Scott and I woke up late on Tuesday because neither of us had an early class. We pissed before showering. When we were both wet, I said, "I think you need to bathe me." Scott soaped up his hands and I stepped out from under the spray. Starting at my neck, he washed me in small circular patterns. Scrubbing with delicate but firm motions, he traveled across my chest and abdomen. When he got to my hips, instead of walking around back, he encircled my body with his arms and lathered my back like a lover hugging his mate.
Squatting on his haunches, he washed my thighs and calves, and tapped my feet so I would raise them for cleaning—even running his fingers through the toe spaces. I have never had what I would consider sensitive feet. That is to say, I'm not ticklish there. But the feeling of his fingers rubbing my toes and the palm of his hand holding the sole of my foot and then running his fingers through the toe spaces caused me to pop a boner.
After soaping his hands again, he dragged them languorously across my butt cheeks, hips and pubes. Gripping my erection in his right hand he began a slow, soapy, sensual jack–off motion on my cock. Slipping the fingers of his left hand between my thighs, he cleaned my butt crack—his middle finger teased my 'starfish' the whole time. Just seeing him in that submissive position excited me like never before. He was looking up at me from his squatting position when my cock began pummeling his face with jolt after jolt of steamy jism. When I stepped back under the shower spray to rinse off, I looked down and saw Scott's cock was at full mast.
As I walked out, leaving him alone, I said, "Shower," but, with a backward glance just before going through the doorway, I noticed he hadn't sprayed my cum off his face yet. On the short walk back to my room, I wondered, Is he waiting to wash it off after I leave because he doesn't want to insult me by wiping my cum off? Then my salacious mind thought, Maybe he's waiting until I'm gone because he wants to taste it … or eat all of it? I wanted to go back to spy on him just to see exactly what he did but I didn't.
Breakfast, lunch and dinner at the frat house on Tuesday were basically a repeat of Monday—without the cum pants repast. That was the way the council planned it. To give the pledges something more to worry about, not knowing what, where or when something was going to happen. Before Hell Week began, the frat council spent a lot of time in the planning stages. Now it was pay–off time just watching the pledges squirm in anticipation of challenges not revealed … or even alluded to.
The success of our Tuesday night's challenge, however, depended on weeks of covert preparation on Russell's part. His major is in Law Enforcement and he works part–time at the campus location of a statewide bank. Local TV news coverage, a couple of months earlier, about areas to avoid at night because of ATM muggings gave the frat council a fresh idea for a challenge.
Because of the news report, we knew the campus ATM had a surveillance camera so we couldn't use that one. Working in the security department at the bank, Russell was able to get the frat some very valuable information. By casually discussing the subject with workmates, he discovered that not all ATMs have cameras and he got us a list of those that didn't. It was important to the frat, as well as the pledges, that the bank couldn't identify our pledges because they were going to be making their withdrawals in the nude.
The plan coalesced to where Carson would drive Marshall , our videographer, to the first of six ATMs we decided were safe for us to use. He would park about a half a block away so the pledges wouldn't know they were being videotaped. The plan was for Russell to drive the first pledge to the first ATM. After the first pledge was gone, I'd drive the second pledge over to the same ATM. We didn't want them to feel like they had any 'safety in numbers' going for them during this challenge.
After my pledge hit the ATM for a withdrawal, and Marshall videotaped him, Carson drove Marshall and the video equipment to the second ATM. We switched ATMs after each two withdrawals so locals wouldn't have a chance to call the cops, complaining of nude men roaming the area. Russell and I agreed we'd park at the corner and make them walk if The ATM was in the middle of the block or park in the middle of the block if the ATM was at the corner.
Each time one of us dropped off a pledge, we gave them the same instructions. "You don't want to attract attention to yourself by unusual behavior, so don't run and don't try to hide your genitals. Just walk naturally. Withdraw twenty dollars and come back to the driver's side of the car. Hand me the money and then you can go around and get in the passenger seat. Any questions?"
My first pledge, Dale, did quite well in that he didn't rush, except he got in the car before handing me the money. "Jack off and eat your cum," I said, "maybe that will remind you not to forget your instructions." That wouldn't be a punishment for me, I thought, but to most guys I guess it would be. Although, a lot of straight guys are telling me, in confidence, that they have tasted their own cum once or twice.
By the time Carson and Marshall got the camera set up at our second ATM, Russell was dropping off our third pledge. The beauty of the scheme was that the pledges didn't know the ATM's didn't have cameras. Of course, they didn't know Marshall was videotaping them, either.
Back at the frat house, the pledges were positioned along the wall … 'the walls of silence' … so they weren't able to exchange information about the evening's challenge.
My second pledge, the fourth of the evening, was Luke. He was so nervous he was trying to punch in the numbers too fast and he couldn't get the PIN number to work on his first two attempts. After nervously looking over his shoulders in both directions, he slowly punched in the number on the third try because he knew the machine would keep his card.
From my comfortable position in the car, I saw the look of terror on his face. I'm sure he was thinking the ATM would videotape him if the machine ate his card and how embarrassing it would be to go back the next day to claim his card. Just for fun, I jacked him off while I drove him back to the frat house—leaving the cum to dry on his chest and belly.
My third pledge, Martin, said, "I'll pull my jewels out of the pouch, but let me keep my fratwear on. Please?"
I extended my hand, palm side up and waited patiently until he deposited his fratwear in it. While he was at the ATM, I locked his door. After he paid me … through the driver's side window, I said, "You asked to change the rules so we'll change them. Go back and get another twenty." This time he did it right but panicked when his door wouldn't open. I rolled down his window and told him to crawl in, hopefully giving Marshall's video camera a good view of his meaty buttocks as he did so.
Back at the frat house with thirteen naked pledges standing around the coffee table, we displayed the money. Counting it, we came up with 300 dollars so Russell must have had to send a pledge back again, too.
"I'm going to call your name," I said, "and you'll respond with the name of your favorite charity. More than one pledge can have the same favorite charity so if someone mentions YOUR charity, you can use it, too." I had Scott record the responses, telling him to add his name and the name of his charity to the bottom of the list. Then I asked, "What is the learning lesson of tonight's challenge? Anyone?"
"Sometimes you have to embarrass yourself for the betterment of others, sir," Jason said, "especially when you don't know, beforehand, that your embarrassment will be intended for a good purpose."
"Does anyone feel the embarrassment of the challenge outweighed the benefit?" Vice President Kent asked.
Hearing nothing but silence, I said, "There will be no demerits or retaliation for an honest answer."
"Sir," Luke said, blushing … probably from the dried cum on his chest and belly … "if one charity got all the money, it might be worth all of us working together for a common goal, but I feel it was a bit extreme for just twenty dollars per charity."
"And we agree," Whitney said, "so to show our D.A.M. heart is in the right place, the frat will contribute $300.00 to each of your charities. Scott, add an additional $100.00 to your charity and that will be an even $4,000.00 total."
There were smiles all around, but no one voiced any joy for fear they would lose their contribution if they spoke … or made any noise … without permission.
"I want to let you all know you did a great job," Whitney said. "If there were any slip–ups, I didn't hear about them, so it's between you and your driver. Congratulation, pledges. By the way, the frat is going to give you an opportunity to add substantially to this charitable donation later in the week. Or, at that time, you can switch to another needy charity. Now, if you'll all accompany me to the balcony ... "
This time, when Whitney painted the Greek Alpha on their chests he put it to the right of the Delta. For Scott, however, he painted it on his belly below the Delta in the center of his chest. I knew why it was being done, but I think Scott thought it was to single him out as the frat mascot. As soon as the paint dries," Whitney yelled, "it's beddy–bye time."
Early on Wednesday, Scott stood by the door to hand a note to each pledge on their way to class. Observing their behavior from my place in the dining hall while drinking my second cup of coffee, it looked to me like they were finally comfortable with Scott being naked all the time. A few deliberately avoided looking at his genitals, but most looked briefly like they were checking out which tie or what pair of shoes someone was wearing. Since they were also nude from time to time, they were getting used to that, too. There was less blushing, although there was still the occasional nervous erection.
Each of the notes Scott passed out had on the front, typewritten in large, 36 point, bold lettering, the pledges name and the message 'Open this note at.' Under that phrase was handwritten the time of day. When the pledge opened the note at the designated time, the instructions inside told him which classroom to go to and to comply with whatever was written on the blackboard. After many lengthy frat council discussions when we were setting up this challenge, the frat council decided there was going to be a few guys who would not wait until the appropriate time to open and read their message. That's when we came up with the idea to prolong their agony by posting the challenge on the blackboard instead of inside the note.
Whitney, as frat president and working with the faculty adviser, made prior arrangements to reserve one classroom in three different buildings on campus for this challenge. Which room Whitney chose depended on it being vacant during the next period but our pledges didn't know that. Also, part of Marshall's weekend activity, when he wasn't with the film director–in–residence, involved going to the three different rooms to set up the hidden remote–controlled cameras.
We tried to coordinate it so the student could go to a building near where they had classes that day. Marshall did not have classes on Wednesdays, one of the reasons we chose that day for this particular challenge. As soon as the last student and/or professor in the classroom left, he rushed in, wrote on the blackboard, 'JO in latex –leave it in prof's center desk drawer,' before he tossed a foil packet on the desk. Then he started the camera rolling and hid before the pledge showed up.
When the pledge was done, Marshall used the remote control to turn off the camera, rushed in to collect the used rubber and hurried out before the next student arrived to comply with the challenge. He put a rubber band around the open end to keep the cum from spilling out in his coat pocket. When he saw the next pledge coming down the hall, he started the camera and hid until the pledge left. After the fourth pledge scheduled for that room left, Marshall gathered up the camera and erased the board.
Because there was a chance a pledge might recognize him if they showed up a moment too early, Marshall decided to wear a suit and tie to look more like a professor, hoping the pledges would see ' just another professor' entering or leaving the room.
At the second building because of where he had to position the camera, Marshall had to draw a down arrow and write 'Stand Here' … along with the J/O message. Otherwise, the pledge might move out of camera range. In the Chem. Lab, he had to hide the camera in the ceiling at a downward angle because all the beakers and Bunsen burners kept him from getting a clear shot of the pledges crotch. Although it sounded like a logistical nightmare to me, it was something Marshall enjoyed doing. Because of his dedication to detail, I imagine he will become a fine filmmaker.
After dinner, Scott set up the Great Room with thirteen folding chairs in a straight line in front of the big screen TV for the pledges. Some of the frat brothers moved the more comfortable chairs around to sit behind them where they could see better, not knowing what they were going to watch. They only knew it had something to do with a frat challenge the frat council had newly conceived this year.
It was comical to watch the videotape of the pledges reactions to the blackboard instructions and their getting ready to jack–off while looking furtively around the classroom, expecting other students or a professor to walk in at any moment. If you've ever watched old home movies of yourself, you know how uncomfortable it feels to see yourself on screen for the first time. Add to that the embarrassment of possibly being caught by fellow students while you're jacking off, and you can imagine how our pledges must have felt at that moment.
The first pledge, Luke, just pulled his cock out, stroked on it till it was hard and rolled the condom over it. Using rabbit–rapid strokes he came as quickly as possible, which was to be expected. Using two fingers of his right hand, he pulled the condom off, allowing it to dangle. With his pinkie finger in the air, he gently lowered it into the drawer like it was contaminated nuclear waste.
The next pledge, Dale, unsnapped the waistband of his jeans, unzipped and pulled the waistband of his fratwear out of the way by tucking it underneath his balls. Once he shot his load into the cum catcher, Dale used his left hand to gently grip the reservoir end and holding the top with his right hand, he eased it off his deflating cock. He handled it like a bomb about to explode as he deposited it in the center drawer.
Jason, our third participant, unsnapped, unzipped and shoved his pants and fratwear down to about mid thigh. After rolling the rubber onto his erection, he leaned his butt back against the chalk ledge to finish himself off in comfort. That's when I looked over at Jason and saw he was blushing beet red. He was the one who said he didn't understand why gays were gay. I'd never seen Jason blush, so I couldn't imagine what would have embarrassed him so much.
I glanced back at the screen just in time to see the fingers of his left hand slide between his legs to play in that most private of areas. It was obvious he wasn't finger–fucking himself, but he was teasing his perineum and applying pressure on that sensitive tissue.
I thought, I don't know why doing that would embarrass anybody as much as it's embarrassing him but I guess some guys grow up with totally different values when it comes to self pleasure.
All the while he was masturbating, he was craning his neck to look out the windows to see if anyone, especially Marshall, was lurking outside looking in with the camera. He must have been satisfied he was alone because after he took the rubber off and put it in the drawer, he palmed the cum residue off his cock and licked it off his hand—not once or twice, but three times. Then he quickly pulled up his pants and left.
Seeing that, I thought, It's odd that neither of the first two wiped their cocks off before putting them back in their pants. Maybe it's because they were in a hurry, It occurred to me about then, too, that it was that little display that caused Jason to blush so much. As I was watching the video of each one jacking off I was beginning to admire the different techniques each one used to strok their cocks. One was full fisted, one used only the thumb and two fingers and the other used one finger and his thumb.
Jamie, the next pledge on the video might have helped Jason feel a little better about his actions because, when Jamie was done and ready to put his dick away, he deliberately stroked one more drop out onto his fingertip. Looking around for something to wipe it on, he almost used his pants. At the last moment, he shrugged his shoulders, licked it off his finger nonchalantly and then tucked, zipped and bounded out of the classroom like licking cum off his fingertip was something he did every day.
The rest of the pledges were variations of the same. Some just pulled their cocks out; some unbuttoned and unzipped leaving their pants around their hips while others felt the need to lower them to mid thigh. There were those who played with their balls while they jacked off and a couple of others played with their ass area, but none of them actually penetrated their buttholes.
I was torn between watching the video and watching the pledges watching themselves on video. Another interesting discovery as I watched the jack–off display, was how the facial expressions that were caught on video changed from 'fear of being caught' dread to 'who gives a damn' lust as they got closer to cumming. Some had looks of anguish, some of euphoria while others had post–lobotomy surgery stares when they finally shot their load.
"So, what was going through your minds while you were jacking off?" I asked once the video montage ended. The answers came so fast I couldn't keep track of who said what.
"Worry," one pledge said, "about being identified through DNA testing or something."
"Excitement," another said, "about doing it in a public place and perhaps getting caught."
"Fear, for the same reason," yet another said with a nervous chuckle.
"Hostility when I started. You know, for having to do it. But before I was done, I realized you frat guys wouldn't let me get in trouble—at least none you couldn't get me out of."
"Nostalgia. I did the same kinda thing when I was a sophomore in high school—just because I wanted to. Thanks for a trip down memory lane."
Astonished I thought, At age 15 he was doing this kind of thing in public?
"None, really," Luke said. It was something I had to do to pledge the frat so I did it."
"Passion. Anytime I've got my dick in my hand, I get horny."
"Watch out for this guy when he's pissing!" I said.
"Is that why you unzip and open the flaps of your pants to flop it out? So you don't have to touch it?" One of the more astute pledges asked.
I thought, Well, he's doing what he was told … 'Observe your fellow pledge's behavior.'
He blushed, "What can I say? My touch turns me on—not for myself, but if no one is around to take care of it, well you just gotta take matters into your own hands!"
"Any others?" I asked.
"It's all been said," Jamie said.
"Well, in that case, it's time for bed. Sweet dreams and sleep well, 'cause we're taking you out on the town tomorrow night."
After dinner on Thursday, we lined the pledges up at the front door before taking them downtown. "Tonight," Whitney said, "you'll get to prove your customer service skills. This is your last public appearance as a pledge. You'll work in pairs in one–hour shifts. The last shift will have three pledges working because the rush hour comes after the last set at 2 AM. You'll be given your instructions once you get there. You cannot talk to each other once you're out of the frat house—except to your sponsor . . . or Scott. Are their any questions?"
"No sir!" everyone chorused.
Each sponsor walked side–by–side with his pledge to Up Yours, the porno store across the street from the campus. It offers videos for sale or rent, books, magazines, lingerie and adult toys. More importantly, for the frat, it also offers an alternative entrance to the adjacent strip club. Apparently, some people don't mind entering a video store but are embarrassed to be seen going to a strip club—and vice versa. The fact that there was a bouncer at the door of both establishments was an added bonus for the D.A.M. sponsors to choose Up Yours for their pledges. That and Mark's father owned the place—the shop, not the strip club.
D.A.M. had pre–arranged with the management to have the pledges work as sales clerks for free. The third Thursday of the month was ladies night at the adjacent strip club with strip–to–the–nude male dancers. From the street entrance, only women could get in. From the Up Yours boutique, an occasional guy might slip through to watch the dancers, so there was a good chance , too, that a strong contingent of gays would be shopping that night.
To our dismay, we couldn't allow the pledges to dance because of strict entertainment ordinances dictated by the city prohibiting it—and, of course, D.A.M. didn't intend to get the place shut down. So we did the next best thing.
As a warm–up to the dancers, the pledges were brought up on stage at 8 PM where they stood on a plastic tarpaulin. Each was given a squeeze bottle of cooking oil and told to grease each other up. "Every pledge must use their hands on every other pledge until everyone is coated, including your hair—and your fratwear," Whitney said.
To further embarrass the pledges, the oil made the pouches and miniscule ass coverings transparent and the ladies hooted and hollered worse than any Marine I'd ever known. Once completely oiled, the pledges were paraded in a single file to the back of the crowd and the tarp was removed so the dancers could begin performing their first of four sets at 9 PM.
Mike and I took Diego and Scott back into Up Yours, the bookstore, to begin their one–hourshift, leaving the rest of the pledges to 'enjoy the show.' We handed our two pledges a tie whose distinct pattern and colors were known around campus to be associated with our frat. We draped it around their neck and said, "Don't tie it, because only frat brothers have the right to 'wear' the tie."
Everyone knew from all the signs posted throughout the store that there was a strictly enforced 'Don't Touch' policy. We had the pledges remove their fratwear and place it next to the cash register, with the well–oiled pouch open. Mike put a dollar bill in the pouch of each one. I, however, carefully placed a one dollar coin on top of his dollar, making sure it was clearly visible. We had arranged with the owner … who was also a D.A.M. alumnus … to use dollar coins when making change that amounted to 4 dollars and under. We knew many people didn't like using the dollar coins and we thought they might be willing to use them as tips for the naked pledges.
As customers came in, our pledges greeted them with, "Welcome to Pledge Night at Up Yours. Is there something in particular you are looking for?"
A lot of the men ignored the pledges because they were regular customers who knew where they were heading to get what they wanted. Other male regulars, although they knew where to go, went along with the initiation prank and permitted themselves to be escorted—not all of them were gay, either. Probably, I think those straight men allowed it so they could brag to their friends that they had participated in a frat hazing prank.
For the most part, the women, once they were over the initial shock, warmed up to the idea and seemed to enjoy it. After all, it's not likely that prudes would be walking into Up Yours, on strip–to–the–nude–night, anyway. Many of the gays and most of the women asked if the pledges would be dancing later. I said, "No, but you can leave a tip in the guys' underpants by the cash register for already appearing nude, if you'd like."
Occasionally, women from the club would 'come out for fresh air'—or because they didn't like the dancer on stage at the time. One woman who was there with her blonde–haired girlfriend pulled Diego's tie from around his neck, looped it under his balls and lifted first one end and then the other. It made Diego's cock bounce and his balls jiggle in the hammock made by the tie when she see–sawed the ends of the tie.
"This isn't considered touching, is it, Diego?" the dark–haired woman asked reading his name from the ink on his chest.
Diego looked at Steve, the night manager.
"Uh, I guess, since I'm in charge, I get to make the rules. Nope, that's not touching."
She bounced Diego's balls with the loop and tickled his cock with the loose ends causing it to plump a little. "Come look Darlene, it looks like he's got a couple of bottles of perfume in a reticule."
As a gay guy, I was probably the only other one in the store … other than Darlene … who knew a reticule was a lady's cloth handbag. I hoped Diego didn't think she said ridicule, although that's what she was doing to him. Naturally, I looked and sure enough, it looked like a draw–string suede bag full of coins, like the one's Robin Hood stole from the rich to give to the poor.
Darlene looked for Scott's name on his chest. "You don't have a name!"
"Mascot," I said. "His name is Mascot."
"That's a funny name," Darlene said, giggling.
"He has to do anything we tell him to, so he's called Mascot."
"Oh!" she said like she suddenly understood all the vast laws of physics.
"So make them hug each other," her friend said, returning Diego's tie to hang loosely around his neck.
I looked at Steve.
"Customers can't touch the dancers, but I guess sales clerks can touch each other. Besides, I'm a D.A.M. alum', too."
Diego and Scott awkwardly hugged each other like they were trying not to make body contact below the nipples area. I walked around them looking them sternly in the eyes and said, "I've seen you hug your grandmother with more enthusiasm. This is your best friend! Hug each other." Diego was a little slow on the up–take, but eventually he began mimicking Scott's motions.
Hands were moving over warm well–oiled backs and butts, crotches were grinding and necks were entwining when Darlene said excitedly, "Make them kiss. Make them kiss. Guys always want to see two women kiss, so make these guys kiss."
Without orders, Diego leaned his head back and Scott kissed him … a kiss so deep I thought I'd see their tongues lashing out each other's assholes. I looked at Mike in amazement. After a downward glance, a habit of mine, I saw Mike's cock was on the rise, too, tenting his cut–offs … and threatening to pop the head of a Cyclops out the leg hole.
When Scott broke the kiss, he continued to caress Diego's body but began a dance–like motion. The rhythmic sidestepping motions caused him to look like he was dry humping Diego. He continued sidestepping until he was humping Diego's hip. Then he humped each butt cheek and on around his body until he was back in front of him.
Apparently emboldened by Scott's display and not to be out done, Diego turned around so his back was against Scott's body. He sensuously undulated snake–like around Scott. This allowed both their erect cocks to bob about unfettered to mesmerize the two women much like the cobra and the snake charmer … only in this case, it was the snake that was doing the 'charming'.
By this time, several other women and even more men were standing in a circle around them, watching the show.
When Diego's Hispanic brown butt cheeks pressed against Scott's butt cheeks … the color of vanilla ice cream … it looked like two huge, puffy pairs of lips kissing. But Diego kept writhing around Scott's body until he was in front of him, shoulder blades to nipples, ass to cock … and he bent his knees several times to rub Scott's hard–on up and down the crack of his ass.
Over the past week, I had seen the pledges confiding in each other, learning about each other and I noticed certain 'pairs' forming intangible bonds. From this current display, my observations of Scott and Diego had not been far off. I got the impression they trusted each other enough to allow this display to go this far without jeopardizing their status as viably masculine men.
Scott glared at me and I thought he was mad at me for making him do this. Then I realized he would never think that. The dance routine was too beautiful and seductive to interrupt with mere words to question his glare so I started trying to figure out what he was thinking. Then it occurred to me.
"Don't forget, ladies and gentlemen, tips are allowed," I said, as I glanced over toward their oily fratwear.
When I returned my gaze to the undulating duo, I saw an imperious smile on Scott's face. He had gotten through to me about the tips, without a word being spoken between us … like an old married couple who somehow know what the other is going to say before they say it.
Just when I thought one or both was going to shoot their load Mike reminded me it was time to exchange pledges. Scott and Diego collected up their tips, handed them to Mike and me and pulled their fratwear on over their rampant hard–ons. I was right. There were a lot more coins than bills in the 'offering plate,'
Dale and Jamie passed us on their way into the store as we went to stand in the back of the strip club to watch the dancers. I scanned the see–through pouches of the other nine pledges, all of which were fuller than usual, although none of them were fully erect—except Diego's and Scott's, of course. Naturally, it could have been the provocatively clad women getting up to tip the dancers that were causing the reactions in the pledges pouches, but I preferred to believe it was the gyrations of the men. Also, I mentally patted myself on the back for suggesting the use of oil instead of water because water would have dried and the pouches would have lost their transparency. The oil kept them see–through all night.
Marshall told me earlier in the day that he wouldn't be able to videotape any of this because it was an infraction of the community's public decency statutes. Hummm, maybe I can get these two to do a private video for me sometime, I thought. Standing there watching the dancers was a thrill for me, but the real reason we forced the pledges to watch was to encourage them to be more open–minded about nudity and appearing naked in public ₀ kind of a public service gesture, if you will.
The switch–off of clerks continued throughout the night, with each pair of clerks returning to the club with hard–ons. I'm sure , with a lot of encouragement from the pledges' sponsors, the gay guys were seeing just how far they could get two straight frat pledges to go, too. Three pledges worked the 2 AM to 3AM shift since it was the busiest, following the final dance set. Once the rush was over, I allowed the last three to put on their fratwear before I had all thirteen of them line up with their backs to the front of the cash register counter.
The store was almost deserted when I said, "Okay. You've had a chance tonight to look over just about everything in the store. Pick out one item you think is the most embarrassing to use or wear or read or whatever and bring it up to the register. Just so you know, you will not be asked to use it personally. It's going in our little bag of tricks for next year. So if you don't know what it is and want to see it in use next year, choose it. Consider it your reward for a job well done, tonight."
When we tried to pay for the dildos, whips, vibrators, garments and other assorted items, Steve refused to accept payment. "I'll bring over a receipt form for the value and Up Yours will write it off as a charitable donation. And now that I think of it, have each of the pledge sponsors pick out something, too. That will give the fraternity more to work with next year."
I couldn,t believe Steve's generosity, even though it was going to be a tax wrote–off. Even so, I was glad he made the offer because we were hoping for a bigger pledge turn–out next time.
Weather wise, it was unseasonably balmy for the walk back to the frat house. We allowed the pledges to chatter among themselves so they could exchange details about their experiences. Toward the end, it sounded like a one–upmanship contest—"Oh yeah, well listen to this . . ." and "That's nothin', I had to …." From the sounds of things, they enjoyed the evening.
"Don't forget." Whitney said when we got back to the frat house, "tomorrow is the last challenge. If you don't get your third letter, you won't be allowed to join D.A.M. You've come this far, so I don't want any of you to fuck up! Understood?"
"Yes, sir!" they shouted enthusiastically.
Naturally, that little expression of confidence also instilled a certain amount of trepidation in them as to just exactly what would be expected of them the following day and night.
I don't' know if they were horny or tired but they didn't complain when Whitney called bedtime. More than likely, however, it was the fact that it was 3:30 in the morning. Even so, Marshall and I took so much time setting up for Friday that Scott was asleep by the time I crawled in bed. The flap of his sleeping bag was open revealing his beautiful dream–state hard on. God I wish he were dreaming about me, I thought.
At 7 PM on Friday, Marshall brought out the thirteen used condoms and removed the rubber bands from each. Using instant glue, he put a drop on Scott's chest and stuck the open end of it to the glue spot. Selecting twelve more spots on his chest, shoulders and back Marshall glued the rest of them on Scott. Then we sent him downtown to the meat market wearing only the cum–laden rubbers and his crimson fratwear.
Marshall filmed the expressions of students passing by, keeping either the condom draped front or back of Scott in the picture. When he got to the meat market, Scott went in and asked for several kinds of sausage from a list we provided. He got a couple of thick horseshoe–shaped ring bologna; four crescent–curved smoked kielbasa and some slender dark brown summer sausages that were perfectly straight but exceptionally long.
When asked if he wanted paper or plastic, Scott declined, willing to walk back to the frat with the dildo–looking substitutes cradled in his arms but on full display. We forgot to give Scott any money so Marshall had to put it on his credit card.
Scott wore the condoms throughout dinner but when we retired to the Great Room, we supplied him with a bottle of nail polish remover and an eyedropper so Scott's skin wouldn't rip off when Diego volunteered to gently peel the condoms off Scott's body. Diego reverently placed each rubber on a table we had set up in preparation for the evening's entertainment.
By nine PM, the Great Room was all set up. The doublewide sheet was in place between the condom–laden table and the audience with the thirteen chairs facing our makeshift screen. Whitney said, "For tonight's; activity Marshall has installed flood lights on the balcony to give us backlighting. The inside lights are off to give us optimum visibility. There are frat brothers stationed around the perimeter of the garden and two at each corner of the frat house so no one can come snooping around.
Normally, giving pledges this much useful information would seem to be counterproductive and I'm sure there were a couple who didn't believe that we had really gone to so much trouble to ensure their privacy. But for what we wantd them to do to … pledge the frat … we wanted them to feel reasonably uninhibited.
Kent said, "You've all been instructed to get to know each other. I want you to pair up with the one you trust the most." Without hesitation there were six pods of pairs. "Good," Kent said, "Scott has generously gone out tonight to pick up some kielbasa, summer sausages and the likes. In pairs, you are to go behind the curtain and, using them in whatever way you want, give us a Shadow Show. Oh, by the way, no one has to wear their fratwear anymore. Take them off."
I imagine most of the pledges felt that by being allowed to take them off, they were somehow divesting themselves of part of what singled them out as pledges. Kind of like a first step in the right direction. I know I did when I pledged. But I'm sure a couple were still embarrassed to be completely naked in a room full of fully clothed fraternity brothers.
"Scott, do you have an idea of what we're looking to accomplish tonight?" I asked. A nod, a wink and a smirk from Scott convinced me he did. "Scott and a partner of his choice will perform first to give you an idea of what we're looking for in the way of a performance. Then, each of you in pairs will entertain the rest of us. Any questions?"
"Hearing none," Kent said, "Scott, who do you want to pair up with?"
My heart leapt joyously when he chose Diego. For some reason, I was afraid Diego's confidence would crumble and he might chicken out if it weren't for the strength he soaked up from Scott's seemingly endless supply. The lights outside back lighted the action and enlarged the figures into huge shadows on our super–sized bed sheet screen.
We heard whispered instructions between them, but couldn't hear what was being said. Then, like in the Up Yours store, they kissed and ground their hips against each other. They turned in slow motion like they were on a lazy Susan before Scott leaned back as if he were being 'dipped' in a dance move, even extending his leg and pointing his toes like a ballerina.
Then Diego picked up a huge curved bologna and to all appearances it looked like he was sliding it gently into Scott's mouth and down his throat. Because it was a Shadow Show, it's possible that the bologna was disappearing behind Scott's cheek on the side away from the viewers. But Scott's gagging noises sure made it sound like the real thing.
When Scott had swallowed about a third of it, Diego removed it and placed it on the table. Picking up a long firm summer sausage, he handed it to Scott. Once Diego was facing away from him he bent over and grabbed his ankles, Scott slowly inserted the sausage up Diego's ass. At least that's what it sounded like when Diego whined as if in agonizing pain. From our side of the screen there was no telling if they were really doing it or not but it still made for one hell of a show.
"Time!" Whitney called.
Scott made a show of wiping the sausage against his belly to clean it off before slipping around the screen to take his seat. The frat brothers burst into applause and with an affirming nod from Whitney, the pledges joined in. Diego sat next to Jamie, the pledge he chose earlier to pair up with, figuring Scott would be busy with frat duties. Scott sat on the end next to Diego.
I looked over the now–naked pledges and saw some were starting to sport wood. Taking my reputation with the frat brothers into my own hands, I said, "Is it getting hot in here?" I took off my shirt and removed my pants. Standing in only my briefs I said, "Anyone care to join me?"
While the next pair of pledges, Dale and Martin, went behind the screen, Whitney, Kent, Marshall and all twelve sponsors stripped to their underwear. I figured the sponsors would, because the fact they were sponsoring pledges meant they had a bold nature. But when the president and vice president joined in, I felt honored that they trusted me so much. As for Marshall, I guess he was as comfortable in front of the camera as behind it.
Dale and Martin picked up a horseshoe bologna and while facing each other, fed themselves. "Turn sideways," I said. "These are supposed to be silhouettes." They turned and tried to swallow the oversized dong–shaped tubes of meat. From the amateur sounds, I was fairly sure they were really trying to gag them down, not realizing they could fake it. Seeing Martin's shadow wipe tears from his eyes with his forearm was the definitive clue, however. That's when Whitney called time—slightly early.
Both Dale and Martin came out with tears in their eyes from gagging in their attempts at entertaining us. After Jason and Frank went behind the curtain, they whispered to each other. After a moment, Jason fed Frank one end of a long slender straight kielbasa. Then he put the other end in his mouth and they moved their heads closer together as they took mini steps toward each other. Just as they consumed as much as they could, their cocks touched. Frank looked a little more aroused than Jason but then, Jason's cock was the one that only firms up when it's on the rise. For a guy who couldn't understand why gay guys do what they do, he gave us a good show.
"Time," Whitney said. To my surprise, he stood up, whipped off his underpants and used them to wipe his brow. "Damn, it really IS getting hot in here." As others, including me, took off their underwear, some of our frat brothers started taking off their clothes, but left their underwear on.
The next two pledges did an anal attack on each other. One of them pushed the bologna too far and you could see it come out the front, so we knew it was a fake 'butt fuck.' Since there appeared to be real resistance and from the grunt–like sounds, I think the other one actually tried to take it up the ass.
The Shadow Show continued, some being real boner makers, while others caused us to go limp.
Eventually, Jamie remained as the only one who hadn't performed. He and Diego had paired up earlier so they stood to go behind the curtain. If I'm a good judge of character, I think Jamie chose to befriend Diego because Jamie is the extrovert to Diego's introvert personality. He probably realized Diego needed someone to protect him because of his shy inherently nature.
"Sir," Scott said.
"Permission to join these two."
Diego and Jamie just about got whiplash, turning to look at Scott after his unexpected offer.
"Granted," I said.
Behind the screen, Scott whispered to the two for a few seconds and both nodded their heads 'yes.' Again, whispers. Then shaking their heads 'no.' More whispering, this time longer, before Diego helped Scott move the table.
While Diego and Jamie rearranged the various meats off to one side of the table, Scott raised each condom high in the air, one at a time, to inspect each one, squishing the fluid in its latex sack like he was checking for viscosity. He rearranged them around the edge of the table before lying on his back in the center. Jamie approached Scott's backside with a long slender summer sausage while Diego strode toward his head with a ring bologna.
Jamie put his meat, so to speak, between his thighs and placed the 'head' end of it at Scott's anal portal. Diego crawled up on the tabletop, straddled Scott's head and put the curved bologna between his thighs so it was curving downward. The end rested on Scott's lips. We heard muffled whispering before Diego and Jamie leaned in to kiss. Their bologna slid down Scott's throat and up his ass as they embraced—or so it appeared. As Jamie pulled back from the embrace, Diego fell forward, lifting Scott's erection away from his belly in the process. Once in the 69 position, Diego's mouth opened to engulf Scott's full eight inches of tumescence.
Diego put one hand on each of Scott's hips and lifted his ass off the table until Scott was upended onto his shoulder blades. Diego's mouth never left Scott's cock and the long straight sausage stayed firmly implanted up Scott's ass.
Either he has some damn strong butt cheeks or it really has invaded his ass, I thought.
Jamie in the meantime walked around behind Diego, pulled Scott's knees up onto Diego's shoulders to relieve the strain on Scott's back and began inserting another sausage up Diego's ass. He plunged the monster meat in and out vigorously. To all the viewers it looked like he was really being fucked but it might have been sliding between his thighs but hidden because Scott's head was in the way'
For their next sequence they had to reposition themselves. Standing on the tabletop, Scott and Diego, with the sausages still hanging from their butts, began to squat. It could have been an optical illusion but it looked to me like the sausage went further up their assholes as they finally ended up sitting on the tabletop. As they raised up from their squatting position, Jamie 'popped' the sausage out of their butts and held them over his head in a V for Victory stance.
Losing himself in the erotic action, Whitney forgot to call time, but it didn't matter because when he did, the three performers ignored it. Scott laid on his back on the table again.
That was when I realized Scott was using the table top as a raised 'stage' so everyone in the room would have a better view.
Diego and Jamie picked up a condom in each hand, and stood on the table, one at each end of Scott's outstretched body. First Diego and then Jamie upturned a rubber over Scott's open mouth to allow the cum to drizzle out.
They continued draining the rubbers, one at a time, alternating who was doing the drizzling. When the last one was empty, Diego and Jamie leaned toward each other, still in a standing position and kissed. The result was three pledges forming a human triangle in honor of Delta House.
When they came out from behind the curtain, they were welcomed by a standing ovation—in more ways than one. Every pledge and every sponsor was erect, along with Whitney and Kent. Even some of the frat brothers had shucked their shorts and were playing with themselves, trying to get relief from their sexual tension.
I handed each pledge a pencil and a clipboard with a single sheet of paper. "Write down the one thing you think would be the most embarrassing thing you could be expected to do as a pledge. Again, none of you will be challenged to do any of this. It will be used next year with the new pledges. So be really, really creative. If you wanna be a D.A.M. brother, you gotta start now by helping us out for next year."
As each one thought and wrote down their ideas, their faces reflected, depending on their own personality traits, deep thought, devilishness, disgust and, sometimes, downright maliciousness. I was eager to read them. While they were thinking, I imagined they were also wondering if we could be trusted to keep our word and not use them against them before initiation night. For that reason, I guessed some of the answers would be fairly unremarkable. As it turned out, there was the customary 'kiss a guy,' 'suck a guy,' 'get fucked by a guy'… but there were others that were, hopefully, going to be a lot of fun next year.
When the curtain came down, the pledges were escorted out onto the balcony. If any of the pledges saw the hidden camcorder on the tripod, no one mentioned it. Marshall, after turning it off with his thumb–sized, remote controled, clicker thingy, crowded several of the now–naked frat brothers in front of it to help keep it concealed. Scott retrieved the paint pot and brush before joining us.
Whitney, once again, did the honors of painting the final Greek letter on the pledges. The M was painted, of course, to the right of the D and the A, except on Scott. "Gather around, everyone," Whitney said as he took the bowl of paint from Scott. "Randy, tonight you have the honors."
Marshall got the hand–held camera and stood behind me as I knelt in front of Scott.
Whitney knelt to my left and Kent to my right. While the rest looked over our heads and shoulders, I dipped the paintbrush in the pot before beginning to paint. Starting with his right leg, I painted from mid thigh up at an angle toward his groin, then from mid thigh on his left leg up at an angle into his pubes. Dipping the brush to get a full load of paint, I brushed a V down over his cock and balls to finish forming the M.
When I laid the brush down a roar of applause rang out with whoops and hollers all around. "This means you can't lose your hard–on or you'll ruin the M," one brother taunted.
"All right, all right, quiet down!" Whitney said, "It's bedtime. These guys need to get their beauty sleep if they want to make a good impression on the alumni before they get voted in or out by them tomorrow night."
I saw many looks of fear as the pledges started thinking about meeting, for the first time, the really rich alumni … corporate CEOs, local business owners and international executives … who financially support the fraternity.
To be continued.
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