I am a healthy European man who enjoys using fit submissive males. Along the way I enjoy helping submissive males and the men they serve better understand each other. Re-posted images deleted upon request.
This was my chance. I had been planning it for weeks. As our team captain, JohntheDogeDoe and Coach met for about a half hour after each game. I waited in the locker room for him after his talk with Coach. When he got to the locker room to change I stripped, threw my towel over my shoulder and walked past him without saying a word.
I was the only out member of the team, and when I first joined I could see in their faces which of my teammates were comfortable with me, which were nervous, and which were scared. The comfortable ones were almost always 100% straight. They were the ones that would tease me with things like dropping the soap in the showers so they could bend over in front of me. The scared ones usually did not know they had ever met a gay man before, and once they realized I was not going to rape them in the showers, they were generally fine. It was the nervous ones that I usually was able to get a blow job from when we were out of town for matches, and I did occasionally fuck them.
But what I saw in the eyes of JohntheDogeDoe was different. He looked lost and helpless. I knew he had probably spent years telling himself he was not gay, that he was happy with his girlfriend, and that being straight was a choice he could live with his whole life. There were several opportunities where I could have fucked him or gotten him to suck my cock, but it would have left both of us wanting. He would have run back to his girlfriend, convinced he had made a mistake and would bury his need for cock deep inside, rotting his soul.
Yes, I realize I made that evaluation of him in part to justify what I was planning to do to him, but I doubt I was far from the mark. When I came out of the shower, he was still there,pretending to still be packing his bag, but really watching me as I dressed.
"I heard your girlfriend is away for the weekend," I said to him. "Come over to mine. I wouldn't want you sitting home alone."
"I I ," he stuttered. I had never heard him stutter before. "I don't think that's a good idea." He zipped up his bag, and started to walk away.
"Stop!" I shouted at him as I was putting the last of my stuff in my bag.
He froze, unsure what to do.
I walked over to him and spoke softly into his ear. "That was not an invitation. It was an order." I handed him my bag, which he took, and I put my arm on his shoulder, leading him on the short walk to my place. He said nothing on the way.
We both knew what was going to happen. He was going to get fucked. What he didn't know was I intended to do much more than that. Taking my cock would be the easy part. I was going to rob him of his masculinity, destroy the years of work he had done trying to convince himself he was straight. When I was finished with him, the idea of going back to his girlfriend, or any girl, was going to be unthinkable.
When he left Sunday night, he told me the weekend had been a mistake. He accused me of taking advantage of him. He told me he hated me. Even though I knew he didn't really mean it, it still hurt to hear. He didn't say a word to me more than was absolutely necessary at practice. It was two weeks later when he broke up with his girlfriend.
"Can I talk to you?" He sent me a text a few days later.
"You can have what you need, you just have to ask me for it. Is talking all you want?" I sent back.
"Nevermind, asshole," was his immediate response. A few hours later, though, he was at my door, drunk. I put him in my guest bedroom, and when he walked naked into mine, I brought him back.
"If you want me to fuck you again, you need to be clean, sober, and man enough to ask for it," I told him. When I woke up that morning he was gone.
The next day, after practice, he has down on the bench next to me as I was getting dressed. "Can I walk you home?"
"Sure," I said. "Grab my gear, and let's go."
He picked up my bag and we headed out. You planned this all along, didn't you?"
"Planned what?" I asked, only partially sure of what he meant.
"Making me your bitch. All I can think about is how much I want you to fuck me. I'm still mad at you for that," he said.
"You know I didn't make you this way. I just helped you realize who you really are," I said gently, trying to calm him.
We got to my door. "You have to choose now. If you come in, you will spend the weekend serving me. Or you can go home, and we can forget anything ever happened between us."
As I looked into his eyes, I could see something new. He was no longer lost or helpless. He was the strong, confident person he was when we were on the field. "This is going to be the best weekend of our lives, so far," he said as he pushed through the door past me.
323T4J01
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This was my chance. I had been planning it for weeks. As our team captain, JohntheDogeDoe and Coach met for about a half hour after each game. I waited in the locker room for him after his talk with Coach. When he got to the locker room to change I stripped, threw my towel over my shoulder and walked past him without saying a word.
I was the only out member of the team, and when I first joined I could see in their faces which of my teammates were comfortable with me, which were nervous, and which were scared. The comfortable ones were almost always 100% straight. They were the ones that would tease me with things like dropping the soap in the showers so they could bend over in front of me. The scared ones usually did not know they had ever met a gay man before, and once they realized I was not going to rape them in the showers, they were generally fine. It was the nervous ones that I usually was able to get a blow job from when we were out of town for matches, and I did occasionally fuck them.
But what I saw in the eyes of JohntheDogeDoe was different. He looked lost and helpless. I knew he had probably spent years telling himself he was not gay, that he was happy with his girlfriend, and that being straight was a choice he could live with his whole life. There were several opportunities where I could have fucked him or gotten him to suck my cock, but it would have left both of us wanting. He would have run back to his girlfriend, convinced he had made a mistake and would bury his need for cock deep inside, rotting his soul.
Yes, I realize I made that evaluation of him in part to justify what I was planning to do to him, but I doubt I was far from the mark. When I came out of the shower, he was still there,pretending to still be packing his bag, but really watching me as I dressed.
"I heard your girlfriend is away for the weekend," I said to him. "Come over to mine. I wouldn't want you sitting home alone."
"I I ," he stuttered. I had never heard him stutter before. "I don't think that's a good idea." He zipped up his bag, and started to walk away.
"Stop!" I shouted at him as I was putting the last of my stuff in my bag.
He froze, unsure what to do.
I walked over to him and spoke softly into his ear. "That was not an invitation. It was an order." I handed him my bag, which he took, and I put my arm on his shoulder, leading him on the short walk to my place. He said nothing on the way.
We both knew what was going to happen. He was going to get fucked. What he didn't know was I intended to do much more than that. Taking my cock would be the easy part. I was going to rob him of his masculinity, destroy the years of work he had done trying to convince himself he was straight. When I was finished with him, the idea of going back to his girlfriend, or any girl, was going to be unthinkable.
When he left Sunday night, he told me the weekend had been a mistake. He accused me of taking advantage of him. He told me he hated me. Even though I knew he didn't really mean it, it still hurt to hear. He didn't say a word to me more than was absolutely necessary at practice. It was two weeks later when he broke up with his girlfriend.
"Can I talk to you?" He sent me a text a few days later.
"You can have what you need, you just have to ask me for it. Is talking all you want?" I sent back.
"Nevermind, asshole," was his immediate response. A few hours later, though, he was at my door, drunk. I put him in my guest bedroom, and when he walked naked into mine, I brought him back.
"If you want me to fuck you again, you need to be clean, sober, and man enough to ask for it," I told him. When I woke up that morning he was gone.
The next day, after practice, he has down on the bench next to me as I was getting dressed. "Can I walk you home?"
"Sure," I said. "Grab my gear, and let's go."
He picked up my bag and we headed out. You planned this all along, didn't you?"
"Planned what?" I asked, only partially sure of what he meant.
"Making me your bitch. All I can think about is how much I want you to fuck me. I'm still mad at you for that," he said.
"You know I didn't make you this way. I just helped you realize who you really are," I said gently, trying to calm him.
We got to my door. "You have to choose now. If you come in, you will spend the weekend serving me. Or you can go home, and we can forget anything ever happened between us."
As I looked into his eyes, I could see something new. He was no longer lost or helpless. He was the strong, confident person he was when we were on the field. "This is going to be the best weekend of our lives, so far," he said as he pushed through the door past me.
323T4J01