Frat Games: The House Plaything | Part 4 - Task #2 : The House Maid

All characters in this story are 18+
This story is completely fictional.

This story contains task-based scenarios involving the narrator. All actions are fully consensual, and the narrator (the pledge) willingly agrees to and participates in each task. There is no non-consensual content depicted.

Part 4: They Made Me The House Maid

I woke up giggling.

I don’t even know why.

Maybe it was the way my throat still ached. Or how my lips still felt slick. Maybe it was because I could still taste him. Jace. Jace. His cum.

Jesus. I sucked off the hottest guy on campus. In my bed. And not just sucked him off, I swallowed every fucking drop. Like some obedient little pledge.

I turned over, pillow still damp from sweat and spit. My jaw was sore. My ass was sore, even though he never fucked me. I was just that sensitive. That used.

And I liked it.

Then I saw it.

Another note.

Folded neatly on my desk chair, weighted down by… clothes?

I sat up and padded over barefoot, my body still sticky under the covers. I unfolded the note, heart already picking up pace.

“Wear only this for Task #2. Downstairs. Living room. Now. – Jace.”

What “clothes” meant turned out to be a tiny red skirt. That’s it. No shirt. No underwear. Just this soft, slinky little thing that looked more like a belt than a piece of clothing.

I held it up in disbelief. Laughed. Gulped. Then put it on.

It barely covered anything. I felt like if I bent over, even slightly, my whole ass would hang out.

Maybe that was the point.

When I opened my door and stepped into the hallway, I swear the house smelled like last night. Beer. Sweat. Weed. Boys. The place was a wreck. Cups tipped over. Pizza boxes stacked. Someone’s socks were stuck to the wall.

And it was dirtier than I remembered.

Which made sense when I saw the little whiteboard on the kitchen door. Three words:

“House Maid - Troy.”

Shit.

They were making me clean. Like some slutty little pledge in a fuck-me skirt with no underwear.

I walked into the living room and found a pair of yellow rubber gloves, a spray bottle, and a list.

“Clean the floors.
Wipe the counters.
Do the dishes.
Don’t complain.
Look cute.
Ass out.
Mouth shut.
Use your tongue if needed.”

It wasn’t signed. But the handwriting looked like Brett’s.

I knelt down and started picking up trash. Empty Solo cups. Half-eaten wings. Crumpled napkins with stuff I didn’t want to identify.

My ass was up. The skirt barely stayed down when I bent forward. I caught a glimpse of myself in the TV screen and yeah, I looked like some dumb little housemaid in a porn parody. Hair messy. No shirt. Skirt riding up my cheeks.

Then I heard footsteps.

Lucas.

“Morning, sunshine,” he grinned, walking past me in gym shorts and no shirt, glistening from a workout. His abs were unreal. His cock bounced behind the fabric like it wanted to be seen.

“You missed a spot.”

He stopped. Turned. Then stepped behind me and pressed his crotch against the back of my head.

The bulge was hard. Hot. He rubbed it across my scalp slowly like it was a sponge and I was part of the cleaning crew.

I flinched. He laughed.

“Relax, pledge. Just breaking you in.”

He walked off, grabbing a protein shake from the fridge like nothing had happened.

Ten minutes later, I was scrubbing the floor in the hallway, down on all fours when another pair of feet stopped in front of me.

Joshua.

He wore gray sweats. No underwear, clearly. The outline of his cock was unmistakable and hard.

He didn’t speak. He just pulled it out.

His cock slapped my cheek once. Then again. Lazy. Purposeful. Like I was just part of his morning routine.

I stayed still. My face burned. My cock throbbed.

Then he poured something from a glass into his hand. Orange juice?

He let it drip down his shaft. “Clean it,” he muttered.

I leaned forward. Without hesitation. Tongue out. Dragged it slowly up the side of his cock. Tangy. Cold. His hand pushed my head down once, gentle but firm. My lips wrapped around the head of his cock just long enough to taste the juice. Just long enough for him to groan.

Then he pulled away. “Better clean the floor too, pledge,” he said, tucking himself back in like he didn’t just use my face. “Wouldn’t want it to get sticky.”

I kept scrubbing. Knees aching. Ass exposed. Tongue slightly out of my mouth as I wiped spots they’d pointed to.

Humiliation never felt so fucking erotic.

Later, I found myself bent under the coffee table, trying to reach a crumb-filled corner when Brett walked by eating yogurt. He paused, spoon in his mouth.

“Fuck, that skirt’s looks so slutty on you,” he said, crouching next to me. “Bet you’re leaking down your thigh already.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He reached under the table and pulled my skirt up. Full ass exposed. His finger dragged down my crack. I whimpered.

He dipped the yogurt spoon, licked it once, then flicked a little glob right onto my ass. Cold. Sticky. “Oops. Clean that too.”

I think I heard him moan under his breath.

“Fuckin’ love this game,” Brett muttered, standing and heading upstairs.

By late afternoon, the house sparkled. I didn’t. I was on my knees again, wiping under the bar stools when I saw a pair of sneakers.

Chase.

The President.

I froze. Didn’t even look up.
He said nothing for a long moment.
Then he crouched down next to me.

“Looks like you’re fitting in nicely,” he said, voice smooth and deep. “Jace said you took his cock like a champ. last night”

I didn’t answer.

“Tomorrow,” he said, leaning in close to my ear. “Tomorrow we test your limits”

My breath hitched.

He smiled.

“Don’t touch yourself tonight. That’s an order.”

Then he stood and walked off.

Leaving me hard, aching, humiliated… and absolutely desperate for more.


Frat Games: The House Plaything | Part 5 - Task #3 : Remote-Controlled