Publish Date: Apr 30, 2005
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I had always been careful not to be conspicuous, but I always wore the scantiest swimming suit of all the men in the pool or at the beach. Even at the beaches of Chicago, most of the guys wore these boxer trunks which reminded me of tennis shorts more than swimming suits. Since I was on the swimming team, and since I did not care to buy an extra pair of trunks, I always did have the smallest swimming suit--although sometimes people would stare at me, I never paid much attention.
Recently, however, most guys have taken to wearing these nylon/lycra trunks, so this summer I sent off to this place in California that sells extremely scanty posing suits for bodybuilders. After they came in the mail, I put them on under my clothes, and started off for my lunch hour at the pool. I had done this a few times, and had felt very exposed while lying under the sun with the girls nearby, but I never expected what happened next. I had always listened to them talking about their boyfriends and other assorted fraternity and sorority happenings, imagining myself as a part of the activities. I never expected that I would actually become a part of their frantic world. I often had to turn over and let my back get the sun in order to hide my erection, and I had to take special care to wash my new trunks in order to prevent staining.
Here is where it gets interesting. I was walking toward the pool when this car pulls up and a bunch of girls start yelling "THAT'S HIM-GET HIM- THAT'S THE ONE WE WANT-NOW!" Two big guys get out with knives, and about three of these girls come with them, holding small guns in their hands. "Get into the car," they said, and I couldn't argue, although I did look for escape routes. I didn't find any.
I was blindfolded and driven around for about one hour. I struggled all the time, but only heard female voices saying things like "He'll be a good one, we'll get a lot out of him!"
I was then led into a large room and strapped to a platform, and there I was: my ankles and wrists tied, spread-eagled, and facing about 200 to 300 anxious co-eds. I had been abducted by a sorority. And the girls were not only hot and ready, they, were in the mood for what they called fun.
The girl in charge took a microphone and said "Here we have a teacher. Girls, we really have him!" [A loud cheer, like men at a strip show.] "What am I given for his shoes?"
The shoes got $5. The socks $6. After each piece of clothing was stripped form me, loud screams rang out from the crowd of nearly uncontrolled women and girls. I suddenly realized that I was the prize in a fund raiser! The shirt got $50. Then came the pants. The bidding was competitive, and meanwhile I tried to escape. The bidding continued for some time, and every few seconds she would prod me with a needle in order to make me squirm more, and this had the result of raising the bidding, screaming, and applause. The girls were frantic, but one finally came up with the top bid. She got to cut off the pants, and I was left wearing only my thin new posing suit.
Then a new wrinkle came into it, one I did not expect at all: "Who would like to bid on the torture?" was the question. I saw electrodes, and they were connected to my chest, thighs, and biceps. With each bid, the money was collected and the voltage was increased. I jolted and throbbed on the stage in front of 300 women.
Then a collar was put on me, an electric one. "What song shall we make him dance to?" was the call. $4,000 was the winning bid, and I was forced to throb and pulsate to the rhythms while the women in the audience screamed and yelled. Each time the music gave a strong beat, I was given a strong jolt, sometimes on my neck, sometimes on my stomach, sometimes on my legs. BOOM, JOLT; BOOM BOOM, JOLT thighs; BOOM, BOOM, NECK STOMACH; and so it went.
I was exhausted, but the electric shocks made me keep pulsating. Then the shocks stopped, and I was given a rest. The sweat came from every part of my body and began to cool. This caused me to shiver and my muscles trembled. I almost cursed the hours I spent in the gym lifting weights. I wanted to sleep, but as soon as I started to rest, another electric shock would hit my abdominals.
The mistress of ceremonies then did something I didn't expect: "WHO WILL BID ON THE TRUNKS? THESE LITTLE BITS OF CLOTH? WHO WANTS TO SEE HIM COMPLETELY NAKED? COMPLETELY!?"
The bidding was frantic, and I don't remember the amount. But I was soon naked in front of 300 women, who were screaming and shouting, and I was throbbing to the rhythms of the rock station they hooked up to my body.
"WHO GETS TO PLAY WITH HIS SHAFT?" was the next call. I had no rest while the bidding went on, still vibrating to the rock music. One of the women won, and she came to me. She slowly put her hand on my penis and stroked the under-side of it. She tried every variation possible, and was very slow. I was torn between a desire to escape and a desire to come. Every time I was about to come, she would stop until my shame and humiliation caused me to loose my erection. She put a cock ring on me, and I found that I no longer lost it despite my embarrassment of being so exposed and dominated in front of 300 women. She continued to play and, after what seemed hours of her squeezing and stroking which caused more muscle tensing on my part, I came. I was then put out into another room and told that I could put my clothes on and continue with my business. Now anytime I walk down a street and see some women coming the other way, I remember that day.
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