Frat crisis

by BRK

 Jacob returns to his frat after a week away to find it stinking of sex and full of guys a lot bigger than he remembered them being.

Added: Jun 2022 3,917 words 8,394 views 4.8 stars (17 votes) This story was commissioned via Patreon Vignette Party.

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Jacob sensed it somehow even before he got the familiar blue door to Rho Rho Tau house. He paused, shifting awkwardly on his crutches. It was a bright blue sunny day out here on College Road, but some inner sense was warning him something was wrong in there.

He bit his lip, hesitating. He tried rationalizing away his unease. After all, what could have happened in the week he’d been away, laid up back home with a sprained ankle? Sure, the guys looked up to him and respected him, even the upperclassmen—and not just because he was proven to have the biggest prick in the tool as of the latest semiannual brothers-only secret Jug Fillin’ Contest back in March (that was certified first place flaccid and erect, by a good inch both ways, Jacob being the first to break Glen “Pussy-Buster” Munro’s notorious five-year winning streak). And yeah, with his mixed-race genetics he’d turned out college-brochure handsome and honor-roll smart, and his natural leadership skills made him a shoo-in for president next year, but… they had to be able to get along without him for a solid week, right?

His extrasensory misgivings deepened, still faint but undeniable and very unnerving. For a fraction of a second he considered turning around on his crutches and hobbling back the way he had come. He could stay with his buddy Jeff in the dorms, he knew. But the Quads were all the way on the other side of campus, and getting there in his present state of locomotion would be—

Shaking his head, he told himself firmly that he was imagining things and kept going up the walkway toward the friendly blue door and whatever lay beyond. He tried ignoring the flutter of alarm in his stomach, but all he could do was push it down. Whatever he was sensing was probably just… the Zetas being really bad at barbecuing again, or something equally mundane. Everything would be fine inside. Everything would be fine and normal.

The door was not only unlocked, which was not unusual, but unlatched, and it pushed open as soon as Jacob tried the knob. He used his crutch to nudge the door the rest of the way open and levered himself over the threshold.

He was hit with it instantly. The whole house smelled like sex. All of it, every particle. As he instinctively shouldered the door closed behind him, the intensity of it swarmed over vestibule around him, swamping him to his core with masculine need and climax. It wasn’t just the smell, either. The place was permeated with mansex, like it had seeped deep into the walls and carpets and even the furniture, like all the oxygen had been replaced with rank, intensely evocative musk. His much-admired blue-ribbon dick, snoozing curled up in his tightly packed boxer-briefs, awoke from its slumber and began twitching and swelling in sympathetic, animalistic response.

What the hell was happening here?

Again some part of Jacob considered backing out, just… finding another place to be. This wasn’t right, but he was too curious, too drawn in. There was no turning back for him now—he had to find out what was going on. He resettled himself on his crutches and moved into the big common room to his right where they spent most of their time, feeling a little like a wounded quest knight steeling himself as he entered the depths of the dragon’s lair.

It was a big room, with a round table for discussions to his right and stairs up to his left, but almost everything phased away to static in Jacob’s vision as soon as he walked into the room. The drapes were wide open, letting in a flood of sunlight that shone directly on the two burly naked guys vigorously sixty-nining on the big, deep four-man couch that was up against the north wall. Like, right on them. If Jacob had just edged down the front porch a few steps while he was still outside and looked in the big living room picture window, he would have been staring straight down some dude’s little hairy butthole.

Jacob stared at the sweaty, hairy couple, gobsmacked and very unsettled. Why were two strangers—two strange dudes—doing it in the common room? They had to be strangers, because no one in the frat was that swole and hairy. It was as though a couple of really big hunky pro wrestlers or tight-waisted tree-felling lumberjacks had just barged in here out of the blue looking for a place to desperately suck each other off for hours—or endlessly, by the look of it. Though… probably most pro wrestlers and hunky lumberjacks didn’t have steel-hard boners the width of Jacob’s palm, or the ability to heroically take a dick so deep into them it had to be shoving the guy’s heart out of the way with every damn thrust.

And why was he getting turned on watching this? Why was he watching it at all? Why couldn’t he look away?

It was like he was breathing it in. He was sure could feel it. Every inhale was sucking their insidious, corrupting, irresistible sex deep into his body and soul. That couldn’t be real, could it? He was just imagining—

Wait. He blinked, peering closer at the bearded, darker-skinned muscle guy on the bottom taking his partner’s massive wang with urgent appreciation. Was that… was that Colin? It had to be Colin’s brother or something. Last he saw, Colin was the lankiest guy in the frat, tall and defined but as far from Mr. Sweaty and Swole here as Jacob was from being even a little gay. Which, to be fair, didn’t quite account his swelling, already half-hard dick, or the way his skin felt like it was itching with potential and interest under his tee shirt and jeans.

He tried looking away, anywhere. He pulled his gaze up, landing on the huge, professionally-framed past-presidents display mounted proudly over the couch. But to Jacob it was almost like even all the besuited past prexies in their little ovals were gaping down at the two men engaged in their ferocious reciprofellation in unallowed awe.

Jacob’s eyes drifted helplessly down again and onto the top guy’s damp, hair-dusted back, sliding down the wide, tapered expanse toward the man’s recklessly brandished, seesawing butthole. His stomach flickered as he realized he wanted to stare at that one spot, at top guy’s tight, puckered anus. Something about it called to him. The idea of possession crept into the edges of his thoughts, possession and penetration…

Jacob felt warm and uncomfortable in his too-tight clothes. He adjusted his dick absently. It was all the way hard now, but it felt like it was still trying to get hard, like it was trying to keep swelling and thickening. It felt weirdly huge and furnace-hot against his hip, and steel hard, like he’d never been boned before—

Get out, a voice cried out suddenly inside him. Something’s infecting you. Get out now!

Feet thundered down the stairs, and Jacob turned to see a nearly naked, blond-and-peach-skinned muscle beast come into view and barrel straight toward him, a hairier, olive-skinned dreamboat of similar proportions hanging back behind him. The blond and his buddy were built like big, perfectly aesthetic heavyweight fitness models, and as he rushed him Jacob had just enough time to see the one in front was wearing nothing but a jock that barely contained his orange-sized balls and did nothing at all toward containing a towering, raging, rigidly-curved hard-on that had to be three inches wide easy and so tall it almost flicked at the guy’s visibly down-pointing nips as he moved.

“Jacob!” the sexy blond apparition said. He was on him in a second, grabbing his tee shirt in bunches with both fists. His bright blue eyes were so round Jacob could see the whites all around the iris. “Jacob, Jacob!” he repeated desperately. “Please, dude, you have to help us!”

Jacob tried to step back, but his one good foot was rooted to the ground in horror. The man’s cries were evidently heard elsewhere in the frat, because there were answering cries and murmurs of “Jacob?” and “Jacob’s here!” from all directions—upstairs, the kitchen, the back yard—but all Jacob’s attention was on his present situation. The other man pulled him closer, his monster dick pressing against him through his too-tight shirt, and Jacob’s own cock shivered and swelled in excitement. What the hell?

He peered closer at the man gripping onto him. He didn’t know anyone with a body like that, and yet the face looked so familiar—

“Trace?” he asked doubtfully. His buddy had been kinda hot before, with a sharp jawline and the makings of a nice swimmer’s build, but this was Trace blown up to magnificence—blazing eyes, thick pecs, boulder delts, impossible arms, compelling musk, the works, plus a dick that needed its own zip code.

Trace nodded. “You’re back just in time. We need you. Come on!” He tried taking Jacob by the hand to pull him deeper into the house, then seemed to remember the crutches. Impatiently he shoved his arms under Jacob’s back and legs and all at once Jacob was being carted off in a bridal carry, his crutches clattering loudly to the floor.

“What—?” Jacob spluttered. He caught one last look at the sixty-nining couple on the couch, undisturbed by all the hoopla, before they were lost to sight as the newly massive Trace hauled him effortlessly through the house and out onto the back deck, the olive-skinned Adonis who’d came down with him trailing just behind.

He looked out over the back of their fenced-in property from his perch in inexplicably aroused dismay. Something like twenty guys were out there, enough to account for most of the frat, though it looked like more because every single one of them was blown up with heavy, gargantuan muscle. It was like a smorgasbord of massive brawn in all colors, shapes, and levels of hirsuteness. Even the muscle itself was a panoply—some were cut, titanic, and totally thirst-trappy like Trace 2.0; others were thick but smooth and more softly defined (these tended to have the most disproportionately huge pecs somehow, he noticed); still others were massive, fur-covered bears, or had the look of stone statues of somebody’s oversized warrior ancestors. They were in twos and threes spread over the lush green lawn and over every surface—the picnic tables, the stairs down from the deck, even the shallow end of the in-ground pool—and every one of them was either urgently sucking or feverishly stroking the colossal, veiny, steel-hard forearm-sized dick of the dude next to him, having the same done to him, or both. Spunk painted most every torso, striping chests and shoulders and even faces and backs, some of it fresh, some of it not so. Even where the guys weren’t at the moment there was cum, all over the deck, the lawn, the ten-foot fence. Not one of them was wearing a stitch of clothing. For all he could tell Jacob’s own straining tee shirt and uncomfortably tight jeans and Trace’s jock strap might be the only items of apparel left in the house.

Their arrival had been noticed, and several of them were looking up at him with glassy, hopeful eyes, muttering “Jacob!” and “He’ll help us” like he was a prophesied savior come to fix everything. He half expected them to converge on him like plague victims on a saint, reaching to touch and partake of his being, but they looked too unwilling to separate themselves from their collective stimulation. The looks were enough for Jacob to feel the expectation.

Now he knew. His whole frat was fucked. He should have run while he had the chance.

As Trace set him down he caught a sudden, intense whiff of the air out here, and—fuck, even out here in the back yard, open to the world as it was, everything stank of sex and musk and cum. It was heady and intoxicating, and he felt the fringes of his mind start to blur. He adjusted his footing, standing on his good leg and leaning heavily on Trace’s bare, bulging shoulder, which was so massive it felt like just the side he was hanging on could be as wide as all of Trace had been before. He didn’t let himself think about how good it felt to grip Trace’s sloping, stone-hard trap like it was there for him to hold onto, or how comforting the sweaty, low-fever warmth of his skin was to the touch.

Tentatively, he let the toes of his other foot rest lightly on the deck without giving it any weight. Some internal monitor in his brain was telling him that actually his busted ankle didn’t feel so busted anymore and he could probably risk standing on it, maybe even taking off the ace bandage he was wearing; but Jacob was too overwhelmed by everything he was seeing and the fact that every cell of his body, and especially his oversized dick, loved it. Forget the ace bandage, he wanted to take off his shirt and jeans.

Worse, he wanted to use his swollen tool on every last one of them.

“What happened?” he said.

One of the couples jerking at the picnic table below erupted in tall geysers of cum. They moaned loudly, the cum spraying up in high arcs in spurt after spurt. Their cocks showed no sign of flagging, thought, and they kept up their ferocious stroking without the slightest pause. With creeping horror Jacob realized they were already chasing the next orgasm, and the next, as though satisfaction and satiation were some kind of unattainable dream they pursued night and day with only the barest success. Even as the couple climaxed together they watched Jacob as he looked out over them appalled, as though somehow only he could provide the peace and respite they could not give each other.

“What happened?” he whispered again, stunned and fascinated at the same time.

“It’s my fault,” said a voice from behind him—very close behind him. It was a little deeper, but Jacob recognized it—it had to be Vincent, a newly minted brother who’d returned to college after a few years in the business world working for his family’s old world import-export business. Though… from the glimpse he’d gotten of him looking past Trace in the common room, the newbie had exploded from a handsome if slightly pudgy ex-jock to an irresistible hunk packed with three guys’ worth of muscle since he’d seen him last.

Vincent moved slightly closer, letting Jacob feel the man’s six-inch-thick pecs against his shoulder blades and his rigid, steel-hard tool nuzzling halfway up his spine. Jacob told himself he should move away, but the fireworks of pleasure Vincent was giving him just from that tactile contact were too good to reject. Instead he asked over his shoulder, “H-how?”

Vincent shifted even nearer, pressing his pecs and cock hard against Jacob, his hands lightly gripping Jacob’s hips on either side. Jacob shivered. “Some of the guys were razzing me about getting soft, not having a six-pack, you know. Stephen and his roomie Elijah, mostly. They were walking around without shirts on and teasing me for wearing one ‘cause I was hiding my ‘belly’. They kept at it, too. It hit a nerve, man. I should have brought it to the leadership, but… I was so angry…”

Jacob realized he’d spotted Stephen and Elijah already—they were the couple he’d just watched blow their loads and keep going. Next to him, Trace’s huge dick audibly spurted a gout of precum, as though he were reacting to what he knew was coming next in the story. Vincent’s nearly-as-big pillar was lightly humping his back now, the heat of it seeping deep into him through shirt and skin. Jacob swallowed. “What did you do?” Jacob asked quietly.

“It was… it was just a curse,” Vincent said. “I got it from my great uncle. It was supposed to—you just—” He faltered.

Trace turned, shifting his position so he was now planted directly front of Jacob, inches away, wide and huge. His blue eyes filled Jacob’s vision. “You need to be fucked,” Trace said solemnly. “You need to be fucked by the biggest dick.”

The words thundered through Jacob, and his own dick spasmed and swelled, slipping past the waistband of his jeans to poke wetly up into the open air. He was surrounded by muscle and cock. Cursed muscle, and cursed cock. It was all that mattered.

“I didn’t know it came with the size, and the need,” Vincent murmured almost pleadingly against the side of his neck, sending goosebumps of pleasure down his arms. “And I sure didn’t know it was going to spread to the whole frat.” He kissed Jacob’s neck softly, and Jacob almost leaned into it. “I didn’t know about the ache.”

Jacob was still staring into Trace’s beautiful eyes. “The… ache?” he repeated.

“We ache,” Trace confirmed. “Inside. We need to cum, all the time, but more than that we need to be filled. We need the biggest dick in us.”

Understanding dawned. “That’s why you can’t find relief,” Jacob nodded. “Cumming doesn’t do it. You need to be fucked.”

“Deep fucked,” Vincent growled against his skin, now on the other side of his nape. “Deepest fucked.”

“Even after it started hitting all of us we tried being normal,” Trace said, moving slightly closer. “We tried going to classes, meeting up with buddies, stuff like that. But we were hard and needing to cum the whole time. Just sitting there in class, squirming, crazy with the need to blow a load somewhere, and all the time this agony of not having the biggest dick inside us… Giving us what we truly needed…”

Jacob was now expending a great deal of his mental energy trying not to notice the feel of two arm-sized cocks pressed into him front and back, or how close Trace’s mesmerizing lips were. “But—” he said, sure there was an obvious solution. “One of you had to have the biggest dick here, right? Why couldn’t—” He thought back to the Jug Fillin’ Contest and realized who that person would be, and amended his question. “—Why didn’t you fuck everyone into oblivion, Trace?”

Trace gave him a slight, crooked smile as he, too, started slowly humping Jacob’s front, even as Vincent kept up the same behind him. Hell, around here that was probably just how guys had a conversation now, Jacob thought bemusedly. “I did ‘come second’,” Trace acknowledged. It was the joke that always got made, and since they all shot into the jug in order of size at the end of the night it was always true in both senses of the word. “But that was the point. I wasn’t enough.”

“Everybody knew who the biggest was,” Vincent said. Jacob felt a lick along the side of his neck, and wondered what his sweat tasted like to the other man.

Abruptly Trace’s strong hands were on Jacob’s shoulders. He stared hard into Jacob’s eyes. “You have to help us, Jake,” he said earnestly. “You have to save us.”

Jacob knew what he meant, what they needed. Dear god, he knew, but his brain rebelled. “I—I don’t know anything about curses!” he said frantically. “I can’t—I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know how to make everyone normal, or—”

Trace smiled, and Jacob’s heart faltered. He could see it coming, the train rocketing toward him in the tunnel, and there was no escape. There had never been any escape. In lightning move, Trace grabbed the collar of Jacob’s tee shirt from both sides and yanked hard in both directions, ripping the shirt clean in two like it was made of paper. Fuck, how strong were all the guys now? At the same time, Vincent shifted his hands to Jacob’s front, and a second later his jeans and boxer-briefs were undone and were being pushed violently down his legs. Trace pulled the rags of his shirt off him and threw them across the deck. Vincent got his feet free of the jeans and shorts and shoved them away, then undid the ace bandage and cast that aside, too.

Then Jacob was naked between these two massive, hugely hung men, and as he looked down at himself, barely noticing his ankle was now good as new, he couldn’t escape being aware of the fact that he was already considerably bigger in every way than he knew himself to be.

He looked up and met Trace’s gaze head on. “It’s in the air,” he said with certainty.

Trace nodded. “That’s stage one infection,” he said, eyeing Jacob’s lips. “For full conversion, though, you need… fluids.” Then his mouth was on Jacob’s, hands clasped around his stubbly cheeks, and even though he was past being shocked there was still a tiny part of him that tried screaming one last time that he was into girls, that he didn’t fuck guys’ asses no matter how bad they needed it, that he wasn’t… he couldn’t…

But the kiss was so sweet, almost literally, and so intense, that he exploded with cum all over both of them. They kept kissing, Vincent humping and holding him from behind, and he could feel himself transforming. Pecs swelling, pushing out against Trace’s own ponderous chest. Abs tightening. Arms and shoulders thickening. Ass hardening and rounding. Legs swelling. Power flooded through him, and their kiss became even more passionate and all-consuming. His steel-hard, bulging, veiny dick grew, and grew, and grew, and as it pushed between their pecs, slippery from sweat and cum, he waited for the ache they’d talked about. But the ache didn’t come. Belatedly, he realized it wasn’t coming.

Because he was the biggest.

He broke the kiss and pulled back, staring hard into his buddy’s beautiful eyes. He saw love there, and devotion, and most of all desperate yearning. Behind him, Vincent held him tight, riding the smear of cum he’d painted all along Jacob’s massively broadened back.

A feral grin broke across Jacob’s face. He couldn’t bring them normality, but he could bring them a whole new normal. He could sate them, as many times a day as he wanted, and free them to be the frat full of muscle titans they now were.

He grinned wider. “Who’s first?” he asked, wiggling one eyebrow, letting his voice carry over his amazing harem of huge muscle fuckbros.

Vincent moaned and came again. Trace just beamed at him. Across the back yard behind him, bro after bro started cumming hard and heavy, stimulated beyond measure by the knowledge that their deepest needs would finally be fulfilled.

 

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