The crowd cheered, then broke out in a rousing shout. But Chris wasn’t greeted with the
lauding of his name. Instead, the frat bros adopted the phrase that had defined their shock at the
upset. “Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap!”
Jack leaned next to his friend as they rose to greet the crowd. He scratched a thick pec idly. “Congrats, bro. I think you just won your nickname.” He seized his friend’s wrist and pulled his arm into the air. The chanting increased in volume as Chris stared dazedly into the crowd, cock at full mast for all to see.
“I … I don’t know what to—” SNAP! The strap smacked against him causing his cock to bob and spurt more pre. In spite of the sharp sound, he hardly felt it. It was as though the force transferred from his waist, through his torso, into his chest, and finally struck home at his Adam’s apple. The organ throbbed and surged forward, a symbol of masculine pride, as his voice dropped like a stone. “—Say.” A Rumbling bass now graced his words. The invisible hands were at work again, this time on his jaw and face. His nose didn’t feel so much stuffed as swollen. His forehead thickened into a more prominent slope as his brow was slowly massaged and his eyes sunken into the hollows that were rapidly forming over them.
Jack grunted as he released his friend’s arm and thumped his own chest with a thick, hairy hand. “Don’t say. Do.”
Chris saw the hand reaching out of the corner of his eye. He knew what was coming. But he couldn’t stop it. No, he didn’t want to stop it. The band snapped again. His chest swelled with the sudden intake of breath. His head spun. His cock twitched. And before he knew it, his mouth was already open, his throat resonating with a deep primal roar as he beat his chest with his fists. A gnarled carpet of thick hair sprouted on the backs of his hands and surged up the back of his arms. The hooting and cheers intensified. The will of the many pounded against the one. They wanted him. They needed him. And who was he to deny them? His legs thumped heavily over the podium as he approached the stairs.
His socks clung more tightly as the walls of his shoes strained and finally detonated with twin POPs that were drowned out by the siren call of the frat. Broad swelling feet bulged in their cocoons as he plodded heedlessly down the stairs. Rough hands seized him, brushed his swelling muscle, his growing hair. Snap after snap resounded in his ears as thick powerful legs burst from the sheath of their respective pant legs, or what remained of them. They’d become more akin to a pair of shorts. Now they draped like a loin cloth, leaving just the waist band and a clear view of a swollen cock that continued to grow and strain with his body mass. And still the name echoed. Still the call rebounded.
Who was he to deny them?
And with the acceptance of that name, that brutish call, something unlocked. Chris let go of his worries and cares. He let go of thoughts for the future. He was almost naked. His cock was visible. There was no shame. With every snap, he grew. With every hoot and cheer, the candle of conscious thought guttered. Thick hairs sprouted over a torso that was rapidly becoming more rigid and carved. Each snap of his waistband another blow of the chisel. Thick hairs formed a treasure trail from his navel while his shirt rode up his torso. Beneath a thick scraggly bush peaked out from the top of his loin cloth.
Even crouched, his head stood above the rest now. He felt good. He felt better than good.
He raised both arms and flexed. The other sleeve tore open as the mounds pumped into rigid
peaks. Wisps of hair sprouted from under the collar. Chris didn’t even have to think. He was
beyond thinking. He roared as he tore his shirt apart like so much paper. The rip of the fabric
filled his chest with a primal growl of satisfaction that was followed by the snap of the final strands giving out. He shucked himself of the garment and threw it into the crowd, exposing the carpet of hair that had grown over his pecs and chest and curved downward in a V, then spread over his abs.
Idly, he slid his hands down his taught torso, a purring like rumble exclaiming his enjoyment of this refined, deeply sexual form. His hand gently work its way under his loincloth, grasping his thick, meaty cock. With only a mere squeeze, his cock shot A spurt of thick pre shot out over the crowd. Cheers and moans echoed throughout the room.
The hoots grew louder. The cheers devolved into a motley mob as the men that were no longer men surged and crashed against the rising cliffside that was Chris. Few wore clothes, ragged loin clothes or even raw, masculine nudity dominated the room. Most members sported stark erections and many had begun openly stroking their lengths. The candle flame could hardly survive under the onslaught, and finally was snuffed by the winds of the frat. The light died. The ember burnt out, and the smoke trailed out his lips in the last intelligent phrase of the night. “Snap like. Give Snap more. Give Snap ALL!”
The rest of the night passed with victory after victory for the new alpha. Chris had accepted the role his clothes had given him, and he reveled in it. One by one, he took the other members of the frat, plunging his cock into their needy holes and showing them who was boss. The pleasure of sex, sweat and dominance rang through his simplified mind like a drug. He was addicted and NEEDED MORE.
In all other domains, he continued unmatched, He outchugged, outwrestled, and outmatched every opponent. He hooted and grunted. He shoved and he surged. And most importantly, he continued to grow and dominate as his broad shoulders and deformed head stood high above the rest of the tribe. Yet, despite his virility, despite his dominance, despite every surge of growth and victory he gained, the strap and socks clung to him. Snap didn’t mind. Snap didn’t care. The night was theirs. The fire that had replaced the candle was his. And they would feed it or face his wrath. It was Snap's frat now.