Breaking the Stallion Ch. 04

I placed my hand on the side of Brock's head as he worked. I then ran my fingers through his messy, dishwater-blond hair, pulling his head toward my groin.

"Don't just lick it nervously like that," I admonished, "Take the whole thing in your mouth and suck. That's the way to clean it."

Brock obeyed, taking my entire cock in his mouth. Had I been fully erect, I would have been much too voluminous for Brock's mouth to comfortably take my entire girth. But my cock had softened down to about thirty percent of its full erection.

"There's a good boy," I softly cooed. I looked up at the ceiling, closed my eyes, and enjoyed the shudder that rippled through my body. My cock was still overly sensitive from having just cum. And the orgasms that I had while inside Brock were particularly intense. I let my victorious feeling wash through me, relishing my accomplishments. I had won. I had broken my straight jock.

---

A few short weeks later, Brock and I were in a cab on its way from my hometown airport to my family's ranch. Our bags filled the trunk. We both sat in silence as the cab driver—who mistook us for a couple at arrivals—stared ahead at the road. Likewise, Brock stared silently out the window at the passing trees. It occurred to me that Brock hadn't realized just how 'rural' my hometown was. And without a car, without money, and with minimal cell service, Brock must have realized that he would be completely at my mercy out here.

"Here we are, folks," the driver looked at me in the rearview mirror, then conspicuously at the meter. Even as well-to-do as my family was, paying for a 40-mile cab ride—with the additional charge for being out-of-town—was nigh physically painful.

As we walked through the front door, I heard my mother's shrill voice ringing upstairs.

"Olly," she shouted as her light footsteps pattered above us toward the stairs, "My boy is home!"

Moments later, both Brock and I were in my mother's tight embrace.

"I've missed you so much, Olly! And who is this tall glass of water?" My mother conspicuously eyed Brock up and down. Though my mother and I didn't always see eye-to-eye, we shared our taste in men.

"This is Brock, Mom," I spoke slowly, "He'll be staying with us for the summer."

A knowing look grew across my mother's face.

"So, should I prepare the guest room, or will he be staying . . .," she trailed off, somehow unwilling to finish the loaded question.

"No need. He'll be bunking with me."

I hadn't told Brock that my mother wasn't expecting a guest for the summer. I had hoped that the awkwardness of the situation would make him less likely to make waves by demanding a separate room. Whether Brock would have complained without this additional pressure, I would never know. As I walked confidently to my bedroom, Brock gulped nervously and followed behind me with his head down.

"I'll order pizza," my mom called after us, "from that parlor in town you like. We haven't had a pizza night in so long!"

"Thanks, Mom," I called behind me as I entered my room. As soon as Brock and our luggage were inside, I shut the door.

Brock silently looked around my bedroom. I hadn't redecorated since high school, so I was somewhat chagrined by my old boyband posters, my bookshelf of harlequin romance novels, and my elaborate gaming PC setup.

'No profit is without honor except in his own country,' as the saying goes. But in my case, cringing about my childhood interests fit the facts. There were more than a few aspects of my childhood that I felt shame about.

I acted quickly to distract Brock. I pushed his back toward the bed, making him lose balance and fall face-forward onto the sheets. Given that Brock was so much stronger than me, I knew that his movement was more due to his submission to my implicit command than his imbalance.

"Woah," Brock turned around to face me, still laying on the bed, "N-now? In your bed? Isn't your mom just in the other room?"

I unbuckled my belt and began to slide it from my jeans.

"Is that back-sass I hear?" My tone was joking, but the implicit threat wasn't lost on Brock as I held my folded belt in my hands.

"N-no—" Brock started.

"Take off your jeans."

"Wh-what? Now?"

"Take off your jeans and bend over the bed, or I'm not unlocking you for the rest of the summer."

Brock looked dejected. I noticed that, when I ordered him around like this, he began to look more resigned than defiant. He used to look at me defiantly. But now, when I ordered Brock to do something demeaning, at worst a sad look of resignation would flash across his face. This was progress. I had broken the defiance out of Brock and replaced it with acceptance of my authority over him. Eventually, I would train my bitch to smile for me when I ordered him around. Baby steps.

Taking his time, Brock slid his jeans onto the floor, then turned around as instructed.

'CRACK!' my belt flashed across Brock's ass.

"Next time I tell you to get undressed, you're not to back-talk. Understand?"

Brock sighed, "Yes, Olly."

CRACK!

"Yes, Sir . . ."

My cock was as hard as iron from Brock's modified response. No, not iron, but steel. Or perhaps titanium. I could have exploded at any moment.

I gripped the waistband of Brock's boxers and ripped them down and off of his legs. Before I grabbed his ass and hips and fucked him like an animal then and there, a thought occurred to me.

"You know, Bud," I spoke slowly, "I've always been the giver in this relationship."

This was obviously a lie. I was actively stealing Brock's time, his youth, and his very identity. But what's a little gaslighting between a Dom and his sub?

"I think it's time for you to start pulling your weight. I'm always the one to take care of your tight little asshole. I want you to take care of mine."

"W-wait," Brock started to protest and then thought better of it. "S-so, you're going to unlock me? You want me to fuck you?"

"No," I laughed, "I meant with your mouth. I'm always the generous one for rimming you before I fuck you. I want you to rim me, Brock."

Brock simply nodded. "Yes. Yes, Sir."

"Good boy. I'm going to hop in the shower, and when I'm out, I want you naked on the bed. Understood?"

"Yes . . . Sir."

Even in his broken and whipped state, Brock still hesitated before using the honorary. I would work on this later.

Half an hour later, I walked back into my bedroom wrapped in a towel. Brock—my obedient pup—knelt on the bed with his legs spread. I could see the contours of his abdominals. I followed the hard lines of his Adonis's belt, which led down to his cock, which in turn strained against its cage.

When I was satisfied with ogling Brock's naked body, I slid off my towel. As a point of principle, I wasn't ever to be less clothed than Brock. His body was there for me, and not the other way around.

"You need to warm me up first," I demanded, holding my rigid cock in my hand, "Now crawl over here and give it a little kiss."

Brock obeyed, crawling along my bed, approaching my cock with his beautiful face. He leaned in with his mouth slightly agape, awkwardly preparing to kiss the shaft.

"No, that's not how we do it," I laughed, grabbing the back of Brock's head and shoving his head onto my cock. I impaled his face for several moments before pulling his head back and slapping him across the face. "Let's show less hesitation next time."

As Brock's head bobbed up and down on my cock, I picked up his phone and unlocked it. I turned on the camera app, pointed Brock's phone at his face, and snapped several photos. When Brock realized what I was doing, he tried to pull his face away. My hand, which tightly gripped his hair, didn't allow him to move.

"Not so fast, Mister 'Straight Guy,' I'm setting your new wallpaper. Whenever you look at your phone, I want you to see yourself from my perspective. I want you to see yourself looking up at me with my cock in your mouth."

I ignored Brock's whining—though I enjoyed the sound of his complaints when my cock was in his mouth—and continued. "Let this be a reminder. I don't care how you self-identify. Call yourself 'straight' if you think that being otherwise is such a bad thing. But straight or not, you're mine. And you know that you're mine. Your mouth is mine. Your ass is mine. Your tongue is mine. Your cock is mine."

Drunk on my own power, my voice rose as I continued my tirade. "You're going to eat my ass now. And when I'm satisfied with that, then you're going to go back to bobbing that handsome face of yours on my cock until I explode into your mouth. And you're going to swallow every goddamn drop. And after you've proven to me that you've swallowed every drop, then you're thank me for the cum you just swallowed. Then you're going to crawl into my bed. You're going to be the little spoon tonight. And I expect you to grind that big, beautiful ass into me until I'm asleep. And if I wake up in the middle of the night and I want to cum in that ass, then you'll present that ass for me, and thank me for it."

I then pushed him aside and crawled onto the bed on all fours. I faced away from Brock, assuming the position that Brock normally assumed. This was not something that I would have been comfortable with if I wasn't confident in my dominion over Brock. Indeed, like most people, I've always associated topping with the position of dominance. I wouldn't have been ready to let Brock 'take care of' me if I wasn't confident in my control over him. But now, he was already my conquered love slave. And I intended to use him as such.

I felt Brock's face slowly push itself between my ass cheeks. I looked ahead, exhaling blissfully. This summer would be heaven. I was back on my home turf, with complete power over this straight jock. I held complete control over this fit, virile stallion. I had broken my stallion.

***TO BE CONTINUED**