“…and that is why you have to keep the rules.” The coach looked worriedly at Cody. “Kid, you’re okay?”
Cody blinked a few times as he rose up from his slumber. Did he actually fall asleep listening to this crap? “Yeah, I think I’m okay.” He shook himself and noticed the time on the clock. I’ve been out for twenty minutes? he thought to himself
“The whiskey must have knocked you out,” the coach said smirking a bit. “You kids are such lightweights, not able to take a man’s drink.”
“Fuck you,” Cody said.
The coach’s eyes narrowed. “Which brings me to the rules themselves.”
“The rules, dipshit. Or did the drink cause a few brain cells short out?” He leaned back in the chair. “As you may have remembered, the probation starts today. If any student or faculty member in the school catches you making any kind of mischief with any student or staff, your ass is dismissed. No more appeals.” He smiled grimly. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Dammit!” Cody swore as he slammed down the weighted squat bar. He was missing another training session with his team, but the probation the coach put him on gave him enough time off for his anger to peak off into a constant simmer. He still remembered the closing warning he got before he was dismissed.
He could have almost thought there was something else to the conversation. It was a bit fuzzy after the drink, but when he tried to concentrate on the moments after, he would remember the warning and cause him to get upset again. Now, a few days later the meeting, and he was at the weight room, getting into the weights and trying to work his anger through them.
The fact that he was batshit horny did not help matters as well. He tried to jerk off to some porn on his computer, but he kept on getting distracted with his homework and other matters that, oddly enough, he suddenly deemed important to do.
Cody did another bone-breaking set and slammed the weight again into the starting position. He took a step back and admired his body. He posed a bit, picking up his shorts to flex his legs. Damn, he was looking huge.
“Well, if it isn’t Mister Cody. Back at the gym already?”
The jock turned to face Mr. Bulde, the head powerlifter coach. He was massively built, dressed in an old-school singlet striped in red and yellow that did nothing to hide his hairy bulk. “Yeah. What of it?” He turned back, swearing something under his breath.
“Language, Cody.” Bulde warned as Cody unracked the weight. He was going to say more, but instead stayed silent, looking on as the jock did another set. Bulde noted the form needed work, and he stepped in to give Cody a spot when he noticed the knees buckling.
“You got this, kid,” Bulde muttered as he gently helped Cody ease the weight back up. “There we go,” he added when the bar clanked back into position.
“Thanks, coach,” Cody breathed out, leaning on the bar. “That wiped me out more than I thought.”
Bulde nodded. “Why not take the day off,” he said. “It’s like you’ve been camping out here.”
“Yeah,” Cody said. “I’m trying to work out this anger, but dammit, I’m still pissed at the coach.”
Bulde reached over to pat Cody’s shoulder. “I’ll see about easing some restrictions. You’re a good kid, you know?”
“Thanks, sir.” The pat caused Cody’s knots of anger to slowly dissolve, leaving him oddly peaceful.
“Come on,” the coach said. “Let’s talk for a moment.”
“Why are we here, sir?” Cody said when he was in Bulde’s office.
The coach smiled from his seat. “I’ll be blunt. Gonzales told me you would do great in powerlifting as well as wrestling. And after seeing you train these past days, I happen to agree with him.” He held up a warning finger. “That does not happen often, so don’t get any ideas.”
“Me? A powerlifter?” Cody shrugged. “I’d like to stay in my wrestling team, if that’s okay.” He added hastily at Bulde’s expression. “I mean, thanks for the offer.”
Bulde opened to say more, but a soft chime rang out from somewhere in the room.
Cody saw Bulde shuddering like a tree caught in a high wind, his eyes closed tight. When he opened them, he looked at Cody. “Fuck…gotta be milked…”
“Gotta be milked, kid.” Bulde stood up, showing off an impossibly thick cock straining against the Lycra. A small wet spot already stained the tip. “So fucking horny…”
Cody would have bolted from the chair if Bulde didn’t say the words that shook him to the core: “Relax, moocow. Obey the bull.”
He shuddered just as hard as the coach did. “W-what did you say?”
Bulde slowly came up to the jock. “I said for you to relax, moocow. You need a lesson in being a good moocow, dontcha?”
Cody couldn’t move, part of him screaming at him to run while another, more insistent part told him just to relax, to obey this thick bull in front of him…
“Kneel, moocow,” Bulde barked out.
Cody’s knees hit the floor before he realized what his body was doing. He looked at the coach’s heavy cock bound in Lycra and started to drool. “I-I…”
“First lesson, moocow,” Bulde said. “A moocow does not speak until a bull tells him to, understand?”
The jock nodded. He couldn’t move; he didn’t want to move. He wanted to be a good moocow so badly.
“Good boy,” Bulde said, ruffling the jock’s hair. Cody felt a jolt of extreme pleasure from the gesture, causing his already hard cock to burble pre. “We’ll make a good moocow of you yet.”
The door opened, and Bulde looked up. “Ah, Chad, come in.”
The guy stepped in and closed the door behind him as he took in the sight. “The herdmaster said that I was to meet with the new guy, coach. Looks like you got him first.”
Cody looked at the newcomer. He was almost as beefy as the coach, with a bulge to rival his.
“Yes, moocow. Come and service your bull.” Bulde peeled off the singlet, showing a thick veiny cock with a plum-sized head and a ballsack filled with fist-sized fruit. He raised his hands and placed them behind his head, his hairy bulk only showing how big he was. “Bulls need milking, moocow.”
“Fuckin’ a, coach,” Chad scrambled up and knelt, licking the leaking shaft.
“Awfuck,” Bulde groaned out, thrusting his hips against Chad’s face. Chad also moaned, placing that huge cockhead into his mouth and trying to suckle on that thick fist.
Bulde noticed Cody kneeling and motioned to his heavy chest. “Suckle, moocow. Obey the bull.”
Cody stood up, the voice urging him to leave now silent. Yes, he thought to himself, I must obey the bull. He stepped towards one of coach’s thick nipple and started to worship it, lightly teasing it with his tongue, feeling a thick creamy fluid filling his mouth. He drew back in surprise, seeing a pearl of white fluid seeping from the nipple.
“Suckle, moocow,” Bulde growled, pushing Cody’s head against his chest. “Bulls need to be milked.”
The jock obeyed willingly, trying to get more of the delicious fluid as he licked, then nibbling and biting, the fleshy nub. He felt a stab of jealousy at this. He wanted to be able to be milked, to be suckled by his fellow moocows.
He wanted to be a bull.
“Awfuck, boys,” Bulde grunted. “Gonna cum. Gonna give you milk fresh from the source.” He pulled out of Chad’s hungry mouth and pushed Cody down to replace him. “Such good moocows,” he murmured.
Cody quickly went to work, instinctively latching onto the drooling cock and sucking at it a moment before the coach groaned loudly, shooting out enough cum completely flood the jock’s mouth. He pulled off, quickly swallowing the thick fluid and allowing Chad a chance to get a dose.
“Fuck yeah,” Bulde growled as he shot into Chad’s maw. “Drink it while it’s fresh.”
The two jocks switched places with every shot, each jet filling their mouths with warm cum. “Such good moocows,” Bulde said when he finished his orgasm. He rubbed his chest with its dripping nipples. “Come get another dose of bullmilk.”
They stood up and attached to those nubs, pulling out mouthfuls of creamy fluid.
After a few minutes, Bulde pulled Cody off. “You did good, moocow. You deserve a reward.” He lifted Cody’s head to meet with his eyes. “Listen. Focus. Obey.”
Cody blinked a few times, feeling his head clear and his lust intensify. “The fuck, coach?”
“Go to the herdmaster and tell him what you did.”
Cody nodded and, without looking back, he walked out the office.
“Ah, Cody,” Coach Gonzalez said as he saw the jock walk in. He noticed the dazed expression and eyed the tent in the shorts. “Do what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Need to be milked, sir,” Cody said lazily. His hands twitched towards the tent, but they stayed put.
A slow smile crept over the coach’s face. “Oh? Then tell me what you did to deserve it?”
As Cody told the coach what happened, he felt his mind clear further. The voice that stayed silent during the session with the other coach came back in full force, yelling at him to get out and report this to the authorities.
“You did well, moocow,” the coach said, and Cody realized he finished the report. He felt a small stab of gratitude at the praise. “I expected this to happen a bit later, but being with Bulde must have hurried the time table a bit. Ah, no matter. He’ll be rewarded in due course.” He rose from his seat and looked at Cody. “Listen. Focus. Obey.”
“Aw, fuck,” Cody breathed out. The internal voice was growing louder. “I…I need to…” Why was it so hard to say he had to leave?
“You are not going anywhere, moocow,” the coach said, going around to close the office door. “Not that it matters, though.” He went back behind the desk and opened a drawer to pull out a chained medallion. “Even if you were to leave, I’d only have the other bulls, aha, herd you back in.” He smiled and held up the chain.
“Listen, moocow. Obey the Herdmaster.” He began to twirl the metal between his fingers. “Focus on the shine. Soothing, isn’t it?”
“I…I…” Cody’s eyes dragged themselves to the twirling shine, his body slowly going limp.
“Very soothing, yes?” the coach’s voice smoothed to quiet tones, honeyed and oiled at the same time. “Deep breaths, moocow. Obey the Herdmaster.”
“Yeah…” Cody felt his body responding, taking deep soothing breaths.
“You’re already relaxed. It is easy to relax in front of your Herdmaster. So easy. So right. So easy to get more relaxed, more focused.” He stepped closer to Cody, still twirling the medallion. “Every breath gets you more relaxed. You feel relaxed, right, moocow?”
“Yeah…” He felt the inner voice slowly quiet into a murmur, then slipping to nothing.
“Good moocow.” The coach stopped twirling the chain and put it on the desk. “Good. We shall begin the next session. We will make a bull of you yet.”
Cody felt his cock twitch, and he smiled blissfully. “Yeah. W-wanna be a bull,” he babbled. “Like the coach.”
“We will do that,” the coach said, the voice smoothing more. “But you need to be a good moocow first.” He placed an arm around the jock and led him to the back room. A few chairs were already occupied by guys with various builds and ages. Helmets with silvered goggles covered their heads.
“Now,” he said to Cody as he led the jock around the equipment. “Tell me. What do bulls do?”
An image of Bulde flashed through Cody’s mind. “They give milk, sir?”
Gonzalez nodded. “Good moocow. Yes, they do. What else do they do, hm?”
“Er…” Cody saw himself at the squat rack. “They lift?”
“Close enough, but yes. All bulls have to show to the world that they are bulls. That means they have to get thick and massive.” They stopped in front of a cage of wielded iron and padded leather. Harnesses were dangling from the bars.
“This is the next phase of the training.” He looked at Cody. “Are you ready to be a good moocow and obey?”
The answer leapt from the jock’s mouth. “Yes!” His breathing got heavier, his cock harder. “I want to be a bull, sir!”
“Good moocow.” The coach reached down to grope the rock-hard cock, causing Cody to moan deeply. “Hm, we need to get you thick and massive here also. A bull needs to show how virile he is. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
He nodded and let go. “I thought so.” He took a step back and snapped his fingers. “Obey!”
“Sir!” Cody straightened like a soldier at attention.
“Take off your clothes and step into the cage.”
Cody quickly complied, tossing his clothes into a pile.
“This will only take a few moments, moocow,” the coach said as he started to strap the harnesses around the jock’s arms and legs. He then went to a squat container and picked out two rectangular plastic bags, one filled with blue liquid and the other clear.
Cody’s eyes went wide. “What are those?”
“Things that will help you be a bull, moocow.” The coach hooked them along a tall metal stand and readied two IV needles. “Relax!”
A wave of lethargy swept over the jock, a wave so strong that he didn’t notice the coach slip the needles into his arm until he saw them sticking out. “What in the world…?”
“You’re such a good moocow,” the coach said, interrupting Cody. “You did well today. For that, I’m willing to give you a reward.” He picked up an oversized motorcycle helmet bristling with wires, the front silvered glass. He slipped it over Cody’s head.
“Sir?” Cody tried to fight the drowsiness. “What is going—”
The coach turned to a laptop the helmet was attached to and turned it on. “Focus!” he barked.
The screen flickered on, showing another snowy static screen with a red dot.
“I…” The rest of the sentence trailed off as Cody focused on the dot, his mind going blank and supple.
“There,” the coach said. He stepped back and nodded in satisfaction. “Another bull in the making.” He grinned widely. “And another stud for my studies!”
A buzzing interrupted his thoughts, and he turned back to the group he passed by. One of the laptops was edging towards the last rapid minute on the timer.
“Ah, chairman, looks like you’ll be ready for your next discussion.” The static screen flickered off, and then another stream of code slid upwards before turning off. The coach waited a moment before he slipped the helmet off. A man dressed in a suit and tie blinked dazedly at the coach.
“If you could follow me to the front, sir?” the coach said. He gently picked the man by the arm and lead him to the outer chambers.
“And so, sir,” the coach said when they were comfortably seated, “now that you have tried the machine, how do you feel? Relaxed? At ease?”
The official nodded slowly. “Indeed, Mr. Gonzales, indeed.” He blinked a few more times and gazed at the coach. “I can see why the wrestling team would benefit from this ingenious device.” He nodded again. “Quite remarkable.”
“And now,” the coach said, pulling out a small liquor bottle, “a toast to the future of the team?” He took out two small shot glasses and poured a small amount in each.
“I do not drink during work hours,” the other said, but he shrugged. “Still, a small tipple won’t do harm.” He took the glass and sipped slowly. “It is strange, though.”
“Hm?” The coach leaned back in his seat.
“I am trying to remember why exactly I came here for. Something important.” The man screwed up his face for a moment, but then he shrugged. “It will come back to me, I’m sure.”
“Nothing important, I’m sure,” the coach corrected. The officer slowly nodded, his face going slack for a moment as the suggestion took root. “Isn’t it nice to know it wasn’t important?”
“Oh yes, indeed.” The words came out automatically.
“So then, you will head over to the dean and tell him that it wasn’t important?”
The man grinned widely. “Indeed, sir.” The officer nodded vigorously, and put down his glass. “In fact, I will go to him right now, and tell him that it wasn’t important.” He stood up.
“Of course.” The coach also stood and extended a hand, which the officer shook. “You will tell him to come over personally to try out my treatments?”
The muscles on the man’s face twitched. “Indeed,” he said. “I will make sure to bring him here.”
“Excellent.” The coach went and opened the door. “I think that concludes our business here. Feel free to come over anytime, sir.”
“Of course, of course.”
He saw himself at the squat rack, lifting 10 plates as if it was nothing. He gazed himself in the mirror and smirked. He was just as big as his fellow bulls, bulk and muscle filling up a skin-tight wrestling singlet.
He was in bed with another of his herd, fucking the man with abandon. He heard the deep moans from his lover, and Cody fucked him all the harder.
He was attached to a machine, groaning in pleasure as it milked him, coaxing load after load of thick bull cream. He pushed himself in further, not wanting the bliss to end.
He was getting fucked by—
The coach was sucking him off as—
He was deadlifting 900 pounders effortlessly—
*flicker* *flicker* *flicker* *flicker*
He woke with a gasp as a long-overdue orgasm rocked him, making him lean back into the pillows below him. His eyes rolled back as waves of pleasure crashed into his mind, and he groaned deeply as he shot.
He did not feel any of that sticky warmth splashing against his skin, and as he briefly wondered about that, he felt another warmth surrounding his cock, guzzling down the jock’s cum with noisy fervor.
He craned his head up to see a head of tousled, electric blue hair bobbing up and down on his cock, surrounded by a thick set of traps and wide shoulders. He should have felt shocked at this but the waves of pent-up pleasure kept on crashing into his head, making his body limp and slump back into the pillows.
A few minutes later, the mouth released its hold on Cody’s cock, and the owner’s eyes met up with his with a lustful brown gaze. “Hello there.”
“The fuck, dude?” Cody felt sick at the fact that a guy sucked his cock, but the feeling somewhat eased as the guy stood up, showing off a massive frame filled with muscle and a stringer tee barely covering his thick, bulbous pecs with quarter-sized nips. It’s okay, he thought, that this guy is fuckin’ diesel, not one of those swishy fags with no bulk.
He frowned. Where did that thought come from?
“Sorry about that, bro,” the other guy intruded with a shit-eating grin. “Coach Bulde thought to check in on you, and I volunteered.” He extended a thick hand. “Chad Narus, but you can call me CN if you want.”
Cody waved the hand away and reached over to cover his softening member only to find he was stark naked. “What the hell?!” He blushed as he rolled out of bed, trying to find something to put on, but the attempt was foiled when he realized it wasn’t his room. “The fuck am I?”
“My dorm, dude,” Chad said. He looked somewhat embarrassed. “I didn’t know your dorm number, so coach thought to help you to mine.” He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t remember what happened?”
“Er…” All Cody could remember was the bone-crushing gym session. The rest was a blur. “The fuck happened?”
Chad sat down on the opposite bed. “You followed coach to his office, and you collapsed. Heat stroke. Luckily I was there to help.” His brow furrowed. “Sure you can’t remember anything?”
Cody shook his head. “No. Sorry.” He reached over to grab a pillow and used it to cover his junk.
Chad laughed at the act. “No worries, dude! We’re all guys here!” He grinned. “And I did suck you off.”
“But I’m not a fucking faggot, dude!” Cody retorted.
“Ah.” The other jock looked at him for a few moments, and then he shrugged his shoulders. “Well, you have to do what the bull says, right?”
Cody’s vision swam into blurriness. “What the…” He shook his head in an effort to clear it, but he heard the voice again.
“We all have to do what the bull says, dude.”
Chad reached over to push the confused jock back down on the bed. “What does the bull say, dude?”
Cody felt that something took control of him, and his breathing deepened into relaxed sighing. The dream image of him lifting that insane weight slid into his mind, and the programmed words pushed themselves out. “The bull wants to get big, bro.”
“That’s right, dude.” Chad removed the pillow from slackened fingers, revealing a rock-hard cock. “But right now, you’re a fucking moocow. Not even worthy of being a bull. Right?”
“Y-yeah.” A burple of pre oozed out of Cody’s cock. “I’m a moocow….” His face slackened a bit, and he looked up at Chad. “But I want to be a bull, man,” he said frankly.
“You have to prove it, moocow.” Chad had to grin. The Herdmaster’s techniques were astounding to watch. “Remember, one of the things moocows like to do is suck cock.”
The words hit Cody’s mind with the grace of a heavyweight boxer, slamming against his psyche like waves across a sand sculpture. “I—”
“You like sucking cock, don’t you, moocow?” He slid down his shorts, revealing a heavily packed bulge encased in a stained jock. “Wanna suck mine? Since I sucked yours?”
Cody’s eyes latched onto the strained pouch, but something in his mind held back. “Fuck no, bro.”
Chad smirked. “Yeah?” He gently cradled his junk, moaning softly. “You’re sure, moocow? Don’t you want some of this beef?”
“What was that, moocow?” He flexed an arm. “You want to be a bull, don’t you?”
The phrase was too strong to resist, and he succumbed. “Y-yeah bro. I need that.” He slid off the bed, landing on his knees and eager to taste Chad, but the jock teasingly stepped back.
“What are you, dude?” Chad grabbed his bulge and shook it in front of Cody. “Tell me who you are.”
“Fuck you,” Cody said. “Just let me suck you off.”
Chad frowned. “So you don’t want this, then?” He dug into the pouch and pulled out a very thick cock, heavily veined and drooling from its cowled head. “Tell me you don’t want to taste this bull meat.”
Some part of Cody’s mind was yelling at him to get out, but it damped down at the sight of that luscious meat. “Fuck… that’s big,” he said.
“And it’s all yours, dude,” Chad said as he teasingly stroked it. “Just tell me what you are.”
Cody huffed out a breath. “I’m… I’m a moocow,” he said, and it felt good confessing that, like he was coming in grips with himself, with his new self. “I’m a fucking moocow, dude.”
“And what do moocows do?”
The words came out automatically. “We suck cock.” His mind shifted gears, and he said it again with greater confidence. “We suck thick bull cock, bro.”
A grin spread across Chad’s face, and he stepped up to the eager stud. “Yeah? You want to suck this?” He waggled his hardening member again, spraying some pre across Cody’s face.
In answer, Cody crawled towards Chad, and without a single word, slipped the leaking head into his mouth.
“Fuck,” Chad breathed out, feeling the mouth suckle and lick for a moment before trying to deep throat. Once again, he marveled how the Herdmaster’s programming could make anyone into an eager cocksucker. His mind cast back from when he met up with him, how much he resisted the programming before Coach Bulde took him under his wing. He remembered doing the same to the coach, how he needed to taste that thick bull milk and wanting to just obey the bull.
Cody, meanwhile, got into a rhythm, sucking and licking, eager to please. Instincts he didn’t realize he had had one hand digging into Chad’s thick ass as the other played with his heavy balls. Those same instincts told him how to angle his head so he can easily draw the entire shaft into his mouth and suckle its thick length for a few moments before slipping it back out.
“Fuck, you’re a hot moocow, ain’t you, bro?” Chad murmured as he forced himself upon Cody’s mouth. “Can’t wait to get you as big as me, dude.”
“Yeah,” Cody said between licks. “Need to be a fucking bull, dude.”
Chad grinned as he reached up to pinch one of his thick nubs, feeling the pleasure jolt through his body and causing his balls to churn. “Awfuck… gonna give you some bull milk, bro. You want that, dontcha? Fuck…” He pinched the nub again as the other hand was pushing Cody’s head against his drooling cock. “Hot bull milk, fresh from the tap. Fuck yeah.”
The feeling of wetness between his fingers caused him to look down, and his eyes grew wide as he saw tiny white drops forming on the tips of his nips.
“Oh fuck,” he breathed. “I’m leaking, dude.”
“Huh?” Cody looked up with glazed eyes.
“Keep sucking, moocow.” Chad pushed Cody’s head down, and he started face-fucking in earnest, slamming his cock in that hot mouth for about a minute before one last thrust had him shooting into Cody’s mouth.
“Take it all, moocow,” he moaned as Cody tried to swallow the salty bull milk, but it was too much as it overfilled his mouth and oozed down his chin. “Fuck,” he breathed out. His knees buckled, and he collapsed on the bed. “Fucking sweet, dude.”
Cody swallowed the last of the load and was now wiping his chin, licking his fingers. “That was fucking hot, dude.” He leaned over to clean the softening member, but Chad pushed him back.
“Not now, moocow. You have to obey the bull.”
Cody’s face went slack, his mind empty. “Yeah?”
Chad tucked his equipment back into his jock and slipped his shorts on. He went back to Cody and lifted his chin to meet his eyes. “The bull says you will lie back down in bed. In ten minutes you will wake up, remembering nothing except how good it felt sucking on dick. The bull says you will put on the clothes I will have set out for you and leave. Understand, moocow?”
Cody nodded. He slowly stood up, placed himself down on the bed, and closed his eyes.
“Good moocow,” Chad said. He went to a drawer and took out clothes, and, with one last glance at the prone stud, left.
“And why are you here?” Gonzales asked Chad. “I thought you were breaking the new guy in.”
“Yes sir, I was. But I…” he gestured to his bulbous chest. “I started to leak.”
The coach’s eyebrows quirked up. “Really? Well then.” He grinned. “How do you feel?”
“Fucking awesome, coach. “ He reached up to fondle a heavy pec. “I’m a fucking bull, now.”
The coach nodded. “That you are.” He stood and gestured to the back office. “Follow me.”
Soon, Chad was at the milking machine with a suction cup not only attached to his junk but also two were surrounding the chest nubs. The coach was attaching two bags of chemicals on the IV drip. “These will help you become a better producer,” he said. “I’m sure you can give me so much more milk after this.”
Chad nodded. “Yes sir. I’ll give you all I can, sir.”
“And as a reward,” Gonzales continued, holding up a silvered helmet.
Chad’s breathing grew heavy. “Fuck yes. Thank you, sir.”
The coach slipped the helmet on and activated the laptop connected to it. As the wall of code scrolled, he turned on the milker. “Enjoy, bull, and welcome to your new life.”
The words were lost on Chad as he moaned deeply, feeling the pleasure from the insistent pressure engulfing his cock and balls, until one final push had him uncontrollably shooting. His nipples were also suckled by that awesome vacuum, the small droplets of milk slowly increasing in volume until they were small dribbles.
Gonzalez, who was observing the procedure, smiled, and he went back to his front office.
Cody slammed the weight back onto the rack, taking deep breaths, and his chest pleasantly sore. He sat up on the bench and arched his back, stretching his pecs.
“Good job, man,” he heard Chad’s voice behind him. “Think you can do another plate?”
“I don’t know, man,” Cody said. “That took a lot out of me.”
“Well,” the other jock said, “we’ll rest for a few moments and finish then.”
It was a week after the hookup. Cody didn’t remember much of it, just something really good happened, and he wanted more of it. He met up with Chad the day after and something clicked with them. They hung out more often and helped each other throwing huge weights around at the gym.
Oddly enough for Cody to notice, the probation didn’t affect him as much as he thought it would. He once complained to Gonzales about it, who would only shrug and say something he did not quite catch, but made Cody forget the entire rant and instead head to the gym to work out a burgeoning need to lift.
He also fell asleep at the oddest times, usually after the gym as he hung out with his newest gym bro Chad. He would be chatting about things or bitching about class, and he would blank out for hours at a time. He usually woke up on the sofa, as Chad would be grinning like a Cheshire cat on the other chair, usually adjusting himself.
“All right,” Chad said, cutting through Cody’s thoughts, “one more set, dude.”
“Yeh, whatever,” Cody said as he positioned back down on the bench. He looked and noticed that the idiot workout bro did, in fact, slap another pair of plates on the bar. “The fuck?” he said. “I told you—”
“Whatsamatter, moocow,” Chad teased, “don’t you wanna be a bull?”
Cody’s eyes glazed over a bit. “Y-Yeah, dude,” he said vaguely.
“Then obey the bull. Ya got that?”
The word came out without hesitation. “Yessir.”
“The bull says we’ll do another couple of sets with this weight. Got that, moocow?” Chad lifted his stringer tee to reveal his own set of pecs, thick, overhanging helmets with thick nubs perfect for play. “You might even get to have a chest like mine, bro.” He groped one, and he pinched a nub, causing the stud to inhale sharply in pleasure. “Now, come on, get going.”
A flicker of memory, and, for a moment, Cody remembered for a moment of him spending hours playing with those nubs, nibbling and suckling against them. He shuddered, and his cock twitched in its jock.
“You’re okay, dude?” Chad said as he lowered his shirt. A smirk on his face showed exactly what Cody was thinking about.
“Then do another set, dude.” Chad patted the bar. “The bull says for you to focus.”
Cody felt a wave of confidence was over him. He took a deep breath and gripped the bar, his mind now concentrated on doing another heavy set.
Gonzales was busily typing on his laptop, occasionally shifting his attention to a spiral notebook next to it. Across from him, a suited figure was sitting in his chair, words flowing out of his mouth as his eyes darted across the room, his tongue occasionally flickering across dry lips.
“So the Dean is, once again, causing trouble,” the coach said when the report was over. He glanced up, his gaze calm, but the figure it landed on flinched as if it was a punch.
“Y-Yes sir,” the chairman said. He was the first to sample the hypnotic gear work, and he had one of the most suggestible minds Gonzales has seen in his stint here in the college. He made a fine mole with the college council.
The coach leaned back in his chair, his mind sorting through several possibilities. He enjoyed brainwashing his charges into horny exhibitionists, and the way some of them turned out have been remarkable. Also, his studies into the gradual reformatting of the mind have shown a certain promise. If only that cursed dean came over instead of sending his cronies. It was also a shame he could not be replaced with someone more capable. Of course, that would be problematic on its own.
It was jealousy, pure and simple, that lead him down this route, he mused. Jealousy of his abilities, of his studies, that had his name blacklisted across the sciences. Who cared about his past subjects, those who he took from his old university and molded them exactly as he wanted? The only ones who complained was the board of directors, for fuck’s sake! No one else, not even the patients’ parents or his fellow professors. Now he has the chance to finish his studies. No one will be able to stop him now. Not even the dean.
He glanced at the wall clock and sighed in exasperation. He was running late. He closed the laptop and gestured towards the chairman, who straightened in his chair, all nervousness gone. “You will keep close eyes on the dean’s activities. If he starts to interfere with this project, I am giving you full permission to toss a few wrenches in his way. All the while, you will, as discreetly as possible, direct him here. Understood?”
“Yes sir,” the chairman said, now utterly confident. He rose from his seat just as there was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” Gonzales barked out, waving a hand to the chairman. “And you will leave.” He nodded and headed out as the other came in.
“I got your latest batch here, sir,” the man said as he placed a large, squat container on his desk. He wore a tight lycra shirt that contrasted with his dark brown skin and highlighted his bulging arms, his wide cannonball delts, and more importantly, his thick chest, worthy of any bull. The matching set of leggings highlighted a set of wide, muscular legs and an equally powerful package. A silver whistle dangled down between that heavy pec cleavage.
“Excellent,” Gonzales said, nodding at him. “Same strength as before, Brad?”
“Of course.” Brad looked offended. “When haven’t I messed an order up?”
The coach smirked a bit. “How goes the team?”
“Excellent.” Brad slipped into the seat the chairman vacated. “Working their asses off, of course. The team is doing well enough. Those helmets you got them into are doing amazing work.” He grinned. “We’ll probably be in the playoffs, thanks to you. Might even get a few trophies.”
Gonzales matched the grin with his own. “And you? I take it they are helping you focus as well?”
The other coach raised a hammock arm and flexed, the bicep straining against the lycra. “The results speak for themselves.” He lowered the arm then absentmindedly started to rub a pec. “They’re starting to ache a bit for some reason. I going to get this checked out later today.”
One of Gonzales’s eyebrow quirked upward. The programming must be wearing thin, he mused. “We might as well test the new batch out.” He stood up and gestured to Brad. “Want to be the first?”
“Ain’t I always?” he grinned, picked up the container, and followed him to the back rooms.
Gonzales gestured to a chair. “Sit here, and we’ll get started.” He walked to the container and begun to sort the bags.
Brad nodded, but as he was getting comfortable, he saw a trio of clear plastic tubes on a neighboring table. They were connected by thinner plastic tubes. Black rubber rings were positioned at the open edges. “Hey, you’re looking at animal husbandry or something?”
Gonzales followed his glance to the milkers. “Or something,” he said, smirking. He came back with two bags, one blue and the other clear, in his hands. “All right, let’s get started.”
A few minutes later, Gonzales carefully slipped in the second needle into Brad’s thick forearm. “There we go,” he said as he stood up. “I take it the new formula will help you get even bigger.”
Brad laughed. “Hell yeah, brotha. I’m going to enjoy getting this.” He flexed the other arm.
“And, of course, another session to help you concentrate with the rest of the team.” Gonzales picked up one of the helmets and passed it over
Brad let out an exaggerated breath, then grinned. “Oh yeah, absolutely. This is going to be awesome, you know?” He held the helmet at eye level. “Like what you’re seeing?”
“A muscle head,” Gonzales said. “With some monster pecs. You sure you can catch the ball with those things in the way?”
Brad slowly slid a hand into his shorts to rearrange the monster there. “That’s just football,” he said. “No sweat.”
“Of course,” Gonzales said, chuckling. “You can play football with a muscle head if you really want. Like wrestling.”
Brad smiled, his eyes getting a tad glazed. “Who needs wrestling, when you got football?”
“Knowing you, football comes first,” Gonzales said, looking at Brad closely. “You’re the coach, after all.”
“Hell yeah, I’m the coach!” he slurred. He shook his head a little. “Damn, this is hitting harder than I thought.”
“You made them stronger, as I requested.” Gonzales’ mouth quirked upward. “Muscle head.”
Brad’s eyelids fluttered, his head going back against the wall. “Fuuuck…” he moaned as a small spot of wetness showed up on his shorts.
“Now, we’ll do a concentrated session,” Gonzales said, placing the helmet around the coach’s head. “Then we can see how well you’re taking in the programming.” He flipped open a laptop and turned it on. Code scrolled upwards, and instead of the usual static-filled screen, a video file played, flashing various photos and gifs of bodybuilders and muscled men. Each one lasted for a few moments before the other would flash into place. Words flitted across the pictures, far too quick for the mind to process.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked as Brad absorbed the programming.
“Mmm-hmm…” Brad moaned, nodding. “I’m loving this.” His free hand openly rubbed his burgeoning hard-on. “Zonk me out, man.”
Gonzales grinned. When he started using the helmets on the football team, he had no idea that the coach had enough acumen to be aware of what was going on. It also took him by surprise that it was one of Brad’s stronger fetishes. Already, Gonzales’ file on him was useful for advanced programming.
“Oh fuck!” Brad yelled out, his head falling back, his hand already pulled out a very thick eight inch cock. The head was heavily drooling and staining the shirt. “Yeah, man, fuck my mind, man!”
Gonzales was already busy, grabbing the milker and slipping it around the massive organ. Brad was too into the program to feel its slickness.
“All right, next level. Ready?” And he turned on the suction. At that moment, he pushed a button on the laptop, causing the video to dissolve into static.
“Fuck…,” Brad moaned. “What’s going on…” His hands twitched to the plastic tube, but otherwise stayed still. “Feels so damn good…” A moment later, he groaned deeply, his cock already spewing out massive streams of cum, which were whisked away by the awesome vacuum.
“We’ll make a good bull of you yet.” Gonzales said. “You’ll be an excellent producer, just like the rest.”
Brad’s moans were the only response.
Coach Bulde was on his house sofa, his limbs akimbo, and his dick was getting sucked.
The mouth was hesitant at first, but slowly gained confidence and eagerness. All the while, the coach was grunting around his lit cigar, gently moving the sucker’s head around making sure that no part of his ten-inch cock or his peach-sized balls or the taint were ignored.
“Fuck, son,” he grunted as the tongue lapped around the flared edge and suckled ever so gently at the ever-flowing stream of pre. “You got a hot mouth.”
“Thank you, sir,” Chad said between licks. “Your cock is amazing.”
Bulde smirked, and he placed his hands behind his head, adjusting his body for better maneuvering. “This is a bull’s cock, son. With a set of bull balls. Perfect for breeding hot moocows like you.” His gaze met with Cody’s. “You want to be bred, moocow?”
“Yessir.” The word was a breathy moan.
There was a chuckle from someone, and Bulde looked at the six studs looking at the scene. They were equally naked and breathtakingly huge: all muscle and bulk, and with heavy pecs that looked like combat helmets more than chests. They were in a relaxed stance with their hands behind their backs and their heavy junk encased in tight jock straps. “You say something, moocow?”
One stud, shorter than the others and incredibly furry, straightened up. “No sir!” he barked.
“That’s right, moocow,” Bulde returned as he focused on Cody’s ministrations. “Be good, and I might let you fuck this ass afterwards.” He gestured, and Chad froze in mid-lick. “You’re ready to be bred, moocow?”
Chad nodded. “Yessir,” he said again, then he added, “Show me how bulls breed, sir.”
Bulde smirked, and he blew out a thick stream of cigar smoke. “Assume the position, then, moocow.”
Chad leapt up and immediately turned around, showing off a thick set of lats, wide and heavy, and a beefy ass, high and chiseled, with his jock straps framing the awesome view encasing the ensemble like a frame. He placed his hands on the coffee table and leaned his ass invitingly to the coach. “Gotta be bred, sir.”
Bulde also stood, his furry pelt accentuating his muscles. On his own rump, a black tattoo reading “100% BEEF” was done up in thick, stencil lettering on the right cheek.
He slapped Chad’s ass. “Think you can handle all of us, moocow?”
Chad looked at the other six, his team mates and herd brothers. “Fuck yeah.”
“Without shooting?” A heavy hand groped Chad’s junk, already rock hard and drooling.
“F-Fuck…” Chad was told by one of the others what was going to happen, what was needed to happen to be a full-fledged Bull, but no one told him *this*. “I-I’ll try sir.”
“Don’t try, kid,” Bulde said as he slid his drooling cock between the solid rump cheeks. “Obey the Bull.”
“And you say that this has been happening for almost the year?”
“I would say so,” Mr. Winters, the college dean, said. “The cases in which the athletics department has seen are noteworthy in themselves.” He shuffled papers around his desk until he found the list. “Usually the people reported increased performance. All in itself good for the college goodwill. This year’s football games have been remarkably fanatic.”
“So what is the problem?” one of the board members asked.
“The problem,” the dean stressed the word, “is that there have been other reports, reports ignorable when singular and worrisome when taken together, of homosexual activity between players, of the staff, and of other people.”
“Oh dear,” another member said. “That is a problem.”
“Indeed. As dean, I will not stand idly by and let these activities continue. Which is why we are having this meeting.” As he glanced through the assorted folders on the desk, several board members exchanged glances. Instinctively they knew what they had to do. One cleared his throat.
“Have any of these reports been verified?” he said.
Winters froze in his search. “That is the second reason for this meeting. Almost all of these reports are rumors, nothing really to sink my teeth into. All hot air, and yet…” He grimaced. “Something tells me that it isn’t.”
“So what happens now?”
Another leaned forward to intrude. “Well, as it has mentioned before, Coach Gonzales of the wrestling team has been most helpful with—” A loud slap of folder hitting table intruded and stopped the statement solid.
“Yes.” Winter’s voice was as cold as his namesake. “Him.” He opened a file. “Originally known as a Dr. Victor Crest, originally in MIT, originally as a psychologist studying modification of assorted mental behaviors. His studies proved to be too dangerous for the public eye.”
Three people looked at the file folder hungrily, wondering when they would be able to take it off his hands.
“Studies, which from my research, have given me a few worries. Brainwashing, for starters.” He closed the folder with a snap. “Now my concern is why did he change his name. Another is if he is still making any more studies, and if so where.”
“I would hazard to guess all of the cases started since Gonzales? Crest? came into the staff?” One of the board members asked, pointedly ignoring the stares around him. “Shouldn’t that worry us?”
“It should,” another said, causing the stares to swivel around. “We should have him arrested.”
“On what grounds?” one of the trio finally spoke. “As Mr. Winters said, there is no solid proof. Only rumor.”
The dean leaned back, looking at each of the five board members a steady look which was met on equal ground. “Rumors, I might add on, that were started by various members of the athletics department.”
“All right then,” that one continued. “Has anyone else interviewed them?”
“I have, as per the dean’s instructions,” the third in the group said. The other five looked at him. “All of them, I am sorry to say, have not given any kind of proof and thus have been verified to rely on hearsay and rumor.”
The one who pointed out the coach’s arrival rolled his eyes. “Come on. We all know Gonzales has been the cause of this. Surely no one has made a mention of the strangeness surrounding him. How his charges are suddenly gaining muscle and turning into some kind of freaks.” He looked at Winters. “He has everyone across the sports sector hooked up. I’m sure of it.”
“If you are referring to the football team,” the one who mentioned the arrest said, “I have to admit that yes, they have been using some kind of helmets that they somehow gotten a hold of. The head coach said they were legit, and he did been bought off of some website he was going to show me, but I don’t have time to interview him.”
“Mr. Winters,” the last one said. He had been silent until now. “I suggest we look into this in more detail. Rumor, when looked into closely, has a way of becoming true.”
“Which is why we are having this meeting,” Winters said. “I want you and Morgan,” he pointed to the one who requested for the arrest, “to speak to all affected.” He pushed a folder to Morgan, who picked it up and thumbed through the pages. “I want details of all information regarding the athletics sector, including anything Crest is doing. If we can all agree what he is doing is not being a threat to the college, we will shelve the issue.”
“If I may ask, sir,” one asked. “If on the chance he is guilty of violating college staff and body, what will we do?”
Winters gave him a cool gaze. “Why, we will do what we always do: Contact the authorities and oust him.”
“That’s it boy, take it all.”
Bulde was balls deep in Chad’s mouth, thrusting in shallow motions, making his tight ball sac bounce against the eager stud’s chin.
Chad, on the other hand, was almost done. He got his hole not only filled with Coach’s milk but with the five other bulls, all of them eager to break his ass in. And not once did he cum. Coach was mightily impressed with that.
Now it was Gilbert’s turn, the short furry one from before. Before joining the crew, his cock could be covered with his palm, but now it was a jaw breaking seven-incher with an extremely flared head and was a heavy drooler. Herdmaster said he gave extremely huge loads, and they were quite tasty also.
Gilbert spread Chad’s cheeks apart, giving him a clear view of the thoroughly stretched out hole. Already it was oozing out streams of the others’ cum. “Damn that’s hot,” he muttered.
“Give it to him,” Bulde growled as he ground against Chad’s face, his pubes soaked with Chad’s drool. “Fuck him like a bull needs to be fucked.” He pulled out to give Chad a chance to breathe.
“Fuck yeah, man,” Chad groaned out the moment the coach’s thick head was out. “Fuck this bull. Breed him, man.” He looked at the other five across the room, all in a tangled knot of muscle and cock. “Damn.” He would have said more, but Gilbert’s cock slid into his well-used hole in one swift moment, the thick base (might have been a knot in itself) locking against the prostate, and leaving Chad utterly limp in pleasure as his cock uncontrollably shot in the tight pouch, his eyes clenched shut and moaning as orgasm rocked him.
“Damn, he didn’t last long enough,” Gilbert said over the loud moans Chad was giving.
“He lasted well enough, boy,” Bulde said. He turned to the other five. “All right, guys, let’s get cleaned up so we can finish this.”
Gilbert withdrew from Chad’s ass with a quiet pop, and he grabbed a towel from the stack on a table. After wiping himself off of Chad’s ass juices, he turned back to the stud, who was still shooting, his own load drooling out of the jock strap and oozing down his torso. “Wow, Herdmaster wasn’t kidding when he said he gave out lots of milk.”
“Yeah, he’s an excellent producer,” Bulde said. “Almost as much as you.”
Gilbert smirked and flexed, his furred bulk growing for a moment. “We bulls got to be milked, coach.”
“Always,” Bulde said. He turned back to Chad, who was just finishing. The coach tossed him a towel. “Clean up, and we’ll finish this.” “Let’s get you cleaned up, and we’ll finish this.”
“Yessir,” he said, slowly standing up, but Bulde motioned to the other four, who swiftly picked him up by the arms and legs, one to each, and followed Bulde outside in the back yard with Gilbert trailing last.
There, Chad was slowly worshipped as he was cleaned. Hands roughened by lifting were busily massaging his thick muscle. Soap was applied everywhere, cleaning him inside and out. Several rinses to his hole left it clean from cum and other residues.
As Chad was gently toweled dry, Bulde said, “Today, we introduce a new Bull to the Herd.”
“We welcome you,” the other five said, slowly drying Chad.
“He has proven himself worthy of the title, as you have learned.”
“His milk is our milk. His cock is our cock. His hole is our hole.
“His milk is ours,” they chanted as they licked and groped the heavy muscle. “His cock is ours. His hole is ours.”
“And our bodies his.”
“Ours is his.”
“From moocow to bull, we congratulate you and welcome you.” And Bulde stepped up to embrace the newly christened bull.
Chad returned the kiss, their tongues playfully entangling before separating. Another guy, a wider-than-tall bull by the name of Kurt, was next in line, embracing and kissing, before another one came over, one after the other, until Gilbert kissed him. They kissed longer as the others, and when they broke apart, Gilbert grinned and said, “I still owe you a fuck, man.”
“Yeah,” Chad said. “You better prepare for a hell of a ride.”
Bulde clapped his hands. “All right, bulls. Thanks for coming. We got a busy day tomorrow, and I suggest we take the rest of today to rest and recuperate. Chad?” The jock turned to Bulde. “Welcome to the Herd, kid.”
Chad smiled. “Thanks sir. I’ll make you proud.”
“Excellent,” Gonzales said to Cody. He was hooked up to a milker, the machine coaxing out a good load of cum out of his now-sturdy frame. Two months of his prohibition, and with Chad’s training, had him gain a good amount of muscle. No longer caring about the prohibition, either, Gonzales mused as he saw that beefy form flex and writhe in pleasure.
“Thank you, sir,” Cody gasped between shots. For him, orgasm has been a hair trigger lately; the slightest thing brought him off, and usually that thing was the feeling of his wrestling singlet rubbing against his hefty cock. Already he cycled through several unitards and many more jock straps. “Glad to help, sir.”
The programming has done marvels to his personality, Gonzales mused. No longer had the cocky womanizer who harassed the campus, his mind now focused on his needy cock and his equally needy urges to be milked and to grow huge.
“Who is a good moocow?” Gonzales said after Cody finished. He slowly removed the translucent tubing, letting Cody’s heavy nine-inch cock lazily slap against his thighs.
“I am, sir,” Cody smirked as he began to fondle his heavy pecs with one hand. “I’m a good moocow. Fuck…can’t wait to be a bull….”
“Yes you are.” The coach grinned as he removed the IV needles from the jock’s other arm. “You produced a lot of milk today, so I’ll give you a treat.” He led Cody to a cushioned chair and held up a pair of wraparound goggles that were mirrored to a chrome finish. “I got something new to try, and I would like you to be the first to use them.” He handed them over to Cody, who put them on without question.
“Ready?” Gonzales said as he flipped open a laptop.
“Yeah, coach,” Cody said. “Fry my brain.”
“You know,” Gonzales said, “the football coach has said the exact same thing on occasion.” And he turned on the laptop.
Cody saw the chrome film dim and then slowly brighten, showing off a heavily swirling spiral composed of multiple lines. The spiral appeared to go faster, then slower, then cycling back to a different speed and direction, never quite ending up where it was before. In the middle of the view screen was a small red dot.
A whisper of sound, and Chad felt earphones placed on his ears. They were muttering something on the edge of hearing, something Chad strained to understand, but the spiral kept on making lose his focus, kept on making him feel relaxed and so, so pliant….
Gonzales stepped back with an air of accomplishment. The Bluetooth link came through. He had to make a note of this for further development.
As he walked into his front office, there was a knock on the door. He raised an eyebrow, and he glanced at the clock. He had no appointments set up. “Come in,” he barked as he sat down.
The door opened and let in one of the board members.
“Sir,” he said as he sat down. “I am here at the behest of–,”
“The cock crows at noon,” Gonzales said.
The phrase had an effect on the board member. He melted from calm assurance to surely fidgets.
“This had better be good, Alex,” the coach growled.
The board member’s eyes nervously darted across the room, and his tongue flickered across his lips. “The dean, sir,” he said, “he set up a committee, as you know, about your activities.”
“I’m sure you have been trying to throw wrenches into it, as I instructed you to.”
“Yes sir, but it is getting harder to get it done. In fact, sir, they are going to bring two people to investigate your activities. I tried as best as I could without drawing attention to myself, but right now, they are suspicious.”
“Who is coming?”
“Morgan and West, sir. They are setting up for an interview in half an hour. I have to act quickly, sir.” He would say more, but Gonzales raised a hand to cut him off.
“Go and come back with Burns. He has been sufficiently persuaded.”
“Y-yessir.” He rose from the chair and quickly walked out the room.
Gonzales leaned back in his chair. It was happening all over again. The witch hunt and the purging. But he learned from his previous case. They will be brought to heel.
And after that, he will have two more people under his control.
When he went back to the back room, he looked at Cody and then the laptop. The concentrated program was running down to the end, and the coach was eager to see if the results paid off.
“Alright, kid,” Gonzales said after he removed the glasses and earphones. “You need to help your Herdmaster.”
“Anything to serve, sir,” Cody answered immediately.
“Good, good. You will have to follow me, then. And if you’re good, I’ll treat you to another milking. Want that, moocow?”
Cody huffed a breath. “Y-yessir. Gotta be milked.”
“Then on your feet, moocow. Get dressed and follow me.”
When they went to the front, the coach placed the mindfucked stud in the other chair. “Alright then,” Gonzales said as he leaned on the desk edge, “we are going to start a new level of your training. If you perform well, you will be amply rewarded. Are you ready?”
“Good. Let us get started, then.” He snapped his fingers. “Revert.”
Cody visibly shuddered, holding his head in painful confusion. The room seemed to spin, and he felt his stomach threatening to empty itself out. His mind went fuzzier than before, collapsing in on itself like a card house.
“You’re alright, kid?” said a distant, yet familiar, voice.
A few moments later, Cody sat up, his eyes growing clear and steady. He glanced at the coach with a sneer. “What the fuck, coach?”
Gonzales gave a mental nod. The programming took hold. “Keep your ass on the chair, kid,” he said aloud. “Time for your probation review.”
There was a knock on the door, and before Gonzales could say anything, it opened, revealing four people.
“Gentlemen,” he said, eyeing the quartet as they entered. He glanced at Alan and Burns for a moment before going back to the leader, West. He was holding a small, folded piece of paper. “You are intruding on a student meeting.”
“We all know about your ‘meetings’, Gonzales,” he said sneeringly. “Or should we call you Crest?”
Gonzales didn’t blink. “Either suits me, to be honest.”
Cody, who looked at the four newcomers, raised an eyebrow. “Who are you guys?”
Everyone looked at the jock. “Who is this?” West said.
“Mister Cody Flint,” Gonzales said, “as you may remember from his probation hearing, was heading to be expelled.”
“That was two months ago,” Alan said. “I remember, yes.”
“Well, I am happy to say that Mr. Flint is taking the probation period quite well.” He waved a vague hand to the jock. “Sixty days into the period, and not a single report or commentary on his previous activities.”
“No thanks to your treatments,” West said. He waved the folded paper. “This is a search warrant, and we are going to search your office for any kind of–!” Gonzales snatched the paper from him and read through it.
“Hm,” he said as he read through the warrant. “So it says.” He folded it up and placed it on his desk. “I don’t see why I shouldn’t allow access into my back office. Since you are so eager to do this, let me have a moment, please.” He went behind his desk and pulled out a pad of paper. “Cody,” he said as he scribbled something on it.
“Yeah?” the jock said.
“Here.” The coach ripped the paper off, folded it, and passed it over to Cody. “You’re back in the wrestling team. Give this to Bulde, and he’ll set you up.”
“Fuck yeah!” he said as he took the paper.
“Remember, kid. Only one slip is all it takes.”
Cody sighed. “Yeah, I know, sir.” He looked at the coach. “Thanks.”
“Welcome. Now get out of here.”
As the door closed behind the jock, he turned to the four. “Gentlemen, if you can follow me. I will personally give you a tour of the back room.”
As Cody walked towards the office, he felt that all his cares were behind him. He looked around at the people around him, focusing on the girls walking about, and was about to walk towards one when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. He was spun around and faced a complete stranger, his extremely beefy form wrapped in a bright orange wrestling singlet that showed off all of his bulk in lewd detail. An equally massive form in a blue singlet stood behind him. Both had overhanging pectorals with thick chest nubs.
“Dude!” Chad grinned. “Ready for a workout?” He motioned to the other guy. “Kurt and I were going to do legs.”
“What the fuck, man?” Cody snarled, taking a step back. “Who the hell are you?”
Chad’s eyes flew open in surprise, but then they narrowed. A small smile appeared. “Oh, it’s your turn now, huh?”
“My turn? For what?”
Chad laughed it off. “Good one, bro. Listen,” he added, leaning forward. “You’re gonna see Bulde, right?”
“How the hell did you—,”
“Just listen, man. You’re going to make a choice. I remember making mine.” The smile grew mysterious. “That was the best day of my life.”
“What are you talking about?” Cody said. He looked at the other stud, who turned around and showed off a broad back and a heavy rump encased in tight Lycra. His gaze oddly lingered there, and he tore it away to face the other guy. “Who are you?” he said, trying to hide a blush.
“One of Bulde’s guys,” Chad said. “Don’t worry about us, bro. Get to Bulde and talk. He’ll explain everything.” He nudged Kurt, who turned to face the duo. “Come on, dude. He’s going to talk to Bulde.”
“Oh, really?” Kurt said, smirking. “Here’s hoping you’ll join the team, then.”
“Gonzales already said I was back on the team,” Cody said, and he had to pause at Chad’s sudden burst of laughter. “The hell?”
“Sorry, bro,” Chad said, wiping tears from his eyes. “Nothing to do with you, just remembered something funny.” He turned to Kurt. “C’mon, dude.”
“And if you come over here,” Gonzales said as he gestured to a tall server tower blinking with several lights and festooned with wires, “you will see where I store all of my research. Before I was expelled from M.I.T. of course.”
“And why would you still have that?” West asked. He was looking at the tower as the other three were looking around the area with its stacks of closed laptops and wired helmets.
“Souvenirs of a past life, one might say,” the coach said.
“And this?” Morgan was investigating the milking station, now cleaned and sterile. “Another souvenir?”
“You would think that, yes. However,” Gonzales continued as he walked to the machine, “Coach Bradley Simmons of the football team has asked me to store this contraption here. For some reason, his office doesn’t have the room, considering how much money the board pours into the department.”
“And before you ask,” he said as Morgan opened his mouth to reply, “No, I do not know what it does.”
“Bullshit,” West said, glaring at Gonzales. “We have all read the reports they had on you. Turning males into muscled freaks seems your forte. We’ve noticed that they started when you first came here.”
Burns, an aging man with his shoulders dusted with dandruff, cleared his throat. “We are simply worried about the students, Mister Gonzales. At the moment, we have no clear evidence of any wrongdoing, as you are well aware, but—,”
“I understand the need for this,” Gonzales said, ignoring the pointed stares of West and Morgan. “Explains the warrant.” He nodded to the two. “Of course, if you have no clear evidence, what exactly are you trying to incriminate me with?”
West moved his glare from the coach to Burns. “If I may take a moment,” he said between clenched teeth, “to converse with my fellow board member about the objectives of this meeting?” He walked up to Burns and grabbed an arm, more dragging than moving him away from the other three.
Morgan whistled softly. “Someone is pissed.”
Gonzales looked at the whispering duo. “I guess he wasn’t supposed to say that?” He chuckled. “That takes a load off my mind, though.” He went to a small ice chest near the machine and pulled out a few bottles of water. “Care for a drink, sir?”
Alex shook his head. Morgan looked at one in question, but he accepted it. He nodded his thanks as he slowly drank it.
West and Burns were coming back, with Burns trailing meekly behind. “Now that is done, we can continue with the tour. Oh, yes, I would like one, thanks.” West accepted his own bottle and drank.
“Now, as I was going to say before all this,” Gonzales said as he motioned to the laptops. “Most of my work was on the server, but I also had to work with these. Each one with a program used for assisting with behavior modification and also for assorted tasks.”
“Why are they still here?” West said. “More of your so-called souvenirs?”
The coach shook his head. “Each one contains years of work. I cannot, will not, part with them. They are far too valuable. It would be akin to burning books.”
As he prattled on, he noticed Morgan was almost done with his bottle whereas West was halfway done. Yes, he thought, they didn’t think at all. So fucking predictable.
“Any questions?” he finished aloud.
“I have none,” Burns said.
“Same,” Alex said.
“I have one,” Morgan said. He motioned to the helmets, his hand wobbling a little. “What are these?”
“Oh? I didn’t tell you what they do?” Gonzales went to the table and picked one up. “These will help you see things my way. To be honest, I am very lucky.”
“For what?” Morgan said. A noticeable slurring smeared across the words.
“Are you okay, Morgan?” West asked. He took a step forward, and he had to hold onto the table to stop him from stumbling. “The hell is going on?” He looked at Gonzales. “What did you do to us?”
“As I said, very lucky.” Gonzales took two laptops from a stack and opened them. “I was planning on taking you one at a time, but seeing you both in one place….” He grinned widely.
Morgan collapsed to the floor, drowsy. “Help…me,” he said to Alex. “Send…” He had to force the word out. “Help…”
Alex looked at the struggling board member, and he shook his head. “I am sorry to say, sir,” he said, “that my loyalties have shifted a long time ago. I now support the Herdmaster.” He bowed to Gonzales.
“You damned idiot!” West bellowed. Already his legs gave out, and he sat on the floor. “I will see you hang for this!”
“No, you will not.” Gonzales motioned to the prone form of Morgan, and the other two went to pick him up. “The fifth chair.” He crouched down to face West. “What you will do after I am done with you will be to bring the Dean in. He needs to be brought into my control. With that, I will then have my studies uninterrupted. And with all of the funding I can get, to boot.” He grinned widely. “And thus, I will show all of those idiots in M.I.T.”
“Where do we want him?” Burns said, pointing to West. Despite the bottle halfway gone, the drug had done its work, and West was trying hard to stay awake.
“Fourth chair,” Gonzales said, rising. “You will have to wait for a moment, though.” He picked up a silvered helmet and placed it gently over Morgan’s head. “The drug works through the system quickly, so a few moments are all I need for– ah, there we go.” He stepped back, already seeing Morgan twitching back to awareness. He quickly walked to the laptop connected to it and switched it on. A moment later, he did the same to West.
“Now,” he said, stepping back in triumph. “Who are we missing?”
“Mr. Aaron Jordan,” Alex said promptly. “He is looking into Simmons’ activities.”
“Hm. That needs some handling.” Gonzales looked at the two seated. “How long was the dean expecting you to be here?”
“As long as it took,” Burns said. “As I said, there is no clear evidence of your manipulations.”
“Then I’m sure another session can be squeezed in with these two.” He looked at his cohorts. “And I am sure you want one as well?”
Burns’ face lit up, and Alex nodded vigorously.
“Well then,” Gonzales said, gesturing to the chairs. “Sit down, and we’ll get started.”
Coach Simmons, head coach of the college football team, looked up from his laptop, his brow furrowed at the knock of the door. “Come in!”
The door opened, showing off a burly jock, his massive form stretching out the upper portions of his mesh jersey. “Hey, coach, there’s someone to see you.”
Simmons was planning on telling the jock to let them in, but a hand pushed him aside, revealing its owner: a suited man with a horsey face and red hair shot with gray.
“Mr. Jordan,” Simmons said, recognizing one of the College Board members. He stood from his chair as the director entered. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Nothing really,” Jordan said airily. “We—the Board that is—are looking into the activities of Coach Gonzales. AKA Victor Crest, disgraced MIT scientist.” He glared hard at Simmons, seeing if it provoked a reaction. It didn’t get one.
The coach nodded instead, and he pitched his voice to be heard outside. “Gilbert?”
The jock who opened the door peeked inside. “Yah, coach?”
“Get me a bottle of water. Make that two,” he corrected as Jordan sat himself down. The coach waved his hand in a circle, signaling the director to continue.
“Our research came across you and your own background,” the director said.
“Certainly.” Jordan leaned back in his chair. “Coach Brad Simmons. Been head football coach for the past ten years. Thanks to your discipline, you have led our team towards more victories than I can count.” He smiled. “And yet, always looking for that extra edge for his team.”
“You flatter me, Director,” the coach said, returning the smile.
Gilbert entered the room and placed two bottles on Simmons’ desk. After a nod to his coach, he left, closing the door behind him.
“I cannot deny myself looking for that edge,” Simmons added. “Anything to help with the college’s standing in the playoffs. But what does this have to do with Gonzales?”
“As I made mention, he is a disgraced scientist from MIT, and he did various unsanctioned experiments with the student body there.”
The coach’s eyebrows drifted upwards. “Oh? Like what?”
“I do not need to inform you of any details,” the director said. “All you need to know is that you and the team are in danger of falling into his hands. And the dean has appointed me to help you prevent such a catastrophe.”
And with that, he reached over to take his bottle, opened it, and took a few swigs.
“I can see what you are saying, sir,” Simmons said, nodding, “and that does explain a few things.” He leaned forward, his hands spread out in benediction. “I think it’s those helmets, sir.”
Jordan paused while drinking, the bottle half-way done. “Helmets?”
The coach nodded. “Yes sir. Ever since he gave them to us, my students have been acting weirdly. I informed one of the other directors, and he said you’d help.”
“Who gave them?”
Simmons opened his own bottle and drained it in a few gulps. “Gonzales, of course. Said it would help the team with concentration and shit like that.” He shook his head. “And I was too fucking gullible to accept.”
The director nodded. He could see it now. The poor deluded coach, looking for that extra edge, accepting Crest’s brainwashing. He drained the rest of the bottle and placed it on the table. “If I can see those helmets,” he said, “I might be able to help you and the team escape this developing scandal with your honor intact.”
“Of course, sir,” Simmons stood, motioning the director to do the same.
“I will assist y-you…” He trailed off as he rose from the chair. The room started to spin. “What did you do…?” Jordan looked at Simmons’ impassive face for a moment before fainting in a heap.
The coach walked to the prone board member, crouched down, and pulled back an eyelid. He nodded slowly before standing up and going to the door, calling out a few of his team for assistance.
The board member awoke to a darkened room. High windows let in faint light.
“Hello?” he said, his voice crackling with fear.
In response, a florescent light flickered on above him for a moment before the rest of the lights followed suit, showing the other people there.
They were the college football team.
Each one was thickly hewed– their shoulders needing no pads as they stretched across the mesh jerseys; their heavy pectorals arching under the fabric like loaves. Matching compression tights showed off their powerful legs and heavy bulges.
All of them were staring straight ahead, their thick arms behind ramrod-straight backs in a relaxed military pose.
“What the hell?” the director said.
“You know,” a voice said, “Crest was right about you guys.”
Jordan looked to the side where he saw Simmons straddle-legged on the back of his chair, looking at a strobing laptop screen. He was shirtless for some reason, his skin gleaming as they showed off his own amazing bulk. One hand was gingerly playing with an unusually thick nipple.
“What’s going on, Simmons?” Jordan tried to stand, but couldn’t. He looked down to find a thick rope knotted around his body and legs. “What the hell?!”
“I didn’t think his warnings should have been taken seriously, honestly.” Simmons stood up and turned the chair around, shifting it closer to the bound director. He leaned back, his weight causing the seat to creak in protest. “I mean, his criminal record was pretty much buried under bureaucratic drivel when he came here.”
“You knew?” Jordan said, his anger swiftly rising.
The coach snorted. “Of course I knew. He and I go way back. Graduated the same year at Harvard. He went to do his experiments over at MIT, and I came here to work on mine.”
“Wait.” Jordan tried to put the pieces together. “Your experiments?”
“Oh yeah. You should have dug further down, man.” He grinned toothily. “Sports medicine was my major.” He paused. “My minor was biological chemistry.”
And he laughed loudly, the noise the only thing in the room for several moments.
“You’re the one who got the students all roided up, then.” Jordan said over the laughter.
The laughter died off. “One of my working projects, yeah. A new steroid drug, undetectable by almost all current testing. But those newer tests find nothing other than very trace amounts of non-human DNA.”
“Bovine.” He looked thoughtful “Though ‘steroid’ is a bad way to put it. I would call it lipid-based gene therapy, instead. But the results do speak for themselves.” He flexed a hammock arm, the biceps swelling to heavy thickness.
“And you went along with Crest’s depraved crap for what?”
Simmons grinned. “He helped test out my formula then, and he’s helping me fine tune it now. We hashed out a few details, but it was pretty okay on my part.” He stood up and walked to the director. “A shame he got found out there. Although, thanks to me, hiring him here was easier than I thought.”
“Okay?!” Jordan struggled against his bindings. “You are taking students and warping them into what?”
“Well, he is turning them into what he calls bulls.” He chuckled. “Considering some of the side effects of my treatments, I don’t blame him for that misnomer.”
“Me?” He gestured to the rank and file of the football team. “I just want my boys to win the playoffs. Isn’t that right, guys?” he asked the team.
“Sir yes sir!” they yelled in unison, their voices blending into a deep bellow.
“But he’s brainwashing you!” Jordan yelled back to the team. “He’s turning you into freaks! They need to be stopped!”
“Sorry, man,” Simmons said. “They can’t hear you. Something Crest did to them has them obeying only me when they’re in this state. But hey, that’s okay!” He grinned widely. “While they’re in this condition, they are extremely compliant, willing to obey the slightest command.”
The director looked at the team, at a loss, as the words hit home. He hung his head, and mumbled, “We’ll find out. We will stop you.” He raised his head, his eyes blazing with anger. “Already, my fellow board members are serving the papers to arrest Crest.”
“Ah, that is where you are wrong, man.” He walked to a table on the side. When he came back, he was holding a pair of wrap-around sunglasses, the film silvered blue.
“Crest’s latest model,” he said as Jordan’s eyes grew wide. “He said that when you get here, that you should try them out.” He turned the shades about his hands. “Frankly, I was tempted just to leave you here and try them myself, but Crest insisted you were needed to bring the dean into our hands.”
“No, wait,” the director said as the coach stepped forward with the glasses in hand. “What are you going to do to me?”
“Nothing really,” Simmons said, shrugging. “Just to help you get on our side. Practically painless.” He tried placing them on the director’s head, but he kept on dodging the oncoming attack.
The coach sighed and motioned to one of the first row. “Gus, if you can keep his head still for a few moments?”
Gus, a heavy-set Asian, stomped over behind the struggling director and clasped his thick hands around his head. “Wait!” Jordan screamed as the shades slipped on. “No! Help!”
He couldn’t say more. Already his eyes were losing focus with the spiral, that glorious spiral that made him so relaxed and so able to have his head filled with the whispered commands he was suddenly hearing. Commands that had him relax further and open his mind more.
“There we go,” Simmons said, stepping back after he placed the earphones around the director’s head. “How’s that, director?” He chuckled, knowing he couldn’t hear. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a phone. He dialed a number.
“I take it he’s good?” Gonzales’s voice came through the other end.
“That he is, brotha, that he is.”
Simmons’ breath caught, his vision going swimmy. “W-wha?”
“All good moocows need to be rewarded, yes?”
“Y-yeah.” His other hand started to rub at his swelling bulge.
“Show your team how good a moocow you are. Show them how much milk you can produce. Show them what kind of bull you are.”
“Yes, Herdmaster,” Simmons gasped. He already pulled his thick cock was out from its confines, which was dripping syrupy strands of pre.
“Now, go about your business.” He paused. “Musclehead.”
Simmons shuddered, dropping the phone. When he came out of the trance, he looked at his oozing cock, needing to be milked by heavy hands and needy mouths. He looked at his team of muscleheads, each one so fucking hot and ready to be used. “Gus.”
The one still holding the director’s head looked at the coach. “Yes sir!”
“Come and suck on your coach’s cock, will ya?” He looked at the team as the jock took his position. “Andy! Rob! Come worship your coach, huh?”
“Sir yes sir!” The two jogged on over and without any comment, started to suckle on Simmons’ ample nipples just as Gus slipped his mouth over the coach’s thick helmet.
“Awfuck!” Simmons moaned out, his cock instantly shooting out its thick load. Gus, to his credit, didn’t gag at the amount. “The rest of you muscleheads,” Simmons said to the rest of the team, “time to get extra credit.”
The team broke out of their own trance, each one looking at their fellow team mates as they stripped naked and dove into a developing maelstrom of masculine lust of hungry mouths, drooling cocks, and tight asses.
“Awfuck,” the coach moaned out again, feeling another load about to shoot out thanks to Gus’ talented mouth. “This musclebull is gonna you all fucking huge for the Herdmaster!”
Cody strode down the path, feeling exceptionally happy. Things were going pretty well. First he survived that shitshow of probation, and now he was back on the team. He’d show Gonzales what he was capable of doing. His fist clenched at that thought, his anger climbing to a slow simmer.
Fucking coach, he thought, as he passed by a trio of ladies, their clothes accentuating the heavy chests and the swaying hips. He openly ogled them, smirking as they looked back with interest.
Yeah, he continued, look at this slab of prime beef. He couldn’t resist, and he flexed an arm in their direction, winking. Look at this alpha bull.
“You’re not a bull, fucker,” a deep voice murmured. “You’re just a fuckin’ moocow.”
“What?” Cody said, turning around. He saw no one there, just the normal flow of students as they walked towards their own destinations.
What was that? he asked himself. He looked around, but no one was looking at him. Shrugging, he continued walking down the path to Bulde’s office.
He was going past the cafeteria, with its mirrored windows, when he heard someone say, “Well, what do we have here?”
Cody turned and looked at a scantily clad male standing near him. Easily a head shorter than him, he was dressed in a stringer tee that barely covered his furry pecs. In fact, red hair covered everything in a thick pelt that only accentuated his massiveness. Extra short Lycra shorts barely held back a straining bulge. A golden ring pierced his septum, and a trio of links dangled from his left ear.
“Sorry, bro, didn’t mean to scare ya.” The other extended a heavy hand. “Gilbert. I take it you’re Cody?”
“Yeah?” Cody shook the offered hand and tried not to wince at Gilbert’s grip.
“Bulde told me to expect ya,” Gilbert said, grinning. “Although, I wasn’t expecting you to be so fuckin’ hot.”
“What?” Cody growled. Just great, he thought, another fucking faggot trying to flirt with me.
Gilbert took a step back, his hands raised protectively. “I meant no harm, bro. Didn’t mean to upset ya. I mean, built as you are, I’m sure you had a few guys hit on ya.”
“As built as I am…?” He raised a quizzical eyebrow and glanced at his reflection. His jaw dropped as he saw, not seeing Gilbert’s sudden grin.
He was huge.
Much bigger than what he was before the probation, now that he thought about it. He stepped closer to the window, looking at his now-massive form. His pecs were the most noticeable area, two thick slabs of muscle that threatened to tear out of his skin-tight singlet and with quarter-sized nipples that begged to be used and....
His hands roamed across the lycra-clad bulk. The fabric was neon green, with ruby racing stripes on the sides. He shifted around, watching the cloth shift fascinatingly across his body. I don’t remember putting this on, he thought. The singlet stretched and clung to a heavy ass that spoke of endless squats and glute exercises. He reached over to cup a thick rump cheek, the motion causing him to softly moan. He gently pawed at it, feeling waves of pleasure dash across his mind. He moaned louder, causing a few people to turn their heads to him.
“Looks like someone is enjoying this, bro,” Gilbert said.
Cody blinked a few times, feeling his mind clear. He saw himself groping his ass in the reflection, and he blushed hotly, hastily straightening up. The fuck was going on?
Gilbert laughed and hooked an arm around Cody’s neck, giving him a playful noogie. “You like showing off, bro?”
“Of course, man,” Cody said, trying to break the hold. “I mean, who wouldn’t. But not here!”
Gilbert snorted. “Fuck that, dude. You got that body, might as well show it off anywhere and anytime.” He released Cody and gave him a toothy grin. “I mean, what’s why you’re wearing that, right? A big stud like you likes showing off, right?”
Cody’s gaze drifted back to his reflection. The moment of embarrassment was over, and it was replaced by fiery pride. Of course, he wanted to show it off. He was huge! His mind drifted to endless workouts, the constant stress he put his body through with every rep, every set. He palmed a heavy pec before going to a tight double-bi pose.
“A bull’s mission in life,” the voice murmured again, “is to be as huge as possible, to show off his body as much as possible, so the world can see what he is.”
“What was that?” Cody lowered his arms and looked around, but he didn’t see anyone nearby, just Gilbert.
“What was what, bro?” he said.
“I thought I heard….” He trailed off as he shook his head. “Never mind. Why are you here again?”
“Bulde told me to expect ya,” Gilbert said. He turned and motioned with his hand. “Come on, man.”
“I already know where he is,” Cody said as he started to follow.
“Yeah, I figured as much. But hey,” he said, turning around and walking backwards, “it’s always nice to meet a new member of the powerlifting team.”
“Wait, what?” Cody stopped. “I’m part of the wrestling team. Gonzales told me I was.”
“Nah, man, you’re part of us now.” A sly grin skimmed across Gilbert’s mouth. “Don’t you remember, bro?”
“I…don’t…?” Cody grimaced as a memory bloomed in his mind: him with the other two coaches, discussing the transfer between wrestling to powerlifting– how they all agreed it was the right thing to do for a guy like him.
But they used another word to describe him. A monster? No, something else. He strained his memory, trying to remember what it was.
“Hey, Cody?” Gilbert snapped his fingers in front of the other jock’s blank face. “Earth to Cody.”
“What…?” He blinked a few times. “I’m sorry, man. I don’t feel okay right now. Everything is just....” He waved his hands about his head, the action illustrating better than words could suffice.
Gilbert nodded. “It’s okay, man. You’re just trying to adjust to your new life. We all had to go through that.” He smiled. “Now it’s your turn.”
“Wha...?” He looked at Gilbert. “That’s what he said.”
“I saw him just as I was heading out. I...” His mind flashed to the other two and how hot they were-
-how thick and massive they looked in the singlets-
…I’m straight, I’m not supposed to...
-flashes of memory of him worshiping those forms with his mouth and hands-
…fuck no, that’s not right…
-and how he badly needed to-
“Never mind that, man,” Gilbert intruded. “You got to see Bulde, remember?”
“Y-Yeah!” A relieved smile showed on Cody’s face. “Got to tell him I’m back on the team.”
“Attaboy,” Gilbert said, grinning. He turned away once again. “Come on, let’s go.”
Threats neutralized. Proceed as planned.
Bulde typed out an affirmative and turned off the phone’s display. A grin played across his face, and he looked down at the stud licking the last of a thick load off his cock. “Alright, boy, that’s enough. Got the new guy coming in, and I don’t want him to bail out.”
“Aw, do I have to?” Frank asked teasingly, but he got up before grabbing Bulde’s heavily drooling cock and rubbing it across the flared helmet.
Bulde brought him in for a rough kiss before shoving him away. “You do that one more time, and I’ll give you another deadlift day.”
Frank’s shoulders slumped. “Fuck, coach, I’m already worn out from yesterday—,”
There was a knock at the door.
“That’s probably the new guy,” Bulde said as he swiftly tucked himself in his jock. He pulled up his chair and sat down. “You sit your ass down and don’t interfere. Come in!” he yelled to the door, which opened, and in went Gilbert, followed by Cody.
“Hey coach!” Gilbert said. “Brought Cody in, as you asked.”
“And what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you?” Bulde said as Cody sat down. Gilbert backed away and joined the other guy, exchanging knowing smiles.
“Gonzales let me back in the team, sir.” Cody passed the folded paper to the coach, who opened it.
“So he has, kid. So he has.” An eyebrow rose up as he read the contents. “Apparently you have been on good behavior.” He chuckled. “Very good behavior.” He stared deeply into Cody’s eyes. “Good moocow.”
Cody’s eyes fluttered, his body trembled as if it was caught in a high wind. “What…?”
“You’re a good moocow, ain’t you?” Bulde said as he rose from his seat. Cody’s eyes locked onto that heavy bulge, already wet with the coach’s pre. He remembered those times where he would be rewarded after a good workout by sucking out those juices from the fabric.
He shook his head, his mind going fuzzy. “No…”
“All moocows need to be rewarded, yeah?” Bulde slowly walked towards Cody, the coach’s manly musk flooding his nose and making his cock twitch.
“Are you a good moocow, boy?” Bulde asked.
“Yes sir. I’m a good moocow,” he said without hesitation. But then he shook his head again. “Wait.” He looked at Bulde. “The fuck is going on?”
Bulde chuckled. “What happened to all of us, kid.” He reached down and lifted Cody’s chin so he could meet the coach’s gaze. “The Herdmaster thought you were good enough to get your mind reconciled for phase two.”
“Phase two?” Cody asked.
“Shh, no more questions.” Despite the gentle tone, that glare intensified. “Obey the Bull.”
Cody shut his eyes, shuddering with pleasure. It felt so good, so fucking good, just to obey the bull. To heed the commands this prime piece of beef gives. Compared to this alpha, he was a mere beta, a moocow whose only job was to provide milk to his fellow teammates, to be milked by the Herdmaster, to be the one of the studs chosen by the Herdmaster to be given the privilege of-
He felt Bulde’s heavy hand grabbing the back of his head and pulling him to his canvas-covered bulge. “Worship, boy.”
Cody’s tongue was out before he could think about it. He licked and suckled at the pouch for a few moments before that hand pushed him back against the chair. He opened his eyes to find Bulde slipping off his shirt, showing off his extremely furry and beefy form.
“Before I continue,” Bulde said as he sat on the desk, “I need to get you to get you calibrated.” He met Cody’s eyes. “Remember.”
A wave of dizziness washed over Cody, and he put a hand to his forehead in confusion. Memories, first dim, were coming out of the dark recesses of his mind…
…him getting milked by Gonzales’ machines
…him sucking on thick cock and creamy nipples
…lifting hard and flexing until he shot crippling loads
…of Chad (that’s who that guy was!) teaching him how to be a good moocow
…and others that paraded across his mind, leaving Cody dazed and heavily aroused.
“Cody?” Bulde spoke as if from a distance. “Can you hear me, boy?”
“Yessir…” he drawled, his mind still reeling from the flood of repressed memories.
“Look at me, kid.”
He opened his eyes, and asked the only question possible. “Why? Why me?”
“Why not?” Bulde shrugged. “The Herdmaster thought you a perfect candidate for his program. Afterwards, I asked him to have you join us.” He hooked a thumb to Gilbert, who had his shirt off and was getting his chest worshiped by Frank. “He’s graduating this year, and I need a replacement for the team.”
Cody looked at the scene: Gilbert’s head thrown back in supreme ecstasy and pushing Frank’s head, who was nursing that amazing chest. One nipple was gently dribbling creamy milk as the other was getting noisily sucked. Their moans filled the air.
“You could be like that also, kid. That big, hell, even bigger. Think about what you can be after you leave college. You’ll be a true alpha.” He gestured, and the duo separated. “One more thing with this, and I’ll leave Gilbert to show you.”
The jock gave a dazzling grin and unbuttoned his shorts, which he slid off to reveal a dick that dangled to his knees and thicker than his wrist. The helmet was heavily flared, the surface slightly rounded, almost flat. The slit was wide and gaping, and thick rivers of pre flowed out to drip on the fabric. His grapefruit-sized balls dangled loosely in their furry sack.
“Apparently, this is an end result of the treatment,” Bulde said to Cody, whose jaw dropped in shock. “Whoever made this steroid is a mad genius. Turns us into real bulls.”
“All of you are going to be like that?” Cody asked.
“All of us, kid.” Bulde clasped a hand on Cody’s shoulder. He felt the muscles tense a bit, but nothing else happened. “Frankly, I can’t wait to get a dick like that. Fuckin’ hot.” He glanced at Cody, but he was too engrossed at Gilbert’s naked form. “You want that, don’t you?”
The words came out lightning fast. “Yessir.”
Builde chuckled. “No hesitation there.” The hand gently slid down to grope a thick pec. “You want to be a bull, then? To be that big, that furry, and to rut with your fellow teammates?”
Cody’s breath quickened as a thumb caressed his nipple. “Yessir.”
“What are you, then? Tell us, boy.”
There was no hesitation, no looking back. “I’m a moocow.” He looked at Bulde. “I’m a fuckin’ moocow.”
“I’m a moocow!”
“I’M A MOOCOW!”
“Attaboy,” Bulde said, grinning and slapping Cody on the back.. Gilbert and the other were clapping and cheering. “Time to be rewarded.” He motioned to his thick chest. “Come and drink up.”
“Fuck.” The last vestiges of resistance vanished as Cody latched on, moaning softly as thick milk tasting of maleness flooded his mouth and made him tune out everything around him. He adjusted his stance, hugging the coach as his mouth pressed itself deeper into the furry pec, drawing out never-ending mouthfuls of manly cream.
“Contact the rest of the herd,” he heard Bulde dimly say. “I need to talk to the Herdmaster about our latest acquisition.”