Date: Thu, 4 Oct 2007 10:37:23 -0700 (PDT)
From: Greg Alexander <greg_alexander222@yahoo.com>
Subject: "Frat Boy's Bitch Boy" - Part 7

After another LONG delay, have had a chance to update
this.  More on its way.
Drop me a line at greg_alexander222@yahoo.com to tell
your thoughts on the story.  Suggestions welcome. I
really enjoy hearing from readers.

The following is an original work of fiction that
contains graphic depictions of sexual activity between
males.  All characters are portrayed as being over 18
years of age, as you must be to read this.  If you
aren't,or if such material is offensive to you or
illegal to read where you are, then stop reading.

All rights are reserved by the author.  Please
download for personal use only.


Previously on Frat Boy's Bitch Boy:

With that, he straddled me, so that his muscular frame
loomed over my prostrate tied down body, and his legs
squeezed up against the outsides of my outstretched
arms.  With a cruel recklessness, he lowered himself
heavily onto my forearms.  His bare ass thudded down
onto my elbows, and I winced at the new surge of pain
-- my taut arms, still frozen in place over the stool,
were not equipped to take the full weight of Trevor.

Now his enormous cock was merely inches from my face.
In spite of everything, I found the sight of his fully
erect dick to be even more of a turn-on . . .

"Suck my dick.  Suck my dick, bitch!"

Somehow, fear allowed me to keep servicing Trevor's
cock.  As he thrust back and forth into my mouth -- as
I felt myself on the constant verge of gagging --
Collin attacked in between my toes with relish.

Then, suddenly:

"I'm gonna cum!"  Trevor's whole body stiffened.
"Swallow it, bitch boy!" he shouted at the top of his
lungs.  "Take my fucking load.  Take it all . . ."

"Let me trade with you, man," Collin said.  "Now I'm
fucking horny."

"Alright, alright, in one sec."

Collin shifted impatiently, as he began to unbuckle
his pants.  "Why one sec?"

Trevor was still straddling my arms.  He leaned back,
folded his hands behind his head, and grinned with
relaxation. "Cuz I've had about 5 beers, and now that
I've shot my load, I gotta piss."  He looked straight
at me.  "OK, bitch boy, open your mouth."



Chapter 7


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For the classes, Trevor allowed me to wear actual
clothing, but he and Collin seemed to get a huge kick
out of picking out new outfits for me each day, each
more humiliating and degrading then the last.
Chortling, they would send me out in public in a
bright pink track suit one day, a tight speedo the
next, an all leather oufit after that.  I have no idea
where they dug up this endless parade of bizarre
outfits -- suffice it to say that it took very little
time for me to become the laughingstock of the entire
student body at our college. The classes Trevor was in
-- the big lecture classes, where the jocks tended to
cluster in order to get their easy Bs -- had hundreds
of people.  When Trevor and Collin had picked out an
outfit they were especially proud of, they would
require me to come into class a few minutes late, and
walk slowly to the front of the lecture hall to take
my seat in the front row, just to ensure that everyone
got a chance to see me and snicker.  (Trevor was never
actually there, as he no longer really had to attend
classes since I was doing all his work, but usually
Collin was, and I knew he would report back to Trevor
if I disobeyed even slightly).  On one particularly
memorable occasion, Trevor got one of his budies to
print up a large white T-shirt that had printed on it,
in huge block letters (on both front and back) "ASK ME
ABOUT MY MALE FOOT FETISH."  And there was another
T-Shirt that Trevor made me wear more often than any
of the other outfits -- it was another white one, and
it said on both the front and back, in big letters,
simply "FRAT BOY'S BITCH BOY."  Trevor and Collin both
loved that shirt -- they broke down laughing whenever
they made me put it on.
Ours was a big school.  Still, before long, as I
walked anywhere on campus, I would notice people
staring at me and smirk.  I had become infamous.

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

In addition, just as he promised, Trevor found me a
new student job: as a janitor.  One of Trevor's other
buddies in the frat oversaw the student job program,
and Trevor pulled some strings to make sure I got a
special assignment as the janitor on the west side of
campus in charge of cleaning up toilet overflows.
Because the work was so shitty (literally speaking),
it paid much better than most student jobs -- but that
didn't help me any, since my paychecks disappeared
directly into Trevor's pocket.  Apparently, Trevor
also somehow managed to get word to my boss on the
maintenance staff -- a real dick with a major chip on
his shoulder -- that I had been forced to take the job,
and that quitting would not be an option for me.  My
boss immediately began to treat me like shit as well,
always giving me the absolute worse assignments,
making me work longer hours, and so on.  Not satisfied
to stop even with that amount of abuse, Trevor went
even further; he had my boss keep a running tally of
every clogged up and overflowed toilet I worked on
every time I was on duty, and made me have a dorm
resident fill out a "job completion report" for each
toilet I serviced, detailing whether the toilet had
been fixed and whether I had done an "excellent job."
For every toilet I failed to unclog, Trevor made me
serve again as his toilet slave for the evening,
chaining me up in the bathroom for a few hours and
making me lick the toilet clean after every time he
used it.

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

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



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

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



Late one night, Trevor was playing poker in the
basement of Delta Psi.  Some of his favorite brothers
were there -- in addition to Collin, Reid was there
(Trevor had returned his girl friend's vibrator some
time ago), as well as two more of the frat's most
important brothers: Hank, the cowboy of the group, who
was blond, blue-eyed, from out West, and made a point
of wearing a Stetson and cowboy boots around campus,
and also Bryce.  Bryce was even taller than Trevor or
Collin -- a center on the basketball team, slim but
muscular, he loomed over whoever he happened to share
the room with.  Bryce was as feared as Hank was loved
-- every one knew he was one dude you didn't want to
fuck around with.  He had a reputation for fouling his
opponents on the court, and carrying grudges beyond
the game into parking lots, where he frequently made
players on the opposing team sorry they had ever
crossed him.  Bryce was a mean fucker, no doubt about
it -- he carried around a perpetual mischievous glint
in his eyes, which only deepened whenever he did what
he did best: order around the pledges.  Bryce was
ostensibly the frat's "recruitment director," but
around the house, the pledges  referred to him more
accurately as "the Pledge Master."  The frat's
president was mostly a figurehead.  Everyone knew
Bryce ran the show.

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

"Yo, Trev," Bryce said sharply.  "Stop daydreaming and
bet."

"Sorry," Trevor grunted.  "Uh . . . fuck.  I fold."

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

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

Reid looked annoyed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah, just like your mom, Reid."

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

"Wow," Hank said, taking off his big hat and wiping
his forehead.  "That's pretty messed up."

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

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

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

"Oh come on Trevor.  I don't fucking believe you."

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

And there was an easy alternative.

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

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

"Alright, fine, I'm in," Hank volunteered.

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

"Uh huh.  We'll see about that."  Trevor glanced at
Bryce.  "You in pal?"

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

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



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

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

"I got a different bet," he said, leaning forward.

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

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

Trevor scowled.  "Oh, fucking-A, dude, they're not
gonna . . ."

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

Trevor tapped his foot impatiently.

"We'll take your roommate in.  But you gotta keep him
here for a while."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Alright," Trevor said finally, extending his hand to
Bryce.  "You're on."

They shook.

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



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

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

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

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

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

"OK, slave, I have a job for you today."

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



This pattern continued for the rest of the week.

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

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

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

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

"Huh?" Eric said, confused.

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

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

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

And of course, I was right.



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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

"Oh thank you, thank you," I murmured, pathetically
grateful.

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


I did.

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

I stared at him.  "Huh?" I said, uncomprehending.

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

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

"Oh," I said finally, in a small voice.

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

"Um . . . yeah . . . I mean, yes sir," I said quickly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

"Hello roommate," he said with a grin.

It was Trevor.

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

I stared at him with horror.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bryce spoke again.  "That said, our pledges needed
very little convincing.  I think it's time he meet
them for himself, don't you think Trev?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Drop me a line at greg_alexander222@yahoo.com to tell
your thoughts on the story.  Suggestions welcome. I
really enjoy hearing from readers.