The Frat Control Experiment

1. 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!

The Frat Control Experiment

1. Parts XIV-XVI

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-XIII in four earlier

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

took a few hot plot suggestions from a couple of the e-mails I got about

this story, but since they were quite varied, I couldn't make everybody

happy! I may have played out this story as far as it can go, but then again,

that's what I thought LAST time.

XIV.

The trio walked down the hill to fraternity row. In front was Richie Rocher,

sashaying along the path in his affected manner, painted toenails showing in

his sandals. Behind him at a respectful distance followed his worshipful RTR

house roommates, quarterback Bob Rutland and defensive lineman Quentin

Parks. The two freshmen had had an impact on the team early in the season,

and were recognized around the campus.

When the two football players had first arrived at RTR, they were somewhat

confused by their room assignment, until they went through the initiation

ceremony. After that, they understood completely, and were honored to be

assigned for mentoring to one of the most highly respected members of the

frat. While Richie was none too masculine in appearance or demeanor, he

possessed a 9.5 inch tool that placed him towards the top of RTR's

cock-centric hierarchy.

Richie's job was to imbue his pledges with the house philosophy that respect

and obedience was owed not as a function of race, creed, national origin,

size, strength, intelligence, looks, sexual preference, or wealth. It all

came down to one thing: cock size. While many members of the fraternity were

straight, that didn't mean they wouldn't be honored to provide blow jobs to

the largest-dicked guys, or be used for their amusement on demand. If one

brother's cock was REALLY larger than another's, he could really mess with

the other's mind, effectively reprogramming him. Given enough time and

enough repetition of commands to cause a "burning in" of thoughts and ideas,

those personality changes could become permanent. Richie had first laid

claim to the two football players for his own use. If Richie received a few

personal benefits from their training, it was only his just due.

When the players first moved into his room as newly-pledged and programmed

RTRs, he let them watch him jerk off slowly on the bed. The two football

giants watched, mesmerized by the movement of both of Richie's hands up and

down his giant schlong, feeling they were in the presence of true greatness.

He invited them to feel it, which they did, as if it were a sensory work of

art. Of course, as they were both straight, they felt no desire to do

anything else. Richie realized he would have to work on them to make them

useful playthings.

Over the first few days, he ordered them to study and admire various of his

body parts: his slim waist, his skinny legs, his lithe neck, his

boyishly-cut thick blond hair, his delicate hands, his feet with the painted

toenails. After several study sessions involving his feet, they began to

sleep on their mattresses on either side of his bed with their faces

directly under his feet, which they would admire. With a bit more

programming, they started to idly jerk off looking at, sniffing, and

occasionally licking his feet. When he would step out of bed onto one of the

jocks before stepping down to the floor, that jock would get an instant

hard-on from the feel of Richie's foot on his body. And while he was gone

from the bed, they would sniff the sheets and pillow to enjoy his manly

aroma.

As they progressed through their studies, Richie was also teaching them the

skills they would need to be successful at RTR. They learned how to give a

first-rate blow job. At first the two straight jocks worked on this merely

for interpersonal skill development and as a frat responsibility. However,

with Richie's expert coaching, they soon came to enjoy the act, and soon

they were looking forward to their cum reward at the end. They were

convinced that cum, especially from a big cock, was the most delicious hot

drink there could be. And they were ESPECIALLY hungry for Richie's cum.

Sometimes Richie would have both of them working on him at once, one licking

and sucking on each side. Once Richie had erupted they would sometimes

wrestle each other to get their tongues into spilled puddles of his cum.

Over time, with much practice and many suggestions, they also learned to

love the feel of a cock up their asses, the bigger the better. First they

practiced on each other under Richie's direction; then they worked with

dildoes of increasing size, until finally they were ready for Richie's huge

dick. They grew to love the feel of Richie in them, and felt empty when he

pulled out.

Bob and Quentin knew they were being groomed for the most important RTR

responsibility of all: a trip to the top-floor room of Jason, the RTR

president, for an extended, exhausting multi-hour session that would tax

their physical abilities as well as their new sexual skills. Initially they

viewed this eventuality with dread, but as time went by, the idea of it

became more and more exciting. They were still somewhat afraid of Jason, as

much as they were in awe of him, but they felt that with enough workouts,

practice, and preparation, they would be ready for the Great Day, whenever

it came.

They had another benefit as RTR residents. Whenever their masculine,

aggressive side emerged, after a particularly frustrating or maddening

experience, they could always drag Roger the two-inch-dicked former RTR

president into their room, slap and punch him around, force him to degrade

himself, use every one of his orifices, then kick him out the door and onto

the hallway floor when they were done. During high stress periods, such as

exam weeks, there might even be one or more other brothers in the hall

waiting to drag the discarded Roger off to their own rooms to start the

process over again. At the end of days like that, Roger would crawl back to

his room, covered with bruises and dripping other people's cum and piss from

every part of his body, but with the satisfied feeling of having served his

obvious purpose in life. of course, if a particularly sadistic large-dicked

brother had ordered him to, even then he might be forced to finish the day

by torturing himself in the privacy of his own room, which by now was fully

equipped for such activity.

Bob and QUentin's training was coming along nicely by the time of this

breezy early-autumn day as the three proceeded down the hill to RTR house.

As Richie passed two hunky baseball team types on their way up the hill, a

tall crewcut blond Nordic type and a shorter one with long chestnut hair, he

couldn't help turning around as they went by to give them a good once-over.

The tall blond noticed this, and disgusted, muttered, "Faggot."

Unfortunately for him, he happened to say it just as he and his friend

passed the two football players. Bob and Quentin, enraged at the insult to

their godlike mentor, each grabbed one of the jocks, whom they outweighed by

quite a bit.

"That's not a nice thing to say," Quentin told his blond captive baseball

player. The tall jock struggled in his arms, but he was no match for the

300-plus pound lineman. "Just because someone likes guys, that's no reason

not to show him respect. Just because you're bigger and stronger," he said,

ripping the jock's shirt off and tossing it aside, revealing a nicely ripped

physique covered with a light blond fuzz, "doesn't mean you should look down

on another guy. Just because you're an athlete," he continued, lifting the

blond off the ground like a feather and tearing his pants down to his

ankles, "doesn't mean you're better than he is." Quentin tore off the

player's underpants, revealing an average-size dick and balls shrunk

somewhat in fear. "In fact, you're no match for him in any way." Other

students had stopped to watch the situation unfold. One of them gave a

good-natured wolf-whistle when the blond's pants came down. His powerful

legs and size-13 shoes flailed helplessly like a little boy's in QUentin's

grasp.

Richie came over, gazed at the two helpless baseball players, and whispered

something into Quentin's ear, then into Bob's. Bob tore the shirt off the

innocent-looking chestnut-haired jock he was holding, showing a well

worked-out chest and six-pack but no body hair. Then Bob and QUentin dropped

their baseball players to the ground. Quentin reached down and grabbed the

shirt he had torn off the blond. "We're taking your shirts down to RTR

house. When you're thought about what you did wrong, and you're ready to

apologize, come on down and we'll give them back." The humiliated jocks got

up and ran towards their dorm.

Later, when they got their nerve up, they would go down to fraternity row to

retrieve their shirts. But when they got there, the brothers would be ready

for them. At Richie's direction, the two were soon knocked out and dragged

to the initiation room. When they regained consciousness, they discovered

they were now RTRs and would be trained as playtoys for Bob and Quentin, and

for anyone else in the frat that wanted them. And to them, it only seemed

fair, considering their offense against a truly superior being. To help

their new brothers, they were also happy to provide information on their

fellow baseball players. No one from the baseball team had ever pledged RTR

before, so this information, gathered from last season's team showers, would

be invaluable in finding suitable additional RTR candidates, from top-ranked

to bottom.

This would also extend the Grand Master's influence into yet another campus

sports team before its season began. Could he improve their performance even

as he changed their outlook on life?

XV.

The football season was progressing much better than expected. The team was

undefeated, having beaten several teams rated higher than themselves. The

following Saturday, the team would play the team ranked sixth nationally,

and was expected to lose by at least 21 points. For that reason (and of

course for other, more secret ones), the team had been pushing themselves

especially hard this week, and practice ran late.

Last off the field and into the locker room came team cocaptain and center,

Clay Carver. As befit the position he played, Clay was the biggest and most

muscular member of the team. He was also the heart of the team, pushing them

to work hard each day, and working hardest himself, leading by example.

That's why the team looked up to him so much. He ran a large hand through

his sweaty, longish thick black hair, wondering if the team had what it took

to survive the upcoming game.

As the team began to undress, they heard the now-dreaded sound of the locker

room door slamming against the doorjamb. As the team looked on fearfully,

the entire high school chess club strode arrogantly into the room, kicking

objects on the floor out of their way as they walked by. One of the younger

club members positioned himself by the door, another at the entrance to the

shower room, to stop the players from escaping. One bulky lineman who tried

to slip out to the showers was grabbed by his jockstrap by a skinny high

school sophomore, and forcibly dragged back into the room, struggling and

straining his muscles helplessly all the way. The sophomore dumped him on

the floor and smirked at him contemptuosly, his braces glinting in his

mouth. The lineman cowered at his feet, afraid of a casual steel-like kick

that might cause him agonizing pain.

Clancy, the chess club president and a short pudgy senior, standing in the

center of the room, pushed his glasses up his nose. "Okay, sissies, listen

up. First order of business, this weekend's game. Our club has a lot of

money riding on that game. We've bet on you guys to win, at 20 to 1 odds.

I'm here to offer you an incentive. If you win, we WON'T line you up on your

backs on the quad and sit on your faces while you squirm under us, in front

of the whole school. We will refrain from climbing onto your shoulders and

riding you around the campus, steering you by gripping your necks tightly

with our powerful legs. We will NOT force you to clean off the soles of our

shoes with your tongues at the student center. We may even not strip you to

your jockstraps, tie you to the fence around the campus, and paint 'LOSERS'

on your chests. So there are all KINDS of reasons for you to win!"

The team pictured each of these possibilities, and they knew the chess geeks

could easily do all that to them, and more. Each resolved internally to work

out and practice every spare moment until Saturday. No other activity or

social event was even close in priority.

"Next item. You guys haven't met Robbie yet," Clancy said, indicating a

slightly built boy with a mop of straight blond hair and a naughty grin,

wearing a tank top despite the brisk weather. He was 14 but looked younger,

with smooth pale skin all over, and just a few wisps of blond hair visible

in his armpit. "Robbie's new to the club, he's a freshman, and he's gay.

When he first came to us, he was really shy, didn't start conversations, and

was embarrassed about his sexuality. Since he joined the club, he's gained a

lot of self confidence. He's decided to make one of you guys his sex slave,

so he can show who's boss, and get off whenever he wants. He's here to pick

the guy. Let's start with the captains. Sullivan and Carver, front and

center!"

Jim Sullivan, the tall red-haired starting quarterback, had been edging

towards the locker room door, hoping to make a break for it and run for

help. When he heard Clancy call for him, he had just reached the door and

yanked it open. Immediately, the sophomore guarding the door kneed him in

the groin, and he collapsed to the floor. The sophomore then dragged him,

groaning in pain, to the center of the room, depositing him in front of

Clancy, who completely immobilized him with one well-worn sneaker on his

neck.

"Now, now, Sullivan, that's no way to behave before your betters. You need

to learn your place." Clancy lifted the dazed Sullivan off the ground with

one hand, and tore off his practice uniform with the other. He then sat on

the bench and placed Sullivan across his knees. "Misbehaving boys need to be

spanked." He raised his arm and swatted Sullivan over and over, with

Sullivan screaming in pain as his ass turned red, his long muscled legs

twisting and writhing in his agony.

The team watched all this in horror, humiliated at the power this pudgy kid

had over their team captain. One team member, however, had another kind of

problem, a much bigger one. Clay Carver, the other captain, having already

removed his uniform at the time of the geeks' invasion, stood by his locker

wearing nothing but his jockstrap. As he watched Sullivan being spanked, a

side of him he had tried to keep hidden began to emerge. For while Clay, in

his sizable glory, was the team's inspiration, mentor to younger players,

and a figure all admired, he had a secret submissive side. He had always

secretly dreamed of being physically dominated by an even bigger man, forced

to serve at the sexual pleasure of a muscle giant. He watched all the WWF

competitions on television, and fantasized himself as the well-trained and

often punished housebitch of some of the biggest wrestlers he saw. He jerked

off regularly to pictures in wrestling magazines, imagining himself being

spanked across the laps of the dominating figures he saw in the photos.

As he watched Sullivan's spanking, and knowing he was next for humiliation,

Clay helplessly began to throw a substantial rod. He tried his best to cover

himself with his big hands, but his huge cock refused to remain confined in

his jockstrap, popped out and stood prominently against his stomach. As

Clancy rolled Sullivan, whimpering and rubbing his sore ass, off his lap and

onto the floor, he looked over to Clay and was astonished by what he saw.

"Hey guys, look at Carver! He's really getting off on this! He's really a

fag!" Everyone in the room stared at Clay in amazement. Clay was racked with

shame, but the humiliation only served to increase his helpless excitement,

and he became even harder.

Robbie, the delicate gay freshman, strode cockily over to Clay and shouted

"Attention!" Clay stood as stiffly as he could, looking straight ahead,

hands by his side, huge biceps bulging in both his arms and legs, cock

straining against his stomach. As Robbie walked around and behind his new

potential acquisition, he swatted him on the buns with his relative

super-strength. Clay winced in pain but did not cry out. Delighted, Robbie

announced, "This one is mine." Jim Sullivan, helplessly pinned to the floor

under Clancy's sneakered foot, could not help a sigh of relief. But Clay's

excitement only increased, because he realized his impossible fantasy was

about to come true. It was not exactly as he imagined it; instead of

submitting to a huge, muscled wrestler, he was about to become the bitch of

a 5'3" innocent blond high school freshman. The pale hand that would spank

him and throw him around was only half the length of Clay's erect dick. The

pink teen asshole his long tongue would get to know well would require work

to penetrate. The feet under which he would occasionally lie as a footstool

were smaller than his own hands. The dark afternoon stubble on Clay's face

was almost more hair than Robbie had on his entire body below the top of his

head. Yet the domination would be complete, and voluntary.

Seeing their captain and most admired team member voluntarily becoming the

sex slave of one of their pipsqueak tormentors had a devastating

psychological effect on the team. Although they were under no direct

hypnotic compulsion to feel this way, each of them became slightly more

resigned to submitting to the high school geeks, and more desirous of

impressing and pleasing them as a way to avoid further punishment. For the

coming weekend, they knew that the chess club had a lot at stake in the

game, and it was far more important for the team to win in order not to harm

the interests of the club members than it was to win for any of their own

personal reasons. Instead of a horrible aberration, the situation now seemed

much more like the natural order of things: might made right...

XVI.

Gabe, the smooth compact swimmer from GK, walked towards Sig Lam house. He

had been summoned by Dom to once again serve as substitute master to Dom's

slave twin Tom while Dom went away. Gabe fondly remembered the weekend he

had commanding Tom. The much bigger, well-muscled Tom had responded to his

every wish, sometimes even before he had expressed it. Gabe had never

ordered around or physically abused anyone before, but under Dom's guiding

influence he had grown to enjoy his absolute power over Tom, creatively

finding new ways to pick on him. And the meaner he got with Tom, the more

Tom became devoted to him and filled with lust for him.

Gabe was a friendly, easygoing guy, well-liked by his frat brothers. He had

participated in many house activities in the days before the Grand Master

arrived and permanently changed the nature of being a Gamma Kappa. Since the

change was hypnotically designed not to be noticed, it had only seemed

natural to Gabe when JJ, a well-toned but rather plain-faced Sig Lam, walked

into his room, took over the bed, and moved him to a bare old mattress on

the floor. JJ also ordered Gabe to take his own clothes out of the closet

and dresser and pile them on the floor, then go over to Sig Lam, get JJ's

stuff, bring it over and hang it neatly in the closet and fold it into the

dresser drawers. Gabe didn't mind any of this, or think it unusual: he

simply owed this to his new roommate because he was a Sig Lam.

JJ turned out to be rather slovenly, and given to farting quite loudly and

frequently. Once during a particularly extended session of flatulence, JJ

nastily cracked that Gabe should learn to like the smell of his farts. of

course, Gabe helplessly mistook this remark for an order. Over time, through

sheer force of will, he actually began to look forward to his roommate's

farts, savoring the odor and trying to guess from it what JJ had eaten at

his previous meal. After a good fart, JJ would look over at Gabe's sniffing,

appreciative face and snigger, thinking, what a dweeb.

As an active, dynamic personality, Gabe had tended to dominate friendships

as well as relationships with women. However, as time went by, and JJ's

low-key but steady assault on his original personality took its toll, Gabe's

forceful will faded, along with his masculinity, and he became quieter, more

deferential to others and less and less interested in sex.

When Dom first brought swim-teammate Gabe over to Sig Lam to serve as Tom's

temporary master, it marked a turnaround in Gabe's personality trends. Dom

had reawakened Gabe's active nature, and with his instructions had

hypnotically laced it with a small but growing element of sadism to

perfectly complement Tom's artificially-induced masochism. Gabe grew to

enjoy barking impossible orders at Tom, as much as Tom enjoyed obeying them,

and being severely punished when he failed. Tom secretly thrilled to the

occasional surprise boot to the groin, to having his hair grabbed and face

forced into Gabe's sweaty armpit or crotch for tongue-cleaning duty, to

being forced to stand at attention for hours while Gabe studied or watched

television, and being beaten when he faltered for a moment. He especially

liked Gabe's trick, learned from Dom, of riding Tom's naked muscular body on

all fours around the room with liberal use of a riding crop. It put his back

in constant contact with Gabe's small but (to Tom) perfectly-formed cock.

For his part, Gabe, although straight by his original nature, loved to watch

Tom's considerable muscles flex and ripple under his direct command, as if

they were extensions of his own body.

While he had been dubious when originally assigned his mastering task by

Dom, Gabe actually suffered quite a letdown when Dom returned from his

weekend out of town. When Gabe got back to GK, his roommate JJ noticed the

change immediately. While Gabe continued to follow JJ's orders, there was no

longer deference and admiration in his bearing. It was more like he was just

doing his job for someone who was only technically superior. But JJ, being

both straight and not particularly sadistic, let it slide. As long as Gabe

obeyed his instructions, he was still getting what he wanted out of being

boss of the room.

Now it was a month later, and Dom had phoned Gabe and told him to come to

Sig Lam for more "riding duty". As he neared the house, he absent-mindedly

rubbed his crotch as he remembered the thrill of his last "duty" weekend.

Would this become a regular occurrence? He could only hope so.

As he walked in the twins' room, he noticed Tom hooded and chained, as

usual, to Dom's bed, but also hogtied on the floor. When Tom saw Gabe, he

got noticeably excited. His two most revered people in the world were in the

room with him, and even in his awkward position it was impossible to contain

his happiness.

"Look at that piece of shit. He actually loves all this. Pain is now

pleasure to him," said Dom, with a powerful pointed-boot-tip kick to Tom's

side. "I really got off on training him, wearing him down, destroying and

rebuilding his personality, but it's done now. He's completely broken.

Where's the fun in that?"

Gabe was at a loss for words. He looked down at Tom. After months of serving

Dom and working out as his two exclusive activities, Tom was in hugely

better shape than his twin. As Tom gazed up at Gabe with love in his eyes,

visible even through the hood eyeholes, Gabe couldn't understand what Dom's

problem was. What could be better than to have a handsome, worked-out guy

that lived only to serve your every wish?

"Next week is spring break. I'm tired of being stuck with this piece of

shit. For me it's become like a job, it's like I can never leave. I want to

head out and train someone new, break his spirit and destroy his will. I'm

going to use the rest of this week and spring break week to try it. There's

a guy back home I went to high school with who used to look at Tom and me

when he thought we weren't looking. Of course, at the time I didn't know the

full extent of my powers, so I didn't even give him a second thought. This

guy is nearly a foot taller than me, and stronger, and I've imagined working

on him until he submits. I think I know enough about his weaknesses to get

him completely under my thumb.

"I'm going to leave you here the whole time with Tom. If my deal doesn't

work out, I'll be back after spring break. If it does, well, you might not

see me for awhile. That tall friend back home is from a really rich family,

and he just got his trust fund when he turned 21. Once he's my property,

I'll make him sign everything he has over to me, and he'll be glad to do it

just so I'll keep on kicking him in the balls the way he needs it." Dom

paused, excitedly imagining his 6'7" friend standing at attention as best he

could, a sheen of fear-produced sweat covering his torso, 12-inch vibrating

dildo up his ass and ball spreader in front, cock ring keeping him painfully

erect, waiting for further abuse. Standing naked and helpless in the dark

basement of what was formerly his own expensive home, now Dom's, where he

was the full-time slave while Dom and his fellow master guests partied and

lived upstairs.

"If that happens, this room and my brother are both yours. I won't need this

damn school anymore, I'll be set. You might have to dress him up to take a

picture of the two of you and e-mail it to our folks so they won't think

something's wrong. I'll cover you with them when I get back home, let them

know you're Tom's new best friend. That way you can make it look like he's

keeping in touch even though he can hardly talk anymore." Tom gazed

uncomprehendingly but lovingly up at his twin. The gods in his life were

communing, there was no need for his worthless self to listen to their

important masterful talk. He probably wouldn't understand it anyway.

Gabe couldn't believe his luck. His life had changed in the space of a few

minutes. He would be a man again, a dominating, loved and respected,

masculine man. He would be away from the demanding JJ for awhile, maybe even

forever, which would be a good thing since he no longer thought of JJ with

the complete respect he used to have for him. He couldn't even remember why

he had held that respect. Gabe held one booted foot up near tied-up Tom's

mouth, and Tom began eagerly licking it.

"OK, I'm taking off now." Dom grabbed his bag. "I'm sure you two will be

happy together. See ya." As Dom opened the door and stepped into the hall,

he nearly tripped over the Grand Master, who had been listening at the door.

A few control words and Dom's conscious mind went blank. Within thirty

seconds, all three frat boys were in the same state.

When they woke up, ALL their worlds had changed. As he had hoped, Gabe was

now permanently installed in what had been the twins' room. He was now no

longer a Gamma Kappa, but a Sig Lam. In fact, he had ALWAYS been a Sig Lam,

as far as he or anyone else could remember. That put him on an equal status

with the others living in the Sig Lam house, and made him the superior of

any GK. After a hypnozonked JJ brought Gabe's stuff over from the GK house

without really knowing why, Gabe settled into his new room and began his

life with Tom. He removed Tom's chain, but ordered him to behave as if it

was still in place. When Tom moved beyond the zone, Gabe would kick and

punch him while he stood with his arms helplessly by his side. On the odd

occasion, Tom would intentionally step past the line just to receive the

punishment he so craved. After several months, Tom's memory of Dom faded,

and all he could think about was Gabe. For him, all was right with the

world.

Meanwhile, over at the GK house, a new living arrangement suddenly

materialized in a room on the second floor. Two of the mildest-mannered GK

roommates found themselves with a new guest in their room. Cute, blond,

about 5'8", he was naked except for a leather hood, chained to one of their

two bed frames, and he was clearly a mute, unable to talk, write, or even

form words with his mouth, although great fear and anger could be seen to

alternate in his eyes. For reasons they couldn't understand, the GK

roommates found increasingly great excitement in taking out their day-to-day

frustrations on the senses and private parts of their new friend. While they

were clearly new at it, the sophistication of their methods of torment grew

each day, and more and more often these otherwise straight GKs would sport

hard-ons during their activities. Soon, they were spending less and less

time away from their room in the evening, and finding more ways to make the

torture more sadistically interesting. As their lives changed, the

companionship of Women became a distant memory, seemingly irrelevant to

their pleasure.

Dom could not believe the situation. Here he was, imprisoned in a room with

two sissy GKs, who were torturing him in ways he had never even thought of

in his days with Tom. And for some reason he was totally unable to talk, and

pathologically afraid to make any noise that might draw attention to

himself. He knew that if he could speak, he could control the roommates,

since he was a Sig Lam and they were GKs. If he could just talk to them, he

could get them to free him. He would then have them go downtown to a leather

store and buy the largest, most painful-looking whips they could find, come

back to the room, strip naked, and use them on each other. One would be

commanded to bend over and expose his ass and lower back, then CRACK! the

other would be compelled to deliver a full-force blow. Then the first would

bend over, and CRACK! Dom would greatly enjoy watching each one in turn

sorrowfully inflict as much pain as he could on his roommate, while Dom sat

on the couch jerking off and giving them their orders. But it was not to be.

Dom's speech center was simply not functioning.

You see, the Grand Master kept watch over his experiments, particularly his

early, favored ones. And one element of the GM's philosophy was, you're

responsible for taking care of your human property. You can belittle your

brother, then beat him, torture him, and ultimately enslave him, but once

you've done that, you can't simply walk away. Therefore, the GM terminated

his twins experiment and began a new one: can two natural bottoms

successfully enslave a top who has lost his power to command? Will the

former top grow to accept his situation after awhile, say a few months, or

will he fight it every inch of the way? Only time would tell.

1. The Frat Control Experiment

Parts XVII-XVIII

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-XVI in five earlier

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

Now I'm REALLY running out of ideas for keeping this thing fresh...

XVII.

"Sorry, man, I don't know why -- unghhhh -- I'm doing this," said Rob, as he

tightened his elbow's grip around the neck of his fraternity brother

Preston, on the carpeting of the assembly room of the Tau Epsilon house. Tau

Epsilon was the prototypical "dumb jock" frat which specialized in those on

athletic scholarships with low academic expectations.

"Unhhh... It's... unhhh... OK, man, unhhh... can't help myself... unhhh..."

gasped Preston, as he struggled with all his might to release Rob's iron

grip. His long legs, muscles flexing, probed for a weakness in Preston's

position, found one, and he flipped Rob over. Soon Preston had Rob

helplessly pinned under him, to the accompanying cheers of the others in the

room. At that moment, both Preston and Rob stood up, eyes glazed, and walked

over to sit on the floor at the feet of Preston's happy younger brother.

All around the room, similar matches were taking place as part of "Little

Brother Appreciation Weekend." Of all the frats on campus, Tau Epsilon had

the greatest number of members with younger brothers 14 and older -- there

were 26 such members -- and the TE leadership, after a few visits from the

Grand Master's older brother who was also president of Sig Lam, decided to

use frat funds to fly or bus in all the little brothers that would accept

the invitation for the event. With such generous terms, nearly all the

little brothers that were contacted did accept.

"Little Brother Appreciation Weekend" had been arranged by the GM's older

brother as a tribute to his own sibling, and to demonstrate to him that he

was creatively worthy of his responsibility as second in command. Once

everyone had arrived, the opening session began in TE's downstairs assembly

room. The entire group of big and little brothers was provided Kool-Aid and

subjected to the standard induction by the GM's brother. About half and hour

later, to test their readiness, the brother had ordered everyone to change

right there out of their clothes and into the official uniform of the

weekend, which was a tight black Speedo one size too small that each was to

find in a bin. These had been purchased with frat money for all the

participants. No one had batted an eyelash when the change order had been

given, and everyone made the change completely un-selfconsciously. Obviously

the GM's brother had learned over time how to perform a first-rate

induction.

Once the group was ready, the Grand Master himself made his entrance, and

stepped onto the podium. He proceeded to explain the rules: for the entire

day, while inside the Tau Epsilon house, each younger brother had complete

physical control of his big brother. They could use them as their puppet

"players" in a game of domination: anyone their brother could establish

physical control over would also become one of their players. The two boys

that gained control of the most brothers would win "freedom of Tau Epsilon",

allowing them to come back and boss around the frat members any way they

liked, provided they did no permanent damage to them. The rest of the

participants would forget that the event had ever taken place.

And so the wrestling matches had begun, with the losing brother changing

teams after each victory. So far, the biggest "stables" were being assembled

by 16-year-old Dino Rizzo and 17-year-old Patrick Connell, whose big-bruiser

brothers were the biggest, strongest muscle jocks in the frat. As their

slave player collections grew, Dino and Patrick had to make decisions on

match-ups of their secondary players to give their own big brothers a rest

once in awhile. They had great fun using the bigger, older frat members as

their toys, as in a game of marbles, to capture more and more toys.

While all this was going on, upstairs a very different scene was unfolding.

Two of the visiting younger brothers had spotted each other as gay from the

very start, seemingly the only two who were. After the matches had begun,

they had quietly slipped out of the assembly room with their older brothers,

and up to Vince's brother's room. As Vince and Jimmy held hands and looked

into each others' eyes, each described out loud what he wanted to do to the

other, and immediately their straight older brothers, to their horror, found

themselves forced to act out their little brothers' fantasies

wholeheartedly. "Oh, man, I'm going to shove my tongue down your throat and

kiss you forever," moaned Vince, and instantly Vince's brother was forced to

shove his long tongue down the throat of Jimmy's brother as the two straight

frat boys engaged in a long, sloppy kiss.