("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2010. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- Fraternity Property by Joy Paine (jaypee@kiva.net) (1992) *** I can't deny that I enjoyed the experience. Every bit of it, the mutual undressing, the initial titillation, moving on to the more serious caressing, right on to the final sixty-nine yards, as the expression goes. In my mind, however, was nothing but revulsion. Double revulsion, because Denise was being forced to go through this too. To do such intimate things in front of a private audience of howling boys and girls, with whom I would be going to classes for the next four years was indeed hell. (FF, MF, exh, nc, huml, tor, hypno) *** Yikes! I thought. Just my luck to meet *him* on my first day of school. I just hoped that this wasn't an omen, that I wasn't going to be stuck with him for the next four years. No, it couldn't be four years. I found out right away that he was a sophomore. Not a freshman like me. But then, he had that nerdy look of a guy who was just as likely as not to go for an advanced degree. Oh well, I thought, I might as well be polite to him. Partly because it was my nature, and partly because I might need a friend some day. After all, it wasn't as if I was selling my soul to him. I could always tell him later to buzz off, I thought. Yeah, so I thought. Turned out that he wanted my help in a psychology project he was doing. Nothing complicated, just view a program he had written, and give him my comments. "You do have a computer, I suppose?" Of course, I had a computer. Didn't everybody? But again, I gave him a polite answer, told him I was running Windows 95. So he gave me a diskette, said he'd like to have my first impressions after class tomorrow, and said good-bye. I fired up my computer as soon as I got home, more out of curiosity than anything else, and brought up his program. It was nothing spectacular. Started out with the conventional Smiley face, with a subtitle "The Road to Happiness". The first thing that I noticed was that there was a lot of flicker on the screen. Not enough to be annoying, but quite noticeable. My new friend might be a good psychologist, I thought, but he sure needs a lesson in the finer touches of programming. And then I had another thought. This was something that Denise should see. I don't know what guardian angel matched Denise and me as roommates, but the match was inspired. We were just about the same size (perfect for borrowing clothes), and had very similar tastes (again perfect for borrowing). Our coloring was different, blonde vs. brunette, and neither of us was strikingly beautiful, but we both had that well-scrubbed innocent and healthy look (pardon the bragging) and full enough figures so that no-one would ever mistake us for boys, no matter how we dressed. All in all, nothing to kick out of bed on a cold night, as my cheeky little brother used to say. When Mom wasn't around, that is. Well, Denise and I sat down together to watch my friend's magnum opus. I don't remember a thing about the text, which was long, and full of technical words. But somehow, I couldn't tear myself away, nor could Denise. And interestingly, I began to feel more and more contented as the time went on. Even that pesky flicker stopped annoying me. It seemed to have the same effect on Denise, too; she was smiling contentedly, and moving closer to me. It seemed the most natural thing in the world when she slipped her hand into mine, and raised my fingers to her lips. I so wanted to kiss her, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from the computer screen. So I did the next best thing. With my free hand, I cupped her breast, and started rubbing her nipple, thrilling to feel it become instantly hard. And then she returned the favor, and I could feel my juices begin to flow. To hell with the computer, I thought. And to hell with all of my training that had taught me that this sort of thing was wicked, forbidden both by the church and by my strait-laced parents. This was real! This was what life should be like! As if by common consent (although neither of us spoke a word), we helped each other undress, and headed for the shower. And that was fun. The hot water was relaxing, and you don't really need soap, but it does make things nice and slippery, and it also dispels any residual inhibitions, by providing an excuse for scrubbing and rubbing and shoving and loving and poking and joking and... well, you get the idea. And afterward, to bed, to a glorious mutual fulfillment. *** As we lay there in blessed relaxation, I found myself suggesting to Denise that we try to get ourselves invited to the RD Theatre the next night. (No, I'm not English, but that was the title of the show, spelled with an R-E on the end.) And then I started wondering why I had made such a suggestion. I didn't know what the Theatre was all about, or where it was held, or what went on. I couldn't even remember when I had heard of it. Well, apparently Denise had heard of it, too (although it turned out that she didn't know any more about it than I did), and didn't know where, either. But we both agreed, for some unknown reason, that it should be great fun, and let's call Sammy (and why Sammy, and how did we know him, or his telephone number? But no matter, call him anyway) and see if we can get invited. Well, it turned out that Sammy was my new "friend" who had given me the computer program, and he told me how to find the RD frat house, and said that both Denise and I would be more than welcome to come. He seemed to put a little more emphasis on the word "come" than it needed, but what the Hell. We were invited, that's all that mattered. We slept together, in the same bed, that night. *** We didn't even have to discuss what to wear to the Theatre. (It was almost eerie, the way we were starting to think alike, almost like ESP.) As if by a common compulsion, we dressed exactly as we had yesterday afternoon (well, not exactly the same; they were clean), blouses conservatively cut, skirts slightly above the knee, "cutesy" underwear, and socks and sports shoes. Somehow, we just *knew* that this was the right attire, even though it was for an organized party in the evening hours. At the RD fraternity, no less. Just a word about the RD's. In the days I had been on the campus before classes began, doing all the registration and other paperwork that were almost enough to make me quit college before I even began, I had heard lots about the various fraternities. After all, what's more important to a young co-ed than what the boys are up to? Everybody had talked about the RD's in a sort of hushed voice. As near as I could gather, the RD boys were all from affluent families, except for a few who had talents that could be turned in some way to fun. Sammy, apparently, was one of the latter. In addition to his knowledge of psychology, I learned later, he was a whiz at computers and electronic equipment. More of that later. But in addition to their social credentials, the RD's had the reputation of being rather "fast", whatever that meant in those days. At any rate, a girl who went out with them was automatically assumed to be a slut, a well-groomed and socially correct slut, of course, but a girl who could be had at the drop of a zipper. Not that they ever put out for (or even went out with) any boys who were not RD's, so it was kind of hard to figure out where the reputation came from. I figured it was probably just sour grapes on the part of those who were not accepted. Not that I planned to become one of their "harem" (as the RD girls were called around campus) anyway. Well, we showed up punctually at the appointed hour. We still couldn't figure out how we had known when that hour was, but we were sure that we were right. Absolutely sure, which is another strange thing. Usually a vague memory is vague in all details, but not this time. Anyway, we walked right into the frat house (after all, we had been invited) and down the stairs to the rec-room. Soundproofed, we noticed. And it looked as if we were the last to arrive, even though we had been very careful to arrive exactly at the appointed time. To the minute, to the second, according to my watch. The room was pretty well filled; both frat members and their dates, members of the "harem", I assumed. The chairs were arranged in a closely-packed ring around the stage, which was fitted out as a bedroom. A bedroom that looked exactly like ours. Denise's and mine. Strange, I thought, such an uncanny resemblance. But maybe all of the dormitory bedrooms looked alike. But why a bedroom in a place like this? Was the Theatre going to present a bedroom farce, I wondered. Sammy was standing up on the stage, and he motioned for Denise and me to come up and join him and "meet the crowd". Several of the audience members had to stand up and pull their chairs aside to make a pathway for us, a pathway that immediately closed again after we passed through. I was a little embarrassed by the notoriety (so was Denise, I could tell), but we went along like good sports, and stood beside Sammy while he gave a little welcoming speech. "Ladies and gentlemen, using both terms loosely", he began. The boys guffawed at the expression, but I detected a different emotion in the girls. In fact, the general mood among the girls seemed to be one of resentment, and more than a little of fear. But mixed with anticipation, in some cases; in other cases, resentment mixed with pity. But throughout, a seeming hatred for the boys, who all were sitting awfully close to the girls. Some of the guys were pawing their "dates"; an attention that seemed unwelcome, but strangely, none of the girls resisted, or tried to pull away. Not that they could have pulled far away, jammed in as they were. "We have here a couple of candidates for membership in our harem," Sammy went on. And I froze at that. Froze, in two senses. One, I felt an icy feeling all over, a kind of foreboding, no, make that a feeling of dread, of terror. And frozen in the other sense, if my life had depended on it (and I found out later that it did, in a sense), I would not have been able to move from the spot. A glance at Denise verified that she was feeling the same panic. "Each of you girls knows what these neophytes are feeling right now," Sammy smirked, "and you can guess at some of the adventures that lie before them. Each of you can recall the various steps that led you into this position, where you are essentially amenities of the fraternity, just like the chairs and the beds (yes, especially the beds), here to be used in any way we like, whenever we like, and as long as we like. "By any of us, or by all of us, or by anyone to whom we offer our hospitality. And you know that tonight is Hell night for these young ladies, just as each of you had a Hell night, and, as you know, can look forward to another Hell night whenever your performance is in any way the least bit less then superb. Or whenever the fancy takes us." Now I knew real panic, but my muscles still refused to obey my will. "But before we begin the induction ceremonies," Sammy continued, "let me give you a rundown on the way we recruited these young morsels. We've been studying the subject of subliminal suggestion recently in psych class, and I decided to put it to a practical test. You know, the sort of thing where the television program flashes something like 'eat yummies' at a speed too fast for the viewer to detect it consciously. Or maybe something like 'vote for Schlock'. All illegal on the public airwaves of the USA. But quite feasible, whether legal or not, in the privacy of a girl's dormitory." So I began to understand. Which didn't make me feel a damned bit happier about it. "It was that message that brought these two lovely ladies here tonight," Sammy went on, "and now keeps them from fainting, or losing their sanity. We don't have to worry about their running away, of course, because they wouldn't have the chance of an icicle in Hell if they tried to break through your ranks. And I've implanted a few other commands. "The usual, of course, like no serious violence against any of the RD's or their property, although a token resistance will be permitted when we think it'll be more fun. And remember, he members of our harem are also very much our property. And no suicide, no escaping, no talking out of school. Et cetera. Like I say, the usual precautions. "And a few special provisions that will enhance their performance. For instance, we strengthened a latent Lesbian tendency, and instilled a hatred of men that will make any sexual use by us guys all the more repugnant to them, and therefore all the sweeter for us. An we implanted a few post-hypnotic commands. For instance, watch this... "OK girls," he turned to us. "We know that it's impossible to hypnotize someone into doing something against his, or her, instincts. But we know that you like to make love to each other, don't we? Although you didn't know it, you let me into your room last night while you were under the spell of my program, and I was able to videotape your whole performance from the time you started undressing for the shower. "Now, we could run through that tape now for our delectation, but I think a live performance would be so much more fun. And the lighting will be better, and we'll be able, by and large, to do a more professional job. The time spent making the videotape was not entirely lost, though; it's given me a pretty good idea what lighting, and what camera angles, I will need to give the best record of tonight's performance. In fact, I have such confidence in the preparations I have taken that I won't be surprised if your little skit takes a Linnea in this year's Porno Academy awards. "The script is an easy one. You are going to re-enact last night's tryst exactly, you'll find that your recall will be perfect in every detail. Even to the blissful expressions on your faces. "And," he added, "your perceptions will not be at all dulled while you do it. Only your will is inhibited, you'll be able to feel at all times exactly the normal repugnance at doing such intimate things, and such socially unacceptable things, in public. Especially since your viewers will include the stalwart young American men who are going to be your lovers for the next few years. Now if you'll just wait a few moments while we get the camcorders ready... OK, now! Camera! Action!" *** He was right. Although I had to go through the actions as we had last night, step by step (I might say "blow by blow", considering what we were doing), *exactly* as last night, including, as far as I could tell, facial expression, breathing rate, the whole schtick, I hated every moment of it. And I knew that Denise felt the same, although there was no way of telling it by looking at her. We were just a couple of puppets, under the control of the post-hypnotic spell that this monster had imposed on us. And I can't deny that I enjoyed the experience. Every bit of it, the mutual undressing, the initial titillation, moving on to the more serious caressing, right on to the final sixty-nine yards, as the expression goes, all of it was just as enjoyable as it had been last night. On the physical level, that is, and that's the only thing that registered on the video tape. In my mind, however, was nothing but revulsion. Double revulsion, because Denise was being forced to go through this, too. To do such intimate things (things which were condemned by society as well) in public... No, not in public, but worse yet, in front of a private audience of howling boys with whom I would be going to classes for the next four years, boys that I was going to *belong* to for the next four years, and girls who, however they might be pitying me, would also be my schoolmates, this was indeed Hell night. But we did it, with smiles on our faces, and all the enthusiasm of a pair of Lesbian lovers, right up to the final orgasm, and the blissful surrender to sleep in each other's arms. They didn't really let us sleep, of course. We had to "take our bows" (still on camera) giving the boys plenty of opportunity to enjoy the full frontal exposure, dreaming, no doubt of the fun it was going to be to enjoy our bodies, at any time they wanted, in any way they wanted, and as long as they wanted, as they had pointed out. And then one further humiliation. With the camera still rolling, they made us give the "harem cheer", which we apparently had learned along with our other "lessons". Both of us in unison, going through the gestures and gyrations that went with the cheer. The latter were too unspeakably embarrassing for me to repeat here, but the words will probably give you a clue: "Cunt and tits, tits and cunt, Everything we've got in front Exist to please Our sweet RD's, Both at work and play; Asshole, mouth, and tongue and clit, We are proud to take their shit, Meet their demands, 'Cause RD stands For Rape a Dame a Day! "Well done," Sammy praised us. "That'll go over big time at the next inter-sorority convocation. Or maybe, looking ahead a bit, at graduation, when your families are here, and all. But that's far into the future. In the meantime, we have another little act for you. This time, you're released from the hypnotic compulsion, and you will do whatever you decide to do as a matter of free choice. "Here's the way it goes. One of you, we haven't decided yet which one, is going to torture the other." He laughed at our protests. "Yeah, I know it goes against your nature, especially taking into account the way you feel about each other, but we offer some inducements that may make you change your mind. You see, it goes like this. The one selected to be the torturer is going to persuade the other to French her to orgasm. When she has finished, the boys all get a turn at her. And if she doesn't like the idea, well, all we have to do is change the casting a bit, and let the other girl be the torturer. So the lucky one will willingly do the torturing, unless she wants to be the one who gives her friend a blow job before getting fucked by all these hot and horny young RD gentlemen. "And then, to make sure that she does her utmost, we have one more rule. If she doesn't break her victim within the allotted period of time, then the girls trade places. And I might point out that the second girl has an advantage, two advantages, actually. One, she knows what tortures have been most effective on her, and second, she's been observing what techniques the other girl has been concentrating on, and will probably deduce that those are the techniques that the other girl fears most. "And we," he smirked, "learn a bit from the episode, too. It seems logical that a woman would know better than we what tortures will be most effective on another woman, most painful and most repugnant, and again we'll learn a lot about your own specific 'preferences' in that area." END ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author does not condone the described behavior in real life. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Kristen's collection - Directory 68