It was easier than you imagined to convince your “straight” friend to become your personal body-worshipper and cock whore. He frankly begged you for the opportunity. You can’t wait to see the look on his girl’s face when she sees what you’ve done to her boyfriend.
A graduated jock has come back to see Coach for the weekend. Coach enforces a strict dress-code for his boys when they’re in his home. Observe. A strap, socks and sneakers and, for his non-graduated jocks, their caps. Sexual, masculine, conformist and respectful, this is what you wear when you spend intimate time with Coach.
A key part of my role as a good boi is to slowly open up the Overton window of sexual possibility for married men, closeted men, men who have never really considered the alternative options. I’m friendly, I’m accommodating, I’m service-oriented but I’m no faggot. I’m not thrusting him into some pressurized situation where he has to be the dom (though if he wants that, that’s also fine). And I take things slow. I take things at his pace, I should say. A drip, drip, drip of greater male-intimacy over days, weeks, even months. All to break the dam in his mind that’s so far prevented him from experiencing the full spectrum of his sexual desire.
The face made by the top as he busts in his grateful bottom’s mouth. He always flexes his guns when he shoots his ropes. He just that unabashed cocky top attitude. The same attitude that makes every bottom weak in the knees. Playtime’s over for now. Time to get back to work.
Your big dumb boyfriend’s doing his best to take his shirt off. He’s been at it for a few minutes, though. Dumb dumb’s head is so full of meat that he can’t get his clothes over it. Maybe you should help him out, but it’s just kinda cute and sexy to see him struggle. If you wait long enough, he’ll end up tearing it off in a rage and that always leads to amazing sex.
Maybe the muscle-addicted sluts who fall into Daddy’s orbit don’t truly understand what they’re getting into, but eventually they’ll come to realize that Daddy owns their asses. That expensive elixir flowing through their veins gives Daddy rights over their bodies – at least, if they want more. And they all want more. That’s why they prostrate, embarrass and degrade themselves for Daddy. They want more, more more.
“No, dude. I trust you. If fucking me is the only way to get rid of that itch, then do it. The problem goes so deep, bro. Nothing I do can satisfy it.”
“This will satisfy it,” you said as you smacked your eight incher on your palm. “You don’t know it, dude, but your ass has been craving this for years.”
When you visit the specialty men’s underwear store out of prolonged curiosity, and my good boi ass starts working my magic. A kiss and a fondle is enough. You’re sold. That is, ten jocks and a paid Railr account. Good bois aren’t necessarily saints; I need to make a living too.
It’s inconceivable to a himbo to not be constantly on show. His body is a work of public art. An interactive sculpture. He uses his eyes to beg men to look and touch.
He might be married to a great girl now, but Sam couldn’t forget his days playing college football. Nothing made him harder than thinking about what he and his buddies would get up to in the showers after a game. That was ten years ago, and Sam could still smell the heady mix of sweat, cum and soap. So, he liked to play dress-up when his wife went away on business. He’d reconnect with one of his college buds and get back to it like he was 21 again.
Daddy’s new favorite roid slut taking a picture for all Daddy’s friends. Daddy loves making these whores do depraved or compromising shit when their girls are in the next room.
You were a bit upset after this wonderful top fucked you then split. Yeah, the sex was outstanding, your hole’s still buzzing, but you’d hoped to get to know him a bit better now that you’d both cooled down. But why? You think he’s got time for cuddles and chitchat after he’s bust. He’s a top, tops are men, men’ve got shit to do. Like get to the gym to become harder, stronger, cooler. Bottoms are meek and stupid so will struggle to understand, but a top never “cools down”. He’s already on Railr looking for another pussy for his heat.
The jocks won their latest game. Against who? Fuck knows. What sport were they playing? No one remembers. Coach was damn happy with their performance, so he unlocked their dicks and left them to it in the locker room. When he came back two hours later, the smell alone nearly knocked him cold.
Jockboi’s getting ready to listen to today’s jock-file so he has to get into uniform. Which means he flips his cap back. He’s either in his football gear, or already dressed permanently for the gym. What other clothes are there, dude?
He’ll spend the next hour zoned out while Coach’s voice instils jock values into his ever-slowing brain. He’ll wake up with a painful dripping boner, which he’ll satisfy while watching some Coach-approved porn. Today, it’s some locker room scene where two guys flipflop and just call each other dude over and over again.
Then it’s time for a hearty meal of steak, potatoes and broccoli, washed down with coach’s special “jock juice” protein shake, before heading for his evening sesh at the gym with Joey and Gabe and Zach and Hiro and Jordan and Noah and Rory and…
He’s a year into the program, and jockboi just can’t fucking believe the results. The daily gym grind, the supplements, the bulking, the chastity, the weekly check-ins, the sacrifices he’s made – it was all worth it. He’s now fully and truly a jock. He’s only gonna become more powerful.
Coach makes his boys wear white socks, because uniforms are important in maintaining groupthink. But one Friday a month he lets his boys where colorful socks. You know, to express their individuality for a few hours.
Bulls can be the nicest dudes alive. If they’re well fed, well-milked, well-slept and well-lifted, you’ll never find a more happy-go-lucky bro. But when those conditions aren’t met, he’s likely to be angry, short-tempered, and violent. And he’s got that bull strength to carry with it genuine risk.
So, thrice-daily milkings are mandatory. For the ultra high-T bulls, four or even five milkings is necessary. And you can measure the volume of a bull’s typical load in cups. Multiple.
For the jocks and cheerleaders (and occasionally Coach himself) keeping the bulls milked is one of the funnest job they have.
Mark just gave up his hole to this gym daddy and now he’s getting the usual spiel.
“You tell anyone about this, you’ll fucking regret it!” “I don’t wanna see your fag ass around here again, slutting it up like some dirty whore!” “Just cause I fucked you don’t make me gay. Let’s get that fucking straight!”
Sure thing, daddy. Mark might’ve believed it if this wasn’t his third time round the racetrack.
Poor closeted daddies hopped up on roids and desperate to bust.
Mark getting high with one of his regulars. Wanna convince a closeted gym dude to go through with the deed? Guarantee him privacy, weed and chill vibes.
Mark did have a nice condo. He was making bank on OnlyFans. Gave him lots of time and resources to spend at the gym hunting bros for his stable. Like Dylan here. Big, dumb, horny. Easy to seduce, easy to manipulate.
Dylan didn’t wanna get down at the gym, so Mark invited him home. The privacy and intimacy of his luxurious bachelor pad was a great place to bring down the defences of a “straight” guy who wanted nothing more than to have another dude’s lips wrapped around his manhood. Except, maybe, to have another dude’s asshole there instead.
They’d get to that. For now, he’d give this lunk the best blowjob of his life and wait till he got a text asking for a second go. Such a text was inevitable.
Mark’s got one of his boys coming over to his pad – Aleksandr, a Russian dreamboat. Not unheard of. A lot of the dudes would rather hookup out of the gym for privacy reasons, and can’t hook up at their own houses cause of their girls.
Mark also knows this new bro wants his pussy shaved. That’s not usually Mark’s look, but he’s always willing to make an exception if the guy’s worth it. He shaved down, soaped up and is waiting to present his perfect pussy to the tanked Russian who’s been “fucking dudes on the DL for ten years.” Mark’ll wait until the sex is over before he makes his final judgment, but he thinks he’s gonna get on really well with this new guy.
When Mark’s feeling especially confident and rocks his workout wearing nothing but his stringer thong. The attendants would say something to him, but their comments always fall on deaf ears. Besides, who’d complain?
Bullmeat on sale at a cattle show. If a Barn thinks a bull is more valuable being sold off to another Barn rather than as an earner in-house, then they’ll put him up for auction. How could this man not be a good earner, you ask? Just remember that Barns have hundreds of men just like this in their systems. From their perspective, this bull is nothing special. He may be able to bring in a quick mil for the Barn, though. Help with cashflow.
Joel’s wife kicked him out. It’d been a long time coming. You gave him your sofa for as long as he needed, and as the days turned to weeks, and you and Joel spent your evenings together, your relationship started to shift. You were basically gay, and basically open about that. You’d told Joel how you felt about men one drunken night years ago, and he’d been a bit shocked… but not overly. He’d never shown any interest in you, though. Or men in general.
But a couple of weeks into your new living arrangements, as Joel lay back in his grey sweatpants (no underwear, you noticed) with his hairy torso on show, he asked you very bluntly if you found him attractive. Your heart-raced. Yes, the answer was obviously yes. You’d thought about him many times over the years, but ever since he’d been living with you – surrounded by his scent, voice and aura – he was all you thought about. You played it cool. You told him he was a very attractive man and you’d be stupid not to think he was hot. He smirked. He leaned over and kissed you softly on the lips. You hardened on the spot. What the fuck was happening?
As he continued to kiss you, his hands travelled down to your own sweatpants and grabbed for the rock hard cock within. You pushed him off.
“Joel, what the fuck?!”
“I don’t know,” he said as he wiped his mouth. “I don’t know what this is. But I wanna find out. You can’t fucking tell me you’re not interested.”
Your head told you no. That this was a bad idea. That chasing “confused”, lonely, closeted men who were technically married was a dangerous path. But your head was never gonna decide this. Your dick and heart said yes. They won. They always won. You threw yourself at him and made love to his lips. You were happy to find he was just as hard as you.
Bullmeat being herded around a convention center, looking to get a placement at a Barn. The agents are asking him about his strength level, his testosterone, his dick size, his average cumload, his body count, his number of pregnancies caused – intentional or accidental. Things like that. He looks promising, but there are hundreds of other pieces of bullmeat there looking for breeding work. It’s good work if you can get it; it’s a competitive field
Being a carpenter was great. You got to work with your hands, feel satisfied in your labor, and meet all sorts of people. Namely, wives, husbands and single-folk home during the middle of the day. They all wanted to buy what you were selling. Maybe it’s cause you dressed so provocatively. A manly slut. And commando was a must. Maybe it’s cause you were so forward in your virile desire. Maybe it was just your raw masculine magnetism. Either way, you couldn’t remember the last time you had a job with a sexy client where you didn’t end up pounding their hole on your coffee break. It’s just your top privilege.
“You think I’m gay? What, with this bling, body hair and smoldering look? Gay? Me? Nah, bruuh. Nah. I mean, if you’re up for something, I don’t…you know…”
You’d been making eyes at this big brute all night. You were out to your friends and family, so he knew your deal… and he kept returning your glances. Which could only mean one thing. You made a subtle nod to the bathroom. Three minutes later, he came in, stripping down and chubbing up. He started saying this, that and the next thing, but you put a finger to his mouth and proceeded to give him his first gay blowie. It wouldn’t be the last.
This is the signal from your neighbor that you can come over to fuck around. He sits out on his deck in only his underwear with a cigarette in his mouth. He’s a bad-mannered, angry man in a shitty marriage, and anytime he doesn’t spend at work, he spends at the gym. That’s where you connected with him. You’d been neighbors for a few years now but had otherwise kept your distance. You assumed he wasn’t into guys. You assumed wrong.
One day, he cornered you in the locker room. He knew you were into men. You weren’t exactly shy about having guys over at the weekend, and the pride flag waving outside your property was a bit of a give away. It started with oral, but before long he was fucking you in the ass. He was a total top, of course. Well, for now. You’d see about changing that someday, cause he had one thicc muscle ass that you were keen to explore. Either way, he’d found an outlet for his closeted rage and you’d found a hot motherfucker to spend your Sundays with. Win win.
How you’ll find me every day. Us good bois take on many roles, but I would argue the primary, most ubiquitous role, is that of cocksucker. Cocksucking is essential. It’s the most approachable form of penetration, and attracts the largest amount of men to take part. Not every guy wants to fuck another guy’s ass, and it’s something I’m not always up for. But I am always up for sucking. There are a lot of feeders and potential feeders out there, looking for a warm throat to deposit their nutritious load. I’m that throat. I’m here to serve. Daddies, studs, bros, twinks, out men, closeted men, single men, married men, older men, younger men – they all want my throat. It’s an honor.
There’s nothing more satisfying to jock or Coach than when a jock truly starts to look the part. When the months of training, eating, hypnosis, indoctrination and drugs begin to pay off. Jockboi has completely forgotten who he used to be. Whether skinny, fat, thicc, meek, fem, or just invisible – gone! It no longer matters. All that matters is that he is now jock.
Bro about to declare war on some porcelain and knew he had to send a pre-battle selfie to all his Code bros. All the fellas agree, his weapon is up for the task. The bro rituals are… intricate. Yes, definitely intricate.
What inevitably happens when your wives go out for a girls’ day. You’re always happy to celebrate their friendship. The more time they spend with each other, the better, frankly.
You got validation from showing your ass on camera for random men. The more depraved they were, the more validated you felt.. You kept thinking what it would be like to get fucked by one of these men. They all seemed really nice, paying attention to your silly ass and all.
Coach’s bull. He’s in the hotel room with the client – the married woman and her husband who hired this ultra-high T man to impregnate her and gift her his alpha genes. She’s passed out on the bed, utterly fucked by his bull-cock, exhausted from orgasming, her pussy gushing with his enormous load. Her husband is lying next to her, in sheer awe of the alpha’s sex.
The bull can only look at himself in the mirror, in sheer awe of himself.
“That’s it bro, just forget everything you were thinking. I mean, it wasn’t exactly a treatise on political philosophy, was it? You don’t need to think, bro. Look at your body, look at your bulge. You’ve got everything you need. Now just get back in the gym and have another go at your biceps. If you do good, you can jack off again. That’s what you want, right bro? To lift and to cum. To lift and to cum.”
The sort of mantra that feeds a healthy jock’s brain. To lift and to cum, to lift and to cum. That’s what a jock should aspire to. Everything else is a distraction.
When you’re all muscle and no brains and all you think about is sex, dicks and more and more muscle. That’s the fucking dream, and sure as hell one way to be a man.
After highschool, your dad sent you away to a special camp that promised to make a man out of you. He thought you were too much of a beta. A nerd. And too emasculated for his liking. You were into all that Mario and Marvel crap. Men in tights. Shit wasn’t right. The camp promised to turn cubs into bears, and prey into predators. Your dad liked the sound of that.
And it was truth in advertising. It was a six month intensive course, and you returned home with 20lbs of added muscle, a full chest of hair, a confident personality, and lots and lots of new friends. He didn’t need to know that you had sex with 20-odd buff hairy dudes and learned to take and give dick in equal measure like a champ.
Though, telling him that might be the manliest thing of all.