This story contains graphic content and potential trauma cues for sensitive readers. In this story, like in many of my stories, the Dom is an irredeemable psychopath who inflicts significant harm on the Sub. If this is not the kind of story that you would enjoy, then I strongly recommend backing out now.
Please email me via the site's feedback feature if you have any suggestions or spot any typographical errors. I'm just an amateur rando who writes smut for fun, so any help is appreciated. My goal is to reply to every (constructive) email.
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 4: Create Habits.
As a professional horse trainer, I'd learned the principles necessary to break a horse's spirit. And since I met Brock, I ruthlessly applied those principles. I had broken down that straight jock into my own plaything.
Eventually, through trickery and manipulation, I claimed my prize. I fucked Brock.
After breaking this barrier, our relationship's dynamic intensified dramatically. Brock could no longer turn down my demands. Brock could no longer stand up to my abuse. Indeed, Brock was not even allowed to cum without me. Having made him dependent on me to get off, this was an easy rule to enforce.
Further, Brock was not allowed to wear clothes when the two of us were together alone. Given that Brock now spent most of his time with me, this meant that Brock was usually naked. In short, I was living my personal sexual fantasy.
I set up an air mattress in my dorm room for Brock. He rarely slept in his own dorm. Every morning, Brock would wake up, clean himself out, and present his ass for me. I would proceed to tongue-fuck his asshole until he was close to the edge, and then mount him until we both exploded; Brock into the sheets below him and I into Brock.
There was nothing in the universe that made me happier than fucking Brock. And after months of effort, I had finally trained this dumb stud into yearning to be fucked. Thanks to my efforts, Brock exemplified the adage of, 'young, dumb, and full of cum.'
My favorite way to express my power over this stallion was to make him cancel his plans so that I could fuck him. Indeed, if there was to be a prime directive in Brock's life, it was to be filled by his master's cum. Once, the urge came over me while finishing my advanced accounting homework.
'Where are you?' I kept my texts perfunctory. The question itself was superfluous. I made Brock share his location with me on his smartphone, but I enjoyed the obeisance of him reporting his location to me. It was important to me that Brock obeyed me. Not only did I get off on the power of it, but I also wanted such obedience to be ingrained into him. I wanted obeying to be a habit.
Brock's reply text came moments later. 'I'm in study group at Smith Hall.'
'Do you have your plug in?'
I'd purchased a small rubber plug for Brock to wear during the day. My stated reason was that doing so would help train him to more tightly hold my cock inside of him, thereby increasing both of our pleasure. The true reason was to give Brock a constant reminder of what his ass was for.
As I stared at my phone, I watched the three little dots blink and disappear for several moments before he replied. The length of his reply in no way justified how long it took him to respond. This made me wonder whether he was lying, whether shame kept him from hitting 'send,' or whether he'd tried different replies before he finally settled on a simple 'yes.'
'Yes.' This was all his message said.
I wrote back immediately. 'Yes, what?' He wasn't getting off that easily.
To further reinforce Brock's submission, I gradually introduced honoraries into our relationship. Ultimately, I planned to disallow Brock from calling me Olly or Oliver, and to punish him out of the friendly terms he pulled from his boring straight male vernacular. Indeed, his use of 'Bud,' 'Bro,' and 'Dude,' had always made me gag. I intended to make him refer to me as 'Sir,' 'Master,' or, perhaps when the mood struck me, 'Daddy.'
I watched the three little dots appear, disappear, and reappear for over a minute before Brock could bring himself to send those fugacious but consequential two words:
'Yes, Sir.'
That's a good boy.
'Good. Now leave your study group and come back to my dorm. I want your ass.'
'We have a project due at midnight. Can I have a few more minutes?'
'No. If you're not here in fifteen, then you're not getting off for the rest of the week.'
Use unrelenting pressure to change undesired behavior.
'I'm on my way.'
'Good boy.'
Ten minutes later, I heard a knock on my door. Twenty minutes later, I was plunging my rod between Brock's sinewy cheeks. Thirty minutes later, Brock was plugged again.
After I filled him up, I immediately grabbed the plug.
"Shouldn't I clean myself out first?" Brock protested, "Like, isn't that unsafe? Or at least, unsanitary?"
"It's fine. I want my cum inside of you. Now put your clothes back on and go back to study group."
I didn't bother addressing his concerns directly. I happened to know that people did this all the time, and that Brock would be fine. But I saw no need to validate Brock's concerns of being 'safe' or 'sanitary.' If your Sir wants to bury his cum deep inside of you, and if your Sir orders you not to spill a drop, then the conversation is over. I would not reinforce Brock's questioning of my authority by addressing his concerns.
Brock knew better than to continue his line of questioning. He was almost out the door when I quickly added, "Let me know if you need help with your project."
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I had awakened something in Brock. Ever since I started getting him off with my tongue, fingers, or cock in his ass, he showed less desire to top. He was still extremely interested in women—I knew for a fact that he still regularly watched straight porn—but his focus transitioned away from his cock and more toward his ass. With just a little push, Brock had become a bottom.
As much as I'd like to take credit for this transition, I knew that Brock had always—in his heart of hearts—felt this desire. Of course, I'm incredibly skilled at pleasing a man with my tongue and with my cock. But I'm not some mythical sex-god who can 'flip' a straight guy. In truth, I was just helping Brock become who he truly was on the inside: a submissive bottom.
Brock's inner sub-bottom id and my sexual prowess notwithstanding, I was most surprised by Brock's change in porn habits.
Earlier in the year, I installed some malware on Brock's laptop. I was helping Brock improve his grades and self-actualize; who could blame me if I wanted to access his browser history? And who could further blame me if—occasionally—I wanted access to his webcam?
Near the beginning of the year, Brock spent most of his screentime on boring, traditionally straight porn categories. 'Redhead with glasses swallows load'; 'White stepson satisfies Latina stepmom'; 'Compilation of brunettes taking facials.' Snooze. However, as the year progressed and to my delighted surprise, the genres of videos started to shift. Fewer videos focused on the women. Fewer videos showed men topping. By the end of the school year, when I had Brock completely whipped, locked, and under my control, the titles of his favorite videos were quite different. 'Dominant stepmom pegs whimpering stepson'; 'Chastity sub goes down on his mistress'; 'Cheating hot wife cleaned out by her cuck.'
This was a fascinating development. I've read articles about how the porn industry 'creates its own audience' by training viewers toward certain dynamics. Was I, implicitly or otherwise, training Brock to prefer a submissive role? Was my power over his tangible sex life trickling into his fantasies? This turn of events inspired me to take Brock's submission deeper.
I would make Brock live with me over the summer.
Having a muscle-bound stud to fuck at my leisure was an opportunity I didn't want to pass up. Further, the last thing I wanted was for Brock to be 'deprogrammed' if I left him to his own devices for a summer. I knew first-hand that, if you let a well-trained horse spend unsupervised time with its more impish counterparts, then good training can go right out the window. I needed to close the deal and make Brock mine.
Happily, I had several points of leverage to make this happen. First, Brock had next to no money. Second, with Brock's mediocre transcript and lack of work history, finding anything over a pittance wage would be nearly impossible. By contrast, I co-owned a successful ranch with my mother. And I could always use a ranch hand with a body like Brock's.
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The best time to get concessions out of a man is when he's hungry, horny, or tired. As Brock and I walked home from another party, Brock was all three. As always, I walked ahead while Brock followed in my wake. I inhaled the familiar air of late spring before breaking the subject.
"You've never told me your summer plans. Do you have a job lined up?
"No," Brock answered flatly.
He had spent the evening chatting up some boring sorority girls. I knew that he wanted nothing more than to go back to my dorm, let me fuck him until we both exploded, eat fast food, and then fall asleep. But he would get none of that until he agreed to what I wanted.
I forced the conversation forward. "Do you at least have a place to stay?"
"I haven't thought much about it. Probably my parents? The dorms here are expensive as hell."
I believed him when he said that he hadn't thought about it. Brock had many wonderful qualities, but foresight was not one of them.
"Well, what are you going to do about money?"
"Not sure. I don't want to take out more loans than I have to. I don't want to live with my parents, but that's probably what'll happen."
Perfect. This was my in.
"Have you thought about rooming with anyone?"
"Yeah, but I'd need a job first. And even then, I'd have to worry about rent, utilities, food, and all that other bullshit. At least when I live with my parents, I don't need to deal with that."
Indeed, Brock was terrible with money. And I knew—thanks in part to my electronic spying—that he was running out of funds.
"Yeah, I hear you. And let's be honest, you're not great with money, are you?"
Brock laughed, chagrined. "You got me there. And I'm not exactly rolling in dough anyway."
I stopped in my tracks, then turned to look at Brock. He was taken aback by the abrupt change. And I could tell that he was antsy to get back.
"How about this," I looked intensely at Brock, "Come live on my family's ranch for the summer. We always need help taking care of the horses and bucking hay." I looked Brock up and down, adding, "And frankly, I could use a body like yours."
