Piggie Plumpkins and the Femcan Coeds
By morselman
Episode 2…
A nervous Plumpkins watched as countless sorority Alumnae arrived, filling the ever more crowded building. They ranged in age from recent college graduates at the very start of their careers, to mature and well established business women at the height of success. All were well groomed and attractive, with trim shapely builds that showed a continued adherence to the sorority’s strict culture of personal physical fitness.
But the sorority Alumnae’s admiration of fitness didn’t seem to apply toward piggies like Plumpkins. To the contrary, upon seeing his flabby, fat rolled nakedness they swooned as if he were Adonis himself! How they raved about the marshmallow tenderness of his feeble flesh and extolled the weakness of his puny muscles--no meat toughing strength in this piggie!
Helplessly strapped to the chair, the besieged Plumpkins endured with increasing concern and dismay being squeezed, grabbed and tweaked as if he were a fresh fruit being examined for ripeness. His despair rose as the salivating hostesses began zestfully testing his trembling fatness with excruciating nips and bites.
When some particularly fervent “inspectors” ruthlessly tested the mouthwatering texture of his nipples between their pitiless teeth, Plumpkins let out a yelping howl at the top of his lungs and struggled frantically against his bonds, producing startled laughter from the gathered femcans.
The Sorority House Mother nodded her head with satisfaction. “Quite a set of lungs on our young piggie--a perfect candidate for the Brazen Bull!”
The gathered femcans agreed with delight, and tittered with anticipation. The statuesque coed enthusiastically scampered off and returned with a cart laden with a sinister collection of devices. Atop them all was a large bronze helmet-mask fashioned as a bellowing bull’s head.
She held it up before Plumpkins and displayed it proudly as she explained “This ingenious little toy is inspired by the legend of the Brazen Bull. In ancient Greece, there was a torture device fashioned from bronze in the shape of a bull. The victim was placed inside and a fire was lit below to heat it, roasting him alive. Air passages inside the bull’s head transformed the screams and cries of the victim into sounds that made it seem the bull was singing.”
Several coeds stepped forward to assist her as she forced it upon Plumpkins’ vigorously resisting head. They inserted a choking cluster of hard brass tubes inside his cheeks, scraping roughly against tongue and teeth. The tubes fed into chambers inside the helmet-mask’s snout porting through the nostrils and mouth. The hellish contraption was fastened securely with broad leather straps, to ride heavily upon his sagging shoulders. Eye slits allowed Plumpkins to see out, and allowed the crowd of snickering femcans to see in and savor his look of panicked alarm.
The statuesque coed beamed at Plumpkins and continued her explanation “Of course, fire ordinances prevent us from having any such blazes indoors--so we have to do a bit of improvising…” She gave him a mischievous wink and produced an electric hair curling wand and hair straightening flat iron set from the cart. “Fortunately, the task of maintaining our classical hair styles provides us with just what’s needed!”
A hair straightening iron resembling a large pair of tongs was displayed before him. The coed powered it up and plucked out one of her hairs. She touched it to the heated surfaces, producing wisps of smoke from the strand. “This is full hot--400 degrees Fahrenheit!” She pursed her lips, tisking with mock concern. “That would cause a third degree burn, much much too hot for now.” She dialed the temperature down. “I think a first degree burn will be quite sufficient for starters…”
Plumpkins burst out with bloodcurdling howls and screams as the smirking femcan ruthlessly clamped the wicked device down hard onto the glans of his penis, squishing her hypersensitive target flat with a sizzle!
The brazen helmet-mask transformed his anguished cries into melodious bellows, producing a roar of approval from the group. It took a full five minutes for their hoots and laughter to die down.
“Excellent timbre!” the Sorority House Mother exclaimed. “Gather your instruments, ladies--let’s provide some musical accompaniment to our singing bull’s performance!”
The sorority sisters quickly produced a collection of lyres, lutes, pan flutes, twin piped aulos, castanets, frame drums and tambourines. Soon a soothing tune floated in the air, tenderly blending with Plumpkins’ wails of agony as they delicately danced about him with artful whirls and flourishes.
Those femcans tending directly to Plumpkins were quite expert at applying the hot curling irons to his most sensitive of places--a thin 3/8” barreled one slid perfectly into the urethra, and a thicker 1 3/4” barreled one fit nicely up the anus. The various sizes of tong-like straightening irons were each well suited for clamping upon nipples and testicles, in addition to the shaft and glans of the penis.
The temperature settings of the irons were ever-so-slowly, ever-so-incrementally, ever-so-inexorably increased between each application by the implacable tormentresses--a technique to ensure gradually inflicting the absolute maximum escalation of suffering possible.
Plumpkins’ frantic gyrations and futile struggles soon caught the attention of the frolicking musicians, who found them to be an inspiration that equaled his outcries--they soon began mimicking and mocking him with new emulative dance moves.
The mood of the celebrants had grown quite sprightly from enthusiastic imbibing of a potent Greek wine served in twin handled kantharos and kylix drinking cups. The House Mother was pouring liberally from an ornate amphora. With a sly wink, she told the attendees “Nothing whets a Maenad’s appetite quite like some refreshing wine…”
