Delta Alpha Mu 3
CHAPTER III
Sunday
Scott woke me in the morning with an unexpected kiss. We went to the shower room together and found it almost empty. As we stood at the urinal relieving our overnight bladders, I thought, Is Scott staring at my cock longer than most straight men would—or is that just wishful thinking on my part again.
Because I'm gay, I try not to make guys who know I'm gay feel uncomfortable when they're in the men's room with me. By the time I was done peeing, I had that same uncomfortable feeling they might have, although I didn't say anything to Scott about it. It might have just been my imagination, after all.
We showered quickly, dressed and joined the others out in the hall so Whitney could lead us all downstairs as a group. Once in the dining hall Whitney said, "Because your sponsors got overly drunk last night, thereby embarrassing our fraternity, the sponsors will make amends by serving the pledges this morning."
"Make one pass of the buffet table," Kent said, "decide what you want and let your sponsor know. Then, you pledges can take a seat in your sponsor's chair and they'll bring you your breakfast."
Forming a single file, we all made a culinary tour of the steam table. Thankfully, the weekend breakfast fare was much better than the previous evening's offering of microwave wannabees.
Even before we got to the dining room we could smell the delicious aromas of freshly cooked bacon, warm pancake syrup … blueberry, I think … and bread constantly toasting in the tabletop conveyor belt oven.
Each pledge ordered what they wanted and sat down while the frat brothers loaded up two plates. Many of the pledges noticed the flatware was in the space to their left instead of being in front of them. I'm sure, as I did my first time, that many of the pledges thought the frat brothers were going to be forced to feed them, too. It stands to reason that some of the pledges, however, knew they weren't going to get away with this meal without some form of degradation being imposed upon them.
It looked , too, like some of the pledges were trying to commit to memory what they had asked for just in case there was a pop quiz about whether their sponsor served them what they had ordered. They would not want to accuse a frat brother of being wrong if they weren't but they couldn't afford to answer incorrectly, either. That would be the same as lying even if the lie was intended to make the frat brother look good.
Since there was access on both sides of the buffet steam table, it didn't take long before the frat brothers were standing to the left side of their pledges holding two plates.
"On my order, gentlemen," Whitney said ominously.
The pledges cringed, and from their collective expressions of doom they were expecting the food to be dumped in their laps or over their heads or something. To their surprise the plates were placed in front of them. The only difference anyone could see was that the eggs, whether ordered fried, scrambled, poached or otherwise, were served in rice bowls—raw. Their sponsor's eggs, however, were cooked, as they liked them.
"Before we eat," Whitney said, "as a show of kindness for not allowing yourself to get as drunk as he did, your sponsor might allow you to hold onto his dick with your left hand while you eat." All twelve sponsors dug out their cocks and let them hang. The pledges held a cock in one hand and ate their breakfast with the fingers of the other … since they had no flatware. Soon, everything was consumed except the pledge's eggs.
Only one pledge lifted up his rice bowl and drank the raw eggs.
"Thank you, Diego. As soon as the rest of you finish your breakfast, we can all get away from the table. While the other pledges gagged down their raw eggs, Whitney said, "Sunday will be spent studying. However, you will study in the frat library in shifts. At least three of you will be in the Great Room at all times to serve us. Everyone but Dale, Jamie and . . . uh, Diego are excused."
Since we ate late, the morning hours passed quickly. Before we knew it, lunch was announced. Like Saturday, Sunday's lunch was merely one generation removed from dumpster grub.
No wonder fast food delivery places are so popular around university campus towns, I thought.
I scheduled my pledge watch for the same time as Saturday's, hoping to see my kitchen buddy, but he wasn't working. Now he's my buddy? I thought. I don't even know his name!
Scott accompanied me again, but this time I had him squat on the coffee table, his butt just three inches from the surface. His low hanging balls were about an inch from the top. I sat across from him with my heels on the coffee table, ankles crossed and my toes where I could tickle his nuts. "So, Sons and Lovers again?"
"No, The Thief's Journal."
"By Jean Genet?"
"Yeah."
"Now that's an author I know a little bit about."
Scott raised his left eyebrow. I don't know if it was because of my comment or because my big toe jiggled his left nut.
By the time I'm done with his cock tonight it will need a soothing balm, I thought.
"I read a lot of his works when I was a kid, you know—eleven or twelve," I said. "I had to read it in the library because they wouldn't allow me to check it out without my parent's written permission. How come you're reading him?"
"I'm a Fine Arts major."
"Do you know his works are homoerotic?"
"That argument can be made for a lot of authors if you dig deeply enough."
"Ouch!" I said with a smile. "But seriously, in one of his stories, the central character went out in the alley and jacked off just before it was his turn to throw the dice. When he returned, he tossed them and won. The act of masturbation calmed him down to the point that he was in control of his life. From that story I learned to jack-off before making any major decision."
"I think that would be counterproductive if your major decision was which guy you were gonna go to bed with as soon as you finished jacking off."
"Does that tongue come with its own built-in sharpener?"
Scott looked down at my foot, his balls, his erection and moaned appreciatively.
"Read," I said.
Resting his elbows on his knees, he raised the book in front of his face, but not before I detected a smirk.
Once again I had to wonder if his moan was to keep me fondling him because he liked it or to fool me into quitting to withhold a reward that I thought he liked. Also, with the book in front of his face, I was unable to detect any telltale facial expressions that would help me decide. I kept up the ball tease until Russell relieved us.
"Jeez, not again! Is it just me or is he a horndog?"
"You talking to me?" I asked, before Scott had a chance to jump in. Then I smiled at Scott. I helped him up and let him stand a moment to get some feeling back in his haunches before we took off for the frat library.
We sat together and I kept my right hand under the table, fondling him, keeping him erect, for the rest of the study period. His pre-cum was leaking profusely and I'd have to wipe it on his thigh from time to time.
I think he was glad we were called to dinner because his cock was starting to get chafed. After dinner he worked as bartender but every time someone came up for a drink, they'd stroke his cock once or twice, keeping him in the state of almost–perpetual arousal.
When it got close to the pledge's bedtime I asked politely, "Scott, would you go up to our room, look on the top shelf of my clothes closet and bring down the felt tablecloth we use when we're playing cards?"
Once he retuned, I had him spread it out on the round antique oak table in the Great Room.
"Get on the table with you head hanging off the edge," I instructed. With him lying face down, I had to take a moment to admire his perky ass … all round and muscular … before issuing in my 'command' voice, "Pledges, form a circle around the table. We're gonna play Revolution Roulette"
The twelve pledges stepped up quickly.
"Remove your fratwear and place them on your heads. Do not otherwise touch yourselves." I knew it was natural for guys to automatically tug at their cocks to 'lengthen' them whenever they were released from the confines of tight underwear. But guys wearing boxers did it, too, so I knew it was just a 'pride' … or 'embarrassment' … kind of issue. "Now, move in closer boys because Scott is gonna suck your cock!"
Looking at the various pledges faces, I noticed some had expressions of delight at getting their cock sucked. Other's had looks of trepidation … probably thinking this was a trick … or that they were going to be next on the table. Several of the frat brothers got up and walked over to observe the unscheduled event. Whitney, from his position near the fireplace, gave me thumbs-up.
"Was anyone born in December?"
Jason raised his hand but refused to speak, probably thinking it might be a trick.
"Usually people get chosen first because their name begins with 'A' or their birth month is January. Well, I like to be different. … come in from the back end, so to speak. So, tonight we will work backwards from December. It's also fortunate that Scott gets to suck Jason first because, as I recall, he's slow to get hard. That will give us time to sort out who will be next and next after that and so on."
As Scott began sucking Jason's flaccid dick, it was determined that two pledges were born in November so the one born 'latest' in the month was designated the second to get his cock sucked and the one born earlier in the month was to go third.
"By the way, Jason … and all the rest of you pledges … you are not allowed to cum while Scott is sucking you. If you do, you get to take his place." I figured that would be incentive enough for none of them to cum. I needed them primed and ready but not spent.
The next–in–succession selection process progressed nicely but, while doing it, I noticed Scott's neck was in a very awkward and probably uncomfortable position. Even so, Jason did an admirable job of 'rising to the occasion' even if he wasn't fully hard by the time I made my decision.
"Scott, turn onto you back," I instructed.
He knew well enough to hang his head over the edge which, by nature of the position, also opened his mouth skillfully. Because of the highly waxed table and the friction resistance of the felt, I was able to grab the edge of the felt tablecloth and whirled it … along with Scott … into a position where he could begin sucking number two.
Seeing Scott was beginning to go soft, I said to the pledges, "While Scott is sucking you, you can thank him by giving him a handjob but do not allow him to cum. If he cums, whoever is holding his cock gets to clean up the mess … orally." I knew most guys don't like touching another guys' junk … especially when it's hard … so I just threw that in to make the pledges feel even more uncomfortable. And the threat of having to eat cum would, hopefully, keep them alert.
Russell was looking at the proceedings with obvious interest and dug into his jeans to haul out his cock through the fly front so he could jack off along with whoever was stroking Scott at the time. After a dagger-eyed look from me, Russell nodded his head indicating he knew I didn't want him to cum yet, either … something he like to do early and often, every day.
I tried to pace each pledge by whatever expression he had on his face or by the reaction of his body to Scott's sucking talents. I watched for involuntary stomach muscle crunches, quivering thighs or facial grimaces before telling Scott to stop.
If the person to be sucked next was two people to the left, I would deliberately rotate Scott nine people to the right just to make him dizzy. I knew Scott well enough, now, that I knew he would keep his eyes open just to look at all the hanging meat as it went by, thereby helping to make him even dizzier.
Some pledges had no problem remaining soft while they waited, probably because they were shy. A few might have remained soft because they had not been told to get a hard-on and were fearful of retaliation if they did. Others, however, couldn't stop from getting hard just because they were being forced to watch something so sexually stimulating.
"Once Scott has sucked you, keep yourselves hard by jacking off but, again, do not cum," I said.
More and more frat brothers joined the outer circle … so as to not interfere with the unanticipated proceedings occurring in the inner circle … and a few more joined Russell by pulling out their cocks to begin lazily jacking off.
We watched with delight as Jamie, the Boxer Boy with the biggest cock, got sucked because we knew he also tended to produce a lot of pre-cum. True to form, it got to be more than Scott could swallow in his upside down position and it began to drain out his mouth.
Luke, who had to 'worship' Mark's erection earlier in the week, blushed the whole time Scott was blowing him. And there was less in and out motion with Kevin because Scott was concentrating more on getting his tongue under Kevin's foreskin to pleasure him properly than the actual sucking of the cock shaft.
Looking around the room, I was pleased with myself. All the frat brothers remained fully clothed, except for the occasional exposed cock, while the pledges were totally nude. This kind of inequality usually makes the naked person feel even more naked … if that were at all possible, and that is what I hoped to accomplish.
After all the pledges had been given their blow jobs, I announced to all the frat brothers, "Okay, dudes, the keg is off limits until we get Scott taken care of."
Since only the frat council knew the plans for the pledges, disgruntled sounds from the uninformed frat brothers resounded throughout the Great Room.
"Scott," I said, "go to our room and bring me a pair of your underwear—the ones you brought with you, not your fratwear."
As soon as he left I turned to the frat brothers. "Okay, fellas. This is where you're just gonna have to trust me. I need every one of you to jack off for me. I know a couple of you won't do it in public, but please, I need as much as I can get. Now, before Scott gets back, strip and start jacking off," I said, stripping as I spoke.
From Scott's expression when he returned, seeing almost forty naked guys jacking off at one time was not what he expected to see.
"Put your underpants on the coffee table in front of the fireplace," I said as I walked and jacked at the same time toward the table. "Now, open them at the waist so the inside is facing up."
Scott made a circle of the waistband so the inside of the pouch and seat were visible—as much as possible.
"Okay, gentlemen, you heard the man, load up those briefs," Whitney said, stroking his cock gently. From past experience, I knew Whitney liked to prolong his jack-offs, sometimes faking his jacking motions. His hand would be going up and down, but his fingers wouldn't have a firm grip. I can't be sure, but I think he has a very sensitive cock and if he didn't fake it he would be a premature ejaculator. Although he and I have never had sex, I'd have to believe he'd be bi–curious with the right guy.
Russell, always willing to do anything of a sexual nature, was the first brother to get close to shooting. He professed many times over the past year that he liked to cum early and cum often. He aimed his cock at Scott's underpants and churned out a huge load. Being a cum eater myself, I always gasp in awe when I see the cargo Russell's cock can deliver.
I've seen it several times. He has no reservations about jacking off in the bathroom, shower room and even once in the Great Room. One day, I hope to be able to test my ability to take his huge load, but so far, it just hasn't happened.
"If anyone needs help getting it up, or getting it off," Kent said, "let Scott know. Either he will help you or we'll find a pledge who will."
A look of shock crossed my face because I couldn't believe how much the Frat Council was getting into this whole homosexual aspect of pledge initiation. It made me think that next year I might be able to take the gay humiliation aspect even farther.
Seeing the surprised look on my face Kent added, "And if they aren't good enough, I'm sure Randy will offer his expert services."
"Take your time, guys. We've got all night. But if you can handle two loads, that would be even better," I said.
Russell said, "You don't fool me, Mother, you just like watching us jack-off."
I shrugged my shoulders and said, "Caught red-handed."
"And caught with your pants down," another brother said.
"Damn," another brother said as he waddled up past me to the table. It was Carson. "Why'd you have to go and call him Mother? You know a guy can't cum with his mother watching." Then with a chuckle, he said, "Jeez, that's just sick." He bent at the waist, grunted once and spurted his load of jism on top of Russell's.
Kent said, "Looks to me, Carson, like you've got a thing for Randy."
"Well, I did, but now it's shriveling up," Carson laughed.
At the same time someone behind me said, "Nah, he's just got a thing for his own mother."
"And your mother, too," Carson laughed.
Someone else said, "Pledges, line up across the table from us so you can watch."
Another frat brother said, "Now you can learn how it's done when it's done right."
Collectively and individually, the pledges made for a delightful jack-off image for me. For them, however, it was probably very embarrassing to be forced to watch so many guys jacking off at the same time. And because they were facing us, there was nowhere to divert their gaze. I'm sure some were secretly evaluating their size and shape compared to the frat brothers but most feigned looks of disinterest.
Only four frat brothers declined to join in … Tomas being one of them … and they went upstairs to their rooms so they wouldn't spoil our fun. To make up for it, Russell not only came twice—something for which he's notorious—but he shot an equally impressive third payload. About eight of the other brothers shot two loads, too, although weaker than their first.
"You have no idea how proud I am of you guys," I said. "I was really nervous about suggesting this to the council because I didn't want to lose whatever respect I've already gained. But this is just beyond anything I could have expected. Thanks, guys."
About a dozen guys at once flopped their cocks at me and said with slight variations of the same, "You can thank me later."
"Put it in writing and I'm all yours," I said. I voiced it like a joke but I meant every word of it.
After the pledges were ordered to add their loads of cum to Scott's underpants and the last drop was spurted, Whitney ushered them all outdoors onto the backyard balcony. The twelve other sponsors and most of the brothers joined us.
Whitney lined the pledges up with their asses pressed against the stone balustrade. Scott followed beside him with a paint pot and a brush. Systematically Whitney painted a triangle on the right side of each pledge's chest until he got to Diego. "If you go all day tomorrow without a demerit, you can earn your Delta."
Diego lowered his head in a display of shame that broke my heart.
When he got to the end of the line, Whitney said, "Randy?"
I walked over and took the bowl from Scott. Whitney painted a Delta on Scott's chest. Only this time, it was square in the center just below his chin. I saw Scott's quizzical look but he didn't say anything.
"Good boy," I said. "Now, go inside and put on your underpants."
Without faltering, Scott strode over to the table with the rest of us following. Several of the brothers had gone to bed but there were still twenty or so still in the room in addition to the pledges and sponsors. We watched Scott carefully slip the cum filled briefs up his legs. I don't know if his shiver was from the cum being cold and clammy or if he was disgusted with the idea of the cum against his skin … or delighted by it. I handed him a pair of plastic outer pants with elastic in the waistband and leg holes.
"Pull these up over your underwear to keep it cummy-fresh," I said. "You'll have to wear it all night. You won't be allowed to shower tomorrow morning and you'll be required to wear it all day tomorrow … to all your classes. Okay everyone, bed time. You're gonna need your rest because tomorrow's challenge is going to tax your brain.
Before falling off to sleep thoughts of how I had humiliated Scott raced … trotted actually, because I was so tired … through my mind. Forcing him to retrieve the felt table cloth without knowing he was assisting in his own humiliation was nice. Keeping him hard all day and most of the night was fun or me. Having him suck all he lower-status pledge mates must have been humiliating for him. I just wish I could have had him swallow every load but I needed their cum for his underwear, zzzzzz
Monday
At the urinal the next morning, Scott pulled the top of his underwear down far enough to aim his cum covered cock at the urinal and let loose a powerful stream. When he was done, he arranged his cock so it rested in the pouch with just its head above the pool of cum … like he was giving it breathing room. The plastic pants, the warmth of his body and his own crotch sweat combined to keep the consistency gelatinous but not runny.
Because everyone had different class schedules, breakfast and lunch were whenever and wherever the pledges got a chance to eat. Some ate at the frat house while others ate at the student union … closer to their next class. When dinnertime rolled around, however, I said, "Scott, I'll fix your plate tonight."
After all the sponsors had taken their seats and the pledges were standing next to them at the dining table I said "Scott, take off your underpants and put them on your dinner plate, cum side up." I picked up his plate asking him what he wanted for dinner. After filling his plate, I returned to the table and placed it in front of him. As I sat down I said, "Care for a spoon?"
Scott was a pledge assigned to me. I didn't choose to sponsor him like the rest of the sponsors had their pledges. But I was quickly beginning to take personal pleasure in Scott's successes. My boy ate every mouthful, even scooping his underpants with his bread to get all the 'gravy.' He turned to me with a mischievous smile. If I'm a good judge of character, I'm sure he was saying 'Can I have some more gruel, please?'—whether he really wanted it or not, was at that point still a mystery to me.
Marshall made it to dinner Monday tonight, too. His major is filmmaking so he was recruited to videotape as many of the challenges as he could. Sadly for the frat house, he spent the weekend working with the campus film director-in-residence, so he didn't get a chance to record Saturday's and Sunday's events. His calendar is clear for the rest of the week, thank God! I thought.
As prearranged and unknown even to the other sponsors, Marshall had secretly set up the camcorder to record Scott's culinary challenge and the reactions of the other pledges and sponsors.
The pledges were understandably uneasy throughout dinner because nothing had been demanded of them all day. Nevertheless, because the frat council had planned Monday's challenge for later, dinner went without incident … making the pledges all the more nervous.
After dinner, Whitney and Kent set up a single line of thirteen folding chairs facing a white sheet we had strung across the doorway to the back balcony. It was actually two king-sized sheets sewn together. At equally spaced intervals across the sheets were written, in iridescent orange paint, the numbers 'one' through 'thirteen.'
Inviting the pledges to take a seat, Marshall set yet another camcorder on a tripod behind two of them so it was like someone was looking between their shoulders. Then he began unloading a second, hand-held style recorder.
While Marshall was programming that one, I spoke to the pledges. "Tonight we get to see how perceptive you are. Thirteen of our frat brothers have volunteered to participate in our 'Before and After' Contest." I handed each pledge a spiral-bound notepad and a pencil and said, "The pages are numbered from one to thirteen. Use these to make any notations you think you'll need. There will be a quiz immediately following the contest. Sponsors, please stand behind your pledges."
Since this was a new challenge to the frat house—one devised for the first time this year—a small contingent of curious frat brothers stood behind the sponsors to peer over their shoulders at the upcoming challenge.
"Is everyone ready?"
Everyone yelled, "Yes, sir!" including the pledges' sponsors and the thirteen volunteers behind the curtain. The pledges knew that, because it was a challenge, they would not get additional information regarding what to take notes on, so no one asked. The sponsors knew, too, that if their pledge could not perform the required task, the sponsor would have to step in, so they didn't ask questions either.
One by one, I introduced the contestants. "Number one is Roger." With a number one written in grease pencil on his right biceps, he came around the curtain to strut, turn and strike poses like a beauty pageant contestant on a runway. The only difference was that our frat model was totally naked. As he moved around the makeshift 'stage' area the pledges furiously made notes on their pads. Several more frat brothers joined in to inspect the proceedings but had trouble seeing what was going on. I made a mental note to have the council build a collapsible stage for future events so the contestants were at least one step above floor level.
"Once more please," I said, twirling my inverted finger in a circle. Roger turned slowly one more time. I said, "Thank you, Roger. That was contestant number one." Then Roger disappeared behind the right side of the screen. While number two came out from behind the left side, I introduced him. He too, went through his runway model paces, turned and stood facing the pledges, Full Monty. After one more slow turn, he left and the third came out.
This continued until all thirteen had displayed their talents. All the while, the camcorder behind the pledges was filming the models while Marshall was using the hand-held from the sidelines to capture the pledges expressions—all were rapt conscientiousness.
We had told the models beforehand that they would be videotaped just in case one of the pledges or sponsors wanted to cry foul play. Actually I had Marshall videotape them because I wanted some free jack–off material for later in the year … but he didn't know that, either.
"Mark, what were some of the things you wrote down?" I asked after number thirteen went behind the curtain.
"Approximate height, weight, distinguishing scars, moles, tattoos, things like that, sir."
"Thank you. And Jason, what about you?"
"Well, some of those things and . . . like hair color and body hair patterns, sir."
"Patterns?"
"Like, whether they had hair on their chests or not, their backs, their thighs and calves, stuff like that." Then after only a second he remembered to add "sir".
"Good. And you, Jamie?"
"I wrote down their names as you introduced them, sir." At the mention of that revelation several of the pledges said "Shit" under their breaths. "… and which number they were. But in addition to some of that other stuff already mentioned, I also included like if they were muscular or not, sir."
The pledge sitting next to Jamie pointed to the number I had mentioned that was printed on each page which meant he didn't have to record the number when they came out.
It only proved to me that the pledges were very worried about what was going to be expected of them.
"It sounds like you all had your own agenda, your own guidelines for what you thought would be asked on a quiz. Did any of you write down anything not mentioned so far?" Hearing no response, I said, "Okay. The quiz will consist of several-parts. The first part is the quiz. The second part will give you an opportunity to reevaluate your first answer. The third part will be like extra credit. But I'll explain more about all that later."
Peeking behind the curtain for a moment to survey my models, I saw all were ready. To the models I said, "Gentlemen! Positions please." As the models lined up behind the curtain, I said to the pledges, "Identify each pledge by his best attribute." When I said 'attribute,' thirteen hard-ons poked through slits in the curtain. Nothing else was visible, not ever their balls.
"Of course, the models are not in numerical order behind the curtain.," I said. "What you are required to do is to match the number on the curtain above the dick to the corresponding description you wrote down for the models. You have two minutes." Of course, since none of the volunteers were sponsors, none of the pledges had ever seen any of the volunteers with hard-ons before until the previous night at Scott's jack-off party.
I was hoping, for the success of this game, that none of them had thought to make mental notes the night before of the guys who were jacking off in front of them … even though they had been warned on the first day to be observant of everything going on around them. But even if they did, it would be next to impossible to remember out of about forty guys, which hard-ons belonged to these thirteen volunteers.
While the pledges agonized over their task, their looks of anxiety were caught on tape. I saw the curtain jiggling in a couple of places. At least two frat brothers were having trouble maintaining their erections. I walked over in front of the curtain and squeezed and stroked them to help the process. I heard whispering, then a faint, "me, too," from the guy next to the one I was stroking. Looking down, I determined he had no visible need of my assistance.
"Shh," I said as I grabbed the cock of the 'me, too' frat and squeezed painfully hard.
"Ow!" he whispered.
"Thief," the other one chuckled.
I gripped a couple more cocks just for the fun of it and yelled, "Time." All pencils stopped writing.
"How well do you think you did? That's rhetorical," I said, before anyone had a chance to answer. "So much for the quiz. Now for the next part, the volunteers will also display their balls. So you can stick with your first choice, or you can change your earlier decision based on this additional information. Again, two minutes. But first, I'm gonna give them a chance to plump up their equipment."
The cocks disappeared behind the curtain and I heard a lot slurping going on. In my mind's eye, I saw frat brothers sucking frat brothers but I figured they were just fucking with me by sucking on their forearms or thumbs or whatever. I started to get boned up, anyway.
"While they're getting ready, I'll let you know, you'll have one last chance after this because we want you all to do well." Some of the pledges looked skeptical.
"Ready," someone behind the curtain yelled.
I waited until all the cocks and balls were on display through the slits before I looked at my watch and said, "Begin . . . now!" Enjoying myself, I walked along the curtain and fondled each set of balls and occasionally a drooping cock to help keep it hard. As I made one final pass, I said, "I'll give you an extra fifteen seconds because I might have gotten in someone's way."
Pre-cum oozed onto the palm of my hand on the last squeeze and I seductively licked it off before I yelled, "Time!" The cocks and balls disappeared. "Okay. You'll get to see them one more time. This is your last chance. Only this time, if you need help, and you use your sponsor for support, you will owe your sponsor a special favor tonight—one of his choosing. Understood?"
"Yes, sir!" they said.
I collected all the pencils when they were done observing the cocks and balls for the last time. "To keep it all legal, the rest of the contestants' cocks and balls will remain on display during the elimination process … until we determine a winner of the grand prize," I said. "Will the frat brother behind the number one step out from behind the curtain? Uh, could you show us your number, please?" Turning so the pledges could see his biceps, I asked, "How many matched position number one with frat brother number four?"
A couple of pledges raised their hands.
I said, "You guys behind the curtain have to keep your junk showing but don't worry if you go soft. The contest part is over." With the sponsor's help, we cross-referenced each position number with the corresponding frat brother. Eight pledges identified nine frat brothers correctly. Three got eleven brothers right, including my boy, Scott. Of the two remaining pledges, Jason, however, was only able to guess four accurately. Diego, on the other hand got all thirteen!
"I'm curious, Diego," I said. "How did you get Winslow correct? Winslow was my ace in the hole, so to speak, because of his special attribute."
"Sir, by process of elimination. Judging the size, length and coloration of the other frat brothers, I thought I was pretty accurate in my assessment. But Winslow, didn't fit any of the criteria I had written down, so … "
"In what way?"
It's just that . . . I mean . . . well, I thought you switched another frat brother for Winslow after he went behind the curtain."
"I'm shocked!" I said with mock indignity. "You thought we would try to cheat?"
"No, sir. You said it was a test of perception and I thought the test was to determine which one was switched. When that wasn't the question, I went with the elimination process."
With a shrug of their shoulders, my fellow frat brothers conceded Diego's response to my accusation was plausible.
"Very good, Diego. So what is the lesson here?"
"In the case of Winslow, sir . . . uh . . . never judge a book by his cover."
"And why is that, for all of those who couldn't identify Winslow?"
"Winslow's little, uh . . . sorry sir," Diego said, turning bashfully to acknowledge Winslow, "his dick is so little when it's soft. But when it got hard, it was . . .it's big by comparison . . . really big!"
"No offense taken, Diego," Winslow said. "It's called a 'Merlin's Wand effect.' I have what is clinically called a micropenis—about an inch long when soft. However, unlike most micropenises, mine grows to six and a quarter inches when erect. Most micropenises don't get much bigger when they're hard than they are when they're soft. Anyone wanting to know more about it, feel free to talk to me. I've lived with this anomaly all my life and I'm finally comfortable talking about it."
"Thanks, Winslow." Then turning, I asked the pledge who guessed the least number correctly, "And what have you learned from this challenge, Jason?"
"Uh, to be more observant, sir?"
"If your answer is in the form of a question, you haven't learned anything. That only pays off on Jeopardy. So, to encourage you to do better in the future, we will retire to the kitchen."
The 'models' as well as a contingent of curious frat brothers followed the pledges and their sponsors into the kitchen. None of the 'models' bothered to get dressed, which made it nice for me. I don't often get a chance to see them naked under fun-loving circumstances … basically just a fleeting glance in the shower room. But, if my observation was correct, they were enjoying being naked in front of all their fellow frat brothers.
After leading everyone over to the refrigerator, I pulled a conical-shaped drinking cup out of the dispenser and said, "Start jacking off, Jason."
Embarrassed to have about forty to fifty men watching him, it took a while for him to even start to harden. Seeing Marshall with the camcorder didn't help, I'm sure. From the look on Jason's face, I figured he thought I was going to make him fill the six-ounce cone with cum. Once he was fully erect, I said, "Is there anything you need . . .magazines, videos, some personal attention to get you off?"
He blushed but said, "No, sir."
"Let me know when you're getting close."
He nodded his head, closed his eyes and continued to fantasize to himself to a point where he was close to ejaculation.
While he jacked, Whitney whispered something to Kent who nodded his approval. Kent came around to whisper in my ear.
Just about then, Jason said, "Uhh, sir!"
I pushed the ice button on the refrigerator door to 'crush' and dispensed enough into the cone to form a small mound.
"Soon?"
"Uhh, sir!"
"Jack-off onto the snow cone. Any that falls on the floor you lick up later."
"Uhh, uhh, ungh!" Jason aimed his cock down at the dome of ice, having to arch his back and thrust his ass in the air a little to do it. His aim was right on target.
When he was done, I said, "And the prize goes to Jason! Bon appetite."
He grimaced but he ate the cum flavored snow cone with all of us looking on while Marshall continued to film it. Once he started eating the snow cone, I whispered to Scott, and he left the room.
As Jason got close to finishing his cum cone, I said, "Drink any that melted and follow us out to the balcony."
Scott had removed the curtain as I had instructed in my whisper and fetched the paint pot. "Diego, front and center," Whitney said. "Usually, this is reserved for tomorrow night's ceremony which means you would only receive two instead of three letters by the end of the week. If you had not done as well as you did, tonight, we wouldn't be doing this at all. However, since you identified all thirteen brothers correctly we're making an exception." He dipped the paintbrush in the bowl Scott was holding and drew a triangle on the right side of Diego's chest. "Congratulations."
"Gentlemen, pledges," and looking around at a couple of our 'models,' "and those of you who still have boners, take the rest of the night to study … after you finish jacking off."
Kent said, "Because of the hectic student schedule tomorrow, you have all day to yourselves but remember, if you're not in class you're supposed to be here where we can keep an eye on you." There was no special reason for that rule, it was just to intimidate the pledges and make them think they had no control over their own lives.
"But tomorrow night, you pledges are going for a joy ride.
To be continued.
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