Meat Scout

Copyright 2009 by Luc Milne. lucmilne@telus.net All rights reserved. One copy may be downloaded for person reading.

MEAT SCOUT 5 by Luc Milne

"COK House: Fraternity Meat Market"

It was Saturday at the end of the second week in September when I got out of the taxi and walked though the iron gates onto the grounds of Chi Omega Kappa, or COK House, the largest fraternity at this mid-western university. There were 10 COK Houses at universities around the US and they were always on mega-campuses where the unusual nature of the fraternity activies tended to be overlooked among the thirty or forty thousand students and the thousands of staff and faculty. It was also easier at the big schools to find administrators and faculty members who were of like taste and mind as the COK House Brothers and who would, if compensated with rewards according to their needs, smooth over any difficulties that might arise.

Chi Omega Kappa had been founded in the early ninteen sixties by a group of visionary Pleasure Corporation executives who saw the advantage of grooming young men from an early age for service and employment in the Corporation venues. In fact they were simply consolidating and formalizing a lot of practices which had characterized fraternities and men's clubs from the beginning of history. The Houses are supported, and partially funded, by the Corporation which, in turn, has access to the yearly intake of Rush candidates and to pledges or Brothers for purposes of recruitment. There are three types of Chi Omega Kappa boys desired by The Corporation. First, there are beginning pledges who can be hired for summer temporary use at Corporation resorts and pleasure facilities after their freshman year of slave training, to be returned to the House for their remaining careers. Second, there are older Brothers who are willing to hire themselves out for their own or the House's profit during holidays, or in the case of Senior Brothers and Pledgemasters, graduates who want full time employment in Corporation's middle management. In this way the relation between The Corporation and the fraternity remains close and mutually beneficial. And third, there are rejected rush candidates and drop outs or academic failures who still have valuble sexual attributes and are susceptible to approach by The Corporation for Permanent Indenture.

This is where I come in: as a Corporation Meat Scout it is part of my job to visit each house once or twice a year, usually for a day or two, in order to earmark the most promising prospects for the Corporation meat supply or as Corporation employees. As I walked up the long drive to the enormous Italian Renaissance palazzo a meat-packing magnate had built in the 1890's on 160 acres of gardens and woods, I wondered what treasures of boy flesh I might find on this visit. All COK Houses are elaborate places, because the fraternity branches have as many as 100 members at any time--far more than the traditional fraternities. Every year, during the summer, the houses look at as many as 200 rush candidates, finally narrowing their selection down to about 30 final pledges, although, of these there are always a few drop outs. Even this meat-packer's palazzo isn't big enough for all the required bedrooms and facilities: at the back there are two later wings that house extra dorms and apartments and necessary facilities like a gymnasium and swimming pool. On the grounds there are playing fields, tennis courts and running tracks because COK House members are required to keep fit and to take part in University sports wherever possible: that is one good way to keep the image of the House "clean" and COK boys in demand by coaches who not only value the frat Brothers as team members, but also enjoy the "perks" of having handsome pledgeslaves assigned to their dressing rooms for special services.

Even though I am not a COK House alum myself, I enjoy my visits and have, for more than ten years, made friends with many COK House "old boys", especially when I attend the Alumni Orgy Nights which are a regular feature of COK House life. I took an MBA in Marketing at my small state college and went into the Corporation when was 21 as an apprentice recruiter in the Procurement Division. Gradually I worked my way up to the position of Senior Meat Scout, travelling around the world picking up fresh stock for the endless flesh hunger of the Corporation's branches.

A soon as I banged the knocker on the massive doors, they opened to reveal a slender, sensitive looking Brother I had never seen on previous visits.

"How you do, Mr. Tarn" he said, shaking my hand a little limply. "We've been expecting you. My name is Jeremy. The House Father asked me to act as your escort during your stay with us."

I wasn't averse to having this slim, good looking kid by my side for the next 24 hours, but I was curious why I hadn't seen him before. "I don't think I've met you before, have I?"

"No, Sir," he replied, "when you were here last spring I was away. My Pledgemaster was a star player on the University basketball team and he had taken me out of town to a conference tournament as a cumbucket for the team and the coach."

I was pleased to hear that Jeremy wasn't afraid to call a spade a spade, because "cumbucket" was probably exactly what he had been. I had a sudden vision of his mouth stretched wide by the telephone poles of 6',6" basketball players, both black and white, and of the muscles in his ivory throat throbbing as they unloaded semen into his gullet. I felt a slight stirring below my belt. "The experience doesn't seem to have done you any harm," I said.

"I don't know about that, Sir. When I got back my throat was so numb I could only croak for a week afterwards. The Brothers called me a sissy and made me drink half a cup of warm cum every morning that they pulled from the other pledges, which didn't make me popular with them either."

I patted his shoulder and said "Well, what can I say, Jeremy? A pledge's life is a difficult one. You don't look any the worse for wear from your pledgeslave year: in fact, I think you're a pretty cute little guy, if you don't mind my saying so."

"Thank you, Sir. But my mouth didn't used to be this big: the swelling has never gone down from all that sucking. Some of my sophomore Brothers call me guppy lips."

His mouth was certainly very luscious and girly looking, but his whining was getting on my nerves. I began to think of ways I could shut him up with something long, wet, and hot down his throat.

As we advanced into the long entrance hall, hung with portraits of Past Presidents and House Gods, I was glad to see the traditional naked "Welcome Boy" strapped to a St. Andrew's Cross on one wall. He was a well set-up lad with nicely defined muscles exaggerated by the strain of being stretched on the cross beams. Around his neck a sign read: "Welcome to COK House. Please ask me my name."

Always ready to oblige a nude boy tied to a cross, I said, "What's your name, kid?"

"Squeeze Me, Sir" he answered.

I caught on immediately: Don't mind if I do, boy." And I reached out, took his sturdy cock in my fist and gave it a hard squeeze. I could feel the answering throb of the shaft as I eased up. "How's that?" I said.

"Squeeze Me, Sir" he replied.

So I squeezed him again and this time I didn't stop. I kept twisting and pumping his meat until he hissed and started to pant a little. "That too much for you, pledge? Want me to stop?"

"Squeeze Me, Sir," he said, with a desparate look in his eye.

I heard Jeremy give an amused snort at my side. My escort was turning out to be a little jerk who would need some serious discipline before I left. I looked back at the pledge on the cross. "Okay, you pussy, that's enough. Tell me your real name."

"Squeeze Me, Sir," he whispered.

""What's that? What did you say bitch?"

"Squeeze Me Sir," he shouted.

I pretended to work myself into a frenzy. "Oh, I'm gonna squeeze you, cunt, I'm gonna squeeze you till you scream. I'm gonna pull this dick out by the roots and feed it to you. Gonna mash your nuts to peanut butter." This rant was accompanied by a mauling of his cock and balls with both hands that was making my own dick start to swell down my pants leg. I felt a gush of oily precum on my palm as it ground against the pledge's cumlips making it easier to twist my fist around his cock and pull it hard at the same time. By now the boy was squealing like a little pig. "Had enough, cunt? Just tell me if you"ve had enough."

"Squeeze Me, Squeeze Me, Squeeze Me," the boy screamed.

I felt a restaining hand on my arm and I whipped around to glare at Jeremy.

He shrank back, but then stood his ground and said, "I think you"d better stop, Mr. Tarn. You see, this pledge has been edged all week long as part of his training. He's not allowed to cum. That's being saved for tonight's final orgy. I think you'd should let me bring him back from the verge if you will." He reached down and pried my fist from Squeeze Me's cock, then viciously gave him a sharp slap on the balls and a pinch on the head of his meatus until the cum lust faded.

He then gently stroked the semi-hard cock and continued explaining Squeeze Me's training regimen. " He's been tied to chairs or pillars the entire week and pumped continuously. The Brothers and Masters have taken turns doing "Squeeze Duty" and supplies of oil, Crisco, lube, and other ointments have been kept nearby to make his meat workable. The aim has been to jerk him without making him shoot. There were a couple of `accidents', but for the most part Squeeze Me is going to be so full of juice that by tonight he'll be begging to be allowed to cum. I'm really looking forward to that moment, Sir."

I suspected that Jeremy was a cum addict, probably as a result of his pledge year encounters with the cocks of various athletic teams. He eyes glistened and he licked his thick lips as he stared down at Squeeze Me's cock, clearly wishing that he could break House rules right then and there and drain the pledge of his gallons of dammed up cream. I was proved right later that night at the final Hell Week Orgy when I saw Jeremy join the crowd of cumlovers fighting over the fountain of pledge milk that finally erupted from Squeeze Me's cock. Half a dozen jism freaks slobbered and licked over the pledge's cum-splashed body for over an hour.

I patted the pledgeslave's flank and said "Good boy".

"Sqeeze Me, Sir" he murmured gratefully.

One might wonder why boys like Squeeze Me or Jeremy are willing to put up with the torments of the pledgeslave year, just to be Brothers of COK House. To me it's no mystery: all kids want to belong to something and most like the idea of secret clubs and forbidden games. The COK Fraternity system promises them a secure and protected University career, often paid for by COK House Scholarhips, and four years of sexual pleasure and excitement that most boys can only fantasize about. They belong to a sexual elite and get to exert control over other boys, abusing them in the way they have been abused: it's a very potent system, based on the eternal principle of "payback". Then, when they graduate, they are part of a life-long fellowship of COK Alumni who are welcome to partake of all the pleasures teenage boyslaves can offer at the many alumni parties and celebrations. And, like any men's club, the fraternal bond, based on shared secrets and rituals, lasts forever, helping them get jobs, rise in the world, belong to exclusive social circles, and fulfill their darkest desires in the company of like-minded Brothers. In many cases their fathers, grandfathers, uncles, and brothers are part of this conspiracy of desire. A year of sexual bondage, which can be as pleasureable as it is terrifying, is a small price to pay for these benefits.

I walked with Jeremy to the end of the entrance hall and turned left into a transverse corridor lined on either side with doors leading to various Fraternity offices and meeting rooms. The first door had HOUSE PRESIDENT on it: it was slightly ajar and Jeremy paused, trying to decide whether he should introduce me to this year's frat leader: after peeking through the door he backed away and whispered, "Uh, I think we'd better not bother the President right now. I think he's busy with something."

I stepped up to the door opening and saw a pledge on all fours on a big desk with a Senior Brother's head buried in his crack, accompanied by the sounds of grunting and lip-smacking. I recognized the new President from previous visits. They didn't call him "The Rimster" for nothing!

Beyond the Presiden'ts office there was a door marked HOUSE TREASURER: it was closed, but from behind it we could hear the rhythmic "smack-"OW!"-smack" of a pledge butt getting an altogether different and more painful kind of attention. The Treasurer was obviously working out his financial worries and frustrations with a traditional paddle on the fire-engine-red cheeks of a new member of the frat. Some things never change.

On the opposite wall there were double doors labelled RUSH COMMITTEE. Laughter could be heard in the room beyond: loud guffaws and dirty snickers of the sort that young men make when they are watching heavy porn.

Jeremy said, "I believe the Rush Committee are reviewing the discs of last night's orgy: we had the Cow Milking Contest and the Pony Races. We make films of all orgy nights for our archives. There will be a full set of this last week's discs in your room beside the dvd player."

"Great, Jeremy". I put my arm around his shoulder. "Maybe we can watch them together when I go up to rest before tonight's fun."

"Uh, yes Sir, I'd enjoy that Sir." He didn't sound convinced.

We finally reached the big door at the end of the corridor marked HOUSE FATHER: Jeremy knocked and then showed me in. Martin Cleveland stood up from his desk and greeted me warmly. We were friends of some standing since he had been House Father here for the last six years and I had bought or leased a lot of frat meat from him.

"How are you, Martin?" I said, "As trim and sexy as ever I see." Martin Cleveland was a distinguished looking man with greying hair and a muscular body which was the envy of many of the Brothers. He was a no-nonsense House Father who participated fully in the many sexual pleasures of the House without ever losing his authority. Before coming to COK House he had been Dean of Discipline at one of the Corporation's CockSuck Academies so he was experienced in the ways of making boys do what they were told.

After we clapped each other on the shoulder, he looked at my escort and said, "Jeremy you stay here until we're finished: go over to coffee table and lick that pledge's nuts while we talk: keep him hard for me."

Jeremy went willingly over to leather sofa and knelt down so could get his face between the spread thighs of a boy tied down to the coffee table. "That kid's one of our `legacies'." Martin explained. His father is an alum of the House and promised us a big donation if we accepted the little slut: he's not really COK House material, even though his prick is pretty, but we have to make sacrifices to keep the Endowment Fund growing. The old man is visiting me in a little while and especially asked to have the boy on display so he can use him, because the kid's been away from home for three weeks since the beginning of Rush, and apparently the guy is having withdrawal pains. It'll be kind of fun to watch a cum-starved father satisfy his lust while I watch. I don't think the kid's anything that would interest you, though."

"Is it a good crop this year?" I asked.

"Yeah, there are some beauties and some big swinging farmboy dicks and a couple of pussies who look like they might turn out to be talented cocksuckers. I monitored all the Rush parties and sat in on the Rush Committee's `examinations', which, as you know, can get pretty wild. I've already singled out one of the pledge class for my personal slave--a high school wrestler, nice pecs, strong thighs, goose-egg balls and a juicy uncut dick. He's not too smart, but I mostly want him for a desk ornament anyway. You know me, nothing I like better than a big dumb boycock to snack on while I'm doing my paperwork."

"How big is the intake?" I said.

"We started with 30, as usual," he answered, "but of course there's already been some attrition: one kid went beserk at the first Hell Night and we had to send him to the infirmary. Fortunately the Head Doctor there is one of our alumni, so he'll hush the whole thing up: I doubt if the kid will continue at the university: he was a mama's boy anyway. Then there was a real beauty who just couldn't get hard no matter what we did to him. And we both know that one limp dick at an orgy can spread like a disease. So we sent him over to one of the "straight" frats who liked his looks. Then there was the case of the excellent pledge who was lost by his PledgeMaster in a poker game with a rival house before Hell Week even started. We've got the guilty Master in The Shed undergoing discipline right now."

The Shed was a small building at some distance from the main House which was used as a playroom by the grounds staff, the cleaners, the handymen and the kitchen staff who made life at COK House so pleasant. Discipline cases were sent there for short spells of "fun" under the rough attentions of the employees. On a still night, with your bedroom window open, you could hear the yelps and muffled screams as the staff took their various resentments out on privileged Frat bodies.

"You'll see the rest of the bunch tonight," Martin continued. "Should be a fun evening. There are about a dozen Alumni coming to play as well--guys who have made big gifts to the Endowment Fund and are being rewarded for their generosity. Jeremy will stay with you in case you have any special requests that will need to conveyed to the Rush Committee, who have to approve anything too extreme."

"I don't expect that will happen," I said. "I know the routine. But I'll be happy to have Jeremy at my side: he may be useful in several ways."

We both looked over at the sophomore Brother who by now had both the pledgeslave's balls in his mouth and was munching away on them while the kid struggled against his bonds trying to get away from Jeremy's chewing. "Jeremy", ordered Martin sternly "spit those out. They're not yours to play with. Come over here. Bend over the desk. Nick would you pull down this slut's trousers so I can punish him?"

I grabbed Jeremy's waistband and jerked his pants down to reveal two peach coloured boycheeks, covered with a fine down of blond hair, just the way I like it. Martin had opened his fly and pulled out his bull cock, uncut and leaking precum as usual. He said, "Now, would you be good enough to spread the pussy's butt so I can get at his hole? That's perfect. See that sweet pink pucker? Well, that's were THIS goes." And with that he lunged foward slamming his cock straight into Jeremy's asshole without lube or hesitation, stabbed deep until his long hang of balls swung against Jeremy's own nuts, making the pussy cry out. He held the deep plunge for a moment then made about a dozen violent raping thrusts in and completely out of the boy's hole. Just as suddenly, he stopped, stepped back, and gestured toward the gaping ass pucker, inviting me to take a turn. I unzipped and pounded the boy with another dozen cock punches, until he was gibbering and panting like a bitch in heat. I thought it was a very extreme reaction from a boy who should have been accustomed to getting fucked. Then we both sheathed our swords and brought Jeremy off the desk to a standing, but quivering position.

"When I say lick a slave's balls, Jeremy, that is exactly what I mean," Martin said. "I don't mean suck, I don't mean chew, I mean LICK! You just don't learn do you boy? If I had my way you'd get another year of slave training to shape you up. Now pull up your pants and take Mr. Tarn wherever he wants to go."

I noticed, as Jeremy meekly did what he was told, that he had a very respectable piece of boymeat between his legs and that it had a rosy, unused look to it, as if none of the Brothers had bothered to play with it much. I thought I might give it a workout myself. There's something about rough sucking a pussyboy's cock that gets me hot.

As we were moving toward the door Martin suddenly said, "Oh, Nick, I almost forgot. We had a latino rush candidate who clearly wasn't suited to University academic life, but who has the biggest piece of hot sausage and the fattest balls I've ever seen. We convinced him to come to us for a year as a member of staff, just to see if he really wants a university career. We've hired him for Chef Louis in the kitchen as a milkboy. He provides pints of rich cream for the Chef's special sauces and gives Louis something to suck on when he gets into one of his rages. I think you'd get good use out of him. I'll let you meet him tomorrow before you go"

I said, "Don't bother, Martin. Your word about milkboys is good enough for me. You know that cumcows are always in demand. Figure out a price for outright purchase and we'll settle up at our final meeting."

He thanked me and reminded me that on Hell Nights there was no formal dinner served: just light snacks laid out in the big dining hall for Brothers and guests who wanted a little, but not too much, nourishment before the evening's exertions. Of course the pledgeslaves would get their meals in many courses and great quantities as the festivities progressed. The final orgy of this year's Hell Week would begin officially at 9:00 and continue until the last cock had been sucked and the last ass fucked.

We picked up my overnight case from the hall and Jeremy showed me up to second floor where my guest bedroom was. Once inside I stripped down to my shorts and poured two fingers of scotch into a glass from the complimentary bottle on the dresser. I saw Jeremy look longingly at the scotch, but I just snapped my fingers and said "Strip, kid." As he took off his clothes I picked up a dvd marked "Hell Week: fourth night" and put it in the player. Picking up the remote I moved to the big bed and sat down with my back propped up on pillows to drink and watch. Jeremy was standing in the middle of the room with a puzzled look on his face, but he still had his boxer shorts on! "Get naked, slut," I ordered, and pointed to the bed alongside me. He got completely bare and settled down with his thigh touching mine. His cock was semi-swollen and dewy. I turned on the tv and started the dvd. It was the usual mix of frat bullies putting pledgeslaves through their paces with all the usual sounds to match. I noticed Jeremy looking again at the scotch in my glass, so I stripped off my shorts, dipped three fingers in the liquid and let them drip onto my dick which laxed back against my stomach: I looked at Jeremy and then at my cock and he finally got the message: if he wanted a drink, he'd have to lap it up. He moved down and applied his pink tongue to my shaft, smooching up the liquor greedily. As I watched the fairly banal proceedings on the television, I dribbled several more scotch treats in my crotch to satisfy his thirst, enjoying the feeling of the boy's lips on my balls as he tried to catch every drop. Finally, I bent my half-hard prick down into the glass itself and coated my meatus with the golden liquid; then I put my hand on the back of Jeremy's neck and guided his lips to my cumslit, pressing the whole helmet head of my dick into his mouth. He began to suck like a calf at its mama's teat. I tossed off the remainder of the cock-flavoured scotch in one gulp and settled down to watch the show and luxuriate in the warm bath of the slut's spit.

The cameraman who filmed the orgy was clearly an amateur, probably a member of the Rush Committee, since committee members were not allowed to be Pledgemasters. It was the Committee that decided which Brothers would be Masters and assigned pledgeslaves to them, so it was considered that allowing a Rush Committee member to be a Master as well would be a "conflict of interest". The Rush Committee was also responsible for monitoring training activities throughout the year to make sure that no real physical harm was done to pledges, so they had to live amidst tantalizing scenes of pledge abuse without taking a leading part: that made them permanently horny and frustrated. The main compensation for being on the Rush Committee was that you got first crack at the rush candidates and during the rush party season you could eat a lot of cum and fuck a lot of butt under the pretext of "evaluating" the suitability of the applicants. The camera on the video was so jerky it seemed probable the filmer was beating his meat with one hand while trying to hold the camera steady with the other.

Then, he seemed to happen on a scene that seriously interested him, because he zeroed in and slowly panned over everything that was happening, giving closeups of body parts and faces. His interest piqued my own attention as well. I sat up straighter, taking Jeremy's head in my hands and directing him more firmly onto my cockhead as I watched. The scene centered on one of the all-purpose leather-covered benches in the Dungeon, about 5 feet long, 3 feet wide and waist high. A pledge was lying on it on his back, being used by several Brothers: one Brother, the Master perhaps, had pulled the pledge forward so his head hung back off one end and was slowly fucking the boy's mouth from above, holding the sucker's throat with one hand, apparently trying to feel the shape of his own cock tube pulsing in the slut's gullet. On either side of the table two other Brothers were bent over the pledge's chest pulling and chewing on his tits with their mouths: they had put their hard cocks into the boy's hands and were making him jerk them off while they ate his nipples. A fourth Master at the other end of the table had lifted the boy's legs up and was holding his crotch open in a wide vee while he slowly fucked his long dick in and out of the pussy's asshole. The fifth member of the abuse team was at one side leaning down with his mouth in the slave's groin, sucking his meat and rolling his balls around in his fist as he stripped the cock.

It wasn't an especially imaginative scene, but there was something about it that attracted me. I think it was the realization that this pledge with the trim, athletic physique had probably, only a short time before, been a virgin when it came to mansex. He'd probably had a girlfriend, maybe even fucked her; in high school he'd shyly looked at other guys' cocks in the locker room, joked about "fags" with his friends, used the work "gay" as a general insult and jerked off under the covers every night before he went to sleep. And now, in only a few weeks time, after the heady parties of Rush, and the thrill of being seduced by older, handsome boys on the Committee into playing minor sex games he'd only imagined before, he found himself stretched out on a table in a dungeon surrounded by the sounds of boys going crazy with lust, being stuffed and fed on like a piece of meat.

Just imagining what that must be like made me concentrate even harder on the scene, which the amateur cameraman stayed with, as if he was as drawn to it as I was. He moved closer toward the cock moving in and out of the pledge's mouth, catching the gleam of saliva and precum coating his pink lips. Suddenly, the tempo of the action seemed to pick up: the facefucker jackhammered into the kid's throat for a few seconds, then pulled out, grabbed the kid's hair and pulled his head up so he could look down his body at the things being done to it. I straighened up, staring at the pledge's face: he was one of the most beautiful boys I had ever seen: high cheeked, with a perfectly shaped aristocratic nose, full lips, marble skin and, most electifying of all, dazzling blue eyes that shone and glinted as he stared, dazed, at the sight of two male mouths biting his pecs, another head gorging itself on his cock and balls, and a hard, muscular torso between his legs pushing against the backs of his thighs as it sawed in and out of his ass. Those mesmerizing azure eyes looked drugged with lust as he seemed to struggle with the idea of what was happening to him.

Then, just as suddenly, his mouth-fucker pulled his head back and roughly plunged full length down that alabaster throat. The boy shuddered and arched his torso trying to breathe around the invader. My cock filled with blood and swelled to what seemed double its normal hardon girth and length. I was galvanized. My eyes glued to the screen, I manhandled Jeremy onto his back with his head toward the foot of the bed and straddled his shoulders, then sank my bloated penis deep into his throat, letting my groin drop down onto his face, brutally stuffing him. He choked and slobbered: I felt masses of saliva welling up around the base of my buried cock; his gag ring contracted violently trying to eject the meat: I felt his hands pushing against me, fighting to make me stop: but I didn't care about his panic: in fact it excited me even more. I plunged harder and deeper into his gullet as I watched the beautiful innocent boy on the screen being violated in every possible way. Within seconds of each other, the five molesters, and their pledge victim, climaxed in a series of groaning and shuddering gushes: ropes of cum shot into the air, ribbons of it splashed on faces and torsos: but even before all the shooting had stopped, the beautiful pledge's body became a banquet table for cum-hungry feasters: the mouthfucker lifted the boy's face up once again and painted it with his semen- coated cock, pushing wads into the gasping mouth, so coated with cum that the lips were as white as the perfect lips on a Greek statue of Adonis. The vivid blue eyes were clouded with ecstasy.

I felt Jeremy go limp beneath me. I realized that I was still lying heavily on his face, my spent cock, which had climaxed with the those on the screen, was still buried in his throat. I quickly backed off and pulled my dick from his lips. I cock-slapped his cheeks with my semi-soft penis, bringing him back to consciousness, then gently fed him the last of my semen as a reward for his service and as an apology for practically smothering him to death! He lay there, suckling me like a sleepy baby as I watched the camera at the orgy move reluctantly away from the pledge and the five Brothers at the table to explore other scenes.

I laid back on the bad, Jeremy following me, like a puppy going after its favourite toy. I was shaken by what had happened. Why had I reacted so strongly and so violently to the scene? The one word that came to mind was "perversity": yet that seemed strange. God knows I spend my life as a Meat Scout looking at "perverse" actions and images but they never before affected me like a pulse of electricity jolting through my body. Then I realized it was the combination of seeming "innocence" with "perversity" in the scene of a boy being initiated into what some would call depravity, that created the thrill. I had to face the fact that at a deep level I liked seeing young men turned into sex slaves and objects of male lust. Still, in this case there seemed to be some other element in the mix...of course!...it was the beauty of the boy, especially the magic of the blue eyes, that combined with innocence and perversity to create the sexual electricity. I was, I realized, the kind of man who enjoyed seeing a giant cock morphed onto a photo of Michaelangelo's David, or a Renaissance painting of St. Sebastian with a Tom of Finland hustler kneeling at his crotch giving him a blow job while he suffered. I found this new self-knowledge unsettling.

My hand wandered idly down to Jeremy's ass and I began to finger his pucker, just to give him a little pleasure. He stiffened and moved away from my probing, taking, at the same time, my cock deeper into his mouth, tonguing it avidly. I said, "What's the matter with you kid? Don't you like your ass played with?" He looked up at me with my penis filling his face and shook his head. I pried him off my dick and asked him why.

" Last year, when I was the cumbucket for the basketball team, my Master let the black guys with the biggest cocks gang fuck me for hours at the after-game parties. My ass was so raw I couldn't walk for days afterwards some times. And ever since I haven't been able to enjoy getting fucked. I just freeze up. I'm sorry."

I realized then that the mini-rape which had occurred in the House Father's office earlier had truly been a punishment for the boy. But, of course, a passive sort of Brother like Jeremy, whose ass was off-limits to the House fuckers wouldn't be very popular. Still, if fingering his asshole while he was sucking you, made him work harder to satisfy your cock and make you cum, so he wouldn't get fucked, that was an asset in a way. I would ask Martin Cleveland if he knew that about Jeremy. "Don't worry about it" I said "your mouth pussy is good enough for me."

Then with Jeremy's tongue softly swabbing my cumslit, I laid back and drifted into a satisfied, dreamless sleep.

When I woke the room was dark, the tv was off and Jeremy was gone. My watch read 9:30. So I was going to be late to the orgy! I had missed the traditional rituals of the last night of Hell Week. First there would have been the Invocation by the House Chaplain, usually a Senior Brother chosen for his angelic looks: he would have recited the salacious COK House Prayer while the pledges,one by one, knelt before him and kissed his Holy Cock. They would have been rewarded with a drop or two of precum wine from the Chaplin's cumlips. Then there would have been the Orgy Master's Parade: a House Orgy Master is elected every month and has absolute control over the dungeon activities. But for Hell Week, the Orgy Master is a member of the Rush Committee, always the hunkiest and most brutal, with the biggest cock. He has absolute control and any pledge who does not immediately obey any of his orders gets his cock and balls slapped until he screams. At the start of the final Hell Night each pledge is ridden on his hands and knees by his Pledgemaster, who whips his ass with a crop, the full length of the Dungeon ending up at a throne between the spread thighs of the Orgy Master, sucking his dick and licking his balls until the Master pushes him away with his boot. The Orgy Master is the only Brother allowed to wear a mask, boots, and leather body harness on these occasions. It is considered an honour if your pledgeslave is chosen to draw the first load of cum from the Orgy Master's cock at the end of the Parade. I didn't think I had missed much, since these rituals sometimes strike me as funny.

I splashed some water on my face, but didn't bother to shower off the cum sweat or clean the jism off my cock. I could get some pledge to take care of that. I was a bit hungry, but knew I would find plenty of protein snacks at the orgy. I put on a black jock strap, the only clothing allowed at COK House orgies, (naturally the pledges aren't allowed even that) and made my way down to the basement, following the sounds of a Hell Party in progress.

The COK House Dungeon was once the vast wine cellar of the mansion: it is furnished with leather chairs and sofas, bondage stools and benches, fuck racks, suck stocks, whipping posts, crosses, hanging cuff chains and all the other toys and amenities that make a dungeon a fun place to be. A soundtape of "trance" mix plays at a low level through most orgy nights: usually continuous tracks with throbbing drums and primitive beats. The music provides the driving bass for the overlying texture of natural noise made by the Brothers and their victims: flesh sounds-- slaps, slurps, gurgles, snaps of whips, dull thumps of paddles, the "schluck, schluck" of wet foreskin being jerked over cockheads, and the sweaty smacks of body against body: incoherent vocalizations--sighs, hisses, gasps, cries, shouts, yelps, bellows and screams: and bits of dialogue that rise out of the chaos: "wider, slut!", "deeper, pussy!", "faster,cunt!", "suck harder, bitch!", "thank you, Sir", "no, no, God, no" followed soon after by "yes, yes, oh God, yes".

It was an old, familiar song for me, and I stood in the archway, savouring it, while my eyes adjusted to the dim light pierced by hot spots of white picking out living tableaux of lust and abuse.

Jeremy approached and apologized for not waking me before nine, but I waved him off and said I was just going to circulate for a while. He was looking a little pale, and I noted that he went back to kneel between the spread thighs of an older man in an armchair whose heavy truncheon of cock dangled over the edge of the seat, resting on pendulous nuts--all gleaming with spit, which apparently had been provided by Jeremy who returned to his task of suck slut wearily. Clearly he had been assigned to pleasure the meat of one of the House's alums. The man had a bored and jaded look as if he'd seen it all and was wondering if the kid between his legs was going to be able to get him off--and planning what he would do to the pussy if he couldn't.

Keeping to the perimeter I began to circle the enormous room. A short way along the wall I found the source of a lot of the "boy music" in the dungeon. A pledge tied to a post was yelping and squealing non-stop, and with good reason, because his Pledgemaster seemed to be rubbing a piece of sandpaper on the head of his dick. Another Brother was standing by, seemingly waiting for something, so I asked him the Pledgemaster's name.

His name is Perry, but we call him The Choirmaster, because he likes to hear pledges sing'. His favourite boy soprano this week has been pledge Doug here, nicknamed The Screamer. At every Hell Night The Choirmaster has spent time creating live music by torturing the kid's tits, mangling his balls, and pinching his cumlips. After a ten or fifteen minute `song', he'll stop and invite a Brother to feed The Screamer a soothing load of cum syrup to coat his sore throat. Seems to work pretty well, because after he's fed, about half an hour later, he's good for another song or two."

We saw that Pledgemaster Perry was untying the boy from his post. My companion stepped forward and asked if he could feed the kid. The Choirmaster pushed pledge Doug to his knees, forced his mouth open and guided the Brother's long, slender cock into it, pressing the boy's head deep onto the dick in order to make sure the healing syrup did its work.

I noticed that the Master's cock was rock hard and leaking precum: he saw me looking at him and said "You know, the only thing that makes me cum really good is the song of a pledge pussy when his dickhead is being squeezed like a ripe plum".

I congratulated him on the concert and moved on. If he held choir practice in his bedroom I hoped it was soundproof!

Further along, in a bright pool of light a pledge was on his knees with his head back and his mouth open working his lips and his tongue over the end of a small baseball bat being held up to his face by his Pledgemaster. I introduced myself and asked what was going on.

He said, "Hi, Mr. Tarn. We've met before. I'm Sam, but they call me The Slab." I glanced down at his packed jockpouch and could easily see why. "This is my pledgeslave Paul", he continued. "This little suckbitch had the nerve to tell me on the first night of Hell Week that his cunt mouth couldn't get around my meat. So Suckhole--that's what we call him now--got to wear a ball gag for the entire week because I promised him that by tonight he'd be able to get those lips around a baseball bat if I ordered him to."

"Didn't that attract attention around campus?" I asked.

"Oh, naturally outside the House he got to close his mouth, except whenever he saw a Brother: then he had to let it drop open and run his tongue around his lips for a moment, just to show that he knew what was coming to him. In the House, when he wasn't wearing the gag, he had to keep his facehole open with his tongue hanging out, ready to service any Brother who needed a place to jizz. I've been teaching him to talk with his mouth full. It's fun to feel the pussy trying to recite the alphabet with ten inches of cum-meat crammed in his face. I'll probably keep him in a penis gag for the next couple of months, just to keep his lips loose and limber for the Brothers."

I dropped my voice and murmured "You don't really expect him to swallow that bat do you?"

"Nah," the Slab whispered back, "but he doesn't know that. It's good to keep a pledge worried. Makes him perform better." He twirled the end of the bat around slowly on the boy's lips, as if he were about to force the whole thing inside. Pledge Paul, the Suckhole, stuggled to open his lips even wider, his eyes wide with panic.

"At night I make the bitch curl up between my legs with his face in my crotch. I tie a silk rope around the base of my cock and balls, stuff my junk down his throat, not with a hardon , you know, just sorta semi-soft, then wrap both ends of the rope around his neck so he can't back off. That way he gets a real penis gag for eight hours, plus a load or two of Slab cum. You get really hot dreams when you sleep with a guy's mouth tied to your dick all night." His attention drifted a bit, and I saw that he had freed his massive cock from its pouch and was massaging it slowly. He dropped the bat, moved toward the pledge's face, grabbed Suckhole by his ears and began to feed his hog into the gaping lips. He started to breathe heavily, growling on each outward breath as his slab sank inch by agonizing inch into the boy's throat. Pledge Paul was in for a long year.

Hearing some whistles and laughter from the other side of the room, I moved across and joined a small group of Brothers standing in front of what looked like the bars of a prison cage: beyond in a small cell, two Brothers were working over a kid who looked to be no more than fourteen or fifteen years old. I saw the Orgy Master in his half-mask and harness among the group and asked him why they had an underage kid in the House, something the Corporation is very strict about.

The Orgy Master, who I soon realized was a boy named Troy I knew from previous visits, said "Hello Mr. Tarn. Don't worry. That pledge is eighteen years old, but he sure does look like a junior high school kid doesn't he? His name is Peter, but naturally he's called Jailbait because of his looks. He's a real nerd and some kind of weird genius. We think he'll help raise the House overall grade average which is always a big deal when the yearly Fraternity Evaluation is held. He's really a naive little guy--had private tutors and no friends when he was growing up. During Hell Week we've been putting him in our Punishment Cell and letting the Brothers play "Fresh Meat at the Prison" with him. A couple of nights ago we taught what it means to `toss the salad'. By the end of evening he was licking ass like a pro. His Pledgemaster, who's now being called Chicken Hawk, says the little nerd is so grateful to have friends for the first time in his life that he'll do just about anything. I think he'd make a great little piss bitch, don't you? Looks hot, doesn't it?--a little kid like that being stuffed at both ends by a couple of bruisers from the football team, pretending to be bad ass cons. Oh, man, I gotta get in there and get me some of that."

Pawing at his crotch, he opened the door of the cell, and entered to the cheers of the onlookers who were feeling each other up and sucking face while they watched the show. He swaggered over to bunk and pushed the two rutting hulks off the slender pledge: "This is my punk" he growled, "it belongs to me. Anybody's gonna tap it's ass, that's gonna be me, gonna fuck the boymilk right out of it." He picked the pledge up and turned him upside down so Jailbait's face was in his crotch while the boy's small cock and balls were right at Master Troy's mouth level. His bloated sausage below found its way into the kid's lips while he began to eat the boy's sweetmeat above. The watchers got even more excited. Another two of them entered the cell and began to lick and bite Jailbait's little bubble butt while the two football players moved in and beat their dicks against the cock-stuffed cheeks of the boy's face in the Orgy Master's crotch. "It's chicken tonight," one of the Brothers shouted, "Kentucky Fried Nuggets--there be good eatin' for everybody. Gonna chew on this butter ball til he squirts his grease." Clearly Jailbait was going to be turned out hard and dirty that night.

Behind me I heard someone say, "Is that you, Nick? I'd know that pretty ass anywhere." I turned to find an old acquaintance from these events, a COK House alumnus I'd known for years. His name was Grant Roman and we were about the same age. He was very tall, a little sinister looking, with prematurely greying hair and a trim tennis player's physique. In his COK House days his nickname had been Caligula, partly because of his last name, Roman, and partly, I knew by report, because of the depravity of his tastes.

"I heard you were here," he said, "found any good prospects this year?"

I hinted at some of my possible choices, and asked him if he'd been having any fun yet.

"I worked off a little steam in the Whipping Gallery, and played around with some kid called Squeeze Me, but mostly I'm looking over the menu, trying to decide what my main meal's going to be. There's someone I want you to see, though. He's over there on that fuck bed. Even if he's not to your taste, I think you'll be interested."

We walked to a low leather-padded platform about as big as a king sized bed. There was a boy lying on it, on his back; a Brother was straddling his crotch and seemed to be fucking himself up and down on the kid's dick. Several other Brothers were kneeling or lying on the bed watching, groping their cocks and pulling on their balls, as if waiting their turn.

Grant continued: "I first noticed this kid during the Orgy Master's Parade--you weren't here for that, were you?--and I could believe it. I know this boy. His name is Timothy Vanderhelden, the third. He's the son of a colleague of mine. We're associate partners in the same law firm, with one big difference. He comes from "old, big money" and I come from "old, no money". I don't know why Tim isn't going to Harvard, like his father. I''ve seen him at the firm's annual picnics, running in the races. I've even played tennis with him. He's just my type of young man: athletic physique, slightly "cut" muscles, good pecs, a natural six-pack, slim hips, and long lean thighs." By now we were standing beside the platform looking down at him. "You can see he's got that "WASP" classic face, straight nose, full lips, a forelock that falls down over his forehead. And, God, what a dick! I had no idea. And neither did most of other Brothers, except for his Pledgemaster and a couple of members of the Rush Committee, until tonight."

I asked him how that could be. Pledges were stripped early on during Hell Week: everyone in the House knew what they had.

"You see that big brute standing on the other side of the bed?" he asked. "That's his Pledgemaster--they call him The Tormentor. It was his idea to keep Rich Bitch--that's Timothy's nickname--completely untouched during Hell Week, save him for the last night. He never even got to take his clothes off except for bed, and spent every Orgy tied to a chair in the center of the Dungeon, forced to watch all the stuff going on, just getting hornier and hornier. It wasn't until the Orgy Master's Parade that the Brothers got a look at the log and the bullnuts between his legs. He's been tied down to this fuckbed ever since and the Brothers are taking turns riding that horse dick."

The Tormentor called across the bed, "Hi, Mr. Roman. What do you think of my slave? Isn't he a wonder? We've been calling him Rich Bitch but I don't think that suits him. You got any ideas.?

Grant thought for a second, then offered, with a smile, "Well, you're using him like a human dildo,why not call him that?"

The Pledgemaster laughed: "Dildo--I like that. Hey, Rich Bitch, your name is Dildo now, because that's what you are. Your cock is going to get to know and love every hole in the House--hell, we'll use you to bribe the asses of profs for better grades, send you over to Sorority Row to service the nymphos of Sigma Pi. Hear me, Dildo? You listening to your Master?"

At that moment it was doubtful that Timothy Vanderhelden, the third, was thinking about his new name: his body quaked and his handsome face stretched in a grimace as he unloaded another bolt of his semen up another COK Brother's butt. After the tremors stopped, the Brother squatting on his dick stood up, and stepped off the bed with a big satisfied grin on his face. Then we could see just how magnificent Dildo's fuckpole really was: ten thick, solid ivory inches of uncut ass rammer. Despite repeated use, it still stood as straight and stiff as a stone tower, gleaming with the remains of its last ejaculation, ready for another rider. And another rider was ready for it: a Brother clambered onto the platform, positioned himself over the pledge's crotch, then squatted and impaled his ass slowly, with groans and grunts, centimeter by centimeter down the shaft until he was sitting firmly against the Dildo's groin. After a few moments to get over the pain, he began to move cautiously up and down, readying himself for the gallup that was to come.

Grant Roman crawled up onto the bed, and knelt beside the pledge's head, peering down into his flushed face. "Hello Timothy," he said.

The boy looked up and flushed even redder. "Uh, hello, um, Mr. Roman, uh, nice to, um, see you," he stuttered.

"Oh, please Timothy, just call me Sir, no need to be so formal. And I'll call you Dildo. Okay?"

The boy stared for a moment, then gulped and said, "Yes, Sir, thank you Sir."

Just at that moment the Brother riding up and down on the big boycock shot a spray of frat-cream over Timothy's already cum-sticky chest. Apparently he just couldn't hold out against the montrous pleasure in his asshole: that didn't stop him though: he kept on riding, enjoying the afterglow of having the jism fucked out of him. His spend dick flopped wildly spewing more cum on Dildo's body. Grant scooped up some of the cum from Timothy's chest with his fingers and put them to the boy's lips, rubbing the lotion around on them like a lip balm. The pledge opened his mouth to say something, but before he could speak, the older man pushed two fingers between his wet lips and explored the cavity behind his teeth. His mouth gaped.

"Don't try to talk, Dildo, just use your tongue on my fingers, and close your lips tight around them. Give them a good suck. This is a taste you're going to learn to love."

Gradually he inserted a third finger and began to push deeper into the boy's throat until he gagged and his saliva welled up and spilled down his chin. Grant gathered up the spit and massaged it into kid's chest, and armpits, pulling the hairs, and pinching the nubs of his tits.

Tormentor, the pledge's Master offered "Like to fuck his throat, Mr. Roman? He hasn't sucked dick yet, you'd be the first."

Even though his cock was clearly ready to take on a virgin mouth, Grant Roman declined the pleasure, saying he thought it was more appropriate that the Master should have the honour. "After all," he said, "pledges are like baby birds: they bond with the first cock that feeds them and this little chick looks like it's going to need a lot of feeding. But thanks for the offer." As he climbed off the bed, he added, "Maybe I'll come back another time and put Timothy Vanderhelden, the third, through his paces--an Open House perhaps." As we moved away he said in my ear, "I plan to find out if his father knows what's happening to his son at COK House. And if he does know, and doesn't object, I'll bring him along as my guest so we can play some party games with the kid. No boy deserves a piece of meat that big. I'd like to get my hands on it for a couple of days, see just how much punishment it can take." We turned back for a last look at the boy with the astonishing cock. The Tormentor was leaning over him, placing on his tongue a small blue pill. It was well-known that Brothers and alums at a COK House orgy could go through more than a thouand bucks worth of viagra a night--generously provided by The Pleasure Corporation at a substantial discount. Dildo's cock was going to stay fuckhard for a long long time.

Grant excused himself, saying that he needed to get his nut and was going to the fuck benches to rim'n'ream some pledge butt. I began to move toward another room off the Dungeon where I knew I might find some meat of interest, when I saw a kid hanging from the ceiling chains with his legs draped over a Brother whose face was buried between the boy's thighs. I learned the next day that the pledge was called Milkmeat and that the guy eating him was his Pledgemaster, appropriately called The Gobbler. Milkmeat was a compact, curly-headed, freckle-faced boy with a short plump cock and pigeon's egg balls. He was clearly one of the "utility cocks" that the Rush Committee accept each year for general House use. Milkmeat was just the right size for Brothers who like to get a cock and both balls into their mouths at the same time for "full service" sucking. In addition, over the years, Rush Committees have learned that pledges with smallish or normal sized meat often seem to compensate by providing greater volumes of cream, and that they "refresh" more quickly, enabling them to feed more insatiable frat pigs.

At the moment Gobbler was clearly having a pig-out in Milkmeat's groin. The wet schnerking and schnucking sounds and the hoggish grunts suggested that the Master was about to get fed, and Milkmeat seemed to be enjoying the experience. His head lolled back in bliss and his body heaved with pleasure as he gave up the cream his Master hungered for. After a while, The Gobbler raised his head from the trough and I could see the slop of spit and cum glistening on his cheeks and shining on his nose and chin: he looked at me and grinned, making a wet slurping sound with his tongue on his lips, then, opening wide, went back down between Milkmeat's thighs to commence feeding again. The boy stayed right with him, pushing up even deeper into the ravening mouth. But then, that's what utility cocks are for: to make lots of milk and get eaten nonstop.

I continued on to the far end of the Dungeon where a wide archway led into the Suck Cave. This was a cavernous room that had once been used for cold storage of the mansion's perishable foods. Now the meat available in it was of the human variety: this was the room where the formal Cocksuck Training of all pledges was carried out. There were suck tables at just the right height for presenting a penis to a pledge whose head was hanging back off the edge: low ladder-backed suck chairs so a pledge's neck could be strapped to a slat, keeping him immobile for face fucking; a glory hole wall for pledges to practice their technique before they went out for suck duty in campus johns and locker rooms, and a suck stock which could be locked around a pledge's neck and wrists, keeping him available for unimpeded mouth service. The floor was padded since so much time in the Cave was spent on knees, crawling from dick to dick in on Bukkake Nights or just kneeling patiently, mouth open and tongue out, waiting for the next cock. The space had a unique sexy fragrance: the leather surfaces had been oiled and polished with the cream of countless cocks over the years.

Tonight there wasn't a lot happening in the Suck Cave since so much uncontrolled sucking was going on in the main Dungeon. The Cave was for later in the year, when sucking became a major course of study in the shadow sex curriculum that existed alongside the "outside" courses of the university. A lone pledge was sitting on a long built-in bench against a wall: at intervals, different sized rubber dildos stuck up from the seat, like the training benches in a Greek "peg house", so that boys could get their ass stretching in at the same time they practised their sucking. The boy was clearly being "pegged" while he was waiting for his Master to return. His mouth was forced wide open with a metal jaw stretcher: his Master was one of those trainers who believed in mechanical stretching, not a technique I care much for: it reminds me too much of a mad dentist's office. The boy's tongue protruded from his lips and a long stream of drool hung from its tip. The kid looked so forlorn that I took pity on him and wiped the spit from his lips massaging his limp cock with it, making it swell up a bit. He looked gratefully at me and tried to say something, which might have been "Thank, you, Sir". I wondered which Master was responsible for this kind of pointless neglect of a pledge.

On other side of the cave there was a small group involved in more interesting play. As I walked over, one of the Brothers turned to me, and. motioning toward the kid with the mouth stretcher, said, "Some Brothers like to use a metal spreader to widen their pledgeslave's lips. Sometimes they'll make a cockslut wear the thing for hours at a time. I think it's dumb: it looks ugly and doesn't teach a cocksucker what he needs to know. I prefer the organic approach: it's prettier and doesn't waste a pledgeslave's suck time."

I agreed with him about the metal spreaders and asked what he meant by the "organic approach."

He laughed and pointed to the pledge on his knees behind him, with two Brothers standing on either side feeding his mouth hole with their cocks. He said, "I find that two big frat cocks crammed into a suckpussy's face will have the same effect as a stretcher if repeated several times a day for a least twenty minutes at a stretch. But the face fuckers have to work their meat around, to keep the hole pliable. See how these guys--they're my assistants by the way--are moving their hips in little circles so their cocks keep pressing the kid's lips wider?"

I did see what he meant and noticed that the sucker had his eyes closed, seeming to enjoy the two meat probes slowly reaming out his mouth hole. "He looks happy," I said.

"This kid's a natural" the Master said. "I'm not sure we've met, Mr. Tarn even though this is my fourth year. I'm Philip, but they call me The Professor because I'm always lecturing the Brothers on their pledge training techniques."

He looked a little like a Professor, especially because he was wearing glasses, unusual at an orgy! They were the old fashioned school-teacher variety with gold wire rims, and behind the lenses his cool green eyes surveyed me with kind of calculating look. He had an intellectual air about him, and I wondered if he had the balls to make an aggressive Master, although a glance down showed me that in the real balls department God had been very good to him. His cock was long and uncut: it swayed, half swollen between his legs, like a cobra.

Looking back towards his assistants and their sucker, he continued, "Now if these two come at the pussy from either side of his face--move more to the side so you face each other across his head, guys--a useful permanent horizontal widening of the mouth will result, making it so that individual feeders later on can cram both cock and balls into his suckhole at the same time. We call that the "Full Meal Suck" and we always try to develop at least a couple of pledgeslaves with the capacity to give tthat kind of service."

I had just seen the results of that policy: The Gobbler had clearly, in his pledge days, been one of the Full Meal Sucker trainees.

The Professor continued, "In my opinion a well-stretched pledge mouth, with soft juicy lips, should be able to accomodate the heads of two cocks and work his tongue around the cum clits of both as they take turns pushing in against the insides of his cheeks. See what they're doing now? One guy pulls out so just the head of his dick is in, while the other pushes forward and presses his cock against the slut's cheek so it bulges out--and look how the pussy's tongue is working between the two to keep them happy. Outstanding!"

The assistant Masters continued their see-saw, in and out movements, while the pledge's tongue laboured to lick at the cumslits of each cock as it crossed his lips. He seemed lost in a kind of trance. I found it a strangely stimulating sight, and my cock agreed. The idea of a boy with his mouth stretched so wide that he could swallow two big pieces of cockmeat, with his cheeks obscenely bulging and his lips wet with precum and saliva made my own cumlips dribble.

The Professor seemed to read my mind. "I love it when a pledgepussy crosses over into a sucktrance: it almost always happens during double suck sessions. Of course, we have to look for the right mouths for this training. During Rush Week we always ask candidates to open their mouths as wide as they can and we take a set of measurements: circumference of the hole, diameter across and up and down, and depth to the gag ring. A loose-jawed pledge with small teeth and a mouth of at least six and a half inch circumference can usually be stretched to take double helpings of cock and still be able to give them some tongue work. We can't do much, though, about vertical widening: a jaw will only open so far. Some Brothers like the idea of pulling a pledge's teeth and giving him dentures just to get the extra inch or so, but I'm against it--too many complications, and the family never likes it" He looked back over at the pledge with the metal spreader. "That slut's Master is one of those types. You know, the artificial stretchers don't exercise the tongue, stretch the cheeks, or strenthen the gag ring muscle the way live probing cockmeat does. The same organic approach works on a pledge ass as well: two big Brother dicks jammed into a pussy's cunt work as well as a dildo or a speculum. I love to see my pledgelaves double plugged at both ends at the same time. We may try that with this cunt later on tonight."

This Pledgemaster was clearly someone who had thought a lot about his work and had exceptional insight into the training of boyflesh. I was impressed, although he still seemed a little dry and distant.

The two assistants had picked up their tempo in the pledge's mouth and were obviously approaching the moment of truth: amazingly, they were able to shoot simultaneously, both plunging deep into the boy's throat, cumming together in a rush of jism that filled his mouth to overflowing. When they pulled out, the boy's head fell forward as he struggled to swallow the mix of semen that glutted him. The Professor stepped toward him and roughly grabbed his short hair, jerking his face up so I could see him. The action was familiar to me, but before I could decide why, the Professor shouted "Open your eyes cunt, look at the cocks that own you."

When the pledge opened his eyes, it was like a flash of lightning in my mind: this was the beautiful pledge from the video, the one with the electric eyes and the face of a Greek statue. And The Professor was the Brother who had so brutally jerked his head up so he could look at his violators, then jammed his meat back into the beautiful throat. And the look in the boy's eyes was the same: that glazed stare into nothingness of a cockcrazed drooling cumslut. I looked at The Professor with new eyes: this pedantic intellectual teacher with the gold-rimmed spectacles was also a dominating and ruthless abuser. His whole manner had hardened.

"Isn't this cunt a beauty? That's his nickname, you know, Beauty. It fits doesn't it. There's nothing I like more than turning a really good looking guy into a dopey cumbucket." He pinched Beauty's cheeks between his thumb and finger, making his mouth gape open, and laid the head of his long meat on the boy's tongue. "This is your God, cunt. Worship it." He began to feed it into Beauty's mouth, hooking his two thumbs at the corners of the pledge's lips pressing them wider open. He looked at me. "And don't forget that even during normal cock feedings you can keep your sucker's mouth loose and supple with simple finger work." He continued stretching the pledge's lips like an elastic band. Then, as he pressed deeper with his cock, corkscrewing into Beauty's face, something seemed to block his progress and the boy choked.

The Professor was furious. He yanked his dick out of the gasping mouth and shouted, "Choke on me, slut? You think you can gag on your owner's meat, bitch? No, no, I'm not having that from a cunt face like you! You think my cock is too big for you? I'll give you something to really choke on." He stuck two of his fingers into Beauty's mouth and began to work them around, reaming out the cavity: his hands were narrow with long fingers. He looked at me again, with an evil smile on his face. "Remember that a Master's hand is as good an organic mouth stretcher as a pair of cocks. Before you stuff your sucker's throat, take about 10 minutes to ream out his cheeks and push your fingers through his gag ring into his gullet. Get him all opened up and lubricated." He was doing just that in Beauty's mouth. gradually working three fingers in, then four, adding the fingers of his other hand until the boy's lips were grotesquely stretched and his cheeks swollen with the knuckles of the fingers that ravaged them. "You like that, slut?" he screamed. "Eat your Master's fist, bitch!"

Beauty's eyes stared up in adoration at his teacher: his features were pulled and stretched beyond recognition and his head was yanked back and forth as his Master handfucked that magnificent face. When The Professer moved in even closer to the boy and forced a space between his hands for his cock as well, I couldn't look anymore. I had to get out. I walked away quickly, still hearing the Professor's shouts behind me. "WIDER, bitch. Use your tongue. EAT THE MEAT! TAKE ME!"

I was sick and shocked and excited all at the same time. My cock was so hard it ached and I felt like I wanted to hurt something. Suddenly I knew exactly what that might be. I strode back into the Dungeon just as Squeeze Me's Master finally milked him to the eruption of warm lava that had been building up for six days and triggered the inevitable feeding frenzy. As I suspected Jeremy was right in the thick of it.

I headed for the Whipping Gallery: a long narrow room off the Dungeon which is not as sinister as it sounds. Full fledged flogging and major whipping is not allowed in COK House, but some Brothers like to indulge in some light corporal punishment, including, of course, the traditional paddling associated with all fraternities. It is interesting that the Whipping Gallery tends to be used more by alumni than the young Brothers--perhaps as men grow older they need stronger pleasures. That was certainly my case that night. I wanted to take my mysterious frustration and anger out on some taut pledge flesh.

The Gallery is simply furnished: there are 3 whipping posts and a couple of paddle horses. Along one wall are chairs and sofas for Brothers and alums who like to watch or take a break between lashings. Apparently one pledge had just been paddled and fucked, because there was a groaning boy bent over a leather paddle horse with a Brother rubbing fresh cum onto his fiery crimson ass cheeks. There were also pledges tied to each post. One slender boy was bound so tight that he couldn't move at all, which seemed to excite the alum who was flicking the flushed tumescent dome of the slave's cock with a riding crop. Every time he zapped the cocklips of the kid, he jacked his big veiny dick hard several times,squeezing an ooze of precum which he gathered on his fingers and used to grease the gaping cum mouth on the pledge's cock before zinging it again. He must have been at his work quite a while, because the slut was sweating heavily and making a high-pitched whine which mixed eerily with the strange tuneless humming of his torturer.

The pledge on the second post was currently unused, although his cock and balls were a bright red which suggested he had been cockflogged shortly before. There was a thin string of syrup from his cumlips which I Iicked up, discovering that it wasn't precum, but the last drip of jism from a shoot not long before. I saw another alum sitting in one of the Gallery's leather chairs, staring fixedly at the slave's dripping meat, while he idly pumped his own cock and lazily dragged the leather thongs of a flogger across his crotch. I suspected he was the lucky guy who had just whipped the milk out of the kid on the post. He looked as if he might be getting up steam for another go.

On the third post I found my ideal prey: I slipped my dick from its pouch to let it sniff at the pleasure to come. The kid was an athletic, muscular pledgestud, head and crotch hair shaved short, ballgagged, blindfolded, with his neck strapped back against the post. His hands were cuffed around the pillar behind him making his pecs thrust invitingly forward, and his ankles were cuffed to a three foot spreader bar so that his abuser had easy access to the tender flesh of his inner thighs.. The cock and balls were perfect for whipping: sturdy, fat meat, swollen hard above plump nuts hanging heavily in a six inch sac that would swing and sway under the caresses of the thongs: uncut with a swelling mushroom head and a pronounced coronal ridge on the meatus, ideal for catching on the leather thongs of the 8 inch flogger I picked up for my fun.

I grabbed his cock and yanked it hard a couple of times to get his undivided attention. "This is mine bitch," I shouted, " you hear me?" He grunted something behind the ball gag--it didn't matter what. I rubbed my thumb over his cumlips, then forced a little finger into the opening. "You're gonna give me a big mouthful of slavecum from this cockhole, aren't you, cunt?" I could hear the Professor's orders to Beauty echoing in my head. "And then you're gonna give me another mouthful, aren't ya? Because I'm gonna just keep whipping this meat until it cums again and again. You understand me, bitch?" His grunts went on longer this time. Maybe the slave was trying to beg for mercy. That made me angrier, so I gave his cock a good slap with the flogger, hard enough to make it sway back and forth from the force, but not so hard as to do any real damage. COK House has very strict rules about pledge whipping. The pledge tried to move his body around to escape the next blow. That was okay with me, because it just goaded me to whip other parts of him as he writhed and flinched. Soon I had his pecs a nice cherry red and his abs were striped with thong marks, where I had taken time off from his cock and balls to warm up the rest of his torso and his thighs. I used a back and forth stroke, alternating with "propellor" swipes on his tits and around his cumlips. His groans and muffled yelps filled the Gallery and mingled with the outer Dungeon sounds of squeals and moans, and flesh-slaps of other pledges having a good time.

I was getting deep into a whipping frenzy, when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up to find a Brother, perhaps this slut's Pledgemaster. He said, "Sir,I know this pussy pretty well, and I believe he's about ready to shoot, if that interests you. See how his precum has started to stream out? That's a sign he's going to cum."

I thought the Brother was probably right, so I dropped to my knees and attacked the cockhead with the same passion I had been putting into my whipping. My reward was a jet of creamy slavecum so massive I could barely swallow it all. I jammed my head down fully on the shooting cock, pushing it past my gagring so the hot spurts could go directly down my throat: I could feel the pulsing shaft massaging my gullet. I slashed at the slave's torso and thighs with the whip while I swallowed him, driving him to further bolts of cum that filled my mouth with a soapy froth. When the eruption slowed, I continued working the meat with lips and teeth, squeezing out every last drop of juice. Then, as I had promised the bitch, I stood up and went to work again, up and down his body with the whip, mixed with open-handed slaps and pinches--but the Brother took me firmly by the shoulders with both hands and pulled me away. Breaking my fury in mid-flow.

"I'm sorry Sir," he said softly, but I think that's enough. We don't want to ruin the kid."

I knew he was right: I had let myself go, lost my usual composure because of the tension that had been building in me. But I was still pissed off and shrugged him away, flinging the whip onto the floor as I made for the archway into the Dungeon. There, lurking just outside, I saw Slut Jeremy watching me with a scared look on his face, nervously licking his lips for the last drops of Squeeze Me's cum. His pink boycock stuck out from his groin seeming to taunt me. I grabbed it, and using it like a handle on a pulltoy dragged him behind me out of the Dungeon, up two flights of stairs and into my room. I was in a rage. He started to say something, but before he could speak, I threw him down on the bed and fell on him like a lion on a lamb.

I ate his face, licked his eyelids, turned his head from side to side, swabbed his ear lobes, tugged at his tits with my teeth, tongue-lashed his abs, gnawed on his smooth thighs, and nipped the skin his ball sac. Then, with a quickening lust, I turned around and straddled his body, my cock arching above his mouth, my head hovering over his crotch. I reached back and pressed my dick into his lips, then began giving his rosy cock and peach-fuzz balls the abuse they'd been asking for. With every pinch of his cumslit and every crack of his nuts, his mouth opened wider and my meat sank deeper into him. I worked one hand beneath his butt and found his hole with my middle finger, pushed through the two resisting rings of muscle and corkscrewed in until I found the little button of flesh I was looking for. I circled it with the tip of my finger, causing the slut to spasm and arch up sharply against me, making inarticulate animal noises in his meat-stuffed throat and beating against me with his hands, trying to push me off him. But I relentlessly continued to eat his cockhead and press his pleasure spot. When he went into a kind of convulsion, I rolled off, flipped him over, grabbed his hips and roughly pulled him up to his knees. With a hand on each ass cheek, I spread his crack to reveal a perfect pink rosebud. It was soon gleaming with my spit and quivering from the slobbery lapping of my tongue. I moved my punisher. deprived of its pleasure in the Whipping Gallery. into position at the hole and massaged it slowly to oil it up for the final attack. After tonight, I said to myself, this boy's pussy would never be "off limits" again.

**************** I awoke once again to an empty bed. My cock rolled across my thigh, half-engorged and sullen looking, as if it hadn't gotten everything it wanted the night before. I figured Jeremy had slunk off to whine and feel sorry for himself in his own room. I showered and shaved, washing away the stains, but not the memory, of Jeremy's sweat and semen from my face and body. I put on fresh clothes for my final meeting with Martin Cleveland where I would give him my shopping list of "wants".

I ate a late breakfast in the massive dining room along with a few silent, bleary eyed Brothers. Most of the House would still be sleeping off last night's excesses. Later that evening, after a big candlelight banquet in this same room, there would be a formal induction ceremony for the pledges who had survived Hell Week. It would mark the end of the first phase of their experience of COK House and the beginning of their real, year-long training as slaves to the desires and demands of the Brothers. They would begin to realize that Hell Week was actually Hell Year. I wouldn't be there: I would have finished my business and be on my way to my next scouting job. I had attended these events before and found them boring: there wouldn't be a naked boy in sight!

The pledges would recite the Vow of Loyalty and sing the Hymn of Total Obedience. The Brothers would swear an Oath of Eternal Friendship and promise to serve as role models for their new members. Each Pledgemaster would introduce his pledgeslave and announce his permanent nickname: then he would embrace the boy and give him a long and thorough french kiss, while the other Brothers pounded their fists on the table in approval. It would all be very solemn in the way that only college fraternity rituals can be.

Then the House Father would give a standard speech outlining the rules and the goals of the training that was to come. He would emphasize that no pledge or Brother would be allowed to neglect his studies or avoid the normal life of a university student because of the activities behind the barred windows of the House. Many of the pledges would wonder how they could carry on their classes, do their reading, write their papers, and lead the life of ordinary freshmen while they were being systematically turned into sex slaves and meat toys by their House Brothers. They would soon find out that it was entirely possible: unlike a "straight" college freshman, they wouldn't waste their leisure hours in beer bashes and bull-sessions. Their bull encounters would be of an entirely different and more fulfilling sort. They would be encouraged to date girls if they wished and join clubs or try out for teams, but for certain specified hours of every day and on most weekends, they would lead a separate, exciting and decadent life servicing the cocks of their Masters and giving up their bodies to the needs of the House.

It is a fact that the members of COK Houses, as a group, always have grade point averages higher than those of the universities at large. And COK House members often include academic high-achievers, star athletes, campus leaders, and "cocksmen" whispered about among the girls of Sorority Row. Becoming a sexual animal doesn't seem to hinder a boy's progress through four years of study: it seems, indeed, to enrich it. A majority of the alumni of COK Houses go on to marry and raise families, even though they maintain their ties with the fraternity and attend Reunions (Orgies) and Open Houses (Orgies) and serve on Committees (Orgy Planning). A significant number of these men's sons are sent by their fathers to Rush Week in the full knowledge of what will occur. Another segment of alumni go on to openly gay lives, living as bachelors or taking life partners, often giving generously to the various endowment programmes of the House and opening their homes to recent COK graduates (in exhange for the usual favours) while they make up their minds about what they want to do.. And a few alumni enter the international organization of The Pleasure Corporation as valued and knowledgeable executives and managers, or, in cases of young men who find they like the life of a sex object, as indentured slaves.

But I wouldn't be at the banquet: by then I would have finished my business and be on my way to some other scouting job.

At one o'clock I met Martin Cleveland in his office and went over my selections with him. This was my list: ________________

FOR PERMANENT INDENTURE

Latino Kitchen Milkboy (unseen, but ok on Martin's word.)

TEMPORARY SUMMER SERVICE BOYS

Squeeze Me: good for the Edging Rooms at the Boy Brothels

Dildo: the preppy rich bitch: ideal for the breeder corrals at a Big Game Preserve

Milkmeat: for the boycock gluttons at the Cock and Ball Restaurants

Suckhole: summer Suck Intern for Executives at Corporation Headquarters

Jailbait: ideal for the fantasy rooms at the Arizona S/M Ranch Whorehouse

Beauty: for the Luxury Auction Market (lease only)

(NOTE: ask Martin to suggest a couple of juicy cumfilled Brothers with bigger meat than the utility cocks, and enough stamina to endure a few weeks in the Suck Barns at a Milk Farm, and remind him that I'm always looking for college fuckstuds with dicks that don't quit! could be older Brothers just wanting holiday work)

EMPLOYMENT CONTRACT WITH THECORPORATION

The Professor: offer a permanent entry position as Instructor at a CockSuck Academy _______________

The temporary service pledges would have to be discussed and approved for rental by the House's Finance Committee who are in charge, among other things, of the entire COK Rental and Lease Programme. (The "Christmas Gift Catalogues" are legendary among alumni for their mouth-watering photospreads of lucious cocks and ripe asses available for Holiday hire.)

The Finance Committee is also responsible for considering any family problems that might arise. When the Rush Committee evaluates possible pledge candidates, they look for boys from three kinds of families: first, families "in the know", especially with relatives who are COK House alumni; second, parents who take an "arm's length" attitude toward their sons and essentially don;t care about them so long as they stay out of sight; and, third, poor or one-parent families who are having such a hard time making ends meet that they will be grateful their sons have made it into such a prestigious fraternity where there are no fees or dues to pay. Any candidate, however desireable, with "micro-managing" parents is never accepted. When a COK House boy's first year is academically successful and he is offered a lucrative summer job at some "exclusive" resort (the boys get to keep half the rental fees as salary) most parents don't bother to enquire too closely about what actually goes on at Chi Omega Kappa. Many are relieved to learn that COK House doesn't believe in Parents' Weekends or Open Houses. (COK House Open Houses are for alumni and invited guests only, and serve quite a different purpose!)

The actual fees would be negotiated between the Finance Committee and the staff of the Pleasure Corporation's Procurement Division, of which I am a part, but there wasn't likely to be an difficulty about price since the Corporation is known to be very generous with COK House purchases: as founders and sponsors of the fraternity the Corporation can write off much of the cost as business expense and charitable donations.

The Employment Contract for The Professor and the Permanent Indenture Agreement for the latino boy would be agreed upon by Martin, as their representative, and myself, and he would be paid a commission for each deal, which tends to make him very helpful when it comes to recruitment. But essentially my work was over: I would follow the careers of a few of the boys, like Beauty and The Professor, but for the most part I didn't care what pool the meat got tossed into or what the sharks did with it.

I shook the House Father's hand and went to the door. As I opened it to go, I suddenly turned impulsively, and inexplicably said, "Oh, Martin, why don't you offer Jeremy a chance to leave the university? Ask him if he'd like to work for me as a houseboy at my place on the West Coast under a personal services contract."

I was almost as astonished as he was at these words from my own mouth. He cocked an eyebrow and looked slyly down his nose at me. "Well, uh, you know," I stammered, "every man needs a pet." Then I turned and got out of there quickly. As I moved toward the entrance hall, I thought--What the hell are you doing?-- but at the same time I wondered what Jeremy would say to the proposal Martin would make on my behalf. He was waiting for me at the front door with my suitcase in hand, and from his sad-eyed puppydog look as I thanked him and said goodbye I suspected that his answer might very well be "Yes". What the hell, was I doing!

Walking down the drive of COK House, I began to imagine some possibilities if the little slut came to live with me. My cock roused itself and wept a few tears of joy at the prospect.

End of part 5