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“Sweet dreams,” he said and knocked on my helmet. Then he gave me the finger straight in my face. “See you tomorrow or whenever,” turned off the lights, and closed the door.
I was alone in the darkness. The only sound I could hear was the vibrator, or perhaps I just felt it and imagined the sound. I tried to jiggle around a bit to see if I could get loose, but I was securely tied up. It wasn’t uncomfortable, perhaps not surprising given all the padded sports gear they forced on me, but I would probably have burning muscle aches when they eventually cut me loose. Right now it was the pungent smell of locker room from the gear that bothered me more, or perhaps even more the sock gag they taped in place. It just kept leaking a foul, sour taste. They can’t be this bad naturally so it must be because of the oil.
Fuck, I’m losing it. My mind keeps wandering and not focusing. I’ll take it from the start.
So someone in the linear algebra class asked if I could walk by the KAX frat house on my way home and hand over some homework to Chase. I didn’t recall seeing him before, but then the class lecture hall is large and some people are watching the classes remotely. I assumed we had spoken though, because how else would he know I passed the frat house on my route? “Sure,” I said and grabbed the manilla folder from him.
After one lecture in mechanics, friction more specifically, I was on my way home. The KAX frat house was a weird-looking brick building that had been some sort of school before it was converted, with a decent-sized front garden. I walked up the gravel walk to the door and just as I was about to press the buzzer the door flung open and a half dozen dudes tackled me to the floor.
“Hey! Let me” was all I managed to shout out before someone stuck a rolled towel between my teeth. I was pressed down into the floor by several hands and knees. “You find it? Is it him?” someone asked. I could hear rummaging above me. “Yeah, it’s here. Schematics, codes, everything. He even put it in a folder with KAX written on it. What a fucking stealth ninja.”
I had been set up! For what I didn’t know, but I started to struggle and shout pleadings to them, which probably came out as muffled nonsense. “Spritz him,” someone else said, and soon after a pair of hands held my head still, while a third inserted something into one nostril, sprayed a mist into it, and I blacked out.
“He’s awake,” someone called out far in the distance, and I wondered who he meant. There was something in my mouth but as I tried to reach for it someone grabbed my arm. Slowly the frat house and the ambush came back to me and I opened my eyes. I saw myself in a large, wall-mounted mirror, sitting relaxed in an armchair that had been placed in a home gym. I was dressed almost completely as a football player. Cleats, socks, tight pants, undershirt, and two guys were about to tie the shoulder pads in place. I had two black streaks under my eyes and duct tape over my mouth keeping whatever in place. There was a funky smell of locker room as if the uniform hadn’t been washed. “Almost done. Keep calm and don’t struggle, and we won’t knock you out again.”
I wasn’t sure what was happening, but I was pretty sure I wouldn’t get far if I tried to fight them. The guys put on a football Jersey in the school team’s colors, followed by elbow pads and gloves. Then they helped me up from the armchair and moved me over to their lat pulldown machine, I think it’s called. It looked like it came from a professional gym that I imagine the frat had grabbed at some bankruptcy auction. In the few steps over I could feel something else was wrong. I had been so overwhelmed by the sensations of a full football outfit I hadn’t noticed something was weird in the groin area.
Once seated on the machine the guys started to tie me in place with thick ropes. Another pair of guys carried the armchair out of the room so the only remaining furniture was gym equipment. I was still at a loss for what the purpose, as well as the reason, for all this was. In front of me one guy rolled up a white sock that was discolored as if it had been heavily used in black shoes. He then picked up a small bottle, unscrewed it, and used the dropper from the lid to squirt some liquid into the rolled-up sock. He then tore off a new strip of duct tape, ripped off the tape from my face, replaced the cloth in there with the sock roll, and taped it shut again. I figured if I resisted they would just use whatever that spritz was again.
“We have a private cannabis oil blend with some other shit mixed in that gives you these amazing sexual highs. Just rock hard for hours while you can space out to your favorite porn. Very dangerous to use too often or too long.” He pressed a helmet on my head and locked it in place with the strap. “With the concentration you’re getting, and released over such a long time, you’ll end up forming completely new sexual attractions to whatever you’re subjected to.” He pressed something near my hip and I could feel what might have been a cockring starting to vibrate. “To what is however the question.” He was about to leave when one of the other guys pointed at something on the floor.
He reached down and plugged in an air humidifier. “We put so much effort into this, and I almost forgot it. We’ve been pulling moisture out of gym clothes for months to create this experience for you. I’m really interested in what the outcome is. The original idea was to turn you gay for football jocks, but I think it’s more likely you’ll end up sexually attracted to locker rooms. Or bondage. Well, tell your bros at the frat we won the prank battle this year.”
My mouth was filled with bitter, sour taste and my eyes started having trouble focusing on him.
“Fuck, it stinks. Let’s leave boys before it sticks in the hair. I bet it takes weeks to get out. Sweet dreams,” he said and knocked on my helmet.
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