Date: Wed, 19 Mar 2008 13:43:52 -0700 (PDT)
From: Greg Alexander <greg_alexander222@yahoo.com>
Subject: "Frat Boy's Bitch Boy" - Part 9

 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 9

With the mud rides finally over, I was hauled back
into the frat house after being thoroughly rinsed off,
like a dirty piece of livestock, by a high pressure
hose in the yard.

By this point, I had accomplished the truly remarkable
task of accumulating no fewer than 273 demerits, all
marked down in tidy bunches of five on the big white
board.  I wondered what exactly the consequence of
having so many demerits would be.   It wouldn't take
me too long to find out.

It was late, and most of the pledges and frat boys
were drunk enough and tired enough that they were
finally through abusing me, at least for the night.
As the large crowd of frat boys dispersed, Trevor and
Bryce came over and picked me up on either end of my
body.  Of course, needless to say, I was still bound
and tied up from head to toe.

"Hey," Trevor said in a deep voice.  He was talking to
Shane, the pledge ring leader.  "You wanna come do
this with us?"

"Sure!" Shane's voice was eager.

The three of them carried me back down to the basement
of the frat house, into the room where I'd started my
captivity there.  Again I saw, all over the walls, the
frat's insignia and its big block greek letters.

The three frat boys carrying me came to rest in front
of the padded foot rest I had noticed earlier.  It was
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 large wooden box, and in the very center
of the flat padded surface on top there was an opening
just large enough for someone's neck to fit through.
About six inches or so in front of that neck-sized
opening, I noticed for the first time, there was a
slim sliver bar that was imbedded in the flat surface
on top – it looked like a long silver button of some
kind, that could be depressed by pushing down on it.
I also noticed, for the first time, that the
head-sized hole in the top of the box was not the only
opening.  One of the box's 4 sides( its front, from
where we were standing) had two smaller holes, side by
side, roughly ankle-sized.  I stared at the strange
box, with a sense of foreboding.

"OK, bitch boy," Trevor said from behind me.  "Welcome
to your new home."

"Dude," Shane said.  "This is so friggin evil."

Grinning, they set me roughly down on the floor.  Then
the three of them fiddled with the box until the top
sprung open.   It separated into two halves, which
swung up and away like double doors opening.  At that
point, as Trevor and Shane pinned me down so I
couldn't so much as squirm, Bryce undid my handcuffs,
ankle cuffs, and other forms of bondage.  Of course,
by this point, I didn't for a moment dare to hope that
I was going to be permanently untied.  I understood I
was only being retied in preparation for whatever new
torments these sadistic frat boys had in mind.

My wrists were once again handcuffed behind my back.
This time my ankles remained unbound, but my knees
were tied firmly together.

Shane, Bryce and Trevor all lifted me into the air
once again.  Now I was staring into the inside of the
big box, with the top off.  I gasped with surprise.  I
couldn't help myself.

The box was not completely empty, as I would have
expected.  The bottom was not wood, but a sheet of
metal, and embedded in it, pointing up and at an
angle, was a dildo.

I stared at it.

The dildo had a metallic tip.  As a examined it more
closely, I noticed an electric wire was thredded along
one side of the dildo, and then ran along the base of
the box.

As Trevor and Shane held me in the air, Bryce leaned
forward and adjusted a second latch on the box.  The
box's front (with the two side-by side openings in
it), along with the top, swung off to the side,
allowing easy access to the box's interior.

"So," Trevor said.  "Do you see how this works yet?"

Maybe I was just willfully refusing to understand, but
I hadn't grasped it yet.  I shook my head.  The frat
boys snickered.

"Explain it to him, dude," Trevor urged Shane.

"Well, it should be pretty fucking obvious to anyone
but a fucking stupid little bitch like you," Shane
said to me.  He glanced at Trevor and Bryce.  "Let's
just set it up, and we'll see if he gets it then."

At this, with Trevor grabbing me firmly from one end,
his muscular arms locking around my arm pits, and
Bryce and Shane holding my midsection and my legs
firmly, I was lowered into the open box.

At first, I stupidly was unsure what they were doing
about the dildo.  It was on the largish side, and
since it was sticking right out of the middle of the
box's base, I couldn't see how I could comfortably fit
inside.

Then, suddenly, I realized what they were doing.

"Open wide," Bryce said.  The three of them laughed.
They were lowering me slowly, and carefully, and
positioning my body so the dildo was pointed directly
up my asshole.

Shit.

I started to squirm furiously, trying to writhe my way
out of their grasp.  But their grip was too firm.

"Hold fucking still," Bryce commanded me.  "Believe
me, squirming is just gonna make this worse."

I had never actually been fucked before, and I had no
idea what it would be like to have something that big
go up my asshole, but I was terrified.  "Please," I
begged.  "Don't do this.  What do you want me to do?
Just tell me what you want me to do, sirs.  I'll do
anything you tell me to.  I'll be your slave."

"You already are our slave," Trevor pointed out.
"Your this frat's bitch boy.  And right now we're
telling you to hold still so that we can ram this
dildo up your ass."  It was obvious the three of them
were enjoying this immensely.

"But why are you doing this?" I almost pleaded. But I
shut my mouth.  I knew it wouldn't do any good.

 "Now, hold still, bitch boy," Trevor said, smirking.

At first the dildo wouldn't go in.  It was too big.
Trevor and Bryce had to tell Shane to get a big jar of
lube and lube up my asshole, which he did groaning
good naturedly.  They also lubed up the dildo.  Then
they tried again.

Slowly, inch by inch, I felt myself being lowered into
the box, as Shane held my but cheeks apart and Bryce
and Trevor pushed down.  My virgin asshole resisted
mightly, but Shane and Trevor pushed harder, and the
dildo finally began to slip in.  Pain shot through my
body as it entered me, but they didn't let up.  I
cried out as it went in fully, and my asscheeks
finally came to rest on the metallic base of the box.

That was the hard part.  Still wincing, I watched as
the three frat boys stretched my legs out, so that my
bound knees were only slightly bent, and threaded my
ankles through the two holes in the front of the box.
Now my body was tilted up at an angle; I was rocked
back, my ass and legs pointed slightly up in the air.
They snapped the front of the box shut, so that my
feet were trapped there, the naked soles pointing
outside.

Finally, they carefully closed the top of the box,
bringing the two halves back together again and
locking them into place.  Now, only my neck was
sticking through the opening on top (it was just big
enough for my neck to slip through).

I was truly completely trapped.  My feet and my head
were sticking out of their respective openings,
totally immobilized, completely vulnerable to anyone
standing outside of the box.  The rest of my naked
body was not only trussed up like a turkey inside of
the box, but also stuck like a pin in an insect box,
impaled on the slick dildo planted in the center of
the box's base.

As my asshole adjusted to the sensation of having the
dildo stuffed up it, the agony slowly subsided,
replaced by a dull thudding pain, and I began to feel
a strange accompanying sensation almost like sexual
pleasure.  It was a bizarre feeling.  Of course, my
cock was still trapped in its cock cage, and I felt it
getting hard once again, desperate for the pent up
release that would never come.

"The frat ordered this little contraption online, from
one of the `specialty' websites," Bryce said, looking
at me.  "It cost is a fucking fortune."

"No need to worry about that, though," Trevor added.
"We're gonna make sure you reimburse for it out of
your savings."

"First, though," Shane said, "I think we should see if
the little fucker likes his new toy."

"Why don't you demonstrate?" Trevor suggested.

Grinning, Shane dragged a big stuffed chair across the
floor of the basement, so that it squeaked against the
cold concrete. He brought it to rest directly in front
of the box, so that it was facing my outstretched bare
feet and face, completely locked into their respective
openings in the box.

Next, the three boys produced from one side of the
room an assortment of additional goodies.  Shane had,
balled up in his hand, a mass of strands of twine.
Trevor had a big silver bucket, filled with soapy
water, and a second smaller container with several
stiff-bristled brushes of varying sizes, ranging from
tiny to massive.  Finally, Bryce was carrying at least
a dozen large feathery quills, the kind people might
have used to write on parchment in the dark ages,
along with several small bottles of ink.  I wondered
what the hell was happening now.

The three of them all looked excited, which made me
even more nervous than I already was.  Shane and
Trevor set to work looping the pieces of twine around
my toes, one by one.  I realized for the first time
that right above the holes that were serving as my
make-shift ankle stocks, there were a series of tiny
notches, and Shane and Trevor were busy tying my toes
back, connecting each piece of twine to the notches,
thus splaying my feet out and rendering the spaces in
between my toes, like the soles themselves, completely
helpless.

Bryce, meanwhile, brought back a thoroughly unwelcome
sight: the white board on which the frat boys had kept
their careful tally of the demerits I had accumulated
serving as their "mud board": 273, to be precise.  An
enormous number.

Bryce grinned again.  "Bitch boy, remember how I said
earning demerits would be a lot fucking easier than
getting rid of them?" he asked me.

"Yes sir," I said.

"Remember how I said you really didn't want to earn
demerits?"

"Yes sir."

"You didn't believe me, did you boy?"

"I did, sir."

"Are you trying to argue with me, fucker?"

"No sir."

"Give him 2 extra demerits for arguing with you,"
Trevor suggested.

 Bryce agreed this was a good idea, and added them to
my tally on the board.  "Alright, 275 Demerits now.
Sort of a round number.  Holy fuck, that's a lot of
fucking demerits."  He shook his head in wonder and
whistled. "Alright, bitch boy.  We did try to warn you
about this.  You get to work these off one by one.
And we're gonna make sure that we keep careful track.
Just watch."

At this, Bryce, Trevor and Shane each picked up a
quill, dipped it in ink, and with each of them
kneeling at the front of the box, they began to draw
on the soles of my outstretched feet.

I was immediately writhing, my whole body twisting and
turning, trying with utter futility to wrest my poor
feet free of the sadistic box.  It was impossible, of
course.  With my toes tied all the way back, I had no
choice but to sit there and take it.

And boy, did my ticklish feet take it, as the ink
quills flew from one side of my soles to the other.  I
started to giggle.

"No fucking noise, bitch boy," Bryce told me sternly.
"Absolute silence, or there'll be hell to pay."

I sat there, gritting my teeth, and shaking
uncontrollably as the pointed quills explored every
ticklish contour of the undersides of my feet.  It
didn't take me long to realize what was going on.  The
frat boys were transferring the dashes on the white
board, recording each and every one of my earned
"demirts,"  with a short corresponding dash of ink on
the soles of my feet.  As they knelt there, grinning,
adding up my demerits one by one, it was all I could
do not to squeal with agonized laughter.

"Stop!" I finally pleaded, but it was to no avail.
They just kept adding up tally mark by tally mark.

Finally Trevor rocked back, and surveyed their
handiwork.  "Whatya think" he said.

Bryce nodded.  "Not bad."

For my benefit, he held up a medium-sized mirror.  I
swallowed: the soles of my feet were now covered with
ink . . . 275 dashes of ink, to be exact.

Bryce stood directly in front of me, a real
no-nonsense look in his eye.

"OK, bitch boy," he said.  "Now listen real fucking
closely, cuz I'm only going over this once."

"The three of us, on behalf of the frat, have decided
on an appropriate punishment for you.  It is not
necessarily the only punishment you are to receive,
but it is certainly the principal punishment our frat
has decided to adminster to you.

"Your punishment is that you're gonna be stuck in this
room.  And, with very occasional exceptions to stretch
your body out, you will be stuck in that box.  You're
gonna be fucking stuck there until you get rid of
every single one of those demerits marked out on the
soles of your fucking feet.

"Now . . . you're probably wondering, how do you get
rid of a demerit?  Well, I'll tell you.  In fact, I'll
do better than that: I'll show you."

Bryce went across the room and picked up a big poster
board that had been drawn on in big black marker.  The
letters had been carefully written with almost
artistic precision, so that I had no difficulty
reading what it said:

On the top, as a title, was printed in block
lettering:
BITCH BOY DEMERIT RUBRIC
Drink Piss: Lose 1 Demerit
Lick Ass: Lose 1 Demerit
Good Blow Job: Lose 1 Demerit
Great Blow Job: Lose 2 Demerits
Orgasmic Blow Job: Lose 3 Demerits
Crappy Blow Job: Gain 1 Demerit

I stared at the poster board.

Shane sat down in the stuffed easy chair that was
facing me, and examined me carefully.  "So," he said.
"What do you say?"

I stared stupidly at him, not comprehending.

"Stupid fucking bitch," Bryce grunted.  "Doesn't even
get the rules when they're spelled out for him.  How
do you expect to ever get out of that box if you don't
start begging us right now to give you our cocks?"

Shane looked at me expectantly.  Reality began to dawn
on me.

"Uh . . .right," I stammered, disbelieving.  I took a
breath, feeling even lower and more degraded than
ever. "Could I, um, suck you, sir?"

Shane looked scornful.  "I think you can beg better
than that, bitch boy."

"Please, please sir, let me have your cock.  I need to
suck your big juicy cock!  Please let me have your
cock."

Shane acquiesced at this.  He was grinning, and as he
dropped his pants, it was obvious that he was already
incredibly horny.  His dick was hard, even bulging,
through his underwear.  I should have known, I
thought.  This was turning Shane on too.

"OK, bitch boy," he said.  "Suck me."

He stood from his chair, took a stride or two forward,
straddled the box, and sat down, so that his dick was
centimeters from my face.  His frat boy cock pumped
aggressively in and out of my mouth, and I struggled
not to gag on it.  He leaned back, hands clasped
behind his head, an expression of pure bliss on his
face.

"Oh yeah, yah fucking cunt.  Suck my dick.  Suck it.
SUCK IT!" he grunted.

I licked and lapped at his organ as it thrust in and
out of my mouth, careful not to gag as the bloated tip
rammed into the back of my throat repeatedly.  It
didn't take me long to bring this already horny frat
boy to an explosive orgasm.  Cum spurted like a geyser
into my mouth.

"Swallow it, you bitch!" Shane panted.  I hastened to
obey.  Load after load of his warm cum cascaded down
into my belly.  Finally Shane sat there, his body
slumped, a sleepy smile on his young frat boy face,
his limp cock still in my mouth.

"That was pretty good," Shane conceded, finally.
"Let's take away one demerit."

"OK," Trevor said.

Bryce grinned. "Ya wanna `reset' the scoreboard?"

"We're doing it for every five demerits he loses,"
Trevor reminded him.

"Yeah," Bryce agreed.  "But I wanna do it for the
first time now."

I wondered what  "reset the scoreboard" meant.  I saw
Bryce reaching for the bucket of soapy water, and the
collection of stiff bristled brushes, which I noticed
they had brought out earlier with the twine, the ink,
and the quills.  Trevor and Shane gamely followed
suit.

Bryce dipped a big brush in the soapy water, lifted it
out, and held it up against one of my exposed soles.
The toes were still tied firmly back, and I was of
course completely helpless to defend myself in any
way, with my body still bound firmly inside the box.

`Reset the scoreboard.'  Now I understood.  They were
going to wash all the ink away, and then record my new
demerit level all over again.

Bryce set to work with the brush, scrubbing with vigor
at the underside of my foot.  Shane set to work on the
other foot with a separate brush.  And now I really
went crazy.

"NOOOOOO!!!!" I screamed.  The sensation was way too
much for the trapped sensitive soles of my bare feet.
To say that they were being tickled would have been to
severely understate the case.  They were being
attacked. I could not just sit there and take it like
I had when they were drawing the demerits with the
quills.  I had to cry out.  It was half laughter, half
desperate plea for them to stop.

"Shut the fuck up, bitch boy," Trevor said.  "No one
wants to hear your whiny, girly ass voice."  He picked
up a toothbrush and started to use it to scrub the ink
away from in between my toes, as Bryce and Shane
continued to work on my feet.  This only made me cry
out louder.

"That's it," Trevor said.  He kicked off his shoe and
reached for his sock, obviously to use as a gag.

It was Bryce who stopped him.  "Don't do that," he
said.  "We made sure the walls here are close to sound
proof.  And I enjoy hearing him beg."

"PLEASE STOP!!" I was screaming.  More than anything,
I wanted desperately to yank my feet away from the
terrible scrub brushes, but of course I couldn't.  I
was completely trapped.  The three of them were taking
their sweet time, methodically getting all the ink
off, experimenting with the different sized brushes
and using them as they seemed most appropriate and
effective.  I writhed and groveled.  It was to no
avail.

It couldn't have taken longer than 5 minutes, but it
seemed to last hour.  Finally the three of them were
toweling my feet off, apparently satisfied that my
feet were once again a blank slate.  They even held up
a mirror again, to allow me to admire the thoroughness
of their cleaning.

"Now, be totally quiet, or we really will punish you,"
Trevor told me.

Then they picked up their three quills, and once again
began to mark out the demerits in a neat orderly
tally, dipping the pointed tips occasionally in the
jars of ink to ensure that each dash was clear.  It
was not nearly so tortuous as the scrubbing had been,
by comparison, but still ticklish enough that I had to
bite down on my lip hard to keep from making any
noise.

"Ok," Bryce said, when they had finished marking out
274 new dashes.  "274 demerits.  Hope you enjoyed
that.  We've decided we'll do it again when you reach
270, then 265, and so on.  Of course, those are only
the required ones.  Any guy in the frat can `reset the
scoreboard' any time he fucking feels like it."  He
sniggered.
The others chuckled as I stared at him.

"Well," he was saying "all that's left is to show you
the one other fun feature of our little bitch boy
box."  He glanced at Shane.  "Shane? You were on a
roll.  Ya wanna show him?"

"Ya mean, the switch?"

"Of course I mean the fucking switch."

Shane seemed to pause for a minute, then shook his
head with a smile.  "Man," he said.  "I sure am glad
I'm not the little bitch."

Bryce shrugged.  "That's what happens to somebody who
fucks around with the pledges of Delta Psi."

"Yeah," Shane said.  It was all eagerness now.  He'd
taken remarkably little convincing, I thought.  "OK,
let's do it."

Bryce turned to me.  He was especially into the cat
and mouse games.  "Do you have any clue what we're
talking about, bitch boy?"

"No sir," I said truthfully.

"Well," Bryce said.  "I want you to guess."

I was drawing a total blank.  "Uh . . . I really have
no idea, sir."

Bryce wasn't letting me off.  He meant this.  "Listen,
you little bitch.  Guess what we're talking about.
Guess right, and maybe we'll give you a reprieve for a
whole day."

What had Shane said a second ago, anyway?  I grasped
frantically for the answer.  `The switch?'  What the
fuck did that mean?  "Uh . . . you're gonna take me
out of the this box and use a switch to whip me?" I
guessed, wincing.

All three of them laughed.  "No, but I like the way
you think, bitch boy," Bryce chuckled.  "Show him,
Shane."

Shane stepped forward toward the box.  As I've already
mentioned, there was a large rectangular button
embedded in the top of the box.  I had no idea what it
was for.  Now that my head was trapped in the top of
the box, it was literally inches from my nose. In
fact, Shane had planted his butt and ballsack directly
on it when I had sucked him off a few minutes ago.

Now, Shane pressed on a second, much smaller
irregularity in the top of the box that I hadn't
noticed until now.  It was a tiny hatch, and when it
sprung open, it revealed a hidden little lever, or
switch.  It was red, and it seemed, from my limited
vantage point, to have two settings: a "0" and a "1."
Right now it was at "0."

"Any theories now?" Bryce asked.

I stared at it dumbly.  "It . . . looks like an on off
switch?" I ventured.

"A plus," Bryce said sarcastically. "But what's it
for?"

I tried to think.  Hadn't I seen some wires just a
little while ago?  Wires leading to . . . where?

The dildo.

"I'll give you one clue," Bryce said.  He was reaching
for the switch.  "It turns on an electric current."

Bryce turned on the switch.

The jolt I felt was instantaneous and unforgettable.
Suddenly there was an electric current running up the
tip of the dildo, shooting into my asshole.  I yelped
loudly, and would have certainly jumped 5 feet in the
air, had not I been completely pinned down and
immobilized by the bondage of my sadistic frat
captors.

At first, the current produced a bizarrely erotic
sensation.  The dildo, wedged all the way up my
asshole, felt as thought it was tickling, kneeding and
massaging my prostrate all at the same time.  I
wiggled furiously, my whole body involuntarily
attempting to pulse and thrust in response to the
powerful sensation.  My poor deprived cock, still hard
at that very moment, responded with renewed
desperation.  My horniness level surged as my cock got
even harder, and even more pre-cum began to drip from
it like a faucet.

Then, a few moments later, as the three sadistic frat
boys looked on eagerly, there was a shift.  The
pulsing, kneeding current suddenly increased.  The
pain came a second later. It was a fierce burning
sensation, not sexy or stimulating at all. It HURT.

"OOOH!!  AWWW!  EEE!  AWWW!  AAAAH!" I cried out.  The
electricity induced pain shooting up my ass was
intense.  "PLEASE!" I cried out.  "PLEASE STOP IT!!!!"

Shane, Trevor and Bryce collapsed into fits of
laughter as I continued to react to the electric
current that was shooting up my asshole.  The cycle
continued – after a moment, the current subsided to
its original state.  The pain went away.  My horniness
level skyrocketed as my prostrate responded to the
electric dildo's crude stimulation. Then the current
ripped into my ass again, and the pain rushed back.
It was unbearable.

"Please turn it off!!!!" I begged them.  "Please turn
it off!!!"

Bryce leaned forward, so that his face was close to
mine.  "Listen, bitch boy," he said.  "That's no way
to for a slave to beg his master.  Begging and
groveling are good, but you need to do more than that.
 You need to beg and grovel calmly, submissiviely."

I made an extraordinary effort.  "Please sir," I said,
calmly, my face contorted from the overriding
sensation of having an electric current flowing up my
asshole.  "Please, do you think you could turn it off
sir?"

"More submissive," Bryce directed.  The other two frat
boys sniggered.

Trevor gave me a hint.  "Why don't you beg me to let
you lick my feet?" he suggested.

My prostrate was tickled, my dick leaked more pre-cum,
then I yelped in pain at another jolt of searing
electricity.  It was too much.   I finally, and most
unwisely, snapped.

"NO!!!  I'M NOT GOING TO BEG YOU TO LET ME LICK YOUR
FEET!" I screamed, really losing it.  "I'VE GOT A
FUCKING DILDO UP MY ASSHOLE AND I'M FUCKING THROBBING
WITH PAIN.  YOU'VE GOT TO TURN IT OFF!!!"

I realized as soon as I said it that it was a huge
mistake.  The three frat boys stared at me for a
moment, with a mixture of surprise and amusement.

"I'm . . . I'm so sorry, masters," I stammered.  "I
didn't mean . . . I'm so sorry."

"Not yet you aren't," Bryce said.  "But you will be."

Now Trevor really did pull off his sweaty sock and
stuff it in my mouth, gagging me securely with a strip
of duct tape.  Then, before I knew what had hit me,
Bryce suddenly turned away, and walked out of the
room.  Shane and Trevor immediately followed suit,
shutting the door behind them.

I was left in the basement, in the darkness, stuck in
that box, hands tied, knees tied, head and feet
protruding from their openings and frozen in place,
toes tied back, feet marked with 274 dashes of ink,
pre-cum seeping from my dick, jolt after electric jolt
shooting up my asshole and making my whole body twitch
futilely.

And that is where I stayed for the next six hours.



By the time the door opened, and Trevor, Shane and
Bryce reentered the room, I had broken completely.
The electric pulsing was terrible.  I had to make it
stop.  I would do anything.  Anything.

The boys regarded me with interest.  Bryce ungagged
me.

"How do you feel now, bitch boy?" he asked.

With extraordinary effort, I kept my twitching,
electrified body as calm as possible.  "I'm . . . I
think, with your undeserved mercy, I'd like to have
that switch turned off now, sir.  Please sir, please,
have mercy on your poor bitch boy," I said humbly, as
submissively as I could.

Trevor chimed in. "Do you remember what I told you to
do, before your completely out-of-line little
outburst, slave?"

I did.  "Yes sir," I said. "Please sir, please let me
lick your feet."  My fried asshole cried out for
relief, but I knew it would only come when I had
groveled sufficiently to satisfy their whims.

Trevor sat down in the big stuffed overchair that was
facing the box.  With a malicious deliberation, he
kicked off his athletic shoes, and stuck his familiar
sweaty bare feet directly in my face.

"Alright, bitch boy, watch this," he guffawed.

As he set his feet down on the padded footrest that
covered the top of the box, and began to mash his
soles roughly against my face, using my entire trapped
head as a footrest, his ankles in so doing pressed
down on the rectangular button that was imbedded in
the top of the box, inches away from my nose.  As his
bare feet made contact with the button, and pressed
down on it, the electric current pulsing through the
dildo suddenly died.

I slumped my shoulders and gasped with relief.  The
sudden sense of liberation from that terrible
torturous feeling of electricity jolting up my asshole
was tremendous, almost too great for words.

Bryce saw my relief, and smiled.  "You see, slave,
this is very fucking simple.  For as long as we choose
to keep you in that box, that switch is staying on.
The current is staying on.  There's nothing you can
actually do about that.

"The only thing you CAN do is hope that one of frat's
brothers or pledges takes mercy on you by using your
face as a foot rest, or even better for you, so that
you can actually work off some of those demerits,
allows you to drink his piss, lick his asshole clean,
or suck him off.  All of the above will cause weight
to be placed on the button, which disrupts the
circuit."  He grinned.  "Of course, the minute the
weight is removed . . ."

In demonstration, Trevor also grinned, and suddenly
swung his feet up into the air.  As his ankles lifted
off the button embedded in the center of the footrest,
I immediately felt a searing jolt run through the
dildo and into my asshole, as the current began to
flow again.  My brief respite from the pain only
magnified the shock of its continuation.

"Please sir, please use my face as a footrest!!" I
cried out automatically, almost without thinking.

They all laughed heartily.  "See," Bryce said.  "This
exactly what the boy needs.  Before long, every fiber
of him will WANT, will CRAVE, that our frat use his
face as a foot rest.  It will be the only way he can
stop the pain."

Trevor put his feet back down on my face, depressing
the big rectangular button imbedded in the top of the
box as he did so.  The current once again stopped
flowing, and I gasped with relief.  They laughed
again.

Now Bryce wanted to go.  "Let me at him," he said
eagerly.

As soon as Trevor swung his legs away and stood up, of
course, the electricity began to flow again.  I winced
and gasped.  Bryce sat down, looked at me, and
smirked.

"What do you say?" he said.

"Please," I whimpered, "please use my face as a
footrest.  Please let me lick your feet clean."  More
than at any point that Trevor had made me beg for such
humiliating treatment, I really, truly meant it.  I
desperately wanted, more than anything in the world at
that moment, for Bryce to kick off his oversized
flip-flops and mash his sweaty frat boy soles into my
face.  I wanted that more than anything, because I
knew it would stop the electric current ripping into
my ass.

Bryce toyed with me.  "Why should I?" he asked.

I winced.  "Because I am Delta Psi's bitch boy, sir,"
I groveled.  "Because you are the pledge master of
this frat, and I am your lowly slave, and all I am
worthy to do is have the privilege of my face serving
as your doormat, foot stool, or any other place of
rest for your feet that you see fit, sir."

Bryce still wasn't done.  "Think of 3 names that are
appropriate for us to refer to you by," he said.  "And
then maybe I will allow you to be my footstool."

"Sir, I am your Bitch boy, your faggot . . ." I began.

"Not original enough," Bryce said impatiently.

I strained my imagination.  "Sir, I am your
Butt-munching cum lover," I stammered.  "I am your
cock sucking, toe-jam chewing, ass-kissing plaything."
 I closed my eyes, trying to ignore the pain.  "I am
your piss-drinking toilet slave," I said finally.

The three of them were in hysterics now.  "Very good,
boy," Bryce said.  "That was very good."  To my
enormous relief, at that, he kicked off his
flip-flops, and with an aggressive, boyish eagerness,
thrust his barefeet into my face.  As he did so, once
again, his ankles and calf muscles came into contact
with the rectangular button, and the current abruptly
shut off.

"Thank you, sir," I whispered.

"Shut the fuck up, my cock-sucking, toe-jam chewing,
ass kissing plaything, and lick some that toe jam from
in between my toes," Bryce ordered.  They laughed.  I
obeyed, licking between the corners of Bryce's toes to
make sure that I cleaned the soles of his feet
thoroughly.

Even then, I wasn't done.

"Sir," I said.  "Please allow me the huge honor of
licking your asshole and then sucking you off."

This of course provoked even more laughter and
guffawing.

"I dunno," Bryce said lazily.  "Why should I help you
work off your demerits, bitch boy?"

"Because I am your cock-sucking, toe-jam chewing, ass
kissing plaything," I stammered, as I continued to
lick his feet.

That got me another laugh.  Bryce obviously didn't
need too much convincing.  He withdrew his feet,
causing the electricity to immediately start flowing
once again.  Then, to my relief, he stood from his
chair, and in one smooth motion dropped his jeans and
his briefs, so that he was naked from the waste down.
He sauntered over to the center of the box, then
swiftly rotated, so that his naked butt was pointing
straight toward me.  He took a step or two backward,
so that he was now straddling the box, and also, of
course, my trapped head.  He bent, lowering his ass
slightly to my face, and in so doing, braced himself
on the box with one bent knee.  The knee touched down
on the magic rectangular button, and the current once
again stopped flowing.

"Put your nose inside my asshole," Bryce instructed
me.

I couldn't move my head at all, but with Bryce's ass
looming right there in front of me, the butt crack
dominating my entire field of vision, it was just
possible to slip my nose into it.

"Ok, maggot, take a nice, deep breath of fucking ass,"
Bryce said commandingly.

Closing my eyes in disgust, I took a sharp deep inhale
through my nostrils.  The smell of Bryce's asshole was
powerful and pungent.  I wondered grimly when the last
time he had washed himself was.

Bryce was clearly loving this.  "I'm not sure that was
quite a deep enough breath," he was saying.  "Maybe we
should try that again.  Inhale again bitch boy . . .
this time fucking make it slower and deeper."

As I inhaled a second time, this time breathing in
through Bryce's putrid asshole more slowly, I heard
the roaring, ripping sound of a fart blasting out of
his ass and straight into my nostrils.  I grimaced as
I stifled a gag, but kept inhaling. Trevor and Shane
cracked up completely, doubling over with laughter at
the sight of me imprisoned in that box, forced to
sniff in Bryce's farts.

Bryce sighed with exaggerated mock comfort.  "Wow,
that felt good," he said.  "Hang on, bitch boy.  I
feel another one coming on.  Make sure you get this
one too."

A second fart blasted my nostrils, this one even more
noisy and repellant.  I inhaled that one too, deeply.
I didn't dare disobey Bryce's instructions even for an
instant.  I was in no position to.

Now Bryce lowered his asshole another half inch, so
that his muscular ass muscles were practically resting
on my face.

"Lick," he instructed me curtly.

I did.  My tongue darted furiously in and out of his
shit hole, cleaning and pleasuring him, as he sighed
with a relaxed enjoyment.  "Nothing like getting your
ass licked clean by a little bitch who richly deserves
it," Bryce said.  "You boys gotta try this after I'm
finished."

Shane laughed.  "Maybe I'll take a shit first," he
suggested.  "That'll serve the little faggot right."

Bryce squatted there for a while as I licked.  I'm not
sure how long he made me do it; certainly over 10
minutes, and it felt like longer.  It's amazing how
slowly time passes when your being made to lick
another guy's smelly ass crack.

Finally, Bryce ordered me to stop, and he pivoted
around.  As he did so, I felt another, increasingly
familiar jolt of electricity, as he temporarily
removed his weight from the button.  As he loomed in
front of me, I realized that his skin had become moist
and sweaty.  He peeled off the T-shirt that he was
wearing, so that I was staring at his muscular
six-pack and finely sculpted pecks.  He stood there,
butt naked, and for the first time I got a good look
at his cock.

My throat went dry.

Now I realized why he was so sweaty -- at that moment,
he was completely erect, so much so that he was
dripping precum.  In that state, his cock was
absolutely enormous – considerably larger than even
Trevor's.  It was massive in length.  It was massive
in thickness.  It was, all around, massive.

Suddenly I swallowed nervously, unsure that I'd be
able to take it.

Bryce grinned wickedly at me.  "What do you say, bitch
boy?"

"Please sir," I said, closing my eyes.  "Please, I
want to suck on your dick.  I want to swallow your
cum, sir."

Bryce straddled my face, and sat down on the flat
surface of the box, once again depressing the large
button and mercifully shutting off the current.  With
one oversized hand, he roughly seized the back of my
head of hair, stabilizing it, and clutched his oozing
dick with the other.

"Alright, bitch boy," he grinned.  "Open wide."

And with that, he thrust his oversized penis into my
throat, completely ignoring my desperate gagging, and
didn't let up until I had drained him of every last
drop.



When I had finished with Bryce, Trevor allowed me to
suck him off and lick his asshole clean as well.  I
had already sucked Shane off, of course, but he was
ready to go again, so I sucked him off for a second
time.  Then, as a grand finale of sorts, I asked them
to pee in my mouths – which  all three obligingly did.
 All told, I managed to shed a total of 11 demerits,
as was dutifully recorded when my frat boy captors
once again scrubbed the ink off the soles of my feet,
ignoring my howls of laughter, and redrew the updated
demerit tally.

Only 263 demerits left, I thought grimly.  Great.

"Wait!" I cried out, as the three of them, finished
with me at last, headed for the exit from the
basement.  "Are you going now?" I asked them
fearfully.

Shane looked back at me with scorn.  "Of course we're
going now, bitch boy.  What does it look like we're
doing?"

With none of them pressing down on the button, of
course, the electricity had started up again.
Pleasure . . . pain . . . pleasure . . . pain . . .
the powerful current flowing into my ass simply
overpowered my quivering trapped body.

"But . . . please," I wimpered.  "Please, couldn't at
least one of you guys maybe  . . . stay down here, or
something?  So that I can, uh, allow my face to serve
as a footrest for at least one of you at a time, sir?"


Shane shook his head.  "Come on, bitch boy," he said.
"We've been using you as a foot rest, as well as a
cum-sucking, ass-kising toilet slave, for the last
several hours.  I mean, don't get me wrong, it's been
a real hoot.  But, at some point we hafta fucking go
to class!"

"Yeah, slave," Trevor said with mock seriousness.
"The world doesn't revolve around you completely, you
know."

The electric pulse continued.  Pain, pleasure, pain,
pleasure. . . each jolt sent a renewed wave of
stimulation into my prostrate, keeping my cock
completely hard, completely dripping, and of course,
maddeningly on the threshold of an explosive orgasm,
without ever quite reaching that unachievable
objective.  I wondered, in the back of my mind, how
many orgasms I would witness first-hand – whether
Trevor's, or Collin's, or Shane's, or Bryce's, or
another sadistic frat boy's entirely, before I was
finally allowed to have one of my own.  How many had I
facilitated already?  100?  200?  It was impossible to
count.

Then that second, corresponding jolt that sent a sharp
shock of pain into my asshole . . . I gasped.

"Please, then, masters," I pleaded desperately,
"couldn't you please turn the electric current off, at
least until you return?  It's just unbearable."

Trevor sighed in exasperation.  "Come on, boys," he
said.  "If he's not gonna ask for anything reasonable,
let's just get out of here."

"Wait!!" I cried.  They turned back once again,
regarding me impatiently.

I thought, incredulously, about the absurdity of the
request I was about to make.  But I knew I had no
choice – not unless I wanted to sit in the dark, in
that basement, for god knew how many more hours,
waiting until Shane, Trevor and Bryce felt moved to
come visit me again, with that electric current
pulsing through my ass.

"Please," I said.  "Please tell all the other frat
boys to come down and, uh, use my trapped face as a
foot rest, urinal, cum deposit, or anything else they
see fit . .  masters."

"Bitch boy," Bryce said with a smirk, "are you
actually begging us to send the rest of the frat down
here to continue abusing you?"

I sighed.  It was amazing, I thought, how everytime I
thought I had reached rock bottom, I managed to go
lower still.  "Yes, master" I said.  "That is what I
am begging you to do."



Word spread fast.  By the end of the day, there was a
gradual trickle, then a more consistent flow, of frat
boys trooping through the basement and gasping in
disbelief, amusement and mischievous delight at my
completely fucked up predicament.

All the pledges, who had such reason to despise me,
came of course.  They loved it.  They gloated over me,
marveled at the box in which I was imprisoned, and
delighted in verbally abusing me as they mashed their
bare feet into my face, peed in my mouth, presented
their smelly assholes for me to lick, and of course,
above all, straddled my face and jammed their cocks
down my throat.  Usually they remembered to play by
the rules and erase the appropriate number of
demerits. Occasionally, they didn't.  What was I gonna
do about it?  I was trapped in a box.

At least a few of the frat brothers were a bit
different.  Of course, some of the usual suspects,
like Collin for instance, were as mean spirited as you
would expect.  But some of them were actually, after
the initial hilarity wore off, almost sympathetic.

Hank, for instance, the blond-haired, blue-eyed,
cowboy of the frat, with a reputation for being at
heart a softie in a frat full of assholes, after some
initial chuckling at my humiliation, actually offered
to release me from the box, or failing that, at the
very least switch off the electric current.

"Dude," Hank's buddy reminded him in a low voice,
tugging at his sleeve.  "Bryce said that if anyone
tried to do that, he'd kick their ass."

"Bryce doesn't scare me," Hank said with a scowl, but
he seemed to back away from the idea of  switching it
off.  "Alright, look, you poor little bitch boy," he
said.  He reached down and yanked his big leather
cowboy boots off, one by one.  "I won't break the
frat's rules for you."

I winced.  "Sir, could I please please lick your feet
as you speak to me, sir?" I gasped, desperate to shut
the current off.

Hank blinked.  "Uh, sure," he said.  He climbed gamely
into the over-stuffed chair, peeled off his sweaty
socks, and thrust his smelly, over-sized cowboy feet
into my face.  I gasped with relief as the pain
stopped.

"Anyway," Bryce said, after some time had passed and I
had licked the lint completely from between his toes.
"Here's what I'm gonna do.  This will help . . . a
little."  He swung his feet off the button, and I
winced.  Then he took his two heavy leather cowboy
boots and set them ontop of the padded surface of the
footstool, depressing the rectangular button as he did
so.  The cowboy boots now loomed directly in front of
my eyes, dominating my field of vision.  The current
had once again stopped.

"Here," Hank offered.  "This is within the spirit of
the rules, at least.  I'll keep those there for a few
hours – just keep lickin' em clean."

"Thank you, thank you for your mercy, master!" I
whimpered slavishly.

Hank shook his head in wonderment, and walked out on
the room, leaving me there to lap at the smelly tops
of his cow cow-boy boots and wonder how I could
possibly have sunk so low that a directive to lick
another man's cow-boy boots for several hours was the
nicest thing to happen to me in days.