This story concerns the outcome of a "good will" game between a local private college and a public, inner city community college. This private college, located in an exclusive suburban area outside a major city, is truly a pleasant place to visit, and a wonderful place to learn. Its buildings, covered with ivy, ("ivy league?"), were old, but elegant, and reflected the proud Quaker tradition of the place. On the campus there was a duck pond, several statues, a library, etc. etc. The campus itself is surrounded by a wooded area, where people could take walks, or jog. Frequently sports teams used it for their workouts when they were bored with using the track.
At the center of the school was the college's small athletic complex. (It was a small, private college, not a big university). Inside there was an indoor track, which the school had in addition to the outdoor one. At its center was a basketball court. At almost every evening, around seven o'clock, the intramural basketball team practiced. For a small private college they were not at all that bad. The players, all proudly wearing their black white and red basketball uniforms, were all tall and athletic. As beyond that a physical description would have to include the fact that they were not as integrated as the color of these uniforms would suggest. The players were, to a man, all white, as was most of the rest of the school.
"Okay, guys, we're really going to show `em!" The voice was that of Pat MacDonald, one of the team's top scorers, and well known for his aggressiveness both on and off the court. Pat stood tall, nearly seven feet, had short dark hair, fair skin, large blue eyes, and a handsome heart-shaped face with just the right combination of boyishness and masculinity to make him perfectly desirable to several assorted females on and off the campus. "That's right, Pat!" The comment came from another player, Mike Scherner, who aspired to the same degree of basketball prowess as his friend, and idol, Pat. Mike was also what women would call, "easy on the eyes". He was slightly shorter than Pat, about six foot seven, had dirty blond hair, and brown eyes. His hair was a little longer than Pat's, parted in the middle, and came behind his ears and down to his neck. It was not shoulder length, however. His complexion was darker than his friend's. He was one of those lucky people, who, despite being Anglo Saxon in ancestry, seemed to always have a permanent tan. He probably had some German ancestry, whereas his friend Pat was probably more English, or Scots Irish. Both were tall and strong, Pat being a little heavier, but Mike was more defined. Mike lifted weights to add to this definition, which extended to his arms, chest, stomach, legs, and, well, "glutes", (you, dear reader know what I mean). Neither of the two was what you would call hairy, although Pat had a little bit of chest hair, and just enough over his body to distinguish him from the female of the species in that department. Mike had very little body hair. Mike made up for it in the size of his, well, "organ". Let's just say he was well endowed in that department. Pat was not. This did make for some insecurity in the showers and locker room, where, because of his height relative to everyone else, it was hard to hide. As for build, Mike had narrower hips than Pat, who had a little weight over his frame.
The team got together, with their coach to discuss strategy for the goodwill game with a distant, community college. Most of the students at that school were minorities, and came from lower income families. Its basketball team, which was fairly good, was entirely black. The event was meant to foster better relations and goodwill across racial and socio-economic boundaries.
That weekend the small, indoor stadium was filled with spectators. People from both colleges filled the stands as both teams worked their hearts out to score. As the game went on what had started off as goodwill became more and more competitive. It seemed as soon as one team scored, the other did, and vice versa. Fouling became more and more common as Pat MacDonald, an aggressive player, meant some equally aggressive players from the other side. As for Mike Scherner, he also kept up his end in adding to the ferocity of the competition. Finally at the end, with the score tied, one of the community college's best players was about to throw a jump shot, which in the final seconds of play, would have won the game. At that point, Pat, aggressive as usual, bumped the ball from the young man's hands, fouling the shot. He then passed over the court to his strategically placed friend, Mike, who scored, and thus pulled off a victory for the school. Their fans were elated. The opposing team's were outraged. The referee, who was an alumnus of the private college, "didn't see" Pat's foul. The fouled player glared at Pat, who returned a smirk, revealing that he knew full well what had happened, that it was no accident. The large black man, almost as tall as Pat, advanced toward him, and almost got to Pat, when he was stopped by one, then another referee. He was finally ordered off the court before he got to exact any retaliation.
Pat and Mike then walked off the court with the rest of their teammates, receiving congratulations from their fans, and exchanging high fives with each other, and even receiving the occasional tap on the shoulder or behind, as sometimes occurs with the emotion of sports. Even the coach, who was very demanding, had to congratulate the two on their winning performance. So, instead of proceeding straight to the locker room to hit the showers with the rest of the team, these two lingered to talk to the fans, then they both went to the coach's office. The coach, who usually summoned players to his office to bawl them out, was now doing this to congratulate the two. The rest of the team left, went to the locker room, showered, dressed, then went out together to party. Then the opposing team had use of the locker room for the same purpose. Although they were not exactly in the partying mood. Or maybe I should say they had a different kind of "party" in mind. And, to be good sports, Pat and Mike would be "invited". This team would indeed show their appreciation for losing do to a foul by Pat. As it turned out the coach kept the two in his office long enough that by the time they left their team was already gone from the locker room. The area was now occupied by the opposing team, who didn't even bother to shower or change clothes, being more preoccupied with their anger over being robbed of their victory in front of all their fans and families, by the biased referee, and especially those two cocky, stuck up white boys. They sat around and grumbled, then the door opened, and who would it be? It was Pat and Mike, who, being distracted by the feeling of utter glory, didn't realize that they just walked into the middle of a small, windowless and nearly soundproof locker room full of angry black basketball players from the inner city.
"Hey, look who's dropping by. Maybe they are expecting some congratulations for the great game they played. Well, white boy, what you got to say?" Pat looked up, his pale face blushed and his eyes widened. This he did not expect. "Ah...well, what are you guys doing here?" "What the fuck do you think, white boy? Are you that dumb? We just want to admire how well you two played, and how you won, just so fair and square. Yeah, that's it. Fair and square". His teammates chuckled at this. "Uhhh...well...yeah. It was a good game. Hey, no hard feelings, right, dude". "No, of course not, not at all. Let's shake". The large black player, who Pat fouled, got up from the bench where he was sitting, and took two steps toward Pat. Both Pat and Mike had a bad feeling, but, being surrounded and outnumbered, decided to go along. Pat raised his right hand, and extended it to the other man, who, in one motion, grabbed it with his left hand, and punched the unsuspecting Part in the stomach with his right. "Arghh!!" Pat clutched his stomach and doubled over. A second and third blow, delivered as a combination, left him on the floor, dazed. Mike jumped in to protect his friend, and nearly knocked the black man back against the lockers, but then he was grabbed from behind. Then the first attacker could deliver several repeated blows to Mike's face. Mike kicked and swung as best he could, but being held underneath his arms he, too found his assailant gaining the upper hand. Soon he was also on the floor. Mike's face was swollen and apparently his nose had been broken. He doubled over in pain. Pat was just struggling to his feet. He saw what happened to his friend and didn't know what to do. He just stood there in silence. "Hey, white boy, your gay lover is in pain. Maybe you should help make him feel better". "He isn't my gay lover! I'm not gay!" "Well, you're going to be by the end of tonight!" Pat was horrified by this statement. His face turned pale. Forgetting his friend lying on the floor, he tried to rush towards the door. Several of the other team players blocked him, striking him in the stomach again and kicking him in the legs in the bargain. He was trapped and being held by the arms by two assailants, and confronted by the big black player, who was nearly his height, but more muscular. "I said, if he's your friend, make him feel better. Suck his dick! If you don't we will gang fuck you both. Your choice."
Pat knew he had no choice. He looked down at Mike, who was lying on his back, his knees bent, and looking on in pain and horror. "I have to do this, buddy." Pat got down on his knees and approached Mike, separating his knees and reached between them to undo the drawstring of Mike's black basketball shorts with the red and white stripes. Mike did not resist. He was in pain from the broken nose and he knew resistance would be foolish. The drawstring was loosened, then Pat gently tugged at the garment, sliding it lower. "Hurry up!" demanded one of the tormenters. The shorts were pulled down and removed entirely. Mike lay there still on his back with his knees bent. Below the waist he now wore only his sneakers, socks, and jockstrap. "Well, what the fuck you stopping for? Keep going!" After this the locker room fell silent again. All that could be heard was the snapping sound of a jock being removed from a low moaning college athlete. The garment made a last snapping sound, then was tossed aside. Pat, still on his knees looked down and again parted his friend's knees. He looked at the large genitals that he would now have to perform oral sex on. "Well, start sucking!" "Yeah, suck that man meat! We know you want to!" Pat looked up, then around. He then opened his mouth, leaned forward, and put the large, cut penis into his mouth. His face was now buried between Mike's legs, and his bottom was now higher than his head. The black team let out a cheer. Then they demanded more sucking, the suspicion being that Pat was only putting the penis in his mouth but not actually sucking it.
Pat sucked. He started slowly at first, then, as he got over the initial revulsion, increased the tempo. Mike, for his part, merely laid back. Involuntarily, he started to moan. This was not like the moan of pain, but the opposite. He was becoming sexually aroused. As this process continued, the penis slowly hardened, filling Pat's mouth, and almost causing him to gag. He felt the warmth of the stiff organ in his mouth, the tip teasing his throat, and the warm, smelly groin area of his friend, and even the light tickle of the small amount of pubic hair Mike possessed. He could almost swallow Mike's now packed scrotum as well, and at one point, reached with one hand and gently touched his friend's anus, easily reached as Mike kept his knees bent. This produced, oddly even a louder moan from his friend, and cheers from the spectators. "More, more, suck more...harder!!!" Pat continued to suck. Mike's penis gradually reached a crescendo. Mike's legs extended straight, Mike's moaning grew even louder, and he even appeared to be thrusting his hips foreword in order to impale his friend's mouth. The exercise did indeed seem to make him feel better. He was now on his back, spread eagled, and rotating his head back and moaning uncontrollably. At last he reached the climax. He could hold out no longer. His erection exploded inside of Pat's mouth. "Swallow all that jism! Swallow it all!!" Pat, out of fear or passion, or both, obeyed. He then sucked his friend dry. Also he did indeed, "swallow the load".
"Well, I told you he was a fag. Now, for the real fun!" The team now were preparing to get their real revenge.
Pat slowly got back to his feet, the disgusting taste of his friends cum still in his mouth, almost making him gag. Mike, for his part, raised his head and sat up. Still with some pain from the broken nose he received, he slid over to the lockers, sitting on the dirty rug of the locker room floor. His back was against the lockers and he sat with his knees bent and his head down in shame and humiliation. Between his knees, his long and now flaccid penis dangled covered in his friend's saliva and now dripping with a strand of semen from his recent orgasm. He still wore his sweaty team basketball shirt as well as his sneakers and socks. Other than that, though, Mike sat naked on the floor. He simply sat, head bowed, in a stunned silence.
Pat faced his tormentors. He stammered to talk, as difficult as it was. "Uh, guys, well...uhh..I, I did, you know, what you said. Is that all? You guys made your point. I'm sorry. Can we go now? Please." "Now, white boy, since you enjoyed sucking off your buddy, you must be a fag. So, maybe you would like to suck us off, too?" "Uh...no..please, not that! I don't like the taste of cock! Really, I don't. Please, don't make me do that! I'll do anything! Take anything from me you want! I...I have money! I'll open my locker! Just see!" Pat, in a panic, opened up his locker, and started to toss his personal belongings out of it and onto the floor. He tossed out his wallet, with cash and credit cards, his nicer clothes that he was planning to go out in, and many more items. The black team members were temporarily distracted by this spectacle, and when Pat was left with just the clothes he was standing up in, demanded more. "What about your friends shit. Let's have it all!" Mike raised his head, looked up, and, realizing he had no other alternative, got up off the floor, and proceeded over to his own locker, and started to remove its contents. This was of interest to the black dudes, because, in his distracted state, he forgot to put his shorts back on, and was undoing his lock nude from his waist to his socks. As I mentioned earlier, Mike had a beautifully, and perfectly shaped backside. He was tanned, and his derriere was cute, bubbly and white, where the sun never shined.
Soon, both young men's lockers were divested of there contents. Mike, glancing down at his exposed state, walked back over to his original seating position. He hoped that this ordeal would be over soon. Surely, they would be satisfied with this now, he thought. Pat hoped for the same. "Is this all the shit you clowns have got! What else!?" Uh...that's all, I mean it, really." Pat was pleading, but to no avail. His eyes were starting to become glassy, and his chin was starting to quiver. He was trying his best to hold back his tears. "Fine, then, we want everything. Take off your clothes, boy. Take it all off!!" Pat hesitated. What were they going to do? He looked around at the tough faces of his assailants. Maybe it was really just a robbery after all. The stuff could be replaced, and it was, after all, a locker room. Pat slowly removed his basketball shirt, and handed the garment over to the big black man that he had fouled. He took the garment, and then indicated Pat's sneakers. Pat stood there, bare chested, tall, but not quite so muscular as the black man, his pale skin revealing just a slight touch of chest hair, but, beyond that, the young basketball player did not seem at all that masculine, with his big blue eyes so full of fear, and with so much of his smooth, young flesh exposed. Pat lifted his left leg, and struggling on one foot, he untied the strings to his sneakers. This made him nearly fall over, his long lanky frame not showing the least bit of grace. Some of the black guys snickered at this. Apparently Pat was too distracted to realize that there was a bench just right behind him where he could have sat down to remove his shoes. This ridiculous spectacle was repeated with the right foot. Both sneakers were then handed over to the large black man by Pat. Pat then straightened up, and stood in his basketball shorts facing the black man. He just stood there with his hands at his sides, desperately hoping that his ordeal would soon be over, but all the time feeling very very vulnerable. He was masculine enough, but in this situation, his long and lanky frame, with just enough adolescent baby fat, and his full hips that many tall white guys seem to have, as well as a rather flat, wide bottom, seemed now to become more obvious. It seemed to him that the black guys were looking at him as a woman, and not a man. He was having a hard time to prove otherwise, their masculinity surpassing his now by leaps and bounds. He had just a little chest hair, but not nearly that much, and his lack of much definition made his long frame seem almost feminine. Maybe this will be all, he thought. "Those, too." The black man pointed to Pat's shorts. Pat made another look around. He, however, knew by now what he had to do. Silently, and without any comment this time, he undid the drawstring to his shorts, and then, slowly he handed these over. He backed into the lockers behind him, nearly tripping over the bench that was nailed to the floor in the process. He now stood, terrified. He was now only wearing his jockstrap and socks! He just stood there, stunned, unable to respond to the situation, with his hands at his sides. If he had looked around he would have noticed that several of the black guys were starting to get hard. This sight was just too good in its absolute beauty and power to be resisted by them.
For the next few moments the black basketball team members just stood and stared at their now hapless victim. Pat just stared straight ahead into space, trying to remove himself from the situation if only for the moment by shear mental numbness, if he did not have the power to be physically removed. His heart shaped boyish face, quivering chin, large blue eyes, topped a tall, fairly smooth, long young and nearly naked frame. His white skin, flat stomach and chest, only provided a slight contrast from the light color of the fabric of his cotton jock. His hips were reasonably wide and high, allowing the most personal areas of the man's body to become only that much more obvious. His thighs were well built, if not overly muscular. This, however, only provided the stark contrast with the rather small pouch produced by his rather under sized genital organs. Normally he would appear manly enough. In the present situation, however, the effect was to completely emasculate him. He almost looked like a woman. The black guys got hard at the sight. The rape of Pat MacDonald was proceeding first in its visual stage.
"All right, girl, now, pull down your panties for me!" The locker room rang out with horse laughter from the rest of the team. Why hadn't they thought of saying that before? Why bother with hiding what was really going on? For just a second, Pat blushed in anger and embarrassment. Under any other circumstances he would have pummeled anyone who talked like that to him. This time, though, he was simply too humiliated. What was the use? He simply pulled on the fabric of his last remaining garment, save his socks, and pulled the tight piece of fabric down over his body. It made a snapping sound around his ankles. He awkwardly stepped out of it, and handed the jock over with one hand, while covering his jewels with the other. "Ha ha, girly, believe me, you ain't got nothing there worth hiding!!" There was more laughter at this. Pat finally broke down completely at this, and crouched with his knees together and both hands over his privates and his head down, sobbing. He was a completely broken man now. His tormentors now knew they could really have their way with him. "Now, goldy locks over there! Stand up, Marilyn Monroe! Right now, you sexy babe! We're gonna have a fun time together sweaty!" Mike was thus summoned to his feet, and two of the black guys "helped" him take off his shirt. Despite his beating and broken nose he still had those tanned blond good looks. His large dick dangled between his tightly muscled thighs, but earned him no more honorable treatment than his now sobbing friend and teammate idol. He, too crouched, covering his larger cock. The effect, however only served to make him look more vulnerable and a better prize than before. "You liked having your dick sucked, babe, now, how about having your ass fucked." Mike blushed. Please, not that he begged. "Guys..we learned our lesson, please, please! No not that!" "Please, please, please, yeah, that's what you're gonna do! Please me!" More laughter rang out.
Finally the two young white college basketball players were summoned, nude, to "assume the position!" Pat stepped over the bench that was nailed to the floor in front of his ankles, and Mike walked around it. Then the two turned around, (great butt shot!), and knelt down, placing their elbows on the bench, facing the wall and the lockers that were formally behind them. They were both on their knees, with the bench supporting their elbows. This allowed their heads to be at least slightly above their hips, and of course, their butts. From the point of view of the black guys, though, the sight was irresistible. Even more, some of them, already hard, were not sure how long they could "hold out" as it were before shooting their loads. This was a matter of contention, as they decided who, or which two, would go first. It was decided, of course, that the big black guy, who initiated the confrontation, deserved this honor, and, since he was fouled by Pat MacDonald, would get the honor of impaling him first. As for Mike Scherner, it was decided that one of the other players, who was already oozing cum, would get his action first.
Mike's firm, white and well muscled bottom, made a perfect target. Mike's back was tanned, as were his thighs. But that gorgeous butt was white, as if nature was intentionally illuminating the target. Mike's "lover" pulled down his shorts, revealing a rock hard big bad piece of massive black man meat. At its dark brown tip, a bit of cum juice was already lubricating the tip, good news for Mike, because his tight posterior would have much to absorb. Mike quickly tried to breathe in and out heavily, an amusing sight, attempting to relax his bottom, lest he be torn asunder. He hadn't much to worry about, though, because the leader, before assaulting Pat, found an open jar of Vaseline in the locker room, and handed it over to his friend, "use this." "Why!?" "Consideration, I don't want you doing too much damage before your teammates have their turn." So Mike's "lover" first caressed Mike's ass, filling his butt crack with the jelly. It also gave him more of a chance to feel over those beautiful firm buns, and to spread them and examine inside. Oh, what a view! Mike just draped his entire upper body over the bench, hoping to at least hide his face, in utter humiliation. Then the black man lubed his own penis, on the verge of exploding. He now quickly got down to business, and lowered himself to the white boy's anus. His lubed penis inserted quickly, and he felt the firm tight and warm hole around his cock. It slid in deep, feeling the slight pressure of Mike's now tightening anus around it. Further and further, until the two found their balls in contact. Mike did have large balls for a white college kid. Mike winced in pain, at first, at the penetration. But, soon, he was loosening up, and the cock was sliding well inside. Then, the black man pulled back; Mike moaned. His hole tightened a little. It started to hurt more, but, then, the process was repeated and the black ballplayer rammed home again. The lubricant on both he and Mike did much to facilitate this. Gradually, Mike's ass became looser. Involuntarily, Mike actually started to moan, actually experiencing pleasure at what was happening to him. "Ahhh...ohh...ahhh...yeah." He continued softly to himself. The black man didn't even seem to notice, as he was moaning much louder, and was overcome with passion. Eventually the ramming of Mike got louder and louder, as did the moaning. Faster and faster. And, soon, ejaculation occurred, and the black man pulled out, with a massive gob of his juice flowing out of the white dude's asshole. He didn't get much time to reflect, though, because soon another of his teammates pushed him aside, and promptly proceeded to enjoy Mike's bottom, until he, too, was wasted through the natural process of orgasm. Mike's ass was really getting loose. And his anus was starting to get filled with cum. Mike just lay there, quietly moaning. There was no point in being humiliated. He knew he had been totally defeated as a man. He may as well consider himself a woman to these guys. What worried him, though, was gradually the constant thrusting up his butt was loosening his bowels. Even women are not subjected to that humiliation. Please, he thought, I don't want to pass a turd.
This was, however, nothing compared to the fate that was to fall to Pat. As the one who began the unsportsmanlike behavior that led to the inner city team's loss he would suffer the worst revenge. On his knees, elbows on the bench, his long legs, ample thighs, and full hips, all combined to make his backside a most delectable target. First, the big black dude who was fouled approached from behind, naked below his waist, with a massive erection, at least eight inches long, pointed outward and upward like an African Zulu's spear, ready to penetrate its victim. At the insistence of his teammates, Pat was to be lubed. But, as if to add to his victim's humiliation, he made Pat do the job himself. "Hey, bitch, grease your asshole!" Pat, by now with tears rolling down his cheeks, lifted his upper body off the bench, and turned around, thrusting his weight on one knee. He took the jar, which was nearly thrown at him, and, kneeling on one knee, rotated his hips, and used his right hand to pull his right buttock aside while he lubed with his left hand at the now exposed area around his anus. He had some dark brown hair, more than his friend Mike, but the opening revealed a little of the "doughnut" of his anal cavity. Pat filled the area well with the lube, knowing it would help reduce any damage that he knew full well was meant for him. "Now, you fucking bitch, back down, over the bench, head down, ass up, legs open!! No, bitch, further foreword! More, you little cunt!!" The other black dudes nodded their approval. Pat's assailant, instead of manipulating his victim with his own hands, dictated his orders, forcing Pat into the most obscene position over the bench he could think of. Pat's head, practically touching the floor, his knees bent and apart, over the secure bench, which, if you recall, was bolted to the floor, lest it would have toppled over at this. By now Pat was crying profusely. "Now, asshole, open your pretty white cheeks. Spread `em!! Wide!!" The victim obeyed, now his greased anus was fully exposed in the locker room. Pat had some bit of matted hair on either side, inside the buttocks, which were now fully open, but the cavity was exposed like a little pink hole. In the very center of the doughnut like hole was a dark slit. At the sides some pimply hemorrhoids could be made out. Pat was made to maintain this position while his attacker prepared one massive thrust.
Then it came. The large, tall, well-muscled black college basketball player threw the whole weight of his lower body, while balancing on top of Pat's back with his one hand, and guiding his over eight inch "weapon" with the other. In addition, he utilized his powerful leg and buttock muscles-well developed from making many a jump shot-onto his small, tight, and sensitive target. SMASH!!! A piercing, high-pitched scream was let out, which did not even seem to be coming from a male. If one did not see what was happening, one would assume a young girl was doing the screaming, not a young, strong, male, college athlete. If the sound was produced by the intensity of the pain, or, had Pat lost any of the emotions and feeling of a man in his utterly defeated state, I can't say. But the whimpering and crying that followed was too pathetic for me to easily put into words. In and out, Pat was penetrated fully. The lube only contributing partial protection to his anus. The onlookers looked on, not in delight, as would be expected, but in amazement that one man could be so completely destroyed in spirit as this. Surely, they thought, he must have been a fag, after all. No man would submit to this. The black man then increased his assault in speed. His muscled flexed as he pounded his screaming and crying victim. Then, in a final insult, he reached foreword, and grabbed Pat's hair, and, pulling hard, forced Pat's head back up and back. Squeezing the hair in a death grip, which came close to breaking his victim's neck, he demanded, "now, you little cunt, tell me, tell me, say how much you respect and admire me!" With tears flowing, Pat did just that. He had to continue this for his subsequent assailants, for his first shot a huge load fairly soon after seeing, and hearing, the white boy's pleas of complete and utter submission. The subsequent thrusts were not as painful, though, as the first. Pat's anus was starting to loosen despite the punishment, and the repeated gobs of black man juice were soon filling his hole, and dripping down his balls onto the floor. By the time the last player had his turn, a turd was sliding out that loose hole. "Ah, shit! That's disgusting! Look at what you mother fuckers did!" The other team mates laughed. Moving over to Mike would not solve the problem either, for while Pat was being savagely fucked, he, too, passed that turd he was worrying about. If it was out of anal penetration or fear, or both, I don't know. But both the white athletes were soon covered in sweat, crying, and dripping cum, shit, spit, and piss.
Since by now all the black guys had shot their loads they had to think up something else. They all put their basketball shorts back on, took the whites' money, watches and valuables. As for the clothes, they took these, which included two pairs of Dockers slacks, as well as two preppy sweaters, one Cashmere, the other white cotton fleece, and used them to clean off their sweaty bodies, even their penises, which were covered in cum and shit. Then they wiped these garments on their owner's asses as an additional insult. All the while Pat and Mike merely lay there, naked, and draped over the bench in a most obscene position. Finally one of the black guys found some duct tape in the locker room, and made good use of it, and tied up both of the white boys. They were tied, still naked, still draped over the bench, but with their bodies over the bench, and their wrists taped together under the bench, crossed below their knees. Finally, their ankles were secured together. If the reader wishes to pause for a moment and try to imagine the resultant position, and how exposed a person would be in it, feel free. Pat and Mike were too broken to resist, though. They just lay there quietly sobbing. Then the black guys put socks in the white boys' mouths, and bound these, too, with the tape. After it was all over, they left. "Hey, we've been here too long. We better get to our bus!"
"Were have you guys been!" The black team's coach asked then as they filed onto the bus on the way home. "Hey, if you don't mind my saying, you smell. Didn't they let you use the showers? Too bad. Hey, sorry about the loss, guys. Better luck next year." Then the bus drove away.
The next day the janitor, and old man in his sixties, who the college athletes always enjoyed teasing and playing practical jokes on, entered the locker room, only two find the two, bound and nude, ball players, asses high and wide open, draped over the bench. "Holy jeeze!! What's this? Another wild team initiation?" "MMMMM!!!" Was Pat and Mike's reply. "What's that?" "MMMMMMMMM!!!!" The two boys attempted with duct taped mouths. "Well, you had quite a party, didn't you? Any girls? Any Polaroid's?" Then, the old man had a thought. "Well, I have a camera. I guess I'll have to take the pictures. Now, smile, boys."
"MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!"