How to train your fratboy (Ch 3)

Brad apprehensively eyed the landing. His chest pounded in excruciating anticipation, equal parts curiosity and dread as he waited helplessly for his first glimpse of the next sorority girl to use him. It didn’t really matter what she looked like, he reminded himself in a vain attempt to fight back the fear and panic — to regain the relief he had felt as piggy. He grimaced as his frog-tied kneecaps slipped and ground in the puddle of spit, blood, and girl-cum Mistress Chin had left him in. It doesn’t matter what she looks like Brad thought frantically I’m already her bitch. It doesn’t matter if she’s a 500lb gorilla or a midget. Whoever she is, whatever way she wants to use me, whatever she wants to take, she can have it. You are her piggy. You want to be hers.

It wasn’t working. Terror thrashed in his chest as the girl tiptoed to the top of the stairs and stepped lightly on to the landing, her intelligent emerald eyes already locked to his. She was elegant and beautiful. His new owner, confident and comfortable in her lightly freckled skin. “Hey piggy piggy” she intoned playfully, “I’m Lady Katherine”. She looked gentle, but he knew from experience that red-heads could often be subtle, deceptive, and wild, and as she gracefully descended the stairs, taking her time, her elegant hand lightly caressing the banister, he couldn’t help but imagine what she had in store for him. How large a chunk of his soul she would slice out for herself. What’s the worst thing she could do to me? Brad panted, in the throes of fear. Fuck my ass? Flog my nuts? Shit in my mouth? Cut me open to watch me bleed? She could do any of those things if she wanted to. He was her piggy now.

He studied her, terrified, trying to deduce her plan. The way she moved was predatory. She liked that he was afraid of her. She was giving him time to stew in his own imagination. She was probably the kind of girl that would get off on literally killing him slowly. Like maybe she’d want to suffocate him with her slit, he calculated. Brad imagined her grinding her wet labia over his mouth and nose as he fought for air. Her milky thighs locked tightly against his ears, as she detachedly regarded him, bemused at his panic’d thrashing. Massaging her clit with his desperate gasping convulsions as he slowly lost consciousness — physically getting off on his death throes. Maybe she’d give him a tiny breath now and again, just to draw it out, her pretty freckled face beaming orgasmicly, as she rose and fell with his terrified bucking, playing with her own nipples until she was finally ready to asphyxiate him into unconsciousness as she came. And how long would she sit astride him once he was out? How long until she moved, knowing full well that it was her choice whether or not he ever woke up again.

“That’s a good look for you” she remarked playfully, owning him from the stairs. At ease with his fear, with her dominion over him “You look like a fail screen from a fratboy dating simulator.” she smiled darkly, pausing to frame him in her fingers like a movie director “Game over bitch.” she laughed at him musically.

Game over, Brad thought sorrowfully, tears welling in his eyes again; that’s just exactly how he felt.

“Such a pretty pink bow!” she observed the gift Mistress Chin had left for her, continuing her slow, purposeful descent “Maybe we should get a crate of these face-fuckers branded with Sigma-Nu insignia’s” she mused, reaching the bottom of the stairs like a hunting jungle cat. “hmm? How many brothers you got over there? 15? 20?” Brad couldn’t help but imagine his whole house lined up naked on their knees, sniveling and trembling with Sigma-Nu branded face-fucking strap-ons rammed painfully down their throats. Every last one of his cock-sure, uber-macho brothers brought to heel by Zeta House. Made into bitch playthings, like him, resigned to whatever fate their sorority masters commanded. Waiting terrified; slaves to be fucked and abused at their master’s whim like he was right now.

“There’s a pretty picture huh?” she asked as if reading his mind, retrieving a dog-leash from the wall and attaching it to the D-Ring on his collar, lightly fingering the gold cross Mistress Chin had left thoughtfully.