Jocking, The: Kai Cole: Part 13

Jocking, The: Kai Cole

Never See It Coming

«13»

By CallMeCrazy

Tuesday and Wednesday came and went, with most of the school on the football team now. In fact, only about one hundred guys were left, and thanks to some bending, were completely unaware of the changes occurring in front of them. Kai had disappeared. He didn’t pick up his phone or answer his door. Some people said he left town, others said that he had some big recording deal. Briggs simply eliminated the memory of Kai from everyone’s mind and that was the end of it. The entire school was getting excited about the big game. I don’t have a clue. I have spent the last two days working to find out something about XAP or TAN1. But nothing, my parents were way too careful. People keep looking for me. I am gonna have to skip town soon. If I can’t stop it before the game, then there are going to be a lot of jocks out there. And probably a lot of them looking for me. I can’t get a in contact with my agent either, were is he? I need a plane ticket now. I have never felt this scared. Even after watching the report on the news telling me that my parents were dead, going to sleep alone that night, this inspires greater emotion in me than that. This is my life, and I refuse to lose myself, ever. I need that black book. I think it may offer some help. Maybe it is a real prophecy. In that case, I need to learn how to fight the evil. Thursday today. They will be having a pep assembly tomorrow. I am sure they will get everyone today. And they probably won’t leave the school once everyone is Jocked. They will just practice all night. Or something like that. Fine then, tonight is the night I go to war. For the football team, Thursday had been a great day for conversions. Brock again took to bathroom fucking, something that he was finding greater and greater pleasure in. His father, Cast, used the same technique to convert teachers. Indeed, sometimes the pair found themselves in need of a quickie and would use each other. Stacker loved the feeding method he had been using and continued, producing all kinds of players. The key part of his conversion was giving the boys a burning desire to have football sensations. His favorite people to Jock were fat guys. He loved watching their fat swell in their asses as their bodies gained hundred of pounds of muscle. Hunter was working on the machine as always, and did most of the technical work for the team. Briggs and he worked constantly on improving the methods. Brute, Rod, and Masher decided they wanted one more member in their posse. So they went searching for another guy who needed a clothing make over. They chose Brandon Bell, a semi-intelligent kid who spent most of his time flying planes. He would be Jocked in a slightly different method. Brandon arrived at school an hour late, had to park in the very back, and it was pouring rain. His clothed were soaked. Fortunately for Brandon, the trio were at the door. "Shit, fucker," Rod started. "You’re fuckin soaked." "Fuck, dude," Masher pipped in. "You fucking need some fucking dry clothes." Brute finished. "Thanks guys," Brandon answered. "But I’ll be okay. I’ll dry off." "Fuck no, buddy," Masher said. "We’ve fucking got some fucking dry clothes," Brute stated. "It’s no big fucking deal. Just fucking borrow the fucking clothes" Rod said. "Well, okay." The guys led Brandon to the locker rooms, where they gave him a jock strap, tight jeans and shirt, along with some football cleats. "Guys, I don’t fit into this very well." Brandon worked out, and the clothes were too small on his body. He was 6'0 220 pounds. The shoes were way too big, and he felt uncomfortable wearing some guys jock strap. "That’s a fucking extra jock, bitch." Rod mentioned. "Don’t fucking worry." Brute smiled at Brandon, who put on the clothes. They made him look even more muscular than before. The jock also made his dick look larger. The shoes were just some normal high tops. "Thanks guys," Brandon turned to leave. "Wait fucker," Brute called after him. "If you ever fucking need anything, fucker. Just fucking let us know. "Fuck yeah," Rod and Masher chimed. "Okay, thanks," Brandon said as he walked out of the lockers. As he walked, he enjoyed the new sensation of a jock holding his dick and sac. He loved the way it gripped them as he walked. He had to take a wider stride as he walked, because the pants gripped him so tightly. The shirt felt like a second skin. As much as he wouldn’t admit it, Brandon enjoyed showing off his body. He wanted to let those jocks know that he was just as big as they were. As he sat in class, Brandon couldn’t help but notice the new sensations on his body. The jock strap held his dick so tight that he had to grab at it every few minutes. The fabric of the jeans against his raw ass excited him, he liked the feeling of new material against his backside. The shirt magically clung to him, no matter how he moved. He loved the way the shoes felt. He had thought that they were too big, but walking in them felt perfectly natural. He put more energy into his step, it was more direct, more powerful. And he liked the feeling of power. Unfortunately, as he was frequently grabbing his dick, he got aroused very quickly. Between hours, he went to the men’s restroom, the same bathroom that Brute, Rod, and Masher used. Brandon threw off his tight clothes and grabbed his dick in a fit of rage. He hands gnawed at his flesh. His throbbing dick. God, it felt so alive. Brandon was more aroused than he had ever been. He jerked himself off with such force that he fell onto the floor. That didn’t stop him from pumping his big, rigid cock. His fucking 9 inch tool. God, it felt wonderful, fucking himself like this. He blew everywhere. Most of the bathroom was covered in white cum. When Brandon got up, veins could be seen shooting through his body. His dick hung, entirely spent, against his pumped thigh. His back and chest showed the most growth. He had grown three inches and gained one hundred pounds of muscle. A faint outline of a six-pack could be seen on his abs. His neck had one huge vein in it now. His voice was slightly deeper, and Brandon was a little dumber. "Fuck, fucker. You fucking okay," Rod asked the downed Brandon. "Fuck, I fucking think so. I mean thank you," Brandon recovered himself. "No fucking deal, fucker. You fucking want anything?" Masher said. "No fucking thanks," Brandon was amazed at how often he was using fuck. He got up an put back on the borrowed clothes. Strangely, they still fit. The pants seemed to have more of a stretch, and was the shirt white before? Whatever. "Thanks again fuckers," Brandon said after getting dressed. "Fuck, no fucking deal, yo!" Brute said. "What the fuck you got this hour?" "Umm, fuck. I don’t remember." "Fuck that then!" Masher cheered. "Fuckin come hang with us," Rod offered. "Come fucking on dude," Brute said. Brandon was confused, but he couldn’t remember what he had this hour, in fact, he couldn’t remember anything about school. But he did know that the big rival game was tomorrow. "Okay," Brandon said as he followed the other guys out of the bathroom. They led him down to the locker rooms again. Each opened up their lockers, and shifted some shit around. Looking at the room, Brandon wished that he had a locker. It would be cool to be on the team. But he had never wanted to be on the team before, why the sudden change. Must be hanging around with these guys. "Yo! Fucker, Brandon, get fucking over here," Brute called Brandon to an open locker near the other three. "You fuckin ever want to be a fuckin football player." Brandon normally would have said no, but in the locker rooms, his school spirit kicked in. "It would be cool," Brandon admitted. "Yeah," Masher said. "I fucking jack off thinking about the fucking game. Setting up on the fucking line. Feeling the QB’s hands on my fucking ass, preparing to fucking hike the ball." "Fuck, getting down on the line, ready to fucking block or run a pass." Rod added. "Watching the fucking line set up. Fuck, telling them if something needs to fucking change. Tackling some bastard from the other team. God, talking about it makes me fucking horny." All the guys began jacking off as they talked about football. Brandon was getting uncontrollably aroused by the conversation. Even more, he wished he played for the team. "What fucking position would you fucking play, fucker," Brute asked Brandon. "I don’t know." "Fucking tell me," Brute demanded. "I guess I’d want to be a defensive tackle. Lining up, getting ready to pound some meat." "Some fucking meat," Masher said. "Yeah, pound some fucking meat from the fucking other team." "Tell me about it while you get off." So Brandon pulled out his cock and began talking about being a defensive tackle. All the while jacking off. It felt so good, so fucking good. The other guys added in things to make it even better. He knew more and more about football. And that reminded him that football players say fuck. Brandon loved fucking his fucking tool. His fucking fuck stick. He grabbed himself like the big fucker that he was, the great fucking football player, who fucking charged into guys on the other team to fucking tackle the fucking QB. God it was so fucking hot. Brandon came again, this time his white cum was mixed with thicker substance. He just laid there in spent lethargy with the other guys. "Fuck, you should join the fucking team. I’m sure Briggs would fucking let you," Masher offered. "Fuck maybe," Brandon said in a deeper voice. He got up to put on his clothes. The shirt was now long-sleeved and skin tight. It was underarmor. Brandon didn’t think anything of it as he put it on. The pants were now white too, and even tighter than before. His shoes were now football cleats that fit perfectly. Huge veins showed through the tight clothes. He had gained another hundred pounds, putting him at 425. He was 6'6 now, and his once brown hair had gone bleach blonde and stood straight up in a flat top. His neck showed at least five huge veins, and the muscles on his body were chiseled like stone. "Fuck man," Brute spoke. "Man, I am fucking hungry. Fuck, let’s fucking eat some shit." "Fuck yeah," Masher and Rod joined in. "You fucking coming bitch?" Brute questioned Brandon. He hesitated for a moment. "Fuck yeah, fuckers," Brandon said as they left the room. They went to a cheap BBQ place were Brute ordered ten pounds of meat for each of them. Brandon said he couldn’t eat that much, but Brute assured him he could. The meat came, and the boys began to dig in. Brandon lost all concern for manners. He practically ate off the plate, just like the other guys. Every time he started to get full, one of the other guys would cheer him on. So he ate like a monster. As he ate, he could feel his body getting bigger, adding another fifty pounds of muscle to his body. He began thinking even slower and all his thoughts centered around football, and he chugged down tons of water with the other guys. They belched loudly at the same time, and laughed. His pants had changed to white tights, just like the others. By the time they left, Brandon was long gone, but Brute hadn’t given him a new name yet. When they got back to the school, Brandon wanted to go to the locker room again, cause he wanted to join the team. Brute asked him again to describe how he would play and jack off while he talked. Brandon began jerking his big rigid dick with full force, talking about setting up the line and charging the other team. Making huge tackles. He knew everything about football. "You want to fucking charge the other fucking team." "Fuck yeah," Brandon said as he grabbed his balls. "Then from now on, you’re name is Brandon Bull. You’re the fucking Bull on the team." "I’m the fucking Bull!" Brandon screamed as he whack himself off. Bull was consumed by thoughts of football. He knew how to run plays, how to act. He was the fucking Bull. "Bull, Bull, Bull," the other three began chanting as Brandon got closer and closer to cumming. Finally, Bull let out a groan, and thick white goo flew across the lockers. The fourth locker in the group gained the name tag Brandon Bull. The Bull got up, scratched his crotch, and put on his tights. At the neck of each boys shirt, the initials BRMB became embedded. It was a symbol of their unity and would appear on the shirt of any player they jocked. The other guys high-fived and belched as they walked out. Briggs was there to slap Bull’s ass as he left. The men could be heard yelling, "Fuck yeah" to each other as they walked. •

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