Breaking the Stallion Ch. 02

I looked at Brock, masking my fear. Every time I pulled Brock over another threshold of submission or humiliation, I feared that he would kick my ass, tell me to go to hell, and never speak to me again. I controlled my breathing and looked at him, maintaining eye contact.

Brock hesitated a moment before responding. "S-so, th-that will help me control myself?"

"Yes."

"And th-that's going to help my grades? And help get girls?"

"That's right."

Brock exhaled and put his middle and forefinger against his temple.

"Alright," Brock's voice conveyed apprehension, but also a vein of resignation. "Let's do this, Man. You haven't steered me wrong yet."

"That's a good boy," I winked and punched Brock's arm playfully, then descended to my knees. Holding the key in my right hand, I pinched the lock with my left thumb and index finger positioning it upward. Dexterously and with one smooth motion, I unlocked the small padlock, pulled it from its ring, dropped the padlock and key into my pocket, then pulled the cage from the head of Brock's cock.

Instantly, his cock straightened and lengthened, as if it were a jack-in-the-box with the handle turned. There was just enough time to move my face before Brock's manhood erupted forward from its restraint. But I chose not to.

Upon reflection, I later realized two reasons that I didn't pull my head back when Brock's veiny dick sprung to life. First, my long-term goal was to normalize both casual nudity and bodily contact between the two of us. Eventually, I would train him to yearn for my touch. But normalization and comfort would be the first step. Second, it took everything I had not to devour that monster that tantalized me with its weighty bounce. Letting it strike my face felt like a compromise between my own self-control and my greater desire to take it in my mouth.

When the head of Brock's member struck my cheek, I laughed casually. "Hey there, Big Guy! I know you're excited, but let's try to take a breath here."

Though despite my admonition. I didn't want him to stop for a breath. Nor did I want to slow down. I wanted to shove that white and pink leviathan down my throat before throwing him on the bed and fucking his ass with my own bursting cock. I exhaled to control myself.

Brock unconsciously moved his hand toward his member to control it. I wasn't sure if he meant for me to see, but I could see his thumb subtly caressing the base of his shaft as he pulled it away from me. I stood up, then backed myself up to my chair. I lowered myself down and crossed my legs. I didn't want Brock to see that I was still sporting my morning wood. Nor did I want him to see that it was even larger since I 'woke up.' And I suspected that, by now, my sweats exuded with the evidence of my precum. I leaned back casually in the chair.

I was pleasantly surprised to see that Brock waited for my instruction. I half expected that, as soon as the cage was off, he would grip his cock with one hand and go to town. I was unsure how much of Brock's hesitation was due to my acclimating him toward waiting for instruction, or his natural predisposition as a submissive.

"I can see you're excited," I kept my tone authoritative, but more casual than before, "I bet you're not going to last long."

"N-nah, probably not." Brock laughed nervously, still holding the base of his shaft. His thumb continued to slowly stroke the base. I couldn't tell whether this was something he did unconsciously, or if he was hoping that I wouldn't see. I intended to normalize masturbation--indeed, only under my supervision did I ever want him to masturbate--so I said nothing.

I was about to guide Brock through another threshold of submission. I was a master at taming horses, but I had never yet tamed a man. And with a prize like Brock, I was nervous about pushing him too far. But the image of his rippling flesh standing before me and holding his massive member lit a fire in me that overcame my fear. As Brock held his cock in his hand, subtly stroking the base, it pointed directly at me, but cyclically nudged away and to my left. It looked as if his cock was beckoning me to go on. As if Brock, the unconscious sub that I knew he was, beckoned me to push him farther.

I straightened my shoulders, sat upright in my chair, and looked intensely into Brock's eyes.

"Stroke."

Without speaking, Brock obeyed. His hand moved slowly from the base toward the head. His hand then pulled back again toward the base.

"Again."

Brock obeyed again, moving his hand from the base of his cock toward the tip, stopped for just a moment with his hand gripped around the head, and moved it back.

"Again."

Brock obeyed again, moving slightly faster. As I watched, Brock glanced nervously back at me. His eye contact was unsteady--he periodically broke my gaze, looking down and to the side. His brow betrayed his nerves. His inner brow pointed up, contrasted against the relaxed outer brow. But Brock's upward turned lips and opened mouth betrayed his eagerness. He felt uncomfortable. But he needed this. Brock, the insatiable animal that he was, needed his release so badly that he was unwilling to argue with me about my supervision. In short, between my control and Brock's lasciviousness, my control emerged victorious.

"Again."

Brock stroked his cock again.

"Again."

He obeyed again.

"Keep stroking. I know you're close. You've been a good boy. You've earned your reward."

Unrestricted, the floodgates of Brock's appetite lifted. When his desperation took over, I had never seen such a ravenous animal. Brock stroked faster. With his brow still upturned, his cheeks tensed, revealing cute little dimples. He looked as though he was pushing toward the release of his life as a low moan escaped his lips.

I didn't want to risk killing his mood, so I waited until his pace increased and I knew that he was about to erupt before whispering, "Gooood boy." I lengthened the syllables, emphasizing the words.

Brock repeatedly and sharply inhaled. His release burst out like a pent-up animal. He exhaled as his cock exploded. I'd watched much porn in my time, but I had hardly seen such a prodigious load erupt from a man's dick before. Clearly, Brock had a great deal of 'tension' built up. I wondered how much tension resulted from his submission and my power over him. Though it was unclear whether Brock consciously realized the extent of his submission and my commensurate power. I knew Brock. I knew that, deep down, he was submissive. And I knew that my power over him would create a reaction, even if his mind associated is solely with his date with Cindy.

Brock blushed as he stood before me, bent over slightly from the exertion. As his hand left his shaft, a stream of cum dangled between the ball of Brock's thumb and the end of his shaft. Blood flooded Brock's cheeks as he examined the mess on the sheet. His cheeks darkened when he saw that some expulsion had hit my pantleg.

"Good boy," I whispered one more time. My goal--as it was with any animal--was to tether the trigger phrase, 'Good boy,' with pleasure in Brock's mind. The 'unconditioned stimulus,' Brock's orgasms, needed to be paired with the 'conditioned stimulus,' the trigger phrase. Like in classic animal training, I wanted Brock to associate the trigger phrase, 'Good boy,' a pleasure response.

"I can see that you had a lot that you were holding back, Big Guy!"

I hoped to normalize discussion of Brock's orgasms. I also lightened my voice, trying as hard as I could to sound as casual as possible. If I was to normalize Brock's nudity around me and mutual masturbation, I would need to discuss it as if we had done something as casual and normative as sharing a video game. If Brock resisted or expressed shame or regret, I would ignore his misgivings. Even if that constituted gaslighting. As far as Brock should be concerned, this is normal. Being naked around me is normal. Me watching Brock masturbate is normal. It's what good friends do.

Brock hesitated before slowly backing up and sitting on the bed. He was still completely naked, with red cheeks and wide, horrified eyes. I could tell that the shock of what transpired was setting in. I knew that I needed to jump in and work to normalize this before his post-nut clarity kicked in.

"Nice work, Man!" I kept my legs crossed but leaned back in my chair. It required all my executive function not to allow a diabolical, Chesire-cat grin to spread across my face. "I can tell by how much you came that you were really worked up. Waiting must have been hard, but you did it, Buddy! I'm proud of you."

Brock shook his head, keeping his eyes on the sheet where he made most of his mess.

"Uhhh, yeah... S-sorry about y-your--"

He started to gesture toward the sheet and my pant leg. I interrupted him with a dismissive wave, a laugh, and a casual head shake. I would not validate this shame response.

"Don't you worry about it, Big Guy! It's really no big deal. Who doesn't get cum on a sheet or on some sweats every now and again? Just put the sheet into the hamper and go hop in the shower."

I would retrieve that sheet for my own use later. But Brock didn't need to know this. Brock complied, crumpling the sheet and throwing it in the basket in the corner. He sauntered off into the private bathroom that abutted my room.

As soon as the door was closed, I swiveled my chair toward my laptop and hit the space bar. The screen illuminated and a message box appeared: 'Video Saved.' I'd have to clip the last eight hours or so later, but I was glad that I had turned on my webcam to record the night before. The voyeuristic pervert that I was, I'd be remiss to miss an opportunity. And my preparation paid significant dividends.

By the time I heard the shower turn off, I'd pumped two loads into a sock while watching the video's last few minutes. I'd been holding off on this far too long. And I would use that video many times in the future.

When Brock emerged from the bathroom, I was laying casually on the bed and looking at my phone. As far as Brock was concerned, I had simply scrolled social media while he showered. I peeked at Brock from around the screen.

His body was covered from the waist down with a towel. The rest of his godlike, rugged form was bare. He looked uncomfortable as he slowly approached his clothes, which lay scattered on the floor.

"Before you put those back on, don't forget your cage." I continued to look at my phone while I spoke. I wanted to come across as nonchalantly as possible, as if I were reminding Brock to charge his phone.

"B-But," Brock looked confused, "The date with Cindy is over. Why do I need to put it back on?"

Conspicuously, Brock framed his statement as a question rather than an objection or outright refusal. This would be easier than I thought.

I rolled my eyes as if Brock was telling a joke. "That wasn't just about that date, you dunce!" I laughed, trying to make my remark come across as a casual jab. "We both know that your grades will continue to slip if you don't keep wearing it. And we don't want you to lose yourself and do something to Cindy you might regret, right?"

"Well, no..."

"I'll help you." I swung my legs over the bed and leaned forward. I then pulled the small padlock and key from my pocket. The cage and ring attachment were on the ground near my feet, so I retrieved them and held one piece in each hand. I beckoned for Brock to approach. He complied.

When Brock was in arm's reach, I grabbed one end of his towel and yanked it off from his body. Like nudity itself, I wanted to normalize me removing Brock's clothes. Particularly without asking.

With one hand, I slid the ring down his member. With the other, I pulled each ball through the ring and affixed it against the base of his groin. I then pressed the cage against the head of his cock. Like last time, his cock shrunk slightly at the cold touch of metal. When the cage was close enough to the loop in the ring to which the padlock would go through, I swiftly pushed the padlock in and snapped it shut. The key fell out into my open palm. I quickly put the key into my pocket and thumped the side of the cage. Brock grimaced.

I patted Brock on his hip, allowing my fingers to graze his tantalizing glutes.

"Don't worry, Big Guy. You'll get relief again in no time. Now put your shorts on--we need to go to the gym!"

---

A pattern developed over the next several weeks. Brock and I had most of our classes together and studied together, so most of his waking time was with me. Brock would periodically ask me for release. I rarely obliged him. Instead, I would let him know at arbitrary times that he was to be released and--under my supervision--relieve himself. As I had planned, his discomfort faded with each of our 'sessions.'

Equally as important, after about the dozenth time that I denied him his 'relief' when he requested it, he stopped requesting it altogether. This was an important step. In essence, Brock had implicitly given up his own agency in deciding when he would get off. He may not have realized it, but this conspicuous absence of pleading represented a significant step in his ultimate submission. From that point on, I was the active initiator for his release. Brock was merely a passive recipient.

By the beginning of the third month in our new dynamic, I felt that Brock was ready to go deeper.

"Have you ever tried prostate stimulation?" I asked Brock this seemingly at random. We had just finished a long night studying calculus and were playing video games. We both sat on the edge of my bed as we stared at the little TV that I'd set up across from my bed.

The question confused Brock. "'Prostate stimulation'? Like, sticking things up your ass?"

I laughed. "It's more complicated than that. A lot of men--and not just gay men--can get better orgasms when they massage their prostate."

Brock was unusually thoughtful in his response. "Nah. I mean, I don't have a problem with that in theory, ya' know? Just not something I'm into."

"But you haven't tried it?"

"No Olly," he laughed, "I've never tried sticking anything up my ass to get off." He quickly added, "Not that I'd have a problem with it or anything. Just not my thing."

I appreciated that Brock, albeit not a thoughtful and engaged person, was considerate enough not to want to sound homophobic. Admittedly, it wouldn't have been homophobic for a person not to be interested in prostate play. But I saw no reason to reassure him when his anxieties led him down the path I wanted to lead.

"So, you haven't tried it," I spoke slowly, as if I were confused and trying to understand what he was saying, "But you're not into it? Isn't that like saying that you're not into spinach, having never tried spinach? That doesn't make sense."

"Well, I just don't think I'd be into it, ya' know?"

I persisted. "That's unusually closed minded for you, Big Guy."

"N-nah, I mean not that I wouldn't--"

I interrupted him. "I'll make you a deal. Tomorrow, we'll go to that adult store down the road. We'll get you a toy--nothing too fancy--so you can give it a try. If on any given day you don't have an orgasm after thirty minutes of prostate massage, then I'll unlock you and you'll get to relieve yourself."

Brock was silent for a moment. This proposal seemed to him to be too good to be true. "R-really? Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"D-do we have to wait until tomorrow?"

This was perfect. Brock wanted it today. Brock had just implicitly, and by his own volition, asked me whether we could go the sex shop right now, buy him an anal toy, and let him fuck himself with it. My cock stirred in my pants at this development.

I kept my response casual. "Well, sure. If you don't want to wait."

I wanted Brock to be more specific. I wanted Brock to ask me directly what he was asking for implicitly.

Brock's voice broke as he spoke, "Well, yeah. I'm pretty sure that place is open late, right? And this way, we're less likely to run into someone we know than we are during the day."

He was rationalizing his eagerness. I wouldn't let him.

"I don't think that's much of a risk," I responded coolly, not taking my eyes from the screen, "I've never seen anyone from the university go there." In other words, you're going to have to ask me, you thirsty man-whore.

"Oh. Well, that's true. I just... Do you really think we need to wait until tomorrow?"

Now he was trying to put the ball back in my court. Not a skillful tactic if he really wanted to get off sooner. But I was game. I decided to ask him directly what I wanted him to tell me directly.

"It doesn't sound like this is about being caught. Do you just want to get off a little sooner?"

Brock hesitated. I had trained him well not to try to initiate his own release. But this training--albeit effective for my long-term goals--was not helpful here. I decided to ease him into it.

"If you ask me," I continued, "We can go tonight. Do you want to try to get off sooner, Big Guy? I'd be down to go if you want to try prostate play tonight."

"Y-yeah," Brock's chiseled face was bright red as he spoke, "Can we go tonight?"

Good boy.

"Sure!" I responded affirmatively but kept my tone light. Best to maintain the framing that this was something that Brock was asking for. Though I had planted the seed, the timing was such that I could later frame Brock fucking himself as something that he asked for.

---

I was mildly disappointed to find the adult store empty of shoppers upon our arrival. I had hoped that I could use this experience to acclimate my sub to public displays of submission and impaling himself. Interactions with the staff would have to do.

I guided Brock toward the anal toy section, which was immediately adjacent to the dildos. An advantage to such a small shop was that there would be little need to guide him to separate sections. Given Brock's enthusiasm for release, I hoped to progress things faster than I'd originally planned.

Brock and I examined the toys. I was surprised by his lack of discernment as he repeatedly said things like, "Oh this should work," or "Yeah, this one looks good." Clearly, he just wanted to try something, fail, and thereby earn his release. I wouldn't let him off so easily.

"It seems like you don't know exactly what you're looking for," I mused, "Let's maybe expand our horizons."

I stepped across the aisle to the dildos. I then reached out and grabbed my target. This was something I'd been eyeing for Brock for a while. It was a seven-inch dildo with an internal vibrator and extender. The toy would enlarge starting at the base, then move the enlarged portion toward the tip while extending, giving the user the feeling of being fucked. Most crucially, the toy could be controlled by an app.

"Here," I spoke blithely as I handed the box to Brock, "Let's try this for you."

"This is... a lot. I'm not sure if this is really... my thing." Brock's eyes grew wider and wider as he looked at the pictures and read the description on the box. "I mean, to each their own, right? But I don't know if --"

"No," I pulled the box from his hand, grabbed a bottle of silicon-compatible lube from a shelf, and turned toward the front counter, "This will be perfect for you. Let's check out and go."

Brock looked like he wanted to protest further. But my presumptive response combined with his enthusiasm for release that night precluded any further objections. I smiled when I noticed the cashier.

Behind the register and leaning against the wall looking at her phone, the only employee working that hour was a petite brunette girl. She looked to be in her early to mid-twenties at most. She wore leggings, a skirt, and a vest that did little to compliment her form. But she had a lovely heart-shaped face and great hair. She wasn't exactly a stunner, but I planned to use her to further humiliate Brock. In short, I wanted to take every opportunity I could to implicitly emasculate him in front of girls. I also needed to take every opportunity to establish dominance over him with women observing. This would further break down his straight-male persona and establish his dependence on me for pleasure.