Pledge

[6 word request: Jock joins hyper muscular himbo frat]

Clark fished the invitation from his pocket and studied it again. “Tri-Omega Cordially Invites You…” Taylor had gotten into Lambda Beta, which had been Clark’s number one choice, and he hadn’t even been serious about pledging in the first place! Mark got into Pi Kappa, a fraternity they all assumed was too filled with spoiled rich kids to consider any of them. It seemed that the three high school friends would be going their separate ways once pledging started. The plan had been to land in the same fraternity, but Clark felt that neither of his buddies cared too much that they’d be splitting up.

The Tri-Omega house wasn’t even on fraternity row. The GPS on his phone told him it was a two mile walk, with no nearby bus stops. Clark hadn’t even remembered meeting any Tri-Omega brothers at the rush event! It figured that he would get into the reject fraternity. A chilly fall wind cut through his hoodie and he clenched, considering spending the evening in his dorm room instead.

He heard laughter behind him, and spun around to see five freshman football players walking by. Had it not been for Clark’s late-summer knee injury, he would have been with them. Though he recognized their faces from the summer football camp he’d attended (until the injury), their bodies looked puffed up and brawny. Guys his age now looked several years older as they strutted by, their frames filled out with the beef that came with training and eating the way coach demanded.

Though no one could see it under his sweatshirt, Clark bounced his pecs, gently patting his own biceps. He still had muscles, thank god, but he no longer looked like the alpha athlete he’d been in high school. Those passing players would get bigger as the years went on. Clark wondered how much of his muscle he could maintain on his own. How long until he looked average? he wondered. How long until people stopped believing he used to be a jock?

His hand slid into his sweatshirt, folding and unfolding the invitation. If he took his chances on campus by himself, he could have a great freshman year where he made tons of friends… or he could end up a lonely outcast, while Taylor and Mark went on to have fulfilling lives with their new brothers.

He supposed he could at least check out Tri-Omega. The walk wouldn’t kill him.

The house itself was unimpressive, just a one-story grey cube with darkly tinted windows. Clark couldn't help but think of the Lambda Beta house--or, rather, mansion--with its huge granite pillars, multi-floor garage and indoor swimming pool. By the looks of the Tri-Omega house--which wasn’t even marked with its Greek insignia--it would be lucky if they had wi-fi.

After a knock, the 6’3” freshman looked around. He didn’t even see any cars. He doublechecked the address listed. Maybe this was all a prank?

A small panel in the door slid aside. Two bloodshot eyes glared back at him. “How strong are you?” the deep voice asked as the eyes looked him up and down.

Clark glanced down at the invitation, where the “passcode phrase” was listed: “I’m stronger today than I was yesterday,” he replied. The panel slid shut. He heard hoarse whispering behind the door. What kind of freaks were these guys?

The panel slid back. A different set of eyes stared out at him. “There’s a blindfold in the mailbox. Put it on.” This was a command, not a request, and something in the domineering voice made Clark jump to action. The mailbox was at the front of the lawn on the otherwise empty street. Sure enough, there was a dark grey blindfold inside. He cringed at its scent--sour, like someone’s old gym clothes. Still, he pulled it down over his eyes as he approached the front door again.

The door opened and Clark sensed bodies moving toward him. “What do you think? He Tri-Omega material?” asked one voice.

“If he isn’t today, he will be soon,” said the other. Clark gasped as he felt himself hoisted upward and thrown over someone’s shoulder. As his carrier walked along, Clark bounced, shocked at how hard and rippling the body beneath him was. Neither guy had seemed taller than him, but whoever had picked him up felt like nearly four feet wide with muscle. Unsure what to do with his hands (and feeling uncomfortable pawing at this rippling brute’s back and ass as he bounced along) Clark put his hands behind his head.

“Aw, you done feeling me up?” said the deep-voiced musclehead carrying Clark. “I was just starting to like it. You got good hands, little guy. I’ll remember that for later on.”

The monster sounded chillingly sincere. What have I gotten myself into? Clark wondered, just as he was gently lowered to the ground by big powerful hands. He heard what sounded like a massive door slamming shut, and then nothing.

“You can take your blindfold off,” said a new--but deep, just like all the others--voice, buzzing from a speaker. Clark did just that and found himself standing in a dank grey room. As his eyes adjusted to the harsh fluorescents, he recognized a weight bench, some dumbbells… the room looked like an old school gym.

“Where am I?” Clark asked.

“You accepted a bid to pledge Omega Omega Omega,” said the voice from the unseen speaker. “Tonight we’ll evaluate if you’re worthy, and if so, your pledge process will be begin.”

Clark whirled around, wondering if there were men behind the mirrors on the walls, watching through two-way glass. There was a barred door across the room sealed by a large wheel, like a bank vault. His heart pounded. He had expected beers and light hazing, not blindfolds and a basement prison.

“What if I changed my mind?” he said. “What if I want out?”

The voice just chuckled. “Well, no matter what, the only way out is by lifting the barbell in the center of the room.”

Clark approached the loaded bar. As he counted the plates on each side, he did the math… there was over 700 pounds there! Clark was strong, but how was he supposed to lift that?

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Clark said.

“If you can’t lift it you better be comfy, because you’re not getting out otherwise.”

He heard a pop as the speaker went dead. Clark approached the bar, squatting down and grabbing it. He could deadlift that much, he thought--his most recent PR was 675, although that was before the knee injury.

“I have a bad knee,” Clark said. “I don’t think I can lift it by myself.”

“Well then, lift with your back.”

Clark sighed, then grabbed the bar. He took a deep breath and started to lift. The weight came off the ground just an inch.

Across the room, the bars on the doors started to retract, the wheel spinning by itself. When Clark let the barbell crash down, the wheel spun back into place. He ran to the door and banged on it, frustrated that despite his effort, he was still locked in.

“How’s this even possible?” Clark asked his mysterious host. “Soon as I put the bar down, it’s gonna lock again!”

“You gotta carry the bar to the door, then.”

The plates were sealed onto the barbell by a padlocked collar. 3 inch wooden blocks on either side prevented him from just rolling it across the room. These freaks had thought of everything.

He turned back and looked at the bar. How--HOW could he carry all that weight to the door? In a rage he dropped down and grabbed it, pulling with every muscle in his body. Pressure built in his temples. He saw stars. His bad knee wobbled. But the barbell slowly rose, as Clark did his best to fight gravity.

The wheel turned, the bars sliding away, and Clark realized that he was six feet away from freedom, his muscles screaming for release.

Suddenly the door flew open, a massive man in a Tri-Omega sweatsuit lumbered in, slamming the door behind him as Clark let the barbell crash to the ground. Clark gasped for breath, sweat pouring off his body, as he felt a thick paw pat him on the back.

“Good effort,” said the beast. Clark felt the guy grab him by the back of his shirt, lifting him like he was nothing before setting him down gently on his feet. Clark resisted the urge to crash into the guy, forcing himself to remain upright.

At first glance, the thickly built man in what had to be size XXXXXL clothes may have looked obese. He was only about 5’8” tall (significantly below Clark’s 6’2”) but he seemed to be nearly just as wide, his oversized clothes masking his body shape. He looked like a meteor of human.

But as Clark studied the man’s strong jaw, his high cheekbones, his warm eyes… something about his angular facial features suggested that the body beneath all that fabric was muscular. How could one man taking up all that space be THAT muscular?

“I’m Brynt,” said the brute. “They picked me to be your big brother.”

“Big brother?” Clark gasped, still out of breath.

“If you accept your pledge offer, that is,” Brynt said. He smiled. His blue eyes twinkled. “You’re a pretty big guy! They said you were supposed to play football but you got hurt.”

Clark threw a hand over his throbbing knee, ignoring the screaming ache. “Uh, yeah,” he said, starting to collect himself. “Yeah, I got cut when I got hurt…”

Brynt grinned. “That’s good, actually. Those football guys are all scrawny fucks. I can tell you’ve got the potential for some SERIOUS size.”

Clark nodded and looked down at himself, his blue polo now spattered in sweat. Still, he filled out the size XL shirt well, and as he gathered himself to his full height and threw back his shoulders, Brynt’s smile widened.

“Damn, you’re NICE and big!” Brynt said, walking around Clark as he evaluated the body before him. Every step Brynt took seemed to be a production, as if it took great effort just to move all that mass, and those thick limbs, around.

“Not as big as…” Clark gestured at Brynt’s massive frame.

“Ha! Buddy, you got no idea how big I am,” he said. “I wear this because it lets me look a little more normal. I look absolutely freakish when I’m not all covered up.”

Clark’s eyes went wide. “N-normal?” he blurted out before he even realized he had said it.

Brynt licked his lips. “How about this, pledge. You wanna see JUST how big I am? And get a taste of JUST how big you could get if you joined Tri-Omega? You gotta work.”

“What work?” Clark asked, but Brynt just thumbed at the loaded weight benches around them.

“The kind of work I guy like you loves,” Brynt said. “Dominating heavy weights. Picking up cold steel and lifting it no matter how hard it fights. Proving your strength, to yourself and the world. That kind of work.”

Clark clocked a flat bench with 315 pounds loaded on to its barbell. “So I just have to… bench 315?”

“For five reps,” Brynt said. He tried to cross his arms, but it was clear the bulky things couldn’t get around all that chest mass. He appeared to just hug himself.

Clark couldn’t deny that he wanted to see just what Brynt’s body looked like under that sweatsuit. And he could bench 315 easily.

“1… 2… 3…” Clark busted out the reps as big Brynt moved behind the bench, looming over him. All Clark saw was the underside of a pec shelf; Brynt’s face wasn’t visible beyond it.

“Nice,” Brynt said as Clark finished the weight. He reached behind his head and grabbed at his shirt, yanking it forward while Clark racked the bar.

With the sweatshirt halfway over his head, Clark noticed the massively built man starting to struggle. “A little help?” came the muffled request. Clark grabbed the warm, damp shirt and pulled, revealing the beast’s upper body.

Clark nearly fell backwards when the smell hit him--testosterone rich musk, so thick he could practically chew on it. Brynt’s torso was shiny and tan, so wide Clark didn’t think he could get his own arms around it. The man was STUFFED with rock-hard muscles. Every movement sent all that rock-hard mass rippling. Besides the mass of his enormous back and cartoonishly broad chest, Brynt’s stabilizer muscles (barely noticeable even on most athletes) were so blown up he could function as an anatomy chart.

Brynt reached up with one chubby finger and touched Clark’s chin, closing the spellbound stud’s mouth. “I told you,” he said. “Mindblowing.” Clark watched all that mass rippling hypnotically as Brynt slowly tensed up his pecs, then let them fall. He had never seen a human being in a condition like this before.

“Wanna see my legs?” Brynt said, gesturing toward a military press. Clark felt lightheaded as he headed over to it. “5 reps,” Brynt ordered, and Clark did as he was told--275 pounds pressed overhead five times. His arms were shaking on the last few reps, but he was finally able to rack it.

Brynt’s sweats were already sliding down as Clark hopped off the bench. Of course, they got stuck halfway, and Brynt blushed as he nodded at the waistband out of reach. His rippling, veiny abdomen was far too dense, his arms’ bulging muscles fighting each other for space, that reaching down so low was impossible for the freak. Clark was eager to help, pulling the sweatpants down as Brynt stepped out of him.

These things are fucking enormous! Clark thought as he examined the dank sweatpants, the heady scent pouring out of them nearly intoxicating Clark. Then he looked up.

Underneath, Brynt was only wearing a white pair of posing trunks that looked miniscule on his massively bulging frame. Each of the huge legs was as nearly as thick around as Clark’s waist. No wonder the brute was waddling around; with mass like that, it must have been an effort just to get those things around each other!

“What do you think they’re as big as? And don’t say tree trunks, it’s tired,” Brynt said as he stomped a foot down and flexed. All that muscle, suddenly crunched up and solid… Clark nearly passed out.

“I… I… manatees…” was all he could think of. Each leg was the size of a bloated sea cow--but the crevices between the muscles were so deep Clark could sink his fingers in up to the knuckle.

“HA! Manatees. Fucking manatees.” Brynt, big as a parade float, strutted around the room, hitting some poses in the mirror. “That’s a new one.”

From behind, Clark couldn’t help but study Brynt’s captivating ass--disproportionately bigger than the rest of him, so wide and thick it looked like he could carry a six-pack of beer on it with ease. The thin white straps of Brynt’s posing trunks disappeared into the massive globes. He looked naked from this angle--and there was so much hard, tan skin!

“I’m not even the biggest in the house,” Brynt said, spreading his lats so wide he seemed to fill the entire room. “Not by a longshot. And we picked you because you have potential.”

He whirled around, surprisingly fast for a man his size, and grabbed Clark’s hand. He raised it to his pec. It was so warm, the skin so soft, but he mass beneath it hard as granite. Clark could feel the massive heart pounding away behind all that flesh. (He couldn't believe how huge Brynt seemed--despite Clark towering over him, he still felt small next to this massive man!)

“But you’ll have to be a freak,” Brynt continued. “If you join, you grow. And you grow. And you don’t stop. That’s what we’re about. You think I’m a freak, don’t you?”

“...yes…” Clark said breathlessly.

“You get now why you don’t see guys from our house around campus? Why we don’t have parties? Why we couldn’t attend the rush event in person? Normal people can’t handle guys like us.”

“...fuck normal…” Clark said, his voice only a whisper.

“That’s right,” Brynt said, grinning. “Fuck normal. And if you really believe that, you have one more task to do.” He put a huge hand on Clark’s shoulder and guided him toward the squat rack. Clark’s blood went cold as he counted the plates: 405 pounds.

“I have… I have a knee injury…” Clark said.

Brynt just patted him on the shoulder. “That’s okay,” he said. “I’ll spot you.”

Clark approached the squat rack. He could actually feel the floor rumbling with each footstep as Brynt walked up behind him. Clark got under the bar, terrified to disappoint this musclegod. Just as fear set in, he felt Brynt’s solid, rippling physique pull up behind him.

Brynt’s arms were too pumped up to fully wrap around Clark’s body, but his biceps squeezed Clark’s lats and held him into place. He felt each of Brynt’s cobbled abs against his back as Brynt got close. The brute’s posers-clad dick rubbed against the seat of Clark’s pants. He could feel Brynt’s hot breath on his neck. He felt like he was wearing a tank.

“C’mon, little brother,” Brynt grunted.

Clark felt invincible. He unracked the weight, feeling Brynt stepping along with him. As Clark sank to the floor, he worried his knee would give out--but Brynt’s musclebloated body seemed to surround him. Injury was impossible. Failure was impossible. And suddenly, 405 pounds felt like nothing.

Five times he sank and rose, feeling Brynt’s dick growing harder and harder against his ass with each rep. Brynt threw off heat like a space heater, and sweat poured from both of them.

When Clark reracked the weight, he tumbled away from Brynt, his legs wobbling like a newborn foal. From the floor, he looked up at Brynt, who stuck out a pink tongue as he reached down and grabbed his posing trunks with two fingers. With a pluck, the tiny fabric snapped away and Brynt was naked.

Clark couldn’t believe how small Brynt’s cock was. Maybe it was the rest of Brynt seeming so huge in comparison, he considered, but no… as he approached Brynt, he realized that the enormous man had a dinky little four inch cock and two tiny balls underneath. All that power, what had to be over 400 pounds of muscle, and yet his cock was so petite!

“It’s not from the gear,” Brynt grunted as he took a step forward and thrust his hip flexors. “I’ve always had a little cock. See, that’s another thing. Us Omega brothers travel in pairs. And if you can stick it out through pledging, you may just be my perfect match. See, I’ve got all my size back here…” With one hand he jiggled one of his gargantuan glutes. “And while we plan on making you big all over, you’re already pretty huge right here…” His other hand grabbed the crotch of Clark’s pants and gave his bulge a jostle. He nearly collapsed into the tower of man at the contact.

“Fuck… yes…” Clark said. He was literally salivating at the thought of spending time with this enormous beast, memorizing his smell, exploring every inch of him.

Behind them, the door rumbled as the bars slid away.

“Door’s open,” Brynt said.

“I’m not leaving,” Clark said as he grew bold enough to throw his hands on Brynt’s left quad.

“We’re taking this to the shower,” Brynt said, hoisting Clark up and throwing him over his shoulder. It was instantly apparent that Brynt hadn’t been the man who had brought him down there; Brynt made that (enormous) guy seem scrawny.

Brynt enjoyed the feeling of bouncing around Caleb’s mammoth traps like a little pet until the big man set him down on the ground.

They were in a massive shower. Brynt strutted to the center. Clark ran to one set of knobs, letting loose a steamy spray. Then he turned on another, and another.

“Wash this stink off me, pledge,” Brynt said, throwing his arms into the air. Clark found a bottle of body wash and squeezed a generous amount to his hands, eager to lather up the gigantic man. He was enamored with the feeling of his abs, tracing the deep lines between with his fingers.

Clark dropped to his knees and gazed at the wide expanse of undulating leg meat on either side of him. He gasped as Brynt suddenly squeezed his quads together, trapping him. “Suck my little dicklet, pledge,” Brynt ordered. When released, Clark jumped at the opportunity, running his hands up and down Brynt’s wide quad sweep as he swallowed Brynt’s little dick and balls in one mouthful, his tongue voraciously rolling them all around as he sucked away.

“FUCK…” Brynt moaned as his whole torso flexed. Clark kept sucking and Brynt’s massive hips started bucking. Clark planned on swallowing Brynt’s load, hoping that it would contain the “serum” that would start to blow him up.

“Wait till… the brothers… meet you…” Brynt growled as he put a beefy hand on the back of Clark’s head.