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Barb's Frat Night Out
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
windar
Teller of Tales
She has tangled with, just to name a few-Roman Legions, Nazis, the Japanese Army, plantation/mine owners and the KKK. Surely, drunken frat boys should barely even rate a mention among those.
Barb's Frat Night Out, part 3
The ΙΗΠ frat house's bartender poured me a generous drink ... what it was, I didn't know, nor did I really care. I took s long sip, and spun around on my bar stool, remembering at the last second to keep my knees together.
From the bar I had a good view of the main hall. It was a cavernous rectangular space, with a high vaulted ceiling, paneled walks, long mirrors, and immense wrought iron hanging chandeliers. A showy fireplace graced one wall ... the frat's Greek letters mounted proudly above the mantle. Massive tuffed and curved-armed Chesterfield leather couches, arranged in conversational groupings, provided plentiful seating.
The room was filled to capacity. The buzz of conversation filled the air, as frat boys and sorority sisters moved freely about or gathered in clusters. Loud music blared from black box speakers. There was a keg in one corner. Everyone was drinking.
Leaning across the bar conversationally, the bartender informed me that in addition to the ΙΗΠ frat boys, three sororities were present, along with all their pledges.
"What happens next?" I asked him, holding out my empty glass for a refill.
"Oh, as soon as everyone is here, they will gather all the pledges together in the middle of the room for the traditional initiation hazings. You're one of them, aren't you? I guess you will find out soon enough."
"You've seen it all before?" I replied, avoiding his question.
"Yeah, this is a gig I look forward to every year. The frat pays me well enough to bartend, you understand, although most of them just get beer from the keg over there ... but between you and me, the show alone would be enough to get me here ... now, don't repeat that to anyone, ok?"
"Not a word," I murmured, winking conspiratorially and holding out my glass for another refill. "What do you call this drink anyway?"
"It's called 'bottoms up'. I make once a year, exclusively for this occasion."
"I like it," I slurred, easing myself a little unsteadily off the bar stool. "I think I will mingle a bit now."
"Suit yourself, sweetie."
I cruised the floor, sipping my drink, nodding and smiling at people I passed as though I knew them. Spotting a vacant cushion on one of the Chesterfields, I sat myself down, remembering again to tug on my skirt and keep my knees together.
"Hiya, I'm Charles," announced the frat boy sitting next to me, placing his warm hand on my thigh and squeezing gently.
"I'm Barb," I replied, removing his hand.
"You must be one of the pledges. Are you feeling nervous?" he said, raising his voice to be heard over the general din of conversation and music, and firmly replacing his hand on my thigh ... this time considerably higher up. "Hope you are up for this!"
"Oh, I hope so too!" I shouted in his ear while clamping my hand firmly around his wrist to arrest the steady migration of his hand well up under my skirt. "I think I see someone over there I'd like to talk to. Nice meeting you Chuck."
I rose quickly, nearly lost my balance and careened across the floor, headed back towards the bar. But I didn't get far. The ΙΗΠ frat boy who had introduced himself earlier as the "sergeant of arms" had just clambered up on a table and was waving his arms for attention. Someone nearby let out a shrill whistle, and the place quieted.
"Ummmm... For those of you who don't know me, my name is Jake" he began. "And on behalf of ΙΗΠ, it's my pleasure to welcome everyone to our annual initiation ceremony and party ... and I want to thank especially the lovely sisters of Pi Epsilon Delta, Zeta Alpha Zeta and Phi Iota Mu for agreeing to initiate their pledges here tonight."
He paused to acknowledge the round of applause from the brothers and sisters who had by now gathered around in a large circle.
"So without further ado, may I ask that all the leather couches be aligned in a row across the center of the room, and that the pledges ... now, don't be shy girls ... gather over to my right, in front of the fireplace."
Eager hands began to push, shove and drag the Chesterfields into a rough line, while a a somewhat hesitant movement of pledges to the fireplace took place. I pondered whether it was time to give up my charade, or whether I should continue to play the part and join the apprehensive looking group of girls lining, up in front of the fireplace to face the room. I decided to see it through, at least a little longer.
When all was in place, Jake hopped down off the table, strode to the center of the hall and chortled, "Are we ready?"
And, with that, a column of frat boys and an equal number of sorority sisters marched with military precision into the center of the room, each bearing an out-sized wooden paddle emblazoned with the Greek letters of one of the three sororities.
The black speaker boxes blared out a recording of a trumpet fanfare, as they took their places along the long line of Chesterfields and turned to face us. The assembled onlookers broke into a sustained round of applause.
From my position, roughly in the middle of the lined up pledges, I glanced left and right to gauge the reaction. What was about to take place seemed obvious enough. Some of the girls looked downright frightened. Most looked apprehensive, fidgeting with their hands or nervously shuffling their feet. A few, oddly enough, looked eager.
As for myself, I felt panic! What had I gotten myself into? What should I do? Would they discover that I was not a pledge? Surely someone will notice. At the same time I could imagine how embarrassing it would be to blurt out my deception now!
But before I could decide on any course of action ... and feeling pretty tipsy from whatever it was that I had been drinking did not lend itself to making quick decisions ... a sorority sister from one of the houses had grabbed me by the wrists and was binding them together with a colorful cord. For his part, Jake, acting like a field general, was ordering us all forward and instructing us to lean over the rounded backs of the lined-up Chesterfields. The sorority sister who had bound my wrists led me forward, tugging on the cord binding my wrists in front of me.
"Wait!" I cried, but no one paid any attention.
Seconds later, I found myself bent over the Chesterfield's back, leaning forward, elbows sinking deep into the leather tuffs of its cushion, feet barely touching the floor, and tight little riding high in the air. Someone was lifting my skirt from behind, bunching the material along the waistband at the small of my back, exposing my bare cheeks to what was surely coming next.
The girl to my left said, "Oh Shit!"
The ΙΗΠ frat house's bartender poured me a generous drink ... what it was, I didn't know, nor did I really care. I took s long sip, and spun around on my bar stool, remembering at the last second to keep my knees together.
From the bar I had a good view of the main hall. It was a cavernous rectangular space, with a high vaulted ceiling, paneled walks, long mirrors, and immense wrought iron hanging chandeliers. A showy fireplace graced one wall ... the frat's Greek letters mounted proudly above the mantle. Massive tuffed and curved-armed Chesterfield leather couches, arranged in conversational groupings, provided plentiful seating.
The room was filled to capacity. The buzz of conversation filled the air, as frat boys and sorority sisters moved freely about or gathered in clusters. Loud music blared from black box speakers. There was a keg in one corner. Everyone was drinking.
Leaning across the bar conversationally, the bartender informed me that in addition to the ΙΗΠ frat boys, three sororities were present, along with all their pledges.
"What happens next?" I asked him, holding out my empty glass for a refill.
"Oh, as soon as everyone is here, they will gather all the pledges together in the middle of the room for the traditional initiation hazings. You're one of them, aren't you? I guess you will find out soon enough."
"You've seen it all before?" I replied, avoiding his question.
"Yeah, this is a gig I look forward to every year. The frat pays me well enough to bartend, you understand, although most of them just get beer from the keg over there ... but between you and me, the show alone would be enough to get me here ... now, don't repeat that to anyone, ok?"
"Not a word," I murmured, winking conspiratorially and holding out my glass for another refill. "What do you call this drink anyway?"
"It's called 'bottoms up'. I make once a year, exclusively for this occasion."
"I like it," I slurred, easing myself a little unsteadily off the bar stool. "I think I will mingle a bit now."
"Suit yourself, sweetie."
I cruised the floor, sipping my drink, nodding and smiling at people I passed as though I knew them. Spotting a vacant cushion on one of the Chesterfields, I sat myself down, remembering again to tug on my skirt and keep my knees together.
"Hiya, I'm Charles," announced the frat boy sitting next to me, placing his warm hand on my thigh and squeezing gently.
"I'm Barb," I replied, removing his hand.
"You must be one of the pledges. Are you feeling nervous?" he said, raising his voice to be heard over the general din of conversation and music, and firmly replacing his hand on my thigh ... this time considerably higher up. "Hope you are up for this!"
"Oh, I hope so too!" I shouted in his ear while clamping my hand firmly around his wrist to arrest the steady migration of his hand well up under my skirt. "I think I see someone over there I'd like to talk to. Nice meeting you Chuck."
I rose quickly, nearly lost my balance and careened across the floor, headed back towards the bar. But I didn't get far. The ΙΗΠ frat boy who had introduced himself earlier as the "sergeant of arms" had just clambered up on a table and was waving his arms for attention. Someone nearby let out a shrill whistle, and the place quieted.
"Ummmm... For those of you who don't know me, my name is Jake" he began. "And on behalf of ΙΗΠ, it's my pleasure to welcome everyone to our annual initiation ceremony and party ... and I want to thank especially the lovely sisters of Pi Epsilon Delta, Zeta Alpha Zeta and Phi Iota Mu for agreeing to initiate their pledges here tonight."
He paused to acknowledge the round of applause from the brothers and sisters who had by now gathered around in a large circle.
"So without further ado, may I ask that all the leather couches be aligned in a row across the center of the room, and that the pledges ... now, don't be shy girls ... gather over to my right, in front of the fireplace."
Eager hands began to push, shove and drag the Chesterfields into a rough line, while a a somewhat hesitant movement of pledges to the fireplace took place. I pondered whether it was time to give up my charade, or whether I should continue to play the part and join the apprehensive looking group of girls lining, up in front of the fireplace to face the room. I decided to see it through, at least a little longer.
When all was in place, Jake hopped down off the table, strode to the center of the hall and chortled, "Are we ready?"
And, with that, a column of frat boys and an equal number of sorority sisters marched with military precision into the center of the room, each bearing an out-sized wooden paddle emblazoned with the Greek letters of one of the three sororities.
The black speaker boxes blared out a recording of a trumpet fanfare, as they took their places along the long line of Chesterfields and turned to face us. The assembled onlookers broke into a sustained round of applause.
From my position, roughly in the middle of the lined up pledges, I glanced left and right to gauge the reaction. What was about to take place seemed obvious enough. Some of the girls looked downright frightened. Most looked apprehensive, fidgeting with their hands or nervously shuffling their feet. A few, oddly enough, looked eager.
As for myself, I felt panic! What had I gotten myself into? What should I do? Would they discover that I was not a pledge? Surely someone will notice. At the same time I could imagine how embarrassing it would be to blurt out my deception now!
But before I could decide on any course of action ... and feeling pretty tipsy from whatever it was that I had been drinking did not lend itself to making quick decisions ... a sorority sister from one of the houses had grabbed me by the wrists and was binding them together with a colorful cord. For his part, Jake, acting like a field general, was ordering us all forward and instructing us to lean over the rounded backs of the lined-up Chesterfields. The sorority sister who had bound my wrists led me forward, tugging on the cord binding my wrists in front of me.
"Wait!" I cried, but no one paid any attention.
Seconds later, I found myself bent over the Chesterfield's back, leaning forward, elbows sinking deep into the leather tuffs of its cushion, feet barely touching the floor, and tight little riding high in the air. Someone was lifting my skirt from behind, bunching the material along the waistband at the small of my back, exposing my bare cheeks to what was surely coming next.
The girl to my left said, "Oh Shit!"
Frank Petrexa
Tribune
Well, I hope no one loses control of bowel or bladder. That is always a danger with drunks, and it definitely wouldn't fit in the social context here.
At first I wondered what the hell was going on. Why would anyone sit on Chesterfield Cigarettes then Ulrika explained it is a type of chair.
I am beginning to worry Dr. Moore is getting too immersed in her research....
At first I wondered what the hell was going on. Why would anyone sit on Chesterfield Cigarettes then Ulrika explained it is a type of chair.
I am beginning to worry Dr. Moore is getting too immersed in her research....
Like this ...
... tell him Ulrika! 
SkatingJesus
King of the Crux Hill
This story starts pretty nicely! 
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
'Borrowed' from the Dean's office?Like this ...
... tell him Ulrika!
Without?
, or with his consent?
mongo
Governor
DKE??
mongo
Governor
" borrowed" is an elastic term'Borrowed' from the Dean's office?
Without?
Penelope Soto should certainly be signed up for a comedy act.
But only after she's served her 30 days for contempt
Barb's Frat Night Out, part 4
Not surprisingly, I couldn't see what was going on behind me ... given that I was draped, face down, over the backside of one of the ΙΗΠ fraternity's heavy leather Chesterfield couches. I was not alone. Perhaps a dozen and a half pledges were similarly placed in that position along a long line of Chesterfields set end to end ... each grimly waiting for her ceremonial initiation paddling.
Nothing had happened yet. Jake, the ΙΗΠ sergeant at arms, was busy delivering a long-winded speech about the glories of the Greek system and the sanctity of its secret rituals ... such as the one about to be performed on this year's crop of new pledges.
In the meantime I began to sweat profusely ... my clammy lower tummy, hips and thighs pressed against and sticking like glue to the Chesterfield's leather upholstery. To make matters worse, I was also feeling a little woozy from downing too many strong drinks. I thought I might puke.
As Jake droned on and on, the girl next to me, hissed, half under her breath, "Well, come on will ya? Can't we please get this frigging thing over with?"
"Yes, I wish they would hurry," I affirmed, squirming a little in a vain effort to find a more comfortable position.
"Quiet!" barked one of the phalanx of sorority sisters charged with pinning our bound wrists to the Chesterfields' over-stuffed cushions.
A hearty round of applause signaled the end of Jake's oratory. The time had come. I had paid little attention to what he said, but one of the few things that had meaning for me was the number 'twelve' ... the number of strokes each pledge was to receive on her bare bottom.
And so it began. I felt the hard polished surface of a paddle rest against my buttocks. My paddler, whoever he or she might have been, was taking careful aim. Me mentally later the paddle was removed. Someone called out the number one. I tensed, sucked in air, and screwed my eyes shut.
The blow delivered came with such force I was rocked forward. The sound of flat polished wood smacking against bared flesh combined terribly with the fiery sting of impact. My yelp mingled with the chorus of cries, gasps and curses heard from up and down the line.
I instinctively wanted to rise up and clasp my burning ass cheeks with both hands, but was prevented from doing so by the fact that my wrists were bound together and held firmly in place at the edge of the Chesterfield's cushion. I could do nothing but suck it up and wait for the next swat, which soon came with even more stinging force than the first one.
Somehow I managed to endure all twelve. I had thought I would die after the first four or five. But there was no escape and no let up. The strokes just kept coming. The girl next to me had completely broken down in tears, and I was aware of others howling and wailing in distress.
But then it was over. The onlookers delivered a sustained round of applause. The din of conversation resumed and the black box speakers blared out music.
My wrists were unbound, and I raised myself slowly to a standing position, twisting myself around to inspect my stinging, reddened bare bottom.
Lowering my skirt, I turned and made a beeline for the bar. I gingerly settled myself onto a stool, and asked for a drink.
"Mske it a double," I demanded, a note of intensity in my voice.
The bartender complied.
"You looked good out there, sweetie. Nice little butt!" he smirked.
"Shut up!"
"Just saying"
"Never you mind. So tell me, what happens next?
"Oh, pretty much what you might expect. Lots of drinking. No inhibitions. Everyone doing crazy things. It gets wilder and wilder as the night wears on. Basically ends as an all night orgy in which anything goes."
"Pour me another drink."
"How many is that now? Perhaps you need to pace yourself, sweetie?"
"Just shut up and do it!"
Not surprisingly, I couldn't see what was going on behind me ... given that I was draped, face down, over the backside of one of the ΙΗΠ fraternity's heavy leather Chesterfield couches. I was not alone. Perhaps a dozen and a half pledges were similarly placed in that position along a long line of Chesterfields set end to end ... each grimly waiting for her ceremonial initiation paddling.
Nothing had happened yet. Jake, the ΙΗΠ sergeant at arms, was busy delivering a long-winded speech about the glories of the Greek system and the sanctity of its secret rituals ... such as the one about to be performed on this year's crop of new pledges.
In the meantime I began to sweat profusely ... my clammy lower tummy, hips and thighs pressed against and sticking like glue to the Chesterfield's leather upholstery. To make matters worse, I was also feeling a little woozy from downing too many strong drinks. I thought I might puke.
As Jake droned on and on, the girl next to me, hissed, half under her breath, "Well, come on will ya? Can't we please get this frigging thing over with?"
"Yes, I wish they would hurry," I affirmed, squirming a little in a vain effort to find a more comfortable position.
"Quiet!" barked one of the phalanx of sorority sisters charged with pinning our bound wrists to the Chesterfields' over-stuffed cushions.
A hearty round of applause signaled the end of Jake's oratory. The time had come. I had paid little attention to what he said, but one of the few things that had meaning for me was the number 'twelve' ... the number of strokes each pledge was to receive on her bare bottom.
And so it began. I felt the hard polished surface of a paddle rest against my buttocks. My paddler, whoever he or she might have been, was taking careful aim. Me mentally later the paddle was removed. Someone called out the number one. I tensed, sucked in air, and screwed my eyes shut.
The blow delivered came with such force I was rocked forward. The sound of flat polished wood smacking against bared flesh combined terribly with the fiery sting of impact. My yelp mingled with the chorus of cries, gasps and curses heard from up and down the line.
I instinctively wanted to rise up and clasp my burning ass cheeks with both hands, but was prevented from doing so by the fact that my wrists were bound together and held firmly in place at the edge of the Chesterfield's cushion. I could do nothing but suck it up and wait for the next swat, which soon came with even more stinging force than the first one.
Somehow I managed to endure all twelve. I had thought I would die after the first four or five. But there was no escape and no let up. The strokes just kept coming. The girl next to me had completely broken down in tears, and I was aware of others howling and wailing in distress.
But then it was over. The onlookers delivered a sustained round of applause. The din of conversation resumed and the black box speakers blared out music.
My wrists were unbound, and I raised myself slowly to a standing position, twisting myself around to inspect my stinging, reddened bare bottom.
Lowering my skirt, I turned and made a beeline for the bar. I gingerly settled myself onto a stool, and asked for a drink.
"Mske it a double," I demanded, a note of intensity in my voice.
The bartender complied.
"You looked good out there, sweetie. Nice little butt!" he smirked.
"Shut up!"
"Just saying"
"Never you mind. So tell me, what happens next?
"Oh, pretty much what you might expect. Lots of drinking. No inhibitions. Everyone doing crazy things. It gets wilder and wilder as the night wears on. Basically ends as an all night orgy in which anything goes."
"Pour me another drink."
"How many is that now? Perhaps you need to pace yourself, sweetie?"
"Just shut up and do it!"
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Picture #2, second from left.
Just saying
I must say it is an education to see what the young ladies of America's tertiary institutions get up to. Do they, err, accept mature age enrollments in this establishment?
windar
Teller of Tales
Barb, it was very naive of you in this day and age to think that video of the event wouldn't leak out. But I do appreciate the respectful tone-quite a change from your usual attitude.
https://xhamster.com/movies/7374183/teen_paddle.html
https://xhamster.com/movies/7374183/teen_paddle.html
No phlebas. Not second from left! She's blond. I am the one on the far right.
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mongo
Governor
Old Farts????Picture #2, second from left.
Just saying
I must say it is an education to see what the young ladies of America's tertiary institutions get up to. Do they, err, accept mature age enrollments in this establishment?
Attachments
I knew this blue state liberal crap of Barb's was a ruse!!!
I didn't get it at first ... must be slow today
