Curse Chapter 3 (Patreon Preview Of Final Part)

Curse Chapter 3 (Patreon Preview of Final Part)

Jack became … I don’t know if I would call it obsessed or not. It’s difficult to describe exactly what he was like at this stage of things. He continued to grow more muscle mass. And while he was still feeling cocky, he even went so far as to shave his head in a fade cut to look more “manly.” Every once in a while, when I caught glimpses of him, he’d be adjusting his crotch.

His exploits became more common knowledge. There were no charges, of course. He was still technically a minor, and the girls he had sex with were only too eager to please him. Apparently, a scouter or two had come as well to see just how well Jack was doing as he played. Nothing too fancy, mind you, but enough to stroke his ego. And Jack reveled in it as he showed off for the crowds.

The first sign of something strange came during lunch break. Jocks have a tendency to be loud and boisterous. But in their defense, you kind of have to be if you want to be heard over the chatter of an entire lunch room full of teenagers. I still don’t know what it was that set him off. All I know is he found something funny, and he was laughing himself to tears. He rocked back and forth on the lunch table’s bench and smacked his hand against the tabletop.

Now, when people laugh, there are times where they almost seem to exhaust themselves and their chests and throats. The breath comes more like a series of gasps, and eventually can degrade to a raspy sort of inhalation that catches in the throat. That’s basically what happened here before one particularly strong burst of sound emerged in a mighty, “HAWWWWW!”

That was enough to snap Jack out of his little laughing spree and rub his throat, though the rest of his friends on the team teased him over it. I wasn’t one to stalk a bully, especially when I was under careful watch, myself, so I pretty much just let things slide for Jack. I didn’t really know how bad things got for him.

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If you want to read the rest of the story and enjoy some of my other works for muscle or transformation, follow this link to my patreon. To go directly to part three of this story, follow this link.

I wish to become a horny beer bro dumb muscled football jock, gooning, cumming and fucking in his rank jockstrap with the bros getting drunk on beer and all sweaty and dirty from the game, butttttt, I want this to happen when I , a 18 yo male goes into the locker room and tries of one of the used football kits from a game and it would start. Could you help me?

I'm afraid that I can't. I don't do adult content, and what you're requesting is too graphic for me and my personal religious beliefs. You want a good muscle growth/dumbing down tf? I'll be happy to provide that. The rest is a no for me, though. It's one thing to write a character who's obsessed with sex or has a high libido as a character trait. It's another to portray such actions directly in the written word. So, yeah, I'm afraid I can't help you this time. Not while you're asking me to show graphic sexual content like what you describe here.

The FTC Votes Unanimously to Enforce Right to Repair

The move follows an executive order issued last week by the White House urging the agency to secure consumers' rights to fix their own gadgets.

DURING AN OPEN commission meeting Wednesday, the Federal Trade Commission voted unanimously to enforce laws around the Right to Repair, thereby ensuring that US consumers will be able to repair their own electronic and automotive devices.

The FTC’s endorsement of the rules is not a surprise outcome; the issue of Right to Repair has been a remarkably bipartisan one, and the FTC itself issued a lengthy report in May that blasted manufacturers for restricting repairs. But the 5 to 0 vote signals the commission’s commitment to enforce both federal antitrust laws and a key law around consumer warranties—the Magnuson Moss Warranty Act—when it comes to personal device repairs.

The vote, which was led by new FTC chair and known tech critic Lina Khan, also comes 12 days after President Joe Biden signed a broad executive order aimed at promoting competition in the US economy. The order addressed a wide range of industries, from banks to airlines to tech companies. But a portion of it encouraged the FTC, which operates as an independent agency, to create new rules that would prevent companies from restricting repair options for consumers.

Credit for this image goes to @dissolving-time. Story is mature for some language. This is another story from the Coach Stone universe. I hope you all enjoy it. :D If you’d like to see more of these stories, please join my Patreon.

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Stone Cold

“Coach said you have to get your shot, bro.”

I gazed at the meathead that had once been my fellow prisoner. He’d already donned the dog tags that were locked in his footlocker. Muscle rippled over his body as he gazed at me holding one of the biggest rifles I have ever seen in my life.

“Chapman, do you know what that is?” I asked as I eyed the gun warily. The caliber alone would be enough to splatter my brains all over the wall.

“The name’s Champ, bro.” He said it so casually, so matter-of-factly. Had they really brainwashed him so thoroughly?

“Your name is Lance Chapman, from Enfield, North Carolina. You specialize in computer programming, like me. We were brought here against our wills, remember?”

“Nah, bro.” “Champ” let out a deep vapid chuckle. His camouflage draped over his legs, but I could see the hints of growing muscle bunching, just waiting for a good pump to press them tightly against the confines of the cloth. “Coach wants my bod first, my brains second. Huhuh.” He grinned at me, revealing perfectly white and straightened teeth.

I’d hoped to reason with him, but it was clear he was beyond that. I brandished my own pair of dog tags. Like I said, computers were my thing, both programming and the hardware. It took me a while, but I managed to get my lockbox to open, too. And without reducing myself to a wannabe army poster boy. “I have my tags, Champ. You can’t keep me here. You know once I get my tags, I’m supposed to leave. I’m supposed to report to Coach, remember?”

“But you’re not gonna, are you, bro?” he asked seriously as his brow furrowed. “You just wanna get out.”

“I have to get out to see Coach, now don’t I?” The exit was right there in bold black lettering. The lock had already disengaged on cue when I seized my tags. I just needed to get past him. If I could distract him somehow or incapacitate him, I could run.

Chapman spread his legs in a broader stance as he planted himself firmly in front of the door. “You’re not ready to see Coach yet, little bro. And Coach hasn’t called you.”

“I am ready.”

“Prove it.”

I knew a few basics from martial arts training in my youth. I’d been fortunate enough to keep up the practice in my free hours. The meathead in front of me may have had a weapon, but we were in tight quarters. It would be difficult to get that barrel pointing at me if I could stay close. And while he may have had raw strength, I had experience. I also still had my wits about me. I sighed and let my shoulders droop as I approached him. “Look, Champ, just ... let me go, okay? You and I both know this is wrong. It’s against the law to kidnap someone.”

“No can do, little bro. Coach says we need more training. Coach says we have a project to help with. Coach says muscle CHAMPs like me need to train and obey. I listen to Coach. I obey. This Champ o—”

The mantra was what I was waiting for. It doesn’t matter how big you get if you haven’t got the trained reflexes to deal with a sudden change yet. And Chapman’s mind had been either short circuited or rewired to reinforce his thuggery. I’d heard it enough times through the door. It wasn’t soundproofed. I think that was deliberate on the part of this “Coach” to give us a taste of what’s in store. Demoralizing a captive is a large part of ensuring that he or she remains compliant, after all. And I’d heard enough, “This meathead obeys,” to know this was a fulltime operation made heavy on the brainwashing. It had to be to change someone so drastically. This wasn’t just a sign of subtle change. This was downright breaking them and building them back up again into the equivalent of obedient machines.

In this case, it played in my favor, and I hate to think of it this way, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was grateful for it. The mantra made him vulnerable. I laid a hand gently on his shoulder, being sure to get close enough that he couldn’t put the barrel against me. His eyes were glassy and unseeing as he uttered the mantra that he and everyone else like him had been conditioned to speak.

Then I took him down. It was simple to sweep his feet out from under him, and the move flowed like water. Bruce Li would be proud. I followed up with a heavy blow to the side of his head with my boot. Part of our imprisonment had included removing our personal affects, so I had no idea where my street clothes were. I didn’t give the blow enough force for any serious damage, but it would be enough to daze him, maybe even knock him out if I was lucky.

I threw the door open while he groaned on the floor. I managed all of maybe two steps before my arms was seized and I was slammed against the wall. I swear, my bones vibrated from the impact. I saw a helmet with a reflective visor and the broadest chest I had ever seen in my life. This man was huge. And unfortunately for me, he was also very skilled. My arm was yanked behind my back faster than I had time to process. He pulled, and I felt my socket strain to send stabs of pain through my arm and neck. Another faceless mook strode forward. But unlike Chapman, this one was decked in full body armor.

“Well done, recruit. You’ve passed Coach’s test. You will serve in Coach Stone’s cyber unit and in Research and Development. You will obey.”

“Like hell, I will,” I swore. That rewarded me with another painful jerk of my arm while a targeted blow forced me to my knees.

“Meathead recruit will comply.” The man withdrew a syringe from a side pocket and tapped the chamber to dislodge any air bubbles, then pulled off the protective cap with a deliberate casual air of the well-practiced. The substance was green, and the soldier had no qualms over pulling my sleeve up. I squirmed, but a yank of my other arm followed by a crushing iron grip on my free arm left me tense as he stabbed the needle into my arm and depressed the syringe. He removed the needle casually and replaced the cap, then inserted the syringe into another pouch.

The two visored faces stared at one another for the briefest of moments in a silent exchange. Then they nodded as the one who injected me rose, turned and entered the room where I had been held prisoner. A low groan emanated from the space, followed by a series of loud cracks.

“Rise, meathead. Follow.”

The voice that emanated in reply was deeper than I remembered. “This meathead obeys...” An even greater shock greeted me when the lumbering brute emerged. Chapman’s muscle mass had increased dramatically, and the man’s skull had completely reformed. Sharp, angular, square features blunted his face now, and his eyes were a vivid shade of green. The oversized gun didn’t look so ridiculous for him anymore.

“What the hell...?” I murmured.

“Meathead Champ will listen to orders. Meathead Champ will obey. Meathead Champ will fire on his roommate on command. Meathead Champ will prepare to fire now.”

“What?” I balked. I wanted to squirm again, but once more, my captor brought me to heel. I tried to shift out of his grip, but the hold was too strong. Even if I went limp, he’d still be able to haul me back up again. That didn’t stop me from trying, however.

I heard a whine not unlike the sound you hear in a sci-fi movie when a blaster is being charged or a bomb is being primed. The barrel was soon directed at my face. My heart hammered as Chapman uttered his mindless acknowledgement.

“Meathead Champ obeys. This meathead is ready to fire.”

“Fire.”

There was light, a strange tingling that bordered on the pleasant, and then blackness. I came to in an empty barracks. When I rose, everything felt ... heavy, awkward. The sight of the muscles bulging against the fabric of my shirt was more than enough to unsettle me as my throat clenched and my mouth went dry. I wanted to scream, but at the same time I knew better. I journeyed over my torso, my arms, everything. All of it felt in order, albeit significantly enhanced. It was my face I dreaded the most. And true to my fears, I could feel each sharply defined contour from my own transformation that was doubtless facilitated by the rifle. As a test, I ran through pi to see just how far in the infinite decimal sequence I could get. Then I searched through the other parts of my brain. I felt no compulsion, no absentmindedness, no blank emptiness or cotton or wool. I was clear, surprisingly so, given how quickly my mind seemed to jump from place to place.

“Comfortable?”

The question came out of nowhere, and I balked and bawled as my body sent me crashing into another bunk with the increased force of my new mass.

“Well, clearly not anymore,” the voice replied urbanely. I rounded on the figure only to see a man standing at least a head taller than I. His manner was relaxed and composed. His blond hair flickered like silver in the light. And though he was completely relaxed, his body oozed that smug command and intimidation that subconsciously demanded respect from those around him. “Please, take a moment to acclimate yourself. I find a blow to the shins is never pleasant.”

I decided to stick with sitting, rather than rick another launch with a body I had absolutely no experience with. “Who ... are you?” I winced at the depth of my voice. Logic only dictated it would have changed with the rest of my physique, but I had hoped it wouldn’t.

“A scientist of sorts. Biochemistry is my specialty, though I’ve branched out into many other fields.” He chuckled. “Why don’t you just stay there and we’ll have a nice chat between the two of us?” He lowered his broad frame onto the bed I had just launched myself from and gazed at me with vivid blue eyes. “My name is Stone. And you doubtless have many questions and expletives you want to voice, most likely not in that order.”

I felt like a broken record as curse after curse and swear after swear flowed out of me in an invective tirade. Denunciations and questions boomed from me like the retort of a cannon, emphasized by a number of curses and swears until that was all I heard winding down ... and down ... and down....

“Are you finished?”

A plaintive, almost defeated, “Fuck,” hissed from me as I rested my head in two massive hands.

“Glad you could get that out of your system. Now, do you have any real questions you wanted to ask me?”

“Why?” I finally managed to ask.

“You’re a programmer. You should understand. If a program doesn’t work the way it’s intended, you go into the code, find the bug, and fix it. Sometimes it’s messy work, but the end result is worth it. I’m doing that on a global scale, or at least I will in time. Getting rid of bigotry, erasing the divide between the strong and the weak to produce a better world for everyone.”

“You broke Chapman.”

“Champ is happy where he is. He chose it. He wanted it. You two had virtually the same IQ scores and talents, at least when it came to computer engineering and programming. Unlike you, though, Champ was fighting conditions that would make it so that he could never enjoy the same level of fitness and activity that you do. Such a lack eventually results in fantasies, a longing to experience what one never has had. Chapman threw it all away because he reveled in the chance to grow and swell. And, I admit, I fed that desire while he tried to hack the mainframe. I let him see where he would ultimately end up. And I gave him a simple choice. He accepted my offer to obey. He lied to you, pretended to fail, and complied with everything I told him whenever he signed in. He is living his fantasy now, and is deliriously happy to be receiving training as a part of my Meatheads.

Rage curled my lip, but I couldn’t do a thing. I wanted to lunge at the man, strangle him, but my body wouldn’t comply. All I could do was sit and watch.

“You may have noticed by now, but my meatheads can’t do anything against me. I’m their authority figure, their alpha. Or as they like to call me, Coach. You can’t attack me because I told you to stay there. And though you may want to deny it, I know that deep down, you’re enjoying the sensation of your new body just as much as Champ is.”

“How?”

“My formula.” He shrugged his massive shoulders. “It’s not perfect yet, but the iterations I’ve produced from my original notes have been very useful in extending my control. I don’t want to be a dictator, but I’m not about to let the world stay as it is either. Shadow politics, assassinations, pointless bombings and wars, genocides, suicides. This world is a mess. I have the tools to fix that mess once and for all. And I intend to do just that. To sum it up for you, I’m my original test subject. And the formula worked wonders for me as a result, but it also rendered me ... incapacitated for a time. As a result, much of my research was lost, and I’ve had to rebuild using different iterations of my creation until I can find that special mix. On the plus side, as derivatives of my original formula, it seems that anyone exposed automatically becomes subservient to me. It makes things much simpler when dealing with intruders and espionage. It also helps with recruiting.”

“Then why didn’t you just ask me?”

“Because I wanted you to sample the goods. That, and because there are still those who can resist the full effects of my injections and other sources of integration for a certain period of time. As I said, the formula still needs work. But I like to use the less effective iterations for special cases like you. Your specialty in coding and computer engineering is something I need right now. And I want you to keep your mind focused on the task at hand, rather than on weights and muscle. That’s why I’m assigning you to our MEAT department.”

“And if I refuse?”

“I think we both know you can’t.” Stone smirked. “For the record, MEAT stands for Muscle Enhancement and Accelerated Transformation. You’ll be helping us to design and improve a number of methods and technologies to help smooth subject transitions into becoming Meatheads. And more importantly, on how to preserve their skills and knowledge while still incorporating them into the collective. In other words, research and development. Your specialty, if I recall correctly.”

“I don’t want to.”

Stone chuckled. “On the contrary. I think you do.”

“I do—” My tongue stuck. My jaw locked. I tried again. “I do—” Again, I had the same problem. Again, I couldn’t finish. “I ... do....”

Stone’s smirk widened into a sneer. “Glad we got that settled. Oh, and for the safer ones, I want you to experiment on yourself. I’m intrigued to see just what a smart obedient Meathead will look and act like.

I groaned another curse, which only further emphasized my captor’s glee. “Spoken like a true Meathead.”

“Whatever....”

“That’s right. Whatever I say, Meathead.” The cocky arrogance was gone, leaving behind a chilling glare that could cut through diamond. “And you will address me with respect as either Coach Stone, Coach, or Sir. Do I make myself clear?”

I clenched my mouth shut.

“Answer me,” Stone demanded.

“Yes, ... Sir.”

“Good.” His eyes flashed as he rose from his position. “Now follow me. I’ll guide you to your lab. You have a lot of work ahead of you, don’t you, Meathead?”

I couldn’t stop myself as I rose to follow him. “Yes, Sir, Coach.”

“That’s right.” He chuckled. “On second thought, let’s get you dressed first. Then we can visit the lab.”

“Whatever you say, Coach.”

“Good boy,” he purred. I shuddered in revulsion, both at his cold dominance and ... at the jolt of pleasure that surged with that acknowledgement. If that was how it felt now, how would I feel after a few months or years of working under him? Would I be able to resist?

...

Would I even want to?

I shuddered again. Hopefully, I would be able to find a solution before Coach made me a permanent team member. Or worse yet, before I did.

Death’s Soliloquy

You know, I’ve been around for a very long time.

My purpose was and is a simple one. I exist to guide what once was into the great beyond, the what will be, if you will.

Every day of your mortal lives, I am working, watching, travelling silently among you.

Sometimes, I linger. Other times, I do not.

I don’t decide my timetable. I am neither cruel nor hateful. I do not steal life, nor do I feast upon it like some glutted animal. I am not the source of ailments or hunger or conflict. You can attribute those things to the other horsemen, and more importantly to Man. We do not sow that which we embody. Man calls us. And we come, because we must. It is our Duty.

And before you get any ideas, I don’t inflict myself on others. I come when I must, and I perform my Duty. That has always been my purpose, and for all I know, it always will be. Or perhaps the time will come when I can retire and pass this burden to another with the birth of a new world and a new creation. Who can say? It is one of those “great mysteries” that you mortals love to ponder so much.

I am content with my lot. I am seen every day, but so few of you mortals recognize me or even talk to me. It is both blessing and curse, I suppose. The Veil, I mean. You know, I honestly think humans are the reason the Veil exists in the first place. Not that it was placed as some punishment, but because man reached a point where he simply feared the spiritual. So many men think fear is essential in life. It pushes one to great acts that may seem otherwise impossible to achieve. And, indeed, in that way fear can be very useful. But like any tool or naturally occurring phenomenon, it can also be exploited. I suppose over time, it has also served as a necessary defense mechanism, but we can discuss that later.

You know, I honestly think that’s what comprises the veil most, exploitation. The idea that man must rely on himself alone, pushing their will over everything else. And like the sudden cough of a combustion engine, the smog of their will bursts from them to clog the ether.

It’s perfectly harmless on its own, but magnify that expulsion by billions upon billions and, well, you can barely see the hand in front of your face at that point. The only thing I’ve noticed that’s strong enough to cut through it is a pure, unwavering faith, the kind that’s not forced or thrust by the will of others, but born of devotion and love gained through personal experience and hard work. That, or a complete openness and acceptance that borders on the divine.

I had many wonderful conversations with the one you call Terry Pratchett before I came for that most important visit. He was such a one as I listed above. I like to believe he fell a little under both exceptions to the Veil. Much of our discussions wound their way into his work. I quite liked his portrayal of me. The idea of searching for meaning, a chance to experience joy and life as humans do. Yes, I very much approve of the world he crafted, a world where the ideas that mortals seem to cling to with such certainty and passion can be thrown on their heads in an instant and leave them to ponder, to wonder, and perhaps to think openly and clearly for the first time in their lives. Perhaps, one day, he will be able to do so in a reality that he forges in that great beyond, rather than in written word and the portals of his mind. Yes, I would not mind knowing such a Death, nor travelling such a world.

Ah, but of course, it would have to wait until my Duty is complete in this cycle of the Eternal Round.

Now, then, where was I?

Ah, yes. I was talking of Man and his perceptions. Many think me to be cruel. They beg me to send them back or allow them to remain. Some run. Occasionally, they are allowed to return, their time extended by the higher power that I serve. Others are allowed to linger, because their will is simply that strong. Among those, sadly, many grow angry at the living and lose their way. They forget who and what they are, so warped by that expulsion of certainty that others do not deserve the time they have been given in life. Those sensations of anger, jealousy, and rage fester and decay until their hosts are little more than husks driven and bound by these emotions’ whims. It is a sad fate, one that I wish to help as many as I can to avoid. But it is also why the Veil is there. It protects Man from these aberrations, and from those other forces that seek to manipulate or harm them directly. Ah, but that war is one in which I must remain neutral until the end. Until that time, I must attend to my Duty.

Which brings me to today.

Ah, yes. Today, I face a different challenge in the form of a, “Woke” generation, I believe they are called. A pale rider on a pale horse is not often welcome, and I have been called by many names as a result. Words that are untrue, born of grief, of regret, of countless losses in opportunities and actions that can no longer be performed or seized. I have faced this in many generations before. It, too, is a part of the Eternal Round. I cannot even begin to count the number of -ists and -obics that I have been called over the years as I helped these spirits to accept their ends. It is my hope to guide them to a new beginning, one that can be beyond such petty grievances and pains that Man has inflicted and accrued over the course of their existence.

For many, I succeed. For some few, I am ashamed to say that I fail, and I must leave these spirits to their fates and the hands and voices of others to sooth or manipulate as the spirit wills.

It brings me great joy when my Duty calls me to one of these after finally being led to accept what they would not before. And I am glad to have them ride with me. It is in this instance that my paleness no longer offends or inflicts fear. It is in this instance where I can experience for a few fleeting moments that joy of friendship, of brotherhood that Man both embodies and rejects so readily. Some apologize. Others are merely silent as they lean into my back and hold my waist. We both know the truth, and so there is no need for them to speak. I give them a final ride, and then usher them unto that great beyond.

But, as ever, it must be their choice to take that final step. I often wave and smile reassuringly to them, and that puts those who see my true nature at ease, a well wishing to bolster their courage in this final sendoff. I cannot pass beyond those portals myself. Not yet.

I have a unique memory. It allows me to see what my passengers were, who they were. But more importantly, it allows me to see who and what they can become. It is that sight, more than any other, that motivates me most. Indeed, I believe I can say, with absolute certainty, it is that very sight that motivates all the heavenly hosts you mortals have called upon and invoked and personified throughout your lives.

Man needs faith, because without it, miracles and wonders truly would cease, and that beautiful potential I see every day will become smaller, smaller, smaller still, until it withers away to dust scattered across the empty void from which their matter was first organized and formed.

I cannot judge. That is not my place.

But I do know, because I can read their lives, all lives. And whether they be sentenced to paradise or a hell of their own making, I will be there to help them onward to that next step.

I always have been from the day of Man’s fall, whether that be because of one God or many gods or one Devil or many devils or the will of Man himself.

And I await the day when I will no longer be needed, when my purpose ends and I can finally say, It is done.

And what will become of me after? Well, who among you can say? My vision, my memory, if you will, reveals their potential and their lives, but it does not necessarily apply to my own existence.

Still, I like to hope that those who went before me will be waiting to guide me as I did them, and to welcome me with open arms into that Eternity beyond those gates. Myself, and my fellow riders, to usher us into the end of the cycle and the beginning of something new.

Until then, I will fulfill my Duty. After all, I am Death. I can wait.

The End

EXCELLENT IDEA