Fit Lad Into Rugby / Football / Socks & Chavs

Fuckin hell bruv… when Sir @soccerkitlad grabs me and forces his tongue down my throat I proper lose it. That big dominant DILF hand gripping the back of my neck, pulling me in like I’m his property while he kisses me filthy — tongue fucking my mouth deep and aggressive, sucking on my tongue, biting my bottom lip till I’m moaning like a bitch.

He’s so fuckin horny all the time it’s ridiculous. I can feel how hard his thick dad cock gets pressed against me while he owns my mouth, growling into the kiss like he’s ready to breed me right there. One minute I’m standing there acting hard, next minute I’m leaking precum all down my trackies, hole twitching, begging without even speaking.

That proper DILF dominance destroys me. The way he controls the kiss, the way he slaps my ass mid-kiss and tells me “good boy” in that deep voice… I’m instantly his brainless muscle toy. I’d let him do anything when he kisses me like that — drop to my knees and choke on him, bend over and take every inch, whatever the fuck he wants.

Kissing SoccerKitLad ain’t kissing… it’s getting claimed like the owned chav slag I am. And I’m proper addicted.

"Perfect." He thinks as soon as he enters the gym and discovers that, just as he expected, it is deserted. He has the whole place to himself.

He has a name, but everyone calls him Soccerkitlad, or 'sir'.

The Iron Titan isn't the best gym in town, but it's the one that opens earliest. Soccerkitlad doesn't mind being the center of attention at a gym... in fact, it's one of his favorite haunts... but sometimes he just needs to focus on training to maintain that physique without anyone bothering him.

Early in the morning, the Iron Titan is empty, with only Soccerkitlad and the sleepy coach, who wonders how anyone could possibly want to train at that hour.

But when Soccerkitlad leaves the locker room ready to work out, he immediately notices that something has changed. The atmosphere of the gym is different, and he hears the familiar sound of weights being picked up and put back on the rack.

There's someone else at the gym.

He quickly dismisses it. One or two people aren't going to ruin his morning, especially if they don't bother him with nonsense or try to get him to take them to the showers or the bathroom.

And then he sees the newcomer.

"Fuck..."

What he sees leaves him speechless. A man he has never seen before. A man with an admirable physique who, obviously and unlike many, doesn't skip leg day, lifting heavy dumbbells with effort but without hesitation.

Grunting like a beast.

That man doesn't look up from his exercises to look at him, he's too focused. But Soccerkitlad realizes he's been staring for too long and, snapping out of his reverie, decides to get to work.

"Uhn...!"

After some cardio and warming up, Soccerkitlad moves on to the heavy weights. He's finding it harder than usual, but the reason is quite obvious…

"Damn, why did I have to put so much weight on it?" He thinks, regretting having exceeded his planned weight for the session, which was already quite a lot. Part of him wonders if he did it to try and impress the stranger, and as he does, he notices a boner starting to grow in his pants.

It also doesn't help that he's been noticing a strange scent in the gym for a while now. At first, he thought it was the stranger's deodorant, but then he realized it was more like the man's own body smell… a mixture of sweat, leather, pheromones, and something else he can't quite put him finger on. Whatever it is, it's driving him wild.

After a while he notices how the smell increases considerably, and he doesn't understand why until, when he opens his eyes after lifting the barbell with effort, he encounters a sight he did not expect.

"Uh ..."

The first thing he sees is the man's prominent bulge, just inches from his face. The smell now fills his nostrils, he can almost taste it… and he loves it.

"You've got some heavy weights there, bud." The newcomer says. Upon hearing his voice, Soccerkitlad finally takes his eyes off the bulge and looks at the newcomer's face, who in turn looks at him with interest and his hands on his waist. "Do you need a spot?"

"A spot?" He thinks, feeling offended. With muscles like his, it's been more years than he can remember since he's needed a spot. And yet… yet...

"Sure, thanks." He says.

The newcomer smiles, and Soccerkitlad feels like melting.

A couple of hours later, both men are in the locker room.

They've spent all that time working out, sharing tips, and getting to know each other a little. The newcomer, whose name is Ryker, is already in the showers, while Soccerkitlad keeps replaying that morning's workout, with a boner in his pants.

Then he smells that intense scent again. But it's not coming from the shower, no… it's coming from Ryker's gym bag, lying on one of the benches.

Soccerkitlad can't resist and carefully opens the bag, receiving an intense dose of the smell… the source? Ryker's sweaty underwear. The smell is too much… it's like it turns on all the parts of his brain related to pleasure… he can't help it and…

He presses Ryker's shorts against his nose and mouth, breathing deeply… losing himself in the pleasure it gives him… enjoying every second… so much so that, before he knows it, Ryker has finished the shower, even though he hasn't even undressed yet.

He puts the shorts in his own bag and gets out of the gym.

A few days later, Soccerkitlad returns to the Iron Titan.

His mind keeps racing, wondering if Ryker will be there. He's eager to see him again, but he's also afraid Ryker might have noticed him stealing his underwear.

He won't take long to find out the answer.

"About time we meet again, dude."

Soccerkitlad is speechless to see that, on this occasion, Ryker is wearing a tank top that leaves his armpits exposed… and accessible. The logo on the shirt fits him like a glove. He is a beast... and Soccerkitlad feels like a prey... a willing one.

"Hey..."

"Where are they?"

"What... what do you...?"

"Came on, dude, don't play dumb. I know you have my shorts. We were alone at the gym that day. Fuck, I'm sure you even brought them… and that you're having trouble parting with them."

"S... sorry... I..."

"Oh, don't feel bad, man. You gave me a great idea." He said in a conciliatory tone. "Put them on."

"What...?"

"My shorts, put them on." Ryker repeats. "Come on, on top of stealing them, you're not going to give me the pleasure of seeing you put them on?"

"But... here?"

"Yes. Here. Now."

Ryker's voice is obviously more of an order than a request.

Soccerkitlad, without really knowing why, obeys.

Under Ryker's piercing eyes, who clutches his own bulge throughout the process, Soccerkitlad removes the clothes he still had on, and slowly puts Ryker's deliciously scented underwear over his own glorious boner. For some reason, he does it slowly and without haste, as if he wanted Ryker to enjoy it.

Sadly, the show ends too soon.

Soccerkitlad didn't expect to enjoy wearing Ryker's underwear so much. The shorts fit him quite well. Although they smell strongly of Ryker's scent, after several days the sweat has dried.

Then he look directly at Ryker.

"There. Happy now?"

"Not yet." Ryker replies.

"What?"

"Now these." Ryker says after opening his gym bag and taking out some pants and a t-shirt… the same ones he was wearing the day he met Soccerkitlad.

"But, those are..."

"Exactly. And just like my shorts, nobody washed them."

"What do you..."

"Put on my clothes, go to the weight room, and start lifting like you've never lifted before. You can be sure that I'll be watching you every second."

"Ok..."

"It is 'yes sir'." Ryker corrects.

"Yes, sir."

And so he does.

And with each exercise and each repetition, Ryker's scent, present in the air and on the clothes he wears, becomes more and more ingrained in his mind, becoming his whole world.

Ryker's scent and the need to lift weights.

When he finishes the entire series of exercises planned for that morning, Soccerkitlad looks at Ryker, who nods towards the locker rooms.

Without needing further explanation, he obeys.

When Ryker follows him a few minutes later, he finds Soccerkitlad standing in the locker room, doing nothing, staring blankly, with his clothes soaked in sweat.

He takes a few seconds to look up and down his new toy.

"Fuck. You smell soooo good now." Ryker says, moving closer to smell Soccerkitlad's neck, who in turn raises his head to give Ryker more room.

Ryker inhales deeply.

"You smell like me… and I bet you fucking love it."

"U... yeah... yes, sir..."

"Good boy... Why don't you take an extra dose?"

Ryker grabs Soccerkitlad's head by the nape of his neck and guides it towards his sweaty chest. Without thinking too much, Soccerkitlad inhales deeply as he strokes the muscular man's torso, which makes Ryker smile with satisfaction.

"Yeah... just like that... you are doing great... now... take off the shirt and show me how MUCH you love flexing those muscles for me, muscle-boy." Ryker whispers in his toy's ear.

It is both an order and a fact at the same time. Soccerkitlad is overwhelmed by the need to flex his muscles for Ryker's enjoyment. Suddenly, it's as if nothing else matters to him.

"Yes, sir..."

And he obeys.

"Fucking perfect..." Ryker murmurs. "I knew you'd be my perfect trophy muscular man."

His words fill Soccerkitlad with satisfaction and pleasure.

"Seeing you flex those muscles makes me happy, and nothing gives you more pleasure than making me happy."

Again, Ryker's words are not a question or a suggestion, or even an order, but something more… an absolute truth that is etched into the mind of his trophy man.

"Uhn... Happy..."

"Hush now... trophy men do not talk when they are flexing..."

"..."

"Good... fucking good. Let's go to my place. There you can keep flexing and pleasing my eyes, trophy man… and I have the perfect uniform for you."

A short time later, Soccerkitlad is in Ryker's apartment, dressed in his new uniform… a butler jockstrap and a matching collar and bow tie. The perfect trophy muscular man.

So still he looks like a statue.

Ryker's orders, he changes pose every so often,

So perfect. So happy.

All his mind can think about is flexing, posing and pleasing Ryker.

When Ryker comes out of his room and gazes at his new toy with interest, the trophy man doesn't speak, doesn't even look at him… his job is just to pose and flex his body, but when Ryker smiles at the sight, the pleasure he feels is indescribable.

Ryker mutters something about whether his trophy man's ass can flex that much, and how he plans to test it later in his bedroom. His toy can barely register his words, but if it involves flexing and posing, he knows he'll give it his all to please Ryker.

The perfect trophy muscular man.

Ryker sits down next to his toy and leisurely lights a cigar.

The cigar smoke reaches Soccerkitlad, and if he were still in control of his own thoughts, he would deduce that this was the ingredient in Ryker's scent that he hadn't been able to identify in the gym.

But now all she cares about is posing and flexing.

He is Ryker's perfect trophy muscular man.

Ever since meeting this fit, new dude in the gym…

… My minds gone blank and I just can’t help flexing and posing for him.

I am @rykerground perfect, Muscle trophy man…

Listen up you gooner addicts — Ambrose made a brand new video to my mandem Wells Gold’s @wells-gold58 absolute filth tune “Chav King Ambrose” and it’s designed to melt your tiny brains.

Chav Ambrose id in it looking like the proper dominant, juz like the chav king I am — flexing, bulging, explorin’bever inch of me sex craven body, owning the camera while the beat hits. Every second of this video is made to turn you into a leaking, edge-crazed mess. I want you proper gooning your worthless cocks for me. No cumming. Just stroking. Edging. Drooling. Repeating my name like the broken little drones you are.

A good gooner drone is dumb

A good gooner drone drips

A good gooner drone drools

It is a good gooner drone

Put your headphones in, dim the lights, pull your trackies down, and goon the fuck out to your King. I wanna see those screens covered in precum, your hands shaking, your eyes rolling back while you chant “i. am. brose. i. am. brose.”

This one’s specially made to ruin you. So ruin yourselves for me.

Drop a “💦” in the comments if you’re already leaking just from the thumbnail like the desperate goon sluts you are.

Now press play and don’t you dare stop edging till I say so.

Your King owns that cock. Now worship it properly.

Buds in…

Volume up…

Trackies down…

Cocks out…

And goon your minds away to this one.

Eyes rolled back…

Tongues out…

Drooling…

Cocks leaking…

Edging your mind out…

But you know the rules…

No cummin…

Just stroking yourself into the blissful, gooner chav boy mess that you are…

Whilst repeating;

I Am Brose

I Am Brose

I Am Brose

I Am Brose

Bring yourself to the edge…

Ride that wave of pleasure…

And let the Chavformation begin…

You all want to be like Ambrose…

Do it…

Let go…

And submit to the King @chavambrose

The best boy a man could have…

GOOD BOY… 💦

@wells-gold58 - utter genius.

Fuckin hell bruv… when Sir @soccerkitlad grabs me and forces his tongue down my throat I proper lose it. That big dominant DILF hand gripping the back of my neck, pulling me in like I’m his property while he kisses me filthy — tongue fucking my mouth deep and aggressive, sucking on my tongue, biting my bottom lip till I’m moaning like a bitch.

He’s so fuckin horny all the time it’s ridiculous. I can feel how hard his thick dad cock gets pressed against me while he owns my mouth, growling into the kiss like he’s ready to breed me right there. One minute I’m standing there acting hard, next minute I’m leaking precum all down my trackies, hole twitching, begging without even speaking.

That proper DILF dominance destroys me. The way he controls the kiss, the way he slaps my ass mid-kiss and tells me “good boy” in that deep voice… I’m instantly his brainless muscle toy. I’d let him do anything when he kisses me like that — drop to my knees and choke on him, bend over and take every inch, whatever the fuck he wants.

Kissing SoccerKitLad ain’t kissing… it’s getting claimed like the owned chav slag I am. And I’m proper addicted.

To those that don’t know him, he appears cocky, hard, untouchable, arrogant, the King and not to be messed with.

But as soon as I wrap my arms around him, look deep into his eyes and plant my lips on his, his ego melts away..

He’s putty in my hands as my tongue slips deep into his mouth, groaning in pure pleasure. Our cocks hard, rubbing together as our mouths wrestle and our hands caress each others bodies…

It feels just so good…

Jocks dripping.

Ambrose in ecstasy.

Pleasure pulsing through his body.

Just begging for more.

GOOD BOY.

Ambrose is the perfect boy…

Now, FLEX FOR ME BOY.

all i could do was pose for him like a desperate muscle slut 💦🍆”

Bruv listen yeah… Sir had me in the gym for hours, proper destroying me. Heavy squats till my legs were shaking, push-ups till my chest was burning, making me drip sweat like a bitch while he watched every rep. “Harder Ambrose… show me what that body’s for” — his voice all calm but I knew he was rock hard the whole time.

By the end I was fucked, veins popping, abs clenched, that black jockstrap soaked and my bulge proper straining… but I still dropped into this double biceps pose just for him. Arms up, chest pushed out, flexing every muscle so he could see exactly how hard his owned chav works. Just to bring him pleasure. Just to make him leak watching me tremble and hold it for him.

I’m standing there flexing, moaning under my breath, knowing he’s stroking to the sight of his property putting on a show. That’s all I am now — his muscle toy. His chav that breaks himself just to get him off.

He works his arse off at the gym for me, but just look at those results.

Pure Owned Alpha Jock.

And all I have to do is whisper in his ear or send him a message saying;

FLEX BOY!

And he puts a show on like this!

Anyone would be proud to have such a perfect, chavvy, mindless muscle toy, hanging on my every word, primed, ready and just waiting to perform.

He’s even started wearing my harness and used football socks without even realising it. He just knows how good, owned and safe it makes him feel.

GOOD BOY!

1000 posts!

The Gold has entered the speakers.

Golden Wells links with Chav Ambrose for a new trance anthem built for the Polo Drones, the Serve Drones, and every unit that knows how to drop low when the bassline takes control.

“King Ambrose in the Beat” is not just a track. It is a pulse. It is a command. It is the sound of the Hive moving as one.

Golden Wells brings the shine: gold-coded rhythm, hypnotic drive, and the loyal heat of the Golden Army. Chav Ambrose brings the throne: cocky chav swagger, heavy presence, and king energy strong enough to pull every drone into formation.

The kick lands. The pads rise. The binaural pulse locks in. The drones kneel into the rhythm.

Polo Drones hear the black-and-gold frequency. Serve Drones hear the command beneath the beat. Every chant repeats until only one truth remains:

King Ambrose rules when the bass repeats.

Play it loud. Let the lights go gold. Let the beat take the room. Let the Hive move together.

Golden Wells featuring Chav Ambrose — “King Ambrose in the Beat.” A trance anthem for obedience, worship, service, and unity.

Spread the Gold. Serve the Hive. Contact our recruiters: @alton-gold77, @polo-drone-125

Big up Wells for blessin the gooner drones with proper fuel this weekend fam!! Thank you to every single drone out there lockin in, edging hard and letting the vibes take control — you lot are the real ones, keep goonin safe and deep this weekend innit 💦🌀

put ur buds in, close dem peepers and grab the pull…mint innit.

Drool dah drool & drop da drip.

Massive thanks Wells Gold, absolute legend for droppin this one. Gooner drones rise up and enjoy!! Repost if you’re already looping it …

Pure Class A!

@wells-gold58 has created a monster featuring my boy, the King @chavambrose.

Get mashed, start gooning and edge your minds out to this one…

Massive big up to Wells Gold. Pure brilliance…