Hey, can you help me with a request? My younger brother is a short, fat neckbeard with moobs, but an otherwise kind hearted soul. He gets bullied relentlessly by his class mates and I feel horrible. I was captain of the swim team and to this day maintain a fit, muscular body, but when I try to coach him he just gives up from stress and anxiety.
I wish there was a way I could take the weight off his shoulders so he could focus on being fit and healthy, and most importantly happy, like me.
The chlorine-scented air filled your lungs as you sat poolside. Swimming had been your passion, your obsession, for as long as you could remember. Countless hours spent in the pool, pushing your body to its limits, sculpting every muscle into a chiseled masterpiece.
Your dedication hadn't gone unnoticed. As you lounged, you could feel the admiring eyes roam over your physique. "Look at those abs," "What a stud,". And when people mocked you for being nothing but an obsessed gym rat? That just brought a smile to your face. Yeah, you were an obsessed gym rat, and proud of it. This was the life you'd built, and it was perfect.
Yet there was something, rather someone, who bothered you. Your thoughts would inevitably drift to your brother- your polar opposite. Short, doughy, with a thick beard and man-boobs straining against his too-tight shirts. Kind-hearted, sure, but what good was that when he was mocked endlessly?
You'd tried to help, offering guidance, support, but nothing seemed to come of it. Rather than inspired, he seemed intimidated by you. Fearful he couldn't live up to you.
"I'm not you." He would say, "Please, I'm fine like this." He would insist.
Time and time again you'd try. And finally, frustrated and concerned, you sought out help. And I was so happy to provide it. You got a phone call one day, a referral to Coach. A personal trainer of sorts. Someone who may be able to help you help your brother.
So here you sit- Coach stroking his chin thoughtfully and leaning back into his chair as you explained everything to him.
"Sounds like a tough situation, man."
You figured he'd understand. After all, Coach and you seemed to be cut from the same cloth. The man in front of you was burly and tattooed, with a thick beard and a piercing gaze. You figured he'd spent a better portion of his life in the gym and counting his macros.
Coach leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his voice low and understanding. "So let me get this straight, bro. Your lil' bro is packin' on the pounds, lettin' himself go, yeah?" He nods sympathetically. "And you, you're all ripped and shit, tryin' to be a good big bro and whip him into shape." Coach leans back, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. "But he ain't havin' it, huh? Keeps tellin' ya he's 'fine' like that." He shakes his head. "Man, I feel ya. It's gotta suck seein' someone you care about go down that road, ya know?"
"Yeah, it just... I don't know what to do, man."
"Tell me somethin', though. What makes you think you even know what's best for him?"
You blink, taken aback by the question. Of course you knew what was best for your brother. I mean, just look at you! Who better to guide him on his fitness journey?
"Seriously?" You gesture to your chiseled physique. "Isn't this the ideal? Health, fitness, confidence…"
Coach holds up a hand, stopping you mid-rant. "Whoa, whoa, slow your roll there, champ." He leans in closer, "See, I think we need to dig a little deeper here. What if…what if your approach just ain't right?" He sits back, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "Ever stop to think maybe all this direct pressure on him is just makin' him miserable?"
"I…no. I mean I guess?" You wonder aloud, "I just want him to..." You sigh, "My brother, he deserves better than…"
"Oh I hear you." Coach smirks. He stands up abruptly, circling around behind you, "You respond well to directions and people being direct. I get it. Being told what to do. Right champ?"
"I... I've never thought about it that way." His hands land heavily on your shoulders, squeezing almost painfully.
"But your little bro? I take it not so much."
"Yeah, I guess." You nod slowly, "So what should I do?"
"Try something indirect." Coach pauses, "Like a role model of sorts." Coach's thick, meaty hands feel good as he starts to slowly massage your shoulders.
"A role model?" You scoff, "I'm the best role model he..."
"See you don't get it, dumbass." He chuckles into your ear, "Not all role models are people you want to look up to. Get it?"
"Just listen closely, okay big guy?"
"What did I just say?" He smirks, "Listen closely, bro. I'm starting to realize more and more that its not your brother who has a problem, it's you."
"Yeah... You think you know what's best for everyone. Ya think you're the perfect role model. That you're right."
"But deep down, you hate it. Hate the endless gym sessions, the bland protein shakes, the constant pressure to maintain this…this image." His hands slide down your chest, fingers splayed across your abs.
"No… no fuckin' way." You insist, inadvertently melting into Coach's touch- enjoying the way his rough hands feel against your pecs.
"And every time you look at your brother, you get pissed. Because you're..." He leans in, his hot breath against your ear, "fuckin' jealous, bro."
"No way, I'm not... I… fuck…" You grip your head, "Just shut the fuck up."
"Oh, don't lie, bro. While he's relaxing, you're grunting like an animal in the gym. While he's enjoying a double bacon cheeseburger, you're eating another plain grilled chicken." He walks around to stand in front of you, towering and imposing. "You think you love this body, this life. But really, it's your prison."
"And sometimes, you think about those guys you see at the pool. With their fat guts and their moobs." He reaches out, gripping your chin firmly and forcing you to meet his intense gaze. "And you wish you could be that chill. Wish you could be that comfortable in your own skin. Wish you could allow yourself to be that. Right, man?"
"Yes I... No, wait... I..." You sputter, images flashing through your mind. Imagining yourself waking up and looking down at your moobs resting on an expansive, hairy gut, "Please... don't..."
"I bet you're fuckin' rock hard right now, aren't you?"
You feel his other hand slides down your stomach, teasing along the waistband of your shorts. And then below it.
"Nghh f-fuck.." Your hips buck involuntarily as Coach's calloused fingers brush against your rapidly stiffening cock through the thin fabric of your shorts.
"See? Told ya." Coach purrs, "You fuckin' love the idea of being everything you claim to hate." His other hand releases your chin, only to grab a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back. "You want to help your bro and I want to help you, bro. I want both of you to meet the real you. He needs to see what his big bro truly is and you need to accept it." He forces you to meet his gaze and you melt into it.
"You're a pig." Coach smirks, "A desperate, horny, slutty fat pig. Admit it."
"No… no, I won't…" You whimper, even as your hips grind shamelessly against Coach's palm.
"Why?" Coach chuckles as his thumb rubs maddening circles over the tip of your cock. "I mean, its already too late. You're already leaking at the very thought of being a fat sack of shit."
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You're so hard it hurts, your cock throbbing almost painfully against the constraints of your shorts. Coach's words, his touches- fuck its all too much.
"P-please…" You choke out, hating yourself even as the word leaves your lips. "Please, I need…"
"There we go. Just give in." Coach growls approvingly, grinding the heel of his hand against your twitching cock. "You're nothing but a closet pig slut, aren't you?"
He lets out an exacerbated sigh, "C'mon, bro. There's no shame in that." He leans in close, "You're picturing it now, right bro? Just a cock hungry, bottom pig slut worshipping men like me. Can't you see it?"
The images flashed before your mind's eye. Yeah... you could see it. See some version of you- not the ripped, swim captain- but someone softer, bigger. Someone happily being bent over, forced onto their knees. Someone forced to look up at real men- real men like Coach.
"I give you permission, bro. Let go."
And with a grunt, you register the sudden stretch of your skin as fat builds around your abs and balloons outwards. And as it does, you moan pathetically, arching into Coach's touch, desperate for more.
"There he is. There's my pig slut." He grins, "Just a fat pig trapped in a gym bunny's body."
"Trapped..." You moan, eyes rolling up into the back of your head.
"No discipline at all. Just a greedy little piggy, aren't you?" His hand gropes at your growing paunch, kneading the doughy flesh.
You let out a muffled groan, unsure if it's from the degrading words or the sensation of excess weight accumulating on your frame. Your pecs have started to lose their definition, sagging slightly as new layers of fat take hold.
"Always horny, always hungry, aren't you? Can't even think straight half the time. Just so focused on feeling good."
"Unghh… Coach…" You grunt unintelligibly. Your face flushes with heat as more pudge gathers on your cheeks and chin, softening your once sharp features. Drool begins to leak from the corner of your mouth as your jawline rounds out.
"Fuckin' hell, listen to you pant like a bitch in heat. Can't even form a proper sentence anymore, can you?" He punctuates his words with a harsh slap to your thickening thighs, watching as the impact jiggles the newly formed fat.
"You're gonna be my little fucktoy soon, aren't you?" Coach growls, watching as your ass swells underneath you. "Gonna bend over and beg me to fuck this fat ass like the needy cumslut you are."
Your proud cock is swallowed up by the fat pad forming at the base of your shaft. What was once an impressive manhood now appears comically small in proportion to your expanding bulk.
"Look at you, already going soft and stupid. Gettin' turned on by the thought of bein' my personal fuckpig." He grinds his rock hard bulge against your bloated belly.
"Mmmph…hnngh…" You can only respond with garbled moans, your tongue lolling out stupidly as drool dribbles down your multiple chins.
"Open wide, piggy." He looms over you, undoing his pants to reveal his massive, throbbing erection, "Time to put that slack jaw to use." He smears the head of his cock across your puffy lips and your mouth falls open automatically, ready to please.
As Coach hilts himself in your throat, your once smooth skin erupts in a patchwork of coarse hair. It sprouts across your back, chest, and arms, turning you into a veritable furball. The wiry hairs tickle your chin and the backs of your thighs as Coach sets a brutal pace, fucking your face with abandon.
"Take it, you hairy little cocksleeve. Fuck, I knew you'd be a natural at this." He grunts, grabbing your fuzzy cheeks to spread them wider. His heavy balls slap against your spit-soaked chin with each thrust.
You gag and sputter around his thick shaft, tears streaming down your stubbly face. But your cock throbs, leaking steadily.
"God you've turned out well. Just a fat fuckin' pig."
For a brief, terrifying moment, clarity pierces through the haze of lust and submission. The realization of what you've allowed to happen, what you've become hits you like a freight train. Panic rises in your throat as you try to struggle, to push Coach away…
But then he hilts himself fully, painting your insides white with his thick seed. The sensation, the taste- it overwhelms your senses. Your own neglected cock spurts weakly in your shorts as you cum untouched, reduced to a simpering, grateful recipient of Coach's load.
"Th-thank you…" You slur deliriously, nuzzling into his softening member, eyes half-lidded.
Weeks turn into months as you religiously attend your "sessions" with Coach. Each encounter only solidifies your new identity, your purpose. The physical transformations may have slowed, but mentally, you've never felt more at peace. This is who you are meant to be - a hefty, hairy, devoted fucktoy.
Lazily sprawled poolside one sunny afternoon, you bask in your newfound leisure. Swimming, once your greatest passion, now feels like far too much exertion. Why bother with all that tedious exercise when you can simply exist, indulge?
Suddenly, movement catches your eye. There goes your brother, looking suspiciously well-groomed and motivated. Curiosity gets the better of you.
"Heyyy, where ya headed all fired up like that, lil bro?"
Your brother pauses, glancing back at you with an odd mix of pity and discomfort. He clears his throat awkwardly. "Oh, uh, hey. I'm just heading to the gym actually. Thought I'd start taking better care of myself, you know?"
He eyes your sprawled, doughy form critically, taking in your sweaty moobs and the thick neckbeard framing your ruddy face. His expression shifts- a look of barely concealed disgust flashing across his face. He quickly masks it, but the damage is done. It's clear that seeing what you've become has only steeled his resolve to avoid the same fate.
"Huhuhuh nice bro." You scratch at your hairy moob.
With a curt nod, he turns to leave, ready to embark on his own fitness journey while you continue to live out your new life.
So at least your brother learned something from all this. He has you- the perfect role model- an extreme example of what not to be. So enjoy your new life. Enjoy Coach's dick. And as to the part of you trapped and screaming to be free from this prison you call a body, rest easy knowing your brother has your example to thank for setting him on his new path.
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