A graduated jock has come back to see Coach for the weekend. Coach enforces a strict dress-code for his boys when they’re in his home. Observe. A strap, socks and sneakers and, for his non-graduated jocks, their caps. Sexual, masculine, conformist and respectful, this is what you wear when you spend intimate time with Coach.
It was easier than you imagined to convince your “straight” friend to become your personal body-worshipper and cock whore. He frankly begged you for the opportunity. You can’t wait to see the look on his girl’s face when she sees what you’ve done to her boyfriend.
The face made by the top as he busts in his grateful bottom’s mouth. He always flexes his guns when he shoots his ropes. He just that unabashed cocky top attitude. The same attitude that makes every bottom weak in the knees. Playtime’s over for now. Time to get back to work.
Maybe the muscle-addicted sluts who fall into Daddy’s orbit don’t truly understand what they’re getting into, but eventually they’ll come to realize that Daddy owns their asses. That expensive elixir flowing through their veins gives Daddy rights over their bodies – at least, if they want more. And they all want more. That’s why they prostrate, embarrass and degrade themselves for Daddy. They want more, more more.
Your big dumb boyfriend’s doing his best to take his shirt off. He’s been at it for a few minutes, though. Dumb dumb’s head is so full of meat that he can’t get his clothes over it. Maybe you should help him out, but it’s just kinda cute and sexy to see him struggle. If you wait long enough, he’ll end up tearing it off in a rage and that always leads to amazing sex.
Daddy’s new favorite roid slut taking a picture for all Daddy’s friends. Daddy loves making these whores do depraved or compromising shit when their girls are in the next room.
It’s inconceivable to a himbo to not be constantly on show. His body is a work of public art. An interactive sculpture. He uses his eyes to beg men to look and touch.
Bulls can be the nicest dudes alive. If they’re well fed, well-milked, well-slept and well-lifted, you’ll never find a more happy-go-lucky bro. But when those conditions aren’t met, he’s likely to be angry, short-tempered, and violent. And he’s got that bull strength to carry with it genuine risk.
So, thrice-daily milkings are mandatory. For the ultra high-T bulls, four or even five milkings is necessary. And you can measure the volume of a bull’s typical load in cups. Multiple.
For the jocks and cheerleaders (and occasionally Coach himself) keeping the bulls milked is one of the funnest job they have.
Bullmeat on sale at a cattle show. If a Barn thinks a bull is more valuable being sold off to another Barn rather than as an earner in-house, then they’ll put him up for auction. How could this man not be a good earner, you ask? Just remember that Barns have hundreds of men just like this in their systems. From their perspective, this bull is nothing special. He may be able to bring in a quick mil for the Barn, though. Help with cashflow.
You’d been making eyes at this big brute all night. You were out to your friends and family, so he knew your deal… and he kept returning your glances. Which could only mean one thing. You made a subtle nod to the bathroom. Three minutes later, he came in, stripping down and chubbing up. He started saying this, that and the next thing, but you put a finger to his mouth and proceeded to give him his first gay blowie. It wouldn’t be the last.
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.
Bullmeat being herded around a convention center, looking to get a placement at a Barn. The agents are asking him about his strength level, his testosterone, his dick size, his average cumload, his body count, his number of pregnancies caused – intentional or accidental. Things like that. He looks promising, but there are hundreds of other pieces of bullmeat there looking for breeding work. It’s good work if you can get it; it’s a competitive field
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.
You got validation from showing your ass on camera for random men. The more depraved they were, the more validated you felt.. You kept thinking what it would be like to get fucked by one of these men. They all seemed really nice, paying attention to your silly ass and all.
There’s nothing more satisfying to jock or Coach than when a jock truly starts to look the part. When the months of training, eating, hypnosis, indoctrination and drugs begin to pay off. Jockboi has completely forgotten who he used to be. Whether skinny, fat, thicc, meek, fem, or just invisible – gone! It no longer matters. All that matters is that he is now jock.
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 bro, just forget everything you were thinking. I mean, it wasn’t exactly a treatise on political philosophy, was it? You don’t need to think, bro. Look at your body, look at your bulge. You’ve got everything you need. Now just get back in the gym and have another go at your biceps. If you do good, you can jack off again. That’s what you want, right bro? To lift and to cum. To lift and to cum.”
The sort of mantra that feeds a healthy jock’s brain. To lift and to cum, to lift and to cum. That’s what a jock should aspire to. Everything else is a distraction.
Coach’s bull. He’s in the hotel room with the client – the married woman and her husband who hired this ultra-high T man to impregnate her and gift her his alpha genes. She’s passed out on the bed, utterly fucked by his bull-cock, exhausted from orgasming, her pussy gushing with his enormous load. Her husband is lying next to her, in sheer awe of the alpha’s sex.
The bull can only look at himself in the mirror, in sheer awe of himself.
The men at the pool catcall and jeer at the himbo, and so the himbo smiles. He’s learned that any attention from men is good attention, so he basks in their raunchy dudeness. He’s well accustomed to men just fondling his ass, giving him a kiss, sticking their fingers in his mouth, and each time it happens, his dim little himbo brain lights up with serotonin.
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.
Daddy patiently listens to your excuses why you can’t take his dick. That’s “gay”, and you’re “straight.” You’re lucky he is so patient. A less patient man would have given up on your closeted nonsense a while ago. Since despite being “straight”, you can’t stop worshipping this great man. That’s a normal masculine impulse; a healthy respect for alpha men, and a natural androphilia that makes men stronger, not weaker. Daddy’s an alpha, and he wants to shepherd other gay men – even the tediously closeted ones – towards a more alpha expression of their manhood.
So, for now he’s satisfied with blowjobs, cause you’re hot and eager and Daddy likes a challenge, but every man’s patience has its limit.
Someone just asked the bull his name and he’s trying his best to remember. He really is trying to think. Problem is, he’s forgotten how to think. Good. Thoughts just get in the way. Now he just needs Coach to direct him to the dumbbells so he can continue his session. His memory’s wrecked, but his muscle memory is stronger than ever. That’s how he still knows how to fuck so well.
Coach loves seeing his bulls waddle to the scale for their weekly weigh-in. Bulls are total tops, except for Coach. Coach is the only one who’s allowed to slam down on those huge muscle asses. Coach is the only one a bull would let do it. That’s power. And Coach needs to ensure his bulls are eating everything he’s telling them to eat. All 7000 daily calories of it. The scale doesn’t lie. That’s control.
Power and control. Necessary to keep these enormous bastions of testosterone in check. Necessary to produce the next generation of high-value breeders. Coach is the only one man-enough to be able to control these men. He’s the only one with the power.
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.
That’s your sixth meal today, and it’s only 5pm. You can’t remember the last time you were hungry, but that doesn’t matter. All that matters is you’ve got to eat and lift and roid and fuck cause that’s what good bulls do. No. You’ve gotta eat cause Coach told you to eat, and good bulls do whatever Coach says.
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.
He’s trying to remember what to do with this thing. The thought’s gone. He’s been standing there for five minutes trying and failing to think. His muscle dom has been going hard with his conditioning, and he’s upped his gear intake this month. His mind is pretty much fucked, but the important thing is, he’s getting bigger and hornier and manlier. He’s fucking any guy his dom sends over. He still remembers how to do that. If he ever forgets how to fuck, then his dom will know he’s gone too far. By that point it’ll be too late and he’ll drop the muscle sub immediately. What’s the use of a man who can’t fuck? Just find another sub and don’t push quite so hard.
“I don’t see the problem, bro.” Your gym buddy bent double to look under the shelves. You stared hard at his ass and massaged your dick.
“Oh, there’s definitely a problem,” you said. “The whole thing’s wobbly. Better keep looking.”
“Sure thing. You know I’m always happy to help.” He was big, dumb and kind. It was so easy to put him to use around the house. He was like a puppy, always looking to please. Especially when you mounted his tight muscled ass like a stallion and he fucked back to help get you off. You didn’t know what his sexuality was. Frankly, he was probably too stupid to know. But it didn’t matter. He liked to bottom, and you liked to top. He liked to do stuff for you, you liked to have stuff done. He was a himbo, you were a stud. You were perfect together.
Himbos can’t help it. It’s almost subconscious. He went to stow his luggage, then stopped as he remembered to pull his jeans down a bit to show off his perfect bubble ass. Every catcall, every pinch, every spank validates him and makes his silly head tingle with joy.
This fucking roided stud is everything you ever wanted… for your wife. He starts the night off showing off as your little dick thrills, before he fireman-carries your wife to your marriage bed and pounds her till she’s screaming.
The best bit is getting to suck up his huge creamy load as it gushes from her cunt when he’s finally done. Though you also appreciate that he clogs your toilet with a massive dump and pisses all over your sofa.
And all that for only a grand?! You’re one lucky little faggot… or, your wife’s one lucky lady, you mean.
A year into Coach’s new training program, and you’re transformed. He’s turning you into the ultimate bull, and it’s working. He says you’re his best candidate yet. You’ve blown up to 300lbs of meat and you’re not done. You’re in your room – your pen – waiting for a cheerleader to come round so you can empty your balls. The constant drugs, lifting, bulking and flexing has spiked your testosterone so much, you have to bust four or five times a day. But Coach provides everything you need to keep your dick satisfied. At least for a few hours.
Your wrestling partner’s out and proud. You can’t help but envy him his size and strength, his confidence and masculinity. You fight aggressive. You don’t hold back. You’re not gonna let some fruitcake beat you. You punch him right in the eye. For a second, he seems stunned and you well-up with regret. You figure he’s gonna hit back. Instead, he cups your hairy titty and kisses you deep. Now you’re stunned, and all you can do is let it happen. He tells you that he knows how you feel about him. He knows you like guys, too. You try to deny it, but what’s the point? Your dick’s doing the talking for you. And besides, now you’re making out with your sexy wrestling partner who you’ve been jacking over for weeks.
Just a regular Friday night for these boys. Bro struck out with the chicks at the bar, so stumbled back to the house of his two gay besties and they fucked. Dude strikes out cause he always goes for the hottest chick, every time. They keep telling him that he should aim a bit lower, but he keeps telling them it’s 10s or the boys. Women aren’t worth the hassle unless they’re total bombshells.
Wrestlers and bodybuilders are one step away from being porn stars. They have the pornstar state of mind at least; aesthetic, victory, sensation, physicality, strength. All this and more occupies the minds of these men. Is it so hard to imagine these wrestling greats taking the next logical step and fucking? Not for me.
You’re all doing your best to hide your boners, waiting for that one het guy to leave so you can get the party started. The guy in the back corner’s about to lose his fucking mind.
Daddy teaching his protégé what it takes to be a true alpha dom. They’re staring down a cute boi with ass for days. If an alpha wants, an alpha gets. Go and get it bro!
There’s nothing sus about worshipping bro’s incredible body. Nothing sus about that at all. You’re both pretty bricked while you do it, so that must mean it’s fine. Bricked is good. Being bricked is totally bro. Homos don’t get bricked.
Waiting for the guy from Railr to show up. You’ve taken to using cocksuckers on a daily basis. You work from home and your wife has no idea about your new hobby. You always go for the fem ones. The pretty boys. The sissies. They love it. They think their little straight-chasing fantasies are coming true. What they don’t know is that you’re even more turned on than they are. You wish you had the balls to take it to the next step, maybe just kiss one of these sexy guys who look up at you from their knees, but you don’t. Not yet.