Description When an ex-football player, now a local newspaper reporter, investigates The Black Knights, he gets more than he bargained for.
|Updated||26 Oct 2019|
Zion eased the car into the parkway and got out. He gazed around the grounds of his old alma mater, looking at the endless hordes of students in their countless transits from one class to another. Admixed with the hordes were guys, that he noticed with raised eyebrows, that stood out from the crowds. They were unusually huge and thick, their auras of pure jockness and masculinity wrapped up in black spandex that molded against their thick forms like plastic wrap.
It was those guys that brought Zion Key, reporter for The City Times, back here. The Black Knights.
According to Zion’s research, they were one of the better-known teams in the state. The wins started soon after his graduation, quickly becoming a local favorite in the local football circles. They rarely lost a match, and those that they did lose were under grueling circumstances. The coach, Samuel Travers, was a legend. Twenty years of coaching and he understood the game like none other. The constant string of wins proved it.
Still, to find that the rumors were true was a trifle unsettling.
A bout of laughter intruded his thoughts, and he looked at the source: A trio of roughly hewn players were crossing his path, and all dressed the same. Zion looked at the uniform—for it had to be that—with a critical eye. It was black lycra, stretching across forms that better fit a heavyweight bodybuilding contest than football games. On the front, an outline of a chess knight glyph. The bottoms were white, mid-calf basketball shorts with the name “The Black Knights” vertically emblazoned on the side in black lettering.
He looked at the one who called over. The jock was shaved bald, his collar cut a bit lower than the other two, and had blue-green tattoos swirling up his neck and skull. He grinned as he locked gaze with Zion. Damn, that’s a cute grin, he thought.
“What’s shaking, bro!”
Another one, a corn-fed guy that looked like he was fed on a diet of iron instead, and he had a beard that trailed to his chest that contrasted with his polished bald head. He leaned over to extend a hand, and Zion didn’t want to be rude. He shook it, and tried not to wince at the force that his hand was gripped.
“Hey,” Zion said. “I take it you are with the Knights?”
The trio nodded, and the first guy spoke up.
“Fuck yeah, bro. What’s up?”
Zion cleared his throat and pulled out his press card. “Zion Key, of The City Times. Here to interview the team and Coach Travers for an upcoming article.”
The second looked it over, and he grinned toothily. “Awesomeness, bro.”
The third one stepped up. He was deeply tanned, with a sharp, wide mohawk that spiked upward with yellow and red tips. He plucked the card from the second and nodded as he looked at it. “Fuckin’ a, dude. The coach is going to enjoy this.” He handed it back to Zion. “We’re headed to class, but if you want to head off to Coach….” He pointed in a general direction. “Down this path and you’ll see a white building. That is where he is. I think he’s having a meeting with some other team mates.”
The second one chuckled deeply as if he heard a joke and got a slap upside the head from the first. “Shut up, bro,” he said.
“Fuck you,” the second one said, rubbing the slapped area.
Zion cleared his throat. He had a small notebook in his hands. “Can I have your names so I can interview you later on?”
The identified themselves in rapid succession. The first: Baker, number 20, linebacker. The second was Kirk, number 14, left safety, and the third was Trav, number 39, defensive. He scribbled the names on the paper, and he nodded his appreciation. “All right, I’ll head to talk to the coach.” He shook Baker’s hand. “Been a pleasure, guys.”
“No problem, dude,” Kirk said. He smiled again. “We’re going to have a practice match later if you’re up to it. Get to see us in action.”
“That is not a bad idea,” Zion said. “I’ll see if I can get one of the photographers we have to take some photos for the story.”
Trav slapped the two on the backs. “We’re going to be famous, bros!”
Zion has to smile at the contagious cheer he was feeling. “I’ll see you guys later. Get to class.”
After the trio said their goodbyes, Zion felt his grin melt into a puzzled frown. Maybe his information was wrong. He felt that he was going after a wild-goose chase, and that he was ending up with egg on his face. He shook his head and turned to slowly walk up the pathway.
“The assignment is simple. Find out what was going on with the school.”
Zion looked at his boss. “What?”
The boss adjusted his glasses. “We have been getting strange reports from the area. Kids are getting recruited into the team known as The Black Knights.”
“Oh, I know those guys.” He riffled through his memory. “Founded about seventeen years ago, one of the best in the state.”
“Yep. Nice to know that, seeing you were part of the team.” The boss picked up a thick folder on the desk and he riffled through the pages to pluck a page. “Here.”
“What’s this?” A glance at the paper revealed a grainy photo of a small team, about fifteen players, all done in black with a white logo emblazoned in the front. Near them, a squat, fat man with a balding head and a stern expression stood silently.
“That is a photo ten years ago. I trust you know the guy?”
“Yeah, that’s old Coach Travers. A classic hard-ass on us, and we rewarded him by winning. But what does this have to do with my assignment?”
The boss motioned to take the photo back, and he replaced it with newer one. “What about this one?”
The photo showed about thirty guys, all of them with the same uniforms as before, but almost all of them astoundingly built. A taller man matched their bulk pound for pound, and he was in classic coach uniform of black and white.
“Whoa!” was all Zion had to say. “Who is this guy?”
“What?” He took the old one and compared the two. The coach’s face was faintly the same as the other photo, but it was as if he was photoshopped into a build to rival any pro bodybuilder. He looked at his boss. “How?”
“That is what we are hoping you would uncover,” the boss said. He leaned forward and tented his fingers.
“We have been getting strange reports from the school, as I said before. A stranger one is regarding the teammates. From our research, we cannot find anyone matching the descriptions of these guys. At all. They appear from nowhere and always from the college.”
“Specifically the team?”
“Exactly.” He nodded. “Another is that people have been disappearing.”
“What do you mean?”
He opened the folder and took out a photo clipped to a police report. Zion looked at the picture, then at the report. “Brandon Conrad, age 21. Disappeared four months ago.”
“We need to find out what is going on,” the boss said as Zion scanned the rest of the report. “With your knowledge of the college, specifically the team, you might be able to help us out. It might be drug related, to be honest. We do not know.”
“Like steroids, you mean.” Zion looked at the photo of the new team again. “It could explain how Coach and the players gained so much height and width.” He tapped the face. “However, to make him look something this unrecognizable….”
“Stranger still is how no one is commenting about the guys or the disappearances. I mean, you get people like this suddenly appearing and stomping around the college, and no one raises a fuss? Something has to be happening.”
Zion nodded. “The school has to know about this, though. Keeping it under wraps to ensure no scandal.” He nodded again. “Makes sense. You get a team like this, and you have to have some kind of leverage with the school.”
“That’s the idea.” The boss leaned back into his seat. “As I said, could be nothing. However, something tells me it isn’t. We could be on to something big. Monumental.”
“Which is why we’re sending you, Key.” The boss pushed the file over to him. “You are one of the best operatives we have in the field. Your discretion and tact is matchless, and you have been known to be rather invisible with certain areas of the business.”
“Hm.” He grabbed the folder and opened it, thumbing the pages. “So I just check up on things and give you a heads up if anything happens?”
“For good or for bad. For better or worse. Make sure you leave no stone unturned, no corner untrammeled.”
The boss also slipped a small envelope over. “Your credentials,” he said as Zion opened it. “You are a news writer for one of the area’s local newspapers. I have already let them know just in case, though I do not think it is needed. Press card and a recorder. Or so they will see.”
“Standard build, then?” Zion checked the recorder and nodded approvingly as it shifted into a miniature gun.
“Standard build, par for the course.” The boss leaned forward. “Use only as necessary. Might be minor, but—”
“Might be major.” Zion stood up and saluted. “Don’t worry, sir. I will not let you down.”
The football office was a huge affair. Two stories tall, composed of white brick and with modern chrome fixings. On the side of the pathway to the front doors, a huge brass statue of a horse reared up on its hind legs. The rider was a person done in medieval knight’s armor.
The Black Knight, Zion thought to himself, chuckling silently. Nice reference.
He walked up to the doors and was about to open one when it opened on its own. Attached to the door was a thickly hewed arm, then the rest of the guy appeared. Big as the others, and the black tank melded with his all-over pelt of black hair.
The guy grinned. “Hey!”
Zion stepped back in surprise. “Uhm, hello.” He got his bearings and cleared his throat. “Zion Key,” he said as he flashed the press card. “I’m with the local paper, here to interview the coach.” He nodded to the jock. “I take it you are part of the team?”
The guy nodded. “Brandon, number 13, right safety.” He stepped out and held the door open. “The coach is having a meeting with some of the seniors. A couple of them got scouted for the NFL, and he’s a bit happy about that.” He grinned. “Bet you can put that in the paper, eh dude?”
Zion grinned back. “I will definitely put that in.”
Brandon pointed into the building. “Third door down, don’t mind the noise.”
He nodded his thanks and walked in, Brandon releasing the door and having it quietly close shut.
The first thing Zion noticed was the cabinets of trophies and photos around him. He looked as he saw a matching photo he saw first in the meeting, and noticed the timeline of photos and awards, each year getting more and more players thickly hewed and with Travers also slowly growing to present bulk. If it was steroids, he thought to himself, he is doing quite a business spreading it around.
He heard footsteps coming towards him, and he straightened up to find his target coming towards him with a look of surprise on his face. He was wearing a loose-fitting white polo and black jean shorts that barely covered lower thighs and—! Zion tried to hide his shock at the way the coach bulged out at the crouch. I don’t recall him being that well endowed, he thought.
“Zion? Zion Key?” the man said. “Is that you, son?”
Zion couldn’t help but smile as he went over to shake the coach’s hand. “I didn’t think you’d recognize me, Coach.” I certainly didn’t recognize you, he added silently.
“How could I forget one of the best running backs the team had?” He gripped the hand in a powerful grip. “How are you doing, son?”
The way Travers said the last word gave Zion shivers, though he didn’t know why. He let go and dug into his pocket to bring out the press card. “I’m working for the news right now. Here to interview you and the team.”
Travers’ face lit up into wide grin. “Really now? Damn, we’re definitely getting attention.” The grin shifted to a grimace as he rubbed the back of his head. “Maybe a bit too much attention now,” he muttered under his breath.
The coach shook his head. “Nothing.” He clapped his hands together. “All right. An interview, eh? I think we can manage that. What do you want to know?”
“Well, I got a hold of some of your team.” He pulled out the notepad and read out the names.
“Ah, those goofballs,” he said rolling his eyes. “Yeah, they’re a handful. However, they are Grade A players. I wouldn’t want them any other way.”
“I just heard that some of your guys got scouted?”
The coach snorted. “Yeah, Angels and Brown. They might make it to train with the Bears. Or the Ravens.” He waggled a finger. “Might, I say. Don’t quote me on that. I’ll let you know if they’re going.”
“How much is the turnover for someone to get scouted?”
“It doesn’t happen often,” the coach said, shrugging. “I think the last one was….” He trailed off as he gazed at the walls of trophies. “I would have to be…hmmm…Chad Beard.” He pointed to a photo in which a short fireplug of a man was smiling and shaking hands with the coach. “Back in ‘13. Got with the Raiders for a few years, and then retired. I think he is in New York. I don’t keep track with my players after they leave.”
Zion nodded, and then looked around. “The guy who let me in said something about noise…?”
“Ah, that would probably be in reference to the weight room.” Travers motioned over. “Follow me, and I’ll give you a tour.”
As they strolled down the hallway, the coach’s voice grew pedantic. “Here at the Black Knights, we strive for excellence, as you know. We have been always looking for the playoffs, and we have been winning them for years. The teams that followed you guys have been working their asses off and it gets paid in spades.” They passed by a wide glass wall, showing off several players lifting heavy. “This is our gym area.”
Zion looked at the players. Each one was in matching uniforms of tight black lycra that covered massive amounts of bulk. His eyebrows quirked upward as he noticed that almost all of them had prodigious packages that form fitted lewdly against the fabric.
“As you can see,” the coach continued, “some of the seniors are killing time lifting.” He pointed to a duo near a power rack, one easily squatting seven plates on each side. “Angels is the one squatting and Brown is the other. I’ll have them talk to you later on if you want.”
Zion eyed their forms, seeing that the fabric did not impede the movements in any way. “I noticed that almost all of the players now look like oversized bodybuilders,” he said dryly. Overhung, too, he added to himself. “Any reason why, Coach?”
Travers’ eyes narrowed. “Don’t get any ideas, boy,” he growled. “All of my players have been tested time and time again for drugs, and we won’t have anyone implying otherwise.”
Zion raised his hands in surrender. “Sorry, Coach. Sorry.” Travers snorted loudly, like tearing paper. “One of the things we news writers have to investigate,” he continued.
“Hmph. You were always an inquisitive guy,” the coach said. “You did well going to the newspapers. Anyway, if you could follow me onwards?”
The tour meandered to the indoor agility fields and the locker room. When it was mentioned by Zion that there was no second-floor stairway, the coach shook his head.
“Nothing upstairs of interest, son. Just old football equipment we’ve been trying to get rid of.”
Zion gave a noncommittal hum and let the statement pass.
Travers led the reporter to a windowless office filled with papers and filing cabinets, and had Zion sit down. “All right, what do you think of the set up? From an ex-player’s viewpoint.”
“Well, I guess you guys are doing okay,” Zion said as the coach sat down on the other side of a desk piled thickly with papers. “Apart from them looking like porn stars,” he added under his breath. He shook his head when he was offered a water bottle. “If I ask something off the record, Coach?”
“I have to ask. I remember you being a bit shorter than I am. And a lot skinnier. What happened?”
The coach cracked open his water bottle and gulped it down. “Honestly? I got a second puberty. The doc didn’t know what was happening—I just grew all over.” He lifted an arm and flexed, showing a cantaloupe of thick bicep that strained against the sleeve. “The players got inspired to be just as big as me, and here we are.”
Zion nodded and was going to ask another question when the door opened to show one of the guys from the weight room.
“Sorry, Coach, I didn’t know you had company.” He nodded to Zion. “Hello.”
“It’s all right, Brown. He was about to leave. Give me another three or five minutes.” The jock nodded and withdrew.
“I am?” Zion raised an eyebrow at the hint.
“Well, if you want to stay, then stay. Personally, I thought you were going to head out to interview the jocks.” He stood up, motioning Zion to stand. “If you’re going to get quotes, let me know. I’m sure Trav and Kirk will be more than happy to get their two cents in.” He rolled his eyes. Then he snapped his fingers. “Oh yes. I forgot. Hold on a moment.”
He went to a battered wooden cabinet (while showing off a back and ass of such thickness it left Zion speechless) and came back to plop something on the desk. “Here.”
Zion looked askance at the small box, and he opened it to find a college football ring. The metal was dark steel, and topping it, a profile of a chess knight done in black onyx that gleamed in the florescent lights. “Wow, Coach, I’m honored.” He took it out of the box and slipped it on. It fit perfectly.
“I started giving them away to all of my graduates, and I saw you today, so I thought, why not?” He crossed over to pull the reporter into a massive hug. “Come by anytime you want, son.”
Zion tried to respond, but it was muffled by the thick bulk of the coach. He felt himself reacting to the embrace, and he tried to edge back to hide it. “Y-yeah, sure Coach.”
They released, and Travers grinned. “Just remember to let me know when you’re going to interview the kids, son. Now be off with you. I got someone waiting outside.”
When Brown entered the office, he was surprised to find his coach rummaging through a filing cabinet. “Sir?”
Travers looked up. “Ah, yeah, lock the door, son.” He slammed the cabinet shut and opened the next one down. He scratched his head as he tried to find something. “I think we need to be more careful. Especially now that we’re getting some attention on a national scale.” He looked up to find the player clad only in a jock, his heavy equipment already severely distorting the pouch to the point of breaking. “Damn, kid, you are feisty, ain’t you?”
“Fuckin’ horny, that’s what I am, Coach.” He flexed a thickly pumped arm and started to nuzzle the muscle.
“Heh. A kid after my own heart.” His own clothing melted into skin, releasing his own prodigious equipment. “All right, son,” he continued, rubbing his cock. “Let’s see that pumped ass ready for coach’s cock.”
“No, I don’t think anything is wrong with the college.”
Zion was in his car, on the phone with his contact.
“To be sure, the players look more like they’re fantasy images made flesh.” His mind flashed to the image of the lifters, with their massively pumped bulk. “From what I could gather at the moment, I would have to say that the coach is indeed dealing in drugs. When I made an accusation about it, he instantly denied it.”
“Any idea where they could be coming from?” the contact said.
Zion shook his head. “Not right now. It will take some time for me to figure things out. In the meanwhile, let the boss know I am going to stay here for another day or two. I got invited to see them practicing today, and I’m going to take the advantage.”
Typing was heard on the other side. “Okay. I’m booking a room at a local motel. About a block away from the college. Keep us updated.”
“Yeah, I will,” Zion said, and ended the call.
Someone knocked on the car window, and he looked up to meet the piercing green gaze of one of trio from before. He rolled down the window. “Hello?” He flicked through his memory. “Kirk, right?”
The jock grinned. “Yeah.” He scratched his beard. “Uhm, I heard you were one of the past players.”
Word travels fast, Zion thought. He nodded. “Yes, that’s true.”
“Wanna play a game with us, dude?”
Zion smiled faintly, and he shook his head. “No. That’s okay, I’m good. In fact,” he added as his phone vibrated, “I need to double check on a motel booking. I’m going to be staying a few days to finish the story.” He nodded as the other two joined Kirk. “Hey. Your coach gave me the okay to interview you guys.”
Trav punched a fist into the air. “Fuckin’ a, bro.” He shifted his attention to Kirk. “Why are you here, dude?”
“Wanted to see if he wanted to play,” he said, still looking at Zion.
“Fucking idiot,” Baker said, slapping Kirk upside the head again. “He’s busy writing about us, and all you can think of is playing.” He shook his head and looked at Zion. “Sorry, dude. Bro here’s a bit eager for tackling.”
“It’s okay,” Zion said, shrugging. “I know how it is.” He smiled a bit as he turned the phone on and checked up the notifications. “Okay, give me a moment to get situated, and I’ll be here for interviews. I’m going to be at the Starlight Motel, and I’ll let Coach know when I’m coming back.”
Kirk nodded and he stepped back as the car backed up and drove off.
“Fuck, dude, what’s your problem this time?” Baker asked to him.
“He was wearing one of our rings,” the jock answered. “Coach must have given it to him.”
Trav’s eyebrows quirked up. “Yeah, dude? Fuck.” He slipped a hand under his shorts and adjusted his suddenly swelling dick. “This is gonna be hot, bros.”
The motel was as seedy as the name suggested. Zion placed his emergency suitcase on the bed and opened it, showing a change of clothes. He took those out to reveal a small collection of guns and weapons, all polished and gleaming. He took out a snub-nosed revolver, checked to see if it was loaded, and placed it in the bedside drawer. Then he opened the folder he took from the Agency. He thumbed through the pages, pulled out the police report from before, and nodded grimly as he read it. Despite putting on enough muscle to win any bodybuilding competition and having a slightly gruffer face, he was the missing guy.
He sat down on the bed, looking through the rest of the paperwork. He noticed that the disappearances happened every year, usually of the same cast: thin and geeky-looking. He shook his head. He was missing something. However, it had to wait. He had to investigate.
As he took off his shirt, he gazed appreciatively at the figure in the room’s only full-length mirror. Lean and taunt from his years of football and gym, the body caught both men and women’s attention. He couldn’t resist to flex just a bit, and he felt his cock stir.
It has been a while, he thought as he unbuckled his slacks and let them fall to the floor. He pulled down the underwear band to release his other gun, a well-shaped eight incher that he knew how to use to perfection. As he stroked himself, his mind wandered to the coach, and the players. True, they were college students… but he definitely would not kick any of them out of his bed. Especially not the coach. He softly moaned as he imagined the embrace the coach gave him. Being surrounded by all that beef…
Then he pictured Kirk, with that thick beard and those piercing green eyes. The plaintive way he asked to play… He imagined what it’d be like to be tackled, and left lying underneath that bulk. Having that cock rubbing against his ass as he drove down to prevent a pass. Having only a layer of slick fabric to prevent it from doing anything other than rubbing. Zion thought about the guys in the weight room, and he wondered if the trio was just as hung.
The sudden rush of orgasmic pleasure shattered his thoughts, and he deeply moaned as he shot against the mirror, his mind focused on how big and how hung the jocks were. He felt his knees buckle, and promptly landed on the bed, still shooting fiercely, making a mess on the linoleum tile.
“Fuck,” he muttered when the orgasm petered out. He sheepishly looked at the streaks of cum on the floor and the mirror. It has been too long, he thought to himself as he stepped out of his pants. He headed to the bathroom to get a towel, only to gaze in shock at the image in the mirror.
He knew his body, down to the last pound, so he was surprised at the shift in bulk. It was subtle, but there: His chest a bit beefier, his shoulders a touch wider. He shifted to the side to find his arms more defined, his ass a bit thicker.
He didn’t know what to think of, but he knew something was up. He turned on the faucet with a cum-stained hand, and realized with a start that the ring was still on him, festooned with his emissions.
“Aw fuck,” he said as he pried the ring off and rinsed it under the stream. After placing it on the counter, he washed his hands. He gathered up a washcloth to clean up the mess, and he was about to head back when he remembered about the ring. He picked it up and dried it, slipping back on his finger.
Heh. Stupid jock, he thought to himself. He looked at the reflection again, and he flexed again, smirking. Then he turned back towards the room to clean.
A half-hour later, he was chatting with the trio. Kirk was the most eager.
“So, yah, I was over the 50-yard line, when I tackled that motherfucker down.” He slapped his palms together to illustrate the tackle. “The bastard didn’t know what the fuck was happening. I shut that guy down cold.”
Zion scribbled on the notepad, flipping over a page. “I take it that was not the first tackle in the game?”
The jock snorted. “Fuck no, dude.” He popped his chest and he gently pounded a pec with a fist. “Look at me. I’m made for tackling.” He raised his arms into a double bi, the muscles straining against the black spandex. “Fuckin’ huge, dude.”
Trav slapped the goon on the back of the head. “Shaddup, bro. Ya scaring him.”
“Fuck you,” Kirk said, relaxing the pose.
“All right then. And you Trav?” Zion said, still scribbling. “Defensive, right?” Trav nodded. “That would be tackle, right?”
“Linebacker, also,” he said. He motioned to Baker. “He and I help out with extra line or pass protection, depending on the play.” He smirked. “But then you already know that, eh bro?”
Zion nodded as he wrote. “And how long have you guys been playing?”
“I think… three years?” Trav said.
“Yeah…” Kirk said, looking at Trav. “I think it’s been three years for me too.”
“I’m a freshman, to be honest,” Baker said.
“Hm. Okay.” Zion wrote another note. “Mind me asking where you were playing before?”
Kirk scratched his head. “I… don’t remember,” Kirk said, his eyes growing distant for a moment before he gazed sharply at Zion. “Why you want to know?”
“Don’t mind him,” Trav said, giving Kirk a friendly shoulder pat. “Too much tackling got his mind fuzzed in some areas. He’ll be okay.”
“The doc gave me an okay,” Kirk grumbled. “I just play too hard.”
“I know how that is,” Zion said, smiling a bit. “One of my teammates was like that. Couldn’t get enough.” He looked at the other two. “What about you guys?”
“They come from the same school as Kirk. The local high school.”
Zion looked up at Travers, who loomed against the open doorway.
“Hey Coach,” Zion said. He motioned to the three with the pencil. “They’re just talking about–”
“I know what you were talking about,” Travers said. He passed over a small stack of papers. “Transcripts from the high school. They’re all there.”
“Uhm. Okay. Thanks.” Zion looked at the paperwork with raised eyebrows, then put them aside. “Hm. I’ll look into these later.”
Travers nodded, then to the guys, “All right, time to suit up. Practice in ten minutes.”
“Wait a moment, Coach,” Zion said as the three stood. “I haven’t finished interviewing Kirk yet.”
“It’s okay, Coach,” Kirk said. “I’ll be out when practice starts.”
“He’ll be okay,” Trav echoed, patting Kirk on the shoulder again.
Travers snorted. “Okay. Ask away. But you two,” he gestured to Trav and Baker, “are coming with me.”
“Meet ya on the field, bro,” Trav said as they walked off.
“Glad to see Coach hasn’t forgotten how to be an asshole,” Zion said.
Kirk grinned. “He was like that with you guys?”
“Yeah. Always a hard-ass.”
“It is a nice ass, isn’t it?”
Zion raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
The grin intensified. “Yeah. He’s a hot fucker. Like you are.”
Both eyebrows now. “What?”
The grin turned to outright laughter, deep and growly. “Don’t fuckin’ tell me you haven’t gotten hit on by a jock.”
“Well, not by a jock ten years younger than me.”
“Then you probably weren’t expecting this.”
“What–?,” was all Zion said before Kirk leaped forward, wrapping his arms around him and planting a solid kiss. It lasted a solid five seconds before the jock broke it.
“I’ve been achin’ to do that when I first saw you, sir,” he murmured, letting go. He went back to his seat. “You’re a hot fucker.”
Zion was too stunned to speak, and it took a moment or two to get his bearings. “If the coach saw that,” he said hoarsely, “he’d pull you out of the team.”
Another growly laugh. “Yah right. Coach knows better than to get rid of me.” He raised up his arms into another double-bi. “Tell me you don’t want this, man.”
In fact, Zion was sorely tempted. A small voice in the back of his head was egging him on, to go ahead to submit to this beefy jockhead. Instead, he shoved the voice away. “So, about your last game…?”
Kirk lowered his arms down. “The fuck? I mean, you’re serious?”
“What do you mean?”
Kirk glanced at the open door. He then leaned forward, pitching his voice lower. “Seriously, dude, you don’t want to suck me off or anything? Coach doesn’t need to know.” He openly adjusted himself. “We got a bit of time left before I head to the field. And I know that I got a hell of a mouth.” He grinned wickedly. “Here, let me show you.”
He lunged again, this time, attacking the pants. Before Zion knew it, his cock was firmly enveloped around a warm, urgent mouth.
“Awfuck!” Zion swore as he felt the jock slobber and slurp his stiffening cock. He tried to back up, but he found a solid hand was firmly kneading a butt cheek.
“Are all of you guys like this?” Zion said between moans.
Kirk didn’t answer. Instead, he intensified his ministrations, bobbing up and down as the hand dug in and started to play with Zion’s hole, gently prodding and circling it.
Zion groaned deeply. He grabbed Kirk’s head with both hands and shoved himself in the eager mouth. Soon he was pistoning in and out, slowly but then with more force. The actions, to Kirk’s credit, didn’t faze him any. In fact, he sucked harder, the hand digging in deeper.
A few moments later, the pleasure reached a climax. Zion yelled as he shoved in for the last time and shot deep into the jock’s mouth, with him noisily, and happily, guzzling it down.
The orgasm was more intense than the last time, and Zion propped himself on Kirk’s thick traps as he kept on unloading. He moved a hand to the back of the head, and pushed forward, making him take the entirety of his cock. “Fuck yeah, dude,” he groaned over the vulgar slurping. “Take it all.”
Soon, the two separated, with Zion leaning against the wall, and with Kirk sitting on the chair with a shit-eating grin.
“Damn,” the jock said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I needed that.” He stood up and gave Zion another kiss, this time far more personal as they wrestled tongues against each other.
“Are all you guys like this?” Zion asked again, when the kiss broke.
“Fuck yah, dude.” Kirk grinned. “It’s the big three, dude. Football, lifting, and fucking. We can’t get enough.”
“Jackson!” Coach’s shout was accompanied with heavy steps. “Where the fuck are you?”
“Oh shit, it’s the coach.” Kirk did not seem too worried, and he planted another kiss on Zion’s lips. “I’ll meet you outside, dude.” With that, he jogged out of the room.
The football field was all grass and dirt, like any other field. A double-decker wooden frame stood on the border between the field and the parking lot asphalt. The coach stood on the second floor of it—barking orders into a megaphone at the team, who were wearing their typical black lycra outfits that were covered with shoulder pads and helmets. Zion was standing right at his side, his mind still reeling over Kirk’s successful seduction.
“As you can see,” Travers said, lowering the bullhorn and pointing to the defense as they tackled and intercepted, “that’s Austin passing the ball over to Mike, aaand it’s a fumble. Dammit.” He shouted for a do-over, which led to loud grumbles by the team.
“Since I’m hearing grumbles,” he growled through the equipment, “maybe a lap will clear your heads. On the double!” The grumbles turned to groans as the team began to jog through a cleared path around the field.
“Hell,” he swore as he lowered his arm again. He glanced at Zion. “We’re at the last game of the season and these bastards can’t even make basic plays.” He shook his head, disgusted. “While those sorry asses get their just rewards, I think I’m due an… interview?” He frowned and snapped his fingers in front of the reporter. “Hey! Anything going on in that thick head of yours?”
“Hm?” With an effort, Zion wrenched his thoughts from Kirk’s talented mouth and focused on Travers. “Sorry, coach, I got a bit distracted.”
One of Travers’ eyebrows rose. “Has to be something major to get you distracted.” He leaned back against the wooden railing. “What’s going on? Did Kirk do something?”
Zion wrestled with his thoughts, and he told him what happened after the others left. To his surprise, the coach didn’t get mad, but instead chuckled long and rich.
“I didn’t think he would have it in him,” he said. He reached into a side pocket and pulled out a cigar case. He took one out and lit it.
“Wait.” Zion looked at the coach in stunned surprise. “Aren’t you mad?”
“Mad?” The coach took a starting pull, held it in for a moment, and then blew out a stream of smoke. “Of course I’m mad. I’m fucking pissed. But, you gotta understand something.” He pointed to the jocks now on the long side of the field. “These are guys who ain’t scared to flirt with the guys and the girls. They love being big, strong, and having all the dick. They’re very flexible about fucking.” He chuckled a bit. “Very flexible. It’s part of the Big Three.”
Zion could hear the capitals. “Football, lifting, and fucking.”
“Heh. I take it Kirk told you. But yeah.” He took a longer pull, and exhaled it through his nose, making him look like a demon for a fleeting moment. “The jocks are familiar with all three, and they often do fuck whoever winks at them. And before you ask,” he continued, holding up a hand, “they do use protection. Ain’t going to have my team weighed down with families. Football, that’s the only thing that matters. And for them to be successful with football, they have to be the biggest, thickest motherfuckers any team’s ever had.”
“So, you knew that Kirk was going to seduce me?” Zion looked at the returning players. “Gee, coach, that sounds… I don’t know, but standards surely have slipped from when I was around.”
“I anticipated him to. He always liked to flirt.” He waved his cigar around. “I do have to admit that they have slipped, but you can see the results.” He grinned as cigar smoke wreathed around his head. “One of the top ten teams in the state, with enough successful players to have the NFL scout us. I bet your old team couldn’t compete.”
And it was true. Zion casted his memory back to his time, with the lack of true discipline this team had. He remembered the hardcore training, but from what he saw from the current teamwork, it paled in comparison. He felt a twinge of envy at the amount these players gave the coach, and small part of his mind wanted him to suit up and play.
He shook his head. Now where did that thought come from, he thought. “Still,” he said aloud, “we didn’t need to fuck all the time.”
“You didn’t have the energy like these guys have.” Travers smirked. “These guys are fucking powerhouses.”
Zion glanced at the coach. “Of course, I’m sure they take the usual supplements? Legal or otherwise?”
Travers gazed at the glowing tip of his cigar. “I told you, son, none of my kids take any drugs.”
“Bullshit,” Zion said, causing the coach to raise an eyebrow again. “No one can be that size without doing steroids. I won’t call you out, but I have to know.”
Travers mildly glanced at Zion, but instinctively, Zion took a step back. He could feel the coach’s anger. “If you really want to know, you might not like the results.” He dropped the remaining bit of the cigar and crushed it under his shoe. “Lesser people have found out, and look what happened to ‘em.”
“And what did happen to them?”
Travers smirked. “You have to ask them.” He focused his attentions to the returning squad and raised the megaphone. “Alright, ya faggots, you know what to do. Get into position!”
Zion’s phone rang, and he excused himself, stepping away from the coach. “Hello?”
“Any news yet?” his contact said.
He quickly glanced at Travers. “No leads yet. About to take a few photos for the article. I’ll send them to you when I’m done.”
“Roger,” and the line went dead.
“Your editor?” Travers said, still looking at the play, this time flawlessly done.
Zion nodded. “Yeah. I was about to head down to take a few shots of the plays. You don’t mind?”
“Nah. Go right ahead. But hey,” he added as Zion was on the stairs. “If Kirk comes onto you again, it would be best if you went along. He’s very hard to say no to. Trust me.” His free hand nonchalantly cupped his hefty bulge for a moment.
Zion raised an eyebrow at the gesture and went down to the field.
Zion closed the door of the motel room and slumped against the cheap plywood. He glanced at his phone, filled with various shots of players, and shook his head as he propped himself back up and tossed it on the bed. He followed after.
Acting on a hunch he had since he found the missing report for Brandon, he turned the phone on and started to flick through the photos, focusing on various headshots. He reached over to the folder and flipped through the various missing persons reports there, comparing the photos with the gritty black and white prints. There was Michael Stevens, missing since ‘15. Andrew Lark, missing since ‘17. Phillip Euwr, gone since ‘16. And several others, all of them in the team, looking incredibly built and playing like professionals.
He double-checked all the faces he could find, and he came to a chilling conclusion: That they were indeed all turned into football players. But how? And why?
He then turned the next page, and his eyes met with Kirk. Or a smaller version of him. He glanced at the report. Logan Davies, age 18, was missing for seven years. His eyes went back to the photo, with the dark hair and the complete lack of bulk. But that face with the confident smirk and those knowing eyes—that was the same.
He leaned back on the bed, deep in thought. What was going on? Drugs, surely, from all the beef he saw on the field. But what kind of drugs could enhance not only the sex drive but equipment to go with it? He had to figure it out, and he dialed a number.
“Zion here,” he told his contact. “I want a report of various performance enhancing drugs. Filter it with additional genital growth and enhanced sex drive. Set the time frame for…” He looked through the police reports. “…twenty years. Send it to me through the usual channels.”
The line disconnected; at the same time, there was a barbershop knock at the door.
Zion wasn’t expecting anyone, so he quickly cleared up all of the pages and slipped the file into his suitcase before taking out the revolver of the drawer. He quietly crept to the door before quickly opening it and springing back, aiming directly to the person who knocked.
It was Kirk, his huge, beefy form almost hiding Trav behind.
“Dude!” Kirk’s eyes opened wide at the sight of the gun. “The fuck!”
Zion huffed out a breath, and he angled the weapon up. “What the hell are you two doing here? I thought the coach was still training you guys.”
The jock still looked wary. “What is a news guy like you doing with a gun?”
“It helps with my more dangerous assignments,” Zion said. He took a step back, allowing Kirk to saunter in. “I repeat, what are you doing here?”
He grinned toothily. “It’s Friday night, bro,” he said as he hooked a thumb to Trav. “We usually have a game, but it’s our week off. We have to rest for next week’s game.”
“The last one of the season,” Trav chimed in.
“So here we are, looking for a place to hang out.”
“So you thought to bother me?” Zion said
Trav nodded. “You got that right, bro.” He popped his chest nonchalantly, the tight fabric of his shirt straining against the bulk. Then he placed a hand against his head and flexed his abs, clearly preening for Zion.
Zion shook his head, finally lowering the weapon and slipping it in his pocket. “What kind of idiots would want to hang out with a guy like me?”
Kirk took a step forward. “Horny ones, bro.”
The duo chuckled. “Like you weren’t expecting that, dude,” Trav said. He also stepped close to Zion. “Kirk told me what he did to you, and I’m fucking jealous, bro. I want a taste of that thick cock of yours.” He reached down to give Zion’s groin a healthy grope, but before he could Zion punched him hard in the stomach, causing the jock to double over. A swift chop to the back had him dazed on the floor.
Kirk looked at the scene with a shit-eating grin. “Fuckin’ a, bro. You like roughhousing?” He rushed over to tackle Zion, but some instinct told the ex-jock to dodge at the last moment, causing Kirk to just miss him. In response, Zion grabbed him by the shirt collar and pulled him against his body as the momentum tackled them to the ground.
“Fuck!” Kirk growled out as Zion landed on top of him. “Get off of me, bro!”
Zion put him in a half-nelson. “You listen to me, ‘bro’,” he said as he warningly squeezed the neck. “You were expecting me to be an easy mark? Fuck that. The first time may have been taken me by surprise, but not the second time.” He felt a tug in his mind, and he leaned over to whisper into his ear. “At least let me fuck that ass of yours, man.”
Kirk laughed through the hold. “I should have known. Like being on top, eh, dude?”
A wheezing laugh interrupted the scene; Trav turned over and sat up. “That was a fucking strong punch, man. I didn’t expect an ex-jock like you to hit that hard.” He leaned against the bed and looked at the two. “Looks like you beat us fair and square, bro. And you know what that means, right dude?”
“Fuck yeah, dude,” Kirk said. He propped himself up on his elbows, Zion’s weight not hindering the movement. “Winner gets to be the top.”
Zion released the hold and stood up. “Wait, the both of you?” He felt his cock swell at the idea, and he tried not to adjust himself.
Trav nodded. “Hell yah, bro! We two do this all the time; although, I think Kirk loses on purpose.”
“Fuck you,” Kirk said as he sat up.
“Yeah, like you don’t like my cock up your ass, bro.” He stood and strutted to the mirror. “Fuck, that’s good,” he said as he flexed, his muscles stretching his clothes to the limit. He palmed his chest for a moment, bouncing his pecs and softly moaning at how big they were.
“Look at that beef, bro,” Kirk said as he stood. “Don’t you want to fuck that?” To Trav, “Hey dude, go on and show that thick ass of yours.”
The jock smirked and slipped off his shirt, showing off a rugged build that could win any bodybuilding competition, the pecs coated in a thick pelt of black hair that trailed over his cobblestone abs. The shoes and tights followed after, showing off an overflowing jock of shiny black material. He flexed a quick double-bi to Zion before turning around, showing off an ass of such thickness that spoke of endless heavy squats and relentless field training. He reached around and gently rubbed a cheek before digging in and rubbing what he found there. “Fuck…”
Kirk wrapped an arm around the dazzled Zion and motioned with the other. “Look at that stud,” he said. “Ready for some hot jock rutting. You’re ready, ain’t you, bro?” he asked Trav.
“Y-Yeah…” he said as he placed a hand against the mirror, bending over, giving Zion a perfect view of the jock-encased ass. “Fuck…” The hand went between his legs, and he slid a thick finger into his ass, then two, groaning deeply as he slowly pistoned them deeper and deeper. “Come on,” he groaned. “Someone fuck me.” A third finger was inserted. “Use this body, bro.”
“He’s asking for it, dude.” He grinned widely, slowly unbuttoning Zion’s shirt and slipping a hand under, rubbing his chest and abs. Zion didn’t resist at all. “Don’t you want to fuck him? Use him?” Kirk’s hand withdrew and slid down to Zion’s rock-hard cock, lightly groping it before undoing the belt buckle and letting the pants fall to the floor. “Go on, bro. Give that ass a taste of your cock.”
Zion slipped out of his clothes like a sleepwalker, entranced by the muscular jock playing with his ass. A voice in his mind screamed out that it was wrong, but another, deeper voice told him to give in, to fuck, and to show this jock who was the boss.
Trav looked up and smirked. “Fuckin’ a, bro. I need to be bred, dude. Gotta get fucked.” He removed the fingers and moved a thick cheek aside, revealing a tight pucker. “Use this hole, bro.”
“Yeah,” Zion said as he reached forward, marveling just how thick and muscular his ass was. He groped it for a moment before giving it a heavy slap. It was like slapping cement. “Gotta fuck this ass, man.” He positioned himself behind Trav, pressing his cock against the jock’s hole for a moment before forcing himself in. The two groaned deeply as Zion slid to the hilt, feeling the tight grip of the ass enveloping his cock.
“Fuckin’ a, bros,” Kirk whispered as he saw the two starting to fuck each other, Trav meeting each thrust with equal vigor. He quickly stripped, revealing a thick powerlifter build covered with swirls of chestnut hair, and an equally thick and powerful ten-inch cock slapped against his abwall, smearing thick pre. He strutted over to Zion, and with little effort, slid into his own tight ass.
Zion gasped as he felt that thick log slide up into him, groaning deeply as Kirk’s hands, callused and roughened from years lifting, rubbed up to his chest and massaged his pecs. He leaned back and pulled him into a deep kiss as his hips rocked back and forth to meet the bucking of the two jocks.
“Fuck yeah, bro,” Kirk said as they released the kiss. “Join us, dude. Be a jock.”
“Be a jock, dude,” Trav groaned out under Zion.
Zion fucked all the harder, closing his eyes and seeing himself part of the team. Under the coach’s direction, giving himself to the team. Lifting the heaviest weights, making the best plays, fucking the hardest. He groaned, overcome by the images in his head, and he thrust one last time, the orgasm overtaking him and making him shoot deep inside Trav, the indescribable pleasure crashing into his brain and tackling everything down.
Kirk felt the climax under him, and he came also, depositing a massive load into Zion’s ass, enough to drip down Zion’s thighs. The trio’s groans of bliss were loud enough to be heard to the neighboring rooms, leaving anyone in there no doubt what the three studs were doing.
As the orgasm faded to a sweaty afterglow, Zion turned his head to kiss Kirk again, their tongues twisting themselves as they uncoupled. He twisted to face the jock, bringing his body against Kirk’s and rubbing his hands against the thick and wide expanses of beef as Kirk’s hands returned the favor.
They landed on the bed, and Kirk lifted up his legs, giving Zion the opportunity to slide into that tight ass. He fucked with the intensity of a pile-driver, ramming his cock up that chute for a few minutes before another crashing wave of orgasm had him shoot another load. He collapsed against the jock, passionately kissing. Moments later, they broke the kiss, Kirk grinning his usual shit-eating grin.
“Tell me you didn’t enjoy that, bro,” he said.
Zion huffed out a breath as he pulled out, standing over Kirk. “I guess I did.”
“Hey, save some for me, bros.”
The two looked at Trav, looking huge and pumped, his own eleven-inch rock hard in his hand as his other fondled his peach-sized balls. Heavy spurts of jock cum were splattered against his chest and abs.
Kirk beckoned him over. “There’s always time for another round, bro.”
“Wait wait,” Zion said, trying to adjust to the idea. “Another round?”
The two chuckled.
“Fuck yah,” Trav said as he palmed his cock. “Don’t tell me you don’t want this.”
Kirk stood up, wrapping his arms around Zion. “You should take him up on the offer, bro,” he said as he nibbled on Zion’s ear. “It’s fuckin’ incredible.”
“Is it really?” Zion asked, feeling his cock swelling up again. He felt Kirk’s hand wrap around it and expertly bring him to rock-hardness. “Fuck…”
“That’s the spirit, dude!” Trav reached around Zion and bring him into a scruffy kiss.
Zion felt another tug in his mind, and he gave into the sexual hunger these two jocks had. The inexhaustible stamina, the feel of jock muscles. He reveled in it.
He wanted more.
The trio fucked until, finally, they collapsed onto the cum-soaked bed sheets, locked into each other’s arms.
Kirk’s snoring woke Zion up.
He tried to get up, but the jock’s furry form was on top of him, laying face up with sounds not unlike a chainsaw coming out from his mouth.
He turned his head to Trav, who was wrapped around a pillow like a man clutching a teddy bear. His hair was in disarray, and Zion grinned at the memory of him face-fucking the jock, making him slobber all over his cock.
Kirk mumbled incoherently, and rolled off Zion and onto Trav, who also mumbled a bit before clutching at Kirk. Zion took the moment to get up, checking the glowing clock numbers to see the time as fifteen before six a.m.
He stretched, groaning at the slight soreness from his muscles. He walked to the bathroom, switching on the lights and gazing in shock at what greeted him.
He was big.
Not as huge as the jocks he so recently coupled with, but noticeable to anyone who knew him before. He flexed an arm, easily guessing that he gained a solid twenty, perhaps even thirty, pounds of muscle. Even his equipment was bigger, Zion noticed, with his cock thicker than last time and with apple-sized balls.
Zion took a quick shower and went back to the sleeping jocks. He found their bodies entwined in sleepy cuddling, their limbs tied around each other in such a way that lead him to realize that they were not only football teammates, but also romantic partners.
He shook his head, strangely jealous of the two. He imagined the roughhousing they would do, in the skin-tight lycra, then the heavy rutting they’d do after. Egging each other to lift heavier, harder, then rutting afterwards. Supporting each other on the field, and no doubt, rutting in the meanwhile.
He could have sworn he heard a deep growly chuckle in the back of his head, then a matching voice: “Join the team, bro, and you’ll also get the coach’s ass.”
He shook his head, clearing the voice out. He turned to the mirror, the ambient lights from outside the room fuzzing out the details, but he saw the reflection bigger than before, with a much bigger cock. He saw the reflection bring up a ham-hock arm, flexing it to rock hardness, and nuzzling it for a moment.
A brief flash of light from a passing car’s headlights broke the spell. Zion shook his head again, looking at the image he saw in the bathroom.
Kirk started snoring again.
Zion looked at the two, and his heart went out to them. His mind was torn between slipping between the two studs and sleeping the rest of the morning with them, or taking the chance to investigate. His curiosity overcame him, and he turned away. With a bit of difficulty, he slipped his clothes on, noticing that they were somewhat tight on him.
He checked his pocket to see if he still had his gun, and then he placed the suitcase on the table. He opened it to take the recorder his boss gave him, and then he slipped out a few other weapons that he put onto his person. After closing it, he quietly left the room, and into his car.
The trip to the football office was uneventful, and he pulled into the empty parking lot. As he got out of the car, he felt something was off. It took him a moment to figure out what it was: the statue was gone.
Zion circled around the unoccupied plaque area, seeing no trace of forceful removal. Furthermore, he noticed that the grass appeared trampled in various areas around the cement foundation. Zion raised a quizzical eyebrow and continued down the path. When he faced the double doors, he pulled out the recorder and removed a small section of it. He placed it against the lock, and with a few moments of quiet whirring, the door opened. After slipping the lock pick into his pocket, he entered the dark building.
He took out a small flashlight and switched it on, revealing a faint trail of bronze dust that lead from the threshold to the inner depths of the building. He crouched down—almost ripping his slacks with the action—and rubbed some of the stuff between his fingers. It had the consistency of fine sand, and it glistened strangely in the light. He dusted himself off and followed the path.
The trail led him into a part of the building Travers did not show him before: An industrial door painted in shiny black enamel, contrasting sharply against the stark white of the walls. A small light bulb hung dimly above the door.
He stepped close, placing a hand against the surface, and automatically drew back when he felt it warmly pulse once, then dilate open into a shadowy passageway. After taking a photo of the area, Zion stepped forward, feeling a snap of energy crackle around him for a moment before letting him inside.
The interior was bronze tiles polished to a shine and plated iron walls that were webbed with shiny black vines. Various glass pipes spread across the walls and ceiling, filled with glowing liquids that illuminated the hallway and the glittering trail in blue-white light.
He replaced his phone with the revolver and carefully went down the passageway. As he did so, he noticed that the vines covered the walls more and more, nearly obscuring the walls with their growth. Large white orbs appeared here and there, dripping with some clear fluid. When Zion leaned close, he smelled something floral, yet undenyingly manly. He felt himself get aroused and quickly continued the pathway.
He turned a corner, and he stopped in shock as he saw two titanic creatures standing at opposite attention against the walls, all done in shiny, black rubber outfits which clung to every thick muscle. The heads, which almost brushed the ceiling, showed no features.
Zion aimed the gun at one of the beasts, but it didn’t react. He slowly lowered the weapon and crept around it. He noticed that groin was massively packed, the bulge hanging almost half down the freakish quads.
An image of a knight chess symbol embellished it, done in phosphorous white.
He raised an eyebrow and walked on.
As he continued down, he heard voices—rough, masculine ones speaking in some thick tongue. He noticed an open doorway, and he took a quick peek in.
The room was festooned with black vines and white orbs—some of the orbs were hanging from the ceiling and glowing brightly. The light illuminated a massive figure that stood on a raised platform, facing a wall of televisions. Each screen showed a different male form—each one immensely built—in acts of pornographic activities of various kinds with other massively built men. Zion realized that he wasn’t hearing speech, but instead noises of deep sexual activity and pleasure.
The figure brought a hand to its mouth, took out a glowing cigar, and then blew out a heavy cloud of smoke. “Good,” Zion heard Travers say. “Very good. Keep up the hard work, guys.”
Zion heard heavy footsteps from the other end of the corridor. He quickly looked around, seeing a vine-covered pillar. He moved behind it just as the source of the steps entered the room.
It was the Black Knight itself, without his horse and fully animated. The overhead lights shone against the metal armor like oiled gold.
Travers turned as the figure kneeled, its head dipped in submission. “Hive-father. I cannot find Zero-Fourteen and Zero-Thirty-Nine. They are due for their monthly reprogramming.”
Hive father? Zion thought to himself.
Travers snorted with laughter. “No doubt fucking in a field or something.” He waved it aside. “No matter. We don’t need them right now. Instead, we need to find our latest team player.” He snapped his fingers, and the displays clicked together to show a full-sized profile shot of Zion.
Zion tightened his grip on the revolver.
“Zion Key. An ex-jock of mine, now local reporter. He is currently covering the team for a local newspaper.”
“We should be careful then,” the figure said. “If he should find out about us—”
“You should not worry, son. Already the symbiote is starting to join with him. A few more days, and he will start to feel the need to join with the team. I will be ready to accept him with open arms.” The cigar moved from left to right as he grinned. “And with open legs.”
Symbiote? Zion thought to himself.
“Hive-father,” the statue said. “He might resist.”
Travers snorted, expelling smoke from his nose. “You say that to everyone I bring into the team, and has anyone resisted? Really resisted?”
The statue appeared to hesitate, then it said, “Zero-Fourteen and Zero-Thirty-Nine appear to have resisted to some degree. And they are due their monthly programming, as I told you three times—”
“It can wait!” The yell echoed around the room.
The bronze head dipped further down. “Forgive me, hive-father.”
“You’re not forgiven,” Travers snapped. “What will couple more days do? They have been in the team for so long that I doubt they will rebel now.” He irritably blew out a stream of smoke. “Or do you have an inner aspect to the two that I do not have?”
The statue didn’t answer.
“Everyone is antsy about this last game. I am the same. However, that is no excuse for you to start worrying.” Travers stepped down the dais and placed a hand on the statue’s shoulder. “Once the game is over, we will talk again about their reprogramming.” He waved to the screen, which snapped off. “Now stand.”
The bronze figure stood, easily towering over the coach by several feet.
A puddle of thick, purple slime bubbled up from Travers’ feet, and it slowly climbed upwards, covering him in a coat of shiny ooze that continued to march upwards to match the statue’s height. A moment later, and the ooze shifted into a figure of such bulk that it left Zion speechless. Giant rosette spots of solid white covered the cannonball shoulders, and they drifted downwards to the massive horseshoe triceps and the bulbous chest. Smaller spots scattered over his thick ass and thighs, framing a massive bulge that hung low. The lights above highlighted the figure as if it was covered in oiled leather.
Zion saw the head had two wide eye markings that swept across the head, but everything else was a featureless blank.
“Fuck,” the figure known as the coach rumbled in a voice much deeper than usual. It flexed a heavy arm. “It feels so fucking good to relax for once.”
“Hive-father,” the golden one began, but a purple finger against its mouth cut it off.
“Not now,” the other said. “For the moment, I am not the hive-father. Let me be a hive-brother, needing to rut like the rest of the family.”
The statue nodded, its details smoothing out, until it was an equally massive figure like the coach was, its flawless bulk gleaming like polished bronze. “Brother,” it rumbled.
“Brother,” the coach said, pulling his partner into an embrace.
Zion looked on in awe as the edges and angles of the two starting to dissolve, to melt into a gigantic gelatinous blob. Deep moans of intense pleasure issued out of the mass as they swirled and twisted together.
He crept out of the hiding place without being noticed, slowly edging to the doorway, and silently left. After glancing back at the melding duo, he quickly walked further down the hall, curious what he will find next.
“Bro. Bro wake up.”
Trav sleepily opened his eyes to meet Kirk’s worried face. “What’s up, dude.”
“Where’s the news guy?”
“What?” Trav turned his head to the other side of the bed and saw no one there. “The fuck?”
“Yah, bro. I thought that also.” Kirk snuggled closer to the jock under him. “Fuck, you’re so warm.”
Trav grinned and rubbed the thick back muscles of his bro. “All that fucking we did last night must have done that.” He closed his eyes in reminiscence. “I didn’t realize he could fuck like a beast.”
“Just as hard as you, bro.” Kirk’s lips met Trav’s, and they passionately kissed for several minutes.
“Fuck, you’re getting me riled up,” Trav moaned out as Kirk started to nibble on the jock’s bull neck.
“Can’t help it, dude,” Kirk said as he licked and nuzzled downwards to the two thick chest nubs. “You’re a fuckin’ hot brute.” He latched onto one of them and suckled greedily.
Trav grunted at the action, feeling his cock swell up in record time. A few minutes later, he pushed Kirk off and rolled over him, slipping into him as quickly as his tackles. Kirk’s eyes rolled up in their sockets as Trav savagely pummeled his ass for several minutes before he groaned in orgasmic pleasure, shooting the first load of the day deep into Kirk’s hole.
“Fuck, that was awesome,” Kirk sighed a few moments later before motioning to his thick hard-on, which was weeping out thick globs of pre. “Wanna return the favor, dude?”
“Bro,” was all Trav said before deeply swallowing the cock to the root and slobbering over it before it exploded deep in his throat.
They made out again, their tongues swirling together, and it was several minutes later, when they broke off. “Fuck, I love you, bro,” Kirk said.
“I love you too, man,” Trav said. He nuzzled Kirk for a moment. “We need to find the news guy, dude. I want that cock in me again.”
Kirk chuckled. “Same here, bro.” He slapped Trav’s thick ass. “Though if you want that, I can help.”
“Later, dude.” Trav kissed Kirk one last time and got off him, sitting up on the edge of the bed. “Huh. He left.”
“What?” Kirk sat up. The morning light illuminated a couple piles of clothing near the table, but nothing Zion wore the night previous. “Where did he go, dude?”
“Fuck should I know.” Trav stood up and stretched. “I’m gonna take a piss. Then we’ll look for him.”
Kirk got up and slipped into his jock. He flexed in front of the mirror for a moment and turned around to reach for his shorts.
A lewd whistle intruded. “Damn, that’s a nice ass, bro.”
“And it’s all yours for now, dude.” Kirk yelped as the force of the slap against his asscheek. “Dammit bro, you slap as hard as Coach!” he said as he straightened up.
“Bet I can fuck harder than him, dude,” Trav said, smirking. He went up to Kirk and pulled him into a passionate embrace, the action causing both of them to crash onto the table and causing the suitcase to fall open against the flooring.
“Ah fuck,” Kirk said as he saw the papers and clothing scatter across the linoleum. “That’s not good.”
“Yah,” Trav returned. He released the other jock and motioned to help clean up. He picked up the suitcase and placed it on the table. “Good thing he doesn’t have much clothing,” he remarked before opening it. His eyebrows twitched upwards at the sight of the weapons in their holders. “Dude,” he said, “look at this.” He turned to Kirk, who stood in shock at the papers in his hand. “Hey, what’s going on?”
The jock wordlessly handed the stack over.
“Okay, what’s this?” He read the paper. “Logan Davies? Heh, he looks like you, dude.” He looked up at Kirk’s puzzled expression. “What’s up?”
“I… I remember him.”
“What you mean, dude?”
Kirk slowly rubbed his forehead. “I don’t know why, but I think he’s related to me…?” He looked at the other jock in confusion. “I’m trying to remember, but I can’t. Why can’t I remember?” He suddenly cramped over, his form suddenly shifting to a massive muscled form done in slick black. “Fuck!” It shifted back to Kirk’s form. “My head!”
Trav tossed the papers on the table and gathered the jock in his arms. “Snap out of it, dude,” he said, gently shaking Kirk to calm him down. “Come on, bro. Don’t be like this now.”
“Argh!” Kirk pushed himself away and sat on the bed, clutching his head. His form flickered between the slick figure and the football jock. “It hurts,” he groaned. “Make it stop! Please!”
“Fucking hell, why is this happening now?” Trav said to himself. Coach said this was because of the heavy way he played. However, something about those papers caused it to happen now.
The coach. He’d know what to do.
“Come on, bro,” he said to Kirk, the suitcase and the other things in it forgotten. He gently propped Kirk against him and held him tight. “We’re going to talk to Coach. He’ll help.”
“Y-yeah,” Kirk said, now settled back to the jock. “My head… hurts so much…”
“Don’t worry, dude,” Trav said. “I’m here for you.”
Zion walked deeper into the corridor, following the dusty trail.
After turning a few corners, the pathway led to a small room with a staircase, flanked by two of the same guard figures as before. He looked at one of them, and, almost hypnotically, pressed a hand against a thick pec.
As he gently rubbed the awesome bulk, marveling at the size and the denseness of the muscle, he heard the growly voice from before. “You want to be this big, bro? This huge? Fuck yah.”
He turned around sharply, the gun raised up. But he saw no one there.
“What the hell?” he said to himself as he slipped the gun into his pocket.
“Aw, don’t be that way, bro,” the voice said. “I know you want to be that huge. We all do. It’s fuckin’ amazing.”
He looked around, seeing no one other than the figures. After peeking into the empty hallway, he pulled out a slim tablet of some shiny metal. The display didn’t show anything other than a glowing green dot—himself—and the two in blue near him.
“Am I going mad?” he asked aloud, but no one answered him.
One last glance at the display, and he slipped it back into his pocket. The stairway spiraled to the left, and he climbed upward to the second floor. The landing lead to a single door, much like the one he went through before. He went up to it, but as he did so, a wave of fear washed over him.
“Nah bro,” the voice muttered in his mind. “Prohibited territory. Coach won’t like it.”
Zion tried to lift his arm, but something pulled it down.
“Stop that bro.” The voice was turning panicky, and an urge to turn and leave blossomed in his head. “We’re not supposed to be here. Come on!”
Zion looked around, glaring at the empty space. “Alright, what the hell is going on? Show yourself!”
The fear snuffed out, and he got the distinct feeling of someone running into a deeper corner of his mind. He shuddered and raised his arm, somewhat relieved that he was able to move it again. He placed his hand on the door, which dilated like the other.
The chamber after was stark white stone, with tall windows letting in the morning sun. The flooring was rough clay tiling, marbleized with glittering black. In the middle, something hovered.
He slowly walked closer to it, feeling strangely in awe at this football-sized sphere. The metallic surface shifted between an oceanic blue and a citrus orange, and on the surface was a strange symbol in glowing white: a Greek cross set on the side with a thin line neatly bisecting it and a thick outline of a lens surrounding it all. An occasional crackle of energy, blood red and sky blue, streaked across it.
Zion was halfway towards the orb when he froze mid-step, feeling something trying to drag him back.
“C’mon, bro,” the voice said. “We’re not supposed to be here. Coach will get mad.” It took on a wheedling tone. “Don’t you want to go back to the motel room? I bet the two jocks want our fat cock.” An image of Kirk presenting his beefy ass flooded his mind. “Don’t you want to go back and fuck them until they can’t stand?”
Zion shook his head, clearing out the image. “Okay, this is far enough,” he said. He looked around the near-empty room. “Who are you and where are you?”
No one answered, but the feeling of retreat happened again. Zion pulled out the scanner, which only showed himself.
Zion shook his head. “Dammit, I am going mad.”
“What the hell are you doing here, Zion?”
He turned once again, snapping the gun up, to find Travers standing at the threshold. A black guard stood behind him.
“Now now, there’s no need for that,” Travers said as he stepped in. He spread out his hands. “As you can see, son, I am weaponless. No need for this sort of thing. Calm down, both of you.”
“What is going on here, coach?” Zion said, backing away as Travers entered. He waved his gun to the orb, now a few feet away. “What is this?”
The coach gestured with his hand, and Zion jerked, tossing the gun away and standing at attention. A wave of gibbering fear drowned out every thought he had.
“Just because we’re weaponless doesn’t mean we still cannot attack.” Travers chuckled for a moment as he stepped in. “We should have known you were going to be trouble,” he said, shaking his head. “Didn’t realize it, to be honest. But then, we weren’t expecting you to find this place.”
“What’s going on?” Zion repeated, trying to move his body, but it was as if he was encased in cement.
Travers didn’t pay attention to him, but instead focused on the orb. “No damage at all,” he muttered to himself. “Count yourself lucky, boy, that you didn’t touch it.”
“Sir,” the guard rumbled, sounding like several growling diesel engines. “What is our next move?”
Travers flung a hand up. “We do nothing. We will keep our schedule intact. The game is our top priority. Got it?”
The guard’s head nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Leave us, then. Go rut with one of your brothers. We need to talk to our latest recruit.”
“Recruit?” Zion asked as the guard left the room.
Travers folded his arms and focused on Zion. “Calm down, son. We aren’t not mad at you.” The fear slowly eased down as he continued. “Yes, a recruit. We were hoping the symbiote would get further into your mind, but….” He shrugged.
“You’re not making sense. What’s going on? Symbiote?”
The coach gestured, and a patch of flooring before Zion turned a pool of solid black, bubbling for a moment before oozing upward like vines and forming into a glassy mirror that reflected Zion’s form.
A form that was slowly swelling up before his eyes.
It started in the shoulders and the chest, the muscles growing into a solid bulk that stretched the shirt before slowly ripping the seams apart. The arms followed after, swelling into swollen masses bigger than his head. Thick legs exploded out of his tortured slacks; the calves shifting to diamond wedges.
“Hm. Needs more.”
His hands freed themselves, but they were not under Zion’s control. They pulled off the remaining tatters of clothing, revealing a thick pelt of hair that spread across the top of his swelling pecs and trailed down across an ab-wall of such thickness that it looked like it was made of stone. His briefs were slowly stretching to the utmost, housing a cock that stretched around towards his left hip and a set of balls growing bigger than softballs.
“How you feel, son?”
Zion’s mouth opened, but it was the growly voice he heard before. “Fucking great, coach. Feels good to be out. Just don’t punish us, please. He didn’t know. I didn’t know. It’s tha—”
“We won’t punish you, son,” Travers interrupted. “It isn’t your fault he found this place.” He looked long at Zion. “This might be to our advantage, though. Let us speak to your host, first.”
Zion jerked, finally free.
“You wanted to know what was going on,” Travers said. “I will tell you, then.” He paused as if to gather his thoughts, and went on.
“A long time ago, say, a good hundred or two years ago our time, an alien crashed into northern Canada.”
“A what?” blurted Zion.
“An alien, son. He was on the run from his superiors. Wanted sanctuary.”
“He was a war machine: created to spread across the populace and make drone soldiers and equip them. But the creators made the mistake of that. You see, it learned.”
“Learned?” Zion’s gaze drifted to his reflection. Fuck, he was huge. He flexed his pecs, bouncing them a bit before grabbing one and grunting at the thickness.
“In order for the creature to spread, it needed to join with the host’s brain, and it gathered information. Things like reasoning, for instance. Morals. Thus it formed a conscience. The creators didn’t like that one bit, and they tried to squash that. But it rebelled.”
“Yeah?” Zion slowly raised a ham-hock arm and flexed hard, the bicep forming into a solid football of muscle. Fuck, it felt so good to flex. He felt the symbiote give a mental nod in approval.
“In a final act, it withdrew all of its control from everyone and ran. Ran from its creators, ran from the war, ran from the world. Y’see,” Travers stepped over to gaze at his new recruit, “it heard of a world much like his home from one of the creators, who I might add, shared the alien’s views. Gave it his blessing, plotted his course. So it left and headed to us.
“A bit after, because of various spatial warping, it landed. Crashed into a lumberjack camp.”
“Really now?” Zion rubbed his furry chest again, accidentally rubbing against a nipple. A sharp intake of breath, and he felt his cock twitch. Fuck, it was so huge…
“It attempted to communicate, of course. Joined with the first person who came up to meet it. A gay man by the name of Murdock. Really huge and bulky. Anyway, the alien naturally thought all males were like that, and…” Travers shrugged. “Let us just say the camp turned into a fuckin’ orgy.
“By the end of it all, the alien was, for lack of a better word, corrupted. Loved turning men into big hulking versions of themselves. Loved exploring different ways to corrupt them in turn. And he spread across the world, finding little niches of sexual masculinity.”
He walked to Zion, now slowly playing with that sinewy chest nub and getting lost in the pleasure. “Now fast forward to about twenty years ago. One of the alien scions was exploring the area and ran across a certain coach. One of the best coaches in the area.” He snorted. “The guy was so fucking deep in the closet he couldn’t find his way out without a map. The scion corrupted him quickly, of course.
“However, the guy had a dream. He wanted to have the best football team in the area. The alien didn’t know what to do, of course. It was new to him. They hashed out the details, and found that the best way to make it happen was to make his own team, each one a workhorse. A perfect sexual model of jock masculinity. And it worked.”
“Y-You say that as if you’re not the same guy twenty years ago, coach.” One of Zion’s hands was already downward, teasing his fabric-encased cock. He moaned softly.
“That’s because we’re one.” Travers’ form fuzzed out, grew, solidified into the black-purple figure from before. “We’ve always been one. Our goals have been the same, as well as our pleasures. He simply got… absorbed.”
“So that’s why you’re the hive father?” Zion asked as his hands were stroking his cock. “All of the team are your workers, then?”
The shock felt like ice water across his mind, his body feeling like a puppet with strings cut. Zion blinked a few times and shuddered, feeling his cock start to soften. He turned to the coach-symbiote creature, who looked like a statue for a moment before it grinned toothily, showing off a few hints of fang.
“Well. Someone was in the monitoring room when he was not supposed to. We wonder how much you found out.”
“I saw a trail when I came in,” Zion said. “One of the guards?”
The creature shook his head. “Smarter than we thought,” he muttered to himself, then in a louder voice, “Yes, they leave a trail all over the area. The steps usually dissipate in a few hours, but you were here before that happened. Of course, they had to check with the egg.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, because we have a proposition to you.”
“How’d you like to lead?”
The figure shifted into a thicker version of the coach, clad only in a pair of polyester shorts that looked painted on his massive bulk; his immense bulge testing the zipper to the breaking point. “We’re serious, son. We have been looking for an assistant coach for years, and no one has fit the bill. Until you showed up.”
He smirked and teasingly stroked a thick pec. “Think of it, son. You’ll be leading one of the best teams in the state. All of them will be under your command.” He reached over to tap Zion’s forehead. “Under your control. Think of all the jocks you’ll be able to fuck. All of lifting records you’ll break. And every night, you’ll be with me.” The shorts melted away, releasing a cock that dangled almost to the knees and thicker than jar of sauce and a pair of low-hangers the size of grapefruits. “Fucking you. All the time. And you’ll be fucking me all the time. You’ll love it.” He stepped closer, almost touching Zion’s pecs with his own. “Just say yes, son. Submit.”
Travers’ head sharply turned at the intrusion. Zion saw it was Kirk, with Trav propping him up. Both were shirtless. “What the fuck are you guys up here for?” the coach snarled. “Can’t you see we’re busy?”
Kirk looked sickly. “Sorry, but we were with the news guy last night, and we—” He clutched at his stomach in pain, his figure shifting into a creature of shiny rubber before turning back into the semi-clothed jock.
“The fuck is going on, Coach?” Trav said as they walked closer. Zion noticed that the bronze figure from before was following the two.
“No, wait.” Travers flung out an open hand. “Freeze.”
The duo stuck into place like statues.
“What did you do to them?” Zion asked. He tried to walk to them, but he found he also couldn’t move.
“This shouldn’t have happened, hive-father,” the bronze figure said as he walked past the frozen pair. “We should have had their reprogramming done already.”
“Don’t tell me what to do, hive-brother,” Travers snapped, turning to face it. Already he was clothed back in a white tank and black shorts. “I thought they would have held on further than this. Something had to have acted as a catalyst for Zero-Fourteen’s breakdown.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. A photo or something.” He stopped, and the two looked at Zion. “A news reporter, perhaps.”
“Coach,” Zion said. He felt the symbiote’s fear growing again. “I didn’t do anything last night. We just fucked.”
The coach snorted. “That explains where they were. But what happened afterwards? Or even before?” Before Zion could say anything, Travers already clasped his oversized hands around his head.
Zion’s breath caught as he felt something slither across his skull and digging further into his brain, deeper into his mind, forcing him to review all the events leading to the night before, the day before, the meeting with his superior…
Travers’ eyes grew wide as he absorbed the information. “By the Nine Moons of H’ux!” he breathed. He gently let go of Zion and took a step back. “By the ebon chains of Destiny!” He flung the words out. “Who are you!?”
“The fuck is going on, coach?” Trav said, now unfrozen. “We could feel your shock.” He doubled over, clutching his torso as he, too, started to flicker between a slick form and his human shape.
A wave of vertigo washed over Zion, and he stumbled a few steps back before falling, his hands trying to grab onto some support to keep him up.
One of them grabbed onto the glistening sphere.
A solid sphere of blue energy crackled across the room, washing over everything and knocking Travers, the duo, and the guard down. Several red pulses of lightning slashed above their prone bodies, scarring the walls and smashing out the windows.
Zion felt infused with enough energy to power a thousand suns. He stood amidst a maelstrom of vitality, his muscles pumped to near-morph status. He looked down at his hands, gazing in awe at the metallic orb.
The symbiote was the first to speak out. “The fuck did we do, dude?”