The Frat Control Experiment

Parts X-XII

by: webb025@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: This is a work of erotic fiction. If you are under 18, or are

offended by the idea of male-male sex or mind control, DO NOT read this.

This is the continuation of the story begun in Parts I-IX in three earlier

files. You'll have much more fun with this if you read those parts first.

X.

Bill and Brad had lived in the same small town and attended the same schools

since childhood, and had been casual friends for years. Bill was 6'4", with

straight brown hair that hung almost over his eyes and transitioned to a

short buzz cut at the bottom. He had a handsome, lean, angular face that you

would pick out right away in a group picture. Brad was 5'6", short blond

hair, pretty round face, and an intense gaze from his green eyes that could

transfix you.

Apart from their good looks, however, Bill and Brad had little in common.

Bill was an only slightly better-than-average student, and while he worked

out regularly and was well-defined and very strong, he was somewhat awkward

when he moved, and so mostly rode the bench in both football and basketball.

Although he was no star athlete, he did hang out with the jock crowd.

Fortunately, his loose pants helped to hide the embarrassing situations that

occasionally arose from his frequent physical proximity to jock types. Brad,

on the other hand, had a completely smooth, toned body that came not from

planned exercise but from the level of energy he brought to everything he

did. Through all his years at school, he had either ranked #1 or #2 in his

class, and by the time of graduation, he knew exactly what he wanted to do

with his life professionally. He mostly associated with the academic types,

including Belinda, his girlfriend all through high school.

In fact, with so little in common, and hanging with different groups, the

two would probably not have even been casual friends, except for one thing:

while the closeted Bill did enjoy being with the jocks more than they ever

knew, he was MUCH more attracted to smart types, particularly cute blond

Brad. Many times he had fantasized them together, picturing himself spooned

around the smaller Brad, with Brad gazing at him with pure admiration and

love. He sometimes imagined Brad as his devoted little puppy, admiring and

licking every part of his body while Bill flexed his considerable muscles.

He imagined Brad growling and chewing on Bill's sweaty old sneakers while

Bill fondled his tight little ass. He pictured Brad getting highly sexually

excited sniffing his way through Bill's clothes hamper, filled with

well-worn shirts and pants, used underwear, socks, and jockstraps, all with

Bill's scent permeating them. Bill even imagined himself stretched out on

the couch, with one of his size 13 feet gently pushing Brad's face away

while Brad tried to hump his other leg. Over the years, these images had

caused the production of what seemed like gallons of Bill-jizz.

Bill insinuated himself into Brad's life by asking for his help with

schoolwork. It was a plausible enough reason, and Brad was happy to help one

of the more popular guys in his class. On evenings when Brad would come

over, Bill had to work hard to control himself, or he would give the game

away. He would jerk off before Brad got there, although that was not much

help at his age. By the time he leaned over Brad to look at his work, and

caught Brad's fresh clean scent, he would be hard again. On one particularly

hot day, before Brad's arrival he had opened his window and shut off the

central air conditioning's access to his room, complaining to Brad it was

broken, in hopes he could convince Brad to remove his shirt and Bill could

admire his beautiful, smooth, gently-toned torso. As he leaned over Brad,

Bill noticed a drop of sweat coursing down the back of Brad's neck, and it

took all of his willpower not to lick it off. Brad was totally oblivious to

all the intense "electricity" Bill felt when they were close, to the point

that it amazed Bill. He always secretly hoped that his feelings would be, at

least at some level, reciprocated.

But Brad was hopelessly straight. Much as Bill might wish otherwise, he knew

it for a fact. He had watched Brad and Belinda together, even at times when

they didn't know they were being watched. He also saw Brad's eye

occasionally caught by some other beauty walking by, and NEVER saw it happen

with a guy, handsome, shirtless, or otherwise. Not ever.

As it happened, Bill and Brad were the only two students from their high

school to apply and be accepted at our favorite university. They did so for

two different reasons: Bill, because his big brother had gone there four

years previously, and his well-to-do family had contributed to the school,

which greatly improved his admission chances despite his so-so grades; and

Brad, because of the school's academic reputation in his chosen field, and

its offer of a scholarship, valuable to his less-well-off family.

Upon arrival, they were randomly assigned to double rooms on different

floors of the freshman dorm. Bill's roommate turned out to be an unpleasant

guy from another state who was also totally unattractive to Bill. Meanwhile,

Brad had a roommate who kept hours incompatible with Brad's study habits.

One evening, they sat down together in the dining hall and compared notes on

their living situation.

"I can't take too much more of this. It's getting in the way of my

schoolwork, and I'm losing sleep besides," said Brad.

"Me too. Thank God I have a way out of this in a couple of weeks. My brother

was a member of the Sig Lam fraternity four years ago. I went over there

yesterday, and they said they'd let me pledge the house, and I'd probably

get in because of my brother. I can't WAIT to get out of this hellhole."

Brad brightened a bit. "Do you suppose you could get me into Sig Lam too?

Maybe we could room together there."

Bill's visit the day before had been an eye-opener, and in a way a turning

point for him. He had chatted with Pete, Sig Lam's pledge master, and after

they discussed the situation involving Bill's brother (who had been at Sig

Lam long before these new "special" years), Pete had come right out and

asked if Bill were gay. Bill, taken aback by the question, saw no benefit in

hiding the situation if it would affect his potential life at the frat, and

told Pete the truth. This seemed to please Pete a great deal. "For gay

folks, Sig Lam offers a very special opportunity related to our association

with the Gamma Kappa fraternity. And there's no real need to come out

publicly if you don't want to. Here, have a look."

Pete led Bill to a room next to his. An athletic-looking Sig Lam sat in a

reclining chair, wearing nothing but a pair of dirty white socks, holding a

novel in one hand and lazily stroking his cock with the other. Two smooth

skinny guys were by him, a short one kneeling before him massaging his feet

through the socks, and a taller one kneeling beside him and stroking one of

his nipples. The Sig Lam was clearly enjoying the attention; Bill could see

his arm and leg muscles flex under his taut skin as he shifted in the chair.

"Both those GKs are straight," Pete told Bill.

"No way!" exclaimed Bill. "Those two are really getting into their work."

"And work it is." Pete went on to explain the "special" relationship between

Sig Lam and Gamma Kappa, and the obligations of all members of the latter to

all members of the former. He carefully watched Bill for his reaction. If

Bill's response was wrong, he would soon find himself standing in front of

the house with no memory of the last thirty minutes. But Bill was getting

harder by the second.

"I've GOT to get in on this. I've waited all my life for something like

this. How soon can I move in?"

"We're in the process of getting more rooms now. Starting next week, in both

the Sig Lam and GK houses, a Sig Lam will be in charge in each room, and one

or two GKs will live in his care. We have rules, though, to not interfere

with the GKs' academic work. We want them at their full potential to help in

every way, not just physical.

"If you're serious about moving in, we're having our weekly meeting tonight.

Why don't you come over and check it out?" Of course, Bill's attending that

meeting would forever seal his loyalty to the frat and its secrets.

"I'll be there, for sure!" Wheels were grinding in his head. Maybe the

future would be better than he thought. That night, he arrived in plenty of

time for the meeting, drank the offered Kool-Aid, and sat down to observe

the festivities.

The next day, as he sat at the dining table with Brad, Bill's plan continued

to play out.

"Sorry, dude, I'm sure I couldn't get you an invitation from Sig Lam. I'm

just a 'legacy', so while they really sort of have to take me, they wouldn't

listen to my suggestions about other people."

Brad looked a bit downcast. "Too bad, man. I was feeling a bit homesick, and

it would have been fun to be your roommate."

"Hey, you're too smart for Sig Lam anyway. They're more of a 'good old boy'

frat than some of the others. Say, why don't you pledge over at Gamma Kappa?

They're more the academic type. You're a natural for them. Didn't they ask

you?"

"No, they didn't, and I was kind of surprised. They took several of the

smarter people I've gotten to know here."

"I'll bet it was just an oversight," Bill said, smiling. Within an hour, a

Gamma Kappa would be racing to Brad's dorm room with a note, as if his life

depended on it (which he would actually believe). The note would contain an

invitation for Brad to pledge and an incredibly generous housing offer that

seemed too good to be true. With Brad's financial situation, he would snap

it up in an instant.

"Well, too bad we couldn't have been roommates. I'm sure I'll find someplace

good to stay around here."

Bill smiled again. Oh, they would be roommates, all right. Bill's greatest

fantasies were on the verge of coming true. Of course, at first Bill's new

straight roommate might not enjoy all the very personal tasks he would be

assigned by Bill for the privilege of living in a basket on the floor in

Bill's room. But he would perform them willingly, even eagerly, to serve

Bill the best he could. He would put all of his superior intelligence into

learning to bring pleasure to Bill. And who knows, maybe over time, with

sufficient nonstop mind-fucking, he would become convinced he actually DID

enjoy the tasks he was performing. And even start to fantasize about new

ones. After all, it had happened before, in some of the other experiments...

XI.

Football practice had just ended. The exhausted team entered the locker room

and dispersed to their lockers to strip. Suddenly, the door was thrown open,

slamming loudly against the doorjamb, and an angry shout of "Muller!" came

from the doorway. Immediately, one of the jocks, a 6'8" 270-pound

well-muscled senior linebacker, snapped to attention, a frightened look

coming over his face. The other players cowered closer to their lockers and

began to strip more quickly, hoping to slip out of the room and into the

shower as unnoticeably as possible.

In the doorway, glowering, stood a 5'5", 15-year-old high school sophomore

holding a skateboard. He had short, curly black hair and dark eyes that

seemed to fire daggers at the object of his anger in the corner. He was

generally lean except for a bit of baby fat that remained in certain areas

around his body. A member of the local high school chess club, he had

obviously discovered some of the new benefits of club membership, although

for some reason he did not seem to think these benefits were strange, nor

could he have told you how they came to be.

He strode forcefully over to the linebacker, with one or two players

scurrying quickly out of his path as he did so. "Where the hell were you

yesterday? You know I don't have a car yet, you knew I needed a ride, you

knew I was expecting you." The jock stood, frozen with fear, babbling,

"Sir... I... I... I... p-p-practice ran l-l-late, and I... I... sir..."

The skater dropped his board, grabbed one of the linebacker's arm, and

twisted it behind his back. The linebacker winced in pain in the small

teen's unbreakable iron grip. His pecs and upper torso writhed in agony.

"Well, asshole, I see I'm going to have to teach you to respect me totally.

Sullivan, get over here!"

The 6'5" redheaded quarterback had almost completed stripping and was

attempting to slip into the shower room when his name was called. He looked

up, afraid, trying to decide whether to make a break for it.

"Sullivan, are you coming over here or do I have to come over there and beat

your ass? I've done it before, you know I can do it again."

Resigned, the team leader came over to where Sir and Muller were, and stood

at attention.

"That's better. Now YOU respect me, don't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"I need to get THIS piece of shit to respect me like you do. Sullivan, get

yourself hard!"

"Sir?"

"Now!"

It was somewhat difficult for the quarterback, in this humiliating

situation, to get himself erect, but he succeeded. At a fat 9.5 inches, he

was in the upper echelons of the RTR fraternity, and was used to people

taking orders from HIM. But here, he was just another football player, and

in the grip of the Grand Master's secret plan for the football team, that

made him physically weaker than any member of the high school chess club.

Getting hard at the command of this 15-year-old was humiliating, but better

than being thrashed by him and having to explain his bruises afterwards to

the outside world. So far, at least, the humiliation was known only to team

members. But who knew how long THAT would last?

"Okay, now, Muller, suck off your leader!"

"B-b-but... but... I don't... I'm not..." Sir twisted Muller's arm harder,

and Muller fell to his knees in pain. "Now!"

Muller tentatively licked Sullivan's cockhead and down his shaft. "What kind

of queer shit is that? I said SUCK IT! Take it all!" Sir shoved Muller's

head over Sullivan's cock and pushed. "But...b-b-b..." The linebacker's

throat expanded as Sullivan's cock penetrated deeper and deeper into it.

Muller's gag reflex set in, but Sir's sheer strength kept forcing his throat

down onto the cock until it completely disappeared. He grabbed Muller's hair

and fucked his face on and off of Sullivan's shaft.

Sullivan, knowing there was only one way this would end, allowed himself to

come to climax, pouring a load out into Muller's mouth. But it took Muller

by surprise, and the next spurts ended up partly on the floor, partly on the

skateboard, and partly on Sir's size 7 Nikes. "Eww, gross! You got it on my

board and my shoes!" Pulling Muller by the hair, he lowered his face to the

floor. "You lick all that clean, NOW!" When Muller hesitated, a steel-like

slap across his face with Sir's other hand was all it took to convince him

to comply. When he had finished to Sir's satisfaction, Sir picked him up

again by the hair and slammed him onto his butt by his locker. Totally

defeated, the linebacker looked up fearfully at his tormentor.

"From now on, you better jump when I tell you to," Sir informed Muller.

"That goes for all of you. I got news for you. I'm straight, but we got a

new team member, a freshman, who's gay. He's smaller than me, but he could

clean the floor with any of you pussies. He told me he intends to come over

here soon and find the biggest, meanest one of you and break him to his

will, and use him as a sex toy in front of the team. So if you don't want it

to be you, I suggest you be nice to all of us, and maybe we won't tell

everyone else how weak you all are."

Actually, both the team and the club had been programmed not to want that

news to get out, but neither group knew this consciously. In any event, the

team had been working out ferociously in an attempt to get stronger, while

the club's social lives and self-esteem had improved to the point that they

had moved from the bottom to the top of the high school social structure.

Another successful experiment? Only the end of the football season would

tell.

XII.

After showering and dressing, the three football players who were members of

the RTR fraternity walked home. At the front was Jim Sullivan, the

quarterback, who had just been forced by a high-school student to cum into

-- and onto -- a teammate. He was determined that the team would hit the

weights and practice extra long until they could get out of the grip of

these powerful teen chess geeks.

Behind him, at a respectful distance in consideration of his status within

the fraternity, came two noted recruits for this year. There was Bob

Rutland, Jim's freshman backup quarterback, taller than Jim, and much better

looking, but not as well muscled. Bob had not yet fully adjusted to the

transition between high school ball, where he had been all-state, and

college ball, where a new level of skill was required. With him was

defensive lineman Quentin Parks. While his 315 pounds had helped him

dominate in high school, he too was discovering that there were guys bigger

and stronger than him in the college game. Not to mention stronger young

kids at the local high school!

As they entered the house, they came across Jason, the RTR president, near

the entrance. "Hi, Jason," said Jim, while all the two recruits could do was

lower their heads a bit and avert their eyes from gazing directly at their

godlike president. Even though they had not been around RTR long, in some

senses, they were now fully programmed into the house's ways. And to them,

none of it seemed unusual. Didn't EVERYONE depend on cock size for respect?

Bob and Quentin were in a foul mood. They had just witnessed two team

members being physically humiliated by a high school kid. Normally, with

their respected mentor frat brother and roommate Richie out for the evening

at a dance rehearsal, they would have stopped by the room of two-inch-dicked

Roger, former RTR president, ordered him to their room, and pushed and

kicked him around and forced him to humiliate himself in front of them, made

him thank them, and sent him on his way. This time, though, when they went

to Roger's room, they saw a startling sight: Roger and his roommate Wally

were wrestling in deadly earnest on the floor, being ordered around by

ANOTHER high school kid, who was sitting naked in a chair getting off on

being obeyed. "Wally, arm under Roger's throat! Knee him in the balls!" A

glance at the chair showed the football players that at least this kid

DESERVED to be obeyed: he must have been hung at least eight inches. He had

the two football players beat by at least two or three inches, which did not

make them his mindless slaves right away, like small-dicked Roger and Wally,

but did make them almost completely deferential to his wishes, and believe

anything he said.

They were about to respectfully back out of the room, but the kid called

them in. "Hi, I'm Louis. You must be Bob and Quentin. I heard about you.

Nice to meet you. Puppets, go say hello to Bob and Quentin."

Roger and Wally immediately broke off wrestling, crawled over to the

football players, knelt before them, kissed their crotches, and looked up

with hopeful faces. "See, I've got 'em trained good, don't I?" Bob and

Quentin had to agree that Louis had indeed done a good job with Roger and

Wally. "Say, why don't you two join in the fun?" As tired as the two had

been previously, they immediately perked up at the offer to play with Roger

and Wally under Louis' esteemed direction.

"OK, let's wrestle! Bob, you take Wally, and Quentin, you take Roger. Go!"

Within seconds, Roger and Wally were pinned helplessly to the floor,

groaning in pain under the weight of their betters.

Louis wrinkled his nose. "THAT's no fun. How can I spice this up?" He

thought for a minute. "I know. Let 'em go. How could you treat 'em that way?

Those are two of the most beautiful people you've ever seen! Bob, don't you

think Wally there looks just like Britney Spears, who you're totally hot

for?" Bob looked at Wally. Instantly he started to get hard as he noticed

the near-total resemblance between Wally and Britney, his all-time sexual

lust object (at least she was NOW). "Quentin, doesn't Roger there look

exactly like Christina Aguilera, who you beat off thinking about assfucking

every night?" The defensive back looked at Roger in a new way, and got

greatly excited. "And you guys are always REAL horny after practice, aren't

you?" Roger and Wally started to look frightened as the two football players

looked at them in total lust.

"Hey, Wally, Roger, I suggest you play your parts. Either you convince 'em

you're Britney and Christina, or these two are going to beat the living crap

out of you." Wally and Roger, realizing as always that every word Louis said

was true, began nervously to act as feminine as they could. Wally cooed, in

tune, "I'm not that innocent." That was more than Bob could take. He lifted

Wally bodily off the floor as if he were a feather, dropped him on his back

in his bed, dropped on top of him, started fondling what he took to be

Britney's luscious breasts, and roughly shoved his long tongue down Wally's

throat. Wally squirmed, but he dared not resist the lust-crazed quarterback.

To seem like a horny Britney, he rubbed Bob's firm six-pack with one hand

and his solid throwing-arm bicep with the other. Wally then moved a hand

down to work on Bob's raging cock before Bob discovered there was no place

to put it down there.

Meanwhile, Roger nervously started humming "Lady Marmalade" in a high voice.

This caused Quentin to lower his 315 pound frame on top of Roger's

diminutive form on the floor. With no warning, he flipped Roger over,

stripped off everything he was wearing, and was starting to simply enter

Roger with no preparation or lubrication of any kind. Louis, alarmed and not

wanting his new linebacker toy to physically damage Roger, ordered him to

stop, located the lubricant he had had Roger buy for an earlier session,

tossed it to Quentin, and told him he should use lots of it on Christina.

After both Bob and Quentin had cum, Louis sent them up to their room, where

they lived on mattresses on either side of Richie's bed, with each one's

face within easy kissing distance of one pink-toenailed foot. Louis hoped

Richie wouldn't be too upset he had used them, but it turned out that since

it was Richie's dance rehearsal night, he came back too tired to put Bob and

Quentin through their paces. Actually, Louis had benefited RTR: it was

Richie's job to break in Bob and Quentin, training them to learn their place

towards the bottom of RTR's cock-based hierarchy regardless of sexual

preference, to accept it at first, and later learn to love it. Their

satisfying experience as muscular sex-puppets of a hung high-school

sophomore would help them down that road.

XIII.

It was now getting close to Thanksgiving. Brad was headed from class to his

room in the Gamma Kappa house. Under his outer clothes he was wearing a

sweaty old jockstrap and unwashed socks belonging to his roommate, longtime

friend and now idol, Bill. Bill had helpfully suggested he wear them at all

times, to remind him of his fraternal obligation to Bill as a Sig Lam. At

first, being straight, he had derived no particular pleasure from wearing

them, but lately, he started to feel cold and uncomfortable when he didn't

have them on. Bill's constant mental work on him was having an effect. In

fact, on those days when Brad would get back first to the room after

classes, he would absent-mindedly start looking around for Bill's unwashed

clothes to sniff, seeking out Bill's comforting odor. If he found a

particularly ripe article of clothing, he might secretly stash it under his

pillow, and chew on it after the lights had been turned out.

When they first started living together, Brad wondered why he had never

noticed just how perfect Bill was while they were in high school. After

awhile, though, with some subconscious input from Bill, he began to realize

that all along he had fantasized about Bill. Whenever he had been with

Belinda, he now realized he had been really thinking about Bill all the

time. These thoughts were slowly but surely transforming Brad's mental

sexual makeup. By "rewriting" Brad's history, Bill was placing himself in

all the crucial spots in Brad's conscious and subconscious mind. Step by

step, Bill was transforming Brad into the pet of his dreams.

Back when Brad had first arrived at GK with the rest of his pledge class, he

had been surprised to find that Alex was a member of that class. Alex had

been Brad's original roommate in the freshman dorm. He had seemed like the

complete party animal: he never seemed to study, he arrived noisily back in

the room at 3 or 4 A.M., he played his music loudly whenever both of them

were in the room and resisted requests to turn it down. In short, he had

been the idiot roommate from hell that caused Brad to seek a way out of the

dorm. Yet here he was, pledging a frat known for its academic standards.

As the pledges gathered for their first meeting, Brad took Alex aside. "Man,

I never expected YOU to be here! You sure didn't seem the studious type

those first few weeks in the dorm. Why are you pledging at GK?"

Alex gave Brad an odd look. "You know, it's funny you should ask that. All

my life I've been the complete academic geek. I never drank in my life,

never went out, spent all my spare time studying or at least reading

chemistry journals. I was totally focused on my favorite subject, and driven

to work on it day and night.

"But the very day you moved in, I had a weird experience. I can't remember

all of it, but I know it began when a young guy, who looked like 16, poked

his head in the room, pushed something under my nose that smelled really

foul, and I passed out. I don't know why that experience would cause this,

but starting that night, I lost interest in my studies and got the

irresistable urge to find something to drink. For the whole two weeks you

and I were roommates, I stayed out late at bars, did no schoolwork, and

needed to hear my music as loud as possible. I know I must have been a

completely obnoxious roommate to you, but I really couldn't help it. I knew

what I was doing was wrong, but there was nothing I could do to stop it, and

I knew I couldn't talk to anyone about it.

"The day after you got your GK invitation, I got mine. I came over here to

the GK house that evening, and as I stepped in the door I saw that same

young guy. That's the last thing I remember of that evening, but the next

morning I woke up with an intense headache, like the hangover from a long

binge period. When the headache wore off, it was like I was back to normal.

I lost all desire to drink or party, and started picking up the books again.

In just a short while, I'd caught up on what I was missing, and I was back

on track to do well this term.

"Funny thing, I've asked just about everyone here at GK and no one has heard

of that young guy. What was he doing here? How did he know I'd be here? Did

he really exist, or is he just the product of my imagination during that

wild period? I guess I'll never know.

"well, looks like the meeting is finally about to start. They told me that

at this meeting, I'd learn the true meaning of being a Gamma Kappa. Probably

some fake ritualistic bullshit." As they both drank the Kool-Aid they were

offered, they were about to find out just how wrong Alex was. "Have you been

assigned a room yet?"

"Yep," Brad said. "I'll be with an old friend from my home town, Bill. He's

a Sig Lam, but it seems they have some kind of house-sharing arrangement

with GK."

"Yeah, I'm evidently with Kevin somebody, he's a Sig Lam too. I met him for

a couple of minutes before I got in here. He told me his roommate last year

was president of Sig Lam, but graduated. He said he was eager to teach me

everything he learned from Lance his freshman year. What... what do you

think... think he..." Alex's eyes glazed over and his head rolled a bit.

By that time, most of the room had responded to the Kool-Aid and was

following along with the induction up front. Within an hour, the pledges

would be true GKs, and would see Sig Lams in an entirely different light.

And that is the story of how the Grand Master set up his two latest Sig

Lam-Gamma Kappa experiments. Anything to help a Sig Lam legacy! Besides, if

Bill could successfully convert Brad into his doting pet, maybe the

gymnastics team, with their compact cute perfect bodies, could be made into

the adoring pets of the bigger, rougher wrestling team. As the Grand Master

spread his influence over more and more of the school, the possibilities

seemed endless!

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