Sorority Male Slave Auction
Early in October, the Phi Delta sorority hosted an “auction” of young male freshmen who were pledging a nearby fraternity. Phi Delta—the Greek letters for FD, or Female Domination—was devoted to young women who enjoyed inflicting sadistic, erotic v******e on men. And the fraternity pledges, for the most part, were eager to show they were tough enough to survive a night of sexual torture so they could join a prized college fraternity. So it was a “win-win” situation for the sorority and the fraternity.
Every year, the auction began with a special “whipping boy” prelude. The first lucky young man wouldn’t actually have to endure the indignity of being auctioned off. Instead, he’d be tied up and whipped by every one of the 20 women who attended the auction. Once each one of them had given him 10 lashes with a knotted leather whip, he’d automatically be accepted into the fraternity. That was a total of 200 strokes. The real fun in the whipping was to see how soon the victim’s back would start to bleed.
So, while the rest of his friends clothed only in their jockey shorts waited in a room next to the auction stage, Perry stepped out onto the auction stage. 6-feet tall, 180 pounds, with a trim, muscular physique, Perry was the tight end on the freshman football team.
When the women saw Perry, they began shouting at him.
“Pretty little cock”
“We’ll teach you what your balls are for.”
“I can’t wait to see you bleed.”
Two women immediately came forward and grabbed Perry’s arms. They attached leather cuffs to his wrists and fastened the cuffs to a rope that stretched upwards to pulleys on wooden beams which braced and supported the ceiling of the sorority house. Working quickly, the women then secured a spreader bar between Perry’s legs so he couldn’t close his legs. This made Perry feel very vulnerable. For the 200 hundred stokes of the whipping, Perry would be a handsome, helpless target for the women’s pent-up sexual rage.
Then, the actual whipping began. The sorority s****rs had picked numbers from a hat to see who would go first. Each of them would get to lash the bound male victim as hard as she wished, but only for ten strokes. So the women had to make the strokes count. The young woman lucky enough to administer the actual whip strokes that made Perry first start to bleed, would be declared the “Princess of Pain,” and would get to choose any of the remaining men to be her personal slave victim for the night. She wouldn’t have to bid or pay any money. She got her male sex slave for free.
When the first girl started whipping Perry, everyone cheered.
“Show us how much you can take, little boy!” shouted one woman.
“Whip him hard,” encouraged another.
“Make him bleed!”
The excited young woman delivered hard overhand strokes that streaked from Perry’s naked right shoulder down his back. After her ten strokes, his back was a little red.
Then it was the next girl’s turn to use the whip. But the first girl got to go around to Perry’s front and was permitted by tradition to slap his chest, pinch and twist his nipples, or rough up his cock and balls a bit. So from then on, Perry was actually being beaten by two women at the same time. By long-standing agreement among the sorority s****rs, the whipping of the victim’s back was to take priority, and the girls were honor-bound not to beat the victim’s chest or cock and balls so badly, that it interfered with the whipping. Nevertheless, it was a harsh and exhausting ordeal for Perry. He would wince as the hard, knotted leather whip struck his back, and then recoil as another young woman’s hands slapped his cock hard enough to make it bounce from side to side against his thighs.
By the time the fifth woman had finished whipping him, Perry’s back was very red. Although he tried to be stoic and keep quiet, inarticulate groans and cries began to escape from his mouth.
“Take it, sissy,” cried one of the spectators.
“We’re going to hurt you real bad.”
“Soon, you’ll be begging for mercy.”
The women enjoyed hearing Perry gasp and grunt each time he was struck. And from the constant slapping and pinching on his chest, Perry’s front was almost as red as his back. His cock, swollen red and even purple, also bore the signs of the women’s abuse.
After one hundred strokes, Perry’s back was a mixture of bright red and purple splotches. Every stroke of the knotted lash burned into his back. With his arms bound over his head and his legs spread apart on the floor, Perry twisted and writhed as the torture continued.
“When is he going to bleed?”
“Hit him harder.”
When the sixteenth woman took up the whip, the women knew they were close to the special moment. Instead of slapping the full weight of the knotted whip against Perry’s ruined back, she stepped back a bit and concentrated on making the knots sharply slice into his swollen flesh. The strategy worked. On the 167th stroke, the woman stopped, stepped up close to Perry and announced triumphantly.
“This fucking bastard is bleeding!
Several other spectators rushed up to inspect her work. True enough, a thin bead of bl**d appeared on one of the diagonal stripes down Perry’s back.
“Now really go after him.”
“Make him suffer.”
“Beat the shit out of him.”
“Whip until he cries.”
The lucky “Princess of Pain” delivered three more devastating lashes to Perry’s back. These lashes produced even more bleeding. Then she handed off the whip to the next girl and moved around to Perry’s chest.
“I made you bleed, didn’t I?” she taunted him. “You’ll be a bl**dy mess by the time the next three girls get done with you.” She dug her fingernails into his nipples and twisted them furiously, as if she wanted his nipples to bleed, too.
Then the “Princess” slapped his cock around with both her hands. It was like she was taking a victory lap. She was the winner. She was the one who had made the victim bleed.
“You deserved to bleed,” the Princess said to him.
The next whipper had the privilege of “improving” upon the Princess’ work. Trying to make the cuts in Perry’s back deeper and more painful, she used backhand strokes so that the knotted whip ends crossed the other diagonal stripes and made a vicious X pattern in Perry’s back.
The 17th woman didn’t get to make Perry bleed. But she did get to make him scream. Perry’s bound, naked body shook in pitiful spasms each time she hit him with the knotted whip. By the time she delivered her 180th stroke, Perry was crying and sobbing and begging them to stop.
The women didn’t pay any attention to him.
They were mentally imagining how next twenty strokes were going to be very painful for the bound young man. While the 18th woman savagely tore at his back, the 17th woman worked on his chest.
“Don’t give up,” she said. “We want you to stay conscious for all 200 strokes.”
“Show a little pride. You can take 20 more lashes.”
By the 190th stroke, Perry actually didn’t feel the pain any more. Maybe he endured the pain, but it didn’t matter to him anymore. He felt the rough, shocking impact of the knotted leather on his back, his body recoiled from the f***e of the blow, but the actual pain was gone. He was hit again and again. He could almost imagine the painful red cuts and grooves the knotted leather was making in his back. His powers of resistance were gone. The sorority whipping had reduced him to a pathetic, nearly senseless victim. It seemed as if the whole purpose of his life and been changed into this—hanging there naked in front of twenty sadistic women while they whipped him until his back was bl**dy.
The assembled sorority s****rs cheered each of the final ten strokes. As the whip struck him, Perry’s shackled feet dragged the metal spreader bar across the floor, making a desperate, grating sound. It was the sound of a defeated man.
The whip struck him again. He was no longer crying from outrage or anger. Now, he was crying from sheer hopeless exhaustion. The women had beaten him physically and mentally. Tears trickled down his face, sweat ran down his body, and bl**d appeared in tiny pools all over his ravaged back and then it dripped down to his ass.
When the 200th stroke was completed, the women were strangely quiet. Gasping and sobbing, Perry hung there like a hunted a****l that had been skinned alive. The women enjoyed seeing him hang there like that. Naked, helpless, bleeding. In a couple of minutes, they would begin bidding on the 20 men who were locked in the next room. Each of the women planned to deliver an equally savage experience for the young men they bought. Whipping was one good way to teach a man his proper role in life. But there were many other ways of punishing a naked man. The sorority s****rs planned to devote this night to teaching the young men to accept pain.
So Perry’s whipping served its intended purpose.
Two women released Perry’s ankles from the spreader bar. Two other women untied his hands. And the four women helped him walk to the door where the rest of the men waited for their turn at the slave action.
The door opened and they carried Perry inside. When the other men saw him, they were scared.
“Here’s your friend,” one of the women said, as they dumped Perry on the floor.
“Here’s some towels and a first aid kit.”
“Take care of him.”
“Which of you lucky young men is next on the auction block?”