First, the disclaimers. THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION Copyright 2010. The narrative that follows did not happen to me or to anyone else I know. The characters in the story, like myself, are all of legal age. Don't contact Me to meet these slaves. DO contact Me if you want to become one of these slaves. Also contact me with any praise, criticism, or suggestions. All feedback is good.
To get the full story of the Delta Psi fraternity and their bitchboy, go to "Frat Boy's Bitch Boy" on Nifty/Authoritarian: http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/frat-boys-bitch-boy/
Fagboy & Fagdad - Part 23
The fagdad woke up exhausted and afraid. Master's threat from the night before, about what Sirs Mitchell and Duncan had in store for it today, hadn't gone unnoticed. How much lower could there be to go than this subhuman, non-man thing it already had become? How were they going to beat it, torture it, humiliate it today where it would find the validation that always made its dick so ready to shoot?
Master had already eaten His breakfast and had left to work on a client's home. The frat Sirs were at the table and the faggots were underneath Their seats, licking, kissing and sucking Their unshowered asses. Sir Mitchell started by asking whether They would be meeting at Their frat or at the Delta Psi's.
Sir Duncan answered. "We're all going to the Deltas'. They have their bitchboy pretty well secured over there and it'd be too much of a hassle to uninstall him. We meet in their basement."
Sir Mitchell chuckled as He pushed His hole against fagdad's slurping tongue. "And how many of them will be there?"
"Well, a lot of both frats left as soon as finals were over. Now it's just those who wanted to stick around just for this ... so about 15 from the Deltas and a dozen of us. Then tomorrow everything gets locked up for the summer."
"Fuckin' A, Duncan. You had a hell of an idea with this one. You're fuckin' despicable."
The fagdad hoped that was sarcastic but suspected it wasn't. Sadly, that was all that was said about the coming day. The frat Sirs finished Their breakfasts and left without saying a word to either of the butttlicking faggots. The slaves silently crawled up from underneath the seats and cleaned up in the kitchen before eating their piss-soaked cereal for breakfast. They then, as was now their custom, went into the bathroom together and cleaned out each others asses in case a Man wanted to fuck them during the day. By the time they had finished, the Fratboys were showered and dressed. "Follow us to our car and get into the trunk, faggots." The faggots climbed in, tried to get comfortable as the trunk lid slammed atop of them, and waited as the Sirs drove them, presumably, to the Delta Psi frat house.
Both faggots had developed a worshipful silent attitude in service. They learned to communicate with each other with simple gestures. During the ride they comforted each other with soft petting of each other's flesh, reassuring each other that they were not alone in the ordeal they were about to face.
They had apparently arrived. The car turned off, the trunk was popped, and somebody, one of the Deltas, lifted the lid and pulled out the faggots one at a time.
Sirs Mitchell and Duncan were already at the frat house door. "Come on, fagslaves. We don't have all day." They crawled into the house and were led down into the basement.
The fagdad first noticed the Chair, the fiendish device that it was forced to sit on while Sirs Mitchell and Duncan had made love to their dates. Mounted on the plug desperately trying to keep his balance was what fagdad guessed was the Delta Psi's bitchboy. He was gagged and at the end of the gag was a small circular tray. On the tray was a large marble. The bitchboy stared down at the tray and the marble, trying to keep it on the tray.
Sir Mitchell lectured the fagslaves. "Yeah, take a look. See how lucky our fagslaves are to be allowed to sleep in our hamper? This bitchboy has spent the last 48 hours here making sure his superior's marble doesn't fall off that tray, keeping it at the ready to be picked up." He then grabbed a paper from the table. "Hmmm.... Bryce left me a note here. Seems the bitch hasn't been properly washed for awhile. The faggots are to suck and scrub his feet clean. Get to work."
The bitchboy looked up at Sir Mitchell in terror. The fagslaves crawled up to him and started to lick the soles of his feet as he screamed into the gag. Apparently he was very ticklish. The fagdad tried to help him out by laying out its tongue flat against his sole, but that didn't seem to help much. His feet were filthy and both faggots had to scrub their tongues against his soles, making him tremble and shake. The fagdad noticed the marble start to roll from its delicate perch before the bitchboy compensated. The desperation of his panting breath was music to the Fratboys' ears.
One of the Delta Psi guys offered instruction. "If we find any filth between the bitch's toes, there's gonna be hell to pay." The faggots worked their way up the soles and began to dig their tongues between the bitchboy's toes. He convulsed against their tongues and the marble's movements became even more unpredictable. As the fagdad scrubbed its tongue down against the filthy webbing between his toes, the bitchboy groaned as the marble fell onto the floor. "Aw, the bitchboy was once again too stupid to show Bryce the respect he deserves. I'd hate to be that bitchboy when he wakes up." The faggots continued tongue-scrubbing his feet until the Fratboys pulled them away. The room quieted as a young Man strode into the room. He was clearly the alpha of the frat. No doubt Bryce.
"Fuck, not again. All goddamn year, bitchboy, we've been trying to teach you the value of respect. And time after time, you keep showing us your fucking lack of it. All I fucking asked was for you to keep my marble nice and handy for me. One single marble. Was that too much to ask of such a stupid bitch? Huh? WAS IT???"
The bitchboy shook his head in shame.
"Apparently it was, you stupid shit." Bryce back-slapped him hard across the face. "There's only one thing to do. We've got to take some extra effort to remind you just how fucking inferior you are. See how nicely Duncan's and Mitchell's fagslaves are decorated? See the rings in their bodies and the ink defining what they are? I'm going to have to go through the trouble to take you to an ink shop and get you done as well. So that you can't even look at yourself without knowing just what your place is in the world. At the very fucking bottom. Which reminds me...." Bryce turned around to face the faggots. "We have some special entertainment today, guys. The Gamma Taus have offered us a fagdad and a fagboy so both our houses can have some fun. Duncan and Mitchell, why don't you mount your fagboy in our special urinal back there," me motioned to his left, "while we dismount our bitch." Two of the Deltas unlocked
their bitchboy and carried him to the contraption next to the fagboy.
The fagdad hadn't even noticed the constructed device in the corner where they climbed down the stairs. Sir Duncan pulled out a canvas bag from which He retrieved a bunch of bondage gear. Wrists & ankle restraints and spreader bars. Soon both the fagboy and the bitchboy were locked into a standing position, legs spread. They were both gagged. Tubes from the gags formed a "Y" and joined into a single tube which ended at the top of the stairwell. Their wrists were bound behind them. They also had ropes wrapped around their nutsacks. The fagdad watched from the floor as Sir Duncan and Bryce attached a bucket to each of the nutsacks. Sir Duncan spoke to the room.
"We're offering these two boys a contest. They are our urinals today. Anytime you need to piss, use the cup at the top of the stairs. Your piss will flow down to these fagbitches and they will gratefully swallow your urine. Once it's done nourishing them, they can piss it out into their bucket. Whoever has the most in their bucket when time's up is the winner.
"The winner gets the honor of sucking off any and all of us who want a blowjob. The user remains in position, recycling the bucket of the winner along with any other piss we want to feed it -- all flowing into the bucket held by its nuts."
Upon hearing that, the bitchboy and the fagboy both looked scared. Petrified, actually. The fagdad didn't know how much abuse the bitchboy had been given, but it knew the fagboy wasn't a masochist. This would be true torture for it.
"Meanwhile," Sir Duncan added, moving toward fagdad, "we've got this piece of shit here. This is the fagboy's actual father. Yes, guys, a true fagdad. A cocksucking asswipe for us to play with." He nodded and two of the Gammas lifted fagdad up above the Chair's plug to install it in place. "See, this faggot has been trained for abuse. It's given Mitchell and I, and the guy we live with, awesome service. So we're rewarding it today by letting it cum as well. And that's the contest for all of us."
The plug, still juicy from the 48 hour fuck of the bitchboy's hole, slid into place inside the fagdad's guts. The Fatboys locked its ankles into place, preventing any solid footing. "See, we keep its dick locked and unable to shoot or get hard unless it's being punched or beaten. And that's what's going to happen today. There's a bag going around with a bunch of slips of paper. Pull one out and pass it along. That's going to be your number. When it's called, come up here and punch the fagdad. Anywhere you want, as hard as you want. Make the faggot hurt. Trust me, it'll thank you for it. Its dick will get harder and harder as it's being beaten. One punch per number. The lucky guy who makes it cum is our winner. The winner gets full use of the fagdad for the rest of the day. To use as your slave. To do your cleaning, to run errands, to fuck, to beat. All day long." Sir Duncan unlocked the fagdad's prick and it
immediately started to drool as the fagdad's balancing act kept pushing the plug against its prostate. "See how hungry this faggot is to be beaten?" Sir Duncan pulled a number out of a separate bag near the boys at the table. "Who's number twelve?"
And so it began. The first few punches were kind of tentative. The fagdad treated them as foreplay, knowing the harder action would soon be following. Sir Duncan called number three and a sadistic-looking fellow called out. "It's me, Trevor." Trevor came up sneering at fagdad.
"I'm the fucker who installed our bitch here. So don't think I'm going to play nice, you fucking piece of shit. I've got a tennis arm here that's going to become your best friend. When I'm done, I expect to be thanked, asswipe." Trevor backed up and took a hard swing against its chin, pushing the fagdad up and to the side. It gripped its plug as it started to slide off the Chair. The grab of the plug against its prostate made its cock pulse and get rock hard, standing straight up in hunger.
"Thank You, Sir, for Your attention, Sir," the fagdad moaned. There was a murmur around the basement as the Fratboys saw just how hard they could punch the fagdad. One or two of Them catcalled from the back.
After that, the Fratboys let Their innate cruelty come to the surface. One at a time, punching it hard in the guts, across the face, against its shoulders, anywhere they fucking wanted. One punched it right in the eye, causing its dick to drool like crazy. "Thank You, Sir, for Your attention, Sir."
Another number was called. In the background, the fagdad could hear the grunts and groans of the two boys swallowing load after load of piss. The Fratboys had apparently been drinking awhile already; there was a nearly constant flow of piss into their gagged mouths. The fagdad noticed how the fagboy figured out how to win by literally sucking the piss from the tube. He couldn't see how much piss was in the bucket, but the trembling of the fagboy's legs told him it was already painful.
The fagdad looked up to see Bryce's hateful face full of disgust as His fist batter-rammed its guts. Bryce's punch went in and up, pulling the fagdad hard against the plug, practically ripping it off of it. The fagdad had no choice but to fully clench hard and fast against the plug as it moaned, its lungs forced to drain themselves of air. Whether from the prostate massage or from the viciousness of the attack was anybody's guess, but as would be expected, the fagdad's balls emptied themselves. All over Bryce's arm.
"You fucking bastard faggot. I'm glad I just won. That lets me do this!" Bryce's left arm now hit against the bottom of its chin, pushing its head up and into its Abuser's face.
"And this." Another right, back into the gut, but pushing it down onto the plug, practically splitting the fagdad in two from the assault. Its dick kept throbbing and pouring out juice.
"Jesus, the harder I hit it, the harder it cums. OK, let's fucking empty it out." Then came a volley of punches, all through its body. Chest, gut, face ... it had become a true punching bag for the Master of the frat. The fagdad's orgasm, still in full force, was now becoming less of a physical response and more of an emotional one. It was finding its validation in the abuse, happy in giving this young Man pleasure as His punching bag. Something upon which He could vent all His frustrations.
The fagdad started to moan. "Yes, Sir, thank You, Sir, please, Sir ..." An endless litany of gratitude. All of which urged Bryce to crank up the abuse. His punches got harder and eventually the fagdad could no longer keep balanced on the plug and was lifted off and onto the floor with the force of a single gut punch.
"Unlock the fucking bastard," Bryce ordered. Two of the Fratboys hurried to make it so; nobody had ever seen this side of Bryce and nobody wanted to get in His way.
Since the fagdad was now on the floor, Bryce replaced His fists with His feet, kicking the fagdad over and over in its guts. "I think you should be kissing My goddamn feet, fagdad. After all, they're about to make your nuts empty even more." That was intended as a warning, but the fagdad had no defense as Bryce kicked it squarely in its nads. They seemed to pour out more cum in response as the fagdad moaned in agony and ecstasy. Bryce started to back away, clearing His throat to spit a huge lump on its face. "Pathetic faggot shit." Bryce called out to the room, "anybody seen Tony? He's the only Gamma Tau with a cock worth a damn."
"I'm here, Bryce. What'cha want?"
"I know you only rape a faggot once. You used this one yet?"
"Nope. Ploughed its fagboy, though. You want me to?"
"Have at it, man. Give this faggot something to remember. Once you're done with it, have it kneel, ass in the air, cheeks spread, and beg everyone to enjoy its fuckhole. Everybody hear that? Once Tony's stretched out its throat, you won't want to use that gaping cunt -- but have all the fun you want with its tight wet fag-pussy. All day long." The basement erupted in cheers.
The fagdad crawled toward Tony, who was unleashing a monster cock. The fagdad had never seen a prick so worthy of worship. Whether fagdad was gay or not was irrelevant. This dick demanded attention. Demanded adoration. As the fagdad reverently inched toward the monster, Tony sneered down at it, just as he had at the fratboy weeks ago, "Enjoy this throat rape, faggot. You'll be dreaming about it for the rest of your fucking life."
The fagdad agreed. There was no doubt. It opened its mouth as far as it could and allowed itself to be throat-raped by this beautiful Demon. The harder His mammoth prick rammed into its throat, the deeper the fagdad's submission grew. Its throat was raw and in agony but it knew better than to do anything but surrender. In its brain, the fagdad had become merely a two-ended hole, begging, gasping and grasping to be filled. It remained exactly that for the remainder of the day.