The Singlet - How Ian Became Big Bruce

By tonkdong
published July 28, 2019

Coach Mullens invites meek Ian over to give him something to help him become the biggest wrestler on the team

How embarrassing though Ian. He kicked a pinecone as he walked towards Coach Mullens’ house, playing the events of his wrestling practice over in his head. He was a senior in high school, but because of his meek 110 pounds, at 5’8” no less, he was paired with a freshman wrestler to spar. The freshman was even skinnier than him, but Ian found himself face up on the mat three times against him. The other senior wrestlers, Josh and Cody and Sam, but mainly the beefiest of them, Dave Mullens—Coach Mullens’ very own pride and joy—jeered Ian relentlessly after his failed matches. Ian was so humiliated that he skipped the showers after practice—normally he’d never miss the chance to gaze discreetly at the thick, husky bodies of the senior wrestlers, some with patches of curly, musky hair curling from their groins up to the chests and shoulders, but after his latest utter failure at wrestling, he just grabbed his gym bag and bolted for the gymnasium doors.

He was stopped by a heavy hand on his chest. He looked to the side to see Coach Mullens, holding with Ian with one thick, hairy arm, and smoking a cigarette with the other. Here was an intimidating man—mid forties, 6’3” Ian estimated, and probably around 230lbs of bulk. Ian could tell Coach used to lift weights religiously, but then as his years added on, and after his rough divorce with his wife, who took Dave, their son, to live with her—Coach gained a layer of softness around his impressive bulk. His arms were coated with thick brown hair that extended from his meaty fingers to, from what Ian could see through the unbuttoned collar of Coach’s blue polo—his chest and entire body. When Ian looked at coach, he couldn’t help but glance at Coach’s khaki pants—they were pulled so tight by his log-like thighs that Ian couldn’t help but notice the thick looking bulge in between them. He gulped, hoping coach didn’t notice.

“You tried your best out there today, bud.” Coach said in his soothing baritone. Ian loved how it sounded so strong and commanding during practice, when Coach would bark orders to the wrestlers, but sounded so comforting now. Ian chuckled nervously.

“Wasn’t good enough, though. Can’t even beat a freshman.”

“You know, I was top wrestler back in my day,” Coach responded. “Why don’t you come to my place later on today, I’ll give you some pointers that really helped me back when I was your age.”

Ian stuttered. “Is that…okay?” Coach just laughed and looked at his cigarette, then over his shoulder at the sign posted against the school’s brick wall which read “Absolutely NO tobacco products on campus!” then responded,

“Yeah it’s fine.”

Ian knocked on the door of Coach’s house. The patio was dusty and had a few cobwebs, an ashtray next to a dust-darkened patio couch. There was a bulky silhouette through the windows of the door—Coach opened wearing a XXL wife beater and sweatpants. He motioned for Ian to come in; the skinny eighteen-year-old obliged. He first noticed the smell—a heavy musk mixed with a woody cologne—and next he noticed how clean the place was. Ian was almost embarrassed to be sweaty.

They walked through the front room, the kitchen, into a living room. The heavy, masculine scent seemed to be pouring off Coach alone—Ian took wafts of it as silently as he could. He didn’t want Coach to notice him getting almost intoxicated from the scent, but when Coach glanced back and smirked, Ian knew he had been heard.

In the living room, on the couch, were three singlets of varying sizes. One was a small, which looked like it would fit Ian perfectly. The second was much larger and looked like it would fit Coach. The third one though caught Ian’s full attention. It was a huge singlet, a dark maroon color, which looked like it was made for a bull of a person. Ian stared at the crotch of it, which was a pouch made for the meat of a burly, testosterone-laden brute. Ian’s own adequate five inch erection was already poking at his shorts.

“Looks to me like you want to be Big Bruce,” Coach uttered in his soothing baritone after noticing Ian staring at the huge singlet. Ian felt himself getting dizzy. Coach grabbed his shoulder—his hand was warm and radiated a wave a calm over Ian. Coach pushed him into the large recliner that sat perpendicular to the couch. Ian felt fully immersed in Coach’s heavy, brawny scent. He stood over Ian and asked,

“You wanna be Bruce huh? The big dumb brute? I coulda sworn you woulda gone for Mike. That’s what I chose when I was your age.” The words swirled around Ian’s head, only some registering. He felt drunk, but not dizzy, messy drunk. It was more of a heavy, comfortable drunk. Coach lifted the huge singlet and reached into the crotch of it, pulled out a bottle of what looked like cologne. On it was printed “BRUCE”. He took the cap off, looked at Ian and asked,

“Can I make you Bruce?” with his words, there was a sudden spark in his green eyes. Ian’s eyes locked on his, Coach smiled, Ian responded,


“Ask me.” Coach demanded in his stern coaching voice

“Can you please make me Bruce, Coach Mullens?”

Coach responded by suddenly dousing Ian in sprays of the cologne marked Bruce. It was strong, pungent, the very essence of a brawny, beefy wrestler. Hints of body odor and pubic musk crept into Ian’s nose, and he felt his thoughts slow down. He was sweating through his clothes.

“It’s a simple process,” Coach explained. He continued to spray Ian down with the cologne, reached down and pulled up a dildo. If Ian was coherent, he would’ve blushed, but instead he felt an instant fascination. He was drawn to the large dildo. He guessed it was about ten inches long and seven, eight inches thick. Coach couldn’t wrap his meaty hand around it. At the base of the dildo were two heavy balls. Each looked like it will fill Ian’s cupped hand. Coach held the thick beast; Ian noticed that Coach was sweating through his wife beater and was sporting a hefty looking bulge. Coach pawed at his bulge, then leaned forward and grabbed Ian’s throbbing cock through his sweat shorts. His thick hand easily enveloped Ian’s cock as he began to stroke it and continued,

“To become Big Bruce, you gotta take Big Bruce.” He leaned forward, fully onto the chair, on top of Ian, the huge dildo, Big Bruce, sandwiched between them. Coach pushed Ian onto his side and sprayed one last mist on his face before shoving Ian’s face into his armpit. Ian took in deep wafts and felt more relaxed and hot than he had ever been. The thick bush of hair in Coach’s armpit invaded Ian’s nose and mouth; he licked at them hungrily. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but he instinctively knew that he needed Coach’s essence to become Big Bruce . His skin had become slick. Coach took off his own wife beater, exposing his wide, hairy chest and rounded muscle gut, covered with thick curls of blonde-brown hair.

Ian, as lightheaded as he was, took in Coach’s intimidating form. Coach ran a hand through his salt-and-peppered hair and hooked his other arm around Ian’s neck.

“Fuck,” Coach said. “You’re taking in the pheromones better than anyone I’ve ever turned.” He brought his hairy body down onto Ian’s skinny, hairless form, tossed the dildo on the ground, and said in his commanding baritone, right into Ian’s ear, “You’re gonna make a great Bruce. I gotta warm you up to take him though.” Coach jammed his thick tongue into Ian’s ear, and Ian felt his entire being drop into an ocean of pleasure. Coach moaned in low, gruff tones, right into Ian’s ear while managing to twist him onto his belly. Ian obliged with no resistance, lost in a heat of ecstasy. He felt Coach rub his throbbing bulge, still under sweatpants, against his ass crack, then big, hairy hands slipping under his shorts and pulling them down.

Ian turned his head to peek at Coach. Coach aggressively stuck his meaty index finger into Ian’s mouth—Ian sucked on it, swirled his tongue around it. He had never done anything like this before but his intoxication took over and allowed his instincts to take over. He knew what to do. Coach pulled out his finger and Ian lifted his ass while spreading his cheeks. He peeked back again to see Coach in full concentration, his massive bulge grinding against Ian’s hole, a wet spot quickly growing on the front of Coach’s hefty bulge. He took his finger and tried to penetrate Ian’s tight hole, but, being a virgin in all respects, Ian clenched. Coach grinned and lowered his face to Ian’s hole, took a deep wiff, and plunged his thick tongue deep into it. Ian quickly opened and felt Coach’s thick, rough tongue push inward. Ian moaned loudly—his voice seemed lower. Coach slobbered his loosening asshole, coming up to breathe and spit onto it. Ian looked again to see that Coach’s bulge was sticking a full eight inches from his waist, the tip drenched with precum. Coach licked his finger and slid it into Ian’s ass—his ass almost sucked the thick finger in.

“There you go, boy. You’re gonna need my coach cum in ya to start the change. I gotta breed you, boy, to make you Bruce.” Coach’s voice was commanding and smelled of Bruce’s pheromones. Coach slid another finger deep into Ian and pushed against his prostate. Ian moaned and twisted. With his other hand, Coach pulled down his sweatpants. Ian looked back to see Coach’s eight inch monster bounce out of his sweatpants, up against his stomach. It had an upward curve and was as thick as a beer can, dripping precum like a faucet. Coach smeared the precum over his fat cock and on Ian’s hole. Ian immediately felt a tingle as his hole grew warm and loosened even more.

Coach took out his fingers and laid flat on top of Ian, the girth of his cock’s mushroom head pressed against Ian’s hot, wet hole. Coach brought his hand, still wet with precum, up to Ian’s mouth, and Ian slurped on his drenched, thick fingers with a hunger he had never known before. His whole body grew even hotter, and even itchy in some places—mainly his crotch and chest. Coach took his fingers out and brought his mouth to Ian’s while pushing his thick cock into Ian’s hole.

Ian was overrun by sensation. The taste and feel of Coach’s tongue swirling against his, Coach’s five o’clock shadow rubbing against Ian as Coach forced his tongue into Ian’s throat and his cock into Ian’s tight virgin hole. Ian moaned thirstily into Coach’s mouth and felt himself throb and spasm. Coach reached under Ian and grabbed Ian’s cock, feeling the wetness of Ian’s cum there.

“Damn boy. You like that thick daddy cock in ya, don’t you?” He thrusted his hips into Ian’s ass, Ian gasped and gripped the suede of the chair he was pinned down in. The precum in Ian’s hole and stomach had an effect on him, turning the initial pain into pure pleasure. His body tingled. “You like being dominated, huh? Soon you’ll be doing all the domination, Bruce.” Another waft of heavenly, manly, meaty musk flowed through Ian’s body, and he felt like he was going to cum again. Coach’s girth split Ian open—he could feel all of Coach’s raw masculinity filling him with each thrust—every thrust deeper made Ian, Bruce, growl deeper and deeper. Coach Pulled Ian tight into his hairy, sweaty body and shouted loudly,

“Fuck! Oh fuck, take my load!” He thrusted violently into Ian—the chair they were in was wobbling backwards and creaking loudly—and Ian felt Coach’s huge load fill his ass. It started dripping out and down Ian’s hole. Before Ian had time to recover, Coach pulled his still-throbbing cock out, cum still oozing. He quickly reached down by to the floor and picked up Big Bruce and the cologne. He sprayed the cologne generously on the massive rubber cock and pressed it against Ian’s hole.

“Deep breath, boy.” Coach commanded. Ian took another deep waft of the musk swirling around them both and felt the massive head of the Big Bruce spread his hole wide open. The intoxicating musk made him crave every inch of Big Bruce in him, and Coach slowly pushed it in and out, penetrating a little deeper into Ian every time. Big Bruce was surprisingly warm and felt flesh-like—Ian closed his eyes and saw a huge form, Bruce, on top of him, fucking him deeply. Ian growled “Fuck!” in a low, booming voice. His body spasmed again as he shot out another load when he felt Bruce hit his prostate. Coach growled hungrily, stroking his own still-rock-hard cock, and pushed Big Bruce all the way in. Once Ian felt the huge nuts of Bruce against his asshole, his mind went blank and his body became incredibly hot. Coach stood up, grabbed the huge singlet, and tossed it onto Ian.

“Quick, put this on. With Bruce inside you.”

In a fog of movement, Ian had stood up, feeling as if Bruce were a real, bulking person, standing behind him, holding his powerful cock inside. He stripped his remaining clothes and slipped the singlet on. It was far too big, as Ian expected, but he felt a strange sense of sober peace inside the singlet. “Here we go,” Coach muttered, stroking himself and taking a seat on the recliner.

Ian’s vision grew foggy and he collapsed on the couch. He looked at his hands, which seemed to be getting larger and heavier. Small downy hairs grew in swathes over his hand and fingers, which were thickening from slender boney digits to rough, round sausage fingers. His hands grew in diameter by three inches. His arms grew in roundness and a soft layer of chub made them fill, from his newly-hairy wrists, which exploded in size from twigs to wrists as thick as most men’s biceps, to his exploding biceps, triceps and shoulders. A softy dusting of hair formed on his shoulders and spread across his widening chest, He buckled over onto the couch as the weight from his newly muscled upper body threw him off balance. His pecs grew out aggressively, sporting a thick coat of brown pelt as his midsection expanded to form a perfectly beefy muscle gut. The hair on his navel thickened and formed into a ridge of a happy trail, which led to sprouting pubic hairs bursting from the tightening groin of the singlet. Bruce let out a surprisingly deep and rich,

“Oh fuck!” which spurred a massive orgasmic spasm from both Coach and Bruce. Bruce slammed his thickening package into the couch, grinding his hard, hot meat hungrily.

The strangest sensation, which Bruce only half noticed through his intense sudden horniness, was how Big Bruce, inside Bruce’s ass, seemed to be merging into him. The intoxicating fullness that was in his ass dissipated, and as it did, Bruce felt his cock grow with every beat of his heart, every surge of blood. Soon the singlet was too tight as his thick, rock hard cock pushed it out ten inches in front of him. Bruce wrapped his thick paw around his new, powerful cock, through the singlet. He could smell the masculine musk poring off of it. His blunt fingertips couldn’t touch around the girth of his imposing fuckstick, despite how huge and thick with muscle his hands were. He tried to cup his massive, hairy balls with the other hand—he could only successfully hold one at a time.

His legs followed after his cock, exploding in length and width until they stretched the singlet. Dark curls of brown hair crept from under the singlet, down his lower thighs, and onto his rounded, bulky calves. His feet weren’t spared from the covering of hair, and grew from a size 9 to a size 14, extra wide.

Bruce collapsed into the couch after several strong thrusts into which caused the couch to creak. His thoughts were slowing, changing, from faded inebriation to hunger. Hunger and horniness. He pushed himself up off the couch, surprised at how easy it was too move with his new muscle bulk. He stood at 6’6”, 285lbs of bulk.

You’ve always been like this, Bruce thought. I’ve always been like this. The biggest guy in school. The best fuckin’ wrestler. I’ve pinned every one of them. He turned and saw Coach turned face down on the couch, his furry ass exposed and spread. Bruce didn’t have to think. He pulled his singlet down. The cock he used to have, small, slightly crooked when hard, had transformed the most. It was a rock hard, upwards curved ten inches, with mouth-stretching girth. It slapped him against the stomach when released from the tight hold of the singlet. It was Big Bruce. He was Big Bruce.

The scent from it took over the room—there was a haze of pheromones, musk, and primal sex heavily clouding the house. Bruce lumbered over to the submitted Coach, climbed on top of him, his huge head rubbing against Coach’s hungry man hole. The chair creaked and something popped inside it. With only a deep, lusty grunt and a huge drop of spit onto his cock, Bruce pushed his huge meat into Coach’s hairy hole. Coach growled and bit the recliner. As Bruce pushed deep into coach, feeling the tight walls of his hole pull his cock in voraciously, memories of a previous life, a distant self, Ian, faded away, and were replaced with memories, many like this, of Bruce pinning down Coach and forcing his massive meat into him, filling their empty school auditorium with loud, deep fuck noises and manly musk. They always fucked after practice, if Bruce did a good job.

Bruce pulled Coach so the recliner reset and Coach was bent over the front of it, on his knees, ass hugging Bruce’s cock. Bruce had to crouch but began fucking coach deep and hard, his heavy balls slapping the back of Coach’s hairy thighs.

“Fuck yeah stud,” Coach was moaning. “That’s right big boy. Give it to daddy good.”

Bruce couldn’t help but rub the curls of hair on his chest and feel the weight of his pecs in his hands while splitting Coach open. He moved down to his navel, feeling the fur, which was coming in thick but still had the downy softness of a boy finishing puberty. His hands moved to his groin, where he grasped the base of his cock while pumping into Coach. He looked at coach’s back—the wide V-shape of it, the slight roundness of the gut showing on his sides as love handles, the thought of being ten thick inches deep inside the man who taught him everything he knew… it all pushed Bruce over the edge. With a deafening, guttural grunt, Bruce felt his cock explode a thick, hot stream of cum into Coach’s ass. He felt rope after rope of cum surge through his cock and into Coach. He kept fucking deep, pushing his load deep into the moaning, beefy man on the chair, who spasmed as he shot his own load into the recliner. Cum started dripping around the sides of Bruce’s cock and out of Coach’s ass, pooling on the floor. Bruce was lightheaded and panting heavily. He pulled up Coach from the chair, his cock still inside him, and kissed on his neck. Bruce’s lips were as thick and warm as the rest of him, and his face was covered in stubble that tickled against Coach’s. Coach moved his mouth to Bruce’s when they both heard a knock at the door. “Dad?” Dave Mullens said in a muffled voice from the other side of the front door. “You alright in there?”

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