All posts by Greg Alexander

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Frat Boy’s Bitch Boy – Part 15

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By Greg Alexander

As I dangled from the basketball hoop, trussed up, totally helpless, and in constant pain from the excruciating hanging wedgie, the frat boys proceeded to ignore me completely for the next hour or so, as they fired up the grill and begin to whip up a spectacular feast. The frat boys had given me some dog food mixed with peanut butter for lunch, but I realized, in spite of everything, that I was pretty hungry . . . and of course, suffice to say, no one offered me any of the food.

The frat boys ate burgers, hot dogs, grilled corn and peppers and chicken.

They also made tacos and burritos, and, as if that weren’t enough, someone brought out a massive bowl of beans, which they eagerly began to devour.

During the whole time that they grilled, I simply dangled there, smelling the delicious aroma of food that I was not allowed to have.

Later, as the light began to fade, as the frat boys ambled around the yard and chowed done on their ample food, they began to pay attention to me again . . . much to my chagrin.

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Frat Boy’s Bitch Boy – Part 14

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By Greg Alexander

After the ordeal with the itching gel, in fact, as I have explained, I finally began to quickly get most of the feet in the frat down my heart. I lay there, pinned down to the spanking bench, more and more piss flowing through the tube, through my piss gag, and into my mouth as the night wore on.

The screen on my laptop was never inactive for long. Through the grainy video feed, I could see guy after guy after guy after guy take his place in front of the urinal. As the hours passed, and as the beer kept flowing, they started staggering into the bathroom more visibly drunk, their stride more and more lopsided, their every movement more and more inebriated, but still they kept coming. And coming. And coming.

They were mostly frat guys, jocks, athletes, guys with popped collars, guys with backward baseball hats and sun glasses inexplicably still on, even though it was night and indoors . . . the types you’d expect to find at your typical frat party on our campus. I was sure there were plenty of girls, but of course, thanks to the signage the frat boys had left outside the bathroom, none of them were coming in.

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Frat Boy’s Bitch Boy – Part 13

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By Greg Alexander

After the ordeal with the itching gel, in fact, as I have explained, I finally began to quickly get most of the feet in the frat down my heart.

As I got better and better at that task, of course, the frat brothers began to look for now excuses to punish me, and began to stress more and more the importance, not just of learning to identify each frat boy not just by licking and smelling his feet, but also by sucking his cock, licking clean his ass crack and swallowing his piss.

Each cock of course had it’s very distinctive own shape, and in time I also became better and better at identifying each one. Some of them were easier than others . . . Bryce’s cock especially was so enormous that it was hard to mistake for anyone else’s. It was a question of identifying which particular way their cocks curved when they were fully erect, obviously whether they were circumcised or not, how much pubic hair they had and how clean they generally kept it, and countless other more subtle sensory cues. Some of the guys moaned softly as I sucked them off, some of them grunted, some of them even w some of them were stone silent.

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Frat Boy’s Bitch Boy – Part 12

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By Greg Alexander

My situation did not improve over the course of the next several days.

By the end of my first day tied down over the spanking bench, no fewer than 23 alpha males on testosterone overdrive had, in the course of that single afternoon and evening, made me worship their feet and suck their dicks, and then, in punishment for my consistent inability to identify even one of them with the blindfold on, much less recite their sports facts, aggressively spanked and then fucked me.

The spanking, in particular, was excruciating. Nothing, nothing, could quite compare to having 23 muscular athletes in rapid succession deliver a stream of unrelenting punishments to my behind. By the end of the day, my ass felt like it had been seared by a blisteringly hot iron, and it felt like a train had careened through my asshole. My legs were frozen in an wide open spread eagle, my ass was as defenseless as ever, and my inner sphincter and prostrate were throbbing relentlessly from the repeated violent large-scale invasions to which they had been subjected over the course of the past 6 hours. My legs quivered uncontrollably, even though I was unable to move them at all.

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Frat Boy’s Bitch Boy – Part 11

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By Greg Alexander

The brothers of Delta Psi were out, and they were getting hammered.

Trevor was downing his 6th beer of the night, and compared to most of the other guys, he was taking it easy. Across the table from him, Hank, his face flush with red under his Stetson, was gulping down another pint of Guinness. Collin and Reid were grinning and slamming their glasses together forcefully as they gulped down their Logger’s ale. Bryce, for his part, was doing shots of vodka, and although the bottle of absolut in front of him was more empty than full, he seemed only mildly affected. Wes and Shane were the only two pledges who had been invited along. Wes was downing shots with Bryce, trying to keep up, and obviously not succeeding, he was already completely smashed. Shane was sitting next to Trevor and tapping his flip-flop to the beat of the background music in the bar. He had also had his fair share of shots, and his tongue was loose.

They were at Dirty Nick’s, the frat’s favorite hangout. Midterms were finally over, and nobody in the frat had seen their GPA so low that they were in danger of being kicked off any of their teams. It was reason enough to celebrate.

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Frat Boy’s Bitch Boy – Part 10

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By Greg Alexander

It was a warm afternoon, and as Wes walked down the street, he was sweating heavily.

He was sweating, less because of the heat, and more because he had just gotten back from soccer practice and hadn’t had any time to change. He had been (deliberately) wearing the same white athletic socks for 7 solid days now, and he knew his athletic feet were starting to smell. In fact, his teammates had commented on it in the locker room earlier today.

Wes sighed as he trudged on, still wearing his soccer cleats and those socks. He knew he should change them. But he couldn’t help it.

In one hand, he was carrying a grocery bag. He had visited the convenience store earlier in the day, where he had bought a supersized jar of peanut butter, a big container of mayo, a bottle of ketchup and a can of puppy chow dog food. He was walking fast, and his heart rate was a little bit up. He felt excited. Was that wrong? Maybe a little bit. Did Wes care much? Not really. He figured life was too short. He was going to have fun where he could.

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Frat Boy’s Bitch Boy – Part 09

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By Greg Alexander

With the mud rides finally over, I was hauled back into the frat house after being thoroughly rinsed off, like a dirty piece of livestock, by a high pressure hose in the yard.

By this point, I had accomplished the truly remarkable task of accumulating no fewer than 273 demerits, all marked down in tidy bunches of five on the big white board. I wondered what exactly the consequence of having so many demerits would be.   It wouldn’t take me too long to find out.

It was late, and most of the pledges and frat boys were drunk enough and tired enough that they were finally through abusing me, at least for the night. As the large crowd of frat boys dispersed, Trevor and Bryce came over and picked me up on either end of my body. Of course, needless to say, I was still bound and tied up from head to toe.

“Hey,” Trevor said in a deep voice. He was talking to Shane, the pledge ring leader. “You wanna come do this with us?”

“Sure!” Shane’s voice was eager.

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Frat Boy’s Bitch Boy – Part 08

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By Greg Alexander

I was so scared I could have shit my pants. There I was, bound, gagged and completely helpless, at the mercy of a bunch of muscular frat jocks who at this moment had every reason to hate me, and every motive to extract their revenge. All I could do is crane my neck and stare up at them, a desperate pleading look in my eyes, as the row of pledges stared back at me, distinctly unforgiving smirks on each of their faces.

“Remember,” Trevor was saying to them, as they all looked down at me, none of them taking their eyes off of me, “the little shit bag has pictures on his hard drive of all of you naked, elephant walking around the basement of this fraternity. Little creep likes to sneak in here and take pictures of us late at night. Don’t ask me how. Now, pledges, it is up to us, the brothers of Delta Psi, to scare the cocksucker straight.”

The pledges were nodding enthusiastically at this.

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