My Bullies - Chapter Forty-One

Monday after school.

The locker room was empty—echoing tile, faint scent of chlorine from the adjacent pool, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Ethan stood in the center, heart pounding, phone in his hand. He’d sent the texts that morning: each of the eight guys a different time, staggered ten minutes apart. “Need to talk. Locker room. Alone. Important.”

Caleb and Diego waited in the shadows behind the rows of lockers, ropes ready, faces set.

The first new guy arrived—the lacrosse captain, swaggering in like he owned the place.

“Ethan? What’s this about?”

Caleb moved like a shadow—arm around his neck from behind, chokehold dropping him to his knees. Diego was there in a second, ropes binding wrists and ankles fast. The guy struggled, cursing, but it was over quick. They stripped him—shirt ripped, pants yanked down, underwear cut off with a pocket knife. Naked, bound, gagged with his own sock.

One down.

Ten minutes later: the wrestler. Same ambush. Stripped bare, muscles useless against the surprise attack. Tied tight.

The two football players came next—each thinking he was alone. Captured. Stripped. Bound.

The quiet swim-team kid was last of the new guys. He walked in nervous, but the takedown was swift. Clothes shredded, body exposed—smooth like Ethan’s, but not by choice now. Tied and gagged.

All five new guys were dragged one by one to the back storage room—naked, bound, gagged, stacked like luggage against the wall.

Then the originals.

Mason arrived first—cocky grin, hands in pockets.

“Yo, Ethan. What’s the big secret?”

Caleb and Diego hit him from both sides. Mason fought hard—swinging, kicking—but Diego’s silence was deadly efficient. They pinned him, ropes lashing him tight.

“Time for extra fun,” Caleb said, voice cold.

They stripped him slowly—shirt cut open, jeans pulled down, boxers sliced away. Mason’s cock sprang out hard despite his curses.

Caleb handed Ethan the phone. “Film it.”

Ethan’s hands shook, but he started recording.

Caleb edged Mason—slow strokes, thumb circling the head—while Diego fingered his hole roughly, two fingers deep and curling. Mason bucked, moaning against the gag, face red with humiliation.

Ethan watched, camera steady, his own cock hardening in his shorts.

They kept it going—edging him to the brink, stopping, repeating—until Mason was sobbing, hips thrusting into empty air.

“Next.”

Tyler was the last.

He walked in whistling, but the ambush was brutal. Tied down naked in minutes.

Same treatment: Caleb edging his cock relentlessly, Diego’s fingers invading his hole, twisting and probing. Tyler thrashed, eyes wide with shock and shame, pre-cum leaking profusely.

Ethan filmed every second—close-ups of Tyler’s face, his hole clenching around Diego’s fingers, his cock throbbing in Caleb’s grip.

When both were wrecked—edged to insanity, denied, sobbing—they were dragged to the storage room with the others.

All eight—naked, bound, gagged—propped against the wall in a row. Eyes wide with fear and fury as Caleb, Diego, and Ethan stood over them.

Caleb stepped forward, voice low and deadly.

“You thought you could take what’s mine? Humiliate me? Use him?”

He paced in front of them, eyes cold.

“Here’s your fate…”