Submitting to Alphas, betraying my lefty beliefs to serve my real Superiors and promote the truth: straight, Republican MAGA Men rule, and They deserve our respect and obedience!
You knew this day would get here, but then His text arrived, and it was suddenly real.
Election Day 2020.
Your MAGA Master had trained you over the past few months, kneeling in front of Him, going candidate by candidate, issue by issue, making you explain why the Conservative position was right and superior, a quick slap or kick to correct you. Punish fucking your holes if He thought You were resisting, or going to argue. Until now you could argue any libtard point, make any case for equality seem biased against the real Men who run things.
Today was the day tho - you betray whatever was left of those old principles and prove your loyalty to Him and to the Truth, one and for all. You’re scared, but every time You think of Him, doing what He wants, worshipping Him, looking up at Him, you go weak with excitement.
The line is long, and He’s ordered you to text Him and report in while You wait.
“Here sir.”
“Good, faggot.
What are you?”
“A traitor, Sir.”
“What else, dumbass.”
“A MAGA servant, Sir.”
“And?”
“Degenerate beta, Sir.”
“And?”
“Cock craving footlicker, Sir.”
“And?”
“Your inferior, Sir.”
“And?”
“Your MAGA drone, Sir.”
“And?”
“Your slave, Master.”
“And?”
“I worship You and only follow Your orders, Master.”
“And?”
“Thank You for showing me the truth about the world, Master.”
“And?”
“Thank You for allowing me to serve my MAGA Superior, Master.”
“And?”
“You are my god, Master.”
“That’s right, moron.”
You look up and are surprised you’re at the front of the line and that He’s been pounding you so hard you lost track of time. In a haze, focused on Him, you take your ballot.
He won’t allow You to just check “Republican.” He ordered you to check every candidate, every race, and to thank Him after each one. And even tho it’s at the top of the ballot, leave the most important one for last.
So you do. At the very first vote, relief surges through you, and every one after that gets easier. And all you can feel is overwhelming gratitude for your Master, how excited you are to please Him. You work your way methodically down the ballot, your old life melting away for good. And then the final one: Donald J Trump, President.
You think it should be more complicated, but all you feel is...right. Finally. Thrilled. Done. Proud to serve. Sure of your place in the new world of your Superiors.
As He ordered, before you even leave, you get on Your knees in the parking lot, take a pic that includes the folks in line looking at you, and send it:
“It’s done, Master.
Thank you for allowing me to serve You, Master”
“You’re mine forever now, my stupid libtard bitch.”
“Yes Master”
“Get the shit, and get your ass over here. NOW.”
You pick up His food and the beer. Get on your knees and wait until He opens the door to let you crawl in. As soon as it opens and you look up at Him after kissing His feet, you feel and intense wave of...thankfulness? weakness? gratitude? awe? All of the above: truth.
The rest of the night, you spend like this: worshipping His feet, in between His legs sniffing His ass, balls, and cock, listening while He kicks back and watches the returns, knowing with every race called for the Republican Majority, that His celebratory beating of You will be all the more severe. And you couldn’t be any happier...
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“DO IT.”
You knew this day would get here, but then His text arrived, and it was suddenly real.
Election Day 2020.
Your MAGA Master had trained you over the past few months, kneeling in front of Him, going candidate by candidate, issue by issue, making you explain why the Conservative position was right and superior, a quick slap or kick to correct you. Punish fucking your holes if He thought You were resisting, or going to argue. Until now you could argue any libtard point, make any case for equality seem biased against the real Men who run things.
Today was the day tho - you betray whatever was left of those old principles and prove your loyalty to Him and to the Truth, one and for all. You’re scared, but every time You think of Him, doing what He wants, worshipping Him, looking up at Him, you go weak with excitement.
The line is long, and He’s ordered you to text Him and report in while You wait.
“Here sir.”
“Good, faggot.
What are you?”
“A traitor, Sir.”
“What else, dumbass.”
“A MAGA servant, Sir.”
“And?”
“Degenerate beta, Sir.”
“And?”
“Cock craving footlicker, Sir.”
“And?”
“Your inferior, Sir.”
“And?”
“Your MAGA drone, Sir.”
“And?”
“Your slave, Master.”
“And?”
“I worship You and only follow Your orders, Master.”
“And?”
“Thank You for showing me the truth about the world, Master.”
“And?”
“Thank You for allowing me to serve my MAGA Superior, Master.”
“And?”
“You are my god, Master.”
“That’s right, moron.”
You look up and are surprised you’re at the front of the line and that He’s been pounding you so hard you lost track of time. In a haze, focused on Him, you take your ballot.
He won’t allow You to just check “Republican.” He ordered you to check every candidate, every race, and to thank Him after each one. And even tho it’s at the top of the ballot, leave the most important one for last.
So you do. At the very first vote, relief surges through you, and every one after that gets easier. And all you can feel is overwhelming gratitude for your Master, how excited you are to please Him. You work your way methodically down the ballot, your old life melting away for good. And then the final one: Donald J Trump, President.
You think it should be more complicated, but all you feel is...right. Finally. Thrilled. Done. Proud to serve. Sure of your place in the new world of your Superiors.
As He ordered, before you even leave, you get on Your knees in the parking lot, take a pic that includes the folks in line looking at you, and send it:
“It’s done, Master.
Thank you for allowing me to serve You, Master”
“You’re mine forever now, my stupid libtard bitch.”
“Yes Master”
“Get the shit, and get your ass over here. NOW.”
You pick up His food and the beer. Get on your knees and wait until He opens the door to let you crawl in. As soon as it opens and you look up at Him after kissing His feet, you feel and intense wave of...thankfulness? weakness? gratitude? awe? All of the above: truth.
The rest of the night, you spend like this: worshipping His feet, in between His legs sniffing His ass, balls, and cock, listening while He kicks back and watches the returns, knowing with every race called for the Republican Majority, that His celebratory beating of You will be all the more severe. And you couldn’t be any happier...