Frat Boy’s Bitch Boy – Part 09

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.

The three of them carried me back down to the basement of the frat house, into the room where I’d started my captivity there. Again I saw, all over the walls, the frat’s insignia and its big block greek letters.

The three frat boys carrying me came to rest in front of the padded foot rest I had noticed earlier. It was 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 large wooden box, and in the very center of the flat padded surface on top there was an opening just large enough for someone’s neck to fit through. About six inches or so in front of that neck-sized opening, I noticed for the first time, there was a slim sliver bar that was imbedded in the flat surface on top – it looked like a long silver button of some kind, that could be depressed by pushing down on it. I also noticed, for the first time, that the head-sized hole in the top of the box was not the only opening. One of the box’s 4 sides (its front, from where we were standing) had two smaller holes, side by side, roughly ankle-sized. I stared at the strange box, with a sense of foreboding.

“OK, bitch boy,” Trevor said from behind me. “Welcome to your new home.”

“Dude,” Shane said. “This is so friggin evil.”

Grinning, they set me roughly down on the floor. Then the three of them fiddled with the box until the top sprung open.   It separated into two halves, which swung up and away like double doors opening. At that point, as Trevor and Shane pinned me down so I couldn’t so much as squirm, Bryce undid my handcuffs, ankle cuffs, and other forms of bondage. Of course, by this point, I didn’t for a moment dare to hope that I was going to be permanently untied. I understood I was only being retied in preparation for whatever new torments these sadistic frat boys had in mind.

My wrists were once again handcuffed behind my back. This time my ankles remained unbound, but my knees were tied firmly together.

Shane, Bryce and Trevor all lifted me into the air once again. Now I was staring into the inside of the big box, with the top off. I gasped with surprise. I couldn’t help myself.

The box was not completely empty, as I would have expected. The bottom was not wood, but a sheet of metal, and embedded in it, pointing up and at an angle, was a dildo.

I stared at it.

The dildo had a metallic tip. As a examined it more closely, I noticed an electric wire was threaded along one side of the dildo, and then ran along the base of the box.

As Trevor and Shane held me in the air, Bryce leaned forward and adjusted a second latch on the box. The box’s front (with the two side-by side openings in it), along with the top, swung off to the side, allowing easy access to the box’s interior.

“So,” Trevor said. “Do you see how this works yet?”

Maybe I was just willfully refusing to understand, but I hadn’t grasped it yet. I shook my head. The frat boys snickered.

“Explain it to him, dude,” Trevor urged Shane.

“Well, it should be pretty fucking obvious to anyone but a fucking stupid little bitch like you,” Shane said to me. He glanced at Trevor and Bryce. “Let’s just set it up, and we’ll see if he gets it then.”

At this, with Trevor grabbing me firmly from one end, his muscular arms locking around my arm pits, and Bryce and Shane holding my midsection and my legs firmly, I was lowered into the open box.

At first, I stupidly was unsure what they were doing about the dildo. It was on the largish side, and since it was sticking right out of the middle of the box’s base, I couldn’t see how I could comfortably fit inside.

Then, suddenly, I realized what they were doing.

“Open wide,” Bryce said. The three of them laughed. They were lowering me slowly, and carefully, and positioning my body so the dildo was pointed directly up my asshole.

Shit.

I started to squirm furiously, trying to writhe my way out of their grasp. But their grip was too firm.

“Hold fucking still,” Bryce commanded me. “Believe me, squirming is just gonna make this worse.”

I had never actually been fucked before, and I had no idea what it would be like to have something that big go up my asshole, but I was terrified. “Please,” I begged. “Don’t do this. What do you want me to do? Just tell me what you want me to do, sirs. I’ll do anything you tell me to. I’ll be your slave.”

“You already are our slave,” Trevor pointed out. “Your this frat’s bitch boy. And right now we’re telling you to hold still so that we can ram this dildo up your ass.” It was obvious the three of them were enjoying this immensely.

“But why are you doing this?” I almost pleaded. But I shut my mouth. I knew it wouldn’t do any good.

“Now, hold still, bitch boy,” Trevor said, smirking.

At first the dildo wouldn’t go in. It was too big. Trevor and Bryce had to tell Shane to get a big jar of lube and lube up my asshole, which he did groaning good naturedly. They also lubed up the dildo. Then they tried again. Slowly, inch by inch, I felt myself being lowered into the box, as Shane held my but cheeks apart and Bryce and Trevor pushed down. My virgin asshole resisted mightily, but Shane and Trevor pushed harder, and the dildo finally began to slip in. Pain shot through my body as it entered me, but they didn’t let up. I cried out as it went in fully, and my ass cheeks finally came to rest on the metallic base of the box.

That was the hard part. Still wincing, I watched as the three frat boys stretched my legs out, so that my bound knees were only slightly bent, and threaded my ankles through the two holes in the front of the box. Now my body was tilted up at an angle; I was rocked back, my ass and legs pointed slightly up in the air. They snapped the front of the box shut, so that my feet were trapped there, the naked soles pointing outside.

Finally, they carefully closed the top of the box, bringing the two halves back together again and locking them into place. Now, only my neck was sticking through the opening on top (it was just big enough for my neck to slip through).

I was truly completely trapped. My feet and my head were sticking out of their respective openings, totally immobilized, completely vulnerable to anyone standing outside of the box. The rest of my naked body was not only trussed up like a turkey inside of the box, but also stuck like a pin in an insect box, impaled on the slick dildo planted in the center of the box’s base.

As my asshole adjusted to the sensation of having the dildo stuffed up it, the agony slowly subsided, replaced by a dull thudding pain, and I began to feel a strange accompanying sensation almost like sexual pleasure. It was a bizarre feeling. Of course, my cock was still trapped in its cock cage, and I felt it getting hard once again, desperate for the pent up release that would never come.

“The frat ordered this little contraption online, from one of the ‘specialty’ websites,” Bryce said, looking at me. “It cost is a fucking fortune.”

“No need to worry about that, though,” Trevor added. “We’re gonna make sure you reimburse for it out of your savings.”

“First, though,” Shane said, “I think we should see if the little fucker likes his new toy.”

“Why don’t you demonstrate?” Trevor suggested.

Grinning, Shane dragged a big stuffed chair across the floor of the basement, so that it squeaked against the cold concrete. He brought it to rest directly in front of the box, so that it was facing my outstretched bare feet and face, completely locked into their respective openings in the box.

Next, the three boys produced from one side of the room an assortment of additional goodies. Shane had, balled up in his hand, a mass of strands of twine. Trevor had a big silver bucket, filled with soapy water, and a second smaller container with several stiff-bristled brushes of varying sizes, ranging from tiny to massive. Finally, Bryce was carrying at least a dozen large feathery quills, the kind people might have used to write on parchment in the dark ages, along with several small bottles of ink. I wondered what the hell was happening now.

The three of them all looked excited, which made me even more nervous than I already was. Shane and Trevor set to work looping the pieces of twine around my toes, one by one. I realized for the first time that right above the holes that were serving as my make-shift ankle stocks, there were a series of tiny notches, and Shane and Trevor were busy tying my toes back, connecting each piece of twine to the notches, thus splaying my feet out and rendering the spaces in between my toes, like the soles themselves, completely helpless.

Bryce, meanwhile, brought back a thoroughly unwelcome sight: the white board on which the frat boys had kept their careful tally of the demerits I had accumulated serving as their “mud board”: 273, to be precise. An enormous number.

Bryce grinned again. “Bitch boy, remember how I said earning demerits would be a lot fucking easier than getting rid of them?” he asked me.

“Yes sir,” I said.

“Remember how I said you really didn’t want to earn demerits?”

“Yes sir.”

“You didn’t believe me, did you boy?”

“I did, sir.”

“Are you trying to argue with me, fucker?”

“No sir.”

“Give him 2 extra demerits for arguing with you,” Trevor suggested.

Bryce agreed this was a good idea, and added them to my tally on the board. “Alright, 275 Demerits now. Sort of a round number. Holy fuck, that’s a lot of fucking demerits.” He shook his head in wonder and whistled. “Alright, bitch boy. We did try to warn you about this. You get to work these off one by one. And we’re gonna make sure that we keep careful track. Just watch.”

At this, Bryce, Trevor and Shane each picked up a quill, dipped it in ink, and with each of them kneeling at the front of the box, they began to draw on the soles of my outstretched feet.

I was immediately writhing, my whole body twisting and turning, trying with utter futility to wrest my poor feet free of the sadistic box. It was impossible, of course. With my toes tied all the way back, I had no choice but to sit there and take it.

And boy, did my ticklish feet take it, as the ink quills flew from one side of my soles to the other. I started to giggle.

“No fucking noise, bitch boy,” Bryce told me sternly. “Absolute silence, or there’ll be hell to pay.”

I sat there, gritting my teeth, and shaking uncontrollably as the pointed quills explored every ticklish contour of the undersides of my feet. It didn’t take me long to realize what was going on. The frat boys were transferring the dashes on the white board, recording each and every one of my earned “demirts,” with a short corresponding dash of ink on the soles of my feet. As they knelt there, grinning, adding up my demerits one by one, it was all I could do not to squeal with agonized laughter.

“Stop!” I finally pleaded, but it was to no avail. They just kept adding up tally mark by tally mark.

Finally Trevor rocked back, and surveyed their handiwork. “Whatya think” he said.

Bryce nodded. “Not bad.”

For my benefit, he held up a medium-sized mirror. I swallowed: the soles of my feet were now covered with ink . . . 275 dashes of ink, to be exact.

Bryce stood directly in front of me, a real no-nonsense look in his eye.

“OK, bitch boy,” he said. “Now listen real fucking closely, cuz I’m only going over this once.”

“The three of us, on behalf of the frat, have decided on an appropriate punishment for you. It is not necessarily the only punishment you are to receive, but it is certainly the principal punishment our frat has decided to administer to you.”

“Your punishment is that you’re gonna be stuck in this room. And, with very occasional exceptions to stretch your body out, you will be stuck in that box. You’re gonna be fucking stuck there until you get rid of every single one of those demerits marked out on the soles of your fucking feet.

“Now . . . you’re probably wondering, how do you get rid of a demerit? Well, I’ll tell you. In fact, I’ll do better than that: I’ll show you.”

Bryce went across the room and picked up a big poster board that had been drawn on in big black marker. The letters had been carefully written with almost artistic precision, so that I had no difficulty reading what it said:

On the top, as a title, was printed in block lettering:

 

BITCH BOY DEMERIT RUBRIC

Drink Piss: Lose 1 Demerit

Lick Ass: Lose 1 Demerit

Good Blow Job: Lose 1 Demerit

Great Blow Job: Lose 2 Demerits

Orgasmic Blow Job: Lose 3 Demerits

Crappy Blow Job: Gain 1 Demerit

 

I stared at the poster board.

Shane sat down in the stuffed easy chair that was facing me, and examined me carefully. “So,” he said. “What do you say?”

I stared stupidly at him, not comprehending.

“Stupid fucking bitch,” Bryce grunted. “Doesn’t even get the rules when they’re spelled out for him. How do you expect to ever get out of that box if you don’t start begging us right now to give you our cocks?”

Shane looked at me expectantly. Reality began to dawn on me.

“Uh . . . right,” I stammered, disbelieving. I took a breath, feeling even lower and more degraded than ever. “Could I, um, suck you, sir?”

Shane looked scornful. “I think you can beg better than that, bitch boy.”

“Please, please sir, let me have your cock. I need to suck your big juicy cock! Please let me have your cock.”

Shane acquiesced at this. He was grinning, and as he dropped his pants, it was obvious that he was already incredibly horny. His dick was hard, even bulging, through his underwear. I should have known, I thought. This was turning Shane on too.

“OK, bitch boy,” he said. “Suck me.”

He stood from his chair, took a stride or two forward, straddled the box, and sat down, so that his dick was centimeters from my face. His frat boy cock pumped aggressively in and out of my mouth, and I struggled not to gag on it. He leaned back, hands clasped behind his head, an expression of pure bliss on his face.

“Oh yeah, yah fucking cunt. Suck my dick. Suck it. SUCK IT!” he grunted.

I licked and lapped at his organ as it thrust in and out of my mouth, careful not to gag as the bloated tip rammed into the back of my throat repeatedly. It didn’t take me long to bring this already horny frat boy to an explosive orgasm. Cum spurted like a geyser into my mouth.

“Swallow it, you bitch!” Shane panted. I hastened to obey. Load after load of his warm cum cascaded down into my belly. Finally Shane sat there, his body slumped, a sleepy smile on his young frat boy face, his limp cock still in my mouth.

“That was pretty good,” Shane conceded, finally. “Let’s take away one demerit.”

“OK,” Trevor said.

Bryce grinned. “Ya wanna `reset’ the scoreboard?”

“We’re doing it for every five demerits he loses,” Trevor reminded him.

“Yeah,” Bryce agreed. “But I wanna do it for the first time now.”

I wondered what “reset the scoreboard” meant. I saw Bryce reaching for the bucket of soapy water, and the collection of stiff bristled brushes, which I noticed they had brought out earlier with the twine, the ink, and the quills. Trevor and Shane gamely followed suit.

Bryce dipped a big brush in the soapy water, lifted it out, and held it up against one of my exposed soles. The toes were still tied firmly back, and I was of course completely helpless to defend myself in any way, with my body still bound firmly inside the box.

`Reset the scoreboard.’ Now I understood. They were going to wash all the ink away, and then record my new demerit level all over again.

Bryce set to work with the brush, scrubbing with vigor at the underside of my foot. Shane set to work on the other foot with a separate brush. And now I really went crazy.

“NOOOOOO!!!!” I screamed. The sensation was way too much for the trapped sensitive soles of my bare feet. To say that they were being tickled would have been to severely understate the case. They were being attacked. I could not just sit there and take it like I had when they were drawing the demerits with the quills. I had to cry out. It was half laughter, half desperate plea for them to stop.

“Shut the fuck up, bitch boy,” Trevor said. “No one wants to hear your whiny, girly ass voice.” He picked up a toothbrush and started to use it to scrub the ink away from in between my toes, as Bryce and Shane continued to work on my feet. This only made me cry out louder.

“That’s it,” Trevor said. He kicked off his shoe and reached for his sock, obviously to use as a gag.

It was Bryce who stopped him. “Don’t do that,” he said. “We made sure the walls here are close to sound proof. And I enjoy hearing him beg.”

“PLEASE STOP!!” I was screaming. More than anything, I wanted desperately to yank my feet away from the terrible scrub brushes, but of course I couldn’t. I was completely trapped. The three of them were taking their sweet time, methodically getting all the ink off, experimenting with the different sized brushes and using them as they seemed most appropriate and effective. I writhed and groveled. It was to no avail.

It couldn’t have taken longer than 5 minutes, but it seemed to last hour. Finally the three of them were toweling my feet off, apparently satisfied that my feet were once again a blank slate. They even held up a mirror again, to allow me to admire the thoroughness of their cleaning.

“Now, be totally quiet, or we really will punish you,” Trevor told me.

Then they picked up their three quills, and once again began to mark out the demerits in a neat orderly tally, dipping the pointed tips occasionally in the jars of ink to ensure that each dash was clear. It was not nearly so tortuous as the scrubbing had been, by comparison, but still ticklish enough that I had to bite down on my lip hard to keep from making any noise.

“Ok,” Bryce said, when they had finished marking out 274 new dashes. “274 demerits. Hope you enjoyed that. We’ve decided we’ll do it again when you reach 270, then 265, and so on. Of course, those are only the required ones. Any guy in the frat can `reset the scoreboard’ any time he fucking feels like it.” He sniggered. The others chuckled as I stared at him.

“Well,” he was saying “all that’s left is to show you the one other fun feature of our little bitch boy box.” He glanced at Shane. “Shane? You were on a roll. Ya wanna show him?”

“Ya mean, the switch?”

“Of course I mean the fucking switch.”

Shane seemed to pause for a minute, then shook his head with a smile. “Man,” he said. “I sure am glad I’m not the little bitch.”

Bryce shrugged. “That’s what happens to somebody who fucks around with the pledges of Delta Psi.”

“Yeah,” Shane said. It was all eagerness now. He’d taken remarkably little convincing, I thought. “OK, let’s do it.”

Bryce turned to me. He was especially into the cat and mouse games. “Do you have any clue what we’re talking about, bitch boy?”

“No sir,” I said truthfully.

“Well,” Bryce said. “I want you to guess.”

I was drawing a total blank. “Uh . . . I really have no idea, sir.”

Bryce wasn’t letting me off. He meant this. “Listen, you little bitch. Guess what we’re talking about. Guess right, and maybe we’ll give you a reprieve for a whole day.”

What had Shane said a second ago, anyway? I grasped frantically for the answer. `The switch?’ What the fuck did that mean? “Uh . . . you’re gonna take me out of the this box and use a switch to whip me?” I guessed, wincing.

All three of them laughed. “No, but I like the way you think, bitch boy,” Bryce chuckled. “Show him, Shane.”

Shane stepped forward toward the box. As I’ve already mentioned, there was a large rectangular button embedded in the top of the box. I had no idea what it was for. Now that my head was trapped in the top of the box, it was literally inches from my nose. In fact, Shane had planted his butt and ballsack directly on it when I had sucked him off a few minutes ago.

Now, Shane pressed on a second, much smaller irregularity in the top of the box that I hadn’t noticed until now. It was a tiny hatch, and when it sprung open, it revealed a hidden little lever, or switch. It was red, and it seemed, from my limited vantage point, to have two settings: a “0” and a “1.” Right now it was at “0.”

“Any theories now?” Bryce asked.

I stared at it dumbly. “It . . . looks like an on off switch?” I ventured.

“A plus,” Bryce said sarcastically. “But what’s it for?”

I tried to think. Hadn’t I seen some wires just a little while ago? Wires leading to . . . where?

The dildo.

“I’ll give you one clue,” Bryce said. He was reaching for the switch. “It turns on an electric current.”

Bryce turned on the switch.

The jolt I felt was instantaneous and unforgettable. Suddenly there was an electric current running up the tip of the dildo, shooting into my asshole. I yelped loudly, and would have certainly jumped 5 feet in the air, had not I been completely pinned down and immobilized by the bondage of my sadistic frat captors.

At first, the current produced a bizarrely erotic sensation. The dildo, wedged all the way up my asshole, felt as thought it was tickling, kneading and massaging my prostrate all at the same time. I wiggled furiously, my whole body involuntarily attempting to pulse and thrust in response to the powerful sensation. My poor deprived cock, still hard at that very moment, responded with renewed desperation. My horniness level surged as my cock got even harder, and even more pre-cum began to drip from it like a faucet.

Then, a few moments later, as the three sadistic frat boys looked on eagerly, there was a shift. The pulsing, kneading current suddenly increased. The pain came a second later. It was a fierce burning sensation, not sexy or stimulating at all. It HURT.

“OOOH!! AWWW! EEE! AWWW! AAAAH!” I cried out. The electricity induced pain shooting up my ass was intense. “PLEASE!” I cried out. “PLEASE STOP IT!!!!”

Shane, Trevor and Bryce collapsed into fits of laughter as I continued to react to the electric current that was shooting up my asshole. The cycle continued – after a moment, the current subsided to its original state. The pain went away. My horniness level skyrocketed as my prostrate responded to the electric dildo’s crude stimulation. Then the current ripped into my ass again, and the pain rushed back. It was unbearable.

“Please turn it off!!!!” I begged them. “Please turn it off!!!”

Bryce leaned forward, so that his face was close to mine. “Listen, bitch boy,” he said. “That’s no way to for a slave to beg his master. Begging and groveling are good, but you need to do more than that. You need to beg and grovel calmly, submissively.”

I made an extraordinary effort. “Please sir,” I said, calmly, my face contorted from the overriding sensation of having an electric current flowing up my asshole. “Please, do you think you could turn it off sir?”

“More submissive,” Bryce directed. The other two frat boys sniggered.

Trevor gave me a hint. “Why don’t you beg me to let you lick my feet?” he suggested.

My prostrate was tickled, my dick leaked more pre-cum, then I yelped in pain at another jolt of searing electricity. It was too much.   I finally, and most unwisely, snapped.

“NO!!! I’M NOT GOING TO BEG YOU TO LET ME LICK YOUR FEET!” I screamed, really losing it. “I’VE GOT A FUCKING DILDO UP MY ASSHOLE AND I’M FUCKING THROBBING WITH PAIN. YOU’VE GOT TO TURN IT OFF!!!”

I realized as soon as I said it that it was a huge mistake. The three frat boys stared at me for a moment, with a mixture of surprise and amusement.

“I’m . . . I’m so sorry, masters,” I stammered. “I didn’t mean . . . I’m so sorry.”

“Not yet you aren’t,” Bryce said. “But you will be.”

Now Trevor really did pull off his sweaty sock and stuff it in my mouth, gagging me securely with a strip of duct tape. Then, before I knew what had hit me, Bryce suddenly turned away, and walked out of the room. Shane and Trevor immediately followed suit, shutting the door behind them.

I was left in the basement, in the darkness, stuck in that box, hands tied, knees tied, head and feet protruding from their openings and frozen in place, toes tied back, feet marked with 274 dashes of ink, pre-cum seeping from my dick, jolt after electric jolt shooting up my asshole and making my whole body twitch futilely.

And that is where I stayed for the next six hours.

By the time the door opened, and Trevor, Shane and Bryce reentered the room, I had broken completely. The electric pulsing was terrible. I had to make it stop. I would do anything. Anything.

The boys regarded me with interest. Bryce ungagged me.

“How do you feel now, bitch boy?” he asked.

With extraordinary effort, I kept my twitching, electrified body as calm as possible. “I’m . . . I think, with your undeserved mercy, I’d like to have that switch turned off now, sir. Please sir, please, have mercy on your poor bitch boy,” I said humbly, as submissively as I could.

Trevor chimed in. “Do you remember what I told you to do, before your completely out-of-line little outburst, slave?”

I did. “Yes sir,” I said. “Please sir, please let me lick your feet.” My fried asshole cried out for relief, but I knew it would only come when I had groveled sufficiently to satisfy their whims.

Trevor sat down in the big stuffed overchair that was facing the box. With a malicious deliberation, he kicked off his athletic shoes, and stuck his familiar sweaty bare feet directly in my face.

“Alright, bitch boy, watch this,” he guffawed.

As he set his feet down on the padded footrest that covered the top of the box, and began to mash his soles roughly against my face, using my entire trapped head as a footrest, his ankles in so doing pressed down on the rectangular button that was imbedded in the top of the box, inches away from my nose. As his bare feet made contact with the button, and pressed down on it, the electric current pulsing through the dildo suddenly died.

I slumped my shoulders and gasped with relief. The sudden sense of liberation from that terrible torturous feeling of electricity jolting up my asshole was tremendous, almost too great for words.

Bryce saw my relief, and smiled. “You see, slave, this is very fucking simple. For as long as we choose to keep you in that box, that switch is staying on. The current is staying on. There’s nothing you can actually do about that.

“The only thing you CAN do is hope that one of frat’s brothers or pledges takes mercy on you by using your face as a foot rest, or even better for you, so that you can actually work off some of those demerits, allows you to drink his piss, lick his asshole clean, or suck him off. All of the above will cause weight to be placed on the button, which disrupts the circuit.” He grinned. “Of course, the minute the weight is removed . . .”

In demonstration, Trevor also grinned, and suddenly swung his feet up into the air. As his ankles lifted off the button embedded in the center of the footrest, I immediately felt a searing jolt run through the dildo and into my asshole, as the current began to flow again. My brief respite from the pain only magnified the shock of its continuation.

“Please sir, please use my face as a footrest!!” I cried out automatically, almost without thinking.

They all laughed heartily. “See,” Bryce said. “This exactly what the boy needs. Before long, every fiber of him will WANT, will CRAVE, that our frat use his face as a foot rest. It will be the only way he can stop the pain.”

Trevor put his feet back down on my face, depressing the big rectangular button imbedded in the top of the box as he did so. The current once again stopped flowing, and I gasped with relief. They laughed again.

Now Bryce wanted to go. “Let me at him,” he said eagerly.

As soon as Trevor swung his legs away and stood up, of course, the electricity began to flow again. I winced and gasped. Bryce sat down, looked at me, and smirked.

“What do you say?” he said.

“Please,” I whimpered, “please use my face as a footrest. Please let me lick your feet clean.” More than at any point that Trevor had made me beg for such humiliating treatment, I really, truly meant it. I desperately wanted, more than anything in the world at that moment, for Bryce to kick off his oversized flip-flops and mash his sweaty frat boy soles into my face. I wanted that more than anything, because I knew it would stop the electric current ripping into my ass.

Bryce toyed with me. “Why should I?” he asked.

I winced. “Because I am Delta Psi’s bitch boy, sir,” I groveled. “Because you are the pledge master of this frat, and I am your lowly slave, and all I am worthy to do is have the privilege of my face serving as your doormat, foot stool, or any other place of rest for your feet that you see fit, sir.”

Bryce still wasn’t done. “Think of 3 names that are appropriate for us to refer to you by,” he said. “And then maybe I will allow you to be my footstool.”

“Sir, I am your Bitch boy, your faggot . . .” I began.

“Not original enough,” Bryce said impatiently.

I strained my imagination. “Sir, I am your Butt-munching cum lover,” I stammered. “I am your cock sucking, toe-jam chewing, ass-kissing plaything.” I closed my eyes, trying to ignore the pain. “I am your piss-drinking toilet slave,” I said finally.

The three of them were in hysterics now. “Very good, boy,” Bryce said. “That was very good.” To my enormous relief, at that, he kicked off his flip-flops, and with an aggressive, boyish eagerness, thrust his bare feet into my face. As he did so, once again, his ankles and calf muscles came into contact with the rectangular button, and the current abruptly shut off.

“Thank you, sir,” I whispered.

“Shut the fuck up, my cock-sucking, toe-jam chewing, ass kissing plaything, and lick some that toe jam from in between my toes,” Bryce ordered. They laughed. I obeyed, licking between the corners of Bryce’s toes to make sure that I cleaned the soles of his feet thoroughly.

Even then, I wasn’t done.

“Sir,” I said. “Please allow me the huge honor of licking your asshole and then sucking you off.”

This of course provoked even more laughter and guffawing.

“I dunno,” Bryce said lazily. “Why should I help you work off your demerits, bitch boy?”

“Because I am your cock-sucking, toe-jam chewing, ass kissing plaything,” I stammered, as I continued to lick his feet.

That got me another laugh. Bryce obviously didn’t need too much convincing. He withdrew his feet, causing the electricity to immediately start flowing once again. Then, to my relief, he stood from his chair, and in one smooth motion dropped his jeans and his briefs, so that he was naked from the waste down. He sauntered over to the center of the box, then swiftly rotated, so that his naked butt was pointing straight toward me. He took a step or two backward, so that he was now straddling the box, and also, of course, my trapped head. He bent, lowering his ass slightly to my face, and in so doing, braced himself on the box with one bent knee. The knee touched down on the magic rectangular button, and the current once again stopped flowing.

“Put your nose inside my asshole,” Bryce instructed me.

I couldn’t move my head at all, but with Bryce’s ass looming right there in front of me, the butt crack dominating my entire field of vision, it was just possible to slip my nose into it.

“Ok, maggot, take a nice, deep breath of fucking ass,” Bryce said commandingly.

Closing my eyes in disgust, I took a sharp deep inhale through my nostrils. The smell of Bryce’s asshole was powerful and pungent. I wondered grimly when the last time he had washed himself was.

Bryce was clearly loving this. “I’m not sure that was quite a deep enough breath,” he was saying. “Maybe we should try that again. Inhale again bitch boy . . . this time fucking make it slower and deeper.”

As I inhaled a second time, this time breathing in through Bryce’s putrid asshole more slowly, I heard the roaring, ripping sound of a fart blasting out of his ass and straight into my nostrils. I grimaced as I stifled a gag, but kept inhaling. Trevor and Shane cracked up completely, doubling over with laughter at the sight of me imprisoned in that box, forced to sniff in Bryce’s farts.

Bryce sighed with exaggerated mock comfort. “Wow, that felt good,” he said. “Hang on, bitch boy. I feel another one coming on. Make sure you get this one too.”

A second fart blasted my nostrils, this one even more noisy and repellant. I inhaled that one too, deeply. I didn’t dare disobey Bryce’s instructions even for an instant. I was in no position to.

Now Bryce lowered his asshole another half inch, so that his muscular ass muscles were practically resting on my face.

“Lick,” he instructed me curtly.

I did. My tongue darted furiously in and out of his shit hole, cleaning and pleasuring him, as he sighed with a relaxed enjoyment. “Nothing like getting your ass licked clean by a little bitch who richly deserves it,” Bryce said. “You boys gotta try this after I’m finished.”

Shane laughed. “Maybe I’ll take a shit first,” he suggested. “That’ll serve the little faggot right.”

Bryce squatted there for a while as I licked. I’m not sure how long he made me do it; certainly over 10 minutes, and it felt like longer. It’s amazing how slowly time passes when your being made to lick another guy’s smelly ass crack.

Finally, Bryce ordered me to stop, and he pivoted around. As he did so, I felt another, increasingly familiar jolt of electricity, as he temporarily removed his weight from the button. As he loomed in front of me, I realized that his skin had become moist and sweaty. He peeled off the T-shirt that he was wearing, so that I was staring at his muscular six-pack and finely sculpted pecks. He stood there, butt naked, and for the first time I got a good look at his cock.

My throat went dry.

Now I realized why he was so sweaty — at that moment, he was completely erect, so much so that he was dripping precum. In that state, his cock was absolutely enormous – considerably larger than even Trevor’s. It was massive in length. It was massive in thickness. It was, all around, massive.

Suddenly I swallowed nervously, unsure that I’d be able to take it.

Bryce grinned wickedly at me. “What do you say, bitch boy?”

“Please sir,” I said, closing my eyes. “Please, I want to suck on your dick. I want to swallow your cum, sir.”

Bryce straddled my face, and sat down on the flat surface of the box, once again depressing the large button and mercifully shutting off the current. With one oversized hand, he roughly seized the back of my head of hair, stabilizing it, and clutched his oozing dick with the other.

“Alright, bitch boy,” he grinned. “Open wide.”

And with that, he thrust his oversized penis into my throat, completely ignoring my desperate gagging, and didn’t let up until I had drained him of every last drop.

When I had finished with Bryce, Trevor allowed me to suck him off and lick his asshole clean as well. I had already sucked Shane off, of course, but he was ready to go again, so I sucked him off for a second time. Then, as a grand finale of sorts, I asked them to pee in my mouths – which all three obligingly did. All told, I managed to shed a total of 11 demerits, as was dutifully recorded when my frat boy captors once again scrubbed the ink off the soles of my feet, ignoring my howls of laughter, and redrew the updated demerit tally.

Only 263 demerits left, I thought grimly. Great.

“Wait!” I cried out, as the three of them, finished with me at last, headed for the exit from the basement. “Are you going now?” I asked them.

Fearfully.

Shane looked back at me with scorn. “Of course we’re going now, bitch boy. What does it look like we’re doing?”

With none of them pressing down on the button, of course, the electricity had started up again. Pleasure . . . pain . . . pleasure . . . pain . . . the powerful current flowing into my ass simply overpowered my quivering trapped body.

“But . . . please,” I whimpered. “Please, couldn’t at least one of you guys maybe . . . stay down here, or something? So that I can, uh, allow my face to serve as a footrest for at least one of you at a time, sir?”

Shane shook his head. “Come on, bitch boy,” he said. “We’ve been using you as a foot rest, as well as a cum-sucking, ass-kissing toilet slave, for the last several hours. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s been a real hoot. But, at some point we hafta fucking go to class!”

“Yeah, slave,” Trevor said with mock seriousness. “The world doesn’t revolve around you completely, you know.”

The electric pulse continued. Pain, pleasure, pain, pleasure. . . each jolt sent a renewed wave of stimulation into my prostrate, keeping my cock completely hard, completely dripping, and of course, maddeningly on the threshold of an explosive orgasm, without ever quite reaching that unachievable objective. I wondered, in the back of my mind, how many orgasms I would witness first-hand – whether Trevor’s, or Collin’s, or Shane’s, or Bryce’s, or another sadistic frat boy’s entirely, before I was finally allowed to have one of my own. How many had I facilitated already? 100? 200? It was impossible to count.

Then that second, corresponding jolt that sent a sharp shock of pain into my asshole . . . I gasped.

“Please, then, masters,” I pleaded desperately, “couldn’t you please turn the electric current off, at least until you return? It’s just unbearable.”

Trevor sighed in exasperation. “Come on, boys,” he said. “If he’s not gonna ask for anything reasonable, let’s just get out of here.”

“Wait!!” I cried. They turned back once again, regarding me impatiently.

I thought, incredulously, about the absurdity of the request I was about to make. But I knew I had no choice – not unless I wanted to sit in the dark, in that basement, for god knew how many more hours, waiting until Shane, Trevor and Bryce felt moved to come visit me again, with that electric current pulsing through my ass.

“Please,” I said. “Please tell all the other frat boys to come down and, uh, use my trapped face as a foot rest, urinal, cum deposit, or anything else they see fit . . . masters.”

“Bitch boy,” Bryce said with a smirk, “are you actually begging us to send the rest of the frat down here to continue abusing you?”

I sighed. It was amazing, I thought, how every time I thought I had reached rock bottom, I managed to go lower still. “Yes, master” I said. “That is what I am begging you to do.”

Word spread fast. By the end of the day, there was a gradual trickle, then a more consistent flow, of frat boys trooping through the basement and gasping in disbelief, amusement and mischievous delight at my completely fucked up predicament.

All the pledges, who had such reason to despise me, came of course. They loved it. They gloated over me, marveled at the box in which I was imprisoned, and delighted in verbally abusing me as they mashed their bare feet into my face, peed in my mouth, presented their smelly assholes for me to lick, and of course, above all, straddled my face and jammed their cocks down my throat. Usually they remembered to play by the rules and erase the appropriate number of demerits. Occasionally, they didn’t. What was I gonna do about it? I was trapped in a box.

At least a few of the frat brothers were a bit different. Of course, some of the usual suspects, like Collin for instance, were as mean spirited as you would expect. But some of them were actually, after the initial hilarity wore off, almost sympathetic.

Hank, for instance, the blond-haired, blue-eyed, cowboy of the frat, with a reputation for being at heart a softie in a frat full of assholes, after some initial chuckling at my humiliation, actually offered to release me from the box, or failing that, at the very least switch off the electric current.

“Dude,” Hank’s buddy reminded him in a low voice, tugging at his sleeve. “Bryce said that if anyone tried to do that, he’d kick their ass.”

“Bryce doesn’t scare me,” Hank said with a scowl, but he seemed to back away from the idea of switching it off. “Alright, look, you poor little bitch boy,” he said. He reached down and yanked his big leather cowboy boots off, one by one. “I won’t break the frat’s rules for you.”

I winced. “Sir, could I please please lick your feet as you speak to me, sir?” I gasped, desperate to shut the current off.

Hank blinked. “Uh, sure,” he said. He climbed gamely into the over-stuffed chair, peeled off his sweaty socks, and thrust his smelly, over-sized cowboy feet into my face. I gasped with relief as the pain stopped.

“Anyway,” Bryce said, after some time had passed and I had licked the lint completely from between his toes. “Here’s what I’m gonna do. This will help . . . a little.” He swung his feet off the button, and I winced. Then he took his two heavy leather cowboy boots and set them ontop of the padded surface of the footstool, depressing the rectangular button as he did so. The cowboy boots now loomed directly in front of my eyes, dominating my field of vision. The current had once again stopped.

“Here,” Hank offered. “This is within the spirit of the rules, at least. I’ll keep those there for a few hours – just keep lickin’ em clean.”

“Thank you, thank you for your mercy, master!” I whimpered slavishly.

Hank shook his head in wonderment, and walked out on the room, leaving me there to lap at the smelly tops of his cow cow-boy boots and wonder how I could possibly have sunk so low that a directive to lick another man’s cow-boy boots for several hours was the nicest thing to happen to me in days.

 

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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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