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Description

Withers debut in his letterman jacket! I like the look for him, rather sporty! I just wanted an excuse to tie him up and ghost hands are easier to draw, but I ended up writing a whole story for this! I'll post it below.

No writing: www.deviantart.com/boundpup/ar…

Ko-Fi: ko-fi.com/withers

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    Withers ignored the squeak of his rubber soled sneakers against the polished cement floor of the University athletic complex. It echoed around the empty building, reminding him of how alone he was. The building was one of those that had seen many years, additions being added right on top of the old sections, making for an odd amalgamation of old and new architecture. It was around 11:00 on a Friday night; usually the wolf jock would have been out at a party or gaming in his dorm, but he had lost his wallet earlier. After retracing his steps, he concluded he must have left it in the locker room after track practice. The locker room was on the other side of the building in the newer additions, and Withers was in quite a hurry to get there, both to find his prized possession and to get out of the gothic, rather creepy depths of the hall.
    “Geez, it’s a lot spookier in here when there’s nobody around,” he said to himself, partly to break the deafening silence that surrounded him. The usually bustling hall was empty; the lights were dimmed to a minimal glow to save energy — it was the very definition of a liminal space.
    As he turned a corner, the blue wolf let out a groan at the sight that met him. The hallway that led to the newer additions was blocked off with plastic coverings and caution tape. A red sign warned of the danger of falling debris and structural instability from current renovations.
    “Great, and this is the quickest way to the locker rooms,” the wolf bemoaned. He began to turn around to backtrack around the whole building when he noticed a door ajar. It was a heavy, rust brown steel that led into a dank, brick room. In the center, a spiral staircase wrought of similar metal descended to . . . somewhere. A sign on the door read: “Basement Tunnel.”
    He was an easily frightened wolf, but curious nonetheless. He poked his muzzle into the old forgotten room — when he felt a hand roughly clasp the shoulder of his letterman jacket. He screamed and whipped around, coming face to face with a wrinkled old tiger in a tan jumpsuit. Withers calmed down a bit, remembering the tiger as one of the custodians he occasionally saw.
    “Boy, what do you think you’re doing here,” the Tiger growled, his hand still gripping Withers shoulder. The wolf boy tried to straighten himself out, not appreciating being snuck up on and manhandled.
    “I-I was just trying to get to the locker rooms. I left something there,” he said. The tiger gave him a disapproving look before releasing his grip on the jock.
    “Well you’re not getting there from here. The whole section is blocked off. Go outside and walk around the building.”
    “O-okay I will,” said Withers, before giving the mysterious staircase another glance. “But what about this staircase here? Does it have a tunnel that goes to the new athletic building?” The tiger’s eyes went wide at the question, his fur standing on end.
    “Don’t you even think about that tunnel boy! You stay clear ya hear me!”
    Withers whimpered slightly, taken aback by his harsh tone.
    “H-hey man, it was just a question! No need to get so worked up!”
    “No need? No need! Let me tell you something boy, I’ve worked here longer than you’ve been on this Earth. I’ve seen things. Things a fur wasn’t meant to see! And in that tunnel there’s one of them. Let me tell you a story — 30 years ago, there was a student at this university. He had, shall we say, a thing for jocks such as yourself. He snuck into practices to watch, stole gear from the supply rooms, even took photographs of some of ‘em in the locker rooms. Now one day this student got unlucky and was caught by the football team. They tied him up and left him in this tunnel — only when they went back to get him, he was gone. No trace; not even his bindings were left! Shortly thereafter, each member of the team began to disappear, one by one. Now the police could never figure it out, but I did. One night in this here tunnel, I seen him! Pale and green, with blank soulless eyes! I haven't been down there since, but if you ask me he’s the reason the team went missing. He took ‘em for revenge, or perhaps something else . . .”
    Withers gulped audibly and backed away.
    “N-now come on, don’t try to scare me like that!” the wolf boy chided.
    “I’m just warning you. You jocks, always thinking you’re so strong and talented. Well that don’t mean much to the dead boy! Now I’m warning you, stay clear of that staircase and tunnel — although I’m sure a chicken-shit such as yourself would have avoided that dark scary tunnel anyway,” the tiger snarked, much to Wither’s chagrin.
    “Hey!” the wolf shouted indignantly, but the tiger was already down the hall, his laughs reverberating off the walls, fading into silence. Alone again, Withers grumbled to himself.
    “The nerve of that guy! I’ll show him! I’m no coward!” Withers said, puffing his chest out and turning to the dark brick room. He deflated a bit as a chill went down his spine, but determined now, the wolf turned on his phone light and stepped into the dark.
    His sneakers made a soft squeak against the rusted metal of the stairs. Around and around he went, descending into a dark shaft of old brick. It felt like forever (in reality just two minutes) but the wolf reached the end of the staircase and hopped to the concrete-covered ground. He was facing an arched entryway, lined with the same dull brick of the rest of the shaft. Above the archway was a bronze plaque, worn and weary, reading: “The hardest victory is the victory over self.” Beneath it, a much newer stainless steel sign informed the wolf that the new athletic complex was just through this tunnel.
    “The nerve of that guy, trying to scare me off. Sick way to get your kicks!” Withers muttered, taking a step forward only to promptly trip over a raised section of the floor. The wolf caught himself with his hands, but accidentally flung his phone into the tunnel. It landed on the camera bulb, obscuring it and leaving him in an inky darkness. He whimpered, for as much as he hated to admit it, the dark was not something he was particularly fond of, especially in gloomy, forgotten places such as this. Going down onto all fours, he felt blindly into the tunnel, trying to find the phone.
    “You klutz, you would have to do that now,” he muttered to himself, again trying to forget how alone he felt. About twenty feet into the tunnel, he felt the smooth glass of the phone screen and quickly picked it up, shining the light in front of him — right into the face of a skull, its jaw twisted into a grotesque grin!” Withers screamed as he shot up and tripped again, falling backwards into the boney embrace of half a dozen more skeletons! His small light shone over them in a frenzy, twisted bones and mangled teeth! Surrounding them were boxes upon boxes lined up against the walls of the tunnel — labeled holiday decorations. Plastic pumpkins sat on top of several of the boxes, and as the wolf calmed down, he quickly realized the skeletons were made of the same light polymer, not bone. They were halloween decorations! The university must have been using this tunnel to store their festive decorations, and that tiger probably knew it well.
    “That bastard!” Withers shouted, dusting himself off as he stood up, blushing in embarrassment. “He probably told me that story to get me worked up, knowing all this junk was down here! Nothing dangerous! There’s no such thing as ghosts, you silly, silly wolf!”

    “I would not be so sure my prey —” a faint wheezing voice breathed. The air around Withers chilled instantly and his fur spiked out in fear. Before he could even think to scream, a cloth was thrown over his head and pulled tightly over his muzzle, covering his mouth and nose. He screamed into the musty cloth, but it gagged him well, releasing only a whimper. Ropes at the same time flew around his upper body, surrounding his arms in a tight embrace that caused him to drop his phone. It fell to the ground and shattered the bulb, but instead of leaving him in darkness, an ethereal green glow replaced it. Like snakes, more ropes wrapped around his skinny jean covered ankles and knees, with even more working its way around his wrists and cinching them tightly together! It was a coarse, rough fiber that Withers could feel even through his fur. In hardly a second, the wolf jock found himself helplessly bound and gagged!
    A slight push sent the wolf tumbling to the ground. He groaned as he roughly impacted the concrete floor, dazing him slightly. Coming to, Wither’s eyes went wide and he screamed into the fabric of his gag. Floating before him were two disembodied hands, glowing a pale green in the darkness of the catacomb-like tunnel. Behind them he saw two pinpricks of green light, like eyes, looking down at him. Although they were just beads of light, Withers could feel them boring into his body, as if trying to see under his jacket and jeans. They felt cold and without mercy, filled with wrath, and yet longing — a sadistic, sick longing that made Wither’s blood run cold. Under the ‘eyes,’ a jagged glowing smile opened.
    “HLLLPPP! HHHLLPP PLEHHSSS SMMBDYY!” Withers shouted as he began to writhe and twist in his bondage.
    “Oh my boy,” the same wheezy voice replied. “Nobody can hear you — your gag is much too tight. And your struggles are useless; you may be a fit and fine specimen, but you cannot escape my ropes. But please, don’t let me stop you! Struggle! Moan for help! It pleases me to watch my pets suffer!”
    Withers whimpered pitifully and began to shake with fear.
    “P-Plehhsss, dnnmmmhrrtt mhhh — plllssss . . .”
    “Oh don’t worry. I would never dream of hurting such a fine boy like you — too much,” said the entity, its voice laced with a sadistic venom. “I remember athletes like you, and I only collect the best. You should be flattered . . .” it said, one of the glowing hands reaching down to touch Wither’s legs through his skin-tight denim. The wolf whimpered and shut his eyes tight, feeling the sensation of the ghostly hand running its way up his thigh.
    “This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening!” Withers screamed internally, tensing as the other hand reached his chest and began to play with the tufts of fur that poked out of his v-neck shirt. It went upwards to caress his cheek, but as he pulled away from the touch, the other hand snapped up to grip his neck tightly.
    “Mpphhhhh!” the wolf let out in a choked cry.
    “Be a good pet for me wolfy; be a good boy. Now, let's introduce you to the other pets in my menagerie . . .”
    Withers was helpless to resist as he was dragged deeper into the tunnel, his muffled cries echoing off the walls until they dissipated into nothing.

Description

Withers debut in his letterman jacket! I like the look for him, rather sporty! I just wanted an excuse to tie him up and ghost hands are easier to draw, but I ended up writing a whole story for this! I'll post it below.

No writing: www.deviantart.com/boundpup/ar…

Ko-Fi: ko-fi.com/withers

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Withers ignored the squeak of his rubber soled sneakers against the polished cement floor of the University athletic complex. It echoed around the empty building, reminding him of how alone he was. The building was one of those that had seen many years, additions being added right on top of the old sections, making for an odd amalgamation of old and new architecture. It was around 11:00 on a Friday night; usually the wolf jock would have been out at a party or gaming in his dorm, but he had lost his wallet earlier. After retracing his steps, he concluded he must have left it in the locker room after track practice. The locker room was on the other side of the building in the newer additions, and Withers was in quite a hurry to get there, both to find his prized possession and to get out of the gothic, rather creepy depths of the hall.
    “Geez, it’s a lot spookier in here when there’s nobody around,” he said to himself, partly to break the deafening silence that surrounded him. The usually bustling hall was empty; the lights were dimmed to a minimal glow to save energy — it was the very definition of a liminal space.
    As he turned a corner, the blue wolf let out a groan at the sight that met him. The hallway that led to the newer additions was blocked off with plastic coverings and caution tape. A red sign warned of the danger of falling debris and structural instability from current renovations.
    “Great, and this is the quickest way to the locker rooms,” the wolf bemoaned. He began to turn around to backtrack around the whole building when he noticed a door ajar. It was a heavy, rust brown steel that led into a dank, brick room. In the center, a spiral staircase wrought of similar metal descended to . . . somewhere. A sign on the door read: “Basement Tunnel.”
    He was an easily frightened wolf, but curious nonetheless. He poked his muzzle into the old forgotten room — when he felt a hand roughly clasp the shoulder of his letterman jacket. He screamed and whipped around, coming face to face with a wrinkled old tiger in a tan jumpsuit. Withers calmed down a bit, remembering the tiger as one of the custodians he occasionally saw.
    “Boy, what do you think you’re doing here,” the Tiger growled, his hand still gripping Withers shoulder. The wolf boy tried to straighten himself out, not appreciating being snuck up on and manhandled.
    “I-I was just trying to get to the locker rooms. I left something there,” he said. The tiger gave him a disapproving look before releasing his grip on the jock.
    “Well you’re not getting there from here. The whole section is blocked off. Go outside and walk around the building.”
    “O-okay I will,” said Withers, before giving the mysterious staircase another glance. “But what about this staircase here? Does it have a tunnel that goes to the new athletic building?” The tiger’s eyes went wide at the question, his fur standing on end.
    “Don’t you even think about that tunnel boy! You stay clear ya hear me!”
    Withers whimpered slightly, taken aback by his harsh tone.
    “H-hey man, it was just a question! No need to get so worked up!”
    “No need? No need! Let me tell you something boy, I’ve worked here longer than you’ve been on this Earth. I’ve seen things. Things a fur wasn’t meant to see! And in that tunnel there’s one of them. Let me tell you a story — 30 years ago, there was a student at this university. He had, shall we say, a thing for jocks such as yourself. He snuck into practices to watch, stole gear from the supply rooms, even took photographs of some of ‘em in the locker rooms. Now one day this student got unlucky and was caught by the football team. They tied him up and left him in this tunnel — only when they went back to get him, he was gone. No trace; not even his bindings were left! Shortly thereafter, each member of the team began to disappear, one by one. Now the police could never figure it out, but I did. One night in this here tunnel, I seen him! Pale and green, with blank soulless eyes! I haven't been down there since, but if you ask me he’s the reason the team went missing. He took ‘em for revenge, or perhaps something else . . .”
    Withers gulped audibly and backed away.
    “N-now come on, don’t try to scare me like that!” the wolf boy chided.
    “I’m just warning you. You jocks, always thinking you’re so strong and talented. Well that don’t mean much to the dead boy! Now I’m warning you, stay clear of that staircase and tunnel — although I’m sure a chicken-shit such as yourself would have avoided that dark scary tunnel anyway,” the tiger snarked, much to Wither’s chagrin.
    “Hey!” the wolf shouted indignantly, but the tiger was already down the hall, his laughs reverberating off the walls, fading into silence. Alone again, Withers grumbled to himself.
    “The nerve of that guy! I’ll show him! I’m no coward!” Withers said, puffing his chest out and turning to the dark brick room. He deflated a bit as a chill went down his spine, but determined now, the wolf turned on his phone light and stepped into the dark.
    His sneakers made a soft squeak against the rusted metal of the stairs. Around and around he went, descending into a dark shaft of old brick. It felt like forever (in reality just two minutes) but the wolf reached the end of the staircase and hopped to the concrete-covered ground. He was facing an arched entryway, lined with the same dull brick of the rest of the shaft. Above the archway was a bronze plaque, worn and weary, reading: “The hardest victory is the victory over self.” Beneath it, a much newer stainless steel sign informed the wolf that the new athletic complex was just through this tunnel.
    “The nerve of that guy, trying to scare me off. Sick way to get your kicks!” Withers muttered, taking a step forward only to promptly trip over a raised section of the floor. The wolf caught himself with his hands, but accidentally flung his phone into the tunnel. It landed on the camera bulb, obscuring it and leaving him in an inky darkness. He whimpered, for as much as he hated to admit it, the dark was not something he was particularly fond of, especially in gloomy, forgotten places such as this. Going down onto all fours, he felt blindly into the tunnel, trying to find the phone.
    “You klutz, you would have to do that now,” he muttered to himself, again trying to forget how alone he felt. About twenty feet into the tunnel, he felt the smooth glass of the phone screen and quickly picked it up, shining the light in front of him — right into the face of a skull, its jaw twisted into a grotesque grin!” Withers screamed as he shot up and tripped again, falling backwards into the boney embrace of half a dozen more skeletons! His small light shone over them in a frenzy, twisted bones and mangled teeth! Surrounding them were boxes upon boxes lined up against the walls of the tunnel — labeled holiday decorations. Plastic pumpkins sat on top of several of the boxes, and as the wolf calmed down, he quickly realized the skeletons were made of the same light polymer, not bone. They were halloween decorations! The university must have been using this tunnel to store their festive decorations, and that tiger probably knew it well.
    “That bastard!” Withers shouted, dusting himself off as he stood up, blushing in embarrassment. “He probably told me that story to get me worked up, knowing all this junk was down here! Nothing dangerous! There’s no such thing as ghosts, you silly, silly wolf!”

    “I would not be so sure my prey —” a faint wheezing voice breathed. The air around Withers chilled instantly and his fur spiked out in fear. Before he could even think to scream, a cloth was thrown over his head and pulled tightly over his muzzle, covering his mouth and nose. He screamed into the musty cloth, but it gagged him well, releasing only a whimper. Ropes at the same time flew around his upper body, surrounding his arms in a tight embrace that caused him to drop his phone. It fell to the ground and shattered the bulb, but instead of leaving him in darkness, an ethereal green glow replaced it. Like snakes, more ropes wrapped around his skinny jean covered ankles and knees, with even more working its way around his wrists and cinching them tightly together! It was a coarse, rough fiber that Withers could feel even through his fur. In hardly a second, the wolf jock found himself helplessly bound and gagged!
    A slight push sent the wolf tumbling to the ground. He groaned as he roughly impacted the concrete floor, dazing him slightly. Coming to, Wither’s eyes went wide and he screamed into the fabric of his gag. Floating before him were two disembodied hands, glowing a pale green in the darkness of the catacomb-like tunnel. Behind them he saw two pinpricks of green light, like eyes, looking down at him. Although they were just beads of light, Withers could feel them boring into his body, as if trying to see under his jacket and jeans. They felt cold and without mercy, filled with wrath, and yet longing — a sadistic, sick longing that made Wither’s blood run cold. Under the ‘eyes,’ a jagged glowing smile opened.
    “HLLLPPP! HHHLLPP PLEHHSSS SMMBDYY!” Withers shouted as he began to writhe and twist in his bondage.
    “Oh my boy,” the same wheezy voice replied. “Nobody can hear you — your gag is much too tight. And your struggles are useless; you may be a fit and fine specimen, but you cannot escape my ropes. But please, don’t let me stop you! Struggle! Moan for help! It pleases me to watch my pets suffer!”
    Withers whimpered pitifully and began to shake with fear.
    “P-Plehhsss, dnnmmmhrrtt mhhh — plllssss . . .”
    “Oh don’t worry. I would never dream of hurting such a fine boy like you — too much,” said the entity, its voice laced with a sadistic venom. “I remember athletes like you, and I only collect the best. You should be flattered . . .” it said, one of the glowing hands reaching down to touch Wither’s legs through his skin-tight denim. The wolf whimpered and shut his eyes tight, feeling the sensation of the ghostly hand running its way up his thigh.
    “This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening!” Withers screamed internally, tensing as the other hand reached his chest and began to play with the tufts of fur that poked out of his v-neck shirt. It went upwards to caress his cheek, but as he pulled away from the touch, the other hand snapped up to grip his neck tightly.
    “Mpphhhhh!” the wolf let out in a choked cry.
    “Be a good pet for me wolfy; be a good boy. Now, let's introduce you to the other pets in my menagerie . . .”
    Withers was helpless to resist as he was dragged deeper into the tunnel, his muffled cries echoing off the walls until they dissipated into nothing.