Three of the jocks are off chastity at the same time. They’re fucking non-stop in the locker room and at the frat. The other jocks look on, horny and envious. They know being locked up is good for their gainz, but they just wanna fuck.
Good. All jocks should feel that way. They should all have the overwhelming urge to fuck. A jock who isn’t thinking about his cock is no jock at all.
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You’ve been jocked. Completely. It took months of jock spirals, and roids, and gooning with your jock brothers. But you’re here. Coach has made you one of his boys. And now, the locker room is your safe space. Before the program, these were places that brought out your anxiety and feelings of inadequacy. But that’s the beauty of the jocked program. Coach can take shy, unassuming beta losers and turn them into manly, confident, powerful jocks.
Coach has shown you the light. Now, you never wanna leave the locker room. The smell, the aesthetic, the energy – it charges you up to kill it on whatever pitch Coach has you on that day. And it charges you up to fuck, too. You ditched your girl a month ago. Her pussy wasn’t doing it anymore. Unless you’re busting with a bro, it’s just not the same. And even better if it’s in the locker room. You and the team in a circle jerk; one hand jacking, the other hand exploring the body of the bro next to you. You used to think all that testosterone-poisoning was a straight guy thing. That being gay meant the opposite. You were a moron. You realize the truth now. You’re gay, and that’s a damn awesome thing. All that gay porn and frotting and – at this point – mutual blowjobs with the bros has made you appreciate your masculine valor all the more.
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Coach has curated the best team of jocks. Each has gone through his intense jockification program and each is willing to do whatever it takes to win. They do it for themselves. They do it for Coach. They do it for the Team.
Once you’re in this deep, there’s no going back. You’re a jock for life.
The locker room orgies are fucking insane.
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It’s a year since Coach first took you under his wing. A year since you were a shy, closeted, chubby nerd. Now look – the jockification has consumed you. Strong, proud and jocksexual, ready to lift heavy, play hard, fuck right and share your body and soul with your jock brothers.
Tonight, Coach is taking you and the boys out to party. That doesn’t mean you skip your two gym sessions and your two hours of football training, though. You’ve just come straight from the field, not bothering to change cause you know what this pose in this outfit does to the old man.
Seeing you in regulation uniform invariably means Coach is gonna get too excited to focus on anything else. He’s gonna give you a pre-fuck before the partying begins – to get you both to calm down a little.
And it’s all to celebrate the anniversary of you becoming a jock.
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Alone in Coach’s office for your weekly body-check and things got heated. This was the first time he’d kissed you. The signs had been strong. For the past few weeks, you’d both sported boners for the duration of your check-in – both of your hard dicks straining against your little uniforms while coach examined every part of your body. He’d brush up against your dick innocently enough and you’d feel a spasm of pleasure. He wouldn’t comment on it, or on his own raging boner.
But today, it just got too hot. He was assessing your pec development – your boners frotting against each other – and you couldn’t avoid his eyes. He looked at you deep for a second, then went in for a kiss.
You were unsure, but only for a second. You’d only kissed one other boy and that was your jock mentor. This was all so strange for you – whole new frontiers of social and sexual life opening up.
It wouldn’t be long before Coach started taking a real intimate role in your jockification.
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Jockboi decided to walk back to the frat in the pissing rain. They lost the match, and he blames himself. Coach didn’t tell him to do this; it’s something he feels he has to do. He let the side down, he let his boys down, he let coach down, he let himself down. The lonely, cold walk will help enforce how he can never let it happen again.
Jocks excel. Jocks win. It’s that simple. If he’s not winning, he’s not a jock. And he can never accept that life.
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Coach got his whole team of jocks at the farm and things got a little out of control. Which is just how coach likes it. Coach is so proud of all his jocked boys. To think, most of them used to be skinny little closeted losers. They’re so lucky to have found the program.
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Jockboi’s getting ready to listen to today’s jock-file so he has to get into uniform. Which means he flips his cap back. He’s either in his football gear, or already dressed permanently for the gym. What other clothes are there, dude?
He’ll spend the next hour zoned out while Coach’s voice instils jock values into his ever-slowing brain. He’ll wake up with a painful dripping boner, which he’ll satisfy while watching some Coach-approved porn. Today, it’s some locker room scene where two guys flipflop and just call each other dude over and over again.
Then it’s time for a hearty meal of steak, potatoes and broccoli, washed down with coach’s special “jock juice” protein shake, before heading for his evening sesh at the gym with Joey and Gabe and Zach and Hiro and Jordan and Noah and Rory and…
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The jocks won their latest game. Against who? Fuck knows. What sport were they playing? No one remembers. Coach was damn happy with their performance, so he unlocked their dicks and left them to it in the locker room. When he came back two hours later, the smell alone nearly knocked him cold.
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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.
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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.
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