Date: Mon, 6 Dec 2010 14:45:07 -0800 (PST)
From: Vincent Vincent <not_your_typical_master@yahoo.com>
Subject: Fagboy & Fagdad - Part 23

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.