Date: Thu, 13 Oct 2022 01:44:39 +0000 From: Greg S Subject: Perceptions - Chapter 2 Perceptions - Chapter 2 Please remember to support Nifty and their work so that they can continue this forum for entertainment and expression. Use link https://donate.nifty.org/ to donate please. He has me in a grapevine, and I should have the power to break free, but I just can't do it. It seems impossible to imagine or execute. WTF. I'm pathetic. As he works me into the mat and punishes me, preparing to go for the pin, he whispers, "make sure you are the last one in the locker room today, or else.....". I hear the slap of the mat and I'm done. "Your slipping again Sansera" I hear the coach holler from two mats over while he surveys all of us pairing off. My remaining matches go like shit and my confidence is gone, but I get some of my mojo back when the team hits the weight room. I push through 225 on the bench, and I start to feel less feeble. He ignores me in the weight room, and a part of me is disappointed. WTF? And I feel pathetic again. My heart and my head are constantly doing battle. There's no way I'm going to be the last one in the locker room. `Fuck him' my imagination screams, I don't care what he wants to say or what he thinks he has on me. I'm moving at my break-neck pace when I hit the showers after practice and I see him. He looks at me with a stern corrective stare. It says nothing specific, except it clearly means OBEY. `Fuck, Fuck, Fuck. I don't care, I don't care, I don't care' I repeat in my head, pleading with myself not to stay. I think to myself, `Man up, you can do it. You don't have to be a pussy, you can stand on your own two feet! You can be a man! You are as good as him. You can at least be an equal person, right? Everyone has pluses and minuses, and you have a lot of good qualities. Fuck, I can't keep this up.' I'm exhausted from trying to convince myself what the world thinks I'm supposed to believe. I'm NOT. I don't even want to be. I don't measure up. I'm not part of that strata. Fuck, that feels good to say. So, I'm inferior. I'm weak, so what. I'm not beautiful. Fuck, I don't care. So........What the fuck does he want from me? Can I handle it? "So, you rolled over for me again today like a whore. You've got that move down, but I think the team needs more from you if you are going to compete, and help us win", he sneers. He circles me as if looking for flaws to be remedied. "What do you want?" I roll off my tongue cynically. "Watch your tone pussy boy, or I'll make you hurt right here, right now." I look down at my shoes, twisting my feet and waiting to see how far he intends to push me today. "Apologize", he purrs. "What? For what? What did I do?" I retort without thought. "Your tone sucks and I don't appreciate it.", he explains. I react, "Well who made you king of...." And right then he pushes me back into the lockers, blocks my chest with his left forearm and proceeds to deliver three hard rights into my midsection. I drop to my knees in front of him and steady myself on my palms. I gasp and look up. No grin or smirk this time, just determination on his face. I was surprised, but not shocked. How could this smaller, younger less built guy do all of this to me? Why couldn't I stop him? I knew he was serious, I knew he was going to push me past what I could handle. I knew he was going to make me more and more of what he wants me to be. "I'm sorry" I croaked. "Your sorry what?" He replied. My quizzical look made him repeat his last question with an intensity that made me learn faster. "I'm sorry Sir." I replied. "We have some work to do with you. I need you to perform better for me in all ways. We'll get to all of them, but first let's cover a few basics. You no longer exist as independent or a man. Not that you ever really were. You're a jock when you wrestle for us against other schools, but aside from that, you're my bitch, my property and my slave." He let that sink in as he circled me. "Do you understand what that means?", he tested. "I have no idea what that means for me........ uh, Sir". He smirked and chuckled. "That's an honest answer. Good. One last question for today. Whose property are you?". It was hard, that first step, admitting you are `less-than' to someone who is clearly more-than. I knew the tug-of-war I had been fighting was over. I was over. I was moving forward no matter where it led me. "I am your property Sir", and when I looked up I saw the first grin I had earned as his slave. "Tomorrow night, 7:00, my house. We have things to work on" and he was gone.