In his dream, Brad was naked and aroused. The beautiful sorority girl from Zeta house lay below him semiconscious and helpless. No one from Sigma Nu had ever fucked a girl from the notoriously chilly Zeta Sorority before tonight. But Brad was going to change all that. He’d had expertly separated her from her friends, leading her up to his dorm room as the rufie had begun its work. He felt her weight increase as she began leaning on him at the top of the stairs, his anticipation building as he leaned her against his dresser like a mop, locking the door with a padlock from the inside. He grabbed her by the shoulders, guiding her gently backwards and letting her fall as she passed out, landing heavily into the creaky chair in his dorm room. Her eyes half-open, swirling across the ceiling in confusion. Her mouth hung open, her elegant, swollen lips agape for him, begging for his throbbing cock. They wouldn’t be interrupted here he thought, playing his thumb across her mouth thoughtfully, pressing her lips flat at the center where they dimpled prettily; eliciting a semiconscious moan from the sorority slut he now utterly owned. He took a moment to savor her helplessness.

He had aaaall night.

Brad ran his thumb over the girl’s chin, and down her neck, scratching her roughly with his thumbnail, using pain to keep her from passing out entirely, encountering the starched collar of her shirt. He pushed the button through the hole and her collar eagerly popped open for him. “uhhh no… please” the cunt muttered, a tear escaping the corner of her eye. His hard-on raged at the sight of it.

“mmmm” he purred. “I love it when they cry”. The second button tore off. That was fine. Let her walk-of-shame it back to Zeta with a torn up shirt. Let her sisters watch her sorely limp through the shitty Zeta common room holding the tattered remnants of her shirt together. Let them all have a good look at Sigma Nu’s handiwork. They would all share her fate soon enough. He unceremoniously tore the rest of of her shirt open, and picked up a heavy set of ceremonial scissors from his desk, cutting off her stupid pink cotton bra, as was the Sigma Nu tradition. Her underwear would be cut off and claimed. Added to his collection, so that at the end of the year his conquests could be measured against those of his brothers. Brad had won last year, making him the youngest chapter president in 10 generations. He would win again this year, or rape every bitch worthy of his cock on campus trying.

That no no please stop claptrap was bullshit. The cunts all loved every bit of it. Their bodies never lied like their mouths did. In the end they all panted and groaned as he fucked them. oh oh harder they would plead, pumping and grinding their hips into him and coming all over his boner. They couldn’t help themselves. If they didn’t like it, why were they always wanting to cuddle or take him out for breakfast? Every time he fucked one, claimed her underwear, and sent her whore-ass crawling back to her house, her pretty face still red with his palm-print, and the lube still oozing from her sore asshole, 5 more showed up begging him for the D. They were all the same.

He slapped the Zeta bitch hard across her face to wake her back up and she fell out of the chair to the floor. He’d finished stripping her naked except for her knee-socks and knelt down astride her, his cock settling on her toned stomach for a moment, but then falling through her.

Brad blinked, re-situating himself, but the same thing happened, just a light twinge before his raging hard-on passed right through her like it was made of smoke. What he hell?! He’d heard of whisky-dick, but he’d never heard of ghost dick. He tried again, actually working between her legs this time, and the same thing happened, an all-too-brief twinge of contact, followed by ghost dick. He lifted her legs, grunting in frustration, and rammed his hips forward into her ass, with the same outcome.

“FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!” he shrieked in a frustration-borne adolescent tantrum, trying again and again to rape the Zeta bitch to no avail.

“Are you finally waking up sweetie?” came a senuous voice in his ear, and the world went sideways. Brad felt like he was falling, tumbling, like he was trapped inside a carnival ride.

“mmmuuuuhhhhhhh” he moaned, overwhelmed with nasuea.

“Open your eyes, or you’ll puke”

He did and the world came to a jarring stop. He was in the Zeta common room, but he wasn’t sure how he’d gotten there. His memory was foggy.

“That’s what a rufie feels like sweetheart” intoned the voice in mock sympathy. He turned his head to face it.. it was the Zeta bitch from his dream..

“who.. how did I get here?” he muttered, his head pounded and ached, nausea still riveted through his body. It was like having the worlds worst hangover while you were still drunk.

“Look at me. What do you remember?” He took a second look. Her elegant, full lips. Her shiny jet-black hair. His dick tingled at the sight of her just like in the dream. Trying to clear his head. It was starting to come back. He’d come to a party at Zeta house with a few pledges. He was going to show them the ropes. The first pledge to successfully fuck a Zeta girl would be accepted into Sigma Nu, the others rejected.
“The party..” he muttered blinking at the brunette

“That’s right. The party ended a few hours ago. Do you remember me?” Brad faced her. Beautiful. Bright blue eyes 25 or 26 years old he judged. A woman — too old to be a sorority coed. That’s right, he remembered. He had seen her at the party chatting with some seniors. He’d figured her for an alum; had boasted to his pledges that he would fuck her. Told them to pay attention and watch how they got it done at Sigma Nu. The last thing he remembered was her naughty grin as he approached her.

“You tried to drug me” she prompted him.

“What?” he said, the accusation startling some lucidity into him — another shuddering tickle in his cock– “no. What? Drug you?” he tried to laugh but only managed a pathetic cough “No. I didn’t drug you, there must be an um. uh. misunderstanding”.

“I didn’t say you drugged me, I said that you tried. You failed because I switched glasses on you. You drank your own rufie and passed out.”

Brad had never accidentally dosed himself before, but he had been confronted like this before. The thing to do was feign indignation. Act angry, throw something, scare them into silence with a display of physical force, and make a quick escape. He tried to stand, but found that he couldn’t. He was restrained somehow, he looked sideways at his arms, duct-taped tightly to a frame of bolted-together 2×6 boards. He was basically crucified — his arms straight out, encased wholly in duct tape — but to a squared, upside-down U-shaped frame instead of the typical T-shaped cross. His ankles tightly cinched to the back of his legs by leather belts (what his own fraternity brothers would call a ‘frog tie’). They encircled both his upper-thighs and ankles. His legs forced apart at the knee by a broom-stick nestled painfully inside his squeezed-shut knee-joints. His entire weight supported painfully on the extreme bony balls of his knee-caps.

Looking down he felt something like a dog-collar tightly cinched around his neck, but saw that he was otherwise completely naked, his rock-hard cock stood straight-out, below it, a feather-duster spun back and forth in a motorized socket of some sort, stroking the underside of his hard-on and scrotum, giving him the momentary erotic twinge he recognized from his dream.

“THE FUCK?!” he screamed, yanking violently at the tape and boards but finding them hopelessly, mercilessly effective. He bucked even more violently, trying to break the belts holding his legs closed but succeeded only in grinding his knees painfully into the floor. “AAAHAHHHHHRRRRRRGGGGG” He roared, hurt, angry, and frustrated.

“Yeah.” the woman nodded sympathetically, “you’re pretty fucked. You better be a good little bitch for me, or it’ll just get worse.”

“FUCK YOU CUNT” Brad exploded angrily into her face. “YOU BETTER CUT ME THE FUCK OUT OF THIS BEFORE MY BROTHERS SMACK BHWAAA..”

She cut him off with a sharp back-handed slap across the cheek. Brad played contact sports, but he’d never been bitch-slapped before, the sensation was awful. Worse than the worst, bone-breaking rugby tackle he’d ever experienced. It felt like getting hit in the jaw with a baseball bat wrought from concentrated humiliation. It said shut the fuck up, and I own your face in a singular, quick, and highly effective motion. There was no arguing with a well-executed bitch slap, and Brad, just exactly like every girl he had ever bitch slapped, shut the fuck up.

“You didn’t bring brothers. You brought pledges shit-head. And when you tried to drug me in front of 35 witnesses, and I found more pills in your pocket…” she bounced a pill off his forehead “… and forced your idiot pledges to empty their pockets and found pills on them as well… ” she slowly bounced three more pills off his forehead “I took the pills and calmly explained that I was going to call campus police and have you all arrested for rape.”

“you fucking SMACK BITCHAHHHWWWW” She slapped him again, harder, and then SMACK once more for good measure even harder than that, the thunderclap of her blow echoing through the Zeta common room. “AHHHHH” Brad winced, startled at the unexpected blow.

“You aren’t talking now” she said matter-of-factly. His cock throbbed at the impact — at his helplessness and her control. It was impossible to ignore; accentuated by the feathers tickling across him mercilessly. His body reacted for him. His hips involuntarily slow-pumping forward lewdly. He glanced at the Zeta alum hoping she hadn’t seen. She grinned back at him, winking darkly. She’d seen alright. She raised the back of her hand at him again and Brad flinched away like a puppy.

“Anyway,” she began again, digging in to her pocket for her cell-phone, “You should have heard them beg and plead, oh wait, you can hear them, I recorded the whole thing” She hit the play button, and Brad heard the terrified voices of his pledges distinctly.

“Please maam”

“DONT FUCKING CALL ME MAAM, YOU CALL ME SIR BITCH”

“YES SIR! Please sir. we’re sorry, please don’t call the cops.. we’ll do anything you want sir”

“on your knees”

“yes, um yes sir”

“Now tell me again that you’ll do anything I want”

“We’ll uh.. we’ll do anything you want sir..”

“Wow pretty pathetic huh?” she asked rhetorically, stopping the recording. “Let me ask you, what would you have done if three Zeta pledges were over at your house on their knees begging for your mercy and offering to do whatever you wanted?”

Brad said nothing looking grimly down at the floor, trying to ignore the feather duster, trying to clear his head.

“Aw, comon Bradly” she leaned closer to him, her hand running up the back of his hip over the swell of his ass. “Hmmm? What would you and your bad-ass sigma-nu brothers do?” she mused, her fingers digging between his ass cheeks.

“Mahhhh stop it!” he demanded, powerless to stop her

“Would you fuck their assholes?” she asked, her fingernail pushing against his sphincter playfully.

“NO!” he lied, blushing, his traitorous cock throbbing at her touch. At her matter-of-fact violation of his body — her control.

“We aren’t going to have any lies between us Bradly” she scolded, forcing her index finger inside him

“UH. PLa-.. STOP IT RIGHT NOW I’M SERIOUS!” he grimaced. Barely catching himself before using the p-word. This was no time for begging.

“pla what now?” she raised an eyebrow at him, twisting her finger, working it a little further inside him.

“gah” he gasped, straightening, ‘ok ok please. Please stop OK? Stop please!’.

“stop please who?” she asked, her eyes gleaming greedily.

Brad didn’t answer, gritting his teeth in anger and humiliation. Her finger dug roughly in to the knuckle now, scraping against the clenched flesh of his rectum, as her other fingers began playing at his sphincter. She’ll fist-fuck me dry if I don’t give her what she wants, he thought frantically, his cock throbbing lustily at the thought of it. He had no choice

“uh. uh. Stop please sir” he blushed, dropping his head to the floor. Unwelcome lust boiling in his belly with his act of surrender. God it felt amazing to lose control to her. Viscerally dark, so, so wrong, so deliciously wrong.

“Well it’s nice to have manners Bradly, but I’m not going to stop until you tell me the truth” she prompted bemusedly, working her finger painfully in deeper.

“Ok ok YES. fuck uh. please stop. YES I WOULD. I would fuck their assholes” he gritted pausing, “sir”, he finished, red in the face with anger, humiliation and lust. And they’d thank me for it bitch he thought. When he got out of this, he was personally going to tie this cunt down, and give her the night of her life.

“See? That’s who you are. But I didn’t butt-fuck your pledges Brad” she said, retrieving her finger roughly. “although your asshole is up for grabs I’m afraid” she patted his ass patronizingly. “I’ll tell you what I did to your pledges though, because I know what a caring group you are over there at Sigma-Nu, and I wouldn’t want you to worry. First, I took away their clothes. I made them strip to their underwear for me on their knees, and then I personally cut off their pathetic tighty-whities with scissors and claimed their underwear for myself. Yeah.” She nodded at his horrified reaction “I claimed yours too. Anyway, then I gave them each a fat-tipped sharpie..” she pulled a massive permanent marker out of her pocket as she said it “… and I made them write Zeta’s Bitch 20 times on each others naked bodies.” She uncapped the marker, scrawling the words Zeta’s Piggy across his chest”

“Fucking cunt” Brad spat, overwhelmed by the humiliating thought of his pledges running naked across campus; branded head to toe as Zeta-house bitches.

“Oh don’t worry, I told them not to return to Sigma-nu. I told them if they went back to your house ever again, not only would your brothers severely beat them, but that also, I would post the video I took of the entire thing to Sigma-Nu’s facebook page, and then call the rape police to haul them off somewhere where they can properly learn the true art of ass-fucking from the professionals. So your brothers probably wont find out that you’re missing any time soon. But then they have their own problems anyway.”

“You can’t just keep me here. This is kidnapping!” Brat growled.

“Haha! Seriously Brad?” she laughed heartily “You tried to rape me 4 hours ago, and now you’re a civil rights attorney?! I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you three chances to escape, and here’s your first chance, so pay attention: Do you know how this happened to you?”

“What are you talking about?” he growled, testing the duct-tape again.

She waved her hand at him “THIS! How you got owned by a 110lb sorority girl. How I put you on your knees like the helpless bitch you are? How a Zeta girl just anally molested you in the Zeta-house common room while you called her sir and got off on begging her to stop like a weak, pathetic, slut? I mean how did you become my slave Bradly?”

“eeehhhhhhgggg FUCK YOU CUNT” he exploded impotently into the restraints too enraged to formulate coherent thought.

“It’s because I’m smarter than you are Bradly.” she calmly explained, ignoring his outburst and pulling out her phone again, pointing the camera at him. “Here’s chance number one for you right now: Admit it. Say thank you for molesting my asshole and teaching me that I’m dumber than a Zeta girl Sir. Say that and I’ll cut you out right now.”

Brad didn’t even consider it, bucking painfully at the restraints again, not budging them at all. “EEHEHHHHHAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH. I’M GOING TO FUCK YOUR EYESOCKET CUNT. I’M GONNA BLOW MY LOAD INTO YOUR CUNT BRAIN” he shook and thrashed to no avail.

The woman Brad knew only as ‘sir’ stood up, stepping casually behind him as he shouted and screamed himself ragged. The Veins in his neck and forehead standing out brilliantly with the force of his cursing. Momentarily something dropped over his head and yanked tightly into his open mouth, stretching his jaw to the point of popping before falling behind his teeth. He bit down on it viscously like an animal in his rage, realizing too late as he felt the strap tighten against the back of his neck that it was a ball-gag.

“MMMMMMRRRRRRRMRMMHHPPHPHHHH” he screamed into it, the hopelessness of his situation finally beginning to sink in. Fear seeping like molten-tar into his chest, panic tingling and thrashing in his neck. She could keep him here as long as she wanted, and he couldn’t do shit about it. He could be in this excruciating position for days.. weeks… months? Forever? He couldn’t imagine how this ended — what was about to happen to him. Everything he had ever done to a semi-conscious girl flashed through his head, only with him on the receiving end. She could do it all to him. All of it and more. Suddenly he wanted nothing but to apologize. To tell her what she wanted him to say. What had it been? Something about thanking her for molesting his asshole? It didn’t matter, he couldn’t say a fucking thing now. Not until she decided he could speak. His cock tickled and throbbed. He wanted to believe it was just the feathers, but he knew it wasn’t. His helplessness, the power she held over him was somehow a gigantic fucking turn on. His own weakness was making him horny as fuck. Why was he getting off on this? Was he a pathetic weak slut? This was gay faggot bullshit. He should not be getting off on this.

“That’s a good piggy” she cooed patting his head as he panted heavily in terror “it’s ok, we’ll take good care of you”, stepping in front of him again. “OK ladies bring it in” and to Brad’s horror, the entire Zeta house shuffled around to stand in front of him. They’d been behind him the entire time. They’d seen the entire thing. Several of them were taking cell phone video. Others looked uncomfortable. Afraid even.

That was good. Brad looked desperately for the meekest, most afraid girl in the bunch and found her, a little waif of an Asian girl. Obviously a freshman with her ponytails, braces, and dorky glasses. She looked like a cliche from a tentical-rape anime; complete with skirt and sailor-moon blouse. She looked absolutely terrified. He could work her, he was sure of it, if he could catch her alone. Coerce her into setting him free. He blinked at her, trying to look pitiful, hoping to trigger some sympathy in her, his ray of hope.

The girl considered him pensively, uncomfortable in his gaze as Sir began to speak again, “Ladies I would like you to meet Zeta house’s new pledge for pet piggy. We have the whole three day weekend to vet him, and to show him how to treat a lady and I expect all of you to do your part. Introduce yourself, make sure he remembers your name; punish him accordingly if he does not behave. By Monday morning I expect him to be happy, obedient and well adjusted. Remember the rule of threes”, she pinched Brad’s nose shut painfully, cutting off his only means of drawing breath.

“Three minutes without air, three days without water, three weeks without food. We can assume he’s eaten at least sometime this week, so you won’t have to feed him this weekend, but you should probably hydrate him. Be creative. Spit, urine, cum, whatever he can keep down. Don’t be shy, make it hurt, but just don’t kill the piggy yet.”

Brad started to convulse involuntarily as he ran out of air, he fought to gasp around the large ball-gag to no avail. Hopelessness and panic welling up, frothing into his heart at Sir’s cruel words, at the pitiless, predatory glimmers in the Zeta’s eyes, at his inability to breathe. “MMMMPHHH! MMMPHHH!” he begged pathetically, but sir only tightened her grip, clamping down viciously on his nose to keep control as he tried to yank free.

“He’s your piggy, so feel free to personalize him. Tattos, piercings, whatever you think might make him prettier …”

Brad’s fingers began to tingle as she mercilessly suffocated him. He looked into the crowd of Zeta’s for help. Surely someone would stop her before she killed him. He found the little asian freshman watching him nervously. She just stood there passively, an expression of detached excitement, almost scientific fascination at the sight of Sir drowning him. Terror overcame him at the sight; there would be no help. No escape. No hope. He convulsed as his vision blurred and darkened, Sir’s voice wavered surreally in his ears as he slipped into unconsciousness.

“Now lets talk about strap-ons…”

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