Mark’s letting this gym bro explore his beautiful body as slowly and methodically as he wants. The guy hadn’t wanted to do anything at the gym, so Mark invited him round of an evening. That typically meant the guy had some serious intentions. If they were willing to get it on gym-side, then a quick suck-and-duck was usually all Mark could wrangle. But if they wanted to spend time with him in total privacy, well, that was always a good sign.
Mark’s body is a totally open book. Do you know the thrill of being allowed to let go your restraints around sex and desire and to explore a beautiful, masculine body exactly as you want? Mark does. He’s taken enough of these guys down that path to know it perfectly well.
All of Coach’s boys got a text reminding them to drink their milk. So they did. When Coach says jump.
The juice is a special concoction of Coach’s. Milk’s the main ingredient, with some extra protein, steroids and cum added. Everything a growing jock needs.
Oh shit. The jockification is well under way. If bro doesn’t change soon, there’s no way out. Throwing the cap back is really the first major warning sign. When he starts speaking in monosyllables, it’ll be too late.
Bro was up for fucking around with his teammate. Excited even. But, when he pulled down his shorts and saw his friend’s boned-up jock, it all got very real, very quick. Bro can still say no, but… why does it feel like there’s no going back?
The masculine virus spread with a kiss. It wasn’t so long ago that dude was wearing bowties and pink slacks, obsessing over the flower arrangement in the den, reciting the lyrics of the latest Taylor Swift album. But then, a chance hookup with a masc douchebag on Grindr, and everything changed. Without realizing it, without conscious thought, he wholesale replaced his wardrobe with the same shit the douche from Grindr wore. He bought a bunch of baseball caps, tanks and chains, redid his crib, found new music and shows, and started going to the gym. He’d always been lean and neat, but now he was putting on muscle. Real muscle. Like all the bros. Yeah, the bros. He was one of them now. A bro. Just like the dude he hooked up, who’d given him the virus.
While he can’t say for certain, he’s pretty sure the masculinity was transferred with a kiss. The douche’d been so adamant about it, and it had lasted so long. He can’t explain it, but the masculine energy within him is calling out to be spread. With every guy he hooks up, he makes sure to kiss them long and deep, to ensure they can become as bro-d out as he has. He feels like a soldier in an army, doing his part for the cause by hooking up and spreading the masc virus.
The bromos will not be happy until every gay is just like them.
The married dad who “prefers the company of men”. He gives you a little wink, a wee pout, and once the missus is gone with the kids, you’re face down in his sheets getting the best pounding of your life.
You spend the next hour straddling his lap, making out slow and deep. Until her car rolls up into the drive. He sighs.
“So you’ll take the landscaping job then, kid?”
“Hell yes, sir.”
“Good boy.” He pats your butt and acts like nothing happened. At least, not until the next time it happens.
Ultimately this is how Coach wants his boys – clean-cut jocks, packed with synthetic muscle, barely clothed and ready to fuck at a moment’s notice. Coach couldn’t be prouder of the lil slugger.
When your bud is gaming, but that’s boring so you change the screen to some porn and within a minute you’re both hard and leaking. It’s not a stretch to give your bud a bit of a squeeze after that.
Mark getting in his pre-gym workout. Gotta get pumped so all his fuck buds at Sparta see him in a good light. This is what he’ll be wearing at the gym, so there’s not really such a thing as a bad light.
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.
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.
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 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.
“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…”
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.
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.
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.
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.
That’s it. Bask in the glory of the man who brought you out of betadom and is making you into a fellow alpha. He’s built up your manhood piece by piece, showing you an alternative out of sissification and out of beta invisibility. All he asks in return is your loyalty, devotion and respect. You give all three, because you feel all three. He’s your alpha, you’re becoming like him. One day, you’ll be his double. Equals. Then, a beta will bask in your glory, and the beautiful cycle of masculinization continues.
A good boi needs to be flexible, which means he needs to be strong. Flexibility comes from strength. Gotta be able to contort ourselves into all sorts of shapes to accommodate all male desires.
The lions’ prey kneels before them – a wife and husband, white as sin – and they bask in their black superiority. The prey wants them so bad, which suits the lions just fine. The prey forms part of their game; white pussy is something to be toyed with. Something to measure their superior masculinity against. Liberius are kings; everyone must kneel.
You used to workout alone, closeted and angry. Then you met Tony and everything changed. Tony was long out the closet, long down the weight-lifting road and all too willing to teach you his ways. And now you were as jacked as him, as sexy as him and as committed as him. You make sure to kiss him tender before every set, just to show your appreciation for everything Tony’s done for you.
The bulls are in a league of their own. Coach actually rarely lets them play sports: they don’t have time for it. They spend 12-14 hours a day sleeping, and most of their waking hours are spent gorging on food or lifting extremely heavy weights. Otherwise, they’re on the shitter, or getting milked. That is the life of a bull. And all for Coach to sell their fuck to couples in want of alpha sons. People pay thousands to get cunted and bred by one of these high-T alpha giants. Jocks are Coach’s passion, but bulls are his money maker.
Bruh came round for his daily fuck. He couldn’t resist checking himself out on the way in. It was a good few minutes of flexing in the window before you could drag him to the couch and get the night going. The roided narcissism was real though.
You and your best bro of ten years spend all your free time together. At the gym, watching the game, weekend camping trips. You name it. But your most common hobby is taking your dogs on their daily walk. Once you’re deep enough in the forest, you grab each other’s hands. Once you’re deeper still, your hands grab for something else. And that’s when things get really deep. And somehow, no one knows. Least of all your girlfriends. They just think it’s really sweet that you’re such good friends, and that the dogs get plenty of exercise. Not even when you return with your asshole still dripping with your lover’s cum does she notice.
Just a couple of all-American bros. You love to show off together; flexing is your main past-time. The girls go wild, so do the guys. Which suits you just fine. Like all good American bros, you practise chicks on the beach, dicks in the sheets.
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’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.
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.
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.
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.
The following is an excerpt from the first story (The Jock) in Gym Bros Volume 1: Straight Guys Gone Gay. 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.
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.
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.
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.
