Stinkers – Coach’s Senior Gifts (Part 5)

Erik wasn’t sure if Paul was trying to push him off, or was merely pushing up against him. Either would have been fine with him–after all, whether his teammate was enjoying what was happening to him or not, it was happening to them both. He would either enjoy it or not–whichever it was, it was likely that Paul had no control over his own feelings, or his own body, or his own destiny, at this point. Erik had long since given up any sort of belief that he might become anything other than what his coach wanted–and indeed, had begun to relish everything Coach Robinson had chosen to do to him.

The hair which had sprouted from the jockstrap was slowly eating away the very mesh of the pouch, and after a few minutes, he felt his cock flop out, and his balls as well. Reaching down with a hand, he felt them, giving the musky shaft a good stroke–it was longer than it had been before, and shaped…slightly different. His balls were fuller as well, and coated in fur. His belly and the front of his legs were becoming covered now, and his previous flat stomach was beginning to round out, as a small, hard gut formed over his abs, but the rest of his muscles were heating up, and expanding. The heat was even penetrating his bones, making them lengthen as well–it was painful, but…worth it. Worth it, if he could become what his coach wanted, even if that meant he couldn’t be as special as Anton–it wasn’t up to him, though this thought did little to curb his disappointment.

Instead, he took that anger out on Paul, beneath him, pinning him to the concrete, grinding their crotches together, snarling and growling at him with his bearish muzzle, licking his lips over foul teeth, leering down at the boar beneath. He’d hoped that Paul would hate this, that this would be torture, or punishment, but after his initial hesitation, he was grinding back, rearing up to meet Erik’s face and mash their snouts together in strange, unfamiliar kisses.

Paul’s own jock was undergoing changes that were quite different from Erik’s. The pouch had dried out and hardened, but rather than become solid and brittle, it had become leather–or perhaps a better word would be hide. It had covered his cock and balls for now, making them disappear, but it was clear that something was happening beneath it. Paul could…feel his cock, working hard to push it’s way back out, and with a painful tear, the hide broke towards the top, and a strange, pink cock pushed it’s way out, like a drill emerging from the earth. Even the head was corkscrew shaped, and covered in a foul smelling slime. The base of the hide began to distend now, as his new balls descended. True to his new form, they were heavy and large, hanging low against his thighs. Done with his crotch, the rest of his skin began to change now as well, becoming the same leathery hide as the jock had become, though some areas turned quite a bit darker than others. What emerged was a piebald pattern–much of his skin was the same light pink as before, but large spots of deep brown had filled in as well. With a grumble in his gut, fat began to pile on his body–far more than Erik, though Paul got a fair share of muscle as well. His tits swelled in particular, which Erik began groping roughly in his hands, other nipples sprouting down the front of him, swelling to the size of thumbs.

Paul slid down, underneath Erik, searching for his new cock amidst the hair coating his body. It was rank and matted, dripping sweat on his face, which his tongue happily lapped up between grunts and squeals. Erik found the boar’s mouth first, driving in, filling his snout and touching the back of his throat. The changes had covered their torsos and most of their legs, and were now progressing down their arms, and up their necks to their new faces. Erik’s ears shifted up to the top of his head, as hair filled in all over his face–Paul’s ears also shifted to the top of his skull, but grew out and flattened, the edges cracked slightly, his eyes shrinking and setting back a bit deeper into his skull. The hair on the top of his head fell out, but long bristle sprouted all along his back and neck, but left his underbelly barren and rough. Erik’s hands gripped Paul’s head, his nails thickening and darkening into long claws. He dug in–enough to hurt and perhaps scratch, but not enough to truly make the boar bleed–and began slamming his cock in deeper, as deep as it could go, Paul hungry for cum, hungry for piss, desperate for anything wet.

The bear man finally rolled the boar over, tugging at the curly tail which had sprouted above Paul’s ass, and reached back to feel his own, stubby and furry one behind him. He ate out the pig’s hole for a bit, tasting the rank sweat and dirt, before sliding his cock into the hilt, Paul letting off a loud squeal–likely loud enough to be heard in the school proper, though at this time, the only people around were the janitors, who knew better than to disturb Coach Robinson’s time with his athletes. Paul groped around underneath his flabby body, looking for his cock–which he managed to grab hold of eventually. It wasn’t easy gripping it–his fingers had fused together into semi-worthless trotters, but the rough hoof against his slimy cock only made his squeal more, his balls pumping out a massive puddle of precum, which his belly slid around on. With a growl, Erik planted his hairy, wider and clawed feet on the tile, gripped the pig’s hips tight in his claws, and kept fucking. Their humanity seemed so distant now–more like a dream, some strange fancy their animal minds might have invented–but this…this is who they were now, and neither of them was sure they’d go back, even if they could.

Stinkers – Coach’s Senior Gifts (Part 4)

After his demonstration, the coach forced Anton into a long sleeve compression shirt–long enough that the spandex and the rubber of his new mitts overlapped slightly, making it difficult to tell where one fabric ended and the other began. Much to Anton’s surprise, even after he’d lost the feeling of his flesh under the shirt, he found that he could still move…but without bones or tendons, he also had a…surprisingly large range of movement. He was like some living doll, and every touch of the coach’s hands on his new “skin” sent waves of pleasure through him. He didn’t want this to be so enjoyable. He was terrified, certainly, but also somehow…excited.

Coach forced him to bend over the desk next, revealing his ass for him. Anton thought coach might want one last fuck before sealing away his asshole underneath the uniform pants, but instead, he took a wide, semi-flexible rubber tube, told Anton to open up his ass, and began sliding the tubing into him. He could feel the rubber wanting to cling to the sides of his ass, as it went in, but Coach kept forcing it deeper–deeper than Anton had ever really taken much of anything before, until there was just an inch or so of tube sticking out from between his ass cheeks. Then, coach stopped, and after a few seconds, the rubber had adhered to the inside of his hole. The inside of the tube was filled with silicone, almost like a fleshlight. The coach’s finger pushed against the rubber sphincter and entered him, making Anton shiver, and an odd…need, overwhelmed him. “There–you might be a dummy, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be useful, right?”

“R-right…” Anton moaned back, without much thought.

“Yeah, I think you like being used, don’t you?”

Anton just moaned again. Coach played with his dummy’s new hole a little longer, and then got the pants and socks he’d already prepared–black spandex, like the shirt, but with pads built into the knees and ass. Socks first, and while Anton’s feet and ankles began to numb up and turn to fluff, Coach forced the pants on, all the way up to his waist. A ragged hole had been left in the front, allowing the jock pouch to peek through the front, and a small hole had been left in the seat of the pants as well. It took a bit of maneuvering, but coach pushed the end of the rubber tube through the hole, and the pants sealed themselves around it–joined with it seamlessly, in fact. Anton was left with an ample butt oddly without much of a crack–just a hole leading deep into Anton’s body, and the fluff it was rapidly becoming.

Now that most of his body had been…converted, he had a better feel for the substance which was now filling his body. It felt more like…foam, than anything else. Pushing in, his body would indent substantially–much more than flesh–but would return to it’s shape rapidly. It reminded him of those memory foam mattresses, or an unused but first-wetted sponge. He tried to stay standing, but the foam feet kept giving way under his weight. Coach put on two cleats next, which helped–giving strength and structure to his ankles and soles, allowing his the ability to walk–slowly, but he…could tell he would become better at it in time.

It was with some fear that Anton realized that, for several minutes now, he hadn’t heard, or felt, his heart beat. He also wasn’t breathing, now that he had no internal organs to pump air or blood through him. He tried to speak, but while his mouth could move, there was no air inside of him which could be forced out to make sound–he was just a human head, miming language uselessly.

“Almost done, dummy. Just a few more pieces. How about we get your jersey and pads on, eh?”

Anton had seen the yellow jersey with black writing in the corner, but it wasn’t until Coach had put it on him that he saw his new number on the front–34, the same number he had out on the field, in fact, but the name on the back was different. Instead of his last name, all it said was “Sponge.” The word filled his head with fear, thinking about what coach had demonstrated earlier, with his crotch, but the foam body…it had begun to ache. It needed to be wet, if it was going to move, after all. If he hardened, then he’d be frozen in place, like a statue. He was…damp at the moment, thanks to the water held in all the flesh he’d been before, but if he didn’t get more, he’d shrivel up.

Sensing his thoughts, Robinson patted him on his padded shoulder, “Don’t worry Sponge, I have lots of guys who will be keeping you well…saturated. My teams always love my dummies, and use them plenty. You’ll be holding onto all of our piss and cum and spit and sweat for a long time–everything might have just wiped off you before, but now, you’re going to be keeping everything.”

He pushed Anton over at the waist–it didn’t feel like bending over, it felt like he was just some doll, being manipulated by an owner. The rubber tube emerging from his new ass was a couple inches wide–an easy target, though Coach missed on purpose, soaking the seat of Anton’s ass in piss, before sending the rest of the stream into the tube, where Anton could feel it reach the end, deep within him, and the piss just started…suffusing him. It was warm, and pleasant…almost like the time coach had made him piss himself out on the field, after a particularly humiliating fumble. “Yeah, feels good, doesn’t it? It’ll take a while, but pretty soon, you’ll be dribbling filth with every step you take, heavy with everyone’s fluids. I bet you’re already starting to ache for it, right? Well, we just have to take care of that head of yours, now, and once that’s done, you’ll be a dummy through and through, Sponge–isn’t that exciting?”

Stinkers – Coach’s Senior Gifts (Part 3)

Out in the locker room, Erik and Paul had both spent the last ten minutes becoming acquainted with their gifts. Even though they were only a few feet away from one another, they had nearly forgotten about the other’s existence, and the locker room entirely. The jocks…the scent imbedded within them (or the scents they were made out of–it was difficult to know, exactly, what this gear was) was incredibly powerful and overwhelming, but not by force–it was the nuance and the detail which had absorbed the attention of the two jocks so intently.

For Erik, the scent wasn’t only musk, though it was plenty heady. There was also loam, and tinges of evergreen. The chill of a cave, or perhaps a den. Smelling it made him feel both…sleepy, and yet also incredibly powerful, like a boulder at the top of a spruce covered mountain, waiting for a single tap, to send it careening down the slope, flattening anything in it’s path. There was the sweetness of fresh berries, and the pungent rot of raw fish in the sun, the taste of iron and blood in the back of his throat. He was gnashing at the jock now, filling it with spit, and then sucking it down his throat, tasting everything more intensely by the moment.

Paul had begun on the bench, but at some point, had fallen off and onto the concrete floor, where he was rolling about, the jock almost draped over his face, as he snorted at it, grunting, grinding his crotch against the rough concrete. His jock smelled of food–fat and sugar and grains, fermented slightly and beginning to foam. There was mud and dust as well; the jock was incredibly dry, and seemed to be sucking the moisture from him, almost pulling at his face, in some strange way he couldn’t quite explain, even to himself. He felt lazy. He felt like he never wanted to stand upright again, if he could help it. He felt hungry, and thirsty, and as horny as could be. But in his rutting on the ground, the jock came loose from around his head, and without it, he felt a bit of clarity and focus return to him, letting him sit up and stare around him, blinking.

It was a familiar confusion. Every meeting of his with the coach left him in a similar state–exhausted, confused, mortified at what he’d just done, and certain that–if he could–he’d just climb into bed and sleep for days, and days, and days…but he should keep…smelling it, right? Coach would want him to keep smelling it. He grabbed the jock in a hand, but kept it from his face–and took a moment to look over at Erik, where he was huffing his own jock on the bench.

Where Paul was an offensive lineman–wide and thick and designed to be a wall–Erik was a running back–all muscle, lean, and ready to charge into, and run over, anything or anyone in his path. His teammate had almost the entire jock stuffed in his mouth, where he was almost…chewing on it, rolling it over in his mouth, but this gave Paul a clear view of the fact that Erik’s mouth…it wasn’t quite human any longer. The more he gnashed at the wad in his mouth, the more his mouth and nose seemed to extend, pushing out into a thick, short snout. His beard was filling in thick, turning a dark brown, while his nose flattened and widened, turning black. The changes were spreading down his throat and over the rest of his face–especially the thick pelt of brown hair, and Paul–with his free hand–gingerly touched his own face, recalling the strange sensation of pulling he’d felt earlier.

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t human. He too, had a snout–perhaps slightly longer than Erik’s now was, but not nearly as hairy. His nose was flat, dry, and he could feel wrinkles along the side, with two open nostrils, making him snort slightly with each breath…and he had tusks jutting out from his lower jaw, out of his mouth by an inch or so on each side. He looked down at the jock in his hand, feeling it, wondering what in the world coach Robinson was doing to them both. Wondering what they were becoming.

Erik gagged, and with a hack, threw up the jock he’d nearly swallowed into his hand. It was soaked with spit, and Erik’s face looked more like a grizzly bear than human. He looked over at Paul, where he was sitting on the floor–trying to understand why Paul had put on a pig mask of some sort…only to realize that it wasn’t a mask at all.

“We…we have to stop,” Paul said, “I don’t want to do this anymore, I never wanted to do this.”

“Yeah, that’s because you’re a stupid pig,” Erik said, standing up, unwringing the jock, and pulling it on, “I can’t fucking believe I wasn’t the only one. I can’t believe–fucking Anton. But fuck, I feel fucking good, and I’m going to feel better, soon enough.”

“Erik, we have to get help, we have to tell someone.”

Erik just looked at him, and laughed a bit. “If you’re so scared, then why’s the jock around that bulge of yours?”

Paul looked at Erik, and then looked down. Without even realizing it, he’d pulled the jock on, where the pouch had settled around his crotch. It felt…warm. Comfortable. He was horny, but also…kind of sleepy. Lethargic. He tried to get up, using the bench beside him, but couldn’t quite manage to get his feet under him. He was just so…heavy, all of a sudden. He could see Erik’s jock was beginning to sprout hair, like his saliva had been enough to make it germinate. His own pouch seemed to be drying out, darkening, becoming almost skin colored, though slightly darker than Paul’s own flesh. Erik got down on his hands and knees, on top of Paul, and pushed his muzzle to Paul’s snout, each smelling the other’s breath, the strange animal musk they’d begun to produce, and the world began to fade away again for them both.

Stinkers – Coach’s Senior Gifts (Part 2)

“Just…leave. You don’t have to be here, you can just leave, just fucking leave!” Anton was saying to himself, but his body wasn’t having anything to do with his thoughts or words. Then again, he’d grown used to his body betraying him around the coach. Ever since the first practice with him, he’d…sensed something strange between them, between the way they both smelled, and coach knew it too. Robinson had never given him a clear answer, regarding what, about Anton, was so special. All he really knew, was that whenever the coach was around him, he just wanted to get him as musky and stinking as possible–smearing him with the team’s dirty laundry, pissing and cumming on him, making him skip showers, leaving his own uniform unwashed…

Erik and Paul–they made sense, somehow. Neither was particularly clean, they would enjoy the sorts of things the coach did to them–especially Erik. Why not pick Erik for some special treatment? Why him?

“Ah, there’s my special boy,” Robinson said, entering the office and shutting the door behind him. The room was tight, and immediately, the coach’s musk overwhelmed the room. Anton’s breath quickened, and his desire to leave was beginning to fade, but he did his best to keep his focus.

“Sir…what…I don’t understand, why am I special?”

“Oh Anton, all these years! I don’t…find men like you very often. For stinkers like me, well, you’re a real find. So clean! Everything just…wipes right off of you. But don’t worry, I’ve been at this for quite a while,” the older man leered at him, opened a drawer in his desk, which is where he kept the sex toys he used with his harem of young athletes. But he didn’t take out a dildo–he brought out an athletic cup, but no jock to go with it. “Don’t worry, you’ll enjoy this soon enough. I’ve been needing another dummy–my last one finally fell to bits a few years ago. Sold some of his salvageable parts to a few friends of mine, but the rot! It just got in everywhere.”

None of that made any sense at all, but before Anton could get any answers, Robinson had taken the cup and pressed it to Anton’s crotch, over his cock and balls. He felt a series of stings all around it–it reminded him of how it had felt to get stitches, like when he was a kid and had cut open his knee on some glass–and when the coach pulled his hand away, the cup remained against Anton’s crotch, against gravity.

He reached down and tried to pull it free, but it was like he was tugging at his own skin. “Now now, if you get it off, it’ll be a bloody mess. Leave it alone, and stand still!”

Anton obeyed, “Sir, please…I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“I could talk at you for days, Anton, and you’d never get it,” Robinson said, “But more than that, I’m sick of listening to you. Since I can’t get to the mask yet, shut the fuck up, and enjoy this,” he stroked the front of the cup, and Anton…shuddered, and nearly staggered to the side. He could…feel that. He felt coach’s hand on the plastic cup. He realized he couldn’t feel his cock, or his balls, either. “See? It’ll all feel so very good, once it’s finished. Relax! Now, let’s get you dressed.”

A jock next–a clean one, or at least a new one. Anton noticed that it seemed…stiff, somehow, and when it was on, he felt that same…stitching sensation as before, even around the cup. He looked closer at the waistband, and it was a part of his body. There was skin, then there was elastic, then there was skin. What in the world was happening to him? He kept at it, trying to get the jock to pull away from his body, but it refused to come away.

Coach grabbed him by the wrist, and held him tight. “None of that now,” he said, “I can do your fists early, at least.” Anton was expecting gloves, but instead coach pulled out two things that looked like rubber balloons, and started forcing them over Anton’s fists. The rubber was secured with two leather bracelets, not that it was necessary. The rubber edge fused to his skin like the jock strap had, and the leather fused on top of the rubber. He kept moving his fists as long as he could, but they grew numb, quickly, and soon he felt…nothing. Just two bulbous, rubber mitts where his hands had been a moment before. He looked at his coach, terrified, but the leer on his face…it was crueler than he’d ever seen. “Still confused boy? Here, let Coach demonstrate.”

Robinson hauled out his cock, pointed it at Anton’s crotch–which was now just a jockstrap, bulging out like there was a cup beneath it, and started pissing on it. Anton felt the warmth…and felt it seep into him. The piss, it was inside him, under his skin somehow, and he just looked down, seeing the white jock turn yellow from the coach’s acrid piss. Robinson cut off the stream, reached out, and gave the boy’s pouch a squeeze. Anton moaned in pleasure, and felt the coach…wring the piss right out of his body, making it dribble from out around his fist and onto the floor beneath them.

His cock and balls–they were gone. They were just…fluff now, fabric, stuffing. What little structure the flexible cup provided was all that remained. It couldn’t possibly be true, he had to be hallucinating, but he…knew what he’d just felt, and coach could see the realization dawning on him. “Now, how about we get you dressed the rest of the way, dummy? Then we can check on those two teammates of yours, and really have some fun.”

Stinkers – Coach’s Senior Gifts (Part 1)

For those wondering where the rest of “A Home of Mirrors” is, the answer is that it’s unwritten. More is planned though! Sorry if your disappointed. Kind of sorry. A bit. Like a twinge. Here’s something else instead! It also takes place in the same “Stinkers” universe as some of the other stuff I’ve put out before.

Erik’s heart was racing, and he had butterflies in his gut, but that was how he always felt, when he was going to meet Coach Robinson for one of their…secret meetings in the locker room. He was a senior on the varsity football team, but he’d been having these meetings with the coach for several years now, ever since he was a sophomore. It’s not that he was gay–no, he had already banged enough pussy to put that possibility to rest–but whenever he got around his coach…he couldn’t fucking stop himself, getting down on his knees in front of, either in or out of uniform, and sucking his cock, or begging for raw load of the older man’s cum in his ass. Still, the team had had their last game last weekend, which meant it was the last time he’d be playing for his coach. Robinson had told him to meet him in the locker room this afternoon, after school, so he could give his best player a little parting present.

He slipped into the locker room, after making sure no one had seen him head down here. It wouldn’t exactly be very good if after all this time, he finally got caught now! Sure, he was eighteen at this point, but…hadn’t always been. He got inside and headed for his locker, knowing how coach liked to find him in here–naked, aside from the filthy jock he reserved for their special sessions…but when he looked into the locker, it wasn’t there. He dug around a bit, confused–he’d seen it in there just the other day, and the door had been locked, so where could it have gone?

“What the…where the hell…”

Erik froze–was he…not alone in here?

“I swear I had it…”

Erik thought the voice sounded like Anton, one of the wide receivers on the team. He slipped over to the other side of the locker room, and sure enough, it was him, naked, in front of his own locker, digging around for something, cursing under his breath. Should…he say something? Why was Anton even here? He was about to slip back to his own locker, and wait for him to leave (because he was surely going to leave, right?) when the door leading out of the locker room opened up, and in strode Paul–the largest linebacker on the team, and a senior like Erik and Anton.

Paul froze, looking at a naked Erik, watching an equally naked Anton pawing through his locker–well, now both of them were staring at him as well, and watching Paul’s face turn a violent red, underneath his short goatee. “Oh…I, uh…is coach around?” Paul asked.

Neither Erik, nor Anton, knew how to reply to that.

“I’m here boys–just finishing up a bit of work!” came the voice of coach Robinson from the officer in the room, “Paul, get undressed like your compatriots. Don’t worry about your…usual gear, boys. I’ll be with you all in a moment.”

That “moment” seemed to last forever. Paul got undressed like the other two, and they all just stared at one another. They didn’t…need to speak, to confirm anything. It was clear that, even though they all believed they were the only one sharing the coach’s affections, they’d been one of…well, who knew how many, really? The three of them were all seniors, after all. Did the coach have even more young men he was having sex with, in other grades? Anton felt dirty, and used. Erik was slowly being consumed by jealousy. Paul was mortified, his eyes glued to the tile floor.

Eventually, the coach did join them, however. He was in his 40’s, and while it was clear he’d been quite the athlete in his youth, he’d packed on quite a bit of fat in the intervening years. He had his usual layer of stubble around his jaw and neck, and was wearing only his own jockstrap–far dirtier than his boys’ were, and the musk was alone to send each of them into a bit of a daze. “Ah, there’s my seniors! I apologize for the three of you meeting like this, but all three of you smelled so good, I couldn’t quite settle on just one. Keeping you all a secret fro one another..well, that was a bit of a challenge for myself is all. Now, I do have gifts for all of you, as I promised–but I must say, that one of you really…well, I have something special reserved for you, Anton,” he added a wink at the young man, making him blush. Erik gritted his teeth, and nearly shouted at the coach, but one look from the older man’s eyes cut the words short. “Now, don’t feel like this is a popularity contest, you two,” he said, looking at Paul and Erik. “Anton, would you kindly go wait in my office for me, while I give these two their…own presents?”

“Y-Yes sir,” Anton said, surprised that he had been chosen, of the three. Terrified, really. He’d never…felt that comfortable about what was happening between him and the coach, and now that he knew there were others in the same position…he should run, he should report him, but instead, his feet plodded him over to Robinson’s office, where he waited.

Now, I know the two of you will consider these consolation prizes at first, but I assure you, there’s nothing you could have done to end up in Alton’s position. It’s not…what you’ve done, or how you’ve done it, it’s just who you are…Anyway, you, Erik, noticed that your jock had gone missing. I’m holding it for you–and yours too, Paul–because I have some new ones for you to try on first. I’ve made them myself, but not with myself, I assure you.” He walked over to a locker, opened it, and pulled out one wadded jockstrap–sniffed it a moment–and tossed it to Erik. Then, out came a second jock which he tossed to Paul. “There–now you two take your time with these! Enjoy your gifts. I’ll be back in a while, to see how you’re coming along, when I’m done with Anton in there.”

Robinson headed into the office, leaving the two boys sitting on the bench, each one…sniffing the jock he’d thrown them. They were hardly clean, but they also didn’t smell quite like anything, or anyone, either had smelled before. Soon, each was chewing and sucking at the filth, fading away from the world, while Anton learned his fate from his coach.

The Power of Society (Part 7)

“Come on Brodie–just come lift with us! Classes aren’t for fucking jocks,” his two frat brothers guffawed and laughed–that was about as close anyone in the house got to a joke these days. After all, Jocks weren’t really known for their subtlety. Well, except for Brodie, and a few others. Against the orders of the study, Brodie still showered himself down at nights, when no one else was awake, and that helped him keep his mind clear enough that he could still go to a couple of classes on campus, even if he was nearly failing both of them. The professors were patronizing–they knew he didn’t really belong there as much as Brodie did, but they also found his attempt charming, and tolerated it. Brodie ignored his bros, and left the frat house, heading for campus–it wasn’t until after a few blocks that he felt warmth in the pouch of his constantly wet uniform, and realized he was pissing himself in the middle of the sidewalk–but the piss streaming out wasn’t what unnerved him–it was that he had completely forgotten to put anything else on over his uniform.

He was standing on the sidewalk in broad daylight, wearing nothing but his yellow and brown, cum and piss stained uniform, cock bulging in the pouch, his muscular, dirty, hairy ass hanging out for everyone to see…but that was normal, wasn’t it? He entertained the thought of heading back to campus and putting on some other clothes–or at least a pair of shoes–but that was ridiculous–the house didn’t have any other clothes. Jocks didn’t get to wear clothes–what did he think he was…a normal person? He felt frozen there, on the sidewalk, not really certain how to take what was happening. He’d worn clothes yesterday, hadn’t he? When he’d gone to class? Or had he? It was hard to focus, with the stench of his piss wafting up from the pavement, and he kept walking before he gave in and started lapping at the puddle. It would be delicious, of course, but if he got distracted he’d never make it to class on time.

He kept going, crossing the road onto campus proper and headed for his campus building. He saw, up ahead, a crowd gathering around a bench–some Nerd was making a scene on the bench. He took a different path, wanting to avoid it. Nerds could be…distracting, for a Jock like him, and that one looked…especially dirty.

“What the fuck is up with that Jock?” he heard someone say, as he walked, “They don’t usually walk like that do they?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of weird–almost looks like a human or something, when it does that.”

God, what was he doing, Brodie asked himself. He knew better than that. He hunched forward and crouched down a bit, so his hands were on the ground and kept walking. He was aware that this position should be…very uncomfortable, if not impossible…but something odd had happened to his body. It was like his legs were shorter–squat and thick–and his arms had lengthened. He seemed almost simian, as he walked, and the copious amount of hair coating his body didn’t help. Still, he felt less naked, with his pelt on. He always felt sorry for swimmers, and the shaving and waxing they had to put up with. So much easier just being a dumb football jock like he was.

He was almost to the building where the class was being taught, when something flying through the air caught his eye. He dropped his books to the ground in a heap and launched after it, tongue hanging out of his mouth, every concern in him pushed aside. A thing was in the air! A ball? No–no, a frisbee! Brodie fucking loved frisbee! He launched himself into the air–a sense of vertigo washing over him when he saw how…high his squat legs could propel him–and intercepted the disk in the air, grabbing it with a sound something between a howl and cheer, and landed on the ground with a roll. Some focus returned to him, and looking around, he realized he’d interrupted a game of catch being played by three normal guys on the quad, and he felt a bit embarrassed.

“God, fucking Jocks,” one of them said.

“Hey, be nice! It’s not like they can help it.”

He loped over, holding the frisbee in his mouth, and handed it to one of the men, who tousled his hair like a kid, or a dog…and Brodie felt a surge of pride.

“Throw!” he said, his voice gutteral, almost a growl. “Throw again! Brodie catch! Brodie good catcher. Brodie play football.”

The guy rolled his eyes, “Hey guys, the jock wants to play.”

“Of course he fucking does.”

“Throw!” Brodie said, jumping up and down, an odd glee and exuberance filling his chest. “Throw for Brodie!”

“He’s not going to stop, is he?”

“How about keep away?” one of them suggested, and the other’s agreed. So the three of them began throwing the frisbee between them with Brodie in the middle, chasing after the disk like a pup, intercepting it often…and sometimes letting it go, because he liked seeing the people happy. Jocks, after all, wanted to make men happy, right?”

They stopped after an hour. Brodie hadn’t thought about his class once, and to thank the men for letting him play with them, he blew them all in sequence, and drank down their piss on the quad. No one really batted an eye at that–after all, Jocks could be a bit…forceful if the didn’t get their way. In the end, Brodie heard the four o’clock chime ring from the bell tower, said a hasty goodbye, and took off in the direction of the fieldhouse. Practice started at four fifteen, after all, and Brodie didn’t want to be late. Brodie wanted to play football! Maybe tomorrow, those guys would be playing frisbee again. He liked frisbee too, and their cum had been delicious as well. Maybe, if he was extra good tomorrow, they’d fuck his dirty ass too.

The End for now…

The Power of Society (Part 4)

“Um…how are we supposed to piss in these things?”

Several other hands dropped down. It was the first question Harold had expected, of course. “That’s rather easy–you simply piss through the uniform. Who has another question.”

“Wait, if we piss through it, all day long, and if we can’t wash it or take a shower, then…” the young man paused, hoping the rest of the question would be clear, but Harold motioned for him to continue–he wanted to hear the young man say it. “Then won’t it…be kind of dirty?”

“Yes, it will. That’s the purpose of the uniform.”

“No way, fuck this shit–I’m cutting this thing off,” one of the other men said, and stood up, heading for the kitchen, and a knife.

“Now, I feel a demonstration would help make this a bit clearer. After all, now that you are all dressed, I can demonstrate the purpose of this study. Come up here, and tell me your name.”

He wasn’t quite sure what made his feet veer off from his intended direction, but the stocky young man made his way to the front and stood by Harold. “My name is Adam.”

“Alright Adam. Now–I’m sure that your desire to remove your uniform was driven by the fact that you need to piss like a racehorse, don’t you?”

Adam nodded, though admitting the fact in front of his housemates made his face flush red.

“Well, go on then. Piss.”

“Right here?”

“Yes, right here please.”

“But I don’t want…to?” he said, only noticing that his cock had obeyed the professor already, and a stream of piss was arcing out the front of his jock pouch–well, spraying, was a bit more accurate, perhaps. Several men in the front scooted back to avoid the piss, and while Adam tried to stop himself, he couldn’t.

“Now, it is my hypothesis, that the dirtier a jock behaves and becomes, something happens to his brain chemistry,” Harold said, passing his hand through the spray of piss, and then slathering the wet hand across Adam’s face and hair. “They begin to lose access to their higher mental functions. They become more and more obsessed with perverse, filthy behavior. Their bodies put out copious amounts of musk, they desire one another’s stink and piss, they find themselves obsessed with fucking and masturbation.” He stopped, and adjusted his watch a moment, “In short–at the heart of every jock, I believe, is a filthy perverted animal, which can be unlocked by forcing that jock to become filthy, by forcing them to debase and humiliate themselves in front of their fellow jocks and the outside world. That this true jock is shameless, a complete faggot, hungry for cum, piss and sweat, their only desires in the world are working out, perving out, and wrestling and fighting their fellow jocks for dominance.”

Adam’s piss had slowed to a trickle, which was now running down his inner thigh. He licked his lips, tasting the piss left there by Harold’s hand, and shuddered, a dribble of precum leaking out the head of his cock. He tried to stop himself, but he started rubbing the pouch with one hand, groaning and snorting, switching hands to lick the piss and precum from the first. The rest of the house stared on in horror. “As you can see, Adam is one of these jocks, as are the rest of you, I believe.”

“I’m not…fucking like that. That’s fucking disgusting,” another man said, but everyone could hear the tremor of doubt in his voice.

“That’s what the experiment is setup to find out,” Harold said, “But I assure you, my hypotheses are never wrong. Reality has a way of…working out in my favor, right Adam?”

With a grunt, Adam’s cock started leaking cum through the pouch, and he smeared it back over the fabric. He didn’t know what was wrong with him, or why he couldn’t control himself. The…stink was opening up something deep in his mind, something he’d never known was there. He could smell the piss soaking into the carpet, and he dropped to his hands and knees, sucking it up in front of everyone. Some in the front, who could smell the piss, had begun rubbing their own cocks through the mesh pouch prisons, without even really noticing–imagining that it was them, there, instead of Adam, thinking about whether than piss might taste as good as it smells.

“Now, any other questions?”

One more hand went up, tentatively, “How, uh, how are we supposed to have sex, like this?”

“Oh, well, in your new uniforms, you are, of course, unable to penetrate anything. That said, you are free to frot as much as you desire on one another. Demonstrate, if you would, Adam.”

Unable to resist, he crawled forward to the nearest jock in front of him, and began rubbing his cock on his housemate’s thigh, groaning and grunting as he did, the other man disturbed, and yet…incredibly aroused by the sight.

“You are, of course, free to pleasure one another orally, and many jocks find themselves…desiring anal stimulation, as the process progresses. I imagine many of you will likely come to desire one another’s fists deep inside of your assholes, as the study continues. This kind of desire is completely normal for jocks like all of you, who are all rather…submissive creatures, in nature.” He saw one or two men’s hands slip between their thighs, poking and prodding at their hole, already accepting the suggestion as fact. “Now, I fear I must get going. A work crew will be here in an hour or so to install cameras throughout the house, but none of you will notice a thing out of the ordinary, and will behave as though you are not being observed. I leave you jocks to it! I hope you all deeply enjoy your journeys of self discovery.” With that, he left–even more thrilled. This was going to be a very fruitful experiment, he believed.

Within five hours, every jock in the house had piss through their new uniforms, and all of them found themselves in positions similar to Adam’s–new desires were welling up within them, and very few found themselves capable of controlling themselves for long. A small orgy erupted in the living room, when some of the jocks gathered to discuss a way of escaping…but found themselves too distracted by the scents of one another to resist their new, inner urges. Other’s resisted, as best they could…but no one in the house believed that the jock within them would remain dormant for very long.

The Power of Society (Part 3)

The jocks of Alpha Phi Delta were oblivious to what had just occurred at Sigma Mu Tau right next door to them, but they were as confused as those young men had been, when Harold entered and told them all to gather in the living room for a house meeting. The house here was in considerably messier shape than next door had been. Piled by the door were sneakers and cleats of all kinds. Personal items, dirty bowls and plates, and even some clothes littered the room as the jocks filed in and sat down on the couches and floor around the fireplace, where the older gentleman was standing, checking his watch, and looking around at the men gathering. While the men next door had all been in rather good shape, Alpha Phi Delta was known to attract the star athletes on campus. It had always been a bit of a joke on campus that the two fraternities were right next door to one another, but the two houses had always embraced that, and turned it into a rivalry–brains against brawn, as they called it. But Harold had other plans in mind for the two houses this year. He hoped to bring the two groups closer than they’d ever been before.

“Hello everyone,” Harold said, “I just wanted to take a moment out of your busy first week to introduce myself. I’m professor Harold Larson, from the psychology department, and the dean of students has been kind enough to allow me to use your fraternity as a subject in a little experiment I’m conducting.”

No one said much of anything here, but Harold hadn’t anticipated much pushback, like at the other house–or at least, not yet. Looking around the room, the men all seemed rather bored and uninterested in this–but that would change soon enough. Harold had a small bag with him, and at this, he set it down on the table and began pulling some things from it. “Now, for this experiment, I’m going to need you all to help me out, by wearing a new house uniform, which I will explain now.

“Wait, uniform?” someone asked.

“Yes–I will need each of you to wear one of these jockstraps 24/7 until I tell you otherwise. I assumed you wouldn’t object, given that you all are likely rather accustomed to wearing them anyway.”

“A jockstrap? All the time? What for?”

“I’m afraid that until you put on the uniforms, I am unable to explain their purpose fully. It’s part of the study.”

“What if we don’t want to?”

“I was told by the dean that all of you would be very excited to participate in this. You all find this very intriguing, and are more than happy to comply. Now, if you would all please strip off your clothes, we can begin putting all of you into your new uniforms.”

No one in the room found anything to object to it that, so the entire room stood up and began to strip off their clothes. That was rather easy, since they were all fairly accustomed to seeing each other naked in the locker rooms, but Harold couldn’t help but enjoy the sight of so many well formed young men, naked in a room with him. What fun he was going to have with them all.

“Now, I’ll ask you all to form a line. I will give you a jockstrap, and then we will secure it, to ensure it remains in place for the remainder of the experiment.”

The jocks lined up, and Harold handed the first one a jockstrap. The young man put it on, and then Harold took a metal cable tie from inside the bag. With one hand, he got a firm grip around the young man’s cock and balls through the pouch and the jock, tugging them away from his body, and then secured the metal tie around the base, tighter than a cock ring, but not quite tight enough to interfere with circulation entirely. The result was the jock’s cock and balls locked inside the pouch of the jock, with the metal tie on the outside. Harold lastly trimmed the loose end of the tie with shears, applied a quick drying super glue to the locking mechanism of the tie, and sent the jock back into the room. Seeing what was going on, the men in the cue grew a bit wary and confused, but a few words of comfort from the professor were enough to settle them down. Fifteen minutes later, the jocks were all secure in their new uniforms, sitting around the room, each of them touching and examining the pouch where their cocks and balls were locked in. The ties were snug enough to act as a cock ring, and several of the men were sporting erections, though they found them rather…uncomfortable, when confined inside the relatively small space of the jock pouch.

“There, I must say that the new uniforms look excellent on you, and I’m sure you all agree, right? None of you feel any desire to try and tamper with and remove your uniforms, correct?”

The men murmured agreement and nodded, but the reluctance was palpable.

“Very good. Now, There are also two house rules which all of you will need to abide by, through the course of this study. I’ll go over the rules, and then take any questions you all might have. First, when in this house, the only clothing you are allowed to wear is your new uniform. If you need to leave the house, you will dress only right before leaving the house, and as soon as you arrive back, you will strip naked once again. Second, your new uniforms must not be washed. Because they cannot be removed, that means you all will have to forego showers for the duration of the study. Now–any questions?” the professor saw several hands rise, nervously, and he smiled, pointing to one young man in the front.

“Um…how are we supposed to piss in these things?”

“What’s up, professor? You alright?”

Mr. Allen snapped his head back up. He must have spaced out for a second there–he hadn’t really been sleeping well lately. “Sorry James, but I really can’t pass you with your performance this semester.”

“But coach said–”

“I don’t grade according to the athletic department’s requests,” he said, but couldn’t stop himself from yawning. “Sorry, I haven’t been sleeping well lately. I’m trying out a new CPAP, but it hasn’t really been doing as good a job as my old one…” he shook his head, “I don’t know why I just told you that, sorry.” The professor was a rather chubby guy, and he’d been diagnosed with sleep apnea years earlier. James, a football player, just smiled…like he was in on the joke, and it made him feel a bit uneasy.

“Maybe you just haven’t been using it right,” James said, and stood up in Mr. Allen’s office, dropping his shorts, revealing a rather…musky looking jockstrap beneath. The scent him the professor a second later, and he groaned, feeling an odd lethargy wash over him. James strutted over, rubbing the jock in his professor’s face, watching the old man lick at the mesh, eyes rolling back in pleasure as he tried to stop himself from debasing himself. “Yeah–let’s give you a proper dose tonight–how about we head home early today?”

Unable to resist, Mr. Allen left his work as it stood, threw on his coat, and walked out the door, with his student following behind.

At his house, James led him right to the bedroom, made him strip and lay down, and then tied his hands and feet to the four posts of his bed. Then, as Mr. Allen tried to clear his head, James stripped off his jock, pulled out the cup, and a roll of duct tape from his bag. He wadded up the jock and crammed it into the cup, and then taped the whole thing over his professor’s nose and mouth, watching the fat man bliss out almost immediately, his cock rock hard in a matter of seconds.

“Yeah, that should do it. I’ll make sure your CPAP gets a pheromone boost as well. Don’t worry professor, by morning, you’ll be happy to do anything I tell you to do. Well, anything anyone on the team tells you to do. I’ll have my A, and you’ll have the privilege of smelling my junk whenever I feel like you deserve it.”

Source: gaggedbear

My Training Journal (Part 2)

Entry 14

Ok. I gotta talk about this. I mean, I can’t talk to anyone about this, because fuck, but i gotta put this down somewhere. Am I fucking crazy? Was that just really fucking crazy, what happened today? Because part of me feels so fucking good, and I just had Felix’s cock in my–

I can’t deal with that yet, I don’t want to think about it.

Fuck. How did that even happen, anyway? I mean. I was in the fucking zone, like always, working out, being a damn beast, as he likes to say. And I was feeling good! Damn good really. Really into it, lifting counting, my head just out of the damn zone or something

God, what the fuck am I even writing anymore, nothing is coming out like any sense at all.

I’m lying on the bench, pumping some iron, and he’s spotting me, and I remember seeing it, the tent in his shorts. I see it, but I don’t think much of it. I’ve seen guys get erections before, whatever, you know? It happens. But I’m looking at it, and then I’m *looking at it* and thinking about it, and I think I can smell it, or I can smell something, and it smells damn good, or I’m hungry or something, and I’m just…my eyes won’t fucking look away! And he fucking notices me looking at it, and I’m embarrassed as all fuck, of course, cause guys aren’t supposed to be looking at each other’s junk, and I apologize, and he asks me if I’m fucking gay! Just fucking asks me. I tell him no of course, and rack the weight, because I can’t keep focus on what I’m doing. He starts tell me that he’s gay, that he thinks it’s really hot, watching me work out, so he gets hard on occasion, and…and I feel like I should be freaking out when he tells me this, but it just seems fucking normal as any shit he might say. A guy I trust literally tells me he pops a boner thinking about me, and I’m like “Oh cool, whatevs”!

We keep going, but I can’t stop looking at it, thinking about it. He asks me if I want to see it…and I don’t not want to see it, I guess. I’m kinda fucking curious what’s making that huge damn bulge, you know? So he drops his shorts, and the thing is massive, like nine inches, and we just keep working out like nothing is up, and it’s inches from my damn face. We get through another few reps, the things leaking a bit on my forehead, but I can’t move, I can’t even wipe it off, and he asks if I want to suck it.

I said yes.

I fucking said yes, why the fuck did I say yes!

He said he wasn’t surprised, that I should feel submissive to him, since he’s my trainer, since he’s the one leading me and guiding me, that intimacy is just natural between men of our physical caliber, that there’s nothing we should be ashamed of. I have a huge cock buried down my throat so far I’m fucking gagging, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of, he says!

He tells me to bend over the bench, and I do. He peels down my shorts, grips my ass (which is fucking bigger now, I can fucking tell) and starts kneading it, before shoving his face in and eating my sweaty crack like it’s a fucking pussy. I think I moaned. I fucking hope I didn’t moan. He fucked me and I let him. His whole cock was in my ass and he came and I came and then we fucking kept working out and now I want to either die or have him fuck me all over again, right fucking now, because fuck it felt good it felt so fucking good

Entry 26

Fuck yeah man, six fuckin weeks!!! Time for a status update on my big fuckin bod. Big dont even begin to describe it really but I dont really got a better word. Biceps are huge. Pecs are fuckin huge. Fuck, Felix gropes them like tits sometimes when hes balls deep in my hole, pinches these thick nips of mine makes me so damn hot for his cock every fuckin time. Waist is narrower I guess, my ass is big round and fuck perfect of course! Got abs too. Never had abs before, always had a bit of a gut but since we started cutting a week ago they just fuckin popped out man!

Course the rest of the stuff Im doing helps make me look like a sexy muscled out fuck too. Felix was so totally right (not that Felix is ever wrong you know i mean duh!) that all that hair on my body was looking dumb and trashy and messy. The pills and drugs have been helping of course. My hairs been falling out for weeks, from everywhere! Head, face, chest, legs, you name it. Started shaving too, all over. It takes forever but damn my skin feels so fuckin good when it’s done, all smooth and shit. Fuck, I get done shavin my crack and slip my fingers in there in fuck myself, thinkin about Felixs big cock and how much I want him inside me

All the fuckin time now, ya gotta believe me. I swear I get there ready to workout and we fuck. We do some cardio we fuck. We lift, we fuck. Fuck fuck fuck, gettin’ my nub hard as we fuckin speak thinkin about it. I tried to tell Felix it shouldn’t be this small (its like three inches or something and my balls are smaller too) but he just told me not to worry about it. That small cocks on big guys are really sexy to him, and if he thinks its sexy then I should agree with him of course! I mean, I stare at myself a lot (alot a lot, I mean, all the fuckin time) but thats the one thing that just bugs me still I guess. Still nothing to do about it! Anyway gotta do my homeowrk and then head over there for todays training, and this big dildo won’t fuck itself.