How to train your fratboy: Ch1

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.