There's no way anyone is getting you out of there without me.
The towel collector's words circled over and over in Hope's mind as she shifted within the confined space of the locker. How long she'd been in here now, it was impossible to say, but her knees already ached from the hard metal floor, and her shoulders already ached from the tight knots around her elbows, and her jaw already ached from the sour-tasting cloth stuffed inside her mouth. To be perfectly honest, she also felt quite suffocated by the draw-string bag tied over her head. It smelled of sweat and stale breath and each time she sucked in air through her nose she felt as though she didn't quite get enough. She was always left wanting a tiny bit more.
Through all that had happened, it was only when the lock on the door had clicked shut and she'd heard the man leave that the situation had begun to sink in. She'd been so abashed about being in the wrong changing room, then so terrified about having her future ruined over a simple mistake, then so eager to fix it, that she hadn't quite processed all that was going on. Now, feeling the cold metal of the locker pressing against her naked skin from all sides, she was becoming increasingly mortified as she recalled all that had brought her here... How quickly she'd found herself naked in front of him. How readily she'd offered the idea of the blindfold. How wantonly she'd reacted to his every innocent touch. She was thankful for all the help the man had given her, but she felt that she had humiliated herself. She was still wet, after all, from where his hand had accidentally brushed her pussy lips. That was her fault too, just like it was her fault for being in the wrong changing room. If she hadn't made him promise not to look, he never would have accidentally touched her there, and she wouldn't be stuck now thinking about it, turning the moment over and over again in her mind.
Achingly, Hope shifted on her tender knees, but no position felt better than the last. She wished she could kneel down, or could sit, or could stand and stretch, but the unforgiving metal all around her forbade it. There was nothing she could do but to moan through her gagged mouth, but even that was restricted to little more than a grunt. She did not know if anyone would be able to hear her outside of this confined space, even if she wanted to be heard.
He'll be back soon
, Hope told herself, trying in vain to stretch her bound arms in a way which would relieve the ache. At this point, she had nothing left to cling to.
Time stretched on endlessly within the confines of the locker. Eventually, Hope perked up as she heard a noise: the door of the changing room opening. She let out a groan of relief until the sound of many voices reached her ears.
It was the men's swim team, finishing up practice like the towel collector had said.
How could that be possible? The man had said that they were almost done. He'd rushed her into the locker under the impression that they would be showing up at any moment. Had it really been so short a time? If so, how long did she have left in here before the towel collector returned? How long could she possible stand this for?
The voices grew louder and rowdier until Hope could make them out clearly. Locker doors slammed open and shut, deep male voices echoed through the space, bare feet slapped across the floor. Further on, she could hear the splashing of water from the shower area and the rustle of clothing. She couldn't help but imagine what was happening out there... those sleek, muscular bodies soaping beneath the steaming shower, those rough-voiced men naked where she'd been naked so shortly ago.
Where she was naked now.
Her heart leapt into her throat as the door to her locker rattled sharply, and she was suddenly pitifully thankful for the gag which had prevented a yelp from escaping her.
"It's locked, dumb-shit. Pick another!" A voice said.
"Twenty-four is my lucky number," the other replied from directly in front of Hope. The door rattled again before the man gave a sharp click of his tongue. "But I guess number twenty-three will do."
Hope could hear the locker above her's open, trying her best to control her shuddering breaths. She felt as though they must be able to hear her pounding heart throughout the whole changing room, but they went on speaking to each-other as though nothing were amiss.
"Andrew!" the first voice said as a locker slammed shut somewhere else in the room. "Fuck, marry, kill. Stacey Kellerman, Amy Matthews, or Hope Green?"
Hope startled at the sound of her own name. Stacey and Amy were both cheerleaders on her team, but they'd never been close friends. The first was a know-it-all brunette majoring in microbiology while the second was a tall, redheaded dance major. Hope was certainly surprised to find her own name uttered alongside theirs.
"Easy," Andrew answered in a deep baritone. "Kill Stacey, marry Amy, fuck Hope Green."
"You're crazy," someone else said. "Obviously you would marry Stacey and kill Amy."
"And fuck?"
"Hope. I thought it went without saying."
"God," another voice joined the chorus. "What I would give for five minutes with that girl. I think she's the only reason we still have a football team. How else are you going to get so many guys packed into the stands?"
"I say just get rid of the game," Andrew cut in. "I'd watch three hours of just Hope with that little cheerleading outfit bouncing across the field."
"Or without it. I've certainly imagined it enough times in my bunk."
There seemed to be general agreement to that sentiment, mixed with some laughter. Hope listened helplessly, her cheeks burning as they continued, taking turns describing all the fantasies they'd carried out with her in their minds.
Was this what people thought about her? Was this what people said about her? Hope told herself she should be mortified, and on some level she was, but somehow, hearing them speak about her like this, she also felt impatiently hot all over. Maybe it was the fact that she kept imagining the bodies behind those voices, or maybe it was all the things they were describing her doing... but there was a heat between her legs, and she knew if she touched herself down there, her fingers would come away wet.
If they were to open this locker... She dared not imagine it. Whatever they wanted to do with her, naked and bound like this she'd have no way of stopping them.
Hope ached to move her body, to fulfill the urge growing inside her, but there was nowhere to go and her arms remained tightly bound behind her. Almost without thinking, her hips had begun to rock slowly forward and back as she tensed and untensed her thighs, willing the feeling between her legs to grow as she listened to the ways they would use her mouth, use her hands, use her body.
Hope had almost forgotten the agony in her knees until one ground painfully into a fleck of something sharp on the bottom of the locker. With a hiss, she jerked her knee up, quickly dropping it back down to balance herself as the pain in her other knee flared.
"You hear something?" the man using the locker above her said.
Hope froze, not daring to move an inch.
"Just you, pea-brain."
"Shove it," the man replied, slamming his locker door shut with a crash which made Hope jump.
Slowly, as the men finished up in the changing room, the voices began to empty out one-by-one. Eventually, Hope was left in her darkness once more, alone with her aching body and the thoughts spinning around in her mind.
Around her, the locker felt unbearably tight, the draw-string bag smothering, the ties at her wrists and elbows torturously knotted... and yet, she knew that without them, she would have succumbed to her urges, just as the towel collecting man had insinuated. If not for the bag over her head, she would surely have looked at all those changing men, and if not for her tied arms, she would surely have removed the covering from her face. Without them, she'd have caved to perversions, just as she'd been accused of doing. She was ashamed, but thankful. The man had helped her more than she'd ever possibly imagined. Hope vowed to thank him when he returned, vowed to apologize for her previous actions too, when he set her free.
She hoped it would be soon...
Hours later, the locker had grown suffocatingly warm from her confinement. Hope could feel sweat beading on her body, trailing between her breasts and down her thighs. Her head was sweltering beneath the draw-string bag, the stale air within growing harder and harder to breathe with each passing moment. Hope almost wished that the swim team had found her earlier, if only to relieve her legs, arms, and jaw of their absolute agony. When she finally heard the changing room door open again, she almost cried, mewling out from beneath her gag.
Moments passed before a key slotted into the lock of her prison and the door swung open, giving Hope sudden goosebumps as cold air washed over her wet body. She groaned, biting down uselessly on the dry mass of fabric stuffed into her mouth. The cold had reminded her sharply of her complete state of undress, tickling between her legs and making her nipples stand hard on her breasts. When she tried to slide exhausted and grateful out of the locker though, a hand stopped her, holding her up firmly with a palm just above her navel.
"I'm upset with you."
It was the man's voice, stern and commanding. Hope made a questioning whine in her throat. She could not bear another moment standing on her knees, but he did not seem to care.
"Because of you," he continued. "I was late returning the towels and they fired me."
Hope wanted to apologize, wanted to say how sorry she was for questioning him throughout, for taking up his time, but she could not get anything past the gag in her mouth.
"You know, I considered just leaving you in here overnight. I'm still not sure that I won't. You'd deserve it, after all. But I figured I'd give you at least a chance to make it up to me, to make it right."
The idea of spending even a second more in this locker was something Hope's mind recoiled from in horror. Feeling the walls at her backs and pressing against her sides, knowing that it would only take him a moment to shut her inside again, made Hope's throat close up tight. She nodded her head sharply when he suggested that there might be a way she could make up for it. He'd done so much for her already, Hope knew. She was happy to make it right.
He must have been satisfied with that response because she felt the bag around her head loosen and lift up ever so slightly. His hands reached behind her neck, and after a moment, she felt the mass in her mouth loosening too. It took a moment more, but when the items of clothing had been removed from between her teeth, Hope gratefully worked her jaw. She thought he would remove the draw-string bag too, but instead, the strings were tightened back around her neck once more.
"Well?" he asked her. "How are you going to make it up to me?"
"Can I please come out of the locker? My knees are so sore," she begged.
