Requested by Patchbear

Phil felt terrible after missing the first wrestling practice of the year, but he hadn’t anticipated getting sick the first week on campus. At least the new wrestling coach at the college was less of a hardass than Mr. Stevens, who’d retired somewhat unexpectedly over the summer. The new coach, Mr. Wick, had just told him to feel better, and come to the second practice a few days later, if he felt up to it–and added that he was excited to see what Phil, as one of the stars of the team, thought of some of the changes Mr. Wick had in mind for the program. 

Luckily he got over the fever quickly, and the next day he felt good enough to go to his classes at least–but he had the strangest run in with someone, around noon, as he was heading to the Student Union for lunch. Some strange guy–fat, hairy, and reeking of musk and who knew what else, spotted him and charged over, tackling Phil to the grass, laughing and snorting, asking where the hell he’d been the night before. Phil had no fucking clue who the guy was, and he crawled his way free and took off, the pig just laughing and snorting on the grass.

The next night he headed to the gym a bit early, so he could get himself warmed up properly before practice started. He was in the locker room when an older man, quite fat and out of shape, who he assumed was a janitor or something came up and clapped him on the back. “Phil! There you are. Glad you’re feeling better!”

This…this guy was Mr. Wick? What the fuck was the school thinking, hiring someone like this? This close to him, the unwashed stench rolling off him was horrific, and Phil shoved him away. “Oh…uh, yeah. I’m feeling better. Sorry…I…I don’t want you getting sick if I’m still infectious.”

“I’m sure you’re fine. You’re early! Come on, get your singlet on, and let’s spar a bit. I’ll get you caught up with the rest of the guys in no time.”

Disgusted, Phil never the less got dressed in his singlet and found Mr. Wick in the gym in a singlet of his own. He suggested they spar a bit, so he could get a better idea of Phil’s skill level, and see if he was as legendary as he’d heard. Phil chuckled to himself–the guy might outweigh him, but he had a feeling the hardest part would be getting close enough to the fucker’s stench to pin him. 

It didn’t quite go as Phil imagined it. Mr. Wick, for all of his flab, was surprisingly adept, and he pinned Phil over and over again…and Phil found himself…enjoying it. Feeling the weight of the man pressing down on him, feeling his stench overwhelm him, overwhelming his mind, making…making him think all these filthy, disgusting thoughts, grinding his ass into his coach’s crotch, his body inflating with fat, and finally Mr. Wick ripped away the ass of his singlet and slammed his cock into Phil’s hole, listening to his newest wrestling pig squeal with pleasure. Still, Phil Robertson wasn’t going to be the best wrestler on the team–no, he was going to be a lot more interested in getting pinned and fucked–but he’d sure he having a lot more fun this year, as one of his filthy, disgusting wrestling pig squad.