Date: Sat, 3 Dec 2005 21:30:21 EST
From: johnyboy
Subject: White College Basketball Players Get Their Due

This story concerns the outcome of a "good will" game between a local
private college and a public, inner city community college. This private
college, located in an exclusive suburban area outside a major city, is
truly a pleasant place to visit, and a wonderful place to learn. Its
buildings, covered with ivy, ("ivy league?"), were old, but elegant, and
reflected the proud Quaker tradition of the place. On the campus there was
a duck pond, several statues, a library, etc. etc. The campus itself is
surrounded by a wooded area, where people could take walks, or
jog. Frequently sports teams used it for their workouts when they were
bored with using the track.

At the center of the school was the college's small athletic complex. (It
was a small, private college, not a big university). Inside there was an
indoor track, which the school had in addition to the outdoor one. At its
center was a basketball court. At almost every evening, around seven
o'clock, the intramural basketball team practiced. For a small private
college they were not at all that bad. The players, all proudly wearing
their black white and red basketball uniforms, were all tall and
athletic. As beyond that a physical description would have to include the
fact that they were not as integrated as the color of these uniforms would
suggest. The players were, to a man, all white, as was most of the rest of
the school.

"Okay, guys, we're really going to show `em!" The voice was that of Pat
MacDonald, one of the team's top scorers, and well known for his
aggressiveness both on and off the court. Pat stood tall, nearly seven
feet, had short dark hair, fair skin, large blue eyes, and a handsome
heart-shaped face with just the right combination of boyishness and
masculinity to make him perfectly desirable to several assorted females on
and off the campus. "That's right, Pat!" The comment came from another
player, Mike Scherner, who aspired to the same degree of basketball prowess
as his friend, and idol, Pat. Mike was also what women would call, "easy on
the eyes". He was slightly shorter than Pat, about six foot seven, had
dirty blond hair, and brown eyes. His hair was a little longer than Pat's,
parted in the middle, and came behind his ears and down to his neck. It was
not shoulder length, however. His complexion was darker than his
friend's. He was one of those lucky people, who, despite being Anglo Saxon
in ancestry, seemed to always have a permanent tan. He probably had some
German ancestry, whereas his friend Pat was probably more English, or Scots
Irish. Both were tall and strong, Pat being a little heavier, but Mike was
more defined. Mike lifted weights to add to this definition, which extended
to his arms, chest, stomach, legs, and, well, "glutes", (you, dear reader
know what I mean). Neither of the two was what you would call hairy,
although Pat had a little bit of chest hair, and just enough over his body
to distinguish him from the female of the species in that department. Mike
had very little body hair. Mike made up for it in the size of his, well,
"organ". Let's just say he was well endowed in that department. Pat was
not. This did make for some insecurity in the showers and locker room,
where, because of his height relative to everyone else, it was hard to
hide. As for build, Mike had narrower hips than Pat, who had a little
weight over his frame.

The team got together, with their coach to discuss strategy for the
goodwill game with a distant, community college. Most of the students at
that school were minorities, and came from lower income families. Its
basketball team, which was fairly good, was entirely black. The event was
meant to foster better relations and goodwill across racial and
socio-economic boundaries.

That weekend the small, indoor stadium was filled with spectators. People
from both colleges filled the stands as both teams worked their hearts out
to score. As the game went on what had started off as goodwill became more
and more competitive. It seemed as soon as one team scored, the other did,
and vice versa. Fouling became more and more common as Pat MacDonald, an
aggressive player, meant some equally aggressive players from the other
side. As for Mike Scherner, he also kept up his end in adding to the
ferocity of the competition. Finally at the end, with the score tied, one
of the community college's best players was about to throw a jump shot,
which in the final seconds of play, would have won the game. At that point,
Pat, aggressive as usual, bumped the ball from the young man's hands,
fouling the shot. He then passed over the court to his strategically placed
friend, Mike, who scored, and thus pulled off a victory for the
school. Their fans were elated. The opposing team's were outraged. The
referee, who was an alumnus of the private college, "didn't see" Pat's
foul. The fouled player glared at Pat, who returned a smirk, revealing that
he knew full well what had happened, that it was no accident. The large
black man, almost as tall as Pat, advanced toward him, and almost got to
Pat, when he was stopped by one, then another referee. He was finally
ordered off the court before he got to exact any retaliation.

Pat and Mike then walked off the court with the rest of their teammates,
receiving congratulations from their fans, and exchanging high fives with
each other, and even receiving the occasional tap on the shoulder or
behind, as sometimes occurs with the emotion of sports. Even the coach, who
was very demanding, had to congratulate the two on their winning
performance. So, instead of proceeding straight to the locker room to hit
the showers with the rest of the team, these two lingered to talk to the
fans, then they both went to the coach's office. The coach, who usually
summoned players to his office to bawl them out, was now doing this to
congratulate the two. The rest of the team left, went to the locker room,
showered, dressed, then went out together to party. Then the opposing team
had use of the locker room for the same purpose. Although they were not
exactly in the partying mood. Or maybe I should say they had a different
kind of "party" in mind. And, to be good sports, Pat and Mike would be
"invited". This team would indeed show their appreciation for losing do to
a foul by Pat. As it turned out the coach kept the two in his office long
enough that by the time they left their team was already gone from the
locker room. The area was now occupied by the opposing team, who didn't
even bother to shower or change clothes, being more preoccupied with their
anger over being robbed of their victory in front of all their fans and
families, by the biased referee, and especially those two cocky, stuck up
white boys. They sat around and grumbled, then the door opened, and who
would it be? It was Pat and Mike, who, being distracted by the feeling of
utter glory, didn't realize that they just walked into the middle of a
small, windowless and nearly soundproof locker room full of angry black
basketball players from the inner city.

"Hey, look who's dropping by. Maybe they are expecting some congratulations
for the great game they played. Well, white boy, what you got to say?" Pat
looked up, his pale face blushed and his eyes widened. This he did not
expect. "Ah...well, what are you guys doing here?" "What the fuck do you
think, white boy? Are you that dumb? We just want to admire how well you
two played, and how you won, just so fair and square. Yeah, that's it. Fair
and square". His teammates chuckled at this. "Uhhh...well...yeah. It was a
good game. Hey, no hard feelings, right, dude". "No, of course not, not at
all. Let's shake". The large black player, who Pat fouled, got up from the
bench where he was sitting, and took two steps toward Pat. Both Pat and
Mike had a bad feeling, but, being surrounded and outnumbered, decided to
go along. Pat raised his right hand, and extended it to the other man, who,
in one motion, grabbed it with his left hand, and punched the unsuspecting
Part in the stomach with his right. "Arghh!!" Pat clutched his stomach and
doubled over. A second and third blow, delivered as a combination, left him
on the floor, dazed. Mike jumped in to protect his friend, and nearly
knocked the black man back against the lockers, but then he was grabbed
from behind. Then the first attacker could deliver several repeated blows
to Mike's face. Mike kicked and swung as best he could, but being held
underneath his arms he, too found his assailant gaining the upper
hand. Soon he was also on the floor. Mike's face was swollen and apparently
his nose had been broken. He doubled over in pain. Pat was just struggling
to his feet. He saw what happened to his friend and didn't know what to
do. He just stood there in silence. "Hey, white boy, your gay lover is in
pain. Maybe you should help make him feel better". "He isn't my gay lover!
I'm not gay!" "Well, you're going to be by the end of tonight!" Pat was
horrified by this statement. His face turned pale. Forgetting his friend
lying on the floor, he tried to rush towards the door. Several of the other
team players blocked him, striking him in the stomach again and kicking him
in the legs in the bargain. He was trapped and being held by the arms by
two assailants, and confronted by the big black player, who was nearly his
height, but more muscular. "I said, if he's your friend, make him feel
better. Suck his dick! If you don't we will gang fuck you both. Your
choice."

Pat knew he had no choice. He looked down at Mike, who was lying on his
back, his knees bent, and looking on in pain and horror. "I have to do
this, buddy." Pat got down on his knees and approached Mike, separating his
knees and reached between them to undo the drawstring of Mike's black
basketball shorts with the red and white stripes. Mike did not resist. He
was in pain from the broken nose and he knew resistance would be
foolish. The drawstring was loosened, then Pat gently tugged at the
garment, sliding it lower. "Hurry up!" demanded one of the tormenters. The
shorts were pulled down and removed entirely. Mike lay there still on his
back with his knees bent. Below the waist he now wore only his sneakers,
socks, and jockstrap. "Well, what the fuck you stopping for? Keep going!"
After this the locker room fell silent again. All that could be heard was
the snapping sound of a jock being removed from a low moaning college
athlete. The garment made a last snapping sound, then was tossed
aside. Pat, still on his knees looked down and again parted his friend's
knees. He looked at the large genitals that he would now have to perform
oral sex on. "Well, start sucking!" "Yeah, suck that man meat! We know you
want to!" Pat looked up, then around. He then opened his mouth, leaned
forward, and put the large, cut penis into his mouth. His face was now
buried between Mike's legs, and his bottom was now higher than his
head. The black team let out a cheer. Then they demanded more sucking, the
suspicion being that Pat was only putting the penis in his mouth but not
actually sucking it.

Pat sucked. He started slowly at first, then, as he got over the initial
revulsion, increased the tempo. Mike, for his part, merely laid
back. Involuntarily, he started to moan. This was not like the moan of
pain, but the opposite. He was becoming sexually aroused. As this process
continued, the penis slowly hardened, filling Pat's mouth, and almost
causing him to gag. He felt the warmth of the stiff organ in his mouth, the
tip teasing his throat, and the warm, smelly groin area of his friend, and
even the light tickle of the small amount of pubic hair Mike possessed. He
could almost swallow Mike's now packed scrotum as well, and at one point,
reached with one hand and gently touched his friend's anus, easily reached
as Mike kept his knees bent. This produced, oddly even a louder moan from
his friend, and cheers from the spectators. "More, more, suck
more...harder!!!" Pat continued to suck. Mike's penis gradually reached a
crescendo. Mike's legs extended straight, Mike's moaning grew even louder,
and he even appeared to be thrusting his hips foreword in order to impale
his friend's mouth. The exercise did indeed seem to make him feel
better. He was now on his back, spread eagled, and rotating his head back
and moaning uncontrollably. At last he reached the climax. He could hold
out no longer. His erection exploded inside of Pat's mouth. "Swallow all
that jism! Swallow it all!!" Pat, out of fear or passion, or both,
obeyed. He then sucked his friend dry. Also he did indeed, "swallow the
load".

"Well, I told you he was a fag. Now, for the real fun!" The team now were
preparing to get their real revenge.


Pat slowly got back to his feet, the disgusting taste of his friends cum
still in his mouth, almost making him gag. Mike, for his part, raised his
head and sat up. Still with some pain from the broken nose he received, he
slid over to the lockers, sitting on the dirty rug of the locker room
floor. His back was against the lockers and he sat with his knees bent and
his head down in shame and humiliation. Between his knees, his long and now
flaccid penis dangled covered in his friend's saliva and now dripping with
a strand of semen from his recent orgasm. He still wore his sweaty team
basketball shirt as well as his sneakers and socks. Other than that,
though, Mike sat naked on the floor. He simply sat, head bowed, in a
stunned silence.

Pat faced his tormentors. He stammered to talk, as difficult as it
was. "Uh, guys, well...uhh..I, I did, you know, what you said. Is that all?
You guys made your point. I'm sorry. Can we go now? Please." "Now, white
boy, since you enjoyed sucking off your buddy, you must be a fag. So, maybe
you would like to suck us off, too?" "Uh...no..please, not that! I don't
like the taste of cock! Really, I don't. Please, don't make me do that!
I'll do anything! Take anything from me you want! I...I have money! I'll
open my locker! Just see!" Pat, in a panic, opened up his locker, and
started to toss his personal belongings out of it and onto the floor. He
tossed out his wallet, with cash and credit cards, his nicer clothes that
he was planning to go out in, and many more items. The black team members
were temporarily distracted by this spectacle, and when Pat was left with
just the clothes he was standing up in, demanded more. "What about your
friends shit. Let's have it all!" Mike raised his head, looked up, and,
realizing he had no other alternative, got up off the floor, and proceeded
over to his own locker, and started to remove its contents. This was of
interest to the black dudes, because, in his distracted state, he forgot to
put his shorts back on, and was undoing his lock nude from his waist to his
socks. As I mentioned earlier, Mike had a beautifully, and perfectly shaped
backside. He was tanned, and his derriere was cute, bubbly and white, where
the sun never shined.

Soon, both young men's lockers were divested of there contents. Mike,
glancing down at his exposed state, walked back over to his original
seating position. He hoped that this ordeal would be over soon. Surely,
they would be satisfied with this now, he thought. Pat hoped for the
same. "Is this all the shit you clowns have got! What else!?" Uh...that's
all, I mean it, really." Pat was pleading, but to no avail. His eyes were
starting to become glassy, and his chin was starting to quiver. He was
trying his best to hold back his tears. "Fine, then, we want
everything. Take off your clothes, boy. Take it all off!!" Pat
hesitated. What were they going to do? He looked around at the tough faces
of his assailants. Maybe it was really just a robbery after all. The stuff
could be replaced, and it was, after all, a locker room. Pat slowly removed
his basketball shirt, and handed the garment over to the big black man that
he had fouled. He took the garment, and then indicated Pat's sneakers. Pat
stood there, bare chested, tall, but not quite so muscular as the black
man, his pale skin revealing just a slight touch of chest hair, but, beyond
that, the young basketball player did not seem at all that masculine, with
his big blue eyes so full of fear, and with so much of his smooth, young
flesh exposed. Pat lifted his left leg, and struggling on one foot, he
untied the strings to his sneakers. This made him nearly fall over, his
long lanky frame not showing the least bit of grace. Some of the black guys
snickered at this. Apparently Pat was too distracted to realize that there
was a bench just right behind him where he could have sat down to remove
his shoes. This ridiculous spectacle was repeated with the right foot. Both
sneakers were then handed over to the large black man by Pat. Pat then
straightened up, and stood in his basketball shorts facing the black
man. He just stood there with his hands at his sides, desperately hoping
that his ordeal would soon be over, but all the time feeling very very
vulnerable. He was masculine enough, but in this situation, his long and
lanky frame, with just enough adolescent baby fat, and his full hips that
many tall white guys seem to have, as well as a rather flat, wide bottom,
seemed now to become more obvious. It seemed to him that the black guys
were looking at him as a woman, and not a man. He was having a hard time to
prove otherwise, their masculinity surpassing his now by leaps and
bounds. He had just a little chest hair, but not nearly that much, and his
lack of much definition made his long frame seem almost feminine. Maybe
this will be all, he thought. "Those, too." The black man pointed to Pat's
shorts. Pat made another look around. He, however, knew by now what he had
to do. Silently, and without any comment this time, he undid the drawstring
to his shorts, and then, slowly he handed these over. He backed into the
lockers behind him, nearly tripping over the bench that was nailed to the
floor in the process. He now stood, terrified. He was now only wearing his
jockstrap and socks! He just stood there, stunned, unable to respond to the
situation, with his hands at his sides. If he had looked around he would
have noticed that several of the black guys were starting to get hard. This
sight was just too good in its absolute beauty and power to be resisted by
them.

For the next few moments the black basketball team members just stood and
stared at their now hapless victim. Pat just stared straight ahead into
space, trying to remove himself from the situation if only for the moment
by shear mental numbness, if he did not have the power to be physically
removed. His heart shaped boyish face, quivering chin, large blue eyes,
topped a tall, fairly smooth, long young and nearly naked frame. His white
skin, flat stomach and chest, only provided a slight contrast from the
light color of the fabric of his cotton jock. His hips were reasonably wide
and high, allowing the most personal areas of the man's body to become only
that much more obvious. His thighs were well built, if not overly
muscular. This, however, only provided the stark contrast with the rather
small pouch produced by his rather under sized genital organs. Normally he
would appear manly enough. In the present situation, however, the effect
was to completely emasculate him. He almost looked like a woman. The black
guys got hard at the sight. The rape of Pat MacDonald was proceeding first
in its visual stage.

"All right, girl, now, pull down your panties for me!" The locker room rang
out with horse laughter from the rest of the team. Why hadn't they thought
of saying that before? Why bother with hiding what was really going on? For
just a second, Pat blushed in anger and embarrassment. Under any other
circumstances he would have pummeled anyone who talked like that to
him. This time, though, he was simply too humiliated. What was the use? He
simply pulled on the fabric of his last remaining garment, save his socks,
and pulled the tight piece of fabric down over his body. It made a snapping
sound around his ankles. He awkwardly stepped out of it, and handed the
jock over with one hand, while covering his jewels with the other. "Ha ha,
girly, believe me, you ain't got nothing there worth hiding!!" There was
more laughter at this. Pat finally broke down completely at this, and
crouched with his knees together and both hands over his privates and his
head down, sobbing. He was a completely broken man now. His tormentors now
knew they could really have their way with him. "Now, goldy locks over
there! Stand up, Marilyn Monroe! Right now, you sexy babe! We're gonna have
a fun time together sweaty!" Mike was thus summoned to his feet, and two of
the black guys "helped" him take off his shirt. Despite his beating and
broken nose he still had those tanned blond good looks. His large dick
dangled between his tightly muscled thighs, but earned him no more
honorable treatment than his now sobbing friend and teammate idol. He, too
crouched, covering his larger cock. The effect, however only served to make
him look more vulnerable and a better prize than before. "You liked having
your dick sucked, babe, now, how about having your ass fucked." Mike
blushed. Please, not that he begged. "Guys..we learned our lesson, please,
please! No not that!" "Please, please, please, yeah, that's what you're
gonna do! Please me!" More laughter rang out.

Finally the two young white college basketball players were summoned, nude,
to "assume the position!" Pat stepped over the bench that was nailed to the
floor in front of his ankles, and Mike walked around it. Then the two
turned around, (great butt shot!), and knelt down, placing their elbows on
the bench, facing the wall and the lockers that were formally behind
them. They were both on their knees, with the bench supporting their
elbows. This allowed their heads to be at least slightly above their hips,
and of course, their butts. From the point of view of the black guys,
though, the sight was irresistible. Even more, some of them, already hard,
were not sure how long they could "hold out" as it were before shooting
their loads. This was a matter of contention, as they decided who, or which
two, would go first. It was decided, of course, that the big black guy, who
initiated the confrontation, deserved this honor, and, since he was fouled
by Pat MacDonald, would get the honor of impaling him first. As for Mike
Scherner, it was decided that one of the other players, who was already
oozing cum, would get his action first.

Mike's firm, white and well muscled bottom, made a perfect target. Mike's
back was tanned, as were his thighs. But that gorgeous butt was white, as
if nature was intentionally illuminating the target. Mike's "lover" pulled
down his shorts, revealing a rock hard big bad piece of massive black man
meat. At its dark brown tip, a bit of cum juice was already lubricating the
tip, good news for Mike, because his tight posterior would have much to
absorb. Mike quickly tried to breathe in and out heavily, an amusing sight,
attempting to relax his bottom, lest he be torn asunder. He hadn't much to
worry about, though, because the leader, before assaulting Pat, found an
open jar of Vaseline in the locker room, and handed it over to his friend,
"use this." "Why!?" "Consideration, I don't want you doing too much damage
before your teammates have their turn." So Mike's "lover" first caressed
Mike's ass, filling his butt crack with the jelly. It also gave him more of
a chance to feel over those beautiful firm buns, and to spread them and
examine inside. Oh, what a view! Mike just draped his entire upper body
over the bench, hoping to at least hide his face, in utter
humiliation. Then the black man lubed his own penis, on the verge of
exploding. He now quickly got down to business, and lowered himself to the
white boy's anus. His lubed penis inserted quickly, and he felt the firm
tight and warm hole around his cock. It slid in deep, feeling the slight
pressure of Mike's now tightening anus around it. Further and further,
until the two found their balls in contact. Mike did have large balls for a
white college kid. Mike winced in pain, at first, at the penetration. But,
soon, he was loosening up, and the cock was sliding well inside. Then, the
black man pulled back; Mike moaned. His hole tightened a little. It started
to hurt more, but, then, the process was repeated and the black ballplayer
rammed home again. The lubricant on both he and Mike did much to facilitate
this. Gradually, Mike's ass became looser. Involuntarily, Mike actually
started to moan, actually experiencing pleasure at what was happening to
him. "Ahhh...ohh...ahhh...yeah." He continued softly to himself. The black
man didn't even seem to notice, as he was moaning much louder, and was
overcome with passion. Eventually the ramming of Mike got louder and
louder, as did the moaning. Faster and faster. And, soon, ejaculation
occurred, and the black man pulled out, with a massive gob of his juice
flowing out of the white dude's asshole. He didn't get much time to
reflect, though, because soon another of his teammates pushed him aside,
and promptly proceeded to enjoy Mike's bottom, until he, too, was wasted
through the natural process of orgasm. Mike's ass was really getting
loose. And his anus was starting to get filled with cum. Mike just lay
there, quietly moaning. There was no point in being humiliated. He knew he
had been totally defeated as a man. He may as well consider himself a woman
to these guys. What worried him, though, was gradually the constant
thrusting up his butt was loosening his bowels. Even women are not
subjected to that humiliation. Please, he thought, I don't want to pass a
turd.

This was, however, nothing compared to the fate that was to fall to Pat. As
the one who began the unsportsmanlike behavior that led to the inner city
team's loss he would suffer the worst revenge. On his knees, elbows on the
bench, his long legs, ample thighs, and full hips, all combined to make his
backside a most delectable target. First, the big black dude who was fouled
approached from behind, naked below his waist, with a massive erection, at
least eight inches long, pointed outward and upward like an African Zulu's
spear, ready to penetrate its victim. At the insistence of his teammates,
Pat was to be lubed. But, as if to add to his victim's humiliation, he made
Pat do the job himself. "Hey, bitch, grease your asshole!" Pat, by now with
tears rolling down his cheeks, lifted his upper body off the bench, and
turned around, thrusting his weight on one knee. He took the jar, which was
nearly thrown at him, and, kneeling on one knee, rotated his hips, and used
his right hand to pull his right buttock aside while he lubed with his left
hand at the now exposed area around his anus. He had some dark brown hair,
more than his friend Mike, but the opening revealed a little of the
"doughnut" of his anal cavity. Pat filled the area well with the lube,
knowing it would help reduce any damage that he knew full well was meant
for him. "Now, you fucking bitch, back down, over the bench, head down, ass
up, legs open!! No, bitch, further foreword! More, you little cunt!!" The
other black dudes nodded their approval. Pat's assailant, instead of
manipulating his victim with his own hands, dictated his orders, forcing
Pat into the most obscene position over the bench he could think of. Pat's
head, practically touching the floor, his knees bent and apart, over the
secure bench, which, if you recall, was bolted to the floor, lest it would
have toppled over at this. By now Pat was crying profusely. "Now, asshole,
open your pretty white cheeks. Spread `em!! Wide!!" The victim obeyed, now
his greased anus was fully exposed in the locker room. Pat had some bit of
matted hair on either side, inside the buttocks, which were now fully open,
but the cavity was exposed like a little pink hole. In the very center of
the doughnut like hole was a dark slit. At the sides some pimply
hemorrhoids could be made out. Pat was made to maintain this position while
his attacker prepared one massive thrust.

Then it came. The large, tall, well-muscled black college basketball player
threw the whole weight of his lower body, while balancing on top of Pat's
back with his one hand, and guiding his over eight inch "weapon" with the
other. In addition, he utilized his powerful leg and buttock muscles-well
developed from making many a jump shot-onto his small, tight, and sensitive
target. SMASH!!! A piercing, high-pitched scream was let out, which did not
even seem to be coming from a male. If one did not see what was happening,
one would assume a young girl was doing the screaming, not a young, strong,
male, college athlete. If the sound was produced by the intensity of the
pain, or, had Pat lost any of the emotions and feeling of a man in his
utterly defeated state, I can't say. But the whimpering and crying that
followed was too pathetic for me to easily put into words. In and out, Pat
was penetrated fully. The lube only contributing partial protection to his
anus. The onlookers looked on, not in delight, as would be expected, but in
amazement that one man could be so completely destroyed in spirit as
this. Surely, they thought, he must have been a fag, after all. No man
would submit to this. The black man then increased his assault in
speed. His muscled flexed as he pounded his screaming and crying
victim. Then, in a final insult, he reached foreword, and grabbed Pat's
hair, and, pulling hard, forced Pat's head back up and back. Squeezing the
hair in a death grip, which came close to breaking his victim's neck, he
demanded, "now, you little cunt, tell me, tell me, say how much you respect
and admire me!" With tears flowing, Pat did just that. He had to continue
this for his subsequent assailants, for his first shot a huge load fairly
soon after seeing, and hearing, the white boy's pleas of complete and utter
submission. The subsequent thrusts were not as painful, though, as the
first. Pat's anus was starting to loosen despite the punishment, and the
repeated gobs of black man juice were soon filling his hole, and dripping
down his balls onto the floor. By the time the last player had his turn, a
turd was sliding out that loose hole. "Ah, shit! That's disgusting! Look at
what you mother fuckers did!" The other team mates laughed. Moving over to
Mike would not solve the problem either, for while Pat was being savagely
fucked, he, too, passed that turd he was worrying about. If it was out of
anal penetration or fear, or both, I don't know. But both the white
athletes were soon covered in sweat, crying, and dripping cum, shit, spit,
and piss.

Since by now all the black guys had shot their loads they had to think up
something else. They all put their basketball shorts back on, took the
whites' money, watches and valuables. As for the clothes, they took these,
which included two pairs of Dockers slacks, as well as two preppy sweaters,
one Cashmere, the other white cotton fleece, and used them to clean off
their sweaty bodies, even their penises, which were covered in cum and
shit. Then they wiped these garments on their owner's asses as an
additional insult. All the while Pat and Mike merely lay there, naked, and
draped over the bench in a most obscene position. Finally one of the black
guys found some duct tape in the locker room, and made good use of it, and
tied up both of the white boys. They were tied, still naked, still draped
over the bench, but with their bodies over the bench, and their wrists
taped together under the bench, crossed below their knees. Finally, their
ankles were secured together. If the reader wishes to pause for a moment
and try to imagine the resultant position, and how exposed a person would
be in it, feel free. Pat and Mike were too broken to resist, though. They
just lay there quietly sobbing. Then the black guys put socks in the white
boys' mouths, and bound these, too, with the tape. After it was all over,
they left. "Hey, we've been here too long. We better get to our bus!"

"Were have you guys been!" The black team's coach asked then as they filed
onto the bus on the way home. "Hey, if you don't mind my saying, you
smell. Didn't they let you use the showers? Too bad. Hey, sorry about the
loss, guys. Better luck next year." Then the bus drove away.

The next day the janitor, and old man in his sixties, who the college
athletes always enjoyed teasing and playing practical jokes on, entered the
locker room, only two find the two, bound and nude, ball players, asses
high and wide open, draped over the bench. "Holy jeeze!! What's this?
Another wild team initiation?" "MMMMM!!!" Was Pat and Mike's reply. "What's
that?" "MMMMMMMMM!!!!" The two boys attempted with duct taped mouths.
"Well, you had quite a party, didn't you? Any girls? Any Polaroid's?" Then,
the old man had a thought. "Well, I have a camera. I guess I'll have to
take the pictures. Now, smile, boys."

"MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!"