7:59. Fag Freddy was waiting for the last number on the screen of his phone to change. He was chomping at the bit, his mouth watering in anticipation. This was one of his favorite parts of the whole day. His duty was to wake up Master Scott in a proper manner. One that suited his now well accepted status of slave. It still wasn’t like official, official. There were a few more days to go before the end of the taming, which meant there was still time to score fag points on the app. That was his new obsession. His Master wanted the famous prize money. He was gonna get it for him. Period. There was no way in hell he was gonna let number 9 get all the glory. Please, that stuck up little bitch! No fucking way!
8 am. The fag eagerly leaned forward and started to lick his Master’s feet. It had become a usual thing for him to wake him up like that and fag Freddy couldn’t have been happier about it. Honest! His watering mouth was proof of that. Almost two weeks had passed since that eventful day when his whole world had been turned upside down by Master Cliff’s eye-opening words. Kinda like a wake up call and fucking big one at that! Fag Freddy stuck his tongue between his Master’s toes. Such a wild, rich taste. He highly doubted he could ever imagine a life without it. Because it wasn’t really just about the taste; it was about how licking his feet made him feel. Inferior. Which was exactly what his fucked up brain had wanted all along. It was one of the many things Master Scott had pointed out and, boy, had he been right! He had been right about everything. It had taken a minute for Fag Freddy to understand it but he was finally starting to feel like he belonged. It felt so fucking liberating. He could finally stop fighting something he rationally knew was bad and humiliating and whatever but it did feel so damn good. Just like it felt good to stop caring. About everything if not orders. It was so easy to just follow them dumbly. His heart was light. Something had switched in his brain, forever. And whenever he was in doubt he had a trick up his sleeve. The slave soda! That thing reeeeeally helped him clear his mind. He had practically become addicted to it lately.
Master Scott stirred in his sleep. The slave continued to lick.
Probably the weirdest thing he had had to do was confronting his fag father about it. He had lost any and all forms of respect he once had for the man. Stupid cunt! He had lied to him for almost two decades. Lied through his teeth. Fag Freddy couldn’t help but notice how much of a coward he had sounded on the phone during their last conversation. Sobbing and crying. He wouldn’t stop apologizing. Sad, sad, little man. No, he wasn’t a man. He was a little faggot bitch, just like Fag Freddy. And to think he would have once done anything for him… and now…
Master Scott groaned as he started to stretch.
“Morning, fag.” he yawned.
“Good morning, Master.” was Fag Freddy’s answer “Did you sleep well?”
“Mmmm… gotta piss…” Master Scott grunted.
Fag Freddy smiled. He was waiting for that. He crawled to the side of the bed his Master had turned towards, lowered the front of his boxers and slid his Master’s chubby dick in his mouth, till his unworthy lips were glued to his pubes. The smell was overpowering. His Master had obviously had sex the previous night so, what he was tasting was the pungent raunchiness of the straight jock’s uninhibited pleasure. A thrill ran through the fag’s spine for the honor he was being granted. Two seconds later a heavy stream of acrid morning piss started pumping down his throat as Fag Freddy swallowed and swallowed like the toilet champ he had become. This had been an extremely gratifying (on the fag’s part) development of the last few days. He was finally holding his Master’s perfect dick in his mouth. He still couldn’t believe it. Sure, he was still not sucking it (which was currently his number one goal in life) but he was nonetheless holding it in his hungry, hungry mouth. God, the sensation was unbelievable. Fag Freddy looked sideways, towards his master’s face. His head was still on his pillow, his eyes were closed and he was yawning. He then moved his hand behind his back and started scratching his ass. God, was he sexy. The sexiest man alive, hands down, no question about it. Nine, ten, eleven times the fag swallowed, without even flinching because by now that piss down his throat simply made him feel… useful… alive. Yet another thing he couldn’t really see himself stop doing. Then the flow died down, little by little. Fag Freddy sucked in his cheeks to give himself the illusion of an unreachable blowjob. Then he reluctantly let go of his Master’s cock and tucked it back into his boxers. The straight demigod grunted, rolled over and hugged his pillow, face down. The fag slave crawled back to the foot of the bed where his Master’s feet were waiting, soles up. Favorite position ever, he got to lick those perfect feet while locking at his master’s ass. Perfection. He indulged himself for five or six more minutes, dreading the moment that was coming. He needed to get him up, his Master hated being late. So he gave another long, hungry lick and said softly:
“Master, it’s almost 8:15…”
No answer. One whole minute went by.
“Sir, you’re gonna be late for…”
“Shut the fuck up!” the straight jock grunted.
Fag Freddy smiled again. It was the same thing every morning. Master Scott was not a morning person and there was a very, very thin line between being too annoying and not efficient enough. Either way he would have been punished for it but Fag Freddy had used the past couple of weeks to find the sweet spot. He let a couple more minutes pass by while he enjoyed those tasty boy soles, then he tried again.
“Sir, your first class is at 9. You won’t make it in time…” he said softly, receiving a couple more grunts. However, after two more tentative attempts, Master Scott started to stir, yawning and stretching loudly. Fag Freddy quickly crawled back to the side of the bed and lay down, face up. Seconds later Master Scott put his feet down on his human doormat chest and abdomen, and stood up just like the morning after the very first night the two freshmen had spent in the frat. Master Scott didn’t say a word, he was flipping through his phone with one hand and scratching his crotch with the other. A couple of minutes went by.
“How was your night, fag?” Master Scott asked conversationally, his eyes still fixed on his phone screen..
“It was great, Sir…” Fag Freddy replied immediately “I was up till about four am to clean up after the party together with number 9 and the other slaves, Sir.”
“Awesome, hehe! Last night was totally sick. I’m pretty sure we fucked up like every room in the frat!” he chuckled, widely amused.
“Yes, Sir! You did, but we straightened everything up! Thank you for letting us do that, Sir!” the Fag replied.
“Hehehe! Yeah, no problem! It’s so convenient to have you fuckers around, hehe!” he commented.
“Yes, Sir, it’s why you keep us, Sir, right? To make your life easier!” Fag Fred promptly recited.
“You bet.” replied Master Scott.
A couple more minutes went by without either of them talking.
“Did you have a good night, Sir?” the slave asked adoringly.
“Yep, I think I might have found a new fuck-toy.” Master Scott chuckled.
“She is a very lucky girl, Sir…” Fag Freddy said.
“I know, right?” Master Scott replied, amused.
More silence. The weight of his perfect body was starting to crush him a little.
“Sir?”
“What?”
“Thank you for letting me drink your piss, Sir!” Fag Freddy said.
“Sure, fag!” sneered his Master “Gotta say, you completely accepted this slave thing, huh?”
“Well, yes, Sir…” replied Fag Freddy earnestly “It’s great to finally be able to be honest with myself.”
Master Scott, smirked “I’m sure it does and I’ll tell ya, it feels pretty good to me, fag! Hehe!”
They exchange a look. A meaningful one. Absolute power versus overwhelming devotion.
“So! How are you gonna win me the prize money today?” Master Scott asked the same question every morning.
“I’m gonna beg every master in the frat to let me wash their trucks. Then at twelve, I’m going back to the anti lgbt stand to hand out more flyers.”
“Good bitch, that’s a start!” Master Scott commented “What else?”
Fag Freddy smiled up at his perfect Master. He had to win him the money, no matter what. Five more days till the end of the taming.
The stifling heat of the Florida afternoon was fighting a losing battle against the blasting AC. Number 9 knelt in the center of his Masters’ room. The walls were adorned with the trappings of college life: posters of bikini-clad girls and sports teams, a crumpled pile of dirty clothes he hadn’t had time to wash for them in the corner, and a faint scent of sweat and stale pizza lingering in the air. The faggot had eyes that were swollen with unshed tears, and his cheeks were already red from a barrage of slaps. His mouth was stuffed with a pair of dirty socks that tasted like a blend of sweat and the floor of a gym locker room.
Master Alec and Master Kitt, stood over him, only wearing shorts. The game they were playing was an extra sadistic one. Their laughter filled the room, echoing off the empty beer cans scattered across the floor. It was a strangely comforting sound for the fag’s ears. He was used to them. After all, they were pretty stereotypical jocks, members of one the most infamous frats in America, where the sun never seemed to set on their reign of testosterone-fueled antics. They were gods. It was pretty clear to anyone who had ever spent more than five minutes in their presence.
“Alright, bro,” Master Alec said, grinning maliciously. “My turn. Watch this.” His hand flew through the air, connecting with Number 9’s cheek with a resounding smack. The fag’s eyes rolled back, and he let out a muffled yelp around the socks.
Master Kitt cackled in glee. “Oh, that was a good one, bro!” He leaned in closer to the kneeling slave, in a mocking and extremely degrading baby voice. “He didn’t hurt you too bad, did he, fag?”
Number 9 shook his head frantically, his eyes watering. They cackled and Master Kitt spat right on his forehead.
“Bull’s eye!!” They high-fived each other as the fag felt his master’s saliva running down to his nose and cheeks. He was their property, their fag slave, and he lived for this kind of treatment. He craved the pain, the humiliation—it was all he knew. Yet, it wasn’t always easy to deal with it. Although, not for a lack of training because the two handsome straight freshmen didn’t even try to EVER pull their punches when it came to dealing with him.
Master Alec stepped up next, his hand as hard as a brick. His slap was even harder than the last, and the sound echoed in the room. “You’re so fucking pathetic,” he jeered, half singing his words in a sort of made up tuneless silly song. His voice dripped with arrogant contempt. “Do you even realize how fucking useless your life is? Huh? Huh?” He went on with his mocking tone as they both started cackling again. The slave’s heart was pounding in his chest at every slap, at every word, beating faster and faster. Out of contentment… arousal… fear.
The jocks continued their twisted game, having the time of their life, competing like all boys do. Well, straight gods like them, anyway. The fag’s moans grew louder, his knees scraping against the rough carpet.
“God it must suck biiiiiiig fucking time to be so fucking low that you’re letting us do this to you, haha!” Master Kitt said, wiping a tear of laughter from his eye. “You’re like a dog that loves to get kicked.”
Number 9’s eyes pleaded up at them, his whole body trembling. He was close to his breaking point, but the thought of disappointing his gods was worse than the pain.
“Alright, enough practice, let’s see if we can make you fall,” Master Alec announced, rubbing his hands together with a terrifying smirk. Then he turned to his buddy “One slap each, and whoever knocks him down wins. Remember, no punching or kicking, just slaps. “
Master Kitt nodded, a wicked smile spreading across his face. “You’re on,” he said, cracking his knuckles.
Number 9’s brain was shattering. The pain, the elation, the suffering, the awe, the humiliation, the pleasure. Way too much for a human being to feel at the same time. Although, was he even allowed to consider himself as human, anymore?
So their game began and the first official slap rang out, echoing in the otherwise silent room. Number 9’s cheek stung, and he bit down on the socks to stifle his cry. The salty tang of his own tears was mixing with their foot sweat in his mouth. The second slap came from the other direction, and his head snapped to the side. The socks were soaked now.
“C’mon, you fucking homo, aren’t you having fun?” Master Alec said almost maniacally, his hand coming down again on his last word. Number 9 felt his cheek burn as the slap connected, and he wobbled on his knees, his eyes squeezed shut.
Master Kitt stepped back, taunting his buddy with such bravado. “Weak! Don’t go easy on him, dude! He’s used to this shit.”
“Shut up, bro! Let me see you do better!” chuckled Master Alec.
The fag’s eyes darted to one god, then back to the other. He braced himself, his heart racing as Kitt’s hand shot out.
Every impact was like a thunderclap, sending waves of well deserved pain through his skull. He felt the floor tilt beneath him, but managed to stay upright.
The slaps kept getting harder and harder as well as more frequent. Number 9’s vision blurred, and he could feel his balance wavering. The socks were so soggy with his snot and tears now that he was choking on his own breath.
“This is too much fun,” Master Alec said between gasps of laughter. “Let’s see if you can take a real hit, you dumb cunt.”
Yet again, he took a step back and swung with all his might. Number 9’s body rocked with the impact. Pain… pain… pain… so much fucking pain!
Master Kitt stepped up, eager to take his next turn. “Who’s the faggiest of them aaaaall?” he taunted, hitting Number 9’s face so hard the socks fell out of his mouth. “Booooooommm!” Master Kitt shouted and his friend guffawed as he patted him on the back.
Number 9 shook his head slightly and realized something was wrong. He automatically lowered his head to the floor with his mouth open and put the soggy socks back in his mouth. There was not a single coherent thought in his mind but the taste of their foot sweat in his mouth simply felt right.
“Can’t live without your sock gag, can you?” sneered Master Kitt.
The two of them laughed, their eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. It was interesting to see that two boys who had only met a few weeks before had become inseparable, bonded by their common appreciation of pure sadism. This was their world after all. They had been offered the keys to an easy life and Number 9 was nothing more than a toy for them to play with. It felt so good to see them having so much fun. It really made all the pain worth it. Right?
“Almost…almost!” Master Kitt said, unable to contain his excitement. He could clearly feel the victory close at hand.
And then it finally happened. One last slap, and Number 9’s world went black. With a sickening thud, he crumpled to the floor, the sock still in his mouth muffling his cries. Master Alec had won the round, and the fag lay there, his body a canvas of red marks.
The straight boys howled with laughter, making silly dancing moves to celebrate the blond god’s victory.
“Looks like I win,” Master Alec declared, a smug grin lighting his handsome features.
“Do oveeeeeer!!!” Master Kitt whined, not ready for the fun to end.
Master Alec stepped closer and brought his foot down on Number 9’s face. “Can you believe how fucking lucky you are, fag? Got the best life eveeeeer!!!! Hahaha!!” he taunted, his voice so thick with humiliating disdain it was impressive.
The fag nodded vigorously, as his god’s foot smell hooked its claws into his fucked up brain. Such pleasure. And yet he was crying more and more. Again, he was theirs to use, to hurt, to humiliate. He knew that and he reveled in it. But still…
“Yeah, the homo’s fucking loving every second of this shit,” Master Kitt sneered, his own foot coming down hard on Number 9’s cheek. “Aren’t you, you stupid fuck!?” Both their feet on his face, it was more than a lowly faggot deserved. He started nodding immediately and with so much eagerness it was scary. They cracked up again. “Beyond pathetic! Hahaha!”
The masters continued their relentless assault, their bare feet slapping against the fag’s face now with a sickening rhythm. The fag’s body writhed in pain, but he obviously never attempted to fight back because Master Kitt was right, he was indeed loving every second of it, as he should have. This was his place, at the mercy of his straight gods. It was all he lived for. He knew that, they knew that.
“You’re… nothing… but a… fucking… faggot!” Master Alec spat, his foot connecting with Number 9’s nose again and again, punctuating every single word. “A useless, worthless piece of shit.” he kicked him hard right in the balls and fag doubled over.
He could hear them cracking up again. His gods. How could he be so lucky and feel so much pain at the same time? How? How ungrateful was he to even think in such a manner?
“Hey! Get up, you fucking wimp,” Master Alec barked as he nudged him with his foot. “You think that’s enough?”
Number 9 managed to pull himself to his hands and knees, his vision swimming. He was here to serve, to take whatever they dished out. It was the only purpose his fag life really had so did he even have a choice?
Master Kitt grabbed Number 9 by his hair and yanked him back to his knees. “Looks like you’re still breathing,” he sneered. “Guess we’re not done with you yet, faggot.”
The gods looked at each other and grinned, the thrill of their power over such a weak subhuman creature pulsing through their veins.
“Best kick wins?” Master Kitt suggested.
“You got it!” Master Alec replied.
“Face or balls?” asked Master Kitt.
“Mmmm… let’s ask the fag!” snickered Master Alec.
“Hahaha!! Great idea!!” cackled Master Kitt “Hey, queer! Where do you wanna be kicked? Face or balls?” He sounded so chipper.
The fag kept crying and moaning. So much pleasure and so much pain, cruelly connected, cruelly balanced. Such a sad existence from someone’s point of view but it was just another very normal afternoon in the house of Pi Kappa Alpha, for both the gods and the fag. Four more days till the end of the taming.
“Hahaha! That was a good one, fag!” cackled Master Justin and Number 5 felt his heart instantly fill with joy.
“Bro, shut up! That didn’t even crack the top 20!! Lame!!” Master Zach whined in a cute, childish way. Master Scott was laughing too.
The three straight gods were playing a game they seemed to enjoy a whole lot. They were chilling in Master Justin’s room, two of them in comfy armchairs and one on the bed. They were facing each other like the tips of a triangular star. Number 5 was on all fours, his eyes glazed with adoration as he licked Master Justin’s toes devotedly. He was salivating like a wild animal as his tongue danced over the arches, savoring the musky scent of power that clung to the salty skin of his straight god. The fag drug in his body was doing its job and the slave was feeling elated. Master Justin’s perfect feet were lazily resting on Number 9’s back, who was licking Master Scott’s feet which were resting on Number 12’s back. This one, in turn, was licking Master Zach’s feet which were resting on Number 5’s own back. It was a foot-licking circle that Number 5 was absolutely loving.
Now the game was pretty simple. Each slave was to try and make the Master whose feet he was licking win by coming up with the best reasons why straight gods are immensely superior to foot-licking faggots like them. If the fag’s reason was good enough, the fag was lucky enough to receive their straight god’s spit directly into his mouth. First faggot to remain silent for more than ten seconds loses the game and wins a whole week of doormat duty in the entrance hall of the frat. Not exactly a walk in the park.
“Hey! Let’s see your fag do better, then!” Said Master Justin. leaning forward, ready to give his slave his reward. Number 5 immediately opened his watering mouth with his tongue hanging out. He welcomed Master Justin’s spit like a drop of nectar in the desert. It was like a fix he desperately needed.
“You bet!” snickered Master Zach “C’mon, fag! I’ll let you lick my ass tonight when I get back from my gig, if you deliver! You know how fucking sweaty I get when I play!!”
Number 12’s eyes lit up as he paused from his task, his mouth leaving a wet trail on Master Zach’s foot. “You are real men, Sir! Being straight means you don’t have to hide who you are and you get to be proud of your sexuality.” He paused, swallowed, and then added, “We’re just worthless faggots who need to stay in the closet, because we’re ashamed and deserve to be bullied and used in any possible way simply because we were born inferior.”
“Now that’s what I’m talking about!!” exclaimed Master Zach, “In your face Justin!” the three straight gods cackled.
“Yeah, whatever, bro!” replied Master Justin. Number 5 was already thinking about his next reason. He had to be the best, the absolute best at it. He couldn’t fuck it up, not anymore. His god had to win, even though it was a meaningless game, an amusing way to pass the time.
“I’m telling you guys, this ass thing works every fucking time! This little piggy literally can’t get enough! Hehe!” cackled Master Zach “Am I right, faggot?”
“Yessshhir!!!” Number 12 said expectantly, his mouth open, his tongue out, like the mutt he was. It was hard to stop licking their god’s feet, really hard but the thought of receiving their spit was a thrill Number 5 could totally relate to. Master Zach loudly hocked up a loogie before spitting down Number 12’s throat. The three masters cackled some more. The amusement in their gorgeous faces was to die for.
It was Master Scott’s slave’s turn, now. The newcomer, the one who’d totally been shamelessly out and proud not two months before. Number 9.
“Alright, fag, your turn! Make me proud!” Master Scott smirked, looking down at his slave who was clearly racking his brain.
“Well… you can have real friends,” Number 9 said, his voice eager as fuck. “Friends who won’t betray you because you’re not a dirty fag.”
The trio of straight teenage gods laughed, their mirth an arousing thrill down Number 5’s spine. “Yeah,” Master Scott said, “Friends who don’t suck dick behind everyone’s back.”
“Yes! And… and family,” Number 9 added with that know-it-all attitude of his. “Families that don’t throw you out because you’re not normal… because you’re a freak…”
“Nice one!” said Master Justin “Good job, newbie!” he continued high-fiving Master Scott “You turned him into a real fag-doormat! Way to go!” The three straight gods guffawed some more.
Number 5’s hatred towards Number 9 was now palpable.
“Hey, Justin, I think your fag wants to murder pink hair, look at ‘im!” Master Zach quipped and the other two straight gods turned to look at him. He felt shame.
“That true, bitch?” sneered Master Justin “You wanna murder pink hair just cause he came up with a better reason than you?”
Number 5 felt his cheeks burn with shame.
“Y… Yes Sir…” he said and the three straight boys cracked up “ but… but… I have a really good one, Sir! Please let me say it…” the fag begged.
“Hahaha! Alright, go ‘head, bitch!” Said Master Justin.
“Well, Sir…” began Number 5, his voice a desperate whine, “Straight gods can impregnate women, continuing the human race, while we’re not even worthy of being your urinals…” he was going all the way this time “Yet, you straight gods are so immensely generous to use us anyways!” its heart was pounding in its chest.
The three straight boys threw their heads back and laughed. Master Justin was holding his stomach, Master Zach was hitting the armrest of his armchair, Master Scott was shaking his head in pure, unhinged amusement.
“Can’t argue with that!” cackled the godly freshman.
“Good faggot!” Master Justin sneered, slapping Number 5’f face with his foot, his cackling still echoing through the room “You’re done pulling punches, aren’t you? Hahaha!”
Number 5 felt so stupidly proud of himself.
“Careful, bro!” cackled Master Zach “Someone might try to get rid of your fag, haha!”
“Yeah, we might have mashed this sissy’s balls but he’ll still totally cut a bitch for me, hahaha!” said Master Justin “Right faggot?”
“Yesssshhhir!” Number 5 replied promptly while its tongue was lapping hungrily at its Master’s soles.
“Fuck no! I need the little fucker. I wanna win that prize everybody’s talking about!” said Master Scott “Speaking of which, bro, how much dough are we talking about here?” he asked Master Justin who was generously spitting directly into Number 5’s grateful throat. The fag moaned a respectful ‘thank you’.
The handsome jock completely ignored the fag and frowned at Master Scott’s question, thinking back.
“Dude, I honestly can’t remember. Can’t have been that much, though. I think I blew it all in like a month.” Master Justin shrugged.
“Yeah, maybe for you, cause you’re fucking made of money!” Master Scott said.
“Yeah, exactly!” Master Zach chimed in. “You fucking drive a Porsche, dude!”
“What? For real?!” exclaimed Scott “Fuck you, bro!” Master Scott threw a bag of chips at him, laughing.
“Hey! Not my fault my parents are loaded!”
They were the epitome of straight masculinity, three alpha gods without a care in the world. That said it all, really. They were gods, no questions about it and fags were born to serve them, there was no question about it. Number 5 took a second to appreciate how lucky he had been to end up there. There was nobody happier than he was, how could there be? Nothing compared to the thrill he felt every single waking moment of his inferior life, spending its time at their godly feet.
“You know, what?” Master Zach said suddenly “You two should totally gun for Cameron and Noah’s spots!” His tone was nonchalant as usual but the other two looked at him suddenly more focused. Master Zach shrugged, “Well, this is their last year and we need a new prez and VP.”
“Yeah, right! Like it’s easy!” Said Master Scott.
“Not saying it is…” shrugged Master Zach “…but it kinda makes sense, if you think about it. I mean, everyone loves golden boy here…” the Master rolled his eyes in amused exasperation “…and that pink-haired faggot of yours is racking up like a million points for you lately!”
“That’s actually true, bro! We’re not supposed to tell you this but you’re gonna get noticed at the ceremony, for sure!” Said Master Justin.
Master Scott had an extremely satisfied smirk on his handsome face.
“Well, that’s all good but c’mon, guys, I’m a freshman! You and Jus make more sense!” the straight jock said to Master Zach.
“Hard pass!” Master Zach snorted “All that fucking responsibility? Noooooo, thank you!”
The boys chuckled.
“Yeah, bro! Pot head here has like zero interest in that kinda stuff.” said Master Justin “He might have a point, though…” he continued, a sly smirk on his face.
Master Scott shook his head in amused disbelief “You guys are crazy!” he said to his friends “How would that even work?”
Master Justin’s smirk was even more pronounced now. He sure had some kinda plan in his brilliant mind. Number 5 kept licking his soles like its life depended on it, well aware that it was witnessing something important.
Three more days till the end of the Taming.
“You mean all of our stuff?” a burly sophomore asked Cameron with an amused expression.
“Yep, you heard me!” replied the Golden Panther team captain “Cleats, clothes, underwear, all of it. Just leave it here and you’ll find it all nice and clean outside your dorm room by 9 pm tonight.”
Scott frowned slightly as he chuckled and all the other boys followed suit. He figured they all knew Cameron was the president of that ‘weird frat’ and he guessed this wasn’t exactly the first time the whole team had to witness some poor freshmen having to prove themselves worthy of being a ‘brother’. Scott could tell they all found it extremely entertaining, of course, probably because they were not the ones doing the chores. He also wondered how many of them would still find it amusing, knowing the whole truth.
“Wasn’t pledge week like two months ago?” snickered the same boy.
“Was it? Oopsy…” quipped Cameron, smirking evilly and everybody laughed.
“What are you doing?” Scott murmured sidaways, highly entertained.
“Well, your fag is trying to rack up points for you left and right, literally begging on his knees to give him shit to do and I, for one, gotta say it’s super impressive!” the president explained, still not loud enough for the others to hear it “But that don’t mean I’mma make it easy for you, rookie!” Cameron smirked and punched Scott playfully on the arm.
Scott chuckled and shrugged as if to say ‘fair enough’.
“How the hell do you keep finding all these little bitches, Donovan?” another boy asked from across the locker room, as he peeled off his sweaty jersey and threw it on the floor.
“Hahaha! Well, this one’s actually not mine! He belongs to the rookie here!” Cameron nodded his chin sideways, in Scott’s direction. Most of the faces in the locker room looked pretty impressed.
“Well, whatever!” the same boy guffawed, shaking his head.
“Damn! The poor bastard must really like playing doormat for you, Ackerman!” another boy told Scott.
“Oh, you have no idea!” The freshman chuckled and all of them laughed hard, completely unaware of what the actual situation was.
The conversation steered towards the practice they had just finished as they filed in the showers. Fifteen minutes later a refreshed Scott was following Cameron out of the locker room, chatting amicably. That’s when a visibly fatigued pink hair showed up, right on cue.
“Perfect timing, faggot!” said Cameron, cheerfully, this time not even trying to keep his voice down. Some of the boys around snickered but they were all walking away, definitely more taken with their own shit.
“Thank you, Sir!” the fag replied.
“Bet you’re dying to know why you’re here, huh?” asked Cameron. The fag shot a nervous look at Scott before promptly saying.
“Yes, Sir!”
“You didn’t tell him?” Scott asked, amused.
“Nope, I literally just came up with it!” shrugged Cameron.
“Haha! Nice, prez!” laughed Scott, giving back the playful punch.
“Alright, fag!” Cameron began “Here’s the key to our locker room. We left all our dirty shit in there, ALL OF IT!” he repeated “You’ve till 9 to clean everything and deliver our stuff to each of us.” Cameron said “You’re obviously licking the sweaty jocks first, THEN the muddy cleats. Also, when you’re done, lick all the urinals and toilets before cleaning them for real.”
“Y… yes sir…” the fag swallowed hard.
“Hang on!” said Scott “How do you know, he’s gonna do it for real?” The boy didn’t really know why he was saying that. After all, the fag was doing all this just to win him points, wasn’t this counterintuitive?
Cameron’s smirk was quite ferocious.
“Oh, ‘cause he’s gonna record himself doing it…” he said, talking to Scott “And if you want those points the fag’s gonna need to upload all the vids on the app. Actually, while you’re at it, fag, talk to the camera and explain why you’re doing what you’re doing!”
“Yes Sir…” Pink Hair’s answer was a little bashful. This was probably a new level of low. Creating more incriminating material, that is. And this time, voluntarily. But Scott had a feeling that his homo roommate wasn’t gonna disappoint. Not one bit. “I better start, Sir…” the fag then added, pragmatically.
“Happy licking!” mocked Cameron. And just like that Fag Freddy disappeared behind the metal door the two straight boys had just come out of.
“You know, that bitch is super fucking efficient. Great job turning ‘im into such an eager slave.” Cameron said conversationally as they started to walk towards the frat house.
“Hehe, yeah!” agreed Scott.
“Kinda reminds me of Number 1, you know? I actually hold the record for scoring the highest number of points during taming with him.” Cameron blatantly bragged.
“Oh, I know!” replied Scott “I checked the scoreboard on the app.”
“Did you?” smirked Cameron “Yeah, I thought you might.” Then, he added “Gotta say, it’s refreshing to see someone who actually understands what we do here.”
“What do you mean?” frowned Scott.
“Let’s just say that not everybody gets the fact that fags are way more that just punching bags.” Cameron elaborated “Don’t get me wrong, pain is one of the key components of their training, for sure! But if that’s the only thing you use ‘em for, well…” he left it hanging, like it was self explanatory.
“The way I see it, they make my life waaaaaay easier. And by the way, the power you have over them is the fucking best…” confessed Scott.
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about! I tried to explain that to that moron I got for a little brother and his buddy but they just…” Cameron said, a little frustrated “I don’t know, maybe they’ll get it in time…”
Scott couldn’t help smiling to himself.
“Same for Blake! Man, I get it, he’s a fucking sadist but Jesus fucking Christ he almost ruined everything!” Cameron was clearly venting. Scott didn’t reply, he didn’t need to. “Probably shouldn’t have told you that but whatever. I’m sure you figured it out even though I played it down with the brothers.”
“Well, I had my suspicions…”
“Of course you did. That’s cause you’re actually smart which is why I’m saying you get what we’re doing here.”
A few seconds of silence went by, then Scott put his arm on the senior’s shoulder and replied:
“You know what, prez? I think I do.”
Freddy’s jaw dropped to the fucking floor when he saw what ‘all our dirty shit’ meant. He had figured ‘our’ as in the two of them. The whole fucking team!? What the actual fuck?!? How the fuck was he gonna make it in time? There must have been like twenty sets of everything on that filthy floor. Obviously he wanted to put his face in each item of that smelly pile. Freddy was no hypocrite and he wasn’t even trying to deny how hard he had been since the second he had stepped into that overflowing testosterone gas chamber. But the pragmatic side of him was utterly terrified. He checked his watch. He had less than four hours till his deadline. SImply put, it was virtually impossible. He fell to his knees, slowly panicking. Had he finally hit an insurmountable wall? Things had started to actually work well in the last few weeks at the frat. His routine with Master Scott and the rest of the brothers was starting to feel like a well-oiled machine that just made sense. Way more sense than what his life had been so far, if he was being honest. And he had been so good at scoring points for him too. Was this nothing more than a fleeting phase? Had it come to an end already? Were they gonna throw him out? He was clearly going to fail so it seemed pretty likely. And what was he gonna do? He wasn’t speaking to his father anymore. Where was he gonna live? What about his future? His spiraling thoughts were taking him deeper and deeper inside the folds of his horrified mind. He realized he had started rummaging uselessly through the dirty clothes and shoes. The smell was suffocating, overwhelming, pungent, ridiculously masculine. His head was spinning. It was like inhaling some kinda drug or something. He couldn’t think straight. He was gonna humiliate Master Scott in front of everybody. It was gonna be a disaster. How could Master Cameron think this was even feasible? His Master’s honor was on the line because he had been assigned something impossible to carry out. How could he even look at his master’s face again? And then it happened. The instant Master Scott’s face popped into his mind he took a deep breath, stopped his frantic collecting, dropped everything on the floor and slapped himself hard with both hands. The noise echoed off the walls of the empty locker room. He calmed down. He could finally think again. He took another breath and got to his feet. Then he took his phone out of his pocket and positioned it on one of the benches, making sure the shot was good enough. There was no fucking way in hell he was going to embarrass Master Scott. He was gonna bust his ass like there was no tomorrow but he was gonna finish in time. Period. Mind over fucking matter. ‘Nice try, Master Cameron’ he murmured. He pressed the red button on his phone screen, got into position, selected a particularly nasty looking jock from the pile, looked at the camera and then he began. Two more days till the end of the taming.
‘…and at the end of the day, what can a faggot dream if not licking the sweat off straight guys’ jocks? It’s literally a dream come true, I can’t believe my luck! I get to taste everybody’s ball sweat, it’s so exciting…’
“You gotta admit this bitch is in a league of its own.” Commented Cliff.
The 20 year old basketball player was watching the video pink hair had uploaded the night before. Noah was with him.
“Yeah, I guess…” the VP replied, mildly annoyed, sitting on Cliff’s bed.
“You guess? C’mon, dude!” Cliff turned to look at him from his desk.
“Fine, he’s good…” Noah replied, a little reluctantly. He was smiling though.
“He’s a total keeper, even better that his faggot father, hehe!” Cliff chuckled “That stupid bitch paid his fag tributes for almost 30 years. This one might do better!”
“Well, I do plan on enjoying the cash flow for a loooooong time, don’t you?” asked Noah, yawning and stretching in a showoffy way.
“A-fucking-men, bro!” Cliff replied, guffawing. Then he happily pressed ‘10’ on the rating grid of Number 9. It was gonna be a fun ceremony this year.
Freddy scratched his cheek nervously. He hadn’t slept particularly well that night. It was understandable. The end of the famous taming had finally come. That very morning, out of the blue, he had been informed that some sort of ceremony was gonna take place. Momentarily, actually. Unfortunately he didn’t know the details which made him more than a little uncomfortable.
Someone cleared their throat quietly next to him. It was Number 9. They were both waiting outside a closed white door. Kneeling in front of it, to be precise. The brothers of Pi Kappa Alpha were on the other side of it, getting everything ready, apparently. Jesus, you could cut the tension with a knife. Number 8 sighed, nervously. Freddy said nothing. He would have liked to punch his ‘colleague’ but didn’t. God, everything about that guy was annoying, even his noises. Freddy had never liked him and it’s fair to say that the previous few weeks had done nothing to make him change his mind. Number 9 was an insufferable know-it-all and acted like he simply was better than Freddy for no reason at all, really. He was a faggot, a slave to his own nature, a tool born to make the life of straight guys easier, better and more pleasant. Just like Freddy. So why the fucking attitude?
Freddy adjusted the front of his t-shirt.
“What do you think is gonna happen once they let us in?” Freddy asked more to break the silence than anything.
“I don’t know…” Number 8 replied a little woefully.
Now that he was looking at him, Freddy noticed how worn out and weary the guy looked. Even his voice sounded tired. Freddy frowned.
“You ok?” Freddy asked just to be polite.
“I’m fine…” the other replied curtly, staring at the floor in front of him. He looked like he was about to throw up. Freddy stopped caring the second Number 9 replied. What a fucking asshole.
It was Freddy’s turn to sigh. His heart was pounding in his chest, part of him couldn’t wait for them to open that door, the other part was scared shitless. This was really it. And his fear didn’t really come from the choice he made. Because it had been his choice… mostly. Well, let’s say he had been shown the path he was supposed to walk. But he had decided to walk it. Proudly. Even more proudly than all that bullshit he had always believed in. True, it had taken some convincing but now that he was here he had a very fuzzy memory of the reasons he had ever hesitated to accept his role in life in the first place. No, that’s not what scared him. But what if what he had done for Master Scott hadn’t been enough? He had done the impossible to make him win and that must have counted for something. He knew that rationally. But the thought of embarrassing his god was just unbearable.
It was probably the drug talking. Yeah, that had been another mind-blowing discovery. Mr Congeniality who was now kneeling beside him had told him about it a couple of weeks before, in that ‘don’t-tell-me-you-didn’t-know’ way of his that made Freddy’s blood boil. Concerned, Freddy had asked if it was true and Master Scott had simply shrugged and gone “You bet! It’s in everything you eat and drink, you’ve been taking it since day one.”
After picking his jaw from the floor, Freddy had started to panic. But Master Scott had snorted and said “You think it would’ve been any different without it? C’mon, you know you love this shit!”
And that had been the end of it. If Master Scott wasn’t worried about it there was no reason whatsoever to be so.
Minutes. Long, interminable minutes. It was nerve wracking. But then, suddenly, the door opened and Master Cliff appeared. He smiled down at them and went: “Alright, fags! We’re ready for ya!”
Freddy swallowed hard and, without further ado, he crawled inside the room.
It was about 9.15 when Freddy finished all his chores in the kitchen after dinner. All the other slaves were there. The fact that the whole charade was finally over was indeed refreshing. He could finally see who was who. There were 15 masters in total and 7 slaves and although he might have guessed the roles before the eye opening ceremony, now it was official. What a peculiar evening it had been. Nothing too different from what he had gotten used to in the previous weeks but it had also been the first time he had eaten a proper slave meal out of a bowl on the floor, on all fours. If we’re not counting the ceremony, that is. It was an adjustment, for sure. Not a huge one, though. It wasn’t particularly comfortable but it did feel cosy and… well, just right, really.
Freddy turned to Andy… well, Number 1, and said: “Goodnight… See you tomorrow.”
The older slave smiled at him, though a little tightly: “Night! Oh, and welcome to the frat… for good this time.”
Freddy smiled back “Yeah, thanks…” and he walked out of the kitchen.
He started to think back of everything that had happened on that day. The ceremony. That had been something he was probably going to remember for the rest of his life. First of all, the setting. All the masters except for Master Scott, Master Kit and Master Alec were sprawled in a semicircle of uber comfortable couches and armchairs, chilling and drinking beer. All the slaves were stark naked, on all fours with collars and leashes, their eyes beaten in complete and utter submission. Freddy had immediately noticed the tattoos on their chest. He and number 9 had been welcomed by a cacophony of jeers, shouts and laughs that were more than a little intimidating. The whole thing had been quite official too. First, Master Cameron had told them to strip completely naked like all animals should. Freddy had figured this much was coming when he had seen the other slaves so it hadn’t been a shocker. Then, the president had begun a pretty long speech about the importance of the ‘Taming’, at the end of which he had turned to Freddy and Number 9 to ask “What have you learned during the Taming, fags?”
Freddy had been given the chance to answer first and he had not held back one bit. He had spoken for a good five minutes about the way he viewed the world now and how thankful and grateful he was to all the masters in that room for explaining to him the concept of fag inferiority and for showing him his place in life: under straight men’s feet. He also added that it was such a simple yet powerful notion he couldn’t believe he hadn’t grasped it before. How good it had felt to say all those things out loud and in front of everybody. He had been cheered beyond belief. He had even gotten a small nod and a smile from Master Scott who was standing next to him.
The same couldn’t be said for Number 9. You could tell that he was panicking, probably couldn’t find anything new to add to what Freddy had said and he was stuttering nervously.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, fag?” had growled Master Kit while kicking Number 9 to the floor extra hard. It had been hard to watch and Freddy had felt weirdly protected by his godly roommate’s aura.
Then the Masters had produced four metal dog bowls and put them in front of Freddy and Number 9, two each. In the one on the right there was some dog food. The other one was empty up until the moment when the three freshman masters had been asked to fill them up with piss. Which they had gladly done, of course, making quite a mess on the floor. Then, each of the older brothers had stood up and taken turns spitting in one of the piss bowls. Master Cameron had told Freddy and Number 9 that what they had in front of them was a ‘godly’ gift because everyone of those straight men had chipped in to make sure the concoction tasted incredible to a faggot vermin and that now, as a fun bonus, they were gonna time the two of them to see who was more eager to be part of the frat.
The instant the Masters had shouted ‘GO!’ Freddy had turned into a starving animal, wolfing down the dog food without even tasting it. The desire to leave number 9 in the dust was too strong. Then, he had moved to the other bowl which was exactly what he needed to wash down the food. After all, he had been drinking Master Scott’s piss several times a day for weeks now and found himself partial to the taste and, quite frankly, the thick layer of foaming spit floating on the surface didn’t really make any difference to him. So he had diligently drunk every drop of it, even licking the last bits that had spilled on the hardwood floor. That lukewarm sensation in his mouth was just perfect. The Masters had gone crazy, cracking up like they were watching a stand up comedy special or something.
Number 9 had almost vomited though. And it had taken him way longer to finish. Not very impressive. A hard slap on the side of his head by Master Kitt who was looking at him with pure disgust.
After that, Master Cameron had stood up, opened the app and had announced the results of the voting. It hadn’t even been a competition, really, more like a thrashing. 174 points VS 47.
“You’re fucking useless, you stupid sack of fag meat!!” this time Master Alec had kicked Number 9 right in the face first, then Master Kit had gotten his balls adding: “You are sooooo dead, you fucking queer!” The slave had started snivelling and sobbing, muttering apologies and holding his groins, writhing on the floor.
Freddy had swallowed hard and had thanked all the gods of any religion ever known to mankind that he had been paired with Master Scott instead. He actually looked up at him and was happy to see a satisfied smirk on his perfect features. A smirk that had suddenly widened when Master Cameron had said:
“Well, I was right, rookie! You beat my record by three points, not bad!”
The whole room had exploded in happy, yet extremely butch cheers.
“Gotta say, between you and this other motherfucker…” Master Cameron had added pointing at Master Justin “it kinda feels like you guys are gunning for me, you know?!” Freddy hadn’t missed the fleeting exchange of looks that had come to pass between his god and Master Justin while everybody else in the room was laughing. Freddy had felt like he was somehow witnessing history in the making. A shiver went up his spine.
Then, the two slaves had been asked if they wanted to be a part of the frat. The Masters had even made it sound like it was actually a choice. Which was kinda funny, all things considered. But Freddy was so happy about the prospect of spending the next four years living like that, he had launched into a tireless pleading, begging each and every one of those 15 Masters to accept him in that frat house because there was nothing in the world he wanted more. Which was actually true. There really wasn’t. Number 9 had more or less copied him, his face still a tearful mess. How unoriginal.
And then they had been both declared property of Pi Kappa Alpha for the rest of their lives. That’s when it had dawned on him. For the rest of their lives. Not just for four years. What was gonna happen after college? But he hadn’t had time to ponder that because Master Cameron had presented them with a collar and leash. Freddy had put it on gladly although a little awkwardly.
Next, they had shaved their heads. Now that was a bummer. Freddy really liked his pink mohawk. But it was necessary: slaves must all look the same and most of all, they don’t have free will. What would faggot scum do with free will anyway? Straight men know what’s best for faggots and it’s them who should decide for them. So he even smiled kinda stupidly when they shaved him as he was surrounded by the rowdiest kind of slur-filled cheering possible which strangely felt like home.
The last two steps had probably been the most… let’s go with challenging. Well, the branding not as much, really. Freddy scratched his chest. Under his t-shirt a big number 8 had been tattooed with the logo of the frat and the three greek letters. Again, not a shocker. He had figured as much when he had seen the other slaves. The cock-cages he hadn’t noticed, though. And that had been embarrassing. His dick had been hard for the whole ceremony. Like, rock hard. And when he had been handed the cock cage to put on (yeah, he had had to put it on himself to show them how much he wanted to completely submit to them) he had been told to jack off so that his ‘tiny fag dicklet’ would have stayed down long enough for him to cage it. Freddy had barely had to stroke himself before cumming in a roar of jeers and cackles. He had then proceeded to put the cage on, right after licking his own cum off the floor. Not the nicest part of the ceremony. The thing was that being controlled down to that level of intimacy only made him harder. It was also a scary instrument the Masters had to enforce discipline. Because the cock-cage was remotely controlled by the app. Number 9’s balls had been electrocuted by Master Kitt and Master Alec just to see if the app worked properly. Seven times. With increasing voltage. The way the two straight Masters had cackled uncontrollably, holding their stomach in pure entertained mirth, watching their slave convulse and agonize on the floor every single time they hit the button on their phone sent shivers down Freddy’s spine.
The young fag finally got to the top of the staircase and walked to his god’s room, down the hall. It kinda felt like no time at all had passed since the first time he had done that. The night of the party. Nine weeks. It’s nothing, right? Yet he was a completely different person. Now he had a purpose and in a weird way, everything seemed easier in the future ahead, even though he was understandably full of doubts. A bit of a mess in his head, really. But he sighed serenely and when he got to the door he went back on all fours and knocked.
Scott was chilling on his bed, looking at the screen of his phone. He couldn’t stop smiling to himself. Twenty-five thousand dollars had been wired instantly to his bank account when he had been declared the winner of that stupid competition at the ceremony. Twenty-five thousand dollars, for fuck’s sake!!! For what? For turning a proud homo activist into a foot-licking fag slave? Un-fucking-believable. He was pretty much living in a fucking mansion for free. The gay kid he used to bully in high school was now his slave. Like a real one. Well, ok, he wasn’t his ‘per se’ but he could control that stupid bitch in whatever way he wanted. And he had just gotten shitloads of dough for it. If only he could tell the homies back in Arlington. Fuck, who said he couldn’t tell them? He could do whatever the fuck he wanted, that was the point. Again, unbelievable! That stupid fuck had almost killed himself to make sure Scott won that money. The straight boy hadn’t had to lift a fucking finger. This was pure fucking gold. Everything about it, the whole fucking notion, really. The possibilities were endless. Endless! He chuckled to himself at the thought as he heard a knock on the door.
“Come in!” he said distractedly.
The bitch crawled in.
“Hehe! Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite faggot slave!” he said cheerfully, passing a hand through his thick chestnut hair “Done with your downstairs chores already?”
“Yes, Sir!” the fag nodded happily. What a pathetic creature. “I’ll get started with your laundry, right away, Sir.”
“Hehe, yeah, you do that, bitch!” Scott watched the fag almost wag his tail till he got to the dirty clothes that were littering the hardwood floor of his room. It was still funny as fuck, ‘cause to Scott it was simply mind-boggling. He didn’t understand how someone could be happy to live a whole life of complete, submissive servitude? It was beyond degrading. Something a guy like him would have never accepted, no matter the amount of dirt they had on him. But this bitch was actually welcoming it. Of course Scott didn’t need to understand it to take advantage of it, which he was more than happy to do. And teasing the sissy queer about it was quickly becoming Scott’s favorite pastime. “So?! How does it feel to throw away your freedom like that, huh?”
The fag turned to look at him and smiled a little bashfully, but there was no shame on his stupid snout.
“Well, if I’m being completely honest with you… it’s amazing and terrifying at the same time, Sir!”
Scott smirked “Oh, really? How so?”
“Well… on one hand I get to serve you Sir, which is, by far, the best thing that could have ever happened to me and I mean it…” the fag confessed heartfeltly.
“Can you even hear how pathetic that is?” Scott jeered.
“Of course, Sir… but I am faggot so…” the slave replied almost in a practical manner.
“True that!” agreed Scott, amused.
“And also… giving away pretty much all my basic human rights… I don’t know… it’s such a thrill…”
“Good to know, bitch!” smirked Scott “Then why is it terrifying?”
“Well, you see, I’m looking forward to the next four years so much but…” the fag paused.
“What?” pressed Scott.
“What’s gonna happen to me once college is over?” the fag suddenly saddened.
“Oh, that’s an easy one!” Replied Scott, shrugging carelessly “You’re gonna find a great job and you’re gonna send the frat… what was it? Sixty percent of what you’re gonna make?”
“No, I know that, Sir! That’s not the terrifying part…” the fag hurried to clarify.
“Then what is it?” frowned Scott. What could be worse than that?
“Will… will I still be able to serve you, Sir?” the fag asked bashfully “I… I really wanna keep serving you… I… I don’t think I can live without it… not anymore…”
“Hahaha!! Oh, man! So THAT’s what terrifies you?” laughed Scott “The fact that you might not be able to serve me till you die?”
“W… well… yes, Sir, absolutely!” the fag told him in a super serious way “You… you have no idea what it means for a faggot like me to find a real man… a leader… a master… you’re like a god to me, Sir… you really are…”
“Hahaha! Took you long enough but you finally got it, huh?” Scott chuckled with bravado then he added “You know, fag, you’re a real piece of work!”
“Yes, Sir… but you see… I realized something…”
“And what’s that?” Scott asked even more entertained now.
“You see, Sir… even among us slaves there’s gotta be pride in who we serve and… like… you are truly a god, like I said… I’m not even exaggerating…” the fag was in a frenzy now “I mean, when I found out you used my sister like a fucktoy and then discarded her when you were done I felt so much respect for you, Sir…”
“What the fuck! Who told you that?” Scott was cackling now. Was this fag for real?
“Nobody, Sir, I… I heard you talking about it with Master Zach, a few weeks ago…”
“And you say you felt respect for me, for doing that?” Scott sneered, so amused and entertained it was ludicrous.
“Yes, Sir…”
“For using your little sister’s mouth like a fleshlight, then taking her virginity in your own bed?” Scott couldn’t help pointing out how funny that was with his tone.
“Y… yes Sir… And… and I know a normal guy would not feel the same way but… but… like I said… you truly are a god… and you can do whatever you want… maybe it’s the drug talking but I really mean what I’m saying… being your slave feels like nothing I’ve ever felt before… and I don’t want it to end, Sir… Ever…”
“Hahaha! This is fucking priceless! Hahaha!” Scott couldn’t stop laughing. He had been called a god three times in under a minute. Nice record. Unbelievable. “Well, let me tell ya, your sister was definitely a convenient cumdump to have around, always sooooo fucking eager! Must run in the family, huh?”
“Oh, Sir… I am so jealous of her…” the fag confessed.
“Jealous? ‘Cause she got to suck my dick and you never will?” Scott smirked cruelly.
The fag’s look was heartbroken “Y… yes Sir…”
“Hahaha! Don’t worry, you’re gonna get to do loads of other fun stuff for me!” Scott cackled and the fag smiled at him.
“Thank you, Sir!”
“Oh, and for the record, consider yourself my slave for life, bitch! I’m never gonna get tired of getting served, hehe!”
The fag’s stupid eyes lit up like a fucking Christmas tree.
“Oh, Sir! You mean I can stop worrying? You have no idea how good that makes me feel!!! Thank you!!! Thank you so much!!” he said.
“You’re fucking welcome, faggot!” Scott sneered.
“I’ll add it to the list of things I should be grateful to you for…” the fag added, truly happy “Well… actually… Can I show you something, Sir?”
“Oh, man! What is it?” Scott rolled his eyes but he was having the time of his life. This conversation was better than any TV show, ever!
“Oh, god, this makes so much more sense now because of what you said… I’m so happy I did it…” the fag’s face looked radiant.
“Dude, what the fuck you talkin’ about?” Scott pressed on, now truly curious.
The fag removed his right sock eagerly, like a kid who wants to show you a trick.
“Remember when they branded me earlier, Sir?”
“Yeah, what of it?”
“I… I kinda asked the tattoo guy… Well, I should probably call him Master too… Anyways, I asked him to do this…”
The fag lifted his foot and on the sole Scott read ‘Property of Master Scott’.
“What the fuck, fag! Hahahaha!” The straight boy cracked up “Hell yeah, I like it, bitch! You’re my fucking property!” He felt so powerful, truly the king of the world. There was not turning back from that feeling. He wanted it, he craved it.
The fag was so emotional as he smiled, in pure ecstasy.
“I’m so happy you like it… I wasn’t sure if I could do it… you know, because of the Frat…” the fag confessed “Actually the Master who tattoed me said it was against the rules and he would only do it for a price.”
“Really? How much?” Scott raised an eyebrow.
“Fifteen hundred…”
“For that? Bitch, he totally ripped you off, you know that, right?”
“Yes, Sir… but I was happy to do it… it’s more than that actually… I just felt like I had to do it… really…” the fag was smiling serenely at him.
Scott shook his head in amused entertainment.
“Oh, man! Well, I guess I can keep that little secret.”
The fag crawled to the end of Scott’s bed and started to kiss his feet in gratitude muttering his blissful ‘thanks’ like a prayer. Scott let him, taking in the scene. Everything was as it should. Cameron and the rest of the brothers had been so fucking right all along. Faggots were born for this. It was likely their only purpose on this planet. Who knew? Scott had always ridiculed them with his friends, even bullied them sometimes. But they were actually a resource. A big one. To be exploited till there was nothing left to use.
“You know, you should have realized all this shit years ago, fag. High-school would have been much more fun for me and my buddies!” Scott half-joked, chuckling.
The fag looked at him, serious as a heart attack.
“You’re right, Sir…” he replied “I didn’t know better… I… I was blinded and confused by society and what people told me I should do and be… but I will make it up to you, Sir! I swear!”
“Oh, really? How?” God, it was so amusing listening to him.
“I will do anything I can to help you become the president of this Frat, Sir!”
Now that was probably the first time the fag had surprised Scott, a little. So this bitch wasn’t braindead after all. Good to know. Maybe he could be exploited in more ways than one after all. The handsome jock smiled at him. Not a warm smile by any chance. A calculating one.
“Yes, you will.” he said simply.
Epilogue
Matt noticed TJ Walker the second he walked into the big lecture hall followed by the slave he had literally just been assigned, the night before.
‘It’s Master TJ to you, stupid!’ Matt’s voice scolded angrily inside his head.
The taming had ended a couple of weeks before but this particular handsome jock’s path to becoming a Pi Kappa Alpha brother had been somewhat different than usual. He had transferred from UCLA about ten days before and somehow he had been vetted, interviewed and chosen by the frat to become a Master there at the last minute, skipping pretty much all the traditional steps. It had actually been Master Scott’s decision, the president of the frat and his word was absolute. Period. Not surprising, really. In fact, anybody who had been lucky enough to be in the presence of that insane, jaw-dropping specimen of a man could all agree that he was a fucking god among mortals. He had to be. Ridiculously handsome, madly charismatic and unbelievably charming. Hands down the best president of the frat in sixty glorious years of activity by a long, long shot. Every single one of them fags serving there was so hysterically jealous of Number 8, his slave. And for good reasons. Even thinking rationally, Matt simply couldn’t see himself as being part of the same species as Master Scott.
‘That’s cause you’re not, stupid!’ the voice in his head again.
Anyways, back to the newcomer. Matt adjusted the uncomfortable cock-cage he’d been wearing since the ceremony as he followed the straight jock strut to a seat not too far from where he, himself was seated, waiting for the Math lecture to start. It was kinda hard not to stare at someone like him. Tall, athletic, light bronze skin, dark hair, strikingly bright blue eyes, gorgeous features and a smile that would have melted a frigging iceberg. He oozed swag from every pore which, let’s face it: not exactly out of the ordinary at Pi Kappa Alpha. They were all like that. The Masters, that is. But still, the fag couldn’t help gazing in awe at him.
The straight boy sat down heavily and the eager young slave sat right next to him, suddenly whispering something in the jock’s ear. The master frowned and looked down, almost like he was checking the sole of his foot.
“You’re right!” the Master said “Then fucking do something about it, bitch!”
The second those words were uttered the slave disappeared under the table. Matt swallowed, impressed by such zeal. Sleepy freshmen were slowly making their way into the hall, very distractedly checking their phones or yawning loudly, since it was their first lesson on a Monday morning. Nobody even noticed what Matt was witnessing, something that was both so blatantly out of the norm and yet so easy to miss.
Like his classmates, Master TJ was also busy scrolling the screen of his phone, pretty carelessly. Less than a minute later the slave’s head popped up from under the table and he sat down again. He was holding what looked like a dirty chewing gum between his thumb and index. The master smirked at him and said:
“Good job, fag! That looks suuuper tasty! Now why don’t you put it in your mouth and chew on it till the end of the lecture?”
“Yes, sir!” the slave replied immediately and obeyed. They weren’t being loud, by any means, but Matt was quite close and more importantly, he was listening. “Thank you, Sir, for letting me have this, you’re so kind to me, Sir!”
“Hehe! Fuckin’ a right! You know, I think I’ll fit right in! Hehe!” the master sneered. Then, all of a sudden, the handsome straight boy turned to look at Matt “You taking notes, bitch?”
Matt stumbled on his words as he tried to reply.
“I’m… I’m sorry, Sir…” he said then “I… I didn’t mean to stare…” he looked down, embarrassed as fuck.
Master TJ shook his head amused “Damn, you fried-brain fag junkies are all the same, huh? Can’t help drooling everytime one of us is around.”
“Y… yes, Sir…” Matt smiled apologetically, then his curiosity took charge of his mouth “Sir, may I ask how you knew that I was… you know…”
“The tracker in your cockcage,” the straight boy explained, “I can see where all you bitches are on the app. I even get notified and everything, you know! It’s pretty fucking cool!” The look of inherent superiority on his handsome face was crushing.
“Y… yes, Sir…”
“So, whose fag are you?” the Master asked conversationally.
“I… was tamed by Master Caleb, Sir…” Matt replied, quite proudly.
Master TJ frowned slightly, trying to recall the name “You mean ‘ginger’?” he asked then.
“W… well, yes, Sir, his hair is auburn…”
Master TJ nodded “Yeah, I met ‘im! He’s cool! Texas kid like me!”
“Yes, Sir…”
Then a dawning smirk appeared on the Master’s lips “Hang on! So you’re the shit-eating toilet he’s been bragging about! Oh, fuck, man! He says you down it like a champ! Hehe!”
A sudden pang at the pit of his stomach. Matt swallowed hard. There it was. The thing that kept him up at night, the thing that inevitably made him doubt his loyalty. God, the taste NEVER left his mouth, no matter how often he flossed or brushed. He could even smell it on the skin of his face. Unyielding.
“Y… Yes, Sir…” Matt whispered.
“Damn, bitch! That’s so fucking nasty! Hehe!” Master TJ snickered, “I’ll tell you, I don’t know if I’m ready for this one to do the same thing, yet!” he elbowed the fag who was sitting next to him, religiously chewing the gum he had just scraped off the sole of his Master’s sneaker. “How does that even work? Does he squat on your face or what?”
“Uhm… well… n…no, Sir…” Matt hesitated. He closed his eyes for a moment and his Master’s godly asshole was suddenly inches from his fag face, slowly yet inexorably spreading as he, the naturally blessed, privileged straight boy started to push. He opened his eyes. The room was filling up with people but the chatter was pretty loud now so answering would not be a problem. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “The… the underseat of the toilet in his bathroom has been modified, Sir…” he explained “…so I can slide my head inside of it and…”
“Fuck! That’s crazy! Hahaha!” Master TJ cackled “Interesting, though! Maybe I should do it too!” Then the straight boy suddenly turned to his slave and asked “Would you eat my shit if I told you to?”
The fag’s face had turned a nice cadaver-like shade of grey that simply couldn’t hide the disgust.
“Y… yes… Sir… I… I would… I… of course…” he replied.
Master TJ cackled “Relax, bitch, for now I’m good with you just drinking my piss! It’s fucking hilarious! Hahaha!”
The relief on the fag’s face was priceless and the conversation would have probably continued had the professor not walked in and called for silence.
When the lecture finished, Matt hurried back to the frat. He still had to take care of his Master’s laundry and a chat with the all knowing, problem solving head slave, Number 8, was overdue. The guy had been his guide through it all, his mentor and Matt looked up to him. He had learned countless things from his wise words. The young fag thought of how much he loved and worshipped Master Caleb. He remembered the day they had met. Those boyish looks had immediately tricked Matt into thinking he was such a nice guy. And he was… to his friends. With him he was… well, it didn’t matter. He was his Master and Matt was happy to serve him in any way he saw fit. But that thing. Matt’s stomach clenched. And it was constant and so crazy regular… Every morning, every afternoon and every evening, right after dinner. And the worst thing was how guilty Matt felt at not chomping at the bit for the next time to come because Master Caleb had such a great time doing it. It was his favorite. The sneer comments he never failed to deliver every time he squeezed out a particularly nasty turd. ‘Chow it down, fag!!! Is it yummy? Huh?’ or a variation of it. Every single time.
Matt knew he had to do something. He had come a long way in the last few months. The first time Master Caleb had done it, Matt had thrown up for what had seemed like hours. How embarrassing. At least now he could stomach it. But he hated it. And that was simply not acceptable.
He got to the frat house pretty quickly. There was almost no one there and he looked around for Number 8. He found him in Master Scott’s bedroom, putting away the president’s clean laundry.
“Hi!” he said a little woefully.
Number 8 turned and smiled at him.
“Oh, hi, Number 3. How was your lecture?”
“Good…” he said distractedly “Listen, man, can I talk to you? I… I think I, like, need some advice…”
“Sure… what’s up?”
Matt started telling the more experienced slave what was on his mind as he helped him with the laundry. He completely poured his heart out even though he was very careful in the way he phrased his difficulties, trying to convey all the feelings he had pent up inside of his chest without being disrespectful in any way. Not an easy task. Number 8 listened to him silently, without even nodding or showing any sign of emotion whatsoever.
“…so… you know, what I’m trying to say is… man, I don’t even know what I’m trying to say… it’s just… I’m so confused… I… what should I do?”
Number 8 looked at him with unfathomable eyes.
“You?” He said then “You’re asking me what YOU should do? Well, that’s such a silly question, isn’t it?”
The freshman frowned slightly.
“What makes you think that what YOU do has any relevance at all?”
“E… excuse me?” The younger fag was even more confused by that reaction.
“What part of the ceremony did you not understand, huh?” Number 8’s tone was sharp now “Cause it seems to me that you’re still under the wrong impression that YOU and YOUR actions matter in ANY way.” he was deadly serious “Well, let me tell you something: YOUR actions don’t matter. YOU do NOT matter. YOU are nothing, YOU are a tool for the straight gods who live in this mansion to use, you hear me?” Matt was starting to be a little scared of him “The only thing that matters is what the straight gods want. And let me make this very, very clear…” he shoved a finger two inches from the younger slave’s face “Any single selfish whim that pops into their superior minds is automatically your command because, guess what, genius: they have ALL the rights and you have none!”
“I’m… I’m sorry… I… I didn’t mean to…”
“You underwent 68 days of ‘Taming’, you got on your knees in front of everyone and begged the masters to make you part of the frat’s assets at the ceremony, you remember that don’t you?” he didn’t even wait for Matt to reply, he went on “You got your tattoo, your collar, your leash and your cockcage and now because your godly Master decided, quite generously I might add, to feed you his shit three times a day as it is his birthright to do, you run to me and ask me what YOU should do? Well, here’s my answer: buckle the fuck up!”
Matt’s ears were burning from embarrassment. Upsetting his role model was the very last thing he wanted.
“I… I don’t know what to say… I only…”
“Were you dozing off on the part when they mentioned ‘for life’? ‘FOR LIFE’, Number 3, not for a polite amount of time! Did you think it was a kids’ game you would play when you’re into it and then we’d all go out for a beer and laugh about it? Are you THAT stupid?”
“N… no, of course not, I…”
“Now, listen to me and listen carefully cause I won’t repeat it! Your life is completely useless except for this one purpose: serving straight gods! That’s the only reason you were born in the first place and I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation when all you should talk about is the gratitude and the elation that you feel every single time a straight god so much as looks your way or acknowledges your existence!”
Matt didn’t dare make a sound.
“Striving to be the perfect slave is the only path you can ever follow and don’t flatter yourself, you will fail miserably because you are NOT worthy of serving these gods, you understand?” His words had hooks that clang to his very soul “So you will gladly accept the punishment they deem fitting to administer every time you screw up, thanking them for using their precious time to teach you and you will continue to try and make yourself a better slave for them over and over again but the ONE thing you’ll NEVER do is complain or mope around, asking for advice on what YOU should do!”
The younger slave had never felt so stupid in his entire life. With one question he had completely disappointed the person he was relying on the most and the heat with which Number 8 was now scolding him, he realized, was completely justified.
“I… I don’t know what to say… I’m… I’m so sorry… I shouldn’t have brought it up…” he apologized.
“Wrong! The notion shouldn’t even have crossed your mind!” the other replied tartly.
Matt couldn’t even bring himself to look him in the eye. He really wanted to say something, to find the right words to express how sorry he actually felt. There was an awkward silence that lasted a really long thirty or forty seconds. Then they heard someone’s voice talking on the phone and Matt’s face paled when he realized it was him, the one and only Master Scott. His heart started beating faster in his chest out of sheer emotion.
“…cause they wouldn’t lower the price anyways so I was like, fuck it! I’m not the one paying for it so…”
They were on the floor before the straight jock actually walked into the bedroom, their foreheads touching the hardwood floor like it was standard. They listened to the soft, fleshy squelch of his bare feet as he walked to his closet and opened it.
“Yeah totally and there’s a private Jacuzzi and everything…”
They heard fingers snapping sharply. Just once. Before Matt could even react he witnessed Number 8 jerk forward and prostrated himself before his god. With a side look, Matt saw the straight god climb up Number 8’s back and use him as a stool.
“Nah, bro! This time we’re taking a fucking plane. I’m not driving fourteen hours straight just ‘cuz your chick is afraid of flying,no way!” his weight was shifting as he was clearly looking for something on the top shelf, taking all the time he needed. Not a peep from Number 8. “Dude, dude, listen! We’ll fucking rent a car when we get there! How hard can it be?” The sheer aura of power he was emanating. It was almost overwhelming “Look, bro! It’s not that big a deal, I’ll tell Kate to convince her. I’m sure she is gonna say yes in the end, she’s like… oh, fuck, hang on a second…” the master said annoyed “Yo, fag! Where the fuck is my ski suit?”
“You threw it away last year, Sir, because you said you didn’t like the color, Sir!” Number 8 replied instantly.
“Hmph! Fucking buy me a new one, then!”
“Right away, Sir!”
“Sorry, bro! What were you saying?” The master climbed off his slave’s back and continued his phone conversation. Matt realized how much he would have liked to serve as Master Scott’s stool even for mere moments. “Hehe! Yeah, man! Still eager as ever! Best slave the frat’s ever owned, hehe!” They were clearly talking about Number 8. What an honor. “Hey, bitch! Justin says you still owe him for stopping Blake from kicking your face in during your Taming!”
“Yes, Sir! Master Justin is absolutely correct, of course and I will never be able to repay him, Sir!” Number 8 replied.
“Yeah, no shit!” Master Scott sneered as he walked to his bathroom and started brushing his teeth. Matt realized he wasn’t even breathing. He was so scared of doing something he might live to regret. “Yeah, there’s a couple of first years that are pretty promising and then there’s your lil’ cousin TJ!” Matt froze “Dude! He is the fucking man, bro!” the Master rinsed his mouth “Yeah, he’s still a little green but, bro! He’s a natural!” Then he walked out of the bathroom, took off his shirt and threw it on the floor “Hahaha! Totally!! In a second, hahaha!” Matt stole a look at his godly perfection as the straight boy opened a drawer and found the clean top he wanted “Alright, man! I gotta go, I have a Skype call with one of the alumni about the new indoor pool. They’re saying my budget is way too high and I gotta convince them otherwise, so wish me luck!”
They said their goodbyes and the call ended. There was maybe a minute of silence. Then.
“Hey, fag! I’m going on a ski trip to Aspen in two weeks with Zach and Justin, you’re paying for me and the chick I’m bringing.” the Master said distractedly while checking his texts.
“Yes, Sir! Of course! I’ll take care of the reservations.”
“Yeah, I’ll text you the details…” Master Scott said while walking towards the door of his room “Oh, and make sure there’s at least a couple of grand on my card. Last time I burned through your monthly fag tax in less than three days.”
“Yes, Sir! Thank you for letting me pay for your vacation, Sir!” The zealous answer didn’t even get a reply and Master Scott was about to walk out of his room.
Matt simply couldn’t contain himself anymore.
“Master Scott, Sir!” he said loud enough to be heard and even dared to look up. The god stood six feet from him, looking down at him like he was a nasty stain on the carpet “I just wanna say how happy and grateful I am, Sir, you let me be part of this frat, Sir!” he had to let him know how he felt “This is the best life I could ever have hoped for, Sir!”
Silence for a few seconds. Master Scott smirked as he passed a hand through his perfect hair.
“Well, what do you know!” he said, then “You were right, fag! This one’s a keeper, hehe!”
Thank you, Sir!” number 8 replied.
“Make sure Cal punishes him for speaking to me without permission, though.” Master Scott said before turning away and leaving.
“I will, Sir!”
And he was gone. Matt breathed for the first time in what seemed like minutes. The two slaves looked at each other and before Number 8 could say anything, Matt bowed his head and apologized.
“I’m sorry, I really am! I understand now. All my doubts are gone. I swear you will never hear me complain ever again.”
Number 8 smiled at him warmly “Good!”
“Also, thank you for having faith in me,” he added. The older slave nodded again.
“Here, take this.” he fished into his pockets and produced a green pill. Matt’s mouth dropped open.
“W… why are you giving me this… this is…”
“I think you deserve it,” Number 8 winked at him, “It takes courage to openly address MY Master like that even if what you said was appropriate.”
Matt smiled and immediately swallowed the precious gift he had been given.
“Now go. You don’t wanna keep your master waiting, do you?” said Number 8, going back to his chores.
“Of course, not! Thank you again!” he bowed and left.
As he walked along the corridor that led to Master Caleb’s room, Matt couldn’t help but smile. The calm was settling into him, a chemical clarity that the fag drug provided so perfectly. He had such an amazing life. He had been chosen to be a slave in a house full of straight gods. Paradise. He had everything he deserved and he made a promise right there and then to keep cherishing every single moment he got to spend with his gods.
He went down on all fours and knocked on the door. When he opened, Master Caleb’s smirk was the first thing he saw. He was so breathtakingly beautiful, watching a show, sprawled on his couch, only wearing a wife beater and shorts.
“Welcome back, faggot!”
Matt was home.