Amiga ISO Collection/AmigaDemoCD2.iso/ASCII/TEXTE/SEX/ADULTSHARE/C/CAHLING.TXT

Text File | 1987-11-27 | 6.0 KB | 110 lines

     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 to 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.