Tim managed to finish his report even though his mind kept wandering back to Bart's visit, and forward to the post-meeting fun time. He printed out the final thoroughly spell-checked version and set it with his books for the morning. Seeing it was 10:30, Tim took a quick shower, brushed his hair, and headed up the stairs, naked as a jaybird, but proud as a peacock. He caught his breath outside the conference room door, then hearing the grandfather clock down the hall toll the hour, he knocked on the door. Tony (big dick Tony) opened the door. He was dressed in jeans, sneakers and a sweatshirt. "Come in, cocksucker!" Tim was taken aback. Ever since his arrival on Saturday, the brothers had been punctilious about calling him by name. None of them had ever used an abusive term for him until now. Then someone inside, George maybe, called out, "Drag the faggot boy in here." And with that, Tony grabbed his naked arm and pulled him in. All the brothers were fully dressed. Tim, alone naked, slowly stumbled forward, and brother after brother started pawing at his ass, even poking wet fingers in his hole. They all had bottles in their hands, swigging beer like it was water, but nobody offered Tim a bottle. Instead they began showering him with all the abusive words he hadn't heard since high school: sissy-cunt, bitch boy, fairy ass. Now in the center of the room, he realized that even his best friend Damon was chiming in, "C'mon, cumbucket, get in here and earn your keep. Come here and let me fuck your faggot fairy face." And with that, he whipped out his familiar tool and stuffed it into Damon's mouth. "Yeah," shouted some of the others.
Tim's head began to spin, but a cock in his mouth was something he knew all about. He tried to ignore the change that had come over the brothers and instead concentrate on what he could do best. Suck cock. He didn't even feel like running out of the room. His avenue of escape was to lose himself in the ecstasy of cocksucking. And this he did. Damon's cock was quickly replaced by another, then another, as the naked houseboy was pushed from one open zipper to the next. At one point, two brothers stuffed both their huge cocks down his throat at once, but Tim could handle even that. He was in his element, -the shock of all this verbal abuse distracted him only from his task of cock identification. He closed his eyes and centered himself totally upon the job of sucking off whatever cock was in his mouth at the time.
Suddenly, he heard Philip shout, "Piss Break."
"Oh come on, Phil," said Pete, - Tim opened his eyes and saw Pete's heart tattoo. "I just got started." But reluctantly he pulled his cock out of Tim's mouth, and two brothers grabbed the naked boy under his armpits and lifted him off the floor. They cupped their free arms under his knees and rushed him into the bathroom, where they set him down in the hot-tub. Tim knelt there while all the brothers surrounded him, pointed their pissers in his direction and let loose all the beer that had been filling their bladders, up to that point. Tim was drenched from head to toe. The brothers zipped up, went back to the conference room and picked up their bottles. Before leaving, Bart handed Tim a towel and whispered, "Remember what I told you."
Tim wiped the piss out of his eyes. What Bart said that afternoon was beginning to make sense. Tim could leave whenever he felt uncomfortable. Tim dried the excess piss off his body before stepping out of the hot-tub, and thought to himself. "Yeah, I could leave. But I'm not really all that uncomfortable. I'm surprised, I'm kinda confused, but I'm actually kind of enjoying this. It's exciting, exhilarating. I've tasted more jizz tonight than all this past year, and now I've been sprayed with their piss. It's sort of an anointing, like they have marked me as their territory. In fact, I'm kind of curious about what other fun these drunken bastards have in store. Tim's hair and chest and face and arms and legs were still matted with drying piss, but he saw that he was not dripping anymore. He could walk out into the conference room without ruining the carpet or the furniture. He would then have a choice to make. Either walk through the room past all the brothers and go back to his hole in the basement, or else return to the middle of the activity and see what happens next. He stepped into the room. Every eye was glued on him. The brothers knew the two options open to him as well as he did. Tim deliberately walked over to the center of the room, climbed up on the pool table, got on all fours and said, "Pete, I believe we were interrupted."
The whole room went wild. They first cheered their houseboy, then invented all kinds of new insults to hurl on him. Pete lost no time in getting his cock back into Tim's mouth. Several times, Tim felt his back end, now raised in the air, spanked. Not the friendly pat that football players give each other after a goal, but a real ass-reddening spank. Tim concentrated again on the succession of manmeat going in and out of his mouth. Several brothers were obviously coming for second and third helpings.
Tim gave up trying to figure out why the house had changed so completely in just a few hours. He decided to just enjoy the moment, and sort out the contradictions tomorrow. Yes, enjoy. For, he was not only enjoying this mantool buffet, but strangely, was even coming to revel in the verbal abuse, and the spankings. As the night wore on, he felt hands tweaking his nipples, pulling at his balls, squeezing his cock and penetrating his asshole, and he relished each new abuse. Every forty or fifty minutes, he was carried back to the hot-tub for another piss break, and each time he returned refreshed, ready to take more humiliation.
After the third piss break, Tim suddenly felt something that brought his mind back to Mr. Foster's office. An anonymous hand was applying some lotion around and into his asshole. Tim continued to suck the cock of the moment. But what he felt next enter his shit chute was no finger. Some brother's thick mantool was making its way deeper into his hole. Tim continued sucking but glanced to his side to see what the other brothers were making out of this. Weren't they shocked seeing their manly hetero brother penetrating their cocksucker's ass? Would they turn in disgust? Would this dishonorable brother be driven from their midst? But as Tim studied their faces, he did not see shock or disgust, but rather wide-eyed wonder, even admiration. "Who the hell is this with his cock fully implanted in my ass," Tim wondered.
"C'mon, give me a turn." Tim recognized Phil's voice.
Tim now heard agitated grunting from his fucker. This brother was beginning to pound his ass with increasing fury. "Hang on, I'm almost there," he murmured. It was Tony's voice. It was Tony's immense tool that had penetrated Tim's hole for only the second time in his life. "Damn, that is one tight manpussy," and with those words he let loose his spunk, filling Tim's caboose. He pulled out and before the hole could close, it was filled with another cock, - Phil's? One after another, the brothers took their turns fucking the cocksucker's asshole while Tim continued to suck another succession on cocks plowing his mouth. He had cocks inserted in every conceivable orifice, like an oversized pincushion.
And so the night continued. At around 3, the brothers began dropping off to bed. Some just fell on the couch where they were and snorted off to sleep. Finally, it was just Tony and Tim. Tony stood up, pulled up his briefs, kicked off his jeans, and announced, "I'm tired. Cocksucker, you got one hell of a hungry asshole. Better get down in your hole where you belong, turd face." And he left.
Tim stumbled down the stairs. He could feel cum dripping down his thighs from his supersaturated hole. His hair and skin were caked with dried piss. His mouth was sore, having been stretched to unimaginable limits. His ass was burning. His nipples, cock and balls all ached. He tumbled onto his cot and fell fast asleep.
In the morning, Tim's alarm went off and he shook himself awake. For someone who hadn't drunk so much as a teaspoon of beer, his head was still viciously throbbing. He was intoxicated, but not with alcohol. He was drunk on the elixir of life, mad erotic sexual lust.
As his mind began to clear, he saw the report positioned on his books and realized he still had to get to class. He took a brisk shower, scrubbing every inch of his abused body with a loofah. He dressed quickly, and hustled off to class, trying to walk steady, or at least not appear too unsteady.
When he came back to the house, some of the brothers were eating lunch. Tim sat in the kitchen and Ramon handed him his meal. Tim was of course thinking about these brothers, the abusive gang raping sons of bitches from the previous night, when George came into the kitchen and patted Tim on the shoulder. "Hi, Tim," he said and left.
Then Pete came in. "Good morning, Tim," even though it was well past noon. "How's my good man?"
Philip was next, and then several of the others. Each one came in, addressed the houseboy by his name, spoke to him politely, calmly and with respect, and left. Nobody referred to the night before, and there were certainly no apologies.
After lunch, Tim began cleaning up the conference room. He picked Tony's jeans up off the floor, got a big plastic lawnbag for all the beer bottles, scrubbed a few visible spots off the pool table (jizz? piss? beer?), and tried to sort out what had happened. They called it game night. So this was all a game they were playing. They gave him every opportunity to get out of the game at any point, unlike the vicious dodge ball games in high school that never offered a way out. This was a role playing game. He had been assigned the role of the faggot boy who needed to be taught his lesson. Well, shit, who else in the house could play that role. They had assumed the roles of homophobic gang rapists. And as it turned out, all those in the game, Tim included, had enjoyed it immensely. All played their parts to the hilt. Just as in football, all the players gave 110% to the game. Now, though, the game was over. Tim was again the dutiful houseboy, and the brothers were, well, the brothers. And it served no purpose to remind these hetero masculine studs how much enjoyment they were getting from man-to-man sex.
As if to confirm this conclusion, or else simply to test Tim's reaction on behalf of the house, Luke rang Tim's phone later that afternoon. "Could you please come to my room, Tim? There's something I need you for." Luke's words were soft-spoken and kindly. It was a simple request, the kind that Tim had become used to getting prior to 11 last night. It was as if those four hours of game night had never occurred.
Tim went upstairs to Luke's room. He was alone. "Thank you for coming so promptly, Tim. The brothers really appreciate all that you do for us. We'd like you to know that."
Tim nodded, and then, trying not to look wary (or weary), asked, "What can I do for you, Luke?"
Luke smiled, not a vicious sneer or any kind of expression that indicated malicious intent, but a simple sincere smile of one friend to another. "If you please, you can give me a blow job."
Damn, the brother even said please. Of course Tim would be pleased. This was one of the pictures he had yet labeled. Of course, he had no doubt sucked Luke off the night before, and probably been fucked by him too, but that was during the mad fervor of an orgy. Now it was just the two of them alone in a room. No one egging anyone on. Luke simply wanted his poor cock, no doubt overworked from last night, massaged by Tim's comforting lips.
Tim smiled and knelt down. Luke opened his trousers and let them drop. He wasn't wearing undies. Tim studied this new specimen and immediately knew it was the bottom row, fourth picture from the right. Tim took it in his mouth and gave Luke the most intense, most prolonged oral sex of his life. (The reader can decide who `his' refers to. The writer isn't sure.)
The weekly schedule was thus determined. Saturday night was for the girls, so Tim would disappear. Wednesday night was men-only, so Tim would be the center of attention. All week, there was nothing but respect for the houseboy. If anyone had any complaint (which was doubtful), or harbored any antigay feelings (which was possible), he kept those to himself all week. He knew that on Wednesday night, he'd be able to voice any pent-up resentment with no retribution. He knew that the houseboy would continue to be his dutiful self come Thursday morning.
For Tim's part, Wednesday nights became therapeutic. He hardly ever slipped up on any important tasks around the house, but occasionally he might not see a spent condom thrown behind a brother's desk on Saturday night, until say the following Tuesday. Or he might open a door to clean a room and accidentally encounter two brothers doing something indiscreet. Tim was never reprimanded for these slips. He didn't need to be told when he failed to do his duties perfectly. But deep inside, he still wanted to be punished for them, and he took the weekly game night abuse as more than adequate justice. The repeated piss baths were especially cathartic.
Weeks lengthened into months. Rush week came and went. From the crop of rushees, the brothers selected eight whom they felt had the potential to pledge. These were put through the usual paces, washing the brothers' cars, painting the shingles, mowing the lawn. But Tim found that they were even assigned some of his duties like picking up the messes around the house. Tim realized his work load had gotten slightly lighter. Ironically, these future brothers were at the moment helping him. Tim made himself scarce when the pledges were in the house. The few times they did see him seemed to confuse them, especially Eddie, who had lived on his floor back at the dorm. No matter, - when they come into the house, they will learn what Tim's doing there.
Neil came to Tim one Wednesday afternoon and said "We won't be having Game Night tonight."
"How come?" Tim tried not to appear too disappointed.
"Tonight is the Measuring Up ceremony for the pledges." So, the rumors were true. The skinny dipping session last Sunday in the pool out back must have served an ulterior purpose, allowing the brothers to size up these pledges' assets. Now they would have to prove that the brothers' assessment was well founded. "We want you to witness the ceremony, Tim." Tim could hardly believe it. He was being given permission to view an ultra-secret holy rite. "Of course, you will have to stay in the shadows, out of sight."
"Yes, Sir, of course, Neil."
"OK. Come up at 11 as usual, but do not knock. We'll leave the door ajar. Simply slip in and sidle over to a dark corner. You can't make a sound."
"Yes, Sir."
Neil turned and headed out under the sheet. "Oh, and Tim." Tim turned his head and anxiously waited to hear this next bit of news, whatever it would be. "Wear clothes!"
"Yes, Sir."
That night, Tim dressed but carefully chose his wardrobe, being overly conscious of any noises his clothes might make. He tested several pairs of shoes and finally opted for his slippers. His jeans were well worn, much quieter than his stupid corduroys. He climbed the stairs softly and at 11 slipped through the door, ajar as promised. The pledges were in the center of the room, the pool table having been moved to one side. They were blindfolded, and stood in a circle facing out. The brothers were sitting in a circle of chairs around them. The only light that was lit was the one that illuminated the now absent pool table. It had been raised on its chains so that the pledges (tall athletic men all) could stand beneath its heat. The brothers were bathed in the green aura of the glass shade. It was easy for Tim to find an absolutely black corner.
Damon was reading the pledges ritual. And the pledges were responding at correct intervals with precisely worded refrains. They had obviously worked to memorize their parts. Then Damon said, "There is one final phase to your initiation. We must determine if you truly are men in every sense of the word, if you have been endowed with what it takes to be Iota Omicron Kappa men. We must see if you," he paused, "measure up."
The pledges of course had heard the rumors also and had no doubt been spending the weeks prior with a ruler insuring that they wouldn't fail this final test. George spoke next, "Pledges drop trou." As one, all eight boys opened their jeans and let them fall around their ankles. None were wearing any undies. They had probably been told how to dress.
Luke gave the next order, "Pledges commence jerkoff." Immediately sixteen hands began furiously beating their eight monkeys, choking their eight chickens. Tim could see that the brothers were all grinning; some were even massaging their own crotches. Tim certainly was. However, no one spoke or made any auditory reaction. The only sound in the room was that of stiffening cock, as the slurping noises of precum gradually filled the air, and a few blindfolded boys couldn't help but release quiet moans as they masturbated for the brothers.
One of the pledges suddenly stopped and announced, "I'm ready Sir." He placed his hands behind his bare ass and his cock stood erect, curving toward the green light.
Neil brought the official IOK ruler over to this boy, placed its zero end on the junction of shaft and pubes. Then he pressed the curved shaft against the straight ruler in order to give the boy every possible advantage, and carefully read the result. "Ten and seven eighths inches." The brothers finally made some noise as a rumble of approval went around the circle. Jake took a photograph of this long tool, and then winked over at the darkened corner where he knew Tim was standing. This element had obviously been added to the ceremony this year for Tim's benefit, for his wall of inspiration. Neil escorted the relieved pledge out of the lit circle, the boy trying desperately to look manly walking with his pants around his ankles. Still blindfolded but now out of the glaring light and heat, the boy, no longer the focus of the brothers' attention could allow his cock to go flaccid or beat it off until it cummed. The choice was his to make. Jake handed him a cum rag regardless.
Shortly after, another pledge announced that he was ready. He measured eleven and one quarter. The third was ten and a quarter. Each one was greeted with tempered approval by the brothers, and each was recorded by Jake's camera. Each was escorted out of the spotlight, and each showed obvious relief that it was over. Most simply let their tools go limp, but a couple who were caught up in the moment filled their cum rags.
Finally, only one boy was left under the light. Poor Eddie was having wood problems. As much as he tried, his dick, though certainly impressive, would not develop its full potential. Several times, Eddie started to put his hands behind his back and begin the announcement, "Sir . . ." but each time he thought better of it and resumed his mad jerking. The brothers could see tears beginning to escape the blindfold, but rather than mock this evidence of weakness, they seemed to take pity on the boy. They liked Eddie. He was a strong, tall basketball player. He showed a lot of IOK spirit. And all the brothers knew his cock was definitely ample.
Damon got up and came over to Tim. Placing his finger over his mouth, he motioned to Tim to come with him into the center of the room. He placed his hand on Eddie's shoulder and said, "OK, Eddie, let go of your cock." Eddie felt his dreams of being an IOK had just been dashed. The other pledges, who up to that point had no idea who the lone holdout was, quietly gasped. The possibility of not measuring up was not hypothetical. Any one of them could have had a bad night. They liked Eddie as much as the brothers. But they knew rules were rules. Damon motioned to Tim to kneel, and then whispered in Eddie's ear, "This is what's known as a fluffer." With those words, Eddie suddenly felt his shaft engulfed in a large moist mouth. He was being sucked by a human penis pump. Eddie had no idea what to think. Certainly none of the brothers would stoop so low as to become cocksuckers. If that were so, Eddie had misgivings about joining. And supposedly there were no girls at this ceremony. If this was some girl he knew, he would never be able to face her again. Oh, the humiliation. Just then he remembered. "The faggot boy. The freak who used to live on my dorm floor. Yeah, I've seen him around the house. The faggot boy is the fluffer. And hell he's helping me get into this house." With that realization, Eddie worked with Tim. He let Tim suck him like a bissell. He felt his cock becoming engorged, the blood filled tissue straining at the sides of his shaft. Tim didn't do anything but suck, no licking, no slurping, no tongue flitting. What was needed here was enlargement pure and simple, not delightful sensual feelings. Not orgasmic rapture. Just enlargement. And enlargement was produced by straight sucking. Tim and Eddie could both tell when the maximum had been accomplished. Tim pulled back and Eddie shouted, "Sir, I'm ready!"
When Neil announced, "twelve and one eighth inches," the entire room cheered. Quickly, Jake snapped the picture. Eddie stood there under the light, shaking like a leaf but grinning from ear to ear. With his hands he began feeling around for his fluffer, but Tim, his work completed, had already slipped out of the room and down to the basement. The other seven pledges had no idea what had accomplished Eddie's miracle rise, but they were equally relieved. All eight would now enter the house as one pledge class. The brothers guided the boys back into the center of the room, and positioned them in a line according to cock length. Eddie was at the far end. They told them to lift up their pants, and remove their blindfolds, and then one by one each brother shook the hand of each pledge.
In his hole, Tim studied his wall of inspiration. Only two pictures were still unidentified. But soon eight more pictures will be on his wall. He went to sleep, totally satisfied, even though he didn't have his weekly game night. He had served his purpose well that evening as the official IOK cocksucker.
The pledges were not allowed to move into the house until the third trimester of the year. Until then, they could attend certain house functions like the Saturday night open houses. And their names were added to the duties roster for tasks like shoveling snow. Each time Eddie came over, he would look for the cocksucker, wanting to express his gratitude to him, but Tim purposely stayed out of sight, and eventually Eddie stopped trying.
Wednesday Game Night was strictly for the brothers. The pledges could not attend until they were living in the house.