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alphadose · 25 days

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The Football Dungeon

Content Warning: Erotic horror. Contains erotic, hypnotic, and disturbing content.

Exhausted, I felt myself reach another painful orgasm and strain as I heaved nothing but a singular drop of cum from my dick. I’d been reduced to only being somewhat conscious in the post-nut clarity of milking day.

I was in a dimly lit room in my full football gear, shoulder pads, helmet, and all, and I was strapped to table tilted at a 60 degree angle, enough so that I’d be upright, but down enough I could drift in and out of sleep and other states of consciousness. I should have felt mortified, but the milking machine started slowly working my dick again, and I couldn’t help but moan a little in pleasure.

I felt a wave spread up my left arm, as the IV that had been situated in it injected more fluids into my arm. It was filled with all of the nutrients I needed to live and some experimental concussion prevention medication, nothing psychotropic, or so I’d been told. Because of the IV, I rarely ate any food, expect at the rare events I was released from the dungeon to go to a mandatory team function. The coolness spreading up my arm and feeling of the milking machine relaxed me more.

At night the dungeon was silent, other than the sound of the milking machine working my dick. Speaking of which, I was already starting to feel it cause me to drift back into the hypnotic haze. But during the day, football film was projected onto the wall in front of me for me to watch. I could swear I could sometimes hear hypnotic suggestions throughout the day like “obey”, “relax”, “football is all”, but I could have been completely imagining them.

I had lost all sense of time. I could have been in the dungeon for years or decades, it was impossible to tell. I’d become very used to my routine. The milking machine was power off at night so I could sleep, but otherwise ran the entire time I was in the dungeon. It ran in edging mode most of the time, keeping me in a blurry state of horny euphoria in my gear. Being fully conscious was mostly a thing of the past, but usually at least once a week, and always the day before a football game the machine would switch to milking mode. Milking mode was programmed to drive me to orgasm every half hour for an entire day, and by the end of the day my dick would be painfully dry heaving. In the moments between orgasms, I’d briefly get clarity on my situation and how fucked I was, but before you know it the machine would get back to work. Fear begets arousal, arousal begets milking, and milking begets more euphoria.

The dungeon was under a trap door in the locker room, and they’d let me out for only four reasons: Football practice on week days, strength and conditioning a few times a week, football games, and some needed team functions. On occasion, I was permitted to go out and celebrate a win with the team before being put back into my restraints and resuming getting milked and hypnotized in the dungeon. I was only permitted to take off my gear to lift weights and for select team functions, but I’d usually still have to wear my jersey. Otherwise, immediately after practice and games, my gear would stay on and I’d go back through the trap door to my dungeon, get strapped to the table, IV replaced, and the milking machine would be switched back on.

I would to say the life was nothing but a nightmare. I wanted to scream out for help. I wanted to escape the football dungeon. But if I'm being honest with myself, from my first time being strapped in, I never wanted to leave. It was a dream come true. While restrained in the dungeon, I’d felt less anxious that I’d ever been in my life. The hypnotic work of the milking machine, watching only football film, and being continually entranced was the most relaxed I’d ever been. Sure, at first I tried to escape a few times and get out of it, but I don’t even remember what it felt like to want to get out of this.

One time I was able to escape during one of the rare team functions I was allowed out of my gear. I thought they'd come after me, but the guys knew they didn't have to. Within three days, the cravings for the pleasure of the gear and the dungeon became overwhelming, and I turned myself in. I willingly put back on every piece of gear and stuck my dick back into the brainwashing milker. I’ve tried to get out of the deal that put me here a few other times before I was able to admit to myself that I wanted this. After all, I only ended up in the dungeon because I wanted to, so I’m a willing participant in my own enslavement to the team.

It all started with a poker game with the guys. We were all a little drunk, and at that point where we were comfortable sharing things you wouldn’t share in polite company. I drunkenly confessed my gear fetish to my teammates. Push came to shove, and the guys thought it’d be funny to “threaten me with a good time.” We semi-jokingly made a bet that the first one bankrupt would have to spend the season imprisoned in the stadium in full gear, completely dedicated to the team for the entire football season, and then until they could win at poker. I couldn’t help myself. I threw the poker game that landed me in this mess and intentionally lost because I’d probably never have another change to have my fantasy handed to me on a golden platter.

The first season was fun. At first I was just kind of camping in the stadium in gear, but it quickly devolved in to the mad science experiment it’d become. It wasn’t long before the guys had me in the milking machine and tied up to the table. Not long after the hypnotic content and football film started playing at all hours, and soon after the IV with nutrients and the experimental performance enhancing medications were added.

I couldn’t argue with the results of the guys mad science experiment. The more debauched my prison in the stadium became, the better I played football. We even made it to a bowl game and left the other team in the dust.

Immediately after finishing up on the field, the guys and I went into the football dungeon to play a round of poker to see I’d escape the football dungeon, still in our sweaty uniforms, shoulder pads and all, with me tenting a huge boner the entire time. I genuinely tried to win even though the game make me horny as fuck. I had plans for my life. It was fun being a football slave for a few months, but it was time to get back to the rest of my life... But i genuinely lost and earned another term in the brainwashing dungeon until spring practices started.

Time flies and blurs in the dungeon. Since the football season was over, the machine spend even more time on edging mode. Sometimes the guys would leave it on edging mode and would make me wait two or three weeks before a milking day. Without team functions, games, and practices I almost never left the dungeon, only to be let out three times a week for strength training only.

Before I knew it, spring practice started. Even though i knew my chance to win my out of the football dungeon was after our practice, I barely gave it a thought. Practice was actually really fun, and all the time in the dungeon had made me awesome at football. The coaches let me play around in the different positions, and i nailed all of them with exceptional performance. Turns out that thinking of nothing but football, wearing only football gear, and being kept in a brainwashed state are great for athletic performance.

I legitimately, for the final time, tried my hardest to win at the poker game to get out the dungeon after practice, but I didn't stand a chance. at the poker game this time. All of the in gear brainwashing milker had pretty much turned my brain into a football. I hadn't thought or done anything other than prepare myself for spring football and baste my brain in football erotic trances. I hadn't even thought about or played poker in months. Less than a half hour after practice, I'd already lost and plugged my geared body back into the milker and slipped back into football hypnosis land. I'd officially lost a year of my life in the football dungeon, and wouldn't have another chance to get out of it until after the first game of the season.

I hated to admit it, but I was still enjoying the dungeon, but despite how good the dungeon felt,I hadn’t given up on my other life goals. I was still determined to escape. I hadn't really ever really resisted the brainwashing in the dungeon until now, but if i wanted to do anything other than football I'd have to brush up on poker. Which meant I couldn’t spend all of my time entraced and hypnotized.

When i was let out of the dungeon to lift weights, I'd use my rest sets to mentally do the math and practice poker. Outside of that, I couldn’t hardly escape the brainwashing in the football dungeon. Resisting getting entranced on edging days proved impossible. No matter how hard I'd resist after plugging back into the gear after lifting, within 10 minutes I'd lose myself in my football gear to the pleasure of letting go. I got bits of post nut clarity in between milkings on milk day, so I'd resist the trance for a few minutes every hour to run numbers and focus on winning the next poker game, but it wasn’t long until the milking machine would kick back in and pull me back into football hypnosis.

I tried using time at practice itself to find bits of clarity, but the brainwashing did a fantastic job at turning me into a super human football player. Letting go of my mind in the dungeon was euphoric, but practicing and playing in my gear on the field was exhilarating. Nothing could distract me from playing during practice. Football was my passion and purpose, and I felt pure happiness and dedication on football field doing my thing. Playing on the field was the one place in the world where I felt truly complete.

The first game of the season came much faster than I thought it would. A full year in the dungeon had turned me into one of the top players in the entire league. I was light-years ahead of our opponents and could run circles around them. The feeling of the first victory of the season was the largest high I've ever experienced in my life. It felt even better than the bowl game. After winning, I nearly walked myself back to the dungeon and plugged myself back in to the machines, but the guys grabbed me for the poker game of freedom.

I sat down with the guys, still fully geared, to play the seasonal round of poker to win my way out of the football dungeon. We laughed and talked about how amazing the game was. When the time came to start the first round of poker, within three cards being dealt I stopped the game.

"We don't need to play. I'll go back to the dungeon voluntarily until the end of the season."

"giving up?"

"No, my time in the dungeon has turned me into a top player. I can't give that up at the start of the season. I don't want to give that up. Fuck, i owe it to the team to be the best, and I'm the best for them if I'm in the dungeon."

I'd practiced for months for this moment to escape, but I impulsively was going to throw it all away. And so I submitted myself to my gear and the team of my own free will. I went back into the dungeon and glady stuck my dick into the milking machine, clasped the restraints, and settled into my gear and let myself drift back off into football brainwashing sessions.

I went all in. The feeling I got playing games felt better than any drug, and I wanted nothing but to play my best. I stopped using my rest periods at the gym to mentally practice poker, and instead focused myself to lifting. I loved every minute of practices and games, but I also started looking forward to getting strapped back into the dungeon and going into a gear trance. On the rare occasions i was let out of the dungeon for team functions, I found myself finding any excuse to get out of events early and get back to the dungeon and hooked back up in my gear. Every minute getting edged, milked, and brainwashed in my gear turned me into a better teammate, and it showed.

Some of my teammates became interested in my training program since I was standing out so much. A few of them decided to voluntarily join me in the dungeon for the season to take their game to the next level too. I begged my captors take a more active role in my training, and they obliged. On edging days, they'd gear up into full gear: helmet, shoulder pads, and the works, and they'd take turns letting blow their cocks while the machine was busy edging me.

Our team had a legendary season. I led us to victory after victory, completely undefeated. The entire football season was complete Nirvana for me, and before I knew it, the championship game was over. After we won, I excitedly rushed back into the dungeon and stuck my dick back into the milking machine and instantly dropped into football hypnosis. I completely forgot about the poker game to win back my freedom.

The next thing i knew one of the guys was unstrapping me from the machine. "Looks like you forgot the poker game in the excitement of winning the championship."

"Oh, yeah. I came right back here after the game last night."

"The game was over a week ago. You looked like you were enjoying yourself, so we just let you spend the recovery week here in your favorite place."

"Fuck, does that count as a forfeit?"

"Nah, we won't make you wait until spring. Why don't you take off your gear and go lift, and we'll play the poker game for your freedom after."

In the weight room, I started to try to remember how to play poker during my rest periods, because I was at least going to try to stand a chance at getting out. The year and a half in the dungeon was amazing, but it was time to move on and start thinking about the rest of life. Catching up with friends, maybe dating, thinking about an adult career, maybe even getting back into gaming. I wanted to want those things again, but everything seemed so hollow compared to my time on the field and in the dungeon. Instead of strategizing on winning against the guys, I found myself thinking about how amazing next season could be if I stayed completed devoted to being the best on the football field. Maybe the rest of my life could wait a few more seasons while I stayed in the dungeon becoming a football legend. Hell, if I let go of the rest of my life and stayed in the dungeon, I'd become a football god.

"Football God" i muttered out loud. Everything clicked. I muttered it again. "Football god." For the first time, I knew with absolute certainty what I wanted to do with my life. I knew my purpose and my destiny. In order to get what i want, staying in the football dungeon worshipping the sport, the gear, and my team would turn me into a god of football. After all, a God is nothing more than a slave to what he rules. To be a football God, I'd completely devote myself to my geared enslavement in the football dungeon.

When I finished lifting, I put back on my football gear and went to the poker game. We spent a few minutes bantering about how amazing the season was, but when it came time to play for my freedom, I pushed all of my chips into the middle and said "there's no need to play another poker game. I'm all in. I want to stay in the football dungeon. I volunteer to start in the dungeon indefinitely."

"We're not just going to play for your escape whenever you get bored of it. You can volunteer to stay until spring practice starts.

"You misunderstand me. I'm all in. I'm committing to stay in the football dungeon for the rest of my life. If you'll let me, I'll spend my afterlife there too."

"You realize the experimental serum you've been getting doesn't just speed recovery. It slows aging, maybe even stopping it. You could be committing to a hundred years, maybe even several thousand years, or nearly eternity to be geared and brainwashed in the dungeon."

"I can't think of another way I'd rather spend that time"

"Are you willing to sign your name in blood to the commitment?"

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

"We'll draw up the papers. You can go back to the dungeon. If you feel the same when practice starts this spring, you can sign your life away then."

And so we skipped the game. They rewarded me for my commitment by tying me to the chair, unlacing my football pants and blowing me in my gear. It was the first time since I'd been locked in the football dungeon anyone other than the milking machine had touched my cock. Shortly after, I was back in the dungeon plugging my dick into the machine around a few of my teammates that decided to stay in the dungeon with me for the off season and putting back on my restraints and drifting back into hypnosis in my gear.

I fully devoted myself to my goal. I let dungeon continue to change me, and I found every aspect of my life in football captivity more enjoyable every single day. Completely letting go of the last of my resistance and any opportunity to leave the dungeon filled me with a sense of contentment I'd never dreamed of. Every day of the rest of my life, potentially eternity was going to be spent geared up in euphoria in the dungeon, in the weight room, or on a football field. Nothing could be better.

Spring practices started before I knew it, and the guys finally presented me with an agreement to stay geared and brainwashed forever. I drew my blood and signed the contract in it without a second thought, and went on to fulfill my desire and destiny to becoming a football god.

#football #story #jockd #jockification #bro #gear #uniform

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