Sleeping on his stomach, his face to the wall he shared with Butch, his cannon-sized guns bear-hugging the mattress, his brother snored on, his massive torso expanding and contracting with relaxed regularity. Tangled in his bedding, one redwood-sized leg hung out – still wearing his socks – thick with muscle from hours of wind-sprints and heavy squats – he didn’t get THESE legs from playing tennis. The blanket barely covered his ample ass, round as a pair of basketballs with muscle thick enough that it could only be compared to a Clydesdale. Still, Jax could see the strap of his brother’s jock peeking out from beneath.

Otherwise, all he wore was a sleeveless Under-Armor t-shirt in the Alpha Kap colors, with the word “PLEDGE” stretched wide over his now mountainous traps in jersey-styled letters. THAT’S what it was, Jax suddenly realized. The FRATERNITY was behind it all, masterfully taking over the dorm by transforming all the brothers into these freaky super-jocks. And by the looks of things, they’d obviously gotten his twin.

The alarm next to his bed suddenly went off, and it scared the shit out of him. Jax nearly jumped out of his skin, then found himself darting to shut it off, fumbling with it before the inevitable happened.

Jerry stirred, coming back to life. “What the fuck…?” he mumbled. “What the fuck time is it?” He raised his head off the pillow, blinking and squinting in his morning haze.

Even as Jax successfully turned the alarm off, he realized it was too late – his brother was awake.

They made eye-contact then, as his brother sat up on the edge of the bed. Jax’s first thought was, “THIS is my identical TWIN?!?” Dead-on ringers for each other as kids, as his brother had started putting on the pounds to play ball, they’d looked less and less identical, but still clearly from the same genetic stock. Now, with Jerry’s simian-like jaw and heavy brow, he looked like the caveman version of Jax. Adding to the illusion, his head was shaved completely bald but for a small patch of hair on the top front – like a marine recruit. He looked tough all right, but he didn’t look particularly smart – something in his eyes, a dimness.

Jax couldn’t stop himself. He blurted out, “What happened to you last night?”

Jerry said, “Huh?” like he didn’t know what Jax was talking about, like everything was normal, then he touched his spandex covered chest and realized. “Oh… yeah,” he said, chuckling a little. “I pledged the frat last night. Look at this fuckin’ haircut they game me! Don’t it make me look fuckin’ TOUGH?”

He reached up with one mighty paw and touched the back of his smooth head, inadvertently flexing his nearly bowling ball biceps. He DID look tough, Jax thought.

No. A knobby-kneed tennis player…

And when Jerry stood, he was nearly a head taller than Jax – for the first time in his life, Jax had to look up to speak to his identical twin. Jerry stood there in his socks, the Under-Armor fraternity tee, and his battered old jockstrap, easily a hundred muscular pounds heavier than Jax. Jax was so intimidated, all he could eek out was, “You pledged the frat?”

Jerry rolled his eyes and mocked exasperation, inadvertently adjusting his over-sized package as he spoke to Jax. “Yeah,” he growled aggressively, taking a step closer. “You got a fuckin’ problem with that?”

Jax stammered. “No… no problem. I’m just surprised, is all.”

Shrugging his massive shoulders, Jerry said, “Why? It makes sense. I figure, since I’m on the team, I should be in the fuckin’ frat.”

“You’re on the team?”

Jerry looked at Jax like JAX was the crazy one. “Duh,” he said. “It’s why I came to this fuckin’ college. Remember? Football Scholarship? I just towed you along to get me through the fuckin’ classes, write my papers and shit… Remember? Jesus, sometimes I think you’re the dumb one!”

And again, like yesterday, the moment Jerry said it, Jax remembered it that way. Yeah, Jerry WAS the great one – JAX was the stooge, the brains behind the body. It had been that way all their lives, since Jerry started playing football and grew to glory. Jax had served him – and served him WILLINGLY – time and again.

Jerry laughed, flexing his huge muscles in front of Jax, and said, “What a fuckin’ pathetic hero-worshipper you are.”

If there had ever been any question before, there wasn’t now. In Jax’s eyes, Jerry elevated to god-hood – a nimbus emanated from his thick, powerful muscles. No more thoughts of knobby-kneed tennis players for Jax – his brother had ALWAYS been this way. He remembered it so clearly.

His brother was a football GOD, and now he was pledging the jock frat, becoming a member of an exclusive group of supermen – Jax was so jealous, but at the same time, so grateful that at least he got to ride his brother’s coat-tails. At least he got to serve somehow.

Jax’s cock got hard as he watched his brother pose.

Jerry snorted. “You’re so fuckin’ pathetic,” he said, abruptly ending his flexing and stepping away, adjusting his own big cock inside his worn jockstrap – Jerry loved to tease poor Jax. “You shoulda played ball when you had the chance,” the big jock said, turning to the full-length mirror.

Jax regretted it so much. “Yeah,” he said in a quiet voice, his head down. “Yeah, I should have.”

Jerry posed for himself. He stripped off the jock and the dirty socks, casually tossing them into the pile of clothes just inside his closet, then continued to flex wearing only the spandex shirt, the word “PLEDGE” stretching across the width of his back. Jax tried not to look at his nearly naked twin, at his gigantic bare ass and massive legs, but when Jerry got a hard-on from his own reflection, it was impossible NOT to.

Jax was so jealous.

“This frat’s gonna be the best fuckin’ thing that’s ever fuckin’ happened to me,” Jerry said to himself, then he caught Jax looking and added, “to US.” He grabbed his shower-towel off the hook and wrapped it around his waist, covering his sizeable erection, which simply pushed itself into profile against the fabric. “I have to wear this fuckin’ pledge shirt twenty-four seven,” he said, opening his arms to indicate it. The greek symbols for “Alpha” and “Kappa” stretched over each pec, distorted by the round curve of the muscle. “Eat in it, sleep in it, wear it under my pads at practice. Hell, I’m even supposed to fuckin’ SHOWER in it. It’s gonna stink to high heaven by the end of the month.” He laughed. “It’s gonna stink like me. What do you fuckin’ think of that?”

A god – a football god.

“I think you smell great,” Jax said, a worshipful smile on his face, a lump in his underwear.

Jerry snorted – “So fuckin’ pathetic” – and left for the bathroom.

By the time he got done in the shower, Butch was awake, too. Jax heard them crash out of the bathroom together, swearing at each other as they continued their horseplay in the hallway. Jax heard one big body then the other crash into the cinderblock walls. Laughter and more curses.

Jax sighed – why couldn’t he and Jerry have a relationship like THAT with each other? Like brothers…

He heard Jerry’s deep voice say, “Give me five,” then enter the room, holding the towel up over his privates instead of having it wrapped around his waist. Nodding to Jax – probably to make sure he was looking -- throwing the towel aside, Jerry indicated the damp spandex shirt, which clung to his impossible torso, his sculpted abs. “It dries pretty quick,” he said, chuckling – his big dick flopped there, seeking attention, and Jax couldn’t help but look at it.

“Listen,” Jerry said, turning his attention to the dresser and sliding into one of the many pairs of compression shorts that were now in the top drawer amidst a collection of jocks, “me and the boys are gonna go have breakfast, and then prob’ly get a game goin’ in the quad.” He slid on a loose pair of gym shorts that hung almost to his knees. When he ran, they’d slide up his leg just far enough to let the compression shorts peek out underneath. “Meanwhile, you make sure you got my fuckin’ term paper done. It’s due today.”

Jax perked up. “It’s already finished and loaded onto your laptop,” he said, eager to please.

“It’s not an ‘A’ paper, is it?” Jerry asked, topping himself off with his usual backwards baseball cap. “Double check. I don’t want those fuckin’ professors getting suspicious and thinkin’ I’m smarter than I am.”

“No worries,” said Jax, almost panting in his desire to please. “It’ll barely pass. I promise. No one will think you’re smart.”

“’Cuz I’m just a big, dumb jock,” his brother said, again flexing in the mirror. “And football is my fuckin’ life.” He got a rod just saying it.

“I know,” said Jax, in a wave of admiration. “I know.”

And after Jerry left with Butch and the other jocks, Jax went to get Jerry’s laptop to make sure his brother’s term paper lacked any wit or insight, as instructed. His brother wanted them to think he was just a big, dumb jock, then Jax – who admired his brother too much to believe it himself – would make sure that that’s what his professors would think.

But when he reached in the closet to grab the laptop, he found himself staring at Butch’s old jockstrap – Butch’s jockstrap? he thought. Why would he think that was BUTCH’S? Jerry had plenty of his own – discarded when his brother had taken a shower that morning.

But the nagging feeling that that was somehow Butch’s jockstrap and not his brother’s wouldn’t go away. Jax picked it up. Worn and soiled, smelling of piss and old cum, instead of revulsion, holding it gave him a forbidden thrill. Imagine being enough of an athlete to wear one of these! Especially one that had been worn by his hung-stud brother and the equally huge Butcher.

Jax couldn’t resist – he slid his pajama bottoms off and stepped into it.

He was surprised by how comfortable it was – how good it felt. Sure, it was a little big but he was filling it out okay.

When he looked at himself in the mirror, he got an instant hard-on.

Oh, how he wished he could play football! How he dreamed of being a big, muscular jock, like his brother, like Butcher, like all of them! How he ached to be part of a team!

With nothing more than that, he shot his load in the jockstrap, the force of his orgasm overwhelming him. A huge, merciless climax, somehow absorbed by the cotton webbing of the pouch. Incredible – instead of the exhaustion that usually accompanied something of this intensity – if he’d truly ever experienced anything like it before – Jax felt a wave of energy, of pleasure, of renewed vigor. He felt quite ready to go again – and quite horny enough to do just that.

To prove how much he enjoyed himself, he continued to wear the jockstrap under his jeans when he went to his morning class. The idea of it – that no one knew he was wearing his brother’s – really Butch’s – cum-stained jockstrap – distracted him the entire time, making it hard to concentrate on the lecture. He kept wondering what the football players were doing, how much fun they were having playing a game in the quad – wearing THEIR jockstraps – while he was stuck in this fucking boring class.

His brother had been so lucky. Jerry played football.

Jax had to excuse himself from the lecture before he shot in his pants. Wearing this thing had been too much – he couldn’t handle the eroticism. The temptation of the sport, the masculinity of the players, the appeal of the gear, the rush of the action, the thrill of domination. It all hit him at once.

Football.

The orgasm that time, huddled in a stall in the men’s bathroom, was even more intense than his previous one. He knew he couldn’t go back to class – as long as he wore this fucking jockstrap, he knew these orgasms were gonna keep happening. And frankly, that’s what he found he wanted. He wanted the orgasms to keep happening.

He WANTED to feel what the other football players felt.

After abandoning his class, Jax hustled back to the dorm where he knew he’d find them, the super-jocks – his brother and his brother’s soon-to-be brothers. Surprised by the level of energy he felt once he’d gotten out of the building, Jax started to jog. Yeah, he felt great! What he wouldn’t give to have a body as diesel as his brother, or the other Alpha Kaps.

And there they were on the quad, shirts versus skins, their hugely muscled bodies sweaty and seeking dominance. They slammed into one another, forced one another about in their attempts to run plays, create slots, score yards. A brutal dance, Jax realized, far more complicated than he’d ever given it credit. It was fucking awesome. For the first time in his life, he could see how a guy could be consumed by this.

His brother was playing for the skins, though he still wore his pledge shirt – he’d pulled the front of it up over his head so the shirt encircled his shoulders. They were on offense, and for whatever reason, Jerry was playing wide-out, running deep to catch a long bomb from the quarterback. His thick legs powered him down the quad, a look of grim determination on his face – clearly the only thought in his head was “complete the play; make the play.”

And then Jax did something he never pictured himself doing – he entered the game.

He stepped in and kept an easy pace with his brother – running was suddenly simple, and natural, he felt like a gazelle. A step off the shoulder, a pace behind, he was able to “read” his brother’s body for clues about his pattern, his intent – when the ball came, Jax somehow already knew what his brother would do and where it would be.

When Jerry turned to make the catch, Jax was already there, leaping up and literally inserting his hands between his brother’s, literally stealing the ball from Jerry’s grasp.

Jerry was so stunned, he fell to the ground – and though he tried to tangle up Jax’s legs, Jax was able to sidestep him and keep his balance. And the ball. Interception!

Instinct took over. He saw his goal, the far end of the quad – deep in the skins’ territory – and the men he’d have to outplay to get there, the huge linemen with the heavy hamstrings, the backfield with those thickly veined arms that only sought to grab him and bring him down.

So he ran toward the challenge, easily dodging the graceless linemen and getting welcome blocks from the other shirts – they didn’t know what was going on, but they wanted to complete the play. He faked the skins’ running back so badly that he laughed about it to himself while he ran – child’s play. Football WAS fun… and easy!

He was able to cut, and spin, and twist, and shift his hips and find the slots. And when Jax jogged across the goal line, he’d never felt better in his life. Lucky he was wearing the jockstrap or all the guys would see his erection. Not that he much cared if they did.

And then they were all there, the guys, slapping him on the back and congratulating him, chucking his head, patting his ass. “Didn’t know you fuckin’ had it in you,” they said. “Good for you!” “THAT was a fuckin’ awesome play!”

“Fuck, yeah,” Jax said, a light sweat breaking out on his brow, even if he’d already caught his breath. He felt a connection to these guys that he’d never felt before. A kinship.

He knew that, like him, they were all sporting hard-ons in their jockstraps. They got that way whenever they scored – and this time Jax was responsible for it. He liked that feeling.

And then his brother approached, with Butch right beside him. “What the fuck was that?” Jerry asked. “Where the fuck did that come from?”

Jax shrugged, though he couldn’t help but smirk. “Dunno,” he said, unafraid to be brazen. “Though it looks like I took your sorry ass by surprise.”

The guys laughed – Butch included. But when Jax reached down to adjust his growing erection, the Butcher’s expression suddenly became suspicious. “Hey,” he said, “are you wearin’ my jockstrap?” And before Jax could answer, Butch reached over and cupped Jax’s package, holding Jax’s balls easily in his massive paw. “Well…” Butch said, “what d’ya know…? I thought so.”

“You’re wearin’ his jockstrap?” asked Jerry, all bristled and defensive. “Where’d you fuckin’ get that?”

But Jax wasn’t afraid of his super-muscular brother – scoring a touchdown had given him some confidence. “You left it in the fuckin’ closet this morning when you went to shower,” he said, with a know-it-all air.

“Aw…” Jerry said, snorting instead of saying “shit.” He punched his own open palm. “I’m such a fuckin’ dumb jock.”

The frat brothers suddenly cheered as if given some kind of signal, and they all made a determined effort to pat Jerry on the head. “Dumb jock,” they’d say, laughing, smacking Jerry oh his bald pate. “Fuckin’ dumb-ass jock!”

Jerry ducked and weaved, but accepted the humiliation in the good-natured way it was intended. He was a pledge, after all. With that, the brothers moved back to the quad and reassumed the game, leaving Jax on the sidelines with Butch and Jerry. Other players shifted around to fill their holes. The game would go on with or without them – football was eternal.

“I can’t believe you’re fuckin’ wearin’ that jockstrap,” Jerry said from his normal place behind Butch’s right shoulder, but was he angry or proud?

“That’s okay,” said Butch, quieting Jerry with only a slight gesture. “This’ll actually play in our favor. It’s gonna make everything easier.”

“What do you mean?” asked Jax, who was only starting to be nervous.

But Butch stared him in the eye, commanding, powerful. “Shut up and follow me,” he ordered – and Jax somehow knew that, so long as he wore the jockstrap, he’d have to obey, even if he didn’t know why. The three of them walked toward the dorm, Butch in the lead, Jax flanking the shoulder opposite his brother, falling into step naturally and easily. As they walked, Jerry reached over and, in a show of affection, put his baseball cap on Jax’s head. He winked and smiled, but didn’t speak, so neither did Jax.

But both brothers were hard as rocks.

The front door was open, but since the fraternity controlled the top two floors – and soon enough, the bottom as well – those required a special key. They walked up the stairs to the second floor, Butch leading, Jerry and Jax sharing the stair behind him, his incredible ass dominating their vision. At the door to the second floor, Butch used his key without comment, ushering the two brothers through. The small hall that led to the next set of stairs overlooked the TV lounge, empty since all the AK’s were outside playing ball.

The door to the third floor didn’t have a window in it like the others. There was a sign – “AK brothers only beyond this point” or some such nonsense – but Jax didn’t get much of a chance to read it. His brother punched him playfully in the shoulder while Butch unlocked the door. “You are so lucky,” his brother half-whispered, like he was trying not to be overheard. “They made me fuckin’ BEG for this.”

“Shut the fuck up,” said the Butcher, pulling the door open, “or I’ll make you beg me to do it to him, too.”

Jerry was instantly chastised – he ducked his head. “Sorry, Sir,” he said. Oddly jealous, Jax suddenly craved someone to order HIM around like that – he wanted to show himself as obedient as his brother. MORE so – as a matter of fact, Jax would be so submissive, he’d never question anything.

Just please let him keep wearing the jockstrap.

The third floor was different – no windows, no natural light. Few lived up here, it appeared, probably just the President, the Rush Chair and a few other upper-level muckity-mucks. Otherwise, it was just one big, multi-functioning room. It was obviously where they had their meetings – there were benches lined up like pews – but there was rubber matting on the floor like at the gym, and wrestling mats stacked against the wall on one side, so many activities happened up here.

At the far end of the room, above a raised dais – the whole set-up reminded Jax of a church interior – the Greek symbols for Alpha Kappa hung on the wall in what looked like scoreboard lighting. There was a podium for addressing the meetings, wired for sound and electrics, and behind that, at the rear-center of the dais, a large, tube-shaped object made of thick glass or clear plastic. Mounted on the floor and ceiling by a series of metallic clamps and power cables, it vaguely reminded Jax of some hip, “mod” aquarium one would see at a museum.

Butch motioned to it. “Step inside,” he said, flipping a bunch of switches on the podium. The tube lit up under the halogen bulbs, the electronics at the base coming to life with blips and beeps. The whole room started to hum – the power drain must’ve been incredible.

“What is it?” Jax whispered, expecting his brother to answer, but Jerry had remained by the door in the back of the room, kneeling in a small area marked “Pledges Only,” his head down and his hands behind his back. “Jerry?”

“You don’t understand ‘shut up’ too well, do you?” Butch asked sternly from the podium, typing something into the built-in computer. “I told you to shut up, and since I’m your Pledge Master now, you do what I say. Got it? It’s so easy, even a big, dumb-ass jock like your brother can figure it out. Isn’t that right, Jerry, you stupid fuck-head?”

From the back of the room, without looking up, Jerry was nodding vigorously. “I’m just a big, dumb jock,” he barked.

Butch snorted, “God damn right,” and then turned his attention back to Jax. “Now get in the tube,” he said.

Jax couldn’t disobey, even though he was as frightened as he was turned-on. He knew that as long as he wore the jockstrap, Butch was his Master – and Butch was in control. Worse, Jax knew deep down how badly he truly wanted this, how he’d always secretly fantasized about a moment just like it – being ordered around by someone like Butch, being turned into a jock against his will. Being a big football hero like Jerry was and had been all his life.

So, as he was about to step in the tube and Butch interrupted, saying, “Wait a minute,” Jax was almost disappointed. No, he thought. Don’t stop me now! Not when we’re so close.

“Idiot, take your clothes off,” said Butch in a mocking tone. Then he sighed and rolled his eyes slightly. “Duh – dumb-ass jock. Must run in your fuckin’ family” – a laugh from Jerry in the back of the room, even though he kept his head down.

Chagrined even if he didn’t know why, Jax stripped off his shirt, showing his under-developed upper body, his sunken chest, his matchstick arms, then dropped his jeans, exposing his birdie-legs – and Butch’s dirty jockstrap beneath.

Butch smiled when he saw it. “Leave my jock on,” he said, flicking his eyebrows. “I’ll make it into your favorite piece of clothing. You’ll never take it off again.”

And Jax, who’d never worn a jock before – especially an enchanted jock – was more than happy to obey.

He stepped into the tube – about the size of a shower stall, maybe ONE of those Alpha Kaps could fit uncomfortably in here – and the narrow door panel slid back into place and sealed itself closed. Jax was now as trapped as a biology experiment. He tentatively touched the glass from the inside.

When Butch spoke, Jax could hear him through the intercom situated at the top of the tube. Otherwise, outside sound didn’t penetrate the glass – which meant no one would be able to hear Jax, either. Butch looked at the computer screen built-into the podium as he talked. “Well,” he said, “the good news is we still got your brother’s specs loaded in here from last night – I’ll just replace ‘Jerry’ with ‘Jax.’” Then he chuckled, and added, “I’m gonna make you two so fuckin’ identical, you won’t be able to tell yourselves apart – and so stupid, you won’t know the difference.”

Jax glanced at the hulking mass of his brother kneeling there like an obedient dog. They’re gonna make me into THAT? he thought, feeling the pleasure of a forbidden fantasy around his groin. Wait – the jockstrap! It was the jockstrap that was making him feel this way! He didn’t really want…

Butch typed a few more strokes – a quick beam of light passed through the tube.. “Let’s call up the psychological scan and see…”

He stopped and just stared at the screen, reading – Jax was sure he saw Butch’s lips moving. Jax leaned against the tube from the inside, pressing his hands against the cool glass. “What?” he asked. “What’s the matter?”

Butch shook his head. “Nothin’,” he said, as he began typing again. “You’re just a fuckin’ mess, is all. Fuckin’ pathetic. But don’t worry – I’ll take care of that.”

“What are you gonna do to me?” Jax asked nervously – a bit too late, considering the circumstances.

Butch finished typing and looked up, making eye-contact with Jax – Jax resisted the urge to look down and passively put his hands behind his back. “What am I gonna do to you?” Butch echoed. “Fuck, dude, I’m gonna turn you into the best fuckin’ Alpha Kap brother you can be – plus make you as obsessed with football as any of the rest of us. You’re gonna be stupid, and loyal, and so fuckin’ horny you won’t be able to stop having sex long enough to think about your fate, just like your brother. Just like the rest of us.”

With that, he held up his pointer finger and said, “Goodbye, Jax” and lowered it quickly and deliberately to depress “Enter.”

The tube began to hum – Jax could feel the electrical energy surging around him, the air alive. His skin tingled. But he felt it on the inside first, like a microwave. He felt pressure around his heart, strong, heavy hands squeezing the life-blood, milking the life-blood. He could relieve this pressure by inhaling deeply, expanding his rib-cage as much as he could, but it didn’t go away.

As a matter of fact, he suddenly felt the same pressure in his groin. Like someone was inflating his balls with water, like someone was filling his cock with liquid cement. He couldn’t help but moan and cup his privates with his hand – oddly, he felt a certain amount of security when he touched his balls, a reminder of his masculinity. And he could feel his masculinity growing, stretching the cotton webbing of the beat-up old jockstrap.

And then, it was like his heart and his balls were one – they beat together, connected and co-dependent. Symbiotic. His heart pumped whatever his balls produced all through his body, the thick, slow liquid of football. First it was the veins – the major ones in his arms and legs – pushing up beneath the skin, the gelatinous juice his balls excreted replacing his blood. First the major veins, then the main branches, then the freakin’ capillaries, spreading and splitting as they carried the magic to his muscles.

He grew that way, too – from the inside out. He could feel the thickness inside of him – what he’d mistaken for pressure around his heart, now he realized was dense matter, concentrated mass nearing a big bang. When he grew, there came with it an overwhelming feeling of expansion – he started taking up more space – just like the universe.

Not that it felt good. His bones thickened and realigned, snapped and re-formed, preparing to support the new muscle weight, becoming so dense themselves that they’d never break, never fracture, never splinter – pain so deep inside of him that he could do little more than moan, tied as it was to the near-ecstasy he experienced while his muscles grew.

It radiated from the core out, though he could see the changes in his legs before anywhere else. His hamstrings, his ass, his lower back – he felt the power there, the thickening. The drive off the line, the explosion of the snap, the heaviest, deepest squat, the pump and the thrust – the common denominator between football and masculinity. In football, the ass was all.

The size of his legs forced them apart, even as they continued to grow – the teardrops on the inside of his quads became something even the most muscular of crocodiles couldn’t shed. The outer sweep was such an exaggerated curve as to be almost comical – even his calves were bigger than his quads used to be, diamond-shaped masses nearly the size of footballs themselves. NOBODY had legs like this for real, unless he spent all his time lifting weights and playing football. Unless he was a fucking man.

His abs and lower back strengthened like the rest of his core, the solid steel chassis that would support his powerful new upper-body. His lower-back thickened, but his abs didn’t – instead of swelling out like a roidgut, or like the powerful midsection of a lineman, his abs tightened, his waist narrowed – an eight-pack carved from the finest living marble. He got the abs of a bodybuilder, a musclehead obsessed, an egotistical fitness model.

His upper body – his chest, his back, his shoulders and traps – it all happened simultaneously. His rib-cage expanded in its explosion of matter, its inside-out development, and the wedge of his lats and the depth of his lower traps equaled the expansion of his pecs on the front. His chest grew so big and so round that the muscle actually forced his nipples beneath the lower curve, pointing down at the ground. The valley of his cleavage fascinated him – he couldn’t resist flexing.

The veins raced down his arms, filling his biceps and breaking out below the elbow – giving him the forearms to grab a ball, to grab an enemy, to slam him into the ground. Even as large as the rest of him had been getting, his arms became that much bigger. For a fleeting second, he was concerned that they might become out-of-proportion, especially his triceps, which didn’t seem to stop swelling, tucked up there under the coconut caps of his deltoids. Hell, he couldn’t even hold his arms down next to his body. But the bigger they got and the more powerful they became, the less he cared.

His traps rose like bread dough on either side of his swelling neck. He actually yelped in pain as his jaw thickened, but the bark that he let out was of much lower pitch than it had been before – his bull-like neck had given him a deep new voice, rough and manly.

And the veins that now snaked over his incredible new body, his new height, his new mass, the veins that carried the thick new substance that was a cross between blood and cum, that would keep him from feeling pain, that would keep him from getting hurt – that would keep him in the game – that liquid gel forced its way into his mind.

Immediately, it connected his brain and his balls, putting him in touch with his masculinity in the truest, most primal way. He understood pleasure, and power…

…and for the first time ever, he understood football.

He remembered being a boy and his dad signing him and his brother up for Pop-Warner in hopes of capitalizing on the rough, aggressive play the twins displayed around the house. He remembered the coach recognizing their aggression as an asset, playing them on defense because of their unusual size.

In Junior High, they were outside linebackers, but quickly moved to safeties because of their speed – Jerry played Strong while Jax played Free. It was natural for Jerry to play the strong side of the line – he was just that much bigger, that much faster than Jax, which drove Jax crazy. He worked out like a beast to try to get ahead of his brother, forcing his brother to work just as hard to stay there.

They were competitive all through their mid-teens, driving each other in the weight room, eating anything that didn’t move, and they were naturals on the football field. They seemed to have an uncanny sense of the other’s position during a play, communicating in a silent, but deadly way. They could feel each other out.

It was about then that they started masturbating together. They still shared a single bed, sleeping in the same tangled position they’d been in since the womb – Jerry’s front to Jax’s back, their arms and legs entwined – so jerking off together seemed only natural to them. As a matter of fact, they started preferring each other to anyone else – the flexing and wrestling became a favorite form of foreplay. Eventually, they started including others in their erotic play – usually their other teammates – but they always worked together. They tag-teamed.

On the field, off the field, in the bedroom, wherever, Jerry and Jax were of one mind.

So when they got to Varsity their sophomore year, football became everything. Jax remembered it all so clearly, the glorifying wins, the crushing losses, the obsessive training, the grueling practices, the gear, the plays, the homo-erotic atmosphere of the locker room, every detail became clear to him while trapped in this plastic tube in the Alpha Kap house, while thick goo over-saturated his brain.

They got recruited by the university, full scholarship, just so they could play ball. They were joining the jock frat because they’d finally found guys of the same mind as them, as obsessed with football and hungry to win. And horny.

It all made sense. It all finally made sense.

And then the tube hissed open, and a new and better Jax stepped out.

Six-four, two-hundred eighty pounds – leaner than the others because his position demanded so much running – gigantic legs and a freakish package, Jax and Jerry were identical again, twin football heroes.

Butch leaned against the podium, his arms crossed before his massive chest, smirking while he watched Jax come out of the tube. Butch’s dick pushed out against his gym shorts, tenting them with his obvious boner. “How do you feel?” he asked, casually reaching down and pinching his cock head.

Jax smiled, raising his muscular arms and flexing a double bis. “I FEEL FUCKIN’ GREAT!” he yelled in his deep new voice. His own cock started to harden in the jockstrap.

“Then assume the position.”

Even though he didn’t start that way on the field, Jax knew how to get in a three-point stance. He knew how to spread wide and squat deep. He knew how to anchor his fist so his hamstrings could explode on the snap. He knew that in the jockstrap he was wearing, Butch had a bullseye view of his thick and gorgeous ass.

And he wanted to give Butch the show – Butch was the Pledge Master, after all. He was also Jax and Jerry’s big brother, the man who’d guide them into the fraternity – and now, like Jerry, Jax would do anything to get into the fraternity. Anything.

Standing in front of Jax, Butch pulled his own shorts down, revealing HIS jockstrap and the hard and thick cock it barely held. He smirked, waving it in Jax’s face. “Yeah, fucker,” he growled. “You like that, don’t ya? Look how fuckin’ big it is.”

Level with Jax’s gaze, he couldn’t help but look at it, the cucumber-sized hard-on fighting the cotton mesh webbing. He was fascinated by it. “Yeah,” Jax whispered. “It’s fuckin’ huge.”

“Yeah…?” Butch teased, stroking the length of it. “Yeah, it is. You want it? Do ya? First, say, ‘I’m a big, dumb jock.’”

Jax snorted, laughing quietly. “I’m a big dumb jock,” he said – and it felt so good when he did, like he was confessing something – like he was coming to terms with himself. It actually turned him on to admit it. His own cock got a little harder. “Yeah… I’m a big, dumb fuckin’ jock.”

Butch smiled. “Say, ‘Football is my fuckin’ life! I can’t think about nothin’ else! Just football, football – FOOTBALL!’” Butch circled Jax’s squatting body, running his hand down the ridges of Jax’s inner back – he centered himself behind Jax’s massive ass, gripping Jax’s hips on either side with his strong hands.

“Football is my fuckin’ life,” Jax said as he felt Butch’s jock-pouch against his asshole. Again, Jax was overwhelmed by the truth of the statement. Football WAS his fuckin’ life – it was all he and his brother knew. He looked up and saw his brother kneeling in the pledge section still, watching intently, playing with his own hard cock. For an instant, he had a vision of a knobby-kneed, tennis-playing geek, but he didn’t know what it meant – he and his brother were identical, or WOULD BE as soon as Jax got fucked the same way his brother had when HE’D pledged – and, like his brother, lose his virginity. Become a better football player. “Yeah,” Jax moaned. “Football is my fuckin’ life! I can’t think of nothin’ else. Just football, football – FOOTBALL!”

Butch penetrated him on the last word., causing Jax to gasp – so big. But already the stuff in Jax’s blood took away the pain, leaving only the sweet, sweet pleasure of his Pledge Master’s cock inside him.

Butch leaned against Jax’s lower back and power-fucked him, pounding against Jax’s meaty ass. Butch was already panting.

It felt so good.

“Say, ‘Butcher’s my fuckin’ GOD!’” the Pledge Master commanded while he thrust, while he broke Jax in.

Jax was into it now, close to orgasm himself. “Fuck, yeah!” he screamed, in the throes of passion, into the growing power. “Butcher’s my fuckin’ GOD! MY FUCKIN’ GOD!! Fuckin’ football, yeah! Football God!”

And when the Butcher shot into him, Jax orgasmed himself. Even his brother, over in the Pledge section, exploded in a haze of pleasure. It was the most incredible thing Jax had ever felt, the clear bile that was now his blood and his cum soaking his jockstrap, even while Butch filled his ass with more of the same substance.

He knew everything, and he accepted it without struggle – and once the final pieces fell into place, his eyes dimmed, a mental fog descended, and the old Jax disappeared once and for all. He was nothing but a football playing super-jock. And he loved every second of it.

His brother ascended the dais and the two of them knelt before Butch, their big brother, their Football God, and licked his cock clean – working together to tongue-wash every half-hard inch. Jax was surprised by how much he liked the taste of Butch’s cum. He wanted more. He also knew he’d get more if he were a perfect pledge – he resolved to be nothing less.

“So, what’d you think of that?” Butch asked as he handed Jax a “Pledge” shirt like his brother’s. “Told you it was fuckin’ awesome.”

Jax could barely pull the sleeveless spandex over his massive torso. It felt good to wear it, though. Now everyone would know what he was. Now everyone would know he was joining the best fraternity on campus – the jock frat – the awesome Alpha Kaps.

“Football’s fuckin’ awesome,” Jax said as he and his brother high-fived. Butch gave him a pair of lace-front practice shorts which Jax happily slid on over his over-developed quads, over his cum-soaked jockstrap. It took some doing to adjust his big new cock comfortably.

“Careful, little bro,” Butch said, adjusting himself back into his shorts. “You’ll get me hard again.”

Jax smiled. “And what would be the fuckin’ problem with that?” he asked. “I’d love to get you inside me again. And I’m sure my brother wouldn’t mind getting fucked, either.”

Jerry laughed, too. “Fuck yeah,” he said, putting his arm around Jax’s shoulders. “Except there’s a fuckin’ game goin’ on right now in the quad. Wouldn’t you rather play?”

Jax’s dick jumped in his jockstrap – there was a chance to play? Play football?

“Fuck yeah,” said Jax. “Let’s go!”

And the two of them happily followed Butch back outside, where their other teammates – soon their brothers, too – let them back into the game. Jax, playing for the shirts, proudly displaying his “pledge” tee, had two more interceptions – one he ran back for a touchdown – and a bunch of solo tackles. They played competitively, and he was glad for it – no pussy little two-handed touch for these guys. Tackling a guy to the ground was one of life’s simple joys.

About an hour before practice, the game broke and the guys, like a pack of wild dogs, made their way to the athletic center, where they got into their practice gear. Jax and Jerry, because they were merely pledges, walked at the back of this group, sniffing the alpha dog’s ass, as Jax liked to think. Still, he loved being part of the group, surrounded by all these other guys, his brothers, his teammates.

At the stadium, Jax and Jerry shared a locker – hell, they were so identical that the other guys could only tell them apart by the numbers on their jerseys and their positions before the snap, anyway.

Jax fell into the routine like he’d been doing it his entire life – of course, as far as he was now concerned, he had. He loved it – he loved football. He loved the violence, the power, the raw masculinity. He loved his fuckin’ brother – he loved his fuckin’ Pledge Master. He loved his new fraternity.

And he obeyed the Coaches without question. He was the ultimate jock.

If only he could make everybody love football as much as he did. What a perfect world that would be.

As perfect as his.

After practice, after dinner with the boys, after a communal shit in the dorm, they got another game going in the quad. They played until it was too dark to see.

Then they finally came inside and fucked.

Fuckin’ football – fuck yeah.

Jax and Jerry knew nothing else. •