Fraternity Property -- Prequel

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Fraternity Property -- Prequel
MMMF NC, humiliation, tor, oral, anal
by Joy Paine It was almost a year ago (April 1998) that I promised a continuation of
my story of this name. What the Muses gave me was not a continuation,
but a "prequel" -- a story about what happened before -- back in the
days before hi-tech. The two versions do not rely on each other --
either one can stand on its own feet, as it were, and the continuation
(which I fervently hope will eventuate) can proceed from either of the
two versions. However, if you like this version, you might like to look
up the other in the Dejanews archives, or in the archives of this News
Group. The usual disclaimers apply. No actual individuals, living or dead, or
otherwise, are portrayed her other than the Me I dream about. Here's the story: Priscilla's doubt showed in her face. "But really", she protested, "The
RD's have a reputation for being rather--well, fast, and I don't..." "Nonsense"! her roommate interrupted. "You can get laid if you want to,
and a lot of the girls do. But this is a double date. I'll be there
with Jim, and believe me, there's nothing so inhibiting as having
another couple along And I wish you would come with us. Jim has been
under pressure to get a date for his brother. Please ... won't you do it
as a favor ... to me? Just this once?" Ellen seemed awfully anxious. Almost terrified at the thought of being
turned down. Probably Jim regarded it as a point of honor to fix his
fraternity brother up with a date. Oh well, Priscilla thought, what did she have to lose? Her cherry, of
course, she thought wryly--which is more than most of her contemporaries
at college could say. But they were just going to a movie. Not even a
drive-in. What could you do in a crowded theater? Even on Friday the
thirteenth? They dressed informally--blouse and jeans. Priscilla's blouse was loose
and dark, so she didn't bother with a bra. Clean, cool, and casual. And
comfortable. On the way downtown, they stopped at the frat house. "A little
ceremony," Bobby explained. "Part of the ritual of the Order. A touch
of Old World elegance, if you will. The first time that one of the
brothers goes out with a new girl, he has to introduce her to the
council. Sort of ask for their approval, you might say." Priscilla laughed nervously. "What if I don't pass the test?" she asked,
only half jokingly. Bobby's laugh was unmixed. "Wouldn't happen in a
thousand years, honey. It's just a formality, but one that is steeped in
tradition. "It's just like the secrecy about the full name of the fraternity," he
went on. "After you pass the test, we can tell you what RD stands for.
"Besides," he added, "even if it was a serious test, a beautiful young
lady like you would have no problem at all." Bobby led the three of them into the fraternity house, down the stairs
to the "Council Room". Again, Priscilla was glad that her room-mate was
with them. Even so, her nervousness began to include a bit of
apprehension about more than passing the test. The fraternity brothers
were waiting for them, sitting in a semi-circle facing the door. Maybe
it was her imagination, but they seemed to be leering hungrily. Like a
pack of wolves, Priscilla thought. It took all her determination not to
turn and flee in panic. But she knew she'd never be able to hold her
head up around the campus if she pulled a chicken trick like that. Bobby led her to the center of the semi-circle, and seated her at a
wooden table. A small, sturdy table, fairly low. She felt a bit
reassured when Bobby passed his arm through hers, lacing their fingers
together, and laying their forearms on the table. But then Jim took her
other arm in the same manner, sitting on the other side of her. She felt
trapped. The chairman spoke. "So this is the cunt that's going to be
Bobby's whore." Priscilla gasped at the sheer vulgarity of his words--the full meaning
had not yet sunk in. She tried to stand up in protest, but the two men
held her motionless. She looked imploringly to Ellen for help. Ellen was
quietly leaving the room, closing the door behind her. A thick
door--soundproof, from the look of it. Priscilla glared at the
semi-circle of men. "Look here . . ." she began. She gasped in outrage
as Bobby and Jim each grasped one of her nubile breasts with their free
hands. Her protests broke into a scream of agony as they squeezed,
brutally. "Lesson number one," the leader chuckled. "Cunts should be seen and not
heard. Give her another touch, fellows, just to make sure she got the
point." The two boys complied cheerfully, squeezing even harder this
time. Priscilla closed her eyes to shut out the horrible reality, tears
running down her cheeks. She was vaguely aware that they kept their
hands on her breasts; whether as a reminder or just for kicks, she had
no way of knowing. Obviously it was at least partly for kicks, she
realized, as they started kneading gently, their thumbs stroking her
nipples. She was jerked back to reality by the prick of a needle in her
arm. She looked up imploringly at the man who was wielding the
hypodermic, not daring to speak. "Don't worry, honey," he said. "It's not the big H, or anything like
that. We wouldn't want to dull your senses just when you're going to
have the time of our life. This is just a mild tranquilizer, to keep you
from going into shock, or puking. Believe me, there's nothing in the
world that's grosser than having a cunt puke while she's sucking you
off." The leader spoke again. "Bobby probably told you that the purpose
of this ceremony was to decide whether would be a suitable whore for
him. Although probably not in those exact words," he grinned." And we
know that the answer will be affirmative, of course. We've had you under
inspection for a long time--even since before you decided to come here
to college. And with a pair of tits like yours, there's no doubt that
you would serve our purposes, even if your face and legs didn't happen
to be first class, too. "All you'll need to become a really superb fuck is practice. And
motivation, of course. What we have to find out is how much of each you
need. For motivation, we have all sorts of techniques and devices that
will quickly persuade you that there are worse things in life than a
little old-fashioned fucking. Or some of the up-to-date variations, for
that matter. And as for practice--I think that there are enough of us
here to provide all of the practice you need. Right now," he leered. Priscilla gasped. "You aren't going to . . ." "We're going to peel you like an onion, baby, layer by layer. After each
of us has had you two or three times, you'll have more experience
tonight than most cunts get in a month. But maybe you won't need our
teaching. Maybe you can show us that you're already good enough to give
Bobby the fuck of his life. Let's find out. Bring out the bed, fellows." Priscilla found her voice. "Not here, with all of you watching?"The man
laughed. "Not only watching, cunt, but taking pictures. Beautiful pin-up
pictures, packed with action, that we can hang up over our beds. But
also for insurance. To show your friends and family, if you get out of
line. Like if you get any fancy ideas of going to the police. Or running
away. After tonight, you're going to be RD property. You're going to be
Bobby's cunt as long as he wants you. And if he gets tired of you--well,
we'll manage to work something else out." "But--but wait!" Priscilla implored. "I'm a virgin!" "A virgin, eh? A very rare commodity indeed. Well, I don't think that
Bobby is going to let you take your cherry out of here." Bobby spoke, for the first time. "You know, I might do just that", he
said thoughtfully. A chorus of jeers and catcalls answered him."No,
seriously," he protested. He turned to Priscilla. "Tell me, cunt, how
serious are you about wanting to keep your cherry?" "Please," she pleaded. "I'll do anything you ask. Only please don't--you
know--de-flower me." Bobby grinned nastily. "OK", he leered. "I'll give you a chance. If you
can give me a good enough time with your asshole, I won't break your
cherry. At least not tonight. Later on--who knows? But if you don't do
your damnedest to give me the best butt-fuck I've ever had--and to make
the pictures look as if you were doing it not only willingly, but
enthusiastically--then I'll rip you open and throw you to the gang." "One more thing," the leader added, "before Bobby starts breaking you.
Now is the time to tell you what our fraternity name stands for. As you
know, the full name is Rho Delta Delta. Or, in English, RDD. Stands
for--TA DA!--Rape a Dame a Day. Today is your day." Priscilla never knew how she survived the ordeal that night, even with
her senses dulled by the drug. Obviously, Bobby wasn't going to be
stingy with "his" girl. All of the fellows helped him get her ready.
Even the guys operating the cameras were relieved every few minutes, so
they could take their turns in the action.The men took their time about
getting Priscilla's clothes off, stripping her garment by garment, inch
by luscious inch, stopping frequently to kiss or fondle various parts of
her lush young body. And all the while making her pose for those
incriminating pictures, making her maintain the forced smile that gave
the illusion that she was enjoying the degrading experience. And bit by bit, to her dismay, she did start to enjoy it. The constant
caressing of tier tits and her clit, aided by the relaxing effects of
the drug, began to tell. In spite of her disgust and her determination
not to respond, she felt her young body beginning to be aroused, felt
her nipples harden, the juices begin to flow in her cunt. Her tormentors
did not miss the change in her mood. Pacing their actions to her
responses, they played on her with gentle but insistent caresses, tuning
her body to an ever-rising pitch of response. She began to moan in
ecstasy, her body swaying involuntarily in sensuous rhythm. She felt her
nervous system become a balloon, inflating further and further. Slowly,
slowly, it approached the bursting point, swelling sweetly until it was
sure to explo... And suddenly, nothing. By a prearranged signal, the men took their hands
and tongues from her body, leaving her dangling in a frustration of
unfulfillment. Sobbing in frustration, Priscilla moaned for them to
continue. She opened her eyes to implore them to go on. . . The hand that was reaching toward her crotch wore a glove. A rather
strange glove, made of rubber, and covered with a network of fine wires.
She stretched toward it instinctively, thrusting the femininity of her
body shamelessly toward its caress. Gently, ever so gently, it stroked
her parted cunt lips. Priscilla's body convulsed into a scream of agony
as the glove touched her, racking her most sensitive flesh with a
brutal electric shock. Her passion dissolved into pure, raw pain, as
the boys cheered. Lesson number two," mocked the leader. "No free rides
for the cunts. Your purpose in life is to provide pleasure for us, not
to enjoy yourself. And now," he added ominously, "it's time for you to
start earning your keep." Bobby took over then, giving Priscilla explicit and detailed
instructions, couching his orders in the most offensive gutter terms.
At his command, she unzipped his fly, took out the repulsive thing, and
caressed it with her fingers and her, lips until it swelled into full
passion. Then the ultimate humiliation . . . He let her apply a
lubricating cream (for his comfort, rather than hers, she thought
bitterly) but it still hurt like fire as he plunged deep into her virgin
asshole. It seemed like hours before the final release--before he
stiffened violently, cursing her in the vilest language, pouring his hot
venom deep into the forbidden hole. Gradually, he relaxed, slowly
releasing the agonizing grip with which he had been punishing her
breasts. Twining his fingers in her hair, he pulled her callously to a
standing position, kissed her, mockingly. She had no strength left to
resist. "Good news, baby"' he chortled. "Even though it wasn't the very best
piece of ass I've ever had, I'll give you passing marks for effort. So
we're going to let you wear this for the rest of the night." The rest of the night? Priscilla's heart pounded anxiously. What else
would these young demons do to her? What further pain and degradation
lay in store?She forced her eyes open to see what "this" was. One of
the boys was taking an object from an ornate wooden box, holding it up
for the tortured girl to see. A chastity belt. A very elegant chastity
belt, all polished leather and brass, with the fraternity's coat of arms
beautifully tooled in the area that would cover her Venus mound. The
gang shouted obscene encouragements as Bobby buckled it on her, securing
it with a brass padlock. And a special refinement, she discovered, as he
fastened it in place--the damned device was fitted with brass studs in
the strategic places. Not sharp enough to pierce even the tender skin
of that area, but uncomfortable enough to keep reminding her that she
was a woman. In spite of the pain and humiliation, Priscilla felt a bit
relieved to have it there. At least it would keep these brutes from
deflowering her. Just as long as they wanted it to, her other self told
her mockingly. After all, they were the ones that had the key. Working with an efficiency born of long practice, the boys buckled
straps around her wrists, made them fast to brass rings in the belt, so
she could not move her hands from her sides. Then they put in the
Mouthpiece. The Mouthpiece was actually a combination of two devices.
First, a pair of hard rubber rollers were forced into her mouth and
positioned between her teeth, way back, one on each side, holding her
jaws painfully parted.The rollers were held in place by a framework of
stiff wires that followed the contours of her gums--one above, between
her lip and gum, and one below, behind her lower teeth. She didn't have
any idea what the thing was for, but it was awfully uncomfortable
holding her jaws spread that way. And she felt a foreboding of
helplessness. The other part of the Mouthpiece consisted of two pieces of adhesive
tape. Narrow tape, only about a quarter of an inch wide. One of them
pinched her upper lip, one on each side of the dimple in the middle. The
ends of the tape ran up on both sides of her nose, holding her upper lip
in a sort of a sneer. The other tape did the same for her lower lip. The
overall effect was to hold her lips pressed together, over her forcibly
opened jaws. One of the men gently forced a banana between her pouting
lips, in a coarse preview of what lay in store. They didn't give her much time to contemplate her fate. Goaded by the
urge to action, they dragged her across the room, forced her to bend
over the small table where she had originally been seated while those
two young hoodlums had squeezed her tits. She noticed that the table had
been bolted to the floor, so that it would not tilt or slip. Her
torturers forced Priscilla to bend down over the table, fastening her
down with a broad strap across the small of her back. Straps at her
ankles spread and immobilized her legs, so that she lay helpless, her
chin hanging over one side of the table, her recently violated butt
starkly exposed on the other.The strap at her waist held her wrists in
place, and another stout strap was fastened around her forehead to bend
her neck painfully back. She was completely immobilized in that
position, so that her mouth, constrained by the Mouthpiece into a mock
cunt, paralleled the position of her asshole on the other side of the
table. Bobby patted her ass with mock affection, his middle finger
probing suggestively. "OK, boys," he invited. "There's your onion. Open at both ends." --
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