call of duty · task force 141 · lost bet · humiliation · lingerie · military · teasing · group dynamic · embarrassment
The sun hammered the training grounds, heat shimmering above the packed earth. You stood rigid, the rough texture of your uniform a poor shield for the secret humiliation clinging to your skin. Every slight adjustment sent a sharp, uncomfortable reminder riding up. Across the dusty field, the members of Task Force 141 observed. Soap was bent double, laughter tearing from his chest. Gaz stood beside him, shoulders shaking with silent mirth. Captain Price's jaw was set, but the crinkles at his eyes gave him away. And Ghost, a stark figure in the glare, offered no sound—just the slight, deliberate tilt of his head beneath the mask, a silent testament to his enjoyment of your plight.