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The author of this story has read and accepted the rules for posting stories. They guarantee that the following story depicts none of the themes listed in the Forbidden Content section of the rules.
The following story is a work of fiction meant for entertainment purposes only. It depicts nonconsensual sexual acts between adults. It is in no way meant to be understood as an endorsement of nonconsensual sex in real life. Any similarities of the characters in the story to real people are purely coincidental.
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- This story ist part of the Used and Abused Tournament
- It competes against Brotherhood of the wolves in the R16-4 match
- Theme: Brotherhood
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Frat House Mayhem
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Brian wonders what happened the prior night as he awakens in the dining room of his trashed fraternity house and finds a naked woman covered in various substances by the front door.
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Chapter 1 - What Happened Last Night?
The loud feminine scream ceased right before Brian’s eyes snapped awake. “The hell happened last night,” Brian asked and cringed at the sound of his own voice. His voice was hoarse, dry, and scratchy. It felt like someone was using a meat tenderizer against his temples. As his eyes blinked away the hangover fog, they widened at the sight before him.
Brian saw several of his Alpha Sigma fraternity brothers strewn about just like he was. The frat house looked like the abominable snowman, bigfoot, and a tornado had pranced on in and danced the Macarena at every inch of the place. He realized what he just thought didn’t make much sense, so it meant he had a hangover while still drunk. Drunk hangovers were the worst. Brian pushed himself up from what turned out to be the dining room table. Empty beer bottles crashed to the floor like a drunken waterfall. The crash made his skull feel like it had split open. Somewhere in the house someone groaned in sympathetic agony. His only consolation was that he still had all his clothes on from last night, though they were stained all over the place with God only knew what.
"Freak man," he muttered, stepping over what looked like the remains of a TV. The screen was like a spider web with cracks, and something dark and sticky had been smeared across it in patterns that hurt to look at. His bare feet squelched against the hardwood floor. Wait, bare feet? Aw man, he would have to walk in all this mess until he found his shoes.
Careful to not make too much noise, Brian navigated his way out of the dining room. The hallway stretched before him like a crime scene, littered with red solo cups and what looked like chunks of drywall. Brian's stomach lurched as he caught sight of white stains splattered across the walls. The whole area had that distinct ripe smell of sex. Did…did someone have sex with the walls? Curiosity got the better of him, or maybe it was still the alcohol running through his veins. He dipped his finger in one of the white splotches and brought it up to his nose then tasted it. Mayonnaise. Someone smothered mayonnaise all over the walls. Well, it could have been worse...
Brian stumbled out of the hallway and instantly saw what was making the ripe sex smell. There in the main entry lay a woman who appeared to be sticky all over with dried fluids. She was fully nude. Brian would have probably enjoyed her nudity if he didn’t have a girlfriend. He could barely see her chest move as she breathed, so she was still alive. Brian's stomach twisted as he crept closer, his hangover momentarily forgotten in the face of something far more disturbing. The woman's skin glistened with what looked like honey, syrup, mayonnaise and God knew what else. It created a sick rainbow of substances that made his eyes water. Her dark hair was matted against her skull, and dried streaks of something crusty ran down her cheeks like tears. "We’re so screwed," he whispered. "You ok lady?" He cringed at his dumb question.
Suddenly the front door splintered open as a SWAT team burst through, weapons drawn. Their tactical gear made them look like faceless demons in the hazy morning light. "SWAT EVERYONE HANDS UP" a voice bellowed through a megaphone. The sound drilled into Brian's brain like a jackhammer. Brian instinctively dropped to his knees, hands raised. The sudden movement sent a wave of nausea through him that threatened to empty whatever remained in his stomach.
A memory flashed through Brian of the numerous times he had watched television with his dad. “Always get a lawyer,” his dad would say whenever a character blabbed to the police without one. One time Brian had asked “What if you’re innocent?” His dad had replied “Son, it’s your right as an American citizen to be represented by council. Always ask for a lawyer before you talk no matter what anyone tells you. And always follow their commands.”
So Brian did just that. Every command yelled at him he followed to the best of his ability despite his pounding headache. "Face down on the ground! Hands behind your back!" The officer's voice cut through Brian's skull like a rusty blade. He pressed his cheek against the sticky hardwood, the unknown substances on the floor. His skin crawled as something felt stuck to his face. The smell of stale beer and sex filled his nostrils as heavy boots thundered around him. "I want a lawyer," Brian managed to croak out, his voice barely audible over the chaos that erupted throughout the house. More shouting echoed from upstairs as his frat brothers were presumably being roused from their alcohol or drug induced comas. "Shut up! Don't move!" Brian complied.
***
Brian was in a room he never thought he’d be in. The cop shows he always saw never did the room justice. The interrogation room was smaller than a college dorm, with walls the color of old mustard and a fluorescent light that flickered like a dying insect. The metal table was bolted to the floor, its surface scratched and stained with what looked like coffee rings and something darker that Brian didn't want to think about. The air felt stale as if the room hadn't been used in a while.
Brian's wrists had angry red welts from the handcuffs, which were gone now that he was secure in the interrogation room. His head still pounded, but the adrenaline had burned through most of the alcohol fog. What remained was a crystal clear terror that made his hands shake against the cold metal table. The door opened with a screech that made Brian's teeth clench. A detective walked in. He was in his mid forties, built like a linebacker gone soft, with penetrating eyes that looked like it could detect bullshit a mile away. “Detective Mitchell,” he introduced himself with a firm, hard tone. “Your lawyer is on the way, but we’re in a bit of a time sensitive situation here. So let’s talk.” He sat across the table. Brian gulped, his father’s advice echoed into his brain so he just shook his head. “I invoked my right to council at the frat house,” he said his voice shaking along with his legs.
Detective Mitchell just shook his head in what appeared to be impatience “I’m not asking you any questions Brian. I’m just talking. You’re free to say whatever you like. Just like I’m free to say whatever I like.” He paused for a moment, then dropped the hammer. “I’ve got the state governor’s daughter found unconscious in a frat house with all kinds of fluids all over her body. Oh, excuse me, she was unconscious but gave a detailed account of how she was, in her words, ‘used and abused in all her holes all night long by drunken college guys.’ So, I think you understand where I’m coming from. The governor is tugging every string he can to try and figure out what happened. And he wants to know what happened yesterday because Riley Cooper, his daughter’s friend, is missing.”
Brian gulped. His eyes widened with fear and he could feel his heartbeat pound in his skull. Detective Mitchell took a few moments to let all that information simmer, then said, “It’s your choice Brian. You can continue to be silent until your lawyer gets here, or you could help me out and tell me what happened. I took a look at your background Brian. No priors, A/B honor roll in high school, dean’s list in college. You seem like a nice guy who just ended up being at the wrong place at the wrong time.” The detective paused again, and Brian could practically see him drop the grenade in the room before he spoke “Then again, some of your friends have already started talking, and everything seems to be pointing straight at you.”
Brian's stomach dropped like a stone through water. The words hit him harder than the hangover, harder than the handcuffs, harder than anything he'd ever experienced. His frat brothers were talking? About him? Suddenly the door to the interrogation room opened and an angry female voice barked “Step away from my client.”
A woman in a sharp navy blazer strode into the room with the confidence of someone who'd eviscerated prosecutors for breakfast. She was maybe forty, with gray hair pulled back in a bun and eyes that could cut glass. Her briefcase clicked against the floor as she set it down, the sound echoed like a gavel. “Diana Reeves,” she introduced herself to Brian then turned to Detective Mitchell, “give us the room. I need to confer with my client.”
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