Jocking, The: Adam Turner

Where The Madness Left

«1»

By CallMeCrazy

Morning was rising over the sleepy town. But there was no town to greet the cheery sun, so the sun stayed away. Covered in dark clouds, the world seemed unhappy. But no one noticed in the small town, not one man was unconverted. Briggs smiled a he examined the fresh recruits, each experienced players their entire lives. Having easily overtaken the town he started in, Briggs was expanding south. He had started in a small town in Nebraska, and was now in a smaller town near Kansas. But this town was not a regular jocking. He had plans for the town. Here, Briggs would launch his professional team, the Soldiers. Brock stood before him, stretching the material of his new uniform to the extreme. Black shoes and socks led to black spandex pants with a red striped running up the sides of both pants. The jersey continued the pattern, with a tight, black underarmor shirt coming from the sleeves. All the men wore black gloves and helmets as well. Brock was the pinnacle of perfection in the outfit, a prime example of masculine energy. And all around, the other men from the town wore identical uniforms. Only the number revealed any difference in the jocks.

It was one month ago that Kai Cole had attempted to destroy the machine, his precious machine. But it had survived, and the jocking had continued. Kai was no longer a threat, and the team had spread indiscriminately. The bending was now quite complicated, so many woman had been removed from reality and so many men had been jocked. He had to be very careful not to tear reality permanently. So, most conversions were done outside of the machine, and only mass removals were performed. It was working, as reality seemed stable enough.

Around the town, men were stripping the buildings and beginning construction of the arena. Here, Briggs would convert the greatest football players in the country. Thanks to another bend, The Soldiers had been accepted into the National Football League as a new expansion team. All they needed was to be ready next week, for the first game. Brock would be leading the plays. Many of the other players had spread around the country, slowly converting small towns. Hunter stayed back at home base, working with the original machine. He had made several smaller versions of the machine and had distributed them around the team. BRMB had left on their own, intent on continued jocking. The rest had been lost on the shuffle. Briggs had also noted that Brock, Hunter, and BRMB (as a unit) had been the only jocks to develop unique personalities within the realm of sports. It didnít matter, they were the only ones who needed such freedom. Now, all he had to do was wait.

BRMB had traveled through three states searching for prime conversions. They were very particular in who they would convert. They chose a man named Taylor Oxingting, a counselor at a high school whose mascot was the Panthers. He was a middle age man, balding, far past his physical prime. And it was obvious that his "prime" hadnít been very much at all. At 5'0 150 pounds, he was quiet and sheepish, avoiding other teachers, especially male coaches. He did care about the students. Taylor would be a more drastic change that normal, as all of the crew had possessed a confident attitude originally. They were going for a full one-eighty, a complete reversal of his personality. And clothes were still their chosen method.

It was the day after the game, and the school, which BRMB had pretended to enroll at, was celebrating its achievements. Bull walked into Mr. Oxingtingís office before class began. He brought with him a Panther baseball cap, in celebration of the win.

"Hey dude! Mr. O, are ya here?" Bull called into the office.

"Iím present. How are you Brandon?"

"Fuck man, call me Bull."

"Okay . . .Bull," Taylor tried to not censor the students. He thought that school put enough restrictions on them, they didnít need the counselor judging their actions.

"Did ya come to the fucking game, dude?"

"No . . I, uh, had some work to do. I really wish I could have . ."

"Yeah, dude. We fucking killed Ďem. Wished youíd fucking been there."

"Iíll come next week."

"Fuck yeah! Here," Bull tossed him the hat. "Fucking celebrate the win." Taylor put the hat on this head.

"Looks fucking good. Later man."

"Bye Bra- Bull." Bull walked out the door, laughing to himself. Taylor kept the hat on and continued with his work. He got up a moment later to go to the restroom. He didnít keep mirrors anywhere near his office. Students came in crying, and it was easier on them if they didnít have to watch themselves breakdown. Oxingting hated the pressures put on teenagers, and wished people would cut them slack. In the menís room, he gazed upon his face. A forty-something yuppie- bald, and pale. Deep wrinkles were appearing in his face, as tubbiness was setting in. In fact, he looked years older than he was. But the hat made his head less obvious, in fact- along with his come over- it practically hid the fact that he was balding. For the first time in years, Taylor walked with a bit of confidence in his step.

He tried to do his job over the next two periods, but constantly left to look at himself. Finally, he took a mirror from the bathroom and hung it in his office. He really couldnít believe how good the hat looked on him. It was more than just the hair, the whole look made him appear his age, maybe even bit younger. He could see the confidence in himself. He smiled at the mirror, proud of the image.

Taylor Oxingting spent the next two periods trying to work, but was constantly entranced by his own reflection. Every time he looked, Taylor swore that he looked younger and healthier. At lunch; rather than eating a lunch he brought everyday, Taylor decided to go out. He went to his twenty year old Probe. The paint was long worn off, and rust made the car appear orange and brown. Taylor wanted to get back quickly, so he went to a fast food store. As he pulled up to order, Oxingting felt famished. He ordered three triple cheeseburgers and two large fries, along with a bucket of pop. He to the school parking lot and ate in his car. The lot was empty because the students were at lunch, so it had a feeling of privacy. He couldnít believe he had bought so much food.

"Oh well, better get started," Taylor thought to himself as he opened the wrapper. The moment the burger touched his lips, a strange sensation spread through his body. He quivered, unsure of the feeling. It felt stronger with the next bite, and still stronger with each successive bite. As he ate, Taylor felt increasingly hungry, as though he hadnít eaten in days. He scarfed down the food, the sensation increased from a small sensation to a constant vibration. It wasnít bad, in fact it was almost erotic. Taylor began enjoying the feeling and he was hoping that it would continue. When he was done eating, Oxingting felt an incredible pull in the direction of his crotch. Reaching down to scratch himself, he cried out in ecstasy. Just touching himself felt fantastic. He was almost scared to do it again, but slowly reached down to touch himself. Intense pleasure filled his body as he laid his hand on his member. It gave him a painful erection, and Taylor had no desire to make it go away. He was already reaching down to pull out his hard dick. His five inches stuck out of his black pants, and Taylor reached down greedily to grope himself. He began pumping himself like the world was about to end. It was fantastic, Oxingting had never possessed a sex drive, and this sudden rapture was almost too much for him.

He spewed huge wads of cum all over his car. Oxingting sat in spent happiness for almost twenty minutes. He thought about wiping up the fluid, but decided to leave it as a reminder. He shoved his prick back into his pants. It seemed to fit a little tighter. As he walked back in the school, the faintest traces of a swagger could be seen in his step. When Taylor arrived at his office, Masher was waiting at the door.

"What can I do for you, Masher?" Taylor asked with a slightly deeper, more confident voice.

"We fucking have a fucking sponsor," Masher said as he put a pair of football cleats on Mr. Oxingtingís desk.

"What do you mean?"

"Fuck, this shoe place fucking made a donation and we have fucking extras. I came to fucking see if you want them. Theyíre so fucking cool." The shoes didnít look brand new, in fact they had scratches and stains all over the shoe. They looked very worn in.

"I donít really need a pair of shoes," Taylor began but Masher cut him off.

"Itís just that we fucking have to fucking wear them to advertise for the fucking company, man. And we fucking need to give out all the fucking pairs they fucking gave us. Yo dude, give us a fucking hand." Taylor looked at the shoe curiously. He picked it up and felt a faint sense of the pleasure he had felt in the car.

"Well, sinceís its for the team."

"Fuck man, thanks a ton. Shit, I fucking donít know what we would fucking do without you, Fucker." Masher got up and left the office, leaving Mr. Oxingting alone with the cleats. He stared at them carefully for a few minutes, before he began to remove his loafers. He noticed that the shoes had a pair of knee-high football socks, and thought, "What the hell." He removed his black socks. He picked up the yellow spandex socks, and tiny waves of pleasure flitted through his body. Taylor pulled the first pair on carefully, rolling up his Dockers until the sock reached its full length, then pulled on the other pair. They fit over his kneecap, successfully hiding any skin on his calves, even if he rolled on the ground or got thrown around. Tiny shocks of joy rolled through him, and he reached down to put on the cleats. They actually looked too big for his small feet, but Taylor was unable to locate a size label. So, he put on the shoes. They may have looked big, but they were the most comfortable pair of shoes Taylor had ever worn. The shoes felt as though he had worn them in, as they snugged every part of his foot just tight enough. Once they were secure, powerful pleasure began enclosing him.

He turned to see himself in the mirror and laughed at his reflection. There stood a thirty-something man, holding up his pants while wearing football socks, cleats, and a hat. His face was smooth, but unshaved. Little sprouts of brown hair could be seen poking out from under the cap. And his crotch looked like a water bottle had been stuffed down it. Looking at his crotch propelled the waves to that location. Taylor unzipped himself, and a seven inch sausage flew out. It was already dripping precum on the floor and on his pants. Oxingting reached down and slowly began rubbing his cock. He wasnít concerned that he had cum only half an hour ago, he just wanted to make the sensation more intense. He could barely control his hands; however, as they began ripping on his dick. In the mirror, it looked like he was trying to pull his cock off.

"I am trying to get off," he thought smugly to himself. He only had to jerk for a moment more before he erupted like a fire hose all over his office. Taylor relaxed in his chair for a while, recovering from the incredible orgasms he was having, the first real one orgasms heíd ever had. It was so wonderful, he understood how those jocks always talked about sex and grabbed at themselves.

When he got up, Taylor had a strong desire to move. He was twitching and wanted to go, move, run. He managed to wait until school was over, and then we went to the empty football field. The team had taken the day off in celebration. It was raining, making the turf wet and muddy. At first, he just walked, then jogged, before he finally began running and flinging himself onto the ground. He sprinted with all his effort from one goal to the other and back again. He was running out of breath, but for some reason he couldnít bring himself to stop. Somewhere inside, there was a goal. He would stand in the back field and then run toward a nonexistent ball. He tackled an invisible person and repeated the process. He ran every play perfectly. This behavior continued for about an hour. When he finally got up, he was filthy: sweating profusely covered in mud and completely soaked.

As he was walking toward the exit, Rod appeared from the locker room.

"Woah, fuck dude," he called to Taylor.

"What man?" Taylor yelled back.

"Youíre fucking soaked."

"Fuck, and?"

"You fucking look ready for a fucking heavy workout."

"Yeah dude, I am pumped up!"

"Shit man, use our fucking machines."

"Cool dude," Taylor said as he followed Rod into the weight room. The room crammed with weight machines. It smelled heavily of sweat and the floor was covered in various body fluids.

"What do you fucking want to work out, dude?" Rod asked.

"Fuck, I want a full body workout."

"Fuck yeah!" Rod said. "Letís start with you legs and work up. Here drink this, itís an energy drink. Rod gave Oxingting a clear, unmarked water bottle. Taylor put the liquid to his lips and drank. It wasnít water, it was thicker and it tasted awful. But, energy drinks werenít suppose to taste good. Before he knew it, Taylor had chugged the entire bottle down.

"First," Rod said, "You should change. Just take off you clothes. Weíre both guys." Taylor didnít hesitate for a moment as he threw off his Dockers, shirt, and boxers. He was left in the football cleats and cap.

"Letís do some standing calf raises." Taylor got on the machine as Rod attached a weight. Oxingting slowly lowered his legs and raised then. An intense burn seared through his legs.

"Keep going, dude!" Rod cheered on. So, Taylor continued. Each time it felt like his leg was going to burn off. That was the first set. The second seemed easier. Taylor could feel his calves pumping with power as they lifted the weights. When he gazed down, he saw huge veins spreading through his legs. He felt them before the third set, and they were too large to get his hands around. The third was the final weight, and Oxingting completed them with no effort.

"Now, letís do leg press." Again, Taylor sat down at the machine and struggled through the first set. His quads felt like they might explode and his hamstrings would never forgive him. The second set, it all got easier. His quads and hams were putting forth more effort and strength. At the rest, Oxingting again noticed the massive veins pumping through his legs. His hams look tight enough to rip spandex and his quads were so huge that he had to keep his legs farther apart to prevent them from rubbing together. It wasnít until he finished the third set that he reached back to scratch his ass, and felt a perky bubble butt. He gripped each cheek with his hands, loving the feeling of rubbing them on his ass. He was slowly moving his hands toward his crack, and upon arriving, slid one finger inside.

"Hip abduction!" Rod yelled, snapping Taylor out of his sexual spell. He swaggered over to the machine and plopped his ass down. The exercise was exactly like the others, huge pain, then work, then ease. His waist size had dropped a few inched by the time he got up.

Taylor could barely contain his pleasure. The whole experience was so arousing. He really wanted to explore his ass further, but instead followed after Rod, mimicking his walk and gestures.

"Lat pull downs" Oxingting could feel his back becoming hugely muscles and V-shaped as the exercise progressed. He also noticed that he was now at eye level with Rod. Rod took him to a Dip machine, and after much struggle, Oxingting had huge pecs and a chest that totaled eighty inches. His triceps would rip apart most any shirt he put on and his biceps were larger than bowling balls. The proceeded to the shoulder press, where Taylorís shoulders became as large as football should pads. He loved all of it. He must have gained three hundred pounds of muscle, and now came the abs.

Rod sat him down at the ground and had him begin crunches. Taylor crunched over and over. He had no idea how much time passed. But slowly, the love handles turned into ripped abs that he could wash his clothes on.

Physically, no resemblance to the aged man remained.. In his place stood a 6'7 450 pound man. He had a look of rugged age to him, but was probably about twenty years old. Shaggy brown hair hung over his eyes and past his ears. Taylor looked at himself in the mirror, and immediately the pleasure sensation returned. He excuse himself and went to the toilets to jerk off. His dick was oozing precum and it was only minutes later when he had blown again. The toilet was covered in semi-thick goo. Oxingting was full of energy and charged back into the weight room. Rod was no where to be found, but Brute was in his place.

"Yo dude," Oxingting said, "where the fuck it Rod?"

"Fuck man, he fucking had to go."

"Fuck man, I wanna workout."

"Fuck no! The workoutís fucking over. You fucking need to get cleaned up. Here, fucking take this and clean yourself up." Brute handed Oxingting some bath and cleaning supplies and led him to the showers.

"Fuck, hurry and fucking get cleaned up, dude!" Brute said. "Weíre fucking leaving soon."

Oxingting got in the shower and turned on the water. It was ice cold and there was no way to adjust it. He first pulled out a bottle of shampoo. It smelled stale, like gel. He rubbed the stuff through his long hair. The more he put on, the more natural it smelled. He used the entire bottle covering all his hair. He reached for the soap while he let the shampoo sit. The bar was as soft as a rock, and smelled like old musk. It actually smelled like sweaty men with cologne on. He touched the bar to his body gently, and it felt perfect. He began scrubbing furiously, clawing off any hair on his body. He cleaned his entire body with the soap. Any area cleaned by the soap smelled like it afterwards. But once his entire body had been soaped down, Oxingting liked the musky smell. It was how man should smell. The last bottle was bath gel. Taylor cringed at the thought of putting on some girly shit, but he squeezed it out and lathered up. The brown gel absorbed into his body as he rubbed it on. He returned to the shampoo and rinsed the it out of his hair. He towel off and looked at himself in the mirror. He body was now golden tanned, without a hint of hair except on his head. There, his brown hair was now jet black, giving him a look of sexy mystery. Ox was now the sexy free safety for the Panthers. The little stubble on his face only increased his sexiness.

The whole look was too much for Taylor. He reached down and began pumping his nine inch tool. His fucking cock. God it felt so fucking good. Being a fucking jock was the best fucking feeling the in world. Slowly, one hand reached around to his backside, and he slid his finger in his ass. One hand pumping his cock, Ox finger-fucking himself with the other. It was so much fucking pleasure. Ox spewed huge wads of thick goo around the showers. He slid his hand out of his ass and licked it clean. Before leaving, Ox checked his hair in the mirror. Brute was waiting for him outside.

"Fucking címon fucker!" Brute said.

"Fuck yeah!" Ox responded. "We gottta fucking celebrate our fucking win last night!"

"Fuck yeah!" Brute said as he handed Ox some yellow tights. At the top of his shirt was the logo BRMB. He put them on without struggle. Brute slapped Oxís ass and they went outside to Oxís car, a red Mercedes convertible with black leather interior. Rod, Masher, and Bull were waiting. The got in the car, blasted the bass and flew down the road. •


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

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

Archive Version 070326