All characters 18+. Copyright 2024. All rights reserved.
Trigger warnings: dark themes, violence, non-con, cuckold ----------
The sharp metal fins of the locker's vents dug into my cheek. Salty, metallic blood dribbled from my nose, over my lip and into my mouth. My shoulder joint screamed as Tony wrenched my arm even further behind my back. He pulled me upright, his hand a vise around my wrist. My pinned arm complained, and I cried out.
"Did you think I wouldn't recognize you?" Tony growled.
He slammed my face into the locker again. Pain shot across the back of my skull and down my neck, joining the agony of my overextended joint. I whimpered in despair. How could this be happening again?
"You're such a weak little bitch."
That's what he'd called me in high school. Well, one of the things he'd called me. Shitstain. Piss streak. There were others; I'd tried hard to forget them. I'd tried hard to forgive myself for never standing up to him.
Tony released my arm, and I sighed in relief. The feeling was short lived. A fist slammed into my abdomen. The kidney punch stole my breath. Pain blazed everywhere, flaring from every nerve. My knees buckled, and I slumped against the bank of lockers. I couldn't hold myself up. My body began to sag. I slid down the smooth, metal surface like drool rolling over a baby's chin. Curling on my side at Tony's feet, I hoped to just pass out. Maybe I could play dead. Maybe he'd leave me alone if I wasn't any fun to play with.
Tony crouched. He grabbed my jaw and squeezed, forcing my mouth open, my teeth gouging the smooth flesh inside my cheek. He turned my head so I was looking up at him. I blinked against the bright overhead lights of the locker room, his features in silhouette. Then, he leaned a little closer, blocking the light, and my eyes adjusted.
A smug sneer curled Tony's lips. The shadow of a beard emphasized his sharp jaw. I didn't look any higher—you're not supposed to look a predator in the eye.
"Look at me, shitstain."
Not unless they order you to. Our eyes met, and I whimpered again. Tony had incredible eyes--not the kind you'd expect on a sadistic asshole. They were big and cobalt blue. Iridescent. Penetrating. He saw my fear and pain. He saw my weakness and surrender. His lip curled a little more, extending his sneer. He found me contemptible, sure, but I could see something else in his extraordinary eyes: satisfaction.
Tony barked a short laugh as he released my jaw. He stood up.
"I've missed beating your sorry ass," he said, spinning the dial on a nearby locker. "You were one of my favorites."
I remained on the floor, trying to catch my breath, not daring to move. Being one of Tony's "favorites" was a distinction no one had wanted. Catching Tony's eye had meant getting tossed into a dumpster before school, getting tripped and shoved during school, and getting tackled and beaten after school. Tony had had a shitty home life—I'd known that even before high school. Absent mother, abusive father, vicious older brothers. But understanding why Tony was so aggressive hadn't made the cuts and bruises hurt any less.
I heard rustling and opened one eye to check. Tony had peeled off his exercise shirt and was holding a green canvas gym bag. Yeah, there was no chance I was standing up to him. Tony was tall and broad, at least half a foot taller than my 5'-9". At 23, he was even bigger than he'd been in high school, his shoulders beefy and his arms thick with muscle. As he shoved the gym bag back in the locker, he shifted and my throat closed in fear. He was totally ripped with a prominent, muscled chest and brick-like abs.
Tony glanced down and saw me watching him. He smirked. After slamming the locker shut, he reached down and grabbed a handful of my t-shirt.
"No," I said weakly, breath still painful and shallow.
Tony paid me no mind. He dragged me across the locker room floor. I clung to his wrist and forearm, shuffling my legs in a useless attempt to get my feet under me. He headed toward the showers, then stopped and changed direction. We approached the bathroom stalls. I feared the worst, but Tony just dropped me on the floor next to a urinal. He pulled down his gym shorts, and I heard the splatter of urine. Thinking him occupied, I rolled to hands and knees, but Tony was no dummy. A well-placed kick caught me in the same spot as his earlier punch, and I toppled to the tiled floor, holding my side and wheezing.
"Did I tell you you could get up?"
That's when a warm stream of Tony's piss splattered across my arms, chest and shoulders. As the stream petered out, Tony stepped closer and directed the last spurts to fall on the side of my face. I turned away and felt warm piss seep through my hair to coat my scalp.
"Now you definitely need a shower," Tony said with a tone of satisfaction. Satis-fucking-faction. This shit was fulfilling to him.
Tony caught hold of my foot and tucked my toes into the crook of his elbow. He dragged me back toward the showers, my head bumping on the seams between tiles. I considered kicking him with my other leg. I could get free and run. Could I make it out of the locker room before he caught me? Probably not. Could I reach—.
My train of thought derailed as Tony dragged me into a shower stall. What was he planning now? The stall was cramped, barely large enough for a guy Tony's size. He propped my outstretched leg against the shower's back wall, then looked back at me, eyeing my urine-drenched shirt. He didn't want to get piss on his hands.
At that moment, what I'd worried about most happened. There came a knock on the locker room door. A woman called my name.
"Gordie?"
A cruel smile crept onto Tony's handsome face. "I was wondering how long she'd take."
He seized me under the armpits, ignoring the foul dampness of my shirt, and manhandled me so I was on my back under the shower head, feet in the air, heels propped haphazardly against the walls. He spun the shower handle and icy water poured over me. I yelped.
"Gordon?"
"Stay put," Tony ordered, eyes hard, a jaw muscle flexing. He left.
I should have moved. I should have peeled off my piss-soaked shirt and stood up to greet my fiancée. I should have stormed through that locker room, grabbed Debbie's hand, and left before anything worse could happen. But I didn't. I was hurt and humiliated and afraid. Something inside me couldn't escape high school logic: it will be worse if you struggle. Just let it happen—it will be over soon. The water grew steadily warmer, the stream striking my sternum and spraying across the rest of my fully clothed body.
"Gordie!" I heard Debbie exclaim. "Are you okay?"
A second later she was in the stall peering down at me, her pretty face flushed from exercise and her own shower. She'd pulled her soft brown hair back in a bun; she didn't like washing it at the gym. Her big, beautiful breasts hung in space above me. I wanted to shove my face between them and cry but all I managed was a soft croak.
"Deb-bie."
Debbie turned to the shirtless Tony standing behind her, his powerful torso propped against the stall's wall. His thick, muscular arm spanned the narrow space. He looked relaxed, even helpful, but my eyes traced that strong arm, knowing it closed off the possibility of escape.
"What happened? Did he fall?"
I could hear her concern and confusion. I wanted to shout at her to watch out, to run, but a feeling of hopelessness carved a hole in my guts. Tony would use her against me. He'd do something to her just to hurt and humiliate me. That's what he always did. That's what filled whatever mean, spiteful hole he had in his heart.
Tony was saying something to Debbie, gesturing. He kept his voice low. I couldn't hear Debbie's response over the sound of the spraying water. I could see, though, how he'd moved closer, his muscular body dwarfing her in the small space, his shoulders twice as broad as her body. She had to crane her neck to talk to him.
I'd noticed Debbie eyeing Tony while we were working out but hadn't thought much of it. I'd checked out a couple cute gym girls running in their exercise tights. Why shouldn't Debbie look at built dudes lifting weights? It was only natural. Of course, that had been before I'd recognized Tony. That had been earlier, when there'd been other people in the gym. Now, it was late, and they were the only ones left in the building.
Debbie turned back to me. "You poor thing."
She bent down, which sent her well-shaped ass in Tony's direction. I could see his leering face over her shoulder.
She's mine now, he mouthed. I couldn't read lips, but I didn't need to. That's exactly what I'd expect him to say.
Debbie put a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Let's get you up." She gave my shoulder a squeeze.
I was reaching to put my hand over hers when Debbie suddenly jerked backwards. She gave a short cry. A big hand seized the knot of her bun and pulled her head up. Debbie's eyes went wide with terror.
My throat clogged with misery as Tony wrapped his strong arm about her throat. His other arm held Debbie by the waist. My anguish rose as that arm shifted. He found her waistband and slipped his hand beneath the sexy yoga pants I'd bought her a few months earlier for her birthday.
Debbie's shock dissipated. She began to struggle, wriggling and crying out. She pulled on the arm about her throat and reached behind her to get at Tony. Her efforts made little difference. Debbie wasn't a fighter. She was fit but gentle. She had an amazing body, but it was no match for Tony's brawn.
"Stop!" Debbie shouted, "Stop it!"" She swatted Tony's head.
The big man turned his face away but otherwise showed no concern for her strikes. Meanwhile, the tight fabric of Debbie's pants showed his hand between her legs, fingers moving, hand stretching the fabric as it shifted and played.
