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If Marcellus Leon’s entire college life could be compressed into a single phrase, a soundbite of his career at Valemoore college, a little quote to appear below his picture in the college year book when he graduated, it would be…

‘I tried’

At twenty-four years old, Marcellus was far from the oldest student walking around campus. However, with the majority of his high school classmates having graduated long ago either having joined the workforce or starting their own families, the burly football player with obvious Italian blood in his veins, had long been left behind. Some would say forgotten.

But not for a lack of trying.

The reason Marcellus was lagging behind his peers was two fold. He was going for a double major - biomedical science and physiotherapy - while simultaneously having his tuition paid for by a football scholarship. The double major alone would have set him back an extra year behind his peers but his commitment to football ate into a lot of his time. It was only in his second year that he realized that he could not maintain the pace of juggling all three while having a social life for very long. So he opted to slow things down a little. Take less classes so that he could at least have some sleep every night.

Now, he was seeing the end of a long road and when that alarm blared in his ears, waking him up in his room at the Bluefin fraternity house, he got up with a bright grin.

This is the year I graduate, he thought to himself. That same mantra was one he had repeated to himself ever since the new year had started and it still provided just as much energy into his veins as it did back then.

He got up from beneath the sheets, bringing his large, bulky body to the full-body mirror in the corner. Placing his hands on his waist, he appraised his thick, hairy body. People could easily call him a bear because of how large and hairy he was. A huge, muscular build developed over almost six years of college football was softened slightly by a layer of fat that gave him a bit of a paunch that extended his hair-covered belly about as far as his big, juicy pectorals. The forest of dark, curly hair that covered his torso cut off at his shoulders, leaving his plump deltoids and upper arms bare before starting up again all over his forearms.

The same could not be said about his tree-trunk-like legs. A forest of dark hairs covered the olive skin of his thighs, making what little definition was there even harder to see. Those hairs maintained its thickness and consistency down his broad calves and large, size 11 feet.

At 6’3’’, Marcellus was a little thicker than the average quarterback but he stood out from others who played in his position by having a decent arm and doubling up as a defensive lineman. He could switch positions on the fly and after the initial throw, he could easily throw himself into the scrimmage. He had hoped that sort of versatility would attract the attention of a professional scout. Sadly, no teams would ever come looking for a potential recruit in Valemoore College especially with the Bluefin’s track record.

Oh well, I tried.

Marcellus threw on a clean jockstrap over his respectable package, gave his naturally shorty, curly hair a little tussle and then clipped on a little, black earring in both his ears. He gave his short, dark beard a little comb down and then proceeded to dress himself. What he put on didn’t really matter. He was going to be heading over to practice anyway and get changed In the locker rooms. Just a pair of olive green jeans that were sitting at the foot of his bed and a light blue collared shirt befitting a member of a fraternity. On top of that, he threw on the seaweed green and periwinkle blue letterman jacket of the Bluefins then grabbed his duffel bag and he was hurrying out the door.

The aftermath of the prior night’s part was all on display. Red cups lay everywhere. Streamers, confetti and some empty beer bottles were pushed over to the corner. Some of his fellow frat bros were slumped over at odd angles and places.

Marcia Lopez, the Hispanic cheerleader that he had gotten a drink for the previous night was passed on the very same couch where he had left her. She was slumped onto the chest of a defensive lineman. Syrina Close was quietly packing up her belongings, tossing her curly hair. She gave him a quick smile and was out the door before he was. Roxanne Vahn was probably still asleep in the team’s kicker’s bed after Marcellus had played the perfect wingman and guided her to him. He knew his frat bro needed to get laid.

See, one thing that very few people knew about Marcellus Leon was that he was unabashedly gay. But he was the kind of guy that didn’t make it his entire personality. Yes, he had a few outward signs that could be considered stereotypical of a gay man - he was well groomed, he wore earrings and he had never had a steady girlfriend - but he was more than just his sexuality.

No one on the team or the college would even remotely care. Hell, he wouldn’t even be the first openly out player on the team. Their wide receiver, Rhys Parker, was gay and was very loud about it. They had talked multiple times but Marcellus just never felt that it was anyone’s business but his own whom he slept with.

Unfortunately, the problem of getting his rocks off was not a matter of choice. Rhys often told him that he just had to go to town into one of the bear bars and there would be many men willing to suck off the college quarterback’s cock. Just going in there with a letterman jacket - regardless of whether or not it was authentic - was a surefire way to ‘orgasmville’, as Rhys put it.

But Marcellus had just been very busy. Between his double major and football, he just could not juggle a relationship let alone the baggage that came with one-night stands. He was barely keeping things together having to study, play football and keep up with his chores like cleaning his room - arguably the cleanest and most organized in the whole frat - and laundry.

Oh shit! Laundry!

He bounded back up the stairs and headed to the laundry room. There was a whole bunch of laundry that he had been sure to wash before heading to bed the previous night. Unlike any of his other brothers, when he drank beer, it was just for social purposes. He never got drunk or even buzzed. As the party was winding down, he had been sure to get his frat brothers out of any clothes that were soaked in beer or vomit. Freshmen players often threw up their whole year because the frat had this terrible tradition of only letting the freshmen drink a horrible cocktail known as the ‘Bluefin Welcome’.

It was really just cheap beer mixed with canned tuna - the brine included - and a maraschino cherry. If a freshman wanted to drink anything, it had to be a Welcome. One of the reasons Marcellus never drunk even though he was no longer a freshman.

He rifled through the freshly laundered and dried clothing and found the tank top that belonged to Orvar Stenstrom. Though he was sure that they had barely ever exchanged words, he knew who Orvar was. The Swedish exchange student was one of the few people taller than Marcellus on campus and that immediately got him to stand. On top of that, the big, blond bull hung around the frat house a lot. Him and his boyfriend, Binh.

From what he recalled, the two bulls had been urged to join the football team their Freshman year. Apparently they had been sighted at the campus gym by someone on the team and Coach Burke had immediately wanted to recruit them. Sadly, there were some restrictions. Bulls couldn’t play football simply because their horns were too dangerous.

That didn’t stop Orvar from making an appearance here and there. Binh came less often. Pity because Marcellus would have liked to talk with them a little more. They weren’t nearly as ‘out there’ as Rhys and it felt like they would get along.

Part of Marcellus actually had hoped that Orvar would have stopped him or had a conversation with him when they had encountered each other the previous night. Spilling the beer on the bull’s shirt had been a genuine accident. Stripping the big, blond, bovine of his shirt had almost been too much for Marcellus. Touching the bulls thick, rippling muscles and peeling back the beer-soaked tank top from those washboard abs like he was carefully unwrapping a present during Christmas almost made him cum there and then.

Marcellus grimaced at himself as he pulled the very same tank top from the pile of laundry.

“I need to get laid,” he rumbled to himself.

He stuffed the tank top into his duffel bag, made his way back down the stairs and out the door of the large, double-story, red-brick house that had been with the Valemoore Bluefins since the inception of the football team decades ago. During springtime, the campus was absolutely gorgeous. Temperate weather that wasn’t too cold or too warm with the campus trees lush and green and the grass bright and inviting. The skies were that picturesque blue with just the right amount of clouds that it wasn’t overcast but also not just a plain blue slate.

It was barely seven in the morning. At this time, there was barely anyone on campus with only early classes just about to start. Football practice wouldn’t start for another few hours which meant that Marcellus had time to drop off Orvar’s shirt at McMillian Dormitory and then head to the modest stadium.

The hirsute football player broke off into a light jog, breathing in the cool, fresh air and feeling the blood steadily awaken his muscles. Valemoore wasn’t really that big of a college but it was the only one that Marcellus could get into. His grades had not been the best and neither was his talent in football. In that way, Valemoore seemed the perfect fit because it seemed the college administration and faculty didn’t really have high standards either. Many of its programs tended to be half-assed or partially started. Which meant that for someone like Marcellus - who genuinely tried but just did not get the results - getting a free ride to this backwater North Carolina college was a good compromise.

The push to get a lot of international students to attend the college was just the most recent half-hearted push to keep the institution relevant. McMillian Dormitory had been erected just the year before Marcellus started and in the four years since then, it had been packed with students from all over the globe. It was centrally placed to accommodate for all the inhabitant’s varied interests while simultaneously providing an incentive for the students - who were already paying a fortune to attend the college - to spend even more money on local housing.

He approached the building within fifteen minutes of leaving his own lodgings and swiped his student ID at the buzzer at the door. Since it was already in the middle of the day, security was quite lax so no one stopped him as the door buzzed open and he stepped inside. From what he recalled, the only two bulls on campus lived on the third floor. Such gossip was impossible to miss even if they ran in different circles.

The only problem was that he had no idea which room they lived in.

As he took the stairs two at a time, he quickly fished out his phone and texted the only person on the football team that he knew was up at this time of day; Rhys Parker.

‘Hey Rhys. Do you know which room Orvar Stenstrom stays in?’

Unsurprisingly, Rhys was texting back.

‘Ooooh, is it your turn to try and tame that bull?’

Even though they were likely on different sides of the college right now, Marcellus could not help but read the words out in Rhys’ exaggerated, effeminate tone.

‘Nah. Just returning something to him.’

‘Sigh. You’re no fun.’

Marcellus rolled his eyes as he hit the third floor. ‘Do you know where he stays or not?’

‘Not this year, beu. Last year, yeah. But you know how dorms are.’

He did. Yet another one of Valemoore’s initiatives was this idea that to prevent burnout and ‘senioritis’, changing environments and routines was essential. So they made sure that any student that stayed in the same dormitory had to move rooms year on year. Normally this meant that they would have to go up one floor or at least shuffle rooms.

‘Just ask the RA,’ Rhys offered helpfully. ‘Should be signs around the place to show you where he’s staying.’

Not a bad idea. Marcellus shot Rhys a quick ‘thanks emoji’ and lifted his gaze. One would think that there would be signs of two huge bull-men living in the hallways but all he could see were the blue and green of the college with some patriotic flags splattered about. There was a big sign that said ‘RA This Way’ which he followed.

At the very end of the hall was the resident assistant’s room. There was a little plaque that had the name of the resident ‘Jamshid Gabol’. It was impossible to tell what nationality Jamshid belonged to from the name alone or what gender. Marcellus did detect some muttering on the other side of the room and guessed, like him, Gabol was a morning person.

He knocked lightly so as not to disturb any of the other residents. The muttering quickly stopped and after a few moments, the door sprang open. A tall, copper-skinned man with a well-kept, black beard and similarly dark, short hair met him. Jamshid was dressed in a tightly pressed, navy blue suit including a tie He looked like he was about to head to a funeral or a job interview.

“Yes?” asked Jamshid, his Indian accent coming out. “How can I help you?”

Marcellus held up the tank top that he was holding. “I was just wondering if you could help me. I need to return this to Orvar Stentrom. He left it at the party last night.”

The RA narrowed his gaze suspiciously and, without dropping his gaze, reached out of sight and plucked a clipboard from somewhere. “Right. Follow me.”

Marcellus stepped aside and let Jamshid lead him over to room 311. The RA knocked sharply.

“Just a minute!” came the shout from inside.

Jamshid turned towards Marcellus and held out the clipboard. “While we wait, please sign here.”

“What’s this?” asked the football player, taking the paper and pen offered to him.

“Standard visitor form,” answered Jamshid sharply. “Just to make sure that we log that you came here and visited one of our students.”

“Really?” Despite his questioning, Marcellus took the form and signed it. There was a box for his student ID which he filled out as well. “Do the other dorms do this?”

Jamshid’s sharp, hawk-like nose wrinkled. “No. Not even the other floors in this dormitory do. But this is procedure.”

Marcellus got the impression that Jamshid Gobol was not someone he should annoy in any way. Perhaps he was also one of the guardrails that kept the Bluefins from accosting Orvar to join the team recently.

The door sprang open and Marcellus was instantly hit with a wave of heat, musk and the distinct smell of grass. In the doorway stood the towering Orvar Stenstrom. Being over seven feet tall, the blond-haired bull actually had to duck a little just so that he could see who was there to greet him. How he fit through the door at all was beyond Marcellus.

Orvar was completely shirtless, wearing only a pair of black boxer shorts that left nothing to the imagination. Marcellus instantly felt his dick twitch like a dowsing rod eagerly pulling his thirsty ass to water.

“Hey, Jams,” Orvar said, smiling brightly, his green eyes shining. “What’s up? You finally gonna join us for a sesh?”

“A sesh?” Marcellus asked.

Jamshid rolled his eyes. “Both Orvar and Binh have recently become quite obsessed with a videogame. Labyrinth of Loot, if I remember correctly. They have been quite incessant about me joining them for a ‘session’.” He gave Marcellus a sidelong glance. “It is their excuse for the noise they make late at night.”

Orvar’s eyes fell upon Marcellus as if noticing the football player for the first time. “Oh, Marcellus. Hey man. Didn’t see you there.”

Okay, ouch.

Marcellus was in no way a small man. Admittedly, compared to Orvar, he was significantly smaller but that comment hit a little close to home for comfort. After all that he had done and after all the effort he tried, being ignored was his worst fear. Fading into mediocrity even more so.

“Hi Orvar,” Marcellus mumbled, holding up the tank top. “Like I promised last night. I brought you back your shirt.”

There was a second where Orvar genuinely appeared to struggle to remember their interaction the previous night. Again, this fed that demon of insecurity that gnawed at the back of Marcellus’ head that reminded him he was a moderately sized fix in a very small pond compared to the momentously large ocean. Jamshid’s gaze was starting to turn back into that suspicious glare; likely suspecting that Marcellus had concocted this entire scenario just to get some time with one of the only two bulls in all of Valemoore.

Then Orvar’s expression brightened. “Oh right! Thanks dude!” He reached out and grabbed the shirt. Marcellus’ question of how such a small garment could ever fit someone as enormous as Orvar was answered when the bull easily slipped it on. The straps practically vanished between the crevasse of his deltoids and traps. The majority of the dark fabric hugged his enormous, broad chest, barely making it past his diaphragm. Coupled with his dark boxer shorts, the bull looked amazing.

Again, Marcellus’ dick twinged.

Jamshid’s seething gaze eased. “I will leave you to it, then.” He turned and returned to his room, each stride stiff and robotic.

Once the RA had shut his door, Marcellus glanced back towards Orvar who, like him, had watched the very rigid man leave. “So… what’s his deal?” he asked.

Orvar shrugged his enormous shoulders. “Guy has been studying law. He’s really up-tight about the rules around here. Lots of forms and stuff. Don’t worry about him.” The Swedish bull then stepped aside, revealing the room that he shared with his boyfriend, Binh.

The other bull was sitting up against the headrest of his bed, completely nude. Marcellus’ throat closed up as he actively tried not to stare at the big, brown bull’s cock visibly at half-mast and leaking precum onto his sheets. However, instead of being some sort of invitation to a pornographic scenario, Binh was furiously tapping away at his laptop.

“You wanna come in?” Orvar asked. “We’re just in the middle of a game of Labyrinth.” He winked slyly at Marcellus. “If Jamshid, won’t join, maybe you can be our third?”

Yes please.

Marcellus pushed aside the intrusive, hormonal thoughts and forced an apologetic smile. “Sorry, man. I’ve got practice in a bit. Maybe next time.”

A look of genuine disappointment crossed Orvar’s features. “Ah. Totally get it, man. But if you ever want to play together, just look up Labyrinth of Loot. It’s only fifteen bucks right now. I know your Coach wants me to play for your team but maybe I can get you to play for mine!”

If only Orvar knew the implications of that statement considering how Marcellus liked cock.

“I’ll think about it,” answered the quarterback, turning to leave. “See ya at the next party.”

Marcellus got down to the steps before he was sure that no one was watching him which gave him the perfect opportunity to finally adjust himself. Never before had he been so grateful that Orvar was so much taller than him because, at that height, it would have been very difficult to see the tent that Marcellus’ dick had been desperately pitching. At the bottom of the steps, the quarterback repeated the thought that had knocked around his head all morning.

I need to get laid.

Shaking that thought from his head, he refocused his efforts on his tried and true mantra.

I tried.

And he was going to try even harder so he could step out of the shadow of mediocrity. He broke out into another light jog to get the blood pumping elsewhere and focus on football again. The Bluefin stadium was just another twenty minutes away from McMillian Dormitory so he had plenty of time to make sure his dick wasn’t demanding his attention and to focus his thoughts on the plays and strategies that had been drilled into his head.

Even with the detour, however, he arrived at the stadium at 7:30 in the morning. Still about thirty minutes before practice was due to start. Even at this time, the locker rooms sat empty. Coach Burke was not in his office. The football coach - and only football coach - of the Bluefins had a tendency to arrive late, cutting into practice. Marcellus usually liked to rally his team to do some warm ups in that time. However, with the Coach showing very little commitment or enthusiasm, that was becoming a harder and harder task. Little wonder then that no one was here.

Marcellus had accepted that reality and made the best of the situation. He headed over to his own locker, stuffed his duffel bag inside and fished out his laptop. This downtime would be ideal to get some extra studying done. Normally, he’d have an extra hour or so but he would take what he could get. A double major was not an easy track to pursue.

As his device was booting up, however, he thought back to what Orvar had suggested. Perhaps if he could get the bull to at least help the team train, he could inject some energy back into the team that was either using the football program to get their rocks off or because they didn’t know what else to do. If anyone could tackle a five-hundred-pound bull, they could take down anyone.

Perhaps playing Labyrinth of Loot was his way into Orvar’s good graces.

Never one for videogames himself and preferring physical activity, Marcellus had only ever used his computer to watch videos or for school work. Exposure to videogames was minimal. He was very aware that any investment of time and effort on his part into videogames could cause his barely passable all-around performance to slip. It took everything he had to stay positive and keep up a C-average. Putting even an hour daily into some game could pull him dangerously into failing territory.

But this is for the team.

Nodding to himself, he quickly found Labyrinth on Loot for sale and bought a copy. As Orvar said, it was fairly cheap and unassuming. For some reason, he didn’t imagine someone as big and buff as Orvar or Binh to be into what is essentially a survival crafting simulator with RPG elements. The social, multiplayer aspect probably played a lot into their dedication to the game.

As he hit the download button, he switched to reading one of the many documents given to him for his classes fully expecting the game to be ready by the time the others arrived for practice. Much to his surprise, he was barely even into the chapter when he got a notification that the game was ready. Puzzled, he opened the game’s page on his laptop and, as advertised, he could hit the ‘Play’ button and dive right into Labyrinth of Loot.

With over twenty minutes left before the rest of the team even began pouring in, there was barely enough time to retain anything from the chapter. He would feel rushed and switching from biomedical sciences to complicated plays at the 20-yard line would just scramble his brain. So he opened the game and readied himself for whatever had captured Orvar’s attention recently.

A colorful fantasy world greeted with an introduction that was quite well-made without being overly realistic. The swelling music and sweeping visuals captured his imagination. In the quiet of the locker room, the sounds coming from his laptop bounced off the walls and lockers, making it almost feel like he was surrounded by speakers. With his mind perpetually open to new experiences, he happily watched the opening cutscene before hitting the ‘New Game’ button.

He was immediately thrust into the character creator. Since he had little time, he stuck with the bare minimum in terms of his avatar while making it as close to him as physically as possible. Curly dark brown hair, brown eyes, a short beard, bulky frame. Impressive that it allowed him to add a bit of belly fat as well. Giving his avatar a little rounded belly made him aware that the combination of his thick body hair and girthy stomach hid the muscle beneath. Not exactly the physique for a quarterback. Try as he might, genetics and a sluggish metabolism refused to get him that toned, supermodel-like body that would likely have catapulted his career in professional football.

I tried.

Once his character was created, he was thrown into the tutorial. Gameplay was simple. Craft loot boxes, open them for bonuses and gear. Every loot box opened was the measure of one’s progress. Quite easy, really. The story was minimalistic. Nothing to world shattering or inspiring. He wasn’t some nameless hero out to save the world from a demon or challenge the gods. It was just a simple game about going out there, crafting loot boxes and getting stronger.

Something about that premise resonated with Marcellus. As someone who rarely spent time on videogames because he saw it as another distraction much like relationships, he hadn’t developed a real preference over what genre of game he preferred. That said, he naturally gravitated towards competitive sports simulations. Everyone at the frat house played the yearly release of some American college football game. He wasn’t good at it and playing it only served to remind him of his own mediocrity. But this game which sort of celebrated the rise from simple beginnings gave him a bit of hope.

Da-da-ding!

That little tune echoed out in the locker room, reverberating through off the walls and assaulting him from all sides. It rippled through his burly form, pouring into his ears, seeping into his brain and shaking his bones. Jolts of satisfaction from having achieved something sent tingles all throughout his body. Not only was he succeeding in the task before him but he was making great time.

Perhaps it was the pressure of what little time he had before other started pouring into the locker room, but his heart was pounding in excitement and adrenaline as he opened box after box, improving his statistics and gaining levels. That musical chime that rang out every time he opened a loot box was a celebration of his success. Not just an acknowledgment of his effort but his success.

A warmth filled his veins and he absent scratched his beard with one hand while he continued playing. He made a mental note that he would have to shave later as his facial hair was feeling a little thicker and scruffier than before. A mix of excitement and adrenaline caused his body to produce more heat, a light flush touching his cheeks and causing his copious body hair to tingle as sweat began to soak into his clothes. Marcellus inadvertently started curling his toes in excitement and anticipation as he reached that glorious threshold of crafting a loot box and then opening it immediately.

Da-da-ding!

At the chime, he immediately uncurled his toes. The rush of blood coupled with the sensation of release and relief like he was stretching muscles that had been cramped for hours added to that feeling of gratification. Muscles that had already been enlarged from years of playing football and working out in the gym followed the same pattern; flexing and relaxing over and over again until they were engorged with blood much like he had been pumping iron for an hour already.

Merely five minutes into playing the game and at a meager level 3, he was already sweating and tense. The feeling of accomplishment that normally accompanied a good set melded with the sensations of achieving each of the game’s easily achieved milestones. This initially confused his mind. While far from dumb or unintelligent, there was a part of Marcellus that couldn’t quite understand why he was getting such a good feeling from moving his little digital avatar around a fantasy map when, for the majority of his life, he only ever got this kind of feeling after he went up in weights or he got something other than a C in class.

Then, there was a eureka moment as the two, seemingly unrelated and incompatible ideals clashed and came to a stunning realization; he wasn’t just trying. He was trying and succeeding.

And he wanted more.

For years, Marcellus had fought hard and used every technique to scrape his way up to the middle of the pack. But now that he was actually making progress and excelling with minimal effort, he wondered how he could use those techniques to pull further ahead.

Da-da-ding!

He was level 4 already and he had barely been playing for ten minutes.

That’s got to be a new record!

That thought drowned out the very obvious erection that he was sporting. His tense and pumped body hunched over his laptop which rested on top of his duffel back, sweat dripping off his brow. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, barely noticing how the dark hairs there had grown even thicker or how his pronounced belly had now started to poke out from under his shirt.

Ambition burned in his veins, setting his blood vessels ablaze and spurring him further and faster. Years of subscribing to studying techniques and methods to retain knowledge bubbled to the surface. It did not take him long to realize that the the cost for crafting new loot boxes increased incrementally with each one he opened. While the cost for another level likewise increased, the scarcity and rarity of materials required to make the loot boxes only increased if and when he opened any new boxes.

So that meant that if he stockpiled the materials and loot boxes but did not immediately open them…

… I could get stronger faster!

There was naturally a level of balance. Farming for those materials was, even though the requirements were low, would still be challenging at his level. As the cost for each loot box increased, it was expected that the players would likewise grow stronger by opening said boxes. But, if a player resisted the urge to open those boxes until later…

Inspired, Marcellus tried out his theory. He patiently farmed for three more loot boxes but did not open them immediately. Once he had completed crafting the final box, he selected them all in his inventory and opened them all at once.

Da-da-ding! Da-da-ding! Da-da-ding!

The rapid fire of musical tones immediately sent a jolt of satisfaction and electricity throughout his entire body. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up on end in excitement, his eyes going wide as his theory was proven true. The chorus of celebratory tones hid the sounds of each of his muscles audibly gurgling as they expanded accompanied by the noise of creaking wood which came from his veins growing to accommodate. Even as a few more inches were added to his height, causing his shirt to lift further and further up his belly, he inadvertently bent lower towards the laptop so that he maintained the same distance from the screen. This allowed the muscles across his back to inflate and plump up, his traps rising up to swallow his neck and forcing the collar of his shirt strain against his growing mass.

“Oh fuck…” he mumbled, only barely aware of the throbbing need pulsing in his pants.

The cost for crafting loot boxes of the same type had gone up as if he had opened three of them however, when he did the math, he had actually saved on time and effort. A grin crossed his face, splitting across his broad, thick beard. Somehow, he managed to lift his fingers away from the keyboard to reach down and scratch at his partially exposed belly. The thick hairs that crawled across his abdominal muscles that were now very visible against the layer of fat was thicker, almost like a pelt, but he just chalked that up to needing a good grooming.

As he reached back for his keyboard, the sleeves of his letterman jacket and shirt crawled up his widening forearms. Dense, dark, curly hairs grew across his forearm, almost making him look gorilla-like. He paused just an inch or so away from his fingertips making contact with the keyboard. A soft crackling rippled down from his elbows, causing his forearms to shudder before striking his fingers. The distance between his fingertips and the keyboard was closed up by his broadening hands.

Then he was back to tapping away commands.

He knew what he had to do.

He had to try and see how far he could push this.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was very much aware that he was running out of time. The rest of the team would be in the locker room soon and if not them, then Coach Burke. So he had to act fast. A mind that had once been muddled and weighed down by failure after failure was suddenly illuminated and clear. Every brain cell was working at a full capacity as he mapped out farming locations and optimized his technique. With each passing second, he was improving how he obtained the coveted materials.

All the while, there was that constant temptation to open every loot box that came his way immediately for that instantaneous gratification, he purposefully held off. The payoff would be explosive the moment he opened them in bulk. With each one he successfully crafted, that siren song grew more and more insistent, scratching at the back of his mind and consciousness, begging him to open the hoard he had accumulated.

But Marcellus Leon was stubborn and determined. He had come this far on sheer grit and persistence alone so there was nothing holding him back from resisting just that little more. Though he did set himself a little timer, a limit to his almost obsessive farming.

Five minutes before the rest of the Valemoore Bluefins arrived, he finally caved in. There was no hesitation in his steps or movements as he selected all the loot boxes he had accumulated up to that point, right clicked on them and then hit the ‘open’ command.

Da-da-ding!

The first chime rang as loud and clear as a grenade going off right next to his ear. It reverberated through his brain, shook his system and sent him physically recoiling from his screen. His entire body went stiff and rigid, his legs stretched out in front of him from where he was seated. A spine that had been hunched over the laptop screen straightened, pressing the base of his skull against the very visible slope of his neck muscles. His chest was pushed out and his arms were splayed out to his sides like he was presented his heart to a foe.

A rapid chorus of those musical chimes followed by a barrage of swirling, dazzling lights erupted from his laptop, bathing him and the locker room in a sea of mesmerizing stimuli. If anyone had been looking on at that time, they would have likened the scene to the opening of a magical girl transformation from anime but instead of a dainty girl changing into an ethereal entity shimmering with femininity, it was a brawny, college football player changing into a beefy alpha male with herculean proportions.

Da-da-ding! Da-da-ding!

Marcellus tried to keep his eyes fixated on the laptop screen but the sheer force of the energies coursing through his veins was too much. His head snapped back, forcing him to look straight up while his jaw hung open in a silent scream of ecstasy and triumph. Dark eyes rolled up into his skull, his eyelids fluttering to the beat of the shakes and shudders that wracked his entire body.

Fingers and toes were stretched out as far as they would go, spearheading the transformation throughout his entire body with the only thing that was as hard and erect being his throbbing, fat cock. Mass stacked into each digit. Bones broadened, lengthened and were reinforced while softer, dark hairs sprouted all over the flesh that covered them. The hairs on his knuckles grew so thick that it was almost like he had painted his them with a black smear. Each palm widened to the point that he would have easily gripped a football in each one and still have enough control to execute a perfect spiral. The hairs on the back of his hands covered grew just as thick as his knuckles, becoming almost like armor.

Rrrrrip!

His toes burst from out of his sneakers. The wave of relief that came from the release was quickly overwhelmed by the tightness of the rest of his feet being restricted by his stubborn footwear.

Rrrrrrip!

Sneakers that had been with him for most of his college career fell apart in shreds on the locker room floor as his already large size 11 feet exploded to size 12, then 13, 14, 15 and then a monstrous size 16. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he recalled people telling him that he had the feet of a basketball player but then even those were rewritten when his feet continued to grow even bigger to the point where he would need customized shoes.

Basketball was briefly in his career path. He was reminded of these thoughts as his legs stretched to match his immense feet. The trousers he wore retreated up his calves which was quickly mirrored by the sleeves of his shirt as they, too, crept up his increasingly broadening forearms.

Rrrrrip!

Pants, jacket and shirt all ripped simultaneously. Huge, juicy thighs burst out from beneath fabric; chiseled muscle covered in olive-skin and dark hairs spilling out from their confines. Watermelon-sized biceps exploded and set off a chain reaction of tearing clothes from his torso. Like watching a earthquake split the earth in two, fissures of fabric appeared all over the sleeves of his blue and green letterman jacket and the shirt beneath, revealing his upper arms and broad, bowling ball shoulders.

Da-da-ding! Da-da-ding! Da-da-ding!

Each chime was a shockwave of ecstasy, triumph and unbridled arousal. Every loot box opened was another level gained on all fronts across his body. Stubborn as he was, Marcellus was buckling under the non-stop assault of stimulation that he could barely comprehend. All he could do was grit his teeth and try to remain upright.

Rrrrrrrip!

But everything had a limit and when his cock erupted from his already tattered pants, the big, brawny football player crumpled. He fell back as if he had been struck by a physical blow. His titanic body hit the bench he was sitting on with a heavy whump. The noise was quickly followed by the wet slap of his thick cock slapping against his exposed belly.

The shock from the impact momentarily shook him from his stupor, making him aware of the strange gurgling that was emerging from his stomach. There was only so much that his addled brain could process but he somehow still managed to reach up and grip the sides of his belly. Beneath fingers that felt much too large to be his, he felt his stomach expanding while hardening at the same time. Proprioception allowed him to sense that his hands were being pulled away from one another but that was the limit of his senses before he was thrust into another wave of changes heralded by the non-stop-chiming.

Even with his expanding belly, hardened abdominal muscles pressed up against his skin, almost guiding his fingers up their large blocks towards his cock. The sensitive organ was tantalized by the increasingly thickening bush of pubic hair that rose from his crotch, crested his belly and swept through the walls of his abs. That temptation proved too great for his growing dick and it rapidly chased the sweeping black flame of body hair as it thickened over Marcellus torso. The mountain of his musclegut was crested by his member, a thick, fat flag atop a summit of might.

Marcellus gripped his dick.

The use of his muscles sent a wave of affirmation shooting through his arm, peeling away the remnants of his clothing and sending his pectorals erupting upwards into two, firm, hard slabs covered in thick, curly, black hairs. For the first time since he had joined the Valemoore Bluefins, his pecs actually rose higher and harder than his belly. Beneath the dense, black hairs on his chest, his nipples emerged as two, bright pink peaks that demanded attention. Marcellus all-to-willingly complied and used his remaining hand to tweak the fleshy nubs, adding to his pleasure and sending him back spiraling into the throes of lust.

… only for the lights around him to fade and the melodious chimes of the loot boxes being opened to fade.

Marcellus Leon’s eyes refocused beneath fluttering eyelids.

He took a moment just to stare at the ceiling and another to realize that he was in a very public place, very exposed, very naked and with his monstrous eleven-inch cock firmly gripped in his hand. Standing up like a rocket sent a bout of vertigo through him but he didn’t pay it any mind for the moment.

Shit, he thought feverishly, staring at the thick member in his hand, I’ve got to get rid of this!

He glanced at his locker, wondering if he could quickly get changed into his uniform and stuff his dick into his pants and cup.

That won’t work, he mused, shaking his head. The motion caused his curly hair to brush faintly against the two nubs of his nascent horns that had just begun emerging from his skull. They were not alien to him. They had always been there.

My dick has always been too big to fit in my cup when I’m hard.

It was one of the reasons why he practiced great discipline during practice and even afterwards in the showers.

The showers!

A cold shower would quickly remove his erection and, barring that, he would jack off and get rid of the erection. He glanced quickly at the clock. The guys were due any second now. Coach Burke was nowhere to be seen so he was lucky. Whatever was delaying them was a blessing and one Marcellus was not going to question.

As he started to get up, however, his eyes fell back to his laptop. There was all the loot that he had obtained from all those loot boxes, taking up the majority of the screen. That was not what caught his attention. It was the little golden cross that glowed brightly over his character’s portrait.

He had leveled up.

Of course he had.

After opening all of those loot boxes, he would naturally have obtained a level. More, in fact. And with more levels meant more loot boxes. He briefly wondered if he should save them like he did the first batch but his thoughts were interrupted by distant voices echoing down the hallways of the stadium. Without care or thought, he quickly dismissed the window showing what loot he had obtained, selected all the level-based loot boxes he had obtained in his inventory and sent the command to open them all.

Then he was getting up and charging towards the showers to the melody of multiple loot boxes opening. In any other scenario, it would have been a scene of the heroic protagonist hitting the button that would trigger a self-destruct while escaping from the ensuing explosion. But that was not what Marcellus wanted nor was it what he intended.

He was barely off the bench when the first ‘Da-da-ding’ hit his ears.

Those very same ears itched a little, the weight of his earrings tingling against his lobes as they merged with the rest of his organ. The curves and folds of his ears vanished, momentarily disappearing into the thickening mane of curly, black hair sitting on his head. Then those earrings emerged once more but this time they were attached into leaf-like ears covered in dusty brown fur. A pair of large, white horns pointing straight upwards followed suit, jutting out of his short, curly, brown hair that melded seamlessly with the thick beard that clung to his face.

He barely made it past the last of the lockers when he momentarily stumbled, pulling his hand away from his nipple to catch himself against the edge of the locker. His fingers vibrated and cracked against the cool metal. Nails turned black and hard while the same gray-brown fur spread all over his skin, only serving to highlight the thick, black hairs all over his knuckles, hands and forearms. The dark body hair almost seemed to act like a reverse-highlight to his fur. Where in most cases, strands of fur would grow lighter they were farther from his skin, here, they instead darkened.

Marcellus pulled himself up, completely unaware of his toes shifting and merging. His big toe absorbed his index to completely while his middle, ring and pinky toe all fused into one. The moment he lifted one foot to take a step, his toenails extended, curling over his new bigger toes and hardened into the same black material that his fingernails had become. When he set the foot back down, it was now capped off with a two-digit hoof.

He pushed himself off the lockers, letting out a snort. His nostrils flared but did not settle back down. Instead, they only grew bigger, broader and blackened. Rounded features extended into a broad, square muzzle that was touched slightly with roundness that gave him a boyish appearance. Even with the fiery determination burning beneath his heavy brow, the emerging bovine features had this softness to them that made him handsome and approachable.

New hooves clomped loudly against the tiles of the showers. Inch after inch of height was added to the emerging bull, leading the way for the fur to cover the rest of his body. As the fur swept over his large, shapely ass, there was a burst of pleasure and relief as a long, rope-like tail burst from the base of his spine. That same tail swished to the melodic chime of the next ‘Da-da-ding’.

Marcellus charged into the closest available shower stall, huffing and puffing. The panic of the moment had sent his heart racing and he gave off his unusually high temperature to the adrenaline pumping through his veins. Sweat soaked into his body, dripping off his immense pectorals and dripping down his musclegut. As if precious, life-giving water to parched grass, fur rapidly spread over his torso, absorbing the sweat. His dense, black, curly hair remained prominent over his muscle gut and especially over his chest, highlighting the edges and curves of his impressive torso. He would never need to be in the right light to highlight all the work he put into his physique. Body hair would do that for him naturally.

He charged into the stall, shut the door behind him and immediately headed towards the shower head. A grimace left his features as he stared at the silver nozzle which sat just below eye level. It would start sprinkling water straight onto his torso. It had been a pain point for him throughout his entire football career. The showers were just too small for him. Ducking his head under the shower head both here and at the frat house often mean that his ass was pressed right up against the door.

You’d think that being the first school to ever allow bulls to play football, Valemoore would make accommodations for their bovine students.

Another loud, ‘da-da-ding’ came from the locker rooms and even though he was several yards away with locker rooms and doors between them, he still heard it loud and clear. His cock raged at him, physically thickening his hands. Instincts took over and he was stroking his growing meat. Precum was already pouring off the immense length.

“Not getting rid of you with a cold shower,” he mumbled to himself.

Knowing full well where this would end, Marcellus used his free hand to switch on the shower and let the warm waters strike him. Then, with a modicum of privacy, he stroked his dick, urging himself impatiently to orgasm. Just to add a little bit more to the final push, he reached back with his other hand and pushed two fingers into his own hole, sending jolts of pleasure through himself.

It became increasing difficult not to let out loud moo’s and moans of pleasure but that was where his discipline came in. After all, Marcellus was a good, balanced student. He knew when to apply discipline and where to direct his focus. It was this strategic application of effort that had developed him into such a model student. Sure his grades were not perfect but they were enough to set him on the path to becoming more than just another bull in a backwater college.

He worked out. He studied hard. He played hard.

A balance of social interactions, hard work, physical exertion and private ‘me time’ playing Labyrinth of Loot was what made him such a great, all-rounder success.

In fact, there were rumors that a scout from a professional team was actually coming to their next game to see how the first ever bull competing in football on a collegiate level would fit in their team. Marcellus knew it was likely a publicity stunt but he didn’t care.

Football was just a past time and a stepping stone.

If he could secure his future with a professional football career, he would have more time to play Labyrinth of Loot.

That thought alone made him grin and his eye shut in ecstasy. The fog that had plagued his mind for years dissipated. Clarity replaced it. And with it, everything that had been the old Marcellus Leon was poured out of every cell of his body, pumped straight into his thick, heavy balls and transformed into a celebration of the newly emerged bull. His balls slammed up against him, tightening against his body. A well-used prostate exploded and cum was shot through his monstrous thirteen inch cock that was as twice as thick as a beer can. Veins pumped all over his meat as his seed exploded from the tip of his dick.

Somehow, Marcellus kept himself from crying out in ecstasy but there was no hiding the sudden burst of steam that exploded from his body. The small stall suddenly seemed like a miniature sauna as jet after jet of cum exploded from the bull and splattered the wall. He even bucked and shook a little, his immense frame shaking the stall’s walls simply because he could barely fit within it.

Unknown to the bull, the Bluefin Football team had started to stream in. Coach Boris Burke didn’t really care that he was late or that practice was delayed by about forty minutes. It was only recently that the team had been put into the national spotlight and even he knew that it was just another publicity stunt by the college board to get more funding. He yelled at the team to get ready and immediately started to head to his office.

However, when he heard the strange shudders coming from the showers, he went to explore. One of the stalls was taken and producing a lot of steam. His first thought was that someone had left the showers on and the administration would be on his ass for wasting water. Upon trying the door, however, he was surprised to find that it was locked.

“Hey!” the middle-aged college football coach demanded. “Who’s in there using all the hot water!?”

“Just me, Coach!” came Marcellus Leon’s bright, youthful voice. Not a moment later, the door sprang open and a wave of steam exploded out.

Burke staggered back and was struck by awe.

The enormous bull stepped out, shrouded by that steam for a second. Every part of his bovine body was beautiful and made Burke do a double take. The titanic bull with curly, black hair and a forest of similarly colored black body hair over gray-brown fur was both intimidating and approachable. The easy grin on his broad features, the way his dark eyes glinted while that well-trimmed, curly beard hugged his adorable features immediately reminded Burke how and why Marcellus was the star of their football program.

“Damnit, Leon,” Burke snarled. “We’re already running late without smelling like beef stock! Hurry up and get dressed! Move!”

Marcellus beamed and held up a fist, expecting a bump. “You got it, Coach!”

Burke rolled his eyes and bumped the wet fist.

He watched the bull easily swagger back towards the other guys in the locker room, naked, dripping and with his cock swinging between his legs. Rhys Parker naturally went on about the bull’s show but Marcellus brought everyone back in line. No one was going to argue with the big bull on campus.

Burke shook his head, surprised that he was grinning to himself. Was that pride in he was feeling? Proud of his bull? Of his boys?

Couldn’t be.

He marched after Marcellus, ordering his team to be ready in five minutes for drills. As he did so, however, he found himself doing something he hadn’t done in the past ten years since becoming Valemoore’s football coach.

He slapped another man’s ass.

Not just any man either. Marcellus’.

And he liked how it felt.