Grapevine: Locker Room (f+/f)

[caquernham]

Intro: https://tugstories.com/viewtopic.php?f=9&t=1470

Another quick story that I wasn’t present for, but heard through the grapevine.

This is a crueler story than I’m used to publishing, but it’s here for posterity. Please don’t emulate it. Hmheh creative liberties unhh more vivid narrative bleh. Story time.



High school locker rooms are sinister places. The dank, windowless tombs deep within the indifferent, oppressive school building have an uncomfortable aura. Many a poor freshman have found humiliation between the cold metal lockers. Aside from the terrifying experience of one’s first act of public nudity, and the prospect of state sanctioned abuse on the gym floors outside, the cinderblock walls echo with the cruel hazing incidents and locker room pranks of ages long past.

This is true even for those who look back fondly on their memories of high school athletics. I participated in wrestling, which is an inherently humiliating sport which nurtures a lasting sense of camaraderie. Differences of opinion were left on the mat, and our first sweaty practice bouts were initiation experiences in themselves. Hazing was simply not necessary.

That didn’t keep us from pranks, or from unsanctioned ‘cage matches’ in the equipment locker. These were, however, overwhelmingly friendly experiences carried out between comrades.

Girls, I’m led to believe, are a great deal more vicious.

My little sister, Gracie, was a member of the school’s volleyball team. She described her locker room experiences much less warmly. High school girls are just brimming with spitefulness, and gathering a dozen of them in a cinderblock dungeon is sure to result in some bruised egos, and, in Gracie’s team’s case, bruised behinds. Apparently the girls of the junior varsity volleyball team were engaged in a protracted conflict involving weapons of mass destruction. Towel-snapping swept the impressionable young ladies like an epidemic.

Apparently Gracie had received a welt too many and was determined to elevate the conflict. Being the sadistic little pervert she was, she knew exactly how to do it.

Her unfortunate victim was Char, an acquaintance of mine. A lanky, freckled strawberry blonde, she was bubbly and outspoken to the point of being a nuisance. I believe Gracie when she says she had it coming.

It was after practice. The girls were showered, dressed, and on their way out. I don’t know if Gracie had been snapped by Char on this day, but what came next happened regardless.

Without warning, Gracie jumped the girl and signaled to her teammates for assistance. They held her down as Gracie produced a roll of tape from her bag and bound Char’s hands behind her. A sweaty sock was shoved in her mouth to stifle her screams and tape was wrapped securely around her head.

They led Char over to a bench and bent her over it, face down. Gracie taped her torso down to the seat and wrapped her knees to one of the legs of the bench. Her ankles were taped together, too. The girls took turns snapping her on the rear with wetted towels and slippering her with her own discarded flip-flops. I can just imagine the poor girl’s squeals.

After they finished painting her buttocks red, the heartless little hellions decided that wasn’t enough. They packed up and pretended to leave. They flicked off the lights, leaving Char tied up in pitch darkness, with no hope of escape and a tingling behind. Her muffled screams must have resounded through the locker room.

After letting her sweat it out for about five minutes, they came back and cut her loose. There were no hard feelings. The girls were still amicable after the Vaseline had dried on Char’s ass and tape marks. Besides, Gracie had been the orchestrator of this particular attack,

and justice would soon be served.