The Daily Tribune headline, June, 10 2022
COLLEGE DEAN KIDNAPPED BY FRATERNITY, HELD PRISONER
***
Prologue: The Real Turk’s Dad
The real Turk’s dad lay curled up in the closet of his hotel room. Nude. Bound, his wrists wrapped together in white athletic tape, many, many revolutions of tape had been applied. His wrists had then been taped in front of him to his thighs, which were also securely taped together. His captor had really wanted to make sure he stayed in the closet because he had also wrapped Turk’s hands and ankles completely in tape, as well as taped his feet together so they were one useless lump. And then he had been stuck curled up like a shrimp by a couple of long straps of tape connecting his neck down to his knees; head bent forward. The burglar had been thorough. There was even a small loop of tape keeping his big toes stuck together. Very secure. Turk’s Dad was stuck.
That would have been uncomfortable enough, but there was also a swatch of tape over each of his eyes, relieving him of his vision, and any observer would note that his cheeks (the ones up top) look fairly chipmunkish. It was due to him currently involuntarily sucking on his sheer black dress socks and the ridiculous thong he’d chosen to wear today. Turk’s Dad had grown to love wearing thongs ever since his fraternity pledge days when his Big Brother would once only let him wear buttfloss in the frat house for an entire month. The socks and underwear had been stuffed in his mouth, and then several rounds of tape had been wrapped around his face, sealing them inside, turning his mouth into a washing machine for his used socks and underwear. This was not the first time this sort of thing had happened to him; again, his fraternity pledge days, But you never quite got used to the taste of your own feet, balls, and butt.
But Turk’s Dad’s discomfort wasn’t just due to being so securely taped up, blindfolded, and gagged. There was also a good-sized battery-powered buttplug buzzing merrily away in his big manly, hairy behind. And a small bullet vibrator currently taped to his quite substantial cock and pulsating. He had quite a boner as a result of all this stimulation. And to be frank, his utter (and very kinky) helplessness had a little something to do with it, too.
He’d lost track of time, but he figured he’d been trussed up in the closet for at least a couple of hours.
There had been a man with a gun. He had been fairly polite for a burglar. He had calmly explained that his usual M.O. was to rob the room while the occupant was out. However, he was currently being sought for questioning in, you guessed it, a series of hotel robberies. His plan was to get out of the country. His fake passport was currently being forged, and he needed a place to lay low. What better place than a fairly swanky hotel room for the weekend? Turk’s Dad had the bad luck to have been the occupant.
The plan was now to spend the weekend watching movies, communicating with his overseas contacts, and ordering room service on Turk’s Dad’s tab while Turk’s Dad stewed and simmered in the hall closet, ass occupied and cock buzzing, or hours on end. Turk’s Dad had acted a little entitled to the burglar, a typical rich guy, so the burglar had decided Turk’s Dad could be taken down a peg or two. He had no love for the 1%. And, admittedly, making a cocky rich guy strip bareass, taping him up in an uncomfortable position, and tethering and stuffing sex toys to and in his vulnerable areas had been kind of hot.
He wasn’t a total bastard. He planned to cut the tape binding his prisoner’s wrists to his thighs and let him stretch and use the bathroom every once in a while. Right now, he was watching a movie on Turk’s Dad’s dime, very contentedly.
Meanwhile, in the closet, Turk’s Dad lay packaged, on his side, big bare beefy buttplugged bum facing the door. A little bit miserable, and a lot bit horny. Oh, goddamn, did he want to cum. The buttplug was giving his ass a real workout. The pulsating vibrator on his cock wouldn’t let up. However, as was mentioned, Turk’s Dad had been a little flippant and a lot self-righteous when facing the burglar. The burglar, much to Turk’s Dad’s distress and embarrassment, had found his secret sex toys in the top drawer. Even Turk’s Mom didn’t know his dad owned these.
“Well, I’d hate it if you got bored while you’re in there this weekend,” and grinned deviously at Turk’s Dad, holding the innocuous looking plug and vibrator in his hands. You wouldn’t know they were instruments of torture unless that’s how you used them. You see, the burglar had put each one on a cycle. Each toy had 10 different settings each. At least a couple, especially in the vibrator strapped to Turk’s Dad’s cock, had a setting that would eventually, absolutely make him blow his load. But you could also set the time on these settings. As bad luck for Turk’s Dad would have it, the burglar had programmed each setting’s runtime to end exactly before Turk’s Dad shot his wad.
“MMOOMMPPHHHH!!!’ Turk’s Dad has moaned into his gag when the buttplug had been politely but firmly stuffed in his ass and switched on. The vibrator had already been making friends with his rapidly stiffening penis.
“Those should keep you entertained for a while. Have fun!” the burglar wished him cheerily before shutting the door.
It was maddening. He would be jusssstt about there and ready to have the orgasm of his life from the bum buddy buzzing in his fundament and the vibe pulsating on his cock….and then the setting would change. The rhythm would change. His cock would get confused. Orgasm denied.
*muffled scream of frustration and indignation*
Even the burglar could faintly hear the “MMMPPHH!!!” through the closet door. And smirked.
This had happened seemingly several thousand times now. Turk’s dad was covered in sweat; he was groaning into his smelly, untasty gag, squirming as much as the squeezing, rubbery tape would allow him and wishing desperately he hadn’t acted like a dick to his captor.
He couldn’t even hump the floor because he was trapped in a ball tie on his side. His cock raging at him, as he tried to wiggle in his humiliating, hampering bondage. Oh god, he needed to cum. He flexed his beefy cheeks around his buttplug, he felt so full, and he would have given away his kids if he could finally cum. Sweet Jesus, let me cum, he prayed!
Trying to take his mind off the excruciating edging he was receiving (and after groaning when he remembered putting fresh batteries in the buttplug and vibrator for this trip, long-lasting ones, honestly, they would go for hours, it was that bunny), he wondered vaguely what would happen when he didn’t show to be this year’s Alumni Assbutt for his old fraternity, GAG. There was a faint spark of hope that, when he didn’t show up to play the traditional role for Hell Week, they would look for him, and find him bound up, gagged, and being buttfucked over and over again in his hotel room closet. It would be worth the humiliation of being discovered in such a lewd and ignominious predicament if someone would free him from his bondage so he could find some relief.
Unfortunately for him, it would be quite awhile until he was rescued. Turk’s Dad won’t show up again in this story for awhile. After the movie, Turk’s Dad’s commercial had come on. The burglar’s eyes widened. He figured out who his captive was - the CEO of a major finance corporation - and that his captive was very, very rich. Why not get some mileage out of this? He’d never pulled a kidnapping-for-ransom scam before, so why not keep the CEO on ice for as long as necessary and collect some cash to live comfortably in Europe? He was sure he could do it all online and get away with it. After all, he had exchanged the thrills of computer hacking for the thrills of thievery. He was pretty good at making the 1s and Os work for him and getting away with it. This would be fun, he smiled to himself, as a faint, muffled, pleading gagged moan came from the closet.
Turk’s Dad - Part 5 now up! A Mistaken Identity Bondage Story in Several Parts (m/m)
Turk’s Dad - Part 5 now up! A Mistaken Identity Bondage Story in Several Parts (m/m)
Last edited by jase1010 3 months ago, edited 4 times in total.
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Guardianbound
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 699
- Joined: 2 years ago
For a prologue this augurs a fantastic new series! I'm loving this, and I'm sure there are quite a few on the forum who would also want to see more 
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KidnappedCowboy
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 971
- Joined: 5 years ago
- Location: USA
- Contact:
Very nice Prologue!
Can't wait to read what lies in store for the Turk's Dad from his burglar/captor/kidnapper!
Can't wait to read what lies in store for the Turk's Dad from his burglar/captor/kidnapper!
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harveygasson
- Millennial Club
- Posts: 1371
- Joined: 6 years ago
Wow probably one of the best prologues I've ever read and definitely gets me excited to read the rest of the story!
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DeeperThanRed
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 960
- Joined: 6 years ago
Love a hot daddy trussed up and teased by his own toys - and that awesome gag! Definitely a strong start and I can't wait to see the burglar making life harder for Turk's Dad even more, haha!
25-year-old bondage enthusiast who likes cute guys, underwear, and bondage, preferably together.
You can reach my list of written work here: https://www.tugstories.com/viewtopic.php?p=38808#p38808
You can reach my list of written work here: https://www.tugstories.com/viewtopic.php?p=38808#p38808
Thank you so much, everyone! It’s gratifying to write and post something that people enjoy.
TBH, we’re not going to run into the REAL Turk’s Dad for awhile. This is actually a mistaken identity bondage story (among other kinks). The main character is actually someone different. Don’t worry, though, he’s going to experience a very kinky, humiliating, and helpless bondage misadventure. And hopefully a fun one!
TBH, we’re not going to run into the REAL Turk’s Dad for awhile. This is actually a mistaken identity bondage story (among other kinks). The main character is actually someone different. Don’t worry, though, he’s going to experience a very kinky, humiliating, and helpless bondage misadventure. And hopefully a fun one!
Turk’s Dad 1
1 it all started when
Gus would look back later and admit to himself that it had been fussy and arrogant to go alone.
This generation of GAG House had received more noise complaints than any fraternity on campus in decades and he sighed as he walked up the front steps. They were a nice enough bunch of young men. Beefy, beer-swilling creative when it came to chicanery, mischievous jocks, true, but their GPAs were all very high, and they did a lot of charity work in the community. When they weren’t throwing bacchanals that sometimes ended with the cops and fire department showing up.
Admittedly, he felt a tiny, sliver of happiness that they were being booted off campus. They caused a lot of chaos and disorder, and Gus didn’t like chaos and disorder. Tyeville U’s Dean of Students was a fastidious, upright sort. He liked things, neat, and tidy and proper.
It was a shame, though. Gamma Alpha Gamma, GAG House for short, had been on campus since the school’s inception in the 1920s. He WAS a student of history, after all. But the GAG boys were just too much and set a bad example for the other students.
Gus basically brought the caricature of a fussy, uptight official in a bad 80s frathouse sex comedy to life. Except this comedy took the part where, in the end, the stuffy villain gets his humiliating kinky comeuppance that’s normally played for laughs, and went way too far.
He gave the massive oaken front door a firm knock. GAG House had been built in 1921 by an insane architect with a medieval fetish and looked like a mini-castle. The door opened slowly.
There was no one there. He faced a dimly-lit hallway, adorned with portraits of the many GAG boys of all the generations. The senior ones and leadership were referred to as the "Mighty Brothers" by every year’s pledge class, he remembered with an eye-roll and practically a “harumph”.
“Hello?” he called, and was annoyed at a slight hesitation in his voice.
He thought he heard some faint, boyish laughter coming past the stairs, from down a hall.
“Oh, enough with this,” he said aloud and strode purposely towards the sound. He was Gus Anderson, the dean of Tyeville University, gosh darn it. He needed to show strength and a firm grasp of the situation.
Finally, a doorway, light spilling out of it. Bright light. Entering the doorway, he was stopped short by the sight in front of him before any of the GAG boys could see him. Except for the one creeping up behind him in the shadowy hall.
It’s not often that you
A) Stumble upon a mini theater complete with a theatrical stage inside of a frat house
B) Find yourself greeted by 17 bare asses welcoming you by name.
But not HIS name.
Up on the stage, occupying what looked like two levels of a bleacher-type construct, lit so brightly by a spotlight that he imagined he could make out individual buttcrack hairs, were 17 naked butts belonging to GAG’s new pledge class. Bent over in greeting. On each thonged butt (every GAG pledge owned a thong, GAG’s Greek letters adorning the bulgy pouches), a letter (or some punctuation) had been painted with gloppy-looking paint, alternating blue and old (the school colors).
GAG was an unusual attractor of brains and brawn. The high number of future engineers, chemists, doctors, and financial wizards was matched by the high number of varsity athletes. Hence, these were BUTTS. You had the massive cakes of dedicated hockey players (hockey butt was a definite affliction at GAG), the tight muscle asses of gymnasts, and the round bounce of wrestler asses normally encased in spandex singlets. These asses weren’t encased in anything, except birthday suits.
W-E-L-C-O-M-E, the first line of the ass-o-gram read, seven bobular bubble butts hoisted high on the upper row of the bleachers.
“Sir, how long do we gotta stay like this?” one young man whined from somewhere below from where he was grasping his ankles in an unclothed sea of muscled legs, solid thighs, and thick hamstrings, some tanned, some pale, some hairy, some smooth. Some hairy ball sacks were visible, dangling gently between legs as the men sometimes shifted their bodies to relieve the discomfort of having to assume and stay in this humiliating bent-over position. He obviously didn’t realize their guest had arrived.
“My butt’s cold!” the unseen youg man complained.
“Shut up, dude! You’re gonna get us spanked!” one of his fellow ass-o-gram artists growled.
As for the second line?
It spelled out “T-U-R-K-‘-S D-A-D!”
Yes, one shiny nude bum, slightly fuzzy in the spotlight, remained blank buttocked to create the space between “TURK’S” and “DAD”.
And there was indeed an ass-apostrophe and one round rump sporting the exclamation point—all those jiggling and flexing letters on 17 very shapely rear ends.
Welcome Turk's Dad!
“Who the hell is Turk’s dad?” a bewildered Gus Anderson wondered aloud.
And that’s when someone in the shadows behind him yanked the hood over his head.
It was made of dark, stretchy spandex material, adhering to his skull like a second skin, not thin but not thick enough to cause discomfort.
As it was rudely situated, his nose was smooshed.
“Mmmoommpohh!” he yelped in protest, trying to object through spandex-smoothed lips. He reached up to stop this bizarre attack but felt both wrists grabbed by very strong attackers on either side of him.
“Look who I found! It’s the guest of honor,” a young man’s voice, the one who had hooded him, exclaimed in glee from behind him as Gus found himself yanked into the tiny theater, and trundled down the aisle.
When the hood had been finally smoothed in place, he noticed that, while there were no eye holes, so his vision was somewhat obscured (he’d learn later there was a velcro type blindfold that could be easily affixed to his hood for total blindness), there WAS a hole for his mouth. Which he promptly put into protest mode.
“What the hell are you do-MMMOOMMPPHHH!!”
He was rudely interrupted by what felt like an oversized rubber ball that was popped into his mouth, as the strap it was attached to was tightened and snugly buckled. This resulted in the big rubber ball being locked behind his teeth. He realized that he’d been very effectively gagged. In fact, he’d been ball-gagged!
"Mouthy pledges get gagged, dude," one of the young men holding his arm in an iron-armed grip noted smugly.
Gus, a vanilla sort of fellow, had only seen a ballgag on TV and in movies so it was very unsettling to be wearing one suddenly, his mouth introduced to kinky bondage!
And it was startling how effective a ballgag was! His captors had chosen a good-sized one, and it corked his mouth so well that he could barely emit a sound, let alone words! He realized how bizarre and kinky he must look and blushed under his humiliating new hood.
He would have blushed even more and strongly protested if he knew that the made-up word “ASSBUTT” was printed on his hood’s forehead. How demeaning.
It was a new feeling of helplessness he’d never known before being hooded and gagged like this, both his speech and identity hidden away. His mouth was cruelly corked by the kinky mouth muffler, and his features smoothed away by the equally kinky discipline hood.
And that’s when he felt the bottom of the hood tighten around his neck with what felt like some sort of collar, which was buckled. It didn’t interfere with his breathing at all, but it meant that removing his hood would be a bother. Adding to this feature, he heard two almost imperceptible “clicks” at the back of his head and neck, which meant that he was going to be hooded and gagged for the foreseeable future.
1 it all started when
Gus would look back later and admit to himself that it had been fussy and arrogant to go alone.
This generation of GAG House had received more noise complaints than any fraternity on campus in decades and he sighed as he walked up the front steps. They were a nice enough bunch of young men. Beefy, beer-swilling creative when it came to chicanery, mischievous jocks, true, but their GPAs were all very high, and they did a lot of charity work in the community. When they weren’t throwing bacchanals that sometimes ended with the cops and fire department showing up.
Admittedly, he felt a tiny, sliver of happiness that they were being booted off campus. They caused a lot of chaos and disorder, and Gus didn’t like chaos and disorder. Tyeville U’s Dean of Students was a fastidious, upright sort. He liked things, neat, and tidy and proper.
It was a shame, though. Gamma Alpha Gamma, GAG House for short, had been on campus since the school’s inception in the 1920s. He WAS a student of history, after all. But the GAG boys were just too much and set a bad example for the other students.
Gus basically brought the caricature of a fussy, uptight official in a bad 80s frathouse sex comedy to life. Except this comedy took the part where, in the end, the stuffy villain gets his humiliating kinky comeuppance that’s normally played for laughs, and went way too far.
He gave the massive oaken front door a firm knock. GAG House had been built in 1921 by an insane architect with a medieval fetish and looked like a mini-castle. The door opened slowly.
There was no one there. He faced a dimly-lit hallway, adorned with portraits of the many GAG boys of all the generations. The senior ones and leadership were referred to as the "Mighty Brothers" by every year’s pledge class, he remembered with an eye-roll and practically a “harumph”.
“Hello?” he called, and was annoyed at a slight hesitation in his voice.
He thought he heard some faint, boyish laughter coming past the stairs, from down a hall.
“Oh, enough with this,” he said aloud and strode purposely towards the sound. He was Gus Anderson, the dean of Tyeville University, gosh darn it. He needed to show strength and a firm grasp of the situation.
Finally, a doorway, light spilling out of it. Bright light. Entering the doorway, he was stopped short by the sight in front of him before any of the GAG boys could see him. Except for the one creeping up behind him in the shadowy hall.
It’s not often that you
A) Stumble upon a mini theater complete with a theatrical stage inside of a frat house
B) Find yourself greeted by 17 bare asses welcoming you by name.
But not HIS name.
Up on the stage, occupying what looked like two levels of a bleacher-type construct, lit so brightly by a spotlight that he imagined he could make out individual buttcrack hairs, were 17 naked butts belonging to GAG’s new pledge class. Bent over in greeting. On each thonged butt (every GAG pledge owned a thong, GAG’s Greek letters adorning the bulgy pouches), a letter (or some punctuation) had been painted with gloppy-looking paint, alternating blue and old (the school colors).
GAG was an unusual attractor of brains and brawn. The high number of future engineers, chemists, doctors, and financial wizards was matched by the high number of varsity athletes. Hence, these were BUTTS. You had the massive cakes of dedicated hockey players (hockey butt was a definite affliction at GAG), the tight muscle asses of gymnasts, and the round bounce of wrestler asses normally encased in spandex singlets. These asses weren’t encased in anything, except birthday suits.
W-E-L-C-O-M-E, the first line of the ass-o-gram read, seven bobular bubble butts hoisted high on the upper row of the bleachers.
“Sir, how long do we gotta stay like this?” one young man whined from somewhere below from where he was grasping his ankles in an unclothed sea of muscled legs, solid thighs, and thick hamstrings, some tanned, some pale, some hairy, some smooth. Some hairy ball sacks were visible, dangling gently between legs as the men sometimes shifted their bodies to relieve the discomfort of having to assume and stay in this humiliating bent-over position. He obviously didn’t realize their guest had arrived.
“My butt’s cold!” the unseen youg man complained.
“Shut up, dude! You’re gonna get us spanked!” one of his fellow ass-o-gram artists growled.
As for the second line?
It spelled out “T-U-R-K-‘-S D-A-D!”
Yes, one shiny nude bum, slightly fuzzy in the spotlight, remained blank buttocked to create the space between “TURK’S” and “DAD”.
And there was indeed an ass-apostrophe and one round rump sporting the exclamation point—all those jiggling and flexing letters on 17 very shapely rear ends.
Welcome Turk's Dad!
“Who the hell is Turk’s dad?” a bewildered Gus Anderson wondered aloud.
And that’s when someone in the shadows behind him yanked the hood over his head.
It was made of dark, stretchy spandex material, adhering to his skull like a second skin, not thin but not thick enough to cause discomfort.
As it was rudely situated, his nose was smooshed.
“Mmmoommpohh!” he yelped in protest, trying to object through spandex-smoothed lips. He reached up to stop this bizarre attack but felt both wrists grabbed by very strong attackers on either side of him.
“Look who I found! It’s the guest of honor,” a young man’s voice, the one who had hooded him, exclaimed in glee from behind him as Gus found himself yanked into the tiny theater, and trundled down the aisle.
When the hood had been finally smoothed in place, he noticed that, while there were no eye holes, so his vision was somewhat obscured (he’d learn later there was a velcro type blindfold that could be easily affixed to his hood for total blindness), there WAS a hole for his mouth. Which he promptly put into protest mode.
“What the hell are you do-MMMOOMMPPHHH!!”
He was rudely interrupted by what felt like an oversized rubber ball that was popped into his mouth, as the strap it was attached to was tightened and snugly buckled. This resulted in the big rubber ball being locked behind his teeth. He realized that he’d been very effectively gagged. In fact, he’d been ball-gagged!
"Mouthy pledges get gagged, dude," one of the young men holding his arm in an iron-armed grip noted smugly.
Gus, a vanilla sort of fellow, had only seen a ballgag on TV and in movies so it was very unsettling to be wearing one suddenly, his mouth introduced to kinky bondage!
And it was startling how effective a ballgag was! His captors had chosen a good-sized one, and it corked his mouth so well that he could barely emit a sound, let alone words! He realized how bizarre and kinky he must look and blushed under his humiliating new hood.
He would have blushed even more and strongly protested if he knew that the made-up word “ASSBUTT” was printed on his hood’s forehead. How demeaning.
It was a new feeling of helplessness he’d never known before being hooded and gagged like this, both his speech and identity hidden away. His mouth was cruelly corked by the kinky mouth muffler, and his features smoothed away by the equally kinky discipline hood.
And that’s when he felt the bottom of the hood tighten around his neck with what felt like some sort of collar, which was buckled. It didn’t interfere with his breathing at all, but it meant that removing his hood would be a bother. Adding to this feature, he heard two almost imperceptible “clicks” at the back of his head and neck, which meant that he was going to be hooded and gagged for the foreseeable future.
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harveygasson
- Millennial Club
- Posts: 1371
- Joined: 6 years ago
Love the mistaken identity, we're going to have two characters bound and gagged in the wrong places and what fun they'll be put through
"It’s not often that you find yourself greeted by 17 bare asses welcoming you by name."
You still have that talent for composing some of the most beautiful sentences in the English language, don't you Jase101. -:P
Wonderful second chapter, and I'm eager to see where this is going. I'm also sure these are not the same MIGHTY BROTHERS from your other stories, but it's fun to imagine they might be another state's chapter maybe!
You still have that talent for composing some of the most beautiful sentences in the English language, don't you Jase101. -:P
Wonderful second chapter, and I'm eager to see where this is going. I'm also sure these are not the same MIGHTY BROTHERS from your other stories, but it's fun to imagine they might be another state's chapter maybe!
@Croup I absolutely thought of you when I used the “Mighty Brothers” moniker again. Seeing as I wrote about that particular frat for the first time decades ago, it’s entirely possible it’s the same organization , just years later…I should look up if I ever specified their Greek letters. 
@harveygasson Two types of bondage stories - stolen uniform and mistaken identity - have always been my favorite. The idea that they’ve got the wrong guy bound and gagged but he can’t tell them - the more slapstick and humiliating the better - we’ll, I’ve always found that scenario to be super
.
@harveygasson Two types of bondage stories - stolen uniform and mistaken identity - have always been my favorite. The idea that they’ve got the wrong guy bound and gagged but he can’t tell them - the more slapstick and humiliating the better - we’ll, I’ve always found that scenario to be super
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TightsBound
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 589
- Joined: 6 years ago
- Location: CT, USA
Loving this so far. And wishing I could join a frat like that.
@TightsBound its my lifelong dream. Lol And tightsbound…hmm might have to incorporate some tights bondage during Hell Week. Open to suggestions.
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Guardianbound
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 699
- Joined: 2 years ago
Kinky and comedic, can't wait for more. Every college needs frats like this.
Turk’s Dad 2
2 is this really happening?
MMMUT MMMA MMMPPMHHH!!
The hands let him go. Figures materialzed in front of him. Handsome young mean in casual clothing with nearly nude young men in their own hoods interspersed among them. One of the clothed men, the one nearest him, guffawed at Gus as his hands shot to his head to stop this bizarre prank and take back control of the situation.
They let him. More good-natured chuckles as he frantically pulled at his mouth and head. Any part of the stretchy but oddly durable hood that he yanked at merely snapped back, once again adhering to his skull, the buckling feature meaning he couldn’t pull it off. And he certainly couldn’t pull this humiliating ballgag out of his yap. And that’s when he reached back and felt the two mini-padlocks sealing him into anonymity and silence. Well, partial silence.
WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE TO ME YOU LET ME OUT OF THIS THIS INSTANT OR I WILL HAVE YOU EXPELLED DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM I AM THE DEAN OF STUDENTS THIS IS ASSAULT
came out as
MMELL MMMAVE MMOO MMUN MOO MMMEE… and so on, gag talk, the beloved language of dominants and submissives, captors and captives, everywhere.
He began to panic and stomp like a fussy, overgrown child throwing a tantrum. He yanked wildly at his head and face to no avail. He bent over with his efforts, Dockers-clad bottom wiggling in the air and receiving a firm spank which made them all laugh.
“MMMEEWWW! “ he yelled into his gobstopper of a gag and they all laughed as he quickly straightened up.
“Dude, dude, Turk’s Dad, chill man. Turk didn’t tell you we started putting the pledges’ butt-looking faces in uglyhoods?”
“MMOMMPPH MMMGGHRRPPPGG!”
“Aw, Turk’s Dad, we’re so glad you’re acting the part of a dumbass pledge. We really appreciate you volunteering to be Alumni Assbutt this Hell Week. Us dudes know how important tradition is.”
Tradition, Gus thought?
What the hell was an assbutt?
The speaker was a swarthy young man in front of him, tall, bearded and wiry, who looked like a runner.
“Sorry man, we should introduce you; Turk’s not big on details. I’m Cary.”
Introductions were made for the members present that day, ones that Gus could maek out through his hood. Cary WAS a runner and the current president of GAG. The rest of the Mighty Brothers present numbered few; he’d learn they were at some sort of Greek system leadership retreat. Wrestler Doug, crewcut, was a medaled wrestler, short and stout, always wore a skintight singlet. Fitz was a beefy bull of a wise-cracking redhead, a bigger hockey butt than all the pledge hockey butts combined. Frick and Frack (he never learned their actual names) were twin brothers, Tyeville Univesity’s top two baseball players, they’d been the ones restraining him. And Eli, was an overweight, boyishly handsome, bespectacled genius type. An engineering student. He did play on the golf team, though.The majority of GAG were jocks. Then again, to Gus, who had the dad-bodish physicality of a middle-aged desk jockey, his rear end had grown decidedly flabby, with a bit of a belly to match, anyone near any sort of ball was a jock.
And then the pledges, the owners of the asses that had greeted him so lewdly, 1 through 17. Each pledge in a GAG thong.
(Gus would learn that this was usually all the pledges were allowed to wear when there wasn’t some sort of humiliating costume or bondage get-up required. If a pledge really impressed the Mighty Brothers, he was granted the full seat comfort of a pair of bikini panties for the day, for which he was very grateful. Thongs could really feel like they were buttfucking you after awhile. Especially the type that the Mighty Brothers sometimes used that came equipped with a buttplug.)
And on each “uglyhood”, a number. For the entire week, the pledges were called by their numbers. Because they were merely playthings, objects of amusement and pleasure. Gus would learn that intimately GAG was a very unusual fraternity,
This was proven when Wrestler Doug turned to whisper something to Cary and, to his horror and, well, repulsed fascination, Gus noticed someone kneeling behind him. Someone who was forced to follow Doug’s every movement due to the fact that his entire face was firmly planted in Doug’s big, muscled butt. Doug’s singlet was sans seat, allowing more than ample room and clearance for his ass to contain the pledge’s face. The singlet was special, called the Smother Singlet. Ingenious and evil, the back of it included a smother harness, a series of straps that literally held someone’s head and face into the ass of the wearer. It could be tightned and loosened, and provided the Mighty Brothers with HOURS of amusement.
The current occupant was #11 who had made the mistake of asking when he could straighten up out of the ass-o-gram earlier. His normally handsome face was now sans hood, encased in another man’s bare ass, facial features snugly slotted between Doug’s formidable bumcheeks. His hands beat ineffectively against Doug’s spandexed hips.
“Mmmoommpphh!!” cried #11 from within his ass-faced imprisonment. Pledges (most of them) hated the Smother Singlet.
Ass-talk translation: Please let me out of here, sir. I’ll be good!
Doug, interrupted in his conversation with Cary by the unfortunately bum-smothered #11’s attempts at speech, admonished #11 back over his shoulder with a stern “quiet back there, pledge” and shook his butt, making the back of #11 shoot from side to side.
“MMMOOMMPPHHH!” #11 wailed in protest from his fleshy prison.
Gus himself began to speak up in protest, then realized he was gagged. Cary and Doug grinned and approached him to pat him on the shoulder.
“Yeah, so Turk was all about offering you up as the Hell Week Alumni Assbutt this year, Sir. He told us to REALLY give it to you. He loves ya but thought it would be hilarious if you joined the Butts this year. Remember- an Assbutt is forbidden by GAG law to say no.”
Gus would learn that the pledges were collectively known as “Butts”. From within his pocket, he withdrew a tiny ball of material, which he let unfurl in front of Gus’ astonished eyes. It was a GAG thong.
Oh, no, they didn’t expect -
“Here’s your pledge uniform, Turk’s Dad. Time to get dressed!”
Gus stared at them in outrage and began to sternly tell them that there was no way in hell he was putting on a thong. He was a boxers man. He also added yet again that they had better let him out, and that expulsion was the least of their problems for this attack, he might not involve the authorities if they took the hood and gag of him right now.
Gag talk translation: MMum Mmmppmmggmmp mmmoohhff” and various ball-gagged sucking sounds. Ugh, the drool was so undignified,
He crossed his arms in front of him defiantly. His blushing bottom would remain unmolested.
Boy, was HE in a for a rude awakening. So was his aforementioned blushing bottom.
“This is hilarious,” he said aloud, chortling and turning to the others.
“Ok, so, you pledges, listen.” He turned back for a moment to Doug’s unfortunate posterior prisoner.
“Even you, #11,” Cary said, which cracked everyone up.
A crest-fallen and resigned “mmmmpphhh….” issued from Doug’s ass. In addition to some squelching sounds as Pledge well, actually Butt #11 tried to get comfortable. Gus noticed they had given him knee pads, which was nice of them.
Cary continued.
“A little history here. The Alumni Assbutt goes back as far as the 20s. We always want to remember where we came from, to honor it because it pointed us to where we’re going. We also like to stay humble. Even after we leave GAG House and make our way in the world, that’s why, every Hell Week, an alumnus is asked to return and be the Alumni Assbutt. It’s a now middle-aged gentleman who gets to experience his Hell Week all over again right alongside the new pledges. It’s an honor to be asked and a brave thing to do, although we have had Assbutts ask to re-experience their Hell Week AGAIN after being Assbutt,” he noted to laughter.
He pointed to Gus.
“Our esteemed brother Turk had to attend the interfraternity conference, but has left his dad in trusted hands. And it’s going to be fun. Before he made a zillion dollars, Turk’s Dad moonlighted as an actor. So Turk told him to make it fun by playacting that he doesn’t want to be here, and his Dad thought it was hilarious and would add some fun. Watch.”
Cary strode over to Gus, took a key out of his pocket (all of the Mighty Brothers had keys to the uglyhoods) and fiddled at the back of Gus’ neck. He withdrew Gus’ gag with a wet POP sound. Gus’ jaw thanked him.
“WHAT THE DEVIL ARE YOU BOYS DOING! This is is UNLAWFUL imprisonment! I am the dead of this school! I will see you-MMOOMMPPHHH!!!”
Gus’ diatribe was rudely cut off by the ballgag being stuffed back in his mouth again and buckled and locked in once again. Gus’ “mmoommpphhss” of protest were now ignored as he pointed at each one of the frat boys in a muffled lecture, finally wailing in frustration out of not being able to talk, lecture, and admonish.
“See, he’s good, he’s pretending to be Dean Anderson!”
“Dude, he even sounds like him,” Max noted, as Gus noted that he had come alongside Doug, reached a well-muscled arm down, and was absent-mindedly shoving #11’s face deeper into Doug’s butt.
“Mmmoommpphhhh!!!!”
Gus noted with disgust that Doug seemed to be…backing his ass up to meet Max’s hand, #11’s head between them, and there was a slight look of pleasure on his face. He even seemed to be slightly wriggling to cause #11’s features to be further obscured in his hindquarters.
He’s getting off on this, Gus noted. Who were these lascivious men?
Cary agreed.
“He’s even got the voice down! Ok, so Turk’s Dad is gonna act like this is all a big mistake. Just ignore him and fuck wit him further. And remember, hoods stay on, no matter how much he begs to let his butt-ugly face out.”
Gus worked it all out in his head, in a manner of seconds. Horror washed over him.
This fraternity was some sort of kinky cult. They humiliated the pledges with kinky humiliation and bondage. They thought he was someone else. AND THEY WEREN’T GOING TO TAKE OFF THE HOOD, SO THEY WOULDN’T BELIEVE HIS PROTESTS. Everyone on campus knew who Dean Anderson was. But not in this ridiculous hood. The gag didn’t help either.
The student who hooded him hadn’t gotten a look at his face. Gus had walked in at the arranged time so the men could set up their raunchy bum greeting for “Turk’s Dad.” THEY HADN’T SEEN HIS FACE. The most horrible mishap of his life was occurring and he was helpless to stop it. It was the most monstrous case of mistaken identity, the kinkiest comedy of errors, he’d ever heard of and it was happening to HIM.
He was trapped in GAG House’s Hell Week, and about to undergo every ridiculous and perverted torture alongside the rest of these thonged, already embarrassed young men. Men with gym-honed bodies alongside his middle-aged jigglefest.
Gus Anderson was the 18th pledge of this year’s class. He was the Alumni Assbutt.
He wailed into his demeaning ballgag.
Cary approached him with an alarmingly large pair of scissors. He looked happy.
“Sorry, pledge, you can’t disobey a direct order. And since you won’t strip bareass willingly…”
Gus gulped. Oh, dear heavens.
2 is this really happening?
MMMUT MMMA MMMPPMHHH!!
The hands let him go. Figures materialzed in front of him. Handsome young mean in casual clothing with nearly nude young men in their own hoods interspersed among them. One of the clothed men, the one nearest him, guffawed at Gus as his hands shot to his head to stop this bizarre prank and take back control of the situation.
They let him. More good-natured chuckles as he frantically pulled at his mouth and head. Any part of the stretchy but oddly durable hood that he yanked at merely snapped back, once again adhering to his skull, the buckling feature meaning he couldn’t pull it off. And he certainly couldn’t pull this humiliating ballgag out of his yap. And that’s when he reached back and felt the two mini-padlocks sealing him into anonymity and silence. Well, partial silence.
WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE TO ME YOU LET ME OUT OF THIS THIS INSTANT OR I WILL HAVE YOU EXPELLED DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM I AM THE DEAN OF STUDENTS THIS IS ASSAULT
came out as
MMELL MMMAVE MMOO MMUN MOO MMMEE… and so on, gag talk, the beloved language of dominants and submissives, captors and captives, everywhere.
He began to panic and stomp like a fussy, overgrown child throwing a tantrum. He yanked wildly at his head and face to no avail. He bent over with his efforts, Dockers-clad bottom wiggling in the air and receiving a firm spank which made them all laugh.
“MMMEEWWW! “ he yelled into his gobstopper of a gag and they all laughed as he quickly straightened up.
“Dude, dude, Turk’s Dad, chill man. Turk didn’t tell you we started putting the pledges’ butt-looking faces in uglyhoods?”
“MMOMMPPH MMMGGHRRPPPGG!”
“Aw, Turk’s Dad, we’re so glad you’re acting the part of a dumbass pledge. We really appreciate you volunteering to be Alumni Assbutt this Hell Week. Us dudes know how important tradition is.”
Tradition, Gus thought?
What the hell was an assbutt?
The speaker was a swarthy young man in front of him, tall, bearded and wiry, who looked like a runner.
“Sorry man, we should introduce you; Turk’s not big on details. I’m Cary.”
Introductions were made for the members present that day, ones that Gus could maek out through his hood. Cary WAS a runner and the current president of GAG. The rest of the Mighty Brothers present numbered few; he’d learn they were at some sort of Greek system leadership retreat. Wrestler Doug, crewcut, was a medaled wrestler, short and stout, always wore a skintight singlet. Fitz was a beefy bull of a wise-cracking redhead, a bigger hockey butt than all the pledge hockey butts combined. Frick and Frack (he never learned their actual names) were twin brothers, Tyeville Univesity’s top two baseball players, they’d been the ones restraining him. And Eli, was an overweight, boyishly handsome, bespectacled genius type. An engineering student. He did play on the golf team, though.The majority of GAG were jocks. Then again, to Gus, who had the dad-bodish physicality of a middle-aged desk jockey, his rear end had grown decidedly flabby, with a bit of a belly to match, anyone near any sort of ball was a jock.
And then the pledges, the owners of the asses that had greeted him so lewdly, 1 through 17. Each pledge in a GAG thong.
(Gus would learn that this was usually all the pledges were allowed to wear when there wasn’t some sort of humiliating costume or bondage get-up required. If a pledge really impressed the Mighty Brothers, he was granted the full seat comfort of a pair of bikini panties for the day, for which he was very grateful. Thongs could really feel like they were buttfucking you after awhile. Especially the type that the Mighty Brothers sometimes used that came equipped with a buttplug.)
And on each “uglyhood”, a number. For the entire week, the pledges were called by their numbers. Because they were merely playthings, objects of amusement and pleasure. Gus would learn that intimately GAG was a very unusual fraternity,
This was proven when Wrestler Doug turned to whisper something to Cary and, to his horror and, well, repulsed fascination, Gus noticed someone kneeling behind him. Someone who was forced to follow Doug’s every movement due to the fact that his entire face was firmly planted in Doug’s big, muscled butt. Doug’s singlet was sans seat, allowing more than ample room and clearance for his ass to contain the pledge’s face. The singlet was special, called the Smother Singlet. Ingenious and evil, the back of it included a smother harness, a series of straps that literally held someone’s head and face into the ass of the wearer. It could be tightned and loosened, and provided the Mighty Brothers with HOURS of amusement.
The current occupant was #11 who had made the mistake of asking when he could straighten up out of the ass-o-gram earlier. His normally handsome face was now sans hood, encased in another man’s bare ass, facial features snugly slotted between Doug’s formidable bumcheeks. His hands beat ineffectively against Doug’s spandexed hips.
“Mmmoommpphh!!” cried #11 from within his ass-faced imprisonment. Pledges (most of them) hated the Smother Singlet.
Ass-talk translation: Please let me out of here, sir. I’ll be good!
Doug, interrupted in his conversation with Cary by the unfortunately bum-smothered #11’s attempts at speech, admonished #11 back over his shoulder with a stern “quiet back there, pledge” and shook his butt, making the back of #11 shoot from side to side.
“MMMOOMMPPHHH!” #11 wailed in protest from his fleshy prison.
Gus himself began to speak up in protest, then realized he was gagged. Cary and Doug grinned and approached him to pat him on the shoulder.
“Yeah, so Turk was all about offering you up as the Hell Week Alumni Assbutt this year, Sir. He told us to REALLY give it to you. He loves ya but thought it would be hilarious if you joined the Butts this year. Remember- an Assbutt is forbidden by GAG law to say no.”
Gus would learn that the pledges were collectively known as “Butts”. From within his pocket, he withdrew a tiny ball of material, which he let unfurl in front of Gus’ astonished eyes. It was a GAG thong.
Oh, no, they didn’t expect -
“Here’s your pledge uniform, Turk’s Dad. Time to get dressed!”
Gus stared at them in outrage and began to sternly tell them that there was no way in hell he was putting on a thong. He was a boxers man. He also added yet again that they had better let him out, and that expulsion was the least of their problems for this attack, he might not involve the authorities if they took the hood and gag of him right now.
Gag talk translation: MMum Mmmppmmggmmp mmmoohhff” and various ball-gagged sucking sounds. Ugh, the drool was so undignified,
He crossed his arms in front of him defiantly. His blushing bottom would remain unmolested.
Boy, was HE in a for a rude awakening. So was his aforementioned blushing bottom.
“This is hilarious,” he said aloud, chortling and turning to the others.
“Ok, so, you pledges, listen.” He turned back for a moment to Doug’s unfortunate posterior prisoner.
“Even you, #11,” Cary said, which cracked everyone up.
A crest-fallen and resigned “mmmmpphhh….” issued from Doug’s ass. In addition to some squelching sounds as Pledge well, actually Butt #11 tried to get comfortable. Gus noticed they had given him knee pads, which was nice of them.
Cary continued.
“A little history here. The Alumni Assbutt goes back as far as the 20s. We always want to remember where we came from, to honor it because it pointed us to where we’re going. We also like to stay humble. Even after we leave GAG House and make our way in the world, that’s why, every Hell Week, an alumnus is asked to return and be the Alumni Assbutt. It’s a now middle-aged gentleman who gets to experience his Hell Week all over again right alongside the new pledges. It’s an honor to be asked and a brave thing to do, although we have had Assbutts ask to re-experience their Hell Week AGAIN after being Assbutt,” he noted to laughter.
He pointed to Gus.
“Our esteemed brother Turk had to attend the interfraternity conference, but has left his dad in trusted hands. And it’s going to be fun. Before he made a zillion dollars, Turk’s Dad moonlighted as an actor. So Turk told him to make it fun by playacting that he doesn’t want to be here, and his Dad thought it was hilarious and would add some fun. Watch.”
Cary strode over to Gus, took a key out of his pocket (all of the Mighty Brothers had keys to the uglyhoods) and fiddled at the back of Gus’ neck. He withdrew Gus’ gag with a wet POP sound. Gus’ jaw thanked him.
“WHAT THE DEVIL ARE YOU BOYS DOING! This is is UNLAWFUL imprisonment! I am the dead of this school! I will see you-MMOOMMPPHHH!!!”
Gus’ diatribe was rudely cut off by the ballgag being stuffed back in his mouth again and buckled and locked in once again. Gus’ “mmoommpphhss” of protest were now ignored as he pointed at each one of the frat boys in a muffled lecture, finally wailing in frustration out of not being able to talk, lecture, and admonish.
“See, he’s good, he’s pretending to be Dean Anderson!”
“Dude, he even sounds like him,” Max noted, as Gus noted that he had come alongside Doug, reached a well-muscled arm down, and was absent-mindedly shoving #11’s face deeper into Doug’s butt.
“Mmmoommpphhhh!!!!”
Gus noted with disgust that Doug seemed to be…backing his ass up to meet Max’s hand, #11’s head between them, and there was a slight look of pleasure on his face. He even seemed to be slightly wriggling to cause #11’s features to be further obscured in his hindquarters.
He’s getting off on this, Gus noted. Who were these lascivious men?
Cary agreed.
“He’s even got the voice down! Ok, so Turk’s Dad is gonna act like this is all a big mistake. Just ignore him and fuck wit him further. And remember, hoods stay on, no matter how much he begs to let his butt-ugly face out.”
Gus worked it all out in his head, in a manner of seconds. Horror washed over him.
This fraternity was some sort of kinky cult. They humiliated the pledges with kinky humiliation and bondage. They thought he was someone else. AND THEY WEREN’T GOING TO TAKE OFF THE HOOD, SO THEY WOULDN’T BELIEVE HIS PROTESTS. Everyone on campus knew who Dean Anderson was. But not in this ridiculous hood. The gag didn’t help either.
The student who hooded him hadn’t gotten a look at his face. Gus had walked in at the arranged time so the men could set up their raunchy bum greeting for “Turk’s Dad.” THEY HADN’T SEEN HIS FACE. The most horrible mishap of his life was occurring and he was helpless to stop it. It was the most monstrous case of mistaken identity, the kinkiest comedy of errors, he’d ever heard of and it was happening to HIM.
He was trapped in GAG House’s Hell Week, and about to undergo every ridiculous and perverted torture alongside the rest of these thonged, already embarrassed young men. Men with gym-honed bodies alongside his middle-aged jigglefest.
Gus Anderson was the 18th pledge of this year’s class. He was the Alumni Assbutt.
He wailed into his demeaning ballgag.
Cary approached him with an alarmingly large pair of scissors. He looked happy.
“Sorry, pledge, you can’t disobey a direct order. And since you won’t strip bareass willingly…”
Gus gulped. Oh, dear heavens.
Last edited by jase1010 3 months ago, edited 2 times in total.
@Guardianbound i think we’d pledge in an instant. MMOOMMPPHH!!
-
harveygasson
- Millennial Club
- Posts: 1371
- Joined: 6 years ago
Wow sign me up to this place! Another great post
Count me in as someone who'd pledge this frat in a heartbeat too. To get my just desserts when I make full brother, of course. Not because I'd have any interest in daily bullying from wrestler Doug, or taking bare-assed spankings with my bros.
Fantastic beginning to this story! Instantly hooked on Real-Turk's-Dad's and Fake-Turk's-Dad's predicaments! I wonder which of them will have more fun by the end of their ordeals?
@Guardianbound ”kinky and comedic” is totally my vibe. I like my bondage playful, a little silly and a lot of fun. Not into dark stuff.
@Croup you’d be pledge Buttspank for sure
@gag1195 Oh the fake Turk’s Dad is really in for it. What’s some things you’d like to happen to him?
@harveygasson oh I’ll sign you up alright.
@Croup you’d be pledge Buttspank for sure
@gag1195 Oh the fake Turk’s Dad is really in for it. What’s some things you’d like to happen to him?
@harveygasson oh I’ll sign you up alright.
Turk’s Dad 3
3 wild wild west
Frick and Frack were holding his arms again, as Cary slowly sliced off his tie.
And his belt.
And his dress shirt.
And his Dockers. Frick and Frack manhandling him into any position necessary for Cary to remove the Alumni Assbutt’s clothing with his handy scissors.
A grin indicating his enjoyment, Cary loved breaking in the stubborn and impudent ones. Especially a pledge more than two decades older than him. It was like fulfilling a revenge fantasy against any teacher, coach, boss or father figure that had ever wronged him.
Gus occasionally whimpered into the ball stuffed in his mouth, sucking back the drool. Not that he’d ever thought he’d have to heed one in his lifetime, but someone should really send out a PSA about the amount of drool involved in wearing a ballgag, he thought. He’d let it spill down his chest just once, but that was sloppy of him, he knew, so he kept with the sucking. How demeaning, his mouth being corked by this lewd and bizarre sex toy.
Now Gus was in a pristine white undershirt. And some very interesting boxer shorts, along with dress shoes and sheer nylon dress socks. The boxers were white and covered with giant red hearts. His one concession to whimsy and now they all knew and the resultant hooting and hollering turned his face red. Not that they could see that with his head stuffed in a spandex discipline hood.
Maybe he should have gotten bareass when they told him to.
He felt ridiculous. He felt even more ridiculous when Cary, to the giggles of his frat brothers, cut two strategic holes over Gus’ pecs (“pecs” was generous, “moobs” could work here). And then, to some gag-bitching from his victim, whose nipples had stiffened from being suddenly exposed, two more holes in the seat of his heart-adorned boxers. Holes that allowed each of his doughy cakes to bounce free of their cotton prison. Yes, his boxers were now buttless, his substantial buns a big mooning beacon. They seemed to say “please spank me, Sir” Well, if you insist.
“MMMOMMPPHHH MMMMUUU MMMAANHYT MMOOO MMMUMMEEE MMMIMMMEE MMA MMEEN,” Gus roared, trying really hard to keep his head from exploding from embarrassment. He was basically being held against his will and tortured and humiliated by CHILDREN.
Oh right, gag talk translation around his shiny red ballgag with the custom white GAG logo/letters, branding is important:
“YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME, I’M THE DEAN!”
Oh, why couldn’t they take this humiliating, stifling gag out of his mouth and let him explain? It was sssooo frustrating! Or just let him out of the hood for just a moment so they’d realize they’d grabbed the wrong Assbutt?
Gus’ hairy man boobs wobbled in frustration with his buttcheeks following suit. This was so humiliating. Enforced nudity!
Cary paused in relieving the big dork of the rest of his clothing. Big ginger Fitz approached Gus from the back, Sharpie in hand as Frick and Frack, catching on, bent their prisoner over.
“Mmmoommphh?” Gus questioned, alarmed. He felt something small and rubbery deftly skating across his hindquarters. It felt like someone was writing? Writing on his ass? Groan. Wouid the humiliation ever cease?
Smartphone cameras clicked. Gus was straightened up. Big beefy Fitz swaggered around, Sharpie tucked behind his ear now, holding out his phone. Despite only rarely seeing them reflected back at him, he was able to identify his bared buttocks in the snapshot. Big bare buttocks which now read “SPANK ME”.
“The camera loves you, fat ass. You’re a natural,” Fitz snarked as Frick then Frack did what the sign said, right cheek for Frick, left for Frack. SPANK SPANK JIGGLE JIGGLE. Ouch, were they catching baseballs without gloves? Those paddle-like palms!
“Dude’s got the muscle tone of Jello,” Frick noted, in a very judgmental tone.
“Seriously,” Frick concurred, squeezing and tweaking Gus’ asscheek like he was examining a melon at the market. “I thought Turk said his Pops kept in shape?”
Having been exposed, humiliated, spanked and now body-shamed (after also being hooded, gagged and held prisoner), Gus thought it couldn’t get any worse.
Thst wouid probably be the most wrong he’d ever been in his life.
“Ok, playtime’s over. Get him in his pledge uniform, and tie him up on the hobby horse. Let’s play ‘Ride Em, Cowboy’!” Cary proclaimed.
“Time to brand this cow!” Fitz agreed, and stared menacingly at the pledges who, having learned to support their elders, broke into frantic cheers and applause.
#11, whose face had finally been released from Wrestler Doug’s substantial dumpy and been stuffed back in his hood, found himself assisting #2 and #9 in ripping off the rest of poor Dean Anderson’s clothes. Rrrrrippppp. His shoes and socks were also removed. GAG House were big believers in the sustainability of sweaty socks.
BRAND ME?!?!
Gus, panicking in his head, protesting into his gag. He’d heard of this activity before. Branding fraternity pledges. Cruel and inhumane and Tyeville U. had a zero tolerance hazing policy so how in hell had this perverse carnival of humiliation and apparently torture been operating under his nose all this time? Why, they were pretty much kidnapping him! It was a criminal enterprise! And now this? Unheard of!
Now knock-kneed and nude except for his hood and ballgag, the pale, indeed quite fleshy Gus covered his nethers with his hands, bristling with rage, embarrassment and fear. He felt so exposed.
“Wow, big hams in back, small potatoes up front, “ Wrestler Doug sneered, having caught a glimpse of Gus’ goodies.
“Yeah, that’s a pretty unimpressive showing, Turk’s Dad. You must be Irish,” Frick snarked.
“Watch it!” 95% Irishman Fitz growled and, slapping a burly mitt on the back of Gus’ neck, began roughly marching him to the side of the stage, up the stairs, and on to it as someone opened the curtains. Partially blinded by his hood and moved by an irresistible force, Gus could only do as he was told, his moobs, belly, and buns bouncing. Why oh why hadn’t he started that summer diet yet?
“Move your fat ass,” Fitz barked, “Your big fat butt has an appointment, Cowboy. “
Gus’ lower cheeks involuntarily clenched upon hearing that.
The curtain opening revealed another unusual sight (Gus still hadn’t gotten over his very unusual Ass-O-Gram).
What looked like an oversized cross between a rocking horse and the carousel version, painted in blue and gold, seemed to be beckoning for a rider centerstage. The “saddle” seemed unusual, Gus could make out that the rear of it looked sort of…elevated? And there were some odd openings. What was this thing?
“Dude, wait! We gotta hide that monster junk, hee, so he doesn’t get burned or spanked. In that area, at least,” Cary instructed from in front of the stage, tossing Fitz his prisoner’s new uniform - Gus’ very own GAG pledge thong.
Fitz slapped it to his prisoner’s chest.
“Put this on, or I’m gonna make you my ass slave for the weekend. You don’t want that this early in the game, pledge,” Fitz said to Gus. “Right, number 13?” he called back over his shoulder.
#13, from the side of the stage, a broad-shouldered quarterback type in his own thong and hood, nodded quickly. Speaking of involuntarily clenching buttocks, #13’s joined the mistakenly identified Dean’s as he remembered.
“Yes. Sir. True, Sir.”
“Ya miss your friend, Stuffy the Remote Control Buttplug, #13, doncha?” Fitz asked, sounding jovial for once.
#13 groaned. He knew the right answer, though.
“Yes, Sir. Every day, Sir. My ass felt so full, Sir. But I want to wear it again, as soon as possible, Sir. I especially loved when you used it to steer me around campus like a…uh, oh yeah, a ‘remote control ass slave’ Sir,” #13 recited, having trouble keeping the moan out of his voice.
Hearing this tale of ass woe, Gus attempted to hurry into his new thong. But, never, ever having the opportunity nor the impetus to thong his butt in real life and vision somewhat clouded by spandex, he stumbled trying to get his feet into the holes.
“Ugh, pledges are so useless,” Fitz sighed.
He then squatted beside the pretty much nude Gus, grabbed him around the waist with one massive arm, and used the other to guide the thong over his feet, and up his legs. Gus felt like a child being dressed by his Daddy, and his face reddened under his hood for the millionth time.
“Ok, now spread those ginormous cheeks, you big fat girl. Time to split those peaches, Sweet Cheeks,” Fitz joked.
Gus reddened, reached back and cracked a smile as Fitz guided the thong’s butt strap into his buttcrack, making sure it was snugly situated. The only other person he had EVER done this for was his doctor. This was quite unacceptable
Fitz suddenly slapped at Gus’ hands, and their prisoner quickly let his cheeks close around his new uniform.
Stepping back, Fitz observed the fit.
“Dude’s fat ass is EATING that thing,” he concluded.
“I don’t think we’re getting it back,” Wrestler Doug joked.
Trying to adjust to a string between his buttocks and his cock and balls held snugly in a very small but stretchy pouch, Gus felt more exposed than ever, despite finally having been given some clothing.
This is all I get to wear? For a WEEK, he thought?
Sort of a Karen-type in certain situations, his first instinct was to complain to someone. But then he remembered A) he was gagged and B) the mention of something called “Stuffy the Remote Control Buttplug”.
He suddenly decided to use his ballgag for its intended purpose.
“Enough of this shit, boys! LET’S TIE HIM UP!”
3 wild wild west
Frick and Frack were holding his arms again, as Cary slowly sliced off his tie.
And his belt.
And his dress shirt.
And his Dockers. Frick and Frack manhandling him into any position necessary for Cary to remove the Alumni Assbutt’s clothing with his handy scissors.
A grin indicating his enjoyment, Cary loved breaking in the stubborn and impudent ones. Especially a pledge more than two decades older than him. It was like fulfilling a revenge fantasy against any teacher, coach, boss or father figure that had ever wronged him.
Gus occasionally whimpered into the ball stuffed in his mouth, sucking back the drool. Not that he’d ever thought he’d have to heed one in his lifetime, but someone should really send out a PSA about the amount of drool involved in wearing a ballgag, he thought. He’d let it spill down his chest just once, but that was sloppy of him, he knew, so he kept with the sucking. How demeaning, his mouth being corked by this lewd and bizarre sex toy.
Now Gus was in a pristine white undershirt. And some very interesting boxer shorts, along with dress shoes and sheer nylon dress socks. The boxers were white and covered with giant red hearts. His one concession to whimsy and now they all knew and the resultant hooting and hollering turned his face red. Not that they could see that with his head stuffed in a spandex discipline hood.
Maybe he should have gotten bareass when they told him to.
He felt ridiculous. He felt even more ridiculous when Cary, to the giggles of his frat brothers, cut two strategic holes over Gus’ pecs (“pecs” was generous, “moobs” could work here). And then, to some gag-bitching from his victim, whose nipples had stiffened from being suddenly exposed, two more holes in the seat of his heart-adorned boxers. Holes that allowed each of his doughy cakes to bounce free of their cotton prison. Yes, his boxers were now buttless, his substantial buns a big mooning beacon. They seemed to say “please spank me, Sir” Well, if you insist.
“MMMOMMPPHHH MMMMUUU MMMAANHYT MMOOO MMMUMMEEE MMMIMMMEE MMA MMEEN,” Gus roared, trying really hard to keep his head from exploding from embarrassment. He was basically being held against his will and tortured and humiliated by CHILDREN.
Oh right, gag talk translation around his shiny red ballgag with the custom white GAG logo/letters, branding is important:
“YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME, I’M THE DEAN!”
Oh, why couldn’t they take this humiliating, stifling gag out of his mouth and let him explain? It was sssooo frustrating! Or just let him out of the hood for just a moment so they’d realize they’d grabbed the wrong Assbutt?
Gus’ hairy man boobs wobbled in frustration with his buttcheeks following suit. This was so humiliating. Enforced nudity!
Cary paused in relieving the big dork of the rest of his clothing. Big ginger Fitz approached Gus from the back, Sharpie in hand as Frick and Frack, catching on, bent their prisoner over.
“Mmmoommphh?” Gus questioned, alarmed. He felt something small and rubbery deftly skating across his hindquarters. It felt like someone was writing? Writing on his ass? Groan. Wouid the humiliation ever cease?
Smartphone cameras clicked. Gus was straightened up. Big beefy Fitz swaggered around, Sharpie tucked behind his ear now, holding out his phone. Despite only rarely seeing them reflected back at him, he was able to identify his bared buttocks in the snapshot. Big bare buttocks which now read “SPANK ME”.
“The camera loves you, fat ass. You’re a natural,” Fitz snarked as Frick then Frack did what the sign said, right cheek for Frick, left for Frack. SPANK SPANK JIGGLE JIGGLE. Ouch, were they catching baseballs without gloves? Those paddle-like palms!
“Dude’s got the muscle tone of Jello,” Frick noted, in a very judgmental tone.
“Seriously,” Frick concurred, squeezing and tweaking Gus’ asscheek like he was examining a melon at the market. “I thought Turk said his Pops kept in shape?”
Having been exposed, humiliated, spanked and now body-shamed (after also being hooded, gagged and held prisoner), Gus thought it couldn’t get any worse.
Thst wouid probably be the most wrong he’d ever been in his life.
“Ok, playtime’s over. Get him in his pledge uniform, and tie him up on the hobby horse. Let’s play ‘Ride Em, Cowboy’!” Cary proclaimed.
“Time to brand this cow!” Fitz agreed, and stared menacingly at the pledges who, having learned to support their elders, broke into frantic cheers and applause.
#11, whose face had finally been released from Wrestler Doug’s substantial dumpy and been stuffed back in his hood, found himself assisting #2 and #9 in ripping off the rest of poor Dean Anderson’s clothes. Rrrrrippppp. His shoes and socks were also removed. GAG House were big believers in the sustainability of sweaty socks.
BRAND ME?!?!
Gus, panicking in his head, protesting into his gag. He’d heard of this activity before. Branding fraternity pledges. Cruel and inhumane and Tyeville U. had a zero tolerance hazing policy so how in hell had this perverse carnival of humiliation and apparently torture been operating under his nose all this time? Why, they were pretty much kidnapping him! It was a criminal enterprise! And now this? Unheard of!
Now knock-kneed and nude except for his hood and ballgag, the pale, indeed quite fleshy Gus covered his nethers with his hands, bristling with rage, embarrassment and fear. He felt so exposed.
“Wow, big hams in back, small potatoes up front, “ Wrestler Doug sneered, having caught a glimpse of Gus’ goodies.
“Yeah, that’s a pretty unimpressive showing, Turk’s Dad. You must be Irish,” Frick snarked.
“Watch it!” 95% Irishman Fitz growled and, slapping a burly mitt on the back of Gus’ neck, began roughly marching him to the side of the stage, up the stairs, and on to it as someone opened the curtains. Partially blinded by his hood and moved by an irresistible force, Gus could only do as he was told, his moobs, belly, and buns bouncing. Why oh why hadn’t he started that summer diet yet?
“Move your fat ass,” Fitz barked, “Your big fat butt has an appointment, Cowboy. “
Gus’ lower cheeks involuntarily clenched upon hearing that.
The curtain opening revealed another unusual sight (Gus still hadn’t gotten over his very unusual Ass-O-Gram).
What looked like an oversized cross between a rocking horse and the carousel version, painted in blue and gold, seemed to be beckoning for a rider centerstage. The “saddle” seemed unusual, Gus could make out that the rear of it looked sort of…elevated? And there were some odd openings. What was this thing?
“Dude, wait! We gotta hide that monster junk, hee, so he doesn’t get burned or spanked. In that area, at least,” Cary instructed from in front of the stage, tossing Fitz his prisoner’s new uniform - Gus’ very own GAG pledge thong.
Fitz slapped it to his prisoner’s chest.
“Put this on, or I’m gonna make you my ass slave for the weekend. You don’t want that this early in the game, pledge,” Fitz said to Gus. “Right, number 13?” he called back over his shoulder.
#13, from the side of the stage, a broad-shouldered quarterback type in his own thong and hood, nodded quickly. Speaking of involuntarily clenching buttocks, #13’s joined the mistakenly identified Dean’s as he remembered.
“Yes. Sir. True, Sir.”
“Ya miss your friend, Stuffy the Remote Control Buttplug, #13, doncha?” Fitz asked, sounding jovial for once.
#13 groaned. He knew the right answer, though.
“Yes, Sir. Every day, Sir. My ass felt so full, Sir. But I want to wear it again, as soon as possible, Sir. I especially loved when you used it to steer me around campus like a…uh, oh yeah, a ‘remote control ass slave’ Sir,” #13 recited, having trouble keeping the moan out of his voice.
Hearing this tale of ass woe, Gus attempted to hurry into his new thong. But, never, ever having the opportunity nor the impetus to thong his butt in real life and vision somewhat clouded by spandex, he stumbled trying to get his feet into the holes.
“Ugh, pledges are so useless,” Fitz sighed.
He then squatted beside the pretty much nude Gus, grabbed him around the waist with one massive arm, and used the other to guide the thong over his feet, and up his legs. Gus felt like a child being dressed by his Daddy, and his face reddened under his hood for the millionth time.
“Ok, now spread those ginormous cheeks, you big fat girl. Time to split those peaches, Sweet Cheeks,” Fitz joked.
Gus reddened, reached back and cracked a smile as Fitz guided the thong’s butt strap into his buttcrack, making sure it was snugly situated. The only other person he had EVER done this for was his doctor. This was quite unacceptable
Fitz suddenly slapped at Gus’ hands, and their prisoner quickly let his cheeks close around his new uniform.
Stepping back, Fitz observed the fit.
“Dude’s fat ass is EATING that thing,” he concluded.
“I don’t think we’re getting it back,” Wrestler Doug joked.
Trying to adjust to a string between his buttocks and his cock and balls held snugly in a very small but stretchy pouch, Gus felt more exposed than ever, despite finally having been given some clothing.
This is all I get to wear? For a WEEK, he thought?
Sort of a Karen-type in certain situations, his first instinct was to complain to someone. But then he remembered A) he was gagged and B) the mention of something called “Stuffy the Remote Control Buttplug”.
He suddenly decided to use his ballgag for its intended purpose.
“Enough of this shit, boys! LET’S TIE HIM UP!”
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harveygasson
- Millennial Club
- Posts: 1371
- Joined: 6 years ago
Oh the terrible horrors he's about to endure haha
@harveygasson I mean, it’s not Saw. The worst harm will be to his dignity (spoiler alert - I would never actually brand one of my characters for real, yikes.)
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harveygasson
- Millennial Club
- Posts: 1371
- Joined: 6 years ago
Yes sorry the 'terrible horrors' was written in a more sarcastic melodramatic way. All good tight bondage fun
4 ow
Yikes. Gus barely had enough time to note that the pouch of his “pledge uniform” was actually just stretchy mesh, so his not-that-impressive bulge hung down and bounced with every movement in a very obscene manner. As for the thong itself, he’d never had what was basically a spandex gag for his butt in his ass before. It was an - OOF - entirely new feeling to get used to. It was dangerously close to his most intimate of areas, and he felt so naked!
And suddenly Fitz, burly bruiser of a giant he was, had bodily lifted him and firmly (but surprisingly gently) deposited him belly down astride GAG’s “hobby horse.” The way the horse was constructed, his chin rested on a comfy pad on the horse’s head, his face upturned so any facial expression he made was very visible. He noted with an “eep!” that his cock and balls in their very lewd prison had dipped down into a special slot in the body of the horse.
“Don’t worry, Tons O' Buns, that’s the paddle protection for your pecker and balls. We don’t want to damage anyone permanently. Beyond the branding,” Fitz snickered into his ear as he walked to the front of the horse.
And the way the horse was constructed, Gus’ considerable ass was sort of resting now on a shelf almost, inviting turned up, just two big thonged butt balloons begging for some attention. His bum being presented so plainly made Gus feel more exposed than ever. And this treatment wasn’t even meant for him! By all rights now, he should be back in his office, nibbling the sandwich he’d brought for lunch and listening to Debussy on the classical station!
Then, his wrists, which had been hanging limply from his new positioning, were grabbed. Fitz was securing them to the front of the horse with some rope that came from out of the horse’s neck. His wrists were suddenly encircled with good solid rope. Fitz obviously knew how to tie. And his new rope wrist cuffs now prevented him from raising his hands. He was tied up! And not going anywhere, especially not off this kinky horse, a prop whose purpose he hadn’t quite grasped just yet.
“MMMMOOMMPPHH??” Gus inquired through his drooly ball gag, his eyes wide and questioning in his stretchy, identity-destroying hood.
“Shuddup,” Fitz ordered, and lightly smacked his knob-like head. Pledges didn’t get a lot of respect around here, Gus noted.
Fitz was now crouched beside him on his right. He was placing Gus’ foot on a sort of rope stirrup that secured his ankle to the side of the horse. Then, he repeated the exercise on the other side. Then he straightened up and smacked Gus firmly on his proffered ass as if he was signing his latest work of art.
“MMOWW!!” Gus yelped indignantly. Frick and Frack’s spanking hands had nothing on Fitz’s big spankers. as if he was signing his latest work of art.
It was official. Gus Anderson, 49 years old, the dean of students at Tyeville University, had been taken prisoner by the Gamma Alpha Gamma fraternity and was now helplessly bound and gagged. In a thong. To some sort of demented rocking horse. This was not where he envisioned himself when he got out of bed this morning.
He shifted uneasily, his dad body belly rubbing the smooth paint under him, he gave a half-hearted tug at his wrists and ankles. Nope, he was astride that horse until they let him off it.
“Oh, I almost forgot!” he heard Fitz exclaim behind him, and whatever he was doing back there made Frick and Frack and some of the assembled pledges laugh.
Suddenly, a ten-gallon cowboy hat was plunked on Gus’ head. And Fitz firmly lifted up his midsection to secure a toy gunbelt and plastic six shooters around his beefy waist.
Oh, you gotta be kidding me, Gus, though, and grunted into his gag crossly at being ridiculed in this manner.
“We strive for accuracy, Blubber Butt,” Fitz explained, chuckling, and smacked his big can again,
“MMMMOOWW!!”
Was this really happening? Ooooo, his jaw was beginning to ache from the ball gag locked behind his teeth. How did kinky people wear these things all the time?
His thoughts were disturbed by cheers as Wrestler Doug strode by him carrying some sort of metal pail. A metal pail with smoke coming out of it.
And then Eli came waddling past. He was carrying something long and metallic in his hand. He noted Gus peering at it fearfully. So he helpfully stopped and presented it so Gus could see like a model showing off the items in a Showcase Showdown on the Price is Right.
It was a branding iron, with the branding head forming the Greek letters for GAG.
They hadn’t been kidding about the branding. Those must have been coals in that pail.
Gus began yanking and bellowing into his gag. They couldn’t do this! He didn’t have as much as a tattoo but now they were going to mutilate him ritually?!?
“Whoa”s and “He’s going ape shit” were heard from the assembled audience. Wrestler Doug moved up and began rubbing Gus’ side and giving affectionate if mocking, pats to his considerable can.
“Settle down, cowboy. It only hurts for a second, and then you’re one of us!”
Gus actually found Wrestler Doug’s rough hands quite soothing as they rubbed him and patted his ass to soothe his fright. He found himself slightly alarmed as he noted his penis was stiffening slightly in its secure station inside the hobby horse, There was no way he was getting off on being rubbed by a college wrestler was there?
“I’m just impressed that you managed to avoid this shit when you pledged back in the prehistoric era, Turk’s Dad. Nice work,” Wrestler Doug said.
From behind him, Cary started to speak. He realized his ass cheeks were literally hugely prominent and that everyone present back there was probably staring at them and laughing. Gus had always had a bubble butt, and while not an athlete, he’d been a gym-goer most of his life. So he had gotten it rounder as time went by. It was only in the last couple of years that he acknowledged he was fine with losing the battle of the bulge, and he’d let himself go dad bod if not heavy. His flabby ass had definitely expanded as a result. This was all so mortifying.
“Pledge Turk’s Dad…” Cary began.
“Do we really not know his first name?” Frick asked.
“Shut up. Pledge Turk’s Dad,” Cary continued. “You are hereby accepted into Gamma Alpha Gamma probation period. All of the brothers receive our brotherhood’s letters on their butts as a symbol of our loyalty and brotherhood. Prepare yourself.”
And then he heard a hiss from behind him as the brand pressed against the coals.
Gus moaned and knew he would probably scream as the assembled GAG men began chanting “G.A.G.” at first slowly and quietly and then increasingly quicker and louder until they were practically bellowing it.
He heard movement behind him, he closed his eyes, clenched his cheeks and waited for the pain.
SSSSSSSSSSSS, as the brand was pressed into his pale, tender flesh.
Oh god, it hurt so much, his skin was on fire, HELP ME PLEASE…wait a sec. Was it…cold?
“MMMMUHH???” Gus said, straightening up, trying to peer back over his shoulder, drool splashing on the hobby horse.
Cary strode up. He was carrying a twisted coat hanger, which he pressed to Gus’ arm. It was cold. It had been chilled.
“You dumb ass. It was dry ice. We just pressed this to your ass.”
He emphasized the words by tapping the extended coat hanger on Gus’ spandexed head.
“This is basically an intelligence test to see if you really believed we’d brand your big butt. Dude, we’re not savages. Do you know how much that would hurt?”
Gus nodded, completely dumbstruck.
“But you had to receive some sort of punishment for not stripping down when we said. Oh, Fitz?” he called loudly.
And that’s when the paddle smacked Gus’ perfectly positioned ass.
SMACK.
“MMOOMMPPHH!!” Gus yelled in surprise into his gag. He pulled at his arms and feet, trying to get away. He was roughly slammed forward on the horse as if getting done from behind. His humiliating cowboy hat flew off. OW.
SMACK. He could feel his spongy cheeks pressed and released by the stinging paddle, all bouncy and sounding like an inner tube being smacked. HE WAS BEING SPANKED! PADDLED. Him! Chastised as if he was some boarding school miscreant!
SMACK.
Fitz wielded the GAG paddle expertly; he’d paddled plenty a pledge posterior in his day. He knew to give a slight scooping motion to catch the underside of a guy’s buttcheeks for maximum sting. He also made sure to leave no inch of ass unspanked.
SMACK. SMACK. SMACK. Gus’ ass bounced under the paddle’s ministrations. It also wiggled and jiggled, and clenched and tried to move out of the crossfire. This was impossible. He was tied astride, plus his genitals were tucked down inside the horse’s hollow, and he didn’t want to risk injuring them. He was stuck and spanked and it seemed to go on forever.
They didn’t need to brand me, this burns enough, he thought panickedly.
“MMMMOOMMPPHHHHH!!!”
It was only ten paddle whacks, but Gus learned his lesson. When the Mighty Brothers tell you to do something, you do it. His now-rosy, slightly swollen ass was a testament to that.
Yikes. Gus barely had enough time to note that the pouch of his “pledge uniform” was actually just stretchy mesh, so his not-that-impressive bulge hung down and bounced with every movement in a very obscene manner. As for the thong itself, he’d never had what was basically a spandex gag for his butt in his ass before. It was an - OOF - entirely new feeling to get used to. It was dangerously close to his most intimate of areas, and he felt so naked!
And suddenly Fitz, burly bruiser of a giant he was, had bodily lifted him and firmly (but surprisingly gently) deposited him belly down astride GAG’s “hobby horse.” The way the horse was constructed, his chin rested on a comfy pad on the horse’s head, his face upturned so any facial expression he made was very visible. He noted with an “eep!” that his cock and balls in their very lewd prison had dipped down into a special slot in the body of the horse.
“Don’t worry, Tons O' Buns, that’s the paddle protection for your pecker and balls. We don’t want to damage anyone permanently. Beyond the branding,” Fitz snickered into his ear as he walked to the front of the horse.
And the way the horse was constructed, Gus’ considerable ass was sort of resting now on a shelf almost, inviting turned up, just two big thonged butt balloons begging for some attention. His bum being presented so plainly made Gus feel more exposed than ever. And this treatment wasn’t even meant for him! By all rights now, he should be back in his office, nibbling the sandwich he’d brought for lunch and listening to Debussy on the classical station!
Then, his wrists, which had been hanging limply from his new positioning, were grabbed. Fitz was securing them to the front of the horse with some rope that came from out of the horse’s neck. His wrists were suddenly encircled with good solid rope. Fitz obviously knew how to tie. And his new rope wrist cuffs now prevented him from raising his hands. He was tied up! And not going anywhere, especially not off this kinky horse, a prop whose purpose he hadn’t quite grasped just yet.
“MMMMOOMMPPHH??” Gus inquired through his drooly ball gag, his eyes wide and questioning in his stretchy, identity-destroying hood.
“Shuddup,” Fitz ordered, and lightly smacked his knob-like head. Pledges didn’t get a lot of respect around here, Gus noted.
Fitz was now crouched beside him on his right. He was placing Gus’ foot on a sort of rope stirrup that secured his ankle to the side of the horse. Then, he repeated the exercise on the other side. Then he straightened up and smacked Gus firmly on his proffered ass as if he was signing his latest work of art.
“MMOWW!!” Gus yelped indignantly. Frick and Frack’s spanking hands had nothing on Fitz’s big spankers. as if he was signing his latest work of art.
It was official. Gus Anderson, 49 years old, the dean of students at Tyeville University, had been taken prisoner by the Gamma Alpha Gamma fraternity and was now helplessly bound and gagged. In a thong. To some sort of demented rocking horse. This was not where he envisioned himself when he got out of bed this morning.
He shifted uneasily, his dad body belly rubbing the smooth paint under him, he gave a half-hearted tug at his wrists and ankles. Nope, he was astride that horse until they let him off it.
“Oh, I almost forgot!” he heard Fitz exclaim behind him, and whatever he was doing back there made Frick and Frack and some of the assembled pledges laugh.
Suddenly, a ten-gallon cowboy hat was plunked on Gus’ head. And Fitz firmly lifted up his midsection to secure a toy gunbelt and plastic six shooters around his beefy waist.
Oh, you gotta be kidding me, Gus, though, and grunted into his gag crossly at being ridiculed in this manner.
“We strive for accuracy, Blubber Butt,” Fitz explained, chuckling, and smacked his big can again,
“MMMMOOWW!!”
Was this really happening? Ooooo, his jaw was beginning to ache from the ball gag locked behind his teeth. How did kinky people wear these things all the time?
His thoughts were disturbed by cheers as Wrestler Doug strode by him carrying some sort of metal pail. A metal pail with smoke coming out of it.
And then Eli came waddling past. He was carrying something long and metallic in his hand. He noted Gus peering at it fearfully. So he helpfully stopped and presented it so Gus could see like a model showing off the items in a Showcase Showdown on the Price is Right.
It was a branding iron, with the branding head forming the Greek letters for GAG.
They hadn’t been kidding about the branding. Those must have been coals in that pail.
Gus began yanking and bellowing into his gag. They couldn’t do this! He didn’t have as much as a tattoo but now they were going to mutilate him ritually?!?
“Whoa”s and “He’s going ape shit” were heard from the assembled audience. Wrestler Doug moved up and began rubbing Gus’ side and giving affectionate if mocking, pats to his considerable can.
“Settle down, cowboy. It only hurts for a second, and then you’re one of us!”
Gus actually found Wrestler Doug’s rough hands quite soothing as they rubbed him and patted his ass to soothe his fright. He found himself slightly alarmed as he noted his penis was stiffening slightly in its secure station inside the hobby horse, There was no way he was getting off on being rubbed by a college wrestler was there?
“I’m just impressed that you managed to avoid this shit when you pledged back in the prehistoric era, Turk’s Dad. Nice work,” Wrestler Doug said.
From behind him, Cary started to speak. He realized his ass cheeks were literally hugely prominent and that everyone present back there was probably staring at them and laughing. Gus had always had a bubble butt, and while not an athlete, he’d been a gym-goer most of his life. So he had gotten it rounder as time went by. It was only in the last couple of years that he acknowledged he was fine with losing the battle of the bulge, and he’d let himself go dad bod if not heavy. His flabby ass had definitely expanded as a result. This was all so mortifying.
“Pledge Turk’s Dad…” Cary began.
“Do we really not know his first name?” Frick asked.
“Shut up. Pledge Turk’s Dad,” Cary continued. “You are hereby accepted into Gamma Alpha Gamma probation period. All of the brothers receive our brotherhood’s letters on their butts as a symbol of our loyalty and brotherhood. Prepare yourself.”
And then he heard a hiss from behind him as the brand pressed against the coals.
Gus moaned and knew he would probably scream as the assembled GAG men began chanting “G.A.G.” at first slowly and quietly and then increasingly quicker and louder until they were practically bellowing it.
He heard movement behind him, he closed his eyes, clenched his cheeks and waited for the pain.
SSSSSSSSSSSS, as the brand was pressed into his pale, tender flesh.
Oh god, it hurt so much, his skin was on fire, HELP ME PLEASE…wait a sec. Was it…cold?
“MMMMUHH???” Gus said, straightening up, trying to peer back over his shoulder, drool splashing on the hobby horse.
Cary strode up. He was carrying a twisted coat hanger, which he pressed to Gus’ arm. It was cold. It had been chilled.
“You dumb ass. It was dry ice. We just pressed this to your ass.”
He emphasized the words by tapping the extended coat hanger on Gus’ spandexed head.
“This is basically an intelligence test to see if you really believed we’d brand your big butt. Dude, we’re not savages. Do you know how much that would hurt?”
Gus nodded, completely dumbstruck.
“But you had to receive some sort of punishment for not stripping down when we said. Oh, Fitz?” he called loudly.
And that’s when the paddle smacked Gus’ perfectly positioned ass.
SMACK.
“MMOOMMPPHH!!” Gus yelled in surprise into his gag. He pulled at his arms and feet, trying to get away. He was roughly slammed forward on the horse as if getting done from behind. His humiliating cowboy hat flew off. OW.
SMACK. He could feel his spongy cheeks pressed and released by the stinging paddle, all bouncy and sounding like an inner tube being smacked. HE WAS BEING SPANKED! PADDLED. Him! Chastised as if he was some boarding school miscreant!
SMACK.
Fitz wielded the GAG paddle expertly; he’d paddled plenty a pledge posterior in his day. He knew to give a slight scooping motion to catch the underside of a guy’s buttcheeks for maximum sting. He also made sure to leave no inch of ass unspanked.
SMACK. SMACK. SMACK. Gus’ ass bounced under the paddle’s ministrations. It also wiggled and jiggled, and clenched and tried to move out of the crossfire. This was impossible. He was tied astride, plus his genitals were tucked down inside the horse’s hollow, and he didn’t want to risk injuring them. He was stuck and spanked and it seemed to go on forever.
They didn’t need to brand me, this burns enough, he thought panickedly.
“MMMMOOMMPPHHHHH!!!”
It was only ten paddle whacks, but Gus learned his lesson. When the Mighty Brothers tell you to do something, you do it. His now-rosy, slightly swollen ass was a testament to that.
It's Hell Week, right? But like, there's no way the college dean can be gone for a whole week with no one noticing and reporting it, right? How long will Gus have to suffer?