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                                 Bondage/cahling
                                          Sorrority Fundraiser
                 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.

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  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.to More 1st Sex Stories
                                                  
                                                  

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