Every Time, Always, At Any Moment That My Master Text Me, My Cock Gets Hard, Start Leaking And My Mind

The Cage

Arturo saw the cage´s door open. Part of him did not want to go inside, but the other part knew was the best idea. That duality always fighting. No winner, no loser, just an inner fight. He looked at the cage and then to Fran again.

"Come on, go inside, you have to do it," said Fran with a calm voice.

Arturo knew he was right and stepped inside.

Fran closed to door behind him and put the double chain and lock. Arturo´s breathing started to go faster. Maybe it was a bad idea after all. Panic incressed. Arturo grabs the bars with both hands and shakes them.

"Fran, let me out. I don't want to be here. Open de door... open it!"

"Arturo, look at me. Calm down, breath. Breath. You HAVE to be there. Soon everything will be over. Tomorrow the sun will rise and you, and everybody else will be fine. Ok?"

Fran´s voice calmed Arturo down. Breath. He sat on the floor and waited. In a couple minutes the moon would be on the zenith and it will start.

Fran sat in a chair at a fair distance from the cage and waited too. Any of them talked.

Fran almost fell to sleep when Arturo suddenly started groaning. Fran got on his feet and look at Arturo. This part was fascinating for Fran. Arturo was laying on the floor. His body was shaking and drops of sweat cover his face. The groaning became louder and louder. Pain and anger. His fists hit the floor. He got in his knees, and after that, struggling, he managed to get in his feet. Then the bones cracked. One single loud crack and Arturo was now 8.5 feet tall. Fran, almost under a hypnosis, walked towards the cage. Fran had seen that transformation dozens of times but always was captivating to see such power comes to life. Arturo grabbed the bars to the cage to enduring the pain and stay standing.

"Now the muscles" whispered Fran to nobody.

Arturo´s muscles started to move like something was under them. And they grow, and grow, and grow. His new body ripped his clothe off in pieces. In front of Fran was Arturo, but was not Arturo anymore, now was a muscled beast. Pure fury and primal instinct. Arturo now was the Bull, as Frans liked to call it. And for the last months, Frans was trying to tame that bull...

Finally, the transformation was complete and the Bull stood proud and powerful. He looked around him. The cage. Then he became aware of Frans presence. In a fast movement, the Bull extended his enormous arms thru the bars trying to grab Fran´s neck. Fran jumped back just in time to escape from his fists.

"Easy, easy... you are not going to kill me that fast, you monster," Said Fran in a playful way.

Fran looked at the Bull´s eyes. Was intimidating, but not to Fran, not anymore. And with an authoritative voice, he told him "Step back from the door"

The Bull did not move.

"Step back!!"

The Bull groaned and start shaking the cage. Looked like the cage and the whole cabin would colaps, but Fran quickly learned from the first nights so now he was sure that everything will contain the monster.

"Alright. Fuck you" Said Fran and walked away from the room. For a couple minutes Fran stayed in the other room listing the Bull groaning and roaring. For one moment he thought the Bull will break the chain, but everything stayed still. When finally the Bull calmed down, Fran got back in front of him and looking him to the eyes.

"Calm down. Calm down. I'm your Sir. Do you understand? We have been thru this... I´m-Your-Sir."

The Bull looked at Fran and did not move.

"I'm going to open the door. Do you understand? And you will control yourself. I WILL control you."

The Bull did not move. Just his pecs when up and down while he filled his lungs with air. That was the reason Fran came up with the name of Bull.

Fran took the key and opened the lock. Slowly he took the chain of the door. This is it, though Fran. And then he opened the door.

The Bull growl like never before and when to attack Fran. But Fran did not move. He stared into his eyes and commanded. "Stop!!"

And the Bull did.

They have one second looking at each other's eyes... but with that second everything falls in his place. Everyone knew from now on his place.

"Good boy," said Fran. "Now get in your knees"

The Bull did.

Fran grabs the same chain and lock that he used in the cage´s door and put then around the Bulls neck.

Fran contemplated the muscled beast that he had in his knees in front of him. That powerful Bull, tamed by him. "I did it," Said Fran. "I fucking did it" The Bull was his, he owned his personal beastly musclegod.

"Now, let's have some fun," Said Fran to his toy and smiled.

Iron sharpens iron. Only one man can teach another man, this is called brotherhood. Two men are strengthened by male complicity. Men are men because of virility. Virility is built with sweat, struggle, strength and power. The masculine mentality has to be shared between men. Brother helps another brother to be stronger. Every man must have his gang , every man needs to have a brother by his side to fight and be increasingly manly

Ferro afia ferro. Apenas um homem pode criar outro homem, isso se chama fraternidade. Dois homens se fortalecem na cumplicidade masculina. Homens são homens por causa da virilidade. A virilidade é construída com suor, lutar, força e poder. A mentalidade masculina tem de ser compartilhada entre homens. Irmão ajuda outro irmão a ser mais forte . Como homens devemos ter nossa tribo, todo homem precisa ter um irmão ao lado para lutar e ser cada vez mais másculo.

I’m Arturo, but the name that has been given to me is Soldier. I’m a muscle alpha. I have been working hard in my body and mind. But then I meet Fran. The connection was instantly and undeniable. I discover that he was THE Alpha and my instinct lead me to be part of his pack. Now he push me, teach me, take care of me and challenge me to be the muscle beast that I suppose to be. He is SIR to me and I will follow his orders until the end of the world. Join us. -Arturo

They said that there is a line between human and beast. That some people sometimes cross that line and become in touch with their inner beast. I say: Fuck the line! Become a primal animal. Embrace your manliness, accept your power and be the BEAST that you have been destined to be.

That is what Fran has taught me, now I’m free.

-Arturo

2018-2019

Today happened something at my office and Fran told me to share it with you guys, so here it goes:

Today we had a “party” at the office (meaning cake and coffee in the conference room) I was siting and talking with a friend (girl) and then I went for more coffee. But when I came back I saw cake in my chair, so I assumed I was siting in a piece of cake. I touched my ass to see if I have some there but I couldn’t tell so I naturally I ask to my friend: “Do you see some cake on my pants?, I think I sat on cake” And I turned around so she can see if I did.

She did not answer but I noticed everybody was quiet. Everybody was looking at me. I told them, that I thought I sat in a cake and then I shake off my ass with my hand.

And a guy said: “Well, I guess that’s this years Christmas present for everybody” And everybody started laughing.

They started joking around about they want to clean my pants so I needed to take it off, that they don’t see well so they had to check again, that my ass was better than the cake, that I had some cake on my shirt so also I needed to take it offs... stuff like that.

I was the center of attention, well, my body was, and I loved it! I felt so proud. A fucking real jock right there.

Most of you don’t know but when this year started I was 165-170 lbs and I’m general I had not many plans or goals for this year, but then I changed my actitud, I got encourage for Fran, and now I finish the year with all my coworkers admiring and commenting about my muscle body and me feeling like a million dollars.

I know 2019 is going to be even better, because I have decided since today, and if I had changed so much just having Fran... what is going to happen now that I have a whole Pack?!!

(By the way... I had not cake in my pants hahaha)

-Arturo

Day 7 of a real Extreme Jocktoy Week

Day 7. Seven days using the same jock. Seven day wearing a chain and a lock around my neck. 7 days becoming a muscled jock, a Jocktoy.

I feel stronger after this 7 days. Physically and mentally. I have pushed harder than ever at the gym. I increased the weights in every single workout. My clothe is tighter. And now I think I can achieve anything I want. I don’t care what people think and I feel proud to be who I am.

Today I went to the gym early in the morning. Before leave the house I grabbed a T-shirt and I cut it with some scissors. I’m improving my jock look. And it fit me. Was Shoulder day.

*Seated Dumbbell Shoulder Press x 4 8-10

*Side Lateral Dumbbell Raises x 4 10-12 reps

*Standing Cable Face Pulls x 4 10-12 reps

*Standing Military Press x 4 8-10

*Dumbbell Arnold Press x 4 8-10

*Seated Dumbbell Rear Deltoid Raise x 4 10-12

*Dumbbell Shrugs x 4 15-20

Nothing like a good shoulder workout to make you feel wider and bigger.

At home I worked just wearing my chain and jock. But my mind was not 100% at work. I spend every 5 minutes looking at the window looking for the UPS truck. Last Friday I bought my first Pump! jock and today it supposed to arrive... finally did!

Now I’m waiting for my Sir to comeback and give me permission to put it on. I can’t wait.

-Arturo

@becumbigdumbjockboi @brounderconstruction @jockintraining @rievous @jockbros @jockstrapstuds @alpha-jock-boy @meathead1997

Day 5 of a real Extreme Jocktoy Week

I’m horny. I’m so fucking horny. Today was almost unbearable. I had to get out of my house. I went to a park and I ran 3 kilometers, every 500 meters I stoped and did 20 burpees. It was hot and I got soaking wet with my sweat, I took my shirt off and I felt every drop running my chest and back while the sun burned my skin. I felt tired but I pushed my body to continued until I reached my goal. It felt so good at the end. Barely breathing, exhausted, my chest expanding taking air in. So powerful.

I got in my car and I drove fast directly to the gym. I’m almost push people rushing to the weight room. I felt like a gorilla. I needed dumbbells in my hands. Hear the sound of discs hitting the floor. The sound of my own groaning echoing in the gym. I workout back:

*Pull ups x 4 8-10 reps

*T-bar rows x 4 8-10 reps

*Wide Grip Pulldowns x 4 10-12 reps

*Single Arm Dumbbell Rows x 4 10-12 reps

*Close Grip Pulldowns x 4 10-12 reps

I did it with the heaviest weights I could and almost no rest between reps. I was furious. I took all my sexual frustration on the weights. And I felt even more primal. My mind just went blank and all that existed was my muscles and those weights. So free. Finally I went to the shower. I felt my muscles while I washed myself. My cock got hard. I edged for a while thinking about the jock I’m now, about how good is have muscles pumped up and full, I edged thinking that the hand in my cock was somebody’s else. But I did not cum.

Get my body exhausted worked, and after I ate, I felt more relaxed. But then... Fran wrote me. He is not back yet but he was just checking on me and his pack. We chatted just for 35 minutes. And then he was gone again. And here I am, horny like a beast in a cage again. Today is going to be hard to sleep.

-Arturo

@jockbros @jockstrapstuds @brounderconstruction @rievous @jockintraining @becumbigdumbjockboi @alpha-jock-boy @dumbmusclejockboi @meathead1997

On my way now. Leg day. What are you gonna work out today, jocktoys? -Fran

Go to them gym right now, and reblog this to remind others.

Even if it’s only for 15 minuets, that is 15 minuets you wouldn’t have had

So proud of his own big, flexed biceps

Your Surrender

Let’s set the stage, help you envision the scene.

You feel yourself squirming a little lately, spiritually speaking.  It’s not ideal.  The town in which you live is small enough that your past washes up on the shores of the present every day, a little bit.  You used to have a little too much fun with drugs and alcohol.  Maybe you were a little too outgoing.  Maybe you’re a different person now, slightly, but your ghost hangs around and haunts you.

You’re not proud of your past.  In fact, you’re a future-forward kind of guy.  You have a nostalgia for a past you’ve never lived.  You reason that if you had a different past - different actions, different environments, different habits - you’d be inhabiting a different present.  You’d be a different person.

When you sigh, it’s a big, gusty thing that seems to sweep out the darkest corners of your body.  The time has come and gone to do something about it.  So you move, at his instruction.  Your ears bend to his words, and your brain concedes control to your dick.  He makes you so hard, the way he talks to you.  Your interests parallel.  You have long, engaging conversations that verge on intellectual, sometimes, about the nature of transformation and what you truly want from life.  As the months roll, you grow closer and closer to him.  You talk to him on the phone three, four times a day.  You don’t always remember everything, but you know that he has some kind of power, some kind of power over you, and you thrill to it.

You obey the call.  You surrender, and you do it, for the first time, without hesitation.  He’s just … different, somehow.  He resonates.

Like many, you made a New Year’s Resolution.  You’re a Resolutioner.  You’re part of that dreaded herd that swarms the gyms on 2 January, at least on the surface level.  As February comes and goes, March swirls angrily by and leaves April shuddering in its wake.  The warmth seeps up from below.  You feel the world changing around you, and its voice is inviting you to do the same.  Change.  Evolve.  The whispers in the wind are seductive, beguiling.  They seep in through the bedroom’s open window as you lay there, waking.

And it’s that time of the year, too.  The winter’s lacquer of snow & ice has finally shattered, and the sun strobes strongly through more hours of the day.  When you wake up in the morning, the outside world is airily infiltrating your bedroom through the open window.  Instead of groping through a charcoal void, your skin prickling with cold, your eyes snap open and your mouth curves into a satisfied, relaxed smile.  You test your muscles with a stretch, hearing the joints pop and the sinews sing against the bone.  

You do not lay in bed alone.  His voice is there, too.  And his body, his hands.  He slaps your up-turned ass - hard - and says quietly, “Mine.”  And it’s a joke, but it’s not a joke, too.  “Gym time, boy,” he says, and you know it’s true.  When he speaks, it’s invariable, immutable, fixed.  There’s a certain iron cast to the words - when he wants there to be - and they crash down like a portcullis.  It’s gym time.

You’ve taken to the routine.  You’ve always been a creature of habit.  Conscientious to a fault, perhaps just a little too neat.  You like things just so, but sometimes fret over the idiot details.  He’s helping you with this.  It’s kind of him.  He’s helping you to unwind the invisible wires around your brain - to be less conscious of every single thing around you.  Or, if not less conscious, to be a little more dismissive of the idiot details.  He’s teaching you how to paint with broad strokes, rather than scribbling in the margins with a fine-tip pen.  This appeals to you.  Your stride gets longer.  Your eyes fix on objects in the distance.

Especially muscles.  Your eyes are drawn to them.  Now that you live in the Big City, you take long walks when you could take the subway, just so you can see more.  Now that the days are warmer and less insulation is required, you can see the results of the efforts of the guys around you.  How they adorn their work with swirls of black ink, or how they wear their favorite brands.  How they hide their eyes behind mirrored shades.  And when you see them, you start to follow them.  It’s not unnatural - just a guy walking behind a guy for a little while.  It’s a big city.  No one notices.  And the entire time, you feel this sharp, twisting pang in your deepness, and you feel yourself shifting in your shorts.  Your basketball shorts, the ones that he picked out for you that morning.  You haven’t chosen your own clothing now in months, and it hasn’t really occurred to you - but that’s just one of those idiot details that isn’t necessary for you to focus on.  The second you even consider it, it’s gone, like ash tumbling through the air.

You’ve become quietly covetous.  The first place your eyes fall when you see another guy is the place on their bicep where the sleeve falls.  Even better if the entire peak is displayed, from the small cannonball of the deltoid down to the olecranon of the elbow.  Next, if available, the etched diamond of the calf muscle.  Even better if the shorts fall just above the kneecap, displaying the firm teardrop of the vastus medialis.

And you see?  In your covetousness, you’ve eagerly sought out the information necessary.  What these muscles are called.  How to name them.  The deltoids.  The biceps.  The biceps femoris.  The quadriceps.  The abdominals, the serratus.  The pectorals.  You’ve become a student of the male body - and your major is the muscles.  You hungrily seek out this information.  Again, you’d stop to ask why, but that’s just one of those idiot details.  Your broad strokes of thought boldly wash out those hesitant, pencil-like scrawlings.  

Your conversation shifts, too.  Your remarks, even just the little off-cuff remarks you make to co-workers, are about your newfound interest.  You might even tentatively complain a little, about your sore quads, or how your pecs feel so full, but so tight, since yesterday was chest day, bro.

Let’s take a break.  You have the tableau, you see the players.  One of those players is, in fact, you.  Big picture.  And the other, well, he’s grinning just out of the corner of your eye, when you lay together, spent & exhausted on the bedspread.  You might even be covered in cum, but you’re laughing, a big gusty sound that originates from down in your chest - actually, come to think of it, where most of your sound comes from these days.  You’ve been feeling yourself expanding, somehow.  Slowly, but surely.

Is this magic?

You tell me.

You’re lying there, next to him.  You play your hands over the contours of his muscles.  He loves it when you knead into his rhomboids, his lats.  You’re kept in a slight state of astonishment whenever you see his chest.  He likes it that way.  Flexes for you, with his eyes and grin fixed on yours.  Later, he’ll cinch the measuring tape around your waist, around your chest, tug it tight around your bicep.  And you’ll flex, and you’ll laugh.  Because you know that number is gonna get higher, and higher, just as maybe your IQ number might be getting a little lower.

Somewhere inside of your skull, that little scratching sound, that pencil cribbing in the margins, is worrying over that detail.  You can hear it, but just like living in the Big City, there’s always some kind of noise, some kind of static.  As easily as a gnat at your ear, you whisk it away with an absent-minded dismissal.  Because

“Gym time, boy.”  And the seriousness of his words expand in the air, creating an invisible push at the small of your back.  You go together, and he observes, and he watches.  He corrects your form.  Sometimes you spot one another on the bench.  You workout until you both shake with effort and hunger.  And probably a little from that bomb-ass pre-workout, too.  Damn, does that shit fizz in the veins.  And it makes the veins pop, too!  You love marvelling at the way your veins pop out against your growing bicep.  You love the comments people give, those commonplace “Wow!  You’ve been working out, huh?”  

“Sure,” you grunt in modest reply, and flex, perhaps a little conspiratorially, like you’re sharing a secret with this awed co-worker.  And one day, you might notice out of the corner of your eye, this guy that’s kinda been following you for a block or two.  

Full circle, bro.  You might be just aware of the eyes prickling against your skin.  The way your shorts and Chicago Bulls jersey fall on your frame.  You’ve long since ditched the glasses, and you sport shades now - mirrored ones, like aviators.  Just like everything else you’re wearing, he picked it out.

At the crosswalk, the little orange hand turns solid and you come to a stop.  You are tired from your workout, but not too tired to stretch, turning that stretch into a surreptitious flex.  You might even lower your shades and wink at the guy you feel gaping at you, trying successfully to blend into the crowd of other normal people.  How badly you want to warn him - no, not warm him, haha, what the hell would you be warning the little dude about?  More like, you wanna turn around and be like BRO, JUST LIFT and see the reality registering in his eyes, see him start to change too.  See him start to expand, see his chin lift, see the ink - just like yours, big tribals, so much depth, you could stare for hours - just materialize on his skin.

And maybe he does.  Maybe that poor, shrimpy onlooker with more weight in his skull than muscles on his bones feels that subtle, shifting wind.  Maybe he, too, inhales - inhales deeper than he ever has before, scours out the basement of his body with his breath, and lets it out in a huge, gusty exorcism.  Maybe he turns the corner and puts pen to paper at the front counter, and finds himself waking up in the morning with new ideas, thoughts, plans, goals.  

Maybe you’re contagious.  That thought makes you laugh - it’s really more a guffaw, now, this deep sort of chuckle that makes you sound a little bone-headed.  Like maybe lifting is catching, bro.  How sweet would that be?

And the future is still ahead of you, though you don’t pay it much mind.  You follow the street home to him, to his words, to his gaze, to his arms around your body.  To the murmurs you’ll forget as he talks you down, smiling at you the whole time.

It isn’t magic, because there’s no such thing as magic, right?  But it’s close enough to be effective, so maybe it is.  

Anyway, if he told you there was such a thing as magic, you’d believe him.

You’d believe anything.