Camp Mascot (Patreon)

When the eager pup volunteered to be mascot, he didn't realize just how much hazing would be involved - in the dead of night, a few silhouetted jocks drag him from his bunk and, before he can yelp out two words of protest, muzzle, collar, and rough up their whimpering catch, leaving him bound and tethered for the night at the outskirts of camp. He alternates between dozing into fitful slumber and jerking on his leash, the end of which has been tied cruelly close to the ground but out of reach just the same with his wrists trussed behind him and his teeth safely locked away. A few desperate jerks reveal a small amount of slack in the ropes - very small, but there. A glimmer of hope.

If only I could get my hands free..

After about a few hours of wriggling - slow work that requires a pause every few minutes to pant shallowly for air - digging his muzzle into the dirt for traction while twisting his wrists every which way, searching for the slack that would undo the knots, he's finally able to slip.. his fingers.. free!! He revels in the victory for just a moment before reaching up to work the buckle of his muzzle when --

"MMHH-!!"

The pup squeals in equal parts pain and shock as something kicks him roughly onto his stomach. He lands on his face, turning it sideways, and feels the heavy leather heel of a boot press into the back of his head, down into the dirt. His vision swims, unfocused and dizzy from a night of lost sleep and adrenaline, as he instinctively struggles to get himself upright.

A mocking, low voice directly into his ear: "Quitting already, pup? You were so excited about being mascot just last night. What changed?"

The pressure on his neck lifts away and he shakes his head, whining and trying to growl in response. It's a pitiful display though, considering the dust caking his cheeks and sprinkling itself onto his chest with every move.

Boyish voices all around him erupt in easy laughter at their leader's quip. He counts at least five, and more footfalls from his left coming. The fight deflates from him even as he continue to struggle, the grunts and half-snarls dissolving into more placating whines.

It's too late to back out now; the whole cabin's waking up and ready to show the rookie the ropes.

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Polaroid comm for forseti!!

dont feel too bad for him - he volunteered, after all.

something about this one sparked the sadistic/playfully cruel streak in me and i had to indulge. maybe it's the muzzle, i do love power dynamics where bottoms can't speak.