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lockedwriter · 2 years

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Disclaimer: the beginning and the story idea isn't mine, I considerably modified it and added the few final paragraphs. You can find the original story on nifty.com. Also, pictures aren't mine.

FOOTBALL TEAM’S BITCH

It had been a filthy, bone-breaking practice, and our white practice pants were caked with mud, our jerseys soaked through by the cold, spitting rain. But I didn’t complain. Junior varsity freshmen don’t complain, not if they want a chance to ever play in a real game. I wasn’t a big guy, not by a long shot. I still looked like a teenager - but then again, I was. I was slight and had to look up to most of the other guys on the team, but I was fast and wiry and surprisingly hard to plant in the turf once I got my feet under me, so I had a thought that I might be a pretty good running back. I had been, back in high school, but I was quickly learning that college is a whole other story. As the smallest guy on the junior varsity team, I was just about invisible to the larger, first-string players. I kept it that way, figuring the best way to show myself was on the field, by taking the pain of practice and never complaining, and the coaches at least had started, I hoped, to see something in me. It was early in the year, the other students hadn’t even arrived on campus, and classes hadn’t started. That’s how early we began football practice.

I had just begun to lift the pads from my shoulders, trailing wet nylon over my face, when a loud hoot echoed off the locker-room walls. I didn’t think much of it. There was always a lot of noise in the lockers, howling and bragging and yelling. But this shout was a signal. I’m hard to plant, but only on the field and only if I know what’s coming. Plus, they didn’t even try to plant me. Hands - one pair still wearing a pair of sticky wide receiver gloves - grabbed at me, two pair on my arms, two on my legs, and they lifted me from the ground as easily as pulling a weed. I flailed, but I still had my pads half-off, half-on, and the clammy nylon practice jersey clung to my face. A storm of laughing voices drowned out my own cries. The quality of the sound changed, and they yanked my pads off, baring my chest with its wet, clinging under layer of tight Lycra.

They’d carried me into the storage closet, a room filled with various bits of gear, uniforms, pads, elastic bands and other workout gear. It was a room we mostly stayed out of, on coach’s orders. Jeering faces looked down at me, smeared with mud, a couple with helmets still on. Jarrett was a wide-bodied fullback who probably had a good eighty pounds on me. He had my legs, both of them, and while I tried to twist and kick at him with my muddy cleats, I got nowhere. He just grinned up at me, a shaved-headed ape with a vicious glint in his eye. Nate had one of my arms, the first-string quarterback, a blond stud who never had trouble getting his dick wet on the weekends - at least, judging from his locker room talk. And the Chad pinned my other arm, a tight end that could bench-press me. A grinning second-string running back, Keith, was digging at the laces of my pants. I gulped air, considered screaming. But Nate must have seen it in my eyes. He pinned my arm between his thighs and clamped a hand over my mouth. I tasted mud and rain and sweat on his skin. I tried to pull my hand free, pressed between the smooth, wet fabric of his practice pants, but I couldn’t get it out. His legs were too strong. They were all too strong. And I didn’t want them to get my pants off, because once they did, they'd see my dirty little secret. I flailed and blushed and twisted and got nowhere, and the running back yanked down my practice pants. Jarrett got my cleats off, one at a time, holding both ankles tight in one massive, meaty hand while he worked the laces with the other. Then they raked my pants off, and with them my wet football girdle, the lycra sliding smoothly down my hairless thighs and that was it… my little caged cock was now exposed to all of the football team. “wooow look, what the fuck is that!” said Jarrett, and the others mainly laughed and repeated the same sentence even louder. “I was sure he was a fag, look at his tiny little locked numb, how pathetic!”. They continued laughing for quite some time and I was completely red of shame. Keith flicked my locked cock. It was bobbing in the cool air. I flinched from his touch, but my cock didn’t shrivel. Their laughter was almost a solid thing, holding me down as firmly as the hands.

Duct tape ripped behind me, and they looped it around my wrists, then around my ankles, all the way up to my knees. I did have some hair on my calves, but I figured I wouldn’t once I got out of this tape. Nate leaned down, neatly sculpted blond eyebrows drawn together. “You a faggot?” he asked. I grunted negation into his palm. But he didn’t look convinced. “I think it’s pretty obvious now that you’re a faggot” he said. “Don’t know if we have any use for a faggot on the team. Huh, what do you think, guys?” They howled and barked, more animal than human. Someone looped more duct tape around me, binding my upper arms to my chest, my lower arms to my abs - I was helpless, completely mummified in it. I even felt more layer being added to my already mummified body. Soon all of my skin disappeared under layers and layers of thick duct tape, making me completely powerless and at the mercy of my team; there was absolutely nothing I could do except breathing.

I tried to struggle, but that just made my cock harder in my cage. Keith kept flicking my dick and balls. He was a sneering little punk with knuckle tattoos that said LOVE and HATE and a slicked-back high and tight that was almost a mohawk. No one really liked him; even the coaches didn’t care much for him. But he was a hell of a running back and one of the hottest guy on the team. They laid me down on a lifting bench, then flipped me. My drooling cock rubbed the torn plastic surface of the bench, and fingers rubbed and probed at my ass. “You can always tell if they’re fags” Keith said, “’Cause they’ll have loose, soggy assholes like a girl’s pussy.” “Don’t know what girls’ pussies you been playing with” Jarrett grumbled. “Just your mom’s” he said. A finger - I have no idea whose - brushed my hole, and a warm spasm flickered over me, uncomfortably close to orgasm. I didn’t know why this was turning me on, if that’s what was happening, or if this was just a reaction to fear. I struggled, but could barely move, and each wiggle or twist just rubbed my cock against the bench, bringing me closer to a humiliating caged orgasm. “Seems pretty tight to me” was the verdict, and the finger withdrew. They flipped me back over.

Someone had taken off their sweaty, very smelly, and dirty football sock, wadded it into a thick ball, and they shoved that into my mouth, well Keith violently shoved it into my mouth looking at me with the same little smirk “can’t have you making too much noise right faggot”. A thick strip of duct-tape went over that, and nearly five times around my head. “enjoy your little faggot meal” said Keith. Then the team decided to tape me to the bench to make me even more immobile and powerless. They started to put layers and layers of duct tape efficiently taping me to the bench and making me even more immobile than before. Even my taped mouth and head was strapped to the bench with more tape, then I saw Nate’s beautiful face again “that should keep you in place haha, in your faggot bitch place!”.

About half the team was either in the room or watching from the locker room, and almost all of them had their phones in hand, recording this, maybe putting it on the internet. But then Nate leaned over my face. “You got a little dirty during practice huh bitch” he said. “Time for your shower” He gathered a big wad of spit in his mouth, rumbled in his throat to augment it with snot, and launched it to splat right against the side of my nose. It trickled down my face slowly, tickling, but I couldn’t wipe it away. They followed the leader, then, each of them adding a gob of slimy spit to my face, until I had to hold my breath to keep from inhaling it up my nose and drowning in the team’s saliva. It seemed everyone on the team contributed a wad of spit to my face. Spattering me, jeering at me, laughing at me. I was no longer invisible to them, that was for sure. I thought it would never end, spit and insults and occasional slaps at my treacherously caged cock and taped face.

But then they left, and on the way out, Nate flicked off the light. “Sleep tight little faggot bitch and enjoy your homemade facemask!” he said. I figured that’d be the end, that it’d be over. I figured they’d leave me there for a while, until either I was rescued by the cleaning people or, more likely, Nate would come back and untape me and let me go and we’d all have a laugh about it. But it was barely the beginning. Because while they still shouted and howled and cranked the music in the locker room, they hadn’t forgotten me.

In fact, a few minutes later, the door opened and the lights came back on. Jarrett stood over me, still caked in mud. Didn’t these fuckers have classes to get to? I had bio of cells in a half an hour, and if I didn’t get out of this duct tape and shit I’d miss it. Jarrett smiled big, broad face and square jaw, like a politician seeking votes. “Hey, little bitch.” He’d taken off all his clothes except his football girdle, tight white fabric stretched over his broad thighs and ass, a substantial bulge in the front. They did nothing to hide the line of his penis against his soft, thick balls. His body was hard with muscle, but a soft layer of fat covered them, smoothed them out “like what you see huh?”. I grunted in the tape. Something like “let me go” but it came out all in vowels. The sock against my tongue and teeth was gritty and salty. Someone’s foot sweat. I didn’t even know whose.

Jarrett stood over me, turned around and started straddling my face “now you’re gonna love this as much as I do fag”. Then he lowered his fat, muscled and magnificent ass. Sweat had soaked through the spandex, making it translucent, and the dark line of his ass crack descended over my face, my nose and covered mouth. I tossed my head, but he rested some of his weight on me, trapping me with my nose in his crack. “Sniff it,” he said. “Come on bitch, do a buddy a favour and sniff my ass.” I couldn’t do anything but obey.

The tape and sock in my mouth prevented me from breathing other than through my nose, and now I smelled the dank, rich stink of his ass after a long and grueling practice. He wiggled, grinding himself against me. Then he put more weight on me. I tried to draw breath, couldn’t - only a thin thread of air slid between his clenching ass and my face. And that air was dank with sweat. I thrashed, helplessly, uselessly. I was going to suffocate here, I thought. He was going to kill me in the storage closet in the back of the football locker room. It’d be in the news. But just as my lungs burned and my breath began to slide into panic, he stood up. “You got spit all over my butt,” he said. Not my own, of course. The team’s. “Nasty.” I sucked sweet air through my nose, refilling my lungs. My heart thudded, but began to calm.

“you’re a pretty good ass sniffer, right little bitch” he said, turning around facing me again a casually slapping my duct taped face, “better ass sniffer than player should I say, glad I found you a way to be useful for us men right” he added before pinching my nose, effectively preventing me from breathing at all. He was still smiling, enjoying having me in this predicament. Then, when I thought I was about to pass out, he released my nostrils, and I was able to draw laborious breathing… but not for long… soon after, he turned around again and positioned his marvellous ass right above my face. “Ready for round two fag?” I tried shouting again, I really wanted out, but it was pointless as the sock was transforming everything into muffled cries. Then it happened again, and Jarrett lowered his big ass right onto my face. His positioned his crack right on my nose and put some weight on it, effectively forcing it closer to his asshole.

This time the smell was even stronger. It nearly made me wanna puke to think that I had my nose buried into Jarrett ass, nearly touching his dirty hole. My beautiful captor on the other hand seemed to enjoy what was going on and moaned. “nice and deep breath right bitch, must make you hard in your little faggot cage, enjoy the funkiness!”.

It must have been one hour now that Jarrett was forcing me to sniff his dirty ass. He even took off his boxer at one point, making things harder for me. Now I can tell that he must not wash it very often. He really was your stereotypical alpha jock from college. “Ho wait… I have a surprise… wait for it” he suddenly said. Being naïve I thought he was about to finally let me out of here when he started to get up and realising my nostrils from his butthole, but I was wrong. He put all his weight on me again and when I was about to suffocate, he got up only a bit and let out a massive fart right onto my face “theeere, enjoy my little gift bitch, you’re welcome haha!”. I was struggling like crazy trying to break free from the smell. I even tried screaming again but nothing. Jarrett was really enjoying it, laughing at my distress. No matter what I did, the smell wouldn’t go away and was filling my lungs. “Who would have known that a lifting bench offered a perfect height for face sitting right bitch” he then stood up and looked down at me “well, wasn’t expecting for you to like my gift that much slave, but don’t worry, I still have plenty of them for you!” he said, again turning around and sitting his sweaty ass right on my defenceless and duct taped face.

#gayhot #gay story #bd/sm slave #fag slave #slave #forced slave #bondge sex #duct tape gag #mummification #mummified #football #socks #smelly socks #sockfetish #male farts #gay fart

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lockedwriter · 3 years

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His unchained rubber slave

DISCLAIMER - the story is not mine, I found it on metalboundnyc.com and can't stop thinking about it ever since. It is one of my favourite one and I'll try to find the rest or write it myself! The Superior Being on the picture is the Master of the story, Luis Capecchi, one of my biggest crush. Go check out His insta @luiscapecchi He is gorgeous!

Is anyone out there able to help me? I am stuck here, all my clothing has been taken and I have been left wearing this tight rubber catsuit which I can’t remove, as the entry zipper which runs from the top of the attached hood down my back and thru my crotch can’t be un-zipped past the posture collar that is locked around my neck nor past the thick rubber corset which is also locked around my waist.

I have been trapped in this suit for two days now and the tight rubber has become very uncomfortable and rank with my sweat (fortunately I can at least un-zip my crotch to relieve myself all though I am wearing a locked steel chastity belt shaped to fit around my waist under the catsuit ) I have been living on bread and water and liquid protein which I can just slowly work into my mouth through the small mouth opening in the hood, the stiff posture collar and tight heavy corset make my movements painful and breathing labored.

The attached gloves and rubber boots squish with the accumulated sweat. there is nothing in this room I can use to cut off this suit and it would be impossible to cut thru the thick collar and corset anyway. “He” warned me not to damage the suit in such an attempt or he would never unlock the chastity belt. Leaving me here in this small room two days ago “He” left thru the unlocked door. (“Where would you go dressed like that and without any money, it’s miles back to your place,” He laughed, “you would probably get the crap beat out of you by the local street punks before you got to the end of the block, and if that happened and your suit got damaged you can forget about ever getting out of that chastity belt, boi.”

This room looks to have been an old garage, cement floor and and walls, an old iron cot for me to sleep on, a bucket to crap in, a dirty sink and a bar fridge containing protein drinks and a table containing this computer by the end of the cot which I am sitting on as I write this. Last night I waited until late to go outside, it was so difficult to see as this hood has dark plastic lenses. I stumbled around in what seemed like a back alley it was very cold and my sweaty suit soon chilled me and the lenses fogged over. I panicked and thrashed about trying to find the door falling over some trash cans before I finally got back inside. “He” was right, where can I go dressed like this, it’s one thing to jump out of a car and into a friendly rubber bar geared up like this, but I just don’t have the guts to face the humiliation of making any attempt of walking thru the streets of this city and there is no way that I could travel the several miles back to my place, and what would be the point, I still couldn’t get myself out of the suit without damaging it and I could never get the steel chastity belt off without the key. I don’t know when “He” will return (I don’t even know his name). I was hitchhiking three days ago when “He” picked me up, my eyes fixed directly on the black rubber T-shirt “He” was wearing looking hot. It didn’t take long before our mutual interest in all things rubber led us to his place and some exploration of his great rubber collection. “He” and I are about the same size and build so sharing his gear we played around for a few hours.

Then he produced this fantastic stainless steel chastity belt which he had made custom fitted. The shaped waist band had a steel strap which ran thru the crotch with a opening for bung hole access attached to a steel cup fully inclosing the cock and balls. “He” ordered me to strip and placed the belt around my waist, sliding my cock into a chamber separated from my balls and pointing downwards, my cock growing rapidly as he continued to lock the belt closed on me. my engorged cock now painfully compressed inside it”s chamber. “He” smiled at me and had me do some squats. At that time the belt felt fantastic, heavy and incredibly restrictive, my cock completely inaccessible and pleasurable crammed inside the steel.In my excitement when “He” asked how long I could take it I said as long as “He” wanted if some rubber gear were added. “He” laughed and said” my plans exactly. Here is a nice heavy full catsuit for you, let’s get you into it”.

At that moment I was in heaven, the suit was heavily coated inside with lube, so it slid on me without too much effort despite it’s tightness. “He” pulled it up my legs my feet slid into the attached boots, then up over my chastity belted waist over my torso, I forced my arms down the tight sleeves my hands filling the gloves and finally the hood pulled snugly over my head and the zipper pulled down from the top of my head down my back and up thru my crotch the suit then sealed tightly around my body. “He” had me move around stretching seating the rubber on my arms and legs, my steel trapped raging hardon making movement painful. “Are you ready to spend some serious time in that gear” “He” had asked, again I unthinkingly replied as long as you wish SIR. “He” laughed as I felt him place a stiff high collar around my neck forcing me to hold my head upright, I heard the click of a lock.

“He” then began to place something around my waist, a heavy stiff rubber corset which he proceeded to tighten making my breathing more difficult, when I complained “He” told me to shut up and continued locking it closed around my torso. Movement was then more restrictive and clumsy and I became more concerned with his change of attitude toward me realizing how helpless I now was in all this heavy gear. “He” ordered me to walk around and when I didn’t respond fast enough he booted me in the ass and I stumbled around . “He”kept me moving around working up a good sweat so that the dark lenses in my hood fogged up and I kept crashing into things. It was then that “He” told me that I was now his unchained prisoner and that any damage I did to the suit in an attempt to remove it would result in a lifetime locked into the chastity belt. I was now his boi and any pleading or attempt to get out of the suit would result in a further extension of my “wear time” I was to shut up and endure and enjoy the experience.

I was already feeling very uncomfortable and frustrated by the impossibility to reach my cock and the heavyness of all the rubber gear. “He” then led me outside to his car and opening the trunk he ordered me to climb in, slammed the lid closed and proceeded to drive me around for a long time. I was on the edge of panic bouncing around in that confined space. We finally arrived here at this old garage where he left me telling me “will find out how serious a rubber boi you are, have a great rubber time” and that he would be back in a few days.

It has now been two days and I don’t know how much longer I can stand wearing all this gear, the posture collar is a torture, this damn tight corset is restricing my movement and my breathing, the heavy rubber suit is itching and binding, and the steel crotch band of the belt is digging into me. I don’t know when “He” will be back, I am afraid of what else he has in mind for me, what the hell can I do?

That's it! Don't hesitate to comment or message me about the story or the gorgeous Luis so we can simp for Him together 👀

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