Date: Sun, 9 Jul 2023 09:35:40 +0200 From: Ethan Ashford Subject: Sinclair Society - Elite Faggot Club Nifty / GAY / Authoritarian Gentlemen, you can reach me at SirsConcierge@mail.com. Please donate to Nifty, which is a life changing resource for many of us. Let us begin... Volume One My name is Ethan, but the true faggots out there refer to me only as the Concierge. And my job is to find the true faggots. Don't be offended. I am a fellow faggot, believe me. At least I was for many years. But now I have grown into a new role. You will learn all about that if you're interested. For now, I can tell you that I am 38 years old, a handsome masculine, six foot tall, seemingly straight man. A clean cut white guy with a boyish face and dimples. Big brown eyes. Great shape. I have lived in Southern California since I was a teenager. I ran away from home and moved in with Alexander Sinclair when I was just 17. How we met and how things evolved between us is perhaps another story for another time. I'm sure some of you will want to know all about it. But right now, I am headed over to the Petit Hermitage. This is a very exclusive and very beautiful hotel on a residential street in the Norma Triangle area of West Hollywood. It's pretty unassuming from the outside. The building doesn't reveal much. There's some ivy, some fancy valets. Up the elevator is the private pool floor, which has a restaurant that is only available to hotel guests. I'm not a guest, but I check in at the front desk using another name: Bobby Brash. Bobby Brash is a 19 year old kid from some rightwing redneck town in West Texas. He's got a very All American look. Strapping really. I think he was even on the high school football team. The thing is, Bobby Brash is secretly a faggot. He has known this since he was quite young. And he has been in communication with me for almost as long at this point. The kids today, they really can do an internet deep dive like no one else. And so Bobby Brash found the Sinclair Society. And because Bobby Brash is a true faggot, Bobby Brash has tried with every fiber of his being to become a member. I find him sitting poolside on the roof deck. He's looking very comfortable. How could he not be? He's a thousand miles away from his shitty home town, he's lounging on a pool chair at the Petit Hermitage wearing a pink bathing suit. He clearly belongs here in West Hollywood more than his shitty home town. And he's not paying a dime here. He's reached a stage, a level of interest for Sinclair, for our organization, that he has been afforded this accommodation. He was flown first class from whatever shitty airport was near his shitty town, into LAX where he was picked up by a Black Car, given a wardrobe including that pink bathing suite, and he's been checked in since early afternoon. He's blonde. Handsome. Smooth. Franky, he reminds me a little of myself at his age. Alexander Sinclair clearly has a type. You might think that Alexander financed this trip. You would be wrong. There are certain patrons for our organization. Let's just say they are people who understand and support what we do. They embrace the ideology. They understand the hierarchy. And they are more than happy to take care of these kinds of situations on Sinclair's behalf. More about that later. Bobby smiles to me as I walk over. He's feeling a little cocky. And maybe he should be, cocky. First off, he has a huge cock. I know it to be 8 and exactly three quarter inches cut. Not bad at all. More importantly, the odds that he would make it this far in the process were extraordinarily slim. "Hello, Sir," he says to me. I just take him in in all his glory. The tanned body. I can tell already he has done all the work required in terms of diet, exercise and weight training. He's a real Adonis. And I have to admit, seeing that little bit of whisky blonde hair on his legs gets my attention. "Faggot," I say. "You will have only one Sir here in California. You can call me Concierge." "Yes, Sir.... I mean Concierge!" I am not particularly amused by his mistakes but I move on. "Your time for lounging is over, faggot. Let's go to the room." "Yes, Concierge." It doesn't take long to get downstairs and key into his suite, which is the nicest in the hotel. These patrons are no joke. This is one of the nicest rooms in Los Angeles. As soon as we are behind closed doors, Bobby immediately strips down. He tosses off the robe from the pool area, and slips off those pink swim trunks. Once he's completely nude he assumes the correct position on his knees bowing before me and arching his back, leaving his ass vulnerable and exposed. As Concierge, I have seen a lot of these faggots come through. Some here at the Petite Hermitage and some at other fancy hotels. I have to admit, Bobby is one of the most beautiful specimens we have seen in awhile. Over the past year he has truly excelled as he has happily jumped through every hoop that we have given him so far. He has studied the Sinclair Manifesto with the zeal of a graduate student or doctorate candidate, he has done all of the things I have asked him to do in his outside life to prepare for this moment - no matter how seemingly crazy or intense. I would never reveal this to him, but he has proven himself time and time again to be one of the very best candidates we have ever seen through the process. And it is a very careful process indeed, honed over decades now by our Master. Yes, with a little help from me as the longest serving sub and now Concierge. We have become experts at taking these boys, these young men, who may know that they are faggots deep down from an early age, but because of their surroundings, their "Christian" parents, their culture, whatever the excuse may be - well, they haven't been able to be their true selves. We specialize in this. And we specialize in turning the seemingly straight, masculine, Middle American, football player, fratboy types and turning them into the faggot cocksucker slaves they truly need to be. Now, our organization is not limited to that kind of faggot, but we take special pride in being the place for those faggots to shine. Those faggots inspire Sinclair, and me for that matter. This is the fun part, for us. "Faggot," I say, now running my hands over the barely visible blonde hairs on Bobby's legs... "You have been exceptional in many ways up until this point. Maybe that's why I am so surprised." He turns around and meets my eye. He's in a panic. He knows he fucked up somehow, but clearly has no idea how - despite my touches. "Where did I fall short?" He says with deep shame in is voice. "You know we don't allow faggots to even come onto the Sinclair property with body hair." His face turns crimson red. "But look! I waxed all of my pubic hair, my underarms, and my hole, Concierge!" I shake my head at him. "What's this?" And I pluck one of the tiny hairs off of his leg! His eyes bulge! "Oh my God! I always keep my legs shaved. It's a ritual for me. But I must have let it slip. Oh my GOD! I should have waxed them not shaved. I can do that right now!" I look at him in his beautiful blue eyes. Lesser boys I would have sent packing immediately for this kind of infraction. There's no doubt. But I just can't help myself. He's too fucking cute and he has worked for YEARS to be here. He has already utterly transformed his life. He has given us more than most cults. We have hours of confession videos of his deepest desires and fantasies - which Sir has watched highlights of and enjoyed. We have enough detailed Nude photos of his body to recreate him as an AI avatar deep fake and make him a porn star in the most depraved videos imaginable that nobody in Texas could imagine weren't real. All long the way he has given it all to us. We can own him for the rest of his life. And he has done it eagerly. And with love. "I just can't believe after everything you've done that you would let an obvious detail like that slip, faggot." "Yes Concierge. I am incredibly embarrassed." "Our patrons even provided you with all the waxing equipment you would need! Now get in the bathroom and take care of it quickly." "Yes Concierge!" And he scampers off. "CRAWL FAGGOT!" I yell at him. He should know that no faggot walks on anything other than his hands and knees when in private with us. He immediately jumps down to his hands and knees and crawls into the bathroom. I look at my watch. 6pm. My hope is that this won't take much longer and we can have him approved and ready to head toward the Estate by 8 o'clock. There is a whole harem of faggot boys who have long ago gone through this process and who are waiting at the Estate to welcome Bobby. And Sinclair wants all hands on deck tonight to serve him. The faggot scampers out of the bathroom now. His legs look perfect. I can't help but to smile a bit. "You have studied. You know the next protocols." He looks down at the floor. Still embarrassed from fucking up. "Yes Concierge." Still on his knees he assumes the position in front of my crotch, looking up at me with good eye contact. He's clearly waiting for me to take the lead. "You are a virgin aren't you boy?" "Yes Concierge. At least with men." I raise an eyebrow. "I'm on the football team. Many cheerleaders have tried to suck my cock. I couldn't fight them all off. That would be really suspicious." I laugh. I already know this. It's in the transcripts of his many hours of confessions. "But you have never sucked a cock have you?" "No Sir." "No Concierge!" "How do you even know you want to? How do you know you're a faggot?" "I HAVE NEVER WANTED SOMETHING MORE IN MY ENTIRE LIFE." I smile at this. "Well, as you know, I would never, ever allow a faggot even in the same room as Master Sinclair unless I knew he was a well trained cocksucker. So you have work to do. What are the protocols boy? "If I am ever in the room with Sir, 1. I am to be hairless, naked, and on my knees." "Good, faggot." "2.I am also to be collared. A symbol of his ownership of me and my membership in the Sinclair Society. The elite faggot club." "Yes. And you will earn your collar tonight." He smiles. Clearly proud that he might actually earn the collar. "What else?" "3. I am to be locked in a chastity cage." This one he says with more trepidation. I am sure he has jerked that huge 8.75" cock a lot over the past few days because he knows his time left with a free cock is coming to close tonight. "It will never be about your cock again after tonight, faggot." "Yes, concierge. I understand. I promise. I pledge to give my life in service to Master Sinclair's cock." He says it with so much sincerity I can't help but smile. "Go on." "4. "i am to say out loud that I am a faggot cocksucker here to worship Master's cock." "Say it, bitch." "I am a faggot cocksucker here to worship Master's cock." My own cock is throbbing right now. I have been through this process many many times. It's a great privilege that I have earned over decades to train these cocksuckers. It's a responsibility, but yes, it's a privilege. I have learned to enjoy it with age. I know I am going to enjoy Bobby's virgin faggot mouth on my cock. I unbutton my pants right there and pull it out. "You may earn the right to worship Master's cock, but right at this moment you are going to worship your first cock." "Yes Concierge!" "And what are the remaining protocols?" "1. Licking your balls wetly and softly first. 2. Letting you slap your cock all over my face. 3. Answering any degrading call and response verbal abuse you may have. 4. Always keeping my eyes on you or else I can expect punishment. 5. Swallowing all your cum and thanking you for it after." "That's good, faggot. You may begin." It didn't take long for his wet tongue to massage and worship my balls, lick delicately underneath and between my balls and legs. "Fuck, thanks good, faggot." Obviously this boy was a natural. I was soon throbbing hard as a rock and slapping his face with it, spraying precum in his eyes. "Repeat after me!" I said. He nodded "My life in Texas is over." "My life in Texas is over." "My lifelong purpose is here." "My lifelong purpose is here." "I am a faggot cocksucker." "I am a faggot cocksucker." "I am a pussyboy." "I am a pussyboy." "I will surrender my soul to serve cock." "I will surrender my soul to serve cock." And as he said it, I thrust my cock down his throat and he gagged and choked, tears steaming down his eyes. "FUCKING TAKE IT, FAGGOT. TAKE IT." He looked at me with devotion and with such gratitude. This was the moment he had fantasized about his whole life. I was giving it to him. He would never be the same again. Soon he would join the society and be one of many slaves. He needed this. There were boys and men like him all over the country. Especially now. Who needed this. NEEDED IT. We provide an incredible service. And I was enjoying my role as Concierge more than ever as those beautiful blue eyes stared up at me unwaveringly. I fucked his throat hard. He was about to receive the first load he ever tasted and it would start his journey, the journey he and I both knew he was born to take. He would THANK ME for this. In so many ways over the next months and years. Do you want to find out more? Please reach out to me at SirsConcierge@mail.com.