Before my rape by the Frat leader, my asshole was relatively undamaged. He had raped me when I was standing in chains, which was painful at the time but was now just uncomfortable. Even the riding crops had not generally reached my hole itself.
Of course, my whole ass was terribly bruised, literally purple in places with blood seeping out of criss-crossing welts, and that just turned on these sadistic Frat-boys. The same went for my bloodied and tortured dick and balls, caused by ten strokes from Master Eddie with the knotted martinet. Master Paul actually commented “I like to see your dick bleeding and bruised, criminal slave – take a look at mine – what a contrast – it’s in good shape and pretty big.” Tied on to my back with my legs widely spread and tied off above my head, his dick did look pretty impressive as it loomed above me. After a little experimenting with positions, Master Paul, laid himself down between my legs, putting his weight on top of me. As he pushed himself forward, his chest pressed on my wrists which were still tied tightly to my dick and balls. It forced me to pull hard on my dick and balls. That meant that I unavoidably rotated my ass upwards, making an easier angle for Master Paul for his violent and unlubed entry into my asshole.
The three Frat-boys who raped me – I only rememberMaster Paul by name – were of course only concerned with their own pleasure and were happy to hurt me. They certainly seemed to enjoy the violent entry and exits without lube. The position they chose, leaning on me and pushing themselves between my legs and down on to my chest brought their faces close to mine. The second rapist actually bit my lower lip, making it swell up, and Master Paul repeatedly spat in my face. Their weight pushed my lower back painfully on to the spike-mat and their salty sweat stung where I had been beaten.
Only Master Paul wanted a second go. After five dry entries, my horribly sore asshole added to my misery.
While Master Paul was finishing off for the second time, I saw in the corner of my eye that Master Wang had returned, carrying my water-bucket or, to be more exact, my water-mixed-with-piss bucket. I realised what was in it when Master Paul, who was just pulling out of me, said “Fuck, Wang, have you let rip in its water bucket? That is so gross. It stinks!” Then I also noticed the stench coming from my bucket. “You know how it is”, Master Wang smiled, looking a bit sheepish, “with diarrhoea, you can’t always keep it in.” Master Paul decided to stay around to watch what was going to happen next.
Master Wang held the bucket in front of my face, and showed me its contents. There was about six inches of his diarrhoea swishing around. The smell from this unformed motion seemed to combine shit and vomit together. I could clearly see formed bits of Master Wang’s shit floating in an evil-smelling brownish liquid and I could also see an accumulation of what looked like pale pasty soft shit sticking to the bottom of the bucket. “This is all going inside you, slave”, he said cheerfully, and then I noticed that he was also carrying a funnel which had a strap. “This goes on your head,” he said helpfully. “Once it’s on, you won’t have any choice.”
“It’ll be Wang’s diarrhoea for dinner”, giggled Master Paul, “with some more of my piss for a first course”.
With that, Master Wang lent in and started attaching the strap on the funnel round the back of my head. I was still facing upwards, as I had been positioned that way for the martinet and the rapes. He went to place the end of the funnel in my mouth. I didn’t open up. I just couldn’t endure it. I looked up at the young Chinese Frat-boy leaning over me. I actually cried. I whispered “Please - no - Sir"
“If you don’t open up right now, filth-slave, I’ll get that little hammer I chipped your teeth with before and smash it into your mouth. You won’t have any choice then. After that, I’ll break one of your knuckles with it, just for fun.”
I slowly opened my mouth. Master Wang pushed in the funnel deeply enough to keep my mouth open wide. I noticed then a few inches from the end of the funnel, it flares flared out so it stuck firmly inside my mouth and behind my teeth. Basically, whatever was poured into it, would spread around my open mouth and not immediately go down my throat, and of course it couldn’t spill out and I couldn’t sit it out. My mouth would fill with Master Wang’s diarrhoea. I would have to taste it. It would swill around. It would settle on my taste-buds and coat my tongue. It would be very hard to swallow with my mouth forced open. “You’ll swallow it all, but not too quickly – I like slaves to appreciate my diarrhoea”, said Master Wang.
Now I really started to cry. It was a fact. I was going to have to drink this Frat-boy's diarrhoea.
For a moment, Master Wang sounded almost sympathetic. “Look, slave, I know you’re in a bad position, but it’s your own fault, because you did the crime. But, now you’re here, I promise you the best thing is to go along with whatever we want to do to you. No point pleading or asking for mercy. Sure, you probably will have bits cut off you in the end – the last slave had to eat, literally and raw, all its fingers and toes and, finally, both of its balls. The way we then destroyed that slave’s dick, taking more than a week, cutting it in two, length-wise from pisshole to root, exposing its urethra (which had already been tortured by the way) little by little. We salted the cut each time we increased its size. We’d reached a bit over half the length of its dick when the two halves just fell apart. I don’t think I’ve ever heard screaming like when we stapled heavy clamps on each dangling half of that criminal slave’s dick.” I looked up and realised that Master Wang was actually smiling broadly and that any sympathy in his voice had just been to taunt me. Master Paul was enjoying his talk too, holding his crotch.
Master Wang’s tone now changed: “That, or worse, will come later for you, you disgusting bitch. Now, I want to see you not just drinking but experiencing my diarrhoea. Take your time with it. Taste it and swill it. Gargle with it. At the end you’ll thank me profusely and tell me about the different bits of it. If you puke, or even retch, I’ll beat your balls until they swell up so much they’ll burst your ball-sack – and you’ll still have to drag weights with what’s left of them. Got it, filth?”
I made myself nod vigorously.
“Paul, are you going to piss first?”.
This was the second time I’d be made to drink Master Paul’s piss. There was a bit of cum mixed with the first few drops and the rest was strong and salty. The piss lingered in my mouth, as promised, because my mouth was forced open. It swilled around, rousing the taste-buds on my tongue and on the roof of my mouth before I could ease it down my throat. The piss-flow was strong, and I thought I’d spilt some, but of course, the piss that splashed out of my mouth only went back into the funnel and then flowed back into my mouth all over again.
Master Paul finished pissing and sat back in an armchair to watch the performance. Master Wang announced, “Diarrhoea time, slave – piss and diarrhoea are the only drinks you deserve!”
The stuff that had come out of Master Wang’s stomach, and had now made its way into my mouth, was as vile as anything I had eaten or drank up to that point, including the dog-shit forced into my mouth a week earlier by Master Chris. Master Wang shook his diarrhoea around in the bucket before pouring it, mouthful by mouthful, down the funnel and into my mouth. Some of it was like vomit with small pieces of undigested food, including some peppery pieces with the texture of raw chicken skin. Much of it was just a vile grey-brown liquid with bits of shit that seemed to stick inside my mouth. And there was quite a lot of formless soft pale stinking shit towards the end of the feeding. Master Wang made it last: “Taste it, bitch, I want to hear you gargle with it”. He poured in more lumpy grey liquid. I tried to gargle with it but I couldn’t do it properly with my mouth open. “Gargle this next bit or I’ll beat those fucking balls”. I desperately rasped and gurgled the vomit-flavoured thick liquid Master Wang had just poured into my mouth. Again and again, I sucked it into my throat and sort-of gargled it back into my mouth – and tasted it again – until my young Master seemed satisfied.
In the end, I must have had at least 20 mouthfuls from that bucket before I finished. I wanted to puke but I was too terrified of what they’d do to me if I did. I swallowed and breathed strongly and somehow kept Master Wang’s diarrhoea, for now at least, in my stomach.
I came very close to puking when Master Wang straddled my face and said “I’ve got a bit more inside me, criminal slave: suck it out of me now”. I pushed my face up to his asshole and sucked and licked at his asshole. It was damp and smelly. Then, it opened a bit more and more diarrhoea flowed out, slowly and liquid at first, and then a huge fart leading to an explosion of damp filth all over my face.
Laughing, both Frat-boys left the room.
I was still sitting on the spike-mat. I was still chained up with my dick, balls and asshole totally exposed. I guess I’d been there about half an hour more when a new Frat-boy, apparently called Quentin, not quite as slim as the others and with unruly curly brown hair, walked in “Fucking hell, you stink, criminal slave. You deserve to be beaten with the crops all over again for that”, but, instead of beating me, he jet-washed me. Then “It’s stair work with weights for you now, criminal slave. You deserve to feel more pain, I’m afraid, so more pain is going to come your way.”
Master Quentin used the jet-wash to get the worst of Master Wang’s final explosion off my face and out of my hair. Then he handcuffed me and led me out into a cold corridor which led in turn to some steep uncarpeted stairs. “Yeah, it’s cold here, slaveboy, but you don’t get any clothes here ever, even when we make you work outside.
Then Master Quentin was all business: “Right, there are two flights of these stairs, twelve steps here and twelve steeper ones above. I’ll attach your ball-weight for the climb. Here it is.” He pointed to a normal-looking gym-style lifting weight with a handle on top. It looked terrifyingly heavy. You’ll start with 10kg. In the past, we’ve started slaves with 5kg, but they don’t like you so for you it’s 10kg. First, I’ll attach the parachute harness. Here it is – it goes above your balls. Open your legs, slave.” I opened my legs and Master Quentin felt for my balls and attached the parachute. He’d obviously done it before but it hurt when he touched my ball-sack which had been damaged by the martinet earlier. I screamed when he pulled the parachute tight. “We don’t want you dislodging the weight, do we boy-filth? 10kg is heavy, so it has to be really tight.”
“10kg won’t be too bad to drag to the stairs, if you crawl, but lifting it up the stairs is going to be very difficult and it ‘ll hurt a lot. You’ll have to swing the weight slightly backwards to pull it over the lip of each stair. But – hey – you're here to be punished, right?” His attitude seemed to change and he glared at me. I knew I had to answer: “Yes, Master, I am here for to be punished. Please make my weight-punishment hard for me. Please make it hurt me”.
“OK, I’ve messaged the others so most of the Frat will be out on the stairs to encourage you in various interesting ways. Kneel while I attach the 10kg – as I say, in the past, we’ve started slaves with half this weight, but your Master Chris really wants your balls to hurt, slave. If you’ve never had 10kg on your balls, you’ll think you can’t lift it. But you can and you will.”
As he fiddled with some short bungees to attach the weight immovably to the parachute harness, Master Quentin gave me my instructions. “Your job is to get the 10kg weight to the top of both flights. I’ll accompany you up the first flight.” Then he showed me something new, a leather punishment strap, thick and black with a handle about a foot long and the strap also about a foot long and about six inches wide. “You get this strap on your ass or shoulders if I think you’re slacking. I hand over to Master Charlie for the second staircase – he'll use his lit cigar instead. You stay handcuffed throughout to make it a more difficult exercise. The other members of the Frat will give you what they think you deserve. There won’t be any rewards of course, even if you sprint, but, if they think you’re slacking, they have all kinds of things like clamps and plods, to attach to you. they can punish you anyway they want really. You’ll be a mess when you get to the top. Then we’ll decide whether to punish you with a heavier weight or to get Chris to give you the martinet again, or both – probably they’ll wait a day before giving you a heavier weight, but it’ll come – you can be sure about that”
Master Quentin attached the final bungee. 10kg was now attached to my balls but still resting on the ground. “Stand, criminal slave. See how it feels.” I tried to stand but the weight was so heavy I really struggled to lift it an inch from the ground. Master Quentin picked up his horrible leather punishment strap. I somehow straightened my legs and supported the insupportable. This amount of weight immediately dragged my balls away from my body in a way which was not just intensely painful because of the crushing, but it also dragged on my dick and all the muscles of my groin and the lower part of my stomach. As I stood in front of Master Quentin, I could feel the bile rising from my recent forced drink of diarrhoea, but I forced myself to repress it because I couldn’t begin to imagine the extra tortures vomiting would bring. I think Master Quentin noticed because he punched me in the stomach. I doubled over and the weight swung from my balls. The pain got worse, but I managed to get upright again and I somehow didn’t vomit, a tiny victory for a naked slave being brutally punished.
Other Frat boys appeared on the stairs and Master Chris came down to where Master Quentin and I were standing. “Thanks, Quent. It deserves to start with 10kg. It’ll keep its balls in fucking agony for several hours, even if we take the weight off when it’s climbed up, which we probably won’t. Great idea to keep it in handcuffs too – it'll make those stairs an even worse fucking torture – I don’t know if it’ll even make it – we might have to beat it to death.” They both laughed at that last nice thought. “I definitely wouldn’t like to have its balls right now”, Master Quentin replied.
Then he turned back to me with a new strictness in his voice: “OK, criminal slave, back on your hands and knees and drag the weights, crawling as far as the bottom of the stairs. Don’t forget I’ve got my strap and I enjoy using it. Go!”
I struggled to get going. Was the weight snagging on a bit of flooring? Why wouldn’t it move? Then Master Quentin used that strap on my ass which had been so badly beaten with riding crops barely an hour before. The sound hit first, a mighty crack, and then the pain. I yanked the weight forwards and found that, once it was moving, although it was still very painful, if I dug my knees into that hard floor, and used my calf and thigh muscles, I could make that horrible 10kg weight move.
I made it the twenty feet or so to the bottom of the first flight of stairs. A Frat-boys was waiting for me near the top, and the Frat leader and Master Chris were looking down from the top of the flight. “Get fucking on with it”, Master Quentin shouted at me now so all the others could hear. “Stand, criminal slave”. Then my ass felt that heavy strap for a second and third time in quick succession, and there was a dribble of blood down both my thighs where welts from earlier had opened up again.
I stood. I can’t describe the pain in my balls and the terrible aching in my whole groin. I very nearly stumbled but somehow swung my right leg, then, forcing myself to lean forward, I pulled the 10kg weight, and then my left leg, up the first stair. “Eleven to go”, said Master Quentin in a matter-of-fact way, and he lifted his strap once again.
I must have received five or six stinging strappings by the time I had forced that weight hanging between my legs up the first ten stairs or so. A Frat-boy was waiting there with two nasty-looking nipple-clamps. He waved them in my face and attached them. I just stood there and took the extra pain. I winced but what could I do? I only yelped when he twisted them and pulled on them and said “Fucking criminal slave, you won’t have nipples for long, so we might as well torture them while they’re still there”. He spat in my face. “I’m waiting, slave”. “Thank you for punishing my dirty nipples, Master.”
A cluster of Frat-boys had now gathered at the top of the first flight, and I knew that this meant more pain, much more. The black Frat-boy, Master Jacoby, grabbed my dick and seem to search in his pocket – he brought out a long match, the kind for lighting a cigar, and simply shoved it unlubricated into my piss-hole. Even before it was fully inside, I fell to my knees and screamed and begged incoherently. My 10kg weight banged on the floor.
Master Jacoby had to lean over me and use some force to get it in properly, squeezing my shaft which had been bruised and cut by the martinet earlier, to force my piss-hole open to take this intrusion. I think the hole itself had actually been narrowed by the swelling of my glans from the beating. It was a new torture.
Master Jacoby just laughed as I writhed, but Master Eddie came forward to make things even worse. He handed Master Jacoby his bottle of the fiery mixture which he had used a couple of weeks earlier during my clamping punishment. “I think the criminal slave wants some lube, Jac”, he said “Why don’t you pull the matchstick thing out and coat it, and his pisshole, with this. “Then, he added to general amusement “He won’t want lube any more after that”, and explained to everyone how he’d made it from chilli oil and athletic cream.
Master Jacoby grinned from ear to ear. “Lesson in complaining coming up, criminal slave. I wouldn’t bother to complain in future.” He yanked the match out of my dick, which made me scream again, and lubed it up with Master Eddie’s horrible mixture. Then he dabbed the entrance to my pisshole with the stuff. I shrieked even more as the burning started and actually begged Master Jacoby not to burn me inside with that terrible stuff, but in it went, deeper than before this time, slicked with torture-oil. I was flat on the floor, past screaming but still writhing, while the Frat-boys watched, smiling and joking with each other.
As ever in this ghastly Frat, my predicament stimulated some of the boys. As they watched my tortures, several were stroking themselves or holding their crotches. The Frat leader and Master Chris actually had their cocks out and were stroking harder. Then Master Chris nodded and they worked on each other. They came quickly on the floor in front of me. A swift kick in the ribs came from someone behind me who told me to “Lick it up now”. As I sucked the two boys’ cum from the dirty floor, Master Quentin brought the strap down right across my shoulders, opening up a new area of pain on a part of my body which hadn’t yet been punished. It stung so much. “Show your gratitude to the Frat, pig”, ordered the Frat leader. “Thank you, Masters, for punishing me as I deserve by weighting my balls and then making me climb the stairs. I deserve to be strapped and burned for my laziness. I’m also so grateful for your delicious cum mixed with floor-dirt. Thank you ...” I trailed off, exhausted, and by now Master Charlie, dark-haired and more menacing-looking than the others, and smoking a fat cigar, was pointing to the next flight of stairs. “Up, criminal slave”, he said.
That second flight was steep and had two sharp corners. They were almost spiral. They would have been hard work to climb in the normal way. Naked, tortured, with 10kg dangling from my balls, a matchstick lubed with torture oil inside my dick, and harsh clamps on my nipples, they were actually impossible. After several attempts at the first stair and two nasty burns on my wounded buttocks from Master Charlie’s cigar, someone suggested handcuffing my hands in front rather than behind. Master Charlie agreed, and asked Master Quentin to give me two more with the strap for causing trouble. Master Quentin immediately complied and with full force. the sting as he hit over Master Charlie’s cigar burns was indescribable.
With immense effort and in continuous terrible pain, I now made it up that second flight of stairs. Master Charlie had ‘encouraged’ me on almost every stair by applying his burning cigar to the wounds on my buttocks. I knelt down in a short corridor at the very top of the Frat-house.
“You’ve earned three more with the martinet for being too slow”, said the Frat leader. “It’s getting late so, after you’ve had them, we’ll take you into the attic cell just here, pointing to a door at the end of the corridor. You’ll eat your punishment-food slave-lumps and you’ll be locked in your dog cage with no privileges, just bare metal, for the night.
“Any member of the Frat can come in to see you when he wants. We’ve made your water supply so Frat-boys can piss in it – luckily for you, Wang’s out of diarrhoea.” A ripple of laughter at that. “Frat-boys can let you out pf your cage to fuck you or to punish you – there are floggers and canes for them to use for punishment, or they’ll bring their own stuff. I don’t see any reason why you can’t keep the weights and the nipple clamps attached and that matchstick looks good stuck in your dick. It’ll be up to whoever sees you in the night, but I’d be quite happy if you’re still wearing all those painful little objects in the morning”.
Two Frat-boys made me lie on my back and held my legs up and behind me. The weight mercifully rested on the ground, but Master Chris had gone off to find the martinet. Soon, its leather knots were flying down on to my genitals and torturing me again. Master Chris broke off the end of the match with his second ferocious stroke “That’ll make it interesting when we want to get the fucking thing out”, said Master Charlie. “Yeah, might take more of Eddie’s lube”, someone behind me suggested.
The third stroke of the martinet was brutal, smashing into my balls which were still crushed to the bottom of their sack by the weight, even though it wasn’t actually dangling any more.
I must have blacked out momentarily after that as the next thing I knew was that I was being dragged along the corridor, with my balls dragging in turn my 10kg punishment-weight behind me. I was unceremoniously pushed into my dog-cage. They pushed the weight in with me, padlocked the cage and left the key on a table at the side of the room.
“Anyone can come in here at any time, criminal slave,” said the Frat leader. You will obey them, whatever they want you to do. We’ll take off your handcuffs now you’re in your cage, but we can watch you on cam any time and you can expect several visits during the night. We can fuck you, piss on you, shit on you, beat you or torture you. You have no say. You just obey and you thank us respectfully after a rape, a dump, a torture or anything. We will cut off your hand if we see you touch yourself. It’s part of your punishment to have to restrain yourself, though I doubt you’ll want to do much after two sessions in one day with the martinet. You will also regret it very much if you move the matchstick (not that you can actually reach it now), the clamps or the weight, or anything else a Frat boy chooses to attach to you.
“Got it?”
“Yes, Master. Thank you, Master”
“Take your punishment, criminal slave.”
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