I know you are busy but a slow pitch like that I could not let pass!!!I didn't get it at first ... must be slow today
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Barb's Frat Night Out
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
I know you are busy but a slow pitch like that I could not let pass!!!
batter up ... 
The catcher is either going to take the pitch in the head or balls where he is looking...View attachment 490892 batter up ...
This from a woman getting drunk anticipating an orgy!!!!Well, yeah, he is a guy. What do you expect?
mongo
Governor
Sleep Angel sleepI didn't get it at first ... must be slow today
The wicket-keeper should be watching the ballView attachment 490892 batter up ...
Wragg! Idiot! Americans don't call them wicket-keepers! They call them 'catchers'
- Horny the Unicorn
Frank Petrexa
Tribune
The late Yogi Berra, as one of the great catchers in baseball, saw it as part of his job to chat up the batter to distraction. You wonder who would be more distracted, and whether the pitch would end up anywhere around the plate anyway.The wicket-keeper should be watching the ball
Wragg! Idiot! Americans don't call them wicket-keepers! They call them 'catchers'
- Horny the Unicorn
View attachment 490892 batter up ...
But will the bowler manage a 6? And how many overs will Barb manage. If she drinks any more, she won't be able to protect her wicket at all.The wicket-keeper should be watching the ball
Wragg! Idiot! Americans don't call them wicket-keepers! They call them 'catchers'
- Horny the Unicorn
Fun story, Barb. I can't figure out if you are drinking to get in the mood for the orgy, or to blot it from your memory.
She may hope become so disgusting the frat boys leave her alone... Frat boys have no bottom... Which one of you are the bartender???But will the bowler manage a 6? And how many overs will Barb manage. If she drinks any more, she won't be able to protect her wicket at all.
Fun story, Barb. I can't figure out if you are drinking to get in the mood for the orgy, or to blot it from your memory.
I thought this blond was on the far right?
I knew that wasn't you, Barb, I just thought she had a nice, err, you know what I mean!
I think I found you, before and after the bar?
windar
Teller of Tales
Barb's Frat Night Out, part 5
"Please take a seat, Dr. Moore. Dean Radwin will be with you shortly. Can I get you anything ... coffee, tea, water?" purred his secretary as she eyed me curiously.
"No, nothing, thank you."
I eased myself carefully into the chair facing his desk. My tight little was really sore. Minutes ticked by, but he failed to appear. I wondered what was keeping him this morning. I fidgeted, shifting my position to ease the pressure on my tender bottom. Craning my neck and leaning forward, I read the screaming headline on the newspaper that lay open on his desk.
POLICE ARREST PROFESSOR IN EARLY MORNING FRAT HOUSE RAID
"Oh Shit" I said out loud.
Spinning the newspaper around, I began reading the copy.
"In an early hour Sunday raid, campus police found a full-scale orgy underway at the notorious ΙΗΠ fraternity house. Among those arrested was University Assistant Professor, Barbara Moore, who at the time of the raid was found dancing nude atop a table, swinging her bra around over her head. One of the arresting officers told this reporter that not only was Dr. Moore acting out in a shockingly disgraceful manner, she was stinking drunk. Moore and a dozen others were swept up in the raid and taken to the police station, where they were charged with lewd and indecent behavior. The University posted Moore's bail Sunday evening, and she was released. In a prepared statement, the University President said the incident was being reviewed and appropriate disciplinary measures would be taken once the facts of the matter were known. He added that he was fairly certain that Dr. Moore would be punished."
Right in the center of the page was a large photo of myself, dancing naked on a table surrounded by a throng of raucously cheering students ... although someone had carefully photo-shopped in black boxes to cover my boobs and crotch. I stared incredulously at the photo. I couldn't, for the life of me, remember doing such a thing. But there I was.
On hearing the creak of the door knob turning, I quickly spun the newspaper back to its former position, and slumped back into my chair. Apprehensively, I bit my lip, hung my head, and waited.
I rose to greet Dean Radwin as he came through the door. “You can sit down, Dr. Moore,” he said sternly. No Barbara. No handshake. This wasn’t going to be a friendly meeting, that was for sure. He brushed quickly by me and sat himself in the plush armchair behind his desk.
“When I had you in here a couple of days ago, what did I ask you to do?”
“To go to the IHP initiation party and observe the goings on and report back to you,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.
“That’s right, Dr. Moore, that is what I asked you to do. Not to lead the festivities, not to get drunk as a sailor on port leave and certainly not to get arrested and end up on the front page of the Daily Blah,” he said angrily.
“But, Dean Radwin,” I sputtered. “You told me to join the party, play along.” This sounded a bit lame, I knew.
“I expected some judgement on your part, just enough to fit in and be accepted, not so much as to cause a major embarrassment to this University.”
“I’m sorry, really I am, Dean Radwin,” I felt my eyes tearing up. I knew most men couldn’t resist a woman’s tears. He passed me a box of tissues from the top of his desk.
“It’s bad enough that you would do this at any time, Dr. Moore, but you picked the worst possible time to get yourself plastered all over the internet. Do you know who Roger Morton is?”
The name sounded vaguely familiar, but in my distress I couldn’t really place it. “I’m sorry, no,” I blubbered, trying to stop the flow from my eyes.
“He’s the richest man ever to graduate from this university, Dr. Moore. A billionaire several times over, founded one of the most successful hedge funds on Wall Street. He wants to honor his alma mater by building a new library and endowing several chairs in a whole slew of departments.”
“That’s wonderful,” I replied.
“Well, normally, it would be,” the Dean said. “Unfortunately he is here right now for a visit to finalize the details of his donation and I’m sure he is reading this over his coffee and bagels at the University Inn and choking.” He pointed at the newspaper on his desk with a disgusted look on his face. “I just met with the President and he wants me to punish you before Mr. Morton arrives on campus so that we can report to him that the situation is well in hand.”
Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything, but I felt contrition was the best recourse at this point. “I accept full responsibility for my actions and will accept whatever you deem appropriate, Dean Radwin.”
“Good,” he replied. “I’m glad to hear that. Please stand up.”
What could I do? I stood up.
“Strip!” he ordered. I wasn’t sure I had heard him correctly. “Go on, Dr. Moore, you certainly weren’t shy about taking your clothes off in front of dozens of people at the frat house. It’s just the two of us here.”
I had to admit he had a good argument there. So, I reached for the top button of my blouse as I kicked my sandals off. His eyes bored into my chest as I slowly undid the fasteners, one by one, until the blouse hung open. I shucked it off and folded it neatly, depositing it on my chair.
“Go on,” he said. I unbuttoned my skirt and let it fall to the floor, bending to pick it up and lay it on the chair with my blouse. I paused hoping he wouldn’t insist on my going any further. Not much chance of that-he looked about as stony as Mount Rushmore. I reached behind me to unhook my bra and removed it, depositing it on the chair.
“Very nice, Dr. Moore. Those black boxes in the paper didn’t do you justice,” he said. I suppose he meant that as a compliment.
“Must I?” I asked, hoping that he would let me keep the last shred of dignity that my panties represented.
“I’m afraid so,” he replied. Looking away from him to hide my embarrassment, I slid my panties down and stepped out of them. They joined the rest of my apparel on the chair.
“It looks like you are in good shape, Dr. Moore.” I blushed. “I would guess around 120 lbs.”
“Somewhere around there,” I muttered.
“I’m a pretty good judge of that, I think. And height around 5’6’’, maybe 5’7”?” I nodded. “Perfect,” he said smiling. “Please come over here.” I padded around his desk, the plush oriental carpet feeling soft against my bare feet.
The Dean was standing against the wall behind his desk. I hadn’t noticed it before, but there was a hook set high in the wall, just below the ceiling. “You may not know it Dr. Moore, but a little while ago, I dislocated my shoulder and the physiotherapist gave me some stretching exercises with one of those rubber bands. I had the custodial staff install that hook so I could do those exercises in here. It’s tested to 250 lbs.”
That sounded reassuring. Or possibly not. As he spoke, he reached into a drawer in his desk and pulled out a thick band of rubber.
“Now Dr. Moore, give me your hands please.” I put my arms in front of me and allowed him to wrap the band tightly around them several times, leaving only a short strip accessible.
He wheeled his chair over and braced it against the wall with his knee. “Up you go,” he ordered. Reluctantly, I stood on the chair as Dean Radwin scrambled nimbly up onto his desk and slid the rubber band over the hook. Then he scrambled down and grasped the chair firmly. “Ready, Dr. Moore?”
Without waiting for an answer, he yanked the chair away, leaving me dangling in mid-air. I felt the rubber stretching and my feet descending towards the ground. But then, my downward progress stopped as the rubber stretched to its maximum potential. I scrabbled for the floor with my toes, but it remained just a few inches out of reach.
“Perfect,” the Dean exclaimed with a satisfied grin on his face. “Just the right height. Now I have to go meet with the President and Mr. Morton to see if we can salvage his donation. You just hang out here for a while and I’ll be back to check on you.” He smiled broadly and left.
I hung there, helpless, my arms aching, my breathing labored from the stretched position. If I worked hard, I could brace my feet against the wall and push myself up for a few moments before my legs gave way and my arms had to take the weight of my body again.
It seemed like I had hung there for several hours, though it was probably much less than that. Finally, I heard the door open. I saw Dean Radwin in the doorway and was pleased. Surely he was going to let me down now. Then I heard him say, “Please come in, gentlemen.”
Was he actually bringing guests in to gawk at me? That didn’t seem possible, but there they were, two older men in suits. “President Connors, Mr. Morton,” Dean Radwin announced, “This is Dr. Barbara Moore, whose situation we were discussing.”
He led the two men over to me. They stared open-mouthed. President Connors coughed. “I think you can see, Mr. Morton, that the University takes misbehavior by faculty most seriously and takes vigorous action to make sure they are adequately disciplined.”
“I can see that, President Connors,” Morton replied. “Obviously the situation is well in hand.” Then the billionaire reached up and pinched my tight little, hard enough to make me squeal loudly as the men laughed at Morton’s bad joke. “I will have my accountant send the check as soon as I get back to New York. Nice to meet you, Dean Radwin.” I could swear that I saw him wink at the Dean. Then Morton and the President left.
Dean Radwin wheeled the chair over and with enormous relief I placed my feet on the soft seat cushion. He got up on the desk and released my hands from the hook.
Once I was down and standing in front of him, still naked, he addressed me. “Dr. Moore, I hope you have learned a valuable lesson.” I nodded-what else could I do? “President Connors has asked me to counsel you on a continuing basis so that you don’t get in any further trouble. I suggest that we have a preliminary session tonight at my house around 7. You may get dressed now.”
THAT'S ALL FOLKS!
"Please take a seat, Dr. Moore. Dean Radwin will be with you shortly. Can I get you anything ... coffee, tea, water?" purred his secretary as she eyed me curiously.
"No, nothing, thank you."
I eased myself carefully into the chair facing his desk. My tight little was really sore. Minutes ticked by, but he failed to appear. I wondered what was keeping him this morning. I fidgeted, shifting my position to ease the pressure on my tender bottom. Craning my neck and leaning forward, I read the screaming headline on the newspaper that lay open on his desk.
POLICE ARREST PROFESSOR IN EARLY MORNING FRAT HOUSE RAID
"Oh Shit" I said out loud.
Spinning the newspaper around, I began reading the copy.
"In an early hour Sunday raid, campus police found a full-scale orgy underway at the notorious ΙΗΠ fraternity house. Among those arrested was University Assistant Professor, Barbara Moore, who at the time of the raid was found dancing nude atop a table, swinging her bra around over her head. One of the arresting officers told this reporter that not only was Dr. Moore acting out in a shockingly disgraceful manner, she was stinking drunk. Moore and a dozen others were swept up in the raid and taken to the police station, where they were charged with lewd and indecent behavior. The University posted Moore's bail Sunday evening, and she was released. In a prepared statement, the University President said the incident was being reviewed and appropriate disciplinary measures would be taken once the facts of the matter were known. He added that he was fairly certain that Dr. Moore would be punished."
Right in the center of the page was a large photo of myself, dancing naked on a table surrounded by a throng of raucously cheering students ... although someone had carefully photo-shopped in black boxes to cover my boobs and crotch. I stared incredulously at the photo. I couldn't, for the life of me, remember doing such a thing. But there I was.
On hearing the creak of the door knob turning, I quickly spun the newspaper back to its former position, and slumped back into my chair. Apprehensively, I bit my lip, hung my head, and waited.
I rose to greet Dean Radwin as he came through the door. “You can sit down, Dr. Moore,” he said sternly. No Barbara. No handshake. This wasn’t going to be a friendly meeting, that was for sure. He brushed quickly by me and sat himself in the plush armchair behind his desk.
“When I had you in here a couple of days ago, what did I ask you to do?”
“To go to the IHP initiation party and observe the goings on and report back to you,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.
“That’s right, Dr. Moore, that is what I asked you to do. Not to lead the festivities, not to get drunk as a sailor on port leave and certainly not to get arrested and end up on the front page of the Daily Blah,” he said angrily.
“But, Dean Radwin,” I sputtered. “You told me to join the party, play along.” This sounded a bit lame, I knew.
“I expected some judgement on your part, just enough to fit in and be accepted, not so much as to cause a major embarrassment to this University.”
“I’m sorry, really I am, Dean Radwin,” I felt my eyes tearing up. I knew most men couldn’t resist a woman’s tears. He passed me a box of tissues from the top of his desk.
“It’s bad enough that you would do this at any time, Dr. Moore, but you picked the worst possible time to get yourself plastered all over the internet. Do you know who Roger Morton is?”
The name sounded vaguely familiar, but in my distress I couldn’t really place it. “I’m sorry, no,” I blubbered, trying to stop the flow from my eyes.
“He’s the richest man ever to graduate from this university, Dr. Moore. A billionaire several times over, founded one of the most successful hedge funds on Wall Street. He wants to honor his alma mater by building a new library and endowing several chairs in a whole slew of departments.”
“That’s wonderful,” I replied.
“Well, normally, it would be,” the Dean said. “Unfortunately he is here right now for a visit to finalize the details of his donation and I’m sure he is reading this over his coffee and bagels at the University Inn and choking.” He pointed at the newspaper on his desk with a disgusted look on his face. “I just met with the President and he wants me to punish you before Mr. Morton arrives on campus so that we can report to him that the situation is well in hand.”
Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything, but I felt contrition was the best recourse at this point. “I accept full responsibility for my actions and will accept whatever you deem appropriate, Dean Radwin.”
“Good,” he replied. “I’m glad to hear that. Please stand up.”
What could I do? I stood up.
“Strip!” he ordered. I wasn’t sure I had heard him correctly. “Go on, Dr. Moore, you certainly weren’t shy about taking your clothes off in front of dozens of people at the frat house. It’s just the two of us here.”
I had to admit he had a good argument there. So, I reached for the top button of my blouse as I kicked my sandals off. His eyes bored into my chest as I slowly undid the fasteners, one by one, until the blouse hung open. I shucked it off and folded it neatly, depositing it on my chair.
“Go on,” he said. I unbuttoned my skirt and let it fall to the floor, bending to pick it up and lay it on the chair with my blouse. I paused hoping he wouldn’t insist on my going any further. Not much chance of that-he looked about as stony as Mount Rushmore. I reached behind me to unhook my bra and removed it, depositing it on the chair.
“Very nice, Dr. Moore. Those black boxes in the paper didn’t do you justice,” he said. I suppose he meant that as a compliment.
“Must I?” I asked, hoping that he would let me keep the last shred of dignity that my panties represented.
“I’m afraid so,” he replied. Looking away from him to hide my embarrassment, I slid my panties down and stepped out of them. They joined the rest of my apparel on the chair.
“It looks like you are in good shape, Dr. Moore.” I blushed. “I would guess around 120 lbs.”
“Somewhere around there,” I muttered.
“I’m a pretty good judge of that, I think. And height around 5’6’’, maybe 5’7”?” I nodded. “Perfect,” he said smiling. “Please come over here.” I padded around his desk, the plush oriental carpet feeling soft against my bare feet.
The Dean was standing against the wall behind his desk. I hadn’t noticed it before, but there was a hook set high in the wall, just below the ceiling. “You may not know it Dr. Moore, but a little while ago, I dislocated my shoulder and the physiotherapist gave me some stretching exercises with one of those rubber bands. I had the custodial staff install that hook so I could do those exercises in here. It’s tested to 250 lbs.”
That sounded reassuring. Or possibly not. As he spoke, he reached into a drawer in his desk and pulled out a thick band of rubber.
“Now Dr. Moore, give me your hands please.” I put my arms in front of me and allowed him to wrap the band tightly around them several times, leaving only a short strip accessible.
He wheeled his chair over and braced it against the wall with his knee. “Up you go,” he ordered. Reluctantly, I stood on the chair as Dean Radwin scrambled nimbly up onto his desk and slid the rubber band over the hook. Then he scrambled down and grasped the chair firmly. “Ready, Dr. Moore?”
Without waiting for an answer, he yanked the chair away, leaving me dangling in mid-air. I felt the rubber stretching and my feet descending towards the ground. But then, my downward progress stopped as the rubber stretched to its maximum potential. I scrabbled for the floor with my toes, but it remained just a few inches out of reach.
“Perfect,” the Dean exclaimed with a satisfied grin on his face. “Just the right height. Now I have to go meet with the President and Mr. Morton to see if we can salvage his donation. You just hang out here for a while and I’ll be back to check on you.” He smiled broadly and left.
I hung there, helpless, my arms aching, my breathing labored from the stretched position. If I worked hard, I could brace my feet against the wall and push myself up for a few moments before my legs gave way and my arms had to take the weight of my body again.
It seemed like I had hung there for several hours, though it was probably much less than that. Finally, I heard the door open. I saw Dean Radwin in the doorway and was pleased. Surely he was going to let me down now. Then I heard him say, “Please come in, gentlemen.”
Was he actually bringing guests in to gawk at me? That didn’t seem possible, but there they were, two older men in suits. “President Connors, Mr. Morton,” Dean Radwin announced, “This is Dr. Barbara Moore, whose situation we were discussing.”
He led the two men over to me. They stared open-mouthed. President Connors coughed. “I think you can see, Mr. Morton, that the University takes misbehavior by faculty most seriously and takes vigorous action to make sure they are adequately disciplined.”
“I can see that, President Connors,” Morton replied. “Obviously the situation is well in hand.” Then the billionaire reached up and pinched my tight little, hard enough to make me squeal loudly as the men laughed at Morton’s bad joke. “I will have my accountant send the check as soon as I get back to New York. Nice to meet you, Dean Radwin.” I could swear that I saw him wink at the Dean. Then Morton and the President left.
Dean Radwin wheeled the chair over and with enormous relief I placed my feet on the soft seat cushion. He got up on the desk and released my hands from the hook.
Once I was down and standing in front of him, still naked, he addressed me. “Dr. Moore, I hope you have learned a valuable lesson.” I nodded-what else could I do? “President Connors has asked me to counsel you on a continuing basis so that you don’t get in any further trouble. I suggest that we have a preliminary session tonight at my house around 7. You may get dressed now.”
THAT'S ALL FOLKS!
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windar
Teller of Tales
Oh Shit!
Repertor
Artifex Imaginum
"Right in the center of the page was a large photo of myself, dancing naked on a table surrounded by a throng of raucously cheering students ... although someone had carefully photo-shopped in black boxes to cover my boobs and crotch. I stared incredulously at the photo. I couldn't, for the life of me, remember doing such a thing. But there I was."
Still can't believe that I did that
Must be a fake!
I was framed!
(Nice post Rep
... even a Corinthian column in the background )
LittleSiss
Sorceress
Madi.
Focus ............. kidding.
But she isn't real .......... walk ... open the door ..........but
You real know your stuff!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Corel or Photoshop?
Is it real, or is it Madiosi?