Attitude Adjustment By Laredo
Kidnapping, oral, anal.
It had been going on for some time: the animals at Delta Alpha Kappa harassed and terrorized the brothers at Lambda Lambda Lamba, the only gay fraternity at State. The animals routinely dumped shit on the LLL house's front steps, started fires in the rear dumpster, ordered tons of pizza delivered, tossed rocks through windows during the early morning, and painted "FAG" on the front walk. On party nights, when LLL held gay-lesbian dances, the DAKs drove by, shouting insults and tossing full beer cans through the LLL house windows.
The dean of students offered no help to LLL, describing the DAKs as "high-spirited boys." The difference between "high-spirited" and "criminal" seem to rest on the active backing the animals received from a few right-wing alumni, one of whom sat on the small governing board of the university. The dean, himself, was DAK, when he was an undergraduate.
The Lambdas decided that it was pointless to retaliate; they'd bring down all of the homophobes in the other fraternities, which had delegated the harassment duty to DAK because it was directly across Austin Avenue from LLL. The Lambdas also knew that they acquired a few new campus allies whenever the DAKs got especially out of hand. The campus Democrat club, small and faction-ridden, had come to their defense last year, in the face of a DAK attempt to have LLL kicked out of the Fraternity Council on "moral grounds." A few of the liberal faculty even braved the wrath of the administration by writing supporting letters to the local newspaper, which dutifully printed about one out every hundred it received on the pro-LLL side. (The publisher was another of those DAK alumni!)
Suffering in silence, supporting each other emotionally, being "brothers" the in best fraternal sense didn't keep the LLLs from romantic ties within the house--but that did not really distinguish them from DAK, where gay members lived in fear of identification. The patience of the gay frat boys caved in during January, when Jason Littlefield, LLL's president, was kidnapped by DAK animals, hauled to a deserted garage on the wrong side of town, stripped, and savagely gang-raped. They dumped him, unconscious, naked, and bleeding from his rectum on the LLL steps, threw more beer bottles through window panes, and sped across the street.
It was several hours before Jason was found, then barely conscious, babbling, and still bleeding lightly. He made little sense as the EMTs loaded him into their van and sped to the hospital that was a part of the medical school. Two days later, he was able to see visiting brothers from LLL. His face was badly bruised, but that was the least of the damage. Without hesitation, he showed his brothers the full extent of his injuries: his balls were massively swollen, cock was chafed raw, and FAG had been spelled out on his upper chest in cigarette burns. He told them to take his word for the other damage, which had required about forty stitches to close ruptures in his rectum.
Jason's story was fragmentary, but he remembered how it began, with a friendly invitation from Zach Battle, DAK's president, to have a beer at Freddie's and bury the hatchet. Jason had the beer, then felt woozy and had to be helped out of the bar. His next recollection was being stripped and punched by what seemed to be at least a dozen guys, who chanted "Queer's die" as they pummeled him. He recalled being pushed around a circle as his tormentors twisted his tits and cock and slapped his balls, until he couldn't stand any longer. Then, he remembered being dragged to a wooden carpenter's horse, tied over it, and paddled severely, until he lost consciousness. When he did come around, one of the brothers forced tequila down his throat until he couldn't take more and hovered on the edge of passing out again.
Then the fucking began, remorseless, hard butt-busting fucking, without either lube or condoms. Jason remembered hearing Zach torment him as he plowed deeply and hard into an ass that though far from virgin had never been abused until then. He would never forget being brought around with the hot tips of cigarettes, pushed into his chest. He thought that he passed out again and remembered nothing more until he awoke in the hospital.
The delegation from LLL that visited Jason called a meeting of all members, active, inactive, in-house, off-campus, and contacted a few influential alumni. They all met off-campus, in the party room of a restaurant on the edge of town--more than 150 of them. From the beginning of the meeting, it was clear that several optional responses would not be pursued: LLL would not suffer in silence again and it would not involve the university administration in their plans and actions. To bar interference, one brother who worked in the records section of the hospital as a programmer lifted Jason's paper file and deleted the computer references. There was no paper trail for outsiders to pursue.
It was also agreed that they wouldn't undertake massive retaliation against everybody at DAK because it seemed likely that only a dozen or so of the most vicious brothers had assaulted and raped Jason. They would, however, find a way to deal with Zach Battle and with the other leaders of the vicious fraternity. As the night wore on, a plan fell into place. Zach and a dozen or so other DAKs would be treated to extensive involuntary re-education. With the advice of MDs, psychologists, and a friendly law professor, they hatched the scheme: targets were informed that they had won free spring break trips to Cancun and that they had to pick up their tickets at a travel agency, which, miraculously, opened right on the edge of campus, for one Friday's business. As the brothers appeared during the designated afternoon, usually alone or with only one more lucky DAK, they were shown a video of their destination and treated to a Pina Colada, laced with the same kind of date rape medicine that they commonly used on sorority sisters at parties. By 5 PM, all of the targeted DAKs had been bagged, handcuffed, gagged, and loaded into an oversized van,
Making no stops, the van bounced through potholes and over railroad tracks for at least an hour before it pulled into an abandoned airplane hanger, fifty miles from town. Once there, the drowsy brothers were pulled out of the back of the vehicle by hooded attendants, blindfolded, and tied over tables that could have served as racks during earlier times in more savage places. As they revived, the DAKs were stripped, their fratboy clothing cut from their bodies and burned, along with their shoes.
All of this action, and that which followed, was captured carefully on film, both video and still, and specially located microphones picked up all of the protests shouted by the stripped and stretched homophobes, once the gags were removed from their mouths. "We'll get you mother fuckers! We know who you are! You'll never get away with it! We'll fucking kill you bastards!" In response to which the attendants said nothing. The only one who did anything for almost an hour was a man in a white lab coat, who moved from animal to animal, injecting each butt cheek and each ball sac. There were yelps and more protests, but no responses for more time.
Finally, Jason, using an electronic voice distorter, broke the silence: "Greetings, fellow Greeks. In the spirit of fraternal love, we want to broaden your horizons and provide entertainment for all of us. We know that you usually go down the White Nose Road at your parties, so we've provided drugs for you, but of a somewhat different kind. Far from deadening your reactions, those injections will heighten all of your feelings, especially in those tender parts of you that we will give special attention over the weekend. The Ecstasy that was stuck in your butts is a special, enhanced brand, unlike the stuff you've used at parties. It will make and keep you more turned on than you knew that you could be. The shots you got in your balls is usually used to stimulate bulls to interest them in breeding. Early experiments, however, have shown that it is extra potent in stimulating cocks, balls, tits and assholes of human subjects. Up to know, testing has been restricted to a few volunteers, so you will make a major contribution to science as a group. Who knows, marketers might even call that ball serum "DAK Juice" in your honor.
Only one of the DAKs could even find words: "Hey dude! I know what's going on--you're going to try to turn us gay!
One of the medical types present responded: "No, you've got that wrong. We know that there is no way to produce a permanent change in sexual orientation, so if you weren't gay when you came, you won't be when you leave. Some of you, however, will discover some new things about yourselves. That's why we're calling this the Enlightenment Party. By the end of it, each of you will have experienced--and probably enjoyed--the various elements of conventional gay sex. But, we intend to broaden your horizons without busting your asses. Be assured that you won't require medical attention when this party is over, unless you find a way to become disruptive. In that event, all bets are off and you'll be luck to keep your balls. Understood?
The DAKs mumbled "understood" or some version of it. Naturally, some of them added "mother fucker" to their response. Hey, but when you've got class, you've got class!
By the time these introductory remarks had ended, most of the restrained DAKs were sporting hard erections, some pointing at the ceiling, some up their chests. Some of them had actually turned red in the face when they realized that they were showing wood under these circumstances.
Jason continued: "I see that most of you are turned on by being tied down and threatened, a fact that we are recording on film as those woodies shoot up. In fact, I guess that some of you would like to get down to hard core sex as soon as possible--right?"
There actually were a few "rights" offered in response! A promising beginning.
"Before we get down to the preliminaries, we want to know more about you, so we'll be interviewing each of you. I urge you to answer questions fully and honestly because if your interviewer thinks that you're not doing so, he'll give your balls enough of an electrical jolt to focus your attention on his questions again.
The interviews proceeded, focusing on the sexual experiences of the DAKs: first-time sex, first-time gay sex, subsequent experience, favorite activities and positions, all filled out with names, dates, and places--and all of it on video and audio tape. During the hour or so taken up by the interviews, Zach and a few more brothers didn't sign on the cruise, so their interviewers attached electrodes to their balls, connected the lines to TENS units, and gave them moderate-to-high zaps. None of it would have done permanent damage, but when you've got zaps going through your balls, you're not thinking long-term. The screams of Zach and the other non-cooperators was enough to induce full compliance in the others.
And what a record it was: of cynical exploitation of girls in junior and senior high, at university, in hometowns, and in a few cases, at home. True to Southern tradition, not all sisters were safe. All admitted to having jacked off with other guys in school--and at DAK, and a few admitted to sneaking off-campus to "blow buddy" parties. One animal even broke down and admitted that his roommate was fucking him regularly because he couldn't repay big loans. The most forthcoming admitted to hustling during the summers in Provincetown, insisting that he had never been fucked and that he hated every minute of it--through three summers! Edited down, the interviews could provide a compelling portrait of sexual exploitation, cynicism, and compulsion. Whether that would actually happen had not been decided when the party began, but Jason led them to think that every thing the DAKs had said would be used against them. Despite it all, they were rock hard after an hour and many of them were running precum, identified for them by their handlers as clear evidence that they were really into the action.
Like all good games, this was mainly a head game, too. And that's what it had always been intended to be. But, of course, it's possible to reach the brain through balls, cock, tits, and ass, so that's where it went.
Starting with feathers, the attendants ticked the DAK's tits until they were erect, some standing out proudly from gym-pumped chests. As tits reacted, cocks bobbed and more precum ran down them and over balls. After the feathers came warm mouths, first licking, then sucking, and finally biting until the frat animals were pretty much reduced to groans, cocks twitching and dripping. The teeth nips brought some objections, but mainly the animals moaned and writhed. That was to be expected: only two or three of them had ever been aroused by tit work, so the new experience was a special turn-on. After half an hour of tit assault, the handlers attached clothes pins to the sore and erect nubs, bringing both moans and objections, which continued all during the thirty-minute break allowed the handlers. When they returned to the frat rats and removed the pins, there were universal groans and moans, as blood rushed back into the pinched tits and reawakened tender nerves. Once that had happened, attendants attached tit clamps to each rat, tightening the serrated edges until they drew dots of blood--and more moans and groans.
As the first group of attendants monitored tit work, a second group closed in on the hard cocks that still waved and bobbed in the air. They began by stroking them lightly, with some pressure on the sensitive frenum. Responses from the subjects was swift and enthusiastic. Some even tried to coach: "Yeah, man, jack that cock harder! Harder!" and the like--the kind of dialogue that you hear in only the crassest gay porn. But, there were sincere. The cockmen were careful not to bring their animals to orgasm, always slowing down or even stopping when they could see balls move upward for discharge. They kept at it for an hour, at the end of which, some of the rats were begging to be brought off. Zach, in particular, wanted release: "Hey, man, my balls are busting; let me shoot!" But, that didn't happen.
Instead, the cock attendants went to work laving balls with their tongues and mouths, sucking the overstimulated balls deeply into their mouths, rolling them around, tugging on them. The moans got louder very quickly. Clearly, few of the animals had ever had their balls sucked properly. Zach, in particular, now pleaded for orgasm, even more incoherently than he usually spoke: "Oh,man, I gotta, I gotta, I'm gonna explode!"
But that didn't happen either. Instead, attendants fondled and kneaded balls until they were engorged, fully primed for explosion, which didn't happen. Some of the frat rats had especially sensitive balls, so pain was clearly mixed with pleasure, which most of them were no longer able to sort out.
After another brief lull in proceedings, the door opened again the van disgorged another group of blindfolded and handcuffed DAKs, already stripped and primed. Each one was managed by an attendant who wielded a cattle prod. It was clear that each of the newcomers had been introduced to the instrument and that they were compliant, even when they were given their assignments: they were to such cocks until they were told to stop. None objected.
After he received a shot of Special E in each cheek, each newcomer was led to one of the spread-eagled brothers and told that if he didn't do a good job, his balls would be fried. With that brief motivational comment, each new DAK fell to the task, some so eagerly that they had to be restrained to keep the other brother from cuming too soon. The suckers were also moved around the room so each one got a taste of the suckees and each was known to the brothers who were serviced.
As sucking continued, the moans and groans intensified. Zach, in particular, was tossing and heaving his body as much as restraints allowed, now babbling and drooling. He thrust his pelvis upward sharply, heedless that doing do was scraping his now painfully tender cock against his sucker's teeth. In all, the show beat the hell out of commercial porn because--as the films would later demonstrate--most of the suckers and suckees seemed to be really into the action. For many of them, it was clearly not a first-time experience!
After an hour of intermittent sucking, the medics reinjected butts and balls, attendants moved the restrained DAKs so that they were lying on their right sides, cock and balls still fully accessible for the ongoing sucking and fondling. The new position, however, opened new possibilities--possibilities for opening asses. That was accomplished when attendants used cock rings to keep ass cheeks separated, exposing puckers to the open air and further attention.
The airing was enough to send some of the DAKs into new orbits, so the attendants took a beer break to watch the puckers react, clinching, releasing, puckering, unpuckering. That action increased when the attendants used feathers to tickle the rosebuds, reducing most of the animals to ecstatic moaning and twisting. Most of them ignored the ongoing cock sucking, so powerful were the nerve stimulations to their assholes.
After a few minutes of tickling, the attendants attached the legs of the restrained DAKs to overhead spread bars and lifted their legs up and over their bodies, fully exposing their assholes. Cockrings removed, the asses continued to pucker and unpucker--some performing heroically for the cameras.
Next the mobile DAKs lost their blindfolds and were told to French the brother they had been blowing most recently. They looked around, saw the cattle prods as the ready and took to brotherly kissing like they had been born to it. Some were clearly deflated because they realized that the recipient of their kisses and sucking knew who they were--and that the many cameras had picked it all up. But, they did the job and slobbered, in a few instances with obvious enthusiasm. Some of the recipients were also into tonsil hockey, even with brothers, and set pricks bobbing on all sides. As before, we rotated brothers so everyone has touched tonsils by the time we moved on to better things.
After hard kissing had become easy, the attendants gave the mobile DAKs new instructions: they were to do the same thing with the ass holes of the brothers they had been tonguing. One or two objected, getting appropriate zaps in tender parts, howling, and thereby encouraging the others to set to the task with unrestrained enthusiasm. As attendants coached, they licked, laved, probed, gagged, and set to it again. A few of them extemporized, fondling the balls that drooped down near puckers.
The responses of the rimmed brethren was gratifying. Without exception, they lost control as soon as the wet tongues did their work. The moaning and the thrashing intensified, apparently encouraging the rimmers to renewed dedication, so much so that a few of them had to be restrained because their work was bringing brothers too close to orgasm too soon. Rimmers tended to grab their own tackle without being told to do so and with the stimulation of injections, new experience, and response sex partners looked increasingly dreamy. After a half hour or so, the rimmers and the rimmees were all running precum and the owners of the fiercely twitching and spasming assholes were near delirious. Most of them had begun to push their asses to find tongues and were breathing hard. As they wound tighter, the rimmers seemed to feel driven to do even more for their brothers and a few began to push wet fingers up beckoning assholes. The few turned to many without instruction, and within another half hour, slick assholes were being poked and prodded by hard fingers. Pelvises were rising and falling on the tables. Moans were pretty much continuous, along with encouraging words: "Yeah man, poke my ass. Shit that feels like heaven!" Most often the words were too badly slurred to be understood, but the intention was clear, so finger fuckers were driven to new heights.
They were left to their work, interrupted only when it was clear to an attendant that one of the brothers, it didn't seem to matter on which end, giving or receiving, was going to shoot a wad. Not yet, brothers. The camera men became highly creative, getting the best film ever made of this phase of operations. Most of them were obviously sporting woodies by now, stroking them openly as they watched events unfold.
After an hour or so of concentrated ass work, the rimmers were given a few globs of lube and told to fuck the asses spread out in front of them. In retrospect, it seems surprising that their were no objections. The rimmers simply lubed up and pushed their stony cocks into the first fold of the target ass. Most of them stopped for a bit at that point because most of the fuckees were virgin, as far as heavy stuff was concerned. They might have done a bit of fingering--or occasionally encouraged girl friends to do it--but penetration was by and large a new thrill. So, they moaned, groaned; those still lucid enough pleaded either for mercy or for a gentle pace. Some got the latter, none the former.
In fact, the fuckers became visibly impatient with the most pathetic pleaders and simply pushed up those tender asses with one hard heave of their asses and thighs, bringing a few screams and about as many pleasure moans. Told to get to it, the fuckers fell to work--clearly they had fucked before even if male tail was new for them. Urged on by their handlers, they threw themselves into it, slamming into butts, balls hitting ass cheeks. And the pace picked up to animal frenzy, which would have brought all parties to rapid orgasm, had the recent injections not included an ingredient that delayed orgasm, though it didn't diminish sensation. So, the fucking went on, and on. Once virgin asses were battered hard, opening increasingly to take the hard pricks that plumbed their depths. From time to time, one of the fuckees actually shot his wad while he was being fucked, making for good film footage as they writhed and shouted: "Fuck, yeah! Yeah! Fuck me harder, dude!" There were actually a lot of "fuck me harder, dude" urgings.
After a few more of the bottoms had come, we urged the tops to finish the job, which they did, but sometimes in thirty minutes or more of additional hard fucking, at the end of which the bottom was largely incoherent, head rolling, spit running out of the corners of his mouth, moaning sounds, no longer whole works, except for "Yeah!" And Fuck!"
The grand finale, as one might except, was the money shot scene. One by one, the DAKs were put in center stage, their brothers around, reeling and drooling, as they shot the biggest wads during the hardest orgasms any had experienced. By the time it was over, they were all dripping with cum and lube, cocks were red and sore, freed nipples were engorged and flame-colored. Without prompting, the DAKs just collapsed in a pile, cocks, tits, and asses in all direction as cameras closed in from all angles to catch the still twitching asses and the cocks that hadn't softened. They even caught a few brothers trying to fuck the others, and some of the others that were asking for more by tugging on cocks and trying to back onto them.
The rest of the weekend was pretty much the same, with the two groups of DAKs changing roles. We never let them sleep for more than two or three hours at a time, awaking them for more sex Olympics. Their rations kept them primed with protein, apart from the cum they swallowed, as more and more of them came to do without prompting. By Sunday afternoon, some of them were pairing off, Zach with one of their freshman pledges who had fucked him memorably them turned tail to take the head animal's cock several times himself.
As hours passed, the number of attendants dwindled. The Lambda brothers didn't bother to stay after the first night. Most of them had better company back at the house or elsewhere on campus. With minimal restraint and coercion, the homophobic DAKs had taken to gay tit, cock, ball, and bum work like they were born to it. Once the drugs wore off, it was expected, most of them would revert to heterosexual activity, under ordinary circumstances. A few did not and left DAK for Lambda as soon as they could find a room and a bed in the gay fraternity.
Sunday, at 5PM, two large vans stopped behind DAK and unloaded the brothers, clad only in skin-tight black nylon shorts and shower clogs. By them, the Lambdas had by and large been studying for four or five hours, as if nothing exceptional had ever happened. As far as the rest of the campus was concerned, nothing had happened. Knowing that the miles of film shot would be released in porn videos around the world if they complained, the DAKs never mentioned their experiences. Nor did the Lambdas, perhaps because they were never again threatened, let along harassed by the DAKs. In fact, when another fraternity tried to have LLL expelled at a Greek Council meeting, Zach is said to have looked up from the table and mumbled, "You don't want to do that." To the surprise of most of the Lambdas, occasionally one of their former DAK guests would pass them on the street or in a store and whisper "I see why you like it, dude."
Attitude is everything.