The SUV sat across the street from the fraternity house, its occupants watching the open door of the house as the party spilled out onto the lawn. They talked quietly among themselves as they waited and watched.
"What about that one? He looks pretty drunk."
"Too scrawny," the woman answered. "He's got a neck like a chicken."
Silence fell a moment, then the woman laughed. "Oh, she's drunk. A date-rape candidate if I ever saw one."
"What about the guy with her," the man said. "The blond."
"Not drunk enough." She watched and she waited. Patience would pay off, she was sure. She would find the perfect candidate. The perfect boy-toy.
"There's three of them coming out to puke in the bushes," the man said.
"Fat buns, no buns, and not bad." She leaned forward, wanting to see what Not Bad looked like right side up. She hated the loose clothing styles so fashionable these days. She couldn't get a sense of a man's body in them.
Not Bad straightened up and leaned feebly against the column of the front porch. His friends, Fat and No Buns, turned to go back inside, but Not Bad waved them off and walked wobble-legged down to the lawn. Another point in his favor. She held her hand out and the man put a pair of binoculars in it. She focused them on the fratboy.
He had short cropped black hair and a little goatee on his chin. He had a neck, and it wasn't scrawny. She couldn't tell much else about him. He staggered and fell, then crawled back to his feet, clinging to a tree trunk. He was plenty drunk. He was in the shadows, and he was not bad.
"That's the one. Under the tree with the little beard." She pointed.
"Yes, ma'am." The man got out of the SUV and crossed the street.
***
Troy hugged the tree, wondering if he was too drunk to walk back to the house. He thought the fresh air would help clear his head, but he felt dizzier than before. He was getting too old for these 'drink till you puke' parties. He would be twenty next week. He didn't want to puke. He wanted girls. There were girls at the party. He could get one of them probably. Probably after a bunch of other guys had her, but still--
"Hey, bro," a deep voice spoke from someplace down by the street.
Troy looked around. Nobody near him--oh yeah there was. A guy stood on the sidewalk past the tree.
"How ya feelin', guy?" the guy said.
"Not too punk." Troy straightened up. "Looking for girls."
"Yeah?" The guy came closer. Damn, he was big. Six-five, easy.
"Yeah. You seen any? Drunk. Sober." Troy thought, forcing his brain to function. "Hell, I'll even take ugly, I'm so horny."
"Buff guy like you? No way. You got babes hangin' all over you."
Troy looked. "Where?" Whoa. He turned his head too quick and got dizzy all over again.
The guy laughed. "Across the street. There's a real hot mama across the street."
"Yeah? Let's go." Troy staggered toward the street. The guy caught Troy's arm when he missed the curb, and kept him from falling on his ass. "Hey, thanks, man." Troy threw an arm around the guy. "I owe you one. I'm really drunk. You saved my life."
The guy laughed again. "Any time." He led Troy to a big, dark SUV and opened the rear doors. "Crawl in. You can rest on the drive." The guy patted the cargo area.
"We're going to find women?"
The guy grinned. "You bet. I know just where to find you a woman."
"Cool." Troy couldn't quite get his knee high enough off the ground to get in, until the big guy planted a hand on Troy's butt and shoved. The hatch shut and Troy laid his head down on the folded blanket. He'd just rest up.
"Problems?" The woman asked when the man got into the passenger seat.
"He wants to find a woman. No trouble at all."
A loud snore reverberated from the back cargo area. The woman smiled, a smile that sent a cold chill down the man's back, straight to his throbbing cock.
***
Troy was in Hangover Land. He recognized the territory before he ever tried opening his eyes, which he figured could wait a while. His mouth tasted like the same cat that shed fur in his mouth had pissed in it. His head was doing that sledgehammer thing, and he wanted to puke. That meant he needed to turn over. He learned a long time ago that spewing while you were on your back was a Very Bad Thing. If he could roll over and puke, maybe then he could open his eyes.
He gathered his strength. This took a long time. Good thing it was Saturday. He had plenty of time. It was Saturday, wasn't it? Oh well, didn't matter. He rolled.
Correction. He tried to roll. His head came off the pillow, but he couldn't--he was tied down somehow. What the hell?
His eyes flew open. Dim light, so it didn't hurt, but his vision was still too bleary from all the booze to see good. He could feel his hands fastened down by his sides to the bed where he lay, his feet fastened down too. Ohgodohgodohgod, what happened to his pants? Where the hell were his pants?
He was bare-ass naked from the waist down. No, he still had on socks. Ohshitohshit, he was wearing a T-shirt and socks and nothing in between, with his dick hanging out in the cold. What in hell was happening here? What didn't he remember? How in hell had he wound up here? The last thing he remembered was dancing with that drunk girl Whatsername at the party.
"I see you're awake." A deep voice rumbled from the shadows of whatever dark place this was. Troy's naked balls drew up in terror.
The body belonging to the voice stepped into the dim light centered over the narrow bed where Troy lay, and Troy's balls tried to crawl back inside him. The man was huge, massively built, and wearing a "Man in the Iron Mask" thing made of black leather that was held on with straps over a shaved-bald head. He wore a silver studded collar and a leather harness that vanished into a pair of black pants. He had a nipple ring.
Troy reared up against the ties and puked over the side of the cot into a bucket that was set on the floor waiting for him to puke into it. He emptied his stomach and dry-heaved another minute. "Oh God," he moaned.
"God won't help you now," the man said. He picked up the bucket and walked back into the shadows. Troy heard the sound of a door opening, but couldn't see any light, anything at all through the door. Then the door closed.
He was alone in a dark room with a dim light shining down on him. Shining on him where he lay tied to a cot wearing only his T-shirt and a pair of socks, with his dick and his ass hanging out as naked as the day he was born. Meanwhile, some huge, shaved-head guy in leather with a pierced nipple carried puke buckets. Ohgodohgod, that probably meant he wasn't the boss. And if he wasn't the boss...
Oh shitfuck.
Hunting the Wild Fratboy �Shannon Stirling 2000- 2007
Reproduction or distribution by
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work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents, either are the
product of the author's imagination
or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual person, living or dead,
events, or locales is entirely coincidental
'FRATBOY' CONTINUES IN THE MEMBERS SECTION WITH 12 CHAPTERS OF DEPRAVITY AND MALES IN SLAVERY!
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