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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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painsandconfusion · 10 months

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Not the Knife

Whumping the Whumpers - Part Thirty

(tw: electrocution, shock torture, stress position, forced to kneel, murder mention, gore mention, knife, blood, duct tape gag, kidnapping)

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Ethan.

That’s what his name was.

Crawford usually just called him ‘piece of shit’ or ‘brat - after all these years, it was hard for him to put a name to that face.

Ethan was always headstrong - always a fighter - but this?? This takes the cake.

Easily.

Like not even close.

Before, Ethan would try to get a hit or kick in - just one strike then duck away. Still on the defensive even when he was the one trying to do damage.

But now, with Ethan’s fingers digging this deep into Crawford’s shoulder as he was wrenched down the pristine white stairs and up the pristine white cinderblock basement hallway, Crawford thought that maybe there might have been some changes in the boy since they last spoke.

His cries of protest were lost against the duct tape, whistling out his nose instead. He was already growing dizzy - lungs burning from the lack of oxygen when his nose started to stuff with the tears he refused to shed.

Maybe if he cried, they’d go a little easier on him?

Now there’s a dream.

Crawford didn’t know who this other guy was - the blond with the suit.

Nice suit, too. Linen. Well-fitted. He might look like any hooligan from the outside, but Crawford fucking knew his suits. So it didn’t matter if there was a tshirt under it or that the man wore converse or that he looked like a fucking twelve year old.

It was powder blue.

He wasn’t fucking with that. Too many times Crawford had crossed a man in a perfectly fitted suit and found himself in deep shit.

Forget the shoes, forget the shirt, forget the face - his elbows barely creased when they bent to shove Crawford to the ground, laughing.

Another bastard in a fucking tailored fucking suit fucking him over.

He kept his eyes on the ground as they chained him down - handcuffs over his wrists and those shackled to a ring that was apparently built into the floor itself.

Professionals, then.

It may have been Ethan’s hand in his hair wrenching his head back to force eye contact. It may be Ethan who struck him hard enough that he was swallowing his own blood every few seconds. It may be Ethan towering over both of them.

But he kept his eyes on the fucking suit.

…..well………….until he saw a knife.

Then we - uh - ….we keep our eyes on the knife.

It pricked under his chin, tilting his face left and right. Crawford hissed as a spike of pain split the skin, drawing out a small bead of blood. He stared, eyes half crossed at the blade under his chin as the blood dripped slowly down the silver.

He didn’t bother begging. The gag would take it all away anyway.

“You know why you’re here, right?” Ethan’s voice hadn’t changed a bit. Not the blank, unimpressed tone, not the sharp edge of sarcasm, not the half graveled drawl that insisted he wasn’t afraid.

We all knew that was a lie.

Crawford’s eyes met Ethan’s, revealing no answer. Take the fucking duct tape off if you’re going to ask me questions.

Ethan’s eyes narrowed slightly at him, and Crawford hated that it sent a small twisting jolt up his stomach.

He flinched to the side slightly as the knife slipped up, digging under the tape. A whine pressed from his throat as the knife slit skin with an unimpassioned efficiency, duct tape ripping in half, then pried up by grappling fingers.

Crawford ignored the burn, sucking in a sharp breath to finally fill his lungs properly as his face burned. He focused on steadying his breaths as he rubbed his cheek and mouth against his shoulder, trying to alleviate the irritation.

“Answer the question.” Impatient as always, that Aiden. No- Ethan. Right right. Ethan.

He needed to remember that.

Crawford finally flicked his eyes up to Ethan, dipping once - twice - back down to the knife before holding his gaze. “...b’cause you brought me here?”

Aaaaaad his head snapped to the side, warm and wet tricking down his jaw.

Slaps are bad enough even without a knife in the hand.

Crawford sucked in sharp breath, eyes straining to see the side of his searing face - to try to assess the damage.

Ethan wasn’t having that. He gripped Craford’s jaw - blood melting between his fingers - and forced his face up again. “Answer. The question.”

Crawford twitched in his grip, searching Ethan’s eyes. Yyyyeah…fear was setting in now. “...y-ou’re….prob’ly gonna kill me…?”

Ethan pat him twice on the cheek and pulled his hand back. “Bingo.”

Crawford’s eyes flicked to the suit. “...wh-o are you-?”

The blond grinned back. “I’m Nate - Hiya!” Accompanied by a little salute-wave.

Frown. “..do you hate me too then?”

The suit nodded. “Mhm.”

“....why?”

A shrug. “None of your beeswax.”

“........rrright.” Looking back to Ethan. Wary. Waiting.

Ethan had already busied himself by going to a shelf. He returned with a coil of…something? It was yellow and black. Woven like a rope, but..thin. With..wire in it??

Crawford had to choke down the urge to gag as Ethan wrapped the wire rope around his neck. Several times. “How’d you sleep last night,” Ethan asked as he continued wrapping the rope down, decorating him like a fucking christmas tree.

“....f-ine-??” Crawford squirmed against the rough rope, feeling bits of plastic and wire press against him. Itchy and cool.

“Good. That should make tonight easier on you.” He worked the rope down one arm, then back up the other. Twisting around him.

No response.

The man in the suit - Nate, he said his name was - prowled in a contemplative circle around them - watching Ethan’s hands. Crawford couldn’t meet his eyes - he didn’t want to be analyzed.

Finally Ethan stood, wandering back toward the shelves.

Nate sputtered a laugh as Ethan dragged something off the shelf that Craford either couldn’t see properly or couldn’t recognize. “Really? I thought you were gonna go all gorey on me?”

Ethan grunted in response, plugging the thing into the wall.

Nate wandered over, nudging the thing - it was a trapezoidal box? With like…a solar panel on it? There wasn’t any sun in here - why would th-

Crawford’s thoughts cut off as a yelp ripped off his throat - body spasming and tensing to the click of the little machine.

“Wh-Wh-at was that-??”

Ethan was smirking now, standing back up.

Another. Crawford jolted hard, muscles straining against his arms as the electricity ripped through him - hard, fast, and quick.

Then disappeared again.

His muscles tingled. “Whh-”

And again. He bit down on the yelp this time, flexing and unflexing his muscles to the unfamiliar pain that made them twitch and shake.

“It’s a fencer,” Nate fucking finally explained.

Another rough zap caught at his breath.

Continuing, “it powers the electric fences-” ZAP “-that surround pastures. It has to be strong to get through the thick skin cattle have.” ZAP “Hits a little harder on people though, don’t you think?”

ZAP

Crawford grit his teeth. He could handle this - it was bad but not that bad h- ZAP - hhhhhe could handle this.

This was fine.

ZAP

He screwed his eyes shut as Ethan wandered toward the door.

ZAP

The lights flicked off.

Nate’s voice seemed louder in the dark. “...E?”

ZAP

“That’s all he gets tonight,” Ethan replied. ZAP. “We’ll see how he’s doing in the morning.”

Nate rolled his eyes - it was practically audible. ZAP. “You know you can kill a guy like that, right?”

ZAP

Ethan pulled Nate through the door. “Don’t care.”

ZAP

The door slammed shut - leaving Crawford alone to a night of empty, inconsistent agonies. ZAP. It wasn’t that bad.

ZAP

Just a burst of pain.

ZAP

Not even too bad.

ZAP

He could do this.

ZAP

This was better, he told himself.

ZAP

He deserved worse.

ZAP

At least it wasn’t the knife.

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(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @mabledonut @heathenwhump @paleassprince @happy-little-sadist @wormwriting @distinctlywhumpthing @whump-cafe @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @azayta @batfacedliar-yetagain @there-will-always-be-blood @siren-of-agony @whumpworld @bandages-andobsessions @deltaxxk @whumpasaurus101 @pickywhumpreader @whumpberry-cookie @morning-star-whump @nailevislev @throwawaywhumper @the-mourning-star @d-cs @pigeonwhumps @hold-back-on-the-comfort @suspicious-whumping-egg @snakebites-and-ink @whumpedydump @orphans-parent)

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#electrocution #shock torture #stress position #forced to kneel #murder mention #gore mention #knife #blood #duct tape gag #kidnapping

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