pull the trigger bitch

Touch me, he commands as though reading her mind.

She does and despises the familiarity of it. How he sighs into her touch and begins to grope her hips openly. He wants her—it's just too bad he never confirms if she wants him back.

C'mon, he groans and rises suddenly, eclipsing her vision and making it impossible to ignore him. Touch me, please. I really need it.

She finds her voice and tries. I'm really tired baby, she murmurs in the sweetest voice she can muster. Can we go to sleep?

No—you know what I need.

She curls over him, pressing herself over his head while he tugs at her waistband. What happened? she asks, only halfway paying attention.

He begins to pull her sweatpants off. There is a very distant look in his eyes that makes her instinctively want to reach out and cradle his head against her breast. He swallows hard and rests his clammy palms on her thighs. Can you please tell me you're proud of me? It looks like something that pains him to ask, as though he isn't feeling her up without warning, stripping her down without pausing the fill her in on his plans.

She struggles to hold back tears when he discards her sweatpants and panties, leaving her fully exposed. He idly probes his fingers around her dry cunt and frowns. You aren't wet—do you not love me anymore?

She is helpless against the urge to launch into frantic defense. I'm sorry—baby, I'm sorry. I still love you, I promise. I love you, baby. And I'm so proud of you.

If the praise does anything for him, it barely shows, and he responds by shoving two of his fingers knuckle-deep into her. It's something she knows she should have expected. He wants to hear something specific from her and she is loathe to do it, but she will if it means stopping a dry penetration. She is still woefully unused to this little preparation and it does not seem like he has any interest in training her to take it. She reckons she will be a sort of mom he can fuck until he breaks her.

As he pushes deeper, scraping the edges of her cunt raw, she says, Mommy's got you—it's okay, baby.

A strangled moan escapes him and he slumps forward, pressing his forehead to her stomach while he stills his fingers. It feels as though a switch has been flipped and he gently rocks his fingers while they remain tucked deep within her. The pain ebbs into something more bearable as he plays her from within.

Yeah? His voice is thick with emotion and disbelief. Pet my hair, Mommy.

The captain stands in front of the door and is flanked by some of the other upperclassmen. The freshman recognizes everyone, but their expressions are so unnervingly different they may as well be strangers. A very bad feeling begins to swell within the freshman and only their pride keeps them in place. The surrounding butches are all older and more than a few of them look large enough to send the freshman flying. The captain stares down at them, their eyes shrouded in the shadow cast by their cap.

"What're you looking so scared for?"

The freshman instinctively backs away and their back bumps into the wall. The upperclassmen surround them until they realize their mistake. "What are y'all doing? Let's go—I know I'm late, sorry."

The captain's lips twitch with a subdued smile when they pick up on the frantic tone in the freshman's voice. They bark out a laugh and cross their thick arms across their chest. The other butches behind them start obnoxiously jeering and jabbing as the captain leans over the freshman.

"Our first game is coming up pretty soon," they murmur while bracing themself over the freshman, caging them in and forcing them to meet their eyes. "Are you gonna fuck it up for us? We don't want a bad start to the season, y'know."

There is something nasty glinting in their eyes as they bend further to get up in the freshman butch's personal space. The freshman shrinks back and nearly begins to slide down the wall. Alarms continue blaring in their mind and they only grow louder when the captain traps their bicep in a vice-like grip.

Apparently, all of the freshman's recent weight training has been for nothing. When they're handled like this, the will to fight leaves them and they're reduced to jelly, unable to resist the pull of the more dominant butches.

"Alright," the captain says and gestures to one of the other butches. "Let's go."

The freshman is grabbed before they have a chance to process the words. One of the upperclassmen circles an arm around their throat while another lifts their legs. The captain slips a hand up under their shirt—a poorly chosen fitted tank top—and gropes along their stomach before reaching their chest.

The only thing that spares the freshman from further molestation is being thrown into the weight room with no warning.

The captain is big enough to send the freshman halfway to a nervous breakdown. Their thick biceps strain against the sleeves of their compression shirt and their normally disarming face is distorted with an uncanny sneer. Something unsettling flickers in their eyes. The remaining butches filter into the weight room and surround the freshman. Already, they begin to close in and the freshman is helpless to fight off so many wandering hands. They are sprawled on the dank-smelling mats. Finally, they relocate their voice. "What're you doin—"

Before they finish, one of the butches grabs them by the straps of their tank and wrenches them from the ground as though they're nothing.

The freshman is held upright, wavering, by a pair of seniors that usually treat them as if they're glass. Their big hands roam openly, taking handfuls of their ass, slapping their pussy through their shorts, and one of them whispers a remark about how slutty they look. Surely they wanted this—coming in here like that.

The captain calls out, "What do we like boys?"

The others begin to grow increasingly agitated, all of them thrumming with enough energy it spills over and crackles in the air. The freshman feels as though they'll choke on the tension—it's unlike anything they've ever felt. The excited jeering echoes around the weight room until it's all the freshman has ever heard. The sound goes through their head and resonates through their skull.

The captain steps forward and their hands slide from the freshman's biceps to their neck, holding them firmly in place. The pressure is nearly enough to choke them. They meet the freshman's eyes for a moment and they find no mercy there.

"We like it when our boys follow directions."

There's a chorus of that's right! and fuck yeah! It makes the freshman's skin crawl.

"So, boy," the captain hisses and comes even closer, snarling in their face. "Are you gonna listen to what we say?"

The freshman violently flinches away from the captain's voice and they frantically look around, finding no kind faces in the excited crowd around them. They're being eyed like they're a piece of meat. The leering gets under their skin quickly and they fail to stifle their despair. It tears through them in the form of a sob.

A rough hand slides along their neck and someone snaps the waistband of their shorts. Another butch gropes their waist under their top, taking their time to commit the feeling to memory before moving to the next target. The attention is overwhelming and humiliating all at once and the freshman struggles to remain upright. They push viciously, finally finding the will within themself to fight back, but it is useless. There are too many of them and all at once, many hands restrain them in crushing, bruising grips. A strangled cry tears through the freshman's through and every muscle in their body strains to break free.

The captain grabs their face and squeezes hard, forcing their lips to pout and a stream of drool to escape their mouth. It's an extra embarrassment and on top of everything else, it barely registers.

"If you do everything we ask you to, you'll be one of us," they explain while looking deeply into their eyes. "You'll be untouchable." This won't happen again. More so, you will be a part of this.

The captain gives the freshman a long, lingering look before pushing them to the floor. "Are you ready?"

The freshman nods weakly and is already halfway to understanding they don't really have a choice. There is no hope of fighting this many people off or somehow slipping out of their grasps. As they look around the room for a friendly face, maybe someone willing to help, they find nothing but a vicious anticipation.

The captain now stands and addresses the others. "What do we wanna have our new boy do? How's this fucker gonna prove they're good enough?"

Although the freshman is near delirious with fear, some of the team's suggestions reach them where they cower on the filthy floor. The ideas range from juvenile and humiliating to straight up illegal and dangerous.

Streak through the football field this Saturday!

Get those sorority bitches drunk and ready for us.

Make them suck their own dick!

Stuff something in that tight pussy.

That final suggestion makes the captain perk up and they bend over the freshman, leaning inches from their face, and ask, "Did you hear that? I think the boys wanna see you take it like a man."

The freshman freezes and instinctively goes limp as the captain yanks them from the floor. They don't wait for an answer and instead carry them effortlessly. They're caged in the captain's arms for a brief moment before being dumped onto a long table in the corner of the room. The location instantly becomes more claustrophobic when the team bears down on them. It takes everything inside of them to resist scrambling away. Despite the increasing sense of danger of the situation, they still feel some delusional, desperate need to prove themself. It hits them like a truck out of nowhere and they're disgusted at the force of it. What else is there left for them to do?

The captain tosses their cap aside and stares down at the freshman. Their eyes are finally fully visible. The freshman finds nothing kind there.

"Someone get this slut's shorts off."

The jeering grows once more and the freshman's skin crawls. The command seems to have reignited to pulsing energy in the air. Everyone descends on them at once, many of them openly groping them over their skimpy clothes.

The captain stands back and sneers down at them, content to watch the situation they've orchestrated unfold.

"You wanted this to happen, huh? I can see your tits."

As though acting on cue, one of the butches grabs the freshman's tits and pinches their nipples hard before pulling them away from their body. It's agony. It's too much all at once and they can't keep from crying. Through their tears, they feel someone begin to peel their tank top off. They're so terrified their body is covered with a thin sheen of sweat and their clothes uncomfortably stick to them.

"No," they say, voice wavering, unconvincing even to themself.

The laughter breaks out again and another butch brutally slaps their pussy through their shorts before wrenching them off. To the freshman's horror, they immediately discover they're wet and know everyone else can see.

"Flip over."

The captain pushes the freshman around the table and manages to force them onto their hands and knees with the help of the rest of the team. One of the butches directly in front of the freshman pulls out a thick, throbbing dick and slaps it against their face. The scent of musky arousal seems to instantly permeate the air as the others follow suit. Soon, the freshman is surrounded by a sight usually reserved for the locker room. These are all bodies they've seen before, but never like this. Everyone is equipped with harnesses or they're already hard. Some of them are still clothed but stroking themselves through their shorts. The freshman's mouth runs dry as the captain forces their face down.

Fingers suddenly prod at them through their boxers and tease them around the elastic waistband. The freshman tries to suppress the urge to thrust themself back into the hands groping them. It's an odd impulse that wells up from somewhere deep within them and they gag when they feel their body warm with unwilling desire. They glance over their shoulder and watch as the captain eagerly paws at their ass.

"Let's see how wet this pussy is."

The captain tugs their boxers off and throws them to the ground before spreading their cheeks. The freshman buries their face in their folded forearms and the rest of the team violates them in every way they can. They feel worse as they recall all the times they spent guiltily fantasizing about the captain. It was never supposed to be like this.

The captain's thumb shoves into their cunt without warning and it spreads their hole uncomfortably wide. "Oh," they laugh and there is nothing merciful in their voice. "Y'all, it looks like we have a real whore on the team."

The freshman can't hold back a distressed whine at that remark—the captain forces their thumb deeper and probes into the depths of their cunt while the rest of their fingers come slowly closer to the freshman's tight ass. The captain pushes further without giving the freshman time to adjust. It burns deep in them in a way they know they'll remember for weeks after.

"You like that, huh? You wanna be our cumdump, don't you?"

The freshman is mortified and unable to think clearly between the barrage of voices and the fingers crammed in their holes.

"I just—" they gasp and writhe on the tabletop. "I just wanna be on the team." It doesn't have the intended effect with so many hands roaming possessively over them.

The captain hands over their shoulder, their face inches from the freshman's ear, and they hiss, "You just wanna be on the team, huh? Is that why you're slutting yourself out like this?"

The freshman weakly attempts to jerk away and the fingers stuffed within them curl upward and it scrambles their senses until they're reduced to a panting mess.