Frat Boy’s Bitch Boy – Part 05

By Greg Alexander

Trevor walked into Dirty Nick’s, sat down at the bar, and ordered a Guinness. Dirty Nick’s was a favorite for the boys of Delta Psi — for one thing because it was right down the street from the frat house, and for another because the owner was a former frat boy, which meant that guys like Trevor never got carded. Granted, Trevor had a fake, like everyone at Delta Psi. And anyway, he was coming up on 21 in a matter of months — he was old for his year. But it was good not to get carded.

Trevor spotted his group of friends sitting at one of the tables in the corner. They were all Delta Psi brothers, except for one or two dudes on the crew team. It wasn’t that Trevor had any particular problem hanging out with guys who weren’t in the frat, or on one of his teams, every now and then, but he found most of the guys at school to be tools, wusses, douche bags, or probably a little gay. The brothers of Delta Psi were the one exception — everyone one of them was a real bro, someone Trevor felt like he could chill with.

There weren’t any good games on, but the bar TV was playing some reality show, and it was funny, in a really stupid kind of way. The boys were all laughing loudly as they watched and drank. Trevor went over and grabbed an empty chair, and one or two guys slapped him on the back to welcome him.

“Hey ladies,” Trevor said, taking a gulp of his Guinness.

“Go fuck yourself, Trev,” one of the guys said, with a friendly grin.

He realized he was sitting right next to Collin. Everyone else at the table was soon distracted again by the TV. Collin leaned over and smirked at him. “How’s our little friend doing?” he muttered. “Oh, he’s having a gay old time,” Trevor murmured back.

He smiled to himself. It was absolutely amazing – he had never thought all that much about Steve before this week, except to write him off as a pathetic weakling who couldn’t stand up for himself. But Trevor hadn’t ever really asked how far he would be able to go, how far Steve could be pushed. Until now. And now, the sudden feeling of absolute, total control was intoxicating — way more so than the beer he was gulping at. Trevor couldn’t get the image of Stevie’s tied-up naked body, wiggling desperately around on the bathroom floor, out of his head. His thoughts kept coming back over and over again – with a lurch of intense excitement in the pit of his stomach every time he stopped to think about it – to what he would do next to his roommate. What would he tell him to do? What new torments would he subject him to? The possibilities seemed endless, and fascinating. His dick was getting hard again just thinking about it.

“You really did all that shit you were talking about?”

Trevor sipped coolly on the Guinness. “Some of it. Still haven’t done the stuff with the weights — I was thinking that’d be fun to do with someone else.” He eyed Collin. “Ya wanna come down and meet me in my room early tomorrow afternoon?”

Collin grinned broadly now. “Sure. Shit, yeah. We can set him up, make sure he’s nice and comfortable first, and then do it later while we watch the Colts game. Ya know, do to your little roommate that the Colts are gonna do to Arizona. I’ll bring down my work out equipment. Better yet, I’ll bring some of those 10 pound disks I got.”

“Sounds cool,” Trevor said. He and Collin clinked their bottles together, and drank.

Reid, one of the frat’s members, overheard them chatting. “Whatya ladies whispering about?”

“Nothin’,” Trevor grunted in reply, nonchalantly. He was going to tell the rest of the frat all about his roommate, of course, just like Collin and he had agreed. They were gonna have a lot of fun with Steve, eventually. But Trevor was in no hurry.

Reid persisted. “Hey, have ya seen this yet, Trev?” He was grinning like an idiot.

Trevor turned his attention to the object Reid was holding in his hand. It was a small, tubular, metal object, with a motor connected to it — it was shaped vaguely like a cock. “What the fuck is that?” Trevor said.

“It’s my girlfriend’s vibrator, dude. Found it on her nightstand this morning. Isn’t that just sick?”

There were hoots all around the table. “Get that bitch’s nasty sex toy off the table!” one of the brothers shouted.

Trevor looked at Reid thoughtfully. “Hey . . . ya mind if I borrow it for a few days?”

Reid was surprised. “Why, man?” He grinned. “Ya got an itch in your vag?”

Trevor shook his head. “I’ll explain later. Long story. It’s hilarious, I fucking promise. Just let me borrow it.”

Reid, and the other guys, all seemed to find the whole idea terribly funny. But Reid finally shrugged and handed it over. “Whatever, dude. Just don’t bust it — my girlfriend’s gonna be pissed if she finds out.”

“Just tell her ya think you’re gonna be able to fill in for it for a few days,” someone shouted from across the table.

There were more hoots, and Reid threw his empty beer can across the table in response.

Trevor smiled, pocketing the vibrator.   He saw Collin eying him. He leaned over. “Just come over tomorrow, I’ll explain then.”

He had already downed his Guinness. He stood up and went over to the bar, and ordered another beer. He decided it was not going to be his last, by any stretch. He thought about how much he would have to piss when got back to the dorm, and he smiled.

***

As soon as Trevor left the room, I knew what I had to do.

I put my face to the bathroom tiles and started to lick. With my knees tied, ankles tied, and hands still tied behind my back, connected to my dog collar, it was so hard to move around — once I put my face down onto the floor, since I couldn’t push myself back up all of a sudden, it took all of the strength in my ab muscles to heft myself back up. Crawling around at the base of the toilet was difficult — very rough on my bare knees. It would have been somewhat more tolerable had Trevor so much as provided me with a bath mat. But of course he hadn’t. I was the bath mat.

I don’t think I can quite explain to you how difficult it is to lick dirt off of a bathroom floor that has been caked on for months. You should try it sometime. It’s absolutely insufferable — you lick and lick and lick at some fetid spot, and nothing seems to happen. If only you had a scrub brush, or a sponge or even a paper towel, you might be able to wipe the floor clean with a few efficient swoops. But if all you have is your tongue, all you can do is kneel there for hours. And lick. And lick. And lick.

I wasn’t making much progress, but I didn’t dare stop — Trevor might pop in at any moment to see if I’d taken any “unauthorized” breaks. I tried a new technique, licking and then rubbing my head furiously against the moistened spot, using my hair as a towel to wipe. This seemed to work marginally better. Unfortunately, it soon also made my scalp ache with pain.

It didn’t take me long before I realized I had to drink something to keep using my tongue, or I was going to pass out. I briefly entertained the notion of maybe trying to turn on the faucet of the shower, but it was no good — the shower was pretty much the only part of the bathroom my tether wouldn’t allow me to reach. I strained, but to no avail. Even if I had been able to get in the shower stall, I thought grimly, I wouldn’t be able to turn on the faucet.

That left three options. I could keep licking without drinking, have my tongue dry out completely, and pass out. I could just give up, kneel there, and wait for Trevor to come back. I was pretty sure both of these options would lead to Trevor cooking up still further punishments for me. Possibly even cause him to tell Collin to turn in the form — Trevor had said he would do that if I ever disobeyed him. I didn’t dare test him.

That left the third option. I crawled over to the toilet, heaved my head up over the rim, and began to lap up the piss-soaked water. When I had drunk enough, I got back down on my knees and kept licking.

Trevor got back that night late. I was still on my knees licking the floor when he walked in.

“What’s up, toilet slave?” he asked. “How’s my little toilet slave?” I could definitely tell he’d had a few drinks. “Guess what time it is, toilet slave? Time for me to piss! That’s what! You know what that means!”

Silently cursing, I dragged myself back, so I was crouching in front of the toilet, and lay down on my back. Once again, Trevor loomed over me, and stepped on top of my chest, still wearing his big, heavy sneakers. This time though, he did something different. As I lay there, helpless, staring at his shoes, Trevor suddenly took a half step forward and dug in against my side with his heel, using my body to kick off his shoe. He did the same thing with the other sneaker, so they were both lying on the floor next to me.

Trevor suddenly planted his sweaty, socked foot on my face, mashing down on my nose and mouth. I could barely breathe.

“Take off my sock, boy,” he rumbled. “Take off my sock with your teeth.”

I bit into his dirty sweat soaked sock, my saliva mixing with his athletic expiration. I pulled as hard as I could with my teeth, until the sock popped off and I was staring at the underside of his tanned foot.

“Good,” Trevor said. He switched the positions of his two feet. “Now the other.”

I obeyed. Now Trevor was standing on my chest, his bare moist feet pressing down on my body. My cock was, once again, hard as a rock, and drooling precrum. I was so turned on, I gasped. But of course, as I became erect, my cock only struggled in vain to break free of its dismal confinement — it pressed futilely against the steel cage in which it was imprisoned.

“Look at that,” Trevor said mockingly. “My little foot slave likes it when I stand on top of him with my big, sweaty feet. My bitch boy knows I’ve been running around all day in dirty socks and big tennis shoes, hitting forehands and lifting weights, working up a real sweat. Bitch boy wants to cum.” He smirked. “Don’t you bitch boy?”

“Yes sir!” I moaned.

“Well, my toilet slave doesn’t get to cum,” he said. Without warning, he planted his foot down, hard, on the cock cage, crushing my balls under his strong, masculine heel. I cried out.

“Shut the fuck up, faggot.” He turned back around, facing my head, planting both his feet firmly again on my chest. I could practically feel him kneading my nipples as he wiggled his long athletic toes. “I gotta piss, man. Open your fucking mouth. And you better catch all of it.”

Without further warning, as I yanked my jaw open, Trevor let loose with a powerful stream of piss, this time aiming straight for my mouth. He looked satisfied he stood there, looming over me, pressing down on me with his sweat soaked feet, making me drink his piss as it streamed into my mouth.

Trevor hadn’t been kidding about beer making him piss like a racehorse. It seemed like he would never stop pissing. Finally, it slowed to a trickle, the last few drops collecting on my chest. But Trevor wasn’t finished.

“Stay there,” he snapped. “Don’t move a fucking muscle.”

He walked out of the bathroom for a moment — I could see his big tanned feet walking away, making a slapping sound as they padded against the bathroom tiling. Then, after a minute, he was back, carrying a copy of Sports Illustrated.

“I have to take a shit,” Trevor announced. “A big smelly shit.” He dropped his trousers and climbed onto the toilet. “Now you just lie there with my feet on top of you while I take my shit.”

He sat on the john for a good ten minutes, flipping the pages of his magazine as he rubbed his feet all over my naked torso. Finally, he stood up – placing all his weight once again on top of me. This time, I was relieved that he decided to flush — I had been worried he would again refuse to flush, and order me not to flush either, further contaminating my only source of water. Now I would have a new, clean bowl of toilet water. It ranked as a major victory.

However, my relief was short-lived.

“Fuck,” Trevor said. He seemed genuinely annoyed. “No toilet paper. I threw it out.” He looked at me, and the corners of his mouth twitched. “C’mere, toilet slave,” he said, beckoning.

I hobbled over on my knees, dreading what was to come.

Trevor picked up one of his discarded socks, now lying on the floor next to me, and suddenly wadded it up and used to to wipe his ass. He strode over to the window, opened it, and hurled the sock out. Maybe he was drunker than I realized, I thought anxiously. But I was relieved — better the sock than me.

He picked up his second ankle sock and did the same thing, running it up along his ass crack, then hurling it out the open window. But then . . .

“Toilet slave, I think my ass-crack could definitely use some more extensive cleaning,” Trevor smirked. “I think you better get to it.” He turned around, so that I was staring straight at his muscular ass. It was tanned, smooth and perfectly curved. But it also smelled like shit — the smell was overpowering.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” he demanded. “Lick my ass crack clean, toilet slave.”

“Yes sir.” I buried my tongue in his ass crack and begin to swish it around, darting it in and out, licking desperately at the pink, smelly flesh around his asshole. My nose was pressed right up against his butt — he was sweaty and moist, and smelled powerfully. I suppressed a gag reaction.

Trevor yawned. “Hang on, butt wad,” he said. “I think I feel a big fucking stink bomb of a fart coming on. I want you to smell my fart. Press your nose up against my asshole — I want you to inhale deeply as I fart. I wanna hear you breathe in.”

I got into position, bracing myself. A second later, an explosive, long, drawn out fart exploded from Trevor’s behind, and I sucked my breath in all the way. It was the most revolting thing I had ever smelled. This time I really did think I would be sick.

“Alright, toilet slave,” Trevor said. “I’m gonna go to bed now. But I had a lot of beer, so I’m sure I’ll be back in to visit you several times tonight. Meanwhile, you better get back to cleaning up the floor. Remember, the whole bathroom has got to be spotless by the morning. Collin is coming over in the afternoon. If the bathroom is clean, maybe we’ll be nice.” He paused, and thought for a second. “Then again, maybe we won’t be.” With that, he walked out.

I spent the entire night on my knees, continuing to lick up the bathroom floor. I was exhausted – tired right down to my bones — but I didn’t dare to stop, even for a minute. True to his word, Trevor came in at least twice to piss — once directly on me, once on the floor (which I then of course had to lick up.) Both times, he stood directly on top of me with his bare feet. And then, when he was done pissing, he made me lick his feet clean.

“I’m going back to my nice big bed,” he said drunkenly both times. “You stay here and keep on licking the floor clean, bitch.”

The next morning, Trevor slept in late again – this time until close to noon. I could tell because the daylight coming in through the bathroom window had been strong for several hours now — though I spent the entire time on the floor, licking. I finally felt like the floor was respectably spotless, and I allowed myself a brief reprieve. But it didn’t last long.

About an hour before noon, Trevor strode brusquely into the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. He announced that it was time for his shower.

“Just lie down on the floor, cum slave,” he said, throwing his towel off to the side and looming over me with his hard naked body. “You’re gonna be my bath mat.”

True to his word, he made me lie down on the floor, next to the bathtub, flat on my back, my head still propped up in an enforced, uncomfortable position thanks to the chain connecting my dog collar to the cuffs behind my back. He planted his feet on my chest as he climbed into the bathtub, then ordered me to remain there, motionless, as he ran the water and soaped up. Dripping, he planted his slippery wet feet on me as he climbed back out, scuffing his feet against my chest as he would any other bathmat.

Trevor grabbed another towel — I noticed it was my towel, but seeing as everything I once owned now belonged to him, it wasn’t really anymore — and dried himself off, still standing on top of me. I winced.

Trevor surveyed the bathroom critically. I silently prayed.

“Not bad,” he grunted, grudgingly. He bent over and unconnected the chain from my dog collar — I was still teathered to the toilet by the leash, but I could suddenly raise my head and stretch my neck. It was an unbelievable relief, and I was suddenly pathetically grateful for it.

“Thank you, Sir,” I stammered.

Next, Tevor filled a nalgene bottle with fresh water, then retreated into the bedroom, and brought back a snack of several granola bars and a banana. I suddenly realized how hungry I was. I gulped the food and water down, my eyes almost filled with tears.

“Thank you,” I gasped again.

“Anytime, roommate. I’m here for you, bro.” Trevor snickered, and walked out of the bathroom, leaving me wondering what would happen next. I had the distinct feeling Trevor was just toying with me — and it was working. I felt perversely grateful to him for allowing me this small luxury.

I knelt there, waiting patiently. But I was so exhausted, having stayed up the whole night licking the bathroom clean, that in spite of all my bondage, and the cold hardness of the bathroom tiles on my bare flesh, I soon fell fast asleep.

I woke up, and found myself staring at a large set of tanned feet in flip flops.

I jolted awake, and looked up.

Collin loomed over me, with Trevor smirking off to the side. “Wakee wakee,” he said to me, with a wicked smirk.

“Holy shit,” Collin gasped, with poorly concealed glee. “You actually kept him here all night?

Trevor was leaning up against the bathroom wall. “Look around. See how clean the floor is?”

“Compared with what it’s usually like? Fuck yes.” Collin sounded excited. “I can’t believe he’s actually been licking the floor of the bathroom clean all night. He must be pretty fucking scared of you.”

“Oh, he’s petrified. I think he’s finally getting used to the idea that if he doesn’t do exactly what I tell him to, he gets punished.

Collin hesitated. “So . . . does that mean you’re going easy on him, after all?”

“Oh, shit no! Don’t forget he tried to run away and tell on me yesterday. And he tried to whack off on your frat shirt. I promised him a week of punishment, and that’s what I’m going to give him.” He glanced at his watch. “The Colts game is gonna be on later. We should set this shit up now.” He glanced directly at me, for the first time. “Are you ready for your next punishment, bitch boy?”

I swallowed. “Yes sir,” I said.

He cupped his hand behind his ear. “What’s that?”

“YES SIR! I’M READY FOR MY NEXT PUNISHMENT, SIR!”

Trevor smiled. “That’s better.”

I was, at long last, untethered from the toilet seat, and led back out into the main room, crawling of course on my hands and knees. Given everything I had been through already, it was bizarre that I should feel ashamed of being naked, but with Collin and Trevor fully clothed, I somehow did.

I noticed that the room had been slightly reconfigured. There was a second big overstuffed chair, sitting next to the first one — I thought I recognized it as Collin’s. Collin must have brought it here, I realized. Both were set up right in front of the TV.

In front of the two chairs, two stools had been set up, side by side. They were of equal height, and had wide flat surfaces on the top — both stood about two feet high.

“Alright. Help me pick him up,” Trevor instructed.

Without warning, I felt strong hands hoist me into the air. My hands, at long last, were uncuffed from behind my back, but the reprieve was a short one. Trevor and Collin carried me over to the two stools, and positioned my body carefully, so that I was stretched out directly over both stools, with my belly facing toward the ground and my arms stretched out in front of me, superman style. I was lowered down onto the stools, so that my arms were resting on top of one, and my ankles on the other, with my midsection hanging awkwardly in midair. Now, I felt the handcuffs being snapped back around my wrists, with my wrists cuffed together directly in front of my face. My ankles had remained cuffed together for the whole time.

As my two captors giggled, I felt one of them hold my body in place, while the other one took a big roll of duct tape and looped it first around and around and around my ankles and the underside of the stool top, bolting my bare feet in place on the stool top. Then they did the same thing to my wrists and forearms with the other stool. Now my two ends were connected firmly to the two stools. But they weren’t finished: with my midsection dipping down, there was a danger that my body would drag both stools down. So Trevor took the chain that he had wedged into my butt crack for the last day, and used it to connect the bases of the stools tightly together.

Meanwhile, Collin fished into the big white bag in which Trevor seemed to store all of his “goodies,” and pulled out a second metal chain. He came over, stood in front of me, and snapped one end of the chain open, and connected it to one of the taut chain links that separated the two rings of my handcuffs. With an evil little smirk, he pulled down, hard, on the chain, so that my arms were being pulled forward.

“Help me brace him,” Collin grunted.

As Trevor placed his big hands on my torso and held my naked body in place, Collin then threaded the chain down below the stool, back down toward the second stool at my feet, stringing the chain parallel to my belly, just an inch below it. It passed right alongside my throbbing cock, still sheathed in its cock cage — my raging hard-on had dissipated ever so slightly over the night, as I had licked the bathroom floor clean (though I had never stopped feeling desperately horny) but now it was back in full force. Being tied down by these hot frat boy studs was definitely a major turn on, scared as I was about what would happen next.

Collin had pulled the chain down to the edge of the second stool, and now was stringing it up over the far edge of the stool and preparing to connect it to the handcuffs binding my ankles, just as he had with the set of handcuffs on the other end of my body. First though, as Trevor continued to brace my torso, Collin pulled the chain again, very very very hard, so that it was completely taut, and then pulled it again, for good measure. This time I actually cried out in pain.

Because of the way Collin had connected the chain, it acted as almost a kind a of rack — as he pulled on it, holding down my ankles so they couldn’t go anywhere, my arms were stretched forward as far as they could possibly go, and then some. My prostrate body was now splayed out helplessly in midair, my arms painfully extended, my torso stretched as taut as the chain beneath me. Now, finally satisfied, Collin connected the chain to my ankle cuffs. Both he and Trevor stepped back to survey their work with satisfaction, leaving me suspended there, wincing, totally helpless.

“Not bad,” Trevor said finally.

“I’ll say. He makes a pretty fucking sight to see, don’t he?”

“He does.” Trevor knelt down, so his eyes were level with mine. “You comfortable, boy?”

I swallowed, and sighed. “Yes sir,” I croaked. “Thank you sir, I’m comfortable.”

“That’s right you are.” Both of them snickered. Trevor stood up, and checked his watch. “We got a few hours until the game starts. You wanna go out, get a late lunch, and bring back some beer?”

Collin shrugged. “Sounds good.” He stopped. “But hang on, dude. You never told me what you wanted Reid’s girlfriend’s vibrator for last night.”

Trevor grinned broadly. “Oh yeah, that. Shit, I almost forgot. He walked over to his closet, opened a drawer, and pulled out a long, metallic, penis-shaped vibrator. “Ya know, Col,” he was saying, “the more I think about, the more pissed I’ve gotten that the goddam fag tried to use your fucking Delta Psi shirt — the symbol of the fucking frat itself — as nothing but a fucking cum rag. In fact, the more I think about it, the more steamed I get about it.”

Collin was egging him on. “So what are you gonna do about it?”

By way of response, Trevor switched the vibrator on. It made a loud whirring noise.

“Well, see,” he said, “With the little cum slut all trussed up and horny again, I’d hate to let him go soft at any point for the rest of the afternoon.”

He switched it off. Then he stooped over, sinking down to the floor again so that he was level with me. Like a farmer milking his cow, he reached down between the stools with his hands, and took a hold of my cock cage. Even through the metal restraints, I gasped at the sensation — my poor cock had been so deprived of stimulation that it was a shock.

I felt Trevor adjust my trussed-up cock and balls. He picked up the roll of duct tape he had abandoned on the floor, and tore off a long strip, which he used to latch the tubular vibrator snugly against the underside of my caged equipment. The device was small and light — I could feel it weighing my ball sack down a bit, but that was it. It wasn’t really touching my cock, which was securely enclosed in its metallic sheath, but it was pressed up against my ball sack hard. I didn’t notice it too much . . . at first.

And then Trevor switched it back on.

The sudden sensation was unbelievable. The vibrations pulsed down my cock cage, and rocked my ball sack. I was already hard as a rock, but the vibrator immediately began to make me even more desperately horny.

Yet I could tell right away it wouldn’t be enough by itself to get me off. It wasn’t direct stimulation to my cock, which is what I so desperately needed. Instead, it was the worse torture imaginable – a vibrator positioned mere inches from my dick, while I remained tied up, confined in a chastity device, completely unable to even stroke my dick, much less actually cum.

Already, the vibrations were driving me insane — I was possessed with an almost animal need to grab my cock and pump it dry.

“C’mon,” Trevor was saying. “Let’s go grab lunch.”

“Wait!” I cried out desperately. I knew I was forbidden to speak unless directly asked a question, but I couldn’t take it anymore. “Please. Please, sir. I have not complained once about anything for the entire night, and I haven’t complained about being tied up here. But I swear I think if you leave that vibrator on and you don’t let me cum, I’m gonna go crazy.”

Trevor stared at me with his cold blue eyes. “Did I just hear you speak, maggot?” he asked.

I swallowed and looked down.

“That’s what I thought. But just in case, for good measure, I’m gonna gag you while your gone.” Trevor picked up one of his discarded flip flops, which was lying on the floor next to him. “Here faggot, open up wide.” He was still glaring at me. I complied, opening my mouth as wide as it would go. He promptly jammed his sandal, toe first, into my mouth, toward the back of my throat. From the salty taste of the leather strap and the smell, I could tell Trevor had worn the flip-flops recently. If it was possible, having the sandal in my mouth turned me on still more.

“Bite down on it,” Trevor instructed. I did, so that I was holding the flip-flop in between my teeth, like a dog.

“That’s what you get for talking, faggot,” Trevor declared with satisfaction. “Now, just stay there. My fucking flip flop better still be right there in your mouth when you get back. If I see it on the floor, I’m gonna punish you again with the paddle.”

And with that, grinning broadly, Trevor and Colin left the dorm, leaving me trussed up, stretched out, suspended in midair, a vibrator purring next to my ball sack and rattling my cock cage, a smelly flip-flop wedged into my mouth.

And with that, grinning broadly, Trevor and Colin left the dorm, leaving me trussed up, stretched out, suspended in midair, a vibrator purring next to my ball sack and rattling my cock cage, a smelly flip-flop wedged into my mouth.

 

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Metal would like to thank the author, Greg Alexander, for allowing this story to be posted here. You can contact the author at greg_alexander222@yahoo.com.

Also thanks to Metalbond reader John for his assistance in preparing this story for posting!

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