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?Brandon lifted his upper body out of the water, resting on his arms and watching the chlorinated liquid roll off his back. The otter closed his eyes and smiled a bit. He lived for these small, stolen moments at practice; not warming up, not pushing himself, but yet still in the water, still in his element. And certainly not dealing with the dumb brutes that made up his team. The otter knew the reputation of Olive Tree College's swim team when he signed on. Everyone knew there was something off with the Olive Otters; they were academic rocks, horndogs and sluts, seemingly unable to think of anything but rutting and swimming. Brandon didn't believe those rumors because he knew full well that they were likely a smear campaign from another school that succeeded; even when he first toured the facilities, before he signed on, he dismissed their lewd behavior and, well, less than stimulating conversation as him looking for stereotypes where there were none. Coach Dawson assured him that the rumors were just that, unfounded rumors, and Brandon believed him.The substantial scholarship offered along with his signing on likely helped. Three months into the season, however, Brandon found that as much as he wanted to ignore the team's shortcomings, he couldn't. Every single person he talked with on the team had the intelligence of a brick wall, and the personality of one too. They were so stupid that when he joined and attended the meet-and-greet, several of the seniors didn't even know what species he was. That's what floored Brandon the most; ignoring that otters were one of the more common species in the world, the swim team was literally named after them! Brandon may have been the first actual otter on the team in years, but that surely couldn't mean that they actually didn't know what an otter was. Sighing, Brandon hoisted the rest of his body out of the water and stood at the edge of the pool. He went through his daily ritual; lean to the left, pull his earlobe, let the water out. Lean to the right and do the same. Normally that was all, but today the water didn't seem to want to leave his left ear. Frowning, Brandon tried a few more times, but shrugged his shoulders in defeat as he saw the rest of his teammates start to head to the lockers. No sense in worrying about this; he needed to get to a good shower. As he pushed his way through the double doors into the showers, he brushed shoulders with a wide shouldered elk. Brandon glanced to his right and locked eyes with the elk; he immediately regretted it. "Heeeey, uh, Bran, Branson? Brandon, bro! How's it been?" The elk grabbed Brandon by his shoulder and pulled him in for a noogie. The otter ducked away with ease, keeping his grimace to himself. "Oh, uh, you know, Ron. Doin' fine. Swimming. All that." "Yeah, hah, well that's what we're here for! Swimming!" Ron pumped his fist in the air, showing off his lean arms and trimmed pit hair, which was at Brandon's eye level. Brandon looked away. "So dude, wanna hang tomorrow? Gots the house to myself, gonna have some swim boys over, gonna, uh, have fun." Ron bit his lip and arched an eyebrow suggestively at Brandon. Brandon gave a thin smile, one that he hoped was polite but not encouraging. "Don't know yet. I got a lot of studying to do. I'll text you, alright?" Before Ron could give him a lecture on how parties were more important, Brandon ducked away into his favorite shower stall, the single one nearly halfway across the locker room from the rest of the showers. Ron stopped and stared back at Brandon with a disappointed frown before joining the rest of the team at the showers. Brandon sighed in relief as he turned on the shower, letting it stream across his face and wash away the tainted chlorine of the pool. Part of him felt bad for turning down Ron so firmly, but the otter just wasn't into the sort of 'partying' that Ron and the rest of the team was into. The otter turned around, letting the warm water thrum against his back as he just tried to relax. Maybe he would have felt bad if he's said no to the Ron that he met on his first day at college, but the elk that he just talked to wasn't the same one he met those few months ago. The Ron that Brandon met back then was like him; out of place, unsure of the team's reputation, but eager to prove himself worthy of competing on a college level. They both were bookish, somewhat prudish freshmen, and being the only two 'normal' people on the team as well as the only two freshmen drew them close. One day, Ron stayed after practice to talk to the coach, get some ideas on how to improve his lap time. Whatever the coach had said to Ron certainly worked; the elk shaved a full five seconds off of his lap in a matter of weeks, but at the cost of everything else. Like a switch, the bookish, prudish Ron that Brandon knew and loved had vanished, replaced with a crude, dumb facsimile of what he once was. Where Brandon and Ron used to hit the books together, Ron was now gaming, drinking, or just hanging with his newly christened 'swim boys'. Where Brandon and Ron used to shirk away from the crude sexual jokes the team hurled at each other, Ron now dove in to join them, and even one up them. The elk's grades cratered, and their late night deep talks turned into Ron not-so-subtly hinting that they should bang. Whatever though. It's whatever. It sucks, yes, but Brandon wasn't used to close friends anyways. Being an extreme introvert, he never made too many, and while the loss of one hurt it was just a reversion to the mean. Brandon shut off the water, watching the last of the soap swirl down the drain. He tried to drain the water from his ear again, but no luck. Could be worse, he supposed. At least it'll eventually come out. He heard a tapping foot behind him and turned around, letting out a yawp of surprise as Coach Dawson's looming visage towered over him. "Hey Brandon. Can we have a talk?" The otter didn't like how the coach's eyes lingered on his crotch. "I just wanna go over your lap times real quick, work out some new, ah, exercises for you to try." The otter yanked a towel over his shame and nodded, struggling to keep a straight face as he followed his coach to the office. Brandon wanted to like Dawson, he really did. The hog might have been a little fat and slobbish, but once he was in the water he really did know his stuff. Brandon could respect that. Coach might be a bit gruff, but it was in a friendly dad way, not quite off putting. Despite all that, there was just something about the pig that made Brandon uneasy. Maybe it was the way his eyes tended to linger. Maybe the way that he was very, ah, friendly with his team. Regardless of the reason, the otter had to push down a feeling of unease as he entered Coach's office. Coach's office was cluttered; old swim outfits lay in crumpled piles scattered across the floor, and towering piles of yellowed files dotted his desk. Random debris littered the few clear spots on the ground, and everything had a sort of stained, spotted look to it, like someone squirted a tube of slightly yellow liquid everywhere and let it dry. In some places the stains overlapped until they were brown. Despite all the mess, Brandon felt like Coach must keep his office very clean. After all, it always reeked of ammonia and bleach. Coach lowered himself into his sagging office chair, something brown from the 70s, and started rummaging through a pile of papers on the desk. "...gotta be somewhere in here..." he grumbled. Brandon took the small pause as an opportunity to try and clear his ear again. This time he heard a slight gurgling, but after that brief moment of hope, nothing happened. The otter sighed, resigning himself to the slight discomfort for at least ten more minutes. Coach never made these review sessions short. "Water in yer ear, huh?" The otter blinked and look up to see Coach Dawson's curious gaze peering over the stack of papers. He didn't know why, but Brandon thought he should lie about this. He didn't. "Yeah, it happens," he said. "Mnh," Coach grunted in agreement. He ruffled through his papers a few more moments, but just before Brandon thought the attempt at conversation over, Coach spoke again. "Got a trick for that. Wanna try it? Promise, it'll clear ya right out." Brandon eyed Coach cautiously, but couldn't make himself say no. It was an innocent offer, and it might make the hog feel a little closer to him; god knows that would be helpful in getting out of practice early. He nodded, and the smile Coach gave sent chills down Brandon's spine. "Alright boy, walk over here an get on your knees, right next to me. Face the wall though, aight?" The otter stood and walked around Coach's rusty desk, kneeling as he was told to, but he tensed up, ready to jump away at a moment's notice. This felt like a come on for sure. If Dawson tried anything, Brandon would have his head. He felt the hog's rough hands adjust his head, so that his ear was about crotch level. Coach ran his fingers against the outer rim of his left ear, dipping inside slightly. "Mmnh, yeah, tha'll do." Brandon opened his mouth to asked exactly what Coach meant, but the hog shushed him. "Quiet, lemme do my work. Lotsa water in there, I gotta concentrate." A few long moments passed, and the otter began to fidget on the ground. Just as he was losing patience, Brandon felt something thick and long brush against the inside of his ear... but it wasn't Coach's finger. "C-Coach, what are you-" "Shh, doncha worry, I'll work that water out." Brandon felt a strange pressure in his ear that grew until it was almost unbearable, then pop. Coach's cock plunged through Brandon's ear right into his brain. The otter gasped in surprise, eyes widening and jaw dropping, but the shock was too much for him to act through at first, and by the time that wore off, his higher functions were quickly fading. Brandon twitched and shuddered, his eyes rolling back and drool dribbling from his mouth as Coach stood there, watching the IQ drain from his star swimmer's face with tw[a]itch and mumbled nonsense. "Theeere we go," Coach murmured, holding Brandon's head up as his body began to relax. The hog began to thrust, slowly at first, but quickly picking up pace until he was slamming his groin against the otter's ear at least once a second. Brandon sat limply at Coach's feet, allowing it; he couldn't think enough to stop it. His eyes were wide open but rolled back, saliva slathered from his lips onto his groin, and he twitched every which way as the very thing that controlled his body was violated. The otter mumbled gibberish beneath his breath, making spit bubbles with each syllable. This wasn't Coach's first rodeo, though, so even though his cock laid waste to Brandon's precious, genius brain, nothing he turned to mush was anything Coach found important. His reservations? Sure. His processing capabilities, many of his memories, the ability to really comprehend anything complex? Whatever. But his sexual instincts were still unharmed, Brandon would be able to move his body well enough to swim and fuck, and there was still enough of that brain left there for him to operate, well... adequately once he left college. The fuck toy whose brain was so erotically caressing the pig's cock wasn't finished, however. Coach knew that a simple brain fuck would leave any of his boys basically useless. The special part came after the hog's fun was done. It wasn't long before Coach felt himself getting close; he didn't have the stamina he used to. "F-Fuck, fuck..." he mumbled under his breath, curling his toes and willing away his inevitable climax. It was no use, and Coach made sure to sheath his cock right to the hilt before letting out a wall-shaking squeal, pumping back and forth as he loosed stream after stream of bubbling white hog cum into the otter's mind. He lasted almost a full minute before he finally pulled back, taking his cock out of Brandon's ear with a wet slurp. Brandon kneeled there for a minute, a blank look on his face, and Coach almost worried he hadn't given the otter enough. Then, a twitch. A small giggle deep from the otter's chest. A dumb, horny smile spread across his face. The transformation was a sight to behold. It was as if Brandon was just now coming to life; his ass arched out in instinctual submission, his lips changed from prim to pouty, his blank face now wore a dumb, slutty smile, and his eyes glazed over as they darted side to side, looking for the nearest cock. Coach knew the transformation was complete when a stream of pig cum burbled from Brandon's nose, dribbling onto his chest and crotch. "How ya feelin, slut?" Coach asked Brandon, shaking him a bit to snap him out of his stupor. Brandon slowly turned his head toward the coach, struggling to remember who he was for a moment. When he remembered, he giggled and rubbed his nipple. "L-Like, super... super good, sir." Sir just felt right. "But... something's... like, weird?" Coach nodded indulgently, like one would for a small child. "That's right! You were weird before, what with your stupid books and smarts and stuck up ideas. But now you're normal! Slutty just like your teammates, and dumb like good swim boys should be." Brandon didn't look entirely convinced, even though his cock swelled with each successive word, so Coach ruffled the otter's head before guiding him to his feet. "I know it's a bit weird, but trust me, it's normal this way, it's good this way. Understand?" the pig said. Unable to really protest, Brandon nodded, drooling a bit as he looked around the room. Coach grinned and kissed the top of his head, leading him out into the locker room proper. There, most of the swim team stood waiting for Brandon to come out. As soon as they heard Coach squealing, they knew. At the head of them all was Ron, who stood there naked and already hard. His cock twitched at the sight of the dumb, drooling otter. "Heh, you really did good Coach!" Ron said with a grin. "Can we break him in?" Coach nodded and prodded Brandon forward, and the otter slowly stumbled towards the team. He watched a few moments to witness Brandon lose his anal virginity. When Coach picked Brandon for the team, he knew that the otter was uncontested as far as academics went, but saw him leading a sad, friendless life. In a world without peers, who could you really bond with? Now nearly everyone was Brandon's peer, and everyone on the team was his friend. Wasn't that worth a few IQ points? With the pride of a father, he said, "Brandon, welcome to the team."

[a]Whoops, we both missed this - should probably be either "with each twitch and mumbled nonsense" or "with twitches and mumbled nonsense"