Frat Boy’s Bitch Boy – Part 07

By Greg Alexander

After Trevor face fucked me and made me drink his piss, Collin took his turn. When the two frat boys had had their fill of abusing me for the day and were finally spent, they changed into fresh clothes and then headed out for another night with some of their frat buddies. Problem was, they didn’t bother to untie me first. So I spent the rest of the night suspended in the air between two stools.

Trevor finally let my aching body down the next morning, gave me some food and water, and allowed me some rest for the remainder of the day. But needless to say, my respite was temporary.

Over the course of the next several weeks, my roommate turned frat boy master seemed to take a fiendish delight in devising new ways to torment, dominate and generally humiliate me. In every conceivable way, my life at college had changed to become completely unrecognizable, just as Trevor had promised.

Trevor slept every night in the new double bed he had managed to create by confiscating mine. I on the other hand slept in a small steel dog cage Trevor had purchased at a local pet store, and inside of which I was securely locked, with one dog bowl of water, every night right before bed. Of course, I was always kept naked. When Trevor was in a benevolent mood, he would slip a small pad into my cage on which I could curl up and go to sleep. But on many nights, whenever he felt the need to punish me, he would give me nothing to sleep on at all, and I would have no choice but to put my head down on the hard freezing metal floor of my cage.

We began to settle into a kind of routine — at least, Trevor did, and I had no choice but to fall into it.

On most mornings, Trevor would wake up early and go to tennis or crew practice. I was under strict orders to say nothing and to remain in my cage until he returned. If I had to pee, I had to hold it, or face serious consequences.

By the time Trevor finally returned from the courts and the gym, usually in the late mornings, he was always completely soaked with sweat. The first thing he inevitably did, as soon as he came into our room, was unlock my cage, recline in his easy chair, and order me to remove his tennis shoes and sweat-soaked socks and first massage, and then lick completely clean, his feet while he relaxed (and frequently had is first beer of the day). Of course, this always unendurably inflamed my morning hard-on. Trevor knew this, having by this point learned how to play me like a piano, and so when he was feeling cruel, he would make it worse by jacking himself off to a climax while I serviced his feet, all the while mocking me for my total inability to touch my own cock (needlessly to say, the cock-cage stayed on 24/7).

By noon, it was time for Trevor to go join his friends for lunch. I meanwhile was untied and sent out to attend and take notes for all of Trevor’s classes, which were concentrated in the early afternoon. Of course, during these brief hours of quasi-freedom, I was always tempted to try to escape. But Trevor never missed an opportunity to remind me that he had the power to have me expelled and in all likelihood sent to prison if I so much as talked to anyone.

For the classes, Trevor allowed me to wear actual clothing, but he and Collin seemed to get a huge kick out of picking out new outfits for me each day, each more humiliating and degrading then the last. Chortling, they would send me out in public in a bright pink track suit one day, a tight speedo the next, an all leather outfit after that. I have no idea where they dug up this endless parade of bizarre outfits — suffice it to say that it took very little time for me to become the laughingstock of the entire student body at our college.

The classes Trevor was in — the big lecture classes, where the jocks tended to cluster in order to get their easy Bs — had hundreds of people. When Trevor and Collin had picked out an outfit they were especially proud of, they would require me to come into class a few minutes late, and walk slowly to the front of the lecture hall to take my seat in the front row, just to ensure that everyone got a chance to see me and snicker. (Trevor was never actually there, as he no longer really had to attend classes since I was doing all his work, but usually Collin was, and I knew he would report back to Trevor if I disobeyed even slightly). On one particularly memorable occasion, Trevor got one of his bodies to print up a large white T-shirt that had printed on it, in huge block letters (on both front and back) “ASK ME ABOUT MY MALE FOOT FETISH.” And there was another T-Shirt that Trevor made me wear more often than any of the other outfits — it was another white one, and it said on both the front and back, in big letters, simply “FRAT BOY’S BITCH BOY.” Trevor and Collin both loved that shirt — they broke down laughing whenever they made me put it on. Ours was a big school. Still, before long, as I walked anywhere on campus, I would notice people staring at me and smirk. I had become infamous.

Of course, Trevor also insisted that I do all his homework, and said he would punish me for every grade I earned for him of under an A-. I also had to do all his laundry — every week, he made me collect it all (it was inevitably sprawled all across the room), wash it, dry it, iron it, and return it to him freshly pressed. Sometimes, just to be a dick, he would make me iron it before washing it, as well as after, just to create more work for me.

In addition, just as he promised, Trevor found me a new student job: as a janitor. One of Trevor’s other buddies in the frat oversaw the student job program, and Trevor pulled some strings to make sure I got a special assignment as the janitor on the west side of campus in charge of cleaning up toilet overflows. Because the work was so shitty (literally speaking), it paid much better than most student jobs — but that didn’t help me any, since my paychecks disappeared directly into Trevor’s pocket. Apparently, Trevor also somehow managed to get word to my boss on the maintenance staff — a real dick with a major chip on his shoulder — that I had been forced to take the job, and that quitting would not be an option for me.

My boss immediately began to treat me like shit as well, always giving me the absolute worse assignments, making me work longer hours, and so on. Not satisfied to stop even with that amount of abuse, Trevor went even further; he had my boss keep a running tally of every clogged up and overflowed toilet I worked on every time I was on duty, and made me have a dorm resident fill out a “job completion report” for each toilet I serviced, detailing whether the toilet had been fixed and whether I had done an “excellent job.” For every toilet I failed to unclog, Trevor made me serve again as his toilet slave for the evening, chaining me up in the bathroom for a few hours and making me lick the toilet clean after every time he used it.

My food, like so much else, was dictated completely by Trevor’s whims. When he was feeling indulgent, he would give me real food, or even allow me some small fraction of the money I was earning as a janitor to buy myself some food while I was out taking notes for him (of course, this also meant more people saw the absurd outfits Trevor put me in). But often, Trevor amused himself by feeding me dog food in a dog food bowl, which of course I was required to eat on my knees, with my hands tied behind my back, just like a dog.

Sometimes it amused Trevor to make me go several days eating all my food off the soles of his feet. When he got into this state of mind, he would generally wait until he had finished with his tennis or crew practice and worked up his usual sweat, by which time I was ravenous. After I’d given him his customary foot massage, he would reward me by serving me lunch. A favorite was to peel a banana, then smush it into a paste with his bare feet. Sometimes he would throw a slice of pizza down on the floor, then mash it onto the floor, and make me lick the whole thing off the soles of his feet while he sat back and watched TV. In fact, he did this with a number of different foods — mashed potatoes, guacamole, and sometimes when he felt like being a bigger prick than usual, dog food. Whatever was on the menu, I always had to lick his feet completely clean, or face further torments.

The sad truth was, I came to welcome the time I was locked in my dog cage at night and during the mornings. It was my only time to escape Trevor’s constant tyranny and abuse. He would order me to do his laundry, clean his room, do push-ups, make his bed, do his homework, lick his feet, suck his cock. Whenever he was displeased with the job I had done for him on any of those tasks, he would tie me up, bend me over his knee, and make me count out a series of excruciatingly painful spankings, delivered at the highest possible impact with his own personal frat paddle, which he had acquired for our dorm room specifically for this purpose, and which he kept on constant prominent display on the dorm room wall over his bed. Every time Trevor felt I deserved to be punished, he would take the paddle of its peg, and grinning broadly, smack its flat surface menacingly against the palm of his hand. It didn’t take long for the mere sight of the paddle, and the sound of Trevor toying with it, to fill me with a physical sense of dread.

But after weeks of this treatment, there was still one step Trevor had not yet taken: with the lone exception of Collin (who frequently came down to Trevor’s room to join in the fun, laugh at my daily predicaments, and make use of my services), Trevor had yet to actually share me with anyone else in the school. But that was about to change.

Late one night, Trevor was playing poker in the basement of Delta Psi. Some of his favorite brothers were there — in addition to Collin, Reid was there (Trevor had returned his girl friend’s vibrator some time ago), as well as two more of the frat’s most important brothers: Hank, the cowboy of the group, who was blond, blue-eyed, from out West, and made a point of wearing a Stetson and cowboy boots around campus, and also Bryce. Bryce was even taller than Trevor or Collin — a center on the basketball team, slim but muscular, he loomed over whoever he happened to share the room with. Bryce was as feared as Hank was loved — every one knew he was one dude you didn’t want to fuck around with. He had a reputation for fouling his opponents on the court, and carrying grudges beyond the game into parking lots, where he frequently made players on the opposing team sorry they had ever crossed him.

Bryce was a mean fucker, no doubt about it — he carried around a perpetual mischievous glint in his eyes, which only deepened whenever he did what he did best: order around the pledges. Bryce was ostensibly the frat’s “recruitment director,” but around the house, the pledges referred to him more accurately as “the Pledge Master.” The frat’s president was mostly a figurehead. Everyone knew Bryce ran the show.

Trevor was enjoying himself, despite the fact that he was losing, nursing at this point his fourth or fifth beer. He figured he would have to piss soon, but he wanted to save it up for Steve — he was nearly out of chips, and figured he would have to go home soon anyway. Tonight was another punishment night for his little roommate — Steve had only gotten a B- on Trevor’s math take-home test last week, falling well short of Trevor’s requirements, and just as bad, had waited two full days to tell him (because he was terrified, Trevor thought with some satisfaction). Earlier in the evening, Trevor had stripped Steve naked, bound his ankles, and suspended Steve upside down from a beam running along the dorm room ceiling. Trevor had positioned him, mission impossible-style, in front of his desk, and told Steve he would not be released until he wrote an 8 page required paper for Trevor’s English lecture. It had been fun to leave the room with Steve dangling there, twisting with discomfort, outstretched arms tapping away frantically at Trevor’s laptop. Now Trevor was looking forward to coming home and making his bitch boy drink every last drop of his piss while he was at it. He figured that he could make sure to jerk away at the last possible minute, splashing the last few drops on Steve’s face, and then as punishment for failing to swallow it all leave him dangling by his ankles for the whole night. Maybe he’d even tickle the soles his feet a little bit before going to bed, for good measure.

“Yo, Trev,” Bryce said sharply. “Stop daydreaming and bet.”

“Sorry,” Trevor grunted. “Uh . . . fuck. I fold.”

“Probably thinking about his new boyfriend,” Reid said, pushing more chips into the pot and grinning broadly. “His live-in boyfriend.”

“Shut the fuck up, Wikler. You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Trevor said calmly. “And you’re bluffing.”

Reid looked annoyed.

“You know, Trev,” Bryce interjected. His voice was quiet, but menacing. “We are starting to hear some weird fucking things about your roommate.”

“Yeah?” Trevor took out a cigarette and lit it. “What kind of things?”

“Oh . . . just weird things. Like, that he’s been running around campus wearing shirts that say `Frat Boy’s Bitch Boy,’ for one thing. And taking notes for you, for another thing. What’s going on? You been holding out on us?”

Collin looked at Trevor pointedly, and Trevor shrugged. Of course, it was true, and Trevor knew it . . . part of the deal he’d struck with Collin weeks ago, in exchange for Collin’s help trapping the little fucker, had been that Trevor would share him with the frat. But since then, he’d been dragging his feet. Trevor sighed. Truth was, he had really come to enjoy having Steve all to himself; come to enjoy not having anyone else the little bitch could take orders from. Not to mention having his own personal slave to do his laundry, clean his room, make his bed, earn him money, do his homework, massage his feet every day, suck him off . . . the list went on.

Trevor leaned back in his chair and allowed himself a self-satisfied smirk. “Listen,” he said, taking another puff of the cigarette and directing his comments at the boys. “Let’s just say I’ve got a . . .very special arrangement with my little roommate. My very, very obedient little roommate. A relationship you fellows should be so lucky to have with y’alls roomies. And let’s just leave it at that.”

Collin played with his stack of chips. “Listen,” he said, directing his comments at Trevor. “I’ve been talking to one of my friends. And you know . . . I’ve been hearing things. They say someone might have talked to someone in the Dean’s office. Maybe word’s getting out about the little bitch, you know? Maybe it isn’t so much longer before they decide to look into why he suddenly dropped all his classes, why he keeps showing up half-naked to all of yours . . . maybe someone suddenly comes by your dorm room, finds him tied up in his little dog cage. And then the fucking shit hits the fan, you know dude?”

“Whoa, slow down.” Reid had an incredulous look. “Shit, you keep your roommate in a fucking dog cage?”

“Yeah, just like your mom, Reid.”

Reid pounded the table in a mock display of anger, but Trevor could tell all of them were excessively curious now.

“Wow,” Hank said, taking off his big hat and wiping his forehead. “That’s pretty messed up.”

Reid cocked his head skeptically. “I don’t believe it,” he said finally. “I wanna see it with my own fucking two eyes.”

Hank was shaking his head. “But I don’t get it,” he was saying. “Why does he sleep in a dog cage?”

“Cuz I make him,” Trevor answered, biting down on his cigarette. He was enjoying this. “Cuz he takes orders from me like it’s his business. Cuz I got him trained so much better than any pledge in this frat, they all look like a bunch of fuck-ups in comparison.”

“Oh come on Trevor. I don’t fucking believe you.”

Trevor wasn’t listening; he was thinking about what Collin had said. The guy had a point. Maybe the University would come looking for Steve. Maybe the shit would hit the fan.

And there was an easy alternative.

“Alright, fine, fuckers,” Trevor finally said. “Put your money where your mouth is. I’m out of chips for the night anyhow, but I will make a bet with all of you: to prove that there is absolutely nothing, nothing, that my roommate won’t do that I order him to, I bet each of you $100 that whatever totally crazy, totally sick thing that you come up with, as long as it’s something that can actually physically be done, I will make my roommate do it. And to prove it to y’all, I propose a deal: what do you say I move my roommate in with us? He can take up permanent residence in the house, until I give further notice.” He glanced at Collin. “Until this shit with the administration blows over, anyway,” he added. “You guys can check this shit out — anyone who puts up the money for this bet can see for themselves.” He grinned. “I promise you guys, it’s gonna be a blast. And best of all, he can do all the cleaning around here from now on. Whatya say?”

The other guys looked around. They thought it was a little strange, but they were overcome with curiosity.

“Alright, fine, I’m in,” Hank volunteered.

“Me too,” Reid said with a shrug. “And I’m gonna fucking take your money too, you cocky bastard!”

“Uh huh. We’ll see about that.” Trevor glanced at Bryce. “You in pal?”

Bryce had a funny look in his eyes, but all he said was “nah.”

Trevor shrugged. “Fine,” he said. “Wuss out.” He looked around at the other brothers. “Now,” he said. “we got a few arrangements I want to make with y’all ahead of time.”

Trevor was leaving the frat later that night. He really had to piss like a racehorse now, and he was looking forward to getting back to Steve (still suspended upside down back at the dorm room, Trevor thought with satisfaction)

Bryce was leaning against the gate at the front of the frat house, and he startled Trevor.

“I got a different bet,” he said, leaning forward.

It was just the two of them. “OK, let’s hear it,” Trevor said, continuing to walk slowly away from the house. It was dark and deserted

“OK.” Bryce strode beside him. “Well, the way I see things is this: you want the frat to take on a risk by taking this fucker in. What happens if the university finds out?”

Trevor scowled. “Oh, fucking-A, dude, they’re not gonna . . .”

Bryce held up his hand commandingly. “Let me finish. I’m not saying you CAN’T do it. I’m saying I’m gonna LET you do it . . . on the condition that you take this bet.”

Trevor tapped his foot impatiently.

“We’ll take your roommate in. But you gotta keep him here for a while.”

“Now, unlike these other fuckers, I’ve been talking to Collin, and I know more of the backstory here. I believe this pathetic little fucker is totally your slave right now.” He grinned. “Well, guess what. Hell Week is over. The pledges from this semester are about to become brothers. And I’m fucking bored already. I gotta have SOMEONE to haze.”

Trevor couldn’t help but chuckle at this. Haze was one word to describe it, he thought.

Bryce continued. “So here’s the deal. As long as he’s staying with us, he no longer just obeys you. He obeys me too. He’s also MY bitch boy too, from now on.

“Now here’s the bet. You say your roommate will do anything you order him to. OK. Well after, say, 4 weeks of living in the Frat House, we’ll really put it to the test: you and I will give him contradictory orders. Whichever one of us he obeys wins the bet.” Bryce grinned. “Let’s make it interesting. Loser has to pay the winner $1000. Loser gets to keep the bitch and punish him for one full week, in whatever manner he chooses. Then, after that, winner gets to keep him. Permanently.”

Trevor had to admit, the bet excited him. Still, $1,000 was a lot of money. And he sure as shit didn’t want to lose his full-time roommate slave. On the other hand, the more he thought about it, the more he realized that Collin was right. He couldn’t keep Steve locked up in his dorm room indefinitely.

He cocked his head to the side. “Would Steve know the terms of our bet?”

“No,” Bryce said. “And that’s fucking crucial. Cuz if he knows the winner gets to keep him permanently, he might want to stay with whoever he is less afraid of. No . . .” Bryce shook is head. “All we’ll tell him when the time comes is that he will be punished for a solid week by whoever he chooses to disobey.”

Trevor had to admit that this was making him very, very hard. He was wary about the whole bet. But he was also supremely confident he would win it. True, Bryce was one scary guy, especially when he wanted to be. But Trevor had his roommate in the palm of his hand. He was sure, in the end, he could keep the little wimp completely obedient.

“Alright,” Trevor said finally, extending his hand to Bryce. “You’re on.”

They shook.

“OK,” Bryce said. “I think I already have my first idea for my new slave. And it involves our pledge class.”

I couldn’t explain the change at all. But suddenly, inexplicably, Trevor was giving me some very weird instructions.

Of course, during the course of that week, most things stayed the same. He still kept me locked naked in the dog cage. He still kept the “gates of hell” chastity lock on pretty much 24/7. He still made me worship his feet every morning, still made me do all his homework, still chained me to the toilet in our bathroom when he felt like it, and on and on and on.

But now, in the afternoon, instead of sending me off to his lectures wearing something ridiculously humiliating, Trevor took to sending me out in normal clothes with some very, very unusual instructions.

The first day it happened, he came back into the dorm room, dropped his sports bag on the floor, and snapped his fingers at me; the sign he had developed that he wanted me to come over to him immediately. Obediently, I crawled quickly over to where he was standing (I had long ago learned that hesitating in any way usually led to punishments).

He was wearing flip-flops today, and I quickly kissed his both of his feet; Trevor usually insisted that I greet him like that whenever he walked in the door and I wasn’t in the cage or tied up (which was, after all, only some percentage of the time). He glanced down at my prostate naked body and smirked at me.

“OK, slave, I have a job for you today.”

I braced myself. Trevor said things like that a lot, and I had come to appreciate that it rarely meant good things were coming my way.

“Listen carefully to me now, and don’t fuck up. In a second, you’re gonna stand up, get dressed in NORMAL clothes, and go down to the student book store. There’s a guy named Jared working at the reserve desk. He’s a freshman, blond guy. He’s on right now. You’re gonna give your name, and you’re gonna ask for a book you’ll say you placed on reserve.

“When it’s not there, I want you to absolutely make Jared’s life miserable. You better be a total dick to this guy, and be pretty fucking convincing. I’m gonna have someone listening in nearby who will let me know how you do. Insist that you talked to him on the phone and that you remember speaking to him. Tell him that you clearly remember his name, which like I said, is Jared. Demand to speak to his supervisor. Complain about how fucking incompetent he is. Be a total jerk — tell him your dad gives a lot of money to the university, and you’re gonna have him complain about how lax the book store has gotten to be.”

Trevor smirked again. “Just remember . . . unless you give the most convincing performance in the history of performances, when you get back here, I’m gonna tie you up from the ceiling by your ankles again and make you do inverted sit-ups all night.”

That was it. No explanation of who Jared was, or why I was being ordered to do this. I shuddered at the idea of being strung up by my ankles for the second time in as many days. It was really a terrible feeling. And then to be made to do ab crunches on top of that, no doubt with Trevor gleefully paddling me whenever I got too tired to carry on . . .

It’s amazing how convincing an actor I could be when properly motivated.

Jared was another really cute guy. He was thin and not very tall, but had a nice open face, and he was plenty muscular. I was pretty sure I had seen him on the sport pages of our school newspaper.

“Hey,” he said, as I approached the desk. He seemed pretty laid back, pretty easy-going. “What’s up?”

I gave him my name. When he apologetically told me that he had no book reserved under my name, I let him have it.

“Listen, fucker,” I spat vehemently. “I called you just 40 minutes ago and you said it was in. Now you made me come all the way down here for nothing.”

“Dude,” Jared said, taken completely aback by my anger. “Chill out, man. No one called about a book earlier.”

“Oh, you calling me a liar now, fucker? I know I talked to you. I want to talk to your supervisor. Right now.”

“Ah . . .” Jared now appeared a mixture of pissed off and worried. “Can’t you just calm down, man? I didn’t fucking talk to you, I swear.”

I begin to raise my voice. “I want your supervisor RIGHT NOW.”

When the manager of the store came, I was a lot more reasonable. Sorry I got all worked up, I said. But it just really annoyed me that this guy had told me my book had come in, when it didn’t.

“I swear I never talked to this kid!” Jared protested to the supervisor.

“All I know is I talked to some guy named Jared right here at this desk, who sounded just like you. That is your name, isn’t it?” I demanded.

Jared seemed completely taken aback by this. His supervisor glared at him.

“I’m sorry, we’ll straighten this out sir,” he told me apologetically. He glared at Jared. “In my office. NOW.”

Jared stared at me for a few seconds, looking like he wanted to wring my neck. Then he turned and followed the manager away.

Feeling awful, all I could do was hope he didn’t get fired.

This pattern continued for the rest of the week.

On Tuesday Trevor made me go to dinner at a restaurant down the street, be unforgivably rude to a waiter there named Shane, and leave no tip.

On Wednesday, Trevor made me sit next to another young guy named Cliff in the library, and “accidentally” spill water all over his laptop. When Cliff leapt to his feet and exclaimed “dude!” angrily, I shrugged, told him it had been his fault for putting his laptop so close to my water, and walked briskly out of the library.

On Thursday, Trevor made me sit down at a table with yet another freshman, this one named Eric, who was sitting with a very attracting blond girl and was obviously on a date with her.

“Eric,” I said. “How could you do this to me?”

“Huh?” Eric said, confused.

“Oh shut up,” I said, faking sobs masterfully. “Fine just go on. Try to `be straight’ for a while if you have to. I’ll be waiting for you.” And I rushed out of the room, leaving everyone else staring at Eric, who was blushing furiously.

And so it went. Jared, Shane, Cliff, Eric, Wes, Cody — they were all freshmen or at most sophomores, all good looking guys, most of them seemed like athletes. And by the end of the week, I’d done something totally unforgiveable to every one of them.

I couldn’t figure out what Trevor was up to. But I had a bad feeling the other shoe was about to drop.

And of course, I was right.

Bryce and Trevor were huddling in the basement of Delta Psi house. They were alone, and it was late at night.

“I think everything is ready,” Trevor was saying. The looked around at their preparations.

“Alright,” Bryce replied with a grin. “We’ll tell the pledges tomorrow, and have them pick him up for us. After all . . . they did make it through Hell Week. I think it’s time they got to have some fun of their own.”

A day or two after that, I was lying naked in my dog cage when the door opened, and Trevor walked over.

“Hey bro,” he said, staring at me through the bars. In one fluid motion, he undid the lock. I crawled out, expecting, as I had so many times before, that I would have to immediately get to work massaging and licking clean Trevor’s feet. Already, I could feel the agonizing sensation of my cock, hopelessly beyond my reach, stirring to life.

But once again, Trevor surprised me. “Stand up,” he told me curtly. “And put on the clothes I’ve laid out for you.”

It was a perfectly normal set of clothing, a real luxury, I thought as I jumped to obey.

“But first,” Trevor said, reaching for something in his pocket, “I better take care of this.” I realized he was fishing out a key. Seconds later, he had undone the multiple locks that held the terrible chastity device in place. I felt an enormous surge of joy and relief as I felt the damn thing slip off for the first time in weeks.”

“Oh thank you, thank you,” I murmured, pathetically grateful.

“Just shut up and get dressed,” came the terse reply.

I did.

“Alright,” Trevor said, taking a deep breath. “So . .. here’s the deal, pal. I’m letting you go.”

I stared at him. “Huh?” I said, uncomprehending.

“You heard me. I’m letting you go. You can walk out of this room right now, provided you find different housing and never come back to this room.”

I just stood there, staring at him for a second. It was way too good to be true.

“Oh,” I said finally, in a small voice.

Trevor went on. “I can’t take the risk anymore that someone will find you here. So I’m letting you go . . . provided of course that you never tell another soul about any of this. Think you can manage that?”

“Um . . . yeah . . . I mean, yes sir,” I said quickly.

Trevor waved his hand dismissively. “OK then. Then scram.” He glanced at me. “And I suggest you get the fuck out of this building quickly, before I change my mind.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice. I made for the exit, unlocked the door, and quickly closed it behind me, elation building wildly in my chest.

I was free! Free! What an amazing feeling! For the first time in a month, my balls were free too . . . and boy, did I have to cum! It was all I could do not to drop my pants right there, in the middle of the hallway, and shoot my pent up load, a month’s worth of frustrated jism. But even now, fear of Trevor overwhelmed my sexual urges. I had to get as far away from that room as I could.

I made my way down the stairs quickly. I had no idea where I was going, where I would live, what I would do at the school now that I had become a walking joke. I was past caring. All I knew is that I was free! I walked out the front door of the dorm building, a spring in my step as I half walked, half-jogged down the street, each stride taking me further away from Trevor. I was already trying to think of a good public bathroom I could go to, right away, right then, to see to my aching drooling hard-on. Once I attended to that, I could focus on everything else. I shivered with excitement.

I was so focused on that, I guess I didn’t even see it coming.

I barely noticed a thing, not even when the van pulled up on the street right next to where I was walking. I barely even noticed when the door slid suddenly open.

I had only a second to react. Suddenly, I was surrounded. Eight guys, all wearing ski masks, had sprung simultaneously from the unmarked white van. I would have screamed, but one of them had already gotten me from behind, muffling me with his gloved hand.

They were fast . . . frighteningly fast. I barely had time to blink before I was inside the van. I felt the clothes Trevor had handed me just a moment before being torn off. One of my assailants snatched my pants away, and held them up in front of me. I didn’t fully register it, because things were happening so fast, but I realized there was a little white sign taped to the seat of my pants which said, in red ink “abduct me.”

Trevor’s sick sense of humor, I realize now.

I was kicking, flailing, trying to shout for help. My holding me from behind kept his gloved hand firmly clamped down on my mouth. Meanwhile, a swarm of these ski-mask wearing goons pinned me down and removed the remainder of my clothes, ripping off my underwear in their haste.

Then . . . slowly, sadistically, while the rest of them pinned me down, one of them slowly took out an object and held it carefully before me, so that it was right in front of my eyes.

I realized, with a sick feeling, that it was yet another chastity cage for my cock. It looked essentially identical to the one I had abandoned only minutes earlier, except for this one was even thicker, had extra straps, and seemed in general even more impenetrable.

“NOOOOOOOO!!!!!” I tried to scream, but my words were drowned out as I felt someone stuff a sock in my mouth and seal it in with a violent rip of duct tape.

I continued to thrash, but it was no use at all. My captors were all obviously strong guys, and there were, by my count, at least 8 of them that I could see, not to mention one or two others I was pretty sure were behind me.

“Alright, you little fucker, you asked for it,” I heard one of them say.

As I continued to struggle, the eight of them pinned me down and completely immobilized me, with almost no effort on their part whatsoever. Meanwhile, a ninth, also wearing a ski mask, came around to slide my new and improved cock prison on . . . and then to seal it on, not just with two killer straps that squeezed my cock and balls with a vice-like grip, but also with two brass padlock, each one with their own separate key . . . keys which, of course, my masked assailant pocketed as soon as he was finished attaching the fiendish chastity device.

This having been taken care of, I was flipped roughly over onto my belly. I heard the loud sound of more duct tape being torn . . . strips and strips of it this time. I felt it being wound roughly around my ankles, and around my knees. Once my wrists were pinned behind my back it was wound around my arms as well. One of them threw a thick pillowcase over my head. I could hear them laughing at my predicament as the van began to lurch violently away from the curb.

When the pillow case was finally yanked off my head a few hours later, I was finally able to look around.

I was in a dark room; my sense was it was a basement somewhere. It was so dark I couldn’t really see my surroundings at all. I blinked once, twice, several times, trying to get my bearings.

I had been completely immobilized, once again trussed up so tightly I could scarcely move. I was lying down on the floor, belly down, my wrists still duct taped together behind my back, my ankles hogtied, in turn to my wrists.

I craned my neck, trying to figure out who had just removed the pillowcase from my head. I didn’t have to bother. Soon enough, he walked forward, so that he was standing right in front of me.

“Hello roommate,” he said with a grin. It was Trevor.

“You didn’t really think I’d let you go this easily, did you?” he said with a laugh.

I stared at him with horror.

“Show him his new home,” a second voice said from a corner of the room. I glanced over to its source, and saw a tall lanky muscle-jock sitting on a pool a table, his long muscular legs dangling off its edge. I didn’t know much about sports, of course, but I knew enough to recognize the voice of Bryce Adams, the center of our school basketball team, known for being one mean SOB.

Trevor shrugged, walked over, and turned on the light.

Instantly, I could see. It was obvious to me I had been abducted and brought down into one of the rooms in the basement of Delta Psi. All over the walls, I could see the frat’s insignia and its big block greek letters.

I also saw other things in the room. Straight in front of me, there was a wall with rows and rows of pegs. Dangling from these pegs were an assortment of strange and different devices — clothes pins, long flexible bending rods, some electric tooth brushes, a number of different sets of handcuffs, ankle shackles, huge bundles of rope and smaller bundles of twine, big packages of long wax candlesticks, even, most bizarrely, a long row of fake dildos, which varied in size from just a few inches to truly massive foot-long fake dicks. The bottom row was nothing but a long series of wooden frat paddles, lined up one after the other, each looking wickedly long, each with the Delta Psi lettering emblazoned on it.

Pushed up against this wall, I could also see a number of other things. I wasn’t sure why, but I had the sense many of them had just been built — they had a distinctly fresh new look. I saw, for instance, a big set of classic medieval wooden stocks, with one big hole for the head and two smaller holes for hands, and a padlock on the side to keep the intended victim trapped in place. I saw a separate pair of stocks, which seemed to be different — this, I realized, was a set of ankle stocks.

There were several other devices, but it was hard to tell what all of them were. I did see what appeared to be a padded foot rest, the kind you might have parked in front of a big easy chair, except that the flat padded surface on which you would normally rest your feet seemed to be mounted on top of a wooden box, and in the very center of the flat padded surface on top there was, I realized with a sense of horror mixed with fascination, an opening just large enough for someone’s neck to fit through.

Someone had marked all of these little “toys,” again with big block letters that read “property of Delta Psi.

“So,” Trevor said, as he smirked at me, “what do you think of your new home?”

I wanted to scream, but the sock gag was still securely in my mouth, and I couldn’t make a sound.

Bryce stood up and walked over to where I was trapped. I couldn’t help but notice, in spite of everything, that the sports stud was barefoot, and that he had big, incredibly sexy, manly feet. My poor cock, once again trapped and utterly beyond my reach, throbbed and pulsed, desperate for release. I silently cursed myself for not taking the chance, however brief, to relieve myself when Trevor let me escape. I should have known better…

“Do you like your new accommodations?” I heard Bryce asking me. “Our pledges worked very hard to pull all this stuff together. But then, they were pretty motivated.”

Trevor nodded. “All we had to tell them was that you had snuck into the frat during hell week and taken pictures of them being hazed. Since the pictures show them all naked and grabbing each other’s dicks, and since you were threatening to release the pics to the rest of the school, we told the pledges the frat had to safeguard its honor by teaching you a lesson you would never forget.” He leaned forward now and spoke to me in a low voice. “Of course, bitch boy, if you say one word that contradicts any of that while you are here, you are going to be very, very, very fucking sorry.”

Bryce spoke again. “That said, our pledges needed very little convincing. I think it’s time he meets them for himself, don’t you think Trev?”

They both smirked more broadly. Trevor went over to the side of the room, opened a door, and motioned at someone outside.

A long row of frat boys suddenly burst into the room. A few of them I recognized already as brothers: I saw Collin, for instance, looking eager with anticipation, and a few other brothers I recognized as well known jocks around campus.

About 12 of the frat boys, though, immediately formed a well-ordered row at the front of the room. These must be the pledges.

And I realized, with a sick feeling, that I recognized most of them.

Yep . . . there was Jared . . . there was Shane, and Cliff . . . and there was Eric, Wes, Cody.

There were all the freshmen guys Trevor had forced me to be such a huge asshole to over the course of the last week.

And now, here they all were, standing before me, staring at me, each of them grinning a wicked frat boy grin.


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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

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



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