Date: Wed, 26 Dec 2007 22:07:11 -0800 (PST)
From: Greg Alexander <greg_alexander222@yahoo.com>
Subject: "Frat Boy's Bitch Boy" - Part 8

 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.

Chapter 8

I was so scared I could have shit my pants.  There I
was, bound, gagged and completely helpless, at the
mercy of a bunch of muscular frat jocks who at this
moment had every reason to hate me, and every motive
to extract their revenge.  All I could do is crane my
neck and stare up at them, a desperate pleading look
in my eyes, as the row of pledges stared back at me,
distinctly unforgiving smirks on each of their faces.

"Remember," Trevor was saying to them, as they all
looked down at me, none of them taking their eyes off
of me, "the little shit bag has pictures on his hard
drive of all of you naked, elephant walking around the
basement of this fraternity.  Little creep likes to
sneak in here and take pictures of us late at night.
Don't ask me how.  Now, pledges, it is up to us, the
brothers of Delta Psi, to scare the cocksucker
straight."

The pledges were nodding enthusiastically at this.

Jared, the blond young guy working for the bookstore,
spoke up.  "This guy's a total dick, anyway.  He's the
one who almost got me fired from work the other day!"

Shane, the waiter I had yelled at and refused to tip,
murmured his agreement. "Yeah!  He was a total asshole
to me at the restaurant the other night too!"

"He fucking ruined my laptop and said it was my
fault!" Cliff said.

"I was on a hot date with Emily and  the little fag
called me gay!" Eric shouted.

"So . . ." Bryce said, after a moment's silence.
"Pledges . . . for the last several months, you have
undergone the often rigorous and occasionally hellish
process Delta Psi requires all of its entering
brothers to undergo.  Well, now, you have just about
made it through, and the tables are turned.  This is
your final test as a pledge class.  This fucker has
gone way beyond the bounds of what is acceptable.  No
one treats members of our frat this way.  So. . . what
are you going to do about it?"

Another pregnant pause.  Shane spoke up now.  He was
short, had jet black hair, and like every other boy in
the room, had a muscular athletic build that made me
emphatically not want to mess around with him.    "I
think we should make him beg a little bit first," he
said.

The other boys seemed to like the suggestion.
Grinning broadly, the pledges surrounded me, so that I
lay there, bound, on the floor in the center of a
circle of alpha males that were forming eagerly around
me.

One of them roughly yanked the duct tap away from my
mouth and pulled my saliva-soaked sock gag out.

"Alright, Steve . . ." one of the pledges began.

"I told you," Bryce rumbled from the side of the room,
his underlying tone threatening.  "That is NOT his
name."

The pledge grinned again.  They were loving this.
"Alright . . . BOY" he said loudly.  "What do you have
to say for yourself?"

My voice trembled.  "Please . . . I'm sorry," I
whimpered.  "Don't hurt me!"

"Do you admit to breaking and entering our house and
taking pictures of us during hellweek . . . BOY?"
another pledge shouted into my ear.

I hesitated for a second.  Off to the side, I could
see Trevor and Bryce, leaning against the wall. Trevor
fixed me with a death stare.  I gulped.  "Yes, I do.
I'm sorry.  It was a terrible mistake."

The pledge who had asked the question bent over still
further and screamed into my ear "IS THAT HOW YOU
ADDRESS ME???"

"Sir, no sir!" I exclaimed automatically.

"WHY did you do it, FAGGOT?" another of the pledges
loudly demanded of me.

Again, I could feel Trevor's glare boring into my
skull.  I felt like I could almost hear his voice . .
. you better be pretty fucking convincing cocksucker .
. .

I had become nothing if not a good actor.  "I did it
because I wanted to see all of you naked . . . sir," I
grunted miserably.  "I did it because I wanted to . .
. ah . . . jerk off to pictures of you all holding
each others' dicks late at night, sir."

The pledges snickered at that.

"Trevor said you were going to email the pictures out
to five hundred other students, you lying sack of
shit!" one shouted.

"I was . . . um . . . considering it . . ."

Shane, who seemed to be emerging as a sort of
unofficial ring-leader of the pledges, and certainly
seemed to have the most intense, malicious look in his
eye of any of them, cut in.  "I've fucking heard
enough!" he said.  "I say we give the pathetic little
shit head one chance ^Ö exactly one chance ^Ö to beg us
for mercy before we get to work."

There were grunts of agreement from the other boys.

"Alright," Shane said, staring down on my tied up
body. "BEG!"

I stared at him, so taken aback for a moment that I
could do nothing but stare.

Suddenly Shane kicked me, hard.  I groaned.  "BEG!!!"
he roared.

"Please sir," I said quickly, gasping form the pain.
"Please, I'm very sorry about everything.  Please, I'm
begging you, please, go easy on me."

"Not nearly good enough, faggot," one of the other
pledges snarled from beside me.  "Beg harder, you
fucker!"

"This is your last chance to say anything to us other
than `yes sir,' `no sir,' and `thank you, sir, I'd
like more, sir,'" a third pledge giggled.  "I'd make
it pretty convincing!"

"Please, master pledges," I cried, wheeling around in
a circle on my hands and knees, "please, I'm BEGGING
you, go easy on me.  I know I don't deserve your
mercy.  I am just a poor pathetic faggot.  I am not
worthy of you.  I am not even worthy of your toe lint.
 But I beg you to please go easy on me anyway."

The pledges were chortling gleefully.

"What a pathetic fucking cocksucker," one of them
said.

"Oh and hey!  Look at that.  He's hard!"

It was true.  Once again, my dick betrayed me: locked
within the steel confines of my new cruel chastity
device, it was hard as a rock and drooling precum, as
agonizingly unreachable as ever.

This only made the pledges laugh harder.  "He likes
this.  He fucking likes this," one of them shouted.

They pressed on.  "Not worthy of our toe lint, huh?"
one of them said.  "Maybe you should try kissing our
feet.  Maybe if you do that, and beg for mercy, we'll
feel like being lenient."

"I like it!" the one named Cliff said.  I saw him
reaching for his athletic tennis shoes, as though to
untie them.

"Dude, make him take off your shoes with his teeth,"
Shane suggested helpfully.

The shoes appeared in front of my face.  "You heard
the man," Cliff said.  "Unlace my shoes, bitch."

I scooted myself forward and took hold of his dirty
shoe laces between my teeth.  As I pulled, the knot
got tangled.  The shoe tapped impatiently.

"Hurry the fuck up, slave," one of the pledges said.

I got the laces untied, with much effort.  Cliff
promptly took off his shoe and kicked the heal back
against my head, hard, using my skull as a convenient
shoe horn.  His shoe popped off, and he did the same
thing on the other side.  I winced.

Now I was staring at his dirty sweat socks.  Even
before he barked out the fresh order, I had leaned out
to bite down on the smelly sock and remove each, one
by one.  I was now staring at the toes of his bare
feet; and the smell, I suddenly realized, was
overpowering.  Far stronger than for even for Trevor
or Collin. . .

Cliff planted his foot squarely on my face and pressed
down, hard.  The smell of his sweaty feet almost
knocked me out.  "Beg me," he said, with a grin.
"Lick my feet, and beg me."

"Please sir, I'm sorry I spilled water on your laptop,
sir!" I blubbered pathetically as I licked the sock
lint away from in between his toes.  "Please, sir,
please have some pity for me."

His foot mashed down on my face with greater pressure,
to the point where I could hardly breath.  "Are you a
fucking fag, fag?" Cliff asked.  He was obviously
really enjoying his revenge . . . or at least, I
thought grimly, the start of it.

"Yes," I managed to squeak.


"What's that, fag?" Shane shouted down at me.

"I'm a fag, sir!"

"WHAT KIND OF FAG??" he bellowed.

"I'm a fucking fag, sir!!  A dirty, lowly fucking fag!
Sir!"

>From the corner of the room, Trevor, who had been
observing the unfolding drama with detached interest,
finally interjected.  "Well, Pledges," he said.  "We
got it straight from the horse's mouth.  He's a dirty,
lowly fucking fag. Now the question you boys are going
to answer is this: are you men enough to dole out the
punishment he so richly deserves?"



The pledges, along with Trevor, Bryce, Collin, Reid,
Hank and several other brothers, all left me alone in
the room for about a half hour, still of course naked
and completely tied up.  Outside, I thought I could
hear them laughing as they continued to hatch their
plans for me.

Finally, the pledges came back into the basement.
Four of them picked me up, each one lifting a corner
of me, as though I was a sack of potatoes.  Laughing,
they trooped up a flight of stairs, then out through a
back door into what I understood to be the Frat
House's back yard. It was fenced in.  I had lost track
of time down in the basement, but it was already
basically dark outside.

I was set down on the flat wooden porch, belly down,
so that I was staring down at the yard below me.
Unsurprisingly for a frat house, it was not a very
well kept yard; there was some grass, but mostly it
was just a very large area of dirt.

"Alright," said Shane, who had clearly emerged as the
pledge ring-leader.  "Let's get things ready for the
faggot."

Grinning, the frat boys formed a line along the porch,
facing toward the dirt covered ground.  One by one, I
saw them unbuckle their belts, drop their pants,
remove their dicks from their underwear, and take
steady aim.  As the brothers hooted and hollered them
on in the background, the pledges began to release
steady yellow streams of piss, which cascaded down
onto the dirt like rows of yellow waterfalls.

In no time at all, the row of frat boys had
transformed the dirt below into a muddy mass of dirty,
piss-made puddles.  As the piss continued to shoot out
into fountain-like spurts, the puddles began to run
together.

Apparently it wasn't enough.  The first two pledges
who finished wagged their dicks to shake off the last
few drops of piss, zipped up their flies, and
grinning, headed back into the house.  They returned
carrying a big, classic silver keg.  As one of the
pledges began to pump it, the other one took the
nozzle in hand and, after a moment, began to spray the
keg's contents out into the yard . . . even as the
other pledges were just finishing up pissing and
zipping their flies.

I lay there and watched.  At first, as the liquid shot
out from the keg's hose into the dirt below, I assumed
it was the same cheap college beer you get in most
frat kegs.  Why were they shooting perfectly good (or
at least barely drinkable) beer out into the their
yard?

Then, suddenly, I had a horrible feeling that it
wasn't beer.

Standing off to the side, Trevor was watching me with
interest.  He seemed to be reading my mind.  "In case
you're wondering, slave, we made that keg special for
you."

Some of the pledges standing nearby snickered.  As I
studied the keg, and watched the stream continuing to
jet out of its nozzle, I realized that it was more
piss.

It was an entire keg full of piss.

"We took the thing apart and had our pledges pissing
in it non-stop for the last week," Bryce grunted in
explanation.  "Alright, boys.  Don't use it all.  We
gotta save some for later."

The two pledges working the keg finally stopped
pumping it.  As I surveyed the ground below, it looked
to me like the yard had been practically flooded with
piss; the whole area around the frat house porch had
turned into a slippery, muddy sea.  It would have been
unappealing enough if it had been ordinary mud, but I
know how the mud was made, and it smelled especially
foul.

"Get him ready," Bryce said, with a grin.

The pledges, led by Shane, came over to my bound body
and picked me roughly up off the porch.  I could feel
one of them fumbling with my bondage.  As I was held
up in the air by 10 different sets of hands, I felt my
wrists being un-handcuffed from behind my back, and
then re cuffed out in front of me.  Now I was tied up,
once again, superman-style, with my body stretched out
straight, and my ankles and wrists tied tightly
together.  Of course, I was still totally naked.  I
wondered darkly, for a moment, how many different
positions I had been tied up in naked over the last
few weeks.  Certainly too many to count . . .

The pledge Cliff grabbed a dog collar from somewhere
and snapped it around my neck; it was tight and felt
constraining.  To one side, I could see another pledge
attaching a very long leash to the collar.

"Alright," I heard Shane say, as he and the other
pledges grabbed a hold of me.  "Your punishment begins
now."

"We're about to play a little game," Jared offered by
way of explanation.  "It's really fun.  You'll see."

"What's the game called?" another pledge asked, egging
him on.

"Um. . . how `bout `bitch boy mud ride?'"

All the pledges chuckled at that.

"I got a better idea," Cliff said.  "How `bout frat
boy foot board?'"

More laughter.

"And you better not make a fucking sound," Shane told
me sternly.  "If you wake up the neighbors, you'll be
awfully fucking sorry.  OK, ready boys?" Shane flashed
another of his big, sadistic grins. "1 . . .2 . . ."

On the count of 3, I felt myself swung back, and
suddenly hurled forward as the pledges released me all
at once.  I went flying through the air, and it was
all I could do not to scream with terror.  I
belly-flopped down onto the ground about 10 to 15 feet
away from the edge of the porch, in the middle of the
big pool of piss soaked mud they had just created.
The wind was knocked completely out of me, and I
grunted with pain.

I lay there for a moment, trying to recover my breath,
my body aching from the impact.  I was face down in
the piss soaked mud.

"Get the little bitch back over here!" I heard one of
the frat boys shout eagerly from the porch.

Suddenly, I coughed and gasped for breath as I felt
myself being dragged through the filthy mud by my neck
collar.  I sputtered and tried to avoid swallowing any
of the dirt.  It took me a second to realize that my
tormentors had held onto the other end of the leash,
and were using it to tow me back across the muddy dirt
yard.  By the time I got there, my total naked
underside was a muddy mess.

I looked up to see Trevor standing there on the edge
of the porch, looming over me.  "OK, slave," he said.
"I'm gonna show you how this is done."

He untied his tennis shoes, kicked them to one side,
and pulled off his sweat-soaked athletic socks, so
that he was standing there with just his familiar to
me by now bare feet. Then, without warning, he jumped
down from the porch and landed squarely on my naked
back.  I grunted with pain as he landed with a solid
thunk, my body completely absorbing the weight of his
feet as he planted them on me.

"Alright, bitch boy," Trevor said.  "Now.  Take me to
the edge of the yard, and back.  Do it fast.  And it
better be a smooth fucking ride, or you get punished."

I would have stared at him incredulously, if my face
hadn't been planted in the mud at that moment.  I
would have thought it would have been impossible to
feel any lower, any more humiliated and degraded, then
I had been already.  But I had once again
underestimated the sadistic creativity of Trevor and
his frat buddies.

I could hear the frat boys taunting me from the porch.


"What are you waiting for, you slow poke cock sucker?"

"Ride that bitch, Trev!  Show him how it's done!"

I could feel Trevor's sweaty foot tapping impatiently
on my back.  Hastily, before he could decide to order
me to do anything further, I began to wriggle and
writhe my way forward, on my belly, through the mud,
with Trevor on board riding me the way a surfer rides
his surfer board.  His weight ground me down into the
muck.  Moving every inch was exhausting.  With my
wrists and ankles tied together, there was a limit to
fast I could move . . .  and it didn't seem nearly
fast enough for Trevor.  He barked at me: "you're
gonna have to go faster than this!"

Somehow I made it all the way to the edge of the yard
with Trevor standing on my back.  He had demonstrated
a remarkable balance so far, maintaining a firm
toe-hold on my back.  But now . . .

"OK, turn around, bitch boy, and take me back to the
porch.  Do it fucking fast!" Trevor barked.

Wincing, I managed to wheel myself 180 degrees.  But I
somehow managed to do it jerkily enough that Trevor
slipped a bit to one side and stumbled.  He recovered
quickly, but not before both of his bare feet had been
immersed in the mud.

The mass of frat boys congregating on the porch roared
their emphatic disapproval.  "You clumsy fucking
cunt," Trevor grunted. "You're gonna get it for that.
Alright, here's the rule.  Every time you let someone
fall off your back, you have to give us 10 pushups,
right there in mud, before you can go on.  So fuckin'
give me 10!"

For good measure, Trevor planted one of his filthy
mud-covered feet on my back, and kept it fixed firmly
there as he made me count out push-ups one at a time.

Each time I touched my nose to the muddy ground, I
could hear the frat boys counting out loudly: "one . .
. two . . . three. . ."

"Faster, you cunt!" Trevor roared above the noise.
"And keep your fucking backside straight!"  With my
wrists stuck together, my body planted there in the
slippery mud, it was harder than ever for me to
execute the pushups up gracefully and with the good
form Trevor would demand.

When I completed the 10, Trevor kicked me in the side
with his muddy bare foot, then immediately hopped back
on top of my back, once again shoving me deeper into
the mud with the weight of his body.  "Now go, you
maggot.  Get us back to the porch!  And just so we're
clear: you're being timed!"

I writhed my way forward, back toward the back porch
of the frat house, as the frat boys standing there
loudly cheered Trevor on (I could hear masculine
chants of "Trevor!  Trevor! Trevor!")  Sure enough, as
I glanced up through my mud-coated vision, I could see
Collin standing there with a stopwatch in his hand.

Trevor balanced on me like a pro.  Of course, now that
he had actually stepped in the mud, I could feel that
his feet were muddy and slippery, making his grip all
the more precarious.

Finally, I made it back to the porch, feeling worn
out, my muscles aching, every inch of me covered in
vile mud.  It was everywhere: all over my body,
smeared throughout my hair, and since I was totally
naked, it had even penetrated into my ass crack and
had gotten inside my cock cage (wearing the cock cage
made sliding along in the mud on my belly that much
harder).

As Trevor hopped up from my back and planted his
behind on the porch, I thought my ordeal was over. I
should have known better.

"Don't stop the clock yet Col," Trevor said.  "We got
one more critical step."  He stared down at me. "The
little fucker made me step in the mud. Not OK.  The
ride's not ever until the bitch boy has licked my feet
totally clean."

I groaned inwardly as Trevor presented me with the
filthy undersides of his feet.  But of course I
immediately began to lick them totally clean.  What
else could I do?  As I licked, the frat boys standing
around Trevor whooped and cheered, laughing at my
total, utter and complete degredatation.  I realized
that a party seemed to have started up ^Ö someone had
busted out some raucus music on an ipod and speakers,
and everyone seemed to be holding a beer in hand as
they stood or sat there and watched me.  It WAS a
party, I thought, and I was the principal
entertainment.

"What do you say???" Shane, the ring leader of the
pledges, hollered at me.

I hesitated for a second.  "Thank you, sir!" I said
quickly to Trevor, as I licked mud from off his feet.


"Thank you for what?" Trevor pressed, smirking at me.

"Thank you . . . for . . . allowing me to serve as
your frat boy foot board . . . sir," I stammered as I
lay there, licking, trying to come up with something
that would seem appropriately slavish.

Trevor made me lick his feet for over 5 minutes, while
the other frat boys milled around and drank beer.
Licking feet clean in fact seemed to present an
unusual challenge for me; my face was so filthy, and
so fully covered in grimy mud, that I had to be
careful not to touch my face to the soles of Trevor's
feet, lest I undo my work.

After a while, I pulled away, thinking I had
adequately licked the mud away.  But Trevor stretched
his foot out toward one of the pledges and ordered the
pledge to examine it.

"Definitely still some dirt caked on there, Trev," the
pledge said with a grin.

Moving swiftly and suddenly, Trevor brought his foot
back down on my upturned face lying in the mud, HARD.
I groaned as his sole made contact, scrunching my nose
downward.  "Keep licking, you fucking bitch," Trevor
hissed. I did.  This time I didn't dare to stop until
his soles were totally spotless.

Then, without warning, Bryce stepped forward, holding
a big portable chalk board that had printed on it, in
capital letters, "BITCH BOY DEMERITS."

"OK, bitch boy." Bryce said.  "This is a crucial part
of the evening."  His broad smirk betrayed a sadistic
glee that arguably surpassed even Trevor and Shane's.
"Definitely some demerits we need to allocate there."
He turned to Collin.  "How long was he?"

"Are we including the whole time it took him to clean
Trevor's feet?"

"Of course."

Collin glanced at his stop watch.  "I have him down at
11 minutes and 20 seconds."

Bryce shook his head.  "Too fucking bad.  That's
pretty fucking slow . . . don't you boys think?"

He was facing the pledges now.  They nodded, eager.

"Way too slow," Shane agreed.

"How fast do you think we should expect our mud board
to be?" Bryce asked.

"I'd say 5 minutes, at the most," said Jared, as he
took another chug from his beer.

"Faster," suggested Eric.  "4 minutes."

"Why make it easy on him?" Shane asked, chugging down
his beer too.  "Three minutes."

There were murmurs of agreement as the other pledges
settled on Shane's time.

"OK," Bryce said.  "Rounding up, that means he was 9
minutes too slow.  We'll call the first minute one
extra demerit, the second one two, and every minute
after that three.  So . . . that's a total of 24
demerits."  He took a marker and marked out 24 dashes,
separated into blocks of five, on the white board, as
I lay there watching.  When he had finished, he
glanced down at me.  "Believe me, faggot, you want to
keep your demerit tally as low as possible.  Let's
just say that getting rid of the demerits you earn
tonight . . . well, isn't gonna be nearly as easy as
earning `em."

There were scattered knowing snickers from the crowd
of frat boys watching me on the porch. I had a bad,
bad feeling about those demerits, I realized suddenly,
and urgently wanted to avoid receiving any more.

Trevor was still sitting there on the porch.  "Just so
we're clear," he said.  "If the frat boy who is riding
you for any reason loses his footing at some point and
steps in the mud, like I did, then it's your
responsibility to completely clean his feet off at the
end of the ride with his tongue.  That's gonna
massively add to your total time, because you gotta
stop to do pushups, and then stop at the end to lick
his feet clean.  And of course, that means more
demerits.  And Bryce is right.  Trust us: you don't
want to earn demerits."

"Ok," Bryce said with a grin.  "Who wants to go next?"

Shane, the apparent ringleader of the pledges, had
been sitting with a beer in one hand and a cigarette
in the other, but at these words he jumped up.  "It's
all me," he said.  "I'm gonna show y'all how this is
fucking done."

Like Trevor before him, he kicked off his sneakers,
peeled off his sweaty sport socks, then suddenly
bounded off the side of the porch, his muscular mass
landing squarely on my midsection as he planted the
soles of his feet firmly on my back with all the skill
of an Olympic gymnast.  Totally winded, I shouted out
in pain.  I felt like I'd just taken a body blow.

"Alright, footboard, let's go," Shane said with  a
smirk,  prodding my naked ass with his toe.  "Ya
better beat Trevor's time, or I'll make you sorry you
didn't!"



I did beat Trevor's time.  Shane was an adroit
athlete, and he managed to not to fall off my body
once during the ride, so I made it back with only a
few demerits.


After that, things went downhill.  None of the other
frat boys could match Shane's coordination, athletic
though they all were.  I think the beer probably
didn't help much.  The upshot was that Wes, Cody,
Eric, Jared, Cliff, Reid, Collin and Hank, as well as
several other pledges and brothers, all planted at
least one foot in the mud in an effort to maintain
balance, and all made me lick their feet clean
afterward, massively increasing my overall demerit
score.  As the number of pushups I had to do mounted,
and as I continued to give "frat boy foot board" mud
rides, the muscles in my body began to ache terribly,
and I got more and more tired of moving.

As the frat continued to guzzle beer and generally
party as I continued to slave away as its foot board,
the boys also continued to "water" the backyard with
streams of frat boy piss.  Some of them waited until I
was back by the porch, licking someone's feet clean as
fast as I could, before they let loose a stream of
piss and drenched me with it, prompting the frat to
break out in peels of laughter.

Bryce went last, and he was by far the worst.  By that
point he had already had several beers.  I watched as
he pulled off his shoes and stripped off his sweat
drenched socks.  I had seen so many frat boy feet up
close at this point that you would have thought I
would be immune by now, but I wasn't: Bryce Adams had
the absolutely most irresistible male feet I had ever
seen.  They were perfect: smooth, tanned, enormous,
muscular.  As I stared at them, I felt my cock getting
even harder, and drooling even more pre cum then it
usually did.

Bryce saw me looking at his feet, and smirked.  "You
like `em, slave?" he asked.

I stammered, not knowing what to day.

"I asked if you liked my feet," Bryce said, his voice
darkening.

"Yes sir, I do," I said quickly.

"Good," Bryce said.  "This ride is gonna be a little
bit different, bitch boy.  Flip your body over."

With effort, I managed to roll myself over, so that my
back was now in the mud, and my filthy muddy underside
was now pointed up toward Bryce.

Bryce stepped down ontop of me, like everyone else
already had, but with my frontside now up, he planted
one smelly athletic foot on my chest, and the other
firmly on my muddy face.  Now his foot was pressing
down on my nose and my face ^Ö and it hurt!

"Alright, bitch boy, give me a mud ride . . . on your
back!" Bryce commanded.

There were cheers of approval at this.  If moving
through the mud with my wrists and ankles bound had
been hard before, now it was just plain impossible.  I
tried to propel myself away from the porch, doing
everything I could to push my exhausted muscles
forward, but with Bryce's muscular bulk bearing down
on me, I simply couldn't manage to make my muscles
respond.

"I can't," I gasped, totally defeated.

Bryce's eyes flashed.  "You better," he said, pushing
down harder on my face, "or we'll punish you, and then
tomorrow we're gonna make you give mud rides for
everyone all over again."

Somehow, I did manage to begin, slowly, painstakingly,
to writhe my way through the mud, on my back, with
Bryce's sweaty, muddy foot planted firmly over my
mouth and nose, and completely dominating my field of
vision.  As I began our tortise-speed journey toward
the other side of the yard and back, Bryce constantly
lost his balance just enough that he had to plant one
of his two feet in the mud. Every time this happened
to his right foot, he simply kept stomping it back on
my face, so that fresh layers of mud kept getting
mashed into it.  Unlike every other frat boy who had
ridden me so far, Bryce didn't require me to flip over
and give him 10 pushups whenever this happened.  He
did, however, order me to lick the dirt from off the
sole of his foot as I writhed my way forward.  As I
reached the edge of the yard and prepared to undergo
the slow, painful task of inching my way 180 degrees
around and heading back, Bryce smirked at me again.

"You enjoying this?" he asked me, briefly easing up on
the pressure from his foot so that I could answer the
question.

"Yes sir," I stammered, gasping for air.

Bryce shook his head.  "No.  For once I want an honest
answer from you faggot.  Are you enjoying this?  Do
you actually like having my big sweaty feet pressing
down on your face?"  I glanced down, and I could tell
he was looking through the filthy mud-caked bars of my
cock cage, and had noticed that, against all odds, I
was hard as a rock.

I hesitated.  I had been conditioned by this point to
never express any emotion to Trevor other than
gratitude and groveling submission.  But Bryce seemed
serious.

"No," I said horsely.  "I mean, I know I'm hard and
everything, but it's only cuz Trevor hasn't let me
have an orgasm in weeks."

Bryce smirked at that.  "Ya know," he said, "all these
other frat guys are getting a huge kick out of using
you like this, but it's pretty asexual.  Just a chance
to see you totally humiliated, degraded, and enjoy
their total control over you. Well, here's the shitty
news for you, little guy.  I DO enjoy this.  In fact,
I'll tell you a little secret: I'm getting a massive
boner just staring down at you.  You're so fucking
helpless and pathetic right now.  Just look at you.
Covered in dirt, all tied up, and all you can do is
writhe around in the mud, lick my feet, and beg me for
mercy."  His voice dropped to a whisper.  "I'm getting
hard just thinking about it, faggot.  And guess what?
I'm getting hard just thinking about all the things I
could still do to you.  And guess what else?  I can do
whatever the hell I want to you.  Because I run this
frat."  He grinned again.  "Now, take me back to the
porch."


 Drop me a line at greg_alexander222@yahoo.com to tell
your thoughts on the story.  Suggestions welcome. I
really enjoy hearing from readers.  I already have the
next section basically written and will be posting it
soon.  No long delays this time - promise!