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From: "joy paine" <joypaine@hotmail.com>
Subject: Fraternity Property -- Prequel
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Fraternity Property -- Prequel
MMMF NC,  humiliation, tor, oral, anal
by Joy Paine

It was almost a year ago (April 1998) that I promised a continuation of 
my story of this name. What the Muses gave me was not a continuation, 
but a "prequel" -- a story about what happened before -- back in the 
days before hi-tech. The two versions do not rely on each other -- 
either one can stand on its own feet, as it were, and the continuation 
(which I fervently hope will eventuate) can proceed from either of the 
two versions. However, if you like this version, you might like to look 
up the other in the Dejanews archives, or in the archives of this News 
Group.

The usual disclaimers apply. No actual individuals, living or dead, or 
otherwise, are portrayed her other than the Me I dream about.

Here's the story:

Priscilla's doubt showed in her face. "But really", she protested, "The 
RD's have a reputation for being rather--well, fast, and I don't..."

"Nonsense"! her roommate interrupted. "You can get laid if you want to, 
and a lot of the girls do.  But this is a double date. I'll be there 
with Jim, and believe me, there's nothing so inhibiting as having 
another couple along And I wish you  would come with us. Jim has been 
under pressure to get a date for his brother. Please ... won't you do it 
as a favor ... to me? Just this once?"

Ellen seemed awfully anxious. Almost terrified at the thought of being 
turned down. Probably Jim regarded it as a point of honor to fix his 
fraternity brother up with a date.

Oh well, Priscilla thought, what did she have to lose?  Her cherry, of 
course, she thought wryly--which is more than most of her contemporaries 
at college could say. But they were just going to a movie.  Not even a 
drive-in.  What could you do in a crowded theater?  Even on Friday the 
thirteenth?

They dressed informally--blouse and jeans.  Priscilla's blouse was loose 
and dark, so she didn't bother with a bra.  Clean, cool, and casual. And 
comfortable. 

On the way downtown, they stopped at the frat house. "A little 
ceremony,"  Bobby explained. "Part of the ritual of the Order. A touch 
of Old World elegance, if you will. The first time that one of the 
brothers goes out with a new girl, he has to introduce her to the 
council. Sort of ask for their approval, you might say."

Priscilla laughed nervously. "What if I don't pass the test?" she asked, 
only half jokingly. Bobby's laugh was unmixed. "Wouldn't happen in a 
thousand years, honey. It's just a formality, but one that is steeped in 
tradition.

"It's just like the secrecy about the full name of the fraternity," he 
went on. "After you pass the test, we can tell you what RD stands for. 
"Besides," he added, "even if it was a serious test, a beautiful young 
lady like you would have no problem at all."

Bobby led the three of them into the fraternity house, down the stairs 
to the "Council Room". Again, Priscilla was glad that her room-mate was 
with them.  Even so, her nervousness began to include a bit of 
apprehension about more than passing the test. The fraternity brothers 
were waiting for them, sitting in a semi-circle facing the door. Maybe 
it was her imagination, but they seemed to be leering hungrily. Like a 
pack of wolves, Priscilla thought. It took all her determination not to 
turn and flee in panic. But she knew she'd never be able to hold her 
head up around the campus if she pulled a chicken trick like that.

Bobby led her to the center of the semi-circle, and seated her at a 
wooden table. A small, sturdy table, fairly low. She felt a bit 
reassured when Bobby passed his arm through hers, lacing their fingers 
together, and laying their forearms on the table. But then Jim took her 
other arm in the same manner, sitting on the other side of her. She felt 
trapped. The chairman spoke. "So this is the cunt that's going to be 
Bobby's whore."

Priscilla gasped at the sheer vulgarity of his words--the full meaning 
had not yet sunk in. She tried to stand up in protest, but the two men 
held her motionless. She looked imploringly to Ellen for help. Ellen was 
quietly leaving the room, closing the door behind her. A thick 
door--soundproof, from the look of it. Priscilla glared at the 
semi-circle of men. "Look here . . ." she began. She gasped in outrage 
as Bobby and Jim each grasped one of her nubile breasts with their free 
hands. Her protests broke into a scream of agony as they squeezed, 
brutally.

"Lesson number one," the leader chuckled. "Cunts should be seen and not 
heard. Give her another touch, fellows, just to make sure she got the 
point." The two boys complied cheerfully, squeezing even harder this 
time. 

Priscilla closed her eyes to shut out the horrible reality, tears 
running down her cheeks. She  was vaguely aware that they kept their 
hands on her breasts; whether as a reminder or just for kicks, she had 
no way of knowing. Obviously it was at least partly for kicks, she 
realized, as they started kneading gently, their thumbs stroking her 
nipples. She was jerked back to reality by the prick of a needle in her 
arm. She looked up imploringly at the man who was wielding the 
hypodermic, not daring to speak.

"Don't worry, honey," he said. "It's not the big H, or anything like 
that. We wouldn't want to dull your senses just when you're going to 
have the time of our life. This is just a mild tranquilizer, to keep you 
from going into shock, or puking. Believe me, there's nothing in the 
world that's grosser than having a cunt puke while she's sucking you 
off." The leader spoke again. "Bobby probably told you that the purpose 
of this ceremony was to decide whether would be a suitable whore for 
him. Although probably not in those exact words," he grinned." And we 
know that the answer will be affirmative, of course. We've had you under 
inspection for a long time--even since before you decided to come here 
to college. And with a pair of tits like yours, there's no doubt that 
you would serve our purposes, even if your face and legs didn't happen 
to be first class, too. 

"All you'll need to become a really superb fuck is practice. And 
motivation, of course. What we have to find out is how much of each you 
need. For motivation, we have all sorts of techniques and devices that 
will quickly persuade you that there are worse things in life than a 
little old-fashioned fucking. Or some of the up-to-date variations, for 
that matter. And as for practice--I think that there are enough of us 
here to provide all of the practice you need. Right now," he leered.

Priscilla gasped.  "You aren't going to . . ."

"We're going to peel you like an onion, baby, layer by layer. After each 
of us has had you two or three times, you'll have more experience 
tonight than most cunts get in a month. But maybe you won't need our 
teaching. Maybe you can show us that you're already good enough to give 
Bobby the fuck of his life. Let's find out. Bring out the bed, fellows."

Priscilla found her voice. "Not here, with all of you watching?"The man 
laughed. "Not only watching, cunt, but taking pictures. Beautiful pin-up 
pictures, packed with action, that we can hang up over our beds. But 
also for insurance. To show your friends and family, if you get out of 
line. Like if you get any fancy ideas of going to the police. Or running 
away. After tonight, you're going to be RD property. You're going to be 
Bobby's cunt as long as he wants you. And if he gets tired of you--well, 
we'll manage to work something else out."

"But--but wait!" Priscilla implored. "I'm a virgin!"

"A virgin, eh? A very rare commodity indeed. Well, I don't think that 
Bobby is going to let you take your cherry out of here." 

Bobby spoke, for the first time. "You know, I might do just that", he 
said thoughtfully. A chorus of  jeers and catcalls answered him."No, 
seriously," he protested. He turned to Priscilla. "Tell me, cunt, how 
serious are you about wanting to keep your cherry?"

"Please," she pleaded. "I'll do anything you ask. Only please don't--you 
know--de-flower me."

Bobby grinned nastily.  "OK", he leered. "I'll give you a chance. If you 
can give me a good enough time with your asshole, I won't break your 
cherry. At least not tonight. Later on--who knows? But if you don't do 
your damnedest to give me the best butt-fuck I've ever had--and to make 
the pictures look as if you were doing it not only willingly, but 
enthusiastically--then I'll rip you open and throw you to the gang."

"One more thing," the leader added, "before Bobby starts breaking you. 
Now is the time to tell you what our fraternity name stands for. As you 
know, the full name is Rho Delta Delta. Or, in English, RDD. Stands 
for--TA DA!--Rape a Dame a Day. Today is your day."  

Priscilla never knew how she survived the ordeal that night, even with 
her senses dulled by the drug.  Obviously, Bobby wasn't going to be 
stingy  with "his" girl.  All of the fellows helped him get her ready.  
Even the guys operating the cameras were relieved every few minutes, so 
they could take their turns in the action.The men took their time about 
getting Priscilla's clothes off, stripping her garment by garment, inch 
by luscious inch, stopping frequently to kiss or fondle various parts of 
her lush young body. And all the while making her pose for those 
incriminating pictures, making her maintain the forced smile that gave 
the illusion that she was enjoying the degrading experience.

And bit by bit, to her dismay, she did start to enjoy it.  The constant 
caressing of tier tits and her clit, aided by the relaxing effects of 
the drug, began to tell. In spite of her disgust and her determination 
not to respond, she felt her young body beginning to be aroused, felt 
her nipples harden, the juices begin to flow in her cunt. Her tormentors 
did not miss the change in her mood. Pacing their actions to her 
responses, they played on her with gentle but insistent caresses, tuning 
her body to an ever-rising pitch of response. She began to moan in 
ecstasy, her body swaying involuntarily in sensuous rhythm. She felt her 
nervous system become a balloon, inflating further and further.  Slowly, 
slowly, it approached the bursting point, swelling sweetly until it was 
sure to explo...

And suddenly, nothing. By a prearranged signal, the men took their hands 
and tongues from her body, leaving her dangling in a frustration of 
unfulfillment. Sobbing in frustration, Priscilla moaned for them to 
continue.  She opened her eyes to implore them to go on. . .

The hand that was reaching toward her crotch wore a glove. A rather 
strange glove, made of rubber, and covered with a network of fine wires.  
She stretched toward it instinctively, thrusting the femininity of her 
body shamelessly toward its caress. Gently, ever so gently, it stroked 
her parted cunt lips.  Priscilla's body convulsed into a scream of agony 
as the glove  touched her, racking her most sensitive flesh with a 
brutal electric shock.  Her passion dissolved into pure, raw pain, as 
the boys cheered. Lesson number two," mocked the leader. "No free rides 
for the cunts.  Your purpose in life is to provide pleasure for us, not 
to enjoy yourself.  And now," he added ominously, "it's time for you to 
start earning your keep."

Bobby took over then, giving Priscilla explicit and detailed  
instructions, couching his orders in the most offensive gutter terms.  
At his command, she unzipped his fly, took out the repulsive thing, and 
caressed it with her fingers and her, lips until it swelled into full 
passion. Then the ultimate humiliation . . . He let her apply a 
lubricating cream (for his comfort, rather than hers, she thought 
bitterly) but it still hurt like fire as he plunged deep into her virgin 
asshole.  It seemed like hours before the final release--before he 
stiffened violently, cursing her in the vilest language, pouring his hot 
venom deep into the forbidden hole.  Gradually, he relaxed, slowly 
releasing the agonizing grip with which he had been punishing her 
breasts. Twining his fingers in her hair, he pulled her callously to a 
standing position, kissed her, mockingly.  She had no strength left to 
resist.

"Good news, baby"' he chortled.  "Even though it wasn't the very best 
piece of ass I've ever had, I'll give you passing marks for effort.  So 
we're going to let you wear this for the rest of the night."

The rest of the night? Priscilla's heart pounded anxiously. What else 
would these young demons do to her? What further pain and degradation 
lay in store?She forced her eyes open to see what "this" was.  One of 
the boys was taking an object from an ornate wooden box, holding it up 
for the tortured girl to see. A chastity belt.  A very elegant chastity 
belt, all polished leather and brass, with the fraternity's coat of arms 
beautifully tooled in the area that would cover her Venus mound.  The 
gang shouted obscene encouragements as Bobby buckled it on her, securing 
it with a brass padlock. And a special refinement, she discovered, as he 
fastened it in place--the damned device was fitted with brass studs in 
the strategic places.  Not sharp enough to pierce even the tender skin 
of that area, but uncomfortable enough to keep reminding her that she 
was a woman. In spite of the pain and humiliation, Priscilla felt a bit 
relieved to have it there.  At least it would keep these brutes from 
deflowering her.  Just as long as they wanted it to, her other self told 
her mockingly.  After all, they were the ones that had the key.

Working with an efficiency born of long practice, the boys  buckled 
straps around her wrists, made them fast to brass rings in the belt, so 
she could not move her hands from her sides. Then they put in the 
Mouthpiece.  The Mouthpiece was actually a combination of two devices. 
First, a pair of hard rubber rollers were forced into her mouth and 
positioned between her teeth, way back, one on each side, holding her 
jaws painfully parted.The rollers were held in place by a framework of 
stiff wires that followed the contours of her gums--one above, between 
her lip and gum, and one below, behind her lower teeth. She didn't have 
any idea what the thing was for, but it was awfully uncomfortable 
holding her jaws spread that way. And she felt a foreboding of 
helplessness.

The other part of the Mouthpiece consisted of two pieces of adhesive 
tape. Narrow tape, only about a quarter of an inch wide. One of them 
pinched her upper lip, one on each side of the dimple in the middle. The 
ends of the tape ran up on both sides of her nose, holding her upper lip 
in a sort of a sneer. The other tape did the same for her lower lip. The 
overall effect was to hold her lips pressed together, over her forcibly 
opened jaws. One of the men gently forced a banana between her pouting 
lips, in a coarse preview of what lay in store. 

They didn't give her much time to contemplate her fate. Goaded by the 
urge to action, they dragged her across the room, forced her to bend 
over the small table where she had originally been seated while those 
two young hoodlums had squeezed her tits. She noticed that the table had 
been bolted to the floor, so that it would not tilt or slip. Her 
torturers forced Priscilla to bend down over the table, fastening her 
down with a broad strap across the small of her back. Straps at her 
ankles spread and immobilized her legs, so that she lay helpless, her 
chin hanging over one side of the table, her recently violated butt 
starkly exposed on the other.The strap at her waist held her wrists in 
place, and another stout strap was fastened around her forehead to bend 
her neck painfully back. She was completely immobilized in that 
position, so that her mouth, constrained by the Mouthpiece into a mock 
cunt, paralleled the position of her asshole on the other side of the 
table. Bobby patted her ass with mock affection, his middle finger 
probing suggestively. 

"OK, boys," he invited. "There's your onion. Open at both ends."



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