The Fraternities And Sororities Of Wildwood High

By Rat Tails

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This work is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It may contain depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story.
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PART ONE - MIDDLE and UPPER SOCIAL CLASSES

At Wildwood High School there had long been a tradition of students there belonging to fraternities and sororities. Indeed, many parents had belonged to the same high school fraternities and sororities that had existed when they were students. So when rushing began before school started, the parents encouraged their kids to go to the rush parties and pledge. Naturally they recommended the one that they had once been a member of, but it was usually the one that their best friends were going to join that they joined. The parents didn’t mind for times did change.

In this small southern town the social lives of the teenagers revolved about their Greek clubs. Those from higher income families tended to join one of two; those from middle income families one of another two. The kids of the lower class rarely joined any. School functions were enough for them, plus they didn’t have the money to spend buying fancy clothes for “Led Out,” as the annual dances were called, which would rarely be used. Those from the low class are the subject of Part Two of this tale.

The annual rush for new pledges began a couple of weeks before school started. Sixteen and seventeen year old fraternity and sororities members with their recently issued driving licenses would pick up the potential pledges that they coveted and take them to movies and fast food outlets and homes where sometimes they would let them have a sip of their beer and talk about girls, or boys, as the case should be. The two weeks ended with a pledge night and party at the club house, which was typically a room over a garage, although it sometimes was an abandoned shack or even a barn. The pledges would be given a pledge pin and began their pledge period which lasted several months.

Hazing was the accepted norm for pledges. Though it was never openly discussed, every pledge had his tail whacked with a wood paddle. Their parents had gone through this in their day. It was normal for pledges to get a half dozen whacks over their genes or pants at the weekly club meeting. It was said that this served to form each year’s set of some dozen or so pledges into a band of brothers – or sisters.

At Tau Alpha and at its sister sorority Delta Delta Psi it was a big deal. They considered themselves to be above all the others; to be the elite. If you were a member of Tau Alpha or Delta Delta Psi, you were different, and generally admired. You stood apart, socially. So the successful business men and women and the doctors and lawyers in town made it clear to their 14 year olds that they wanted them to join that one, and to make it through their pledge period, endure the hazing and then exchange their pledge pin for a fraternity or sorority pin. The kids felt the pressure. It was rare for one not to make it through the hazing period and when it did happen it was either because of illness or family relocation.

The elite Tau Alpha and Delta Delta Psi didn’t haze their pledges like the others. No, they had to stand out and be different; more exotic; more demanding. None of just this six swats a week over genes stuff. No, they were special and had to go beyond that. . . more sophisticated.

One of the ways Tau Alpha did that was by teaming up every so often with Delta Delta Psi, and vice versa. In fact each pledge boy not only had a big brother specially assigned to him but a big sister too. The same went for the sorority. The second Wednesday night of each month would be Girls Night for the boys when the members of the sister sorority would get to whack the boys, and the last Wednesday night of the month would be Boys Night when the boys would get to whack the 14 year old girl pledges. This was a much valued benefit that was looked forward to each month, and made for fond, long lasting memories. Of course that and all details of the hazing were kept top secret – for the most part. Being found guilty of betraying their oath of secrecy was a call for expulsion.

Tommy Askew, age 14, was ready when his big brother Freddy Smith honked his horn promptly at 6:45. At dinner Tommy had told his mother and father that he had to go to a pledge meeting that night. His parents had drilled him on exactly who were his pledge brothers. His little sister interrupted once with a question:

“Are they going to whack you?”

His mother and father exchanged meaningful glances.

“What do you mean?”

“You know; whack you; whack your butt with a paddle.”

“Now girl; that really isn’t any of your business, is it?” said the mother.

“I bet they do; I bet they whack him.” The father quickly changed the subject.

After he had finished nervously eating and stood to leave, his mother gave him a sweet sendoff. “Have a good time,” with an all-knowing wink to his father which Tommy caught.

Promptly at 6:45 saw a car turn into his driveway and honked. Quickly Tommy went out while double checking to make sure that he had on his pledge pin. Not having that would mean a demerit. He got in the back seat of the Chevy to find another pledge there, another in the front, and his Big Brother Freddy Smith the driver.

“Hi, he said.”

In response the other two pledges whispered a “hi” back.

“And away we go,” said Freddy the driver, not realizing that it was Jackie Gleason that he was impersonating.

They drove but a couple of miles before Freddy turned into the drive of a large home that already had five cars parked there. Any more cars would be parking in the street.

“This is Mr. Flanders’s house; you know, Donnie’s father. He’s out of town and told Donnie that we could use it tonight. Be sure and don’t get it dirty. Now ya’ll go around back to the kitchen. We’ll be calling you when we’ve finished business and are ready for you.”

In the kitchen Tommy found that a half-dozen pledges already there, nervously talking about nothing – just talking to calm their nerves. It wasn’t long before all of the pledges had arrived that would be coming that night. No sooner had the last come in that one of the brothers opened the door.

“Okay guys, line up and follow me.”

The boys did so and followed the member who turned out to be the pledge master. Being on the junior varsity football squad, he looked strong enough to be called a master alright.

When they entered the living room they found the brothers in a large semi-circle sitting on a couple of sofas and in chairs, some of which had been brought in from the adjoining dining room. They had rearranged the furniture to clear a center area in front of the fireplace. There were some twenty five present for this first night with the new pledges. About half of the members sat there with a paddle in hand. The paddles were about three feet long with a slim handle and made of wood with a rather rough surface. The paddles were made by a company in an adjacent town that manufactures bed slats. Some had their handles taped.

The line of pledges came to a halt in front of and to each side of a fireplace.

“Halt; left face,” called out the pledge master like a drill sergeant.

“Okay; starting from this end I want each of you grunts in turn to take three steps forward and shout out your first name as pledge so-and-so. Okay; go.”

The boy on that end looked down the line of pledges standing at semi-attention and realized that he was to be the first to go. He stepped forward and as he did so the pledge master took a paddle in hand.

“I’m Greg Hayes.”

“You’re what?”

“Oh; I’m Pledge Greg.”

“You’re what?”

Greg looked quizzically at the Pledge Master.

“You’re Pledge Greg, sir.”

“I’m Pledge Greg, sir.”

The Pledge Master put his face right in front of Greg’s and then tilted Greg’s face upward with the end of his paddle bringing their noses to a position of almost touching.

“And just why are you here, Pledge Greg?”

“For the meeting – the pledge meeting.”

“Wrong. Pledge Greg, you are here reporting for action. Got that?”

“Yes - - - yes, sir.”

“Okay; try it again. “

“Pledge Greg - - - sir - - - reporting for action - - - sir.”

“Turn around and grab your knees. Okay, now spread your legs apart. And look up – look at your pledge brothers – in their eyes. After you receive my whack you say: “Thank you Pledge Master. Got it?”

“Yes, Pledge Master.”

The pledge master stood back and took up position to deliver a swat. Then down he swung the paddle onto Greg ass which was only protected by his pants.

“WHAM.”

Greg held position as his pledge brothers and the audience of brothers absorbed the scene. So this was what was in store for them. “Thank you, Pledge Master.”

“Get back in line. NEXT!”

One after another the pledges stepped forward to receive a swat. Once the last pledge in line had been so welcomed the Pledge Master’s voice rang out again.

“NEXT.”

The first boy looked at the Pledge Master and then back down the line. The Pledge Master returned his look. So once again he stepped forward.

“Pledge Greg reporting for action, SIR.”

“Into position.”

Over he went. This time though he just looked straight ahead as he heard some of the brothers talking. “Okay, let me start off,” said one of the brothers.

“WHAM!”

Greg remained still while holding onto his ankles?”

“Well?” asked the Pledge Master.

“Thank you - - -uh - - - sir.”

“No, it’s thank you Brother Mills. And all of you best learn all the names of the brothers because any time you get it wrong you’ll get another swat, only it will be twice as hard for the insult. All you pledges got that?”

The pledges all nodded.

“Thank you brother Mills.”

“You’re quite welcome, Greg.”

Greg looked up from his still held position holding onto his ankles to see if he was now relived. No, he wasn’t. The procedure continued on non-stop with the boy not once being giving the opportunity to rub his burning butt. In the end six different members had given Greg a whack, there being very little time in between, before he was told to return back to the line. In this way all of the brothers would become endeared with the new pledges.

After that the Pledge Master handed each pledge a slip of paper with the lyrics of a song titled “Red Tails.” The lyrics read:

“Red Tails in the Sunset - - Our asses are blue - - - But we’ll have
more fun yet - - -before we are through.”

The lyrics were written to the song “Red Sails in the sunset, way out on the sea . . .

“Have this memorized for new Wednesday night’s meeting. Oh, and before I forget it, tonight was the last time that you get whacked on pants. Next time it’s pants off. You’ll keep your undies on for we don’t want to have to look at your ugly shit. It’s just that from now on we’ll be paddling you on your butt skin. You see we need to see our target – for safety, you know. Don’t want to be missing the target or busting open any butt blisters. So be wearing jockeys that you can tuck up in your ass. If you only have shorts, then wear a jock strap. And wear a shirt that you can tuck into your drawers easy like – like a T-shirt. And learn all of your brother’s damn names, or it will cost you. Now get all the furniture put back like they were.”

He left it to them to figure out just how they had been arranged earlier.

- - - - - - - - - - -

The following Wednesday the pledge meeting was again held in the same house. The owner was still away. Tommy had heard that he was a travelling salesman or regional salesman or something like that. So he found himself once more back in the kitchen waiting for the proceedings to begin.

“Okay boys, get those pants off. And Sam, lock the back door. We don’t want anyone running off with your wallets.”

Once all the pants were off and stacked the Pledge Master looked them over. There were eleven tonight. Nine had jockeys on and two wore jock straps. They all looked worried and as if they were cold, standing there without their pants and feeling the air on their legs.

“Line up; let’s get this parade on the road.”

Into the room they marched. As they entered they saw the brothers again sitting there on sofas, easy chairs and dining room chairs. They wore expressions of eager anticipation. Those that were smokers only had unlit cigarettes in their mouths or none out. They weren’t allowed to light up in this man’s home.

“Squad; halt; left face.”

For the longest time the boys just stood there at civilian attention as the brothers looked them over with a couple swishing their paddle back and forth. To Tommy the paddles looked more menacing, tonight. God, he was going to get it on the bare. On his genes had been bad enough. This was going to be terrible. Finally the Pledge Master spoke.

“About face; into position.”

While he was facing away from the brothers he could feel them, all quiet now, studying their bare rear ends as they leaned over with their hands on their bare knees.

“Okay; tuck ‘um in. Tuck ‘um into your crease. I want those buns bare. Bare, you hear.

The pledges tucked them in while remaining bent over. They waited.

“Okay; inspection.”

The fraternity brothers moved in for a closer inspection. They rubbed their hands over the pledges asses as they whispered such taunts like: “Nice buns.” “Oooouu – tender - ripe for busting.” “Boy, am I ever going to whack you.” “You must be a fucking virgin. I can take care of that – just give me a call – anytime.” And so forth, with the pledges not necessarily knowing who it was behind them, until the Pledge Master announced that inspection was over and for the brothers to return to their seats.

Once again the pledges individually stepped forward and reported for action. When the Pledge Master gave the first boy a whack it came across as a SPLAT rather than as a WHACK as it had on pants. That it felt different and worse could well be seen by all from the boy’s reactions. When one of the boys said that he was reporting “for duty” instead of “for action,” the Pledge Master awarded him a demerit. So after his whack he was promptly given another and harder one.

One by one the pledges received six whacks, one from each of six different brothers. When the whackee couldn’t remember the brother’s name, the Pledge Master told him and then gave him a demerit and a hard whack of his own.

One by one splotches of red formed on their buns, some of which turned to blue and a sickly yellow. The bruises would be with them for a few days. A couple boys were obviously developing blisters. The Pledge Master told them that if the blisters were not gone by next Wednesday, that they were to wear a band aid over them.

After dismissal the pledges looked over each other’s butts, straightened out their jockeys and put back on their pants. All this while they were chatting away about how they felt. They were forming a brotherhood. The Pledge Master smiled. Mission accomplished.

- - - - - - - -
Two weeks later was “Sisters Night.” Members of the sister sorority were to attend, and even precipitate. What excitement; what excitement that others in the high school were to miss out on.

The pledges again assembled in the kitchen of the same home. This time they could hear the voices of girls in the living room. In one way that was a big relief for, after all, they were girls – the weaker sex.

“Off with the pants – and the shirts. The girls are waiting. Hey, what do I now see? One, two, three, four of you, with hards-on. The sisters will like that. Now line up, troopers; it’s show time.”

The girls of Delta Delta Psi sat there a-giggling with anticipation. Alright, let’s see the boys. Bring ‘um on!

The kitchen door opened and in they came with their heads held high and looking straight ahead – with a quick glance at the audience.

One by one the sisters of Delta Delta Psi eyed and ogled the 14 year old freshmen/pledges of Wildwood High marching in in their underwear. When their eyes weren’t’ focused on the boys eyes, they were focusing on their bulges down below. To the added humiliation of four, the shape of their bulges betrayed the conditions of their pricks. The girls pointed them out and giggled.

“Detail halt. Left - - -face. Stand at attention.”

The Pledge Master looked them over as they stood at attention in front of the group of Delta Delta Psi sisters. Satisfied with what he saw, he turned to the sorority girl standing there beside him and spoke.

“Head Sister, I pass the banner to you.” With that he handed the tall 17 year old brunette his paddle. She saluted and turned to the 14 year olds standing there at attention in their underwear.

“High guys; parade Rest.” The boys spread their feet apart and clasped their hands behind them

The Head Sister ever so slowly made her way down the line just as a drill sergeant would. When she got to the first one that obviously had a hard on, she stopped. His was so rigid that the head of his prick was almost jutting out of the top of his jockeys.

“I said parade rest, pledge. Rest – rest. Didn’t you hear me,” as she studied his distorted bulge.

That was a show stopped. The room filled with laughter. The pledge turned his head away and looked up into space.

When the Head Sister got to the next boy that obviously had a hard on under his jockeys, she repeated herself.

“Are you all hard of hearing? I didn’t say attention; I said Parade Rest?”

The pledge smiled. This one seemed to be rather proud of his condition.

“PARADE REST!”

The boy shrugged his shoulders. “I think he just wants to join in a parade.”

The Head ignored the laughter.

“Hey Betsy; come give me a hand here.”

Betsy stood up and skipped over to the Head Sister still standing in front of the boy with her hands on her hips.

“Put him at Parade Rest.”

Betsy put a hand on the bulge in the pledge’s jockeys.

“Down boy; down.”

Instead of going down the bulge actually seemed to expand a tad.

“What kind of discipline is this? I said DOWN!”

Another good laugh from the audience.

“You have no self-discipline,” added the Head Sister.

Betsy took a firm hold of the offending prick behind the jockeys and twisted it sideways trying to get it to point down. She couldn’t even quite get it to a horizontal position. When it wouldn’t go any further she released. Not only did the prick spring back to its full upright and locked position, its head actually popped up and out above the waist band.

“Hellooooooooo. What do I see?” said the Head Sister. What is that? A peeping Tom?”

The audience went quiet. A few of the sisters’ mouths opened; others eyes went wide open.

“Just what are you a peeping at, Tom?” asked the Head Sister who had now bent over for a closer look while still standing with her feet apart at Parade Rest. With that she pulled his jockeys out a little and up and over the Pepping Tom. It wouldn’t hold. His jockeys just couldn’t handle the job at hand. The cock head remained rigidly in place protruding out and above the stretched waistband.

“What we have here is a wardrobe malfunction,” said Betsy.

The room filled with more laughter as the Head Sister stepped back in front of the line.

“You’re looking good tonight. Yes, real good. Okay, let’s go,” she said as she looked at the boy at the end to see that he had his eyes totally focused on the girl that had stepped up with a paddle, ready to beat ass. The first-up girl was puckered up with a kiss for him.

“Pledge Donny reporting for action sir - - - ma’am.”

“About face. TUCK!”

Donny stood there in disbelief. He was frozen.

“TUCK, I SAID!”

Donny reached behind himself and tucked his Jockeys into the crease of his ass.

“ABOUT FACE. INTO POSITION.”

Donny did so an waited . . . and waited . . . and waited while he heard the girls jabber away. Nice ass! Pretty buns. So white! Doesn’t look like had the paddle just a week ago. And did you see his bag? Not bad, huh?”

“A bag full of nuts? Ha Ha Ha.”

SPLAT as wood hit flesh.

The boys standing there at attention couldn’t believe it. The girl had sung the paddle hard and had made a right-on hit.. This wasn’t new to her.

“Thank you . . . you . . . ug . . . sister.”

She went around in front of her victim and leaned down bringing her face to face with the boy. Then she whispered.

“You’re welcome. . . . . . . . nice ass.” Then she gave his a sensual kiss. “You’re excused. NEXT!”

And so it went, with several brothers standing in the rear watching and enjoying the show.

Once the introductory swats were made the six-of the-best round began. For these the sorority sisters doubled up and worked in pairs, one taking forehand and the other backhand.

SPLAT! Thank you . . . SPLAT! gasp gasp sister, uh, sisters.

SPLAT! SPLAT!

Thank . . . SPLAT! SPLAT! Thank you . . . . SPLAT! The girls didn’t waste any time.

When the third boy was up he walked the three steps forward with a very full hard on which caused his Jockeys to bulge, big time. “Hey; we need a caddy for this one.”

A cute 16 year old cute, precocious blond jumped up.

“I’ll caddy!”

She walked up to the boy now standing three steps in front of the ranks and with a cute “hi” took his Jockey-covered privates in hand. The boy gasped. She turned around to face her sisters.

“Nice package.” Then she squeezed his balls with a big smile while still facing her sorority sisters.

“I I I I I.”

She squeezed again and received the same response.

“Turn him. ABOUT FACE.”

Still holding onto his privates she turned him around and then sat on the floor as the boy leaned over to grab his ankles. Then the “caddy” looked around the boy’s side at the two sisters standing behind him with their paddles.

“Ready for tee off,” and tee off they did, with a quick double SPLAT.

Poor Tommy was next-to-last in the line-up. In one way that was bad,with all the extra time spent waiting his turn. In another way however it was better as he saw just what they had to dish out. But by the time it was for him to step forward, he was cold, having stood there in just in undees.

“Who hasn’t had a go yet?” asked the Head Sister. A small sophomore standing in the back, who couldn’t have weighed a hundred pounds, held up her hand. Another girl, the biggest of the lot, and a member of the girl rugby team walked forward. “She’ll be needing help.”

Tommy bent over and grabbed his ankles and then took a look back. To one side stood the petit girl with paddle in hand, the paddle looking extra large with her holding it. To his other side stood big girl with her paddle. She was staring hard at his well bruised buns. No smile on her face; no real expression at all.

Splat. The small one had taken her little whack. Then silence, and more silence.

Big Girl walked back almost to the row of chairs where her sisters were sitting. Then, holding her paddle with two hands she sprang forward, somewhat bent over, and swung her paddle like a baseball player hitting a home run.

SPLAT!!! And with that the paddle cracked almost in half.

The next thing Tommy knew is that he was lying on the floor, the force of the blow having sent him sprawling. His hands flew back to grab his flaming butt. Then he started to pump his feet which sent him rotating. The whole living room went silent.

Big Girl stood there with a smirk. Then she turned and walked back with a look of satisfaction on her face. Half way back she passed the Head Sister who was on her way to Tommy. Big Girl broke the splinted paddle in half and offered the end piece to the Head, splintered edge out, who ignored her. By the time she reached Tommy he had stopped his little spinning and was half way in getting up with tears in his eyes. She lent him a hand.

“
That’s enough for you. Back in line. Next!”

- - - - - - - - -

It took until the next day before Tommy could sit without flinching. The whack where the rugby girl player had hit had turned the preverbal black and blue. It was hard for him to concentrate on his school work. His kept thinking about the night before. Six more days and another Wednesday and Wednesday night would arrive. Once again he would be getting his ass whacked. At least this time it wouldn’t be by girls. They hit just as hard as the boys. It seemed that as if they had a little thing to uphold and not been showed to be the weaker sex. Peer pressure did not discriminate between the sexes. And then there was the embarrassment which would only give way to pain.

Three boys the prior night had had hards on. That had happened to two when one of the sisters had acted as caddy and held his bundle. The other had his hard on from the time he had marched into the room until he was whacked. “Ah; we seem to have lost something,” they had laughingly taunted.

By now the pledges had heard of how it went when it was boys night and the brothers got to whack the 14 year old pledges of Delta Delta Psi, albeit with their somewhat smaller paddles with smooth, finished surfaces. They learned that just like them the sorority pledges took their paddling wearing panties tucked into their ass cracks. Above that they wore bras, but they were mini bras. There would come a night, a night called “G Night,” when they would be wearing G strings.

There was a girl in the class behind him – a 13 year old petite of a thing called Lilly who Tommy though was the cutest thing on earth. He tried to envision her next year as a 14 year old pledge of Delta Delta Psi when he would be a 15 year old brother. There was no doubt that that she would pledge Delta.

Tommy fantasized about Little Lilly marching in in just her panties and bra and then stepping out of the line-up looking all frightened and then turning around and bending over. Oh boy, he thought, I’m going to cum in my pants when I see that. I’ll cum again when I give her a whack. But I love her too much to give her more than a pat. In one way I won’t be wanting to hit her hard at all, but in another way I’ll be wanting to swing my paddle as hard as I can into her little ass cheeks. That will impress her.

Tommy thought again. Hey, there will be five other brothers giving her the paddle then. I might not even get a turn with her. I’ll be 15 but there will be others 16 and 17. And those other brothers of mine; damn, they will be swinging away at her. They better not hit hard, but that isn’t going to happen. No, they will hit her hard. They won’t hold back because they’ll get jeered if they do. By the time it’s my turn her butt will already be flaming hot. And they all will know that I like her, so the pressure will be on. What will I do then? What will I do?

PART TWO - The Low Social Class

In this small southern “tank” town, identified principally by its high water tank bearing the town’s name of Wildwood and the old railroad tracks and small station house, its population was literally divided in two. You either lived on the “right” side of the tracks or the wrong side. People on the wrong side of the tracks lived mostly in rundown old frame houses or in a couple of trailer parks. A few lived in double-wides beneath large oak trees on one to several acres of land that had long since gone to seed. The majority was black and the rest white – poor white trash - trailer trash.

Most of the black families were single parented - by mothers. The whites more often had both a mother and a father, not that that was necessarily good for the fathers often were drunkards and no-gooders who would beat their wives and kids on a whim when they weren’t on pot or crack. Food stamps were the main medium of exchange. White lightening was the predominant liquor.

As opposed to the whites that lived on the other side of the tracks the poor white trash kids matured much faster than their counterparts on the good side of the tracks. Both however attended the same high school – Wildwood High – as the town was too small to have two. Which side of the tracks you came from was apparent at a mere glance. The right-siders tended to be far happier and enthusiastic and, of course, better dressed. On the other hand the wrong-siders were far ahead in their knowledge and experience in sexual matters.

Petting was the norm for the 14 and 15 years-olds from the right side of the tracks. This would progress to hand- jobs for some of the 16 year-olds, and to blow jobs for lucky 17 year-olds. The wrong-siders would laugh at that baby stuff. It wasn’t that uncommon for them to have been buggered by eleven or twelve when they weren’t getting the razor strap. Sex was no big deal. It was common place.

On the right side of the track there were two fraternities and two sororities. Both were white only. The black boys were either members of The Rats or The Whackers Club, or neither. The black girls were either a Zulu or a Dingbat. The only place that the white and blacks were together socially was 4-H.

Jimmy Tatum, 14, was a pledge of Zeta Tau, one of the two whites-only, low class frats. There were ten poor white boys in his class. Six were 14, two were 15 and two were already 16. Poor grades and attendance had held them back. Jimmy was the smallest of the lot. All ten of them were present tonight for their first “Pledge Meeting.” Actually it was a meeting of all the members of the frat, the meeting being dedicated to whipping this new crop into shape.

The boys were assembled in an abandoned warehouse right next to the railroad track, scared shitless. They knew what was in store for them. Their asses were going to get beaten. Finally the door to the warehouse office opened and out stepped the Pledge Master, one Benny Hess who played guard on the varsity football squad. The pledges however didn’t look at him as much as they looked at the paddle in his ape-sized hand. Good God it was a wicked looking thing - four feet of raw wood with holes the size of a half dollar.

“Get your fucking asses lined up and follow me.”

In they went into the “office” which really was a smaller warehouse with a low ceiling that had, in its day, accommodated small tractors and farming equipment. It was brightly lit and smelled of hey. The only pieces of furniture were a large, solid wood crate that must have weighed over two hundred pounds which was set in the middle of the room. To the side of it was a large basket with five or six broken and splintered paddles in it.

The brothers were standing some fifteen to twenty feet from the crate in a u-shaped formation. Once all the pledges had entered, their line-up pretty much closed the U so that there were now four sides of guys spaced about the crate. The crate was the altar and it was called just that.

When the line of pledges was in place Jimmy found himself square in the middle. This served to emphasize the fact that he was the smallest – the light weight. He looked at the brothers. Every single one of them had the same wicked paddle in hand. Some were holding the tip of the handle with the paddle end resting on the floor. Some had it on their shoulder. Some had it out in front of them cocked it with their wrist. God Almighty!

“Okay; we’ll go down the line. You there on the end; get your fucking ass up on the altar.”

The first pledge’s eyes widened as he looked at the waiting altar, but he said nothing. He walked to the crate-altar and climbed up on it.

“What’s your name, boy?” asked the Pledge Master.

“Billy Smith.”

“Well, Billy Smith, let’s get a good look at you. Off with your fucking clothes!”

Billy stripped while standing there in the center ring with older boys around him.

“Well you ain’t Jewish; that’s for sure. What does your dingus weigh?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then find out. Next week we want to know what all of your fucking dinguses weigh. Get it?”

“Limp?” came a quiet question from someone in the line-up.”

“Who said that?” demanded the Pledge Master.

Only a few quiet chuckles came from the line of pledges.

“So we have a smart ass, do we? That smart ass will soon be a fucking busted smartass. Fess up. Who said that?”

“Better get going,” said one of the brothers.

“Get down, pledge Billy. Put your clothes in a pile against that wall; and get your shoes and socks back on. Next.”

And so it went. It seemed that each pledge, once he had stripped, was subjected to some kind of ridicule. One had the bruises of a strapping at home. Two had a hard-on that couldn’t be deflated. Well, not exactly for you see the end of one was deflated enough for it to bend over. It looked like a cobra ready to strike. One had one ball that drooped down below the other. And when it came to little Jimmy and his little pecker they launched into a search for it. It had to be somewhere there in his budding bush.

Jimmy stood there on the altar as one by one the brothers would come to see if they could find it. They would put their face almost against Jimmy’s little willy and say: Nope; nothing here. Finally the Doc was called. He was one of the brothers who had a name tag that said - - Doc - - . This slender brother had an arm band with a red cross. Hung from his neck was a stethoscope. When he came up he put the stethoscope into Jimmy’s crotch and listened. Nothing. “Think we’ve been tricked, brothers. This here Jimmy is a Jennie.” That brought down the house with everyone. Even the pledges laughed.

After each pledge had gone through the gauntlet of having to stand and strip on top of the altar, it was time for some ass busting.

One by one a pledge would leave the line-up and mount the altar. Then he would kneel facing the line-up with his forearms flush on the crate and his head held high. In this way he was in the position of some pious one kneeling in a mosque, except that his head was up.

Once in position he had to choose which of the three lines of brothers would attend to him. The brothers would root for their line. “Us, come on; us here.” While so chanting they would swing their paddles. Two of the brothers in one line would mock swing their paddles as if they were golf clubs. Since one was right handed and the other left handed, their mock swings would meet at (ass) contact.

And then the beatings began. One by one a member of the selected line would step forward and, with a step forward swing their paddle hard at the ass presented to them there on the altar. After some nine or ten brothers from the line had all had their shot, the pledge was told to get down back in line.

When the third pledge was being wacked, the paddle broke in half. When that happened the brother was given a high-five and another fresh paddle and the whack repeated. By the time the “meeting” would be over there would be the shattered remains of three paddles in a pile that would be put into the basket.

Half way through the beating and it was time for little Jimmy since he was in the middle of the line. He stepped forward with his hands over his privates and approached the altar. Because of his size the room grew quiet. This would be a little different.

Right away Jimmy ran into trouble. He had trouble mounting the crate. Twice he failed to make it up. Then the Pledge Master gave him a hand. Quickly he got down on all fours with his forearms flush on the wood, as were his toes. He looked up and around. The brothers had gone quiet. A couple were whispering to each other.

“Which group, Jimmy,” demanded the Pledge Master.

Jimmy looked straight ahead and then from side to side. The brothers were all inviting in their varied ways. One had his hands in position to catch a ball. Another was throwing him a kiss. One had his lips puckered up to kiss. One was giving his the come-on to his crotch.

Many of them were giving him broad smiles. A couple were beckoning him with a hand signal. Several were smoking; one in particular was blowing him smoke rings. And there were those who were swinging their paddles as if cracking his ass.

“Well?” demanded the Pledge Master. “I know it’s a hard decision. They all look so kind and nice.”

Jimmy nodded to the group directly in front of him. It appeared to have eight brothers while the two others on his flank had nine.

Eagerly they made their way to his rear. That left him looking straight ahead at a space devoid of brothers. The unselected brothers remained on his right and left flanks. He felt a gentle tap of wood on his ass. This was it.

The first brother up made a few light taps and then raised his paddle well back over his shoulder. Then down he swung onto the virgin target that presented itself before and below him.

“SPLAT!”

Jimmy absorbed the blow as his forearms shook on the crate top and his hands trembled. As opposed to the ritual of the frats on the other side of the tracks, the pledges didn’t have to say thank you or count or call out the brother’s name. No, this was pure hitting – HARD hitting, plain and simple.

Again Jimmy felt a gentle tap of raw wood on his burning butt. This time the brother took three steps back and then three steps forward bringing his paddle smartly onto Jimmy’s ass, dead center.

“CRACK”

Jimmy struggled to stay in position and to absorb this blow but before he was able to there again was a tap of wood paddle on his burning butt. This time the brother went back several feet and then ran forward and gave Jimmy a truly vicious blow with all his might. His run-out carried him several feet past Jimmy.

“AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH”

The paddle had not cracked nor splintered. Had it done so it some of the force would have been absorbed to Jimmy’s benefit. Of course that would have called for a repeat.

Jimmy grabbed his stricken ass and fell over on his side as a couple of brothers gave high-fives.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH”

After the eighth and last boy of the group had had his turn Jimmy just lay there on the altar once again on his side grabbing his ass. The Pledge Master came over and helped him get up and down off. He couldn’t clearly see the next pledge on his way to the altar due to the tears that were streaming down his face. His ass was a wreak.

- - - - - - - - - - -

The following Wednesday the ordeal was kicked up a notch. This time once a pledge was in position atop the altar a member would come forward and stand in front of him. After a couple of whacks the member would unzip his fly and pull out his member and push the pledge’s face down on the altar.

“How about it? Nice huh? Now open wide for your fucking brother.”

With that he would put his cock into the pledge’s mouth and then give a nod to the next one up with his paddle in hand. With the 14 year-old’s mouth full of smelly cock his ass would received a vicious whack.

“Like that one, Greg” asked the cocksucker who trying to adjust to this new method where he was having to deal with a double blow job. “Nice, huh?”

Sometimes the brother getting the blow job would stand there with his feet wide apart and his hands on his hips. Other blow-ees would hold the blow-boy by his ears or hold his head as they tried to thrust down into the pledge’s throat. On average the member would have his orgasm with the fourth or fifth brother up with paddle. When it was apparent that he was about to cum the brother who had last whacked him would simply stand and wait. Then the pledges mouth would be opened and checked for any residual cum since swallowing was mandatory. What a carnal sin it would be to mess up an altar. When one brother couldn’t cum the Pledge Master stopped the beating and the brother to his chagrin pulled out. To make the brother feel better the Pledge Master then gave the pledge four hard slaps to his face. “You better learn how to such cock boy.” The boys from this side of the tracks had no qualms about all of this; no, they were untamed – unsophisticated.

The following Wednesday night was Girls Night. As the pledges arrived at the ware- house several brothers went to work preparing them for the gala. There seemed to be no end to their imagination at creating humorous and humiliating presentation for the sisters of the Dingbats who were already in the office gathered about the altar talking with the brothers.

Pink and blue ribbons were tied to some of the pledges privates. Some were in bows and some were streamers. Markers were used to draw on the boys’ stomachs and thighs. Targets were drawn with their cocks being the bull’s-eye. Bull’s-eyes were also drawn on a couple of boys’ buns. One had four red arrows drawn pointing at his dingus. Words such as ”Hi” and “Tiny” and the boy’s name were drawn. “I love _____,” the name of one of the Dingbats, appeared on one boy with the “I love” part above the bellybutton.

Following “Make Up” diapers were put on and held up with large diaper pins. Then into the “office” they marched in single file.

The room was more crowded what with both the brothers of Zeta Tau and the sisters of the Dingbats being there. There were hardly any absentees; everyone wanted to see this show. Standing on the altar was the Head Bat dressed in dark blue leather with a two pointed headpiece. It was a Batgirl costume, without mask. She stood all supreme there in her black hip boots with 4-inch spikes and with her feet spread. In one hand she held a pitchfork; in the other she held a long whip that went to the floor with its end coiled. It was quite theatrical what with her standing there directly under one of those warehouse lights suspended from the ceiling engulfed in some blue smoke. The smell of pot was unmistakable.

The crowd stopped their jabbering. Those that were smoking cigarettes and pot put them down. Those that were drinking beers finished then off or put them down. The parade of the boy pledges in their white diapers warranted their full attention.

As before the audience was standing in a U-shape leaving the open end of the U for the pledge victims to fill When the line came to a halt the 14 year old pledges just stood looking at the boy in front them. Then a sharp CRACK rang out. Jimmy thought he’d jump out of his diapers. CRACK CRACK CRACK. The Head Dingbat was cracking her whip on the floor with practiced expertise.

“TURN ‘UM”

“LEFT FACE,” commanded the Pledge Master.

The ten big babies turned to face the audience, but their eyes went straight to the Head Dingbat standing on the altar in her Batgirl attire and long whip. In turn she looked them over from one end of the line to the other and then back again. She repeated that twice more with the room silent. Then she started to swing the whip, first in a circle on the floor, then about a foot off the floor and finally all the way up level with her arm. Then she snapped it just shy of the babies. And again. And again. And again.

CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK

The babies stood there mesmerized. Even some of the brothers and sisters were in awe of the Head Dingbat’s performance. Others were smiling as they studied the faces of the pledges standing there naked except for their diapers scared shitless.

After the fourth crack of the whip the Head Dingbat left the end of the whip lying on the floor with its tip just a few feet in front of the pledges.

“Okay; who’s first up?”

The boys could only look from her standing there atop the altar and down the length of the black whip to its end and then back to her.

“WELL?”

“WELL???????”

The pledges looked at each other. When one would make eye contact the other would turn his head.

“They really are a bunch of babies. I don’t see any Zeta Tau material here. Goddamn it if you didn’t pledge a bunch of wimps this year; a bunch of fucking babies. Okay then; bring out the jar. I knew it would come to this.”

The Head Dingbat, who the sisters called Sergeant, short for sergeant at arms, produced a jar. In it were ten tabs bearing the numbers 1-10 once unfolded. Down the line she went having each pledge draw one. Once done it was pretty obvious which pledge had drawn Number 1. It was the one who was suddenly trembling the most.

“Okay; who’s up first?”

The trembler meekly raised his hand.

“Step forward,” commanded the Head. Then she took him by an arm and walked him a few feet more until he was some ten feet from the altar. He looked up at the Head Dingbat.

“Put him in position,” she commanded.

The Sergeant-at-arms turned him around and had to walk a few feet away from the altar and then down on his knees. Then she had him bend over some and grasp his hands together behind his head. He now was positioned much like a surf presenting his back for the lash.

“Size him.”

With that the Sergeant-at-alms took the end of the whip, wrapped it twice around his chest to bring the tip of the whip to the center of the pledge’s back. The Head Dingbat looked at the state of the whip which drooped to a low point of about two feet above the floor.

“Move him further away two, no three, more feet. Good. Now step away. Clear the area for action. And keep your head down boy and eyes on the floor. If you’ve never had the whip before, you are in for a fucking new thrill.”

Now it was just the pledge and the Head Dingbat; just the two of them with the audience, including the line-up of pledges, with its single vacancy, holding its collective breath.

The Head Dingbat pulled the long evil whip back and started to swirl it around in a horizontal path. “Whoo whoo whoo whoo whoo.” And finally,

CRACK

The trembling pledge screamed and fell forward with two of his pledge brothers grabbing him just before he fell to the floor. No, the sound of the CRACK had not come from the whip striking his back but from its being cracked in air above the boy. At the instant the CRACK has sounded out the Pledge Master had giving him a stout whack with his paddle against his diaper-cover ass. Of course his pledge brothers had seen this coming when the Pledge Master had quietly taken up position.

In an instant the audience burst into applause. “Yea!” “Right On!” “At-a-girl.”

By the time the harrowed victim had realized what had happened and had turned around the brothers and sisters were giving thumbs up, pumping their paddles up and down, and chuck-a-lugging beers. “Dingbats – Dingbats – Dingbats. Yeaaaaaa.” The Ring Master took a few deep bows, finishing winding up her whip and descended from the altar and rushed to the rear to take off those hip-high boots with spiked heels. Their intimidation value came at the price of discomfort.

Now the ritual settled more into its familiar routine. The stage had been altered just slightly for the evening’s festivities. A step had been placed against one side of the podium and two stools placed side by side adjacent the podium’s side furthest away from the line-up.

“Let’s go,” commanded the Pledge Master. The first pledge in line stepped out and walked up the side step onto the altar.

“And just who are you?” demanded the Head Dingbat.

“Walter Johnson, sir.”

“SIR? Do I look like a fucking SIR to you, you piece of shit.”

“I mean . . . . . ma’am.”

“Well I guess I shouldn’t expect more from a fucking baby. Okay, Master Walter Johnson, off with your diapers. Let’s get a look at you.”

Walter fumbled with one of the oversized diaper pins over one hip. Finally he got it open. His diaper fell to the floor to reveal a large pink bow taped to his skin just above his cock. He looked down not knowing quite to do. The girls grew silent.

“What is this? A present? For me? Are you offering me some sort of bribe, Master Walter Johnson?”

The crowd laughed as Walter’s face’s color turned to match the color of his cock bow ribbon.

The Head Sister looked at the boys cock and balls there in a skimpy, first-growth of pubic hair. With the end of her paddle she lifted his balls and pecker up.

“What a poor excuse for a cock. What a pathetic looking thing. What do you think, sisters?”

“Whimpee” “Sad sack” “Weasel” “Yea – a sad sack. Looks like it’s about to cry.” “Yea, better put his diapers back on.” “No; then he’ll just wet it and we’ll have to change the baby’s diaper.”

“Pick up your diaper and tie to your head – you know – like a scarf. Then get your ass back in line. NEXT!”

And so it went. One by one a pledge would take the altar and be ordered to drop his diaper to reveal not only his privates but the dress-up or make-up that adorned it. The brothers and sisters were having a ball with their wise cracks and laughter. When it was Jimmy’s turn the sisters concentrated on the smallness of his pecker. Jimmy’s pecker was on the small side for his age, but standing there mostly nude and cool and anxious had caused it to shrink in upon itself. Thus it was abnormally small as he stood there on the altar facing the brothers and sisters.

“Where is it,” asked the sergeant-at-alms. “What are you trying to hide there? Are you trying to cheat us out of a peek?”

“Maybe Jimmy is a Ginny,” called out a sister.

“Maybe a genie has it.”

“This calls for an investigation,” said the Sergeant. Sue, Beth; come see if you can find the fucker.”

Of course everyone could actually see Jimmy’s pecker and balls. They were just having a ball taunting him.

Sue and Beth came over to launch the search. They looked at his crouch from every angle – even looking up from below. “No, nothing down here.” “Nothing over here either. Maybe he’s a eunuch. Are you a eunuch, Jimmy? Did you have them cut off? Where are you keeping them? In the frig?”

Then one of them rummaged through his pubic hairs in mock search of the missing wiener. His pubic hairs had become public hairs.

After they had tried to find his willy with mock magnifying glasses, then gave up the search. It was a hopeless mission.

“Get back in line and see if you left it back there,” commanded the Sergeant.

After this game was over the boys found themselves all back in line with only their white diaper on positioned like scarves or bandanas. Two folding chairs were then brought out and placed side by side near the far of the altar from them.

“Okay; it’s ass-busting time. Let’s start with - - say - - with you” as she poked her finger against the naked chest of one of the pledges. “Get up on the altar and kneel. GO! GO! GO!”

The selected pledge was Peter who was soon to turn 15. Quickly he mounted the altar and got down on his all fours. The Sergeant-At-Arms urged him forward with her paddle to a position where his head was just forward of the altar.

“Alright, first detail. Let’s get with it,” she ordered.

Four of the sisters came forward with two carrying paddles. Those two split and took a position straddling the altar to the victim’s rear. The other two took a seat in the two folding chairs. Once they had done that their heads were level with Peter’s.

“What’s your name again,” asked one.

“Peter; Pledge Peter, ma’am.”

“How ‘it going, Pledge Peter?”

“It’s going . . . . WHAM!” The sister on the right side had let loose with her paddle.

“Yes?”

“It’s going . . . . WHAM! The sister on the left side had given him a backhand.

Peter breathing increased as the pain set in.

“It’s going what?”

Peter looked back to see the sister on the right side with her paddle raised up over her shoulder. She gave him a puckered-up kiss.

“Pay attention when we’re talking to you. Don’t you know manners?” With that she slapped his face she gave one of the paddlers a nod.

SPLAT!

“Well?”

“It’s going” and then he caught himself just in time before he had looked back all the way to see the other sister. “It’s going fine.”

WHACK!

“Fine, is it? Well that’s good to hear,” she said as she leaned forward and put her face right in Peter’s face with a smile. Her partner then gave the nod.

SPLAT!

“Aaaooowww. That hurt.”

The sister fell back and her partner took her turn. She grabbed the tied ends of the diaper-scarf over Peter’s head with two hands and pulled them taut as she put her face right into Peter’s face, replacing that of her partner’s.

“You say that hurt?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“I’ll show you hurt.”

With that she let go of the diaper tails and stood. She walked over to one of the paddlers and took it. Then she walked back about ten feet, turned and ran back slamming the paddle into Peter’s ass with all her might.

WHAM

Then she returned the paddle and retook her seat.

“How about that one? Did it, ‘hurt’ ?”

“No ma’am. I mean yes ma’am. I mean . . . I mean.

SPLAT!

Tears welled up in Peter’s eyes.

“We’ll look a-here. Peter baby is a crying. Poor little thing.” Then she tenderly pretended to wipe tears from his check, even though they had not at least yet overflowed from his eyes. “Poor little thing.”

WHAM!

“It must be the position that is troubling you. You may put your elbows down. Maybe that will help.”

Peter put his elbows down on the altar and grabbed its edge. This did two things: It put his head a little below that of the two sisters sitting in the chairs and it made for a more distinct target for his ass.

“There now; isn’t that better?”

Peter looked up to her and made eye contact just as . . . . .

THWACK!

This new position had served to make this latest whack lower down at the bottom of his ass cheeks. The sharp pain was terrible.

Silence.

“Well?”

His head having falling, he looked up through the veil of tears that now were beginning to overflow from his eyes.

“Well?”

Peter didn’t understand. Oh, it was an unanswered question. But what was the question?

“Well? I’m waiting.”

WHAM!

AAAAAAAAHHHHHH

“I asked you if that wasn’t better – this position.”

“I . . . . it’s . . . . it’s . . . . . I . . . . “

SPLAT!

This continued on until Peter had received some twenty swats.

A few minutes later little Jimmy was fingered. Up on the altar he walked nude, save for the white diaper worn as a bandana. He got down on his all fours in the position that he knew they wanted.

“Next detail. To your stations.”

Again four sisters came forth, two with paddles; two without. The two that took seats facing him included a cute blond in pigtails and a dirty blond with uncombed black hair with blue died streak. Jimmy was so overwhelmed with them that he hardly took notice of the two with paddles. Each of them looked like they were from skid row – course. Both were smoking pot. Both looked like they were there simply to bust some ass.

“What’s your name again, honey, asked the cute blond facing Jimmy. Her voice and diction certainly didn’t match her cuteness.

“Jimmy . . . . . ma’am.”

“How old are you Jimmy? Twelve; thirteen?”

“Fourteen.”

“Then you’re old enough to have a dick, aren’t’ you?”

Silence.

“Well, aren’t you? I mean the others couldn’t find it, right?”

Silence.

The bitch dingbat that was the designated led-off hitter gave him a whack.

WHACK

“Well?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“I . . . do have one.”

“You do? Take a look, girls. See if it’s returned. You know; sort of risen from the dead.”

One of the paddlers put down her paddle and spread his ass cheeks. The other one followed suit and then leaned down on the altar on her back and slid under Jimmy.

“Hey, I think I’ve found something! Yea – here it is. He’s got a pisser after all!”

“ALRIGHT HEY THEY FOUND IT!”

Jimmy felt the blood drain from his head. He thought he was going to faint.

Then the hitters got back into their position with their paddle resting on their shoulders much like solders with rifles.

“Jimmy, I so glad you have a pecker after all,” said the cute on as she stroked his face. God what a shame if you didn’t; I would never have a playmate.”

The cute one cupped his head gently in her hands, took a look of love in his eyes, and then gave him a gentle kiss.

Jimmy shrunk back but cutie ever so softly persisted. She, of course, could be gentle and tender. It wasn’t her ass that was burning.

Cutesy started to French kiss. At first Jimmy was stiff and resistive. But she kept on with her tongue as she ever so gently caressed his head. Jimmy started to respond. Regardless of the circumstances she was irresistible. His breath shortened as he started French kissing her back. Into her mouth he thrust his tongue.

WHACK WHACK

Immediately he was returned to the real world about him. He opened his mouth to let his voice escape. But it was no use. Cutie kept pressing on with her kissing.

“Aaaaaaahh . . . . hhhaaaaa . . . . oooouuu . . . . noooooooo . . . .

Into his throat went cutie. Then she let one hand go from his head and grabbed his nuts and pulled them towards her as she continued with the French kissing.

WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK

Jimmy’s head flew back. WOOOOOOOOOOOOOO AAAAAAAAA HHHHHhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaa NOOOOOOOO!!!

Finally simple panting and crying took place of his screaming. Slowly his head turned back forward to face the girl tormentors, their faces being blurred by his tears.

“Don’t you love his screams,” asked the non-cutie. “Doesn’t he have the cutest scream?” “It’s music to my ears,” said the other tormentor. “Good old rap.”

“Everything about him is nice; even his cock and balls. Damn it if I couldn’t get his whole little package in my mouth.”

“Okay. Let’s get on with the show,” said the Sergeant. We got others to go, you know.”

“You heard the boss, Jimmy,” said cutie. “I’m sorry but you heard - time for us to go.”

Jimmy got down on his elbows and gripped the end of the altar. Cutie stroked his hair, gently while the other Dingbat held his balls.

WHAM WHAM WHAM WHAM

WHAM WHAM WHAM WHAM

WHAM---WHAM WHAM --- WHAM

The two paddlers finished him off with a thunderous barrage.

PART THREE - The Athletics

In addition to the hazing conducted by the fraternities and sororities and clubs, the boys on the football and basketball varsity squads of Wildwood were also subjected to it. If such coincided with the social club hazing, so be it. That changed nothing. Hazing was simply a long established tradition in the town of Wildwood. But as opposed to the fraternities and sororities, hazing of the school’s varsity football and basketball players was restricted. Only those players who had truly fucked up in a game got hazed. It was punishment, pure and simple. And hopefully that made offending players work hard so as not to repeat their errors and omissions again on the field of play and on the basketball court. Incentive, you know.

The offenses in football were well know and few. Fumbling was at the forefront. Dropping a pass that should have been caught was another. Being penalized for personal fouls was another. And there were others where the turn of the game was at stake, and lost.

In basketball the offenses were limited. Everyone would miss a free-throw. That was to be expected. But hit someone one purpose, or get in a brawl, or getting five fouls and being evicted; do that and you would be hazed.

Those that had fucked up and let down the team usually knew that their name was going to appear on the penalty sheet that was posted in the locker room each Monday. In the event that no one was listed the sheet would simply say: Good Work. But again, that didn’t happen often. No, usually there were four or five names on the list. The team captain would name the names and the coach would then have to approve and sign off.

The hazing of the offending football and basketball players was carried out by the school cheerleaders. And it was carried out with a vengeance. There they had worked their tails off rallying the students only to be let down by a few. More often than not the team had lost, but win or lose the offenders would be taught a lesson.

That Monday afternoon three names were posted on the penalty sheet posted in the boys locker room. When they had waited about the bulletin board waiting for the posting none had been surprised. Two had fumbled and one had cursed an ump. The only one surprised was the boy who had dropped a pass. This time he had escaped . . sort of like by way of a review of the play by the coach.

After showering the three offenders went to the shed. At one time it had served as a bicycle shed and at others times as various storage rooms. Now it was mostly empty.

The three wearing their jerseys with their individual number opened the shed door slowly and entered. At the far end of the shed stood the five girl cheerleaders in a line. At each end of the line stood one of the two male cheerleaders. They all were dressed in their cheerleader outfits and were standing with their arms on their hips with a serious, mean look on their faces. Each was holding a large, plywood paddle with a couple of holes. A cheerleader’s horn with the school’s logo stood upright beside their pom-poms on the floor before them. The three boys didn’t know what to do until the Head Cheerleader in the middle stepped forward.

“Line up there,” she said as she pointed to a spot on the floor. The three obeyed.

“Take your pants and shorts off, put them over there and return.”

This came as no surprise as the whole team pretty well knew what went on in the shed. They did so and got back in line facing the cheerleaders. One player was black and worn the number 28 yellow team jersey. A brown one of Mexican descent wore jersey 16 and the sole white boy wore jersey 21.

The Head Cheerleader, a cute ash blond took the horn that normally would be used so that students back in the thirtieth row in the stadium could here well. When the Head spoke with it n the shed it was like turning up the volume all the way.

“You assholes are here because you fucked up and let your team down and your school down,” she said in a voice volume that was ear piercing. “You let us cheerleaders down too. Here we worked our butts off rallying the school for you and what did we get in return? Your terrible, fucked up performance Friday night; that’s what we got. And it cost us dearly. We only won by six fucking points. DO YOU HEAR ME?”

Did they hear her? One could be twenty feet outside of the shed and have heard her.

She walked over to the first boy, the black, and put her horn two feet in front of him. “Number 28: YOU FUMBLED. NOT ONLY DID YOU FUMBLE BUT THE OTHER TEAM RECOVERED THE BALL. AND GET YOUR HANDS OFF YOUR GODDAMN FUCKING EARS!

“Number 16: You BACK talked to the ref. You cost us FIFTEEN FUCKING YARDS!!! Do your hear? FIFTEEN FUCKING YARDS.

“Number 21; You missed the pass. You missed a pass that was thrown right in your fucking arms. It even hit your belly. And where was the nearest defender? FIVE FUCKING YARDS AWAY; THAT’S WHERE.”

With that she returned back to her position just in front of the cheerleader line. Still using thehorn she spoke again.

“You each now will receive a whack from each of us girl cheerleaders. We’ll have three rounds. Since there are five of us, that will total fifteen. The male cheerleaders are too disgusted with you to even participate. And after that we’ll have the main event where you will learn a new meaning of the word FOOT BALL. Each cheerleader will give each of you a running kick to your balls.”

The three offenders looked down to see what each cheerleader was wearing for footwear. Each had on regular white athletic shoes with red side stripes and rounded red tips. Of course the boys eyes were glued to the red tips.

“First a little warm-up.”

The two male cheerleaders stepped forward. One of them was carrying something. It was a skip rope with a handle on each end and something attached to its middle. That something was a rubber cock and balls. The balls were bright orange and the cock a bright blue. It was suspended about one foot from the skip rope by two other ropes spaced about a foot and a half apart.

The two male cheerleaders stood apart holding the skip rope fairly taut with the suspended orange and blue cock and balls at the height where the cock and balls of the three players were. Indeed, the two rope holders would look at the privates of one player and adjust to level the practice set with one of the real sets. Then the five girl cheerleaders lined up for a go with their pompons in hand. As ever, it was practice practice practice.

“19 – 32 – 11 HIP!” called off a male leader.

On HIP! The first one in line took off with hers arms and pompons out to her sides near the floor. With a kick she made a direct hit on the two orange balls and sent the contraption flying up and then wrapped itself around the skip rope. The three boys looked on in abject horror.

“Okay; not bad. Next.

The next cheerleader, a real cute freckled red head took up her position for her run-up.

“9 – 33 – Oscar HIKE!”

She took off in a run and gave her high kick at the target. Her aim was a little off as the top of her foot where it joined her leg was what made contact with the brightly colored rubber gentiles. The cock and balls went up and wrapped around the skip rope, but with less force than the prior one.

“No – No,” said the head cheerleader. Gail, give me a hand here.”

She and Gail then had the errant girl stand in position just in front of the gala cock and balls.

“Like this.”

Then with the help of her assistant trainer, Gail, she positioned the cheerleader’s kick foot with the shoe toe touching the scrotum between the two balls. “Lead her back.” She instructed her helper. The other girl held her back a little bit. “No, keep your head down - just like in golf.”

The three offenders stood mesmerized seeing the student-cheerleader poised in the ideal position at impact with balls. They were striving for perfection – for hitting their balls head on as hard as they could without losing control. Their own naked manhood, fully exposed as they stood there, never felt so vulnerable.

“Good; that’s the position that you want to be in at contact. Now give it another try.”

An so the practice went as each of the five cute cheerleaders kicked the shit out of the rubber model with a resounding THUD followed by the cock and balls flying up and around the skip rope.

“What do you think guys? Think they’ve got it down to a tee? To a tee-off?”

There was no response from the three who were studying their exposed privates . . . as if to say goodbye.

“Okay, enough with the practice. It’s kickoff time now for real. Let’s start with Number 28.”

The black boy with the number 28 jersey stepped forward with his cock at half mast. The two male cheerleaders each took one of his hands, turned him to one side and then stood apart so that his arms were extended straight out to his sides.

“Leg apart; more; more. Good.”

The boy looked down as if to say farewell to his family treasures to find that they actually were appreciating, which is to say that his cock was finishing its rise to its full upright and locked position. This was nothing new to the girls. They had witnessed this phoneme before.

“Gail; led off.”

The cheerleader took up position for her run-up. She looked straight ahead at her target – the black hunk with the number 28 jersey with his big black cock pointed ramrod straight, straight at her. She began to swirl her pompons.

“ 22 – 8 – ALPHA - 13. HIKE!” Then she launched into a run with the pompons twirling. During her run-up she had to work like hell to stay focused – not to look at the big black cock that was pointed right at her face but at the black balls that dangled beneath it.

THWONP! Straight through the uprights. Practice had made perfect.

Number 28 threw his hands free from those of the two male cheerleaders who made no attempt to hold on. No, their job was only to hold the balls in place for the kicker. The kickee’s hands grabbed his nuts just before he hit the floor with a moan. Immediately he went into the fetal position and lay there in silence. The other two looked on in terror.

“YEA! YEA! The cheerleaders shouted and then jumped up flailing their pompons. “We had KICKOFF, yelled one. “That a THREE-POINTER,” added another. “Gooooo WILDWOOD!”

The celebration slowly ebbed. Then the Head Cheerleader spoke.

“Okay; that’s enough of a rest. Get back up.”

The boy looked up at her. Was she for real? The pain, like an intense, giant cramp had only begun to ebb. The Head picked up her horn and placed it two feet from the boy.

“Come on guy; up we go. Face it like a man.”

The boy slowly started to stand. Half way up, he halted. The cramp was holding him there. The two male cheerleaders waited and waited. They knew what he was going through.

“That’s enough now. Get him into position,” commanded the Head Cheerleader. She just was incapable of appreciating his pain; his special male pain.

The two male cheerleaders pulled him higher and higher until finally his abdomen and back were fairly straight although bent over a bit. Then they moved their helping hands from the boy’s armpits and slowly slid them down his arms to his hands. They separated until the target was once again in position with his arms extended straight out to his sides.

“Feet,” said one of them.

The boy looked at the male cheerleader in disbelief. This had to be a dream. Then he realized that it wasn’t and spread his legs and feet apart. He looked up to see the next cheerleader already in position for her kickoff with her pompons twirling.

“ALPHA - 22 - 49 - OSCAR. HIKE!”

The cheerleader launched herself as if propelled by a catapult. The big white eyes of the black boy went wide open as his mouth dropped open too.

THWOMP! Another solid hit.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Back down to the floor he returned. Back again into the fetal position with his hands holding his privates.

“YEA!!!” “RIGHT ON!” “A 3-POINTER!” “AT – A --GIRL”

And so it went. Number 28 received three more kicks to his balls, but they weren’t nearly as bad. Two were ankle-topers, and one a slider off his right thigh. It was pretty much the same for Numbers 16 and 21. You might have thought that there would have been more home runs, so to speak, since practice makes perfect, but the cheerleaders had to adjust – had to customize.

Number 28 had made it easy with his rigid hard-on which moved his cock out and up away from his balls, leaving his balls totally exposed as if trying to help the kickers out. Here we are gal – bring it on, baby. No way to miss these suckers. There was no way he could make his cock go limp and fall down to offer some protection. And at the end of the session it showed. His balls had already swollen to a point that they were double their normal size. An hour later they would be triple their normal size.

Number 16’s pecker stayed limp the whole time, dangling down in front of his nuts. When his balls were struck his cock would whip around like a windmill. Other than that feature his balling went pretty normally.

Finally Number 21 presented an opposite size problem. His privates were small. But like Number 28 he involuntarily assisted in having his pecker shrink much like a turtle pulling his head into his shell. This too served to leave his balls exposed, as small as they were.

Before Number 16 was done he had vomited. The Head Cheerleader threw his a towel. After he was done she had the players put their short and pants back on.

“That’s it, guys. Hope you’ve learned your lesson. We don’t want to see you back here anytime soon.”

All of the cheerleaders then get into a line that extended to the shack door. One of the male cheerleaders took over and put the three in a line facing the door. He had the first one go down like football players do in preparing to run out onto the field.

“GO!”

The player sprint forward only to be stopped by the first cheerleader in the line by a rise of her arm. He stop. Then she gave him a kiss on his right cheek followed by one on his left followed by another on his right and then on his left. “Make us proud number 28.” Then he walked to the next one. “Make us proud number 28.” And so forth, except for the one with the lingering smell of vomit. He drew a waiver when it came to the kissing. From the line they exited the door.

The three stood outside in the cool air as the sun was setting. They couldn’t believe they were now out of that hell-hole. It was a shock now to be free – to be finished with that ordeal.

Much like the fraternities and sororities the punishment had been delivered in a democratic, team-like manner. It hadn’t been personal other than it was singled out punishment and not ritualistic group hazing. There had been little toying and personal humiliation. It had simply been straight forward, school sanctioned brutal beatings. You had to be tough to play varsity football at Wildwood.

Though now free, short term memories remained by way of their asses still being afire and by their balls still painfully swelling in their pants. For the next day or two the pain in their nuts would slowly transform into persistent acing. They could put them in cool water but soon afterwards the acing would return . . . relentlessly. It would be several days before their nuts would feel normal - that is no special feel at all unless the brain made inquiry. By then the blisters and welts on their asses would have also faded too. The pain there would have been quite short-lived compared to the lingering pain in their scrotum.

Slowly the three went their separate ways home. Tomorrow would be another practice day on the field of play after classes. Would the cheerleaders be there too?

(The End)