Frat Legacy
Copyright© 2023 by Naughty Bard
Chapter 5
BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 5 - Pi Kappa Alpha is the country’s rowdiest frat. Freddy is a legacy who'll do anything to join, but the brothers only want Scott—who couldn't care less. Neither knows the dark truth: PKA isn't a brotherhood; it's a hierarchy of straight masters and submissive fag slaves. Freddy and Scott are about to learn that a PKA legacy isn't earned with a handshake—it's forged in filth, extreme service, and total surrender to the straight elite.
Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Ma/Ma Teenagers Blackmail Coercion Drunk/Drugged Mind Control Rape Slavery Gay Heterosexual Fiction School BDSM DomSub MaleDom Humiliation Rough Sadistic Torture Interracial Black Male White Male Analingus Masturbation Oral Sex Sex Toys Spitting Water Sports Foot Fetish Smoking Politics Violence
7:59. Fag Freddy was waiting for the last number on the screen of his phone to change. He was chomping at the bit, his mouth watering in anticipation. This was one of his favorite parts of the whole day. His duty was to wake up Master Scott in a proper manner. One that suited his now well accepted status of slave. It still wasn’t like official, official. There were a few more days to go before the end of the taming, which meant there was still time to score fag points on the app. That was his new obsession. His Master wanted the famous prize money. He was gonna get it for him. Period. There was no way in hell he was gonna let number 9 get all the glory. Please, that stuck up little bitch! No fucking way!
8 am. The fag eagerly leaned forward and started to lick his Master’s feet. It had become a usual thing for him to wake him up like that and fag Freddy couldn’t have been happier about it. Honest! His watering mouth was proof of that. Almost two weeks had passed since that eventful day when his whole world had been turned upside down by Master Cliff’s eye-opening words. Kinda like a wake up call and fucking big one at that! Fag Freddy stuck his tongue between his Master’s toes. Such a wild, rich taste. He highly doubted he could ever imagine a life without it. Because it wasn’t really just about the taste; it was about how licking his feet made him feel. Inferior. Which was exactly what his fucked up brain had wanted all along. It was one of the many things Master Scott had pointed out and, boy, had he been right! He had been right about everything. It had taken a minute for Fag Freddy to understand it but he was finally starting to feel like he belonged. It felt so fucking liberating. He could finally stop fighting something he rationally knew was bad and humiliating and whatever but it did feel so damn good. Just like it felt good to stop caring. About everything if not orders. It was so easy to just follow them dumbly. His heart was light. Something had switched in his brain, forever. And whenever he was in doubt he had a trick up his sleeve. The slave soda! That thing reeeeeally helped him clear his mind. He had practically become addicted to it lately.
Master Scott stirred in his sleep. The slave continued to lick.
Probably the weirdest thing he had had to do was confronting his fag father about it. He had lost any and all forms of respect he once had for the man. Stupid cunt! He had lied to him for almost two decades. Lied through his teeth. Fag Freddy couldn’t help but notice how much of a coward he had sounded on the phone during their last conversation. Sobbing and crying. He wouldn’t stop apologizing. Sad, sad, little man. No, he wasn’t a man. He was a little faggot bitch, just like Fag Freddy. And to think he would have once done anything for him ... and now...
Master Scott groaned as he started to stretch.
“Morning, fag.” he yawned.
“Good morning, Master.” was Fag Freddy’s answer “Did you sleep well?”
“Mmmm ... gotta piss...” Master Scott grunted.
Fag Freddy smiled. He was waiting for that. He crawled to the side of the bed his Master had turned towards, lowered the front of his boxers and slid his Master’s chubby dick in his mouth, till his unworthy lips were glued to his pubes. The smell was overpowering. His Master had obviously had sex the previous night so, what he was tasting was the pungent raunchiness of the straight jock’s uninhibited pleasure. A thrill ran through the fag’s spine for the honor he was being granted. Two seconds later a heavy stream of acrid morning piss started pumping down his throat as Fag Freddy swallowed and swallowed like the toilet champ he had become. This had been an extremely gratifying (on the fag’s part) development of the last few days. He was finally holding his Master’s perfect dick in his mouth. He still couldn’t believe it. Sure, he was still not sucking it (which was currently his number one goal in life) but he was nonetheless holding it in his hungry, hungry mouth. God, the sensation was unbelievable. Fag Freddy looked sideways, towards his master’s face. His head was still on his pillow, his eyes were closed and he was yawning. He then moved his hand behind his back and started scratching his ass. God, was he sexy. The sexiest man alive, hands down, no question about it. Nine, ten, eleven times the fag swallowed, without even flinching because by now that piss down his throat simply made him feel ... useful ... alive. Yet another thing he couldn’t really see himself stop doing. Then the flow died down, little by little. Fag Freddy sucked in his cheeks to give himself the illusion of an unreachable blowjob. Then he reluctantly let go of his Master’s cock and tucked it back into his boxers. The straight demigod grunted, rolled over and hugged his pillow, face down. The fag slave crawled back to the foot of the bed where his Master’s feet were waiting, soles up. Favorite position ever, he got to lick those perfect feet while locking at his master’s ass. Perfection. He indulged himself for five or six more minutes, dreading the moment that was coming. He needed to get him up, his Master hated being late. So he gave another long, hungry lick and said softly:
“Master, it’s almost 8:15...”
No answer. One whole minute went by.
“Sir, you’re gonna be late for...”
“Shut the fuck up!” the straight jock grunted.
Fag Freddy smiled again. It was the same thing every morning. Master Scott was not a morning person and there was a very, very thin line between being too annoying and not efficient enough. Either way he would have been punished for it but Fag Freddy had used the past couple of weeks to find the sweet spot. He let a couple more minutes pass by while he enjoyed those tasty boy soles, then he tried again.
“Sir, your first class is at 9. You won’t make it in time...” he said softly, receiving a couple more grunts. However, after two more tentative attempts, Master Scott started to stir, yawning and stretching loudly. Fag Freddy quickly crawled back to the side of the bed and lay down, face up. Seconds later Master Scott put his feet down on his human doormat chest and abdomen, and stood up just like the morning after the very first night the two freshmen had spent in the frat. Master Scott didn’t say a word, he was flipping through his phone with one hand and scratching his crotch with the other. A couple of minutes went by.
“How was your night, fag?” Master Scott asked conversationally, his eyes still fixed on his phone screen...
“It was great, Sir...” Fag Freddy replied immediately “I was up till about four am to clean up after the party together with number 9 and the other slaves, Sir.”
“Awesome, hehe! Last night was totally sick. I’m pretty sure we fucked up like every room in the frat!” he chuckled, widely amused.
“Yes, Sir! You did, but we straightened everything up! Thank you for letting us do that, Sir!” the Fag replied.
“Hehehe! Yeah, no problem! It’s so convenient to have you fuckers around, hehe!” he commented.
“Yes, Sir, it’s why you keep us, Sir, right? To make your life easier!” Fag Fred promptly recited.
“You bet.” replied Master Scott.
A couple more minutes went by without either of them talking.
“Did you have a good night, Sir?” the slave asked adoringly.
“Yep, I think I might have found a new fuck-toy.” Master Scott chuckled.
“She is a very lucky girl, Sir...” Fag Freddy said.
“I know, right?” Master Scott replied, amused.
More silence. The weight of his perfect body was starting to crush him a little.
“Sir?”
“What?”
“Thank you for letting me drink your piss, Sir!” Fag Freddy said.
“Sure, fag!” sneered his Master “Gotta say, you completely accepted this slave thing, huh?”
“Well, yes, Sir...” replied Fag Freddy earnestly “It’s great to finally be able to be honest with myself.”
Master Scott, smirked “I’m sure it does and I’ll tell ya, it feels pretty good to me, fag! Hehe!”
They exchange a look. A meaningful one. Absolute power versus overwhelming devotion.
“So! How are you gonna win me the prize money today?” Master Scott asked the same question every morning.
“I’m gonna beg every master in the frat to let me wash their trucks. Then at twelve, I’m going back to the anti lgbt stand to hand out more flyers.”
“Good bitch, that’s a start!” Master Scott commented “What else?”
Fag Freddy smiled up at his perfect Master. He had to win him the money, no matter what. Five more days till the end of the taming.
The stifling heat of the Florida afternoon was fighting a losing battle against the blasting AC. Number 9 knelt in the center of his Masters’ room. The walls were adorned with the trappings of college life: posters of bikini-clad girls and sports teams, a crumpled pile of dirty clothes he hadn’t had time to wash for them in the corner, and a faint scent of sweat and stale pizza lingering in the air. The faggot had eyes that were swollen with unshed tears, and his cheeks were already red from a barrage of slaps. His mouth was stuffed with a pair of dirty socks that tasted like a blend of sweat and the floor of a gym locker room.
Master Alec and Master Kitt, stood over him, only wearing shorts. The game they were playing was an extra sadistic one. Their laughter filled the room, echoing off the empty beer cans scattered across the floor. It was a strangely comforting sound for the fag’s ears. He was used to them. After all, they were pretty stereotypical jocks, members of one the most infamous frats in America, where the sun never seemed to set on their reign of testosterone-fueled antics. They were gods. It was pretty clear to anyone who had ever spent more than five minutes in their presence.
“Alright, bro,” Master Alec said, grinning maliciously. “My turn. Watch this.” His hand flew through the air, connecting with Number 9’s cheek with a resounding smack. The fag’s eyes rolled back, and he let out a muffled yelp around the socks.
Master Kitt cackled in glee. “Oh, that was a good one, bro!” He leaned in closer to the kneeling slave, in a mocking and extremely degrading baby voice. “He didn’t hurt you too bad, did he, fag?”
Number 9 shook his head frantically, his eyes watering. They cackled and Master Kitt spat right on his forehead.
“Bull’s eye!!” They high-fived each other as the fag felt his master’s saliva running down to his nose and cheeks. He was their property, their fag slave, and he lived for this kind of treatment. He craved the pain, the humiliation—it was all he knew. Yet, it wasn’t always easy to deal with it. Although, not for a lack of training because the two handsome straight freshmen didn’t even try to EVER pull their punches when it came to dealing with him.
Master Alec stepped up next, his hand as hard as a brick. His slap was even harder than the last, and the sound echoed in the room. “You’re so fucking pathetic,” he jeered, half singing his words in a sort of made up tuneless silly song. His voice dripped with arrogant contempt. “Do you even realize how fucking useless your life is? Huh? Huh?” He went on with his mocking tone as they both started cackling again. The slave’s heart was pounding in his chest at every slap, at every word, beating faster and faster. Out of contentment ... arousal ... fear.
The jocks continued their twisted game, having the time of their life, competing like all boys do. Well, straight gods like them, anyway. The fag’s moans grew louder, his knees scraping against the rough carpet.
“God it must suck biiiiiiig fucking time to be so fucking low that you’re letting us do this to you, haha!” Master Kitt said, wiping a tear of laughter from his eye. “You’re like a dog that loves to get kicked.”
Number 9’s eyes pleaded up at them, his whole body trembling. He was close to his breaking point, but the thought of disappointing his gods was worse than the pain.
“Alright, enough practice, let’s see if we can make you fall,” Master Alec announced, rubbing his hands together with a terrifying smirk. Then he turned to his buddy “One slap each, and whoever knocks him down wins. Remember, no punching or kicking, just slaps.”
Master Kitt nodded, a wicked smile spreading across his face. “You’re on,” he said, cracking his knuckles.
Number 9’s brain was shattering. The pain, the elation, the suffering, the awe, the humiliation, the pleasure. Way too much for a human being to feel at the same time. Although, was he even allowed to consider himself as human, anymore?
So their game began and the first official slap rang out, echoing in the otherwise silent room. Number 9’s cheek stung, and he bit down on the socks to stifle his cry. The salty tang of his own tears was mixing with their foot sweat in his mouth. The second slap came from the other direction, and his head snapped to the side. The socks were soaked now.
“C’mon, you fucking homo, aren’t you having fun?” Master Alec said almost maniacally, his hand coming down again on his last word. Number 9 felt his cheek burn as the slap connected, and he wobbled on his knees, his eyes squeezed shut.
Master Kitt stepped back, taunting his buddy with such bravado. “Weak! Don’t go easy on him, dude! He’s used to this shit.”
“Shut up, bro! Let me see you do better!” chuckled Master Alec.
The fag’s eyes darted to one god, then back to the other. He braced himself, his heart racing as Kitt’s hand shot out.
Every impact was like a thunderclap, sending waves of well deserved pain through his skull. He felt the floor tilt beneath him, but managed to stay upright.
The slaps kept getting harder and harder as well as more frequent. Number 9’s vision blurred, and he could feel his balance wavering. The socks were so soggy with his snot and tears now that he was choking on his own breath.
“This is too much fun,” Master Alec said between gasps of laughter. “Let’s see if you can take a real hit, you dumb cunt.”
Yet again, he took a step back and swung with all his might. Number 9’s body rocked with the impact. Pain ... pain ... pain ... so much fucking pain!
Master Kitt stepped up, eager to take his next turn. “Who’s the faggiest of them aaaaall?” he taunted, hitting Number 9’s face so hard the socks fell out of his mouth. “Booooooommm!” Master Kitt shouted and his friend guffawed as he patted him on the back.
Number 9 shook his head slightly and realized something was wrong. He automatically lowered his head to the floor with his mouth open and put the soggy socks back in his mouth. There was not a single coherent thought in his mind but the taste of their foot sweat in his mouth simply felt right.
“Can’t live without your sock gag, can you?” sneered Master Kitt.
The two of them laughed, their eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. It was interesting to see that two boys who had only met a few weeks before had become inseparable, bonded by their common appreciation of pure sadism. This was their world after all. They had been offered the keys to an easy life and Number 9 was nothing more than a toy for them to play with. It felt so good to see them having so much fun. It really made all the pain worth it. Right?
“Almost ... almost!” Master Kitt said, unable to contain his excitement. He could clearly feel the victory close at hand.
And then it finally happened. One last slap, and Number 9’s world went black. With a sickening thud, he crumpled to the floor, the sock still in his mouth muffling his cries. Master Alec had won the round, and the fag lay there, his body a canvas of red marks.
The straight boys howled with laughter, making silly dancing moves to celebrate the blond god’s victory.
“Looks like I win,” Master Alec declared, a smug grin lighting his handsome features.
“Do oveeeeeer!!!” Master Kitt whined, not ready for the fun to end.
Master Alec stepped closer and brought his foot down on Number 9’s face. “Can you believe how fucking lucky you are, fag? Got the best life eveeeeer!!!! Hahaha!!” he taunted, his voice so thick with humiliating disdain it was impressive.
The fag nodded vigorously, as his god’s foot smell hooked its claws into his fucked up brain. Such pleasure. And yet he was crying more and more. Again, he was theirs to use, to hurt, to humiliate. He knew that and he reveled in it. But still...
“Yeah, the homo’s fucking loving every second of this shit,” Master Kitt sneered, his own foot coming down hard on Number 9’s cheek. “Aren’t you, you stupid fuck!?” Both their feet on his face, it was more than a lowly faggot deserved. He started nodding immediately and with so much eagerness it was scary. They cracked up again. “Beyond pathetic! Hahaha!”
The masters continued their relentless assault, their bare feet slapping against the fag’s face now with a sickening rhythm. The fag’s body writhed in pain, but he obviously never attempted to fight back because Master Kitt was right, he was indeed loving every second of it, as he should have. This was his place, at the mercy of his straight gods. It was all he lived for. He knew that, they knew that.
“You’re ... nothing ... but a ... fucking ... faggot!” Master Alec spat, his foot connecting with Number 9’s nose again and again, punctuating every single word. “A useless, worthless piece of shit.” he kicked him hard right in the balls and fag doubled over.
He could hear them cracking up again. His gods. How could he be so lucky and feel so much pain at the same time? How? How ungrateful was he to even think in such a manner?
“Hey! Get up, you fucking wimp,” Master Alec barked as he nudged him with his foot. “You think that’s enough?”
Number 9 managed to pull himself to his hands and knees, his vision swimming. He was here to serve, to take whatever they dished out. It was the only purpose his fag life really had so did he even have a choice?
Master Kitt grabbed Number 9 by his hair and yanked him back to his knees. “Looks like you’re still breathing,” he sneered. “Guess we’re not done with you yet, faggot.”
The gods looked at each other and grinned, the thrill of their power over such a weak subhuman creature pulsing through their veins.
“Best kick wins?” Master Kitt suggested.
“You got it!” Master Alec replied.
“Face or balls?” asked Master Kitt.
“Mmmm ... let’s ask the fag!” snickered Master Alec.
“Hahaha!! Great idea!!” cackled Master Kitt “Hey, queer! Where do you wanna be kicked? Face or balls?” He sounded so chipper.
The fag kept crying and moaning. So much pleasure and so much pain, cruelly connected, cruelly balanced. Such a sad existence from someone’s point of view but it was just another very normal afternoon in the house of Pi Kappa Alpha, for both the gods and the fag. Four more days till the end of the taming.
“Hahaha! That was a good one, fag!” cackled Master Justin and Number 5 felt his heart instantly fill with joy.
“Bro, shut up! That didn’t even crack the top 20!! Lame!!” Master Zach whined in a cute, childish way. Master Scott was laughing too.
The three straight gods were playing a game they seemed to enjoy a whole lot. They were chilling in Master Justin’s room, two of them in comfy armchairs and one on the bed. They were facing each other like the tips of a triangular star. Number 5 was on all fours, his eyes glazed with adoration as he licked Master Justin’s toes devotedly. He was salivating like a wild animal as his tongue danced over the arches, savoring the musky scent of power that clung to the salty skin of his straight god. The fag drug in his body was doing its job and the slave was feeling elated. Master Justin’s perfect feet were lazily resting on Number 9’s back, who was licking Master Scott’s feet which were resting on Number 12’s back. This one, in turn, was licking Master Zach’s feet which were resting on Number 5’s own back. It was a foot-licking circle that Number 5 was absolutely loving.
Now the game was pretty simple. Each slave was to try and make the Master whose feet he was licking win by coming up with the best reasons why straight gods are immensely superior to foot-licking faggots like them. If the fag’s reason was good enough, the fag was lucky enough to receive their straight god’s spit directly into his mouth. First faggot to remain silent for more than ten seconds loses the game and wins a whole week of doormat duty in the entrance hall of the frat. Not exactly a walk in the park.
“Hey! Let’s see your fag do better, then!” Said Master Justin. leaning forward, ready to give his slave his reward. Number 5 immediately opened his watering mouth with his tongue hanging out. He welcomed Master Justin’s spit like a drop of nectar in the desert. It was like a fix he desperately needed.
“You bet!” snickered Master Zach “C’mon, fag! I’ll let you lick my ass tonight when I get back from my gig, if you deliver! You know how fucking sweaty I get when I play!!”
Number 12’s eyes lit up as he paused from his task, his mouth leaving a wet trail on Master Zach’s foot. “You are real men, Sir! Being straight means you don’t have to hide who you are and you get to be proud of your sexuality.” He paused, swallowed, and then added, “We’re just worthless faggots who need to stay in the closet, because we’re ashamed and deserve to be bullied and used in any possible way simply because we were born inferior.”
“Now that’s what I’m talking about!!” exclaimed Master Zach, “In your face Justin!” the three straight gods cackled.
“Yeah, whatever, bro!” replied Master Justin. Number 5 was already thinking about his next reason. He had to be the best, the absolute best at it. He couldn’t fuck it up, not anymore. His god had to win, even though it was a meaningless game, an amusing way to pass the time.
“I’m telling you guys, this ass thing works every fucking time! This little piggy literally can’t get enough! Hehe!” cackled Master Zach “Am I right, faggot?”
“Yessshhir!!!” Number 12 said expectantly, his mouth open, his tongue out, like the mutt he was. It was hard to stop licking their god’s feet, really hard but the thought of receiving their spit was a thrill Number 5 could totally relate to. Master Zach loudly hocked up a loogie before spitting down Number 12’s throat. The three masters cackled some more. The amusement in their gorgeous faces was to die for.
It was Master Scott’s slave’s turn, now. The newcomer, the one who’d totally been shamelessly out and proud not two months before. Number 9.
“Alright, fag, your turn! Make me proud!” Master Scott smirked, looking down at his slave who was clearly racking his brain.
“Well ... you can have real friends,” Number 9 said, his voice eager as fuck. “Friends who won’t betray you because you’re not a dirty fag.”
The trio of straight teenage gods laughed, their mirth an arousing thrill down Number 5’s spine. “Yeah,” Master Scott said, “Friends who don’t suck dick behind everyone’s back.”
“Yes! And ... and family,” Number 9 added with that know-it-all attitude of his. “Families that don’t throw you out because you’re not normal ... because you’re a freak...”
“Nice one!” said Master Justin “Good job, newbie!” he continued high-fiving Master Scott “You turned him into a real fag-doormat! Way to go!” The three straight gods guffawed some more.
Number 5’s hatred towards Number 9 was now palpable.
“Hey, Justin, I think your fag wants to murder pink hair, look at ‘im!” Master Zach quipped and the other two straight gods turned to look at him. He felt shame.
“That true, bitch?” sneered Master Justin “You wanna murder pink hair just cause he came up with a better reason than you?”
Number 5 felt his cheeks burn with shame.
“Y ... Yes Sir...” he said and the three straight boys cracked up “ but ... but ... I have a really good one, Sir! Please let me say it...” the fag begged.
“Hahaha! Alright, go ‘head, bitch!” Said Master Justin.
“Well, Sir...” began Number 5, his voice a desperate whine, “Straight gods can impregnate women, continuing the human race, while we’re not even worthy of being your urinals...” he was going all the way this time “Yet, you straight gods are so immensely generous to use us anyways!” its heart was pounding in its chest.
The three straight boys threw their heads back and laughed. Master Justin was holding his stomach, Master Zach was hitting the armrest of his armchair, Master Scott was shaking his head in pure, unhinged amusement.
“Can’t argue with that!” cackled the godly freshman.
“Good faggot!” Master Justin sneered, slapping Number 5’f face with his foot, his cackling still echoing through the room “You’re done pulling punches, aren’t you? Hahaha!”
Number 5 felt so stupidly proud of himself.
“Careful, bro!” cackled Master Zach “Someone might try to get rid of your fag, haha!”
“Yeah, we might have mashed this sissy’s balls but he’ll still totally cut a bitch for me, hahaha!” said Master Justin “Right faggot?”
“Yesssshhhir!” Number 5 replied promptly while its tongue was lapping hungrily at its Master’s soles.
“Fuck no! I need the little fucker. I wanna win that prize everybody’s talking about!” said Master Scott “Speaking of which, bro, how much dough are we talking about here?” he asked Master Justin who was generously spitting directly into Number 5’s grateful throat. The fag moaned a respectful ‘thank you’.
The handsome jock completely ignored the fag and frowned at Master Scott’s question, thinking back.
“Dude, I honestly can’t remember. Can’t have been that much, though. I think I blew it all in like a month.” Master Justin shrugged.
“Yeah, maybe for you, cause you’re fucking made of money!” Master Scott said.
“Yeah, exactly!” Master Zach chimed in. “You fucking drive a Porsche, dude!”
“What? For real?!” exclaimed Scott “Fuck you, bro!” Master Scott threw a bag of chips at him, laughing.
“Hey! Not my fault my parents are loaded!”
They were the epitome of straight masculinity, three alpha gods without a care in the world. That said it all, really. They were gods, no questions about it and fags were born to serve them, there was no question about it. Number 5 took a second to appreciate how lucky he had been to end up there. There was nobody happier than he was, how could there be? Nothing compared to the thrill he felt every single waking moment of his inferior life, spending its time at their godly feet.
“You know, what?” Master Zach said suddenly “You two should totally gun for Cameron and Noah’s spots!” His tone was nonchalant as usual but the other two looked at him suddenly more focused. Master Zach shrugged, “Well, this is their last year and we need a new prez and VP.”
“Yeah, right! Like it’s easy!” Said Master Scott.
“Not saying it is...” shrugged Master Zach “ ... but it kinda makes sense, if you think about it. I mean, everyone loves golden boy here...” the Master rolled his eyes in amused exasperation “ ... and that pink-haired faggot of yours is racking up like a million points for you lately!”
“That’s actually true, bro! We’re not supposed to tell you this but you’re gonna get noticed at the ceremony, for sure!” Said Master Justin.
Master Scott had an extremely satisfied smirk on his handsome face.
“Well, that’s all good but c’mon, guys, I’m a freshman! You and Jus make more sense!” the straight jock said to Master Zach.
“Hard pass!” Master Zach snorted “All that fucking responsibility? Noooooo, thank you!”
The boys chuckled.
“Yeah, bro! Pot head here has like zero interest in that kinda stuff.” said Master Justin “He might have a point, though...” he continued, a sly smirk on his face.
Master Scott shook his head in amused disbelief “You guys are crazy!” he said to his friends “How would that even work?”
Master Justin’s smirk was even more pronounced now. He sure had some kinda plan in his brilliant mind. Number 5 kept licking his soles like its life depended on it, well aware that it was witnessing something important.
Three more days till the end of the Taming.
“You mean all of our stuff?” a burly sophomore asked Cameron with an amused expression.
“Yep, you heard me!” replied the Golden Panther team captain “Cleats, clothes, underwear, all of it. Just leave it here and you’ll find it all nice and clean outside your dorm room by 9 pm tonight.”
Scott frowned slightly as he chuckled and all the other boys followed suit. He figured they all knew Cameron was the president of that ‘weird frat’ and he guessed this wasn’t exactly the first time the whole team had to witness some poor freshmen having to prove themselves worthy of being a ‘brother’. Scott could tell they all found it extremely entertaining, of course, probably because they were not the ones doing the chores. He also wondered how many of them would still find it amusing, knowing the whole truth.
“Wasn’t pledge week like two months ago?” snickered the same boy.
“Was it? Oopsy...” quipped Cameron, smirking evilly and everybody laughed.
“What are you doing?” Scott murmured sidaways, highly entertained.