Coach has had this piece of meat in the pipeline for ten years now. And the results speak for themselves. The bull program has three central components; never stop eating, never stop lifting, never stop roiding.
Unlike his jock program which includes a system of controlled chastity and orgasm, bulls are allowed to fuck and cum as often as they need. They’re overflowing with so much T that it’s actually dangerous. Bottling it up does no good. So imagine this hunk of mass gooning three, four…eight times a day. Each load thick, ample and potent.
Maybe Coach will send round one of his cheerbois to help this bull with his post-gym nut. Gotta be quick though. Bull needs to nap. Then eat. Then bust. Then nap. Then eat. Then back to the gym. Then bust…
One of Coach’s bulls being prepped for a comp. Coach thinks he has what it takes to win the crown.
Coach doesn’t just train his boys for the sexual thrill, or because he wants to see more jocks making a nuisance in the world – though both are huge parts of his lifestyle and philosophy.
These men are assets, whether bull, jock or cheerleader. Bulls go into bodybuilding and rake in sponsorship money. Jocks get into pro sports and athletics. Cheerleaders can do modeling and exotic dancing. And all three make him a mint selling their bodies. Whether they wanna own and abuse a tight cheerleader boy, have some mutual masc4masc bro time with a jock, or get impregnated by a bull, there’s an army of men willing to hand over big cash for these guys.
It’s not often that Coach rears an Asian bull, but when he does, it’s always magnificent. They’re usually too small, too cute, just not masculine enough. They make perfect cheerleaders, and can make good jocks. But bulls? It’s just rare. But this boy is one of Coach’s favorites. He’s gonna make Coach a lot of money on stage, online, on tour. A lot of men are gonna be lining up to worship, fuck, suck and celebrate this glorious Chinese bull, and a lot of women are gonna pay to get bred by his elite seed.
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.
Looking like this, he wasn’t getting anywhere with women. Too fat. Too hairy. Too slobbish. Too gross. So he decided to try something he’d been wanting to try for years. He went on Railr. Within days, he had an endless parade of men looking to ride his fat, hairy, slobbish, gross body. Within weeks he began doing some reciprocal cocksucking. Within months he’d sworn off women completely as he realized the full glory of men. It’s just surprising it took him this long, considering how glorious he is.
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.
Two of Coach’s bulls burning off their huge reserves of calories playing rugby. They can’t be out too long though. They’re on a tight schedule of eating, cumming, shitting, lifting and sleeping. Still, it’s important to get fresh air, to play sports with the other bulls for the bond, and to use up their energy so it doesn’t turn destructive. Some of the beloved cheerbois are watching so the bulls are flexing to make them swoon. After the game, they’ll each take a cheerboi or two and use their pussies to get milked.
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.
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.
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.
This is the Bull Pool. Just a place for Coach Schmidt’s big boys to cool off in the summer when the heat starts to get to them. If you weighed 320lbs, you’d sweat like a fucking hog, too. And sweat they do. Coach doesn’t accept a boy as a member of his bullpen until he reaches that glorious 300th pound (fat in check).
If a bull’s been good, Coach’ll send in some of the cheerbois to keep him company. Those beautiful svelte bottoms love nothing more than sitting on the laps of their big brother-bulls, getting their puffy assholes violently played with, soaking in his obnoxious, reeking masculinity. The bull’s probably chowing down on a massive pizza during, or six men’s worth of hamburgers. Coupled with the cum oozing from his overactive cock, and the Bull Pool gets fucking disgusting fucking fast. A thick film of highly potent bull cum will cover the water by the end, especially if more than one bull shares the pool. A dangerous scenario. The bulls aren’t always too friendly with each other. If there’s plenty of food, plenty of hole, plenty of room, plenty of attention, then bulls can be the best of bros. If there’s ever competition for resources, then these huge slabs of meat can and do get violent. So Coach will only share the pool if he has plenty of cheerbois to spare for the evening. The clean-up, as ever, is left for the runts. Sometimes they’ll only have ten minutes to drain the scuzz from the pool before the next bull barges in and takes his pleasure.
Bulls are incredibly simple. They just wanna shovel food into their stomachs, lift heavy bits of metal, and put their dicks into tight holes. Coach ensures all three urges are kept well-satisfied.
