“Hey, Chris,” I said, walking up to the handsome jock.
He was just here by himself, throwing a ball in the air and catching it, probably waiting for his buddies to turn up. He saw me, and frowned.
“Who are you again?” the quarterback scoffed. He looked at me like I was vermin, visibly annoyed by the fact I was trying to talk to a guy like him.
It seemed right on brand for mister Team Captain to not even recognize me, despite the fact we had been in the same class since middle school.
“Oh, I’m no one,” I said. “Just wanted to check on my favorite pupper.”
His frown deepened, and he looked around. It was just the two of us, in the park. There were no dogs anywhere to be found.
Chris scoffed again, and tossed the ball up once more.
I grinned, and clicked my fingers.
This time, the ball missed his hand, and fell into the grass.
Chris’s pretty eyes glazed over, his strong arms fell slack alongside his body, and his mouth fell open. Just like that, the King of High School lost control.
“What’s the matter, Chris? Feelin’ a little dazed?”
I walked even closer to my favorite jock, and stroked his handsome face. Chris didn’t respond, just stood there like a lifeless piece of meat. God, he was so hot. I felt his chiseled jaw, and squeezed his thick neck. He was everything I’d ever wanted and more, the perfect high school jock, a gorgeous embodiment of the football stereotype. He and his cheerleader girlfriend ruled the school as the ultimate senior couple. Everyone knew him, everyone loved him. I’d heard he even got a scholarship to join the team at Notre Dame.
I had always had a crush on Chris, of course. For years, I’d dreamed about his sculpted body, his soft lips, his juicy cock. Those dreams were the closest I ever came to him. A guy like that would never even bother to be aware of my existence, no matter how hard I tried. He was the jock, I the nerd; all I could do was stare and admire from afar.
Right now, mister perfect was under my spell. I’d never even believed in hypnotization, always wrote it off as a hoax, until I came across that small, old book in the library.
‘How To Tame a Man’, it was called. I was surprised the library would have a book I assumed to be about some kind of BDSM dominance thing, so I picked it up and started browsing through it. Suffice to say, I got hooked pretty quickly.
Flash forward several months, and here I was, completely in control of the high school quarterback. I had been training him for weeks now, and the stud never even knew.
“C’mon, let’s get you out of those silly clothes,” I said. I pulled his jersey over his head, and brought it to my nose. Grass, sweat, cologne. That unmistakeable musk of a fertile young buck, always horny and on the hunt for pussy. I inhaled his scent and felt my boner twitch in response.
Then I pulled down his shorts, too, and helped him out his sweaty Nikes.
For a moment, I was just mesmerized by the sight of him. Half-naked, in nothing but his CK boxer-briefs and socks, Chris looked like marble statue come to life. His pecs and abs were like armor, sculpted to perfection by years and years of playing sports. His arms and legs were thick and strong, adorned with veins that kept his muscles functioning. His bulge was huge, his ass full and plump, and his perky nips looked more inviting than ever.
Chris was my Ken doll - and I was his demise.
“Now, boy, you’re missing something, aren’t you?”
A soft whine escaped the quarterback’s throat. He couldn’t speak anymore, in the state he was in. It was a wonder he was even still standing on his feet.
I pushed him to his knees, and revealed the black leather collar I had brought along. On a small, metal tag, his name had been engraved.
He saw his collar, and whined again. I saw his massive boner already twitching in his underwear, programmed to respond to this. He recognized this collar, knew he needed it around his neck, craving my approval.
I gladly put it on him.
Mister Quarterback, collared and half-naked in the park, drooling spit onto his own chest. Beautiful.
“That’s a good boy,” I said. Chris shuddered in response, a wet spot appearing in his CKs. His tongue fell from his mouth, and he looked up at me like a proud, happy pup.
“Let’s get outta here, before those idiot friends of yours turn up. C’mon, boy!”
There we went. My half-naked Chris on all fours, collared and leashed like a fucking dog. He stayed by my side, pretty and obedient, and let me take him through the park, across the street, toward my house.
Anyone would have been able to see us, had they stepped outside. Anyone could’ve taken a picture of the jock, crawling on the street, and ruined his life forever. I wouldn’t have cared.
But he was lucky. We made it to my place without seeing anybody, and I took him into the garage. My parents were working late, so we had the whole evening for ourselves.
“On your back, Chris,” I said, closing the door behind us. I took off his leash, and the muscle stud quickly lay onto his back, despite the harsh concrete floor. His tongue still hanging out, his bulge hard and wet.
The quarterback threw me an innocent, brainless look, and I kneeled down next to him.
“Who’s a good boy?” I chuckled, scratching his washboard abs, “Who’s a good boy?”
He let out a strange sound - something in between a grunt and a bark - and cocked his head, his hands and feet lifted up like paws.
I’m a good boy, yes, me, me, Master, pick me! I’m a real good boy, me, I swear!
I pulled down his underwear a little, and that big, eager rod came poking out like a tail. Drops of precum already glided down his shaft. I took his glans between my fingers and started rubbing, making my boy groan and whine with excitement.
Soon enough, he was humping my hand, desperately trying to shoot his load. Before he would cum prematurely, I released his cock, and the boy let out another beautifully frustrated sound.
“You know the rules, Chris. Before you get to shoot your juice, you make sure your bladder is empty,” I said. The jock stared at me, puppy-eyed, and quickly got to his knees again. He did know this rule, yes, he knew it very well.
Empty bladder. Gotta empty bladder, and Master will let me shoot.
I pointed to his pair of Nikes in the corner, and Chris scurried over without hesitation. He got to the shoes, lifted his right leg, and let his stiff cock hang above the pair. Such a good boy.
I laughed out loud as the stud started pissing into his very own, precious Nikes.
My handsome, square-jawed quarterback, releasing a stream of gold into his shoes. I made sure to capture every second on my phone.
This was so much better than anything I’d ever dreamed of. The jock was actually here, in my garage, crawling around in a dog’s collar and his underwear, humiliating himself. It all felt too good to be true.
When both his expensive shoes were drenched in urine, Chris hurried back to me. He lay on his back and stared at me with anticipation.
“Very good boy,” I snickered, feeling those massive pecs for myself. I pressed both thumbs down on his large nips and started rubbing them, making the straight stud squirm and whine.
He was so sensitive, so easy to play with. Those tits were hardwired to his fat dick, tender like a woman’s breasts. Only the slightest touch could make Chris howl in response.
His whining grew louder, the harder I tugged at his teats.
He was getting close again. His hips started bucking into me, his beefy chest quickly rising and falling at the pace of his breath.
Please, sir, please, please. I’m such a good boy. Please, please.
With a good couple jerks, the quarterback came all over his abs. I felt his cock throb in my hands, warm and hard, so musky and sweaty. His muscles tensed, and he moaned aloud, sounding more like an animal in heat than a 19-year-old boy. Cum splattered all across his torso. It was beautiful.
“What a nice, big load, Chris!” I laughed, “You been saving up for me, huh?”
The big jock stared at me with a mixture of shame and excitement, panting heavily as his orgasm faded. Even after shooting all that semen, his cock stayed rock-hard.
I took the boxer-briefs off him, his socks too, and made him sit up on his knees. He kept his hands up like paws, and I held a finger before his face. The dumb, collared stud followed it with his eyes, sperm dripping down his abs, trickling from his boner. A string of saliva leaked from his open mouth.
“Now, time for your training,” I said. “If you do well, I’ll know that you’re a good boy. And only good boys get to cum some more, don’t they, Chris?”
He whined again, his gaze fixed on my finger.
The poor jock wanted to be a good boy so bad, so, so bad, it was all that mattered, he had to show Master he was the best boy of all. I told him to stay, and started taking off my jeans.
As soon as I felt the air on my underwear, I saw the scent hit my stud. Chris sniffed, eyes growing wild with excitement, shifting in his spot.
Cock. He smelled cock. This was the ultimate treat for him.
He wanted to leap forward, clearly, but I held my finger before his face again, and he let out a nervous whine.
“Remember your training, boy,” I said. “Crawl over, slowly, and sniff Master’s dick. Nice and gentle, like a well behaved pup.”
With his tongue still hanging from his mouth, the naked quarterback moved closer. He was so nervous, so eager, I felt his excitement in the air. But he knew he had to behave, no matter how hard it was. His eyes were stuck on my groin, and Chris slowly brought his nose to my bulge.
One little sniff. A shiver visibly traveled down his body, a weak groan escaped his throat.
It smelled so good, so good. He couldn’t help himself.
Anxiously, he brought his tongue closer to my cock. Before it could actually touch the fabric, I warned him.
“Uh uh, Chris. I didn’t say you could taste yet. Just sniff.”
The quarterback whined and whined, burying his face in my crotch. I knew it smelled too good for him, too perfect to resist. I had made him addicted to my dick in every way possible. All he wanted was to take it between his lips.
“Uugghh… P…l-lea…se…” the jock managed to utter, humping my foot.
Hmm. Turned out he was stronger than I thought. He really shouldn’t have been able to speak anymore, at this point. I slapped his head, and Chris winced pathetically.
“No people sounds for you, bitch,” I said. “Now keep sniffing, and don’t you dare use your tongue.”
Poor thing. In this state, there wasn’t anything worse than to make Master angry. All he wanted was to be a good boy, to make me happy, and he always tried his utmost best for that.
But today, I guess it was too much for him.
After a couple more sniffs, the stud grunted weakly, shuddering from head to toe. His shoulders quivered, and he let his head hang in shame. I looked to see a puddle of white on the floor, partly dripping off my shoe. He had shot again.
“Bad boy,” I sighed, hitting his head. Chris whimpered in fear, too ashamed to look at his Owner. “I didn’t tell you you could shoot, did I? Better fucking lick that up, and quick.”
The quarterback did as he was told, lapping up his own spunk from my foot and the concrete floor. It was still a gorgeous sight, of course, having the muscular jock slobber up his semen because I wanted him to.
When he finished, he tentatively looked up at me, guilty and desperate for compassion. I just couldn’t stay angry at a face like that. I ruffled his hair, and scratched his nose a little.
“We’ll have to keep training that, boy. You really should be able to control yourself better, by now.”
Those blue eyes stared right into mine.
I’m sorry, Master, so, so sorry. I’ll be a good boy again, next time, I promise, I’m sorry.
To comfort him, I finally let the hunk lick my boner.
I pulled my underwear down, and Chris’s face lit up like floodlights on a football field. With those muscular arms, he steadied himself as he brought his tongue to my shaft, trembling with excitement. I felt his warm, wet mouth on my cock, and gasped. If only he knew what he was doing, the arrogant jock. I would love to see the look of disgust and self-hatred on his pretty face, knowing what he had done. But for now, Chris was gone - and a nervous, eager little jockpup had taken his place.
Watching him piss in his shoes, cream all over himself, then licking up spunk from the floor; it had all gotten my boner way too hard, already. I was too close. It took but a couple licks from the stud before I growled aloud, grabbed his hair, and planted my seed all over his face. Chris held his mouth open, looking happier than ever, hoping for some of the sperm to land on his tongue.
“Fuck, boy,” I moaned, “That felt very good.”
The collared quarterback sat there on his knees, tongue hanging from his mouth, joyfully looking up at me as the spunk dripped down his cheeks. I had him lick my cock clean, then told him to get on his back again.
I stood by his side for a moment, admiring that muscular body, gleaming with sweat, saliva, and semen. I took my phone, and started recording.
“Are you having fun, Chris?”
He looked so happy, so excited, with his hands lifted up like paws. The stud just panted for a while; then, with effort, he released a good, proper bark. I grinned at his proud expression.
“Good boy,” I said, “What is it you want, Chris? Why don’t you show me what you want?”
I didn’t have to tell him twice. Quickly, the handsome quarterback lifted his knees to his head, almost curling up into a ball, bringing his strong legs upward. Another bark followed, and he used his hands to spread his plump ass-cheeks.
Such a good boy. Chris was showing me his hole.
I put my phone away, and kneeled behind him. His pussy was still smooth and hairless from the last time I’d waxed him. The jock whined a little, impatient as ever, and I spat on his entrance.
“You want me to finger you again, huh, Chris?” I asked, slowly rubbing his hole.
Please, sir, please, please, finger me, oh please, sir, I’m such a good boy.
I let the first digit slip into his pussy, and he moaned softly.
Inch by inch, I pushed into my beautiful jock. He whined and whimpered until I found that magic spot inside of him, and started rubbing his prostate. Two fingers went up there, then three.
Within seconds, a weak howl rose from his throat, and Chris shuddered into another orgasm. Folded up like this, his cock sprayed cum all over his face, some even landing in his mouth.
Hell, I wanted to fuck that bubble butt for myself, but I knew he wasn’t ready for it. Even after weeks of training, that was still too much. It would probably overload him, he’d go into shock, and I’d risk losing all the progress we made.
So for now, I kept it at fingering.
Even after his third ejaculation for the day, the quarterback stayed rock-hard. I pushed another finger into his tight ass, and continued playing with him for the next hour.
More cumshots, more whining and howling. Chris was panting furiously, at this point, after I’d drained a fifth load from his fat cock. Still, I kept on ramming my fingers in his cunt, tugging at his dick with my other hand. He whined and whined, shaking and writhing on the ground, staring at me with those beautiful eyes.
“C’mon, boy, that all you got?” I laughed, fingering and jerking as hard as I could, “You’re a stud, Chris, you got plenty more seed to give. I want all of it!”
Turned out he did have a shitload of spunk in those bull balls. Only with his tenth orgasm, the quarterback’s boner stopped squirting. His young body had no more semen to give.
I finally let him go, and Chris lay panting on the floor, weak and exhausted.
His face, his neck, his pecs, his chiseled abs - everything gleamed with sperm. Even his tongue, which always hung from his mouth, was white and dripping jizz. His beefy chest was heaving up and down, and he was clearly having trouble keeping his eyes open.
Poor thing. He had been such a good boy, tonight. I would reward him next time.
I kneeled down by his head, and took it in my lap. Still, Chris kept looking up at me, hoping he’d made me proud. Hoping he’d been a good, good boy.
“Aw, he’s a little tired, huh?” I said, gently scratching his chin. I knew all of this was terribly draining for him, being kept in this hypnotized state for hours. That, and having to cum ten times in two hours.
“Don’t worry, boy. You were good. Let’s get you cleaned up, and I’ll take you back to the park.”
“Ugh, fuck,” Chris growled.
Great. Some fucking dog pissed in my shoes again. That’s the second pair this month. Can people not just tame their fucking pets?
He threw the ruined Nikes in the trashcan, and started walking home barefoot.
It was late - most houses had gotten dark already. Seemed like he’d been working out in the park longer than usual. His friends hadn’t turned up, but he didn’t really care. Chris always worked better on his own, anyway.
Barefoot in the grass, just him and a ball. Undisturbed.
He’d run laps, done pushups, practiced throwing, and everything. It had clearly done the trick for his muscles; he ached all over. His neck hurt, too, but some ice would fix that.
Instead of going over to his girlfriend’s, like usual, Chris decided to go home. He wasn’t in the mood anymore, after all that working out, even though he’d been horny all damn day. For some reason, his dick hurt, too.
Right now, all he wanted to do was sleep.
As soon as Chris walked into the house, Bud, his family dog, came running with all his usual excitement. The quarterback kneeled down, laughing, and wrestled with the big Samoyed like he always did.
These days, their bond was somehow better than ever.
“Hey, Buddy! Missed me?” Chris laughed.
“Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy?
You wanna be the good boy, don’t you?”
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