Craig was deeply humiliated and very afraid.
A freshman soccer player with an athletic body--hairless chest, six pack abs, and nice pecs--he had been captured by a group of varsity football players who were sick of his arrogant attitude and intent on putting him in his proper place. Craig was now trapped in the varsity football locker room, sealed off physically from the main locker room and completely out of sight from his teammates on the soccer team who couldn't even hear him yelling.
He had been yelling as the jocks--about twenty of them--held him up in the air, his arms and legs splayed out, as they stripped him of his soccer jersey and shorts, leaving him in just his black Underarmour compression shorts. Craig was pretty good-looking for a freshman, and in his bedroom at home, he would sometimes admire himself in the mirror when he was shirtless and wearing just his compression shorts. But that was in the privacy of his own bedroom. Not in the fluorescent glare of a locker room.
He had been yelling when they put him down on a padded bench in the middle of the locker room and held him there, surrounding him, taunting him, as beefy jocks each held down an arm or a leg or pressed down on his thighs and torso. As valiantly as he struggled to escape their grasp, ten pairs of hairy, muscular arms restraining his body were too much physical power to overcome.
And he had been yelling especially loudly when the team captain--an enormously muscular senior named Derek who also captained the lacrosse team--pulled his banana- style cup out of his jockstrap from beneath his partially-unlaced football pants and pressed the cup against Craig's face. This was an old hazing ritual called "jockygen," but it usually involved more harmless fun when one player chased after another player in the locker room attempting to stick his cup in someone's face.
This was different. This was meaner in spirit. This was almost half the entire football team ganging up on one very unlucky kid who wasn't even a football player. They were out to humiliate him, and administering "jockygen" gang-style like this was the perfect way to do it.
Derek and the other jocks were thoroughly enjoying watching Craig squirm as he breathed through the well-worn athletic cup that was being held to his mouth. It stank to high heaven, a sour smell that smelled of old jockstraps, sweaty spandex shorts, and grimy football pads. Derek's right hand was firmly on top of Craig's head as his left hand held the cup to his nose and mouth. Everyone around him was yelling and hooting.
One of the players in charge of pressing down on Craig's thighs to keep him still happened to look down at Craig's compression shorts and noticed a hard nub that was developing in Craig's crotch. It was more than a nub. It was growing into a definite bulge. The player--a junior named Tyler who also wrestled in the winter and played baseball in the spring--grinned evilly and pressed his hand innocently against the bulge. The bulge in the spandex shorts responded almost spring-like to his touch. It was definitely a boner. Tyler looked up at his teammates, got their attention with a smile and a wink, and said, "Hey guys, check it out." He palmed Craig's boner, causing it to stick out even more against the tight black spandex fabric.
Craig knew two things were happening at once. First, he was being utterly humiliated. Looking up from the locker room bench, he could see at least ten jocks pressing down on his body, most of them shirtless but with partially unlaced football pants still on. He was aware that there were at least ten other players--probably more now--in the background who were on their tiptoes to get a better look at Craig's jockygen treatment. He could feel Derek's hand on his head and smell the cup still up against his face.
But the other thing happening to him was way beyond humiliating. It was dangerous. Craig considered himself as straight as they come--and even in junior high, he had managed to hook up with a number of girls--but for some reason, all the hairy, muscular arms pressing down on his body, the musky cup pressed over his face, was getting a strange reaction out of him. He could feel his cock slowly stiffening. He was getting hard. And he knew that getting hard was the worst possible thing that could happen to him.
"Holy shit," Tyler yelled, "He's got a fucking boner. He's got a fucking hard-on!"
"No fucking way," another player called out, "Is it for real? Is this frosh really a fag?"
Murmurs of disgust arose from the players. Even though they had called him a fag as they carried him into the locker room, they didn't really think that Craig would actually be so fag-like as to spring a boner. It was disgusting. It was against the male athletic code.
"Holy shit," Derek, the team captain, started saying slowly, "He really is a fag." Everyone caught on real quick. "He really is a FUCKING FAG!" they started to yell.
And without anyone saying anything specific, the mood in the locker room changed dramatically. The fun and games were over. This wasn't just a simple hazing stunt. Craig had been stupid enough to show the players that he was getting sexually aroused. Something else was going to happen now.
"Let's REALLY teach this FUCKING FAG a lesson." It got quiet. Derek had removed the cup from Craig's face, as Craig whimpered softly now, "Oh god, please let me go. Please let me go. This is all a mistake. I'm not a fag." The other players watched Craig with a nasty mean look in their eyes. Their breathing got husky. They were full of super- charged testosterone and very horny. And now that they had a faggot trapped in their midst, a victim who had dared spring a boner while being held down, they were going to act out their horniness. They were going to get their way with Craig and have some fun.
The jocks on the varsity football team were going to gang rape the freshman soccer player.