Cocky Chase Is No Longer House Alpha

Here's another collaborative story with Rocky Jordan. He provided the pictures and I wrote the story. If you missed the previous one, click here to read about calisthenics coach Jordan's downfall. As always, click the title of this post or "Read more" at the bottom to see the full story. Hope you enjoy!

 

Sunlight streamed softly into the kitchen where Chase was enjoying a glass of water.

The 34-year-old was shirtless, wearing only a pair of jeans. His skin had the subtle shine of a man who knew he was in charge.

He certainly felt like he was in charge: He played a domineering role in his relationship with his new housemate of six months.

When Mark first moved in, he had no idea why a place like this would have any room vacancies. As he and his stomach soon found out, it was because Chase made the living situation hell for his housemates.

Chase was a classic “alpha male” who didn’t seem to have done any maturing past his high school years. He kept his hair shaggy and long for a rebellious, bad boy type of look.

The hours he spent training his muscles in his younger years translated now into hours of torment for his housemates. He would start off innocuously enough, inviting his housemates to join him in his home gym set-up in the garage for a work out. Chase would compliment on his housemates’ muscles with just a touch of condescension, to both hype up and drive them towards a sense of inferiority.

“Nice muscles, man,” Chase would begin, “You’re finally filling out your T-shirts.”

These backhanded compliments would take darker turns, as Chase would start flexing and comparing his muscles with his housemates’, telling them out much sexier and stronger his body was.

Then – when his housemates had enough and were riled up – Chase would challenge them to a gut punch contest. He had been in so many of them that he felt like his abs had developed a calloused outer shell. Even beyond the rippling muscles adorning his midsection, there was a layer of hardened strength that came from years of beating up his novitiate housemates in these gut punching challenges.

And just last night, he had proven to be unbeatable again.

He had challenged his newest housemate, Mark, to a gut punching, after months of subjecting him to psychological and physical intimidation. Mark had no idea what he was getting into and accepted the 34-year-old’s challenge, thinking that he would have no problem teaching his cocky housemate a lesson with his own muscular 29-year-old body.

Chase was reminiscing about his conquest the previous night, thinking about how he had totally destroyed his hunky housemate’s abs and showed him why he was ruling the roost in the household.

He thought about Mark’s flailing arms as he could barely breathe out the words: “Please…no more…ffuuuckk…”

As he was thinking about Mark’s softened midsection, which could barely offer any resistance close to the end of last night’s match, Chase suddenly felt himself getting weaker.

His body untensed as his proud stature slumped over onto the kitchen table. His unflexed abs seemed a far cry from the athletic torso they had embodied just a moment ago.

He’s lighter than he looks, Mark thought as he carried an unconscious Chase into their backyard. Damn, I guess he really does have low body fat. How can he be so big and yet weigh so little?

Mark was wearing a tight Under Armour compression shirt, instead of showing off the “armour” of his six-pack abs that lay bruised and cracked as he was wont to do on such a hot day.

As he was carrying Chase out of the house, Mark could not help but think about how utterly humiliated he was last night.

He remembered standing abs-to-abs and chest-to-chest with his housemate after Chase had laid the gauntlet down. They shifted the furniture away in their living room to clear a space for the gut punching contest.

Mark was jacked. He took serious care of his fitness and had the musculature to prove it – broad shoulders, an inverse triangle build and ripping back muscles. But Mark had no experience engaging in any kind of combat sport. He thought his muscles would be enough to beat up his housemate.

In fact, when the two men were standing next to each other, each muscle of their body pressing against the other’s, Mark had thought that his body was so much stronger than Chase’s. His muscles were tight and dense, compared to Mark’s, which would sometimes look slightly flabby when the stud wasn’t flexing.

It only added to his humiliation when he started getting winded by Chase’s ninth punch. He had expected that his built midsection could take more punishment.

When Mark doubled over about eight minutes into the contest, he felt nothing but burning embarrassment hearing Chase say, “Come on, Marky! You giving up already?”

Today, Mark was going to get his revenge. He was going to pummel cocky Chase’s sexy stomach into mush.

As Mark approached the decisive site of Chase’s destruction, the 34-year-old suddenly snapped out of his stupor. Mark hurried to subdue the muscular beast, grappling onto his arms to prevent the still-groggy Chase from escaping or fighting back. Chase saw the cordage of rope slung over Mark’s shoulder and began to struggle more, trying to tear away from his housemate’s vice grip. “Let me go, man, what the fuck are you doing!” Chase exclaimed, as the two men jostled for control. “I’m teaching you a lesson, you little bitch!” Mark retorted, before delivering a left hook to Chase’s face, knocking him out.

When Chase awoke again, he found himself bound by rope to a pole they had erected for some construction in the backyard.

“Let me go now, bitch. Or I’m going to fucking destroy you again. You forgot about last night already?” Chase snapped.

How could Mark have forgotten about last night? His gym-built midsection was still sore and throbbing. He had never felt so weak in his life before. Each movement seemed to send trills through the core that Chase had destroyed last night.

“Hey, I’m fucking talking to you. Want me to bust those weak abs up again?” Chase said, still with as much bravado as before.

“Shut the fuck up, Chase. You’re going to regret what you did to me.”

“Oh yeah? You were whimpering like a bitch last night. Why are you so brave now? We all know you’re a bitch boy with weak abs, man!”

“We’re going to see who the bitch boy is. You won’t be able to flex for fucking weeks when I’m through with you,” Mark spat out.

Chase was now fully tied up. He was perspiring a lot in the summer heat. His sweat made his skin glisten and his perfect muscles pop. The increased blood circulation from the heat, along with the constricting effect of the ropes, made Chase look extremely vascular. Veins ran through his well-developed chest muscles, going up his round shoulders, down his mounded biceps, and into his forearms. The hair on his chest and abdomen made him a picture of masculinity. With his Calvin Klein underwear on and his muscles exaggerated the way they were under the sun, one might have mistaken him for one of their models. He was a strong man. He was an alpha male. This punk really thinks he’s going to teach me a lesson? Chase thought. The only lesson he’s going to get is that this body is unbreakable. When I break free from this rope, I’m going to fucking schoolboy pin him to the ground and punch his abs straight through to his sternum. And I’m going to keep doing that every day until Mark fucking admits he’s nothing but a pussy.

Mark leaned in closer to tie the final knots in Chase’s bondage, to ensure that his monstrously built housemate would not be able to escape.

“If you let me go now, I might spare you. Let those pretty boy abs of yours go un-bashed.”

Mark couldn’t believe it. Chase was still trash talking him, even as he was getting tied up and prepared for the total beatdown. A small part of him did feel intimidated. It was hard not to, still feeling the damage the muscular arms had inflicted onto his abs just the night before.

Mark looked down at Chase’s midsection. That perfect V-taper, those gill-like obliques, the most perfect, model-like eight-pack abs.

“I know you’re still hurting, man. That’s why you’re wearing that compression shirt. You used to like showing off that six-pack. Why aren’t you shirtless today, bro? Still blue and bruised?”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!!” Mark said, turning to deliver a right fist to Chase’s sculpted face. “WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?” Chase’s last comment had stung Mark. He felt ashamed that Chase had understood why Mark was wearing that compression shirt. Chase knew that Mark was wearing it to cover up his purple-blue stomach, still bruised from last night’s battering. Chase knew that Mark had wanted to wear a compression shirt to still show off his musculature, instead of wearing something baggy that didn’t allow him to assert his manhood and muscles.

“Always fucking showing off your muscles. FUCK YOU, CHASE!” Mark seethed, landing a right hook into Chase’s stomach this time.

Chase had braced himself for the punch, knowing that Mark would have punctuated the end of his sentence with an explosive fist.

“Looks like I said something that hurt you. Or I punched a soft spot into that gut last night, bro!” Chase said, maintaining eye contact with Mark, as if challenging him to try to make his abs hurt.

THHUDDD THUUDDD

Mark landed two more punches in quick succession into the perfect abdominals in front of him. He could feel how solid his housemate’s abs were. Yet, they seemed to be softer than they were at the start of their gut punching contest the night before. Had Mark actually been able to hurt his sexy housemate’s gut during the challenge?

TTHUUUDDD THUUDDD

Two more punches into the alpha male’s abs, but Mark didn’t find the reaction he was looking for. Chase still looked unbreakable. His abs were still tough and he kept making eye contact occasionally with Mark, when Mark wasn’t looking at the solid granite eight-pack he was trying to pound into submission.

“You’re never going to break me down, Mark! Stop fucking trying and let me go!”

TTHHHUUDDDD THHHUUUDDDD THHHUUDDDD Mark went at Chase’s seemingly indefatigable eight-pack for the next five minutes, pummelling away at it with different variations of punches. Fuck…Chase is really fucking strong, Mark thought, eyeing the torso that had thoroughly beaten his the night before. Chase was starting to breathe harder. His breaths were less controlled than they were at the start, when he had been methodically breathing to ensure he had enough air to keep his invincible abs invincible. His breaths were jagged now, more shallow. It was as if Chase was trying to take every opportunity between Mark’s punches to steal in gasps of oxygen, to keep his armour from showing any weakness. Fuck…he’s really starting to…hhhnngg… hurt me, Chase thought, trying to maintain his tough exterior in front of the housemate that had been grovelling at his feet the night before. He thought of how Mark had been holding his battered six-pack in the living room, looking up at Chase after he doubled over onto the ground. “No…more…” Mark had exhaled, pleading with his eyes to Chase that the competition was over. Chase had then held Mark up by his armpits, his own midsection feeling the pain and throb from a gut punch contest between two men. Mark looked pathetic, lifted up in Chase’s arms like that, with his midsection unflexed – unable to flex – and arms flailing to cover it from more punishment. “You admit I’m the fucking alpha around here?” Chase had taunted Mark. Mark’s head was swimming. It was a strange mixture of humiliation and admiration. He had never expected another man’s abs to be so much stronger than his. Yet, the feeling of Chase’s rock-hard abs against his fists had ignited a passion that had been unlit. It was this same passion that Mark now felt as he was laying into his housemate’s sexy eight-pack for payback. Mark looked into Chase’s eyes. Chase still looked determined, but a twinge of weakness had entered those blue eyes. Mark listened closer to the staccato of his punching, and Chase’s distressed breathing. Mark delayed his next punch, putting off Chase’s rhythm. As Chase was inhaling, Mark sunk a critical left hook into the alpha male’s abs. TTTTHHHHHHUUUUDDDDDD “HHHHHNNNGGGGGG!!!” “FFFUUUUCKKKK!!” Chase shouted.

That one punch that broke through Chase’s once-solid eight-pack was all Mark needed.

TTHHUUDDD THHUUUDDDDD THHHHHHUUUUDDDDD THHHHHHUDDDDDDD

Mark socked punch after punch into Chase’s damaged midsection. With each punch, Chase was breathing harder and harder, trying desperately to refill his lungs with oxygen, to flex out his wall of muscles to stop Mark’s fists from invading his body.

The constant barrage of punches made it difficult for the superstud to catch his breath, and they got more jagged the harder and faster Mark’s punches got.

“HHHHNNNNGGGG OH STOP.. OH FUCK” Chase could barely exhale. He couldn’t believe that those words had just escaped his lips. He had never been beaten to this point in a gut punching contest. He had always been the one that got the better of his many former housemates.

“UUUUGGGHHH FUUUCKKK” Chase couldn’t help it. He was moaning and grunting like a fool in front of a man that he had completely humiliated the day before. Now he was looking like a pathetic weakling with a jelly gut.

Chase kept squirming, his feet making a funny dance as he tried to find some sort of leverage in his muscular body to work up resistance against the onslaught of Mark’s punches.

“UUURRRGHHH I’M GOING TO FUCKIN –”

THHHUUDDDD

“HHHNNGGGG KILL–”

TTTTTHHHUUUUDDD”

“YOU–”

TTTTTTTTHHHHHHUUUUDDDD

Mark was enjoying this. He was enjoying it much more than he thought he would be. He didn’t expect Chase would continue mouthing off even in such dire straits. He thought Chase would be smart enough to keep his mouth shut, to conserve some air that his muscles badly needed to flex.

But then again, Chase had never been in such a compromising position before. He had never experienced being on the losing end of a gut punch competition, so he didn’t know how to be on the defensive. He was so used to being dominant and in charge. He was used to pulverising his opponents’ unready and uninitiated midsections before they had a chance to fight back.

Mark was the first housemate who actually had the gumption to plan such a sadistic vengeance against the alpha male.

And Chase wasn’t liking it at all. His perfect abs were on fire.

Instead of the methodical, strategic breathing that punctuated the flexing of his abdominal armour at the start of Mark’s revenge plan, he was haphazard, flexing them whenever he could in a bid to stop at least some of Mark’s punches from digging deep into his core.

Chase looked hysterical, with his vocal moaning and grunting, and especially with the random flexing of his stomach. It looked like his strong, healthy abdominals were having a spasm with how they kept flexing and unflexing, trying to stay prepared for Mark’s punches.

Mark knew that he had Chase on the ropes now. The muscle man that had defeated him last night was close to total destruction. His abs were going to be completely ruined. Chase would not be able to flex them for days.

Mark dug his heels into the ground, turning his own bruised core to give his next punch as much torque and body weight as he could.

TTTTTTTTTTTHHHHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUDDDDDDD

Chase’s vision went white for several moments. The first, and strongest, thing he felt was pain, then humiliation. The pain spread through his entire midsection, which was now soft as a pillow. Mark’s fist was deep inside Chase’s once-strong abdominals. That perfect wall of muscle was being penetrated by his defeated housemate’s fist. 

“Uuuugghhhh..ohhh ffffuuuckkk… ohhh..” Chase moaned as Mark kept twisting his fist into the titan’s ruined core.

Mark dug deeper into the fallen alpha male’s torso, the source of his easy pride and rugged handsomeness, trying to punch right through to his sternum. Mark could feel Chase trying to flex, the pummelled muscles trying to form themselves into the formidable eight-pack they had once been.

But it was a futile effort. Mark gave a final twist to his fist, now deep inside the muscle god’s midsection, before removing it. Chase immediately doubled over and heaved for breath. He grit his teeth trying to breathe through the pain. He was thankful that Mark had stopped punching him. Was it over? Was Mark through with his plan for revenge? In this position, Chase looked down at his soft stomach. With each intake of breath, his unflexed torso rose and fell. It was no longer the perfect eight-pack that he had started the day off with. Chase tried looking down at the ground, at anything really, rather than the sorry state of his now-ruined muscles. Mark was looking at Chase’s muscles too. In his current state, Chase looked downright pathetic. His stomach hung slightly over his belt line, the Calvin Kleins a mocking reminder of the vision of masculinity that Chase was just this morning. They seemed to be a physical reminder of where Chase’s abs were supposed to be if they were fully flexed – flat, muscular, and leading directly down to his underwear. Chase’s model-like abs were now flabby and softer than they had been before. Mark couldn’t believe that this was the stud that took him down last night. Just how soft were those abs now? He wanted to find out. He reached down and felt Chase tense up, having expected another punch. Mark began feeling his housemate’s red-pink abs. They were still decently tough, as would be expected of a man who had been working out for most of his adult life, but were undeniably weaker than they were before. Mark felt around for the ridges of Chase’s signature eight-pack, but could feel that they were softened, his abs no longer at the level of musculature that Mark was used to seeing around the house. Mark felt betrayed by Chase’s weakness. He couldn’t believe this was the man that intimidated him, who gave underhanded comments during their workouts together. Mark hated to admit it, but he did look up to Chase. He thought of Chase as the pinnacle of the male body. He couldn’t believe that Chase could be defeated so easily. A part of him had expected Chase to break out from the ropes, to tackle him to the ground. He expected this to turn into a brawl, with their abs and pride on the line as it was last night. Instead, Chase’s abs were not invincible. They were not as strong as he had made them out to be, as Mark had believed them to be. Mark’s alpha male housemate was doubled over and heaving for breath. His softened abs felt so different from all that Mark knew of Chase. Mark explored the other parts of Chase’s body, as the fallen king of the house started moaning his protest. Mark reached around to feel Chase’s pecs, his shoulders, his bulging biceps. How could a man so strong be beaten to such a pathetic state? Then, Mark reached down into Chase’s Calvin Kleins, feeling around for his housemate’s real manhood. “Noo…fuuckk…what are you doing…” Chase protested weakly. Mark felt soft patches of hair around his hunky housemate’s member. Mark felt everything that made Chase a man. “I thought you were stronger than this, man,” Mark said, unsure if he was disappointed or trying to taunt Chase. “You would always strut around the house shirtless, showing off your body. Fuck, man. I thought you were stronger.” Mark continued feeling around in Chase’s underwear, trying to measure how long his alpha housemate’s penis was with his fingers. “This…this is so fucking gay…oh fuck… stop..” Chase moaned. Chase had never engaged in this form of humiliation before. Even after beating up his housemates, he would never try to engage in sexual activity, or use it as a way to embarrass them even more. He was being felt up like livestock by Mark. The worst part is that he felt like he deserved it, having been brought down so spectacularly. Chase’s cock began to respond to Mark’s fondling. Despite all the pain that was coursing through his body, it still had room for pleasure. His member began growing as Mark’s calloused hands rubbed it inside the fabric of his Calvin Klein underwear. “Fuuuckkk…stop…what the FUCK,” Chase begged. “What the fuck happened, Chase? I thought you were the fucking alpha. How the fuck could you lose like this? Are you getting hard, man?” Mark said. Chase squirmed, trying to escape Mark’s hand. But he knew it was futile, just like when he tried to squirm away from his fists a few minutes ago. Mark kept stroking his housemate’s penis, while commenting on how soft and weak his abs now were. Mark couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of his mouth, how sadistic he was. But he didn’t want to stop. He was starting to get a hard-on just feeling Chase’s battered midsection and growing penis. “Uuunnnghhh,” Chase had stopped protesting and was just moaning now. “You’re liking this?! What the fuck, man! Why is an alpha male getting turned on by another man? All these big muscles but they’re just for show. Bet that’s why you walk around the house shirtless all the time, you thought I’d be an easy mark?” Chase wanted to protest. He wanted to scream at his weakling housemate and tell him that he wasn’t a fucking queer and that he had no way to even defend himself. He was sure that if he was free from the rope, he would’ve been pounding Mark into the ground. His less muscular housemate wouldn’t even have the chance to be groping his penis. Then, Cocky Chase’s cock became wet. The alpha stud’s penis was leaking pre-cum from Mark’s stroking. This snapped Mark back to reality. What the fuck was he doing? He wasn’t fucking gay…he wasn’t. He was driven to anger, fuelled by his confusion, by the betrayal of Chase’s abdominals and, now, his penis. He saw Chase’s eyes slightly rolled over, like he was really enjoying the pseudo-handjob that he was receiving from Mark. The sight of that disgusted Mark. The man that he had looked up to during all those home workout sessions was now not only a complete weakling, but had also started leaking pre-cum from his housemate’s touch?! It drove Mark to want to destroy Chase even worse than he did before.

SSSSMMMMAAACCKKKK

Mark slammed a right uppercut into Chase’s chiselled jaw.

A little spittle and blood escaped Chase’s mouth and he was brought back into the depths of despair. His mind was scattered. His penis was still throbbing from Mark’s stroking. Now, he was reminded of his throbbing, battered eight-pack.

“I TOLD YOU I’D TEACH YOU A FUCKIN’ LESSON,” Mark scowled.

TTTTHHHHUUUDDDD

Another solid punch into Chase’s not-solid eight-pack rocked Chase against the pole.

WWWWWHHHHAAAAMMMMM Mark pounded the defeated stud’s midsection with both fists at once.

“UUURRRRGHHHH…” Chase exhaled as he fell to his knees, bending before the new alpha of the house. His abs, once so spectacular, were now a map of browns and pinks, which would deepen into blue bruises the next day. His head hung low, unsure where to look. Chase didn’t want to look at Mark. His penis, now flaccid, was resting in a pool of pre-cum. Now that Mark’s punches had ceased, Chase’s faculties of thinking returned to him. He had been completely humiliated. There was no question about it: He was not the alpha male anymore. The cornerstone of his masculinity, his incredible eight-pack, was completely softened up. He tried doubling over even more, to cover the sight of his dethroned torso from Mark. But the restraints would not let him, and the more he did, the more flabby his abs looked as they folded in on themselves. Chase was still trying to process what had happened during the height of his weakness. His penis still felt Mark’s gym-worn fingers around it, stroking it. The tip was still wet and throbbing. His Calvin Kleins were sticky with his pre-cum. Chase had never been handled by a man like that before. Chase, who was once so mouthy, now really had nothing to say. There was nothing he could say in this situation: the signs of his defeat were physical and evident for both men to see. Even if he could muster up the bravado to say something, it would not hide the fact that he couldn’t take another punch, or that his penis had betrayed his masculinity and manhood. Chase felt like he was drowning in shame. He had been completely defeated. “So, what did you learn, Chase?” Mark asked. “What the fuck, man…” Mark cocked back his fist, showing Chase that he was ready to subject him to more punishment. “I want you to fucking describe how you’re feeling.” “My…my abs are…fuck, man…you fucked my abs up.” “Are you still the alpha male?” Chase was silent for a bit. He knew what the answer was, but did not want to admit it. “No.” “So who has the stronger abs?” “Y-you…do…” “Who’s the strongest man in the house?” “...You are…”

Mark knelt down, before whispering into Chase’s ears, “And if you ever fucking forget that, I’m going to do worse than what I did today.”

Before untying Chase, Mark groped Chase again. Chase recoiled from the touch, but was somehow grateful that it wasn’t a punch to the abs. Then, Chase knew that Mark hadn’t been jerking him off in a sexual manner…it was something different. Mark was using Chase’s hardening penis as a way of demonstrating his total control over his housemate. The thought of that somehow made Chase feel like a smaller man than if Mark had just been interested in him.

When Mark untied Chase, the former superstud’s arms immediately reached for his sore gut to cradle it. Chase slumped against the pole.

A sadistic smile spread across Mark’s face, seeing the older, more muscular man in such a state of weakness.

“We’re going on a road trip,” Mark said.

Mark dragged Chase into the car while the latter was still nursing his broken eight-pack. Chase did not fight back or offer any resistance at all; there was none to give as the full weight of his defeat was sinking into the muscle man. Driving several miles out from the house, Mark dropped Chase off at a roadside. There, he dropped off a duffel bag full of some of Chase’s clothes. Mark did not pack any of Chase’s shirts. “The alpha has decided you gotta find another place to stay,” Mark said coldly, before leaving in the car.

As the car drove off, Chase pushed himself off the gravel.

He looked in the duffel bag and found only jeans, socks and shoes. And Calvin Klein boxers. No shirts in sight.

He knew what Mark was doing. Chase was going to have to walk around sporting nothing but his bruised eight-pack – if you could still call it an eight-pack.

It was then that Chase realised he had no one to call in an emergency. He didn’t have many friends or family members in the area. The only people who stayed around that part were his old housemates, the same housemates that he had run out of his place with his tyrannical, alpha attitude and cruel gut punching contests.

With no choice left before him, Chase called one of his old housemates to see if they could pick him up and give him a place to crash. He could only hope that they had forgotten how he used to destroy their cores and leave them sore for days, the kind of soreness that would not dissipate in days, let alone hours.

The kind of soreness that would leave one vulnerable to even more gut punches.

His red-pink midsection, totally uncovered and exposed to the world, would be all the signal they would need to find the muscular stud in the middle of nowhere.