Breaing the Stallion

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.

"Would you rather I unlock you later?"

"N-no!"

"Good. We will wake up at six AM. I'll unlock you and then allow you some relief."

I emphasized the word 'allow.' It was important to emphasize early on that the stud's pleasure would occur at my discretion. I was also intentional with my promise that Brock would 'get relief,' and not 'relieve himself.' He didn't know it yet, but Brock had experienced his last orgasm without my control and supervision.

Brock sulked from the chair and knelt on the blanket at my feet. He started to pick up the blanket and reposition the pillow. He looked up, thought for a moment, and started to speak.

"Hey man, I'm putting a lot of trust in you here. But can you just unlock me for a sec? This is fucking killing me!"

A cocktail of thoughts swirled through my head. Superficially, I was stunned by the arousal that flowed through me at Brock's image. He was literally on his knees, begging me for release. I quickly sat on the bed, knowing that a massive erection was likely to spring up, giving me away.

Second, I inhaled as relief and triumph flowed through my body with my breath. Relief filled me at the realization that Brock had implicitly conceded to my authority when he asked--not demanded or expected but

asked

--me to release him. As I exhaled, triumph took the place of relief when I considered that, whether or not he realized it, Brock had just verbally accepted my authority over him.

Relishing our relative positions, but without wanting to fly too close to the sun, I placed my hand comfortingly on Brock's shoulder.

"I'm really proud of you, Friend," I spoke in a low, comforting voice, "Deep down, you're a good guy. I'm going to help you show women what a good guy you are."

Brock looked back down at the makeshift bedding and continued to arrange the pillow and blanket. "So, no?"

"Not yet," I smiled, tightening my grip on his shoulder. It took everything I had not to maniacally laugh at my victory.

I continued. "After you get your release, we'll go to the gym. If you want to separate yourself from the other straight guys, you really need to put more emphasis on your ass. I'll show you some good exercises. We're then going to spend some time on homework before our first class. Now go to bed."

I didn't give Brock an opportunity to object. Specifically, I had big plans for Brock's body, and I wanted to bring up these 'suggestions' while he had little power to deny me. Eventually, I would have him on a bland but high protein diet. I would insist that he increase the size of that bulbous, muscular ass. But again, I reassured myself, one baby step at a time.

---

When my alarm woke us up, I slowly rolled over and swung my feet over the bed. Not looking at the ground, I inadvertently rested my feet on Brock's body. Even through his shirt, my feet could feel the rippling muscles on his side and back. This boy was a specimen.

I didn't move my feet immediately. I enjoyed the image of using this stud as a personal footstool. I looked down to see him yawning and holding the backs of his hands up against his eyes. He scratched the back of his head with one hand, ruffling his dark blond hair.

Looking at his open mouth and ruffled hair, I couldn't help but fantasize about grabbing a fistful of that beautiful, tussled hair to pull that open mouth onto my cock. I pictured myself moving my fingers from the top of his head, through his hair to the back, and closing my fingers to keep a tuft of hair between them. I then imagined using this bilateral grip to pull Brock's head back and forth between my legs, forcing my cock in and out of his throat. I felt my own cock stand at full attention at the fantasy.

I didn't want to waste the opportunity.

I took my feet off of Brock and stood next to him. My cock made a conspicuous tent in my sweats. I looked down at him and put my hand on my hips.

"Alright, Big Guy! Time for your release!"

Brock smiled as he opened his eyes. But upon seeing my tented sweats towering above him, his expression quickly turned from glee to shock.

"Uhhh, Bud," Brock pointed at my groin, "Y-you doing okay there?"

I understood Brock's implicit conundrum. He obviously would have been uncomfortable with me standing next to him, sporting an obvious erection. This was the discomfort that I was presently trying to extinguish by normalizing this behavior. But Brock--the clueless, but generally kind straight male that he was--probably didn't want to appear homophobic in pointing it out.

"Oh, this?" I feigned surprise as I looked down at myself, "Just some morning wood. It'll go away in a sec. Happens to all of us, right?"

Brock chuckled uncomfortably.

"Well," I continued, laughing at the irony, "To those of us who aren't locked up! Let's get you out of that."

As I expected, Brock's eagerness for release overrode his discomfort with the fully erect, gay man standing over him.

"Great," Brock shifted himself from under me and brought himself up on the ground. Standing up, this bull of a man towered over me. He held out his open palm, expectantly. "Now where's that key?"

I looked at Brock's hand, then at his face, feigning confusion. "Wait--what? Were you expecting to do this yourself?"

"Uhhhh," Brock chuckled nervously, "Well, ideally, I like it when a girl takes care of it, but I'll have to manage for now."

"Hmmm," I pretended to contemplate as I moved my hand underneath my chin, "That wouldn't be the paragon of 'self-control' if I just handed you the key and allowed you to go into a bathroom and pump your cock like an animal, would it?"

"I mean, we talked about this, right? You said I could relieve myself at six o'clock sharp! You literally said, Man!"

Despite myself, I grinned. By complaining about my not giving allowances under my own terms, Brock had again implicitly accepted my authority over his orgasms. And notably, while this dense ball of muscle could have easily turned me upside down and shaken the key from my pocket, he instead looked at me with pleading eyes. Pleading for a release. Release that was ultimately mine to provide.

"Technically," I said after a pause, "We agreed that you'd 'get your release.' Not that I'd just hand you the key so that you could curl up and pump yourself empty like a gorilla."

Not that I'd mind watching that.

I continued. "You're a gentleman, Brock. And a gentleman can control this type of thing. Now strip down."

"WHAT?" Anger flashed again in Brock's eyes.

I raised my hand. I knew that I was probably pushing him too far, but my eagerness got the best of me.

"We're just bros, right? We've both been to the gym locker rooms. You're going to do this in a controlled fashion. Besides, I don't want you to hurt yourself when trying to unlock this thing. Or worse: wouldn't it suck if you accidentally broke the lock and we had to involve a locksmith?"

Brock gulped at the thought. He then pulled his shirt off in one quick motion and started to unbutton his jeans. As his hands descended to his pants, his biceps pushed his massive pectoral muscles together and upward. With this effect, his pecs looked like solid spheres erupting from his chest. His abdominals flexed and shifted as he unzipped and unbuttoned his pants. As he bent to push the jeans down his legs, I could see his dorsals ripple and flex. I inhaled as this marble statue of a man stepped out from his jeans, then righted himself.

After blinking a few times at the angles of Brock's body, I cleared my throat. I struggled to contain my grin. This development could not have progressed more smoothly. I had planned to normalize frequent nonsexual nudity, though I hadn't planned for such a smooth and easy transition. I wanted Brock to be naked around me. He eventually would spend his days naked around me. But first I needed to break his mind.

I cleared my throat. "We'll need the underwear off too, Bud."

Brock sighed as he complied, pushing his boxer briefs down to his ankles then kicking them off. As his waistband descended his powerful thighs, I could see the inner curvature of Brock's Adonis belt. This part of the male form never failed to make my mouth water.

As Brock righted himself again, his massive cock bounced in its restraint. The bulbous head strained purple against its prison. I was glad that I'd selected a metal model, as Brock's powerful girth would have surely burst from a plastic cage. Too uncomfortable to stand directly in front of me, Brock positioned himself slightly to the side. I couldn't complain, because this allowed me a newfound view of his unyielding ass.

Brock's ass protruded outwards. Each cheek was a bulging mass of dense flesh. But it wasn't like a woman's ass; indeed, the sides of each cheek came inward at the middle, kept in place by tense, powerful glutes. This was likely the product of years playing football and lifting weights. Though Brock's ass maintained its firmness as he moved, I couldn't help but imagine making it jiggle with my thrusting cock. With that thought, my member ached under the strain of its own rigidity. Between the awesome sight of this hunk and the power that I held over him, I could have exploded then and there.

With great effort, I pulled my attention from Brock's magnificent ass to look him in the eye. Obviously uncomfortable with his predicament, Brock had trouble returning my gaze. He glanced at me furtively from the side of his eyes, only to quickly dart a glance toward the other side of the room. By contrast, I maintained my posture such that I looked at him with square shoulders and penetrating eyes. My dominant, forward posture against his submissive sideways look established, without any doubt, who was in charge here.

I stepped toward him, closing the distance. I stood less than a foot from him, looking up at him. Brock looked around the room nervously rather than return my eye contact. I slowly pulled the key from my pocket. Maintaining a firm grip, I held the key upward and next to my face.

"Look at me, Brock."

Brock glanced down at me, then to the side, then to the floor, swallowed, and then raised his eyes to meet mine. Even with our difference in height, Brock's head was bowed submissively as he looked at me. I grinned at his discomfort.

"You may relieve yourself," I spoke slowly, enunciating every syllable. If my word was to be the law, then my word must have gravity. "But you need to do it here. Supervised."