As Matt crouched on the bench, his tiny body buzzing with the thrill of his forbidden streak through the locker room, a sudden noise shattered the silence—a heavy stomp followed by the groan of the locker room door. His heart lurched. He dove behind a damp, musky towel, its fibers reeking of Jack’s sweat, and peeked out cautiously. Jacob, the team’s towering defensive end, stormed in alone, his face a storm cloud of rage, probably from a brutal practice. His massive cleats slammed against the tiles, sending tremors through the bench. Matt’s 2-inch frame quivered as he pressed himself deeper into the towel, praying to stay hidden.
But Jacob’s brown eyes swept the room, catching the faint rustle of the towel. His scowl twisted into a wicked grin, his teeth flashing like a shark’s. “Well, *fuck*,” he drawled, his voice a low growl as he lumbered closer. “The tiny man from the rumors… Matt, you little perv.” He crouched, his hulking frame casting a shadow over the bench, his breath hot and sharp. “Heard some idiot shrank in the chem lab. Didn’t know it was you, sneaking in here to get your kicks.”
Matt stumbled out, exposed, his naked body trembling under Jacob’s gaze. “Jacob, please,” he squeaked, voice cracking. “Don’t tell anyone. I—I wasn’t doing anything wrong.”
Jacob’s laugh was dark, rumbling like thunder. “Wrong? You’re streaking in my fucking locker room, tiny. I could do *whatever* I want with you.” His eyes gleamed, but there was a flicker—something softer, quickly buried. His voice dropped, husky and taunting. “Could crush you like a bug. Or… maybe I keep you for myself. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Being my little *pet*.”
Matt’s pulse raced, fear mixing with a strange heat. Jacob’s words dripped with menace, but his gaze lingered too long, his jaw tightening when he said “pet.” Matt sensed it—a buried attraction Jacob was fighting to hide, maybe even from himself. The bully’s bravado felt like a mask, but his grin stayed cruel, daring Matt to flinch.
“Here’s how this goes, shrimp,” Jacob said, leaning closer, his voice a sinful whisper. “You pick your fate. Option one: I stuff you in my jockstrap, right up against my cock. You’ll feel every fucking move I make, drowning in my sweat and musk.” His smirk faltered, a nervous twitch in his fingers. “Option two: I slide you into my sock, let you squirm under my foot during practice. Every step, you’re *mine*, pressed under my weight.” He paused, voice softening, almost vulnerable. “Option three: I tuck you between my ass cheeks, nice and tight. You’ll be trapped there, feeling my heat, my every flex. Or option four: I hide you in my locker, just us, after hours. My own little secret to… play with.”
Matt’s body burned, his tiny mind reeling.
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author