BALLS TO THE WALL

The sun had barely begun to set over the sprawling college campus when the frat house started to thrum with life. Cars packed with rowdy frat bros pulled up, blaring deafening bass that rattled the windows. Cliques of sorority sisters giggled and posed for photos, their tiny skirts riding up to reveal the tops of gartered stockings. Inside the house, the air was thick with the scent of sweat, beer and impending debauchery.

In the heart of it all, party hosts Shane, Braxton and Taquan were running themselves ragged playing bartender, DJ and hype man. But their true roles – masterminds of the evening’s secret spectacle – remained hidden for now.

As the living room filled to bursting, Shane hopped onto the padded trunk that served as a coffee table. “Everyone! Everyone!” he bellowed, waving a Solo cup overhead. The chaotic chatter died down. “Welcome to the first annual ‘Balls to the Wall’ party!”

The crowd erupted into whoops and cheers, but the room fell suddenly, puzzlingly silent when Shane added, “Gentlemen, tonight you’ll have the chance to put your manhoods to the ultimate test for cold, hard cash!”

Braxton passed around a scrolling list pinned to a clipboard. The details were simple – the frat had secured access to a stash of professional porn stars. Any brazen, virile brother who could take on three of them at once had a shot at a $5000 prize. With a roar, the college boys surged forward to sign up.

As the first forfeited racer’s clothes hit the floor, the entire party gathered around. Though his frat brothers blasted raunchy chants of encouragement, the brother, Aiden, looked positively ill. Braxton grabbed the duct tape and brushed Aiden’s lips with a patronizing peck before securing the kid’s gaping maw. Aiden made a pathetic, smothered noise that probably wasn’t a groan of desire.

Now came time to introduce the performers. Kicking his bare feet up on the coffee table, heightening his air of casual dominance, Taquan beckoned the ladies forth. Clad in low-lidded glasses and her signature wavy blond wig, sturdy cock slut Valentine shattered Aiden’s composure with a single robotic lick up his cock. Her fine friends Jasmine and Chypre followed, and soon all three swarmed Aiden like a triple threat hurricane.

Aiden could only sludge to more attention as the girls giddily slobbered all over his shiny wet cock, ignoring how it palpitates like a chickadee. Derisive chortling rose–it was patently ridiculous that he’d offered himself up as porn’s latest victim.

Yet he was agreeably, obediently pliant even when Valentine’s spandex dress peeled away. As the first round winner of Balls To The Wall, Aiden was handed a fresh subjugation: wrists wrung with cable ties to a metal champagne bucket. The party hosts had to put their heads together to package his frenzied splurts into an installment that one half-delirious subdivision could handle, but Valentine violently moans “Piggy!” while her tight anus spasms around Aiden’s presumably soggy prick in a spirit of pure ritual fury until most of it drips out. In a burst of ad-libbing, Aiden quails under the snap of Valentine’s bra across his cheeks. She calls it her little friend.