Ass House Weekend

The rollicking smile on Joe Barber’s face stopped Marie-Lynn Dunwoody in her tracks.

Since they arrived at the University, friend Joe had moped. He missed the comaraderie of their high school class, their personal celebrity then, and rights “appertaining there unto.”

She had won the “Miss Sweetheart” contest. He was known as their class “brain.” Nerd to some.

Everybody knew them as childhood friends all the way through school, even as they diverged – she into extroverted teen popularity, he into apparent introversion or nebbishism. Absorbed with art – drawing, painting.

Her stories about dating, he turned into comic sketches drawn just for her, but kept under wraps. They giggled together, she confiding secrets. Listening was Joe’s specialty. As long as she babbled, he did not have to think of a new reason why he did not try to date. He knew all about her and how far she let boys get. Praised her for the pleasure she took in saying, “That’s enough,” and, “Maybe next time.” Enjoyed her mention of some being “real juicy.”

She whispered other details. A few, anatomical. Hers, hands-on acquaintance.

Joe was ever attentive to descriptions of shape, breadth, length. Staying power versus quick-to-trigger.

She ignored her few doubts about Joe. They did not matter. Boys mattered to her.

Marie-Lynn’s smashing good looks and come-hither manner had attracted boys like honey back when. Now on campus, young men flocked even before Marie-Lynn joined a sorority. In the process and vicariously by proxy, Joe thought of those as his - idols.

Tricky. Sublimation was a way out.

He drew all the time, painted in water colors and acrylics (flowers, pretty things, idealized landscapes), read voluminously, and sailed through his classes while matriculating the school system. Teachers loved him. Students came to him for help with homework. Parents approved.

“A nice young man,” people said.

Joe liked being the center of approval – which he had not been since graduation and enrollment as an art major at the University. The art faculty had not enthused over his art work. Nor he over theirs.

-Damn.-

Abstract dribbles, splotches, smears struck Joe Barber as disgusting misuses of grounds (paper, canvas) and paints. Worse were assemblages of unrelated objects, still unrelated after being assembled.

-Some exhibition of faculty work.-

Joe stalked from the gallery show, his mind distempering.

He was stuck. The more he dwelled on his predicament, the more miserable he became. He disliked neglect and lack of approval. Made him lonely. Days and days passed. When not dating on weekends, Marie-Lynn spent time gossiping with new sisters about dates, their pluses and minuses. Breakfasts once or twice a week were all the old friends managed. Same food, same one-sided conversation. That is, until a certain Monday.

The rollicking smile on Joe Barber’s face stopped Marie-Lynn Dunwoody mid-coffee. Sputtering surprise, she watched him slip, still beaming, opposite her.

“I’ll have a big breakfast.”

“How big?”

“Pancakes, maple syrup, two eggs over easy, crispy bacon strips, and coffee, black.”

“Since when do you eat like that?”

His thin frame’s flat tummy was a clue to how little he normally ate. Food for him was a routine not a celebration. Yet this…

She waited. Sipped her coffee, her gaze level.

He rubbed his nose, blinked his eyes, placed his order with the waitress, and smiled like Mad Magazine’s Alfred E. Neuman. Made her wait.

Finally, came the announcement: “I pledged a fraternity.”

“You…WHAT?” Coffee went everywhere. Paper napkins sopped. The clean-up used time sufficient for Marie-Lynn to think of another question.

“Which one?”

“It’s secret. Off-campus.”

Not baited by the notion of an off-campus frat, she asked, “When, exactly?”

He parried at circumlocutional length, “I can’t tell you who – it’s someone you know – but I was invited to pledge, thank you very much. I didn’t apply. They wanted me. Get it? They wanted me. Me. Joe Barber, who nobody ever wanted before. I began pledging Friday night.”

“That’s extreme, isn’t it, for you?”

“They said I was their type – malleable.”

“Is that all?”

“No, but the rest is secret. I can’t tell or I might be thrown out without ever getting in.”

“But, Joe, is this secret whatever-it-is legitimate, if it’s off-campus?” Concern for her innocent buddy showed in the way her eyes looked into his.

“Professor Bentley, from the Psychology Department, is the Special Advisor, so yes. I think I’m okay to tell you that. Bentley’s famous.” He did not elucidate the professor’s fame. She did not ask, being flustered.

His breakfast arrived. She was given a fresh mug of coffee and a prune-filled Danish pastry the waitress had forgotten earlier. So seldom had Joe anything to tell, Marie-Lynn knew he was dying to. Perhaps, if she questioned him in a way such that he didn’t have to say anything…

“Did pledging mean that your backside got smacked with a paddle? Nod yes or no.”

No.

“Were you spanked?”

Yes.

“Let’s see.” She sorted through stories she’d heard from boyfriends about fraternity initiations. “Did spanking mean that you were bent over with your bottom out?”

Yes.

“Pants down?”

Yes.

“Were there other pledges there?”

Yes.

“How many?”

He extended the five fingers of his left hand.

“So, there were six of you?”

Yes.

“Do you have your sketch pad? Oh yes, that’s it. Why don’t you draw what happened – like a cartoon sequence? That wouldn’t strictly be telling. I’ll know, but no one else will and you can keep the sketches yourself?

He downed his breakfast’s remainders and the strong coffee, getting to work, his mouth set with that determined look she knew marked his concentration.

About an hour passed along with more coffee down both their throats before Marie-Lynn pieced together the untold events that had produced Joe’s rollicking smile.

That the mental image formed from quick-drawn stick-figure sketches flabbergasted her was only a poor facsimile of what actually had taken place.

Nonetheless, Joe smiled proudly.

* * *

“Hey, Joe, remember me – Marie-Lynne’s boyfriend from two weeks ago?”

“Sure. Hi, Elton.” Joe’s eyes squinted to be sure in that Friday’s twilight.

The path behind Sorority Row, the dorm, and Fraternity Row was heavily planted and ill-lit. Quickie make-out sessions were romantic couples’ use of the undergrowth. A kind of lover’s lane (or woods) in the shadows. Weekends, particularly.

Elton Browning stepped close to Joe, who remembered how the strikingly handsome guy bombed with her, coming on super macho. Thought he would get to first base because he’s like a movie star. Moved too fast, based on false assumptions. She called Elton ‘cocky’ and said he’ plays the field too widely.’

-What does he want with me?-

“We’ve been watching you.”

“Who?”

“Me and my brothers in a special fraternity. We’ve noticed a lot about you that makes us think you’d fit right in. Your body, for example, its language, and the way you ogle us.”

“I don’t even know who your so-called brothers are.”

 “I’ll put it to you this way, we’re all too good-looking not to notice and, believe me, you have. Couldn’t stop yourself if you wanted to. Now listen up, membership’s by invitation only. We want you as one of our new class of pledges. Probationary, of course.”

Joe’s tone was loaded with contempt. “One of those?” he pointed to the four nearby fraternity houses.

“Not by a long shot,” Elton said, a strong arm unfamiliarly finding Joe’s shoulder. He leaned close, “It’s a secret fraternity, off-campus. Only our sponsor, members, and pledges know about it, even where it is.”

He stayed close, dropping his arm along the freshman’s back, resting his hand below its pants’ belt.

Joe turned. Close enough to kiss, their eyes met. Elton gazed intensely. Joe blinked, his stomach squirmed.

“What are you afraid of?”

“I don’t know. I get, you know, sometimes, uh, nervous.”

“That’s right, nerves bother you and you don’t know what to do. You hide that behind girls like Marie-Lynn. She’s real nice but she can’t do for you what we can. But I’m here for you, Joe, to bring you to our pledge class. I’m sponsoring you,” he said, his hand on beautiful-to-contemplate freshman butt. “Trust me and I’ll help you realize yourself in new ways.”

Solemnly, he added, “And you’ll never not know anything but how valuable you are to others.”

“Does pledging your fraternity involve paddling?”

Elton waved his free hand toward Frat Row, “Some spanking. Not like those guys’ crude practices. We aren’t into humiliation.”

“What do you get into with a new pledge?”

The question, innocent, received a totally unexpected answer, “You. We get into, inside you. It’s vital to your initiation. You’re a brilliant student, totally lacking direction or purpose. You need what we can do for you deep inside. We chose you, Joe, for that reason.”

Joe mulled over that observation until he felt the unfamiliar, distinctly pleasurable sensation of being pulled into contact with Elton’s front. Muscular torso and stomach met undeveloped equilvalents. Adult-sized hard cock, tautly enclosed, met late-developing freshman dick, loosely contained and rising. Two hands on his buttocks torched Joe’s nascent libido. Both worked low and up into the rear seam of his pants.

Cocooned, the freshman desired nothing more than to surrender himself to Elton for pledging the secret society. “I want to belong.”

Their walk to Elton’s car was brisk. “Wear this and relax,” Elton handed him a black blindfold.

On the way, a kind of spell was woven: “It is difficult for a student such as you to find the right path in life, the one which leads to its center. To his real self. Your physical center is behind your navel, the labyrinth of intestines and its important final inches, your rectum. Now don’t be alarmed that you think that only useful for one thing. You’re a virgin there. Your gateway, the anus, is on-guard to prevent peristalsic accidents. It is waiting for a penis – such as mine – to enter, to open that gate in the direction your inner path leads, to your core, your real self.”

Elton interrupted his provocative flow only to watch traffic as he turned corners and neared their destination.

“Physically, your real self is a hidden sphincter reachable by the head of my penis. But oh, it is much more than what I’ve described so far. When I penetrate you, you will feel your entire being undergoing change. The physical meaning of your cooperation with me will be replaced by the sudden intuition of a higher reality. My stimulation of your anus and rectum will enlighten your mind. It will illuminate your spirit. It will stimulate mystic faculties you don’t know you have – toward creativity like that of artists, poets, musicians. The benefits of expert anal intercourse will sweep you away, because they play an important part in the initiation ahead.”

The car stopped. “Here we are. Follow me in, and in all we have for you.” He returned the blindfold to the Audi’s glove compartment.

With no idea where they were, Joe could only do as bidden. In the night’s dark, he could make out a few other cars (but not their makes) and a two-story structure rather squarely modern.

Elton’s key let them enter a softy-lit hallway which ended in wide stairs up and down. Down traipsed Elton quite casually, Joe in toe.

The squirmy feeling moved from Joe’s stomach rearward, to his anus. Elton’s descriptions – so…eloquent – agitated and puzzled him.

-I wipe there. It feels good.-

Where sexual implications were concerned, Joe Barber was decidedly not the brilliant student he was in college classes.

The room below ground was no ordinary basement. The air, warm. A wall, mirrored from floor to ceiling. Furnishings he could not identify. Five shy pledges, barefoot, and eleven fraternity brothers, also barefoot, populated the area and were reflected into infinity.

“Our number is complete.”

Elton removed his socks and shoes. Joe followed suit.

“Pledges, form a line facing us.”

“Like that, one arm’s length apart.”

Without a word, a brother moved to stand directly behind each pledge. The six in front of each moved close. On a signal, the twelve brothers rested their right hands on pledges’ shoulders.

Down the line, the brothers spoke in turn.

“By this first touch, we secure you.”

“Bow your heads and listen.”

“In our custody, you will want for nothing and be grateful for much.”

“Our choice of you, each of you, is the result of purposeful and insightful study.”

“We know already your potential for pledgeship, a journey from physicality to spirituality.”

“It begins with our bodies.”

“Stand firm, heads down, eyes closed until your receive permission to look up.”

“Listen to the sound of our clothes disappearing.”

“Now look up and ahead.”

“The brothers facing you will remove your shirts.”

“We behind you will remove and stow your lower garments.

 “Bend forward, hands on your knees for inspection.”

To a boy, the naked pledges eagerly assumed the required position. Five looked at the floor, Joe directly up at the sculpted torso of the upperclassman who had chosen him. Blood rushed to his cheeks as he speculated being again in Elton’s arms. Gaze drifting, he locked onto the pinnacle of hardened flesh angled his way and blushed from face to neck and shoulders. 

Someone’s finger contacted his vulnerable anus. A mad dance of anticipation twirled his mind.

The other pledges looked at their men’s cocks as unseen fingertips touched and teased. Six novice minds alert, yearned. Prods felt smooth. Pushes and pulls eased lubricant into linings.

“Take more.” Fingers rotated. Eyes fixated.

A drop, crystalline clear, appeared before Joe’s eyes as, fingered deep, he received a taunting smile from Elton. Saliva collected in his mouth. Another new experience. He swallowed hard.

Elton intentionally moved a finger to collect the drop and to approve its consistency. The deliberation had his virgin on edge. Joe’s heart soared as the droplet was dotted on his lips. Elton silently mouthed the word ‘soon’ and rubbed the liquid on Joe’s teeth. Of its own accord, Joe’s tongue sought the finger, found the taste, and swiped it within.

A voice, “Second fingers, enter now.”

Another, “Widen our pledges’ passages.”

Sounds of breaths taken, of throats responding ‘ooh,’ ‘ahh,’ and ‘nngh.’

“That’s the way, boys. You are moments away from having yourselves nurtured into havens which good pledges must be.”

Anxious for readiness to serve Elton, Joe wished for a third. Two fingers were not enough. He craved an anus free of tension. Concentration on the marvel of being plunged into, he did not hear the order given for a third to join the others.

Only one thing could make him feel better.

Positioned knuckles deep, his penetrator’s fingers felt pulses throbbing with a young heart’s strength. Pulling back, they thrust short at the entry for a while. Other times, they slid inward, upward, slowly until near the boy’s inner button, staying there for a moment, not moving. Then they pushed, cycling through the lust-raising sequence until the area capitulated.

Joe’s erection verged on betraying the excitement building within.

Evidently, fellow pledges’ similar predicaments were noticed.

“Pledges, you are to stand upright and be proud of what you contain.”

“Brothers, secure our pledges’ balls.”

Velcro straps were placed and tightened, forcing scrotal sacs into bulges to inhibit at least, to prevent at most ejaculation.

Elton caressed his taut handiwork, eyes burning hard into Joe’s which brimmed bizarre discomfort. Orgasm thwarted in a randy teen, the sight stimulated Elton’s cock to seep a clear, stringy drip. Only determination stopped him from breaking the ritual’s traditional postponing of the inevitable, near to the breaking point of a pledge. His pledge – innocently appealing Joe Barber – looked ready to be swept away – or to faint.

Six leathered fuck benches were produced. Pledges, shown to kneel on the pads provided, intuited the need to bend and to rest their elbows on the forward pads. Scant minutes necessary to effect this only heightened expectations by all parties.

“Brothers, mount the pledges, each with a single stroke, and move on to the next.”

Boys’ eyes stared, rolled sideways, angled up and down; mouths grimaced, gaped, smiled, and pursed – as twelve brothers rode in and out by turns. Differences could not be assimilated except, that is, when heroically equipped Elton, last in line, registered with bodily command against sphincters at turning points within.

“Two strokes this round.”

“Finally, three strokes.”

Seventy-two insertions had six pledges gasping, their frustrated asses gaping for more.

Told to stand, blindfolds prevented any knowledge of what could come next.

Foam mattresses sized for three – a pledge between two brothers, the pledge stomach down.

Unseen hands silently covered pledges from shoulders to buttocks with baby oil, massaging and soothing the younger flesh with care, as lovers might do. The same hands massaged oil over erections before the brothers on the left took position and waited for their compadres to place pledge’s right hands on each cock – and to set it in motion as masturbator.

Fucking began without an order. Intense, implacable rear action by hips with fully developed spring-systems.

In his case, Joe’s ass was taken by the stunning brother on his left, as his intended hand wrapped appreciative fingers about Elton’s weeping pole. The broad-rimmed crown responded to his ministrations with more juice. The hardness he knew was to be his fought for attention with the hardness inside – strong, commanding, centering his existence. Astonishing as it was for long minutes, it did not sate the boy’s craving.

One and one only could do that. It was in his hand. Its prospects elated Joe.

Screwed thoroughly and inseminated with enthusiasm, Joe’s body prepared to receive its consecration from Elton by messaging his brain to secrete oxytocin, its love hormone. Sensations of well-being surged in the instants of entry and occupation to its fullness. Those instants put his rectum’s blood vessels under tremendous pressure, causing thuds against the great penis’ sliding skin. Possessed with conquest, freshman Joe thrilled to the pulses.

-He is mine.-

 Elton triumphed, bounding in and from the best pledge ass of his collegiate career, pounding consciously, obsessively to make a cock-slave of a boy whose love for him mattered not, a boy who considered as noble and good the dick that could do this to him, reduce him to emotional mush, eclipse pain by rip-tides that swept through him to reverberate with total, joyous surrender’s clangorous peals.

Elton experienced the liquefication of climax.

He drew to a halt. Pulled out. Twisted flaccidly to his side.

“Good pledge” was his breathless comment.

His fraternal partner in the sequential fuck said, “He has our two loads in him.”

“Joe, crimp your hole. Hold in what we put there. You must do it.”

A woman’s differently inflected voice came from speakers in the ceiling, “Pledges, you’re going upstairs to sleep with the brothers. Nobody’s to let a drop out on the way or there will be consequences.”

-A woman!-

She sounded in charge.

Six painstakingly opened pledges struggled with anal muscles to contain recent copious deposits. Strong hands on each side clasped their biceps for the march to the house’s second floor. Every step up threatened. One pledge froze with fear. He was borne – legs tightly together, arms stiff – by manly hands under his elbows and around his upper arms by the two brothers who had fucked him.

Professor Danielle Bentley, the fraternity’s Special Advisor, watched from her vantage point behind the basement wall of two-way mirrors. She, her significant other, Sergio Cabrera, and his six microphone-equipped cameras had seen and heard everything. By means of the secret area’s narrow circular staircase, they went swiftly to the second floor. The layout there was anything but what might be expected in any regular frat house.

Six bedrooms sharing three baths opened on a hall to the left, six more to a hall on the right. A hidden inner corridor separated the two banks of facilities, and was accessible from a far hall. The pledges being brought upstairs confronted a lateral wall hung with a striking myriad of photographs of masculine bare torsos – those of the brothers (recognizable) – commingled with those of curvaceous boyish bottoms (presumably taken of earlier pledge classes).

The brothers on the right released ritualistically their hold on pledge’s upper arms and broke the prevailing silence by bidding the others, “Good night.” They went unaccompanied to their rooms in the right corridor.

The pledges found themselves steered in the other direction and shown each into his current manager-brother’s room. Embarrassment rose was each was watched evacuating on the toilet before having his bottom washed and given a glass of orange juice to drink. Teeth and tongues had to be brushed.

Ball straps were removed. Balls, palmed and twisted for circulatory return.

Moans issued from some.

In bed, each pledge’s head nestled by an arm drawing his neck to his man’s closest pectoral, calm crept over the pairs. Manly pheromonic scents registered subliminally during the juice’s mild sedative, which assured sleep’s arrival. Shifts of position in the night never separated the body of the one from that of the other.

Brothers abandoned their sleeping mates early Saturday morning.

Shaken awake later by a fully clad brother from the other corridor, Joe Barber looked up with a winning smile.

Ten minutes later – bladder voided, face shorn, and dressed more or less ‘modestly’ in a filmy sort of straight-hemmed poncho. Left uncovered, his arms. Secured by a tie around his waist its bib-like scarcity barely covered his intimate parts fore and aft.

Obedient Joe and confreres were given a breakfast of tomato juice laced with vitamins and a tasty milk- and yogurt-based, well-blended shake containing blueberries, bananas, apples, raisins, oats, and dietary supplements. Coffee was provided with the accompaniment of wheat toast coated with raw honey.

Hustled back to private quarters, the pledges, who endured enemas and flush-outs, were given the honor of showering with a brother. Shampooed, scrubbed, and dried, pledges’ rectums were tenderly lubed with a petroleum-based salve and fitted with small, baby blue plugs.

“Squat with your legs apart and stay that way,” Joe was instructed. “That way” allowed his scrotum to dangle. In short shrift, Joe’s knees and thighs began to fatigue. Thus extended, another problem developed: his plug – to retain it required waning anal strength. He looked up.

“Successful pledge training requires effort. You may stand.”

-Finally!-

“Now, on the bed with you. Stand on the mattress. Face the headboard and squat exactly as you were.”

Joe’s balance was good. Feet separated, he squatted and dangled – this time, into a waiting hand which dandled, encircled, tugged, dandled, squeezed, dandled. The distractions did nothing to keep the plug in place. It popped out. Was popped back with a smack.

“You can be spanked for that, pledge.”

Joe, nervous to relieve his straining muscles, hoped he might be.

-That would be a relief.-

“Down flat, with your face and chest on the bed, knees as wide as possible, ass in the air.”

-Here it comes. At least it won’t be a paddle. Elton promised.-

Rather, it was the plug. Thrust abruptly in and a command given, “Send it back to me.”

Out. Back in. Out. Back. Over and over, until anal muscles fatigued. Joe no longer could will them to eject. His plug simply fell to the sheet.

“You are ready.”

The brother, whose freshly-exposed cock curved downward, knelt behind Joe and slid forcibly into a fierce fuck. Hands gripping the pledge’s haunches, he administered his fraternity’s dick discipline with such drive that Joe flattened completely.

Under the onslaught, his body gave up its identity. Solely a receptacle for impactful pummeling, it accepted many tireless plunges. Possibly hundreds.

Numbness passed into a state of dawning awareness. The young man who had awakened Joe from sleep’s claim was awakening morning’s refreshed primal desires – to be at one with the lofty purpose of service, to discover anew what it meant to be guided into the light of orgasm through his connection to a brother battering his prostate and spewing life-force into him.

Joe came, too, without having been alert to his own erection being rubbed, topside against his stomach, underside against the sheet.

Transfixation enabled Joe’s attention to shift from subconscious reverie to awareness that his ass had been vacated. The marauding brother’s cock was gone. Spume – his own – soaked the sheet.

-I came and did not know it.-

He marveled.

Someone was in the shower.

A hand felt his backside.

“Come along. You’re mine now.”

In the room next door, its occupant was quick to mount him ass up. “Sloppy seconds, boy. I love knowing my cum will mingle with that of my brothers.”

-I’m a good pledge. I want that mingle in me, too.-

His anus’ sensitivity in remission, Joe remembered the initial plunge of this brother’s penis when the frat guys were trying him out. Its dimensions fit without challenging. They coaxed and tickled his anus into re-compliance and conformity on a smaller scale. Stupefied by his target’s instinctive gesture, the brother snorted, jerked wildly all over, lobbed his load home in record time, and left immediately.

A little wobble affected his walk to the tiled bathroom, where he purged his lower tract and showered.

-Whoever comes in next, I want to be ready.-

Full-force hot streams and rough toweling brightened his skin. Feeling fresh, Joe realized how thirsty he was. Upon stepping into the bedroom to don his skimpy outfit, he saw one of the brothers standing, arms crossed, looking pleased.

“Pledge, I’m here to show you down for your first private appointment with Professor Bentley. She has cold apple juice to wet your whistle.” A gesture to keep silent preceded, “Follow me.”

-Something’s changing. He’s not holding my arm. He trusts I’m behind him – obeying on my own. Radical!-

The psychologist’s office was occupied by two persons, a statuesque, middle-aged woman in a buttoned white lab coat and a sweet-faced man in his presumed mid-twenties also wearing a lab coat, its front panels overlapped, not buttoned. There was a matched chair for each. Theirs had upholstered arms, The freshman’s, mismatched, did not.

“Good morning, Joe. This bottle of apple juice is yours. Sip it slowly while we have this investigation. And answer any question I put to you.”

Joe nodded. Took a mouthful, and sighed with gratitude as the beverage, sugary and tart, streamed down his throat.

“Sip, I told you.”

Chagrined, he sipped. Looked her way expectantly.

In a voice of peculiar warmth, she began, “From the time Elton picked you up for pledging here, you understood that you had been selected after being studied, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I have assessments here,” she pointed to her computer’s monitor, “from every brother about you and your behavior this far. You are satisfactory. Ahead, lie the rest of today and all of tomorrow. One purpose of this visit is to evaluate your physical wellness to continue as our pledge and your attitudinal state of mind for the process.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Please stand for my associate, Sergio Cabrera, to show you to me.”

Joe stood. His chair was removed.

Sergio stood close behind, hands on slender shoulders. His nose moved through freshly shampooed hair. He lifted Joe’s arms and sniffed their pits.

Danielle Bentley observed. Sergio’s training was such that he did to perfection each task he was given, his eyes focused on hers. The way his fingers traced this pledge’s chest and circled his virgin nipples provoked fingertip memories of her own – how they had worked Sergio’s when he was first brought to her.

The young man’s hands untied the sash from Joe’s waist and moved under Joe’s delicate bib-garment. They touched his slight public hair and genitals, which caused Joe to shift his pelvis back. Into contact of his bottom with something completely unfamiliar – a cock cage.

Sergio’s lab coat was standing wide, revealing his nude front.

Joe’s butt scrunched back.

Sergio sounded anguished.

Dilation opened Danielle’s eyes and agitated vagina. The cry shattered her wall of professional detachment.

A throaty whisper directed Joe, “Press back into my assistant. It will drive him wild. Unlike you, he is not allowed to come. And you, Sergio,” she raised her voice, “hold this pledge tight. He’s unknowingly testing you – for my pleasure.”

At a loss to understand, Joe obeyed, scrunching with determination to impress.

-A pledge must obey-

Elton Browning chose that moment to look in. “Oh Professor Bentley, if your evaluation of my pledge is over, I’ll take him off your hands.” With a knowledgeable eye on Sergio’s predicament, he said, “I’ll be glad to adjust Joe’s attitude if that’s what’s needed.” Then boldly, “Looks as though Sergio needs one or more of your adjustments more than my pledge. I’ll close the door behind us.”

The psychologist picked up a solid-looking ruler.

It had to be Sergio stuttering timorously, “M-mistress…”

Gratitude flushed Joe’s face. Rescued by his idol! Rushed decisively to Elton’s room.  Held at arms’ length. Regarded.

Elton made up his mind, a montage of expressions flickering over his features. He opened his long-sleeved shirt, cast it and his undershirt to a chair nearby. Stepped from his shoes, hopped on each leg to remove socks, and repeated the choreography for jeans and jockeys – then approached Joe to lift off the poncho-tunic designed for his fraternity’s pledges.

His vision raked Joe’s susceptible nakedness.

At the cutest, gentlest smile Joe had seen Elton make, the deceptively slender-bodied boy tilted back and sat where he could regard what he only hoped would soon fill the hollow in his core. He stared.

Elton fingered his massive balls and used a thumb to press the base of his erection as if to make sure of its solidity. The drop that beaded from its crimson head gathered slowly on the pad of his other, waiting thumb.

“Kiss this away,” he said, extending his hand to Joe.

Joe pursed his lips. An offering, he thought.

More, it was so that the thumb could hook his jaw and draw it down.

“Will you wet me?”

Mouth open, risking drool, Joe nodded.

Elton treated Joe’s mouth to the swollen thickness of his cock sliding in the warm wetness.

Fearful fascination drove imagination. Inexperienced tongue laved the oversized cock’s head, its flared rim, bulging shoulder, and first few inches.

“Look up at me. I want to go further, far enough to make you gag. Not so far you’ll throw up, Joe. Your throat will give up a mucus I must have to do you justice. Do not blink, my Joe. Eyes on mine. Hold your breath. Give it up.”

Tongue and uvula compressed, Joe gagged, eyes straining to stay open, and gagged panicky, making terrible sounds, tears blurring his vision. And gagged again – regurgitating aciduous reflux so plentifully that Elton had no trouble toppling him, raising his heels and, in a single, controlled shove, speared through Joe’s anus to cram its rectal hollow with heavy, hard meat’s burdensome demand.

Mercy on his mind, his feet on the floor, and hands holding high his pain-ridden pledge’s ankles, Elton stopped.

Held still.

Stone still.

Absolutely – until Joe stopped crying. Reached for Joe’s eyes and wiped their tears from his cheeks. Fixed securely and deeply, Elton inclined over his boy, pushing legs toward waiting hands. “Take these and hold them.”

Joe’s shoulders were underpinned by palms-up hands which might mean more pain, but did not.

Adjustments and readjustments around the great cock were taken as signals of accommodation, however stricken Joe’s unjaded, young face remained.

He saw his inert genitals cushioning Elton’s pubes, saw the trail of hair leading to navel and sharply defined stomach, saw mounded pectorals extending out to muscled shoulders, and felt himself covered protectively, and a face handsomely virile leaning close to his own.

Elton’s lips hardly moved while he held Joe immobile to paraphrase a verse from an old song, one which had been sung to him when he was once situated similarly:

One always hurts the one he loves,
The one he shouldn't hurt at all.
One always takes the sweetest rose
And crushes it till the petals fall.

“Do you understand that I have just confessed to you, Joe? My love.”

Blank for a moment before emotion stole everywhere, Joe took stock of the throbbing cudgel which had him in thrall, the embrace which contained him, and the message. The most personal message of his life, delivered in a whisper. He let go his legs to wrap them around his marvelous man and whispered in return, “Love me, hurt me.”

Elton blitzed Joe’s bundled nerves. Frictive action electrified freshman ass. He laid heavy meat to his pledge, swatted butt, smacked it, whacked it, and reared back to lay on aggressive, power-filled thrusts nonstop, panting into Joe’s open mouth, “You’re asking for it, lover.”

To the first domineering ram, “Here…”

Through the next, “…it…”

To, “…is!” – he ramped with storm force.

Passion-driven fury at bruising speed assaulted as if to demolish. For long minutes there was no let-up.  Elton relished the sounds of his challenging boy’s sufferance. Joe tremored involuntarily with aches and hurts and quakes, and emitted numerous, hoarse-breath, stuporous reactions.

The strength with which Elton pelted Joe pushed them further onto the bed. Once fully on the mattress, bent knees leveraged wilder acceleration till Joe’s face, masked with pathos, slowed Elton. By stages from sex-crazed attacker to demanding top, then gently thrusting lover, Elton relished his love’s passive submission and gathering pleasure. Continuous kisses, lips to lips, coached the learning pledge in the most personal way possible to savor the increasing joy of large portions of rigid rod sluicing his channel by reductive measures. Ferocity gave way to delicate internal, penile caresses. The road of rough desire was smoothed to a lane for love’s tenderest expression.

Violent sex’s fumy scent had risen and dispersed over the bed. Some lingered which, when breathed in by the drifting lovers, was enough to trigger simultaneous orgasms.

It was time for mid-day meals in the frat house.

Eggs were on the menu. A big bowl of freshly boiled, shelled, and quartered eggs. Roasted chicken, too, served with steaming rice. Piping hot whole wheat toast slices dripping honey – “as much as you like,” the pledges were told. And beverages – coffee, tea, milk.

Six tables seating four at first puzzled head counters. A single table to one side had two chairs. Why two? Six pledges and twelve brothers – so, who would occupy the remaining six chairs?

Proved to be the previous year’s pledge class. From the frat house kitchen, where they prepared the meal for everyone.

Attired similarly as the new pledges, they were introduced: Brett, Clint, Dirk, Glen, Kurt, Troy.

Shoulder-length hair, lustrously full-brushed, flowed as they took their places and smiled at the new, still-unnerved recruits, whose names were spoken for the first time: Brad, Joe, Keith, Nick, Scott, Todd.

The brothers, in golden-colored terrycloth bathrobes – formerly aggressive now friendly as could be – turned out to be: Caleb, Elton, Franklin, Gordon, Henry, Jason, Lincoln, Mason, Nathan, Rylan, Tyler, Wyatt.

Athletically proportioned bodies, calendar-handsome faces groomed impeccably, and – hung.

“New pledges, listen up,” Elton stood to mark the occasion for first-timers. “Notice the healthy beauty of our second-year pledges, whom we brothers share, care for, and treasure. Collectively, they belong to us…body and spirit…of their own will. To our fraternity’s phallocentric lifestyle. We oversee their academic success at the University as we will yours, and reward excellence as it is deserved – by the tiny 14-karat gold nipple rings each wears with pride.”

Heads turned at the entry of two latecomers, Professor Bentley, in black terrycloth, and her Sergio, displayed straightjacketed, cock-caged, and butt-plugged (pink), his buttocks bright red. In everyone’s view, she had him spread his legs to be diapered. They sat, the fraternity’s advisor saying breezily, “Don’t mind us. Enjoy your meal.”

The meal was consumed in near silence. The new pledges stole glances at Professor Bentley feeding Sergio with a wooden, long-handled, rather large spoon and providing him, through a straw, something to drink that looked like pink lemonade. His expression: adoration.

Cleaned up afterwards, Brad, Joe, Keith, Nick, Scott, and Todd were in the basement aslant their fuck benches, facing the wall of mirrors, re-lubed. The person who performed that task for them was Sergio Cabrera. His supple fingers primed each anus with water-based gel.

He wore only his cock cage and a new adornment the boys had witnessed being installed: nipple clamps connected by a small, linked chain.

Danielle Bentley supervised. Her spoon held parallel to the floor, she looked for any infraction.

“Mistress” – Sergio’s voice was gentle – “They are ready.”

She spoke, “Each of you knows the name of the brother who recruited you, am I right? You may nod but not look around.”

They followed her instruction.

“You will now learn the identity of your recruiter’s cocks.”

Elton backed impassive Joe; Gordon slid into slightly pained Todd; Wyatt measured Scott’s depth satisfactorily; Caleb sounded in goggle-eyed Nick; Henry took his time getting into Brad, who sighed; Keith grinned at Jason’s entrance. Their morning session had kindled emotions.

“Do mind that your attentions do not wander in the pleasure. Stay in the moment, and memorize each inch being fed to you. For this hour’s exercise in experiential learning, redundant strokes are designed such that your rectums and anuses can accept the unique imprint of your recruiter’s organ.”

During her droning descriptions of the procedure underway, Sergio placed himself upon a fuck bench next to her, chin up and mouth prepared. The spoon handle went down his throat and, thus lubed, was thrust into his rear. His mistress did as the brothers were doing. She slid the handle back and forth, in and out with deliberation.

“Be alert to the quality of your experience when the phallus speeds or slows, goes at you from a different position or angle or both, or dallies with your perimeter instead of going all the way in – as I am doing with my paragon of submission.”

Sergio’s eyes tightened.

The passage of many persuasively redundant minutes and the frequency of cock shafts (and spoon handle) being exposed to basement air took moisture from the lubricant used. Penetrations registered as they had not since the day before. Internal tissues absorbed what air did not. Friction increased. Effect and affect, too. Young rectal linings experienced hotly frictional tugs and pushes.

Sweat beaded brows. Caused frowns.

Professor Bentley addressed the brothers, “Time’s ripe to harvest this crop. Take possession of your pledge’s nipples and ride steadfastly, until their tracts secrete the mucus to develop your imprint.”

In a way, like photography.

Nipple manipulation – tweaks and pinches – tricked inner glandular excretions eventually. Some ease to fitful anguish came early on from six adult cockheads’ pre-cum secretions. The longer their recruiters fucked them, the boys felt everything and, relieved by more smoothness, felt better about themselves and their roles.

The six brothers glanced approval among themselves. Approval of bottoms serving them and of what they knew Professor Bentley was about to do to surprise the probably complacent pledges.

“All!” she barked. “Observe.” Her Sergio, spoon handle in his mouth, was blindfolded. “This man, who is committed to me and to this fraternity, knows from experience the skinscape and configuration of each brother’s phallus. “Sergio, darling, demonstrate to these tyros what a memory you have.”

The spoon described an arc naturally larger than the nod of his head. She took it from him.

Nothing in his imagination prepared Joe for such a sight.

Their bathrobes open to reveal erections glistening with oily coatings, the six brothers who had come downstairs fresh from tending cummily to the asses of their second-year pledges took turns plunging into Sergio. Each drove firmly, then fucked until named.

“Rylan,” Sergio said within seconds. “He likes to enter and push down to hit my prostate.”

At first, Nathan puzzled Sergio. He was not fully hard. Sergio willed his ass to open, and closed around the semi-tumescent cock. Squeezed it into active duty. “Nathan, I love it when you get thick inside me. You’ve only let me serve you like this two or three times in the past year.”

Rylan gave Nathan a pat. They had shared the advisor’s apprentice several memorable times.

“Mason.” When he paused too long before speaking his reason, Sergio received a knock to his cock cage from his mistress’ spoon. “Mason’s the master of the corkscrew entry.”

Almost netting Sergio another blow for the time it took to speak (because its raking movement felt so good), he came out with, “Tyler’s got the most wonderful mushroom head.”

Withdrawn, the mushroom-headed cock was replaced by another.

“Oh, that’s got to be Lincoln,” Sergio admitted, a tone of humor to his recognition as Lincoln’s ‘log’ sawed in and out.

“History in the making,” Mason wisecracked. He backed away to make room for Franklin.

Sergio volunteered, “Mistress, only Franklin is left. May he…”

Lightning fast, she began whacking the soles of his feet. Again and again, the sounds were frightening. She ordered him to stand.

He managed.

She pulled his nipple-clamp chain and banged his metal cock cage repeatedly. “No! Franklin..is..not..going..to..give..you..any..thing!”

Looking directly at the pledges being fucked, she said, “Can you believe this man, on whom I have lavished training, dared to speak a wish? A preference!”

It was not a question to be answered.

She signaled Nathan and Rylan, “Take him to the cross. You others,” she instructed Franklin, Mason, and Lincoln, “spreadeagle him well. Tyler, fetch my key.”

Arrayed as a grown-up X, penetrated from behind by a slender, flexible, angled-up dildo, and riddled with fear by his mistress’ approach, Sergio watched – as did pledges and brothers – a ceremony.

Tyler used a small key to open the padlock holding Sergio’s cock cage and removed it from ample (if compressed) genitals. Descending balls impressed. Obviously bloated.

Elton leaned close to Joe’s ear, “He hasn’t been allowed to cum in a month.” There was tenderness as he continued slowly stroking in and from his chosen’s ass.

“Oh mistress, please, not the spoon. Not there,” Sergio whined.

With due deliberation, Danielle Bentley used her wooden spoon’s bowl to collect, to cup her toy’s balls. Moving them up and allowing them to drop, she began a process of widening the gap from direct contact to an inch, to two, to three, and more, speeding up to cause them not the hurt which witnessing pledges assumed but to provoke release of their content overload.

Sergio rammed his pelvis on the dildo. His cock jetted Canaveral-strong until he cried miserably from redundant spoon flips to his protesting scrotum.

Rylan’s hands darted to grab each gobbet as it flew out – palms filled. With you-know-who’s assent, the cooperative brother then pressed his palms’ contents into Sergio’s mouth. “Swallow,” he said with a slap to the young man’s face.

“Take him down,” Bentley, smoldering in her panties, told the brothers. “And take him to the showers. Fuck him face down on the tiles, hard. When you’re done with him, you Franklin, lock his cage in place and return him to me. I’ll deal with him further.”

Dragged away, Sergio was heard saying, “Mistress, I love you…I love you so much…”

Post that drama, Joe and his fellow novices were given their freedom.

“Until we come back to you, mix and mingle, talk among yourselves, or rest, if you like on the mattresses. You’ll have about an hour. And our second-year boys will join you down here. Need more juice or water? Just ask. They’ll oblige.”

The nipple-ringed boys showed the newbies – with pride indeed – their gold rings. Explained how the brothers liked to play with them, tug them during screw sessions. They encouraged boyish fingers to test the strength of their toned anal muscles and explained how cum loads could be retained for long periods to please the brothers. Everything moment in the frat house was to provide for their men – that being their destiny.

The boys opened a closet where pillows were shelved. Another, housing tummy-wide foam rubber wedges. One of each for each pledge was removed and passed around. Mattresses were shifted so the dozen submissives could share confidences, question each other, check for bruising and abrasions, salve consciences, provide advice, and discuss recruiters.

“Learn everyone’s names” came as sound advice. Not mentioned: What happened when a name was mis- or not-remembered.

“Yes, you’ll know who’s being talked about.”

“Sometimes you’ll hear plans being made.”

“Advance knowledge is valuable. We can pretend to be surprised, if that’s how we ought to be.”

“Any time you’re near Professor Bentley, show your best – whatever it is. She studies us – we think for a book or something.”

“Like Alfred Kinsey’s, only way more revolutionary because it’s about how we benefit from being fucked all the time – you’ve heard that, haven’t you?”

Nods of agreement.

“We do get tuition remitted, tutoring; we make sensational grades…”

“Which we never would if we were frustrated the way most undergraduate males are – from trying to get laid.”

“Yeah, and none of us had any idea we’d do anything but masturbate. Right, everybody?”

“The brothers figured us that way, didn’t they? They figured we were up for grabs. That’s why they wanted – us – in place of girls.”

“Bet the idea originated from Professor Bentley – she’s like the mastermind behind the fraternity.”

“Yeah, pussy quests are what messes up most fraternity brothers of those awful houses on-campus. Not ours. Our men get all the boy-pussy they want.”

“When they want it – and how they want it.”

“You know, our men aren’t even gay.”

“Talk about a great situation! We have gorgeous hunks with big dicks, healthy meals, our needs attended to, our asses fucked by dicks that know our insides. It’s hell-hot heaven living here.”

“And entertaining.”

Appreciative murmurs came from four new pledges. Two complained.

“Too rough with me,” said whiner Todd, rubbing his purplish hole.

“Too long without a break,” grumbled Brad.

Joe tried to maintain his cool, “You two are griping when the weekend has tonight and tomorrow to go? Maybe Professor Bentley should adjust your attitudes?”

“How’s your attitude?” was the snippy question. “Do you like being shoved around, made to stumble, being spun around and pushed over a chair?” Not waiting for a reply, complaining Todd dashed on, “I was spanked – before my guy, Gordon, made me strip. My cock was desperate for his touch, but would he get near it? No. He wanted to palm my balls from behind until I begged him for help and then, then…” – his tone became indignant – “...he fucked me.”

“Did you cum?”

A blush preceded, “Yeah, I did.”

“Then he did help you,” Joe said. “I bet you’ll forgot your bruises and aches the next time he touches your body, any part. That should sweep away your selfishness.”

Joe was already ‘into’ the program.

Someone else added, “Right.” – just to say something.

Professor Bentley and her Sergio came down the stairs.

“A productive hour, no doubt. You pledges, arrange our mattresses in a big circle, facing in,” she instructed. “Place the wedges mid-way, pillows to the front.”

Bentley circled the action, watchful.

“Take your places over the wedges, balls to the front, knees together, and your rear flaps up,” she said.

Heavy clumps on the stairs marked the arrival of all other brothers. They brought collar straps and short leashes in baby blue and pink. All wore black – leather boots, open vests, and cock rings. Majestic were primed erections and firmly set jaws.

The effect charged warm basement air with electricity.

Fluttery feelings rose at Joe’s sight of muscular, handsome Elton, the man who had said he loved him. The previous hour’s free talk had not raised a remark from any boy about being loved. Was he the only one? – he wondered, bottom anxious.

Other pledges wondered as the brothers solemnly paced the group’s circumference. Were they making choices?

No, they were recognizing the pretty second-year pledges on whom to place the blue collars. Pink was for new boys – two inches wide instead of one, to further set them apart.

Fleece-lined, the collars fitted snugly. Adam’s apples could move comfortably. Blue-collared pledges knew why and were smug about it.

From nowhere, Sergio produced a large-mouthed jar of some white cream for the brothers to dip into with paired index and third fingers.

Bentley salivated at the lubrication ritual’s process which she had devised. Anal rims were circled slowly to provoke sensibilities. By her side, Sergio proffered the open jar and his favorite long-handled, ribbed dildo. She indulged him, using it to his rear the same way – round and round.

In, only so far. Out. In. Movements paced to be unpredictable. Part of training bottoms. Possession taken in sequences of penetration, cream smeared. Channels readied.

Breathing hotly on Joe Barber’s nape was not his idol. Leather-clad Elton was screwing into wide-eyed, naked Brad, the freshman known for long sighs. Joe hardly was aware of Mason’s cock – so occupied was he by watching Elton’s flawless symmetry in action. Mason, used to being noticed, caught drift of the attachment – forbidden between brothers and pledges – and launched his notorious whiplash-fast hip rotations.

Joe’s ass had never felt such raking swirls. Its barrage happened painfully fast. Eyes narrowed, Joe gasped aloud. Elton looked over without abating any plunges. His expression did not change.

For Joe, it was another moment of recognizing the man’s rightful mastery and his own weakness.

With his head on its pillow, his bottom wedge-raised, arms splayed, and his mind accepting that he was Mason’s to fuck, Joe relaxed. Limp, his body rebounded to every thrust’s impact.

Track of time was lost except by Professor Bentley who, after thirty minutes, ordered, “Brothers, shift to the pledge on your left and drill him well.”

Joe was taken by prostate-seeking Rylan. Boots kicked wider the distance between the boy’s heels. Frat brother Rylan fucked single-mindedly, searching the pledge’s crannies for that secret spot.

Contact! The heat wave generated passed through them both. Tremors inside Joe keyed his personal gland to open – under banging pressures. Exit vessels flooded in consummation of sexual response’s demands. Joe’s wedge streamed with his sperm. Joe smiled tranquilly, his pummeling impersonal until time was called again.

Caleb’s graceful scimitar now honored his ass. Hilt deep, it curved just right for pleasure. Joe’s surrender to it transfixed him, let him drift mindlessly at peace.

Best possible circumstances at such times featured pledges’ orgasming with near simultaneity under the brothers and those men continuing the group fuck as though nothing would stop them. Pledges not brought to their peak during the new fifteen minutes allotted by Bentley had only fifteen more to go, under the next shift of the hour’s remainder – different brothers working in and out of them relentlessly.

One threat was whispered loud enough to be heard by others, “You trying to embarrass me? Give it up, you worthless piece of shit. Now!” That was feisty, desperate Lincoln, wanting to make a show of his prowess. Hold-out Troy didn’t give it up until his collar was pulled abruptly back by its leash. He sort-of squeaked when he squirted.

Bentley’s eyes glowed. Sergio’s hidden cameras were capturing handsome, virility-charged young men pacing themselves through long-drawn pelvic dances. Impressive in leathers.

Her mind ticked off achievements and goals.

-To a boy, every pledge, last season’s and this one’s, has exhibited commitment to power filled fraternal guidance. Largely smooth transitions from pre-fucked to thoroughly-fucked, and ever-ready.-

-Intimate, mutual, self-sacrificing fellowship in a secure setting, apart from silly collegiate distractions like socially-imposed dating, does promote healthy minds, tones bodies, nurtures the growth of dedication to service for the benefit of the whole, while inculcating trust, understanding, tolerance, sympathy, and sincerity – to result in viewers’ stimulation.-

-Euphemisms conveniently blanketed much reality.-

Greek educational tradition, Paideia, underlay the organization of fraternities worldwide, at least in theory. Many words to that effect were spun out to obscure dire same sex implications of discipline imposed from recruitment through induction. Frat boys masked emotional insecurity by rituals of torment. To disguise homosexual urges, terrorization was widespread practice. Paddles, employed on the bare, were accompanied by the challenge, “Take it like a man.” Alcohol was forced into probationary candidates to loosen inhibitions against naked vulnerabilities – the performance of embarrassing tasks, unreasonable calisthenics, and psychological abandonment. Servitude reduced many to the status of slave. All under the corrupt idea of Big Brothers guiding their would-be Little Brothers.

In their present, beneficent application, Bentley’s theories took wing in a single weekend thanks to two dozen fellows precisely brought into play as performers in an elaborate scheme. Positivism prevailed throughout the revelations of anal sex elevated exponentially. Bravura endurance on both sides of her equation guaranteed success. No Greeks of the historic period ever had it so good, nor the pseudo-Greeks of collegiate frat houses with their confused values and hateful regulations.

Subscribers to her internationally-marketed “Ass House” series paid extravagant fees to experience from afar the unabashed realism of the projects’ products. Captured by Sergio’s electronics and edited for maximal impact, results paid for all costs of the fraternity. Profits accumulated. Investments built for the future of all concerned without their knowing of them.

No participant in Bentley’s project did so from mercenary incentives; no, solely to assuage lust’s demand to penetrate the penetratable. Non-emotionality, although the intention, ended in shards with the couplings of Elton and Joe. For the second time carried out in private late Sunday, they merged in harmony that resonated as if some deep-toned bell’s vibrations echoed within them, as if on the continuous cusp of physical orgasm but never erupting into crashing finality. Beyond the reach of that wonder was love –

Elton had confessed it intimate secrecy. Joe had disclosed it to no one. Smitten, both had taken caution to remain in their roles, to all appearances detached. Mason, the brother who earlier did his duty for Joe while watching little Brad being screwed by hot top Elton, had not missed the eye-connection between his frat brother and Joe. Might he be tempted to become more suspicious?

Several scenes ran in Joe’s mind as he mulled over the fresh agony and ecstasy of being taken into the late evening by his Elton and Elton’s cock. Their intimacy forced worldly concerns to recede. Those horizons disappeared in favor of traveling the two lovers’ bodies with tongues, hands, Elton’s cock and Joe’s ass. Intimations of pain coaxed Elton’s best behavior. Nothing interpretable as fierce. Force, yes.

He discovered the joy of spread-legged Joe’s balls being struck forcibly by his heavy swingers. With Joe’s wrists secured in his grasp and ankles furthered apart by Elton’s greater stature, the loved one listened to, “This is me, Joe. Me, loving you. Me, wanting you.”

Joe sucked air through his teeth. Blood rushed in and out of his skull. His mind roamed – until lips kissed his neck, his ears, his cheek and Elton’s pace slackened.

“Flow with me, Joe, to our sides. We must not hurry. This is our time, time we share with no one else.”

With Elton’s endowment fully at home in him, Joe fell into a swoon of love. They settled into an easy pattern. Perceptible motions. Murmured approvals. Dual comfort. Happiness.

Wrapped around his Joe’s small frame with one arm, its hand pressed into the slow-moving chest, Elton drew circles on smooth, springy shoulders, caressed lightly streaming hair, ran fingers over ticklish scalp – as if he could not get enough. All thought but for the moment’s tranquility had been banished by the acute feeling that he wanted no other. Nothing more.

Bliss marked their early awakening. They and the rest of the house readied themselves for the first day of classes. During breakfast’s preparation, the six new pledges – Brad, Joe, Keith, Nick Scott, Todd – were told, “You’ve all done very well.” The reminder to make arrangements as needed to move in within the next twenty-four hours was stern.

Those who lived with parents in the local area were told, “If you have a problem, notify Professor Bentley. She will speak, even meet with them – persuasively. And your lives will be enhanced. This is a full-scholarship operation. Tuitions paid will be returned within two weeks. Make the most of your day and we will make the most of you this evening.”

It was with such a send-off that Joe Barker, permission granted, made his way by to meet his best girl friend, Mary-Lynn Dunwoody in the campus Rathskeller. Never happier in his life, he wanted her to know the giant leap for himself he had made by pledging a fraternity he could not name.

On the crowded bus ride, he drew a few semi-abstract sketches of Elton, thinking ahead to the morning’s art classes. He would show the faculty how liberated from past strictures his mind had become.

It bemused him to think that, if Mary-Lynn ever needed details about any of the twelve brothers’ anatomical features or how they used them, he could... Of course, in confidence.

The better part of wisdom might be to disclose only hints – as cleverly as he could – without revealing exactly how he came upon such knowledge.

Joe Barker’s mind rollicked.

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