They took it in turns to punish me. There was actually a rota, because the Frat boys were students and had classes. When they were free, their recreation was torturing their criminal slave, torturing me.
I had arrived on a Sunday and most of them were around at least for the next few hours, so my Frat-boy hell began almost at once. Master Eddie reported that I had earned 149 demerits from being lazy during my physical training. I got some of them when Master Chris shoved shit up my nose, when my mouth was already full with his shit and a big dog-turd; I couldn't breathe and started choking: I earned demerits by making a mess on the floor. I got more when Master Chris pushed me back down with his heavy boots, putting weight on my back when I was doing press-ups with extra weights on my arms and legs.
They all laughed when Master Eddie told the Frat about the time I earned the most demerits. I was made to lift ten kilos above my head during squats “I warned it" said Master Chris, "that if it couldn’t hold the ten kilos above its head for five minutes, it would get 40 demerits with a recommendation for punishment with riding crops. I also told it that it’d have to drag at least twenty kilos attached to its balls around the Frat house. It fucking sweated and looked so fucking miserable, standing there holding up the weight. In the end, to make sure it got its demerits, I used an electric toothbrush in its smelly pits and it soon dropped the weights and collapsed. It lay on the floor and cried. Me and Chris wired it up to a big car battery to get it up and back to training; it was soon running on the spot with its nasty dick flying up and down as we made it lift its knees and work harder.” The Frat loved that story.
The Frat leader, slightly older than the others, who had raped me earlier announced my punishment for that day in a matter of fact day, like he was ordering pizzas and not arranging a succession of tortures for a person. “30 for the criminal slave with the riding crops on the ass (20 to work off demerits and 10 for normal punishment), followed by 10 with the knotted martinet between its legs (again 5 to work off demerits and 5 for normal punishment), and 3 times up both sets of Frat house stairs dragging 10 kilos, then 15 kilos, then 20 kilos; hesitations with weight-dragging will be punished with additional strokes of the knotted martinet at the end.” I was still naked and chained up where I had nearly collapsed after the Frat’s film-show when he made a further announcement: “Punishment to start in 30 minutes, at 3pm, crops to be selected and administered by Paul and Wang. Eddie will use the severe knotted martinet. I’ll do the stairs work. Any further extra-punishment martinet work to be administered by Chris - I'll try to make sure you have a good few to give it between its nasty legs. Also, if Wang wants to shit, he can have first go with the slave's full toilet duty. Its cleaning duties will start tomorrow.” Then the Frat leader walked up to me and slapped my face twice, hard and stinging. With hardly a glance in my direction, the boys all dispersed, and I was left, still in chains but alone.
Masters Paul and Wang entered the room about half an hour later, in shorts and trainers, naked from the waist up. Master Paul turned out to be the dirty blond who had first seen me and smirked when I was in my dog-cage in the van being delivered to the Frat. Master Wang was the Chinese boy in the film, who had laughed as he fed his diarrhoea to a horrified criminal slave. The bulge in Wang’s shorts was obvious – he saw me look at it - “yes, filth, I will enjoy beating you, I am strong and you’ll scream but there's nothing you can do to avoid it”.
Master Paul grabbed my dick and balls from behind. It was a surprise move and I instinctively tried to pull away. “That’s an extra 5 with the crop for resisting, filth – you'll regret it – me and Wang know how to use the crops”. I tried to make amends “I’m sorry, Master, please go easy – this is my first time”. Wang then joined in “Criminal slaves can’t beg or apologise – we will discuss your behaviour when you eat from my ass later, and we’ll add some extra strokes next time we beat you”. I realised I had to shut up as more boys entered the room and took their seats to watch these young Masters discipline me with riding crops.
Master Paul kept hold of my dick and balls with both hands and was now winding some rough but strong rope around them. He pulled the rope horribly tight around the root of my dick and behind my balls. To no one in particular he said that, since the new equipment hadn’t been set up yet, they’d decided to get me into a spanking position without shifting me. “This is for its cropping. It’ll be pushed on to its back for the martinet. The point is now to get it bent over so its ass gets the full pain experience of the crops – we don’t want it thinking we’re lenient ...”. The concept of these Frat boys being lenient brought a few giggles. The Frat teen-boy continued: “So I’m lowering its arms until its hands are at its knee-level, and then I’m tying its disgusting junk to its wrists". To demonstrate my junk, Master Paul jerked up my dick and balls painfully and twisted them around so everyone got a good look. I yelped. Master Paul continued: "Its ass will then automatically stick right up behind it. It can't help presenting it.”
At first, releasing my arms from high above my head was a relief but, of course, as they were lowered, I inevitably bent over. When my ass reached just the right position and angle for a beating, Master Paul tied my wrist to my dick and balls. I felt a tiny bit relieved when my dick and balls were stretched forward out of the way of the crop, as my hands were in front of me, but that relief didn’t last long as my “disgusting junk” was stretched painfully tight, and extra bungees then attached it to the leg-spreading rings. “That’s a fucking brilliant stress position”, said the Frat leader, as my balls started to ache badly, “It can’t move without torturing its own dick and balls – that must be so fucking painful – make it wait a few minutes in that position before you beat it and don't be in any hurry to move it after you’ve finished – it's already starting to sweat from the muscle stress.” He was right; my whole body had joined my balls and started to ache, and I couldn’t move an inch anywhere to get any relief.
Then the Frat leader grabbed my head, which was bent towards the ground and pulled it up to face-him. “You’re going to hate this, criminal slave”. Then he smiled and told me to open my mouth. He spat into it. “Anybody else want a go?” he asked.
They all wanted a go. “Keep it open, slave. We can force it open with a dental gag – you'll get it soon for sure but now just open voluntarily and enjoy our spit-loads", and the Frat leader pulled my head up even further, hurting my neck, so it was convenient for the spitters. I knew better than to try to close my mouth. One after the other they snorted and sniffed and spat, mostly salty, some gooey and revolting. At least three of them were smokers and one definitely tasted of weed. Two of them, including the dirty blond who was about to beat me, also blew their nose-snots into my mouth. Of course, I had to say “Thank you, Master, for your spit” and “Thank you Master, for your nose-snot". “How did it taste?” asked the dirty blond “delicious, thank you Master, salty and slimy and very tasty, Sir”, “There’ll be more later, but I’m going to beat you now”. Then he and Wang showed me their crops.
Master Wang’s was basically about half a metre of black leather with a leather strap to put over his wrist, presumably for more accuracy, when he beat me. He whistled it in the air. It sounded heavy and looked pretty inflexible. I noticed it had a kind of nasty-looking leather flap at the end that would hit whichever bit of me was about six inches out from where the end of the main ‘cane’ part of the crop landed. It would add an extra painful slap every time. I soon learned that the extra slap could also work itself into places the main crop couldn’t reach, like my perineum, and deep into my crack.
Master Paul’s crop was longer, thinner and more flexible. “This is what riders call a ‘dressage crop’, criminal cunt: I’m going to aim to follow Wang’s big bruising hits with a full-force slice into the same place. You'll totally hate your first fucking beating from the Frat, filth”.
“Beg, criminal slave” ordered the Frat leader. I hesitated for just a few seconds. “Extra five” said Master Wang cheerfully. “Do you want to beg now or not?” “Please, Masters,” I forced myself to say “use your riding crops on my naked ass without mercy – hit me hard because I’m a criminal slave and I deserve it – please enjoy my screams and yells of pain – make me bleed if possible – th-thank you s-sirs ...”.
“You go first, Wang”, said the Frat leader, “number one of forty now, including all its extra punishment strokes. Go when you're ready.”
Master Wang crouched sightly out to my left and tapped my ass with his crop. Even being tapped with that instrument hurt a bit. I couldn't begin to imagine how it would feel when applied full force on my naked ass. I soon found out. Master Wang lifted the crop behind his right shoulder and slammed it into the crown of my ass, a few inches above my hole. The first thing I felt was a sharp sting from the flap at the tip of the crop which whacked into the far right side of my buttocks. Then, within a second or two, the initial aching pain from the main part of the crop started to rise and intensify into a massive soreness which turned into just to unbearable pain. I could hear myself yell as what started as an ache became like a knife had been sliced right across my ass, all within barely five seconds. The torturous pain from the first stroke was still increasing when I realised that the line of agony drawn by Master Wang was now being tapped by Master Paul.
Master Paul was left-handed and so he stood out to my right. His longer thinner crop was vicious. A more high-pitched whistle this time. The pain produced by Master Paul's crop was more instant than the pain from Master Wang’s; it was like the worst kind of sting from a nest of wasps, repeated and repeated. I believe I shrieked and I think several of the Frat boys applauded Master Paul. However, on that first attempt, Master Paul hadn’t succeeded in following the exact line of Master Wang’s crop. I knew it had crossed the massive welt left by Master Wang at some point because there was a small area of particularly excruciating pain somewhere on my left buttock. I dreaded to think how it would feel if Master Paul did manage to put his lines right on top of a welt left by Master Wang. Four strokes later, I would find out.
Master Wang administered my fifth stroke slightly lower than the others, perhaps just an inch above my asshole. His powerful crop slammed into my ass harder than ever. As the terrible pain radiated out from that welt, I tried instinctively to break free; it was, as I knew, completely futile. As I pulled, I stretched my own dick and balls away from my body to the point where it felt like I was pulling them off. I heard laughter and someone said “it’s trying to castrate itself”, followed by “By the time it’s finished had the martinet, it’ll beg us to castrate it”. My young audience giggled at that thought.
This time, on stroke number six, Master Paul got his line right and his thinner bendier crop hit exactly the same line as Master Wang. The intensity of the pain was so great that for a moment I couldn’t breathe. From my bent over head-position, I registered drops of blood falling from my ass to the floor. Master Paul’s stroke had burst the welt created by Master Wang’s powerful crop a few moments before. I bled in several places now: my skin simply wasn’t strong enough. I panicked. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn't escape. The chains, ropes and bungees, holding me in place, shook but firmly held me. My screams were now from despair as well as pain. I had so far received only six out of forty strokes, and I had the martinet to follow.
At the end of twenty strokes, there was a break for the boys to inspect the damage, advise or congratulate the punishers. Someone even opened a bag of popcorn, like it was the interval in the show. I could see I was bleeding from several places: Master Paul hadn’t managed to exactly destroy one of Master Wang’s welts again, but he had crossed over the welts several times and that usually meant breaking the skin where the two lines of pain intersected. I heard a new voice “If you bleed when you’re with me, slave-filth, I’ll burn your little wounds with my cigar, but for now you’ll get this”, and I felt my ass getting sprayed with some kind of coagulant spray which, of course, stung badly, increasing my utter misery.
“OK, let’s carry on”, said the Frat leader. “Twenty to go with the crops and then ten on its genitals with the knotted martinet – should be fun.”
I don’t know how I survived the next twenty strokes. Twice more, Master Paul managed to destroy completely the previous welt left by Master Wang. It was a game to them; they wanted to destroy my ass in the most agonising way possible. When Master Paul landed his strokes accurately, the pain was extraordinary and lasted into and beyond the next terrible stroke. The torture was forcing me into a constant pointless struggle for release, pulling violently at my restraints and further punishing my own tightly bound dick and balls as I tugged desperately to be free. My despair only increased when I saw that two of the boys sitting on armchairs in front of me had got out their cocks and were stroking each other as they watched me intently, my suffering directly turning them on, their erections huge. It hit home at that moment more than ever before that the destruction of my body would be their fun.
At some point, my brain registered the Frat leader announcing : "OK, that’s its forty. Martinets in half an hour. We can leave it tied up there in the meantime - I like to see it in that stress position. Good work, Paul. Can you force it to drink a decent amount of water to keep it hydrated, but please you or Wang piss in it first so it doesn’t think we’re being nice.” Then, talking to the others: “If anyone wants to fuck it, please wait till after the martinet has worked its evil between its fucking legs – we don’t want it to enjoy the fucking – I noticed it was getting slightly hard during my introductory fucking yesterday!” Then he turned to Master Eddie and said “Strip naked when you give the criminal slave the martinet please – it's traditional when a new member of the Frat gives his first punishment for him to be naked. If a criminal slave sees you get hard when punishing them, it makes them more desperate – it’s good for them to know how much you’re enjoying their punishment, especially when you’re at the first stage of destroying their nasty sex organs, like you’ll be doing with that martinet.”
Master Paul fetched a dirty-looking plastic bucket of water and put it down in front of me, maybe twelve inches below my drooping head. He pissed into it and also managed to direct some piss into my face as he finished. Then he put the bucket on a small stool, so it was at the right level for pushing my face into it. “Drink, filth. Wang's pissed in it too. If you don’t drink at least half in ten minutes, I’ll refill the fucking bucket and hang it from your balls.” I thanked him for the water and for pissing in it, which I knew I had to do, and I drank gulps of the pissed-in water as Master Paul repeatedly dunked me.
I was left in my stress position, as the Frat leader had suggested, which made every muscle ache. My ass was still in screaming agony from the crops. The pain barely diminished in the remaining twenty minutes before I was due my session with the martinet.
A low table was soon brought in by two of the Frat boys. One had some kind of mat under his arm and the other was carrying two six-foot metal poles. “We’re repositioning you for the martinet, criminal slave”, one of them said cheerfully.
I remembered then that Master Eddie had told me that I’d be tied face-up when they used the martinet in the Frat and that the martinet itself would be worse than the one he had used in his own dungeon. It would be heavier and the little whips would be knotted. He had swung his own martinet up from below between my spread legs when I was tied in a standing position. It had cut my pisshole and made my ballsack bleed in several places, and had been incredibly painful. Now it was going to be much worse. He was going to swing down a much fiercer martinet on to my dick and balls. This obviously allowed for much more powerful blows – and all this was after my ass had just been massacred by two strong Frat boys using vicious riding crops.
The two boys placed the low rectangular table in front of me. I was still bent over with my wrists and genitals roped together, but they didn’t free them. Instead, they undid my legs from the rings so they weren’t so spread, which gave me some relief, but not for long. One of them playfully gave my ass, which was terribly sore and still bleeding slightly, a couple of playful slaps. I cried out, which made them both laugh. They then placed the mat one of them was carrying on the table. It was another act of deliberate cruelty. It was one of those mats sometimes used in yoga with hundreds of little plastic spikes – they wouldn’t penetrate the skin or even do much damage, but on an ass that had been dealt with as mine had been, the extra pain would be unbearable. But I would just have to put up with it.
Still with my wrists and genitals roped together tightly, I was ordered to straddle the table, with an extra reminder “We can increase the number of martinet strokes if you hesitate, slave”. I was shaking and in pain, but I forced myself not to hesitate. I walked a couple of paces and, as instructed, faced away from the chains where I had just been tied and straddled the table and sat gently on the spiked mat. A thousand sharpened pieces of plastic immediately bit my tortured ass. Laughing at me, the boys took a leg each and attached ankle cuffs to them. Then they fixed the poles which, I now saw, had attaching points all the way up them, to the floor rings and then they pulled something out at the base of each one and tested them to make sure the poles were upright and sturdy. “We don’t want these collapsing on you, not that we’d really care if you broke one of your legs, but it might hurt the new Frat boy, Master Eddie, who’s going to flog you with the martinet”, and they both giggled at their own witty thought.
Making sure that the spike-mat was right under my ass (“it’s non-slip, you see, so you won’t be able to slide off it, slave”), they each took one of my legs and pulled them up above my head and a bit behind it. They attached my ankle cuffs about half-way up the widely spread poles. My feet were a good twelve inches above and behind my head. they then took the rope off my dick and balls and pulled my hands back to the chain which was now behind me, fixing bungees to make sure the chain couldn't move. My dick, balls and asshole were now completely exposed, spread out, and displayed. I whined and groaned miserably, which was hardly surprising with my beaten ass resting on spikes and my legs spread miserably wide, exposing the most sensitive and once-private part of my body to what was obviously going to be an excruciating punishment. When one of the Frat boys saw my expression, they smiled, spat in my face, and told me “Wait till you feel that fucking martinet”.
By now, the rest of the boys were taking their places again. Some were eating and drinking. They were waiting for the show to resume. There were a few comments like “I tell you, that martinet's cruel - it’ll soon wish it didn’t have a dick – it'll which it didn't have balls - it'll be wishing we’d just cut everything off” and “We’ll soon see what Eddie’s like – he really hates this slave”. A couple of them spat at me.
Master Eddie was naked and had a full hard-on when he came into the room. The Frat applauded. He had obviously thought a lot about the flogging I was about to receive, and the damage he could cause me with the martinet he was now carrying. The martinet was about three feet long altogether and had a long thick handle with a wrist-hold. I could see how he was going to be able to grip it and give it power and speed when the time came to flog me. Then, worse, he held in front of my face the dozen or so strands at the business end of the martinet. Each thick leather strand had two, or sometimes three, tight knots in it. This meant that when the main strands whipped my genitals, now completely exposed for flogging, the little knots would chew into my flesh wherever they happened to land. "Each blow with this martinet won't just be a flogging but flesh-digging. You won't believe the pain as those knots dig in and are then pulled out of your dick and balls, criminal slave". I think the Frat leader saw my terrified look “The slave-lumps you had earlier should stop you passing out but, if you do pass out, we’ll just start again when you’ve revived – wouldn't want you to miss anything”. Then he turned to Eddie who was now looming over me, his hard-on level with my face: “Tell it to beg and, when we’re satisfied, we’ll go”. “Beg, criminal slave”, said Master Eddie.
“Please, Master Eddie, p-p-please flog my genitals like I deserve w-without mercy. Please give me as much pain as you can, Master. I deserve p-pain down there, Master. Please enjoy ...” I tailed off. “That’ll do”, said the Frat leader, “OK, ten strokes between its legs, five for demerits and five for normal punishment – let's hear it scream after that pathetic begging.”
Master Eddie let the strands of the knotted martinet brush over my dick and balls. Then he lifted it high above his head, checked his distance, brushed it over me again a little more firmly, lifted it again, and let rip. I screwed my eyes shut as the martinet descended at a ferocious speed past my spread knees and thighs and directly on to my completely vulnerable and exposed sexual organs. That first hit tore into the underside of my dick, which had flopped back to rest on my stomach when I’d been positioned. It also ripped into my inner thighs and a couple of strands landed on my balls. My dick started to bleed slightly where one of the knots had penetrated its sensitive flesh. The pain was still increasing when Master Eddie lifted the martinet high over his lead again with a look of hatred in his eyes. He wanted to hurt me much more and he didn’t like that I hadn’t watched him. “Keep your fucking little eyes open this time, cunt-slave, or thestroke won’t count". The whistle was louder and shorter this time, and Master Eddie grunted with the effort.
I can barely describe that second blow. Initially, it felt like an electric bolt had hit my dick and balls. Then the pain hit in earnest. Blood from my ballsack spurted out over my face from where one of the knots had hit it. The speed of the hit caused so much pressure that blood literally exploded out of two or three small wounds. There were raw grazes down the whole right side of my soft inner thigh. The underside of my penis started to bleed properly. The leather strands had also crashed into my glans which was red and turning purple from painful bruising.
That was what the next three were like. At the end of five, my original sentence, the underside of my penis was red-raw and had a dozen distinct wounds from the knots. Both of my spread inner thighs were scarlet from the leather whips and they were also bleeding and grazed from the knots. My ballsack was spurting blood again, where the flesh had been hammered with hard leather whips and knots. The knots smashed the sack hard into my actual balls, causing horrible additional agony. It really felt that my genitals were being destroyed. By the fifth stroke, I could barely make noise, just croaks and vague begging noises and high-pitched whines.
“Half-way through, criminal slave”, laughed the Frat leader as he got out his spray-can with burning coagulant. He sprayed it liberally on my wounds, making me scream some more. Then he grabbed the now-purple tip of my dick; I opened my mouth to shriek, but only croaking came out. A little blood oozed out of my pisshole. He used his hold to push my dick down over my balls, “so the top-side gets it during the next five”. Then, just as I thought he’d finished with me, the Frat leader said casually “I need a piss.” He straddled me, opened his fly, and touched my lip with the tip of his dick “Spill a drop and ten goes to fifteen, a touch from a tooth and it goes to twenty-five but only after at least three of your teeth have been extracted by Wang here with his rusty pliers”. I swallowed all his piss, every drop – then he looked at me and I knew what to say: “Thank you for your delicious piss, Master. I only deserve to drink piss and eat shit because I am a toilet, Master.” Master Wang, who was sitting a few feet away, farted loudly “It’ll drink my diarrhoea later for sure”, and everyone laughed and told him he was disgusting.
Master Eddie applied all his strength to the final five strokes with that martinet. My scrotum was a mass of blood and deep wounds where the knots had hit. My thighs were so sensitive that when Master Eddie gave them a light flick “to see if they need spraying”, I screamed in agony. The bruised top of my penis had been repeatedly hit by knots and the circumcision ridge around my glans had been literally destroyed in places. Its smooth edge was now ragged and bleeding. Down towards the root, one of my dick-veins looked like it had been cut open but it turned out that a layer of skin had been torn away “The vein’s still there – we can carry on torturing its dick – it's lost some of its skin but so fucking what - it'll lose its dick soon”, said the Frat leader and added “it doesn’t matter what happens to it anyway – its dick deserves to go in a fucking mincer”.
“It won’t like what’s coming next anyway”, said Master Paul, “At least three of us are going to fuck it ...”. “And it’ll have to drag weights upstairs”. “And probably get the martinet again after that”. “And it still has to drink my diarrhoea”, said Master Wang.
Master Paul was already naked and had his dick at the entrance of my hole ...
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