When bro’s getting super bro-y while you’re working out, but you love him all the more for it. You’ve got an always-commando policy in the pad. Underwear just slows a bro down from getting where he needs to go. So it means your stuff is flopping around pretty righteously all the time.
It’s awesome hearing him tame pussy in the next room cause you know he’s packing and her moans aren’t lying. Shit must feel great.
Bone up on bros here.
When all the out guys at the party keep coming over and kissing you and you don’t know why. I mean, you let them cause it feels fucking awesome, but still it’s not like you’re homo or nothing. The boner’s a bit sus, but you’ve always got a boner! You’re a bro!
Bone up on bros here.
When you and bro have been making out for an hour and you’ve entered total goon space. Your dicks are so hard and sore, but cause of No Homo you can’t do anything about it. Well at least tonight you’re gonna have the best nut of your life. It’s not No Homo when it’s dark and you’re alone and you’re allowed to think about whatever you want.
Bone up on bros here.
When bro needs a little extra motivation to get out in the gym today and kill it. Bros helping bros go gym and get bigger is true bro. Whatever it takes, fucking do it.
Bone up on bros here.
When you were playing gay chicken with bro but you’re so turned on you can’t even think straight. Literally. You both lost (won?) pretty much instantly. Gay chicken is definitely the best game you play with bro. Except maybe hide the sausage.
Bone up on bros here.
When you and bro are just chilling and all of a sudden he pulls your head back and starts making out. You’re not complaining. He does it all the time, he’s just not usually this forceful. He must be feeling some kind of way. His girl’s probably holding out or something. He tends to get more handsy when he’s backed up. I mean that is a bit weird cause your kissing is totally No Homo, so it shouldn’t matter but… who’s complaining?
Bone up on bros here.
When you ask bro to check on your gains after a few months of intense squatting and he gets a little too excited. And it’s not gay obviously, he’s just like really happy for you that you’re making so much gain. Glute checks are a fun way for bros to bond. Bros support bros in all their endeavours, especially if that endeavour is building more donk.
Bros love donk.
Bone up on bros here.
When you’re going to town on your bro’s sexy mouth and get a bit carried away.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. That almost got faggy, dude.”
“Oh fuck, my bad,” you say as your boners strain your underwear.
Bros enjoy spending quality time with each other. Playing video games is cool, but it’s not as cool as grinding up on your buddy’s junk while you make out. And it’s not gay cause… you said so.
Bone up on bros here.
Mark will always go for the alpha. He likes a broad swath of men but he can never resist the lure of the king. Watching this 250lb slab of testosterone completely dom the fuck out of some fag on the gym floor tells Mark everything he needs to know.
It will take a few weeks of seduction, but sure enough, this alpha will end up in Mark’s bed slam-fucking his well-honed bussy into oblivion. And if alpha wants to sit his magnificent ass down on Mark’s face – this time bare – then Mark will have no qualms. Rimming a slab of testosterone until he can’t take it anymore and busts a huge nut is one of his specialities.
My boi has a lot of specialties.
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When Mark dresses like this, it must be leg day. Can you blame my boi for wanting to show off?
The amount of dudes who paw at his ass when they walk by, at times blatantly rubbing their chubbed dicks while they do. Some of them are his regulars, some of them Mark’s never spoken to. Doesn’t matter. He’s a good boi, and a good boi’s body is a permanent source of pleasure for other men. Mark welcomes their molestation.
The gym attendants would say something about his attire, but Mark has most of them wrapped around his finger. It’s hard to tell a guy to show some propriety when he was lapping at your balls not two days ago.
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“Yeah, take it, fag! Take my fucking alpha dick!”
“Yes, sir!”
Ah, gym bros. Mark was well acquainted with their ways. Dustin here had started buggering him a few weeks back. It made him chuckle to think they were in control. That they had a handle on the situation. Mark was in control. Completely. Any ground given was ground he could recover at a moment’s notice. He played the part of a submissive gay boi for the men who needed the cope. It only mattered that Mark got his prize: the rich creamy dessert. The ends justified the means.
And the slurring? It pissed him off when done without his consent, but when a dude “earned” the right to say it – when he really topped the shit out of his bussy – he could let it slide. He knew that a lot of closeted men slurred the objects of their attraction to deflect their own insecurities. Freudian and irritating, but typical. As if this hunk of douche was any less of a “fag” with his dick firmly up Mark’s beautiful, manly ass.
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Mark waiting in one of the toilet stalls at Sparta for the, uh, “straight” bro he’s been wooing to sneak in and fuck his perfect ass.
Mark’s path always begins with flattery. Gym bros are universally vain and self-conscious and in constant search for validation. Mark gives them what they want. He compliments their bodies, their lifts, their clothes, and he does it with a warming smile. A few weeks of building the bro’s confidence with his words of affirmation, and Mark starts dropping hints about his sex life. It’s planting the idea in the guy’s head – an idea that he has perhaps never truly let himself think about. Men have sex with men. He knows about it intellectually, but he’s never really seen it in the wild.
The dude starts to look at Mark’s mouth differently. All of a sudden, he sees it as a potential house of pleasure. And every now and then, Mark will catch him looking at his butt. So strong and perky and spankable; so much what men want to stick their dicks into. And once Mark’s drops the old “Oh yeah, I fucking love bottoming. I let dudes fuck me as hard as they want”, the guy’s a lock.
And so, the toilet stalls. Lured in by Mark’s brazen, confident sexuality and his genuine love-bombing, and the guy proves something Mark has known his whole life – most straight men… aren’t. And Mark gets to be the beneficiary of the dude’s sexual re-awakening.
Mark loves his life.
See what Mark’s about here, and read about his adventures here.
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Bro’s such an obnoxious roidhead, everyone in the gym thinks his shouts and grunts are just him being extra about lifting. They don’t see Mark on his knees, giving him one of his world-class blowjobs. But that’s where he is, where he always is.
It’s men like this who really steal Mark’s attention. Chads. Everything about his person is soaked in testosterone. It’s the T Mark wants. He doesn’t care if most of it is synthetic, he just wants to be immersed in it, influenced by it, drowned in it. He’ll swallow as much high-T cum as he can – whether in throat or ass – cause that will bring him closer to the masculinity he loves so much.
The bro doesn’t understand any of that, or care. He’s getting an awesome blowjob from a beautiful man and has never gotten into the habit of thinking too deeply about shit. And that’s also how Mark loves him. Unthinking, obnoxious roidhead masculinity is the best kind. Tastiest cum, too.
See what Mark’s about here, and read about his adventures here.
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Luca – Mark’s rival at Sparta. Not many good bois can compete with Mark. In terms of sheer fuckability mixed with all the good boi charms, Mark comes out on top. Then there’s Luca. Beautiful, fit, strong, ass for days and five years younger, he’s the one for Mark to beat. His greatest strength is the strength of all assertive good bois, which is that he knows he’s beautiful and he knows how to use it to get what he wants from men.
Mark sees so much of himself in the boi. His smouldering eyes, his pouty cocksucker-lips, his untameable donk, his go hard or go home attitude when it comes to showing off, and his insatiable, unself-conscious flirtation with any and all men who interest him. Like all good rivals, Mark admires Luca, and resents him. He wants him to fuck off, to leave his hunting ground alone, but he also appreciates his beauty, grace and game.
And the feelings are mutual. While Luca may be younger than my boi, he sees in Mark a skilled competitor, with an even hotter body and a strong claim to the Sparta territory. It’s rare for Luca to bed a man that Mark hasn’t already fucked.
The best days for both are when they’re both on the field, and both in heat. Mark advances on one man, only for Luca to undercut him. Luca begins his oral service of one bro in his go-to cubicle, Mark drags another bro into the cubicle next door and gives the dude anal. Mark’s with a small group of bros, flirting and laughing and gassing them up, only for Luca to swan over, right up to Mark, and begin making out. The bros will scatter – they do homosexuality in private, but they’re not comfort with it in mixed company – and the two bois will be left sucking on each other’s lips until an attendant tells them to stop.
Mark would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little bit in love with Luca, with his rival. He does everything Mark does, and Mark is kind of in love with himself.
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It’s late, close to midnight. Mark’s back at Sparta for the third time today cause where else would he be? And he’s all but alone with this beast. Huge and rippling, sweating and topless, lifting dangerously heavy weights and screaming out as he does; this is the man for Mark. Now is his time to serve.
So he approaches. Wearing his best slut-stud gear – stringer vest to reveal his nipples, shorts with a 4-inch inseam that hug his donk, and a backwards cap to make sure this alpha knows Mark’s intentions – he meets the alpha’s eye. He gives him his best good boi attitude. A boy’s frown and a pouting lip; Mark looks like a puppy you’ve just scolded.
“Hey,” says Mark.
The alpha looks him over, breathing heavy from his last set. “Cocksucker?” he says.
Mark’s eyes light up and he nods.
Without hesitation, the alpha stomps to Mark’s side and gives his body a proper examination. His large, unfettered hands molest Mark’s ass and he only sticks his butt out further to give the man full access.
“You get fucked too?” he says. His voice is bass-deep.
“Oh yeah,” says Mark. “Anything you want, bro. Anything.”
“Is that right?” His eyes continue their exploration. He pulls Mark’s shorts down to reveal his strapped ass and he digs around Mark’s hole to make sure it’s worth his time. It is.
“Most of the cocksuckers who hit on me aren’t as fuckable as you,” he says.
Of course, Mark loves that.
“Go wait in the locker room. I’ll finish my session then come fuck you.”
“Fuck yeah, bro.”
The alpha swats his ass. “I’m not your bro. What I’m about to do to your pussy I’d never do to a bro. You call me sir.”
“Yes, sir.”
And Mark leaves for the locker room, rock hard in his jock. The fact that the alpha insisted on finishing his session only makes Mark more infatuated. It would soon be his time to serve, and he was gonna do whatever he could to make sure this king came back for more.
See what Mark’s about here, and read about his adventures here.
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Mark’s vibe whenever he’s working glutes. Or any body part. He just has permanent slut-stud energy. And there’s fucking endless bros at Sparta who would love to see this video (or really, to just be underneath all that). Sniffing and licking and lapping like the hounds they are as Mark presses his perfectly worked glutes on their faces.
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Mark’s gym daddy (one of them) strutting around with his usual confidence. Earned, clearly. Mark was enjoying the view while daddy was on the step-machine. He’s a total top to Mark and his other boys, but he’s got the glutes of a young god. Mark would bet money that some dom top is making good use of that daddy hole, and would think it a damn shame if he wasn’t.
Maybe Mark could be that dom top. Good bois aren’t necessarily bottoms and cocksuckers. Sometimes, the best thing a man can do to serve is to top. Maybe Mark will get a piece of that daddy hole.
See what Mark’s about here, and read about his adventures here.
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The look Tony gives Mark after his car blowie. They’ve both got their pump on, full-body. Now that Mark’s seen to his immediate needs, Tony’ll head home to his pregnant wife and spend some good quality time, relaxed. Mark’s duty is done. Tasted good, too.
“Thanks, bro,” he says, kind and genuine.
Mark wipes the cum from his mouth and chin. “It was totally my pleasure, dude.”
“Went a bit hard on you there, though, huhu. You don’t mind, right?”
“Nope,” said Mark with a wink.
Tony sticks his fingers in Mark’s mouth, already rebooting for a potential second round. Mark revs up in excitement. But the moment passes. Tony pulls his fingers out with a wet plunging sound, kicks Mark out the car with a smile and drives off.
How so many of Mark’s hook-ups end. But this is Mark’s duty, so he’ll see it through.
See what Mark’s about here, and read about his adventures here.
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Mark’s got two of his gym bros coming over and he’s dressed accordingly. They’re basically straight, and so far he’s only managed to give them blowies. He hopes tonight’s the night they finally cunt his hole.
So he’ll wear a mini-skirt. Just to, you know, make his bros think along the right lines. It’s a tactic he’s used before to great effect. The tease of that tiny bit of fabric “covering” his amazing, fuckable glutes is too much for most men.
He’s just deliberating whether he should feminize his voice. Some “straight” men definitely do prefer that. But he decides against it. He’s a man, he’s gonna act like it. The skirt is for titillation; but the bros will be under no illusion that they’re fucking a woman.
Gay dudes can just think of the skirt like a tiny kilt. I mean, it is plaid.
See what Mark’s about here, and read about his adventures here.
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Mark’s chatting up one of the bros in the showers and it’s going very well. Flattery gets you everywhere with a roided gymbro. Their vanity and self-obsession are already through the roof. Knowing another guy feels the same way is a vital step to getting these guys on side.
It’s a misunderstanding to think gymbros are “alphas”. That is, a supremely self-assured man. Men who take steroids and spend 10 hours a week in the gym are not self-assured. They’re vain and self-conscious and desperate for people’s positive judgment.
Mark knows this. Mark exploits this. Mark tells these men what they want to hear. He opens up a space for them to enjoy flattery without any side-eye or condemnation. He lures them into a false sense of security, then he springs his trap. That is, he offers the gymbro to share in his manly intimacy.
And it almost always works.
Almost all men are bisexual – many just need to spark to bring their homo side out. Mark is that spark.
See what Mark’s about here, and read about his adventures here.
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^^’The Jock’ in question
The following is an excerpt from my story Gym Bros #1: The Jock. Buy the full thing on Amazon ($2.99):-
As the sesh was coming to an end, Mark knew he had to seal the deal. Otherwise, he’d have to wait until he and Hud were together again, and by then, the moment might have passed. Hudson might come to his senses and keep his distance. Mark caught Hud heading towards the water fountain. Now or never.
He ‘accidentally’ knocked into the bro’s shoulder. Hudson got set to apologize but when he saw it was Mark, he faltered.
“Oh, hey. You know, I just wanted to say sorry for-”
Mark pulled the dumb lunk round the corner and pushed him gently against the wall. He put his lips firmly against Hud’s and grazed the inside of his mouth with his tongue.
Hudson placed his arms on Mark’s shoulders as if to push him off, but the pressure he exerted was token; a necessary show of resistance from a man who identified as straight. Mark pushed his tongue in deeper and locked with Hudson’s own. At once, Mark got a rush of adrenaline and his dick spiked. Nothing got him going like a tongue war.
And Hudson was right there with him.
Mark giggled into Hudson’s mouth. These gym bros did make him laugh. They tried so hard to not be gay, but when crunch time came, heterosexuality fucked right off. Usually.
He slid his hand down Hud’s front and gently cupped his dick. “You feeling alright, bro?”
“Fuck. I’m just, you know…?”
“What?”
“You know…something, fuck, I don’t know.”
“Don’t worry about it, bro.” Mark rubbed his hard crotch against Hud’s. “I’ve got the same problem.”
The jock gasped and actually exerted pressure as he pushed against Mark’s torso. Their dicks separated.
“I’m not like… you.” He winced at the problematic implication.
“No,” said Mark. “Of course you’re not. But listen, I’m gonna head to the restroom for a sec. If you wanna be not like me in there, you’re more than welcome.”
Mark squeezed Hud’s boner, then sauntered off to the locker room. Hud watched him go. Mark made sure to really waddle his glutes with each step. He always wanted to give a bro a show.
The locker room was as crowded as earlier, though the bros had changed. Mark recognised most, but some were new. He made a quick mental note. He’d get started wooing those studs as soon as he could. Hopefully most were either proud gay sluts like him, or closeted basketcases like Hudson. Either way meant more dick.
As he entered the toilets, Hud entered the locker room. Mark smirked.
Signed, sealed, delivered.
See what Mark’s about here, and read about his adventures here.
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Mark just walked in the locker room at Sparta and his fuck buddy Chase caught his eye to share a naughty smile. The three men looked away pointedly. Some shit about shame. No matter. Mark will just enjoy the view and then enjoy a lot more when he gets them alone. Hudson on the right is due to get his dick wet by Mark any day now.
And look at them – his boys. His men. Such a beauty, such a work of art, so frustratingly misunderstood. Mark resents culture for its intense sexual focus on the feminine. Even his fellow gay men often frame sex and sexuality around woman and womanliness.
Not Mark. For him, it’s all about the man. His body of epic mountain peaks and deep, mysterious canyons; his hard cock and bountiful balls, always ready to achieve sex; his strength as both a tool of subjugation and protection; his complex mind and even more complex heart. Men are the world to Mark, and to good bois everywhere.
See what Mark’s about here, and read about his adventures here.
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Mark’s buddy Junho sent him this pic from the gym showers and Mark just sent back a fuck you emoji. He was out of action for the week. Visiting parents. Ordinarily, he’d have dropped everything and ran to those fucking showers. A bro needs him, and it’s Mark’s duty to give him what he needs. Mark has good boi energy like no other.
Junho sends back a boner pic, an ass pic, a cute boyish smile pic – and Mark responds with increasing aggravation and lust. His parents wouldn’t mind if he popped out for an hour, right?
Mark lies and says he’s going to the store, packs his slut-wear in his bag, and runs over to meet his fuck buddy for a hot drilling that leaves both boys sweaty and satisfied.
Now to just make it out Junho’s apartment without his girlfriend noticing…
See what Mark’s about here, and read about his adventures here.
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Mark guiding a gym bro’s hands to where they should be. He’s got a lot of patience for his boys. Many of them have never been with a man.
Mark is often the gateway drug for his bros. The first foray into androphilic sex that sets bro on a spiral of homosexual decadence. Mark loves it. One day, dude is pent-up, reserved and toxic. Six months in Mark’s safe guiding hands, and dude is a sexually liberated poly fuckboi – having sex with any hot thing that’ll have him. Mark’s producing an army of bisexual himbo sluts. The gay agenda made manifest. He is the solution.
Some of his boys reserve their androphilia just for Mark. They don’t wanna play the field once Mark’s broken the dam. They just want Mark’s body, Mark’s lips, Mark’s throat, Mark’s ass, and – eventually – Mark’s cock. They are Marksexual. And Mark does everything he can to keep them on side. He strokes their ego, he worships their masculinity and sexuality, he treats their cocks as objects of reverence.
Most men aren’t willing to just give up a delicious good boi who’s champing at the bit to suck his dick, while praising him for every masculine excess that wider culture condemns him for. That shit will mess with a dude’s brain in all the right ways. And all it takes is a firm guiding hand from a beautiful, talented slut.
See what Mark’s about here, and read about his adventures here.
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When Daddy Rick wakes up in Mark’s pad after a night of androphilic fucking. Unfortunately, he can’t stick around for some morning fun. He’s spending the day with his grandkids.
To Mark’s surprise, Daddy Rick was a flip-flopper. Like most men raging with testosterone, Daddy wanted a hard-go at Mark’s flawless ass. But, he also wanted to be done in, pounded, cunted. Mark should have known, what with those little shorts.
He was happy to oblige. He flipped Daddy Rick over and gave him his thick Grecian meat until Daddy was moaning like a true-bottom. It took two fuckings to get Daddy to bust his load – Mark’s cock buried in his hairy hole, Daddy lying on his back, legs up, face contorted in pain/pleasure. Mark lost his first load within five minutes faced with that. It was his second, slower load that gave Mark the time to really get to know Rick.
Mark loved when a bottom-daddy still acted all daddy with him. It’s all; “That’s it, son. Fuck me like a real man. Make daddy proud, come on!” Mark lived for that shit. He couldn’t be doing with bottom-daddies who acted like coy cheerleaders, bitchy fags, or submissive holes. He needed a daddy to keep calm, cool and in control.
Daddy Rick did just that. He’d be on the regular docket from now on. You don’t just throw away a bottom-daddy like Rick. Especially when he fucks back like a 20 year old hound dog. Woof woof.
See what Mark’s about here, and read about his adventures here.
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CW: F-slur
Ari might be the biggest bro in Sparta. He has the genetics for it, plus 15 years of roids and bulking and lifting with an intense singularity that’s left him the envy of every bro there. And he has a secret shame.
Ari’s a bottom.
A total submissive nelly bottom who just wants another man to put him in his place. He wants to be called a faggot. He wants to be spat on. He wants to drink a man’s piss. He wants a group of bullies to tie him up and force him to lick their asses while they laugh and jeer. He wants pain. He wants humiliation. He wants a real alpha to find out who he really is, and exploit it. He wants to be conquered.
The muscles are all bravado; armor against any personal or social presumption that he’s not man-enough. He had the genetics for it, and he leaned in. Ari looks like a super strong bull, but he feels like a frightened mouse.
And Mark’s happy to oblige his submissive desires. Ari’s got an ass to match those legs. Huge and powerful and completely intoxicating. And Mark enjoys shoving his dick into it as hard as he can while he calls Ari a dumb little fag.
He’d give the bull after-care if he was allowed. But once Ari’s has his fill of dom cock, he’s out of there. You won’t catch this bro kissing another bro. That shit’s gay, dude.
Even total bottom cocksucking submissive fags like Ari fall prey to the same delusions and mental stasis that forces men in their millions to claim they’re not attracted to men.
Whatever. Mark’s not here to change the world. He’ll let Ari have his secret shame and just enjoy playing with his unbeatable body. That ass though, bruhs, fuuu~
See what Mark’s about here, and read about his adventures here.
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Mark’s gonna cycle to Sparta today. This is what he’ll be wearing. There and back. Showing off comes naturally to a beautiful, thicc-assed good boi who’s brought hundreds of men to heel.
He’ll turn plenty of heads at the gym. Some of his fuck bros will be there, and they’ll each steal a glance at his perfect, cuntable ass – never knowing that the bro two machines down is doing and thinking the same thing. His dick will spike, his thoughts will turn from lifting to fucking, and Mark will just need to light one little spark – a quick flash of his bare ass, a wink and an air-kiss while bro’s off-guard, an earnest praising of a bro’s gym-honed body – and the bro of his choice will be in the toilets or the sauna of the jacuzzi giving Mark the androphilic pleasure he craves.
Mark loves the power he has over his boys. And it is power. Even when Mark plays the bottom or the sub or the slut, he is always in control. Any power a bro has is borrowed, never owned. Mark would never let himself become a man’s victim.
Either way, you can’t blame my boy for showing off.
See what Mark’s about here, and read about his adventures here.
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*Read about Trace and Cole in “The Bruhs” here on Amazon
Trace and Cole were a couple of “straight” douchebruhs who treated the gym like their own personal weight room. They’d grunt and yell at the top of their voices as they ego-lifted weights way beyond their ken; they’d never clean up their sweat; or put away their dumbbells; or show any degree of conscientiousness at all. And they always seemed to have a lot of stuff; bags and clothes and bottles and accessories that most of the other dudes didn’t.
Trace was the older and “wiser” of the two. He’d clearly been roiding for years; his huge arms spoke for themselves. Cole was his lil bro, learning at master’s teat. It was cute watching Trace guide Cole through a movement, or help him overcome any sense of shame about showing off in the middle of the gym. Cole was probably in his early twenties, clean-shaven and manly-cute. Give him a couple of years on Trace’s stack, and boy would blow up, Mark was sure. Both were completely waxed, tanned and shiny.
Mark was obsessed with them. A couple of handsome, roided bro-bros who were loud, dumb and arrogant. A favorite of Mark’s. They gave off toxic, masc4masc Railr bruh vibes. The type Mark was always happy to get down with. They’d been on his hit-list for weeks now. He was just looking for an opening.
They would know he was gay. Most people in Sparta did. Trace and Cole were the living embodiment of “No homo, bro”. Getting them to a place where they could be comfortable around him was gonna be a job of work, but one day they’d crack. Mark was curious to really test how “straight” they were. In his experience, most men weren’t so. Mark’s gaydar was beeping – slowly, quietly, from a far distance, but definitely on. Trace and Cole would be in his bed, one way or another. Or his sofa. Or floor. Of the gym jacuzzi. Or a toilet. Getting fucked on the Sparta gym toilets was something of a specialty of Mark’s.
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Mark’s first meeting with Bruno at Sparta was an unforgettable experience. He got one of the best fuckings he could remember. He was left hunched over in the sauna, splayed and cummy and sweating; head mince from being in bottom-space. He’d assumed Bruno’s dick was off-limits – a strange thing for my boi to assume. But so spectacular was Bruno that Mark truly believed himself unworthy. But not so. Now, he and Bruno are regular fuck buds.
Mark loves spending a Saturday night at Bruno’s penthouse pad. The bro is 40, Brazilian, and a total top. Total top. The type of gay dude who won’t even let himself be rimmed. Which is a pity, cause that hunk has an ass worthy of worship. Almost as nice as Mark’s.
Almost.
Mark’s still recovering from Bruno’s first dicking down of the evening. He’s smoking a joint trying to relax, psyching himself up for round two. Cause Bruno always comes back for round two. Poppers will help. Though against a thirty minute, 2nd load pounding from Bruno’s 9-inch Brazilian cunter, poppers might be a necessity.
Out on the balcony, he gives Mark a little glimpse of what he can’t have. What’s off-limits. Bruno likes his cheeky little teases. He knows Mark’s desperate to get his tongue in there, if not his cock. But Bruno hates it. He’s pretty toxic, to be honest. Thinks bottoming is for lesser men. Cocksucking too. It’s beneath him. Doesn’t bother Mark. He makes room in his life for all his beautiful bros. Tops, bottoms, givers, takers, the selfish, the selfless – Mark begrudges none of them. Bruno waggles his butt back and forth, snaps a little wink to Mark, then comes back in to fuck him silly with his huge Brazilian dick.
See what Mark’s about here, and read about his adventures here.
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The following is an excerpt from my story Gym Bros #1: The Jock. Buy the full thing on Amazon.
“Welcome,” said Dan to a man across the desk. “How can I-”. He cleared his throat. “How can I help you, today?”
“Was hoping to join,” said the man. He spoke in the same cadence as all gym bros. Low, breathless, carefully unprissy.
Mark was the same. As he licked teasingly on the thick rod waggling before him, his mind wandered. Gym bros had a way of speaking that distinguished them from the general man. Maybe it was the heavy roids the dudes did. Maybe it was their societal hang-ups forcing them down an octave. Maybe such men were destined for the gym. Fuck knows.
“Just moved nearby,” said the customer.
“Nice,” said Dan. He paused just as Mark really got down to work. “You from New York?”
“Nah, Oklahoma. Just landed a job here in the city.”
“That’s great, man. Have you- mmm. Have you used one of our gyms before?”
The client frowned in confusion as he stared down the 40-year old ex-bodybuilder with his bulging arms and frayed baseball cap. “You alright, dude?”
“Yeah. Sorry, just nursing an old injury.”
“Sorry to hear that, bro.”
“Comes with the territory.” His hand came below desk and grabbed the back of Mark’s head. “Tore my quad up years ago when I used to play football.”
Dan subtly jutted his hips forward and back. Mark kept pace, never gagging.
“Damn, sounds painful.”
Mark giggled silently from his hiding space. It was anything but painful, you damn idiot. Mark took Dan’s shaft all the way to the base and back and savored the fucker’s poorly-contained frissons of pleasure. To Mark, this shit was a walk in the park. An under-desk blowie before noon? No problem, no drama. Mark pulled the thick 5-incher from his mouth as quietly as he could and lapped at the glistening pink cockhead. He continued scrolling through his socials while he sucked.
Oooh, they’re releasing a new line of Pound! jockstrap. Mark liked the post and continued scrolling, never letting up on his suckling. Dan’s frustration came through in the force applied to the back of Mark’s head. He clearly wanted to fuck face, but was constrained by the civilization of it all.
Pity.
“Never mind about that,” said Dan. “So you wanna join? I’m happy to help you there. I’m Dan. I manage this gym.”
He held out his hand to shake the newcomer’s and Mark tickled his balls as he did. They were high and tight, as per his roiding, and hairier than most of the men here. Gym bros tended to be a vain bunch – body hair was usually a rare delight.
Dan shook the client’s hand with an awkward cadence, like he had some kind of subtle tick. He usually had a good poker face. Men like Dan were used to being sucked off, whether by guys or girls. People always wanted to be on their knees for a football jock, for a bodybuilder.
“Name’s Hudson,” said the client. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too. If you just take one of these application forms, hand it in when you’re done. Then I can give you a tooour!”
Mark twist-jacked his dick with one hand, tickled his balls with the other, and suckled the tip with his mouth. His great cocksucking trifecta. Dan was seconds from busting. Mark could tell.
“Right,” said Hudson. “Sorry about your leg, bro.”
He walked away to a nearby seating area. Dan called after him. “And welcome to Warriors of Sparta. Where we turn mice into-”
He bust his load and it shot into Mark’s hermetically sealed mouth. The ropes blasted against his tongue and throat and Mark gulped it down joyously. His prize.
“-men,” Dan squeaked.
See what Mark’s about here, and read about his adventures here.
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Dustin and Chase. Two of Mark’s regular suck jobs who have no clue about each other’s little secret. They all know Mark’s gay though, and are easy and open about it. They’re modern men – homophobia’s sus, dude!
Mark loves it when they’re in together, cause they just get so fucking bro-y.
“Marky really has some fucking cake, though, Jesus!” says Dustin as Mark bends down to do his dumbbell rows.
“Yeah, dude,” says Chase. “Wish my girl had an ass that thicc.” He gets in close to Mark, presses his crotch up against Mark’s hole, and spank’s him. He backs off in a rush, groping his junk, tongue sticking out, and laughing. Dustin joins him. The bros think this is so fucking funny.
“No homo, bro! No homo, bro!” says Chase, half joking, half self-serious.
“You guys,” says Mark as he finishes his set.
“You, eh, bottom though, right?” says Dustin, as he too gets in close to Mark and pets his ass.
“Well yeah, bro,” says Mark. “Look at my ass.”
“Good fucking point,” says Chase. “That’d be a crime against gay dudes everywhere if you didn’t bottom.”
“Exactly,” says Mark.
Both men are just freely pawing at his ass.
“Things alright at home, boys?” says Mark.
Everyone laughs and goes back to working out.
Mark heads to the toilet, and finds himself cornered by Chase. No preamble, they find themselves in Mark’s favorite toilet stall, making out. Chase gropes his ass freely now. Before long, Mark’s on his knees taking Chase’s hard dick to the hilt.
They return to the floor; Chase relaxed, Mark heated. He wipes the remnants of cum from his lips as they find Dustin again.
“Playing battleshits, guys?” he says.
“Eh, yeah,” says Chase.
Mark winks at Chase from behind Dustin’s back, fully knowing he’d have Dustin in the same stall later that day.
Just their little secret.
See what Mark’s about here, and read about his adventures here.
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CW: Misogyny
Mark seeing to one of his boys in the gym showers. Apparently, the missus is holding out on him. Using sex as a weapon, as women often do. Lucky for him, Mark’s always willing to get a bro off.
Mark will never understand women. Bro here has an eight-inch fuckstick, a jovial but aggressive personality, a roid-honed body, and a handsome face to boot. And yet his wife cares so little about sex that she will use the lack of it against him?
Mark envies no one: he’s got it too good. But sometimes he looks at women with a kind of bemused resentment. Women have such easy access to men, to dick. And yet, they rarely take advantage of it. Or, they exploit it to nefarious ends.
The hoops Mark has to jump through to get these bros to surrender their dicks to him would make most women weep. The risks Mark runs in courting men of questionable sexualities. The social stigma of homosexuality…
Whatever. Her loss. He’ll just continue sucking off her husband, giving him the pleasure she selfishly denies. Mark knows he’s close to getting bro to fuck his ass, too. He keeps pawing at Mark’s glutes, or else bending down to have a grope while Mark sucks him off.
Mark prefaces his encounters by telling his bros to “treat me like a whore in a porno.” That’s enough to make most men perk up. After a few sessions to get comfortable, they take him literally. Once a man’s gotten accustomed to sloppy, deep-throated, facefucked head while the sucker stares up at him in reverence and practically begs for more, it’s hard to go back to safe, boring woman-head. And by that point, even pussy starts to feel kind of meh.
And Mark’s not to blame. He’s an expert at sex, always willing, and actually loving towards men. He’s an androphile. Most women aren’t. Most women endure men, and their sex. But women would do well to start taking pointers from my boi, otherwise more and more men will fall under a good boi’s spell.
See what Mark’s about here, and read about his adventures here.
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The type of classic gym slut shit Mark wears. Only, the shorts are usually a little bit shorter.
He’s either responding to some gushing comments on his FortheFans, or he’s setting up a sesh with one of his fuck buddies. Probably not in Sparta. Mark has built his sexual bunker in the gym, but he’s not so silly as to limit where he finds his boys.
A couple of young bros pass by, and one of them wolf-whistles. Mark checks them out. He lightly taps his ass. “Thanks, man,” he says, fully earnest and easy-going. Mark lives to be objectified by men. The two guys chuckle and head away.
He watches them go, eyes fixed on the pig who whistled. He’s shorter and smaller than Mark – not his typical type – but his body-shape is beautiful; a perfect downward triangle. With his football jersey it’s hard to see, but Mark can tell he’s exactingly lean. Sharp abs, snatched waist. He has a surprising amount of ass for a bro so lean. His black, hi-styled sweatpants sway back and forth as he and his buddy head for the drinks machine.
Mark makes up his mind.
Thirty minutes later, that young man is sitting on one of the gym toilets as Mark slams his pussy up and down on his rock cock. He’s already cum. Twice. But Mark’s not stopping.
He knew he was onto a winner when the guy blew his first load hands free while Mark was giving him a lap dance. Mark knows he’s taking this guy’s gay virginity, his anal virginity, and hell, maybe just his virginity.
Mark doesn’t go easy on him though. Mark wants to spoil this guy for the rest of his life. To fool him into thinking that whores like Mark are a dime a dozen. To make him lie awake at night tossing and turning, dreaming of Mark’s ass. For Mark’s unrelenting, perfectly snatched hole to be the best piece of pussy this kid ever has.
And he achieves that. Mark sucks the third load from him with his ass, pulls up his shorts, and leaves with just one slutty wink. His prey is totaled on the toilet; his dick red raw and painful from Mark’s anal abuse. He’s scrambling to get Mark’s details, but my boi’s already gone.
Always leave ’em wanting more. That’s what a gym slut does best.
See what Mark’s about here, and read about his adventures here.
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*Read more about Junho in “The Player” on Amazon
“Dude, get in here and let me play with that ass.”
Mark’s flawless Korean fuck buddy Junho is soaped up and ready to get down. His girl’s out shopping for her next Instagram fit, so that gives Mark and Junho plenty of time to fool around at his place.
“Oh, you topping today, bro,” says Mark.
“Yeah, if you’re good. You good, right, bro?”
“Always ready, don’t worry. But romance a bro first before you go straight for the ass, come on.”
“Shit, sorry, dude!
Mark loves kissing his boys. It’s a 50/50 split – which fuck buddy does/doesn’t kiss. Junho, no problem. Bro’s totally down-the-line bisexual and will fuck any hot thing that moves. And Mark’s full-gay bros love to lock lips. He can have some good, long make-out sessions with them – slow and sensual; lips locked in permanent pressure, not releasing them even for a second until the moment’s passed.
His other bros, though… It’s a funny thing. A lot of closeted men will stick their tongue deep into Mark’s asshole before they’d stick it in his mouth. Kissing is often the final frontier. The last step before some kind of sexual catharsis. Most men don’t wanna take that step.
Pity.
At least Mark has his bro-sluts to keep him company.
“Can I fuck you now, bro?” says Junho after a ten minute kissing/petting/frotting sesh.
The answer is always yes.
See what Mark’s about here, and read about his adventures here.
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Clayton is one of Mark’s regular lays. He’s come to expect blowjobs on demand. He just gives Mark a look – a piercing, masculine gaze – and Mark gets down. He doesn’t need to say anything. Mark gets the message.
Mark wrote the message.
This is what Mark wants. For his sexual services to be so normal that he can just do it. No questions asked. No tedious homophobic defenses necessary.
It only goes down like this when Clayton is scrambling to reclaim the power. Usually, he’s so beholden to Mark’s abilities that he melts like putty in Mark’s presence. All it takes is a cheeky wink from Mark, and Clayton chubs up. His thoughts divert from weight lifting to dick sucking. On the one hand, that’s not hard. These bros are sex-ready with nowhere to go. On the other hand… Clayton’s straight.
Or
He pretends to be. Fuck knows. It’s not really Mark’s business. But clayton had been a hard nut to crack. It took weeks of flirting and cajoling before Clay finally gave in. Once he did, though, the floodgates came down. He bust his load in Mark’s mouth, ran away, and was back two days later for a second go. That was faster than most of the bros.
And now he’ll take a blowie as often as he can. From what Mark can tell – cause all his gym bros get very vulnerable with him once he’s taken their dick for the tenth time – Clay has stopped fucking his girl. The head is too good. He doesn’t need her to get off now.
And of course, Mark loves that.
The message is clear – Mark is always ready to serve. So don’t be shy. Use him good, use him hard, use him often. That’s what he’s there for.
See what Mark’s about here, and read about his adventures here.
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CW: F-slur, internalized homophobia
Married, four kids, good job, you know the drill. Doesn’t stop him treating Mark’s fuckhole like a disposable flashlight; good to be thrown in the bin once it’s dripping with his breeder cum. And Mark lets him. For a man like that, there’s not much Mark wouldn’t do.
He’s called Pat, but Mark wants to call him Daddy. He tried it once, and Pat got real pissy. Took Mark’s jaw in his big hand and told him to never call him that again. Mark obeyed. He wasn’t gonna anger a tanked, defensive roidhead for no reason. Still, in his mind, Pat was Daddy.
And to Pat, Mark was faggot. Mark didn’t let just any man call him that. If a gym bro was on his level – on equal footing of masculinity and muscularity – then he wouldn’t allow it. Any gym bro who called him that would be getting a clap back, and Mark was a strong man. But Pat wasn’t on Mark’s level. He was on the next rung up. He was an alpha. Mark wasn’t ashamed to admit it. He recognized their different spheres of manhood, and he respected it. Pat was more of a man than he was.
For men like this – hypermasculine alphas with homosexual ideation – homophobia is often the only way they can square their conflicting feelings. He believes being gay is decadent and feminizing, but he feels drawn to men in a way that goes beyond platonic camaraderie. He wants masculinity. He wants intimacy. These ideas are at war – at least in Pat’s mind.
The better angels of Mark’s nature tell him that he’s helping Pat come to terms with his demons. That he’s showing Pat it’s possible to be a hypermasculine alpha, and truly enjoy the company of men. But the selfish, sordid, dark recesses of Mark’s desire don’t want Pat to overcome his internalized homophobia and find open, liberated comfort in homosex. They want Pat to remain closeted, and frustrated, and homophobic. Because when Pat fucks his breeder cum into Mark’s perfect pussy in a rage of homophobic shame, Mark orgasms like with no one else.
Even my shameless, confident good boi Mark struggles to sweep that one under the rug.
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Mark treating one of his regulars to his first bottoming experience. Ryan was deep in the closet and had heavily resisted Mark’s flirtations and advances. But eventually he fell. They all did.
It was blowjobs at first; then Mark convinced Ryan to fuck his ass. Wasn’t too hard, actually. Mark’s ass is legendary. Then, of his own volition, Ryan sucked Mark back.
Weeks later, and Ryan was dropping hints he wanted to get fucked. Mark showed him the joy of getting rimmed, and ever since, bro got more and more ass-focused. Obsessed. He’d send Mark messages at one in the morning of a peach emoji and a crying face. Looking for a bro to rim him, but no bros available. Poor bro.
Mark took the hint. He’s an observant boi, my Mark. With a hobby like his, you have to be. So he spared Ryan the embarrassment of asking to bottom, and took charge.
Mark tends to bottoms: mainly cause most of his bros want to top… or are unwilling not to. You know, cause bottoming’s “too gay”, or “too fem”. Some genuinely prefer to top. Bottoming isn’t for everyone, and you can’t shame a man for that. But Mark puts himself at a man’s service, and that means he’ll give dick just as readily as he’ll take it. He is the ultimate good boi.
So one day, in the showers of Sparta, Mark made his intentions plain. Ryan didn’t say anything, he just nodded. Bro wanted this so fucking bad. Mark kissed him calm, then worked down his back until he was confronted with Ryan’s perky, pretty ass.
Kiss. Kiss.
Mark would ease him in with a rimjob, seeing how he loved that. Then, he’d get the dicking down. And Ryan would love that, too. Bros like Ryan were made for taking dick, though they’d never admit it. Mark had been around the block too many times; he knew how these guys worked.
Ryan wanted to embrace his homosexual urges to their zenith. Ryan wanted a safe space, and a safe pair of hands to do that. Ultimately, Ryan wanted to know true androphilia: sexual intimacy with another man. But he felt restrained – by society, by upbringing, by himself. Ryan was just another closeted gym bro; this is what they’re like.
See what Mark’s about here, and read about his adventures here.
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Often how it begins. A flirty side-eye in the locker room. If a bro’s amenable, fun shenanigans occur. Otherwise, Mark gets a dodgy look and bro moves to the other side of the room. Occasionally he gets a black eye. Usually it’s the first, but it’s all part of the hunt. Sometimes, the prey gets the better of him.
Mark started coming to gyms when he was 18, and now, at 28, he’s a pro. He’s honed his craft and his confidence in the locker room. Learning about men, and how to be a man himself; learning about sex and how to bring pleasure to others; and learning about muscle and how to build the type of body he wants to fuck. Gyms are his holy place, and locker rooms his favorite part; the warm, sacred center of his place of worship.
Mark’s well-practiced on these kinds of interactions. If he feels the good vibe – the energy that says “Ya, bro, I’m buying” – then he gives the guy a look. A sultry but subtle gaze that goes beyond anything one of his bro-bros could offer. Then his eyes travel south and give the dude an overt stare of his crotch. All the better if dude’s swinging free. Mark often struts around locker room’s naked. He loves his body, and has no shame. He likes it when other dudes meet him where he is.
And then…? Then, it’s whatever you imagine. Mark grabs the dude’s free cock and gets in close, breathing hard on the guy’s heavily-scented neck. Mark goes right to his knees and swallows the bro’s burgeoning manhood whole – completely owning the dude’s desires in a matter of seconds. Or maybe Mark entices him into a bathroom stall for some privacy. He bends down and opens up his pre-prepped pussy for the bro to take full advantage of everything Mark has to offer.
All of that and more. For Mark is a whore, and whore’s are kings of desire.
And it all starts with an innocent side-eye.
See what Mark’s about here, and read about his adventures here.
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My boi Mark.
Mark’s a slut, a whore, a home-wrecker, a cocksucker, a fag, a good boi. He’s out, he’s proud, he’s confident as sin, and he always gets what he wants. It’s just a matter of finding the right angle.
And what he wants is masculine men. He’s a masc-chaser. He surrounds himself with masculine aesthetics and manly energy. That’s what gets him off, what sets him off, what pounds his heart and addles his brain. To Mark, there’s nothing sexier than an unabashedly masculine man reveling in his own virility. Marc does the same. He doesn’t just want masc, he is masc. Only elevated. He dresses well, smells good, looks damn fucking good. He wears color and sparkly shit, or else not very much at all. It’s to show off his man’s body – all muscle, chest hair and swinging cock. He’d say fem guys need not apply, but he’s not quite so exclusionary as that. He just has a very powerful preference.
And Mark’s a pro. You’ll find him on FortheFans, posting his latest nudes or jerk-videos or dildo fun. He’s yet to do anything with other guys, though. Crossing the line into outright pornstar is a big leap, and he’s doing just fine with his teasing, tantalizing shows. Fine enough to afford a swank pad in Brooklyn. My boi Mark has expensive tastes.
And what does he do with his glut of free time? He spends it at Warriors of Sparta; an elite gym filled with hot, muscular, masculine men who are always looking to get off. And Mark gets them off. He tops them, he bottoms for them; he sucks them, he fucks them; he worships their bodies, or lets them worship his. He’s got that gym wrapped around his finger, along with dozens of bros who he’s wrangled into his sexual maelstrom.
And it’s all Mark’s little secret.
So don’t tell their wives. Or boyfriends. Or bros.
Or do. Could be fun.
See what Mark’s about here, and read about his adventures here.
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“Come on, bro. And don’t pussy out.”
The jocks at the frat are punching each other in the stomach. Just cause. They needed a game to play, and somehow this is what they fell into. Boys will be boys. It’s difficult to grasp why young, immature men who are filled with testosterone make choices. Especially when their dicks are locked nice and snug, as the jocks’ are.
Coach watches them in the camera. He has all his habitats under constant surveillance. The jocks need watched 24/7. It’s important to ensure compliance to masculine orthodoxy. Coach watches the boys punch each other in the gut – some inane pissing contest – and he jacks his huge dick.
Coach understands why they’re doing it. They’re doing it because they’re boys. And boys will be boys. And this pleases Coach greatly. The more his jocks conform to unthinking masculinity and groupthink, the better they will be as both a Team and as jocks, on and off the field.
He imagines they’ll start wrestling soon. They usually do. Whatever it takes to get them tuckered out for sleep. You’d think the 2 hours in the gym and 3 hours of sports they get daily would be enough, but these are ultra high-T alphas whose minds are surrendered to groupthink. It takes a lot to wear them out.
Read the first Jocked novel here!
Coach teaches by example. That’s why you’ll find him in the gym twice a day, everyday, and wearing appropriate attire. The jocks have gotta learn.
It’s hard for the boys to imagine their Coach as anything other than the masculine stalwart he is. Forty-odd, fifty-odd; huge, rugged, strong; the authoritative patriarch; sexually unassailable. But he was young once, he was a jock once. All coaches start as jocks. That time when they were spry and youthful and full of a boy’s mischief and charm.
Coach Schmidt was one of those jocks who knew from an early age that he was gonna go on to form his own tribe. He wanted to be a coach. He looked up to his own coach with intense awe. Once he graduated from his coach’s program and became a full-fledged jock, he went to the military. He needed to be in an ultra-masculine space; the sort of space that made him hot and excited, yet safe and happy. The military honed his machismo further and gave him command of a group of young men. When he returned to civilian life, he was ready to become a coach.
And so he got set-up at a college far from his own coach so as not to have conflict, then got to work building his Team of jocks. Just as his own coach did.
And now there’s over fifty people in his tribe; assistant coaches, jocks, bulls, cheerbois and runts. He’s rich and prosperous; his program is perfect; he has endless access to cocky jocks and beautiful cheerbois to keep his dick wet. But this empire takes work and determination to keep. That’s reflected in his body. A coach’s body is his empire, symbolically. He must be the biggest and strongest jock on the squad. He must lead by example.
Read the first Jocked novel here!
Coach is an extreme androphile. When he’s training his jocks or bulls, he demands all of his boys conform to masculine orthodoxy. However, he recognizes that the men he singles out for his cheerleading track are not like the other boys, and he’s happy for them to indulge their femininity. To a point.
He doesn’t let them dress in pleated skirts, much less bras or make-up or heels. They are, in fact, dressed much like his jocks; jockstraps, baseball caps, sports socks, nothing else. Their full cheer uniform is similar, only with added booty shorts and crop tops. And they’re not pink – maroon and white, with roaring grizzlies on the butt of the pants. All in honor of Coach and his tribe. But here, in the privacy of Coach’s bedroom, he indulges them the feminine lure of pink.
Coach does enjoy seeing his cheerleaders frolicking on the bed; dicks caged, asses ready, titillating, deferential, submissive, and happy to please the men on the Team in whatever way they want. They’re here for support; that is the job of a cheerleader. Whether on the pitch, cheering on his boys to make the winning touchdown, or in the locker room afterwards embarrassing themselves on jock dick while they flaunt their asses in their tiny little cheer shorts, lips pouting and moist, eyes pleading yet innocent, the lust for their masculine older brothers offensively obvious.
Coach is forever conscious of the threat that femininity poses. It’s why he doesn’t let his jocks interact with women, except as sex objects when they’re out of chastity, or in porn. Women can never be friends, lovers or confidants. Too much risk that they will slither into jockboi’s mind and poison it against Coach’s masculine temple. He doesn’t let the cheerbois adopt a fully feminine perspective – even though some, at least, are of that temperament – because he worries about the same thing. That their femininity will somehow reduce the masculinity of his jocks.
He really has nothing to fear. Cheerleaders look with awe and lust at their jock brothers, but the jocks see their little cheerleader brothers as nothing but cute bois to protect, and puffy pussies to fuck. The cheerleaders have no influence, no power. They couldn’t undermine a jock’s masculinity, even if they wanted to. And they most certainly don’t want to! No one is more attracted to the bro-ish machismo of the jocks than the cheerleaders. And Coach knows this, and accepts this, and thus is happy for his bois to indulge their femininity. To a point.
Read the first Jocked novel here!
Coach gave his jocks the weekend off from their program. No gym, no chastity, no jock-files, no Team practice, no jock bonding, nothing. They had two whole days of freedom.
But what does freedom mean to a jock who has been successfully programmed? He could go to a party, or zone out to some video games, or hook up with anyone who’d have him, or just goon out to porn. But none of that comes to mind. Jockboi isn’t following the program because Coach has him in chains. He does it because he can’t imagine not doing it. Jockboi uses his two days off to go to the gym, listen to his jock-files, have intimate bonding sessions with his jock brothers, and practice his throwing.
This weekend was a test, and a test the jocks pass perfectly. If they had chosen, of their own free will, to pursue an agenda not related to their jockification, then Coach would have seen that as a personal failure. A failure he would remedy through a more intense program and harsh spankings. But he had nothing to fear. The jocks chose their jocklife. They didn’t have to think about it. So well programmed they are that as soon as jockboi woke up, he ate his Coach-approved breakfast, drank his jock juice, grabbed his bag and hit the gym. And then he was out on the pitch with his bros, cap back, passing the ball. Why the fuck would a jock wanna be anywhere else, thinks jockboi. Two whole days of freedom mean nothing in the face of his perfect conditioning.
Jockboi is a slave to the program. And in his slavery, he has found true freedom.
Read the first Jocked novel here!
Look at this champion. It’s the eve of his graduation. Tomorrow he’ll be permanently uncaged by Coach. His dick will be free and with it, he will be free to live his life how he chooses. He sends another flexing video to Coach. Coach didn’t ask him to, tell him to; jockboi just wants to. It feels right.
Jockboi’s been on the program for four years. He started a scrawny, shy nerd. Besides a couple of awkward handjobs in highschool, he’d never been with a man. Then he was pulled into the world of his would-be mentor, who brought him to Coach, who saw the potential, and how got him started on the path to becoming a champion.
Tomorrow, that path will be complete. Coach has spent four years moulding him. Nightly jock files that have warped his mind in the interests of masculine orthodoxy and jock groupthink. Daily gym sessions to hone his body into the artefact of masculine excellence it has become. A caged cock to control his sexuality until it’s exactly to Coach’s liking. And immersion in an intimate brotherhood, the Team, with whom he shares everything and would sacrifice everything.
When he graduates, jockboi will pursue his own destiny. Endless paths will be open to a man of such strength, grace and confidence. Coach will support him in what he does, so long as jockboi continues to be a proud member of his tribe within Jock Nation. Jockboi will always have a home with Coach and his boys, his Team. And jockboi will be sorely missed if he chooses to leave.
Read the first Jocked novel here!
One year in the program and jockboi is transformed. His friends, family, professors – they don’t recognize him. Gone is the shy, flabby boy who exceled at math and loved Star Wars. In his place is a muscled up, dumbed down jock bruh with no thoughts but lifting, fucking, sports, and bros, bros, bros.
And you owe it all to Coach. It’s like he brought you out the darkness and showed you the light. He sparked something in you, a passion and lust that you’d never known before. Coach explained this. It’s the jock mindset. Normies – betas – they live in black and white. An orgasm feels good, but that’s it. It’s here and then it’s gone. But for a jock, an orgasm is cosmic, and everything else is orgasmic. Everything from eating a cheeseburger to taking a shit, scoring a goal or wrestling a bro takes on a sexual thrill. His nerve-endings are sharp, his sensations are intense; the world is in Technicolor and it’s all because of his jock mindset.
That’s what it means to be transformed. To go from normie to jock, from beta to alpha. It’s not just that you now have a hot body and aching balls, it’s that the world shines where before it flickered. And jocks want to have an impact on that world. They want to leave a mark, to have people turn their heads to look. So jockboi sheds his tank and watches himself the way he knows other people watch him, and the way he knows other people should watch him. The jock mindset is a glorious thing.
Read the first Jocked novel here!
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Your check-in time was over, and you’d put on another pound of muscle during the week. Now it was time for you to get some bonding in with the old man.
He might have you chew on his nipples, or else lap at his balls, or suck his dick, or just worship his glorious manliness. He’d never give you his cum though. Coach may be a superman, but he has a lot of jocks, and a lot of check-ins, and even he can’t cum ten times a day. But he’d give you what he could, cause he’s like a father to his jocks, and a father always provides.
Check-ins were a thrilling part of your week. To spend thirty minutes alone with the legend himself. His invasive, brutish hands studying your body in detail. Massaging every muscle to see what’s growing and what’s lagging behind. No stone unturned, no part of your body left unexamined. It was at once uncomfortable and deeply arousing. To be given such attention from someone you admired so much.
Coach wouldn’t cum at these check-ins, but you would, if you were out of chastity. Coach would make you bro-out in front he mirror, egging you on to show off and be cocky while he fondled your dick and balls. When he told you to bust your load and show your jock seed, you’d do it on cue. So ready to blow as you always were, and completely attuned to his command after months or years of his voice in your ear every night, listening to the jock files and falling deeper and deeper into jockhood.
Check-in time wasn’t the best time with Coach. No, that came roughly once a month when it was your turn to share his bed for the night and be utterly cunted by his huge cock. But second to that treat, check-ins were your favorite part of the week.
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You felt so privileged to be one of coach’s cheerleaders. A dream come true. The jocks and bulls all treated you like their younger brother. They watched out for you, protected you, covered for you.
You loved going out to lunch with them – the bulls stuffing back six burgers with extra fries, the jocks with their large portions of chicken, rice and broccoli, you and your cheer brothers with your salad and grilled chicken – and knowing without asking that they were gonna pay for you. You’d sit on one of the bull’s laps while they told dirty stories and laugh along as he casually slipped his hand in your slutty shorts and fondled your puffy pussy.
Or you loved being invited to the frat for a jock night in. The boys getting drunk and high, having burping competitions and playing Mario Kart, while you and the cheerbois served food and drinks and kept morale up by decrying how great and manly your jock brothers were. Sometimes, a jock would just pick you up and slam you on the sofa, or else bend you over a chair. Their dicks are locked away, so they can’t fuck, but they’re all tops, and they all want your pussy, and so they go through the motions of fucking you. And though you’re sad they can’t actually rut you, you love them for wanting to.
You always thought they felt a bit sorry for you. Like, you must be upset you couldn’t measure up to their masculine greatness. But you didn’t think that way at all. You felt profoundly happy to be at the service of these jocks and bulls: to be an available and generous bottom for them to play with. You especially loved the bulls. Total tops, aggressive, toxic, but deeply affectionate towards you. To be a sexual outlet for one of their daily milkings was a dream come true.
Read the first Jocked novel here!
Fully jocked the fuck out. Bro here in his room at the dorm with everything he needs.
His sneakers cleaned and close-by, ready to be slipped on once bro is safe in his strap, and is wearing a sexy pair of shorts (the sluttier the better). Coach needs his boys ready for activity. Gym is a daily grind – 2 hours minimum for any citizen of Jock Nation – but they need to also be ready to play, run, jump, throw and wrestle. Beyond their regulation uniforms when they are training for the Team, the jocks should be dressed like they spend all day outside, playing sports and goofing off. Cause they do. Cause Coach says they do. Coach wants his boys tired and sweaty and strong. They’re like a pack of puppies he’s trying to wear out.
And so his backpack is ready to go for his morning gym sesh – it’s got spare shorts and straps and shoes in it, just in case (a jock will never be comfortable without his uniform), his morning jock juice (a roid-infused concoction of protein), and his gym accoutrements to help him push his limits (back brace, wrists bands etc).
His headphones are there so he can listen to his jock file before he goes to sleep – a jock’s daily conditioning that reminds him what he is, why he is, and who he is for. Coach has all his boys on the same files, feeding them the same propaganda, in order to make them the same. The headphones are also for listening to Coach-approved “jock music” – mainly rock and heavy metal interspersed with the guttural sounds of men fucking. When no music or file is playing, the headphones just release a constant background noise of bro-sounds relayed in perfect bro-voice: “Bruh” “Dood” “Huhuh” “Fuck yeah” “Fuuu~” So joosy dood” “Need to bust bro” “Love that shit”. If jockboi is ever feeling lost or lonely, he can slip those headphones on and be lulled to sleep with the comforting sounds of his brothers.
And of course his cap, cause bro’s so jock he sleeps capped. The cap is everything. It is the symbol of his membership in Coach’s tribe (black cap with a maroon grizzly on the front) and so sets him apart from the normies. But it’s also just the proof that he is jock. It’s fitted on backwards like all good jocks because that’s how good jocks wear their caps. He’s ready to catch a ball, lift a dummie, puff out his lips, stick out his tongue, kiss the bros, and suck Coach’s dick. The jocks have a special sensitivity to when Coach adjusts their caps when they’ve got his huge dick in their mouths.
And his room and bed are perfect jock as well. Nothing fancy or adorned – white sheets for a clean-cut jock. But you know that bed is sticky with cum stains from his constant leaking and wet dreaming. He’s in chastity, so he can’t jack freely, but he’s inconsolably horny and his rich jock balls have no other option but to leak.
The room has a heady, powerful smell. It stinks from the jock sweat, jock cum and jock farts, but it’s also pleasant from the powerful deodorant and cologne the boys wear to smell as masculine as possible. It creates an atmosphere that to the jocks and bulls feels like home, to the cheerleaders feels safe, to the runts feels worshipful and to Coach feels just right.
Bro is fully jocked. This is the where the program leads.
Read the first Jocked novel here!
One of coach’s cheerleaders sending in his progress photo for the week. Exactly as coach asked him to. Hidden within those perfectly waxed cheeks is a bloated, puffy, rose-pink pussy that has been trained and trained until it’s ready for anything.
The cheerleaders are the perennial little brothers of Jock Nation (little sisters, depending who you ask), and are treated with a level of affection befitting their place. The jocks and bulls are taught to care for their cheerleaders like they’re fragile things. Delicate, almost sacred. And yet, they are ultimately holes. The cum dumps of Jock Nation.
It’s another paradox of Coach’s – like putting all his jocks in chastity while building them up as tops, or raising his bulls as gay while having them breed pussy – that his cheerleaders should be coddled and demure and protected, and yet be totally immersed in the masculine vulgarity that Coach relentlessly drills into his boys. The liberated, crude and sometimes barbaric words and deeds that come as easily to the jocks as their boners, fist bumps and goofy smiles.
It’s a fine line. There’s nothing demure about being the on-call fucksleeve of a 300lb brute who stops eating only long enough to take a pussy, take a nap, or take a shit (and sometimes not even then), and yet there is something demure in the way that a cheerleader holds himself while he serves. Cause serve he does. Cheerleaders are the support class of Jock Nation. They are there to worship the breeding bulls and top jocks. Specifically, to worship their masculine virtue (and at no point should they ever seek to limit how these men express their masculinity). He retains his cheerleader spirit by being supportive, affirmative, coy and, well, demure. When a jock rips a hard fart, a cheerboi giggles while the jocks laugh; when a bull is lost in a porn swamp and yells “I need to cunt a hole!” a cheerboi bites his bottom lip and pleads to the bull with his eyes; and when Coach – Daddy, to the cheerbois – says it’s time for bed, a cheerboi puts up a token, effeminate resistance until Daddy lifts him onto his shoulder and takes him to bed himself, where he enjoys a light spanking before he nestles into Daddy for the night.
The progress photo is part of this demureness. He doesn’t bend over enough to show off his loose, puffy cunt – a consequence of vulgar masculinity on his body – but he bends over just enough to give a tease; to make his Daddy Coach (and anyone else who sees it cause Coach will certainly share the picture with his boys) wonder about what lies within. It’s not about muscle or fat, gains or losses. Such things matter, and Coach’s assistants keep a meticulous record of a cheerleader’s body, but the progress photos are more fundamental than that. They are a weekly reminder to the cheerboi exactly why he’s here, and exactly how he should show it.
Read the first Jocked novel here!
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