The Snipe Hunt

 by Shadow Jack

Peter knew there’d be a snipe hunt.  His older brother Paul had told him as much.  “They will make you dress funny for the snipe hunt,” Paul had said.   “It’s an initiation, so of course they want to humiliate you.  But it won’t be so bad.  Follow their instructions to the letter, do whatever they say, and you’ll be fine.   It’ll all be worth it in the end.   Eta Theta Chi is the best damn fraternity at the university, and once you’re accepted, they’ll really take care of you.”

That was what his brother had said, and Peter had taken him at his word.  But when he’d asked his brother what the snipe hunt was, Paul had just smiled, and said it was a surprise.  So Peter had looked it up on the internet.  It seemed snipe hunts were a fairly common form of initiation, and involved sending the newbies out looking for creatures that don’t really exist.  There were apparently numerous variations on the theme, but it was essentially a wild goose chase without any geese.  Peter imagined all the young pledges running around the campus in silly costumes, looking foolish.  Not something to look forward to, but he’d survive.

It had been a little disconcerting when the instructions he’d received from Eta Theta Chi had included shaving himself from the neck down, but he’d done it, meticulously.  He’d been shocked and intrigued at how sensitive the skin of his pubis was when he’d shaved all the hair off, and that had led to… well, anyway, he’d done it.   Why he needed to shave everything for the initiation he couldn’t imagine, but he knew he’d find out soon enough.

There were twenty-one other pledges besides him.  Once they were all in the same room together, Peter began to notice a disturbing physical similarity between them.  Every one of the pledges was just like him.  They were all freshmen, of course, and about 19 or 20 years old.  They were all small in stature and slight of build.  And most pronounced of all, they all had at least a somewhat feminine manner about them.

Peter had always been a bit girly.  He’d been teased and tormented all through school, described as “gay” and “femmy” and called “Fag-boy” and worse by the other kids.  They weren’t wrong, Peter was gay, and he’d sucked a few cocks in high school.  But he’d never gone any farther than that, never had a boyfriend, and he’d never realized that there were other boys like him, boys who looked and acted more like girls, until he found himself in that room with the twenty-one other pledges.

Many of the others looked like they had fully embraced their girliness.  Some were so pretty, he thought they must be taking hormones.  They wore make-up, their hair was longer than boys commonly wore it, and they didn’t try to hide their feminine mannerisms the way Peter did.  He couldn’t help admiring their boldness.

But Peter didn’t know what to make of the fact that all of them were femboys like him.  His brother Paul hadn’t mentioned anything about this.  Was Eta Theta Chi a gay fraternity?  Were all its members gay?  Why wouldn’t Paul have mentioned that?

His ruminations were interrupted when a door opened, and a man called out a name.  “Alex!”

A dark-haired boy got up and nervously approached the door.  He was led into the room beyond, and the door closed.   Five minutes later, the door opened again, and the name “Clive” was called.  One by one, in alphabetical order, each of the pledges was called into the other room.

When Peter’s turn came, he was ushered into a small room with four upperclassmen and a row of plastic bins with clothes in them.  He was told to undress, and as he did they asked him his shoe size.  He told them, and they selected a bin for him.  Into it went his own clothes, and out of it came his initiation costume.   First he had to put on a pair of stockings.  They had rubberized bands at the top that kept them from sliding down his legs.   Then he got a pair of red high-heeled pumps, with Velcro straps that went around his ankles to keep the shoes on.   The heel was fully five inches tall, and when he stood up in them it felt like he was wearing stilts.

Then came a red jacket that zipped up the back.  It had Buster Brown style brass buttons down the front, a high collar and long sleeves.  As they zipped him into it, he looked down at himself, thinking he looked like an old-fashioned bellhop, or perhaps an organ-grinder’s monkey.  But he didn’t notice there were straps attached to the back until the guys who were dressing him folded his arms together at the small of his back and fastened them there with the straps.  Suddenly Peter was helpless, his arms bound together behind him.   He looked around, wide-eyed, but the upperclassmen were straight-faced and businesslike.  Peter was still bare from the waist down, his pale round bottom exposed, his already-small penis shrunken even more in embarrassment.  He looked down into the bin, but there were no more costume pieces.

“Where’s the pants?” he asked.

Two of the upperclassmen chuckled at the question.  A third answered.  “There are no pants.  That’s the whole outfit!  Off you go now!”  He gave Peter a smack on his naked bottom-cheek to send him on his way, while another guy ushered him through the other door.

Peter stumbled and nearly fell, but they caught him and kept him upright until he was through the door.  It closed behind him, and he looked around, feeling frightened and confused.  He was in a huge room, elegantly furnished in an old-world style.  Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, the walls were decorated with dark wood crown molding and wainscoting.  Tall bookcases held hundreds of books, and a vast rug covered most of the hardwood floor.   Peter had never been in a room like this in his life.

The other pledges had been lined up in an orderly row, all their naked butts neatly displayed from Peter’s perspective.  A smiling upperclassman beckoned him over to join the line-up.   Peter walked carefully but awkwardly, managing not to fall over as he tried to get used to walking in the high-heeled shoes.  When he arrived at his designated place in line, he noticed that they were facing a crowd of men.  There must have been at least thirty guys, all casually dressed, lounging on couches and chairs, many standing.  Most of them seemed to be in their upper twenties or thirties, some in their forties.   Only a few of them looked like they were actually still students, upperclassmen to the freshmen pledges.

The row of pledges were lined up for their inspection, and they weren’t shy about looking.  There was a constant hubbub of commentary and laughter from them as they assessed the row of pants-less femboys before them.

Peter had never felt so naked, or so humiliated.  Nothing his brother Paul had said about this initiation had prepared him in any way for this.  He was on display with no pants on, his tiny penis exposed for the consideration of these strangers.  He felt his cheeks burning in embarrassment.

He looked down the line of pledges, and most of them were blushing, fidgeting nervously, their eyes downcast.  All were just as exposed as he was, a row of naked penises of all shapes and sizes, all the more naked since every crotch had been shaved clean.  He noted that most of the penises on display were smaller than average, but that fact didn’t seem to lessen his own embarrassment.   There were a few of the organs in the row that were standing erect, somehow excited by the scrutiny of the older men, and their owners were blushing even redder than the rest.   Peter’s own penis was, if anything, shrinking, his balls drawn up into a tight little sphere behind it.  He was certain he had the smallest penis in the row.

Peter had to stand there a long time, enduring the humiliation of this sordid ritual.  Every five minutes or so another bewildered pledge joined the line-up, until all twenty-two of them were on display.  This was certainly not the initiation ceremony that Peter had been led to expect.   He couldn’t imagine how the snipe hunt was going to play out, when all the pledges had no pants on.  Surely they weren’t expected to go outside and hunt for snipes like this!

Once all the pledges were lined up, the remaining fraternity members joined the crowd, and the fraternity president stepped forward.  “Welcome, pledges!” he said with a smile, his eyes scanning the row of red-faced femboys.  “You have all requested the honor of joining the prestigious order of Eta Theta Chi, the finest and most exclusive fraternity in the state.  Many freshmen applied to join us, but only you twenty-two young lads were chosen, using a system of measure so arcane that I won’t even attempt to explain it to you.”

This brought a roar of laughter from the fraternity members.  Peter looked down the row of fresh-faced femboys, and it occurred to him that maybe the system wasn’t quite so arcane after all.

“You are all about to undergo a final test, something we call the ‘Great Snipe Hunt.’  Based on your performance during this test, our esteemed board of elite fraternity members and alumni will decide which of you will be chosen to join our fraternity.   As you may have heard, the academic support we offer our members is unparalleled, and your association with Eta Theta Chi is very likely to last long after you’ve graduated and moved on, as it has for many you see before you here.”

The president took a stopwatch out of his pocket, and made a show of setting it.   “As tradition dictates,” he said, his smile widening into a grin, “you will be given a one-minute head start.   On my mark…” He punched the button on the stopwatch.  “Go, snipes!   Flee as best you can!”

There was a sudden clatter of high heels as most of the pledges began making their escape.  Some turned and ran, some hobbled, some shuffled, stumbled or wobbled, each according to their degree of skill at wearing high-heeled pumps.  Some, Peter among them, stood looking around in confusion.

“Wait,” said Peter.  “We’re the snipes?”

“Yup,” the president confirmed with a chuckle.  “Better get going!”

Peter turned and headed for the broad archway that led to the rest of the sprawling old mansion that was Eta Theta Chi’s fraternity house, his thoughts whirling.  He was generally agile and light on his feet, but he’d never tried to run with heels on before, and he was a bit wobbly.

In the next room, he saw pledges heading in every direction.  A wide grand staircase on his right led to the second and third floors, and the clattering of heels from above told him that many of the pledges had gone that way.  He began plodding up the steps, leaning against the railing in case he lost his balance.  He wasn’t even to the top of the stairs yet when he heard the president’s voice call out from below.

“That’s it, we’re coming to get you!”

Hurrying, Peter made it to the second floor hallway.  It was wide and long, and had many doors.  Bare-bottomed pledges were clomping around at random looking for hiding places, desperation on their faces.  Some seemed to have a better idea of what was going on than others, so when Peter saw their fear it doubled his own anxiety.  He didn’t know what happened when a snipe got caught, but he’d seen some expressions on some of the hunters’ faces that could only be interpreted as lust.  Considering what the snipes were wearing, or rather, not wearing, he had a growing suspicion.

Peter stumbled down the hall, passing one boy who hobbled even more slowly than he did, and made it to a small door that looked like a linen closet.  Turning his back to it so he could grab the knob with his bound hands, he managed to get it open.  There was a short blonde-haired pledge already inside the cramped space, pressed up against the shelves.

“No room!” said the pledge breathlessly.  “Find another spot!”

Peter bumped the door closed again with his butt and continued down the hall.   He heard the thunder of feet pounding up the stairs, and made it to an open doorway just as the hunters gained the top of the steps.  He backed inside the darkened bedroom, tripped on a rug and fell, fortunately landing on the bed.

Through the open door he could see the slowly-hobbling pledge he’d passed making his wobbling way down the hall.  But as the sound of running feet overtook him he turned to look back, and let out a cry as one of the hunters laughingly grappled with him.  The casually-dressed man pushed his prey to the floor, face-down, and landed on top of him, pinning him in place.  The trapped pledge struggled beneath him, but it was futile.  The man, still laughing with excitement, pushed the pledge’s legs apart, and slipped a hand between his naked buttocks, eliciting a yelp and even more energetic struggling.

While this was going on, half a dozen more hunters ran down the hall past the room Peter was in.  He was hidden only by darkness, and he realized it wouldn’t be long before someone checked this room.  He looked around, and the only possible hiding places he saw were a closet and behind the bed.  It seemed so futile to try to hide from the lustful hunters!  It was a game of hide-and-seek, and of course the hunters knew where all the hiding places were.  He might as well lie down on the bed and wait.  But when he heard another group of them coming down the hall, his fear stirred him to action.

He rose to his feet and moved behind the door just in time, as a snipe-hunter stuck his head into the dark room, glanced around, and then ran on down the hall.  From behind the door, Peter could see through the crack between the door and the frame, and watch the drama playing out in the hallway.  The hunter still had the pledge pinned beneath him, and his hands were busy between the boy’s spread thighs.  After a minute he lifted his jeans-clad hips for a moment, and Peter saw his erect cock, glistening with lube.  He scooted up a few inches, then lowered himself onto the pinned pledge once more, guiding his insertion with one hand.  His hips undulated, and the femboy cried out in pain.  The man only laughed again, and settled more comfortably in place.  His hips began to rock, drawing deep groans from the pinned and penetrated pledge.

As Peter watched in horror and fascination his fellow pledge being sodomized, a man came into his room, flipped on the light, and moved quickly to the closet.  He opened it suddenly, drawing a surprised yelp from inside.  Laughing, he reached into the closet and pulled out a cute dark-haired femboy who’d been hiding there.  The boy struggled briefly, then gave in with a sigh.  The man pressed him against the wall, holding him there easily with one hand while his other hand explored between the femboy’s thighs.   The boy gasped, then after a few moments began to whimper helplessly.  Peter watched through the crack as the man teased the femboy’s cock to rigidity.  In less than a minute the captured pledge was panting with desire.  The man laughed at him, told him he was ‘easy,’ and then he grasped him firmly by his erection and led him out of the room.

Peter was alone in the room again, unless there was another pledge hiding behind the bed.  Outside the room he could hear the sounds of pursuit, the victorious cries of capture, and the agonized groans of the vanquished.  The pledge that was being fucked in the hallway right outside his room was becoming more vocal as the fucking became more energetic.

Peter considered seeking a better hiding place, but he knew the moment he left this room he’d be spotted and run down.  Then there was a scuffling sound and a clatter of high heels right outside, and someone moved into the room.  Peter heard a body flop onto the bed, then a creak as another one joined it.   There was a rustling of fabric, more creaks from the bedsprings, the sounds of a brief struggle.  There was a surprised yelp, followed by a series of whimpers.  Heavy breathing, another creak, more whimpers.  A soft laugh.

Peter couldn’t resist peeking around the door to see what was happening only a few feet away.  A red-jacketed femboy was pinned on his back by a much larger man, his legs drawn up and pinned under the man’s arms while the man lubed up his impressively large cock.   Peter recognized the tousled blonde hair of the pledge who had been hiding in the linen closet.  The femboy tossed his head from side to side, whimpering, as his captor lowered himself into position.  The boy paused, eyes widening as he spotted Peter hiding behind the door, but a moment later the man began pushing his cock into him, and the boy’s face contorted as he cried out in pain.

Peter watched, riveted, as the blonde femboy arched and squirmed, groaning helplessly as the cock sank deeper into him.  His legs were folded more tightly against his shoulders as the man’s weight settled on top of him, his slender calves hooked over the man’s shoulders, his bright red pumps kicking uselessly in the air as the last inch of cock disappearing inside him.  The femboy was pinned and skewered, and too breathless to do more than gasp for air again and again.  The man wrapped his muscular arms around the small femboy, planting his knees for better leverage and settling in for a good solid fucking.

Peter couldn’t look away as the man began to thrust, the helpless femboy emitting desperate, breathless cries with each surge of the man’s hips.  He watched as the man set his rhythm, each stroke pressing his cock in as far as it could go.  The blonde femboy was folded and pinned so tightly there was nothing he could do but take it, the only movement he was capable of was to toss his blonde-curled head from side to side.

It went on like that for many long minutes, a steady, devastating in-out, in-out, in-out.  Several times, snipe-hunters came to the door, saw the room was being used, and moved on.  Finally the rhythm was broken, the man pausing, his cock buried deep inside the boy.

“Beg me to fuck you harder,” said the man in a harsh whisper.

“No…” whimpered the femboy.

“Do it,” the man demanded.  “I want to hear you beg.”

“I don’t want you to fuck me harder,” said the femboy in a pathetic, whining voice.

“I think you do,” said the man.  “Come on, beg me.”

“I-I can’t…”

“Yes you can.  Just say the words.”

There was a long pause, then; “Please fuck me harder,” said the boy softly.

“Say it better,” said the man.  “Say it with feeling.  Like you mean it.  Come on!”

“P-please, fuck me harder,” said the femboy, slightly louder.

“Better than that!” said the man.  “Make me believe you want it!  Come on, beg!”

“Please, fuck me harder!  Please…” the boy pleaded.

“That’s it!  Keep going.”

“Please fuck me harder… I-I want you to fuck me harder… please… please… please…”

Now the begging began to sound real, and as he said ‘please’ over and over, there was a sincere urgency to the begging.

“Okay,” said the man, and gripping the femboy more tightly in his powerful arms, he suddenly launched an assault on the femboy’s helpless bowels, hammering his cock into him brutally and rapidly.  The femboy squealed, tossing his head from side to side wildly now.

Peter watched all this with rapt attention.  Watching the blonde femboy submit to his captor was affecting him more deeply than he’d ever thought was possible.  He related to that helpless femboy, and identified with his submission in ways he hadn’t known he could.  He imagined himself being pinned and pounded like that, and he was shocked to realize how aroused he was by the idea.  His little femboy penis was standing straight up, swollen to its full three and a half inches and tremendously excited.  He yearned to touch it, to stroke it in time with the pounding the other femboy was taking, but his hands were bound behind him and he could do nothing but watch and listen.

Out in the hall, the man who was fucking the femboy on the floor began groaning, and Peter turned to watch through the crack as the man came inside the pledge’s plundered rectum, his body shuddering.  When he was done he helped the pledge to his feet and led him away.   All over the vast old house Peter could hear groans and cries as pledges were sodomized wherever they were found.   Every few minutes he still heard the clatter of high heels as uncaptured pledges tried to escape their fate.

Peter turned back to the pair on the bed just in time to watch the man reach his climax, groaning in pleasure as his body quivered, his cock deep inside the femboy as it filled his bowels with hot semen.  Gradually he relaxed, loosening his grip on the panting boy beneath him.  When he rolled off, the blonde femboy lowered his legs to sprawl on the bed, his own cock hard and arching upward toward his stomach.  He idly glanced toward Peter’s hiding place, probably only then remembering he’d seen him there.  Seeing Peter watching him, he offered him a fragile smile.  The older man beside him followed his gaze, and saw Peter for the first time.   A lazy smile curled his lips.

“Looks like you enjoyed the show,” he said, his eyes flicking down to Peter’s protruding erection.

Peter blushed in acute embarrassment and lowered his eyes.  The man chuckled and slowly sat up.  Despite his arousal, Peter felt the icy rush of fear as he realized the man had him cornered and might easily capture him if he cared to.  Reacting instinctively, Peter darted around the door and stumbled out into the open hall.   Behind him, the man remained on the bed, chuckling.

“Snipe!” he called out.  “Got a free-range snipe over here!”

Peter manage to achieve something like a shuffling run by leaning forward and stepping only on the toes of his high-heeled pumps.  As he ran down the hall he passed open doors, revealing scenes of ongoing femboy debauchery inside the rooms.  There were no more closed doors, and it seemed there were no empty rooms either.  He could hear running feet approaching, and there was no place to hide.  He reached the end of the hall, and could go either right or left.  The left opened onto a gallery that overlooked the vast room where this had all started, and behind it stairs led up to the third floor.  The right offered another row of doors, but there were two grinning snipe-hunters running toward him from that direction, so Peter went left.  He made a try for the stairs, knowing they would overtake him before he could get more than a few steps up them in his heels.

Sure enough, they caught him after he’d climbed only three steps, hands grabbing his upper arms and pulling him back down.  They held Peter between them and inspected him with smug grins.

“I like this one,” said the one in the blue tee-shirt with the crewcut.   “He’s cute, with the blonde hair and big blue eyes.”

“And you can tell by his hard-on that he’s into it,” said the one with glasses.   “He’s gonna be fun.”

The pair were young, barely older than Peter was, probably sophomores or juniors, but both were larger than he was, and stronger.  Peter offered no resistance when they stepped in close to him, and their hands began boldly touching him in places nobody had ever touched him before.  Fingers stroked his tight ballsack and his erect penis, probed the crevice between his bottomcheeks and found the dimple of his anus.  He began to squirm as a lubricated finger slipped up inside.  But he didn’t resist, or try to escape.  He knew what was coming, and there was no escaping it.  He was frightened, very frightened, but at the same time, there was a part of him that wanted to submit.

They turned him toward the gallery, and pushed him up against the thick wooden railing.  It was just a few inches lower than waist-high, and when they pushed against his back, he was forced to bend over it.  They spread his legs, and he found himself short of breath as he anticipated what was about to happen.

Down below, he could see the fraternity president discussing something seemingly very important with three of the older members.  All four of them had red-jacketed pledges kneeling before them, sucking their cocks.  Behind them a half-dozen other fraternity members were taking turns sodomizing a pair of pledges they had bent over the back of a couch.

Peter felt the soft, blunt head of a cock nuzzling between his cheeks.  It was warm and slippery with lube, and as it began to press a little harder it found the little indentation that was his tightly-puckered anus.  It wiggled its way into the depression, pressing harder, harder.  It was firmly ensconced at the entrance now, and as the pressure increased he could feel the hardness hiding inside that deceptively soft cockhead.  It was forcing its way into him now, spreading the reluctant little mouth more and more.  Peter clenched his eyes shut and held his breath.  His virgin sphincter gave way abruptly, like a castle gate giving way to the persistence of a battering ram.  The fat cockhead slipped up inside him, the tight ring of muscle stretching reluctantly around its girth, protesting as it did so.

The pain was terrible, and Peter let out a brief agonized shriek that echoed through the room below.  The president looked up at him, as did the men he was talking to, and they afforded his suffering four small smiles.  One of them waved, and Peter felt one of the hands grasping his bare hips lift away for a moment as the guy behind him, whose cock was now inside his bottom, waved back.

Then the cock began to drive deeper.  Peter again cried out at the pain, but his cry was ignored.  The cock drove deeper into him, and deeper still.   His cries became a breathless, rising whine.  Still there was more cock sliding slowly into him!  Was there no end to it?  It felt like a python was slithering up his hole!

At last he felt bare hips bump against his buttocks, and he thought finally, finally he had taken it all, but then the hands gripping his hips pulled him backward and the young man’s hips tilted and pressed in further, compressing his rounded cheeks, and two more inches of cock slid up into his impaled ass.

Peter could barely breathe.  He’d known it was going to hurt, but he’d never had an inkling that it would feel like this: Two parts pain, one part shocking violation, and one part… something else, something he had no words for.  Mercifully, the cock remained still for a few moments, basking in the buttery heat of his rectum.  His outraged anus managed to adjust a bit to having a pole shoved through it.  He was able to begin breathing again, just not too deeply.  Every exhale came out in a pathetic whimpering whine.  And as he stood there, helplessly impaled in full view of no less than seventeen uncaring observers, the realization came to him that he had just taken his first cock.

He had about a half a minute to appreciate that fact, and then the cock inside him began to move.  He shuddered as it withdrew, sucking at his insides, and then it was thrusting again, drawing an agonized high-pitched groan from him.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuck, that is so sweet!” moaned Crewcut, thrusting slowly in and out of Peter’s bottomhole.  “Tightest goddamn ass I’ve ever been in!”

“Well how about giving me a turn before you get it all stretched out,” said Glasses, revealing his sensitive side.

But Crewcut showed no sign of ending his turn any sooner than he had to.   He watched his long, smooth cock sliding in and out between the pledge’s firm, round cheeks with fascinated concentration, the sheer pleasure driving all other concerns from his head.

For Peter, the most agonizing part of the penetration, the brutal stretching of his tender anus, was gradually easing.  Soon it was the smallest part, allowing him to appreciate the remaining parts of the physical and emotional cocktail.  There was pain still, but there was pleasure too, and a hundred undefined sensations that were somewhere in between.  There was outrage that these uncaring boys were inflicting such a violation upon him, and humiliation that he was being so thoughtlessly used for someone else’s pleasure, and there was superheated arousal that confused and mitigated all the other emotions.

But there was a new emotion coming rapidly up from behind and already beginning to overtake everything else, and its name was submission.  Peter’s helplessness, his pain, his humiliation, the sacrifice of his dignity for the pleasure of these strangers, these all fed into his rising feelings of submission.  It was powerful, this new emotion, and by the time Crewcut began to accelerate his thrusts, pushing closer and closer to his own climax, Peter was enmeshed fully in the coils of it.  The added agony as Crewcut’s cock began to pound hard into him only increased his desire to submit, and the sobbing femboy bent over farther and thrust out his bottom so that the upperclassman could slam his cock even deeper into him.

With a mighty cry, Crewcut shot a load of hot, thick semen into Peter’s entrails, and in his submission, Peter felt a strange satisfaction that his conqueror had cum inside him.  When that long, smooth cock finally slithered out of his clutching orifice, he felt weirdly empty.  It almost felt like he’d been abandoned, now that the cock that had taken his virginity was no longer claiming ownership of his bottomhole.

But Peter stayed in position, his bottom spread and out-thrust, the puckered pink dimple between his open cheeks now glistening with lube, and Glasses quickly stepped up to take his turn.  His cock was lubed and ready, rock-hard, and it bored into Peter’s sphincter without hesitation.

Peter groaned loudly as a new cock plunged deep into him.  Several of those in the room below turned their eyes upward to watch the pledge bent over the railing taking cock.  Peter was so consumed by sensation and so immersed in submission that he had little awareness of outward appearances.  He wailed without restraint as the greedy cock plundered his bowels.

For Peter this moment was monumental, for it was the culmination of all his years of secret, shameful fantasies, the realization of his dark, undefined desires.   His self-consciousness, his sense of shame evaporated in a rush of powerful emotion.

Glasses fucked him hard, lost in his own lustful fantasies.  He was unconcerned and incurious about the pledge’s feelings.  All the pledges were femboys, after all, and as far as he was concerned, that meant they were used to taking cock, and he could fuck them as hard as he wanted to, for as long as he could.  It never even occurred to him that the unusual tightness of this femboy’s hole might mean he’d been a virgin, nor would it matter, particularly.  Not to him.

Down below, the president and his officers were being distracted by Peter’s cries.  “That’s a noisy one,” commented one of them, glancing up at the gallery.

“I know,” said the fraternity president with a smile.  “I like the noisy ones.”  He turned and called up to Crewcut and Glasses.  “Hey!  Bring that one down here when you’re done.  I’d like to have a go at him.”

Crewcut waved in acknowledgement, but Glasses never missed a beat.  His eyes were closed now, his thoughts deep in a fantasy as he closed in on his climax.  His hips slapped loudly against Peter’s smooth, firm bottomcheeks as he pounded down the home stretch.

For Peter, the physical sensations of pleasure and pain had blended into a single, powerful experience, and it was so overwhelming that for the last several minutes it had felt almost like a sustained, yet agonizing, orgasm.  But now, with Glasses’ cock hammering into him full-throttle, he suddenly felt the onset of a true orgasm, coming on like an express train, unstoppable.  His eyes widened in shock and his unrestrained cries rose into a squeal as he began to cum, his stiff little cock firing streamers of femboy semen spontaneously.

In the room below, a muscular, sandy-haired man had just cornered an elusive pledge with remarkable skill at running in high heels.  He grinned evilly as he closed in, his predatory instincts excited by the imminent culmination of a long chase.  Just then, a long ribbon of femboy cum splashed onto his face, falling from the gallery above.  He stopped with a curse and wiped at his face, looked at what appeared to be semen in his hand, and glared up at the squealing femboy leaning over the railing above him.  While he was distracted, his prey darted to the side and sprinted away, uncaught.  A couple of his fraternity brothers behind him burst out laughing.  By the end of the night, they would have relayed the story to everyone, and it would become part of the lore of Eta Theta Chi.

Peter’s climax was just winding down when Glasses began to cum, crying out his pleasure.  He stopped thrusting, his cock buried as deeply as it could go, his body shuddering as he pumped a second load of semen into the femboy’s bowels.  He leaned on the railing, panting, for a long minute afterward, reluctant to withdraw from the sweet confines of the pledge’s butt until it had milked the last drop of fluid from his shrinking organ.

Afterward, Crewcut and Glasses led an unresisting Peter down the stairs and into the room where the president waited for them.  When he saw them bringing Peter to him, the president withdrew his cock from the mouth of the pledge who’d been sucking it, and walked over to take charge of Peter, thanking the pair for bringing him.  He looked Peter up and down quizzically, then he smiled.

“You’re the pledge who didn’t know you were going to be a snipe,” he said.

Peter blushed, looking at the floor.  “Yes Sir,” he said softly.

The president chuckled.  “Well, I hope it wasn’t too much of a shock.  By the look of things, you seem to have adapted fairly well.  Come with me.”

He led Peter to a dark-wood writing desk against the wall, a floor lamp beside it arching over to shine a pool of light on the writing surface.  He turned Peter around and backed him up to the desk, then lifted him backwards up onto it.  The surprised femboy found himself on his back, his legs drawn up and folded against his chest.

“Not everyone knows about this desk,” said the president, reaching down the side of the thing and pulling out the leading end of what appeared to be a seat belt from a car.  The belt came down over the backs of Peter’s thighs, neatly pinning his legs in place, and the belt clicked into a receiver on the other side of the desk.  In no more than three seconds, the president had rendered him helpless and immobile, his lean buttocks spread wide and thrust outward for convenient use.

The president’s cock was still sticking out of his fly from the blowjob he’d been receiving earlier.  It was beginning to droop a little now, but he took it in hand and produced a tube of clear lube from his pocket.  With no more than a dozen well-lubricated strokes with his hand, his cock was hard again, and ready to go.  He turned to Peter, smiling, and pressed the glistening head of it against Peter’s puckered hole.

“Here we go,” he said, and pushed his cock firmly through the still-tight sphincter and into the interior of Peter’s rectum.

Peter yelped in pain, his mouth falling open as he stared up at the president, who unapologetically shoved his cock deeper into him, then deeper still, one final push after that driving the entire length of his cock into the depths of Peter’s bowels.

“Ahhh, that’s the stuff,” said the president.  “God, I love femboy ass.”

He began sliding his hard cock in and out in an unhurried cadence, like it was a casual pastime to be enjoyed at one’s leisure.  For Peter it was anything but casual or leisurely.  Despite having been fucked minutes ago by Crewcut and Glasses, Peter was nowhere near used to taking cock.  Having the man’s cock inside him was devastating, physically agonizing, and it triggered that whole plethora of powerful emotions that had warred inside him from the moment of his first penetration.  It was so soon after his orgasm that the element of pleasure that had sustained him before was missing now.  He groaned aloud with each thrust, unable to endure the singular, complicated agony quietly.

Unaware of any of that, the president was simply enjoying the way the femboy’s hot, silky rectum squeezed his cock, and the delightful groans that the femboy couldn’t restrain.  Idly, he fondled Peter’s diminutive penis, so conveniently presented in this position.   Ah, how he loved these tiny femboy penises!  And this one, he suspected, might just be the tiniest of the bunch.

“I’ll let you in on a secret,” the president said confidentially.  “The snipe hunt is fun, but it’s only a test in that we get to find out if the femboys we’ve selected have the right temperament to be sex toys.  If a pledge demonstrates sexually submissive tendencies and a love for cock, as you have done, then they pass.  The only way you can fail the test is by getting mad or freaking out.  We want a batch of pledges who can study hard all week and get good grades, then become playthings for our elite members and alumni all weekend.  In exchange, we provide a place to live, meals, tutoring and expenses, including HRT treatments.  It’s a sweet deal for the right femboys.”

The president continued to ever-so-casually fuck Peter as he delivered this monologue.   The femboy was barely able to follow what he was saying, and the idle fondling of his penis was beginning to yield results.

“Frankly,” the president continued, “this is the best crop of femboys we’ve ever had.  So far, not a single one of you has disqualified yourselves.  I think we’re going to want to keep all of you, though it will mean doubling up on the bedrooms.  We’ll buy some bunkbeds.  Honestly, we couldn’t be happier!”

Peter’s little femboy penis was fully erect in the president’s fingers now, and he continued to play with it in a distracted fashion as he talked.  The boy began to feel the barest twinge of pleasure now as the president’s cock plunged in and out of him, his libido making a quick recovery after his powerful orgasm in the gallery.  Strangely, though, Peter was discovering that it was that exquisite, excruciating pain of the fucking that he wanted to feel.  Somehow, deep in his psyche, the sensation was striking a chord he’d never even known he’d had.

The president spoke on, all the while sawing his cock in and out of Peter’s bottomhole.  Whatever else he said was lost on Peter, who could no longer follow the words while his emotions whirled within him.  He whined and whimpered, his eyes closed, his awareness narrowed to the cock in his rectum.   Even the idle stroking of his stiff little dick barely registered in comparison.

Eventually the president stopped talking, and his strokes began to accelerate.   His own arousal was rising past the level of casualness he’d managed to hold for so long, and his need to cum inside this cute and unusually responsive femboy was becoming a priority.  He left off playing with that little three-and-a-half-inch dick and gripped Peter’s hips in his big hands.  Focusing now, he began to thrust harder and faster, enjoying the resulting urgency of the boy’s cries.  Soon he was pounding away, giving it everything he had as his climax drew closer and closer.  Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he leaned in for the final burst of rapid, powerful thrusts.  And then he was cumming, filling the femboy’s tight passage with the load of semen he’d been husbanding all evening.

He took his time finishing up, using one of the hand towels he kept handy for the purpose.  Nevertheless, when he unstrapped the femboy from his writing desk, the boy was still wide-eyed and breathless.  He stood him on his feet, but he had to hold him up to keep him from falling over.   Smiling indulgently, the president led the boy into the next room.

This was the lounge of the fraternity house.  Once the chase was over and the femboys caught and conquered, most of them were brought here for some more leisurely sexual service.  The president handed Peter over to Jack and Royce, two of his officers whom he knew would take good care of him.

Royce gently put Peter on his knees, then, sitting comfortably on the couch, told the cute femboy to suck his cock.  Peter never hesitated, taking Royce’s cock into his mouth and sucking it with both skill and enthusiasm.  On both sides of him, and indeed all around him, his fellow pledges were also sucking cock, the contented smiles on the elite members’ faces testament to their abilities.

The lounge was also the scene of a number of buggerings, of course.  At any moment, there were at least three of four pledges being sodomized, their groans and whimpers making Peter yearn for another cock inside his own empty butt.  But he concentrated on his sucking, and after swallowing three loads of cum from three different cocks, he finally got his wish.

Peter was laid across the coffee table on his back, with his legs drawn up and his bottom thrust out.  His head hung over the other side of the table, an invitation to use his mouth as well.   An older gentleman, one of the fraternity’s alumni, happily accepted that invitation.  He knelt by Peter’s head and, while holding the pledge’s ankles to keep him in position, inserted his long, stiff cock into Peter’s mouth.   Peter began sucking, trying to focus on doing his best.  But meanwhile, another cock, attached to someone Peter couldn’t see in his present position, forced its way into his proffered bottom.  Once inside, it pushed on in, going deep into his body and bringing him a strong dose of that unique agony he had yearned for, and yet wasn’t ready for when it came.  At least the cock had the decency to wait until his distressed cries died down before it began fucking his bottomhole.

Peter’s deep groans were muffled by the cock in his mouth, but they continued anyway.  The cock he was trying to suck, no doubt unhappy with his efforts now that he was distracted, began pushing its way down his throat.  Peter gagged, but after three or four tries, it simply forced its way into his throat and down his esophagus.  He gagged some more, and tears began to flow from his eyes, but it was undeterred.  It went all the way in until Peter felt pubic hair tickling his chin.  It stayed there for only a few seconds, then withdrew to his mouth once more, demanding his attentions, which he tried his best to render, despite the cock that was now plundering his bowels.  After half a minute, it again pushed down his throat.  It did it again shortly after that, then again and again.  After a while, his face wet and his head spinning, Peter was no longer gagging as the cock freely used his throat.

It was the most demanding, the most humiliating, the most overwhelming and the most exciting half-hour of Peter’s young life up until then.  While one long, demanding cock filled his mouth and violated his throat several times a minute, four more cocks took their pleasure in his upturned bottom.  When at last he swallowed the alumni’s semen, he was rewarded.  Before moving away, the old man ordered another pledge to suck Peter’s tiny erection.  The pledge did a superb job of it, sucking Peter’s dick with skill and creativity, while at the same time a fifth cock plundered Peter’s bottom.  Peter squealed wildly as he came in the pledge’s mouth, a final load of jizz filling his well-inundated rectum only moments later.

Exhausted, Peter curled up at Jack and Royce’s feet while the president congratulated all the pledges, one at a time, on having been accepted into the venerated ranks of Eta Theta Chi.  Soon, Peter would be having words with his older brother for deceiving him about the nature of the fraternity’s initiation, but those words would be without heat.  Paul, it turned out, knew his little brother better than Peter knew himself.  For Peter had found his place there, at Eta Theta Chi, and he had his brother to thank for that, after all.

The end.