Jocking, The: Third Quarter



By CallMeCrazy

Well, I totally fixed the perspective changing problem, with ***'s. Woohoo! Hope you enjoy, it seems easier to write this many plot lines in smaller chunks.

[b]14:00: FIRST AND TEN [/b]The fluorescent lights flickered slightly, seemingly in time with the steady clicking noise which resonated down the corridor. A slight buzz of recycled air filtered throughout the room, the sound of each breathe hung limply in the air, trying to pass into the outside world, but absorbed quickly back into the powerful air system. Dressed in a white lab coat and skirt, the figured, dressed in one inch heels, marched steadily down the hallway. Her breasts bounced a bit with each step, covered slightly by her shining brown hair. Hazel eyes, nearly dominated by the red color within, shone brightly beneath her bangs. As she walked, she carried with her an aura of importance and power. Each step was powerful and deliberate, each movement contained and pertinent.

Her name was Chloe Barnette. And she had just been summoned to a meeting with the company vice-president, Maxwell Moore. It was three days since she had been restrained due to an unfortunate incident. She was hoping to clear up any misunderstanding and continue on her work. The project that she had worked on for over four years, it had become such a part of her life. She analyzed the potential conversation in her head, defending her reasons for attacking Dale Hernandez, that man was a thorn in her side, and of course her rather violent outburst toward Moore himself. Although it would be tough, she fully believed she would be reinstated in a matter of hours.

The electronic murmur of the halls seemed to call out as she passed. It spoke in the language of a thousand tongues, as though guiding toward the inevitable journey toward hell.

"Iíve been to hell," Chloe said to no one in particular. "Thank you very much, I thought it was a little cold. I prefer my eternal flames to be nice and toasty."

But still the silent groaning reached toward her, pulling her back and pushing her forward. A strange sense of progressive deja vu, with each moment new again when it was old moments ago. She approached the ninth security check and effortlessly swiped her card. The metallic screen responded after a moment with a nominal vocal greeting. She proceed deeper into the compound.


Adam sat alone in the dark cell, silently waiting for something to happen. He hadnít even bothered to check the bars for any weakness for possible means of escape. Despite how desperate the situation seemed, he didnít feel threatened or scared. After all, he was alive, which he thought was kind of surprising. He had broken into a sealed compound and attempted to rescue a prisoner, in a war they would have killed him. But that coach had made it pretty clear that Adam was something special to him, and he would use that knowledge to his advantage.

It was a few minutes later when the loud clang of the cell door drew his attention across the room. Following the sound, he watched a rather gargantuan man strut through the door. He carried himself with a sense of domineering arrogance, as though he demanded respect from all he encountered. Adam merely rolled his eyes and smiled as the jock, Brock, swaggered toward him.

"Howdy hottie," Brock greeted in a warm voice, much higher in pitch than his usually moan.

"What up?" Adam waved his hand slightly at the other man. "So what do we have planned for today?"

"Oh, you know, the usually," he responded cheerfully. "A little world domination topped with an ever-growing mindless army."

"Must be Tuesday."


"Sorry, pop culture reference. Are you the one who hit me? My head still hurts." Adam rubbed the bump on his head for emphasis.

"Oh no, I wouldnít ever hit you. Unless youíre into that," he said with a wink. "I would have carried you over my shoulder and pressed you close to my face." He leaned in and his voice grew softer as he spoke. "Then, I would have raised your head toward mine, slowly pulled you in, letting you feel the warmth of my breathe."

"And then I would have kicked you square in the balls," Adam said in the same hushed tone. The one-liner caught Brock off guard, and a moment later the shock left his face and he let out a hearty chuckle.

"Well, not my plan."

"But it was mine."

"Youíre pretty cute kid."

"Thanks, whatís with the new voice?"

"You like? Iím trying something a little more . . . outgoing. I think Iím going to work like an army recruiter. Except without the whole serve your country by dying bit."

"I figured you would be a Republican."

"I figured you would be smarter than that."

"Well," Adam said shrugging his shoulders. "Iíve been locked up so long I donít know left from right." Brock held out his left hand very slowly and mouthed Ďleft.í He they followed with the right hand. Adam smiled and looked at the ground. "Iím an Independent anyway, so party lines arenít my strong suit."

"Thatís cute. Canít make a real decision on anything can you?"

"Not really," Adam admitted. "Iím in a permanent state of perpetual confusion. Why are you here?"

"Me?" Brock said, an expression of shock on his face. "Why, Iím here to see how you, my friend, are doing. Canít have you dying now can I?"

"I donít know. It might be quicker."

"You have no idea."


"Thereís a whole prophecy to this thing. And a back story."

"How cute. Is there an endangered heroine and gallant hero?"

"Maybe, itís very interpretive. Why, Briggs and I, see completely different things in it."

"What do you see?"

"Me. He sees me too, but sometimes he thinks itís you. And even Kai too. And now he has an obsession with a girl. Not my taste, but whatever."


"Yeah, itís gonna be pretty fun, the alliances are gonna be changing soon. I canít say for sure, but I think that itís getting very close."

"What will you do?"

"Win." Brockís answer was so short Adam found himself waiting for more. He stared for a moment longer, finally shaking his head in confusion.

"Whatever, best luck with that."

"Oh, thanks."

"How do you know itís gonna be soon?"

"Well," Brock said with a conspiratorial smile, "it says something about the six signs of the master. The beasts of his majesty. I think thereís only two left. And Iíve found one of the people already."

"How nice, what happens next?"

"Once all six are together, Iím unstoppable."


"Iím rather excited. After all, itís my destiny."

"Funny thing destiny, the threads that tie us together often twists in ways we never imagine."

"You wouldnít believe it. You, me, Briggs, Kai, Chloe, even your little friend . . . ties bind us that we could never imagine."


"Oh, sheís just one more thread of fate. Invariably, itís her fault I suppose. And her failure. And her birthright. Amazing how so many things can overlap."

"Amazing," Adam said with a touch of sarcasm in his voice. "Why would you tell me all this?"

"Because," Brock once again pressed himself against Adam. "I canít do it alone. Itís about us. Iíll give you some time to think it over." Brock sat up and quickly exited the room. Adam barely had to time to utter a noise before the loud clank of the cell door shut again, leaving him alone with his thoughts and few clues. He stared at the door for a second longer, silently hoping for something to happen. But the moment passed, and he soon turned toward his own thoughts.


"Ms. Barnette?"


"Mr. Morris will see you now." Chloe let herself into the office. It was airy and spacious, quite unlike the rest of the plant. Moore was the man in charge of the base, and Chloe saw him only on a few occasions, usually dealing with time restraints or budgets cuts. He was seated behind a large oak desk, dressed in a neat pinstripe suit.

"Ms. Barnette, please sit down." He pointed to the single seat situation across from his desk. She slipped into the chair and crossed one ankle over the other.

"Ms. Barnette," he began again. Chloe expected some long speech leading into whatever useless and mundane task he was about to assign. To her surprise, he summed up the point of the meeting very quickly. "Weíre taking you off the XAP project permanently."

"What!?" Chloe roared back at the man.

"We feel that you have exceeded your usefulness on this assignment."

"What the fuck are you talking about? I am the only person who has worked on this. I invented the damn thing!"

"The company feels that new hands would bring new life to the project."

"I canít believe you are doing this to me."

"Ms. Barnette."

"You bastards! What the fuck do you think . . . no youíre not thinking. This is bullshit! You cunts! You spineless cunts. That piss-assed security officer is such a nuisance. Heís a freaking asshole! He was in my lab when he wasnít suppose to be. I only threatened you because I was enraged. I think itís all fair honestly."

"Ms. Barnette, as I a trying to explain . ."

"Oh yeah, trying being the operative word. My God, you fucking moron. Who the hell can take over the project? Who? Who? Who?" Moore seemed to suddenly become quite mad.

"Ms. Barnette!" He screamed at the small girl. "You are a complete and utter failure. You are being taken off this project because you endanger other people and the company itself. If you werenít such a self-centered bitch, you might notice the damage you cause." Chloe was taken aback by the words, but then smiled sheepishly.

"My God, Moore. Did the other testicle finally drop? Gonna be a man on me now?"

"Youíre finished. Get out."

"You fucking retards! Iím so fucking pissed off at this goddam hellhole!"

"Well, Satan, youíre getting kicked out."

"Fuck you!" Chloe stormed out of the office, her anger spilling over into the calm halls.

"Fucking morons!" She screamed as she walked. Passing two female scientists who averted their eyes from her, she screamed, "You fucking bitches! Did every fucking bastard in this fucking place know but me! You pissy little tramp bitches!"

Fuming as she was, a surprise greeted her at her room. Seven armed security officers, looking quite like out-of-place bodybuilders, stood in front of her door. Another man, who seemed to be in charge, smiled as he saw her.

"Ms. Barnette, so glad to finally meet you." As she laid eyes on the massive man, Chloeís mouth hung open in disbelief. It suddenly clicked in her mind, and the whole scheme made sense. Amid the rush of intense realization, the only response she could muster was . . .



Kai found his body impaled with tiny needles, plunging into every region of his body. He could feel a tight metal band ensnaring his head. It was impossible for him to form any coherent thoughts, rather he sat in a stupor, trying valiantly to do something that he couldnít quite understand. A few man stood over him, talking in loud voices, but the words were lost on him. For what seemed like an eternity he sat, before silently descending into a tranquil repose.


Briggs watched as Kai finally succumbed to the emptiness. His eyes rolled into his skull, and his mouth hung open, heaving air in and out of his lungs. Clapping his hands together in delight, he turned to face the other two men. To his left was Jamie Carter, the man who was basically responsible for Kaiís predicament. On his right was another man. Dressed sharply in a black pinstripe suit, the thirty-three year old man seemed indifferent to Kai.

"Well Moore? What do you think?

"I think," the suited man with black hair paused for a moment. "The entire program is a success. Indeed, it seems that he is already responding. As I suspected, the conditioning has lasting effects on individuals."

"What does that mean?" Mousy Jamie spoke while staring at the floor. The larger men smiled as a large animal does to its prey.

"It means," Moore spoke again. "XAP is the most powerful substance in existence. This boy was never even directly injected and yet his body responds to residual programs left inside his mind. No one can stop us now."

"Well, I have doubts about that," Briggs crossed his arms over his burly chest. Moore merely laughed at the suggestion.

"Ms. Barnette has been taken care of. She is in custody right now."

"Iím not talking about her."

"Honestly Briggs, I donít know what you see in that boy. Aside from the eyes, he possesses no qualities that would suggest he is anything more than a mortal."

"And yet, there was enough XAP in the entire stadium to convert everyone else. But somehow, he shrugged it off. He didnít seem to react even remotely. I think he may be the one."

"Now this is ridiculous!" Moore threw his hands on the desk. "The one! The one! For fuckís sake Briggs. First it was the Brock boy, then Cole, now this. I really donít know what to think anymore. Itís a damn book."

"This whole thing started because of a damn book, donít forget."

"Yes, and that problem seems to have been taken care of. Honestly, come on now. Adam may be something incredible, but I highly doubt heís that damn thing."

"We never know."

"Youíre quite some Ďthingí considering how you originally fit into the project."

"I simply expanded my opportunities."

"You certainly took advantage of a good thing." Briggs just smiled.


Kai was standing the middle of a football field. The air was stale around him, carrying a morose silence as it hung over the stadium. Rows upon rows of bleachers traveled up towards the sky, further almost than he could see. He felt his feet sink slightly into the green earth. Looking down, he noticed that he was wearing cleats. Huge cleats. Scratching his ass in confusion, Kai found his hand digging into a deep cleft below the left cheek, perky enough that it stayed upright on its own, but with enough fat to give it a generous spring. The bouncing flesh sent waves of pleasure through his body, making him feel heavy all over. Scratching his balls in sweet pleasure, his hand rubbed against a hard cup, built for a monster sized dick. It was then that he really felt the weight of his cock beneath the metal covering. It hung, engorged but not hard, forming an unsightly bulge beneath his black spandex pants. He could then feel the soothing spandex against his legs, feel it clinging into the deep cuts of his thighs. So thick and brimming with energy. Sensually, he rubbed one hand against his deep eight pack. He tried to look down at the muscles but found that he could hardly moved his massive neck, and could not see over his gargantuan pectorals. The tight under shirt and jersey clung to his body, magnifying the intense pleasure radiating from his broad shoulders and incredible lats. He leg-sized arms hung at a ninety degree angle from his huge body. The bulging biceps looked ready to explode. It was at that moment that the vision of his face flowed into his brain. The ape-like face and strong jaw. The bright blonde hair. The stupid look. The open mouth breathing. The intense physical pleasure.

The next moment, Kai was standing to his left. The diverse hair and cut body shone in the light. On his right, he saw Rock, muscular jock. Waves of pleasure seemed to radiate from Rock, drawing Kai closer. But still, he watched the other him. The one he knew. But here was no pleasure there, no perfection. Rock was so tough, and strong, and such a great jock. Every moment he felt pure satisfaction. Kai was unhappy and alone. Rock was cocky and confident. And Rock had all the other jocks. Snake, Brute, and Briggs- they would all welcome him if he came in. Kai seemed to be slipping away. Rockís support system seemed to cheer wildly as he came further and further toward Rock.

Such intense pleasure. Such great happiness. Such a wonderful life. He wanted it. His cock began to inflate with blood, hardening in front of him. There was something else too. His old life was filling up the cock, ready to explode at any moment. He wanted to be Rock. He loved Rock. He was Rock . . . and at that moment the hard cock gave one small spurt.


Kai was unceremoniously drawn back to reality. His cock stood straight in the air, rubbing in the air. The pleasure was gone. The satisfaction had vanished. Briggs was standing over him. Kai began to cry.

"Please, let me be Rock. I want to be Rock! Please, Briggs! Make me a fucking jock! Oh please!"

Briggs just shook his head and walked away. A crying Kai was left trying to regain the pleasure, but his now flaccid cock refused to respond.


Brett Sanvanovich was unlucky enough to follow the highway through the small town in Nebraska. As he approached a roadblock, the police waved him over. And though he congenially asked what was wrong, the thick officer demanded that he get out of his car. Startled at first, he laughed a bit. Then the officer screamed in his face to get out of the fucking car. His partner was already opening the side door, reaching one paw across the seat to restraint Brett. Terrified by the sudden event, Brett kicked and fought off the police. The first managed to open the drivers side and door as the partner pushed the driver out of the car. The two proceeded to beat the crap out of poor Brett. Finally, they picked up the broken boy and placed him in the back of the car.

When Brett came to he was standing in a large tube. His clothes has been stripped, and large bruises covered his chest. Hunter hadnít gotten to use the actual machine in a long time. Since the global expansion, and the upgraded power of XAP, the need for the direct use of the machine had all expired. So he decided to find a few people to jock. This one wasnít quite what he intended, but the little Mustang he drove was a nice site. Too bad it would be too small for him.

Brett Sanvanovich was the son of a wealthy business man. And at the time of his abduction he had been driving across the country for no particular reason. The son and father were not close, and his mother had passed on at a young age. Like many wealthy boys, Brett has always been associated with the inner social circles, but had never really played sports himself. His charming smile combined with a naturally rugged look and strong chin had gotten the boy most anything he ever wanted. He was well built considering that he never worked out. Small definition could be seen on almost all of his muscles, and if he had ever worked on it, he could have been quite the bodybuilder. Next year, he was going to a university on the west coast, far away from his father. Brett liked football overall, but wasnít a huge fan of masculinity or yelling. And he wasnít the kind of person who ever understood a group mentality.

Hunter read over the boyís history with muted interest. Football was alright, but overall the boy was a boring individual. It was obvious his father had both pressured the boy to play sports and employed a rather loud voice when talking to the child. Brett had become an interesting mixture of everything his father loved and hated. But no more. First, no star jock has a name like Sanvanovich. Brett Savage played football from early school years and adored it. Something about a bunch of identical muscular guys beating the shit out of themselves and others for some greater whole. He liked feeling that he was just one small part of something much greater. A born fullback, he possessed a great balance of speed and power. And Savage loved all of it. The great nights of drunken revelry and the celebrations of victory. He even loved the long practices and intense mental and physical conditioning.

Sanvanovich and Savage engaged in a brutal battle for domination inside Brettís mind. I never played football, until sixth grade. Then I was the starting fullback for years. Yeah, man, I was the only freshman on varsity. What the fuck? God, no, I donít do that whole group mentality. I love being a part of a team, though. Itís great, knowing all the guys around you have the same goals. Damn man, there was nothing better than breaking down the freshman each year, showing them what it really meant to be a fucking jock. What? I donít understand. Yeah, dude, I donít really know a lot, but like I donít need to. I just do what the fuck Iím told. Yeah, man, it fucking rocks. Playing football is so fucking awesome man. Oh hell yeah. Iím such a big fucker man!

Savage started growing even before the other man was crushed. First, his feet grew large and rugged. A great surge of power began to spread from his feet. The once twig-like calves slowly grew in size, the shape of a hard diamond forming on his leg. A painful burning sensation passed into his quads, causing them to bloat with muscles, pumped full of raw masculine energy. His hamstrings felt the pain next, as they stretched and too were stuffed full of new muscle. Thick veins began to spread up his body, dissecting his huge muscles. A tiny trail of hair grew up from his cock and settles just below his navel. This veins pumped into his cock, which began to thrust forward as the veins transformed the six inch stick into a nine inch tool. As his balls filled with fluid they dropped down and hung lower on his frame. Hard ridges formed over his stomach and his once flat ass filled with bouncy fat. His once rounded chest shot in front of him, each pec becoming a hard, round plate on his chest. Hard nipples pressed down from the gargantuan pecs. His arms shot out to the side as his back grew like some demon spreading its wings. Pounds of hard muscle filled ever crevice. The shoulders looked like two hard balloons attached to an unrealistic muscle suit. Biceps and triceps grew to such proportions they had no choice but to grind against his body as he walked. The thick veins continued to cover the hard flesh, each time causing the muscle to look bigger and more masculine. The veins shot into his neck, which now looked more like a small childís waistline than a neck. As the veins poured into his brain, all knowledge of self and identity poured out. In its place stood the sun colored image of masculinity, looking much like a bizarre comic book character than a human being.

All at once it was over. A huge mountain of a man, wide receiver Savage, blinked his eyes as though awakening from a dream. Scratching himself without care, he stepped out of the tube and proceed to gear up for the game. Hunter slapped the manís ass happily. He hadnít gotten a chance to do that in a long time. [b]13:00 remaining in the quarter . . .[/b] •

This collection was originally created as a compressed archive for personal offline viewing
and is not intended to be hosted online or presented in any commercial context.

Any webmaster choosing to host or mirror this archive online
does so at their sole discretion.

Archive Version 070326