Bust Ray - Locker Room

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Author's Note: All Characters Depicted Herein Are 18 Years Of Age Or Older.

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Bust Ray - Locker Room

Okay, thought Roderick, there's probably a perfectly good way to get out of this.

He was stuffed—actually stuffed—inside of a locker. Roderick wasn't particularly athletically gifted. He wasn't large, he wasn't small, he wasn't fat or skinny. Being average in every particular way when it came to physical abilities, there was still quite a lot of him to be stuffed inside of a space as small as a locker.

The problem was that he hadn't helped Chase Carter cheat on his take-home exams. Carter was a quarterback for the Bloomingdale Heights University Boomers. He was a stud; girls fawned over him and guys glommed onto him hoping to pick up a little bit of his glory.

He was also dumb as a rock sandwich and desperately needed help in Trigonometry, a class he shared with Roderick. Roderick had, for a little extra cash, taken on the role of Chase's tutor. Unfortunately, after just a couple of sessions, it was made clear that what Chase meant by this was that Roderick would do all his work.

Roderick had pride. He had dignity. He had ethics.

Now, for all of those things, he was stuck inside of a locker in the football player's locker room. It smelled like they peed in it regularly. Chase had help stuffing Roderick in there from his several offensive lineman friends. One of them had left Roderick with a small water bottle with a straw in case he got thirsty.

"Chin up, guy," the asshole had said. Probably thought he was being nice, leaving him something to drink.

Roderick suspected he would be stuck inside this locker all weekend. It was a Friday, and the cleaning staff didn't arrive until Monday. Already the overhead lights were off—it was only a matter of time until the back-up motion-detector lights turned off from the lack of movement in the locker room.

So forget about just the embarrassment of being found like this. Now he was worried that he wouldn't be able to get out at all. That he would starve all weekend. That all the creepy crawlies that lived in the jocks' dirty, smelly clothes (and oh god did they smell) would find Roderick himself quite a tasty treat.

The door was closed, but not locked. His mass inside the locker wouldn't let them lock it. But they had stuffed him in so completely that it hadn't mattered.

Slowly he started to rock himself from side to side. He had done this before, when he was first stuffed inside—it hurt his shoulders and his knees, tight screws grinding into both. But that was before the lights had started to go out. It was probably close to ten at night now. If he stayed there much longer, he was likely to get weaker, without even the strength to get himself free.

Wiggling, wriggling, writhing, he was able to push his heel down on the corner of the locker. That was something. That was enough. It would have to be.

Summoning his strength, he pushed with all his might and shoved as hard as he could out of the locker. Skin ripped along his knees and thighs, his elbows. He could feel the flesh rending but kept going, knowing this was his one shot.

Finally, bloody and bruised, he collapsed out of the locker and onto the ground. It was probably covered in all manner of bacteria and parasites from the feet of the many athletes but all the same he felt like kissing it. After being stuck in the locker for close to six hours, his every muscle was sore. His bones were sore. He couldn't move easily, and took a moment on the ground to twist his hips this way and that, stretching out his spine.

"Fuck," he moaned. "Fuuuuuck."

Eventually, he would think about consequences. He would think about calling the police or the campus authorities. But for now, he was just happy to be out of that goddamn locker.

Slowly—very slowly—he stood up and stretched himself up. Vertebrae cracked and crinkled, his joints snapping back into their accustomed place. Not for the first time, he told himself he should pick up yoga and work on his flexibility. Then, being stuck in a locker would be no problem.

Of course, the entire idea was to not get stuck in a locker at all. Maybe self-defense classes?

The locker room was set up in a large u-shape with a thin partition separating the lockers and the showers. Right in front of the showers was a water fountain. He took a drink of it, still moving slowly, wondering if the doors were locked from the outside. He certainly hoped not.

Walking around, stretching out, examining his skinned knees and elbows, he decided that it was time to give the outside a go. He was hydrated and moving, and the worst of the ordeal, he was sure, was over.

But then something caught his eye.

There was something in the locker he had been stuffed in.

He knew it was "his" locker—it was the only one that was still open and unlocked. Approaching, disbelieving, he pulled the thing out.

It was a gun. It was shiny and orange and green, about as long as his forearm and as thick around as his fist. Heavy, though, dense. Great concave edges pushed forward on the barrel, overlapping each other, creating a sort of vacuum-y look. It had a small dial on the back end and then a tiny receptacle filled with some white fluid.

On the side was a name: J-Power BG450.

"The hell?"

There was no way it could have fit inside the locker with him. His ass had been directly on top of where it had been sitting, and he certainly didn't have any rectal discomfort from sitting how he did.

That meant...someone was here!

He spun around, looking. "Hello? Hello? Who's here?"

But there was no one. The gun stayed in his hand easily, the trigger soft and simple to pull. He didn't pull it, but it was easy to tell just from the way it felt under his finger. It was obviously a toy of some kind, and that it was in the locker room was part of someone's weird game.

Then, the door to the locker room opened.

The girl who came in was absolutely gorgeous. She had a lithe, svelte body full of smooth musculature and graceful movement. She wore tight athletic shorts and a cut-off tank top, the kind that showed off her fine display of long, sexy abs. Her face was incredibly sensual, pouty lips, bright green eyes, framed by a smashing complement of dirty blond hair. The one complaint a man could make—if he were to be so insensitive—was that her bee-sting breasts were just barely there.

"What are you doing here?" the girl asked. "Is that a gun?"

"What? No!" He stuffed the gun behind his back. "I'm sorry. I'm not...I was stuffed into a locker." He pointed with his free hand. "That one. Chance Carter stuffed me in there. I only just got out."

She flipped on the light, seeing him fully illuminated. He was scuffed and bruised, his knees and elbows still big bloody patches.

"I guess he did." She offered him a sympathetic smile. "My name is Betty. I'm a trainer." She must have seen his quizzical look. "You know, the people who tape up players and stuff? They have me come in on the weekends and clean the lockers out."

"There's not janitorial staff for that?"

"Nope. Just me." She shrugged. "Everybody's got a duty. They make the freshmen do it so that we learn discipline or whatever. Why do you have a toy gun?"

"I..."

She knew about it already. It was useless to hide it. He took it out and showed it to her.

"I don't even know. I just found it right before you came in. I'm not even sure what it is."

She moved her hand forward to grab it and—without thinking—Roderick pulled the trigger. It was instinctual, reflexive; he didn't want her to grab it and he couldn't explain it.

A great wave of force left the gun, vibrating his arm and exiting the barrel in a soft, sweet-smelling sigh.

"What did..." Betty stumbled back, letting out a soft giggle. Her face was surprised, a soft, licking "O" shape on her lips. "What did you do...Master?"

Heavy, seductive eyes shined at him for a brief second and then she collapsed down in his arms to the floor.

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Something was happening.

Something weird was happening, something weird and hot and right now and Roderick couldn't believe that what he was seeing was actually part of his life.

The lockers were positioned against the walls of the locker room. In front of them all was a wooden bench where the athletes could sit and get dressed. He had Betty laying down on one such long bench, and he watched with utter shock as her body transformed into something straight out of his wet dreams.

First of all—her breasts. They were basically non-existent before. In her tight tank-top, she looked about as flat as your average twelve year-old boy, and though her body was incredibly fit, she was at a real lack for curves.

Now, though...her breasts were growing. They grew straight past handfuls and right into gobsmacking TITS, straining the fabric of her tight shirt so much that he'd had to use the scissors in her little bag to give her more room on top, cutting a line from the collar down to the center of the shirt. That had, with the blossoming power of her beautiful breasts, only encouraged a heavy v-line of cleavage to develop.

But that wasn't all that was changing. Her hair, thick and short, was becoming thicker and long. Voluminous heavy locks of brilliantly shiny chestnut-and-blond hair spilled out from her head. Her skin became more tanned and shiny, her lips poutier, puffier, her every inch of body layered with achingly hot muscle tone. Her boyish hips and waist became suddenly incredibly womanly, pushing out into a beautiful hourglass shape.

"Wow," he said, just looking at her. "Wow, wow, oh wow..."

What was happening? What had he done?

Obviously the gun had something to do with it. It was behind all of this somehow. But...that wasn't possible, was it? A gun couldn't just...just make a woman look like this, could it?

And then, there was what she had called him just before collapsing.

Betty had called him...she had said...

Master. She called me Master.

She slid upward on the bench, moaning and coming awake.

"Oh my god," she said, her voice an achingly beautiful thing that could have texts written about it, ad infinitum, concerning the sound of true desire in the world. "I feel amazing. Thank you, Master."

He backed up, feeling terrified. What had he done to this poor girl? She had been young and innocent. Now, she still looked young, but "innocent" was a term as far away from her as "masculine" or "ogre-ish."

She was the very definition of soft femininity, looking at him with eager supplication and pushing forward on her knees. For just a moment, she slid herself up on her knees, waving out her long mass of incredible hair with her tits on full display. Roderick could feel himself beginning to drool, even as he backed up more, trying to make himself small against one of the lockers.

Betty pouted. "You look so stressed out. Here, sit back. I'll take care of you."

Pushing him down on the bench, dropping to her knees, Betty quickly pulled out Roderick's cock and gasped in soft appreciation. His cock was average in girth, average in length, but she saw it and acted as though his was the most impressive, biggest cock she had ever laid eyes on. Her mouth slipped across it, plushy and soft and instantly warm. Right away he was hard, her tongue flicking fast around his length.

A low, murmuring moan of appreciation fled her body, every part of her vibrating.

She loved this.

Roderick had his hands in the air still, like someone was holding him under arrest. He wasn't sure how he was going to get away with this.

He wasn't sure, also, as Betty made it more and more clear that she was enjoying herself, why in the hell he was resisting so much. He'd never had a blowjob before. He'd barely even kissed girls before, and they were all drunk and probably only did it on a dare, even his ex-girlfriend.

But Betty, transformed though she was, was perfectly sober. She was loving her life, enjoying every second of slurping down his cock, moaning and urging her mouth forward like she was sucking on some kind of ambrosia-rod. Hot spurts of precum fled from his cock, eager to find their home in her belly, and she shivered with what was clearly orgasmic delight.

Her shorts, so tight and tiny on her widened hips and lengthened legs, were quickly becoming sopping wet. He knew this because she hugged against one of his legs, her heavy tits sliding over his thighs.

And was that...fucking milk?

Fucking milk coming from her tits, leaking everywhere?

It was.

He gulped, head sliding back, indulging in the incredible feeling of her velvet-soft lips on his cock.

That was a big kink of his. One that he had never thought would really be indulged anywhere in his life. But yes, Betty's tits were definitely leaking milk through her shirt and all over his legs as she happily sucked his cock.

Slowly, his hands came down on her back. He slid them across her spine, fingers delicately feeling against her well-muscled back (she had to hold up those tits somehow) and pushing around the tightened fabric of her shirt. It was very weak, the fabric. He could see the threads of it coming undone. It wouldn't take much to rip it off entirely. She'd probably appreciate it...

Before he knew what he was doing, he was ripping the shirt off. She moaned, sitting up off his cock and letting him tear it all the way off.

"God, I love it when you use your strength on me like that, Master." She continued to stroke his cock as he worked on the shirt. Her milk squirted down around his cock and she rubbed it into the shaft. It was warmer than her mouth, somehow, and slippery smooth. "I love everything about you, Master. Just everything. You're so perfect to me. I'm so glad you're in charge of my life."

"Y-yeah," he said, getting into it now. "In charge."

He could figure it all out later. What was happening. How to change her back. How to fix this mess. But for now...he figured what the hell. He was only going to live once, and if this opportunity never came his way again, he didn't want to live in regret that he hadn't gotten a milk-sloppy blowjob from the bustiest hot babe he'd ever seen in his life.

"Suck me off, Betty. Make Master happy. Make me cum down your throat."

Her heated strokes increased as she moaned with ecstasy, her face more gorgeous than ever before. When she was happy, it made her more gorgeous. That smile, oh fuck.

"Yes, Master!" she nodded excitedly. "Anything you say!"

Her last words were stuffed and stifled by her mouth wrapping back around his cock. She didn't have enough brainpower to realize that she ought not to talk with her mouth full.

Everything she did was like magic to his cock. She slurped up and down with increasing rapidity, her mouth working up and down and sucking, so hungry. Heavy droplets of milk shook from her tits, leaking down all over his lap, across his balls and thighs, soaking them in warmth and pleasure.

He had to come in her. There was no other option. He had to fill her throat and her mouth, her belly, her everywhere.

"I'm gonna cum," he groaned, thinking perhaps that he would give her one last out—maybe she wouldn't want it.

Instead she stared up at him with loving green eyes—so vibrant, so emerald, like staring into some kind of alien forest—and he lost control, shuddering and exploding. It was a heavy load, more than he thought he'd ever cum before, and he spurted out for seconds and seconds, shuddering, knees trembling.

She swallowed down every last lick of it.

And when she was done, she slid against his knee, licking up the hot mess of his precum and cum and her very own milk. She was content, sated for now, like a cat. She even purred.

What the fuck was he going to do now?

His cock, already getting hard again from watching Betty at work, seemed to have a very good answer to that question.

* * * * *

April sighed, driving up to her usual Saturday-morning parking spot in front of the Athletics Center. It was just before 7 AM, and she was not quite awake yet. In her thermos was a fresh half-pot of very black coffee, the only thing that could kick-start her system after staying up and studying until 2 AM the night before.

This was her Saturday morning routine. It was tough being the cheerleading captain. Everyone thought it was glamour and glitz, full of parties and banging hot football players.

And there were parties. And she did currently date a hot football player, although they weren't banging (much to Chance Carter's chagrin). April was a virgin and planned on staying that way until marriage.

But much more often than any kind of fun, she had homework. She had homework on homework on homework, and then she had tests, and then she had practice and drills, and then she had early mornings for traveling to games, and then she had scheduling and planning and strategizing for competitions. Then, more homework, and many more drills.

She took a moment, stepping out of her car, and tied up her thick golden hair in a messy, loose, low-ponytail. Little tendrils of hair framed her face perfectly without her even trying. Her hair had always been compliant.

This particular Saturday morning, she had to sit in an empty coach's office and watch videos for an hour before beginning her workout, which would last for another two hours. She had to stay in shape to be at the top—she wanted her cheer team to win the division this year—and for that, just drilling wasn't enough.

She had to work out regularly to keep her body in tip-top cheering shape.

The heat of the sun, though it was not yet all the way up on the horizon, was already in full swing. She was glad she wore her tiny spandex shorts and her tight sports bra only. It would draw a ton of looks—too many, really, for her liking—when she went to workout on a regular day, but when the Athletic Center was sparsely populated on the weekends, it was actually a relief to workout in practically nothing.

She could sweat and drip as much as she wanted, not worrying about what she looked like or who was watching. Her body was fine as fuck and she would be lying if she said she didn't know it or like it, but at the same time, that didn't mean her body was for showing off. She just liked being in good shape; she enjoyed paying tribute to the temple of herself. That she was in terrific shape was a great benefit of that.

She looked down at herself, adjusting her bra. She had to admit, even working out alone, that it was a little small. Her tits were thick, buoyant 36C cups, and she was very used to long stares from men and women alike. In a bra like this, even she had to admit that she was practically inviting trouble. It positively crushed her tits, smooshing them, making them stand out like sweat warm bags of fuck ready to go at a moment's notice.

It was, she had to admit, a little fun getting all those stares sometimes. Her spandex shorts were so tight that they didn't cover the entirety of her sculpted teenage age.

Inside the Athletic Center, it was cool and quiet, the hum of air conditioning the only noise. At least, that's what she thought at first—that's what she was used to, after all, and there was so rarely anything else. Once she'd had to deal with a janitor who tried to flirt with her, mostly because on that day—like today—she'd worn her tiniest pair of black spandex shorts, the ones where her ass cheeks was half-visible. They were slutty as hell but they gave her great flexibility when she was doing her lunges.