Date: Mon, 21 Jun 2004 08:43:56 -0400
From: Herb Cat <herb_cat@lycos.com>
Subject: IOK Part 2

Tim managed to finish his report even though his mind kept wandering back
to Bart's visit, and forward to the post-meeting fun time. He printed out
the final thoroughly spell-checked version and set it with his books for
the morning. Seeing it was 10:30, Tim took a quick shower, brushed his
hair, and headed up the stairs, naked as a jaybird, but proud as a
peacock. He caught his breath outside the conference room door, then
hearing the grandfather clock down the hall toll the hour, he knocked on
the door. Tony (big dick Tony) opened the door. He was dressed in jeans,
sneakers and a sweatshirt. "Come in, cocksucker!" Tim was taken aback. Ever
since his arrival on Saturday, the brothers had been punctilious about
calling him by name. None of them had ever used an abusive term for him
until now. Then someone inside, George maybe, called out, "Drag the faggot
boy in here." And with that, Tony grabbed his naked arm and pulled him
in. All the brothers were fully dressed. Tim, alone naked, slowly stumbled
forward, and brother after brother started pawing at his ass, even poking
wet fingers in his hole. They all had bottles in their hands, swigging beer
like it was water, but nobody offered Tim a bottle. Instead they began
showering him with all the abusive words he hadn't heard since high school:
sissy-cunt, bitch boy, fairy ass. Now in the center of the room, he
realized that even his best friend Damon was chiming in, "C'mon, cumbucket,
get in here and earn your keep. Come here and let me fuck your faggot fairy
face." And with that, he whipped out his familiar tool and stuffed it into
Damon's mouth. "Yeah," shouted some of the others.

Tim's head began to spin, but a cock in his mouth was something he knew all
about. He tried to ignore the change that had come over the brothers and
instead concentrate on what he could do best. Suck cock. He didn't even
feel like running out of the room. His avenue of escape was to lose himself
in the ecstasy of cocksucking. And this he did. Damon's cock was quickly
replaced by another, then another, as the naked houseboy was pushed from
one open zipper to the next. At one point, two brothers stuffed both their
huge cocks down his throat at once, but Tim could handle even that. He was
in his element, -the shock of all this verbal abuse distracted him only
from his task of cock identification. He closed his eyes and centered
himself totally upon the job of sucking off whatever cock was in his mouth
at the time.

Suddenly, he heard Philip shout, "Piss Break."

"Oh come on, Phil," said Pete, - Tim opened his eyes and saw Pete's heart
tattoo. "I just got started." But reluctantly he pulled his cock out of
Tim's mouth, and two brothers grabbed the naked boy under his armpits and
lifted him off the floor. They cupped their free arms under his knees and
rushed him into the bathroom, where they set him down in the hot-tub. Tim
knelt there while all the brothers surrounded him, pointed their pissers in
his direction and let loose all the beer that had been filling their
bladders, up to that point. Tim was drenched from head to toe. The brothers
zipped up, went back to the conference room and picked up their bottles.
Before leaving, Bart handed Tim a towel and whispered, "Remember what I
told you."

Tim wiped the piss out of his eyes. What Bart said that afternoon was
beginning to make sense. Tim could leave whenever he felt uncomfortable.
Tim dried the excess piss off his body before stepping out of the hot-tub,
and thought to himself. "Yeah, I could leave. But I'm not really all that
uncomfortable. I'm surprised, I'm kinda confused, but I'm actually kind of
enjoying this. It's exciting, exhilarating. I've tasted more jizz tonight
than all this past year, and now I've been sprayed with their piss. It's
sort of an anointing, like they have marked me as their territory. In fact,
I'm kind of curious about what other fun these drunken bastards have in
store. Tim's hair and chest and face and arms and legs were still matted
with drying piss, but he saw that he was not dripping anymore. He could
walk out into the conference room without ruining the carpet or the
furniture. He would then have a choice to make. Either walk through the
room past all the brothers and go back to his hole in the basement, or else
return to the middle of the activity and see what happens next. He stepped
into the room. Every eye was glued on him. The brothers knew the two
options open to him as well as he did. Tim deliberately walked over to the
center of the room, climbed up on the pool table, got on all fours and
said, "Pete, I believe we were interrupted."

The whole room went wild. They first cheered their houseboy, then invented
all kinds of new insults to hurl on him. Pete lost no time in getting his
cock back into Tim's mouth. Several times, Tim felt his back end, now
raised in the air, spanked. Not the friendly pat that football players give
each other after a goal, but a real ass-reddening spank. Tim concentrated
again on the succession of manmeat going in and out of his mouth. Several
brothers were obviously coming for second and third helpings.

Tim gave up trying to figure out why the house had changed so completely in
just a few hours. He decided to just enjoy the moment, and sort out the
contradictions tomorrow. Yes, enjoy. For, he was not only enjoying this
mantool buffet, but strangely, was even coming to revel in the verbal
abuse, and the spankings. As the night wore on, he felt hands tweaking his
nipples, pulling at his balls, squeezing his cock and penetrating his
asshole, and he relished each new abuse. Every forty or fifty minutes, he
was carried back to the hot-tub for another piss break, and each time he
returned refreshed, ready to take more humiliation.

After the third piss break, Tim suddenly felt something that brought his
mind back to Mr. Foster's office. An anonymous hand was applying some
lotion around and into his asshole. Tim continued to suck the cock of the
moment. But what he felt next enter his shit chute was no finger. Some
brother's thick mantool was making its way deeper into his hole. Tim
continued sucking but glanced to his side to see what the other brothers
were making out of this. Weren't they shocked seeing their manly hetero
brother penetrating their cocksucker's ass? Would they turn in disgust?
Would this dishonorable brother be driven from their midst? But as Tim
studied their faces, he did not see shock or disgust, but rather wide-eyed
wonder, even admiration. "Who the hell is this with his cock fully
implanted in my ass," Tim wondered.

"C'mon, give me a turn." Tim recognized Phil's voice.

Tim now heard agitated grunting from his fucker. This brother was beginning
to pound his ass with increasing fury. "Hang on, I'm almost there," he
murmured. It was Tony's voice. It was Tony's immense tool that had
penetrated Tim's hole for only the second time in his life. "Damn, that is
one tight manpussy," and with those words he let loose his spunk, filling
Tim's caboose. He pulled out and before the hole could close, it was filled
with another cock, - Phil's? One after another, the brothers took their
turns fucking the cocksucker's asshole while Tim continued to suck another
succession on cocks plowing his mouth. He had cocks inserted in every
conceivable orifice, like an oversized pincushion.

And so the night continued. At around 3, the brothers began dropping off to
bed. Some just fell on the couch where they were and snorted off to
sleep. Finally, it was just Tony and Tim. Tony stood up, pulled up his
briefs, kicked off his jeans, and announced, "I'm tired. Cocksucker, you
got one hell of a hungry asshole. Better get down in your hole where you
belong, turd face." And he left.

Tim stumbled down the stairs. He could feel cum dripping down his thighs
from his supersaturated hole. His hair and skin were caked with dried
piss. His mouth was sore, having been stretched to unimaginable limits. His
ass was burning. His nipples, cock and balls all ached. He tumbled onto his
cot and fell fast asleep.

In the morning, Tim's alarm went off and he shook himself awake. For
someone who hadn't drunk so much as a teaspoon of beer, his head was still
viciously throbbing. He was intoxicated, but not with alcohol. He was drunk
on the elixir of life, mad erotic sexual lust.

As his mind began to clear, he saw the report positioned on his books and
realized he still had to get to class. He took a brisk shower, scrubbing
every inch of his abused body with a loofah. He dressed quickly, and
hustled off to class, trying to walk steady, or at least not appear too
unsteady.

When he came back to the house, some of the brothers were eating lunch. Tim
sat in the kitchen and Ramon handed him his meal. Tim was of course
thinking about these brothers, the abusive gang raping sons of bitches from
the previous night, when George came into the kitchen and patted Tim on the
shoulder. "Hi, Tim," he said and left.

Then Pete came in. "Good morning, Tim," even though it was well past
noon. "How's my good man?"

Philip was next, and then several of the others. Each one came in,
addressed the houseboy by his name, spoke to him politely, calmly and with
respect, and left. Nobody referred to the night before, and there were
certainly no apologies.

After lunch, Tim began cleaning up the conference room. He picked Tony's
jeans up off the floor, got a big plastic lawnbag for all the beer bottles,
scrubbed a few visible spots off the pool table (jizz? piss? beer?), and
tried to sort out what had happened. They called it game night. So this was
all a game they were playing. They gave him every opportunity to get out of
the game at any point, unlike the vicious dodge ball games in high school
that never offered a way out. This was a role playing game. He had been
assigned the role of the faggot boy who needed to be taught his
lesson. Well, shit, who else in the house could play that role. They had
assumed the roles of homophobic gang rapists. And as it turned out, all
those in the game, Tim included, had enjoyed it immensely. All played their
parts to the hilt. Just as in football, all the players gave 110% to the
game. Now, though, the game was over. Tim was again the dutiful houseboy,
and the brothers were, well, the brothers. And it served no purpose to
remind these hetero masculine studs how much enjoyment they were getting
from man-to-man sex.

As if to confirm this conclusion, or else simply to test Tim's reaction on
behalf of the house, Luke rang Tim's phone later that afternoon. "Could you
please come to my room, Tim? There's something I need you for." Luke's
words were soft-spoken and kindly. It was a simple request, the kind that
Tim had become used to getting prior to 11 last night. It was as if those
four hours of game night had never occurred.

Tim went upstairs to Luke's room. He was alone. "Thank you for coming so
promptly, Tim. The brothers really appreciate all that you do for us. We'd
like you to know that."

Tim nodded, and then, trying not to look wary (or weary), asked, "What can
I do for you, Luke?"

Luke smiled, not a vicious sneer or any kind of expression that indicated
malicious intent, but a simple sincere smile of one friend to another. "If
you please, you can give me a blow job."

Damn, the brother even said please. Of course Tim would be pleased. This
was one of the pictures he had yet labeled. Of course, he had no doubt
sucked Luke off the night before, and probably been fucked by him too, but
that was during the mad fervor of an orgy. Now it was just the two of them
alone in a room. No one egging anyone on. Luke simply wanted his poor cock,
no doubt overworked from last night, massaged by Tim's comforting lips.

Tim smiled and knelt down. Luke opened his trousers and let them drop. He
wasn't wearing undies. Tim studied this new specimen and immediately knew
it was the bottom row, fourth picture from the right. Tim took it in his
mouth and gave Luke the most intense, most prolonged oral sex of his
life. (The reader can decide who `his' refers to. The writer isn't sure.)

The weekly schedule was thus determined. Saturday night was for the girls,
so Tim would disappear. Wednesday night was men-only, so Tim would be the
center of attention. All week, there was nothing but respect for the
houseboy. If anyone had any complaint (which was doubtful), or harbored any
antigay feelings (which was possible), he kept those to himself all
week. He knew that on Wednesday night, he'd be able to voice any pent-up
resentment with no retribution. He knew that the houseboy would continue to
be his dutiful self come Thursday morning.

For Tim's part, Wednesday nights became therapeutic. He hardly ever slipped
up on any important tasks around the house, but occasionally he might not
see a spent condom thrown behind a brother's desk on Saturday night, until
say the following Tuesday. Or he might open a door to clean a room and
accidentally encounter two brothers doing something indiscreet. Tim was
never reprimanded for these slips. He didn't need to be told when he failed
to do his duties perfectly. But deep inside, he still wanted to be punished
for them, and he took the weekly game night abuse as more than adequate
justice. The repeated piss baths were especially cathartic.

Weeks lengthened into months. Rush week came and went. From the crop of
rushees, the brothers selected eight whom they felt had the potential to
pledge. These were put through the usual paces, washing the brothers' cars,
painting the shingles, mowing the lawn. But Tim found that they were even
assigned some of his duties like picking up the messes around the
house. Tim realized his work load had gotten slightly lighter. Ironically,
these future brothers were at the moment helping him. Tim made himself
scarce when the pledges were in the house. The few times they did see him
seemed to confuse them, especially Eddie, who had lived on his floor back
at the dorm. No matter, - when they come into the house, they will learn
what Tim's doing there.

Neil came to Tim one Wednesday afternoon and said "We won't be having Game
Night tonight."

"How come?" Tim tried not to appear too disappointed.

"Tonight is the Measuring Up ceremony for the pledges." So, the rumors were
true. The skinny dipping session last Sunday in the pool out back must have
served an ulterior purpose, allowing the brothers to size up these pledges'
assets. Now they would have to prove that the brothers' assessment was well
founded. "We want you to witness the ceremony, Tim." Tim could hardly
believe it. He was being given permission to view an ultra-secret holy
rite. "Of course, you will have to stay in the shadows, out of sight."

"Yes, Sir, of course, Neil."

"OK. Come up at 11 as usual, but do not knock. We'll leave the door
ajar. Simply slip in and sidle over to a dark corner. You can't make a
sound."

"Yes, Sir."

Neil turned and headed out under the sheet. "Oh, and Tim." Tim turned his
head and anxiously waited to hear this next bit of news, whatever it would
be. "Wear clothes!"

"Yes, Sir."

That night, Tim dressed but carefully chose his wardrobe, being overly
conscious of any noises his clothes might make. He tested several pairs of
shoes and finally opted for his slippers. His jeans were well worn, much
quieter than his stupid corduroys. He climbed the stairs softly and at 11
slipped through the door, ajar as promised. The pledges were in the center
of the room, the pool table having been moved to one side. They were
blindfolded, and stood in a circle facing out. The brothers were sitting in
a circle of chairs around them. The only light that was lit was the one
that illuminated the now absent pool table. It had been raised on its
chains so that the pledges (tall athletic men all) could stand beneath its
heat. The brothers were bathed in the green aura of the glass shade. It was
easy for Tim to find an absolutely black corner.

Damon was reading the pledges ritual. And the pledges were responding at
correct intervals with precisely worded refrains. They had obviously worked
to memorize their parts. Then Damon said, "There is one final phase to your
initiation. We must determine if you truly are men in every sense of the
word, if you have been endowed with what it takes to be Iota Omicron Kappa
men. We must see if you," he paused, "measure up."

The pledges of course had heard the rumors also and had no doubt been
spending the weeks prior with a ruler insuring that they wouldn't fail this
final test. George spoke next, "Pledges drop trou." As one, all eight boys
opened their jeans and let them fall around their ankles. None were wearing
any undies. They had probably been told how to dress.

Luke gave the next order, "Pledges commence jerkoff." Immediately sixteen
hands began furiously beating their eight monkeys, choking their eight
chickens. Tim could see that the brothers were all grinning; some were even
massaging their own crotches. Tim certainly was. However, no one spoke or
made any auditory reaction. The only sound in the room was that of
stiffening cock, as the slurping noises of precum gradually filled the air,
and a few blindfolded boys couldn't help but release quiet moans as they
masturbated for the brothers.

One of the pledges suddenly stopped and announced, "I'm ready Sir." He
placed his hands behind his bare ass and his cock stood erect, curving
toward the green light.

Neil brought the official IOK ruler over to this boy, placed its zero end
on the junction of shaft and pubes. Then he pressed the curved shaft
against the straight ruler in order to give the boy every possible
advantage, and carefully read the result. "Ten and seven eighths inches."
The brothers finally made some noise as a rumble of approval went around
the circle. Jake took a photograph of this long tool, and then winked over
at the darkened corner where he knew Tim was standing. This element had
obviously been added to the ceremony this year for Tim's benefit, for his
wall of inspiration. Neil escorted the relieved pledge out of the lit
circle, the boy trying desperately to look manly walking with his pants
around his ankles. Still blindfolded but now out of the glaring light and
heat, the boy, no longer the focus of the brothers' attention could allow
his cock to go flaccid or beat it off until it cummed. The choice was his
to make. Jake handed him a cum rag regardless.

Shortly after, another pledge announced that he was ready. He measured
eleven and one quarter. The third was ten and a quarter. Each one was
greeted with tempered approval by the brothers, and each was recorded by
Jake's camera. Each was escorted out of the spotlight, and each showed
obvious relief that it was over. Most simply let their tools go limp, but a
couple who were caught up in the moment filled their cum rags.

Finally, only one boy was left under the light. Poor Eddie was having wood
problems. As much as he tried, his dick, though certainly impressive, would
not develop its full potential. Several times, Eddie started to put his
hands behind his back and begin the announcement, "Sir . . ." but each time
he thought better of it and resumed his mad jerking. The brothers could see
tears beginning to escape the blindfold, but rather than mock this evidence
of weakness, they seemed to take pity on the boy. They liked Eddie. He was
a strong, tall basketball player. He showed a lot of IOK spirit. And all
the brothers knew his cock was definitely ample.

Damon got up and came over to Tim. Placing his finger over his mouth, he
motioned to Tim to come with him into the center of the room. He placed his
hand on Eddie's shoulder and said, "OK, Eddie, let go of your cock." Eddie
felt his dreams of being an IOK had just been dashed. The other pledges,
who up to that point had no idea who the lone holdout was, quietly
gasped. The possibility of not measuring up was not hypothetical. Any one
of them could have had a bad night. They liked Eddie as much as the
brothers. But they knew rules were rules. Damon motioned to Tim to kneel,
and then whispered in Eddie's ear, "This is what's known as a fluffer."
With those words, Eddie suddenly felt his shaft engulfed in a large moist
mouth. He was being sucked by a human penis pump. Eddie had no idea what to
think. Certainly none of the brothers would stoop so low as to become
cocksuckers. If that were so, Eddie had misgivings about joining. And
supposedly there were no girls at this ceremony. If this was some girl he
knew, he would never be able to face her again. Oh, the humiliation. Just
then he remembered. "The faggot boy. The freak who used to live on my dorm
floor. Yeah, I've seen him around the house. The faggot boy is the
fluffer. And hell he's helping me get into this house." With that
realization, Eddie worked with Tim. He let Tim suck him like a bissell. He
felt his cock becoming engorged, the blood filled tissue straining at the
sides of his shaft. Tim didn't do anything but suck, no licking, no
slurping, no tongue flitting. What was needed here was enlargement pure and
simple, not delightful sensual feelings. Not orgasmic rapture. Just
enlargement. And enlargement was produced by straight sucking. Tim and
Eddie could both tell when the maximum had been accomplished. Tim pulled
back and Eddie shouted, "Sir, I'm ready!"

When Neil announced, "twelve and one eighth inches," the entire room
cheered. Quickly, Jake snapped the picture. Eddie stood there under the
light, shaking like a leaf but grinning from ear to ear. With his hands he
began feeling around for his fluffer, but Tim, his work completed, had
already slipped out of the room and down to the basement. The other seven
pledges had no idea what had accomplished Eddie's miracle rise, but they
were equally relieved. All eight would now enter the house as one pledge
class. The brothers guided the boys back into the center of the room, and
positioned them in a line according to cock length. Eddie was at the far
end. They told them to lift up their pants, and remove their blindfolds,
and then one by one each brother shook the hand of each pledge.

In his hole, Tim studied his wall of inspiration. Only two pictures were
still unidentified. But soon eight more pictures will be on his wall. He
went to sleep, totally satisfied, even though he didn't have his weekly
game night. He had served his purpose well that evening as the official IOK
cocksucker.

The pledges were not allowed to move into the house until the third
trimester of the year. Until then, they could attend certain house
functions like the Saturday night open houses. And their names were added
to the duties roster for tasks like shoveling snow. Each time Eddie came
over, he would look for the cocksucker, wanting to express his gratitude to
him, but Tim purposely stayed out of sight, and eventually Eddie stopped
trying.

Wednesday Game Night was strictly for the brothers. The pledges could not
attend until they were living in the house.