This story contains graphic content and potential trauma cues for sensitive readers. I say this before each of my chapters, but I
very much mean it in this instance
. In this work, like in many of my works, the Dom is an irredeemable psychopath who inflicts significant harm on the Sub. If this is not the kind of story that you can handle or would enjoy, then I'd highly recommend backing out now.
This is purely a work of fiction, by and for consenting adults. Any resemblance to real people or entities is unintended and purely coincidental.
---
Chapter 3: Reward good behavior.
The early summer air filled my nostrils as we walked between rows of sorority houses. I inhaled deeply, not wanting the moment to pass. Brock and I were on our way to a party at a local sorority. The sun dipped just below the horizon, giving the trees that lined the street a dark, monochrome hue. I could smell Brock's cologne—cologne that I had chosen for the night.
I confidently led the way with Brock following in my wake. I turned to look at Brock, who wore faded, distressed jeans with a plaid button-down shirt. Both were much too tight for his muscular form. As with his cologne, I chose Brock's outfit for the night. I had frequently been choosing outfits for Brock lately; doing so helped me establish power over his appearance and helped build Brock's trust.
"Your fashion sense is
profoundly
lacking," I'd told Brock one day, "You need someone to help you if you want to attract the right kind of attention. Specifically, attention from women."
Since then, Brock hasn't questioned the clothes I instructed him to buy. Nor has he questioned the clothes I selected for him before class and before parties.
In private, the matter of clothing is moot when you're usually naked. I had worked hard over the past months to normalize frequent, nonsexual nudity between us. If you want to rob someone's humanity, reducing him to a possession, then it's important to take his clothes. I was making excellent progress with both.
"We're just bros here, right?" I'd asked him after an 'unfortunate mishap' with the laundry. Brock was terrible at remembering to do his laundry and, the nice guy that I am, I recently offered to do both our laundry. And who can blame me if a pair of his underwear went missing now and again?
On one such occasion, I handled this weekly chore while Brock was using my shower. I 'inadvertently' put every article of clothes that Brock owned into the wash. Oops.
"I mean, you can't just wear a wet towel around my dorm, right?" I reasoned with him when he finished his shower. "Like I said, we're just bros here! It's nothing I haven't seen before. It's nothing
you
haven't seen before. Just sit on the bed with your laptop and study until the laundry is done. You'll be fine!"
I thoroughly enjoyed watching this Adonis sit on my bed, fully nude, typing away at his homework. Who could blame me if I inadvertently left my webcam on? Further, who could blame me if I revisit this video now and again?
It only took one more such 'mishap' before Brock was completely comfortable being naked in my dorm. It barely took any convincing.
"Weren't you more comfortable laying naked anyway? We both know you prefer tight clothes to show off that chest. Give your body a break, Bro!"
Gain your horse's trust. Use unrelenting pressure to change undesired behavior. Reward good behavior. Create habits. Teach in small, incremental steps.
---
As I walked past the sorority houses, I considered the condition of Brock's cock. Brock had been locked in a chastity cage for five weeks without a break. Four weeks had passed since Brock even asked to be unlocked. His first prostate-induced orgasm—something that I facilitated a few months ago—awakened something in this ostensibly straight, masculine jock. With just a little push, Brock was turning into a little bottom whore.
It surprised me how much Brock's behavior around women changed after I caged his manhood. This was especially true at parties. Taking a girl into a guest bedroom was out of the question. Taking her back to his dorm was out of the question. Indeed, even dating her was out of the question without my blessing.
Brock's new passive behavior was particularly salient at the party that we walked to on this night. On more than one occasion, a girl approached him. With his height, musculature, and jawline, girls often approached Brock. He'd greet her timidly—a stark contrast to his behavior before he met me—then look in my direction. I could tell that he was looking for permission. Specifically, he wanted my permission to talk to her.
This was perfect.
When the first girl approached and Brock looked in my direction, I subtly shook my head. Like the good boy he is, Brock politely excused himself and came to the circle of people that I was standing in.
Later that night, a second girl approached. Again, I nonverbally communicated my disapproval. Brock obeyed.
Late in the evening, Brock and I were standing together in our circle of friends. I took Brock aside and pointed out a girl on the other side of the room. Brock had been a good boy by obeying me throughout the evening. I needed to reward him.
"See that girl over there? That's Jess. She sits near us in our accounting class. She asked me about you the other day. I'm going to introduce you to her."
"J-Jess who?" He sounded nervous, and I wondered whether the question was an attempt to delay the introduction. It surprised me how quickly he had changed from acting like a confident, womanizing jock to being so nervous around women. How had my implicit leash been this successful? Even I hadn't anticipated such a change.
I ignored his question. I took him by the hand (something that I had being doing more lately) and led him over to the girl. She wore a ridiculous dress that was so short that, as she moved around the party, one could frequently glimpse an ass cheek. Further, the outfit was so absurdly low cut (and the girl was so well-endowed) that two prominent globes pressed themselves together on her chest, nearly fighting each other to get out. I had hoped to find a girl that would arouse Brock. This little brunette piece of ass would be perfect.
"Jess!" I laid on my best impression of a nonthreatening, gay best friend. "I want to introduce you to
Brock
!"
I gave her a knowing glance, as if I was conspiring with her to do her a favor. As if I was some cliché gay male tool to help the straight girl get laid. She returned my conspiratorial glance. What a stupid slut.
I went back to my circle of friends and left Jess to chat with Brock. I was mindful about not visibly looking over at them. This conversation was meant to feel like a reward for Brock. He had been a good boy, so I allowed him unsupervised time with a cute (albeit basic) straight girl. I even threw in an introduction. Thus, I only occasionally glanced toward him, and usually from my peripherals.
The two chatted for over two hours. I could tell that Brock was starting to come out of his shell—a shell that I had latently put around him. He started speaking more jovially and using his normal hand gestures. But this apparent connection hit me with a bout of gut-wrenching jealousy. The feeling's intensity surprised me.
No. I'm better than this. Brock has been a good boy. I am a good master. A good master rewards a good boy. Thus, I must reward Brock. I'm not the type of person to let petty jealousy impede my goals. And this connection that Brock enjoyed with this basic, unimportant straight girl contributed to my goals.
As I continued chatting with my friends, occasionally and furtively checking up on Brock through my peripherals, I caught a joyous sight. Specifically, I saw a very subtle movement between Brock and Jess, a movement that replaced my childish jealousy with a swelling of pride and triumph.
As Brock and Jess's conversation developed, Jess subtly moved her body closer to Brock's. And she repeatedly and playfully touched him. And . . . was she tugging up on the hem of her dress? That whore. Absolutely perfect.
However, my latent euphoria didn't come from her behavior, but from Brock's reaction. While previously he had appeared to be coming out of his shell, I could see him slightly bending in discomfort before backing away from her.
Good. Brock's enormous cock was trying to get hard. But his cage caused him discomfort. He was therefore trying to back himself away and trying unsuccessfully to do so subtly. This was the moment; the time for me to swoop in and be a hero. I quickly excused myself from the circle of friends I'd been standing in and walked over to Brock.
"Hey, Bud!" I slapped Brock on the back but kept my hand possessively between his shoulder blades. "You ready to head out? Also, remember that lock that you and I have been working on for a while? I think I've thought of a way to unlock it."
Brock's face lit up. His eyes widened and his mouth grew into the goofiest little grin. I had tried to communicate a promise that I would unlock him. And to a promise like that, this horny stud would follow me wherever I would take him.
When breaking a horse, a trainer uses blinders to keep the animal focused on the desired target. Likewise, I had created barriers that walled in Brock's attention. On one side was the college-boy arousal he got from this piece of ass. On the other side was the cage around his cock. And I was leading this horse deeper into its training.
Tonight, I was going to break this stallion.
With barely a wave to Jess and to our other collective friends, Brock and I quickly excused ourselves and left the house. As we left the front door, I turned around to see Jess staring at us with a morose expression. She looked at me as if I'd betrayed her. I had. I briefly returned her gaze, flashing an evil grin.
Brock was mine. No basic, boring, unimportant straight girl was good enough for this stud. And I never take my eyes off my prize.
---
The evening air seemed even sweeter as we passed the same row of sorority houses. I knew that my victory was close. As I inhaled that crisp summer night air, I thought about the 'smell of victory' from literary cliché. Though I had little time to enjoy the moment as I rushed to keep up with Brock. Keeping up with a horny and inebriated athlete was surprisingly difficult. Though Brock had no idea what awaited him this evening.
As we arrived at the building and bounded up the stairs to my dorm, I tried to catch Brock's attention. Doing so while keeping up with a horny jock and without waking our neighbors was no easy task.
"Hey, Man," I whispered as loudly and as sharply as I could, "This will be the first time you've cum with your cock unlocked in a while. I think that we should make a thing out of it."
Brock didn't turn around to acknowledge me until we reached my dorm door. As I was the only one with a key, he couldn't progress toward his goal without me. This was likely the only reason he turned to face me.
He responded sharply. "What do you mean?"
He looked impatient. I could tell that he was forcing himself to be polite despite his cognitive 'blinders.' He didn't want to upset me. In fact, I had more power over him than I ever had (a high bar), and I was going to capitalize on this moment.
"Well, you get
way
better orgasms with your prostate toy than you ever did just mindlessly tugging your dick. You should try doing both at the same time; I mean, stroking your cock while you also have your toy in."
I spoke while casually standing outside my dorm, making no effort to retrieve my key. Brock shifted in his stance, looking repeatedly at the door. I enjoyed that he looked like a dog that was nonverbally begging its master to let it outside. I was in
no
hurry to enter that dorm. The longer I waited, the more desperate Brock would become, and the greater the likelihood that the night would go as planned.
