The team’s star quarterback is about to find out Coach’s big secret for keeping the team focused on football.
“Okay, the next rule is that you will not so much as let a single fart slip out for your ass, let alone that butt plug. Is that clear?”
“Thank you sir!”
“You’re gonna to hold all that air inside you no matter what. Is that clear?”
“Thank you sir!”
Coach then moved around the table unstrapping my arms and legs, which now felt as though they might be pulled from their sockets.
“All right, sit up.”
“Thank you sir!” I felt stiff and tight when I tried to push my chest up. I was blind to my surroundings so I slipped a leg off the table and tried to reach for the floor but couldn’t find it. I don’t know if I was moving too slow or what but Coach soon pulled me up to a seated position on the table with my legs hanging off the side. I was so swollen I felt as though I was sitting a foot above the table. I could hear Coach moving around and the sound of drawers opening. I ran my hands over my thighs. They felt enormous and wet with spew. My pants had holes along the seams and even around my pads I could feel bloated rippled muscles.
Coach knocked my hand away and he started cutting up the side of my pants. He worked fast and I knew he had practice at it. Soon he had pulled me to my feet and cut the legs off my practice pants until they were as short as underwear. I could feel my wide muscled thighs flare out underneath the tight shorts. Coach then reached up under my shoulder pads and released the belt around my chest and straps under my arms. I took a deep breath and it felt as though my body swelled like bread dough once freed somewhat from the too small gear. He shoved a towel into my hands and said, “Clean yourself up.”
In a flash, Coach was working on my helmet and pulled it off. He then pulled my pads and jersey over my head as I wiped my stick cum from my chest and legs. Then with a quick movement he freed my head from hood until my eyes blinked against the light. Coach dropped my cup into my hands as he pulled the towel away and pushed me to sit on the table again.
I sat there blinking as my eyes became accustomed to the light. I wasn’t just in a basement but it was some sort of a dungeon weight room. Coach had more weight lifting equipment down here than our school weight room did but that wasn’t the biggest surprise, after all coach was a muscle freak. It was all the other stuff. Racks and tables and chains attached to the floor joists over head. Everywhere there was sports gear hanging on racks, football, hockey, baseball, even scuba gear and wetsuits. The walls were covered with mirrors and it was this detail that I locked onto. I couldn’t believe I was looking at my own reflection. Sure it was my face but beyond that my body looked more like coach’s than mine. I mean that machine had blown up my muscles until I looked like I weighed 250 or more. I sat there feeling the plug in my ass every time I shifted an inch. I hate to admit it cause this is just wrong… but the plug felt good. It would shift and slid a bit when I moved and it was like my cock started getting hard again. My hair was soaked with sweat and hung over my swollen traps like a wet mop. The UA shirt I wore under my practice uniform was sweat stained and torn where my inflated muscles had ripped open the seams. I looked amazing. I had a good muscled foundation that the girls seemed to like: nice arms, six pack…you know… but now I looked like a roided bodybuilder.
Coach had turned to a large cabinet and pulled open the doors. It was full of football gear. The man started pulling out pieces of his collection and tossing them on the table next to me. “Those aught to fit you. Get suited up for practice.”
“Thank you sir!” Practice? What the hell was he thinking? I was inflated like a roided up inflatable doll—now he expected me to practice?
A shirt hit me in the face. It was one of his faded gray shirts and smelled like he had pulled it off after running a marathon. Coach reached over and grabbed a hold of my UA shirt and with two rough tugs had ripped it from my body. I pulled his worn shirt over my head and it fit well.
“Thank you sir!” I stepped into an old pair of Coach’s football pants as the man handed me pads to slip into the pockets. Next Coach threw a larger set of shoulder pads over my head and strapped them on before going through the sizing routine that was used at the start of the season.
“How’s that feel?”
I picked up a football and pulled back like I was going to pass. They fit well. I started to answer but caught myself. “Thank you sir!”
Coach pulled a light blue jersey off a hanger and threw it over my head and helped me get my arms down the sleeves. I started to lace up the pants but coach knocked my hands away and said, “Hold up there.” He slipped around behind me and shoved a tailbone pad into the backside. I felt it over the butt plug pressing it in tighter. I started to moan but caught myself. “Thank you sir!” Coach handed me my banana cup but as I looked down at the bulge in the Lycra pants it was apparent that my muscles weren’t the only things that had grown. My soft cock was easily twice what it once was though my recent blow had returned it to more normal proportions.
Coach grinned and pulled one of his cups off the shelf and stuffed it into my pants. Hell the thing looked about the size of a hockey mask but was sized well to my nuts and dick now. He tucked in the hem of the jersey and then started to lace me up. The man then pulled as much slack from the laces as he could as he pulled the pants up around my hips before working slack out of the strings again. Each tug cinched in the pants tighter and tighter. Every movement made the butt plug slip in my ass. I felt my dick stir again in its plastic cell as Coach cinched me into the skin tight Lycra. It was all I could do not to moan out loud. “Thank you sir!”
Coach cinched in the web belt at my waist in effect locking my muscle-inflated body into the uniform. The big man slammed a football into my gut as he started to throw a jersey covered shoulder pads over his head. With the insert of a cup and his helmet the hulk was ready to go. The man looked like a pro but then thanks to the inflation plug in my ass, so did I.
“Time for practice.” Coach went to a door and opened it to reveal steps to a metal covered exterior hatch. The man pushed open the hatch doors and hit a switch on a breaker box. Lights outside flickered on and it looked like the whole backyard lit up. Coach stepped back into the basement and picked up a duffle bag with one arm. He shoved my helmet over my head and motioned to the door. “After you.”
“Thank you sir!” I felt so awkward as I stumbled for the door. I bounced off of everything near and when I got to the steps, I slowed down and tried to look down as I raised a foot. I felt like I was walking around in some sort of inflated suit and every step felt unfamiliar. I stumbled over the step and fell on my face.
“Well Jesus Christ!” Coach rumbled. As I slowly got up on my hands and knees I felt the strong man hand slip into the back of my pants. With a jerk the strong man picked me up by my belt as if I was a suitcase and carried me up the stairs. He tossed me onto the ground. “Get up and get ready for practice.”
I looked around me. The large back yard looked like half a football field. There was even a goal post at the far end of the yard with lines chalked off across the flat treeless lawn. A tall dense hedge surrounded the area. Lights on the back of the house and on poles set into the hedge lit the area in a soft glow despite the dark night. I slowly got to my feet as a duffle bag full of footballs landed beside me.
Coach walked by me quickly onto his own private football field. “Bring the balls.” He called over his shoulder.
“Thank you sir!” I grabbed the bag and drug it behind me as I waddled behind the coach. Every step reminded me of the rubber butt plug and my inflated body. This crazy bastard expects me to play football after inflating me like a balloon.
As I stood beside Coach, the big man put his arm over my shoulders, “Look over here.” The man pointed out some plywood targets. “I’ll call out left right or center and you will try to hit the hole in the target. I’ll feed you balls. Easy enough. Remember hold the air. No farts.”
“Thank you sir!”
Coach held up a ball and tapped my helmet with it. “Focus! Don’t think about anything but football.”
Focus my ass. I thought as the big man slammed the ball into my gut. “Center”
I raised back and let go. The ball flipped end over end not even coming close to the target as if I’d never thrown a ball before.
“What the hell was that? Focus! Right” Another ball was slammed in my gut. The pattern was begun as Coach slammed a ball into my hands with a new target called out, followed with all kinds of criticism when my passes failed to even come close. All the while the big man kept up a steady stream of shouts in my ear. The tenth throw clipped the corner of the plywood target and it took six more tries until I threw one through the hole above the painted on players hands. We ran this drill for at least a half hour and by the end I had gotten my aim back despite my wildly inflated body and was hitting the target at least 85% of the time. Every time we ran out of balls, Coach would send me out to retrieve them. As I waddled out the first time with the empty duffle bag to retrieve the balls, Coach threw his helmet on the ground and yelled, “Run, you lazy fuck. What the hell do you think this is? A walk in the park.” I began to jog as best I could scooping up the balls and shoving them in the bag like a man who had just learned to walk. I once lost my footing in the dew covered grass and dove hard, chest first into the ground like an overblown blimp.
Before I could get to my feet I heard Coach run up and felt him grab the collar of my pads and jerk me to my feet. “No laying down blimp boy. You trying to take a break? Get those balls in that bag! Move it move it.” Now he followed me yelling as I picked up the balls and stuffed them into the bag. So for the first half hour we went through target practice while the man kept up steady pressure without stop like a crazed drill sergeant. By the end I was moving more easily and getting some of my agility back. Coach kept up a steady poking and running his hands under my pads to make sure by muscles hadn’t lost any air with the threat that if I had let some of the pressure off he would blow me up twice as big and the practice would start over from the beginning.
“Take a knee.” I took off my helmet and forced my inflated body down, knowing that if I fell; there would be no end to the grief. “All right fatboy, now we’re gonna run some plays. I’ll call the play on my first step and go out. You will hit me.”
“Thank you sir!”
Coach tossed me a water bottle. I sniffed at the bottle at first and then satisfied that it was truly water drank it as if I was dying of thirst, hoping to wash that rubber taste out of my mouth. Coach pulled it from my hand and tossed it aside. “Hold on there no use in you getting bloated.” The man chuckled for the first time all day as he put his helmet on.
Soon we were running plays and as with the target practice my first throws at a moving target were pathetic. Coach scooped up the wildly off target ball and in a flash shot the ball back at me with all his might. I jumped up as the ball mounded into my chest and fumbled it as I was nearly knocked over backward as the berating coach jogged back to my side. By the third toss I was at least able to get the ball within the neighborhood of the old college receiver. Every try was returned with a lightning fast pass that put me to shame.
Next Coach had me run for a good twenty minutes. We started with scissor steps but with my inflated legs it felt as though I was walking. Coach followed me the whole time yelling insults into my ear and grabbing me by the collar whenever I stumbled, pulling me back up on my feet. Then it was jingle jangles where I had to reach down at each line and touch it before returning at the starting point and running back out to the next line and repeat the task, each time adding 10 yards to the distance until I reached the goal line and returned—that was one jingle jangle. I had to do ten. I wobbled and waddled with coach matching me step for step while keeping up the constant commentary. He wasn’t even winded. When I fell he would reach down and jerk me to my feet. I finally made it through and collapsed panting on my back. I was sweating like I’d been sealed up in a plastic bag. Coach tossed me a bottle of water as he paced beside me letting me rest.
“Okay, now we are going to run some rushing drills. You will snatch up the ball and I will count off three seconds before I rush you. Your goal is to pass the ball and I mean pass the ball before I get to you. No wild shit, throwing the ball away. Got it?”
“Thank you sir.” I mumbled as I got to my feet, wondering when this would end. I did have to admit beyond the discomfort I had been able to focus on the tasks at hand better than I couldn’t remember in a long time.
I walked up to the line of scrimmage. On my first three tries, coach was on top of me before I knew it and pushed me down as he ran by. With each seceding try he got a bit rougher. The fifth try I got the pass off. The next two times the big man tackled me hard and shoved his hands into my chest as he got up off me. If it had been tough getting hit by the freak before try it inflated like a human beach ball. The next two tries I actually got the pass off.
I was beginning to get the hang of it. I backpedaled as coach counted, “one thousand one, one thousand two…” I had my arm back when the man’s wide shoulder hit me in the gut and I was slammed to the ground with his weight hitting me hard. There was no missing the loud and long sound of air leaking from my ass as if someone had stretched out the neck of a balloon. I clenched my ass and it stopped.
“What was that?”
I rolled over with every intention of running as far and as hard as I could but before I could get to my feet, Coach had me by the belt and was half carrying/half dragging me back to the basement.
Fuck his rules. “No coach, no more air. I’ll do anything.”
“Thank you sir!” Coach slammed me on my back on the table and in a flash had my arms strapped down. He took two fat leather belts and first cinched one tight just under my pecs and the other around my waist. The man then hooked my ankles to ropes that were attached above by pulleys and pulled the ropes until my legs were in the air and he had free access to my Lycra coated ass. I felt him poke around for his target and with a quick slice he had opened a small hole over the threaded valve in my butt plug and attached the air hose again. With a hum the machine started again, I felt the pressure build but this time it was contained in my gut. Coach by use of the belts was giving me an air filled roid gut.
I would raise my head from time to time to check on the mound that was rising slowly under the jersey. Soon it was sticking up over my thickly inflated chest. Coach shoved his hand under the jersey and ran his palm over the inflating gut ball as it quickly with through various stages in size. First the size of a melon and then basket ball size and then bigger still. He banged my helmeted head into the table as the pressure grew all the while knowing he wouldn’t stop until the thing was massive. Finally the compressor fell quiet. I glanced up and couldn’t see over the damn thing but I could tell coach was bent down behind it because I could feel him cinching the butt plug even tighter in my hole and detaching me from the tank. Once I was sealed up he released my legs with a crash and freed my arms. The muscled freak put his hand in the collar of my shoulder pads and pulled me to my feet and up the stairs.
I walked behind cradling my instant roid gut in my hands. The mound was enormous, further around then I could reach.
“This time I will give you a break. You don’t have to pick the ball off the ground you can keep it in your hands and I’ll start to count at your first move. You make ten passes and practice is over.”
“Thank you sir!”
I grunted when he slammed the ball into my inflated belly but waddled up to the line of scrimmage. I picked my target area and stepped back but before I had gotten the ball released the big man had me on the ground with his weight spread out over mine increasing the pressure a hundred times. The ball slipped from my hands and coach was on it like stink on his gear I wore.
“Fumble!” Coach barked as he jumped to his feet with the ball. He tapped me on the helmet with the ball and said, “Focus.”
There was no way I could sit up with that ballooned gut so the big man rolled me over like a human beach ball and I forced myself to my feet and grabbed the ball from him.
“Thank you sir!”
The next two tries I got the ball off before he touched me. Coach didn’t speak but patted my back before he went to retrieve the ball. The next time he was on me in a flash but I tucked the ball under my arm and held onto it though it meant I hit the ground gut first. I felt some of the air in my belly shift into the rest of my body as the big man fell on top of me. I knew I had to make my plays before so much air was forced into my arms and legs to slow me down to a blimped up waddle. I sprang to my feet and grabbed the ball. The next three times I got the ball off even going so far as ducking under his arm the third time before I made my pass. The next time coach was on me in a flash and I hit the ground rolling over several times before I came to rest. I felt his hand slip down my neck as he pulled me to my feet and pushed the ball in my arms.
I was half way there. The next play I stepped back and rolled around the big man, surprising him. I heard him slip and fall in the wet grass and I took off for the goal line. I didn’t think of anything but running for that goal. I heard the man running up behind me and he sounded like a herd of cattle. I knew he was gaining fast and was close behind. Only not close enough as I stepped over the line. I spiked the ball into the ground and started to dance. I turned and pointed at the big man gasping for air, “Thank you sir!”
“Don’t get cocky.”
Next two tries, coach tackled me hard. I was up and at the line ready for more. I got three passes off in a row. As we walked to the line I leaned back and patted my gut like a drum and said, “Thank you sir!”
This time I took three steps back and when the big man came at me with his arms out I ran right for him and leaned back. I hit him with my big ball gut figuring if I couldn’t reach around it he probably couldn’t either. Whether it was surprise or fatigue, I don’t know but coach was knocked back and I plowed him over. I mean he hit his back and I ran over the top of him like a pile of shit. I didn’t stop until I was in the end zone and had scored again on the big stud. I turned around and slapped my gut and raised my arms over my head and yelled, “Thank you sir!”. I pointed at him and repeated, “Thank you sir!”
I picked up the ball and waddled back toward him, knowing that I had made it through his special practice. When I got up to him, I got in his face and yelled, “Thank you sir!”
The man reached up and caught a hold of my facemask and “One More Thing!” Coach drug me back into the basement and pulled my helmet off. The big man shoved me down on a stool and bent me forward as far as my gut ball would allow. Coach leaned on me with a forearm and the pressure within my skin increased. Then I heard a click and a loud hum. I felt a vibration on the back of my neck just before my long hair began to fall away from the clippers. I looked at the floor as the man worked and my hair fell around me. In no time I had what they call a high and tight like a soldier. The strong man pushed me and spun me around as he tossed the clippers aside. I felt him rip open the small opening in the ass of the pants I wore and with a turn of the valve in the butt plug I felt the thing shift shape again as it deflated. Coach shoved my helmet under my ass and caught the butt plug in it as it shot out of my ass. The air was filled with the sound of a deflating balloon. I could feel my body shrinking as coach reached under the jersey and removed the two belts around my torso. My ball gut rapidly shrank as his gear seemed to melt around my shrinking body. In no time I was left standing in his oversized uniform holding up the pants with one hand. The shoulder pads now looked like I’d stole them off a giant. Yet I still felt different… bigger somehow.
Coach shoved my helmet into my side and a smell hit me that I don’t even want to tell you about. I looked up at him and grinned. “Thank you sir!”
“Clean that up and this place,” he said as he looked at the hair scattered at our feet. I looked down at the inflatable dildo and was surprised at the thing that felt as big as his arm was so small. “Now here are the new rules of life for you. That plug is your best friend; bring it to every practice and every game. You will go to the bathroom stall before practice tomorrow… the one that shares the wall with my office. Inside there is a cap on the wall. Under it is a compressor hose. You will insert your best friend and blow yourself up.” I guess the look on my face transcribed the words in my head cause Coach said, “No not like a muscle bound sumo star but the other boys of the buzz cut will show you. Just enough to keep you focused! Your new uniforms and gear will be in your locker to guide you.”
I suddenly realized what the others had been through, the added muscle, the secrecy and camaraderie. They all played football with plugs of their own. It was all becoming clear to me. “Thank you sir!” This special practice session had been a life-altering experience. No more so than the thought that I would be able to swell up on my own too. My cock had been throbbing since I realized the fact.
“You better wear my gear home but I want it back, laundered. Is that clear?”
“Thank you sir!” Finally it was getting real late and coach knew we both had school tomorrow but I had survived Coach’s special practice.
I showed up at practice the next day with one awesome buzz cut and looking like I’d gained twenty pounds of muscle, a reminder of that night learning to stay…..what’s the word?
“Yeah good boy!”