This story contains graphic content and potential trauma cues for sensitive readers. This is purely a work of fiction, by and for consenting adults. Any resemblance to real people or entities is unintended and purely coincidental.
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Chapter 2: Use unrelenting pressure to stop bad behavior.
If not for my collection of footage, waiting in my dorm for Brock's date to end would have felt like an eternity. But I did have my footage, and by the time I received the text from Brock, I was thoroughly chafed. As much as I preached to Brock about self-control, I was chagrined by my own apparent lack.
I was cleaning up when I received Brock's text.
'Hey man, date went great!'
As the three little circles chimed in an out indicating another text, I bristled at Brock's use of 'Man.' I would eventually have to punish him out of his ridiculous straight male vernacular. If all went according to plan, he'd be calling me 'Sir,' 'Master,' or some other honorary. But he wasn't ready for this yet. Not even close. One step at a time.
More messages followed in quick succession.
'Your advice was great!' He followed with a few emojis resembling various hand gestures. Goddamn was Brock hot, but so profoundly vapid. He would be easy to break. The messages continued.
'She hinted at me coming over. But I knew that I couldn't cuz, well, u know...'
'I made up some bs about wanting to take it slow. Fuck that was hard, Man. I wanted to take her home right then and there.'
'But she seemed to really vibe with that bro. Good advice!'
I was confused by how this followed, but Brock inserted a few emojis that resembled flames.
'Anyway, thanks again! I'm ready to get this thing off me.'
'I'm omw now'
I knew that this was the moment where the pressure would start to be difficult. But after a life of breaking horses, I knew what to expect. Brock would ask me to unlock him. I would refuse. I would give a well-reasoned (albeit pretextual) explanation, but would refuse, nonetheless. Brock would become angry. He might retaliate. But I would never let him see me react in kind. I would be unrelenting until he relented. I was an unstoppable force against Brock, a very movable object.
I put away the evidence of my indiscretion as Brock made his way over to my dorm. I then sat on my bed, pulled out a book, and waited as Brock made his way to me. The knock at my door came much quicker than expected. Brock was in a hurry to get his release.
I was in no hurry as I placed my book on the nightstand and made my way to the door. Brock knocked again as I strolled leisurely to the door.
"Hey, Man!" He called through the door hurriedly. "I'm ready to be let out, you know?"
That he spoke so vaguely to avoid the other dorm residents from understanding amused me. But that he continued to refer to me as 'Hey, Man!' annoyed me. I considered keeping his cock locked up for another few days just for that. Punishing him out of that repulsive straight male vernacular would be a high priority.
But I would take one step at a time. Brock would be mine. I already considered him mine. I just needed to break him first. Little by little, I would use my firm hand to slowly break down his barriers and sense of self.
"Bro," as Brock called through the door, his normally resonating voice was an octave higher than usual. "Anytime now, Man."
I paused on the other side of the door and relished the moment. In my pocket was a key. Brock needed this key because, earlier that day, I had locked his massive cock up in a chastity cage. And now, this delicious male specimen needed me to unlock him for relief. I had all the power here, and I was in no hurry to let this moment pass.
"Hold your horses, Cowboy," I spoke casually at the door, "We'll get you taken care of." I was intentionally vague, making no promises to unlock him.
As soon as I unlocked the deadbolt and turned the handle, Brock's body nearly mowed me over as he burst through the threshold and into my dorm. He spoke rapidly and in barely coherent sentences.
"The date went great! Thanks again for the advice, Brah. Now let's get that key!"
"Woah, woah," I raised my hands toward Brock.
My posture and tone betrayed a lifetime of training animals. Unintentionally, my voice and posture exactly matched the voice and posture that I previously employed in my horse taming days. Conveying steadfast calmness through demeanor, stance, tone, and volume worked wonders on a stallion that had gotten itself worked up. Likewise, Brock slowed down and slowed his breathing.
I continued speaking in a low, calm voice. "I'm glad to hear that your date went well, Stud." The term's appropriateness wouldn't yet occur to Brock.
"Have a seat," I continued, motioning toward my desk chair while I sat on my bed, "Tell me more about how it went."
"I mean, sure," Brock looked uneasy. His voice still conveyed a frantic urgency. "But can we get this thing off of me first?"
I looked at Brock for several moments before I spoke. When asserting dominance over an animal, it is crucial to not respond immediately to the beast's actions. To lead is, tautologically, not to follow. Brock stirred as I stared at him in silence.
Finally, I spoke. "The point is for you to master self-control. If you acted on your impulses by making a move on that poor girl, you would have ruined the date. Even if you would have succeeded and were in her dorm fucking her right now, you wouldn't be establishing a real relationship. Don't you agree?"
"Well, sure, but--"
"That's right. So, let's cool down for a second and talk first. Now look at me, get your mind off your cock for just a few minutes and talk. Tell me: how was the date?"
But Brock's mind would, of course, still be on his cock. While he was looking at me and speaking to me, Brock would be wrestling with his urge to take out his cock and pleasure himself. In short, Brock's mind would associate a desperate need for release with my face and my voice. This night was going according to plan.
For a moment, Brock stirred in his seat. He looked at me with an anxious, pleading expression. After several moments, he straightened himself, and responded.
"It was great! We talked a lot, she had a good time, I had a good time, and the food was good."
"Brock," I leaned back where I sat on the bed, "You're not going to get out sooner by giving me these perfunctory non-answers. Tell me more. Tell me about her. Tell me what she said, how you reacted, what you said, and how she reacted."
As I sat on the bed listening, I casually crossed my legs. Holding such control over Brock was going to my head. But it was also going to my cock, as I could tell from the straining I felt in my sweats. I didn't want Brock to see how hard my control over him made me. Yet.
We spent the next hour discussing the details of Brock's date. He began by giving brief, one-word answers. But with some gentle (albeit firm) probing he opened up. Brock shared his feelings about the girl, his anxieties about her reaction, and his disappointment that he couldn't take her home afterward. And each time he tried to end the conversation to discuss his release, I would hold my hand up to silence him, then ask another question.
My long-term goal was to normalize control over the timing of his masturbation. His releases would need to be random and arbitrary in order to break Brock from acting on his own impulses seeing women. At the same time, firmness required that a dominant follow through with expectations that the dominant set. I'd have to release him eventually.
It was well after midnight when we finished our discussion. Brock became adamant about his release.
"Alright man, I've done what you said. And it worked great! Now you gotta let me out!" Brock placed one hand on his hip and the other on the back of his head. His brow furrowed and he looked down at me impatiently. My years of training kicked in as I acted to calm him. My posture responded as if I were addressing a reactive animal; slow, steady, and unreactive to his aggression.
I leaned back and looked at him, then looked at the clock, then back to Brock. I maintained eye contact in silence until Brock stirred uncomfortably. As he shifted his weight in the chair, I could see the muscles in his chest and abs shifting under his too-tight shirt. This sight fueled my arousal, solidifying my resolve to keep at this until that muscle-bound hunk was mine to fuck. That bulging chest would be mine. Those abs would be mine. The jawline, the arms, and that cock would be mine. And that ass would be mine to fuck at my leisure.
I stood up without replying to Brock. I pulled a blanket off of my bed and laid it across the ground. Likewise, I took a pillow and laid it at my feet. I pointed at the ground.
"You're tired, and I want you to get some sleep. Remember that we're practicing self-control. You can barely get your homework in on time because you're so busy jacking it. But I am going to help you. Now lay here, go to sleep."
Brock tried to interrupt but stopped himself when I held up a finger. As I looked into his eyes, he knew that I held the power here.
I pointed down at the blanket as if I was telling a dog to go to his bed.
"Sleep. My alarm will wake us up at six o'clock AM. I will unlock you then."
"Fuck, that's early--" Brock started to complain, until I interrupted him.
