Chapter 32: Sorority Property
The crawl space behind the water heater was a tomb of dust and damp concrete. Chris lost track of time in the dog cage, his body a tapestry of aches. The phantom burn of the hair dryer. The searing shock of ice water. The dried, tacky residue of lotion on his skin. He drifted in and out of a thin, unsatisfying sleep, his mind playing the screams back on a loop.
The clang of the basement door startled him awake. Bright, artificial light flooded down the stairs. Voices—more than before. Laughter.
Noa descended first, a clipboard in her hand. Behind her came Annika, Elia, Nicola, Cookie, Julika, and two new faces: a lean girl with a severe, short haircut and a skeptical gaze, and another whom he recognized from the party—Anna, Conzi’s friend. The basement was suddenly crowded, charged with a different energy. This was no longer a private torture session; it was an event.
“Rise and shine, property,” Noa called, her voice echoing. She unlocked the dog cage. “We’ve formalized things. You’ve got a week with us. We can’t all be down here at once, so we made a schedule. Fair’s fair.”
Annika bounced on the balls of her feet. “It’s a fuck toy schedule! Everyone gets a thirty-minute slot to use you however they want. The rest of us watch and vote. You get a performance score. Fail, and there are consequences. Pass, and… well, you still don’t get to cum.”
Noa tapped the clipboard. “We’re live-streaming the feed to Sam, too. She’s got the final vote, but she’s letting us run the show. First slot is in five minutes. Julika, you’re up.”
The tall blonde looked nervous, her fingers twisting together. But her eyes, when they met Chris’s, held a glint of something dark and eager. The group dragged the armchair to the center of the room. They didn’t cuff him to it. Instead, Noa produced a longer chain, connecting the one already on his cage to a heavy ring bolted to the floor near the chair’s leg. It gave him about three feet of movement. A leash, not a bind.
“Rules,” Anna said, her voice crisp. “You do exactly what the slot-holder says. You speak only to beg or answer direct questions. You come when they tell you to, if they tell you to. Understood?”
He nodded, his throat too dry for words.
“Good. We’re starting now.”
Noa turned on the cracked TV mounted on the wall. It flickered to life, showing a grainy, high-angle shot of the basement—him, the chair, the ring of girls settling onto couches and stools they’d brought down. A red “LIVE” icon blinked in the corner. A small chat box scrolled on the side, comments popping up too fast to read. Samantha’s username was pinned at the top.
Julika stepped into the circle. The others whistled and laughed. “Go on, Jules! Don’t be shy now!”
She took a deep breath, her innocence shedding like a skin. “On your knees,” she said, her German accent thicker with command.
He knelt before the chair. She sat, spreading her legs. She wore a pale blue sundress. She hooked her thumbs into the sides of her cotton underwear and slid them down, kicking them aside.
“Lick,” she said. “Make it good. I’ve been waiting.”
Her cunt was clean-shaven, pink and swollen. He leaned in, his tongue making its first tentative stroke. The taste was mild, clean. He found her clit, circling it. She let out a soft sigh.
“Harder,” she murmured. Then, to the room: “He’s timid.”
“Use him, Julika!” Cookie yelled. “He’s not your boyfriend!”
Emboldened, Julika’s hand snapped to the back of his head. Her fingers tangled in his hair and yanked him forward, mashing his mouth against her. “Eat it, you fucking desperate animal. Eat my pussy like it’s the last meal you’ll ever get.”
He dove in, his tongue plunging inside her, then lapping broad, rough strokes over her clit. She began to rock against his face, her hips pistoning. The shy girl was gone, replaced by a greedy, demanding force. She grunted, her thighs clamping around his ears.
“Yes, right there, you fucking tongue-slut,” she moaned, her head thrown back. The room cheered. On the TV screen, he could see the back of his own head, buried in her lap.
Julika came suddenly, with a sharp cry, her body arching. She ground herself against his mouth through the shuddering waves, then pushed him away, breathless. A string of saliva and her wetness connected his lips to her glistening flesh.
She looked at the clock on the wall. “Fifteen minutes left.” She stood up, her dress falling back into place. “Now, I want to see you fuck yourself. On the chair.”
Confused, he looked at her.
“The chair. The arm. Hump it. Pretend it’s a pussy. Show us how pathetic you are.”
The chain allowed him to climb onto the plush armchair. He positioned himself kneeling over one of its thick, upholstered arms. The cold metal of the cage pressed against the fabric. He began to move his hips, simulating a shallow, useless thrusting.
The girls howled with laughter. “Look at him! He’s trying to fuck the furniture!”
“Faster!” Julika commanded. “Make it convincing. Imagine it’s my tight little cunt you’re tearing up.”
He obeyed, humping the chair arm with increasing desperation, the absurdity of the act burning hotter than any humiliation before. The metal cage rubbed, providing no friction, no relief, only a dull ache.
“Time!” Noa called. “Votes for Julika’s slot?”
She passed around the clipboard. Each girl marked a score. Noa tallied. “Average score: eight out of ten. Points deducted for initial hesitation. Good slot, Julika.”
Julika smiled, a blush returning to her cheeks, as if she’d just presented a well-received science project. “Thank you.”
“Next slot in ten,” Annika announced. “Cookie, you’re on deck. Prep him.”
In the interim, they made him stand facing the wall. Anna walked over with a spray bottle of something that smelled sharply of vinegar and wiped his face clean with a rough cloth. “Can’t have you tasting one girl on the next,” she said flatly. “It’s unsanitary.”
Cookie’s slot was different from the start. She marched him to the center of the room and made him stand. She stood behind him, her incredible ass pressing into his back. She reached around, her hands groping his chest, his stomach, then cupping the metal cage. She squeezed.
“This is what all the fuss is about?” she laughed into his ear. “This little trapped thing? I wanna see the monster, Noa.”
Noa shook her head. “Sam’s rules. Cage stays on unless she says otherwise. Be creative.”
Cookie pouted, then brightened. “Fine. Then you’re going to worship what you can’t have.”
She turned him around, then bent over, gripping her ankles. Her shorts stretched obscenely over the monumental curve of her ass. “This,” she said, looking back at him, “is a real asset. Your pathetic dick could never handle it. But your face can. Get in there. Smother yourself. And I want you to tell me how much better it is than any pussy you’ve ever had.”
He dropped to his knees. The sheer mass of her was intimidating. He pressed his face into the denim-covered cleavage of her buttocks. The heat was immense.
“Lick the fabric. Make it wet.”
He lapped at the rough material. Cookie groaned, pushing back against him. “Use your nose, too. Get it all up in there, you fucking pervert.”
He nuzzled, licked, his world reduced to the scent of laundry detergent and the overwhelming, musky aroma of her. After a minute, she stood, unbuckled her shorts, and let them fall. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath.
Her bare ass was a breathtaking landscape of pale, soft flesh. “Now. Properly.”
He needed no further instruction. He buried his face between her cheeks, his tongue seeking out her asshole first, circling the tight pucker. She jerked. “Oh, fuck, yeah. That’s the spot. Eat my ass, you desperate pig. Clean it.”
He obeyed, lapping and probing as she began to sway. Then he slid his tongue down to her pussy from behind, delving into her wetness. She was dripping.
“Both,” she demanded. “Switch between them. Don’t stop.”
He alternated, his jaw aching, his tongue working her asshole then dipping into her slick cunt. The degradation was acute, and yet his caged cock strained until it felt like the steel would bend. The girls watched, some biting their lips, others sipping from red solo cups.
Cookie came with a guttural shout, bucking against his face. “Yes! Fuck! Right there!”
When she stepped away, she was gleaming with his saliva. She looked at the clock. “Ten minutes left. Now, I wanna see that cage hurt.”
She took the spray bottle Anna had used. “This is just water now,” she said. “But it’s cold.”
She aimed the stream directly at the front of the cage, at the sensitive tip of his penis trapped inside. The icy water was a brutal shock after the heat of her body. He flinched, a groan torn from him.
“Hold still,” she ordered, and kept spraying, a continuous, targeted torture. The water beaded and ran down his thighs. The pressure behind his cage became a screaming throb.
“Time!” Noa called.
The voting was quicker this time. “Average score: nine point five. High marks for creativity and audience enjoyment.”
Cookie beamed, pulling her shorts back on. “Told you I had ideas.”
The slots blurred into a marathon of wanton use. Nicola took her turn with bored, clinical precision. She made him lie on his back, then sat on his face, but didn’t move. She just read an article on her phone, ignoring him, while he struggled to breathe and lick at the same time. After twenty minutes of this casual suffocation, she stood, shrugged, and said, “Adequate.” Her vote was a five.
Elia’s slot was a silent, intense affair. She didn’t speak. She simply used a thick, black marker to draw degrading words on his chest and stomach—TOY, EMPTY, SAM’S. Then she carefully, deliberately, sat on the chair and used his tongue until she came, her eyes never leaving his, her tattoos seeming to shift in the low light.
Anna’s turn was a lecture. She made him kneel and listen while she explained the patriarchal tyranny of the male orgasm. “Your suffering is a down payment on historical debt,” she stated, before making him repeat it. Then she forced him to edge his caged cock by rubbing it with a vibrating wand set on low, stopping every ten seconds. It was a precise, merciless form of torture that left him trembling and incoherent.
Finally, as the evening
It was a precise, merciless form of torture that left him trembling and incoherent.
Finally, as the evening light through the high windows died completely, Noa checked her clipboard. “Last scheduled slot of the night. It’s mine.” The other girls, slumped on couches and stretching, perked up with renewed interest. Noa was the wild card.
She didn’t speak at first. She walked to the TV and tapped the screen, expanding the live chat. Samantha’s username flashed. A new message popped up, visible to everyone: `Tell him to look at the camera. I want to see his eyes when you start.`
“You heard her,” Noa said, turning to Chris. “On your feet. Face the lens.”
He stood, his legs rubbery. The red light of the webcam glowed like a cyclops eye above the screen. In its reflection, he saw a hollowed-out man, covered in smeared marker ink and dried fluids.
Noa circled him. “All night, they’ve used parts of you. Your mouth. Your submission. I want the whole canvas.” She stopped in front of him. “And I want you to fucking beg me for it.”
She grabbed the chain connected to his cage and gave it a sharp, upward yank. The metal bit into the base of his cock and scrotum. He hissed, rising onto his toes.
“Annika, bring me the paddle from the chest. The one with the holes.”
Annika scurried off, returning with a heavy wooden paddle. Air holes were drilled in it in a cruel pattern. Noa took it, hefting its weight. She didn’t use it on him. Instead, she sat in the armchair and spread her legs. She was already bare beneath her short skirt.
“Paddle my cunt,” she said, her voice flat. “Hard. Make me wet.”
A confused murmur rippled through the room. Chris stared, unmoving.
“Do it!” she shrieked, the sudden fury making him jump. “Hit my pussy with the wood. I want to feel the sting. Now!”
His hand shook as he took the paddle. He looked at the others. They watched, fascinated. He swung, the wood connecting with her bare labia with a sharp, wet slap.
“Harder, you weak fuck!”
He swung again, putting his shoulder into it. The crack was louder. Noa’s body jolted. A red bloom appeared on her pale skin. She moaned, long and low, her head lolling back. “Again. Same spot.”
He struck a third time. The skin was now visibly inflamed. She was dripping, her wetness slicking the chair. “Good. Now drop it and get your mouth on me. Right on the hurt.”
He fell to his knees, burying his face between her thighs. His tongue sought out the heated, swollen flesh. The taste was different—coppery, angry. He lapped at the reddening skin, then pushed his tongue inside her. She was clenching in rapid, painful-looking pulses.
“Suck my clit. Gently. Fuck, just like that.”
He obeyed, his world narrowing to the thrumming bud under his lips. She grabbed the back of his head, not to force him, but to anchor herself. Her hips started a slow, grinding roll against his mouth. “You see?” she panted, addressing the room but looking at the camera. “He’s a tool. You can hurt yourself with him and he’ll try to fix it. That’s his purpose.”
Her movements grew frantic. She was using his face with a focused, selfish intensity. “I’m gonna come. You swallow every drop. You take it all.”
She climaxed with a series of sharp, barking cries, her thighs vise-tight around his head. He swallowed, the salty-sour flood filling his mouth. She held him there until the last tremor passed, then shoved him back. He knelt, breathing hard, her fluids on his chin.
Noa looked at the clock. Twelve minutes left. She stood, her skirt falling down. She walked to the equipment chest and pulled out a long, thick silicone sleeve. It was flesh-toned and veined. A strap harness dangled from it.
“Cookie, help me.”
Giggling, Cookie helped Noa step into the harness and secure the monstrous fake cock. It jutted out from Noa’s slender frame, ludicrous and threatening. “Bring the lube. The numbing kind.”
Anna handed her a small bottle. Noa squirted a generous amount onto the silicone head, rubbing it in. “This isn’t for me,” she said to Chris. “Turn around. Hands on the chair.”
A cold dread washed through him. He bent over, gripping the armchair. The chain between his legs clinked on the floor.
Noa positioned herself behind him. The cold, lubed head of the strap-on pressed against his asshole. He stiffened.
“Relax,” she mocked, grinding the tip. “It’s smaller than your real dick, I bet. This is what you deserve. A fake cock in your ass while your real one dies in that cage.”
She pushed. The numbing lube was a lie; it did nothing to mitigate the brutal, tearing intrusion. The silicone was unforgiving. He shouted, a raw, ragged sound, as she shoved her hips forward, burying the entire length in one brutal stroke.
“Fuck, he’s tight,” Noa grunted, reveling in it. She began to fuck him with slow, deep, punishing thrusts. Each one jolted his caged cock, sending waves of nauseating stimulation through his trapped nerves. The room erupted in cheers and whistles.
“You like that, you fucking anal whore?” Noa panted, picking up speed. The slap of the harness against his ass was a violent rhythm. “This is the only action this ass is ever gonna get!”
He couldn’t form words. The pain was immense, a full, stretching burn. But beneath it, a terrifying, involuntary pleasure sparked deep in his prostate, a traitorous glow that made his caged erection throb with insane pressure. He was moaning, a continuous, broken sound.
On the screen, the chat was moving impossibly fast. Heart emojis. Fire emojis. `SAM: Good boy.`
Noa saw it. “She says you’re a good boy!” she snarled, hammering into him harder. “Taking a fake dick up your ass like a champ while she’s probably fucking someone real right now!”
The words cut deeper than the silicone. He choked on a sob. The combination of physical violation and psychological evisceration unraveled him. He felt a release building, but it was all wrong, with nowhere to go, a seismic pressure with no outlet.
Noa suddenly stopped, buried to the hilt. She leaned over, her breath hot on his ear. “You wanna cum, don’t you? I can feel your whole body begging for it. But you can’t. You’re plugged up at both ends.”
She pulled out slowly, making him feel every inch. He gasped, empty and raw. She unstrapped the harness, letting the slick, grotesque thing fall to the floor with a wet slap.
“Time,” Annika called, her voice hushed.
Noa, sweating, looked at the clipboard. The scores were unanimous tens. The chat was a blur of approval. She nodded, wiping her brow. She looked at Chris, still bent over, shuddering.
“Get him cleaned up for the overnight. We have a full schedule again tomorrow.”
Annika and Elia approached with wet cloths. They weren’t gentle. As they wiped the lube and sweat from his back and thighs, Annika leaned close. “The midnight vote just closed. The poll for a ruined orgasm tonight failed. Sixty to forty.”
She patted his sore cheek. “No release. Not even a shitty, pathetic ruin. Sleep well.” They led him, stumbling, back to the dog cage behind the water heater. The lock clicked shut.
In the dark, curled on cold metal, the phantom sensation of the strap-on’s invasion lingered. The memory of Samantha’s `Good boy` in the chat burned in his mind. He could still hear the sisters upstairs, their laughter trailing down the stairs like confetti, celebrating a game he would never, ever win.