Date: Thu, 17 May 2018 07:46:33 -0700
From: Tom Gungy <tomgungy@gmail.com>
Subject: Majorly Screwed

"Hey, Trust Boy!" I heard Major say from the phone. His inflection was
oddly uncontrolled and emphatic. The words were muffled like he had his
face covered. On top of it all, he never called me Trust Boy. That was the
name the two-bit news gave me when they couldn't guess my name, but Major
always respected me to call me by my chosen name, Captain. Consequently, I
was more than a bit confused.

"Major?" I answered. "Are you okay?"

"I'm great!" came the emphatic, muffled reply. "I actually need you. Can
you come into the Major hole?"

"You mean the base?"

"Yeah!"

"Are you feeling alright, sir?" I was a little worried at this point. Was
Major drunk?

"I'm fine, Trusty!" he assured with an uncharacteristically boisterous
laugh. "Now come on down here. There's something I need to show you."

I was going to ask more questions, but a beeping from the cell phone
interrupted me. I looked to see that he had hung up. I frowned at the
screen in my hand and saw my youthful, twenty-something face frowning back
in turn. In the back of my mind I knew something was wrong. Major was
always akin to the more serious heroic archetypes and valued stoic
professionalism above all else as a vigilante. He would never develop
nicknames for things under regular circumstances, and he was never vague as
to why he expected me to do anything. He explained exactly as to why or how
I was supposed to do anything under his command, so telling me, "Trusty,"
to come to "the Major hole" because there's "something" rose some flag
somewhere in my brain.

One of the other things that Major Muscle worked so hard to instill into me
though was trust and loyalty. I was to believe that Major Muscle knew what
he was doing at all times and at all costs. I hadn't understood when I
first became his sidekick why he remained so adamant on that one rule, but
as I continued helping him in his quest to stop crime I saw the rule save
my life more times than once. At the end of the day, Major had more
experience than me, and I trusted that. That's why, despite the suspicious
nature of the conversation, I found the suit I hid in my apartment, donned
the persona of Captain, and exited via the fire escape as I usually did on
such risque, latex-clad nights.

Eventually I made it to the old museum. That was Major Muscle's big secret:
His base was hidden in the old military museum. It made enough sense.
Major's only power I know of was his exponentially quantifiable strength,
yet he was known as a through and through strategist as to how he applied
it, like a major navigating a battlefield. Even his outfit hearkened to the
masculine, camouflaged outfits worn by the soldiers of yesteryear's armies.
I suspected that he had previously been an old war dog himself. Major was
very keen on both him and me keeping our true identities a secret, even
from each other.

I came through the front door. Despite it being well after closing hours,
the old, wooden doors were to the dilapidated building never locked on
account of no one, not even robbers or thieves, being interested in the old
place. My entry was accented by a familiar creak from the rusted hinges
which spoke to the neglect of the place and echoed through the empty
halls. A large, glass display filled with several mannequins was the first
sight that greeted me, and I had expected to see the mock soldiers
brandishing regulation rifles and ancient uniforms. I was surprised to see
that for the first time it seemed the models had decided to try a new
look. Each of the squad were now largely nude, anatomic proportions that I
hadn't known they previously now on display, except for a handsome
jockstrap afixed around every one of their waists. Their outstretched arms
now held baseball bats, hockey sticks, and other sports implements instead
the usual armaments. Even the sign above had been changed. A drab "Welcome
to the Museum of Military History" had been cartoonishly spray painted to
declare "Welcum to the Museum of Boring Fogeys."

"Trusty!"

I jumped when I heard the call. It was definitely the voice of Major,
authoritarian and commanding as usual. My first thought was to wonder if
he'd seen defacement of the exhibit, but it was a brief one. Major had
called, and when I was summoned I was expected to come. It meant that my
hero needed his sidekick. So I left the display, albeit with a disapproving
glance, and proceeded down the hall. Though I saw even more similarly
childish defacements the deeper I went into the building I went. Skimpy
football jerseys adorned more mannequins, some were adjusted into obscenely
sexual positions, and various other signs and previously informational
plaques were ruined with overlaying obscenities. How had Major not seen all
of this? There was no way he couldn't have. I rationalized that maybe it
had been a prank. A college fraternity was only a few blocks away. Maybe
this had been some sort of hazing. Maybe Major had chased them off. I had a
small number of theories, but none of them kept my heart from leaping into
my throat when I saw the entrance to the old boiler room, the secret
entrance to Major's secret base. The door that was was locked three times
over from both sides was hanging wide open, a travesty that Major would
never normally allow, and vulgarly spray painted over the associated room's
sign were the words "Major's Hole."

"Trusty, hurry!" Major's shout echoed from the dark entryway. His dominant
demeanor had vanished from his tone and was now replaced with urgent
alarm. There was something else too. I slight rise pitch at the end of the
call seemed to hint at vulnerability, a vague neediness even.

Regardless how he sounded, I rushed down the dark stairs without even
stopping to turn on the lights to show the way. The bizarre state of the
museum paired with the bizarre mannerisms of Major had made me ill at
ease. The secret entrance to the base being compromised was something else
altogether. Something was clearly wrong, and Major very clearly needed his
loyal sidekick to help. That's why I rushed down the stairs with reckless
speed. At Major's comand, I forgot everything that he had previously taught
me as a strategist about patience, forethought, and the necessity of a
plan. I was quite literally blinded by my loyalty, and that's why I didn't
see the trap waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. The moment I
reached the bottom step I felt clasped over my mouth with a firm, strong
hand. In shock, without thinking, I reached to remove the grasp. It was
then that a precise, planned grip seized both of my wrists in the blink of
an eye, leaving me largely helpless to resist.

I had held my breath, at least remembering that breathing in fumes from a
strange cloth forced upon me by an unseen assailant, but eventually
struggling against my foe made me week. Despite myself, I gasped for air. A
thick, noxious stench shot into my lungs and filled my nose, yet it wasn't
chloroform. It smelled raunchy, like body odor or sweet. This wasn't meant
to knock me out. This was a jockstrap.

"Yo, bro-skee," a lax, deep voice came from the darkness, "turn on the
lights, would ya?"

And with that the world around me came into view, and I gasped to see what
Major's base had become. The gym equipment that me and him had used to work
out on was defiled with a series of dildos affixed in various suggestive
locations. The arsenal of weapons we'd retrofitted from the museum to
non-lethally subdue our more difficult nemesis' was now replaced with a
bunch of sports equipment and corny sex toys. Even the tactical table in
the center room that bore a map of the city on its surface was covered in
cans of beer, bottles of lube, and various spilled energy drinks, leaving
the map unreadable and hopelessly ruined. Most shocking though was to see
an entirely new addition: an old, beat-up couch, not unlike one you might
find in a fraternity house. On top of it sat the Jocker, a supervillain
whose reputation for physical prowess was only superseded by his penchant
for gameplans, clad in his usual jockstrap and nothing else. In many ways
he was perfectly Major's opposite and equal in strength and planning
ability, and I grimaced at the sight of him.

"Trust Boy!" the dastardly criminal addressed me in that stereotypically
relaxed Jock way. Major always theorized that despite the man's
intelligence, he forced himself to speak that way to match the theme of his
costume.

"It's awesome to see ya, dude!" he continued with a villainous smirk.
"Bring `em on over here, Bro-skee."

In front of me stood the man subduing my hands and holding the jockstrap to
my mouth, Jocker's own sidekick, Bro-skee. He was not wearing his usual
jockstrap, and it wasn't hard to guess that the stench I was currently
inhaling was his. Admittedly, though the young man looked to be only about
my age, he had me beat in the ways of physical prowess. While Major always
encouraged me to use my mind over physical prowess, the Jocker always
seemed to due the exact opposite with his ward. Bro-skee was unnaturally
large and muscular, and as I hadn't had a plan before coming down here, I
was entirely in his power now. With a sadistic grin, Bro-skee jerked me
over to the couch by my restrained wrist, and all the while kept the
jockstrap plastered to my face as he escorted me over. As we got closer I
became less focused on the Jockster when I realized that someone else was
in the room with us. Between the Jocker's legs was a stranger I had never
seen before. He had on a gray t-shirt that read "janitor" on the back,
though he too was missing pants and was wearing a jockstrap. Did the Jocker
have fans?

"Show some `spect," Bro-skee grunted as he tugged me down to my knees. I
cried out in pain and therefore didn't notice when Bro-skee stopped holding
the jockstrap to my mouth only to affix it to my face by wrapping the
straps around my ears. I blushed at the underwear now being adorned by my
face yet could do nothing about it as now Bro-skee had both of my hands
pinned behind my back. I looked up to see a very smug Jocker grinning down
at me.

"What have you done with Major Muscle?" I demanded, trying not to let the
jockstrap on my face diminish the effect of my menacing scowl.

"Dude, I ain't done nothing," the Jocker guffawed. "He's right here. Say
`yo,' Major."

A muffled "yo" came from beside me, and I looked in shock at the man next
to me, the one wedged between the Jocker's legs. He didn't even bother to
stop snorting at the villain's jockstrap. Yet in staring at the stranger's
face, I saw the similarities. I saw the strong cheekbones I was used to
seeing covered by a mask, he muscle bulged against the t-shirt in such a
familiar way, and the voice, though having lost all authority and filled
with lust and desperate need, was undoubtedly that of the heroic Major
Muscle.

"I found this `ere place while doin' a lil' prank, but then I found this
`ere square," the Jocker explained, indicating the hero between his legs by
squeezing Major's moaning head between his thighs, borrowing him further
in. "He was totally, like, `woah' when I shoved his stupid face into cock,
but then he got a big ol' snort of my cock smell. Then he got a big ol'
boner himself, and then we were down here with the loser begin' me to take
his tight Major hole."

While Jocker told this horrific story, I started to feel woozy. Something
wasn't right, even more wrong than it already had been. The room was
spinning, and I couldn't focus. Most bizarrely, I was unbelievably horny.
Despite myself, I started to grope my cock through my costume with one
hand, the other pressing the jockstrap further against my face. I saw
Bro-skee come around in front of me, and part of me realized I was now
free. I could fight, or run, or do something, yet I really just wanted to
feel good. I continued to pant animalistically into the odiferous
underwear. Jocker reached down to clutch my reddened face.

"It seems you're getting hit with Bro-skee's cock smell too," he said. "I
brewed up a lil' somethin' somethin' that make it irresistible to little
goody-two-shoes like you two."

Jocker released his grasp, but with it his hand tore the jockstrap away
from my face. I gasped in shock as if snapping out of a trance. As the
jockstrap was removed so was my contentment and happiness. I needed that
jockstrap back! I wanted it more than anything. I was ready to plead and
beg for it with everything I had, yet I couldn't formulate the words, not
even a "please." I could only whimper and moan like a dog begging for
abone, and that's when Bro-skee presented his cock in front of my face. I
jerked back, surprised at the suddenness. Then I smelled it. Fireworks went
off in my brain, and I knew I needed it. My mouth engulfed the cock as I
ravenously sucked it. The cock became my world, and I barely even heard the
men talking above me.

"So what should we do wit' `em, boss?" Bro-skee asked.

"Rob some banks, take the town, and enjoy our two new cock sluts without
any goody-two-shoes to stop us."