S.O.L. Games: Musical Chairs

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DON’T START AT THIS CHAPTER

How to read S.O.L. Games (pronounced ‘soul’) :

Start with the Prologue and one or more Level 1 chapters in any order. (Jump Ropes, Floor is Lava, Pet Teachers)

Then read one or more Level 2 chapters in any order. (Web Design, Teacher Taut, Chemistry, Tug of War)

Then read one or more Level 3 chapters in any order. (Hide & Seek, Pencil Sharpener, Anatomy, Dodgeball)

Then read one or more Level 4 chapters in any order. (What’s the Time, Mr. Wolf, Stations of the Cross, LockHer, Four Square)

Then read one or more Level 5 chapters in any order. (Musical Chairs, Wedgies & Wet Willies, Hopscotch, Holey Books)

And so on. More to come!

Link to all my stories and more chapters to this story are in my profile.



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DISCLAIMERS

In this series, I write from the perspective of the VILLAIN. That means I don’t agree with his choices, and you’re not supposed to either. We’re all acknowledging he is evil and wrong. Obviously nothing he does should ever be done in real life! Please be mature adults and separate fantasy from reality. This SHOULD evoke visceral, icky feelings. That’s the POINT. This is HORROR.

This is more PORN than PLOT.

All characters are 18+.This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to events, locales, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.



WARNINGS / FETISHES

-Non-con, Violence, Maledom, Sadism, Torture

-Gross Smells/Tastes, Bodily Fluids, Sweat

-Bondage, Ropes, Suspension

-Electrocution

-Blood

-Piss

-Strangling, Unconscious

-Analingus, anal play



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Musical Chairs

“The rules of this game are as follows.” The dulcet tone of the Announcer’s voice tickles my brain. Headphones clamped tight on my head, it’s like she’s right next to me whispering into my ear, her oddly tranquil timbre sending a chill down my spine. All other sounds in the room around me are muffled by the noise-canceling headphones. It creates a peculiarly secluded world, a sensory experience shared only between the Announcer and us participants.

Every minuscule breath is magnified, every muttered word heard plainly. I click my remote. It isolates us all on just one of the women. Her irregular breathing. The teacher is terrified, holding back panic. Click. I shift us to another one, blocking out everything except a petite schoolgirl’s squeaky voice faintly pleading for help to no one in particular. This game is going to be a weird one, isn’t it?

I switch us back so all voices hear each other openly again. My eyes linger on the TV at the front of the room. I can freely mute or unmute any of us from the School of Lust menu screen. Our yearbook photos from last year are used as profile pics on the screen, with various options below each. Fucking bizarre.

Then I explore my other surroundings. The music classroom has always been one of the most pleasant rooms in the building. Tall ceiling, spacious. Thin carpet flooring, whiteboards on the wall. Lots of chairs, music stands, a piano and a few other instruments off to the side. The entire far wall is floor-to-ceiling windows to allow lots of natural light in, and on this sunny island that means I get a great view of the beach outside. But an even better view is found inside — five beautiful women standing blindfolded in a circle… completely naked and awaiting me.

“When music begins playing, the females must immediately and simultaneously begin walking clockwise around the chairs in the center.” The Announcer’s voice is so composed and routine, indifferent to the squeaks of fear and nervous shifting from the girls standing bound against their will in the middle of the room.

The five ladies from my school make an equidistant circle around four chairs with seats facing outward. A teacher and four 18-year-old seniors, each standing freely, save the ropes binding their arms behind the small of their backs. Each woman’s rope goes around the front, just under their bare chest, pronouncing and pushing their breasts forward. Shamefully objectifying them! Each rope continues around to bind their wrists and forearms together tightly behind their backs. Then the rope goes up the spine to wrap around each woman’s delicate throat like a noose!

The ropes then go up to an elaborate rotating carousel contraption above them. It resembles a spoked wheel, like on a wagon or carriage. And where the ropes attach are elaborate pulleys and machinery. What the hell is this?

“The male is in charge of starting and stopping the music using his remote as well as helping the game run smoothly.” I look down at the remote in my hand, then glance at the TV at the front of the classroom again, following along with the instructions in between my blatant browsing of the women before me.

I step in for a closer ogle at the nude bodies as the Announcer speaks. Each of them looks at least vaguely familiar. Have I played games with these girls already? God, how long have we been on this damn island? Every day, we wake up drugged to forget the last. Only bits and pieces come back as I skulk around the ladies.

“Females that do not walk continuously, that play the game incorrectly, or that otherwise misbehave will be automatically electrocuted.” As always, we all wear metal shock collars, ready to go off at the first sign of disobedience. I swallow, feeling the cold constriction against my throat. It makes for a convenient excuse to follow directions and participate in this wicked game.

The first woman, the teacher, Stephanie Laurent, whips her blonde head around stupidly, confusion and terror plastered across her pretty face. What’s her age again? 31 I think, married with two kids, caring and pure and beloved by all at St. Isidore’s. She doesn’t know I’m observing her bare flesh, mere feet away. Her plump fair skin jiggles slightly as she jerks around on the verge of panic. Her arms are bound behind the small of her back with rope, which makes a sort of harness up and around her neck right above her collar. The taut rope then continues upward like a noose to the strange massive contraption above. The poor teacher is forced to stand with her chest jutting forward. At the sight of her big tits, wide areolas on full display, I feel myself stiffen, my heart rate quickening as I move on.

The second female is Violet Germain. Tall, lanky, and pale, Violet is a somewhat nerdy alt-girl. Edgy black makeup and hair. A bit tomboyish, yet all her more feminine bits are exhibited before my eyes. I lick my lips as I pace around her, butterflies churning my stomach at the ability to stare at her without her even knowing I’m there. Perky little tits and ass, almost flat all over, stubbly imperfect pubic mound squeezed between quivering thighs.

The third one, Brooklyn Paisley, keeps barking out protests, so I seIect her on the screen to mute her headphone input, her annoying voice no longer lambasting our ears. Brooklyn is half black, short, slightly pudgy, with a thick butt and nice curves. I absently unleash my growing erection from my pants as I bend down close to inspect her ass and smooth-shaven crotch.

Fourth around the circle of ladies is little Dani Marotta, the football coach’s off-limits daughter. 18, but sheltered, innocent, and immature. She’s the one we keep hearing whimpering and pleading in our headphones. Sandy brown hair, curly and girly. Youthful little face, braces on her teeth. I drink in the sight of her nubile nakedness. Olive softly tanned skin. Flat chest. Her knees shake as she pinches her little legs shut to prevent my eyes from seeing much of her hairless privates. I barely notice my hand stroking my cock as I stalk around the oblivious schoolgirl.

The final girl, Melina Ruiz. There’s something unique about her, her demeanor completely different than the rest, silent and alert. She’s clearly still scared but less so than the others, not as panicked and confused. Fleeting memories poke at me through my drug-induced amnesia as I stroll around this last naked beauty, my eyes looking her tall golden-brown figure up and down. Gorgeous waves of dark hair with highlights. Striking angular features. Perky little breasts with big saucer areolas. Her butt the only part of her lithe body with some squish. I can’t remember much from my past games with her, but I know we’ve had significant interactions.

“When the male stops the music, the females must attempt to sit in chairs. When exactly one female is sitting in each chair, the remaining female left without a chair will be reeled upward by her rope.” It gets hard to hear the Announcer over all the hysterical outbursts from the women, so I mute them all. “The male must then follow the on-screen instructions for releasing the eliminated female, removing a chair, and resetting the room as needed. Eliminated females will be continuously punished while the rest of the game resumes.” The noise-canceling headphones work wonderfully. I can barely hear the muffled pandemonium from the terrified ladies around me. I watch them jerk about with fright at the Announcer’s shocking words. Mrs. Laurent’s body jiggles, Brooklyn seems to be roaring with anger, little Dani’s face goes flushed from pulling so hard at her rope in a fruitless attempt to escape.

“Begin.” At the Announcer’s final word, classical piano music — Bach I think — begins playing within all our headphones, initiating the game.

I watch with bated breath as the five women reluctantly start stepping forward blindly. I unmute all their mic inputs, fascinated by this strange and sickening scene. All their sounds are unleashed upon my eardrums, making me shiver, a medley of emotions running through me. It’s disturbing watching people I know from real life disgraced so cruelly. But I can’t deny how hard my cock throbs in my palm as I slowly stroke myself. All at once, overpowering the classical music, I hear frantic whispers of baffled dismay, swearing and begging and words of attempted comfort, breathing and grunting from multiple tormented women.

I hear Violet the emo chick whispering a steady torrent of curse words under her breath, frightened to the point of hyperventilation. Her hot hissing invades my senses, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. It reminds me of those ASMR videos where someone whispers into a microphone to make you tingle. And God am I tingling.

I hear Mrs. Laurent trying to gain control of the situation, motherly and authoritative instincts kicking in. But the teacher’s voice cracks as she mutters things like “It–it’s ok girls. Oh God– Just stay–stay calm. They just want us to walk. J–just do what they say, and it’ll all be over.” She’s clearly trying to convince herself as much as the girls she feels obligated to protect.

I hear little Dani chirping cute whimpers of pure bewilderment as she stumbles forward clumsily. Back at school, she’s never treated like anything more than a platonic little sister by everyone that knows her. Coach Marotta, her dad, is always so protective and intimidating. The result is a coddled and naive 18-year-old that doesn’t act her age and is ignorant to the depths of depravity that can grip those of us that look at her naked body. Not a girl, not yet a woman. She doesn’t seem to understand what’s happening, why anyone would want to do all this to these women. And to be fair, neither do I. Even as I revel in the sight of Dani’s bare butt wiggling as she staggers past me, I can’t believe this is even possible. How — why — are these games happening? Who could even pull off something so immensely illegal and expensive?

I hear Brooklyn shouting again, the feisty black girl resisting compliance at first, “Hey fuck you! You can’t fucking do this! Let us go, you psychopaths!” The giant wheel contraption high above their heads has begun turning as the other four girls begin walking, the ropes around their torsos and necks pulling and rotating the carousel with them. But as Brooklyn stands her ground and refuses to budge, the other girls get tugged to a stop as well.

Stephanie tries to warn her student, “Honey, calm down. The voice said we have to–” But it’s too late. Disobedience is swiftly met with discipline, a loud deep digital tone blasts over top the piano music in our ears. And Brooklyn goes quiet as her shock collar makes her entire body tense up into a sudden spasm. Her poofy fro-bun hair wobbles, her face tilting up into a grimace of agony, her almond body twisting with involuntary jerks. A steady guttural growl erupts from her mouth then, right into our ears. The teen falls back, her legs sprawling and giving out. Her rope harness catches her, choking and pinching at her neck and right under her dark little tits. The rope prevents her from hitting the floor, her body instead swinging a few feet at a slouched diagonal. I watch her shake as the electricity continues excessively, a slight dribble of spit bubbling out from her plump pursed lips.

Violet and Dani shriek and call for help. Stephanie wails, “Stop! What are you doing to her?! Don’t hurt her! Oh God! Honey, you have to move!” After more dissonant shouts of desperation, Mrs. Laurent finally gets the girls to help her walk forward, which makes the wheel above them turn slowly. Brooklyn’s rope drags her limply-hanging body forward, and she starts to move her feet despite her rigidly seized muscles. And finally a soft arcade beep rings in our headphones, signifying the end of the punishment. Brooklyn gasps for breath finally, relieved of the intense pain at last. All five women waddle forward quickly and unceasingly after that. Sounds of panting, sobbing, and delightfully upbeat Mozart fill my head.

Cock in hand, I thoughtlessly watch and listen to the surreal display of sadism before me. With arms bound behind backs, the women squawk and stumble about like stupid chickens, every movement twitchy and anxious. I stare in awe for several long minutes until I remember suddenly — Oh shit, that’s right! The game is waiting for me to stop the music!

I use my remote to seIect the button on the TV screen. Our headphones go silent in the middle of a morose Beethoven song, and it takes the girls a moment to realize. Brooklyn is the first to scramble for a chair. The others quickly catch on, chaos erupting as they all race not to be the last one left without a seat. None of them probably wishes ill on another, but as sweet as they all are, the ladies all seem to quickly put their own well-being above the others. Even Stephanie’s nurturing kindness is instinctively forgotten, the teacher clambering to plop her thick ass onto a chair. My headphones ring with syncopated shouts and straining grunts, the sight almost comical in its ridiculousness. Naked girls from my school, blindfolded and rope-bound, struggling to play a sick game of musical chairs. For no apparent reason. My erection flexes in my hand.

Dani and Melina plant their butts in the same seat. Dani yelps, shouting out, “No, wait! No, it’s mine!” Little brat. Not as innocent as she seems. Probably always gets babied, gets her way. Melina doesn’t respond, the tall Hispanic just groaning with effort, shoving her sharp shoulder against her smaller classmate. These girls are normally two of the shiest, most modest girls at school. But here, they’re both stripped naked, fighting each other not to be the one to get sexually assaulted by an unknown boy from their school. Things get aggressive, the two wimpy girls shoving and squealing, trying to scoot the other off the chair.