Tag Archives: Jockboy

Story

Discipline Training Institute Part 5 – The Origin Story

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Fiction by JockBoy

The Punishment Room
You kneel on the cold concrete of Room 101—the Punishment Room. Gray walls stretch around you, scarred and unforgiving. Overhead lamps cast harsh, surgical shadows. Hooks, ropes, whips, and leather straps line the walls; stainless-steel dog bowls gleam on the floor.

The air is thick—sweat, dust, disinfectant, and leather cling to your skin and fill your nostrils. Every sound—the shuffle of knees, shallow breaths, faint whimpers—echoes like a drum of dread.

“Blessed be the fruit,” one of the watchers whispers nearby. The words hang heavy in the still air. It is a ritual phrase, steeped in echoes so ancient it was once used by an overrated novelist in a famous book many pretended to have read when they had only watched the movie. But like everything in this dystopian world, it has been turned upside down. Now it serves as a chilling invocation, binding bodies and wills alike.

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Story

Discipline Training Institute – Part 4: Disciplining the Drill Instructor

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Fiction by JockBoy

Verbal Humiliation
The Drill Instructor’s first weapon strikes the mind, not the flesh. Flesh heals. Pride does not. Identity must be gutted before the whip or paddle falls.

Execution:

Stand close. Control trainee’s space. Own his breath.

Target manhood, self-worth, illusions of strength

Match insults with whip, rope, or paddle so body and mind collapse together

Whisper softly, break suddenly into bark. The rhythm destabilizes, unbalances, and strips confidence.

Degradation Phrases   (Rotation):

“You’ll never earn respect. Only bruises.”

“You beg for punishment because you aren’t man enough to handle  freedom.”

“Your father won’t spit on you when he finds out what you’ve become. He’ll piss on you.”

“You’re a pervert who feeds on humiliation. That’s the only reason you’re here.”

“Look down. Dust and boot leather—that’s your place.”

“You live to kneel; you’ll never lead.”

“Big muscles, small cock. Hard every time I yell at you. Weak. Pathetic.”

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Story

Discipline Training Institute – Part 3: The Transformation

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Fiction by JockBoy

I never thought I would answer a letter like that. The envelope was plain, sealed with a black insignia. I turned it in my hands, feeling its weight pressing down, tightening an unseen band around my chest. Fear or craving—I couldn’t tell which—compelled me to open it.

The Discipline Training Institute was no gym, no boot camp. It was a crucible—a furnace—to strip men bare, to burn off their pride and forge obedience in scarred muscle and shattered will. Its creed was clear: absolute obedience. Relentless effort. No excuses.

At first, I couldn’t see why Collins—the friend who knew my every laugh and bruise—had pushed so hard. But now I saw: he had walked its fires. The letter he sent, a desperate lifeline, never reached me. Instead, his will found me here.

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Story

Discipline Training Institute Part 2: The Trainer and The Trainee

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Fiction by JockBoy

[TOP SECRET // DTI-OPS]

Acquisition File: QB‑117
Classification: ALPHA‑RED TARGET
[DTI-QB117-SEC1] SURVEILLANCE DOSSIER

Compiled By: Collegiate Acquisition Branch
Source Reliability: HIGH (Informant: Coach R.H. – compromised under threat of exposure)

PHYSICAL PROFILE:

Exceptional size and contact-sport build, with upper and lower body musculature surpassing elite collegiate benchmarks.

Commanding physical presence and posture that demand respect.

False public image crafted around perceived power and leadership,

In communal showers, his prominent physique and penis size become focal points of silent envy and scrutiny.

Uses appearance to dominate teammates

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Story

Discipline Training Institute – Part 1: Recruitment

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Fiction by JockBoy

What if the savage world of ruthless discipline you crave isn’t just your fantasy, but your destiny—a sentence you cannot escape? The Discipline Training Institute is calling—and you WILL belong inside.

Wouldn’t it be something if a place like this truly existed—a hidden institute built for strong men like you with unspoken, darker cravings? It always begins the same way: a message appears in your inbox. You are lured into a world where your false hyper-masculinity is shattered, leaving you broken and born anew as something you don’t understand but can never escape.  

This is labeled fiction. But fiction is a fragile disguise. It can conceal what should never be spoken, distort what should be clear, or comfort you while quietly smuggling in truths too sharp to admit. Sometimes a “story” is the only vessel strong enough to carry truth and reality.

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Story

Coming Tomorrow: Experience the Terror of the Discipline Training Institute

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Fiction by JockBoy

What’s left of your body and your mind now belong to the predators who run the Discipline Training  Institute. They strip away your pride, layer by layer, until nothing remains but raw submission.
Strong men like you convulse, groan, even ejaculate—not from pleasure, but from the terror of your own helplessness under the weight of unrelenting pain and degradation.

Hog ties twist your limbs—wrists crushed behind your back, ankles locked tight.Your forced “Thank you, Sir” scrape through your clenched teeth, binding your mind as tightly as the ropes bind your body.
Then the stress positions, forced workouts,  and sleep deprivation take their toll. Shame overwhelms you. Rank, mastery, strength—they are all illusions here.
But the hierarchy is real. So you are left to wonder: Will I always be prey—or could I become  predator?

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Story

Men Forged in Iron, Leather, Fear, And Blood

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By Jockboy

Hour 0: More Than I Bargained For

I thought I was ready for this. Sixty-seven hours sequestered in that rotting tomb of an abandoned prison—facing down four men whose cruelty I’d worshipped and feared online, clinging to the fantasy that this was my forge, my shot at genuine mastery.

Pain isn’t new to me. My body’s been shaped by rugby scrums, USMC infantry runs, and the silence of rooms where control passes on the snap of a cuff or the thud of a paddle. I’m built thick, a compact fortress: broad chest with the striations of hundreds of bench presses, shoulders like capped stone, hands calloused from rifles and barbells and uncounted deadlifts.

My shins and knees bear the roadmap of old wounds—rugby studs, gravel pits, forced marches—etched in white ridges and purpled, weathered skin.

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Story

Punishment Cell at the Citadel Correctional Boot Camp – Part 04

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By Jockboy

“You have only one purpose in life, you shithead pussyboy: following orders.”

“Your muscles and ego count for nothing here, Mr. D1 Quarterback. So turn your brain and ego off and learn to obey.”

“Your instant compliance to all orders is expected and required.”

“You will be punished and degraded until you get it through your puny little jockboy brain that you’re not a man and exist only to serve real men.”

“That’s what the Citadel Correctional Boot Camp is all about. Permanent behaviour modification through pain compliance and humiliation.”

“We erase your ego and manhood and turn you into the bootlicking cocksucker you were meant to be. Understood, shithead?”

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