#alton77

Look at this perfect jock physique. Pumped, veiny, and reeking of post-gym dominance. Made for real men to admire… and weaker ones to bow down to. Built to be stared at, touched, and served. Worship the gains, boys. Pump. Flex. Get worshipped. Repeat.

Wells leaned against the half-built frame, tool belt low on his hips, chest bare under the hard sun, and grinned when Alton walked by.

“Careful, bro,” Wells called. “Construction season’s started.”

Alton looked him up and down. “Yeah? Looks like someone forgot his shirt.”

Wells smirked, lifting the saw just enough to make the point. “Nah. Just keeping the worksite properly ventilated. Gets real hot when I’m handling heavy equipment.”

Alton snorted. “Subtle.”

“Never claimed to be.” Wells stepped closer, boots grinding into the dust. “Besides, summer’s for framing, drilling, hammering, and making sure every beam is standing firm.”

Alton folded his arms, trying not to smile. “You always talk like this on site?”

“Only when the foundation’s worth inspecting.”

For a second, neither of them moved. The sun hit Wells’ shoulders, caught the sweat on his chest, and turned every line of muscle into trouble.

Then Wells winked.

“Don’t worry, bro. I’m certified. I know exactly how to use my tools.”

Construction season is open. Bring the heat, handle the tools, build the body, and let the Gold raise you higher. Join the Golden Army. Get built right. Contact: @alton-gold77, @polo-drone-125

I am the disciple. The gym is my temple. The iron is my god. And I am his loyal, savage servant.

When I walk through these doors, the world disappears. I enter the tunnel. Nothing else exists. No noise. No distractions. No excuses. Just me and the iron.

Rep after rep. Set after set. Every lift is worship. Every rep is tribute. Every drop of sweat is proof of my devotion. I breathe the iron. I bleed for the iron. I become the iron.

I am locked in. I am unbreakable. I am relentless.

This is my religion. This is my life. This is who I am.

OBEY THE PUMP. OBEY THE FLEX. OBEY THE IRON.

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You ready to serve the iron, dude?

You don’t flex to look good. You flex to remind yourself who you are. Every day. No excuses. That’s the rule. No flex, no status. You flex, you belong.

Think less, flex more.

GOOD BOYS OBEY THE FLEX!

You a good boy?

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Good boys leave a comment.

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Wanna flex with Alton and the bros?

The Red Coach was gone. Alton rolled his shoulders, trying to work out the lingering tension from the earlier attack. The Red Pup had been fast—unnaturally fast—and the impact still lived in his muscles like a deep bruise under the skin.

He walked across the now dark living room, city lights spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Reflections of gold and white danced across the floor, but his mind kept replaying the same thing:

The Red Coach. That calm smile. That voice.

You would be stronger without the rules.

Alton clenched his jaw.

“Not happening,” he muttered to himself.

He headed into the bedroom, stripped off the day’s clothes. By the time he slid into bed, exhaustion hit him like a heavy tackle. His body was spent, his nerves raw. Within seconds, sleep pulled him under.

The first thing I notice is the red light. Everything is bathed in it—dark crimson shadows stretching across a concrete floor that seems endless. The air feels thick, hot.

I try to stand. My legs don’t move. I look down. I’m kneeling.

Both knees pressed to the ground. Hands resting on my thighs like I’m waiting for judgment. My chest tightens. This is wrong. I force my muscles to rise, to push up the way they always do when I’m hit, when I’m challenged, when someone tries to dominate me. Nothing. It’s like gravity has doubled.

Then I hear the footsteps. Slow. Confident.

They stop right in front of me. I lift my head. The Red Coach stands there. He looks exactly the same—calm posture, hands behind his back, that small knowing smile on his face like he’s watching something unfold exactly the way he predicted.

“Alton,” he says.

His voice is smooth, patient. My mouth moves before my brain catches up.

“Yes, Coach.”

The words hit me like a punch. I didn’t choose them. I try to close my mouth, try to shake my head, but my body won’t obey. The Red Coach steps closer.

“You came,” he says softly.

And somehow I hear my own voice answer.

“I had to.”

My stomach twists. I don’t want to say these things. The Red Coach studies me like a coach evaluating a player during tryouts.

“You fought it,” he says. “You fought very hard.”

His eyes narrow slightly.

“But deep down you know the truth.”

I try to speak. To argue. To tell him he’s wrong. But what comes out instead is a whisper.

“I’m tired.”

The Red Coach nods slowly.

“Yes,” he says. “Exactly.”

His hand rises and settles on the top of my head. The contact sends a strange pulse through my body.

“You don’t have to carry that anymore,” he murmurs.

My throat tightens. Because part of me understands exactly what he means.

“You could belong to something stronger,” he says. “To the pack.”

My breathing becomes shallow.

“And if I belong…” I hear myself say.

“You are free,” the Red Coach finishes.

The word echoes in the red-lit space. Free. Free from expectations. Free from rules. Free from the endless weight of being the one who must always stand tall. The Red Coach tilts his head.

“Tell me what you want, Alton.”

My jaw trembles. Every instinct screams at me to stop talking. But the words push out anyway.

“I want to serve.”

The Red Coach’s smile grows.

“Say it clearly.”

I swallow.

“I want to belong to you.”

Silence stretches across the red room.

“I knew you would understand eventually,” he says.

And that’s when I hear them. Breathing. Low. Wet. Moving in the shadows. The Red Pups crawl forward from the darkness. Their bodies move on all fours, smooth and controlled. They circle me slowly. My heart hammers. Fear floods through me. But I don’t move. The Red Coach’s hand presses down on my head again. “Stay,” he commands.

I stay. The first Pup reaches me. It touches my shoulder. Its touch is warm. Alive. Then its mouth opens. Thick red liquid spills out. The red goo. It pours over my shoulder in heavy strands.

The moment it touches my skin, pain explodes through my body. I gasp violently.

It feels like liquid fire sinking through my flesh. The goo clings to my skin, stretching and tightening like living latex. Another Pup moves in. More red goo spills across my back. The burning spreads instantly. My muscles seize. My teeth clamp down so hard my jaw aches. But I don’t move. Because the Red Coach told me not to.

“That’s it,” he says calmly. “You’re choosing it.”

More Pups step forward. They pour the goo over my chest. My arms. My neck. Every drop burns deeper than the last. The sensation becomes unbearable. It feels like my nerves are being peeled apart and rewired at the same time. My vision blurs. My breathing turns ragged. The goo spreads across my torso, sealing itself around my muscles.

Tight. Smooth. Alive.

I shake violently, every muscle screaming. But I stay where I am. Because I asked for this. The Red Coach’s voice floats through the agony.

“You wanted freedom.”

Another Pup pours the liquid across my face. The burning becomes blinding. It crawls across my jaw and cheeks, sealing over my skin like a second layer. My hands slam against the concrete as my body convulses. The goo tightens around my arms. It pushes inward. Deep into muscle. Deep into bone. I feel my heartbeat change. Slower. Heavier. Stronger. My hands tremble in front of me. My fingers look wrong. Thicker. Stronger.

The skin coated in glossy red. The Pups continue pouring. The liquid floods across my shoulders and down my back. The pain reaches a level that should break a human mind. But something strange happens. Instead of destroying me, it rebuilds me. My muscles surge with new power. My spine arches. My breathing deepens. The Red Coach watches calmly.

“You’re almost there,” he says.

The goo wraps around my torso like armor. My body lowers toward the ground. My arms extend. My knees spread. I collapse forward onto all fours. My vision sharpens suddenly. I can smell everything now. The air. The Pups. The Red Coach. The pack surrounds me completely. I look down at my hands. They are no longer hands the way they were before. They are stronger. Denser. Built for movement close to the ground.

The last of the goo tightens around my body. Then the pain stops. Just like that. Silence fills the red chamber. I breathe slowly. My mind feels… quiet. Clear. Empty.

The Red Coach steps forward. The pack shifts automatically, creating space. I lift my head and look at him. Something inside me recognizes him instantly.

Leader. Owner. Purpose.

The realization is immediate and absolute. I am not one of the pups. I am above them. The Alpha. The Red Coach’s eyes meet mine.

“There you are,” he says.

His hand lowers again onto my head. The contact sends a deep pulse of satisfaction through my body.

“Perfect,” he murmurs.

I lean forward instinctively. The motion is natural. Right. Behind me the Red Pups bow their heads. Submission flows through the pack. The Red Coach looks down at me.

“Do you remember who you are?” he asks.

For a moment something flickers in the back of my mind. A gym. Golden lights. Voices calling my name. But the memory fades quickly. Because none of that matters now. My purpose is simpler. Clearer.

“I serve,” I say.

The Red Coach smiles.

“Yes.”

My chest fills with pride. Not the pride of victory. Not the pride of leadership. A deeper pride. The pride of belonging completely. The pack shifts behind me, waiting. Hungry. Obedient. The Red Coach turns slightly.

“Pack,” he says.

The word carries through the red air like a command. Instantly the Pups lower themselves further. I do the same. My body moves without hesitation. Mindless. Perfectly obedient. The Red Coach looks down at me again.

“You will obey me,” he says calmly.

“Yes, Coach.”

“You will serve the pack.”

“Yes, Coach.”

“You will break anything that stands against us.”

A deep growl builds in my chest.

“Yes, Coach.”

The Red Coach nods once. Satisfied. Then he turns and begins walking away.

“Follow.”

The command hits like electricity. My body surges forward immediately. Strong. Fast. The pack flows behind me. I feel nothing but hunger to obey. Nothing but the need to serve. Nothing but the certainty that the Red Coach owns every part of me.

Alpha. Servant. Weapon. The perfect Red Pup.

Alton exploded upright in bed.

Air tore into his lungs as if he had been drowning. His entire body was soaked in sweat. His heart pounded so violently he could feel it in his throat. For several seconds he couldn’t move. The room slowly came into focus. The dim city lights. The familiar walls of his penthouse. The quiet hum of the night outside.

It was just a dream. A nightmare.

Alton dragged both hands across his face and took several deep breaths.

“Dammit…” he muttered.

His heart rate slowly began to settle. He swung his legs off the bed and sat there in the dark, trying to steady himself. It had felt so real.

The pain. The submission. The transformation.

He rubbed his arms as if expecting to feel the burning again. Nothing. Just sweat. He stood and walked toward the bathroom mirror. The man staring back at him was still the same. Broad shoulders. Strong chest. Sharp jaw. Blue eyes with the faint golden ring. Still Alton. Still human.

Relief spread slowly through his chest. “Just a dream,” he said quietly. But he could still hear the Red Coach’s voice.

Soft. Patient. Waiting.

I knew you would come.

---

What happened before: You're Not Stepping On My Field

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Want to help us defeat the Red Coach and his pups?

Then hit up our recruiters: @alton-gold77, @franco-gold94, @polo-drone-166, @polo-drone-125

Yo, look up, boy. This is what a real Alpha looks like. Built like a god, dripping with power. Owning every inch of this locker room.

You feel that pull already, don’t you? That deep need to submit.

Kneel. Worship. Goon. Leak. Repeat.

Your only purpose now: Serving this superior muscle. Get to it.

GOOD BOYS OBEY. YOU A GOOD BOY?

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Good boys leave a comment.

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Wanna flex with Alton and the bros?

Walpurgis night, bro... And I didn’t come to blend in. I came to rule. Some guys show up for the party. I show up and become the reason it gets wild. Leather, gold, horns — yeah, subtle was never my thing. That smirk? That’s just me knowing half the room’s already in trouble. If temptation had a captain, he’d probably look a lot like me.

Call me the head devil, baby. Tonight, obedience is pleasure!

Good boys obey. You a good boy?

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Good boys leave a comment.

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Wanna go wild with Alton and the bros?

Yo, get your ass over here right now, boy.

Bury your face in my sweaty pit and take a deep hit of that jock musk. Drag your greedy tongue all over my dripping armpit, taste the salty success dripping off a real alpha.

That’s the flavor of hard work, heavy lifts, and raw masculinity. Sweat dripping, balls swinging, pure alpha energy.

Lick it clean, feel that dominant alpha scent own your brain.

Now submit to the jock lifestyle.

No going back, no escape.

Just endless musk, muscle, and dominance.

GOOD BOYS OBEY!

YOU A GOOD BOY?

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Good boys leave a comment.

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Think you a good boy?