both obsessed with Master Zal (but then who isn't?) and dismayed at his continued and obstinate use of towels and other fabrics to cover up his family jewels. Yes: we are both blessed/cursed with ENORMOUS cocks. Yes: we both tend to see the (usually intentional) amusing/funny in some posts and pictures, and having incurred the wrath of several masters with a sense-of-humour bypass, luckily survived a number of clumsy assassination attempts. Yes, we never seem to be in the chat room at the same time. BUT we are not the same entity!
Fortunately, I don't have Slave’s Cynic’s teapot’ish looks, but I do have BREATHTAKING bulging muscles, which is just as well as the world needs the occasional ‘stud sub' to walk into the room. There are two of us, but we are not the same. Not to mention that it would be in direct infringement of OF’s T&C.
So, I hope that now I've put to bed once and for all these flattering (for Cynic) but pointless, I mean, baseless rumours..
I joined this site almost 3 years ago to encounter a Dom, to serve a Master and I was lucky enough to meet him. Sadly it didn't work as we would have hoped, sometimes it doesn't work but I have no regrets, only happy memories. Service isn't easy, it's complicated because there are often agendas, sometimes uncertainties and online life is never easy. Throw in the demands of the heart, hopes, fears and the expectations of a busy life and then long-term service is made almost impossible.
Some make it. Lucky them.
I came here to find a Dom and Master, but I also came here to meet friends, to speak with like-minded men, to engage, to smile, to laugh, fundamentally to find companionship. Life is often lonely and we must all do what we can to keep the loneliness at bay. I take responsibility for my words and actions and I've apologised often. I've behaved poorly. I've admonished myself and begged for forgiveness. I've hurt good men, both sub and Dom and I've hurt myself far more.
Please, time is painfully short and this place should be full of possibility and hope. I'm often foolish but I have no axe to grind and no judgements to make. If you find happiness and contentment, even for a moment, then I'll celebrate with you. It's a difficult world so I beg you, let's all take a breath and be kind to each other.
The first treatment of a Porn Movie that will be shot soon...
SCENE 1
INTEROR - The Safe House
Midday
In a dimly lit bedroom a laptop is gently humming. Exterior sounds of cars, police sirens and people talking. The sound of a cork popping is heard out of shot. Slave enters, walking from a steamy bathroom into the bedroom. He is naked and holding a glass of wine. His bronzed body and glistening muscles dripping with perspiration after a three-hour calisthenics session at a local gym. He smiles. He picks up a poster from the black silk sheets on the bed. He unrolls the poster and pins it on peeling wallpaper opposite the king-sized bed. Slave looks at the image. He groans, he shouts, empty wine glasses start moving and one falls from a chest of drawers.
Slave: NO. NO. NO! You’re kidding me! You’re fucking kidding me!
Close up to slave’s angry but alluringly handsome face.
Slave: Another fucking towel!
The poster is revealed. It shows Masterzal in a locker room, naked, with a white towel draped elegantly over his interesting bits. Slave beats the wall with his hand, his massive muscles strained in rage. The wall shakes and dust falls. The phone rings. Slave steadies himself. He inhales deeply through his manly nostrils. He turns and swaggers towards the telephone, scratching his enormous balls as his massive cock slaps his thighs. He picks up the receiver.
Slave: What?
A distant voice starts speaking unintelligibly.
Slave: When? Are you sure? Are you sure you want this? It WILL change your life. You’ll never be the same again. You’ll probably never walk in the same way again?
Slave replaces the handset and smiles.
If you would like a PART TWO, please let me know.
I wasn’t alone. Nelson Mandela, Mahatma Gandhi, Oscar Wilde, Paris Hilton, I shared their determination to suffer the agonies of prison, and like them, I refused to compromise my values and beliefs. I seek no praise. I’m not brave. I’m just a Slave with a heart.
I’ve been to the dungeon before. I’ve stood in the face of adversity and cruelty and survived. I’ve endured the degradation of unhelpful, taunting messages from Doms and Subs, and yes, I have all your names. I’ve seen the misery, the suffering, inhaled the peculiar smells and wondered why I had been left alone in the darkness. Abandoned.
However, I now know the truth. It’s not about targets. It’s not about failure. I am regularly and unceremoniously thrown into the musty place of screams and terror because of my beguiling, incomparable and irresistible body.
Each night I was made to stare at images of the
magnificent Masterzal. I was made to admire other bulges, flexings and gym pictures
taken and ‘professionally enhanced’ by many Masters over many years. Each day I
was made to clean the indescribable slop buckets left by lazy subs with worrying
bowel issues, whilst wearing HighViz’s discarded luminous gear, rich with
rubber rot. As I wept, I glanced at the graffiti scratched desperately into the
walls by the ripped nails of former punishmentd dungeon dwellers.
“One day I will be Number One.” Desperate words from
Fagof2Sirs who now steals my money to enhance his fraudulent service.
“I hope to be Sub of the Day FOREVER” Wrote SubJeffie who
is stealing my thunder.
“I am a teapot.” Poor Cynic, made mad by the torments.
Finally, days of misery were broken by the long-awaited message
from my Master: “Slave. Where’s my coffee?” He continued: “You’ll be pleased to
know that the site is doing incredibly well without you. I mentioned to
Enslaved that you were in the dungeon and he replied: Slave who?”
As I read those cruel words my sobbing was interrupted by
heavy breathing and a peculiar pumping sound coming from the corner of the
dungeon. I peered through my bars and saw a figure lurking behind a red
curtain, pulling on levers, fiddling with large red knobs and laughing at
verification pictures and videos. It was him. It was the ONE. It was THE Master
of ALL.
“Why? Why have you done this to me? Discarded me? Thrown
me into this place?” I screamed.
He turned. His eyes sparkling with jealousy: “Slave, you
are TOO HANDSOME!”
Like Nelson Mandela, Mahatma Gandhi, Oscar Wilde and Paris
Hilton I will not be diminished by the dungeon and all its ghastliness. Like
Gloria Gaynor, ‘I Will Survive!’
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You should only view this site if you are over the age of 18, male and are not easily offended.
