The Black Knights: Brandon

by Meddler Incs   

“So ya wanna be a jock, bro?” Baker asks. Yeah, Brandon so wants to be a jock.

“So ya wanna be a jock, bro?” Baker flexed his muscles.

“Fuck yeah, dude.”

“Say it!”

Brandon took a deep breath. “I want to be a jock.”

“Louder!”

“I wanna be a jock!”

“Louder bro! Let everyone hear you!”

“I WANNA BE A FUCKIN’ JOCK!”

The crowd cheered as Baker slapped the newcomer on the back.

“Attaboy, bro.” He drew Brandon into a huge hug, surrounding him with his muscles. “We’ll make ya a jock, then!”

Brandon hugged back, feeling the slickness of his Lycra uniform. He moaned as he kneaded his bulk.

“Heh. Easy there, tiger.” Baker pulled back and grinned, showing off the killer smile that originally reeled Brandon in. “We have to get Coach’s permission first,” he continued.

“Where is he?” Brandon asked, looking around at the mass of shirtless and pantsless hunks. But the question was answered as he saw the thick-hewed man come over.

“So,” he said, growling around his cigar. “Another player for our Black Knights, hm?”

“He’s going to be great, coach!” Baker said, with Brandon nodding vigorously.

The coach took out the cigar and exhaled a heavy plume of smoke. “I bet,” he said, eyeing Brandon’s lanky form. “We need to get you into a new body, though.”

“What?”

A flicker of motion, and something akin to black tar slammed Brandon onto a wall. He tried to groan in pain, but his jaw was shut by the thick substance.

“Always happy to find new hosts to join with,” he heard the coach say. “The willing ones are the best ones.”

“Fuck ya, coach,” Baker said, eyeing the scene. He, and the rest of the team, was busily jerking off to it.

Brandon felt the goo climb up onto his skull, and he shuddered as it covered the rest of his body. He involuntarily took a step back, and saw his reflection. Once a geeky, bony figure, he was now a fireplug of thick beef, a thick coat of course, black hair covering almost everything. Silver rings glinted from the forest of curls now known as his pecs.

“I’m fuckin’ huge…” he trailed off as he saw his new equipment, now a fat ten incher with balls the size of baseballs. A thick silver ring hung from the helmet. He gripped the cock with a callused palm and snorted with pleasure as it stiffened. “Fuck.”

A sudden tug from his head, deep into his brain, and the coach’s mind touched his own. Brandon felt a sense of immense trust from him. He would do anything for the coach: be the best on the field, the best in the weight room. He welcomed other minds—his teammates he instinctively knew—into his own, and he felt his bulk grow thicker, broader, until he was an epic beast of muscle.

Baker strutted over to the newly made jock and groped the new jock’s body. “Fuckin’ huge, bro.”

Brandon had to flex, popping his chest and bringing his arm up into a football of muscle. “Yeah? Wanna worship this bull, bro?”

“C’mon, son,” the coach said. He blew out a streamer of smoke. “Show the stud your appreciation.”

Baker nodded and knelt. Before Brandon knew what was happening, his cock was eagerly swallowed down and expertly blown.

“Ahwfuck!” Brandon yelped. “Yah bro, suck that dick.” He felt another tug in his mind, and he exploded in orgasmic pleasure, shoving pints of jock juice down Baker’s throat.

A few minutes later, and they uncoupled. Baker eyed the musclejock in front of him, and grinned. “Welcome to the team, bro.”

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