My Bullies - Chapter Forty-Two

The day had built to this.

After breakfast and planning, Caleb, Diego, and Ethan had spent the afternoon preparing—ropes tested, vibrators charged, times confirmed. The eight guys had shown up one by one in the locker room, lured by Ethan's texts, each thinking it was a private talk. Each captured, stripped, bound, and prepped in silence.

Now, the stadium lights blazed over the college football field. The stands were packed—thousands of students, alumni, families—cheering as the teams warmed up. The game was twenty minutes from kickoff, the air electric with anticipation.

Suddenly, from the home team changing rooms, a door burst open.

The eight boys—hands bound behind their backs, completely naked, hard cocks jutting out in front of their bodies—were pushed staggering onto the field.

The stadium gasped as one.

Phones came out instantly, recording, flashing. Laughter rippled through the crowd, then roared. The boys' faces burned crimson—eyes wide in panic, bodies exposed under the bright lights. No clothes. No cover. Just bare skin, bound wrists, and the humiliating truth of their arousal.

They bolted—scrambling across the grass toward the sidelines, the end zone, anywhere for cover. Security guards started running from the edges, whistles blowing.

But as they ran, each step jolted the vibrators buried deep in their asses—placed there by Ethan, Caleb, and Diego during the capture. The devices buzzed on high, edging them relentlessly with every desperate stride.

One of the football players came first—mid-sprint, legs buckling as ropes of cum shot from his hard cock, splattering the grass. He collapsed to his knees, moaning in shame as the crowd howled and filmed.

The wrestler followed—caught by a guard mid-field, wrestling futilely as he erupted, cum spraying across the security guy's uniform.

The lacrosse captain made it to the sidelines but came as he dove behind a bench—body convulsing, load hitting his own chest.

The quiet swim-team kid tripped near the 50-yard line, cumming on all fours like an animal, ass up for the entire stadium to see.

The other football player was tackled by two guards—pinned face-down, ass in the air, vibrator buzzing louder as he shot his load onto the turf.

One of the new guys—the one who had been cruelest—came while running in circles, screaming in frustration as cum arced in front of him.

The last new guy made it to the goal post before his knees gave out, spraying across the end zone paint.

Marcus was last.

He almost made it off the field—dodging guards, bound hands flailing—but security caught him near the tunnel. They dragged him back kicking and cursing, naked body thrashing under the lights.

The jumbotron camera caught it all—zoomed in on his face, his hard cock, his bound wrists.

He came then—hard, explosive—ropes of cum spraying all over his own chest and stomach as the guards hauled him across the grass. The big screen projected every spurt, every twitch, for the whole stadium to see. The crowd exploded—laughs, cheers, phones flashing like stars.

From the changing room doorway—hidden in the shadows—Ethan, Caleb, and Diego watched it all unfold.

Caleb barked a laugh first, deep and satisfied. Diego’s lips curled in a rare, silent smile. Ethan giggled nervously at first, then harder, the revenge hitting him like a wave.

The eight boys were rounded up, humiliated beyond repair, their exposure permanent on hundreds of phones.

The trap had worked.

Revenge complete.