Frat Initiation Hell Week - Chapter 1 by Dennis B. StoriesNew@Yahoo.com
Check your local and regional laws before reading this story which depicts homosexual sex acts. To read this, you must be of legal age and not be offended by this type of content.
Events, names of people, organizations, and places, are fictional. No attempt has been made to portray any actual persons, places, or entities. Any and all resemblance between elements of this story and reality are completely unintentional and coincidental. _________________________________________________________________
(You can find a list of my other stories with a brief description of each at the end of this chapter.)
FRAT INITIATION HELL WEEK by Dennis B. StoriesNew@Yahoo.com
Scott Tearneman, 20, President of QQS Fraternity
THE FIVE PLEDGES Jared Spangler, 17 Kevin Long, 18 Darryl Curtinger, 18 Sean Jenson, 18 Kyle Anders, 17 ________________________________________________
Chapter 1
We were all college freshman, naive and innocent to begin with. We were scared, too. A university can be a frightening place when you're fresh out of high school. The hazing part of pledging a fraternity took some of the innocence out of us-- especially from our rear ends--right from the start.
Pledging QQS was rough. They kept us five pledges uninformed most of the time. We didn't even know what the letters QQS stood for, except we were told they had great significance, and we would find out what the letters meant IF we made it through Hell Week to become actual brothers of the fraternity--as if we hadn't already taken enough punishing abuse.
We had no idea what 'they' had in store for us--'they' being the brothers, well-established members, who could comfortably sit back and watch while one of us poor pledges got his butt seriously whacked with a paddle. Or worse.
And we knew 'worse' was coming.
The university made it easy for the frats to have hell week-- it had no classes that week. How convenient.
The other thing we knew was that QQS was known for its small number of pledges. We had started as a pledge class of 27, and were down to just 5. Each of us had constant reminders that we could be eliminated at any time.
But we were totally in the dark as to why they had us exercising so much all of a sudden. A whole week of cruel calisthenics, weight lifting, and impossible aerobic routines, had been torture for our bodies. And two brothers were always present with strap and paddle--applied vigorously for our correction and enlightenment--to make sure no one slacked off. I'd never heard so much screaming during a workout in my life, nor so many groans of complaint afterward.
At the end of the day, I barely had strength to eat and crawl into bed--no energy for my nightly jerk-off ritual. There was no chance to jerk during the day, either--and it was my habit to do that at least once a day besides a nightly encore. My four fellow-pledges were in the same boat.
With a day of classes and six hours of hard exercise, there was no time to study this week. The profs all knew how this worked (they were told who was pledging what fraternity), and knew that we'd all make the work up from the decades of notes in binders that QQS had collected. So, our grades didn't suffer because of the kindness (salacious amusement) of our teachers who saw us in various stages of suffering--not to mention our vocal complaints as our tender buttocks tried to make contact with the hard wooden chairs.
A memorable classroom moment occurred in an all-male sports medicine class, when, after unavoidably shouting as my posterior touched down upon the wooden seat, attracting the professor's attention, I was called to the front of the classroom. I had the privilege of baring my behind to the entire class, bending with my hands on my knees, while the professor pointed to my buttocks, tapping various spots with a wooden pointer--seemingly oblivious to my pained protests--making some connection between the class material and my bruised, well-striped ass.
My fellow-students' whistles and cat calls--which drew no rebuke from the professor--did nothing to relieve my blushing embarrassment. Such is the life of a mere pledge, especially when the teacher is a charter member of your fraternity.
At night, during this brutal week of barbarous exercising, sometimes we had to help each other walk to the bathroom to pee-- that's how bad off we were. Yet, we'd made it this far--been paddled, whipped with a strap, made to do embarrassing things naked, and more. We'd been through too much to give up now.
Without exception, we groaned and rubbed our sore muscles every chance we got--out of sight of the brothers to avoid detection and risk a painful reminder of how good they were treating us by having us build up our strength and endurance-- something they felt we couldn't do on our own, for some reason.
This was the seventh, and supposedly last day of vigorous physical exercise. Actually, it was evening, and our final, inhuman exercise session had ended.
We were all getting undressed for our nightly showers. We had to do everything as a group, a team. But we were dependent on the brothers for most things--food, clothing, schedules, shelter. We had to wait, naked, to be escorted to the shower room.
"It's a good thing this is the last of the torture exercise bullshit. One more day of this, and I'd be outta here," Jared, the smallest and youngest of our pledge class said as we undressed. There was one other young pledge, Kyle, who was 17 like Jared--but Kyle was taller, and closer to 18 years old. The rest of us were 18.
Jared was closer to 16--he was the smart one who got promoted ahead in the seventh grade. Lucky kid had a perfect 4.0 so far, and it didn't look like he would go below that. Jared could practically memorize a book as he read.
"You don't mean that, Kyle," I said.
"Yes, I do, Kevin." The kid looked more exhausted than ever.
"Look at all you've suffered so far. You even got the most paddling of any of us." I didn't mention his stripes. I winced, looking at them--on his back, his ass, and ribs.
"Yeah, I know. It's too late to quit now. Kev--you feel the same way, right?"
"Hell yeah! As if you didn't know."
"I just needed to hear you say it," Kyle said, a tear in his eye. I felt sorry for him. Kyle and I were close.
"You're a good strong guy, Kyle. You'll make it."
"Thanks, Kev."
By then, we were naked--the five of us waiting for Scott Tearneman, the president of QQS, to take us to the big shower room. The rule was, no one goes in there without Scott leading the way.
"Move, it, move it!" Scott said, bursting into the big dorm we lived in, swinging his vicious strap at our butts and legs. It was narrow and thin, and dug deep into the skin, stinging badly. It could cut like a cane when used with extreme force.
We screamed and squealed like ten year olds at the painful strokes to our naked flesh, and ran to our showers. Scott repeated the use of his strap as we were taken back to the dorm.
"Tomorrow night," he said ominously, "Hell Week begins."
We showered, discussing the various welts and bruises we all had--not to mention vocalizing our relief that the week of torturous exercise was over. 'Mine is bigger than yours' took on new meaning as a spirit of competition developed over who had taken the worst beating recently--the marks on our bodies speaking for themselves. Showering is a bit painful when you have fresh welts on your skin, so we didn't linger in the shower.
Kyle and I made our way to my bunk. We slept together, and the other pledges understood that we were attracted to each other. At least we had progressed as a country to the point where no one thought a couple of gay guys sleeping together was anything unusual. I think some of the guys were jealous, and I suspected that Jared and Darryl were soon to be a couple like me and Kyle. These were casual pairings, and who knew if they would develop into anything more serious, once the cement of communal torture was broken by our eventual acceptance into the brotherhood.
But during this week of savage exercise, our usual bedtime sex was impossible. You could not keep your eyes open long enough to get started--if you had enough energy to even get a hardon. I would be surprised if any of us came once, the whole week.
Getting ready for bed, we were all rubbing our sore asses, already purple from many paddlings. I was so tired and horny, I thought I would die. I know I was not alone in that feeling. When the lights went out, Kyle and I hugged and licked each other's butt to help lessen the pain, but soon fell asleep.
That was one good thing about the exhausting exercise program --everyone slept soundly.
In the morning, it was announced that we would prepare for Hell Week. We again celebrated that the horrible exercise week had come to an end. Little did we know.
We had no idea that we would not be 'full' brothers after hell week. Instead, they had a two-week probationary period afterwards, when we could be strapped and paddled as before--just not as often, nor for frivolous reasons. This subjection to more painful infliction would come as a big surprise to us later. At this point, we all assumed once Hell Week ended, the pain ended with it. And Hell Week was about to begin.
As the dreaded evening approached, we all got quiet, imagining terrible tortures being inflicted on our poor bodies. 'Why else would they call it Hell Week?' I thought.
"Do you think they'll use a whip on us?" Jared asked, his hands trembling as he spoke. We sat in a circle on our dormitory floor--feeling like cattle soon to be led the slaughter.
"Who knows," Sean said. "They did about everything else to us. What's to stop them?" This did not help to settle little Jared's frayed nerves.
"No, Jared," I said, putting my arm around his shoulders, hoping to calm the poor kid, "even THEY wouldn't be THAT cruel."
"You don't think they'll whip or cocks like in that one movie they showed us?" Kyle said, making all of us afraid.
"Nah," Darryl said. "That's too weird." But Darryl looked none too confident.
"I wouldn't be so sure," I said, turning to Darryl, and hoping not to undo whatever comfort I'd given Jared. "They're taking us to the basement--that's where they did all the weird and painful stuff to us."
"It could be different this time," Darryl said hopefully.
Soon we were led, shaking, naked, and blindfolded to the feared basement, while the brothers all chanted some creepy- sounding tune. Scott lined us up, positioning us with his hands until he has us where he wanted.
Scott had another brother take off our blindfolds.
We all gasped. The place looked deathlike--decorated with black cloth, draped in fancy ways around the room and above our heads, candles everywhere. All the brothers wore black leather. Strange, fearsome-looking equipment hung from the walls and partitions. It looked like a middle-ages torture room. And there was a big curtain hiding something. That made me scared as hell.
Faces became anxious. Eyes filled with fear. QQS brothers- to-be were supposed to be brave, but I felt like a little boy, trembling and cowering naked in front of all this equipment and the brothers dressed in leather. And I'm sure my pledge mates felt the same.
"You see those marks on the floor?" Scott asked, pointing to them, his voice demanding, impatient.
"YES, SIR!" we all shouted in unison, as he'd taught us.
"They're FOOTPRINTS! Get your feet on them now!"
In ten seconds, we'd each found a pair of footprints to stand on. This arrangement put us in a curved line so we could see each of the others, spaced about six feet apart, and facing Scott.
"Bend! Hands on the floor. Asses up HIGH!" Scott commanded.
This was a familiar order--to assume the position they usually paddled us in.
"There will be very few mysteries tonight," Scott said, his voice suddenly warm and calm--something we weren't used to. "As you know, you're all well spaced from each other."
"YES, SIR!"
Ten brothers, very well built, came into view.
"To make sure you boys all have what it takes to be full- fledged brothers of QQS, a team of two strong brothers will stand behind each of you--one will swing the paddle at your nicely marked little asses. Between paddle strokes, the other brother will swing a leather strap. That's why we need room between you. You will get twenty-five strokes of each implement. They will not be gentle. You may look at each other."
Any pledge not trembling was certainly shaking by now. We turned our heads to look at each other, difficult as that was to do in our humiliating bent-over posture.
I was horrified. By the moans and faces of my pledge mates, I knew they all felt the same way. Fifty painful whacks! This was worse than any other sentence they had put on us.
"You can scream and holler all you want, but if you ask for your pain to cease, it will. And you will be dismissed forever. Let the spankings begin."
The sound of smacking paddles and snapping leather filled our ears along with the distressed voices of five suffering young guys screaming in pain.
No sooner did my butt go on fire with the paddle smacking against it threatening to flatten me to the floor, when the strap came whipping on my ass to sting my two tortured globes like a medieval hot steel band.
And the pain was excruciating from the first blow. I never felt such agony or heard such terrible screams from the others. It was all so loud, I could hardly hear my own shouts.
It only took a minute, but it was the longest minute of my life. I'm sure we'd all just had a taste of the Inquisition.
But we had to suppress our anger; had to think of the brotherhood and all its benefits--assuming we'd live to become members.
"To make sure you all know what type of behavior we find acceptable, and unless you want ten times worse, you will, starting with pledge Darryl, suck your fellow pledges' cocks for ten seconds each-on your knees, going quickly from one to the other. Anyone who dawdles or dares to come will be whipped. If you get close to orgasm, I advise you to pull away from the pledge sucking you until you can take it safely."
This they found acceptable? They wanted us to desire another guy's dick? I supposed Kyle and I were safe now, and this explained why our nightly sex was ignored by the brothers, but my mind became blurred. We were all beyond the thought of the brothers having 'no right' to ask this or that--we knew that we either succumbed to their demands, or quit.
Scott ignored our shocked surprise. We grumbled in hushed but indignant protest that we should be forced to give blow jobs. Personally, I didn't mind, and Kyle didn't look upset about it. I was sure no one would volunteer to take ten times what we just got, so it was a good bet we were all going to suck each other.
As the blow jobs progressed, I could tell it was hard for Darryl, Sean, and Jared to suck dick, although Jared got into a rhythm after sucking the first two.
No one came, but there were lots of delays as guys squirmed and shivered with unsatisfied need and had to stop the blow jobs to keep from unloading their cum. And we had a week's worth of cum stored up.
I was sure the next step would be to have us all humiliate ourselves by being made to jerk off in front of all the brothers.
"Very good, boys. You did that like real men."
Scott put this cream on our cocks and had us stroke each other in a circle jerk. I was pleased that I'd guessed correctly.
"And NO ONE comes! When you're close, tell your buddy to stop," Scott said, very softly, to five sets of moaning complaints. "And resume until fifteen minutes has expired."
There went any thought that my guess was right.
That cream made my dick so sensitive, it felt like a blow job instead of a hand job. Towels were passed out so we could wipe our hands, but we had to leave the cream on our dicks.
"Now, boys, THIS is where you will be spending the next week," Scott said with a flourish. The mystery curtain opened.
We all gasped. What we saw looked like five torture stations. There was a place for your body to lie back, all molded and padded, with straps to tie you down--ankles, wrists, and waist.
They were going to strap us in to those things! And why on our backs?
Our murmurs filled the room. Scott overheard some of us.
"Yes, you're going to be tied up in those for a week. That's why you did all that exercise--so a week in these things won't take the strength out of you. But don't worry, during THIS week you'll be spared the pain of the paddle and strap. BUT--these next seven days, you will experience torture like you never dreamed possible. Yet--" Scott said, pausing for effect, "no pain will be applied to your bodies--unless you request it, of course."
I didn't get it. Torture with no pain? And why in hell would we request pain?
"Any questions, boys?"
"Yes, sir," Sean said. "When you say 'no pain,' do you mean no one will hit us with anything, or use electricity or water torture, or anything like that to make us hurt?"
"Yes. Sean is exactly right," Scott said, looking left and right to all of us. "And yes, you may breathe a sigh of relief over that."
Little did we know.
I had watched Scott's eyes the whole time. I knew he was telling the truth, and this wasn't some trick or play on words.
We could hear a collective sigh of relief as the message sank in. No more pain. I wanted to yell in celebration.
The brothers arranged the five stations in a circle, so we could all see each other. Watching each other was part of their plan, though none of us pledges knew what the plan was yet.
I was glad we didn't get strapped into the things one at a time--it took forever for the two brothers in charge of me to get everything adjusted to fit my body, and strap me in.
Once we were all helplessly tied in position, we got our first surprise. The padded table elevated in the center, making our groins rise to be the highest point on our bodies. If we had been face down, our butts would have been up in the air. It felt weird, but I was very comfortable.
"If there is any discomfort to your body caused by the table of your apparatus, please inform your two-brother team, and they will adjust things to your satisfaction."
This was difficult for us to take in, but he was true to his word. Several guys asked for adjustments and were able to achieve the level of comfort I seemed to be enjoying.
I looked around. All the other pledges still had erections, including me. It had to be that cream! By then the cream had disappeared--absorbed into the skin. But Scott had each two- brother team wipe our cocks gently with a clean towel.
"First, the feathers of pleasure."
I could not figure that one out, and everyone else looked baffled, too, as five big feathers were brought out. My team of two brothers placed it in a little arm device that I hadn't noticed. Then the arm was adjusted and activated. The feathers were stroking our cocks!
This, we didn't need. The squirming and moaning began.
"If you boys don't feel too much, don't worry--we have more sensational things in store later on, for your hungry little dickies."
This had to be some kind of joke--but deep down, I knew it wasn't. They wouldn't go through all this trouble for something they weren't going to follow through with.
After half an hour, my balls hurt. I had to come so bad, I would have volunteered for a whipping. The feather stroked my cock relentlessly, making it jump with each pass. After a while, the team put the feather UNDER my dick, making the pleasure more intense by stroking on the sensitive underside of the penis.
Given different circumstances, I'd say they'd made things better for us. But with our already-impossible sex urges aroused to a peak, and with what was in store for us, the sexual stimulation of a feather sliding slowly on my penis made things worse. I could not imagine a day of this, and saw how easily it could torture us. They didn't need to apply pain. Our balls would soon kill us, if our unsatisfied urges didn't. Cocks were throbbing and jumping upward all over the place--and seeing that exasperated our urges.
And from what Scott had said, this was just the beginning.
"Oh," Scott said, "I forgot to tell you. You may volunteer for some pain--which we would kindly apply to you--to take your mind off the pleasure you feel in your little dickies. The relief from all that good feeling of course will make it easier on you and your balls. That is, if they don't explode, first."
The announcement itself put the fear of God into us, but we shuddered, seeing the instrument in Scott's hands.
Scott held up the penis whip--a small thing with eight soft leather strands--each about an eighth inch wide and nine inches long. We'd seen it demonstrated by way of a video where a healthy-looking 19-year-old got lashed with it on his erection. And the lashes were applied gently. But you could tell it hurt. It made his hardon go down.
And there was no doubt, my balls needed relief of one kind or another. Already I felt them swelling, my need to ejaculate more desperate than ever, and my penis throbbing anxiously. Looking around at the others, I saw their squirms and twists of their heads; the jumps of their cocks--mirror images of my own incredibly frenzied reactions.
The torture had begun. I wondered how long it would take before we were all half-crazy, frantically begging for pain.
Dennis B. StoriesNew@Yahoo.com
Any comments would be great! Hope you liked it. Even one email would put a smile on my face and make it easier to write more. :-) --Dennis
That's all I wrote so far. Thanks for reading.
Dennis StoriesNew@Yahoo.com
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LAST POST DATES good as of November 6, 2005. Actual date may be later, by the time you read this.
Thanks, Dennis StoriesNew@Yahoo.com