Frat Games: the House Slut - Cover

Frat Games: the House Slut

Copyright© 2025 by StoriesByTroy

Chapter 4: They Made Me The House Maid

Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 4: They Made Me The House Maid - Alpha Zeta Rho.... the cockiest, all-jock frat on campus. Known for keg stands, locker room brawls, and one secret tradition: Every year, they pick one pledge to turn into their house toy.

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Ma   Ma   Blackmail   Consensual   Mind Control   Gay   BiSexual   Heterosexual   CrossDressing   Fiction   High Fantasy   School   Sharing   BDSM   DomSub   MaleDom   Humiliation   Light Bond   Rough   Snuff   Spanking   Torture   Gang Bang   Group Sex   Harem   Orgy   White Male   Anal Sex   Double Penetration   Exhibitionism   First   Facial   Masturbation   Oral Sex   Safe Sex   Sex Toys   Spitting   Voyeurism   BBW   Public Sex   Size   Nudism   Slow   Transformation  

I woke up giggling.

I don’t even know why.

Maybe it was the way my throat still ached. Or how my lips still felt slick. Maybe it was because I could still taste him. Jace. Jace. His cum.

Jesus. I sucked off the hottest guy on campus. In my bed. And not just sucked him off, I swallowed every fucking drop. Like some obedient little pledge.

I turned over, pillow still damp from sweat and spit. My jaw was sore. My ass was sore, even though he never fucked me. I was just that sensitive. That used.

And I liked it.

Then I saw it.

Another note.

Folded neatly on my desk chair, weighted down by ... clothes?

I sat up and padded over barefoot, my body still sticky under the covers. I unfolded the note, heart already picking up pace.

“Wear only this for Task #2. Downstairs. Living room. Now. – Jace.”

What “clothes” meant turned out to be a tiny red skirt. That’s it. No shirt. No underwear. Just this soft, slinky little thing that looked more like a belt than a piece of clothing.

I held it up in disbelief. Laughed. Gulped. Then put it on.

It barely covered anything. I felt like if I bent over, even slightly, my whole ass would hang out.

Maybe that was the point.

When I opened my door and stepped into the hallway, I swear the house smelled like last night. Beer. Sweat. Weed. Boys. The place was a wreck. Cups tipped over. Pizza boxes stacked. Someone’s socks were stuck to the wall.

And it was dirtier than I remembered.

Which made sense when I saw the little whiteboard on the kitchen door. Three words:

“House Maid - Troy.”

Shit.

They were making me clean. Like some slutty little pledge in a fuck-me skirt with no underwear.

I walked into the living room and found a pair of yellow rubber gloves, a spray bottle, and a list.

“Clean the floors.
Wipe the counters.
Do the dishes.
Don’t complain.
Look cute.
Ass out.
Mouth shut.
Use your tongue if needed.”

It wasn’t signed. But the handwriting looked like Brett’s.

I knelt down and started picking up trash. Empty Solo cups. Half-eaten wings. Crumpled napkins with stuff I didn’t want to identify.

My ass was up. The skirt barely stayed down when I bent forward. I caught a glimpse of myself in the TV screen and yeah, I looked like some dumb little housemaid in a porn parody. Hair messy. No shirt. Skirt riding up my cheeks.

Then I heard footsteps.

Lucas.

“Morning, sunshine,” he grinned, walking past me in gym shorts and no shirt, glistening from a workout. His abs were unreal. His cock bounced behind the fabric like it wanted to be seen.

“You missed a spot.”

He stopped. Turned. Then stepped behind me and pressed his crotch against the back of my head.

 
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