Training a Dumb Pipe Jock
Benny wants to be a bull, but gets more than he bargained for in the process. (Story inspired by a kindred spirit.)
Hello, Coach: Your work comes very highly recommended. I find myself in desperate need of a young, dumb jock who loves to show off his body – but I also have a pipe smoking fetish and I would need him to serve in that aspect as well. Given what I’ve heard about your skills, though, I shouldn’t think that would pose any difficulty. If we’re in agreement, I can wire half your fee upon commission and the rest upon completion. I look forward to hearing back from you. ~T.
Howdy T. Your request is doable, and truthfully I enjoy a pipe every now and then myself. I think $30,000 is fair. I’ll keep my eyes open for a suitable candidate and will be in touch then. –Coach
There’s a gym in the DC area that, for those in-the-know, happens to be a popular cruising spot. But even if one isn’t in-the know, it’s still an ideal place for a workout: 24-hour availability; modern ergonomic machines that, no matter how crowded it gets, are never in short supply; a dizzying array of classes for yoga, boot camp, spinning, or whatever the latest fitness craze is; enough free weights to sink a battleship; a steamroom and sauna; expansive locker rooms; and, of course, plenty of mirrors to check one’s form and admire one’s results.
Benjamin was a young man in-the-know, but he didn’t frequent this gym to meet people, no. His singular goal was to overcome the limits of what others would call a “swimmer’s build.” He was lean, and certainly athletic, and would have had no problems attracting men who were into classical Greek statuary. But his own ideas of what was attractive tended toward men who were bullish: wide, with necks practically swallowed by their traps, round cannonball shoulders, and meaty quads and lats.
He had been working out regularly for years, making incremental if unsatisfying progress. His habit of comparing himself to others was not a particularly helpful one, however, and when he noticed one of the newer faces at the gym making incredible gains, he grew all the more frustrated and even started considering chemical enhancement.
One day, between sets, he introduced himself to the other man, whose name was Preston. After spotting for him and chatting for a while, he got brave enough to ask him, “So what gear are you using?”
“No gear, bro” Preston said, somewhat insulted but also flattered. “This is all natural.”
“For real? But you’ve been coming here for, what, three months?”
“Honest to God,” Preston said.
“What’s your secret?” Benjamin pressed. “I’ve been lifting for years and I can’t seem to get past this plateau, and you’ve blown up!”
“I have a private trainer,” Preston said. “A miracle worker. If you want, I can see if he’s got room for another client.”
“Sure man, thanks!”
Benjamin had completed his workout and was almost fully dressed in his work clothes when Preston approached him to hand him a slip of paper with an e-mail address on it. “Here you go, bro,” he said. “I think you’ll like what this guy can do for you.”
Benjamin pulled his Jeep into the residential address provided by “Coach,” as the professed miracle worker had referred to himself throughout their brief correspondence. He’d had to complete a medical history, diet log, and a waiver in advance of their first meeting.
Coach was waiting in front of his garage that had been converted into a serviceable fitness studio. He was a considerably older man, probably in his late fifties or early sixties, with a militaristic bearing and sturdy frame that, in its heyday, probably would have made his new client delirious. He looked Benjamin over appraisingly and, when the younger man offered his hand, took it in a grip that was almost punishing.
After looking over the paperwork and discussing payment, Coach asked, “What are you hoping to get out of this, Benny? Looks to me like you’re already in pretty good shape.”
Benny? “Uh, well,” Benjamin said, “I’ve always tended toward the lean side and it’s hard for me to gain mass.”
“Heh. Lots of the folks I work with would love to have your problem,” Coach joked.
“Yeah,” Benjamin acknowledged. “I guess I want to be able to progress like Preston. He spoke very highly of you.”
Coach grinned. “Ah. You’re not Preston, though,” he explained. “His genes aren’t your genes, the mechanics of his body aren’t the mechanics of your body, and what works for him probably won’t work for you. Fitness isn’t one-size-fits-all. So we’ll need to experiment a bit and see what your body likes.”
“I can work with that,” Benjamin said.
“Let’s get started then with a warm up on the stationary bike for five minutes. But first, let me take your picture, and then in a few months we’ll do a before and after. Take your shirt off.”
Benjamin complied with this simple request, and after a few quick photos Coach said, “Might as well leave it off, Benny. It’s already a warm morning and you’re gonna sweat. A lot.”
Howdy T. I think I’ve found your guy. I’ve attached a photo. Let me know your thoughts. – Coach
Dear Coach, WOW, what a cutie! I’m in love already. Can’t wait to get that moustache around my pipe! ;) ~T.
Benjamin had been supplementing his regular workouts with Coach’s sessions for a few weeks, taking creatine and liver tablets while ingesting high-calorie protein shakes, and although the workouts were grueling there was nothing that seemed particularly groundbreaking in the technique. But then one morning Coach said, “You know, Benny, one thing that people don’t realize about lifting is how mental it is.”
Benjamin listened attentively as he worked through a set of dumbbell rows.
“Some folks think that lifting weights doesn’t require any brainpower,” Coach continued, altering his inflections ever so slightly. “They might even think bodybuilders are dumb, but what they’re missing is that all the lifter’s mental energy is being used to move the weight. A good lifter doesn’t think about anything else when he’s lifting; and if he’s lifting as much as he can, he can’t think about anything else. All that electricity upstairs is going into the nerves that power the muscles.”
“I’ve never really thought about it,” Benjamin said as he toweled the sweat off his forehead.
“Lateral raises are next,” Coach said. “But start with a lighter weight than usual, let’s say 15 pounds, and do two seconds up and two seconds down. Don’t start yet, just stand there and close your eyes a moment.”
Benjamin did as he was told, and he heard Coach’s voice coming from closer behind him: “Pay attention to your feet on the ground as they support the rest of your body. Now notice your legs how they support the spine, and the spine supports your chest and shoulders, and your shoulders support the arms holding onto those weights. Notice how everything is connected. Now direct your attention to your shoulders, and keep it there. Throughout this exercise, keep everything focused on your shoulders. Really feel it in your shoulders, and visualize the shoulders you want. All your brainpower, all of it, is going into those shoulders. Do as many reps as you can. Begin.”
Benjamin opened his eyes and watched himself in the mirror as he lifted the dumbbells up in a slow, controlled movement, and then allowed them to descend again over another two seconds. “One,” Coach counted, "Two. Three. Focus, four. That’s right, five. Six. Only shoulders, seven. Eight, good. Nine…"and so on with each rep, as Benjamin kept his attention on his deltoids until they finally failed after 21 reps.
“Good job, Benny. How did that feel?”
“Good,” he said, panting. “Intense!”
“It’s normal to feel a bit drained. Your muscles are tired and so is your brain. Rest a minute and then you’ll do curls. Same thing: you’re going to focus your entire mind on your biceps. Go mid-range with no pause at the top of the movement. Up for two, down for two, thinking only of contracting those muscles and visualizing the results you want.”
“Got it,” Benjamin said.
By the end of the session, Benjamin could barely stand. He could honestly say he put every bit of energy he could into his workout, and his reflection was proof of the pump. Even his mind was foggy, which was new and unexpected.
“Feeling dumb yet, son?” Coach asked.
“I watched you and I could tell that you were putting everything you had into it. Like I said, it takes a lot of brainpower in addition to musclepower, and after a workout like that you’re bound to feel a little sluggish. But in here, dumb is good. You probably shouldn’t do anything that’s gonna take a lot of concentration for the next few hours. In fact, you probably are gonna want to wait about 10 or 15 minutes or so before you even drive home.”
“I’m just gonna enjoy my pipe while you cool down. I’ll bring you out another bottle of water, too.”
“Uh, sure,” Benjamin said.
Coach returned shortly with Benjamin’s water and stood in the doorway of the garage as he lit a large pipe, which produced a sweet and comforting aroma. “We can’t be too obsessed about our health,” Coach observed, exhaling a thick cloud. "Manly vices are permitted."
As Benjamin gradually got his wits and belongings together, Coach suggested, “When you’re working out on your own at the gym, try doing what you did today. Really engage your mind in your movements and focus only on those areas, just like I showed you, imagining the results you want. See you next week.”
“You bet, Coach! Thanks again, see ya!”
After another few weeks, Coach felt it was time to test how his newest project was progressing. At the end of Benjamin’s next workout, he was instructed to pose in front of the mirror. “I used to judge bodybuilding competitions,” Coach explained, “so I know what to look for.”
As Benjamin complied, as he was now accustomed to doing, Coach maneuvered beside him, adjusting his pose with light touches here and there. “Just like you focused your mind while lifting, Benny, you need to focus your mind while you flex to really get those muscles to pop. Yes, good, now hold it right there. Perfect! Freeze. Don’t move. Look in the mirror. You’re looking very good, I’d say. Memorize this pose and how it feels. I know you’re feeling dumb from lifting but this is very important, son, so focus on this with everything you’ve got left. You can’t move at all, not until I say. Just let yourself be a statue. That’s right, so focused on holding still, no thoughts at all except to hold still, not paying attention to anything except how good it feels to pose for Coach and obey. Just a dumbed down, mindless jock statue.”
Benjamin was so focused on maintaining his pose that he didn’t notice as Coach closed the garage door, didn’t notice as Coach pulled down his shorts and fondled his cock and ass crack. He didn’t notice the thin ribbon of drool that had begun to drip down his chin, he didn’t notice as Coach lit his pipe again and filled the enclosed garage with his thick, sweet smoke and stroked Benjamin’s slick, growing muscles with pride. He also didn’t register as he was instructed to enter this state of happy, mindless compliance whenever Coach told him to “dumb down, boy.”
Nor did he remember anything about any of that after being awakened, saying only, “See ya next week!” Coach grinned; he’d passed the test with flying colors.
As Benny’s weekly workouts with Coach progressed, so did the intensity of his trainer’s programming. Soon he didn’t think it odd that Coach had taken to smoking up the garage during his workout – to the contrary, he grew to love the smell of pipe smoke. In fact, he loved it so much that he would masturbate at home while sniffing and licking his sweaty, smoky jockstrap that Coach suggested he wear and never wash, repeating his new mantra (“dumb pipe jock”) over and over to himself, absolutely relishing the delightful feeling of his IQ dropping down, down, down – until he would come explosively, usually with a big dildo inside him. No, there seemed nothing odd to him about that at all, and even his new septum piercing had seemed to him like his own idea.
At his usual gym, wearing a rubber ball stretcher under his jock and shorts, he would give a friendly nod to Preston, and listen to Coach’s suggestions and affirmations through his headphones on a loop. The subliminal track had been designed specifically for him, and it constantly reminded him to Get bigger for Coach, Benny… Turn brain into muscle… Dumb feels good… Dumb, horny jockboy… Show off for Coach… Even though he wasn’t a true musclebull yet, he liked what he saw in the mirror more and more, and wasn’t that the whole point?
Before long, it was time for Benny’s final test, to determine whether he was fit to serve the new owner for whom he had been so thoroughly programmed. In Coach’s smoky garage, wearing only his jockstrap, he had just crushed his most intense workout yet and he was feeling pumped and stupid as fuck even before he was instructed to “dumb down, boy.”
“You’ve made great progress, son, you should be proud. You ready to make Coach proud?”
“Uh huh,” Benny said.
“All right. Show off those muscles, fucker. And lose the underwear for now.”
Benny complied, oblivious to everything else as Coach re-filled his pipe and disrobed. He stood close to Benny as he lit up, surrounding the empty muscle stud in clouds of fragrant smoke. Benny inhaled the dizzying fumes deeply and grinned as his mind got even foggier, the mesh of his dirty jockstrap straining against his leaking erection while Coach rubbed the warm bowl over his favorite areas. Coach was hard as well; this was the moment he had been waiting for.
“Looking good, Benny, but you’d look even better smoking my pipe, wouldn’t you? You’re a dumb pipe jock, after all.”
“Dumb pipe jock,” Benny repeated vacantly.
“Fuck yeah, you live for working out and smoking. You’re going to feel very, very good as you smoke my pipe and show off that body of yours that you’ve worked so hard for. Your body is meant to be enjoyed, and it’ll be receptive to any pleasure it is offered. You understand, son?”
“Yyyeah,” Benny slurred.
“Good boy. Here, take this pipe and let’s see how you smoke.”
Benny did as he was ordered, puffing on the pipe as he had observed Coach doing over the past few months, feeling so dumb and sexy and happy as Coach, from behind, began to massage his pecs and tease his sensitive nipples, while his cock slid against Benny’s sweaty crack.
“Spread that hole, son. Let Coach hose you down.” Obediently, Benny bent over a bench and pulled his glutes apart, moaning in delight as Coach’s warm piss covered his backside.
“You’ve been training your hole at home like Coach told you, jockboy? Is that ass ready for Coach’s dick?”
“Mmhrr,” Benny affirmed around the stem of his pipe. Indeed, his training paid off very well as his hungry chute welcomed Coach’s shaft like a broken-in glove.
“Ohh yeah, that feels so fucking good,” Coach gasped as he began to slowly push in and pull out. “Coach owns this ass and everything attached to it, yeah… oh, fuck, ride that cock… fuck yeah, boy.” He gave Benny’s ass an encouraging slap, and his muscled slave responded by eagerly pushing against his trainer’s increasingly rapid and powerful thrusts, driving his meat deeper and knocking against the young man’s prostate, eliciting helpless moans as wave after wave of mind-numbing bliss consumed him.
Coach watched himself in the mirror as he fucked Benny like a beast and the garage grew hazy with the boy’s ambitious puffing. A small puddle of saliva had collected on the bench from where it had dribbled from his lips as they nursed the pipe. He greedily sucked the smoke he craved from the stem clenched in his oblivious, dopey grin, and the dense jets that gushed from his nostrils were indeed reminiscent of a cartoonish bull. His balls, still wet with piss and jock-sweat, swung freely to and fro as his body rocked; his rigid cock jumped and danced as if motorized.
“Fuck, boy, I’m close,” Coach growled as sweat began to bead on his forehead. He hadn’t had a good workout like this in ages, and he realized then and there that Benny – sexy, stupid Benny – was his finest specimen yet. “You ready to come with Coach, jockboy? You wanna belong to Coach for good, you dumb sexy fucker?”
“HHNN! HHNN!” Benny brayed giddily, desperately.
“Fuck yeah you do, here it – utt –oh God, FUCK – FUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!” Coach roared, erupting deep inside Benny’s guts as the mindfucked jockboy’s muscular ass spasmed powerfully around his meat. At that same moment, several ropes of cum blasted out of Benny’s dick, splattering the bench and concrete floor as he cried out in ecstatic surrender.
“Fuuuuck,” Coach panted, taking a moment to steady himself before gently withdrawing from Benny’s gape. He took his pipe from the spent, quivering stud, which was now nearly too hot to hold, and eased him down onto a mat. “Time to cool down, Benny,” he told him, and Benny immediately closed his eyes and went slack. Coach watched him as his breathing gradually slowed to normal, and with a satisfied smile, went inside to get him some water and a towel, and write a very important e-mail.
Howdy, T. Very sorry to have to disappoint you, but I’ve decided this one’s a keeper. (Guess I’ve gotten sentimental with age.) Your $15,000 has been fully refunded; but if you’re willing to be patient a while longer, I’ll keep looking. I’ll even include a discount. –Coach *