Boy being victimized by his closest and dearest
Horny ass
Invictus
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Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 5640
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
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Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 5640
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Invictus
Season I | Chapter VI - People Get Ready
Fall had come and made way for a particularly ruthless winter. The leaves had changed its colors and inevitably fell to the ground - leaving carcases of trees to be encapsulated by heavy bogs of snow.
The city of Pittsburgh being such a metropolitan of a city, the snow didn't shutter the bustling streets like it did out in the outskirts. It reminded you of its presence with its bone-chilling winds, cascading and flowing mercilessly between the skyscraper buildings of downtown. Out in the suburbs of Upper St. Clair, the wind wasn't as rampant - being just far enough from the bridges to not come off the water.
The crisp air simply sat, allowing you to travel through it, and not the other way around.
Zane wasn't one for the winter. Living any place where simply existing in its air could cause pain wasn't for him. It must have been his Caribbean roots coursing through his blood from his father's side.
Mary had travelled from Jamaica as a teen as the youngest of five siblings. She initially settled in New York, finding work as a cleaner in one of the largest hospitals in Manhattan. She eventually met Zane's grandfather and moved to Pittsburgh - quiet enough to hear yourself think, but loud enough to be granted a distraction if you needed it. She worked in the city in a similar position for 40 years and raised two children before retiring to a quieter career of volunteering when they needed an extra hand.
Felix Jones came from St. Kitts & Nevis early in the 1970s, landing himself in Pittsburgh as an engineer just in time to see Terry Bradshaw, Mean Joe Greene, and the Steelers take over the city for the next decade. A coincidental trip to New York City for a convention, slipping on some ice, and landing himself in the hospital with a concussion had him running into his future in the form of a young woman working a double-shift because someone called in sick.
"Everything I have came from these two hands," Felix would say to a young Zane, holding up his rough and battered palms for him to look at, feeling the grizzled edges with his own, soft hands - too young to have been marked up by life quite yet. "That's what being a man is all about, grandson. Leaving your mark."
Tough but fair is how Zane would explain his grandfather now. Life had taken its pound of flesh from him. He would never say sorry - even when it was clear he was wrong - but he would show his love for his wife by bringing home a pint of Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream without her asking. He would give Zane a hard time anytime he wanted to take the car, but he would always ensure the gas tank was full.
He showed up. That's what always mattered to him. He was the father figure that had been so cruelly robbed from him before he was old enough to learn what was missing.
The three of them sat at the table early one morning. It was a crisp Tuesday morning, the snow falling quietly outside their kitchen window with such a grace that Zane would almost forget just how annoying it would be to get outside and clear the car off. Zane was up to get a lift in before class start, Felix up to get a head start on traffic before heading into the city to a car garage he tinkered at three times a week. Mary was up simply to enjoy time with her boys before they headed out.
Zane spoke up first. "Coach has been saying I might get an invite to some camps in the new year."
Felix peeked at him, eyes wary over glasses that constantly slipped down his nose when he looked down. "Where?"
"Mostly in state," Zane replied, feeling the need to sell something he wasn't even sure he wanted to buy in the first place. "I don't think I'm going to get a Rivals camp invite, but Coach seems pretty convinced I'm going to get an invite to Penn State's prospects game."
Felix leaned back in his chair, attention now fully on Zane as he dropped the newspaper he still got every morning despite most of the neighbors cancelling their subscriptions years ago.
"You have to pay?"
"Not usually, but I don't have a lot of information about it yet. I'm still trying to figure all that stuff out." Zane answered earnestly. He had never really heard about guys at his school having to pay, but he was aware that some of them had sponsors from the community that helped with boarding when they left the city.
"Just make sure you're keeping up with your studies," Felix said, backing his chair up and heaving his dense body up, both knees cracking under the pressure. "I want this for you, but I don't want this to be the only basket with some damn eggs inside them, yeah?"
Zane nodded, a breath caught in his chest. He scratched at his chin, as if he didn't know what to do with his hands. Approval from his grandfather wasn't something he often gotten. He would contest, and then eventually let go. Never direct approval.
Mary looked between the two of them, directing a look at Felix that only he caught. Felix looked back, studied and pondered for a moment before relenting. He walked over to Zane, almost as if he was merely going to pass him by. Zane felt the old, rugged hand plop onto his shoulder, the pressure causing him to look up.
"I'm .. uh.. I'm proud of you for trying. You're doing good, son." Zane was taken aback, leaking out a quiet nod that was enough permission for Felix to move on to the foyer, grabbing his coat and keys to go clear off the driveway. He contemplated for a moment, almost smiling to himself. He looked over to Mary, a proud look on her face as she hoisted her mug of green tea for a sip.
The snow continued to fall gently outside the window, on a day that already felt a little bit better.
Fall had come and made way for a particularly ruthless winter. The leaves had changed its colors and inevitably fell to the ground - leaving carcases of trees to be encapsulated by heavy bogs of snow.
The city of Pittsburgh being such a metropolitan of a city, the snow didn't shutter the bustling streets like it did out in the outskirts. It reminded you of its presence with its bone-chilling winds, cascading and flowing mercilessly between the skyscraper buildings of downtown. Out in the suburbs of Upper St. Clair, the wind wasn't as rampant - being just far enough from the bridges to not come off the water.
The crisp air simply sat, allowing you to travel through it, and not the other way around.
Zane wasn't one for the winter. Living any place where simply existing in its air could cause pain wasn't for him. It must have been his Caribbean roots coursing through his blood from his father's side.
Mary had travelled from Jamaica as a teen as the youngest of five siblings. She initially settled in New York, finding work as a cleaner in one of the largest hospitals in Manhattan. She eventually met Zane's grandfather and moved to Pittsburgh - quiet enough to hear yourself think, but loud enough to be granted a distraction if you needed it. She worked in the city in a similar position for 40 years and raised two children before retiring to a quieter career of volunteering when they needed an extra hand.
Felix Jones came from St. Kitts & Nevis early in the 1970s, landing himself in Pittsburgh as an engineer just in time to see Terry Bradshaw, Mean Joe Greene, and the Steelers take over the city for the next decade. A coincidental trip to New York City for a convention, slipping on some ice, and landing himself in the hospital with a concussion had him running into his future in the form of a young woman working a double-shift because someone called in sick.
"Everything I have came from these two hands," Felix would say to a young Zane, holding up his rough and battered palms for him to look at, feeling the grizzled edges with his own, soft hands - too young to have been marked up by life quite yet. "That's what being a man is all about, grandson. Leaving your mark."
Tough but fair is how Zane would explain his grandfather now. Life had taken its pound of flesh from him. He would never say sorry - even when it was clear he was wrong - but he would show his love for his wife by bringing home a pint of Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream without her asking. He would give Zane a hard time anytime he wanted to take the car, but he would always ensure the gas tank was full.
He showed up. That's what always mattered to him. He was the father figure that had been so cruelly robbed from him before he was old enough to learn what was missing.
The three of them sat at the table early one morning. It was a crisp Tuesday morning, the snow falling quietly outside their kitchen window with such a grace that Zane would almost forget just how annoying it would be to get outside and clear the car off. Zane was up to get a lift in before class start, Felix up to get a head start on traffic before heading into the city to a car garage he tinkered at three times a week. Mary was up simply to enjoy time with her boys before they headed out.
Zane spoke up first. "Coach has been saying I might get an invite to some camps in the new year."
Felix peeked at him, eyes wary over glasses that constantly slipped down his nose when he looked down. "Where?"
"Mostly in state," Zane replied, feeling the need to sell something he wasn't even sure he wanted to buy in the first place. "I don't think I'm going to get a Rivals camp invite, but Coach seems pretty convinced I'm going to get an invite to Penn State's prospects game."
Felix leaned back in his chair, attention now fully on Zane as he dropped the newspaper he still got every morning despite most of the neighbors cancelling their subscriptions years ago.
"You have to pay?"
"Not usually, but I don't have a lot of information about it yet. I'm still trying to figure all that stuff out." Zane answered earnestly. He had never really heard about guys at his school having to pay, but he was aware that some of them had sponsors from the community that helped with boarding when they left the city.
"Just make sure you're keeping up with your studies," Felix said, backing his chair up and heaving his dense body up, both knees cracking under the pressure. "I want this for you, but I don't want this to be the only basket with some damn eggs inside them, yeah?"
Zane nodded, a breath caught in his chest. He scratched at his chin, as if he didn't know what to do with his hands. Approval from his grandfather wasn't something he often gotten. He would contest, and then eventually let go. Never direct approval.
Mary looked between the two of them, directing a look at Felix that only he caught. Felix looked back, studied and pondered for a moment before relenting. He walked over to Zane, almost as if he was merely going to pass him by. Zane felt the old, rugged hand plop onto his shoulder, the pressure causing him to look up.
"I'm .. uh.. I'm proud of you for trying. You're doing good, son." Zane was taken aback, leaking out a quiet nod that was enough permission for Felix to move on to the foyer, grabbing his coat and keys to go clear off the driveway. He contemplated for a moment, almost smiling to himself. He looked over to Mary, a proud look on her face as she hoisted her mug of green tea for a sip.
The snow continued to fall gently outside the window, on a day that already felt a little bit better.
Last edited by Captain Canada on 29 Oct 2025, 13:54, edited 2 times in total.
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Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 5640
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
-
Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 5640
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Invictus
Season I | Chapter VII - Do I Look Worried
The stale air of the dome smelt faintly of the rubber exterior as Bianca felt the pebbles from the turf underneath her expertly-manicured fingertips. She took a deep breath through her nose, trying to keep her head as neutral as possible.
As if prompted by a race-starter, she lifted her rear, tightened her core, before a snap within her mind had her launching from the starting line.
Drive. Drive. Drive.
She felt the turf give way beneath the studs of her cleats, firing behind her as she continued to drive her knees. She pumped her arms violently but methodically, her head slowly lifting as she saw her end destination coming closer and closer. Her breath still held firmly in her core, she realized she hadn't been breathing during this entire sprint. As she crossed the finish line, she felt the sting of want within her lungs.
She struggled to a stop, kicking up black pellets as she dug the toe of her cleats across the white line. Her heartbeat was slowly regulating as she dug the shorts from riding up. She reached back, grabbing onto the laces of her cleat, and stretching her quads. She could feel the relief of the muscle loosening while finally catching her breath.
"You really are fast as shit" a voice called out from behind her, interrupting Bianca from her post-sprint trance. She spun around and found Zane walking up to her, his own cleats in his hands, hanging by his fingertips. He had a lanyard with the word "GUEST" written on it in black, bold writing.
"I can't even go to university without you, huh?"
Zane was taking her in - the Upper St. Clair track & field shirt, the black shorts that had grown a little too snug for her, her black hair slicked with sweat, pulled into a high ponytail.
"Don't even start, I had no idea you were going to be here, of all places on a Saturday morning."
"What are you even doing on Pitt's campus anyways, isn't that like an NCAA violation or something?" she walked past him back towards her backpack, causing him to turn on his heel and follow.
"Take it easy - I was invited to a prospects camp. Coach said it's good to 'improve my stock', whatever that means," he shrugged. "I'm kind of surprised he was able to get it all together this quickly."
"Prospects' camp eh," she retorted, reaching down and getting a quick swig of water. "That's pretty exciting stuff, Zane. I'm happy for you."
"Is that Bianca actually paying lil' ol me a compliment?" Zane feigned shock, clasping his hand to his chest in jest. "Somebody has to alert the press."
"Go fuck yourself."
"What are you doing here anyways? I didn't know you were committing here."
"I haven't yet, but they allow me to use the facilities in the winter when it gets too cold outside to use outdoor tracks. It's only a few dollars to access the turf." Zane nodded slowly in understanding, adjusting the straps on his backpack.
"It's a nice campus, I'll give it that." Bianca looked around at the dome, only a few scattered people working on different things across the the different fields.
"Yeah, it ain't half bad."
"Alright, fellas. You're all registered and good to go. My name is Coach Jenkins and I'm the wide receivers coach here at Pitt. We're just going to be running through a few basic drills. Get the blood going and what not, alright?"
He was a younger guy compared to the rest of the coaching staff, only a few speckles of gray alerting Zane to any maturity in the man. His face said he was weathered though. Eyes that had seen some intense games.
The group of athletes compiled came from all over the state of Pennsylvania, though Zane recognized a few of the guys from football over the last few years throughout the county. He kept to himself, trying to remind him of why he was here in the first place. The anxiety in his stomach presented like acid being held at bay - flipping through his stomach like an uncomfortable weight.
"Let's start with some sprints, get the cobwebs out of the body." Coach Jenkins bellowed out, beckoning all of the players to the starting line. Zane did one last tug on his sleeves as he pressed the toes of his cleats at the white, painted line. He took a quick scan around him, watching guys size each other up.
He reminded himself that for a lot of these guys, it was a competition to get themselves seen - not just an opportunity to sharpen your skills. Zane considered this and wondered why he didn't have that burning sensation in his gut like they did. Why it wasn't aching in his bones to let go of it all and show his stuff.
The doubt crept around the edges of the canvas that was his psyche, trying to take as much real estate as it could. He shook it loose. Blanking the page.
It was time to cut it loose and turn it all the way.
The whistle screech tore across the air and Zane exploded off the line, digging into the turf, every step measured and taken with violent intent. He pumped his arms with vigor. The opposite line growing closer and closer, he eased up on the speed; his stride widening. He took a peek to the sides of him, seeing some of the players gaining on him.
"You can't start slow, huh?" a player next to him bellowed as he halted to a stop next to him. He was a few inches shorter, with a low fade, and studs shining in the fluorescent lighting. Zane shrugged, waiting for the next whistle to blow. "I'm gon' keep pace on this one, believe that."
"Let's compete now, my boy."
The whistle blared and the players took off once again. Zane led the pack - more strong strides pole-vaulting him to the front. Sweat began to build at his brow line after the next few sprints. He blinked, waiting for the next one as his breathing became more and more shallow. He struggled a smidge to catch it before the next whistle while some of the other guys were bent over, hands on their knees, trying their darndest to catch anything.
Coach Jenkins sat with his arms folded across his chest, peering behind his glasses that kept slipping down his nose. The stuffy air in the dome did him no favors, a light coating of sweat glossing his face.
He leaned towards one of the other coaches, holding a clipboard and barking out a command as one of the players reached for a cone during a figure-eight drill.
"Who's that kid running laps around these guys and why don't I know his name?"
The other coach flipped through the sheets before finding what he was looking for. "Zane Jones, he's a junior at Upper St. Clair, 6A. Good size, some really good speed as well. He doesn't have a lot of stats or film from what we got from recruiting, but he got some buzz after they beat St. Joseph's in the last game of the year."
Coach Jenkins eyes widened, going back to watching Zane from afar. He was high-pointing a ball, snatching from out of the air with practiced ease. "That's him? The one with the winning touchdown? The one-hander?"
"That's him."
Coach Jenkins peered at the measurables on the clipboard before directing his attention back to the players in front of him. He kept his focus specifically on Zane, a new interest building in his mind.
The stale air of the dome smelt faintly of the rubber exterior as Bianca felt the pebbles from the turf underneath her expertly-manicured fingertips. She took a deep breath through her nose, trying to keep her head as neutral as possible.
As if prompted by a race-starter, she lifted her rear, tightened her core, before a snap within her mind had her launching from the starting line.
Drive. Drive. Drive.
She felt the turf give way beneath the studs of her cleats, firing behind her as she continued to drive her knees. She pumped her arms violently but methodically, her head slowly lifting as she saw her end destination coming closer and closer. Her breath still held firmly in her core, she realized she hadn't been breathing during this entire sprint. As she crossed the finish line, she felt the sting of want within her lungs.
She struggled to a stop, kicking up black pellets as she dug the toe of her cleats across the white line. Her heartbeat was slowly regulating as she dug the shorts from riding up. She reached back, grabbing onto the laces of her cleat, and stretching her quads. She could feel the relief of the muscle loosening while finally catching her breath.
"You really are fast as shit" a voice called out from behind her, interrupting Bianca from her post-sprint trance. She spun around and found Zane walking up to her, his own cleats in his hands, hanging by his fingertips. He had a lanyard with the word "GUEST" written on it in black, bold writing.
"I can't even go to university without you, huh?"
Zane was taking her in - the Upper St. Clair track & field shirt, the black shorts that had grown a little too snug for her, her black hair slicked with sweat, pulled into a high ponytail.
"Don't even start, I had no idea you were going to be here, of all places on a Saturday morning."
"What are you even doing on Pitt's campus anyways, isn't that like an NCAA violation or something?" she walked past him back towards her backpack, causing him to turn on his heel and follow.
"Take it easy - I was invited to a prospects camp. Coach said it's good to 'improve my stock', whatever that means," he shrugged. "I'm kind of surprised he was able to get it all together this quickly."
"Prospects' camp eh," she retorted, reaching down and getting a quick swig of water. "That's pretty exciting stuff, Zane. I'm happy for you."
"Is that Bianca actually paying lil' ol me a compliment?" Zane feigned shock, clasping his hand to his chest in jest. "Somebody has to alert the press."
"Go fuck yourself."
"What are you doing here anyways? I didn't know you were committing here."
"I haven't yet, but they allow me to use the facilities in the winter when it gets too cold outside to use outdoor tracks. It's only a few dollars to access the turf." Zane nodded slowly in understanding, adjusting the straps on his backpack.
"It's a nice campus, I'll give it that." Bianca looked around at the dome, only a few scattered people working on different things across the the different fields.
"Yeah, it ain't half bad."
***
"Alright, fellas. You're all registered and good to go. My name is Coach Jenkins and I'm the wide receivers coach here at Pitt. We're just going to be running through a few basic drills. Get the blood going and what not, alright?"
He was a younger guy compared to the rest of the coaching staff, only a few speckles of gray alerting Zane to any maturity in the man. His face said he was weathered though. Eyes that had seen some intense games.
The group of athletes compiled came from all over the state of Pennsylvania, though Zane recognized a few of the guys from football over the last few years throughout the county. He kept to himself, trying to remind him of why he was here in the first place. The anxiety in his stomach presented like acid being held at bay - flipping through his stomach like an uncomfortable weight.
"Let's start with some sprints, get the cobwebs out of the body." Coach Jenkins bellowed out, beckoning all of the players to the starting line. Zane did one last tug on his sleeves as he pressed the toes of his cleats at the white, painted line. He took a quick scan around him, watching guys size each other up.
He reminded himself that for a lot of these guys, it was a competition to get themselves seen - not just an opportunity to sharpen your skills. Zane considered this and wondered why he didn't have that burning sensation in his gut like they did. Why it wasn't aching in his bones to let go of it all and show his stuff.
The doubt crept around the edges of the canvas that was his psyche, trying to take as much real estate as it could. He shook it loose. Blanking the page.
It was time to cut it loose and turn it all the way.
The whistle screech tore across the air and Zane exploded off the line, digging into the turf, every step measured and taken with violent intent. He pumped his arms with vigor. The opposite line growing closer and closer, he eased up on the speed; his stride widening. He took a peek to the sides of him, seeing some of the players gaining on him.
"You can't start slow, huh?" a player next to him bellowed as he halted to a stop next to him. He was a few inches shorter, with a low fade, and studs shining in the fluorescent lighting. Zane shrugged, waiting for the next whistle to blow. "I'm gon' keep pace on this one, believe that."
"Let's compete now, my boy."
The whistle blared and the players took off once again. Zane led the pack - more strong strides pole-vaulting him to the front. Sweat began to build at his brow line after the next few sprints. He blinked, waiting for the next one as his breathing became more and more shallow. He struggled a smidge to catch it before the next whistle while some of the other guys were bent over, hands on their knees, trying their darndest to catch anything.
***
Coach Jenkins sat with his arms folded across his chest, peering behind his glasses that kept slipping down his nose. The stuffy air in the dome did him no favors, a light coating of sweat glossing his face.
He leaned towards one of the other coaches, holding a clipboard and barking out a command as one of the players reached for a cone during a figure-eight drill.
"Who's that kid running laps around these guys and why don't I know his name?"
The other coach flipped through the sheets before finding what he was looking for. "Zane Jones, he's a junior at Upper St. Clair, 6A. Good size, some really good speed as well. He doesn't have a lot of stats or film from what we got from recruiting, but he got some buzz after they beat St. Joseph's in the last game of the year."
Coach Jenkins eyes widened, going back to watching Zane from afar. He was high-pointing a ball, snatching from out of the air with practiced ease. "That's him? The one with the winning touchdown? The one-hander?"
"That's him."
Coach Jenkins peered at the measurables on the clipboard before directing his attention back to the players in front of him. He kept his focus specifically on Zane, a new interest building in his mind.
Last edited by Captain Canada on 29 Oct 2025, 13:54, edited 2 times in total.