FORMAL EDUCATION! By THRONE (Patreon)

FORMAL EDUCATION!

By THRONE

THIS ONE IS HUGE...185 pages... download the PDF below

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A​ ​FORMAL​ ​EDUCATION​ ​--​ ​1. by​ ​Throne

It​ ​was​ ​a​ ​beautiful​ ​late​ ​Spring​ ​day​ ​on​ ​the​ ​sprawling​ ​campus​ ​of​ ​Harmon University.​ ​​​Though​ ​it​ ​was​ ​only​ ​twenty​ ​minutes​ ​from​ ​the​ ​edge​ ​of​ ​a​ ​major urban​ ​center,​ ​it​ ​felt​ ​to​ ​Paul​ ​Curtis​ ​like​ ​it​ ​was​ ​a​ ​world​ ​away.​ ​​​He​ ​strolled across​ ​the​ ​attractive​ ​quad​ ​and​ ​watched​ ​his​ ​fellow​ ​students.​ ​​​There​ ​were lots​ ​of​ ​sharply​ ​dressed​ ​guys,​ ​along​ ​with​ ​some​ ​who​ ​went​ ​out​ ​of​ ​their​ ​way​ ​to look​ ​casual.​ ​​​He​ ​was​ ​somewhere​ ​between​ ​the​ ​two​ ​extremes,​ ​with​ ​a​ ​sport shirt​ ​and​ ​jeans,​ ​both​ ​from​ ​stylish​ ​labels.​ ​​​His​ ​light​ ​brown​ ​hair​ ​fell​ ​to​ ​his collar​ ​and​ ​was​ ​brushed​ ​rather​ ​than​ ​combed,​ ​and​ ​treated​ ​with​ ​enough product​ ​to​ ​keep​ ​it​ ​from​ ​becoming​ ​unruly,​ ​but​ ​not​ ​so​ ​much​

​that​ ​it​ ​looked​ ​like he​ ​used​ ​anything​ ​to​ ​control​ ​it.​ ​​​His​ ​face​ ​was​ ​soft​ ​and​ ​smooth,​ ​making​ ​it appear​ ​that​ ​he​ ​was​ ​younger​ ​than​ ​his​ ​18​ ​years.

He​ ​noticed​ ​three​ ​attractive​ ​coeds​ ​sitting​ ​on​ ​a​ ​low,​ ​stone​ ​wall.​ ​​​Their​ ​short skirts​ ​showed​ ​off​ ​attractive​ ​legs,​ ​and​ ​blouses​ ​with​ ​the​ ​top​ ​three​ ​buttons undone​ ​hinted​ ​at​ ​the​ ​delights​ ​that​ ​lay​ ​underneath.​ ​​​Further​ ​along​ ​there were​ ​a​ ​couple​ ​of​ ​jocks,​ ​striding​ ​purposefully,​ ​though​ ​they​ ​were​ ​probably just​ ​killing​ ​time​ ​between​ ​classes.​ ​​​He​ ​knew​ ​they​ ​were​ ​members​ ​of​ ​Alpha Mega​ ​Alpha,​ ​the​ ​fraternity​ ​he​ ​had​ ​been​ ​thinking​ ​about​ ​trying​ ​to​ ​join.​ ​​​Paul had​ ​been​ ​vacillating​ ​between​ ​going​ ​to​ ​their​ ​frat​ ​house​ ​and​ ​presenting himself,​ ​or​ ​else​ ​just​ ​giving​ ​up​ ​and​ ​not​ ​even​ ​making​ ​an​ ​attempt.​ ​​​After​ ​all,​ ​he was​ ​short​ ​and​ ​had​ ​a​ ​small​ ​frame,​ ​the​ ​opposite​ ​of​ ​those​ ​big​ ​strapping​ ​guys who​ ​were​ ​all​ ​on​ ​school​ ​sports​ ​teams.

His​ ​motivation​ ​for​ ​wanting​ ​to​ ​be​ ​accepted​ ​by​ ​them​ ​was​ ​simple.​ ​​​It​ ​would prove​ ​to​ ​his​ ​girlfriend​ ​Hannah​ ​that​ ​he​ ​wasn't​ ​some​ ​sort​ ​of​ ​weakling​ ​or wimp.​ ​​​He​ ​knew​ ​from​ ​past​ ​experiences​ ​that​ ​girls​ ​tended​ ​to​ ​think​ ​of​ ​him​ ​that way.​ ​​​He​ ​also​ ​knew​ ​from​ ​not​ ​having​ ​much​ ​luck​ ​with​ ​those​ ​girls​ ​that​ ​it​ ​was something​ ​he​ ​needed​ ​to​ ​work​ ​on.​ ​​​Hannah​ ​was​ ​exactly​ ​the​ ​type​ ​of​ ​girl​ ​he wanted​ ​to​ ​be​ ​with.​ ​​​She​ ​was​ ​very​ ​attractive,​ ​with​ ​a​ ​sweet​ ​face,​ ​long​ ​blond hair,​ ​a​ ​trim​ ​figure,​ ​and​ ​a​ ​bust​ ​that​ ​was​ ​a​ ​few​ ​sizes​ ​to​ ​big​ ​to​ ​go​ ​with​ ​the​ ​rest of​ ​her​ ​body.​ ​​​That​ ​last​ ​feature​ ​drew​ ​plenty​ ​of​ ​appreciative​ ​male​ ​attention.

Paul​ ​liked​ ​to​ ​walk​ ​among​ ​the​ ​college's​ ​buildings​ ​with​ ​her.​ ​​​He​ ​was​ ​proud​ ​to be​ ​seen​ ​in​ ​her​ ​company​ ​and​ ​imagined​ ​other​ ​guys​ ​being​ ​jealous​ ​of​ ​him.

Hannah​ ​was​ ​from​ ​a​ ​small​ ​Midwestern​ ​town​ ​and​ ​didn't​ ​have​ ​a​ ​lot​ ​of experience​ ​with​ ​guys.​ ​​​She​ ​had​ ​confided​ ​in​ ​him​ ​that​ ​she​ ​had​ ​never​ ​gone further​ ​than​ ​informal​ ​dating.​ ​​​Kissing​ ​and​ ​having​ ​guys​ ​try​ ​to​ ​feel​ ​her​ ​up​ ​had been​ ​the​ ​limit​ ​of​ ​her​ ​previous​ ​sex​ ​life.​ ​​​She​ ​told​ ​Paul​ ​that​ ​she​ ​respected​ ​him for​ ​not​ ​being​ ​too​ ​aggressive​ ​at​ ​first.​ ​​​He​ ​tried​ ​to​ ​be​ ​equally​ ​open​ ​with​ ​her about​ ​his​ ​past,​ ​but​ ​he​ ​exaggerated​ ​his​ ​partial​ ​successes,​ ​and​ ​omitted​ ​his numerous​ ​failures.​ ​​​What​ ​he​ ​was​ ​especially​ ​careful​ ​not​ ​to​ ​mention​ ​was​ ​how a​ ​few​ ​girls,​ ​on​ ​seeing​ ​him​ ​naked,​ ​had​ ​reacted.​ ​​​Paul​ ​had​ ​no​ ​intention​ ​of revealing​ ​how​ ​he​ ​had​ ​been​ ​questioned​ ​and​ ​even​ ​laughed​ ​at​ ​about​ ​the​ ​size of​ ​his​ ​genitals.​ ​​​Two​ ​girls​ ​had​ ​spent​ ​time​ ​openly​ ​taunting​ ​him​ ​about​ ​how small​ ​his​ ​male​ ​parts​ ​were,​ ​along​ ​with​ ​his​ ​almost​ ​complete​ ​lack​ ​of​ ​body​ ​hair. Okay,​ ​maybe​ ​it​ ​was​ ​three​ ​girls.

Ever​ ​since​ ​then​ ​he​ ​had​ ​told​ ​himself​ ​that​ ​those​ ​three​ ​girls​ ​--​ ​perhaps​ ​four​ ​-- were​ ​just​ ​what​ ​were​ ​called​ ​'size​ ​queens'.​ ​​​They​ ​didn't​ ​care​ ​about​ ​affection or​ ​tenderness,​ ​only​ ​how​ ​big​ ​a​ ​guy​ ​was​ ​down​ ​there.​ ​​​He​ ​rationalized​ ​that​ ​he was​ ​probably​ ​average,​ ​despite​ ​how​ ​poorly​ ​he​ ​had​ ​fared​ ​against​ ​his classmates​ ​in​ ​the​ ​high​ ​school​ ​locker​ ​room.​ ​​​But​ ​he​ ​was​ ​short,​ ​so​ ​his​ ​penis was​ ​in​ ​proportion​ ​to​ ​his​ ​height.​ ​​​Usually​ ​he​ ​just​ ​tried​ ​not​ ​to​ ​think​ ​about​ ​it.

His​ ​confidence​ ​got​ ​a​ ​boost​ ​after​ ​he​ ​met​ ​Hannah​ ​and​ ​their​ ​first​ ​date​ ​went well.​ ​​​It​ ​had​ ​only​ ​progressed​ ​to​ ​the​ ​kissing​ ​stage,​ ​which​ ​included​ ​him putting​ ​his​ ​hand​ ​on​ ​her​ ​thigh,​ ​but​ ​to​ ​Paul​ ​it​ ​was​ ​a​ ​major​ ​step.​ ​​​He​ ​had gotten​ ​a​ ​raging​ ​erection​ ​and​ ​even​ ​feared,​ ​at​ ​the​ ​time,​ ​that​ ​he​ ​might ejaculate​ ​in​ ​his​ ​jockey​ ​shorts.​ ​​​After​ ​they​ ​said​ ​goodnight​ ​he​ ​rushed​ ​back​ ​to his​ ​modest​ ​apartment​ ​on​ ​campus​ ​and​ ​masturbated​ ​furiously​ ​to​ ​mental images​ ​of​ ​how​ ​she​ ​might​ ​look​ ​with​ ​her​ ​top​ ​off.​ ​​​On​ ​their​ ​subsequent​ ​dates he​ ​had​ ​made​ ​slow​ ​but​ ​steady​ ​progress.​ ​​​A​ ​few​ ​times​ ​she​ ​even​ ​showed​ ​mild impatience​ ​and​ ​told​ ​him​ ​it​ ​was​ ​okay​ ​to​ ​go​ ​further.​ ​​​He​ ​figured​ ​she​ ​might​ ​be overeager.​ ​​​Hannah​ ​might​ ​regret​ ​it​ ​if​ ​he​ ​went​ ​as​ ​fast​ ​as​ ​she​ ​suggested.​ ​​​So

Paul​ ​kept​ ​it​ ​slow​ ​and​ ​steady,​ ​thrilled​ ​when​ ​he​ ​finally​ ​got​ ​to​ ​suck​ ​on​ ​her nipples​ ​and​ ​then​ ​touch​ ​her​ ​pubic​ ​mound​ ​with​ ​just​ ​his​ ​fingertips.​ ​​​His​ ​bouts of​ ​self-relieving​ ​continued.

When​ ​they​ ​first​ ​had​ ​intercourse,​ ​in​ ​his​ ​apartment,​ ​she​ ​acted​ ​even​ ​more willing​ ​to​ ​rush​ ​ahead.​ ​​​Paul​ ​was​ ​still​ ​careful​ ​as​ ​he​ ​mounted​ ​her​ ​and​ ​gently inserted​ ​himself.​ ​​​Her​ ​maidenhead​ ​was​ ​difficult​ ​to​ ​pierce​ ​and​ ​she​ ​got frustrated​ ​with​ ​his​ ​failures,​ ​but​ ​eventually​ ​it​ ​happened.​ ​​​Paul​ ​entered​ ​her and​ ​happily,​ ​but​ ​very​ ​quickly,​ ​had​ ​his​ ​first​ ​orgasm​ ​in​ ​a​ ​pussy​ ​instead​ ​of​ ​his hand.​ ​​​Hannah​ ​didn't​ ​get​ ​very​ ​excited​ ​during​ ​the​ ​brief​ ​act.​ ​​​She​ ​seemed confused​ ​when​ ​it​ ​was​ ​over​ ​so​ ​soon.​ ​​​Even​ ​so,​ ​as​ ​Paul​ ​snuggled​ ​against her​ ​in​ ​post-coital​

​bliss,​ ​she​ ​comforted​ ​him.​ ​​​Better​ ​than​ ​that,​ ​she​ ​didn't criticize​ ​anything​ ​about​ ​what​ ​had​ ​just​ ​happened.

Paul​ ​was​ ​remembering​ ​the​ ​event,​ ​though​ ​in​ ​his​ ​mind​ ​it​ ​was​ ​highly idealized.​ ​​​He​ ​recalled​ ​it​ ​as​ ​a​ ​triumph​ ​for​ ​himself​ ​and​ ​never​ ​questioned​ ​how much​ ​she​ ​enjoyed,​ ​or​ ​didn't​ ​enjoy,​ ​what​ ​happened.​ ​​​His​ ​fond​ ​reminiscing was​ ​disrupted​ ​as​ ​he​ ​looked​ ​up​ ​and​ ​saw​ ​two​ ​guys​ ​from​ ​another​ ​fraternity walking​ ​straight​ ​toward​ ​him.​ ​​​They​ ​were​ ​from​ ​the​ ​Black​ ​fraternity,​ ​Alpha Ebony​ ​Omega,​ ​and​ ​were​ ​probably​ ​tackles​ ​from​ ​the​ ​football​ ​team.​ ​​​He veered​ ​out​ ​of​ ​their​ ​path​ ​and​ ​almost​ ​tripped​ ​over​ ​his​ ​own​ ​feet.​ ​​​They​ ​barely noticed​ ​him​ ​as​ ​they​ ​went​ ​past.​ ​​​Paul​ ​was​ ​always​ ​uneasy​ ​when​ ​he​ ​was around​ ​those​ ​brothers.

Almost​ ​to​ ​his​ ​next​ ​class,​ ​he​ ​had​ ​to​ ​pass​ ​by​ ​the​ ​Delta​ ​Virago​ ​Delta​ ​house. Several​ ​of​ ​the​ ​sorority's​ ​sisters​ ​were​ ​out​ ​front.​ ​​​He​ ​tried​ ​to​ ​eye​ ​them​ ​without being​ ​obvious​ ​about​ ​it.​ ​​​They​ ​were​ ​all​ ​sexy​ ​and​ ​dressed​ ​to​ ​show​ ​that​ ​off. He​ ​might​ ​even​ ​have​ ​asked​ ​one​ ​of​ ​them​ ​out,​ ​instead​ ​of​ ​Hannah.​ ​​​One reason​ ​he​ ​didn't​ ​was​ ​that​ ​they​ ​had​ ​a​ ​reputation​ ​for​ ​being​ ​bitches.​ ​​​He​ ​had overheard​ ​guys​ ​in​ ​the​ ​cafeteria​ ​mournfully​ ​discussing​ ​how​ ​they​ ​had​ ​been led​ ​on,​ ​encouraged​ ​to​ ​spend​ ​money​ ​on​ ​their​ ​dates,​ ​and​ ​then unceremoniously​ ​dumped.​ ​​​Paul​ ​didn't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​go​ ​through​ ​that.​ ​​​​​The​ ​other reason​ ​for​ ​his​ ​reluctance​ ​was​ ​that​ ​they​ ​were​ ​notorious​ ​for​ ​only​ ​going​ ​to​ ​bed with​ ​Black​ ​guys,​ ​mainly​ ​from​ ​Alpha​ ​Ebony​ ​Omega.​ ​​​The​ ​last​ ​thing​ ​he wanted​ ​was​ ​to​ ​compete​ ​with​ ​those​ ​intimidating​ ​brothers​ ​and​ ​maybe​ ​even run​ ​afoul​ ​of​ ​one​ ​or​ ​more.​

​​​The​ ​girls​ ​were​ ​so​ ​hooked​ ​on​ ​their​ ​preferred lovers,​ ​he​ ​had​ ​heard,​ ​that​ ​they​ ​even​ ​wore​ ​panties​ ​custom​ ​made​ ​to symbolize​ ​their​ ​devotion.​ ​​​The​ ​lingerie​ ​was​ ​said​ ​to​ ​have​ ​not​ ​only​ ​the sorority's​ ​letters​ ​on​ ​it,​ ​but​ ​also​ ​the​ ​Queen​ ​of​ ​Spades​ ​symbols,​ ​the​ ​red​ ​'Q' and​the black spade. Paul was naïve and someone had to explain to​him that​ ​it​ ​meant​ ​they​ ​only​ ​had​ ​sex​ ​with​ ​Black​ ​men.​ ​​​The​ ​sisters​ ​had​ ​a 'ringleader',​ ​the​ ​sorority's​ ​president,​ ​Jessica​ ​White.​ ​​​She​ ​was​ ​beautiful​ ​but dangerous.

So​ ​he​ ​was​ ​satisfied​ ​to​ ​stay​ ​with​ ​Hannah,​ ​he​ ​happily​ ​assured​ ​himself​ ​as​ ​he entered​ ​Pall​ ​Mall​ ​Hall.​ ​​​This​ ​class,​ ​Paths​ ​of​ ​Logic,​ ​was​ ​a​ ​favorite​ ​of​ ​his.​ ​​​He enjoyed​ ​winning​ ​intellectual​ ​arguments​ ​with​ ​a​ ​reasoned​ ​approach.​ ​​​Also,​ ​it was​ ​the​ ​one​ ​class​ ​he​ ​shared​ ​with​ ​Hannah.​ ​​​Paul​ ​spotted​ ​her​ ​at​ ​the​ ​end​ ​of the​ ​hall.​ ​​​She​ ​held​ ​her​ ​books​ ​against​ ​her​ ​midsection,​ ​so​ ​that​ ​her​ ​breasts thrust​ ​out​ ​above​ ​them.​ ​​​He​ ​stopped​ ​and​ ​took​ ​in​ ​the​ ​sight​ ​for​ ​extra​ ​seconds before​ ​she​ ​might​ ​notice​ ​him.​ ​​​Across​ ​the​ ​hall​ ​and​ ​facing​ ​her​ ​was​ ​her​ ​friend Angie,​ ​a​ ​cute​ ​Hispanic​ ​girl​ ​with​ ​long​ ​dark​ ​hair​ ​and,​ ​like​ ​Hannah,​ ​a​ ​generous bosom.​ ​​​His​ ​eyes​ ​went​ ​back​ ​and​ ​forth​ ​between​ ​those​ ​two​ ​chests,​ ​while​ ​his penis​ ​twitched​ ​in​ ​response.​ ​​​Then​ ​Hannah​ ​spotted​ ​him​ ​and​ ​he​ ​focused​ ​on her,​ ​smiling​ ​widely.

"Hey,"​ ​he​ ​said,​ ​nodding.​ ​​​"Ready​ ​for​ ​another​ ​of​ ​Professor​ ​Goldman's​ ​clever topics?"​ ​​​He​ ​mentioned​ ​some​ ​possible​ ​ones.

Hannah​ ​shrugged.​ ​​​"We'll​ ​see​ ​what​ ​he​ ​has​ ​for​ ​us​ ​today."

Paul​ ​sensed​ ​that​ ​he​ ​was​ ​being​ ​too​ ​academic.​ ​​​He​ ​resettled​ ​his​ ​book​ ​bag​ ​on his​ ​back​ ​by​ ​shifting​ ​his​ ​shoulders.​ ​​​Then​ ​he​ ​punched​ ​his​ ​left​ ​fist​ ​into​ ​his right​ ​open​ ​palm.​ ​​​Paul​ ​was​ ​trying​ ​to​ ​project​ ​physicality​ ​but​ ​the​ ​girls​ ​were waiting​ ​for​ ​it​ ​to​ ​lead​ ​to​ ​something,​ ​especially​ ​Hannah.

Without​ ​thinking​ ​it​ ​through​ ​he​ ​said,​ ​"Oh​ ​yeah,​ ​I'm​ ​going​ ​to​ ​pledge​ ​with Alpha​ ​Mega​ ​Alpha."

"Really?"​ ​​​Now​ ​Hannah​ ​was​ ​interested.​ ​​​"When​ ​do​ ​you​ ​get​ ​rushed?"

"Oh...​ ​I...​ ​have​ ​to​ ​wait​ ​for​ ​them​ ​to​ ​get​ ​back​ ​to​ ​me." Angie​ ​offered,​ ​"Those​ ​guys​ ​can​ ​get​ ​pretty​ ​wild."

He​ ​waved​ ​away​ ​the​ ​possibility.​ ​​​"I​ ​don't​ ​care.​ ​​​Let​ ​them​ ​do​ ​their​ ​worst."

Hannah​ ​seemed​ ​to​ ​see​ ​through​ ​him.​ ​​​She​ ​asked,​ ​"Are​ ​you​ ​just​ ​kidding​ ​us? I​ ​mean,​ ​you​ ​don't​ ​seem​ ​like​ ​Mega​ ​material.​ ​​​No​ ​offense."

"None​ ​taken.​ ​​​And​ ​when​ ​I'm​ ​wearing​ ​one​ ​of​ ​their​ ​jackets...​ ​or​ ​sweaters,​ ​I guess...​ ​I​ ​mean,​ ​since​ ​it's​ ​Spring..."​ ​​​He​ ​was​ ​running​ ​out​ ​of​ ​words​ ​and finished​ ​hastily,​ ​"...​ ​you'll​ ​see."

"I​ ​hope​ ​so.​ ​​​You​ ​know​ ​how​ ​I​ ​feel​ ​about​ ​fibbing."

"Yeah."​ ​​​His​ ​momentary​ ​bravado​ ​faded.​ ​​​She​ ​wouldn't​ ​tolerate​ ​any​ ​lies,​ ​not with​ ​her​ ​smalltown​ ​background.​ ​​​"I'm​ ​sure​ ​they'll​ ​get​ ​me​ ​started​ ​soon."​ ​​​He waited​ ​a​ ​beat​ ​before​ ​adding,​ ​"But​ ​right​ ​now​ ​let's​ ​get​ ​into​ ​the​ ​classroom."

Hannah​ ​and​ ​Angie​ ​held​ ​back​ ​as​ ​he​ ​went​ ​in​ ​and​ ​sat​ ​down.​ ​​​Paul's​ ​girlfriend said,​ ​"I​ ​suppose​ ​he's​ ​telling​ ​the​ ​truth.​ ​​​It's​ ​just​ ​that​ ​if​ ​he​ ​lied,​ ​I'd​ ​feel​ ​so betrayed."

"I​ ​understand,"​ ​Angie​ ​assured​ ​her.​ ​​​"Let's​ ​wait​ ​and​ ​see.​ ​​​I​ ​mean,​ ​getting​ ​into a​ ​fraternity​ ​isn't​ ​something​ ​he​ ​could​ ​fake."

"Right.​ ​​​It's​ ​just​ ​that​ ​sometimes​ ​Paul​ ​comes​ ​off​ ​as​ ​kind​ ​of..."​ ​​​Whatever word​ ​she​ ​thought​ ​of,​ ​she​ ​chose​ ​not​ ​to​ ​say.​ ​​​"But​ ​like​ ​you​ ​say,​ ​let's​ ​wait​ ​and see."

After​ ​class​ ​Paul​ ​offered​ ​to​ ​walk​ ​Hannah​ ​back​ ​to​ ​the​ ​women's​ ​dorm​ ​where she​ ​had​ ​her​ ​apartment.​ ​​​They​ ​were​ ​liberal​ ​about​ ​having​ ​male​ ​guests​ ​and he​ ​hoped​ ​to​ ​be​ ​invited​ ​in.​ ​​​But​ ​when​ ​they​ ​got​ ​there​ ​she​ ​reminded​ ​him​ ​that he​ ​was​ ​supposed​ ​to​ ​be​ ​pledging​ ​Mega.​ ​​​Didn't​ ​he​ ​want​ ​to​ ​check​ ​back​ ​with them​ ​and​ ​see​ ​if​ ​they​ ​were​ ​ready​ ​for​ ​him?​ ​​​It​ ​was​ ​almost​ ​a​ ​dare​ ​from​ ​her. He​ ​didn't​ ​see​ ​any​ ​alternative​ ​and,​ ​summoning​ ​up​ ​his​ ​nerve,​ ​declared​ ​that he​ ​would​ ​go​ ​there​ ​now.​ ​​​He​ ​went​ ​to​ ​kiss​ ​her​ ​and​ ​she​ ​turned​ ​her​ ​face,​ ​so that​ ​all​ ​he​ ​accomplished​ ​was​ ​to​ ​deliver​ ​a​ ​peck​ ​on​ ​her​ ​cheek.​ ​​​That​ ​stung Paul​ ​and​ ​doubled​ ​his​ ​resolve​ ​to​ ​get​ ​into​ ​Mega.​ ​​​Before​ ​this​ ​he​ ​would​ ​have been​ ​willing​ ​to​ ​accept​ ​rejection,​ ​but​ ​now​ ​he​ ​was​ ​determined​ ​to​ ​do​ ​whatever it​ ​took.​ ​​​Hannah​ ​watched​ ​him​ ​hurry​ ​off.​ ​​​She​ ​was​ ​still​ ​feeling​ ​like​ ​something wasn't​ ​quite​ ​right.

Angie​ ​appeared​ ​minutes​ ​later.​ ​​​She​ ​noticed​ ​Hannah's​ ​distracted​ ​expression and​ ​asked​ ​what​ ​was​ ​on​ ​her​ ​mind.

Hannah​ ​said,​ ​"It's​ ​Paul.​ ​​​I​ ​really​ ​like​ ​the​ ​guy.​ ​​​He's​ ​a​ ​gentleman.​ ​​​But sometimes​ ​he's​ ​too​ ​much​ ​of​ ​a​ ​gentleman.​ ​​​And​ ​when​ ​that​ ​bothers​ ​me​ ​I... sort​ ​of...​ ​pick​ ​at​ ​him."

"I​ ​noticed​ ​before.​ ​​​You're​ ​kind​ ​of​ ​asking​ ​him​ ​to​ ​prove​ ​he's​ ​a​ ​man." "I​ ​guess​ ​I​ ​am.​ ​​​But​ ​sometimes​ ​it's​ ​like​ ​I'm​ ​chipping​ ​away​ ​at​ ​his​ ​ego.​

​​​Is​ ​that wrong?"

"Hey,​ ​if​ ​he's​ ​for​ ​real​ ​he​ ​can​ ​take​ ​it.​ ​​​Better​ ​to​ ​find​ ​out​ ​now​ ​if​ ​he's... something​ ​else."

As​ ​they​ ​were​ ​changing​ ​the​ ​subject​ ​to​ ​something​ ​less​ ​weighty,​ ​Paul​ ​was climbing​ ​the​ ​stone​ ​steps​ ​in​ ​front​ ​of​ ​the​ ​old​ ​structure​ ​that​ ​was​ ​the​ ​Alpha Mega​ ​Alpha​ ​house.​ ​​​He​ ​rapped​ ​on​ ​the​ ​door,​ ​trying​ ​to​ ​make​ ​it​ ​sound confident.​ ​​​When​ ​the​ ​door​ ​swung​ ​inward​ ​he​ ​was​ ​facing​ ​a​ ​big​ ​frat​ ​brother who​ ​peered​ ​down​ ​at​ ​him​ ​as​ ​if​ ​Paul​ ​smelled​ ​bad.

"Oh,​ ​hi,"​ ​Paul​ ​said,​ ​trying​ ​to​ ​come​ ​off​ ​as​ ​relaxed.​ ​​​"I​ ​was​ ​just​ ​wondering...​ ​I mean​ ​I​ ​was​ ​here​ ​to​ ​ask...​ ​to​ ​say​ ​that..."​ ​​​He​ ​tried​ ​to​ ​form​ ​a​ ​complete sentence​ ​and​ ​managed,​ ​"I'm​ ​here​ ​to​ ​pledge​ ​for​ ​Delta...​ ​I​ ​mean​ ​Alpha... Alpha​ ​Mega...​ ​Alpha."

"You​ ​are...​ ​who?"

"I'm​ ​Paul."​ ​​​The​ ​applicant​ ​thrust​ ​out​ ​his​ ​arm,​ ​offering​ ​a​ ​handshake.

The​ ​big​ ​man​ ​rolled​ ​his​ ​eyes.​ ​​​He​ ​said,​ ​"I'm​ ​Breaker."​ ​​​He​ ​stepped​ ​aside. "Come​ ​on​ ​in,​ ​Pauley."

As​ ​Paul​ ​went​ ​past​ ​he​ ​noticed​ ​a​ ​beer​ ​in​ ​the​ ​man's​ ​hand.​ ​​​They​ ​were​ ​now​ ​in a​ ​large​ ​room​ ​with​ ​several​ ​sofas​ ​spread​ ​around,​ ​a​ ​big-screen,​ ​high-def​ ​TV playing​ ​some​ ​sports​ ​show,​ ​and​ ​a​ ​general​ ​messiness​ ​everywhere.

Paul​ ​said,​ ​"The​ ​place​ ​looks​ ​good."
"Whatever."​ ​​​Breaker​ ​called​ ​out,​ ​"Yo,​ ​Chunk,​ ​we​ ​got​ ​ourselves​ ​a​

​pledge."

Another​ ​guy​ ​straightened​ ​up​ ​his​ ​tilted-back​ ​recliner​ ​and​ ​hauled​ ​himself​ ​to his​ ​feet.​ ​​​He​ ​wasn't​ ​as​ ​tall​ ​as​ ​Breaker,​ ​but​ ​he​ ​was​ ​certainly​ ​wide,​ ​and​ ​his weight​ ​appeared​ ​to​ ​be​ ​as​ ​much​ ​from​ ​muscle​ ​as​ ​from​ ​fat.​ ​​​He​ ​lumbered over​ ​and​ ​stuck​ ​out​ ​his​ ​big​ ​mitt​ ​of​ ​a​ ​hand.​ ​​​Paul​ ​gratefully​ ​took​ ​it,​ ​but​ ​wasn't so​ ​glad​ ​as​ ​Chunk​ ​applied​ ​crushing​ ​pressure.​ ​​​He​ ​released​ ​Paul's​ ​hand,​ ​and the​ ​applicant​ ​had​ ​to​ ​force​ ​himself​ ​not​ ​to​ ​massage​ ​it.​ ​​​​​The​ ​two​ ​fraternity brothers​ ​checked​ ​each​ ​other​ ​questioningly.​ ​​​Then​ ​they​ ​exchanged​ ​nods.

"So​ ​here's​ ​the​ ​thing,"​ ​Breaker​ ​announced.​ ​​​"Before​ ​we​ ​can​ ​even​ ​consider you,​ ​there​ ​has​ ​to​ ​be​ ​a​ ​test."

"A​ ​pre-test,"​ ​Chunk​ ​clarified.​ ​​​"Like​ ​so​ ​we​ ​can​ ​see​ ​if​ ​you're​ ​worthy​ ​of starting​ ​the​ ​real​ ​process.​ ​​​Get​ ​it?"

"Sure,"​ ​Paul​ ​said,​ ​trying​ ​to​ ​sound​ ​more​ ​confident​ ​than​ ​he​ ​felt.​ ​​​"So​ ​what​ ​do I​ ​have​ ​to​ ​do?"

"How​ ​about​ ​you​ ​pick​ ​us​ ​up​ ​a​ ​case​ ​of​ ​Crystal​ ​beer?" "That​ ​sounds​ ​easy​ ​enough."

"But​ ​you​ ​have​ ​to..."
"...​ ​get​ ​it​ ​from​ ​Gold​ ​Star."

"Where's​ ​that?"​ ​Paul​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​know. "In​ ​the​ ​city.​ ​​​On​ ​Fulton​ ​Street."

Now​ ​Paul​ ​knew.​ ​​​That​ ​was​ ​in​ ​the​ ​blackest​ ​of​ ​the​ ​Black​ ​neighborhoods.​ ​​​A shiver​ ​ran​ ​up​ ​his​ ​spine.

"And​ ​you​ ​can't​ ​drive,​ ​Pauley.​ ​​​You​ ​have​ ​to​ ​take​ ​public​ ​transportation." "Plus,​ ​we​ ​need​ ​a​ ​receipt,​ ​so​ ​we​ ​can​ ​be​ ​sure​ ​you​ ​went​ ​where​ ​we​ ​said."

The​ ​brothers​ ​checked​ ​each​ ​other's​ ​faces​ ​and​ ​liked​ ​the​ ​knowing expressions​ ​they​ ​saw.​ ​​​Chunk​ ​concluded,​ ​"So​ ​get​ ​going,​ ​Pauley​ ​boy."

"I..."​ ​​​Paul​ ​was​ ​still​ ​processing​ ​it​ ​all.​ ​​​He​ ​didn't​ ​like​ ​the​ ​idea​ ​of​ ​going​ ​where they​ ​said,​ ​but​ ​figured​ ​he​ ​would​ ​simply​ ​get​ ​there,​ ​make​ ​the​ ​purchase,​ ​and return.​ ​​​How​ ​bad​ ​could​ ​it​ ​be?​ ​​​"Can​ ​do."

Breaker​ ​noticed​ ​something​ ​lying​ ​on​ ​the​ ​sofa,​ ​peeking​ ​up​ ​from​ ​between​ ​the cushions.​ ​​​He​ ​pulled​ ​it​ ​out​ ​and​ ​held​ ​it​ ​up.​ ​​​It​ ​was​ ​a​ ​long​ ​feminine​ ​scarf,​ ​one that​ ​some​ ​girl​ ​had​ ​lost​ ​the​ ​night​ ​before.​ ​​​Or​ ​maybe​ ​a​ ​week​ ​ago.​ ​​​Didn't matter.​ ​​​He​ ​took​ ​it​ ​and​ ​held​ ​it​ ​up​ ​to​ ​Paul's​ ​neck.

"But​ ​we​ ​have​ ​to​ ​put​ ​this​ ​on​ ​you,​ ​so..."
"...​ ​so​ ​our​ ​guys​ ​can​ ​spot​ ​you.​ ​​​We'll​ ​have​ ​spotters​ ​out​ ​there."

"Right.​ ​​​So​ ​let​ ​me​ ​tie​ ​this​ ​on​ ​you.​ ​​​Better​ ​yet,​ ​just​ ​do​ ​it​ ​yourself." "And​ ​make​ ​it​ ​so​ ​it​ ​hangs​ ​way​ ​down.​ ​​​You​ ​know,​ ​so​ ​it's​ ​easy​ ​to​ ​spot."

Not​ ​happy​ ​with​ ​this​ ​added​ ​requirement,​ ​Paul​ ​nevertheless​ ​did​ ​as​ ​he​ ​was told.​ ​​​He​ ​wrapped​ ​the​ ​loudly​ ​colored​ ​scarf​ ​around​ ​his​ ​neck​ ​and​ ​knotted​ ​it, making​ ​sure​ ​there​ ​was​ ​a​ ​short​ ​end​ ​that​ ​barely​ ​showed,​ ​as​ ​well​ ​as​ ​a​ ​very long​ ​one​ ​that​ ​fell​ ​almost​ ​to​ ​his​ ​waist​ ​in​ ​front.​ ​​​As​ ​he​ ​exited​ ​the​ ​building,​ ​the brothers​ ​glanced​ ​at​ ​each​ ​other​ ​and​ ​snickered.​ ​​​This​ ​was​ ​beginning​ ​to​ ​look like​ ​fun.

Paul​ ​rushed​ ​along​ ​to​ ​the​ ​edge​ ​of​ ​campus​ ​and​ ​got​ ​a​ ​bus.​ ​​​He​ ​asked​ ​if​ ​it would​ ​get​ ​him​ ​to​ ​where​ ​he​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​go.​ ​​​The​ ​driver​ ​told​ ​him​ ​it​ ​would​ ​take him​ ​most​ ​of​ ​the​ ​way,​ ​but​ ​they​ ​he​ ​would​ ​need​ ​to​ ​walk​ ​to​ ​another​ ​bus​ ​stop​ ​to catch​ ​one​ ​for​ ​the​ ​remainder​ ​of​ ​the​ ​trip.​ ​​​He​ ​also​ ​asked​ ​him​ ​if​ ​he​ ​was​ ​sure that​ ​Fulton​ ​Street​ ​was​ ​where​ ​he​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​be.​ ​​​Paul​ ​mumbled​ ​that​ ​it​ ​was and​ ​picked​ ​a​ ​seat​ ​not​ ​too​ ​far​ ​back,​ ​to​ ​be​ ​sure​ ​he​ ​heard​ ​the​ ​driver​ ​when​ ​he told​ ​him​ ​when​ ​to​ ​get​ ​off.​ ​​​As​ ​the​ ​bus​ ​rolled​ ​along,​ ​Paul​ ​saw​ ​the​ ​area​ ​begin to​ ​deteriorate.​ ​​​They​ ​were​ ​on​ ​a​ ​particularly​ ​disreputable​ ​looking​ ​street​ ​when the​ ​driver​ ​stopped,​ ​opened​ ​the​ ​doors,​ ​and​ ​told​ ​him​ ​this​ ​was​ ​it.​ ​​​He​ ​pointed down​ ​the​ ​block​ ​and​ ​gave​ ​instructions​ ​for​ ​the​ ​next​ ​spot​ ​Paul​ ​had​ ​to​ ​reach.

Not​ ​at​ ​all​ ​pleased,​ ​Paul​ ​got​ ​off​ ​and​ ​stood​ ​there​ ​taking​ ​a​ ​few​ ​conscious breaths.​ ​​​An​ ​effeminate​ ​young​ ​Black​ ​man​ ​came​ ​swishing​ ​out​ ​of​ ​a​ ​coffee shop,​ ​examined​ ​him​ ​up​ ​and​ ​down,​ ​and​ ​said,​ ​"Love​ ​the​ ​scarf,​ ​dearie.​ ​​​Want to​ ​go​ ​to​ ​my​ ​place​ ​and​ ​I'll​ ​show​ ​you​ ​mine?"

"Um,​ ​err,​ ​no​ ​thank​ ​you."

Paul​ ​hurried​ ​off,​ ​the​ ​sound​ ​of​ ​high​ ​pitched,​ ​mocking​ ​laughter​ ​burning​ ​his ears.​ ​​​He​ ​arrived​ ​at​ ​the​ ​next​ ​stop​ ​just​ ​after​ ​a​ ​bus​ ​had​ ​pulled​ ​out.​ ​​​He​ ​had​ ​to wait​ ​twenty​ ​minutes​ ​for​ ​the​ ​next​ ​one.​ ​​​As​ ​he​ ​got​ ​on​ ​he​ ​saw​ ​lots​ ​of​ ​Black faces​ ​evaluating​ ​him.​ ​​​​​There​ ​were​ ​no​ ​seats​ ​near​ ​the​ ​front,​ ​so​ ​he​ ​had​ ​to​ ​sit almost​ ​at​ ​the​ ​back.​ ​​​Directly​ ​across​ ​the​ ​aisle​ ​from​ ​him​ ​was​ ​a​ ​Black​ ​girl​ ​with an​ ​overblown​ ​figure.​ ​​​He​ ​kept​ ​glancing​ ​sideways​ ​at​ ​her​ ​bulging​ ​boobs​ ​and generous​ ​thighs.​ ​​​The​ ​profile​ ​view​ ​of​ ​her​ ​bottom​ ​was​ ​attention​ ​getting,​ ​but he​ ​felt​ ​sure​ ​it​ ​would​ ​be​ ​more​ ​eye​ ​catching​ ​if​ ​you​ ​were​ ​standing​ ​directly behind​ ​her.​ ​​​As​ ​if​ ​on​ ​cue,​ ​she​ ​got​ ​up​ ​and​ ​took​ ​hold​ ​of​ ​the​ ​overhead​ ​rail. Now​ ​her​ ​backside​ ​was​ ​level​ ​with​ ​his​ ​face.​ ​​​She​ ​was​ ​at​ ​an​ ​angle,​ ​so​ ​that​ ​he could​ ​perceive​ ​its​ ​width​ ​and​ ​depth​ ​simultaneously.​ ​​​As​ ​the​ ​bus​ ​swayed,​ ​her body​ ​followed​ ​its​ ​motion​ ​and​ ​she​ ​nearly​ ​had​ ​her​ ​rump​ ​touching​ ​his​ ​nose. He​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​lean​ ​back​ ​or​ ​slide​ ​away,​ ​but​ ​remained​ ​mesmerized,​ ​unable​ ​to move.​ ​​​At​ ​last​ ​the​ ​bus​ ​stopped​ ​and​ ​she​ ​headed​ ​for​ ​the​ ​front.​ ​​​He​ ​watched her​ ​rolling​ ​buttocks​ ​as​ ​they​ ​rubbed​ ​against​ ​each​ ​other​ ​inside​ ​the​ ​strained material​ ​of​ ​her​ ​slacks.

When​ ​she​ ​was​ ​gone​ ​he​ ​fixed​ ​his​ ​attention​ ​back​ ​on​ ​his​ ​goal.​ ​​​He​ ​had​ ​to​ ​get that​ ​case​ ​of​ ​beer​ ​and​ ​take​ ​it​ ​to​ ​the​ ​frat​ ​house.​ ​​​Every​ ​time​ ​he​ ​looked​ ​for Fulton​ ​Street​ ​it​ ​wasn't​ ​there.​ ​​​Finally​ ​he​ ​leaned​ ​across​ ​the​ ​aisle​ ​to​ ​talk​ ​to​ ​an old​ ​Black​ ​man​ ​one​ ​row​ ​back.

"Excuse​ ​me,​ ​Sir.​ ​​​Do​ ​you​ ​know​ ​how​ ​far​ ​it​ ​is​ ​to​ ​Fulton​ ​Street?" "Sure​ ​do."

"Uh,​ ​could​ ​you​ ​tell​ ​me,​ ​please?​ ​​​Sir?"
"Sure."​ ​​​The​ ​man​ ​thought​ ​as​ ​the​ ​bus​ ​went​ ​another​ ​block.​ ​​​"Be​ ​about​

​six blocks​ ​now."
"Oh,​ ​then​ ​we're​ ​almost​ ​there.​ ​​​Thank​ ​you."

"No,​ ​fool.​ ​​​It's​ ​six​ ​blocks​ ​back.​ ​​​You​ ​was​ ​gawking​ ​at​ ​the​ ​girl's​ ​big​ ​fine​ ​ass

and​ ​missed​ ​it."​ ​​​He​ ​laughed​ ​so​ ​hard​ ​he​ ​began​ ​to​ ​cough.
Paul​ ​felt​ ​sick.​ ​​​He​ ​hurried​ ​to​ ​the​ ​front​ ​of​ ​the​ ​bus​ ​and​ ​asked​ ​to​ ​be​ ​let​

​off.

The​ ​driver​ ​told​ ​him​ ​there​ ​were​ ​no​ ​stops​ ​here.​ ​​​Paul​ ​saw​ ​three​ ​of​ ​them​ ​as they​ ​kept​ ​moving​ ​but​ ​the​ ​driver​ ​ignored​ ​the​ ​signs​ ​and​ ​kept​ ​rolling.​ ​​​​​At​ ​last they​ ​reached​ ​one​ ​with​ ​a​ ​rider​ ​waiting​ ​to​ ​board.​ ​​​The​ ​vehicle​ ​stopped​ ​and Paul​ ​was​ ​able​ ​to​ ​get​ ​off.​ ​​​He​ ​looked​ ​back​ ​the​ ​ten​ ​blocks​ ​that​ ​he​ ​would​ ​have to​ ​cover​ ​to​ ​get​ ​to​ ​Fulton.​ ​​​There​ ​were​ ​no​ ​buses​ ​coming​ ​in​ ​the​ ​direction​ ​he needed​ ​to​ ​go,​ ​so​ ​he​

​began​ ​walking.​ ​​​His​ ​scarf​ ​attracted​ ​hoots​ ​and​ ​catcalls from​ ​women​ ​and​ ​men.​ ​​​He​ ​flipped​ ​it​ ​around​ ​to​ ​the​ ​back​ ​to​ ​make​ ​it​ ​less conspicuous.

Just​ ​as​ ​he​ ​came​ ​in​ ​sight​ ​of​ ​the​ ​Gold​ ​Star​ ​liquor​ ​store,​ ​someone​ ​behind​ ​him grabbed​ ​the​ ​flowing​ ​scarf​ ​and​ ​pulled​ ​him​ ​to​ ​a​ ​halt.​ ​​​He​ ​choked​ ​as​ ​the​ ​scarf tightened​ ​against​ ​his​ ​windpipe.​ ​​​He​ ​got​ ​his​ ​fingers​ ​under​ ​it​ ​and,​ ​with​ ​an effort,​ ​loosened​ ​it​ ​again.​ ​​​What​ ​sort​ ​of​ ​idiot​ ​would​ ​do​ ​grab​ ​it​ ​like​ ​that?​ ​​​He spun​ ​around​ ​angrily.

"What​ ​the​ ​heck​ ​do​ ​you...?"
That​ ​was​ ​as​ ​far​ ​as​ ​he​ ​got.​ ​​​Facing​ ​him​ ​was​ ​a​ ​towering,​ ​double-wide​

​Black man.​ ​​​He​ ​sneered​ ​down​ ​at​ ​Paul "Say​ ​what,​ ​sissy​ ​boy?"

"I...​ ​oh,​ ​Sir...​ ​I​ ​thought..."
"You​ ​thought​ ​nothing.​ ​​​What​ ​you​ ​doing​ ​around​ ​here?" "Just​ ​buying​ ​some​ ​beer.​ ​​​Sir."

"Yeah?​ ​​​I'll​ ​walk​ ​you​ ​over​ ​to​ ​the​ ​store​ ​to​ ​be​ ​sure​ ​you're​ ​safe." "It's​ ​right​ ​over​ ​there,​ ​so​ ​I​ ​don't​ ​--"

The​ ​man​ ​shoved​ ​a​ ​bear's​ ​paw​ ​of​ ​a​ ​hand​ ​against​ ​Paul's​ ​narrow​ ​chest​ ​and told​ ​him,​ ​"Don't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​take​ ​no​ ​chances."

They​ ​entered​ ​the​ ​store​ ​together.​ ​​​Paul​ ​nervously​ ​moved​ ​the​ ​scarf​ ​back​ ​to the​ ​front.​ ​​​There​ ​was​ ​a​ ​skinny​ ​Black​ ​man​ ​behind​ ​the​ ​counter.​ ​​​He​ ​peered myopically​ ​at​ ​the​ ​odd​ ​couple​ ​and​ ​said,​ ​"Yo,​ ​Louis.​ ​​​You​ ​picking​ ​up​ ​queers now?"

"No,​ ​Pops.​ ​​​The​ ​sissy​ ​boy​ ​wants​ ​to​ ​thank​ ​me​ ​for​ ​protecting​ ​him​ ​on​ ​these, like​ ​they​ ​say,​ ​mean​ ​streets.​ ​​​So​ ​give​ ​him​ ​what​ ​he​ ​wants​ ​and​ ​get​ ​me​ ​a​ ​fifth of​ ​Jack."

"Jack?​ ​​​That's​ ​pretty​ ​rich​ ​for​ ​your​ ​budget,​ ​Louis." "The​ ​fruity​ ​boy's​ ​paying."

Pops​ ​asked​ ​Paul,​ ​"That​ ​right,​ ​boy?​ ​​​You​ ​putting​ ​down​ ​cash​ ​for​ ​Louis's splash?"

"Actually,​ ​Sir,​ ​I​ ​was​ ​going​ ​to​ ​use​ ​my​ ​credit​ ​card." "No​ ​credit​ ​right​ ​now.​ ​​​Cash​ ​money."

"Oh,"​ ​Paul​ ​said​ ​with​ ​a​ ​sigh.​ ​​​"I​ ​want​ ​a​ ​case​ ​of​ ​Crystal​ ​beer.​ ​​​How​ ​much would​ ​that​ ​be?​ ​​​With​ ​my,​ ​err,​ ​friend's​ ​selection​ ​too?"

"With​ ​your​ ​whose​ ​what?​ ​​​You​ ​mean​ ​Louis's​ ​bottle?​ ​​​All​ ​together..."​ ​​​He​ ​rang

up​ ​three​ ​items​ ​for​ ​the​ ​two​ ​being​ ​purchased.​ ​​​"...​ ​that's​ ​forty​ ​bucks." "I...​ ​excuse​ ​me?"

"I'll​ ​excuse​ ​you​ ​for​ ​forty​ ​bucks.​ ​​​Or​ ​don't​ ​you​ ​want​ ​the​ ​stuff?" Louis's​ ​hand​ ​settled​ ​on​ ​Paul's​ ​shoulder.​ ​​​"The​ ​snowflake​ ​wants​ ​it." Paul​ ​echoed,​ ​"I​ ​want​ ​it."

He​ ​got​ ​out​ ​his​ ​wallet​ ​and​ ​found​ ​a​ ​twenty,​ ​a​ ​ten,​ ​a​ ​five,​ ​and​ ​four​ ​ones.​ ​​​From the​ ​bottom​ ​of​ ​his​ ​pocket​ ​he​ ​retrieved​ ​eighty​ ​seven​ ​cents.​ ​​​Paul​ ​laid​ ​it​ ​all​ ​out on​ ​the​ ​counter.​ ​​​The​ ​clerk​ ​peered​ ​at​ ​him​ ​disapprovingly.

"Another​ ​thirteen​ ​cents,​ ​sissy​ ​pants."

"But​ ​I..."​ ​​​Paul​ ​turned​ ​to​ ​Louis​ ​for​ ​help.​ ​​​The​ ​potentially​ ​dangerous​ ​man​ ​took the​ ​bottle​ ​of​ ​whiskey​ ​off​ ​the​ ​counter​ ​and​ ​held​ ​it​ ​possessively​ ​against​ ​his broad​ ​chest.

After​ ​a​ ​tense​ ​half​ ​minute​ ​Louis​ ​said​ ​in​ ​a​ ​flat​ ​voice,​ ​"Maybe​ ​be​ ​some​ ​change got​ ​dropped​ ​on​ ​the​ ​floor."

Paul​ ​got​ ​down​ ​slowly​ ​on​ ​his​ ​knees,​ ​on​ ​the​ ​dirty​ ​floor​ ​and​ ​felt​ ​along​ ​the bottom​ ​of​ ​the​ ​counter.​ ​​​He​ ​found​ ​a​ ​penny​ ​and​ ​a​ ​nickel.​ ​​​Standing,​ ​he​ ​went to​ ​set​ ​them​ ​with​ ​the​ ​other​ ​money,​ ​but​ ​that​ ​was​ ​gone.​ ​​​When​ ​he​ ​put​ ​the​ ​two coins​ ​down,​ ​Pops​ ​figured​ ​up​ ​again​ ​and​ ​held​ ​out​ ​his​ ​hand​ ​for​ ​the​ ​missing seven​ ​cents.​ ​​​With​ ​desperation​ ​making​ ​him​ ​tremble,​ ​he​ ​got​ ​down​ ​on​ ​the floor​ ​again,​ ​crawling​ ​along​ ​and​ ​feeling​ ​against​ ​the​ ​fixtures,​ ​going​ ​up​ ​and down​ ​the​ ​aisles.​ ​​​There​ ​was​ ​a​ ​fat​ ​Black​ ​woman​ ​in​ ​the​ ​last​ ​aisle.​ ​​​She​ ​had on​ ​a​ ​loose​ ​dress,​ ​stockings​ ​rolled​ ​just​ ​below​ ​her​ ​knees,​ ​and​ ​bedroom slippers.​ ​​​When​ ​she​ ​asked​ ​Paul​ ​what​ ​the​ ​hell​ ​he​ ​was​ ​doing,​ ​and​ ​he explained,​ ​she​ ​took​ ​a​ ​dime​ ​out​ ​of​ ​her​ ​change​ ​purse.

"Now​ ​what​ ​you​ ​do​ ​for​ ​that​ ​dime,​ ​boy?" "I...​ ​I​ ​don't​ ​know."

"Well..."​ ​​​She​ ​wrinkled​ ​her​ ​brow​ ​in​ ​thought.​ ​​​"How​ ​about​ ​I​ ​just​ ​give​ ​it​ ​to you?"

"Thank​ ​you,​ ​Ma'am.​ ​​​Thank​ ​you​ ​so​ ​much."
She​ ​went​ ​on,​ ​"And​ ​then​ ​you​ ​push​ ​it​ ​back​ ​the​ ​way​ ​you​ ​came,​ ​and​

​up​ ​to​ ​the
front​ ​counter,​ ​with​ ​your​ ​pretty,​ ​white​ ​nose?" "I​ ​couldn't​ ​do​ ​that,"​

​he​ ​objected.

She​ ​began​ ​to​ ​return​ ​the​ ​thin​ ​coin​ ​to​ ​her​ ​purse​ ​and​ ​he​ ​held​ ​up​ ​his​ ​hands, palms​ ​up.​ ​​​"All​ ​right.​ ​​​I'll​ ​do​ ​it."​ ​​​He​ ​sighed​ ​in​ ​defeat.​ ​​​"That​ ​you,​ ​Ma'am."

The​ ​old​ ​lady​ ​dropped​ ​the​ ​dime​ ​on​ ​the​ ​floor.​ ​​​He​ ​got​ ​his​ ​nose​ ​on​ ​it​ ​and began​ ​to​ ​push​ ​it​ ​along​ ​the​ ​shortest​ ​route.​ ​​​Louis​ ​had​ ​been​ ​listening​ ​and​ ​he said​ ​that​ ​was​ ​cheating.​ ​​​He​ ​declared​ ​that​ ​Paul​ ​had​ ​to​ ​push​ ​it​ ​back​ ​the​ ​way he​ ​had​ ​come,​ ​covering​ ​each​ ​aisle​ ​he​ ​had​ ​crawled​ ​along.​ ​​​A​ ​trio​ ​of​ ​young Black​ ​guys​ ​in​ ​urban​ ​outfits​ ​came​ ​in,​ ​saw​ ​the​ ​scene,​ ​and​ ​laughed uproariously.​ ​​​They​ ​trailed​ ​him,​ ​making​ ​comments​ ​on​ ​his​ ​ass​ ​and,​ ​because he​ ​looked​ ​so​ ​unmanly,​ ​saying​ ​what​ ​they​ ​might​ ​do​ ​to​ ​it.​ ​​​Moaning​ ​at​ ​the indignity,​ ​physical​ ​discomfort,​ ​and​ ​time​ ​lost,​ ​Paul​ ​kept​ ​going.​ ​​​When​ ​he​ ​at last​ ​retraced​ ​the​ ​path​ ​to​ ​his​ ​starting​ ​point,​ ​he​ ​picked​ ​up​ ​the​ ​dime​ ​and,​ ​when his​ ​back​ ​gave​ ​a​ ​spasm​ ​and​ ​he​ ​couldn't​ ​rise,​ ​reached​ ​up​ ​and​ ​set​ ​it​ ​on​ ​the counter.

Pops​ ​considered​ ​it,​ ​as​ ​if​ ​he​ ​was​ ​going​ ​to​ ​find​ ​fault.​ ​​​At​ ​last​ ​he​ ​relented​ ​and hollered​ ​into​ ​the​ ​backroom​ ​for​ ​a​ ​case​ ​of​ ​Crystal​ ​beer.​ ​​​It​ ​was​ ​brought​ ​out​ ​by a​ ​tall​ ​Black​ ​teen​ ​who​ ​carried​ ​it​ ​easily​ ​and​ ​thumped​ ​it​ ​down​ ​on​ ​the​ ​counter. Paul​ ​got​ ​up,​ ​feeling​ ​the​ ​muscles​ ​in​ ​his​ ​back​ ​protest.​ ​​​​​He​ ​thanked​ ​the​ ​clerk politely​ ​and,​ ​trying​ ​not​ ​to​ ​make​ ​eye​ ​contact​ ​with​ ​any​ ​of​ ​his​ ​tormentors, grabbed​ ​the​ ​case​ ​of​ ​beer.​ ​​​It​ ​was​ ​heavier​ ​than​ ​the​ ​stock​ ​boy​ ​had​ ​made​ ​it look.​ ​​​Paul​ ​staggered​ ​out​ ​with​ ​it,​ ​pleading​ ​silently​ ​to​ ​the​ ​Fates​ ​that​ ​there was​ ​no​ ​more​ ​trouble.​ ​​​He​ ​got​ ​to​ ​the​ ​next​ ​bus​ ​stop​ ​and​ ​set​ ​it​ ​on​ ​the​ ​bench. By​ ​reflex​ ​he​ ​reached​ ​into​ ​his​ ​pocket​ ​for​ ​the​ ​small​ ​amount​ ​he​ ​needed​ ​to​ ​get back​ ​to​ ​campus.​ ​​​But​ ​he​ ​didn't​ ​have​ ​a​ ​penny.​ ​​​Paul​ ​began​ ​walking.

Hours​ ​later,​ ​aching​ ​all​ ​over,​ ​he​ ​stumbled​ ​back​ ​onto​ ​Harmon​ ​College's grounds.​ ​​​When​ ​he​ ​got​ ​to​ ​the​ ​Mega​ ​frat​ ​house​ ​he​ ​could​ ​barely​ ​stand.​ ​​​The door​ ​opened​ ​to​ ​his​ ​knock​ ​and​ ​there​ ​stood​ ​Breaker​ ​and​ ​Chunk,​ ​looking​ ​as​ ​if no​ ​time​ ​had​ ​passed.​ ​​​Paul​ ​held​ ​out​ ​the​ ​beer​ ​to​ ​them.

"Actually,​ ​we​ ​wanted​ ​the​ ​darker​ ​style,"​ ​Breaker​ ​said​ ​nonchalantly.​ ​​​"Maybe you​ ​should​ ​go​ ​back."

They​ ​allowed​ ​Paul​ ​to​ ​stand​ ​there​ ​whimpering​ ​until​ ​he​ ​had​ ​shamed​ ​himself even​ ​more,​ ​before​ ​Chunk​ ​broke​ ​in​ ​with,​ ​"But​ ​this'll​ ​do."

From​ ​behind​ ​him,​ ​Paul​ ​heard​ ​a​ ​familiar​ ​voice​ ​say,​ ​"Paul?​ ​​​What's​ ​going on?"

He​ ​turned​ ​and​ ​looked​ ​to​ ​the​ ​bottom​ ​of​ ​the​ ​steps,​ ​where​ ​Hannah​ ​was standing​ ​with​ ​Angie.​ ​​​Their​ ​faces​ ​showed​ ​concern​ ​but​ ​also​ ​a​ ​trace​ ​of contempt.

"I'm​ ​being​ ​tested​ ​to​ ​see​ ​if​ ​I​ ​can​ ​try​ ​to​ ​join​ ​Alpha​ ​Mega​ ​Alpha.​ ​​​I​ ​had​ ​to... to..."

At​ ​that​ ​point​ ​he​ ​broke​ ​down​ ​and​ ​his​ ​words​ ​came​ ​out​ ​in​ ​a​ ​torrent.​ ​​​​​He described​ ​his​ ​trip​ ​into​ ​the​ ​city,​ ​all​ ​the​ ​complications​ ​along​ ​the​ ​way,​ ​the debacle​ ​inside​ ​the​ ​store,​ ​and​ ​his​ ​painfully​ ​long​ ​trek​ ​home.​ ​​​Breaker​ ​and Chunk​ ​laughed​ ​heartily.​ ​​​Angie​ ​chuckled.​ ​​​Even​ ​Hannah​ ​smiled.

Paul's​ ​girlfriend​ ​said,​ ​"Well,​ ​I'm​ ​glad​ ​to​ ​see​ ​you​ ​were​ ​being​ ​honest​ ​about making​ ​the​ ​attempt.​ ​​​​​And​ ​I​ ​understand​ ​that​ ​this​ ​is​ ​the​ ​kind​ ​of​ ​stuff​ ​they​ ​do to​ ​pledges."

What​ ​she​ ​didn't​ ​say​ ​was​ ​that,​ ​uncomfortable​ ​as​ ​it​ ​was​ ​for​ ​her​ ​to​ ​see​ ​him suffer,​ ​her​ ​sympathy​ ​was​ ​limited​ ​by​ ​something​ ​else.​ ​​​Paul​ ​didn't​ ​seem​ ​to​ ​be handling​ ​it​ ​very​ ​well.​ ​​​He​ ​was​ ​falling​ ​apart​ ​like​ ​somebody​ ​different​ ​than​ ​who she​ ​thought​ ​she​ ​knew.​ ​​​And​ ​the​

​scarf,​ ​even​ ​though​ ​it​ ​wasn't​ ​there​ ​by​ ​his choice,​ ​added​ ​to​ ​the​ ​image​ ​of​ ​him​ ​as​ ​pathetic.

"All​ ​right,"​ ​Hannah​ ​said​ ​at​ ​the​ ​end.​ ​​​"I'll​ ​let​ ​you​ ​all​ ​get​ ​on​ ​with​ ​the​ ​tests.​ ​​​And Paul,​ ​try​ ​not​ ​to​ ​start​ ​crying."

As​ ​she​ ​and​ ​Angie​ ​turned​ ​and​ ​walked​ ​away,​ ​the​ ​frat​ ​brothers​ ​had​ ​a​ ​few more​ ​laughs​ ​at​ ​Paul's​ ​expense.​ ​​​Then​ ​Banger​ ​said,​ ​"Come​ ​in,​ ​buddy.​ ​​​You deserve​ ​a​ ​drink."

Paul​ ​said,​ ​"I​ ​usually​ ​don't​ ​drink​ ​that​ ​much."
Chunk​ ​pointed​ ​out,​ ​"This​ ​is​ ​a​ ​special​ ​occasion,​ ​pal.​ ​​​We​ ​insist."

Feeling​ ​somewhat​ ​included,​ ​Paul​ ​went​ ​in​ ​with​ ​them.​ ​​​He​ ​carried​ ​the​ ​beer​ ​to the​ ​kitchen,​ ​where​ ​they​ ​had​ ​three​ ​fridges​ ​lined​ ​up.​ ​​​Breaker​ ​opened​ ​the​ ​first one​ ​and​ ​it​ ​was​ ​filled​ ​with​ ​Crystal​ ​beer.​ ​​​The​ ​second​ ​was​ ​half​ ​filled​ ​with​ ​that brand,​ ​the​ ​rest​ ​of​ ​the​ ​space​ ​taken​ ​up​ ​by​ ​other​ ​ones.​ ​​​The​ ​third​ ​one​ ​was filled​ ​with​ ​still​ ​more​ ​beer,​ ​and​ ​wine​ ​coolers​ ​that​ ​Breaker​ ​explained​ ​were​ ​for female​ ​guests​ ​who​ ​preferred​ ​something​ ​sweeter.​ ​​​They​ ​had​ ​Paul​ ​take​ ​the beer​ ​he'd​ ​worked​ ​so​ ​hard​ ​to​ ​get​ ​and​ ​put​ ​it​ ​on​ ​the​ ​floor​ ​in​ ​the​ ​corner,​ ​on​ ​top of​ ​two​ ​more​ ​cases​ ​of​ ​Crystal.​ ​​​When​ ​he​ ​straightened​ ​up,​ ​Breaker​ ​was holding​ ​out​ ​an​ ​open,​ ​cold​ ​can.​ ​​​Chunk​ ​had​ ​just​

​filled​ ​a​ ​shot​ ​glass​ ​with​ ​Jack for​ ​him.​ ​​​Under​ ​their​ ​watchful​ ​gazes,​ ​Paul​ ​drank​ ​up.​ ​​​The​ ​whiskey​ ​made him​ ​gag​ ​slightly.​ ​​​But​ ​he​ ​was​ ​one​ ​step​ ​closer​ ​to​ ​acceptance​ ​by​ ​the brothers.​ ​​​As​ ​soon​ ​as​ ​he​ ​had​ ​finished​ ​his​ ​beer​ ​and​ ​shot,​ ​more​ ​were produced.​ ​​​He​ ​sat​ ​on​ ​one​ ​of​ ​the​ ​sofas​ ​while​ ​other​ ​frat​ ​boys​ ​joined​ ​them. There​ ​was​ ​still​ ​a​ ​sports​ ​station​ ​on​ ​TV.​ ​​​Normally​ ​it​ ​would​ ​have​ ​bothered him,​ ​but​ ​now​ ​he​ ​was​ ​too​ ​relaxed​ ​for​ ​that.​ ​​​And​ ​becoming​ ​more​ ​relaxed​ ​by the​ ​swallow.​ ​​​Eventually​ ​they​ ​got​ ​him​ ​so​ ​relaxed​ ​that​ ​the​ ​room​ ​began​ ​to spin​ ​and​ ​he​ ​closed​ ​his​ ​eyes​ ​while​ ​he​ ​waited​ ​for​ ​it​ ​to​ ​stop.

When​ ​he​ ​woke​ ​up​ ​his​ ​head​ ​was​ ​full​ ​of​ ​vague​ ​memories​ ​of​ ​all​ ​that​ ​drinking. He​ ​was​ ​on​ ​his​ ​back​ ​and​ ​the​ ​sun​ ​was​ ​shining​ ​down​ ​on​ ​him.​ ​​​He​ ​was... outside?​ ​​​​​Paul​ ​raised​ ​his​ ​throbbing​ ​head​ ​and​ ​saw​ ​that​ ​he​ ​was​ ​on​ ​the ground,​ ​in​ ​the​ ​middle​ ​of​ ​a​ ​wide​ ​patch​ ​of​ ​grass,​ ​surrounded​ ​by​ ​a​ ​ring​ ​of onlookers.​ ​​​Some​ ​of​ ​them​ ​were​ ​taking​ ​pictures​ ​with​ ​their​ ​phones.​ ​​​He realized​ ​all​ ​at​ ​once​ ​that​ ​he​ ​was​ ​naked​ ​except​ ​for​ ​his​ ​jockey​ ​shorts.​ ​​​And those​ ​were​ ​halfway​ ​down​ ​his​ ​thighs.​ ​​​His​ ​male​ ​parts​ ​were​ ​on​ ​display.​ ​​​And he​ ​still​ ​had​ ​that​ ​awful​ ​scarf​ ​around​ ​his​ ​neck.

"Look​ ​how​ ​tiny​ ​his​ ​dick​ ​is." "With​ ​balls​ ​to​ ​match."

"And​ ​no​ ​hair​ ​down​ ​there,​ ​from​ ​what​ ​I​ ​can​ ​see." "This​ ​is​ ​priceless.​ ​​​It's​ ​like​ ​a​ ​cock,​ ​only​ ​smaller." "Much​ ​smaller."

"Somebody​ ​get​ ​a​ ​tape​ ​measure."

"Or​ ​a​ ​six​ ​inch​ ​ruler.​ ​​​Not​ ​that​ ​we'd​ ​need​ ​all​ ​six​ ​inches." "About​ ​four​ ​should​ ​do​ ​it.​ ​​​Maybe​ ​almost​ ​five."

He​ ​tried​ ​to​ ​get​ ​up​ ​and​ ​to​ ​cover​ ​his​ ​male​ ​parts​ ​at​ ​the​ ​same​ ​time.​ ​​​There​ ​was still​ ​too​ ​much​ ​booze​ ​in​ ​his​ ​system,​ ​so​ ​that​ ​when​ ​he​ ​was​ ​almost​ ​on​ ​his knees​ ​he​ ​toppled​ ​over.​ ​​​​​There​ ​were​ ​gales​ ​of​ ​laughter​ ​and​ ​more​ ​comments about​ ​his​ ​masculine​ ​shortcomings.​ ​​​He​ ​finally​ ​got​ ​onto​ ​one​ ​knee,​ ​clumsily pulled​ ​up​ ​his​ ​tight-whites,​ ​and​ ​forced​ ​himself​ ​to​ ​stand​ ​unsteadily.​ ​​​Pictures were​ ​still​ ​being​ ​taken.​ ​​​And​ ​there,​ ​looking​ ​straight​ ​at​ ​him,​ ​was​ ​Hannah.​ ​​​He couldn't​ ​read​ ​her​ ​expression.​ ​​​She​ ​came​ ​to​ ​him​ ​and​ ​stood​ ​a​ ​few​ ​feet​ ​away. The​ ​way​ ​she​ ​looked​ ​at​ ​him​ ​touched​ ​Paul​ ​deeply.​ ​​​He​ ​held​ ​out​ ​his​ ​hands​ ​to her.

She​ ​looked​ ​deep​ ​into​ ​his​ ​eyes​ ​and​ ​said,​ ​"Go​ ​and​ ​get​ ​some​ ​clothes,​ ​Paul. I'll​ ​talk​ ​to​ ​you​ ​later."

Breaker​ ​and​ ​Chunk,​ ​meanwhile,​ ​were​ ​watching​ ​from​ ​an​ ​upstairs​ ​window​ ​of their​ ​frat​ ​house.​ ​​​As​ ​the​ ​crowd​ ​dispersed​ ​they​ ​looked​ ​at​ ​each​ ​other.

Breaker:​ ​​​"That​ ​guy's​ ​such​ ​a​ ​chump​ ​that​ ​he​ ​might​ ​just​ ​do​ ​everything​ ​we say.​ ​​​That​ ​wouldn't​ ​be​ ​good.​ ​​​I​ ​don't​ ​want​ ​him​ ​in​ ​this​ ​fraternity."

Chunk:​ ​​​"There​ ​has​ ​to​ ​be​ ​some​ ​way​ ​to​ ​handle​ ​it.​ ​​​How​ ​about​ ​if​ ​we​ ​come​ ​up with​ ​something​ ​that​ ​he​ ​can't​ ​possibly​ ​do?"

Breaker:​ ​​​"Like​ ​what?​ ​​​Have​ ​Jessica​ ​White​ ​come​ ​over​ ​here​ ​from​ ​Delta Virago​ ​Delta​ ​and​ ​take​ ​care​ ​of​ ​him​ ​for​ ​us?​ ​​​Or...​ ​​​Wait​ ​a​ ​minute.​ ​​​How​ ​about if​ ​we​ ​send​ ​him​ ​to​ ​her."

Chunk:​ ​​​"Are​ ​you​ ​kidding?​ ​​​She​ ​would​ ​take​ ​him​ ​apart​ ​and​ ​put​ ​him​ ​back together​ ​wrong-way-around."

Breaker:​ ​​​"Precisely.​ ​​​So​ ​all​ ​we​ ​have​ ​to​ ​do​ ​is..."​ ​​​He​ ​thought​ ​or​ ​a​ ​moment and​ ​then​ ​chortled.​ ​​​"...​ ​is​ ​send​ ​him​ ​to​ ​their​ ​house​ ​on​ ​a​ ​one-man​ ​panty​ ​raid. He​ ​has​ ​to​ ​bring​ ​back​ ​three​ ​pairs​ ​of​ ​panties."

Chunk:​ ​​​"He​ ​might​ ​just​ ​grab​ ​any​ ​panties​ ​from​ ​somewhere​ ​else.​ ​​​How​ ​can we​ ​be​ ​sure?"

Breaker:​ ​​​"Because​ ​they'll​ ​have​ ​to​ ​be​ ​the​ ​ones​ ​they​ ​have​ ​custom​ ​made, with​ ​their​ ​letters​ ​on​ ​them,​ ​and​ ​that​ ​Queen​ ​of​ ​Spades​ ​thing."

Chunk:​ ​​​(expletives​ ​deleted)​ ​​​"That's​ ​genius,​ ​brother.​ ​​​If​ ​they​ ​catch​ ​him,​ ​he'll come​ ​back​ ​with​ ​his​ ​balls​ ​in​ ​a​ ​plastic​ ​baggie."

Breaker:​ ​​​"If​ ​they​ ​catch​ ​him?​ ​​​I​ ​sure​ ​hope​ ​nobody​ ​makes​ ​a​ ​call​ ​and​ ​give them​ ​advance​ ​warning​ ​that​ ​he's​ ​on​ ​his​ ​way.​ ​​​Who​ ​knows​ ​what​ ​those​ ​party girls​ ​would​ ​do?"

Around​ ​dinner​ ​time,​ ​after​ ​classes​ ​were​ ​over,​ ​Paul​ ​returned​ ​to​ ​Alpha​ ​Mega Alpha​ ​to​ ​find​ ​out​ ​if​ ​he​ ​was​ ​still​ ​in​ ​the​ ​running​ ​for​ ​membership.​ ​​​The​ ​two​ ​frat boys​ ​treated​ ​the​ ​matter​ ​very​ ​seriously,​ ​pointing​ ​out​ ​that,​ ​though​ ​he​ ​had passed​ ​his​ ​pre-test​ ​and​ ​endured​ ​one​ ​nasty​ ​stunt,​ ​the​ ​most​ ​important​ ​event would​ ​be​ ​after​ ​dark​ ​that​ ​evening.​ ​​​They​ ​told​ ​him​ ​their​ ​plan,​ ​leaving​ ​out​ ​all the​ ​warnings​ ​about​ ​the​ ​girls​ ​of​ ​Virago​ ​and​ ​how​ ​negative​ ​Paul's​ ​odds​ ​of succeeding​ ​were.​ ​​​Both​ ​of​ ​them​ ​built​ ​it​ ​up​ ​in​ ​his​ ​mind​ ​as​ ​a​ ​fun​ ​adventure, even​ ​suggesting​ ​that​ ​he​ ​might​ ​get​ ​to​ ​see​ ​some​ ​of​ ​the​ ​hot​ ​girls​ ​in​ ​their nighties​ ​or​ ​--​ ​who​ ​knew​ ​--​ ​even​ ​less.​ ​​​By​ ​the​ ​time​ ​the​ ​sun​ ​had​ ​gone​ ​down and​ ​Paul​ ​had​ ​visited​ ​his​ ​place​ ​to​ ​change​ ​into​ ​dark​ ​clothes,​ ​including​ ​a​ ​black watch​ ​cap,​ ​and​ ​returned,​ ​the​ ​hopeful​ ​applicant​ ​was​ ​full​ ​of​ ​optimism.​ ​​​After he​ ​left​ ​Mega​ ​house,​ ​all​ ​the​ ​brothers​ ​who​ ​were​ ​in​ ​on​ ​the​ ​prank​ ​had​ ​a​ ​solemn toast​ ​in​ ​memory​ ​of​ ​his​ ​chances​ ​of​ ​joining​ ​them.

Paul​ ​crept​ ​through​ ​the​ ​dark​ ​between​ ​buildings.​ ​​​He​ ​slipped​ ​behind​ ​Virago house​ ​and​ ​hid​ ​among​ ​some​ ​bushes​ ​that​ ​grew​ ​against​ ​the​ ​wall.​ ​​​It​ ​was​ ​a tight​ ​fit​ ​but​ ​that​ ​only​ ​added​ ​to​ ​his​ ​sense​ ​of​ ​being​ ​on​ ​a​ ​secret​ ​mission.​ ​​​He slid​ ​along​ ​the​ ​wall​ ​to​ ​a​ ​back​ ​entrance​ ​that​ ​the​ ​brothers​ ​had​ ​told​ ​him​ ​would almost​ ​definitely​ ​be​ ​unlocked.​ ​​​Paul​ ​put​ ​his​ ​hand​ ​on​ ​the​ ​knob​ ​and​ ​turned​ ​it slowly.​ ​​​He​ ​was​ ​thrilled​ ​as​ ​he​ ​opened​ ​the​ ​door​ ​a​ ​crack​ ​and​ ​peered​ ​in. There​ ​was​ ​a​ ​dimly​ ​lit​

​maintenance​ ​corridor,​ ​with​ ​pipes​ ​running​ ​along​ ​​​one wall​ ​and​ ​an​ ​electrical​ ​box​ ​mounted​ ​opposite,​ ​near​ ​the​ ​far​ ​end.​ ​​​He​ ​crept forward​ ​on​ ​silent​ ​cat's​ ​feet.

At​ ​the​ ​end​ ​of​ ​the​ ​corridor​ ​he​ ​could​ ​hear​ ​the​ ​girls​ ​talking.​ ​​​Pressing​ ​his​ ​ear​ ​to an​ ​access​ ​door​ ​he​ ​heard​ ​them​ ​discussing​ ​the​ ​upcoming​ ​Spring​ ​Formal Dance,​ ​which​ ​was​ ​less​ ​than​ ​a​ ​week​ ​away.​ ​​​Paul​ ​imagined​ ​himself​ ​attending the​ ​event.​ ​​​That​ ​would​ ​be​ ​fantastic,​ ​just​ ​to​ ​be​ ​in​ ​the​ ​same​ ​room​ ​with​ ​the college's​ ​most​ ​desirable​ ​and,​ ​unfortunately,​ ​least​ ​obtainable​ ​females.​ ​​​Still, he​ ​could​ ​take​ ​Hannah,​ ​who​ ​would​ ​be​ ​endlessly​ ​impressed.​ ​​​The​ ​corridor turned​ ​and​ ​he​ ​continued​ ​on,​ ​to​ ​a​ ​part​ ​of​ ​the​ ​building​ ​where​ ​he​ ​no​ ​longer heard​ ​voices.​ ​​​There​ ​was​ ​a​ ​door​ ​that​ ​he​ ​opened​ ​soundlessly.​ ​​​Paul​ ​was​ ​at the​ ​end​ ​of​ ​a​ ​hall​ ​lined​ ​with​ ​doors​ ​that​ ​led​ ​into​ ​all​ ​the​ ​first​ ​floor​ ​bedrooms. Now​ ​all​ ​he​ ​had​ ​to​ ​do​ ​was​ ​grab​ ​some​ ​panties​ ​and​ ​follow​ ​the​ ​same​ ​route​ ​he had​ ​used,​ ​in​ ​reverse​ ​until​ ​he​ ​was​ ​outside​ ​again.​ ​​​Paul​ ​Curtis​ ​was​ ​going​ ​to become​ ​a​ ​member​ ​of​ ​Mega​ ​house.​ ​​​His​ ​life​ ​was​ ​about​ ​to​ ​change.

He​ ​got​ ​to​ ​the​ ​first​ ​bedroom​ ​and,​ ​with​ ​only​ ​silence​ ​on​ ​the​ ​other​ ​side​ ​of​ ​its door,​ ​felt​ ​confident​ ​to​ ​slip​ ​inside.​ ​​​He​ ​scurried​ ​over​ ​to​ ​the​ ​dresser​ ​and opened​ ​one​ ​of​ ​the​ ​top​ ​drawers.​ ​​​Sure​ ​enough,​ ​it​ ​was​ ​filled​ ​with​ ​panties​ ​and stockings.​ ​​​Digging​ ​around,​ ​he​ ​found​ ​one​ ​pair​ ​of​ ​the​ ​precious​ ​emblazoned garments.​ ​​​Paul​ ​held​ ​it​ ​lovingly,​ ​with​ ​the​ ​knowledge​ ​that​ ​it​ ​had​ ​at​ ​some​ ​time been​ ​worn​ ​by​ ​a​ ​Virago​ ​sister.​ ​​​He​ ​dared​ ​to​ ​bring​ ​it​ ​up​ ​to​ ​his​ ​face​ ​and​ ​brush it​ ​lightly​ ​over​ ​his​ ​smooth​ ​cheek.​ ​​​His​ ​penis​ ​pulsed​ ​and​ ​his​ ​balls​ ​drew​

​up tight.​ ​​​He​ ​hadn't​ ​expected​ ​this​ ​to​ ​be​ ​so​ ​erotic.​ ​​​It​ ​couldn't​ ​hurt​ ​to​ ​just​ ​spend an​ ​added​ ​minute​ ​or​ ​two​ ​enjoying​ ​the​ ​sensations.​ ​​​His​ ​free​ ​hand​ ​drifted down​ ​to​ ​his​ ​crotch​ ​and​ ​he​ ​manipulated​ ​himself​ ​through​ ​his​ ​jeans.

A​ ​minute​ ​later,​ ​with​ ​his​ ​certainly​ ​of​ ​success​ ​growing,​ ​he​ ​dared​ ​to​ ​unzip​ ​his pants​ ​and​ ​free​ ​his​ ​small​ ​organ.​ ​​​He​ ​stood​ ​there​ ​stroking​ ​it​ ​with​ ​one​ ​hand,​ ​at the​ ​same​ ​time​ ​caressing​ ​the​ ​panties​ ​with​ ​the​ ​other.​ ​​​His​ ​love​ ​life​ ​with Hannah​ ​was​ ​fine.​ ​​​He​ ​was​ ​sure​ ​it​ ​was​ ​the​ ​same​ ​for​ ​her.​ ​​​But​ ​this​ ​was​ ​new and​ ​thrilling.​ ​​​He​ ​couldn't​ ​stop​ ​what​ ​he​ ​ws​ ​doing.​ ​​​Fumbling​ ​around,​ ​he​ ​got his​ ​shirt​ ​mostly​ ​unbuttoned​ ​and​ ​used​ ​the​ ​silky​ ​panties​ ​to​ ​stimulate​ ​his nipples.​ ​​​That​ ​made​ ​his​ ​penis​ ​feel​ ​twice​ ​as​ ​good.​ ​​​Everything​ ​was​ ​working in​ ​harmony​ ​and​ ​he​ ​had​ ​reached​ ​the​ ​heights​ ​of​ ​ecstasy.

That​ ​was​ ​when​ ​the​ ​door​ ​was​ ​flung​ ​opened,​ ​the​ ​lights​ ​were​ ​turned​ ​on,​ ​and Jessica​ ​White​ ​took​ ​several​ ​photos​ ​with​ ​a​ ​digital​ ​camera.​ ​​​He​ ​tried​ ​to​ ​hide the​ ​panties,​ ​cover​ ​himself,​ ​and​ ​look​ ​for​ ​an​ ​escape​ ​route.​ ​​​It​ ​was​ ​too​ ​much all​ ​at​ ​once​ ​and​ ​he​ ​tripped​ ​over​ ​his​ ​own​ ​feet,​ ​going​ ​down​ ​in​ ​a​ ​sprawl.​ ​​​The sorority​ ​head​ ​came​ ​into​ ​the​ ​room,​ ​capturing​ ​more​ ​images​ ​of​ ​him​ ​in​ ​his shameful​ ​situation.​ ​​​Behind​ ​her​ ​followed​ ​a​ ​half​ ​dozen​ ​more​ ​sisters.​ ​​​As​ ​they spread​ ​out​ ​to​ ​either​ ​side,​ ​several​ ​of​ ​them​ ​joined​ ​in,​ ​taking​ ​shots​ ​with​ ​their phones.

"My,​ ​my,​ ​my,"​ ​said​ ​Jessica​ ​with​ ​a​ ​devilish​ ​grin​ ​on​ ​her​ ​pretty​ ​face.​ ​​​"What have​ ​we​ ​here?​ ​​​A​ ​perverted​ ​panty​ ​thief​ ​getting​ ​his​ ​jollies​ ​by​ ​tugging​ ​his​ ​tiny tool."

Paul​ ​shoved​ ​his​ ​tumescent​ ​member​ ​back​ ​inside​ ​his​ ​pants​ ​and​ ​closed​ ​his fly.​ ​​​He​ ​said,​ ​"You​ ​don't​ ​understand.​ ​​​This​ ​is​ ​just​ ​part​ ​of​ ​an​ ​initiation.​ ​​​Call Mega​ ​and​ ​they'll​ ​tell​ ​you."

"Or​ ​we​ ​could​ ​call​ ​the​ ​campus​ ​police.​ ​​​Are​ ​you​ ​so​ ​stupid​ ​that​ ​you​ ​don't​ ​know there​ ​are​ ​security​ ​cameras​ ​all​ ​over​ ​this​ ​building,​ ​outside​ ​and​ ​in?​ ​​​With​ ​night vision.​ ​​​Recording​ ​every​ ​second​ ​of​ ​your​ ​criminal​ ​activities."

"C...​ ​criminal?"
"Well,​ ​let's​ ​see​ ​what​ ​we've​ ​got.​ ​​​Trespassing.​ ​​​Breaking​ ​and​

​entering.
Theft.​ ​​​Peeping.​ ​​​Exposing​ ​yourself.​ ​​​The​ ​list​ ​goes​ ​on​ ​and​ ​on." "But​

​it's​ ​just...​ ​​​I​ ​was​ ​only..."

She​ ​held​ ​a​ ​silencing​ ​forefinger​ ​up​ ​to​ ​her​ ​pretty​ ​mouth.​ ​​​Jessica​ ​was gorgeous.​ ​​​She​ ​was​ ​a​ ​slender​ ​blond​ ​with​ ​an​ ​unnaturally​ ​big​ ​bust,​ ​which​ ​she relished​ ​showing​ ​off.​ ​​​At​ ​the​ ​moment​ ​she​ ​had​ ​on​ ​a​

​low-cut​ ​top​ ​the​ ​molded itself​ ​to​ ​her​ ​those​ ​ripe​ ​melons.​ ​​​Her​ ​nipples​ ​pressed​ ​out​ ​against​ ​the​ ​thin material.​ ​​​When​ ​she​ ​leaned​ ​down​ ​to​ ​look​ ​more​ ​closely​ ​at​ ​him,​ ​like​ ​she​ ​was looking​ ​at​ ​a​ ​particularly​ ​odious​ ​piece​ ​of​ ​garbage,​ ​he​ ​shuddered​ ​and​ ​tried​ ​to curl​ ​into​ ​a​ ​defensive​ ​ball.​ ​​​She​ ​made​ ​sure​ ​to​ ​take​ ​a​ ​picture​ ​of​ ​that.

"Now,​ ​after​ ​we​ ​give​ ​those​ ​videos,​ ​along​ ​with​ ​a​ ​selection​ ​of​ ​our​ ​photos,​ ​to security,​ ​they'll​ ​pass​ ​them​ ​along​ ​to​ ​the​ ​administrators.​ ​​​And​ ​those upstanding​ ​people​ ​will​ ​naturally​ ​have​ ​to​ ​share​ ​them​ ​with​ ​the​ ​city​ ​police. Now,​ ​Pauley,"​ ​she​ ​said,​ ​surprising​ ​him​ ​that​ ​she​ ​knew​ ​his​ ​name,​ ​"do​ ​you really​ ​want​ ​us​ ​to​ ​do​ ​that?"

"I...​ ​no...​ ​please."

"Because,​ ​if​ ​we​ ​do,​ ​here's​ ​what's​ ​going​ ​to​ ​happen​ ​next.​ ​​​You'll​ ​go​ ​to​ ​jail, sweet​ ​cheeks.​ ​​​A​ ​guy​ ​like​ ​you,​ ​so​ ​short​ ​and​ ​with​ ​the​ ​weak​ ​physique.​ ​​​That cute​ ​face.​ ​​​And​ ​pretty​ ​hair​ ​almost​ ​brushing​ ​your​ ​girly​ ​shoulders.​ ​​​You'd​ ​be in​ ​there​ ​with​ ​guys​ ​who​ ​are​ ​bigger,​ ​meaner,​ ​and​ ​horny​ ​as​ ​can​ ​be.​ ​​​A​ ​lot​ ​of them​ ​would​ ​be​ ​big​ ​and​ ​Black.​ ​​​And​ ​when​ ​I​ ​say​ ​big,​ ​I​ ​don't​ ​just​ ​mean​ ​height and​ ​weight.​ ​​​I​ ​mean​ ​between​ ​their​ ​legs.​ ​​​Imagine​ ​how​ ​much​ ​fun​ ​they​ ​could have​ ​with​ ​a​ ​wimp​ ​like​ ​you,​ ​especially​ ​after​ ​you're​ ​in​ ​the​ ​shower​ ​with​ ​that joke​ ​between​ ​your​ ​legs​ ​on​ ​display.​ ​​​I​ ​mean,​ ​they​ ​would​ ​eat​ ​you​ ​up​ ​and​ ​spit you​ ​out.​ ​​​Or​ ​maybe​ ​I​ ​should​ ​say,​ ​you'd​ ​eat​ ​them​ ​and​ ​swallow​ ​it​ ​down."

The​ ​girls​ ​all​ ​laughed.​ ​​​Paul​ ​got​ ​up​ ​on​ ​is​ ​knees​ ​before​ ​Jessica​ ​stopped​ ​him with​ ​a​ ​gesture.​ ​​​All​ ​the​ ​other​ ​girls,​ ​wearing​ ​mocking​ ​faces,​ ​moved​ ​closer. Their​ ​victim​ ​was​ ​trying​ ​to​ ​think​ ​of​ ​some​ ​way​ ​out​ ​of​ ​this​ ​fix​ ​but​ ​came​ ​up blank.​ ​​​His​ ​mouth​ ​opened​ ​and​ ​closed​ ​several​ ​times​ ​without​ ​producing words.

At​ ​last,​ ​Jessica​ ​​​said,​ ​"So​ ​what's​ ​it​ ​going​ ​to​ ​be,​ ​pervert?​ ​​​Do​ ​I​ ​make​ ​some calls​ ​right​ ​now?​ ​​​Or​ ​do​ ​you​ ​agree​ ​to​ ​be​ ​a​ ​good​ ​like​ ​boy,​ ​do​ ​as​ ​you're​ ​told, and​ ​not​ ​give​ ​me​ ​or​ ​any​ ​of​ ​my​ ​sisters​ ​any​ ​backtalk?​ ​​​Hmmm?"

His​ ​shoulders​ ​slumped.​ ​​​In​ ​a​ ​small​ ​voice​ ​he​ ​agreed,​ ​"I'll​ ​do​ ​whatever​ ​you tell​ ​me.​ ​​​Just​ ​please​ ​don't​ ​let​ ​anyone​ ​see​ ​that​ ​video​ ​or​ ​those​ ​pictures."

"Well,​ ​how​ ​about​ ​if​ ​we​ ​only​ ​show​ ​that​ ​stuff​ ​to​ ​the​ ​guys​ ​at​ ​Mega​ ​house?​ ​​​I know​ ​you're​ ​trying​ ​to​ ​get​ ​accepted​ ​there.​ ​​​That​ ​stunt​ ​with​ ​you​ ​waking​ ​up​ ​on the​ ​lawn​ ​with​ ​your​ ​miniature​ ​dingus​ ​out​ ​was​ ​pretty​ ​damn​ ​funny."​ ​​​She​ ​held out​ ​her​ ​phone​ ​with​ ​one​ ​finger​ ​poised​ ​over​ ​it.​ ​​​"I'll​ ​just​ ​send​ ​them​ ​a​ ​few shots.​ ​​​Only​ ​the​ ​ones​ ​where​ ​your​ ​face​ ​is​ ​really​ ​clear."

"No,​ ​no,​ ​no,"​ ​he​ ​pleaded,​ ​sounding​ ​like​ ​he​ ​was​ ​about​ ​to​ ​break​ ​down​ ​and cry.

"Really?​ ​​​You​ ​don't​ ​think​ ​your​ ​future​ ​frat​ ​brothers​ ​could​ ​use​ ​a​ ​good​ ​laugh? All​ ​right.​ ​​​So​ ​I'll​ ​only​ ​send​ ​them​ ​to​ ​one​ ​person.​ ​​​That​ ​nice​ ​girl​ ​you've​ ​been dating.​ ​​​I​ ​hacked​ ​into​ ​the​ ​school​ ​database​ ​and​ ​got​ ​her​ ​information.​ ​​​Her number's​ ​already​ ​in​ ​my​ ​phone.​ ​​​Here​ ​it​ ​is.​ ​​​Hannah.​ ​​​I'm​ ​sure​ ​it'll​ ​spice​ ​up your​ ​love​ ​life​ ​when​ ​she​ ​sees​ ​you​ ​with​ ​your​ ​little​ ​dick​ ​in​ ​your​ ​hand.​ ​​​Girls love​ ​that."

"Please​ ​don't,"​ ​he​ ​whined.​ ​​​"She​ ​might​ ​leave​ ​me."
"Might?​ ​​​Is​ ​she​ ​a​ ​pervert,​ ​too?​ ​​​You​ ​think​ ​she'd​ ​stay​ ​with​ ​you​ ​after​

​she​ ​saw those?"
"No,"​ ​he​ ​conceded.​ ​​​"She​ ​wouldn't."

"And​ ​do​ ​you​ ​think​ ​you​ ​could​ ​just​ ​go​ ​out​ ​and​ ​find​ ​someone​ ​else​ ​as​ ​good​ ​as her?"

He​ ​thought​ ​about​ ​his​ ​past​ ​bad​ ​luck​ ​with​ ​females​ ​and​ ​mumbled,​ ​"No,​ ​I couldn't."

"Then​ ​I'll​ ​expect​ ​you​ ​to​ ​be​ ​extra​ ​nice​ ​to​ ​us​ ​while​ ​you're​ ​doing​ ​exactly​ ​as you're​ ​told​ ​by​ ​me​ ​or​ ​any​ ​of​ ​the​ ​girls​ ​here​ ​at​ ​Delta​ ​V."

As​ ​he​ ​scanned​ ​the​ ​audience​ ​of​ ​smirking​ ​females​ ​he​ ​knew​ ​he​ ​was​ ​stuck. Every​ ​one​ ​of​ ​them​ ​was​ ​conceited,​ ​selfish,​ ​and​ ​bitchy.​ ​​​But​ ​taking​ ​orders from​ ​them​ ​for​ ​the​ ​next​ ​hour,​ ​or​ ​even​ ​the​ ​rest​ ​of​ ​the​ ​evening,​ ​was​ ​a​ ​small price​ ​to​ ​pay​ ​for​ ​staying​ ​out​ ​of​ ​jail,​ ​remaining​ ​in​ ​college,​ ​and​ ​continuing​ ​to​ ​be with​ ​Hannah.

"Now,​ ​girls,"​ ​Jessica​ ​said​ ​to​ ​her​ ​sorority​ ​peers.​ ​​​"What​ ​kind​ ​of​ ​games​ ​might we​ ​play​ ​with​ ​our​ ​little​ ​pecker-puller?​ ​​​Any​ ​suggestions?"

"I​ ​know.​ ​​​Earlier​ ​I​ ​saw​ ​him​ ​wearing​ ​a​ ​scarf​ ​that​ ​looked​ ​like​ ​the​ ​rainbow​ ​flag in​ ​a​ ​gay​ ​parade.​ ​​​How​ ​about​ ​if​ ​we​ ​put​ ​something​ ​like​ ​that​ ​on​ ​him,​ ​along with​ ​a​ ​body​ ​shirt​ ​and​ ​the​ ​tightest​ ​mini-shorts​ ​we​ ​can​ ​fit​ ​him​ ​into,​ ​plus​ ​some fagged​ ​out​ ​sandals​ ​with​ ​laces​ ​going​ ​halfway​ ​up​ ​his​ ​legs,​ ​and​ ​make​ ​him spend​ ​a​ ​day​ ​like​ ​that?​ ​​​Or​ ​a​ ​week?"

"And​ ​at​ ​the​ ​same​ ​time​ ​we​ ​could​ ​force​ ​him​ ​to​ ​sign​ ​up​ ​for​ ​that​ ​Urban Sensitivity​ ​Program​ ​or​ ​whatever​ ​it's​ ​called.​ ​​​The​ ​one​ ​where​ ​volunteers​ ​go​ ​to the​ ​inner​ ​city​ ​to​ ​sweep​ ​sidewalks,​ ​scrub​ ​stoops,​

​and​ ​clean​ ​up​ ​vacant​ ​lots. I'm​ ​sure​ ​he'd​ ​be​ ​a​ ​hit​ ​every​ ​time​ ​he​ ​bent​ ​over​ ​to​ ​pick​ ​up​ ​trash​ ​while​ ​wearing Daisy​ ​Dukes."

"Or​ ​how​ ​about​ ​this?​ ​​​We​ ​keep​ ​him​ ​right​ ​here,​ ​dress​ ​him​ ​up​ ​like​ ​a​ ​French maid,​ ​and​ ​have​ ​him​ ​mince​ ​around​ ​with​ ​a​ ​feather​ ​duster."

"What​ ​about​ ​if​ ​we​ ​rent​ ​him​ ​to​ ​new​ ​pledges​ ​so​ ​he​ ​can​ ​take​ ​their​ ​place​ ​during initiations.​ ​​​Those​ ​girls​ ​all​ ​have​ ​money.​ ​​​They​ ​could​ ​pay​ ​him​ ​to​ ​take​ ​their paddlings.​ ​​​And​ ​I​ ​know​ ​he'd​ ​be​ ​happy​ ​to​ ​turn​ ​the​ ​cash​ ​over​ ​to​ ​us​ ​for​ ​our wine​ ​fund."

Paul​ ​was​ ​getting​ ​more​ ​and​ ​more​ ​upset.​ ​​​​​When​ ​he​ ​agreed​ ​to​ ​do​ ​whatever they​ ​demanded,​ ​he​ ​hadn't​ ​expected​ ​anything​ ​extreme​ ​or​ ​long​ ​lasting.​ ​​​Even so,​ ​he​ ​couldn't​ ​keep​ ​those​ ​images​ ​out​ ​of​ ​his​ ​head,​ ​the​ ​ones​ ​Jessica​ ​had put​ ​there,​ ​of​ ​himself​ ​in​ ​prison,​ ​and​ ​especially​ ​in​ ​the​ ​showers.​ ​​​​​That​ ​whole time,​ ​Jessica​ ​was​ ​reading​ ​his​ ​face,​ ​evaluating​ ​his​ ​reaction​ ​to​ ​every suggestion.​ ​​​It​ ​wasn't​ ​difficult​ ​to​ ​see​ ​how​ ​disturbed​ ​he​ ​was​ ​by​ ​each​ ​of​ ​those possibilities.​ ​​​Her​ ​new​ ​plaything​ ​didn't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​be​ ​feminized,​ ​made​ ​to​ ​look gay,​ ​or​ ​put​ ​into​ ​contact​ ​with​ ​Blacks.​ ​​​A​ ​plan​ ​was​ ​already​ ​forming​ ​in​ ​her agile​ ​and​ ​devious​ ​mind​ ​that​ ​would​ ​subject​ ​him​ ​to​ ​all​ ​three​ ​unwanted happenings.

"So​ ​here's​ ​what​ ​we'll​ ​do,"​ ​she​ ​said,​ ​sounding​ ​reasonable,​ ​as​ ​if​ ​it​ ​was nothing​ ​of​ ​consequence.​ ​​​"There's​ ​a​ ​dance​ ​coming​ ​up.​ ​​​The​ ​Spring​ ​Formal. Of​ ​course,​ ​it's​ ​not​ ​as​ ​formal​ ​as​ ​it​ ​used​ ​to​ ​be.​ ​​​All​ ​of​

​us​ ​Delta​ ​Viragos​ ​will​ ​be in​ ​our​ ​finest​ ​partying​ ​outfits.​ ​​​And​ ​you,​ ​Pauley,​ ​can​ ​be​ ​a​ ​sort​ ​of​ ​one-man entertainment​ ​committee.​ ​​​How​ ​does​ ​that​ ​sound?"

After​ ​those​ ​awful​ ​ideas​ ​from​ ​the​ ​other​ ​girls,​ ​it​ ​sounded​ ​terrific.​ ​​​He​ ​wouldn't mind​ ​tending​ ​the​ ​punchbowl​ ​or​ ​overseeing​ ​the​ ​dessert​ ​table,​ ​or​ ​whatever they​ ​might​ ​have​ ​like​ ​that​ ​for​ ​him​ ​to​ ​do.​ ​​​Sure.​ ​​​He​ ​was​ ​ready​ ​for​ ​something so​ ​unthreatening.

Paul​ ​was​ ​finally​ ​able​ ​to​ ​smile​ ​as​ ​he​ ​assured​ ​her,​ ​"I'm​ ​your​ ​man.​ ​​​I'll​ ​make sure​ ​everything​ ​is​ ​just​ ​the​ ​best."

"I'm​ ​sure​ ​you​ ​will."​ ​​​She​ ​returned​ ​his​ ​smile.​ ​​​"And​ ​then​ ​some."

He​ ​mentioned​ ​how​ ​hard​ ​he​ ​would​ ​work​ ​filling​ ​the​ ​role​ ​as​ ​he​ ​imagined​ ​it. Jessica​ ​turned​ ​to​ ​her​ ​sisters​ ​and​ ​then​ ​back​ ​to​ ​him.​ ​​​​​She​ ​said,​ ​"That's​ ​not quite​ ​what​ ​I​ ​had​ ​in​ ​mind.​ ​​​I​ ​was​ ​thinking​ ​more​ ​of​ ​you,​ ​oh​ ​I​ ​don't​ ​know,​ ​being dressed​ ​as​ ​a​ ​clown.​ ​​​And​ ​we'd​ ​have​ ​some​ ​circus​ ​themed​ ​games​ ​involving you."​ ​​​When​ ​she​ ​saw​ ​his​ ​face​ ​grow​ ​worried​ ​she​ ​added,​ ​"Although​ ​the​ ​other alternative​ ​is​ ​always​ ​open."​ ​​​She​ ​looked​ ​significantly​ ​at​ ​her​ ​phone.

"No-No,"​ ​he​ ​insisted.​ ​​​"Uh,​ ​I'll​ ​be​ ​a​ ​clown."​ ​​​He​ ​brought​ ​his​ ​hands​ ​up​ ​on either​ ​side​ ​of​ ​his​ ​head​ ​and​ ​waved​ ​them,​ ​in​ ​what​ ​seemed​ ​to​ ​him​ ​like​ ​a clownish​ ​manner.​ ​​​"No​ ​problem."

"Well​ ​then​ ​that's​ ​settled.​ ​​​How​ ​about​ ​if​ ​you​ ​stop​ ​by​ ​tomorrow​ ​after​ ​your classes​ ​are​ ​done.​ ​​​Whatever​ ​time​ ​is​ ​convenient​ ​for​ ​you.​ ​​​We'll​ ​just​ ​want​ ​to check​ ​and​ ​make​ ​sure​ ​your​ ​costume​ ​fits​ ​right."

That​ ​didn't​ ​make​ ​sense​ ​to​ ​him.​ ​​​Weren't​ ​clown​ ​outfits​ ​baggy?​ ​​​One​ ​size​ ​fits all?​ ​​​But​ ​maybe​ ​Jessica​ ​just​ ​wasn't​ ​sure​ ​what​ ​they​ ​would​ ​find​ ​for​ ​him​ ​to wear.​ ​​​Probably​ ​just​ ​a​ ​rental.​ ​​​He​ ​might​ ​even​ ​offer​ ​to​ ​reimburse​ ​them​ ​for​ ​the cost.​ ​​​But​ ​then,​ ​why​ ​should​ ​he​ ​do​ ​that?​ ​​​They​ ​had​ ​decided​ ​how​ ​he​ ​was going​ ​to​ ​pay​ ​his​ ​penance​ ​for​ ​the​ ​little​ ​mistake​ ​he​ ​had​ ​made,​ ​and​ ​then​ ​this would​ ​all​ ​be​ ​over.​ ​​​What​ ​a​ ​relief.

He​ ​asked​ ​Jessica​ ​uncertainly,​ ​"So​ ​I​ ​can​ ​leave​ ​now?"

"Certainly.​ ​​​Why​ ​not?​ ​​​It​ ​isn't​ ​like​ ​we're​ ​going​ ​to​ ​make​ ​you​ ​our​ ​prisoner." She​ ​chuckled​ ​reassuringly.​ ​​​"Get​ ​along​ ​now,​ ​little​ ​Pauley.​ ​​​But​ ​you​ ​will​ ​have to​ ​leave​ ​those​ ​panties​ ​here."

He​ ​saw​ ​that​ ​he​ ​still​ ​had​ ​the​ ​undergarment​ ​in​ ​his​ ​hand.​ ​​​Sheepishly,​ ​he​ ​went and​ ​put​ ​it​ ​neatly​ ​back​ ​into​ ​the​ ​dresser​ ​drawer.​ ​​​This​ ​had​ ​been​ ​a​ ​close​ ​call. After​ ​the​ ​dance,​ ​which​ ​was​ ​only​ ​days​ ​away,​ ​it​ ​would​ ​all​ ​be​ ​behind​ ​him.

And​ ​who​ ​knew,​ ​maybe​ ​he​ ​would​ ​still​ ​be​ ​able​ ​to​ ​get​ ​back​ ​into​ ​Mega​ ​house. He​ ​was​ ​more​ ​determined​ ​than​ ​ever​ ​to​ ​make​ ​an​ ​impression​ ​on​ ​Hannah,​ ​and that​ ​was​ ​just​ ​what​ ​he​ ​was​ ​going​ ​to​ ​do.

After​ ​he​ ​was​ ​gone,​ ​one​ ​of​ ​the​ ​other​ ​sisters​ ​turned​ ​to​ ​Jessica​ ​and​ ​said,​ ​"I hope​ ​you're​ ​not​ ​going​ ​as​ ​easy​ ​on​ ​that​ ​twerp​ ​as​ ​you​ ​made​ ​it​ ​sound​ ​like."

"No​ ​way.​ ​​​I​ ​just​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​let​ ​him​ ​think​ ​he​ ​got​ ​away​ ​with​ ​it.​ ​​​The​ ​dance​ ​is going​ ​to​ ​be​ ​a​ ​night​ ​he​ ​will​ ​never​ ​forget."

"That's​ ​good."​ ​​​The​ ​other​ ​girl​ ​was​ ​Tiffany,​ ​a​ ​spoiled​ ​little​ ​rich​ ​girl.​ ​​​She​ ​was as​ ​good​ ​looking​ ​as​ ​Jessica,​ ​though​ ​her​ ​boobs​ ​were​ ​merely​ ​large,​ ​and​ ​not titanic​ ​like​ ​those​ ​of​ ​the​ ​group's​ ​leader.​ ​​​"And​ ​I​ ​hope​ ​we're​ ​all​ ​going​ ​to​ ​be able​ ​to​ ​join​ ​on."

"For​ ​sure.​ ​​​It's​ ​going​ ​to​ ​take​ ​a​ ​houseful​ ​of​ ​us​ ​to​ ​get​ ​done​ ​everything​ ​I​ ​have in​ ​store​ ​for​ ​our​ ​little​ ​Pauley.​ ​​​All​ ​of​ ​us​ ​and​ ​some​ ​recruits​ ​from​ ​outside."​ ​​​She spoke​ ​to​ ​them​ ​as​ ​a​ ​group​ ​when​ ​she​ ​said,​ ​"It'll​ ​be​ ​like​ ​that​ ​one​ ​I​ ​got​ ​my claws​ ​into​ ​last​ ​year,​ ​but​ ​took​ ​care​ ​of​ ​all​ ​by​ ​myself.​ ​​​The​ ​chump​ ​who​ ​thought I​ ​was​ ​going​ ​to​ ​be​ ​his​ ​girlfriend,​ ​and​ ​that​ ​we'd​ ​end​ ​up​ ​married.​ ​​​I'm​ ​sure​ ​you recall​ ​what​ ​was​ ​left​ ​of​ ​him​ ​when​ ​I​ ​was​ ​done."​ ​​​The​ ​sisters​ ​smiled sadistically​ ​at​ ​the​ ​memory​ ​of​ ​watching​ ​their​ ​leader​ ​ruin​ ​her​ ​previous​ ​prey. "So​ ​get​

​your​ ​bitch​ ​on,​ ​girls.​ ​​​This​ ​dance​ ​will​ ​have​ ​the​ ​best​ ​entertainment yet.​ ​​​Pauley​ ​is​ ​going​ ​to​ ​get​ ​quite​ ​an​ ​education​ ​at​ ​the​ ​Formal."

*********
A​ ​FORMAL​ ​EDUCATION​ ​--​ ​2.​ ​​​​​by​ ​Thorne

In​ ​the​ ​morning​ ​Paul​ ​felt​ ​better.​ ​​​Lying​ ​in​ ​bed,​ ​he​ ​tried​ ​to​ ​sort​ ​out​ ​everything that​ ​was​ ​going​ ​on.​ ​​​If​ ​he​ ​just​ ​cooperated​ ​with​ ​Jessica,​ ​the​ ​rest​ ​should​ ​be fixable.​ ​​​He​ ​eventually​ ​had​ ​himself​ ​believing​ ​he​ ​was​ ​in​ ​control​ ​of​ ​his​ ​life again.​ ​​​Denial​ ​is​ ​a​ ​wonderful​ ​thing.

After​ ​his​ ​first​ ​class​ ​he​ ​went​ ​to​ ​the​ ​Alpha​ ​Mega​ ​house​ ​to​ ​deal​ ​with​ ​failing their​ ​assignment.​ ​​​Breaker​ ​and​ ​Chunk​ ​didn't​ ​act​ ​upset.​ ​​​They​ ​even​ ​offered him​ ​a​ ​beer​ ​but,​ ​with​ ​his​ ​memories​ ​of​ ​the​ ​last​ ​time​ ​he​ ​drank​ ​with​ ​them​ ​still so​ ​strong,​ ​he​ ​declined.​ ​​​He​ ​sat​ ​on​ ​one​ ​of​ ​the​ ​sofas​ ​with​ ​his​ ​hands​ ​in​ ​his​ ​lap.

"I​ ​thought​ ​I​ ​was​ ​going​ ​to​ ​have​ ​those​ ​panties​ ​for​ ​you​ ​last​ ​night​ ​but​ ​it​ ​didn't work​ ​out.​ ​​​That​ ​door​ ​you​ ​told​ ​me​ ​about​ ​was​ ​locked,"​ ​he​ ​lied.

"It​ ​was?"​ ​Breaker​ ​said,​ ​his​ ​brow​ ​creasing. "Yeah,"​ ​Paul​ ​lied.​ ​​​"Just​ ​my​ ​bad​ ​luck."

"Right,"​ ​said​ ​Chunk.​ ​​​"Bad​ ​luck.​ ​​​Did​ ​you​ ​see​ ​any​ ​of​ ​the​ ​girls?"

"I​ ​did,​ ​but​ ​not​ ​up​ ​close.​ ​​​And​ ​since,​ ​you​ ​know,​ ​it​ ​wasn't​ ​my​ ​fault​ ​about​ ​the door,​ ​I​ ​thought​ ​maybe​ ​we​ ​could​ ​count​ ​this​ ​as​ ​a​ ​win.​ ​​​Or​ ​maybe​ ​give​ ​me something​ ​else​ ​to​ ​do.​ ​​​Something​ ​not​ ​quite​ ​as...​ ​tricky."

"Sure.​ ​​​Naturally,​ ​we'll​ ​have​ ​to​ ​run​ ​it​ ​by​ ​the​ ​Pledge​ ​Council,"​ ​Breaker​ ​lied back​ ​at​ ​him.

"And​ ​wait​ ​for​ ​them​ ​to​ ​check​ ​the​ ​Pledge​ ​Rule​ ​Book​ ​and​ ​all,"​ ​Chunk​ ​added, compounding​ ​the​ ​lie.

"I​ ​figured​ ​that​ ​was​ ​how​ ​it​ ​would​ ​go."​ ​​​Paul​ ​nodded​ ​to​ ​pretend​ ​full understanding.​ ​​​He​ ​was​ ​feeling​ ​better​ ​about​ ​it.​ ​​​"And​ ​then​ ​you​ ​can​ ​get​ ​back to​ ​me."

"I'm​ ​glad​ ​you're​ ​being​ ​patient​ ​with​ ​us,"​ ​Breaker​ ​said.​ ​​​"We'll​ ​have​ ​an​ ​answer for​ ​you​ ​ASAP."

Chunk​ ​finished​ ​with,​ ​"Most​ ​likely​ ​right​ ​after​ ​the​ ​Spring​ ​Formal​ ​Dance. That's​ ​got​ ​a​ ​lot​ ​of​ ​people​ ​busy."

Paul​ ​headed​ ​for​ ​his​ ​next​ ​class,​ ​which​ ​was​ ​a​ ​welcome​ ​distraction​ ​from​ ​his concerns.​ ​​​He​ ​had​ ​lunch,​ ​avoided​ ​any​ ​members​ ​of​ ​Delta​ ​Virago,​ ​kept​ ​clear of​ ​those​ ​imposing​ ​athletes​ ​from​ ​Alpha​ ​Ebony,​ ​and​ ​finished​ ​the​ ​rest​ ​of​ ​his classes.​ ​​​Back​ ​in​ ​his​ ​apartment​ ​he​ ​did​ ​some​ ​surfing​ ​on​ ​his​ ​computer. Hannah​ ​had​ ​a​ ​heavier​ ​schedule​ ​than​ ​him​ ​today,​ ​and​ ​was​ ​going​ ​to​ ​hang with​ ​Angie​ ​after,​ ​but​ ​he​ ​would​ ​get​ ​together​ ​with​ ​his​ ​girlfriend​ ​later.​ ​​​After​ ​his visit​ ​to​ ​Jessica​ ​and​ ​her​ ​cohorts.​ ​​​While​ ​he​ ​was​ ​on-line,​ ​curious​ ​about​ ​those sorority​ ​girls​ ​preferring​ ​the​ ​men​ ​of​ ​the​ ​Black​ ​fraternity,​ ​he​ ​decided​ ​to​ ​do​ ​a search​ ​on​ ​'interracial​ ​relationships'.​ ​​​But​ ​when​ ​he​ ​started​ ​typing​ ​in​ ​the search​ ​cue,​ ​he​ ​got​ ​as​ ​far​ ​as​ ​the​ ​first​ ​word​ ​when​ ​the​ ​system​ ​made​ ​several suggestions.​ ​​​One​ ​of​ ​them​ ​was​ ​'interracial​ ​porn'.​ ​​​On​ ​a​ ​whim​ ​he​ ​went​ ​to that​ ​one​ ​and​ ​it​ ​displayed​ ​a​ ​full​ ​page​ ​of​ ​hits.​ ​​​He​ ​noticed​ ​that​ ​the​ ​topic​ ​was also​ ​referred​ ​to​ ​as​ ​'IR​ ​porn'​ ​for​ ​short.

After​ ​skimming​ ​over​ ​some​ ​of​ ​the​ ​descriptions,​ ​he​ ​tried​ ​hitting​ ​'Images'. What​ ​came​ ​on​ ​the​ ​screen​ ​startled​ ​him.​ ​​​There​ ​was​ ​picture​ ​after​ ​picture​ ​of hot​ ​white​ ​women​ ​with​ ​very​ ​fit​ ​Black​ ​men.​ ​​​In​ ​every​ ​case,​ ​he​ ​observed​ ​with unease,​ ​the​ ​Black​ ​guys​ ​were​ ​incredibly​ ​well​ ​endowed.​ ​​​Paul's​ ​finger hovered​ ​over​ ​the​ ​'last'​ ​key​ ​but​ ​he​ ​hesitated.​ ​​​A​ ​few​ ​of​ ​the​ ​images​ ​were drawings.​ ​​​One​ ​from​ ​an​ ​artist​ ​named​ ​Darren​ ​Dong​ ​or​ ​something​ ​like​ ​that, showed​ ​a​ ​tall​ ​Black​ ​female​ ​with​ ​an​ ​outsized​ ​bubble​ ​butt.​ ​​​There​ ​was​ ​a small​ ​white​ ​guy​ ​kneeling​ ​behind​ ​her,​ ​his​ ​face​ ​buried​ ​between​ ​her​ ​enormous buttocks.​ ​​​He​ ​couldn't​ ​look​ ​away​ ​for​ ​a​ ​half​ ​a​ ​minute​ ​that​ ​felt​ ​like​ ​a​ ​lot​ ​longer.

Anxious​ ​to​ ​get​ ​away​ ​from​ ​that,​ ​he​ ​scrolled​ ​the​ ​page.​ ​​​That​ ​was​ ​when​ ​he spotted​ ​a​ ​video.​ ​​​The​ ​frame​ ​that​ ​was​ ​displayed​ ​showed​ ​a​ ​short​ ​white​ ​girl next​ ​to​ ​a​ ​towering​ ​Black​ ​guy,​ ​who​ ​had​ ​his​ ​arm​ ​around​ ​her.​ ​​​The​ ​male's cock​ ​was​ ​tremendous.​ ​​​They​ ​were​ ​smiling​ ​at​ ​the​ ​camera.​ ​​​The​ ​listing​ ​said​ ​it was​ ​a​ ​free​ ​sample​ ​so,​ ​telling​ ​himself​ ​he​ ​was​ ​only​ ​going​ ​to​ ​take​ ​a​ ​quick peek,​ ​he​ ​went​ ​to​ ​the​ ​page​ ​and​ ​hit​ ​Play.​ ​​​The​ ​scene​ ​that​ ​followed,​ ​of​ ​the​ ​girl stroking​ ​the​ ​man​ ​to​ ​hardness,​ ​sinking​ ​to​ ​her​ ​knees,​ ​and​ ​using​ ​her​ ​mouth​ ​on that​ ​immense​ ​dark​ ​pole,​ ​taking​ ​in​ ​more​ ​than​ ​Paul​ ​would​ ​have​ ​believed possible,​ ​mesmerized​ ​him.​ ​​​He​ ​numbly​ ​went​ ​from​ ​that​ ​one​ ​to​ ​a​ ​series​ ​of other​ ​teasers​ ​for​ ​longer​ ​videos​ ​that​ ​could​ ​be​ ​paid​ ​for.

As​ ​he​ ​watched​ ​white​ ​girls​ ​happily​ ​worshipping​ ​impressive​ ​Black​ ​cocks,​ ​he mentally​ ​compared​ ​his​ ​own​ ​endowment​ ​to​ ​what​ ​he​ ​was​ ​viewing.​ ​​​Paul​ ​did not​ ​fare​ ​well.​ ​​​And​ ​the​ ​girls​ ​all​ ​acted​ ​so​ ​happy​ ​to​ ​be​ ​on​ ​the​ ​receiving​ ​end​ ​of those​ ​massive​ ​members,​ ​especially​ ​when​ ​they​ ​were​ ​being​ ​banged. Though​ ​he​ ​kept​ ​telling​ ​himself​ ​that​ ​he​ ​was​ ​just​ ​seeing​ ​porn​ ​actresses putting​ ​on​ ​a​ ​show,​ ​and​ ​that​ ​a​ ​regular​ ​girl​ ​wouldn't​ ​be​ ​thrilled​ ​to​ ​have something​ ​so​ ​improbably​ ​large​ ​crammed​ ​inside​ ​her,​ ​for​ ​some​ ​reason​ ​he couldn't​ ​make​ ​himself​ ​believe​ ​that​ ​entirely.​ ​​​At​ ​last,​ ​after​ ​what​ ​he​ ​figured was​ ​twenty​ ​minutes​ ​wasted,​ ​maybe​ ​a​ ​half​ ​hour,​ ​he​ ​went​ ​back​ ​to​ ​his homepage.​ ​​​That​ ​was​ ​when​ ​he​ ​noticed​ ​that​ ​two​ ​hours​ ​had​ ​actually​ ​passed. And​ ​he​ ​was​ ​supposed​ ​to​ ​be​ ​at​ ​Delta​ ​Virago​ ​in​ ​five​ ​minutes.

Paul​ ​got​ ​up​ ​and​ ​was​ ​surprised​ ​to​ ​see​ ​that​ ​he​ ​had​ ​an​ ​erection.​ ​​​How​ ​could that​ ​have​ ​happened​ ​without​ ​him​ ​being​ ​aware?​ ​​​It​ ​was​ ​disconcerting.​ ​​​He got​ ​dressed​ ​as​ ​quickly​ ​as​ ​he​ ​could​ ​and​ ​rushed​ ​out​ ​the​ ​door.​ ​​​Racing​ ​across the​ ​campus​ ​grounds,​ ​he​ ​arrived​ ​only​ ​a​ ​few​ ​minutes​ ​late.​ ​​​Trying​ ​to​ ​catch his​ ​breath,​ ​he​ ​went​ ​up​ ​the​ ​steps​ ​and​ ​rapped​ ​on​ ​the​ ​door,​ ​attempting​ ​to​ ​find the​ ​exact​ ​balance​ ​between​ ​too​ ​soft​ ​and​ ​too​ ​loud.​ ​​​It​ ​was​ ​answered​ ​by Tiffany.

In​ ​an​ ​uninflected​ ​voice​ ​she​ ​informed​ ​him,​ ​"You're​ ​five​ ​minutes​ ​late.​ ​​​Jessica is​ ​not​ ​happy."

He​ ​hung​ ​his​ ​head​ ​like​ ​a​ ​naughty​ ​boy​ ​and​ ​muttered,​ ​"I'm​ ​sorry." "You​ ​don't​ ​have​ ​to​ ​sulk​ ​about​ ​it."

Paul​ ​straightened​ ​up.​ ​​​"Sorry.​ ​​​About​ ​saying​ ​that...​ ​the​ ​way​ ​I​ ​did."

She​ ​turned​ ​away​ ​and​ ​started​ ​walking.​ ​​​He​ ​figured​ ​he​ ​was​ ​supposed​ ​to follow​ ​and​ ​did,​ ​his​ ​eyes​ ​on​ ​her​ ​swaying​ ​hips.​ ​​​He​ ​also​ ​saw​ ​a​ ​girl​ ​wrapped​ ​in a​ ​fluffy​ ​bath​ ​towel​ ​and​ ​another​ ​in​ ​panties​ ​and​ ​no​ ​top.​ ​​​The​ ​second​ ​one cause​ ​a​ ​mental​ ​picture​ ​to​ ​appear​ ​unbidden,​ ​of​ ​Jessica​ ​topless,​ ​her oversized​ ​tits​ ​shown​ ​off.​ ​​​He​ ​wondered​ ​how​ ​big​ ​her​ ​nipples​ ​were​ ​and​ ​how wide​ ​the​ ​halos​ ​around​ ​them.​ ​​​As​ ​he​ ​trailed​ ​Tiffany​ ​up​ ​the​ ​stairs​ ​he​ ​could almost​ ​see​ ​up​ ​under​ ​her​ ​brief​ ​pleated​ ​skirt.​ ​​​She​ ​led​ ​him​ ​to​ ​a​ ​bedroom where​ ​Jessica​ ​and​ ​several​ ​of​ ​the​ ​sisters​ ​were​ ​waiting.​ ​​​There​ ​was​ ​a​ ​spread on​ ​the​ ​bed,​ ​but​ ​with​ ​a​ ​sheet​ ​thrown​ ​over​ ​it.

"Well,"​ ​said​ ​Jessica,​ ​"off​ ​to​ ​a​ ​bad​ ​start,​ ​Pauley.​ ​​​Disrespecting​ ​us​ ​by​ ​being late.​ ​​​That​ ​could​ ​cost​ ​you.​ ​​​Let's​ ​see​ ​if​ ​you​ ​can​ ​make​ ​up​ ​for​ ​it​ ​by​ ​being totally​ ​cooperative."​ ​​​She​ ​paused​ ​to​ ​give​ ​him​ ​time​ ​to​ ​respond.​ ​​​When​ ​he didn't,​ ​she​ ​asked,​ ​"Ready​ ​for​ ​your​ ​fitting?"

The​ ​question​ ​that​ ​had​ ​been​ ​on​ ​his​ ​mind​ ​came​ ​to​ ​his​ ​lips​ ​unbidden.​ ​​​He wanted​ ​to​ ​know,​ ​"Aren't​ ​clown​ ​costumes​ ​always​ ​baggy?​ ​​​I​ ​mean,​ ​so​ ​you wouldn't​ ​need​ ​a​ ​fitting."

Jessica​ ​gave​ ​him​ ​a​ ​withering​ ​look.​ ​​​"Are​ ​you​ ​questioning​ ​our​ ​judgement? Do​ ​you​ ​think​ ​we're​ ​stupid?"

"Oh,​ ​no,"​ ​he​ ​blurted​ ​out.​ ​​​"I'm​ ​so​ ​sorry."

Having​ ​scored​ ​another​ ​small​ ​but​ ​enjoyable​ ​victory,​ ​Jessica​ ​continued​ ​with, "Most​ ​clown​ ​outfits​ ​wouldn't​ ​require​ ​more​ ​than​ ​a​ ​few​ ​measurements,​ ​or much​ ​else.​ ​​​But​ ​yours​ ​is​ ​special.​ ​​​You're​ ​going​ ​to​ ​be​ ​at​ ​the​ ​Spring​ ​Formal, and​ ​at​ ​times​ ​you'll​ ​be​ ​the​ ​center​ ​of​ ​attention."​ ​​​She​ ​let​ ​that​ ​piece​ ​of​ ​bad news​ ​sink​ ​in.​ ​​​"So​ ​we​ ​don't​ ​want​ ​just​ ​an​ ​ordinary​ ​clown.​ ​​​We​ ​asked ourselves​ ​what​ ​kind​ ​you​ ​would​ ​be​ ​best​ ​as.​ ​​​A​ ​gymnast​ ​clown​ ​who​ ​does handstands?​ ​​​Or​ ​a​ ​dancing​ ​clown​ ​who's​ ​light​ ​on​ ​his​ ​feet?​ ​​​We​ ​decided​ ​that those​ ​weren't​ ​the​ ​right​ ​styles​ ​for​ ​you.​ ​​​Everyone​ ​discussed​ ​it​ ​and​ ​we​

​came up​ ​with​ ​the​ ​perfect​ ​type​ ​for​ ​you​ ​to​ ​be,​ ​Pauley."​ ​​​She​ ​gave​ ​him​ ​a​ ​moment​ ​to sweat.​ ​​​"You're​ ​going​ ​to​ ​be​ ​a​ ​sissy​ ​clown."

He​ ​blanked​ ​out​ ​for​ ​several​ ​seconds.​ ​​​Then​ ​he​ ​was​ ​able​ ​to​ ​whisper,​ ​"A... what?"

"A​ ​sissy​ ​clown,"​ ​she​ ​repeated,​ ​acting​ ​like​ ​she​ ​expected​ ​him​ ​to​ ​be​ ​delighted. "So​ ​of​ ​course​ ​you​ ​can't​ ​have​ ​a​ ​baggy​ ​shirt​ ​and​ ​saggy​ ​pants.​ ​​​No.​ ​​​The​ ​girls from​ ​the​ ​fabric​ ​design​ ​class​ ​whipped​ ​up​ ​something​ ​for​ ​you​ ​that​ ​will​ ​be ideal.​ ​​​You​ ​know​ ​that​ ​class.​ ​​​It's​ ​like​ ​the​ ​culinary​ ​arts​ ​ones.​ ​​​And​ ​the decorating​ ​ones.​ ​​​They're​ ​very​ ​attractive​ ​to​ ​some​ ​women.​ ​​​And​ ​gay​ ​men. And​ ​maybe​ ​a​ ​quiet,​ ​metrosexual​ ​type​ ​like​ ​you,​ ​with​ ​your​ ​slim-fit, button-down​ ​shirts,​ ​pants​ ​with​ ​straight​ ​cut​ ​legs,​ ​the​ ​crewneck​ ​sweaters, and​ ​those​ ​slip-no​ ​shoes​ ​that​ ​are​ ​casual​ ​but​ ​stylish.​ ​​​I​ ​mean,​ ​this​ ​will​ ​just​ ​be the​ ​sissy​ ​clown​ ​version​ ​of​ ​that."

"I'm​ ​not​ ​what​ ​you​ ​said.​ ​​​Not...​ ​metrosexual."
"Maybe​ ​I​ ​was​ ​wrong,"​ ​she​ ​allowed.​ ​​​"I​ ​suppose​ ​you​ ​don't​ ​use​ ​that​

​much

moisturizer.​ ​​​And​ ​only​ ​enough​ ​product​ ​in​ ​your​ ​hair​ ​to​ ​give​ ​it​ ​some​ ​body."

"Right.​ ​​​I​ ​don't​ ​get​ ​carried​ ​away​ ​with​ ​those​ ​things.​ ​​​I​ ​only..."​ ​​​That​ ​was​ ​when he​ ​realized​ ​she​ ​had​ ​gotten​ ​him​ ​to​ ​admit​ ​using​ ​them​ ​at​ ​all.​ ​​​He​ ​sighed​ ​and gave​ ​a​ ​defeated,​ ​"Okay."

"So​ ​let's​ ​see​ ​how​ ​you​ ​look​ ​in​ ​your​ ​new,​ ​metro-circus​ ​look."

Jessica​ ​held​ ​out​ ​her​ ​arm​ ​toward​ ​the​ ​bed​ ​and​ ​Tiffany​ ​swept​ ​aside​ ​the​ ​sheet. Under​ ​it​ ​was​ ​a​ ​bodysuit​ ​with​ ​wide​ ​red​ ​and​ ​white​ ​stripes​ ​running​ ​from​ ​top​ ​to bottom.​ ​​​Next​ ​to​ ​that​ ​were​ ​several​ ​rings​ ​of​ ​ruffled​ ​fabric​ ​in​ ​various​ ​sizes. Then​ ​there​ ​were​ ​a​ ​pair​ ​of​ ​ballet​ ​slippers,​ ​which​ ​would​ ​have​ ​been​ ​bad enough,​ ​but​ ​they​ ​were​ ​dyed​ ​pink.​ ​​​Paul​ ​pleaded​ ​with​ ​his​ ​eyes​ ​but​ ​to​ ​no avail.​ ​​​Jessica​ ​picked​ ​up​ ​the​ ​suit​ ​and​ ​held​ ​it​ ​out​ ​in​ ​front​ ​of​ ​his​ ​body.

"Looks​ ​like​ ​the​ ​right​ ​size,​ ​and​ ​they're​ ​very​ ​stretchy,​ ​but​ ​let's​ ​be​ ​sure.​ ​​​Strip down,​ ​metro-clown."

"S...​ ​strip?"

"Hey,​ ​half​ ​the​ ​student​ ​body​ ​has​ ​seen​ ​your​ ​junk.​ ​​​Some​ ​of​ ​them​ ​were​ ​there when​ ​you​ ​woke​ ​up​ ​on​ ​the​ ​lawn​ ​with​ ​your​ ​designer​ ​shorts​ ​halfway​ ​down. The​ ​rest​ ​of​ ​them​ ​have​ ​seen​ ​about​ ​a​ ​hundred​ ​photos​ ​that​ ​are​ ​circulating. Every​ ​one​ ​of​ ​us​ ​have​ ​already​ ​had​ ​the​

​pleasure.​ ​​​Now​ ​lose​ ​that​ ​well​ ​tailored shirt​ ​and​ ​those​ ​no-pleat​ ​pants,​ ​little​ ​fashion​ ​plate."

He​ ​moaned​ ​softly​ ​but,​ ​with​ ​thoughts​ ​of​ ​expulsion​ ​and​ ​jail​ ​time​ ​driving​ ​him, he​ ​began​ ​unbuttoning​ ​one​ ​of​ ​his​ ​favorite​ ​shirts.​ ​​​Soon​ ​Paul​ ​was​ ​down​ ​to just​ ​his​ ​jockey​ ​shorts,​ ​pale​ ​blue​ ​and​ ​with​ ​a​ ​discrete​ ​but​ ​noticeable,​ ​designer label.​ ​​​His​ ​neatly​ ​folded​ ​clothes​ ​were​ ​on​ ​the​ ​bed,​ ​alongside​ ​the​ ​shameful items.​ ​​​Jessica​ ​snapped​ ​her​ ​fingers​ ​and​ ​pointed​ ​to​ ​his​ ​last​ ​remaining covering.​ ​​​​​She​ ​crossed​ ​her​ ​arms​ ​under​ ​those​ ​boobs​ ​that​ ​looked​ ​like​ ​they belonged​ ​on​ ​a​ ​plus-size​ ​woman.​ ​​​Paul​ ​got​ ​his​ ​fingers​ ​under​ ​the​ ​elastic waistband​ ​of​ ​his​ ​shorts​ ​and​ ​lowered​ ​them,​ ​first​ ​just​ ​enough​ ​to​ ​bare​ ​his​ ​hips, and​ ​then​ ​down​ ​to​ ​mid-thigh.

"Wow,"​ ​said​ ​one​ ​of​ ​the​ ​sorority​ ​sisters.​ ​​​"Where's​ ​his​ ​cock?" "And​ ​the​ ​rest​ ​of​ ​his​ ​public​ ​hair?"

"And​ ​the​ ​six-pack​ ​abs​ ​I​ ​was​ ​absolutely​ ​sure​ ​he'd​ ​have?"

He​ ​got​ ​his​ ​shorts​ ​off​ ​the​ ​rest​ ​of​ ​the​ ​way​ ​and​ ​laid​ ​them​ ​carefully​ ​on​ ​the​ ​bed. One​ ​of​ ​the​ ​girls​ ​made​ ​a​ ​crack​ ​about​ ​him​ ​not​ ​wanting​ ​them​ ​to​ ​get​ ​wrinkled, just​ ​like​ ​the​ ​rest​ ​of​ ​his​ ​clothes.​ ​​​He​ ​reached​ ​for​ ​the​ ​body​ ​stocking,​ ​intending to​ ​hold​ ​it​ ​up​ ​in​ ​front​ ​of​ ​himself,​ ​but​ ​Jessica​ ​wouldn't​ ​permit​ ​that.

The​ ​sorority​ ​president​ ​said,​ ​"Hang​ ​on​ ​there,​ ​slim.​ ​​​We​ ​need​ ​to​ ​take​ ​some measurements."

"But​ ​you​ ​already​ ​said​ ​it​ ​should​ ​fit.​ ​​​That​ ​it​ ​stretches."
"I​ ​also​ ​said​ ​that​ ​it's​ ​a​ ​special​ ​outfit​ ​for​ ​a​ ​special​ ​occasion.​ ​​​Didn't​ ​I?​

​​​Can't

be​ ​too​ ​careful."​ ​​​She​ ​turned​ ​to​ ​the​ ​other​ ​girls.​ ​​​"What​ ​do​ ​you​ ​think?" "There​ ​shouldn't​ ​be​ ​any​ ​trouble​ ​with​ ​a​ ​big​ ​unsightly​ ​crotch​ ​bulge."

"And​ ​we​ ​won't​ ​have​ ​to​ ​worry​ ​about​ ​his​ ​muscles​ ​stretching​ ​the​ ​material​ ​out of​ ​shape."

"Or​ ​having​ ​any​ ​chest​ ​hair​ ​sticking​ ​out."
"But​ ​we'd​ ​still​ ​better​ ​do​ ​some​ ​measuring,"​ ​concluded​ ​Tiffany.​ ​​​"I'll​

​get​ ​the tape."

She​ ​was​ ​back​ ​in​ ​moments​ ​with​ ​an​ ​unrolling​ ​measure.​ ​​​Tiffany​ ​pulled​ ​out​ ​a length​ ​and​ ​went​ ​through​ ​the​ ​motions​ ​of​ ​checking​ ​his​ ​arms​ ​and​ ​legs,​ ​but​ ​her real​ ​purpose​ ​was​ ​obviously​ ​to​ ​rub​ ​up​ ​against​ ​him​ ​repeatedly.​ ​​​She​ ​stood behind​ ​him​ ​and​ ​reached​ ​around​ ​with​ ​the​ ​tape​ ​to​ ​do​ ​his​ ​chest,​ ​somehow getting​ ​her​ ​fingers​ ​on​ ​his​

​nipples​ ​and​ ​stroking​ ​them.​ ​​​She​ ​ground​ ​herself against​ ​his​ ​backside​ ​and​ ​pressed​ ​her​ ​warm​ ​breasts​ ​into​ ​his​ ​back,​ ​her covered​ ​body​ ​touching​ ​his​ ​bare​ ​one.​ ​​​Tiffany's​ ​efforts​ ​had​ ​the​ ​desired​ ​effect as​ ​his​ ​little​ ​dick​ ​began​ ​to​ ​rise.​ ​​​He​ ​tried​ ​uselessly​ ​to​ ​tilt​ ​his​ ​hips​ ​downward to​ ​lessen​ ​its​ ​protruding​ ​angle,​ ​which​ ​provoked​ ​giggles​ ​from​ ​the​ ​onlookers.

Tiffany​ ​rested​ ​her​ ​chin​ ​on​ ​his​ ​shoulder​ ​and​ ​whispered​ ​hotly​ ​in​ ​his​ ​ear,​ ​"I would​ ​love​ ​to​ ​have​ ​you​ ​take​ ​me​ ​to​ ​bed​ ​and​ ​ravish​ ​me.​ ​​​Make​ ​me​ ​suck​ ​your cock.​ ​​​And​ ​then​ ​have​ ​you​ ​hold​ ​me​ ​down​ ​while​ ​you​ ​drilled​ ​me​ ​for​ ​an​ ​hour." She​ ​was​ ​still​ ​toying​ ​with​ ​his​ ​nipples,​ ​though​ ​now​ ​with​ ​no​ ​pretense​ ​of​ ​taking measurements.​ ​​​"But​ ​I​ ​can't.​ ​​​Because​ ​you​ ​don't​ ​have​ ​a​ ​cock."​ ​​​She​ ​nipped his​ ​ear.​ ​​​"Only​ ​that​ ​joke​ ​down​ ​there​ ​that's​ ​not​ ​much​ ​bigger​ ​hard​ ​than​ ​it​ ​was soft."

Paul​ ​felt​ ​close​ ​to​ ​tears.​ ​​​Tiffany​ ​came​ ​around​ ​and​ ​got​ ​down​ ​on​ ​one​ ​knee​ ​in front​ ​of​ ​him.​ ​​​She​ ​exhaled​ ​warm​ ​breath​ ​on​ ​his​ ​straining​ ​penis,​ ​flicked​ ​her tongue​ ​close​ ​to​ ​it​ ​while​ ​he​ ​watched,​ ​and​ ​then​ ​gave​ ​an​ ​air​ ​kiss​ ​an​ ​inch​ ​shy of​ ​reaching​ ​it.​ ​​​She​ ​made​ ​a​ ​show​ ​of​ ​letting​ ​most​ ​of​ ​the​ ​tape​ ​measure​ ​retract into​ ​its​ ​case.​ ​​​With​ ​only​ ​a​ ​half​ ​foot​ ​remaining,​ ​she​ ​took​ ​his​ ​dick's measurement.

"I​ ​think​ ​it's​ ​five​ ​inches,"​ ​she​ ​said​ ​seriously,​ ​"but​ ​I​ ​can't​ ​be​ ​sure.​ ​​​Do​ ​we​ ​have a​ ​yardstick?​ ​​​I​ ​mean​ ​a​ ​foot​ ​long​ ​ruler?​ ​​​Or​ ​maybe​ ​just​ ​one​

​of​ ​those​ ​six​ ​inch ones?​ ​​​Yes,​ ​six​ ​inches​ ​will​ ​be​ ​enough.​ ​​​More​ ​than​ ​enough."

Someone​ ​found​ ​a​ ​half​ ​foot​ ​long​ ​ruler​ ​made​ ​of​ ​yellow​ ​plastic.​ ​​​As​ ​she​ ​held​ ​it alongside​ ​his​ ​engorged​ ​dick,​ ​pictures​ ​were​ ​taken.​ ​​​Tiffany​ ​declared​ ​that​ ​she had​ ​been​ ​wrong​ ​about​ ​it​ ​being​ ​five​ ​inches,​ ​and​ ​corrected​ ​that​ ​down​ ​to​ ​four and​ ​maybe-a-half.​ ​​​Paul​ ​was​ ​sniffling.

"Now,"​ ​Jessica​ ​said,​ ​"let's​ ​see​ ​a​ ​replay​ ​of​ ​that​ ​performance​ ​you​ ​gave​ ​during your​ ​botched​ ​panty​ ​raid.​ ​​​Go​ ​on,​ ​get​ ​your​ ​soft​ ​girly​ ​hand​ ​on​ ​your​ ​winkle. Your​ ​fingers​ ​are​ ​so​ ​soft​ ​they'll​ ​probably​ ​feel​ ​like​ ​a​ ​pussy."

To​ ​the​ ​accompaniment​ ​of​ ​snickers​ ​and​ ​more​ ​rude​ ​comments,​ ​he​ ​had​ ​to masturbate​ ​in​ ​front​ ​of​ ​them.​ ​​​At​ ​first​ ​he​ ​used​ ​his​ ​fist,​ ​but​ ​then​ ​they​ ​decided that​ ​he​ ​didn't​ ​need​ ​that​ ​much,​ ​even​ ​with​ ​such​ ​small​ ​hands.​ ​​​So​ ​he​ ​was​ ​told to​ ​switch​ ​to​ ​just​ ​his​ ​thumb​ ​and​ ​first​ ​finger.​ ​​​When​ ​the​ ​let​ ​him​ ​stop​ ​five mortifying​ ​minutes​ ​later,​ ​his​ ​relief​ ​was​ ​short​ ​lived,​ ​because​ ​that​ ​meant​ ​it was​ ​time​ ​for​ ​him​ ​to​ ​get​ ​dressed​ ​in​ ​his​ ​costume.

Paul​ ​had​ ​to​ ​slip​ ​his​ ​feet​ ​into​ ​the​ ​legs​ ​of​ ​the​ ​bodysuit​ ​and​ ​work​ ​them carefully​ ​down​ ​to​ ​the​ ​ends.​ ​​​Then​ ​he​ ​had​ ​to​ ​get​ ​the​ ​top​ ​up​ ​and​ ​squirm​ ​his arms​ ​through​ ​the​ ​sleeves.​ ​​​When​ ​he​ ​was​ ​done​ ​he​

​looked​ ​foolish,​ ​with​ ​the garments​ ​following​ ​the​ ​contours​ ​of​ ​his​ ​unmuscular​ ​figure,​ ​and​ ​those​ ​wide stripes​ ​being​ ​so​ ​unmanly.​ ​​​Then​ ​they​ ​began​ ​with​ ​the​ ​ruffles.​ ​​​One​ ​small​ ​ring went​ ​around​ ​each​ ​wrist.​ ​​​They​ ​were​ ​elastic​ ​and​ ​stayed​ ​in​ ​place.​ ​​​Two​ ​more circled​ ​his​ ​ankles.​ ​​​But​ ​it​ ​was​ ​the​ ​large​ ​one​ ​that​ ​truly​ ​shamed​ ​him.​ ​​​It​ ​fitted around​ ​his​ ​middle​ ​and​ ​stuck​ ​out​ ​like​ ​a​ ​super-short​ ​skirt.

The​ ​girls​ ​made​ ​him​ ​prance​ ​around,​ ​perform​ ​amateurish​ ​pirouettes,​ ​and then​ ​had​ ​him​ ​do​ ​some​ ​stripper​ ​moves.​ ​​​All​ ​the​ ​while​ ​they​ ​were​ ​laughing, making​ ​nasty​ ​comments,​ ​and​ ​taking​ ​more​ ​pictures.​ ​​​After​ ​a​ ​quarter​ ​hour​ ​of that​ ​he​ ​was​ ​winded.​ ​​​Jessica​ ​made​ ​him​ ​go​ ​around​ ​the​ ​sorority​ ​house​ ​and knock​ ​on​ ​doors​ ​of​ ​girls​ ​who​ ​hadn't​ ​been​ ​to​ ​his​ ​fitting,​ ​so​ ​each​ ​one​ ​could see​ ​him​ ​and​ ​make​ ​a​ ​few​ ​subtle​ ​but​ ​scathing​ ​remarks.​ ​​​She​ ​took​ ​him​ ​back to​ ​where​ ​he'd​ ​been​ ​costumed​ ​and​ ​they​ ​all​ ​watched​ ​him​ ​get​ ​undressed again.​ ​​​Tiffany​ ​declared​ ​that​ ​he​ ​couldn't​ ​get​ ​back​ ​into​ ​his​ ​street​ ​clothes​ ​just yet.​ ​​​She​ ​had​ ​him​ ​wear​ ​just​ ​the​ ​five​ ​rings​ ​of​ ​ruffles​ ​over​ ​his​ ​naked​ ​form.​ ​​​He had​ ​to​ ​do​ ​more​ ​posing,​ ​which​ ​led​ ​to​ ​more​ ​pictures,​ ​which​ ​left​ ​him​ ​rattled. At​ ​last​ ​he​ ​was​ ​permitted​ ​to​ ​dress​ ​in​ ​his​ ​own​ ​clothes.

Tiffany​ ​told​ ​him,​ ​"We'll​ ​expect​ ​you​ ​back​ ​here​ ​tomorrow​ ​at​ ​the​ ​same​ ​time. Except​ ​without​ ​being​ ​late.​ ​​​You​ ​were​ ​cooperative​ ​this​ ​evening,​ ​though​ ​I saw​ ​a​ ​few​ ​boo-boo​ ​faces.​ ​​​So​ ​let's​ ​see​ ​how​ ​you​ ​do​ ​next​ ​time.​ ​​​Where​ ​are you​ ​going​ ​from​ ​here,​ ​darling?"

"I...​ ​I'm​ ​going​ ​to​ ​my​ ​girlfriend's​ ​dorm​ ​room."​ ​​​When​ ​Tiff​ ​waited,​ ​as​ ​if expecting​ ​more​ ​information,​ ​he​ ​went​ ​on,​ ​"Her​ ​name​ ​is​ ​Hannah.​ ​​​She​ ​was with​ ​her​ ​friend​ ​Angie,​ ​but​ ​Angie​ ​should​ ​be​ ​gone​ ​by​ ​the​ ​time​ ​I​ ​get​ ​there."

Tiffany​ ​nodded​ ​thoughtfully.​ ​​​Paul​ ​was​ ​troubled​ ​that​ ​he​ ​had​ ​given​ ​added facts​ ​and​ ​that​ ​she​ ​might​ ​be​ ​planning​ ​to​ ​do​ ​something​ ​with​ ​what​ ​she​ ​now knew.​ ​​​Jessica​ ​had​ ​listened​ ​carefully​ ​to​ ​his​ ​words.​ ​​​In​ ​the​ ​end,​ ​Tiffany pushed​ ​him​ ​toward​ ​the​ ​door​ ​and​ ​gave​ ​him​ ​a​ ​slap​ ​on​ ​the​ ​ass.​ ​​​He​ ​hurried out​ ​of​ ​the​ ​sorority​ ​house​ ​and​ ​slowed​ ​down​ ​once​ ​he​ ​was​ ​on​ ​the​ ​campus. This​ ​had​ ​gone​ ​so​ ​far​ ​beyond​ ​anything​ ​he​ ​would​ ​have​ ​expected.​ ​​​Maybe seeing​ ​Hannah​ ​would​ ​improve​ ​his​ ​mood.​ ​​​Sure.​ ​​​It​ ​always​ ​did.​ ​​​And​ ​with​ ​a little​ ​luck​ ​--​ ​he​ ​would​ ​get​ ​lucky.​ ​​​His​ ​spirited​ ​lifted​ ​and​ ​his​ ​pace​ ​increased. He​ ​was​ ​soon​ ​at​ ​the​ ​door​ ​of​ ​the​ ​dorm.

When​ ​he​ ​got​ ​to​ ​Hannah's​ ​room,​ ​Angie​ ​was​ ​just​ ​exiting.​ ​​​She​ ​looked​ ​so inviting​ ​in​ ​a​ ​sleeveless​ ​blouse​ ​and​ ​short​ ​pleated​ ​skirt.​ ​​​He​ ​gave​ ​her​ ​a​ ​smile but​ ​didn't​ ​say​ ​anything,​ ​not​ ​wanting​ ​to​ ​spend​ ​time​ ​in​ ​a​ ​conversation.​ ​​​Paul went​ ​in​ ​and​ ​gave​ ​his​ ​girlfriend​ ​a​ ​hug.​ ​​​When​ ​he​ ​released​ ​her​ ​she​ ​stepped back​ ​and​ ​eyed​ ​him​ ​closely.

"Are​ ​you​ ​all​ ​right?"​ ​she​ ​inquired.​ ​​​"Is​ ​anything​ ​wrong?"
"No.​ ​​​Everything's​ ​good.​ ​​​I've​ ​just​ ​been...​ ​studying​ ​hard​ ​lately."

"I​ ​see.​ ​​​Because​ ​if​ ​there's​ ​something​ ​on​ ​your​ ​mind,​ ​I​ ​would​ ​hope​ ​you​ ​trust me​ ​enough​ ​to​ ​share​ ​it."

"Sure."​ ​​​He​ ​gave​ ​a​ ​feeble​ ​grin.​ ​​​"I​ ​trust​ ​you."
"Please​ ​don't​ ​hold​ ​anything​ ​back.​ ​​​We​ ​need​ ​to​ ​be​ ​honest​ ​with​ ​each​

​other."

"Absolutely."

"And​ ​no​ ​fibbing.​ ​​​Not​ ​even​ ​a​ ​little​ ​white​ ​lie.​ ​​​I've​ ​said​ ​that​ ​before."

"Only​ ​the​ ​truth."

"And​ ​no​ ​lies​ ​of​ ​omission.​ ​​​Leaving​ ​something​ ​out​ ​is​ ​still​ ​a​ ​form​ ​of dishonesty."

"Correct."
"So​ ​there's​ ​nothing​ ​else​ ​you​ ​want​ ​to​ ​tell​ ​me?"

"Not​ ​a​ ​thing."

She​ ​appeared​ ​to​ ​relax.​ ​​​"Okay.​ ​​​Maybe​ ​I'm​ ​just​ ​picking​ ​up​ ​a​ ​vibe​ ​from​ ​that hazing​ ​prank​ ​the​ ​other​ ​day.​ ​​​I'd​ ​definitely​ ​understand​ ​if​ ​you​ ​were​ ​still unnerved​ ​by​ ​that.​ ​​​I​ ​mean,​ ​waking​ ​up​ ​on​ ​the​ ​ground​ ​with​ ​everyone​ ​gawking at​ ​you."​ ​​​He​ ​still​ ​acted​ ​like​ ​he​ ​was​ ​hiding​ ​something.​ ​​​That​ ​irritated​ ​her.​ ​​​It was​ ​the​ ​kind​ ​of​ ​thing​ ​that​ ​had​ ​made​ ​her​ ​pick​ ​at​ ​his​ ​manhood​ ​before.​ ​​​Now she​ ​fell​ ​back​ ​into​ ​that​ ​mindset​ ​as​ ​she​ ​said,​ ​"I'm​ ​sure​ ​you​ ​didn't​ ​like​ ​it​ ​that they​ ​had​ ​your​ ​boy​ ​parts​ ​exposed.​ ​​​And​ ​the​ ​way​ ​that​ ​everybody​ ​felt​ ​it​ ​was​ ​all right​ ​to​ ​comment​ ​on​ ​it.​ ​​​The​ ​things​ ​they​ ​said,​ ​about​ ​how​ ​small​ ​you​ ​are down​ ​there.​ ​​​And​ ​that​ ​your​ ​junk​ ​needed​ ​vitamins​ ​and​ ​minerals​ ​to​ ​make​ ​it grow.​ ​​​Even​ ​someone​ ​saying​ ​right​ ​out​ ​loud,​ ​so​ ​every​ ​single​ ​person​ ​there could​ ​here​ ​it,​ ​that​ ​girls​ ​would​ ​probably​ ​just​ ​laugh​ ​at​ ​your...​ ​what​ ​was​ ​the word​ ​they​ ​used?​ ​​​...​ ​oh​ ​yeah,​ ​your​ ​shortcoming."

She​ ​laughed,​ ​as​ ​if​ ​it​ ​was​ ​at​ ​the​ ​clever​ ​use​ ​of​ ​the​ ​word,​ ​but​ ​he​ ​couldn't​ ​keep from​ ​imagining​ ​it​ ​was​ ​directed​ ​at​ ​his​ ​genitals.​ ​​​After​ ​what​ ​had​ ​occurred​ ​in the​ ​sorority​ ​house,​ ​and​ ​with​ ​the​ ​prospect​ ​of​ ​going​ ​back​ ​there​ ​for​ ​more​ ​of the​ ​same,​ ​he​ ​didn't​ ​need​ ​his​ ​girlfriend​ ​having​ ​fun​ ​at​ ​his​ ​expense.​ ​​​Even​ ​so, he​ ​wasn't​ ​about​ ​to​ ​share​ ​his​ ​embarrassment​ ​with​ ​her.​ ​​​How​ ​would​ ​she​ ​view him​ ​then?​ ​​​He​ ​needed​ ​more​ ​time​ ​to​ ​think​ ​and​ ​plan.

He​ ​was​ ​relieved​ ​when​ ​she​ ​asked​ ​him​ ​--​ ​actually​ ​more​ ​like​ ​told​ ​him​ ​--​ ​to​ ​go mix​ ​her​ ​a​ ​drink.​ ​​​Paul​ ​went​ ​to​ ​the​ ​kitchenette​ ​and​ ​got​ ​a​ ​bottle​ ​of​ ​rum​ ​from her​ ​cabinet​ ​and​ ​a​ ​can​ ​of​ ​cola​ ​from​ ​the​ ​fridge.​ ​​​He​ ​put​ ​some​ ​of​ ​each​ ​in​ ​a rocks​ ​glass​ ​and​ ​added​ ​ice.​ ​​​When​ ​he​ ​brought​ ​it​ ​to​ ​her​ ​she​ ​just​ ​put​ ​out​ ​her hand.

As​ ​he​ ​gave​ ​it​ ​to​ ​her,​ ​he​ ​said,​ ​"That​ ​looks​ ​good.​ ​​​I​ ​could​ ​use​ ​one​ ​of​ ​those." "No,"​ ​she​ ​told​ ​him​ ​flatly.​ ​​​"Just​ ​sit​ ​down.​ ​​​Not​ ​too​ ​close​ ​to​ ​me."

He​ ​put​ ​himself​ ​near​ ​the​ ​far​ ​end​ ​of​ ​the​ ​couch.​ ​​​Why​ ​was​ ​she​ ​acting​ ​that way?

Hannah,​ ​irritated​ ​by​ ​his​ ​behavior​ ​for​ ​a​ ​while​ ​now​ ​and​ ​still​ ​suspicious,​ ​we feeling​ ​nasty.​ ​​​She​ ​put​ ​on​ ​a​ ​TV​ ​show​ ​that​ ​she​ ​knew​ ​he​ ​wouldn't​ ​like​ ​and ignored​ ​him​ ​while​ ​she​ ​watched​ ​it.​ ​​​Paul​ ​was​ ​really​ ​staring​ ​to​ ​resemble​ ​a wimp​ ​in​ ​her​ ​eyes.​ ​​​​​The​ ​reality​ ​show​ ​she​ ​was​ ​watching​ ​had​ ​contestants who​ ​were​ ​left​ ​in​ ​some​ ​wilderness​ ​location​ ​to​ ​fend​ ​for​ ​themselves​ ​with limited​ ​resources.​ ​​​One​ ​of​ ​the​ ​competitors,​ ​a​ ​tall​ ​Black​ ​guy​ ​with​ ​well​ ​defined abs,​ ​came​ ​onto​ ​the​ ​screen​ ​shirtless.

She​ ​said,​ ​"Damn.​ ​​​Look​ ​at​ ​that.​ ​​​Any​ ​girl​ ​would​ ​be​ ​happy​ ​to​ ​go​ ​home​ ​with him."

"ANY​ ​girl?"
"Who​ ​could​ ​say​ ​no?​ ​​​Even​ ​if​ ​he​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​bang​ ​her​ ​right​ ​in​

​whatever godforsaken​ ​place​ ​that​ ​is​ ​they're​ ​stuck​ ​in."
"Yeah,"​ ​Paul​ ​suggested,​ ​"he's​ ​fairly​ ​good​ ​looking,​ ​I​ ​suppose,​ ​but​ ​he

probably​ ​doesn't​ ​have​ ​much​ ​of​ ​a​ ​personality."

"Really?​ ​​​Because​ ​on​ ​last​ ​week's​ ​episode​ ​he​ ​made​ ​some​ ​sacrifices​ ​for​ ​his team​ ​members.​ ​​​And​ ​gave​ ​one​ ​of​ ​the​ ​girls​ ​a​ ​shoulder​ ​to​ ​cry​ ​on​ ​when​ ​she almost​ ​had​ ​a​ ​breakdown.​ ​​​Maybe​ ​you​ ​just​ ​have​ ​a​ ​different​ ​definition​ ​of​ ​what qualifies​ ​as​ ​a​ ​good​ ​personality."

"I​ ​didn't​ ​mean...​ ​​​​​I​ ​was​ ​just​ ​saying...​ ​​​You​ ​know,​ ​you​ ​can't​ ​put​ ​too​ ​much emphasis​ ​on​ ​looks."

"Yeah.​ ​​​I'm​ ​sure​ ​no​ ​girl​ ​would​ ​want​ ​to​ ​jump​ ​into​ ​the​ ​sack​ ​with​ ​a​ ​hunk​ ​like him.​ ​​​No​ ​way.​ ​​​And​ ​judging​ ​from​ ​how​ ​he​ ​wears​ ​those​ ​tight​ ​jeans,​ ​she wouldn't​ ​be​ ​interested​ ​in​ ​what's​ ​obviously​ ​in​ ​them,​ ​either."

She​ ​was​ ​making​ ​Paul​ ​feel​ ​miserable.​ ​​​Really​ ​grinding​ ​him​ ​down.​ ​​​He​ ​was ready​ ​to​ ​take​ ​any​ ​opportunity​ ​to​ ​get​ ​back​ ​into​ ​her​ ​good​ ​graces,​ ​as​ ​long​ ​as he​ ​didn't​ ​have​ ​to​ ​forfeit​ ​any​ ​more​ ​of​ ​his​ ​male​ ​ego.

Hannah​ ​sighed​ ​theatrically.​ ​​​She​ ​said,​ ​"Look,​ ​you're​ ​just​ ​being...​ ​I​ ​don't know​ ​what.​ ​​​I​ ​mean,​ ​I​ ​was​ ​thinking​ ​of​ ​us​ ​going​ ​to​ ​bed​ ​but..."

"Well,"​ ​he​ ​said​ ​with​ ​a​ ​bit​ ​more​ ​enthusiasm​ ​that​ ​he​ ​had​ ​meant​ ​to,​ ​"that would​ ​be​ ​okay."

He​ ​had​ ​let​ ​her​ ​see​ ​how​ ​overeager​ ​he​ ​was.​ ​​​And​ ​she​ ​wouldn't​ ​mind​ ​some bedroom​ ​fun.​ ​​​Seeing​ ​that​ ​stud​ ​on​ ​TV,​ ​however,​ ​had​ ​gotten​ ​her​ ​thinking again​ ​about​ ​having​ ​fun​ ​with​ ​someone​ ​other​ ​than​ ​Paul.​ ​​​Despite​ ​her small-town​ ​past,​ ​she​ ​had​ ​picked​ ​up​ ​some​ ​advice​ ​from​ ​Angie.​ ​​​Hannah​ ​told herself​ ​she​ ​could​ ​really​ ​use​ ​a​ ​good​ ​solid​ ​climax.​ ​​​But​ ​he​ ​wasn't​ ​the​ ​one​ ​to give​ ​it​ ​to​ ​her.​ ​​​As​ ​much​ ​as​ ​Hannah​ ​had​ ​been​ ​denying​ ​it​ ​to​ ​herself,​ ​he​ ​wasn't very​ ​good​ ​in​ ​the​ ​sack,​ ​especially​ ​not​ ​with​ ​that​ ​undersized​ ​penis.​ ​​​She​ ​was getting​ ​the​ ​short​ ​end​ ​of​ ​the​ ​stick.​ ​​​Or​ ​the​ ​dick.​ ​​​But​ ​then,​ ​remembering something​ ​else​ ​Angie​ ​had​ ​said,​ ​an​ ​idea​ ​struck​ ​her.

"I​ ​don't​ ​know,"​ ​she​ ​said,​ ​making​ ​it​ ​sound​ ​moody.​ ​​​"Maybe​ ​not​ ​tonight. Unless..."

"What?"
"Nah.​ ​​​We​ ​can​ ​save​ ​it."
"No,​ ​really.​ ​​​Whatever​ ​you​ ​want."

"Well,​ ​I​ ​was​ ​just​ ​thinking​ ​that​ ​it​ ​might​ ​be​ ​special​ ​if​ ​you​ ​used​ ​your​ ​mouth​ ​on me."

That​ ​caught​ ​him​ ​off​ ​guard.​ ​​​She​ ​wasn't​ ​normally​ ​that​ ​direct.​ ​​​But​ ​he​ ​did want​ ​to​ ​please​ ​her.​ ​​​And​ ​get​ ​some​ ​satisfaction​ ​for​ ​himself.​ ​​​So,​ ​even though​ ​there​ ​was​ ​a​ ​sense​ ​of​ ​loss​ ​of​ ​control​ ​in​ ​agreeing,​ ​he​ ​put​ ​on​ ​a​ ​happy face​ ​and​ ​told​ ​her,​ ​"Sure.​ ​​​Um,​ ​that​ ​would​ ​be​ ​okay."

She​ ​granted​ ​him​ ​a​ ​half​ ​smile,​ ​to​ ​encourage​ ​him​ ​but​ ​not​ ​let​ ​him​ ​get overconfident.​ ​​​Messing​ ​with​ ​him​ ​was​ ​entertaining.​ ​​​She​ ​got​ ​up​ ​and​ ​ordered him​ ​to​ ​freshen​ ​up​ ​her​ ​drink​ ​and​ ​bring​ ​it​ ​along.​ ​​​In​ ​the​ ​bedroom​ ​she​ ​had​ ​him get​ ​undressed.​ ​​​He​ ​did,​ ​turning​ ​his​ ​back​ ​because​ ​he​ ​had​ ​been​ ​sensitive about​ ​his​ ​prick​ ​ever​ ​since​ ​the​ ​frat​ ​boys​ ​left​ ​him​ ​out​ ​on​ ​the​ ​lawn.​ ​​​And​ ​he wished​ ​she​ ​hadn't​ ​brought​ ​it​ ​up.​ ​​​Paul​ ​got​ ​completely​ ​naked​ ​and​ ​turned around.​ ​​​To​ ​his​ ​shock,​ ​his​ ​girlfriend​ ​was​ ​still​ ​fully​ ​clothed.​ ​​​She​ ​gave​ ​him​ ​a sly​ ​smile​ ​and​ ​looked​ ​directly​ ​at​ ​his​ ​crotch.​ ​​​That​ ​made​ ​him​ ​feel​ ​even​ ​more

self-aware,​ ​in​ ​a​ ​bad​ ​way.​ ​​​He​ ​stood​ ​there​ ​uneasily​ ​while​ ​she​ ​did​ ​nothing​ ​to comfort​ ​him.

"Not​ ​in​ ​the​ ​mood?"​ ​she​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​know.
"I...​ ​I'll​ ​be​ ​okay..."​ ​​​He​ ​tried​ ​not​ ​to​ ​let​ ​his​ ​upset​ ​show​ ​in​ ​his​ ​voice.​

​​​"...​ ​when it's​ ​time."

"Sure,"​ ​she​ ​said​ ​with​ ​a​ ​dismissive​ ​shrug.

Hannah​ ​reached​ ​under​ ​her​ ​skirt​ ​and​ ​took​ ​hold​ ​of​ ​her​ ​panties,​ ​shimmying out​ ​of​ ​them​ ​without​ ​letting​ ​him​ ​see​ ​anything.​ ​​​She​ ​lay​ ​back​ ​on​ ​the​ ​bed,​ ​still keep​ ​herself​ ​covered.​ ​​​A​ ​wiggle​ ​of​ ​her​ ​finger​ ​got​ ​him​ ​onto​ ​the​ ​foot​ ​of​ ​the bed.​ ​​​She​ ​pointed​ ​between​ ​her​ ​thighs​ ​and​ ​inched​ ​up​ ​her​ ​hem​ ​so​ ​that​ ​it ALMOST​ ​revealed​ ​her​ ​womanhood.​ ​​​Why​ ​was​ ​she​ ​acting​ ​that​ ​way?​ ​​​He tried​ ​to​ ​figure​ ​it​ ​out​ ​as​ ​he​ ​got​ ​between​ ​her​ ​legs​ ​and​ ​lay​ ​flat.​ ​​​Paul​ ​wriggled further,​ ​until​ ​his​ ​face​ ​was​ ​directly​ ​in​ ​front​ ​of​ ​where​ ​it​ ​needed​ ​to​ ​be.​ ​​​She teasingly​ ​fanned​ ​her​ ​hem​ ​of​ ​her​ ​skirt​ ​at​ ​him,​ ​giving​ ​glimpses​ ​of​ ​her​ ​notch, and​ ​giggled.​ ​​​As​ ​he​ ​moved​ ​again​ ​she​ ​raised​ ​the​ ​fabric​ ​so​ ​that,​ ​as​ ​he reached​ ​his​ ​goal,​ ​she​ ​could​ ​cover​ ​his​ ​head.

She​ ​suggested,​ ​"Show​ ​me​ ​what​ ​you've​ ​got,​ ​stud."

Paul​ ​began​ ​to​ ​lick.​ ​​​He​ ​usually​ ​liked​ ​what​ ​he​ ​was​ ​doing,​ ​but​ ​now​ ​the circumstances​ ​took​ ​the​ ​pleasure​ ​out​ ​of​ ​it.​ ​​​He​ ​lapped​ ​diligently​ ​and​ ​then sucked​ ​her​ ​clitoris.​ ​​​She​ ​purred​ ​and​ ​squirmed​ ​her​ ​hips.​ ​​​Hannah​ ​told​ ​him​ ​to get​ ​his​ ​tongue​ ​inside​ ​her,​ ​again​ ​demonstrating​ ​assertiveness​ ​he​ ​hadn't seen​ ​before.​ ​​​As​ ​her​ ​sexual​ ​temperature​ ​rose,​ ​she​ ​found​ ​herself​ ​picturing that​ ​Black​ ​dude​ ​from​ ​TV​ ​standing​ ​alongside​ ​the​ ​bed.​ ​​​What​ ​was​ ​he​ ​doing there?​ ​​​Could​ ​it​ ​be​ ​that​ ​he​ ​was​ ​waiting​ ​for​ ​his​ ​turn,​ ​when​ ​he​ ​would​ ​do​ ​much more​ ​than​ ​just​ ​lick​ ​and​ ​suck.​ ​​​Those​ ​thoughts​ ​soon​ ​had​ ​her​ ​moaning.​ ​​​Paul mistakenly​ ​thought​ ​the​ ​credit​ ​was​ ​all​ ​his,​ ​and​ ​renewed​ ​his​ ​efforts.​ ​​​This wasn't​ ​what​ ​he​ ​had​ ​wanted.​ ​​​He​ ​was​ ​ready​ ​to​ ​get​ ​past​ ​the​ ​foreplay​ ​and take​ ​care​ ​of​ ​his​ ​own​ ​needs.​ ​​​But​ ​she​ ​was​ ​responding​ ​so​ ​enthusiastically.

When​ ​she​ ​grabbed​ ​the​ ​back​ ​of​ ​his​ ​head​ ​through​ ​her​ ​skirt​ ​and​ ​held​ ​him​ ​in place,​ ​holding​ ​his​ ​mouth​ ​firmly​ ​against​ ​her​ ​juicing​ ​pussy,​ ​he​ ​worked​ ​harder, eager​ ​to​ ​take​ ​her​ ​over​ ​the​ ​top​ ​and​ ​get​ ​his​ ​turn.​ ​​​She​ ​rose​ ​up​ ​into​ ​a​ ​noisy orgasm,​ ​louder​ ​and​ ​more​ ​animated​ ​than​ ​she'd​ ​ever​ ​been​ ​with​ ​him​ ​during intercourse.​ ​​​It​ ​went​ ​on​ ​longer​ ​than​ ​usual,​ ​too.​ ​​​As​ ​she​ ​finally​ ​settled​ ​down, he​ ​started​ ​to​ ​pushed​ ​himself​ ​up​ ​along​ ​her​ ​body,​ ​to​ ​get​ ​into​ ​the​ ​missionary position.​ ​​​She​ ​put​ ​her​ ​fingertips​ ​on​ ​his​ ​shoulders​ ​and​ ​held​ ​him​ ​where​ ​he was.

"Oh,​ ​Paul,"​ ​she​ ​whispered​ ​breathily.​ ​​​"That​ ​was​ ​so​ ​good.​ ​​​I​ ​need​ ​another one​ ​just​ ​like​ ​that.​ ​​​Come​ ​on,​ ​baby."

That​ ​was​ ​not​ ​what​ ​he​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​hear.​ ​​​But​ ​at​ ​least​ ​he​ ​was​ ​back​ ​in​ ​her​ ​good graces​ ​again.​ ​​​Paul​ ​slid​ ​down​ ​and​ ​got​ ​back​ ​to​ ​tonguing​ ​her.​ ​​​She​ ​took several​ ​deep​ ​breaths.​ ​​​Her​ ​imaginary​ ​lover​ ​still​ ​waited​ ​in​ ​her​ ​mind's​ ​eye. She​ ​allowed​ ​herself​ ​a​ ​secret​ ​smile​ ​at​ ​what​ ​her​ ​boyfriend​ ​didn't​ ​know. Hannah​ ​made​ ​him​ ​slow​ ​down​ ​and​ ​she​ ​selfishly​ ​caused​ ​his​ ​serving​ ​of​ ​her​ ​to go​ ​on​ ​much​ ​longer​ ​than​ ​the​ ​first​ ​time.​ ​​​It​ ​was​ ​so​ ​comical,​ ​the​ ​way​ ​she​ ​had stayed​ ​dressed​ ​while​ ​he​ ​got​ ​naked.​ ​​​This​ ​was​ ​all​ ​appealing​ ​to​ ​her​ ​in​ ​ways she​ ​wouldn't​ ​have​ ​anticipated.​ ​​​After​ ​a​ ​quarter​ ​of​ ​an​ ​hour​ ​his​ ​efforts​ ​paid off,​ ​and​ ​she​ ​had​ ​a​ ​second​ ​liftoff.​ ​​​It​ ​was​ ​incredible.

This​ ​time,​ ​when​ ​he​ ​tried​ ​to​ ​get​ ​into​ ​the​ ​missionary​ ​position,​ ​she​ ​had another​ ​delaying​ ​trick.​ ​​​"Oh,​ ​Paul,​ ​you​ ​were​ ​so​ ​fantastic.​ ​​​I​ ​am​ ​exhausted. You​ ​can​ ​really​ ​be​ ​proud​ ​of​ ​yourself.​ ​​​But,​ ​obviously,​ ​we'll​ ​have​ ​to​ ​save​ ​the rest​ ​for​ ​another​ ​time.​ ​​​Whew."

"A...​ ​another​ ​time?"
"Yes.​ ​​​That's​ ​how​ ​good​ ​you​ ​were.​ ​​​But​ ​I​ ​still​ ​want​ ​to​ ​do​ ​something​

​for​ ​you. All​ ​right?"

Thinking​ ​she​ ​meant​ ​to​ ​give​ ​him​ ​reciprocal​ ​oral​ ​sex,​ ​he​ ​was​ ​delighted.

"Sure.​ ​​​Absolutely."

"You're​ ​such​ ​an​ ​understanding​ ​boyfriend.​ ​​​As​ ​a​ ​reward,​ ​I'm​ ​going​ ​to​ ​give you​ ​a​ ​long,​ ​slow,​ ​thrilling...​ ​tease.​ ​​​Now​ ​get​ ​up​ ​here​ ​like​ ​we​ ​were​ ​going​ ​to do​ ​it,​ ​even​ ​though​ ​we're​ ​not."

Confused​ ​but​ ​trying​ ​to​ ​be​ ​optimistic,​ ​he​ ​did​ ​as​ ​he​ ​was​ ​told.​ ​​​At​ ​once​ ​her fingers​ ​went​ ​to​ ​his​ ​nipples​ ​and​ ​began​ ​teasing.​ ​​​He​ ​gasped​ ​and​ ​his​ ​penis jerked.​ ​​​It​ ​felt​ ​marvelous.​ ​​​She​ ​got​ ​her​ ​leg​ ​between​ ​his​ ​and​ ​rubbed​ ​her​ ​thigh against​ ​his​ ​genitals,​ ​being​ ​careful​ ​not​ ​to​ ​use​ ​too​ ​much​ ​pressure.​ ​​​Wouldn't want​ ​to​ ​get​ ​the​ ​boy​ ​overexcited.​ ​​​Or​ ​more​ ​accurately,​ ​she​ ​DID​ ​want​ ​him​ ​too excited,​ ​but​ ​not​ ​taken​ ​all​ ​the​ ​way.​ ​​​The​ ​idea​ ​of​ ​this​ ​game​ ​was​ ​to​ ​get​ ​him wildly​ ​aroused,​ ​keep​ ​him​ ​that​ ​way,​ ​and​ ​then​ ​leave​ ​him​ ​hanging.​ ​​​It​ ​would be​ ​interesting​ ​to​ ​see​ ​if​ ​he​ ​had​ ​the​ ​gumption​ ​to​ ​man​ ​up​ ​and​ ​insist​ ​on​ ​his bedroom​ ​rights.​ ​​​She​ ​hoped​ ​he​ ​wouldn't.​ ​​​At​ ​this​ ​point​ ​she​ ​preferred​ ​for​ ​him to​ ​continue​ ​disappointing​ ​her​ ​with​ ​his​ ​lack​ ​of​ ​authority.​ ​​​After​ ​all,​ ​she​ ​could just​ ​guilt​ ​him​ ​into​ ​giving​ ​her​ ​head​ ​again​ ​next​ ​time.

"I​ ​know​ ​guys​ ​really​ ​like​ ​this,"​ ​she​ ​said​ ​with​ ​sleepy​ ​seductiveness.​ ​​​"They can't​ ​get​ ​enough​ ​of​ ​being​ ​played​ ​with.​ ​​​Isn't​ ​that​ ​right?"

Distracted​ ​by​ ​passion​ ​and​ ​lack​ ​of​ ​fulfillment,​ ​he​ ​nodded​ ​and​ ​choked​ ​out, "Yes.​ ​​​It's...​ ​I...​ ​I'm..."

"You're​ ​hoping​ ​we​ ​can​ ​do​ ​this​ ​again?​ ​​​No​ ​problem.​ ​​​With​ ​your​ ​talented tongue,​ ​and​ ​how​ ​much​ ​you​ ​get​ ​off​ ​on​ ​being​ ​played​ ​with..."​ ​​​She emphasized​ ​that​ ​by​ ​giving​ ​his​ ​nipples​ ​light​ ​pinches.​ ​​​"...​ ​we​ ​can​ ​do​ ​this​ ​all the​ ​time.​ ​​​You​ ​eat​ ​me​ ​and​ ​I​ ​tease​ ​you.​ ​​​But​ ​right​ ​now​ ​I'm​ ​definitely exhausted​ ​from​ ​your​ ​efforts​ ​earlier.​ ​​​So​ ​I'm​ ​going​ ​to​ ​roll​ ​over​ ​on​ ​my​ ​side, and​ ​I​ ​want​ ​you​ ​to​ ​cuddle​ ​up​ ​behind​ ​me.​ ​​​Let​ ​me​ ​feel​ ​that​ ​cute​ ​little​ ​stiffy​ ​up against​ ​my​ ​bottom.​ ​​​Won't​ ​that​ ​be​ ​nice?"​ ​​​She​ ​moved.​ ​​​"Come​ ​on,​ ​lover."

He​ ​got​ ​into​ ​the​ ​position​ ​she'd​ ​said,​ ​which​ ​made​ ​him​ ​even​ ​more​ ​needy​ ​for release.​ ​​​Hannah​ ​rolled​ ​her​ ​backside​ ​against​ ​his​ ​yearning​ ​member.​ ​​​Maybe it​ ​had​ ​been​ ​the​ ​drink.​ ​​​Or​ ​seeing​ ​that​ ​guy​ ​on​ ​TV.​ ​​​She​ ​was​ ​getting​ ​off​ ​on this​ ​way​ ​too​ ​much.​ ​​​Okay,​ ​she​ ​should​ ​give​ ​him​ ​another​ ​chance​ ​later​ ​on.​ ​​​It wasn't​ ​like​ ​he​ ​was​ ​totally​ ​hopeless.​ ​​​Though​ ​she​ ​was​ ​let​ ​down​ ​that​ ​he hadn't​ ​stood​ ​up​ ​for​ ​himself​ ​at​ ​all.​ ​​​Maybe​ ​something​ ​really​ ​was​ ​bothering him.​ ​​​And​ ​maybe​ ​he​ ​actually​ ​was​ ​lying​ ​to​ ​her​ ​about​ ​it,​ ​which​ ​would​ ​be totally​ ​unacceptable.​ ​​​But​ ​now,​ ​with​ ​two​ ​orgasms​ ​under​ ​her​ ​belt,​ ​so​ ​to speak,​ ​she​ ​just​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​sleep.​ ​​​She​ ​didn't​ ​even​ ​want​ ​to​ ​get​ ​out​ ​of​ ​her clothes.​ ​​​The​ ​last​ ​thing​ ​she​ ​did​ ​was​ ​to​ ​gently​ ​hike​ ​up​ ​her​ ​skirt​ ​in​ ​back​ ​so​ ​his little​ ​dick​ ​was​ ​touching​ ​her​ ​bare​ ​skin,​ ​between​ ​her​ ​smooth​ ​buttocks.​ ​​​She heard​ ​him​ ​whimper​ ​softly​ ​as​ ​she​ ​drifted​ ​toward​ ​slumber.

*********

A​ ​FORMAL​ ​EDUCATION​ ​3​ ​​​by​ ​Throne

All​ ​the​ ​next​ ​day,​ ​during​ ​every​ ​minute​ ​of​ ​his​ ​classes,​ ​Paul​ ​was​ ​distracted. Everything​ ​he'd​ ​been​ ​going​ ​through​ ​was​ ​weighing​ ​on​ ​him.​ ​​​The​ ​action​ ​with Hannah​ ​the​ ​night​ ​before,​ ​especially​ ​that​ ​teasing​ ​session,​ ​had​ ​him​ ​keyed​ ​up and​ ​ready​ ​for​ ​sex.​ ​​​On​ ​top​ ​of​ ​everything​ ​else,​ ​from​ ​morning​ ​until​ ​the​ ​end​ ​of his​ ​last​ ​class​ ​he​ ​was​ ​thinking​ ​about​ ​his​ ​appointment​ ​back​ ​at​ ​the​ ​sorority house.​ ​​​Why​ ​did​ ​they​ ​need​ ​to​ ​fuss​ ​over​ ​the​ ​make-up​ ​he​ ​would​ ​be​ ​wearing? It​ ​would​ ​simply​ ​be​ ​clown​ ​white,​ ​a​ ​red​ ​rubber​ ​nose,​ ​and​ ​the​ ​typical​ ​big mouth.​ ​​​Maybe​ ​something​ ​around​ ​his​ ​eyes.​ ​​​They​ ​should​ ​be​ ​able​ ​to​ ​put​ ​that on​ ​his​ ​face​ ​in​ ​no​ ​time.​ ​​​Still,​ ​he​ ​had​ ​to​ ​humor​ ​them.​ ​​​Maybe​ ​they​ ​at​ ​least wouldn't​ ​do​ ​anything​ ​else​ ​while​ ​he​ ​was​ ​there.​ ​​​He​ ​would​ ​rather​ ​escape​ ​as early​ ​as​ ​possible,​ ​so​ ​he​ ​could​ ​get​ ​back​ ​to​ ​Hannah​ ​and​ ​finish​ ​what​ ​they​ ​had started.​ ​​​She​ ​owed​ ​him,​ ​didn't​ ​she?

He​ ​got​ ​to​ ​the​ ​Delta​ ​Virago​ ​house​ ​and​ ​wished​ ​he​ ​didn't​ ​have​ ​to​ ​go​ ​inside. After​ ​a​ ​few​ ​moments​ ​of​ ​silent​ ​deliberation,​ ​silent​ ​and​ ​pointless,​ ​he​ ​knocked on​ ​the​ ​tall​ ​door.​ ​​​It​ ​was​ ​answered​ ​by​ ​Tiffany,​ ​who​ ​was​ ​barely​ ​dressed,​ ​in only​ ​a​ ​belly​ ​shirt​ ​and​ ​panties.​ ​​​She​ ​bent​ ​forward​ ​from​ ​the​ ​waist,​ ​lips puckered,​ ​and​ ​made​ ​a​ ​kiss​ ​in​ ​his​ ​direction.

"Oh,​ ​Pauley.​ ​​​I'm​ ​so​ ​glad​ ​you​ ​came​ ​back.​ ​The​ ​girls​ ​and​ ​I​ ​have​ ​been missing​ ​you.​ ​​​Our​ ​manly​ ​man."​ ​​​She​ ​failed​ ​to​ ​completely​ ​stifle​ ​a​

​snorting laugh.​ ​​​"Come​ ​in,​ ​loser.​ ​​​We're​ ​all​ ​ready​ ​for​ ​your​ ​face​ ​painting."

She​ ​crossed​ ​the​ ​room​ ​and​ ​headed​ ​up​ ​the​ ​stairs.​ ​​​He​ ​followed,​ ​his​ ​eyes unable​ ​to​ ​leave​ ​her​ ​rolling​ ​bottom.​ ​​​When​ ​he​ ​was​ ​halfway​ ​up​ ​the​ ​steps​ ​a voice​ ​came​ ​from​ ​behind​ ​him."

"Hey,"​ ​it​ ​said​ ​angrily.​ ​​​He​ ​turned​ ​and​ ​saw​ ​Jessica.​ ​​​She​ ​had​ ​on​ ​a​ ​tank​ ​top with​ ​no​ ​bra,​ ​her​ ​fantastic​ ​balloon​ ​boobs​ ​rising​ ​and​ ​falling​ ​with​ ​each​ ​breath, nipples​ ​clearly​ ​hard,​ ​straining​ ​against​ ​the​ ​thin​ ​material.​ ​​​"Is​ ​that​ ​polite? Rushing​ ​upstairs​ ​ahead​ ​of​ ​me?​ ​​​I​ ​don't​ ​like​ ​being​ ​dissed."

He​ ​wrung​ ​his​ ​hands.​ ​​​"I'm​ ​sorry,​ ​Jess.​ ​​​It's​ ​just​ ​that​ ​Tiffany..."

"Oh?"​ ​​​Her​ ​brilliant​ ​blue​ ​eyes​ ​flashed.​ ​​​​​"Now​ ​you're​ ​calling​ ​me​ ​'Jess'? Getting​ ​familiar,​ ​are​ ​we?​ ​​​Hmm?​ ​​​And​ ​blaming​ ​Tiffany​ ​for​ ​your​ ​rude behavior?"

"I...​ ​I'm​ ​sorry.​ ​​​Should​ ​I...​ ​​​What​ ​should​ ​I...?"

"What​ ​you​ ​should​ ​do,​ ​instead​ ​of​ ​standing​ ​there​ ​making​ ​excuses​ ​and pretending​ ​to​ ​be​ ​sorry,​ ​is​ ​to​ ​do​ ​something​ ​to​ ​show​ ​how​

​terrible​ ​you​ ​feel about​ ​your​ ​lack​ ​of​ ​manners.​ ​​​How​ ​about​ ​if​ ​you​ ​come​ ​down​ ​from​ ​there​ ​and then...​ ​go​ ​back​ ​up​ ​the​ ​steps​ ​on​ ​your​ ​hands​ ​and​ ​knees."

"All​ ​right.​ ​​​I'll​ ​be​ ​happy​ ​to..."

"HEY!​ ​​​I​ ​wasn't​ ​done.​ ​​​If​ ​you​ ​had​ ​been​ ​patient​ ​enough​ ​to​ ​let​ ​me​ ​finish,​ ​you would​ ​have​ ​heard​ ​that​ ​I​ ​was​ ​going​ ​to​ ​say..."​ ​​​She​ ​put​ ​her​ ​hands​ ​on​ ​her smoothly​ ​swelling​ ​hips.​ ​​​"...​ ​on​ ​your​ ​hands​ ​and​ ​knees,​ ​with​ ​your​ ​pants​ ​and shorts​ ​around​ ​your​ ​ankles."

"But​ ​I'm​ ​only​ ​here​ ​for​ ​the​ ​make-up."​ ​​​As​ ​soon​ ​as​ ​he​ ​spoke​ ​he​ ​knew​ ​he'd made​ ​a​ ​big​ ​mistake.

With​ ​a​ ​sudden​ ​and​ ​deadly​ ​calm​ ​she​ ​pointed​ ​out,​ ​"You're​ ​telling​ ​me​ ​what you're​ ​here​ ​for?​ ​​​You're​ ​deciding​ ​what's​ ​going​ ​to​ ​happen?​ ​​​Is​ ​that​ ​it?"

His​ ​upset​ ​was​ ​unmistakable​ ​as​ ​he​ ​told​ ​her,​ ​"I​ ​didn't​ ​mean​ ​it​ ​that​ ​way.​ ​​​I​ ​was just,​ ​um,​ ​trying​ ​to​ ​keep​ ​things​ ​simple.​ ​​​For​ ​you."

"Simple?​ ​​​Because​ ​I'm​ ​just​ ​a​ ​dumb​ ​blond​ ​who​ ​can't​ ​handle​ ​anything complicated?​ ​​​A​ ​stupid​ ​girl​ ​with​ ​big​ ​boobs​ ​which,​ ​by​ ​the​

​way,​ ​you've​ ​been goggling​ ​at?​ ​​​Or​ ​do​ ​you​ ​mean​ ​'simple'​ ​like​ ​how​ ​simple​ ​it​ ​would​ ​be​ ​for​ ​us​ ​to spread​ ​around​ ​all​ ​those​ ​attractive​ ​picture​ ​we​ ​took​ ​of​ ​you?​ ​​​How​ ​very​ ​simple it​ ​would​ ​be​ ​to​ ​set​ ​up​ ​an​ ​anonymous​ ​account,​ ​and​ ​from​ ​there​ ​forward​ ​a dozen​ ​or​ ​so​ ​to​ ​security?​ ​​​The​ ​dean?​ ​​​Our​ ​dedicated​ ​local​ ​police​ ​force?"

"No,​ ​no,​ ​no,"​ ​he​ ​blurted.​ ​​​"I​ ​was​ ​just...​ ​I​ ​only..."​ ​​​He​ ​at​ ​last​ ​saw​ ​the​ ​folly​ ​of trying​ ​to​ ​talk​ ​his​ ​way​ ​out​ ​of​ ​anything​ ​with​ ​the​ ​busty​ ​and​ ​devil-minded sorority​ ​sister.​ ​​​"I'm​ ​sorry."​ ​​​He​ ​got​ ​down​ ​onto​ ​his​ ​knees.​ ​​​"I'll​ ​behave." When​ ​she​ ​still​ ​didn't​ ​appear​ ​fully​ ​mollified,​ ​he​ ​added,​ ​"I'll​ ​be​ ​a​ ​good​ ​boy."

Paul​ ​got​ ​his​ ​pants​ ​down.​ ​​​Under​ ​them​ ​he​ ​had​ ​another​ ​pair​ ​of​ ​his​ ​favorite designer​ ​jockey​ ​shorts,​ ​the​ ​ones​ ​that​ ​fit​ ​so​ ​well.​ ​​​This​ ​pair​ ​was orange-yellow.​ ​​​He​ ​remembered​ ​that,​ ​when​ ​he'd​ ​bought​ ​them,​ ​on​ ​the package​ ​they​ ​were​ ​called​ ​'saffron'.​ ​​​Against​ ​his​ ​male​ ​ego's​ ​desires,​ ​he lowered​ ​them​ ​too.​ ​​​With​ ​everything​ ​around​ ​his​ ​ankles,​ ​it​ ​would​ ​be​ ​hard​ ​to move​ ​his​ ​feet​ ​much.​ ​​​He​ ​crawled​ ​toward​ ​the​ ​steps,​ ​shamefully​ ​aware​ ​of how​ ​his​ ​bare​ ​bottom​ ​was​ ​shown​ ​off.​ ​​​Several​ ​more​ ​girls​ ​had​ ​been​ ​attracted by​ ​the​ ​sound​ ​of​ ​Jessica's​ ​agitated​ ​words​ ​and​ ​were​ ​now​ ​behind​ ​him.

"Look​ ​at​ ​that​ ​pale​ ​ass." "So​ ​smooth​ ​and​ ​hairless." "Soft​ ​like​ ​a​ ​girl's."

"And​ ​I​ ​can​ ​see​ ​his​ ​mini-pee-pee​ ​peeking​ ​out​ ​between​ ​his​ ​pretty​ ​thighs."

They​ ​all​ ​laughed​ ​as​ ​he​ ​got​ ​onto​ ​the​ ​first​ ​step.​ ​​​Paul​ ​began​ ​the​ ​climb​ ​with difficulty,​ ​getting​ ​to​ ​the​ ​third​ ​step​ ​before​ ​he​ ​was​ ​halted.​ ​​​Tiffany​ ​reappeared above​ ​on​ ​the​ ​landing,​ ​with​ ​a​ ​sorority​ ​paddle​ ​in​ ​her​ ​hand.

She​ ​told​ ​him,​ ​"Stop​ ​right​ ​there,​ ​Mister​ ​Bossy-pants.​ ​​​Or​ ​should​ ​it​ ​be​ ​Mister No-pants​ ​Bossy-pants?"​ ​​​More​ ​laughter.​ ​​​To​ ​Jessica​ ​she​ ​said,​ ​"He​ ​was totally​ ​disrespectful​ ​to​ ​you,​ ​Jess.​ ​​​I​ ​mean,​ ​call​ ​the​ ​Etiquette​ ​Police.​ ​​​What he​ ​needs​ ​is​ ​something​ ​to​ ​remind​ ​him​ ​to​ ​mind​ ​his​ ​mouth​ ​in​ ​the​ ​future. Something​ ​stronger​ ​than​ ​words."​ ​​​She​ ​slapped​ ​the​ ​paddle​ ​against​ ​her hand.​ ​​​"Something​ ​that​ ​he​ ​can​ ​see​ ​and​ ​feel."

"Good​ ​idea,"​ ​Jessica​ ​agreed.​ ​​​"This​ ​girly-assed​ ​boy​ ​is​ ​a​ ​classic​ ​slow learner.​ ​​​He​ ​needs​ ​to​ ​be​ ​made​ ​into​ ​a​ ​red-assed​ ​girly-boy."

Paul​ ​felt​ ​so​ ​exposed​ ​in​ ​his​ ​unnatural​ ​position,​ ​bare​ ​from​ ​the​ ​waist​ ​down,​ ​his body​ ​angled​ ​by​ ​the​ ​steps.​ ​​​Tiffany​ ​descended​ ​slowly,​ ​stopping​ ​directly​ ​in front​ ​of​ ​him,​ ​on​ ​the​ ​next​ ​step​ ​up,​ ​so​ ​that​ ​her​ ​crotch​ ​was​ ​suggestively​ ​near to​ ​his​ ​face.

The​ ​girl​ ​with​ ​the​ ​paddle​ ​reached​ ​over​ ​him,​ ​passing​ ​the​ ​instrument​ ​of corporeal​ ​punishment​ ​to​ ​her​ ​sister.​ ​​​Jessica​ ​took​ ​it​ ​and​ ​hefted​ ​it,​ ​her​ ​hand level​ ​with​ ​her​ ​shoulder.​ ​​​She​ ​took​ ​a​ ​test​ ​swing​ ​though​ ​the​ ​air.​ ​​​Then​ ​she​ ​got her​ ​range​ ​on​ ​Paul's​ ​rump,​ ​moving​ ​the​ ​paddle​ ​through​ ​trial​ ​arcs,​ ​bringing​ ​it closer​ ​each​ ​time.​ ​​​On​ ​the​ ​third​ ​practice​ ​stroke​ ​it​ ​barely​ ​touched​ ​his vulnerable​ ​flesh.​ ​​​He​ ​bit​ ​his​ ​lips​ ​but​ ​there​ ​was​ ​still​ ​a​ ​strained​ ​sound​ ​of​ ​fear from​ ​his​ ​throat.​ ​​​Jessica​ ​moved​ ​down​ ​one​ ​step​ ​to​ ​improve​ ​her​ ​position.

She​ ​stood​ ​to​ ​one​ ​side​ ​and​ ​kept​ ​her​ ​arm​ ​well​ ​bent,​ ​compensating​ ​for​ ​the non-traditional​ ​height​ ​and​ ​angle​ ​of​ ​attack.​ ​​​Satisfied​ ​at​ ​last,​ ​she​ ​drew​ ​back, took​ ​a​ ​breath,​ ​and​ ​swung​ ​hard.

There​ ​was​ ​a​ ​loud​ ​meaty​ ​splat​ ​and​ ​Paul,​ ​caught​ ​off​ ​guard​ ​and​ ​startled​ ​at how​ ​much​ ​it​ ​hurt,​ ​howled.​ ​​​That​ ​set​ ​off​ ​more​ ​laughter.​ ​​​Jessica,​ ​happy​ ​to drag​ ​this​ ​out​ ​as​ ​long​ ​as​ ​reasonably​ ​possible,​ ​waited​ ​for​ ​the​ ​girls' amusement​ ​to​ ​subside.​ ​​​She​ ​brought​ ​the​ ​paddle​ ​up​ ​again,​ ​in​ ​slow​ ​motion, aware​ ​that​ ​her​ ​prey​ ​could​ ​see​ ​peripherally​ ​what​ ​was​ ​happening.​ ​​​She cracked​ ​him​ ​again​ ​and,​ ​even​ ​though​ ​he​ ​knew​ ​it​ ​was​ ​coming​ ​this​ ​time,​ ​he wailed​ ​once​ ​more.

One​ ​of​ ​the​ ​girls​ ​on​ ​the​ ​ground​ ​floor​ ​said,​ ​"It's​ ​so​ ​funny​ ​how​ ​his​ ​tiny​ ​balls and​ ​dick​ ​bounce​ ​when​ ​you​ ​hit​ ​him,​ ​Jessica.​ ​​​Make​ ​them​ ​dance."

Delighted​ ​to​ ​have​ ​an​ ​audience,​ ​and​ ​knowing​ ​how​ ​their​ ​presence​ ​added​ ​to Paul's​ ​humiliation,​ ​she​ ​delivered​ ​four​ ​swats,​ ​a​ ​bit​ ​lighter​ ​but​ ​in​ ​much​ ​more rapid​ ​succession,​ ​that​ ​really​ ​did​ ​have​ ​his​ ​genitals​ ​bobbing​ ​and​ ​jiggling. Paul​ ​was​ ​losing​ ​what​ ​little​ ​remained​ ​of​ ​his​ ​composure.​ ​​​He​ ​felt​ ​tears​ ​welling up​ ​in​ ​his​ ​eyes.

"Oooo,"​ ​another​ ​girl​ ​said.​ ​​​"Look​ ​how​ ​nice​ ​and​ ​pink​ ​his​ ​butt's​ ​getting." "Bright​ ​pink.​ ​​​Come​ ​on,​ ​Jessica.​ ​​​Make​ ​it​ ​go​ ​from​ ​pink​ ​to​ ​red."

Paul​ ​sniffled.​ ​​​He​ ​didn't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​break​ ​down​ ​and​ ​cry,​ ​knowing​ ​the​ ​onlookers would​ ​see​ ​him​ ​as​ ​weak​ ​if​ ​he​ ​did.​ ​​​He​ ​didn't​ ​want​ ​those​ ​girls​ ​to​ ​think​ ​of​ ​him that​ ​way.​ ​​​Jessica​ ​slapped​ ​the​ ​paddle​ ​against​ ​the​ ​outside​ ​of​ ​his​ ​thigh, surprising​ ​and​ ​hurting​ ​him.​ ​​​While​ ​his​ ​attention​ ​was​ ​on​ ​that​ ​fresh​ ​pain,​ ​she landed​ ​a​ ​half​ ​dozen​ ​of​ ​her​ ​best​ ​all​ ​over​ ​his​ ​bottom.​ ​​​Those​ ​hemispheres were​ ​darkening​ ​up​ ​nicely.​ ​​​And​ ​what​ ​was​ ​that​ ​sound?​ ​​​Was​ ​it...​ ​sobs?

"What's​ ​the​ ​matter,​ ​Pauley?"​ ​Jessica​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​know.​ ​​​"Are​ ​you​ ​feeling remorse?​ ​​​Glad​ ​that​ ​you're​ ​being​ ​spanked​ ​like​ ​a​ ​naughty​ ​boy,​ ​because​ ​you know​ ​you​ ​deserve​ ​it?​ ​​​Answer​ ​me."

"I...​ ​yes.​ ​​​I​ ​feel​ ​terrible​ ​about...​ ​everything.​ ​​​And​ ​I​ ​know​ ​that​ ​I​ ​deserve​ ​a good​ ​paddling."

"Oh?​ ​​​You​ ​deserve​ ​a​ ​good​ ​one?​ ​​​I​ ​was​ ​going​ ​to​ ​call​ ​it​ ​quits​ ​and​ ​say​ ​that you​ ​had​ ​enough.​ ​​​But​ ​if​ ​YOU​ ​think​ ​you​ ​should​ ​get​ ​more,​ ​well,​ ​who​ ​am​ ​I​ ​to argue?"

His​ ​mouth​ ​opened​ ​to​ ​protest​ ​her​ ​misreading​ ​of​ ​his​ ​words,​ ​but​ ​then​ ​he​ ​saw that​ ​he​ ​would​ ​simply​ ​be​ ​trapping​ ​himself​ ​again,​ ​becoming​ ​entangled​ ​even more​ ​in​ ​the​ ​web​ ​of​ ​words​ ​she​ ​had​ ​woven.​ ​​​So​ ​he​ ​kept​ ​quiet,​ ​his​ ​nose running,​ ​bottom​ ​blazing,​ ​and​ ​tears​ ​rolling​ ​down​ ​his​ ​hot​ ​cheeks.​ ​​​But​ ​it wasn't​ ​the​ ​cheeks​ ​on​ ​his​ ​face​ ​he​ ​cared​ ​most​ ​about.​ ​​​It​ ​was​ ​the​ ​ones​ ​so​ ​well presented​ ​to​ ​Jessica​ ​for​ ​still​ ​more​ ​discipline.​ ​​​By​ ​now​ ​he​ ​wasn't​ ​even​ ​sure what​ ​he​ ​had​ ​done​ ​wrong,​ ​if​ ​anything.​ ​​​Before​ ​Paul​ ​could​ ​organize​ ​his thoughts​ ​to​ ​try​ ​to​ ​figure​ ​that​ ​out,​ ​she​ ​struck​ ​again.​ ​​​The​ ​paddle​ ​slapped​ ​his sitter​ ​hard,​ ​making​ ​him​ ​shout.​ ​​​It​ ​fell​ ​ten​ ​more​ ​times,​ ​leaving​ ​him​ ​helplessly weeping,​ ​his​ ​chest​ ​heaving,​ ​his​ ​bottom​ ​feeling​ ​like​ ​it​ ​was​ ​on​ ​fire.

"There,"​ ​Jessica​ ​said​ ​to​ ​him.​ ​​​"That​ ​wasn't​ ​so​ ​bad.​ ​​​Was​ ​it?"

If​ ​he​ ​agreed,​ ​she​ ​might​ ​use​ ​that​ ​to​ ​justify​ ​still​ ​more​ ​of​ ​the​ ​same.​ ​​​If​ ​he

disagreed,​ ​he​ ​might​ ​earn​ ​additional​ ​pain​ ​for​ ​contradicting​ ​her. Paul​ ​tried​ ​to​ ​play​ ​it​ ​safe​ ​when​ ​he​ ​responded,​ ​through​ ​his​ ​sporadic blubbering,​ ​"What...​ ​ever​ ​you...​ ​say,​ ​Jessica."

"I'm​ ​glad​ ​we​ ​can​ ​agree​ ​on​ ​that,​ ​Pauley-sweet​ ​cheeks.​ ​​​It's​ ​so​ ​pleasant when​ ​we​ ​work​ ​together​ ​this​ ​way.​ ​​​Now​ ​how​ ​about​ ​if​ ​we​ ​get​ ​you​ ​upstairs​ ​for that​ ​make-up​ ​test​ ​that​ ​you've​ ​been​ ​looking​ ​forward​ ​to?"

"Yes.​ ​​​Yes,​ ​Ma'am." "Good​ ​boy."

He​ ​started​ ​up​ ​again,​ ​his​ ​bottom​ ​smarting​ ​terribly.​ ​​​By​ ​the​ ​time​ ​he​ ​was​ ​on the​ ​landing,​ ​Tiffany​ ​had​ ​opened​ ​the​ ​door​ ​to​ ​a​ ​room​ ​further​ ​along.​ ​​​Jessica got​ ​directly​ ​behind​ ​him,​ ​paddle​ ​at​ ​the​ ​ready,​ ​while​ ​he​ ​covered​ ​the​ ​final distance.​ ​​​When​ ​he​ ​got​ ​into​ ​the​ ​room​ ​there​ ​was​ ​another​ ​girl​ ​--​ ​he remembered​ ​she​ ​was​ ​Amber​ ​--​ ​sitting​ ​on​ ​the​ ​bed.​ ​​​She​ ​wiggled​ ​her​ ​fingers to​ ​make​ ​him​ ​come​ ​nearer.​ ​​​He​ ​got​ ​between​ ​her​ ​parted​ ​legs​ ​and​ ​she cupped​ ​his​ ​chin​ ​in​ ​her​ ​hand.

"Oh,​ ​dear,"​ ​Amber​ ​said​ ​with​ ​mock​ ​concern.​ ​​​"The​ ​poor​ ​little​ ​thing​ ​has​ ​been crying.​ ​​​Someone​ ​get​ ​me​ ​a​ ​cold​ ​wet​ ​washcloth.​ ​​​I​ ​can't​ ​work​ ​with​ ​her​ ​face like​ ​this."

Her?​ ​​​Had​ ​she​ ​used​ ​a​ ​female​ ​pronoun?​ ​​​While​ ​someone​ ​was​ ​fetching​ ​the washrag,​ ​she​ ​showed​ ​Paul​ ​a​ ​sketch.

"This​ ​is​ ​the​ ​look​ ​I​ ​came​ ​up​ ​with​ ​for​ ​your​ ​sissy​ ​clown​ ​face.​ ​​​What​ ​do​ ​you think?"

"I..."​ ​​​The​ ​unexpectedness​ ​of​ ​what​ ​he​ ​saw​ ​made​ ​him​ ​forget​ ​caution.​ ​​​He said,​ ​"You​ ​can't​ ​make​ ​me​ ​look​ ​like​ ​that.​ ​​​Everyone​ ​will​ ​see​ ​and..."

His​ ​words​ ​were​ ​cut​ ​off​ ​by​ ​four​ ​more​ ​swipes​ ​of​ ​the​ ​'board​ ​of​ ​education'.​ ​​​He squealed​ ​like​ ​a​ ​schoolgirl​ ​and​ ​his​ ​nose​ ​ran​ ​even​ ​more.​ ​​​Someone​ ​returned with​ ​a​ ​dampened​ ​washrag​ ​and​ ​Amber​ ​pressed​ ​it​ ​to​ ​his​ ​forehead,​ ​then moved​ ​it​ ​around.​ ​​​She​ ​was​ ​given​ ​a​ ​tissue​ ​to​ ​use​ ​under​ ​his​ ​leaking​ ​nostrils. He​ ​had​ ​to​ ​blow​ ​his​ ​nose​ ​into​ ​it​ ​like​ ​a​ ​little​ ​boy.​ ​​​Paul​ ​regulated​ ​is​ ​emotions in​ ​stages.​ ​​​When​ ​he​ ​was​ ​steady​ ​enough​ ​to​ ​see​ ​it​ ​again,​ ​Amber​ ​held​ ​up​ ​her artwork​ ​once​ ​more.

The​ ​face​ ​at​ ​which​ ​Paul​ ​was​ ​looking​ ​was​ ​unacceptable.​ ​​​Except​ ​that​ ​his acceptance​ ​or​ ​rejection​ ​of​ ​it,​ ​or​ ​of​ ​anything​ ​else​ ​at​ ​the​ ​moment,​ ​was irrelevant.​ ​​​Starting​ ​at​ ​the​ ​top​ ​and​ ​working​ ​down,​ ​there​ ​were​ ​high​ ​arched eyebrows,​ ​plenty​ ​of​ ​eye​ ​liner,​ ​shade​ ​and​ ​mascara,​ ​a​ ​nose​ ​colored​ ​red instead​ ​of​ ​wearing​ ​a​ ​crimson​ ​bulb,​ ​and​ ​a​ ​mouth​ ​made​ ​to​ ​look​ ​overly​ ​large and​ ​femininely​ ​sensual,​ ​big​

​lips​ ​outlined​ ​and​ ​painted​ ​candy​ ​apple​ ​red.​ ​​​The thought​ ​of​ ​having​ ​to​ ​look​ ​like​ ​that,​ ​among​ ​a​ ​roomful​ ​of​ ​people,​ ​made​ ​him want​ ​to​ ​start​ ​crying​ ​all​ ​over​ ​again.​ ​​​Amber​ ​patted​ ​him​ ​atop​ ​his​ ​head​ ​and checked​ ​his​ ​cheeks​ ​to​ ​make​ ​sure​ ​they​ ​were​ ​no​ ​longer​ ​so​ ​warm.​ ​​​Satisfied with​ ​what​ ​she​ ​found,​ ​she​ ​held​ ​out​ ​one​ ​hand,​ ​palm​ ​up​ ​like​ ​a​ ​surgeon.

"Whiteface,"​ ​she​ ​called​ ​and​ ​a​ ​wide​ ​stick​ ​was​ ​handed​ ​to​ ​her,​ ​with​ ​which​ ​she made​ ​his​ ​skin​ ​pale.​ ​​​Extra​ ​went​ ​onto​ ​his​ ​eyebrows​ ​to​ ​hide​ ​them​ ​completely. Then​ ​it​ ​was,​ ​"Pencil,"​ ​and​ ​she​ ​drew​ ​on​ ​new​ ​ones​ ​that​ ​were​ ​thick​ ​and​ ​huge, cartoonish.​ ​​​Even​ ​though​ ​they​ ​hadn't​ ​been​ ​in​ ​her​ ​picture,​ ​she​ ​decided​ ​to give​ ​him​ ​long​ ​drawn-on​ ​eyelashes.

She​ ​colored​ ​his​ ​nose​ ​red​ ​and​ ​then​ ​stopped.​ ​​​He​ ​knew​ ​that​ ​his​ ​mouth​ ​was next.​ ​​​Paul​ ​didn't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​be​ ​given​ ​overly​ ​full,​ ​brightly​ ​hued​ ​lips​ ​like​ ​those​ ​in the​ ​drawing.​ ​​​He​ ​would​ ​be​ ​a​ ​laughingstock.​ ​​​And​ ​so​ ​exaggeratedly​ ​girly. But​ ​she​ ​went​ ​to​ ​work,​ ​carefully​ ​making​ ​an​ ​outline​ ​that​ ​went​ ​far​ ​outside​ ​his normal​ ​lip​ ​lines,​ ​then​ ​coloring​ ​it​ ​in.​ ​​​As​ ​a​ ​last​ ​minute​ ​addition,​ ​Amber​ ​put​ ​big circles​ ​of​ ​pink​ ​on​ ​his​ ​cheeks.​ ​​​He​ ​was​ ​allowed​ ​to​ ​stand​ ​and,​ ​when​ ​he​ ​was turned​ ​around​ ​to​ ​face​ ​the​ ​rest​ ​of​ ​the​ ​girls,​ ​there​ ​was​ ​an​ ​outburst​ ​of​ ​spirited laughter.

"Look​ ​at​ ​him.​ ​​​He's​ ​ridiculous."

"That's​ ​what​ ​a​ ​clown​ ​hooker​ ​would​ ​look​ ​like."

"So​​let's​​give​​him​​a​​new​​name​​that​​fits​​his​​new​​face.​​​​How​​about...​​Slutto?"

"Or​ ​Trampo?"

"No,"​ ​Jessica​ ​said​ ​loudly​ ​enough​ ​to​ ​rivet​ ​everyone's​ ​attention.​ ​​​"It​ ​has​ ​to​ ​be --​ ​BIMBO.​ ​​​Bimbo​ ​the​ ​Sissy​ ​Clown."

That​ ​produced​ ​hoots​ ​and​ ​hollers​ ​of​ ​approval.​ ​​​Paul​ ​was​ ​deeply​ ​disturbed.They​​couldn't​​do​​that​​to​​him.​​​​Not​​at​​the​​Spring​​Formal​ ​dance.​ ​​​Not​ ​where so​ ​many​ ​people​ ​would​ ​see​ ​him.​ ​​​His​ ​only​ ​consolation​ ​was​ ​that​ ​Hannah would​ ​not​ ​be​ ​there.

"Aww,"​ ​Tiffany​ ​said​ ​with​ ​mock​ ​solicitousness.​ ​​​"Is​ ​the​ ​little​ ​clown​ ​sad?​ ​​​Hee, hee,​ ​hee.​ ​​​Because​ ​he's​ ​going​ ​to​ ​flounce​ ​around​ ​with​ ​this​ ​pretty​ ​face​ ​AND his​ ​cute​ ​outfit?​ ​​​Well,​ ​Bozo​ ​--​ ​I​ ​mean​ ​Bimbo​ ​--​ ​at​ ​least​ ​once​ ​the​ ​dance​ ​is over,​ ​you'll​ ​be​ ​free."

"But​ ​I​ ​don't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​do​ ​this.​ ​​​It's​ ​too​ ​much."

"No.​ ​​​Too​ ​much​ ​would​ ​be​ ​us​ ​printing​ ​up​ ​some​ ​of​ ​those​ ​pictures​ ​of​ ​you​ ​and posting​ ​them​ ​around​ ​campus.​ ​​​Or​ ​just​ ​featuring​ ​them​ ​in​ ​a​ ​special​ ​edition​ ​of the​ ​school's​ ​on-line​ ​newsletter."

Jessica​ ​pointed​ ​out,​ ​"With​ ​the​ ​computer​ ​tricks​ ​I​ ​know,​ ​I​ ​could​ ​make​ ​them turn​ ​up​ ​in​ ​all​ ​sorts​ ​of​ ​places.​ ​​​I​ ​could​ ​even​ ​make​ ​it​ ​look​ ​like​ ​you​ ​sent​ ​them."

"All​ ​right,"​ ​Paul​ ​conceded​ ​miserably.​ ​​​"I'll​ ​do​ ​it.​ ​​​I'll​ ​be​ ​a​ ​clown​ ​at​ ​the​ ​dance." "Good​ ​sissy,"​ ​Jessica​ ​praised.​ ​​​"Now​ ​give​ ​me​ ​your​ ​phone​ ​so​ ​I​ ​can​ ​take pictures​ ​to​ ​start​ ​a​ ​personal​ ​collection​ ​for​ ​you.​ ​​​Hand​ ​it​ ​over."

It​ ​wasn't​ ​easy​ ​to​ ​retrieve​ ​it​ ​with​ ​his​ ​pants​ ​around​ ​his​ ​ankles.​ ​​​He​ ​unhappily surrender​ ​the​ ​instrument​ ​and​ ​she​ ​immediately​ ​took​ ​several​ ​shots.​ ​​​Tiffany sidled​ ​up​ ​next​ ​to​ ​him​ ​and​ ​reached​ ​down​ ​to​ ​put​ ​a​ ​hand​ ​on​ ​his​ ​crotch.​ ​​​She hid​ ​her​ ​face​ ​behind​ ​his​ ​shoulder​ ​and​ ​told​ ​him​ ​to​ ​give​ ​a​ ​big​ ​smile.​ ​​​He​ ​forced himself​ ​to​ ​grin​ ​while​ ​Jessica​ ​took​ ​another​ ​picture.​ ​​​Other​ ​girls​ ​posed​ ​with him,​ ​always​ ​concealing​ ​their​ ​faces.​ ​​​In​ ​the​ ​midst​ ​of​ ​his​ ​confusion,​ ​Jessica also​ ​made​ ​Paul​ ​reveal​ ​his​ ​computer​ ​password.​ ​​​They​ ​had​ ​him​ ​remove​ ​his pants​ ​the​ ​rest​ ​of​ ​the​ ​way,​ ​but​ ​did​ ​allow​ ​him​ ​to​ ​raise​ ​his​

​underwear.​ ​​​In​ ​just his​ ​make-up​ ​and​ ​those​ ​colorful,​ ​unmanly​ ​jockey​ ​shorts,​ ​he​ ​was​ ​led downstairs​ ​and​ ​to​ ​the​ ​front​ ​door.

"Let's​ ​send​ ​you​ ​out​ ​for​ ​a​ ​nice​ ​walk​ ​in​ ​the​ ​balmy​ ​night​ ​air,​ ​Bimbo,"​ ​said Tiffany.

"No,​ ​please,"​ ​he​ ​pleaded​ ​with​ ​failing​ ​willpower.
"Oh,​ ​go​ ​on,​ ​wuss.​ ​​​Just​ ​stroll​ ​around.​ ​​​A​ ​few​ ​of​ ​us​ ​will​ ​hang​ ​back​

​and​ ​make
sure​ ​you​ ​don't​ ​get​ ​into​ ​too​ ​much​ ​trouble."

He​ ​scampered​ ​down​ ​the​ ​steps,​ ​looking​ ​both​ ​ways​ ​for​ ​somewhere​ ​he​ ​could go​ ​where​ ​he​ ​might​ ​not​ ​be​ ​noticed.​ ​​​Paul​ ​fled​ ​into​ ​a​ ​shadowy​ ​area​ ​in​ ​front​ ​of the​ ​building​ ​but,​ ​with​ ​the​ ​sisters​ ​following​ ​him,​ ​had​ ​to​ ​keep​ ​moving.​ ​​​He didn't​ ​pay​ ​close​ ​attention​ ​to​ ​his​ ​direction​ ​until​ ​he​ ​noticed​ ​with​ ​dismay​ ​that he​ ​was​ ​approaching​ ​the​ ​Alpha​ ​Mega​ ​house.​ ​​​He​ ​turned​ ​to​ ​the​ ​girls​ ​in desperation​ ​but​ ​they​ ​waved​ ​him​ ​on.​ ​​​He​ ​had​ ​to​ ​step​ ​out​ ​into​ ​a​ ​pool​ ​of​ ​light from​ ​the​ ​house's​ ​brightly​ ​lit​ ​entrance.​ ​​​That​ ​was​ ​when​ ​one​ ​of​ ​the​ ​brothers, who​ ​had​ ​been​ ​looking​ ​out​ ​the​ ​window,​ ​spied​ ​him.

"Damn,"​ ​the​ ​guy​ ​said​ ​to​ ​his​ ​roommate.​ ​​​"I​ ​was​ ​watching​ ​for​ ​our​ ​dates​ ​but you​ ​won't​ ​believe​ ​what​ ​I​ ​spotted​ ​instead.​ ​​​There's​ ​some​ ​kind​ ​of out-of-season​ ​Halloween​ ​freak​ ​down​ ​there."

The​ ​other​ ​guy​ ​appeared​ ​at​ ​the​ ​next​ ​window.​ ​​​He​ ​said,​ ​"Whoever​ ​he​ ​is,​ ​he's short​ ​and​ ​built​ ​like​ ​a​ ​girl.​ ​​​That​ ​narrows​ ​it​ ​down."

As​ ​they​ ​tried​ ​to​ ​identify​ ​Paul,​ ​the​ ​frightened​ ​sissy​ ​clown​ ​started​ ​in​ ​one direction​ ​and​ ​then​ ​reversed​ ​himself,​ ​in​ ​a​ ​panic.​ ​​​He​ ​threw​ ​himself​ ​into​ ​the nearest​ ​bushes,​ ​just​ ​as​ ​the​ ​guys​ ​were​ ​saying​ ​something​ ​about​ ​coming downstairs​ ​for​ ​a​ ​closer​ ​look.​ ​​​As​ ​Paul​ ​cowered​ ​in​ ​his​ ​hiding​ ​place,​ ​with branches​ ​poking​ ​him​ ​all​ ​over,​ ​two​ ​girls​ ​came​ ​strolling​ ​up.​ ​​​The​ ​guys​ ​interest shifted​ ​from​ ​him​ ​to​ ​them.​ ​​​They​ ​hollered​ ​for​ ​their​ ​dates​ ​to​ ​come​ ​inside.

"Hurry​ ​up,"​ ​one​ ​of​ ​the​ ​brothers​ ​called​ ​down.​ ​​​"There​ ​could​ ​be​ ​some​ ​weirdo lurking​ ​around.​ ​​​Like​ ​in​ ​the​ ​bushes​ ​along​ ​our​ ​front​ ​wall."

The​ ​girls​ ​though​ ​he​ ​was​ ​being​ ​silly​ ​and​ ​just​ ​giggled​ ​as​ ​they​ ​headed​ ​for​ ​the entrance.​ ​​​The​ ​guys​ ​vanished​ ​from​ ​their​ ​viewing​ ​posts,​ ​and​ ​Paul​ ​stumbled from​ ​concealment,​ ​his​ ​shorts​ ​snagging​ ​on​ ​a​ ​bush​ ​and​ ​being​ ​tugged partway​ ​down​ ​in​ ​front.​ ​​​The​ ​girls​ ​made​ ​some​ ​taunting​ ​comments​ ​about​ ​his penis​ ​size​ ​and​ ​took​ ​flash​ ​photos​ ​as​ ​if​

​to​ ​get​ ​proof,​ ​even​ ​though​ ​they already​ ​had​ ​plenty.​ ​​​He​ ​was​ ​allowed​ ​to​ ​hurry​ ​back​ ​to​ ​the​ ​Delta​ ​Virago house.​ ​​​The​ ​girls​ ​preceded​ ​him​ ​and,​ ​being​ ​the​ ​bitches​ ​they​ ​were,​ ​locked the​ ​door​ ​in​ ​his​ ​made-up​ ​face.​ ​​​He​ ​knocked​ ​softly​ ​on​ ​it​ ​and​ ​begged​ ​in​ ​a strained​ ​whisper​ ​to​ ​be​ ​admitted,​ ​sounding​ ​like​ ​he​ ​was​ ​about​ ​to​ ​start bawling.​ ​​​After​ ​a​ ​few​ ​minutes,​ ​that​ ​seemed​ ​a​ ​lot​ ​longer​ ​to​ ​him,​ ​they​ ​relented and​ ​let​ ​him​ ​stagger​ ​inside.​ ​​​​​​​He​ ​had​ ​tiny​ ​red​ ​spots​ ​on​ ​his​ ​bare​ ​skin​ ​from the​ ​bushes'​ ​prickly​ ​branches.

"Now,"​ ​Jessica​ ​decided,​ ​"if​ ​you​ ​want​ ​to​ ​stay​ ​indoors,​ ​you'll​ ​have​ ​to​ ​make yourself​ ​useful.​ ​​​I'm​ ​sure​ ​some​ ​of​ ​us​ ​have​ ​little​ ​errands​ ​you​ ​can​ ​run​ ​around here.​ ​​​Whenever​ ​you​ ​hear​ ​one​ ​of​ ​us​ ​call,​ ​you'd​ ​better​ ​come​ ​running.​ ​​​Or else​ ​you'll​ ​be​ ​running​ ​around​ ​outside​ ​again."

"Yes,​ ​Ma'am,"​ ​he​ ​agreed​ ​weakly.
"Oh,​ ​and​ ​I​ ​don't​ ​see​ ​why​ ​you​ ​need​ ​those​ ​shorts.​ ​​​So​ ​let's​ ​just​ ​lose​

​them."
She​ ​snapped​ ​her​ ​fingers​ ​and​ ​held​ ​out​ ​her​ ​hand.​ ​​​"Like​ ​now."

His​ ​narrow​ ​shoulders​ ​sagged.​ ​​​Paul​ ​gave​ ​in​ ​at​ ​once​ ​and​ ​removed​ ​the shorts.​ ​​​When​ ​he​ ​held​ ​them​ ​out​ ​to​ ​her​ ​she​ ​pointed​ ​at​ ​the​ ​floor,​ ​as​ ​if​ ​they​ ​it was​ ​beneath​ ​her​ ​to​ ​touch​ ​them.​ ​​​He​ ​dropped​ ​them​ ​at​

​her​ ​feet​ ​and​ ​she kicked​ ​them​ ​far​ ​under​ ​a​ ​sofa.​ ​​​Jessica​ ​went​ ​to​ ​the​ ​side​ ​of​ ​the​ ​room,​ ​where there​ ​was​ ​a​ ​metal​ ​plate​ ​set​ ​flush​ ​with​ ​the​ ​wall.​ ​​​On​ ​it​ ​there​ ​was​ ​a​ ​grill​ ​and below​ ​that​ ​two​ ​buttons,​ ​labelled​ ​SEND​ ​and​ ​RECIEVE.​ ​​​She​ ​pushed​ ​the​ ​first one.

"Listen​ ​up,​ ​girls.​ ​​​It's​ ​Jessica.​ ​​​We​ ​have​ ​a​ ​clown-faced,​ ​sissy​ ​houseboy​ ​for the​ ​next​ ​little​ ​while.​ ​​​If​ ​you​ ​need​ ​anything​ ​--​ ​and​ ​I​ ​do​ ​mean​ ​ANYTHING​ ​-- just​ ​holler​ ​into​ ​your​ ​intercom.​ ​​​You​ ​know​ ​I​ ​rigged​ ​it​ ​so​ ​whatever​ ​you​ ​say​ ​is broadcast​ ​to​ ​every​ ​speaker​ ​when​ ​I​ ​hit​ ​a​ ​certain​ ​switch.​ ​​​Well,​ ​I'm​ ​hitting​ ​that switch​ ​now."​ ​​​She​ ​flipped​ ​a​ ​toggle​ ​set​ ​alongside​ ​the​ ​plate.​ ​​​"So​ ​when​ ​you're using​ ​the​ ​sissy,​ ​just​ ​press​ ​the​ ​SEND​ ​button​ ​twice​ ​and​ ​everything​ ​you​ ​tell him​ ​or​ ​he​ ​says​ ​to​ ​you,​ ​will​ ​be​ ​audible​ ​all​ ​over​ ​this​ ​place.​ ​​​Who​ ​wants​ ​him first?"

There​ ​was​ ​a​ ​clamor​ ​of​ ​voices,​ ​but​ ​one​ ​overrode​ ​the​ ​rest.​ ​​​"This​ ​is​ ​Vanity​ ​in Room​ ​9.​ ​​​I​ ​have​ ​a​ ​foot​ ​emergency​ ​and​ ​need​ ​a​ ​massage​ ​immediately. Move​ ​it,​ ​sissy."

Jessica​ ​took​ ​over​ ​the​ ​system​ ​again.​ ​​​"Our​ ​wimp​ ​house​ ​pet's​ ​new​ ​name​ ​is Bimbo.​ ​​​Or​ ​Sissy​ ​Bimbo.​ ​​​Or​ ​whatever​ ​you​ ​feel​ ​like​ ​calling​ ​him.​ ​​​Maybe Bim-Bobo.​ ​​​Treat​ ​him​ ​with​ ​the​ ​respect​ ​he​ ​deserves.​ ​​​By​ ​which​ ​I​ ​mean​ ​none. But​ ​seriously,​ ​please​ ​don't​ ​say​ ​anything​ ​hurtful​ ​about​ ​his​ ​penis.​ ​​​Just​ ​ignore the​ ​fact​ ​that​ ​he​ ​had​ ​a​ ​dick​ ​that​ ​would​ ​look​ ​small​ ​on​ ​a​ ​tiny​ ​puppy.​ ​​​I​ ​mean,​ ​if you​ ​can​ ​see​ ​it​ ​without​

​laughing,​ ​you​ ​should​ ​get​ ​a​ ​prize.​ ​​​So,​ ​a​ ​Small​ ​Dick Alert​ ​is​ ​in​ ​effect​ ​until​ ​further​ ​notice."

Paul​ ​was​ ​hurrying​ ​up​ ​the​ ​steps​ ​toward​ ​Room​ ​9.​ ​​​He​ ​could​ ​hear​ ​Jessica's voice​ ​as​ ​it​ ​came​ ​from​ ​each​ ​room​ ​speaker​ ​as​ ​he​ ​passed.​ ​​​The​ ​girls​ ​who hadn't​ ​already​ ​been​ ​out​ ​were​ ​opening​ ​their​ ​doors​ ​to​ ​watch​ ​him​ ​scurry​ ​by.

"Hey,​ ​Bimbo,​ ​I'll​ ​be​ ​careful​ ​not​ ​to​ ​mention​ ​your​ ​impossibly​ ​small​ ​dick." "Yeah,​ ​clown-face.​ ​​​Maybe​ ​you​ ​should​ ​put​ ​some​ ​make-up​ ​on​ ​that​ ​miniature

version​ ​of​ ​a​ ​cock,​ ​too.​ ​​​Make​ ​it​ ​even​ ​funnier."

He​ ​got​ ​to​ ​Vanity's​ ​room​ ​and​ ​respectfully​ ​knocked​ ​on​ ​the​ ​closed​ ​door.​ ​​​She told​ ​him​ ​to​ ​enter​ ​and,​ ​as​ ​he​ ​did,​ ​he​ ​saw​ ​that​ ​she​ ​was​ ​wearing​ ​only​ ​a​ ​pair​ ​of lacy​ ​bikini-cut​ ​panties.​ ​​​The​ ​sorority​ ​sister​ ​was​ ​slender​ ​but​ ​shapely,​ ​with​ ​a full​ ​bust​ ​that​ ​was​ ​firm​ ​and​ ​had​ ​high​ ​set​ ​nipples.​ ​​​She​ ​shook​ ​back​ ​her​ ​long reddish​ ​blond​ ​hair​ ​and​ ​smiled​ ​at​ ​him.​ ​​​Behind​ ​her​ ​stood​ ​another​ ​girl,​ ​a small​ ​Asian​ ​beauty​ ​he​ ​had​ ​heard​ ​called​ ​Miya,​ ​who​ ​was​ ​similarly​ ​attired. The​ ​second​ ​one​ ​was​ ​brushing​ ​her​ ​waist-length,​ ​glossy​ ​black​ ​hair,​ ​making the​ ​act​ ​look​ ​like​ ​an​ ​invitation​ ​to​ ​sex.

Vanity​ ​pressed​ ​the​ ​SEND​ ​button​ ​twice​ ​and​ ​said,​ ​"Well,​ ​hello​ ​Bimbo. What's​ ​that​ ​between​ ​your​ ​legs?​ ​​​A​ ​piece​ ​of​ ​candy?"

Miya​ ​said,​ ​"Maybe​ ​it's​ ​one​ ​of​ ​those​ ​one-bite​ ​candy​ ​bars.​ ​​​You​ ​know​ ​--​ ​'fun size'."

When​ ​their​ ​looks​ ​told​ ​him​ ​they​ ​expected​ ​a​ ​response,​ ​Paul​ ​said,​ ​"That's my...​ ​penis?"

The​ ​girls​ ​laughed.​ ​​​He​ ​hated​ ​that​ ​this​ ​exchange​ ​was​ ​going​ ​to​ ​the​ ​entire house.​ ​​​Vanity​ ​sat​ ​on​ ​the​ ​edge​ ​of​ ​the​ ​bed.​ ​​​She​ ​swung​ ​her​ ​attractive​ ​legs up,​ ​so​ ​that​ ​her​ ​feet​ ​extended​ ​past​ ​the​ ​foot​ ​of​ ​the​ ​mattress,​ ​then​ ​reclined. She​ ​patted​ ​the​ ​spot​ ​alongside​ ​her​ ​and​ ​Miya​ ​went​ ​to​ ​lie​ ​there.

Vanity​ ​said,​ ​"Bimbo​ ​baby,​ ​I​ ​hope​ ​you​ ​don't​ ​mind​ ​that​ ​Miya​ ​and​ ​I​ ​are​ ​lying here,​ ​so​ ​close​ ​together,​ ​topless​ ​and​ ​wearing​ ​nothing​ ​but​ ​sexy​ ​panties.​ ​​​I hope​ ​that​ ​doesn't​ ​bother​ ​you.​ ​​​Now​ ​why​ ​don't​ ​you​ ​kneel​ ​down​ ​there​ ​where my​ ​feet​ ​are​ ​hanging​ ​over​ ​the​ ​end​ ​of​ ​the​ ​bed​ ​and​ ​start​ ​rubbing​ ​them.​ ​​​Make it​ ​feel​ ​really​ ​nice,​ ​or​ ​else​ ​we​ ​might​ ​have​ ​to​ ​rub​ ​your​ ​ass​ ​hard​ ​with​ ​a​ ​couple of​ ​hairbrushes."

He​ ​got​ ​into​ ​position.​ ​​​Why​ ​did​ ​she​ ​have​ ​to​ ​announce​ ​what​ ​was​ ​going​ ​on​ ​to the​ ​many​ ​listeners?​ ​​​Paul​ ​took​ ​one​ ​soft,​ ​small​ ​foot​

​between​ ​his​ ​hands​ ​and slowly​ ​kneaded​ ​it,​ ​but​ ​with​ ​a​ ​minimum​ ​of​ ​force.​ ​​​She​ ​purred​ ​contentedly.

Vanity​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​know,​ ​"You​ ​don't​ ​mind​ ​if​ ​Miya​ ​and​ ​I​ ​touch​ ​each​ ​other,​ ​do you,​ ​Paul?​ ​​​And​ ​maybe​ ​kiss​ ​a​ ​few​ ​times?​ ​​​Hmmm?"

"I..."​ ​​​He​ ​choked​ ​slightly.​ ​​​"I​ ​don't​ ​mind."
"I'll​ ​bet​ ​you​ ​don't,​ ​you​ ​dirty-minded​ ​pervert."​ ​​​Vanity​ ​turned​ ​her​

​face​ ​toward
Miya's​ ​and​ ​they​ ​brought​ ​their​ ​lips​ ​together.​ ​​​"Mmmm.​ ​​​So​ ​sweet."

Paul​ ​groaned.​ ​​​He​ ​couldn't​ ​help​ ​it.​ ​​​His​ ​prick​ ​was​ ​getting​ ​stiff.​ ​​​It​ ​was​ ​so distracting​ ​to​ ​have​ ​to​ ​watch​ ​that​ ​erotic​ ​sight.​ ​​​Vanity's​ ​hand​ ​went​ ​to​ ​Miya's A-cup​ ​boob​ ​and​ ​Miya​ ​stroked​ ​Vanity's​ ​sleek​ ​hip.​ ​​​The​ ​blond​ ​bent​ ​her​ ​leg​ ​at the​ ​knee​ ​and​ ​the​ ​girl​ ​with​ ​raven​ ​tresses​ ​parted​ ​her​ ​thighs​ ​to​ ​accept​ ​it.​ ​​​Paul couldn't​ ​believe​ ​the​ ​free​ ​show​ ​he​ ​was​ ​getting.​ ​​​His​ ​pecker​ ​was​ ​harder​ ​than he​ ​could​ ​ever​ ​remember​ ​it​ ​being.

Vanity​ ​said,​ ​"It​ ​feels​ ​so​ ​good​ ​to​ ​have​ ​my​ ​leg​ ​between​ ​Miya's.​ ​​​To​ ​feel​ ​her pussy​ ​through​ ​those​ ​thin​ ​panties.​ ​​​I​ ​think​ ​I​ ​detect​ ​some​ ​wetness​ ​already."

Miya​ ​giggled​ ​and​ ​made​ ​audible​ ​sounds​ ​of​ ​breathing​ ​hard.​ ​​​Paul​ ​kept manipulating​ ​the​ ​foot​ ​he​ ​held.​ ​​​Vanity​ ​told​ ​him​ ​to​ ​switch​ ​to​ ​the​ ​other.​ ​​​She asked​ ​him​ ​if​ ​he​ ​was​ ​enjoying​ ​himself​ ​and​ ​in​ ​a​ ​strained​ ​voice​ ​he​ ​told​ ​her 'yes'.​ ​​​She​ ​chuckled​ ​and​ ​Miya​ ​did​ ​too​ ​.​ ​​​They​ ​kissed​ ​noisily​ ​for​ ​the edification​ ​of​ ​their​ ​unseen​ ​audience,​ ​and​ ​to​ ​keep​ ​Paul​ ​in​ ​his​ ​distracted state.

Finally,​ ​Vanity​ ​told​ ​him,​ ​"Stand​ ​up,​ ​Bimbo.​ ​​​I​ ​want​ ​to​ ​make​ ​sure​ ​you​ ​haven't been​ ​having​ ​lewd​ ​thoughts​ ​about​ ​us​ ​innocent​ ​young​ ​ladies.​ ​​​On​ ​your​ ​feet, clown-puss."

He​ ​rose​ ​reluctantly,​ ​his​ ​below​ ​average​ ​member​ ​giving​ ​a​ ​bob.​ ​​​The​ ​girls​ ​on the​ ​bed​ ​feigned​ ​shock.

"OMG,"​ ​Jessica​ ​gasped.​ ​​​"That​ ​joke​ ​between​ ​his​ ​thighs.​ ​​​It's​ ​all​ ​stiff."

Miya​ ​joined​ ​in​ ​with,​ ​"Thank​ ​goodness​ ​it's​ ​so​ ​miniature​ ​and​ ​harmless looking.​ ​​​No​ ​girl​ ​needs​ ​to​ ​be​ ​afraid​ ​of​ ​that.​ ​​​It​ ​could​ ​never​ ​hurt​ ​her.​ ​​​Or​ ​give her​ ​any​ ​pleasure."

"It's​ ​so​ ​inadequate." "It's...​ ​diminutive."

He​ ​was​ ​told​ ​to​ ​switch​ ​to​ ​pampering​ ​Miya's​ ​lower​ ​extremities.​ ​​​He​ ​had hoped​ ​she​ ​would​ ​be​ ​nicer,​ ​but​ ​those​ ​last​ ​remarks​ ​took​ ​away​ ​that​ ​optimism.

In​ ​fact,​ ​she​ ​not​ ​only​ ​wanted​ ​her​ ​feet​ ​rubbed,​ ​but​ ​her​ ​toes​ ​sucked.​ ​​​And​ ​she made​ ​sure​ ​everyone​ ​listening​ ​heard​ ​her​ ​give​ ​the​ ​order.

She​ ​even​ ​added,​ ​"And​ ​get​ ​your​ ​tongue​ ​between​ ​those​ ​toes.​ ​​​I​ ​hate​ ​how sweaty​ ​it​ ​feels​ ​in​ ​there​ ​by​ ​the​ ​end​ ​of​ ​the​ ​day.​ ​​​That's​ ​it,​ ​houseboy.​ ​​​Or house​ ​girl.​ ​​​Keep​ ​going,​ ​Bimbo.​ ​​​Oh,​ ​yes.​ ​​​Work​ ​that​ ​sissy​ ​tongue.​ ​​​My​ ​own geisha.​ ​​​Too​ ​bad​ ​for​ ​you,​ ​this​ ​is​ ​the​ ​closest​ ​you'll​ ​ever​ ​be​ ​to​ ​getting​ ​intimate with​ ​me​ ​."

Ten​ ​minutes​ ​later,​ ​the​ ​intercom​ ​came​ ​to​ ​life.​ ​​​"This​ ​is​ ​Jessica.​ ​​​Fun's​ ​over, girls.​ ​​​Time​ ​for​ ​someone​ ​else​ ​to​ ​request​ ​sissy​ ​service."

Again​ ​there​ ​was​ ​a​ ​gaggle​ ​of​ ​voices.​ ​​​This​ ​time​ ​the​ ​winner​ ​was​ ​Paul's established​ ​nemesis,​ ​Tiffany.​ ​​​She​ ​said,​ ​"I​ ​need​ ​someone​ ​to​ ​rub​ ​lotion​ ​all over​ ​my​ ​body.​ ​​​Get​ ​those​ ​short​ ​legs​ ​working,​ ​Bimbo.​ ​​​Room​ ​2."

He​ ​left​ ​the​ ​room​ ​with​ ​more​ ​taunts​ ​stinging​ ​his​ ​ears,​ ​still​ ​naked​ ​and​ ​with​ ​his face​ ​made​ ​up​ ​in​ ​that​ ​mortifying​ ​sissy-clown​ ​style.​

​​​Paul​ ​hurried​ ​back​ ​down the​ ​stairs,​ ​his​ ​nude​ ​form​ ​blatantly​ ​displayed.​ ​​​The​ ​girls​ ​in​ ​the​ ​living​ ​room hooted​ ​and​ ​cheered.

"Go,​ ​Princess​ ​Little​ ​Dick." "Scoot​ ​that​ ​booty,​ ​sister​ ​sissy."

He​ ​got​ ​to​ ​Tiffany's​ ​room​ ​and​ ​the​ ​door​ ​was​ ​already​ ​open.​ ​​​She​ ​was​ ​standing there,​ ​in​ ​front​ ​of​ ​her​ ​dresser,​ ​with​ ​a​ ​large​ ​tube​ ​of​ ​some​ ​emollient​ ​in​ ​her hand.​ ​​​And​ ​she​ ​was​ ​bare-​ ​assed​ ​naked.

The​ ​desirable​ ​sorority​ ​girl​ ​said,​ ​"This​ ​cream​ ​you're​ ​going​ ​to​ ​be​ ​putting​ ​on me,​ ​is​ ​it​ ​one​ ​that​ ​you​ ​use​ ​on​ ​yourself?​ ​​​I​ ​know​ ​you​ ​just​ ​love​ ​to​ ​make​ ​your skin​ ​all​ ​silky​ ​with​ ​girly​ ​lotions.​ ​​​Right?"

"I​ ​use​ ​some​ ​products,"​ ​he​ ​said​ ​in​ ​a​ ​small​ ​voice.​ ​​​She​ ​made​ ​him​ ​speak louder​ ​for​ ​the​ ​benefit​ ​of​ ​their​ ​listeners.​ ​​​"But​ ​what​ ​I​ ​put​ ​on​ ​my​ ​skin​ ​is​ ​meant for​ ​men.​ ​​​It's​ ​mainly​ ​to​ ​keep​ ​me​ ​moisturized."

"I​ ​understand.​ ​​​All​ ​the​ ​guys​ ​I​ ​know​ ​use​ ​moisturizer.​ ​​​Especially​ ​the​ ​ones​ ​on the​ ​football​ ​team.​ ​​​My​ ​special​ ​friend​ ​Darius​ ​always​ ​uses​ ​it.​ ​​​My​ ​tall, muscular,​ ​long-cocked,​ ​Black​ ​lover​ ​can't​ ​get​ ​through​ ​the​ ​day​ ​without​ ​his moisturizer.​ ​​​NOT."

He​ ​protested​ ​feebly,​ ​"I​ ​just​ ​don't​ ​want​ ​dry​ ​skin."

Laughter​ ​sounded​ ​throughout​ ​the​ ​house.​ ​​​He​ ​cringed​ ​at​ ​the​ ​sounds​ ​of​ ​so many​ ​mocking​ ​reactions.​ ​​​Tiffany​ ​handed​ ​him​ ​the​ ​tube​ ​and​ ​held​ ​her​ ​arms out​ ​from​ ​her​ ​sides.

She​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​know,​ ​"Do​ ​you​ ​use​ ​cream​ ​like​ ​this​ ​on​ ​your​ ​dick​ ​when​ ​you play​ ​with​ ​it?"

"No,"​ ​he​ ​said​ ​defensively. "What​ ​kind​ ​do​ ​you​ ​use?"

"I​ ​don't​ ​use​ ​anything​ ​on​ ​there​ ​when​ ​I..."​ ​​​He​ ​saw​ ​where​ ​she​ ​had​ ​led​ ​him.

"Well,​ ​smear​ ​some​ ​on​ ​me,​ ​starting​ ​right​ ​under​ ​my​ ​boobs,​ ​and​ ​then​ ​down over​ ​my​ ​tummy.​ ​​​That's​ ​the​ ​way.​ ​​​And​ ​look​ ​at​ ​that.​ ​​​Much​ ​to​ ​no​ ​one's surprise,​ ​your​ ​wee​ ​wee​ ​is​ ​standing​ ​up.​ ​​​Go​ ​on,​ ​Bimbo.​ ​​​Smear​ ​some​ ​on that​ ​tiny​ ​tickler​ ​and​ ​see​ ​how​ ​it​ ​feels​ ​when​ ​you​ ​stroke​ ​yourself."​ ​​​She snickered.​ ​​​"Or​ ​would​ ​you​ ​rather​ ​I​ ​put​ ​some​ ​on​ ​my​ ​vibrator​ ​--​ ​which​ ​I​ ​use strictly​ ​for​ ​sore​ ​muscles,​ ​I​ ​promise​ ​--​ ​to​ ​lube​ ​it​ ​up​ ​before​ ​I​ ​take​ ​it​ ​and​ ​stick it..."

"No,​ ​no,​ ​no.​ ​​​I'm​ ​putting​ ​some​ ​on​ ​me.​ ​​​On​ ​my​ ​penis.​ ​​​And​ ​now​ ​I'm... handling​ ​it."

"You​ ​are.​ ​​​He​ ​is,​ ​sisters.​ ​​​And​ ​I​ ​can​ ​tell​ ​he's​ ​had​ ​lots​ ​of​ ​practice.​ ​​​Lots​ ​and lots​ ​and​ ​lots.​ ​​​Haven't​ ​you,​ ​Bingo?"

He​ ​said,​ ​"It's​ ​Bimbo."​ ​​​As​ ​soon​ ​as​ ​he​ ​heard​ ​his​ ​own​ ​words​ ​he​ ​was embarrassed​ ​all​ ​over​ ​again.

More​ ​laughter.​ ​​​She​ ​also​ ​had​ ​him​ ​cover​ ​his​ ​nipples​ ​with​ ​lotion​ ​and​ ​finger them​ ​for​ ​a​ ​few​ ​minutes,​ ​until​ ​he​ ​was​ ​panting​ ​and​ ​his​ ​breathing​ ​started​ ​to get​ ​ragged.​ ​​​Of​ ​course,​ ​she​ ​kept​ ​up​ ​a​ ​running​ ​commentary.

She​ ​told​ ​him,​ ​"All​ ​right,​ ​Mr.​ ​Jerk​ ​Off.​ ​​​Enough​ ​with​ ​the​ ​diddling​ ​and​ ​tugging. Get​ ​behind​ ​me​ ​on​ ​your​ ​knees​ ​and​ ​put​ ​lotion​ ​on​ ​my​ ​bottom.​ ​​​I​ ​want​ ​you​ ​to take​ ​your​ ​time​ ​and​ ​do​ ​an​ ​extra​ ​good​ ​job​ ​there.​ ​​​Without​ ​touching​ ​your​ ​joke of​ ​a​ ​dick​ ​anymore.​ ​​​I​ ​mean,​ ​really,​ ​I​ ​don't​ ​want​ ​it​ ​squirting​ ​on​ ​my​ ​floor,​ ​even if​ ​hardly​ ​anything​ ​comes​ ​out​ ​of​ ​it."

Tiffany​ ​kept​ ​him​ ​there​ ​until​ ​he​ ​had​ ​also​ ​done​ ​her​ ​legs.​ ​​​Paul​ ​was​ ​a​ ​mass​ ​of frustrations​ ​by​ ​the​ ​time​ ​Jessica's​ ​voice​ ​interrupted​ ​again.

The​ ​sorority​ ​head​ ​announced,​ ​"Time​ ​for​ ​one​ ​more​ ​request.​ ​​​Who's​ ​going​ ​to be​ ​the​ ​lucky​ ​girl?"

This​ ​time​ ​one​ ​voice​ ​spoke​ ​instantly.​ ​​​"This​ ​is​ ​Crystal.​ ​​​I​ ​need​ ​maid​ ​service. There's​ ​a​ ​bottle​ ​of​ ​pink​ ​wine​ ​in​ ​the​ ​fridge.​ ​​​I​ ​want​ ​Bimbo​ ​to​ ​fetch​ ​it,​ ​along with​ ​three​ ​glasses,​ ​and​ ​bring​ ​everything​ ​right​ ​here.​ ​​​Room​ ​7."

He​ ​looked​ ​at​ ​Tiffany's​ ​lotion​ ​coated​ ​figure​ ​with​ ​longing​ ​eyes​ ​before​ ​scooting out​ ​the​ ​door​ ​and​ ​rushing​ ​to​ ​the​ ​kitchen.​ ​​​Two​ ​girls​ ​were​ ​sitting​ ​there​ ​in​ ​very short​ ​belted​ ​robes.

One​ ​told​ ​him​ ​bitchily,​ ​"That​ ​clown​ ​look​ ​is​ ​a​ ​real​ ​fashion​ ​faux​ ​pas,​ ​honey. It's​ ​like​ ​a​ ​drag​ ​queen​ ​played​ ​coloring-book​ ​all​ ​over​ ​your​ ​face."

"And​ ​whatever​ ​that​ ​is​ ​where​ ​a​ ​cock​ ​should​ ​be..."​ ​the​ ​other​ ​threw​ ​in​ ​with nasty​ ​disdain.​ ​​​"...​ ​it's​ ​a​ ​lost​ ​cause."

When​ ​he​ ​got​ ​to​ ​Vanity's​ ​room​ ​she​ ​was​ ​with​ ​another​ ​girl,​ ​a​ ​lovely​ ​Latina named​ ​Cierra,​ ​who​ ​reminded​ ​him​ ​of​ ​Angie.​ ​​​​​They​ ​wore​ ​see-through,​ ​baby doll​ ​nighties.​ ​​​He​ ​had​ ​to​ ​open​ ​the​ ​wine​ ​and​ ​pour​ ​for​ ​them​ ​while​ ​they​ ​sat​ ​on wingback​ ​chairs​ ​that​ ​were​ ​arranged​ ​so​ ​they​ ​watched​ ​him​ ​from​ ​two​ ​different angles.​ ​​​Then​ ​Vanity​ ​told​ ​him​ ​he​ ​could​ ​wear​ ​what​ ​was​ ​on​ ​the​ ​bed.​ ​​​He​ ​was briefly​ ​grateful​ ​that​ ​he​ ​would​ ​be​ ​able​ ​to​ ​cover​ ​himself,​ ​until​ ​he​ ​saw​ ​that​ ​it was​ ​only​ ​a​ ​tiny​

​lace​ ​apron.​ ​​​As​ ​he​ ​tried​ ​unsuccessfully​ ​to​ ​knot​ ​its​ ​wide​ ​ties, Angie​ ​summoned​ ​him​ ​over​ ​so​ ​she​ ​could​ ​do​ ​it.​ ​​​The​ ​dark-haired​ ​girl​ ​made​ ​a big​ ​bow.​ ​​​As​ ​they​ ​sat​ ​and​ ​sipped​ ​their​ ​wine,​ ​he​ ​had​ ​to​ ​practice​ ​curtsies, walk​ ​around​ ​on​ ​his​ ​toes​ ​as​ ​if​ ​he​ ​wore​ ​invisible​ ​heels,​ ​and​ ​speak​ ​to​ ​them​ ​in his​ ​poor​ ​attempt​ ​at​ ​a​ ​French​ ​accent.

Vanity​ ​said,​ ​"Sissy​ ​maid,​ ​show​ ​us​ ​what's​ ​under​ ​your​ ​pretty​ ​apron."

When​ ​he​ ​lifted​ ​it​ ​up,​ ​Cierra​ ​snickered​ ​and​ ​said,​ ​"What's​ ​that,​ ​you​ ​have down​ ​there,​ ​Bimbo?​ ​​​And​ ​tell​ ​us​ ​in​ ​detail,​ ​so​ ​all​ ​the​ ​other​ ​girls​ ​can​ ​have​ ​a chuckle,​ ​too."

He​ ​cringed​ ​inwardly​ ​as​ ​he​ ​stayed​ ​in​ ​character​ ​and​ ​said,​ ​"Madame,​ ​zat​ ​ees moi...​ ​deenky​ ​deeky.​ ​​​Eet​ ​ees​ ​small​ ​like​ ​zee...​ ​escargot."

The​ ​nasty​ ​girls​ ​made​ ​him​ ​continue​ ​like​ ​that,​ ​swishing​ ​around​ ​on​ ​his​ ​toes, doing​ ​a​ ​strenuous​ ​can-can​ ​imitation,​ ​and​ ​pretending​ ​to​ ​be​ ​a​ ​French prostitute,​ ​trying​ ​to​ ​pick​ ​up​ ​men​ ​who​ ​were​ ​played​ ​by​ ​the​ ​girls.​ ​​​As​ ​he deepened​ ​his​ ​mortification​ ​with​ ​the​ ​lewd​ ​offers​ ​they​ ​had​ ​him​ ​make,​ ​laughter filled​ ​the​ ​house.

By​ ​the​ ​time​ ​they​ ​were​ ​done​ ​with​ ​him​ ​he​ ​was​ ​feeling​ ​unsteady.​ ​​​He​ ​just wanted​ ​to​ ​be​ ​told​ ​he​ ​could​ ​get​ ​out​ ​of​ ​his​ ​clown​ ​make-up,​ ​get​ ​into​ ​his​ ​male clothes,​ ​and​ ​go​ ​see​ ​Hannah.​ ​​​But​ ​they​ ​weren't​ ​quite​ ​done​ ​with​ ​him. Jessica​ ​still​ ​had​ ​his​ ​cell​ ​phone​ ​and​ ​wanted​ ​the​ ​password​ ​to​ ​his​ ​computer. She​ ​took​ ​at​ ​least​ ​a​ ​dozen​ ​more​ ​pictures​ ​of​ ​him​ ​with​ ​his​ ​own​ ​phone,​ ​saying they​ ​would​ ​help​ ​him​ ​remember​ ​all​ ​the​ ​fun​ ​he'd​ ​just​ ​had.​ ​​​The​ ​other​ ​girls captured​ ​a​ ​few​ ​more​ ​shots​ ​as​ ​well.​ ​​​Many​ ​of​ ​them​ ​had​ ​him​ ​posing​ ​with sorority​ ​sisters,​ ​most​ ​of​ ​who​ ​were​ ​in​ ​bras​ ​and​ ​panties.​ ​​​They​ ​kept​ ​their faces​ ​hidden​ ​but​ ​made​ ​sure​ ​the​ ​cameras​ ​got​ ​good​ ​looks​ ​at​ ​him.​ ​​​He​ ​had​ ​to smile​ ​for​ ​many​ ​of​ ​the​ ​images,​ ​as​ ​if​ ​he​ ​was​ ​enjoying​ ​himself.​ ​​​At​ ​last​ ​they returned​ ​his​ ​phone​ ​to​ ​him​ ​and​ ​told​ ​him​ ​he​ ​could​ ​remove​ ​the​ ​apron,​ ​dress and​ ​go.​ ​​​He​ ​looked​ ​around​ ​and​ ​didn't​ ​see​ ​his​ ​clothes.​ ​​​And​ ​he​ ​still​ ​had​ ​that exaggeratedly​ ​girly​ ​face​ ​on.

"And​ ​just​ ​think,"​ ​Jessica​ ​said​ ​pleasantly.​ ​​​"The​ ​dance​ ​will​ ​be​ ​soon​ ​and​ ​then we'll​ ​be​ ​done​ ​with​ ​you.​ ​​​So​ ​all​ ​you​ ​have​ ​to​ ​do​ ​is​ ​show​ ​up,​ ​get​ ​made-up, wear​ ​your​ ​sissy​ ​clown​ ​costume,​ ​and​ ​do​ ​whatever​ ​we​ ​tell​ ​you​ ​at​ ​the​ ​event. Oh,​ ​and​ ​be​ ​certain​ ​you​ ​have​ ​no​ ​body​ ​hair​ ​anywhere.​ ​​​This​ ​has​ ​to​ ​be​ ​a complete​ ​look.​ ​​​That's​ ​everything.​ ​​​It's​ ​that​ ​easy.​ ​​​I'm​ ​sure​ ​you'll​ ​be​ ​on​ ​your best​ ​behavior,​ ​so​ ​we​ ​won't​ ​have​ ​to​ ​use​ ​any​ ​of​ ​the​ ​photos​ ​we​ ​have​ ​of​ ​you, from​ ​before​ ​and​ ​tonight​ ​too.​ ​​​Isn't​ ​that​ ​true,​ ​Bimbo?"

He​ ​nodded.​ ​​​"Yes,​ ​Ma'am.​ ​​​I'll​ ​do​ ​whatever​ ​I'm​ ​told.​ ​​​And​ ​then​ ​it​ ​will​ ​be​ ​over. Thank​ ​you,​ ​Jessica."​ ​​​He​ ​hated​ ​to​ ​hear​ ​himself​ ​sounding​ ​so​ ​weak​ ​willed, but​ ​it​ ​was​ ​the​ ​wisest​ ​thing​ ​to​ ​do.

She​ ​told​ ​him​ ​some​ ​of​ ​the​ ​girls​ ​would​ ​help​ ​him​ ​remove​ ​his​ ​make-up​ ​and then​ ​--​ ​probably​ ​--​ ​give​ ​him​ ​back​ ​his​ ​clothes.​ ​​​Well,​ ​they​ ​did​ ​help​ ​him remove​ ​his​ ​clown​ ​face,​ ​but​ ​that​ ​came​ ​with​ ​the​ ​cost​ ​of​ ​more​ ​taunting comments,​ ​including​ ​plenty​ ​of​ ​jibes​ ​at​ ​his​ ​anatomical​ ​insufficiency.​ ​​​They also​ ​pretended​ ​to​ ​be​ ​attracted​ ​to​ ​him,​ ​and​ ​ran​ ​their​ ​hands​ ​over​ ​his​ ​bare skin.​ ​​​That​ ​got​ ​him​ ​worked​ ​up​ ​yet​ ​again.​ ​​​It​ ​was​ ​confusing​ ​to​ ​find​ ​himself responding​ ​that​ ​way​ ​under​ ​these​ ​bizarre​ ​circumstances.​ ​​​Paul​ ​was questioning​ ​his​ ​sexual​ ​reactions​ ​to​ ​being​ ​mistreated​ ​and​ ​forced​ ​to​ ​dress​ ​all swishy.​ ​​​They​ ​made​ ​him​ ​plead​ ​for​ ​his​ ​clothes​ ​and​ ​then,​ ​before​ ​he​ ​could​ ​put them​ ​on,​ ​crawl​ ​around​ ​naked​ ​and​ ​kiss​ ​each​ ​girl's​ ​feet.​ ​​​He​ ​was​ ​finally allowed​ ​to​ ​put​ ​everything​ ​on,​ ​including​ ​his​ ​shorts,​ ​which​ ​someone​ ​had bothered​ ​to​ ​retrieve.

At​ ​last​ ​he​ ​got​ ​out​ ​of​ ​there.​ ​​​Paul's​ ​mind​ ​was​ ​reeling.​ ​​​He​ ​wandered​ ​back​ ​to his​ ​place,​ ​stopping​ ​several​ ​times​ ​along​ ​the​ ​way​ ​just​ ​to​ ​organize​ ​his thinking.​ ​​​The​ ​dance​ ​was​ ​approaching.​ ​​​He​ ​just​ ​had​ ​to​ ​get​ ​a​ ​bit​ ​further​ ​and then​ ​all​ ​this​ ​would​ ​be​ ​behind​ ​him.​ ​​​He​ ​got​ ​into​ ​his​ ​familiar​ ​surroundings​ ​and stripped​ ​down​ ​to​ ​his​ ​shorts.​ ​​​He​ ​almost​ ​didn't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​be​ ​in​ ​those,​ ​after what​ ​had​ ​happened​ ​to​ ​him​ ​while​ ​wearing​ ​them.​ ​​​As​ ​much​ ​as​ ​he​ ​wanted​ ​to be​ ​with​ ​Hannah,​ ​and​ ​perhaps​ ​get​ ​some​ ​sexual​ ​relief,​ ​he​ ​was​ ​too​ ​shaken up.​ ​​​So​ ​he​ ​called​ ​and​ ​told​ ​her​ ​he​ ​had​ ​to​ ​study.​ ​​​She​ ​acted​ ​skeptical​ ​but​ ​he

insisted​ ​it​ ​was​ ​true.​ ​​​He​ ​felt​ ​enervated​ ​and​ ​just​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​get​ ​to​ ​sleep.​ ​​​At the​ ​same​ ​time,​ ​his​ ​nerves​ ​were​ ​humming​ ​and​ ​he​ ​felt​ ​like​ ​he​ ​might​ ​be​ ​up​ ​all night.​ ​​​He​ ​thought​ ​of​ ​having​ ​a​ ​drink​ ​but​ ​knew​ ​he​ ​didn't​ ​tolerate​ ​alcohol​ ​well. So​ ​he​ ​stayed​ ​in​ ​the​ ​shorts,​ ​decided​ ​not​ ​to​ ​drink,​ ​and​ ​fell​ ​into​ ​bed.​ ​​​Paul​ ​lay there​ ​trying​ ​to​ ​plan​ ​but,​ ​with​ ​Jessica​ ​and​ ​her​ ​posse​ ​so​ ​in​ ​control,​ ​he understood​ ​that​ ​simply​ ​going​ ​along​ ​with​ ​their​ ​whims​ ​was​ ​his​ ​only​ ​path through​ ​all​ ​this.​ ​​​Eventually​ ​he​ ​drifted​ ​into​ ​an​ ​uneasy​ ​sleep.​ ​​​His​ ​last thoughts​ ​were​ ​of​ ​Hannah,​ ​and​ ​how​ ​he​ ​would​ ​deal​ ​with​ ​her.

The​ ​next​ ​morning​ ​and​ ​afternoon​ ​were​ ​a​ ​repeat,​ ​with​ ​straying​ ​thoughts​ ​in class,​ ​and​ ​unease​ ​whenever​ ​in​ ​the​ ​presence​ ​of​ ​one​ ​of​ ​the​ ​Delta​ ​Virago girls.​ ​​​He​ ​passed​ ​Jessica​ ​on​ ​the​ ​quad​ ​and​ ​she​ ​gave​ ​him​ ​a​ ​crafty​ ​smile, which​ ​made​ ​him​ ​go​ ​cold​ ​inside.​ ​​​Finally​ ​his​ ​classes​ ​were​ ​over​ ​and​ ​it​ ​was time​ ​to​ ​see​ ​Hannah.​ ​​​He​ ​didn't​ ​relish​ ​having​ ​to​ ​avoid​ ​the​ ​truth​ ​with​ ​her. Paul​ ​knew​ ​how​ ​much​ ​she​ ​hated​ ​a​ ​liar.​ ​​​But​ ​it​ ​was​ ​something​ ​he​ ​had​ ​to​ ​do. What​ ​would​ ​she​ ​think​ ​of​ ​him​ ​if​ ​she​ ​knew​ ​even​ ​a​ ​fraction​ ​of​ ​what​ ​had​ ​been going​ ​on?

When​ ​they​ ​were​ ​together​ ​in​ ​her​ ​room​ ​he​ ​said,​ ​"You​ ​really​ ​look​ ​nice,​ ​honey. You...​ ​you're...​ ​um...​ ​looking​ ​good."

Her​ ​face​ ​grew​ ​quizzical.​ ​​​"Are​ ​you​ ​okay,​ ​Paul?​ ​​​You've​ ​been​ ​acting​ ​odd​ ​and it's​ ​getting​ ​worse."

"No.​ ​​​Everything's​ ​fine.​ ​​​I'm​ ​fine."​ ​​​He​ ​forced​ ​himself​ ​to​ ​slow​ ​down.​ ​​​"I've​ ​just been...​ ​thinking​ ​about​ ​my​ ​classes​ ​a​ ​lot."

She​ ​said​ ​uncertainly,​ ​"If​ ​you​ ​say​ ​so.​ ​​​Just​ ​understand​ ​that​ ​I'd​ ​rather​ ​have​ ​to deal​ ​with​ ​a​ ​difficult​ ​truth​ ​than​ ​a​ ​comforting​ ​lie."

"Hey,"​ ​he​ ​shot​ ​back​ ​a​ ​bit​ ​too​ ​quickly,​ ​"I​ ​understand."​ ​​​Then​ ​he​ ​calmed himself​ ​and​ ​added,​ ​"No​ ​lies.​ ​​​I​ ​promise."

"All​ ​right."​ ​​​She​ ​sounded​ ​more​ ​convinced.​ ​​​Then​ ​she​ ​had​ ​a​ ​new​ ​concern. "Hey,​ ​you​ ​didn't​ ​get​ ​invited​ ​to​ ​that​ ​formal​ ​dance,​ ​did​ ​you?"

"Me?"​ ​​​If​ ​he​ ​was​ ​accurate​ ​about​ ​it,​ ​he​ ​honestly​ ​hadn't​ ​received​ ​an invitation.​ ​​​So​ ​he​ ​assured​ ​her,​ ​"I​ ​absolutely​ ​didn't​ ​get​ ​invited​ ​to​ ​the​ ​dance. If​ ​I​ ​had,​ ​wouldn't​ ​I​ ​have​ ​asked​ ​you​ ​to​ ​go​ ​with​ ​me?"

Something​ ​about​ ​the​ ​way​ ​he​ ​was​ ​talking​ ​made​ ​her​ ​doubt​ ​him​ ​even​ ​more. Hannah​ ​started​ ​to​ ​feel​ ​annoyed​ ​and​ ​vindictive​ ​again.

She​ ​said,​ ​"Well,​ ​I​ ​suppose​ ​you're​ ​not​ ​the​ ​kind​ ​of​ ​guy​ ​who​ ​would​ ​be​ ​asked to​ ​attend​ ​an​ ​event​ ​like​ ​that​ ​anyway.​ ​​​I​ ​know​ ​those​ ​girls​ ​from​

​Delta​ ​Virago will​ ​be​ ​there.​ ​​​And​ ​their​ ​boyfriends​ ​from​ ​Alpha​ ​Ebony​ ​.​ ​​​Those​ ​girls​ ​with their​ ​jewelry​ ​that​ ​has​ ​to​ ​have​ ​those​ ​spades​ ​on​ ​it,​ ​like​ ​from​ ​playing​ ​cards. I've​ ​even​ ​heard​ ​they​ ​have​ ​panties​ ​with​ ​that​ ​on​ ​them.​ ​​​Plus​ ​their​ ​dates​ ​will all​ ​be​ ​Black.​ ​​​I​ ​guess​ ​some​ ​girls​ ​are​ ​naturally​ ​attracted​ ​to​ ​guys​ ​like​ ​that. Big...​ ​strong...​ ​confident...​ ​and​ ​well​ ​equipped​ ​for..."​ ​​​She​ ​paused​ ​to​ ​let​ ​Paul imagine​ ​what​ ​the​ ​last​ ​word​ ​might​ ​be​ ​before​ ​she​ ​finished​ ​with,​ ​"...​ ​athletics."

He​ ​told​ ​her,​ ​"Sure.​ ​​​Those​ ​girls.​ ​​​Who​ ​needs​ ​them.​ ​​​And​ ​their​ ​dates.​ ​​​Big deal."

"Exactly.​ ​​​Guys​ ​with​ ​big​ ​deals.​ ​​​You​ ​wouldn't​ ​fit​ ​in​ ​anyway.​ ​​​I'm​ ​sure​ ​you'll be​ ​happier​ ​with​ ​whatever​ ​you're​ ​doing​ ​tomorrow​ ​night."

"Yeah.​ ​​​Just​ ​have​ ​to​ ​catch​ ​up​ ​on​ ​a​ ​few​ ​things."​ ​​​He​ ​hadn't​ ​liked​ ​her flattering​ ​description​ ​of​ ​the​ ​Alpha​ ​Ebony​ ​members.​ ​​​Was​ ​she​ ​contrasting them​ ​with​ ​him?​ ​​​Whatever.​ ​​​Besides,​ ​he​ ​told​ ​himself,​ ​not​ ​all​ ​of​ ​the​ ​Delta sisters​ ​would​ ​be​ ​with​ ​Ebony​ ​brothers.​ ​​​Or​ ​at​ ​least​ ​he​ ​didn't​ ​think​ ​so.​ ​​​Sure. The​ ​Viragos​ ​probably​ ​had​ ​other​ ​guys​ ​who​ ​were​ ​more​ ​appropriate​ ​for​ ​the big​ ​occasion,​ ​and​ ​would​ ​chaperone​ ​them​ ​for​ ​the​ ​one​ ​night.​ ​​​There​ ​would most​ ​likely​ ​only​ ​be​ ​a​ ​scattering​ ​of​ ​the​ ​Black​ ​frat​ ​boys.​ ​​​He​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​make peace​ ​with​ ​Hannah​ ​so​ ​he​ ​said,​ ​"And​ ​after​ ​tomorrow​ ​I'll​ ​be​ ​free.​ ​​​In​ ​fact,​ ​on Saturday​ ​we​ ​can​ ​do​ ​anything​ ​you​ ​want.​ ​​​Your​ ​choice.​ ​​​Totally."​ ​​​He​ ​was anxious​ ​to​ ​reassure​ ​her,​ ​especially​ ​because​ ​he​ ​hadn't​ ​been​ ​completely truthful.​ ​​​"We'll​ ​have​ ​a​ ​good​ ​time."

"All​ ​right,"​ ​she​ ​agreed​ ​in​ ​a​ ​neutral​ ​tone.​ ​​​"So​ ​long​ ​as​ ​you're​ ​being​ ​straight with​ ​me."​ ​​​She​ ​smirked.​ ​​​"I​ ​like​ ​my​ ​guys​ ​straight."

He​ ​laughed​ ​halfheartedly.​ ​​​"You​ ​got​ ​it.​ ​​​Straight​ ​and...​ ​um...​ ​all​ ​yours."

Now​ ​he​ ​was​ ​more​ ​eager​ ​than​ ​ever​ ​to​ ​be​ ​done​ ​with​ ​the​ ​dance.​ ​​​It​ ​would​ ​be terrific​ ​to​ ​return​ ​to​ ​peace​ ​and​ ​calm​ ​with​ ​Hannah.​ ​​​And​ ​then​ ​everything would​ ​be​ ​okay.

*********
A​ ​FORMAL​ ​EDUCATION​ ​4,​ ​by​ ​Throne

Paul​ ​approached​ ​the​ ​sorority​ ​house​ ​with​ ​trepidation.​ ​​​He​ ​didn't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​go through​ ​with​ ​this.​ ​​​And​ ​he​ ​wouldn't​ ​have,​ ​except​ ​that​ ​the​ ​sisters​ ​had​ ​a wealth​ ​of​ ​blackmail​ ​material​ ​to​ ​use​ ​against​ ​him.​ ​​​Some​ ​of​ ​the​ ​shots​ ​they possessed,​ ​along​ ​with​ ​their​ ​information​ ​about​ ​him​ ​trespassing​ ​and​ ​breaking and​ ​entering,​ ​could​ ​get​ ​him​ ​into​ ​deep​ ​trouble.​ ​​​He​ ​squared​ ​his​ ​narrow shoulders​ ​and​ ​went​ ​to​ ​the​ ​front​ ​door​ ​of​ ​Delta​ ​Virago​ ​Delta.​ ​​​Before​ ​he​ ​could knock​ ​it​ ​was​ ​opened​ ​and​ ​two​ ​of​ ​the​ ​girls​ ​pulled​ ​him​ ​inside.​ ​​​They​ ​were​ ​in bras​ ​and​ ​panties,​ ​very​ ​fancy​ ​ones​ ​he​ ​noticed,​ ​presumably​ ​because​ ​they were​ ​getting​ ​ready​ ​for​ ​the​ ​Spring​ ​Formal.​ ​​​Jessica​ ​and​ ​Tiffany​ ​appeared, plainly​ ​enjoying​ ​his​ ​discomfort​ ​and​ ​helplessness.​ ​​​They​

​led​ ​him​ ​to​ ​the bedroom​ ​where​ ​he'd​ ​been​ ​costumed​ ​and​ ​made​ ​up​ ​before.​ ​​​He​ ​had​ ​to​ ​strip under​ ​their​ ​amused​ ​eyes​ ​and​ ​stand​ ​there​ ​naked,​ ​his​ ​body​ ​smooth​ ​and hairless.

"Now,"​ ​said​ ​Jessica.​ ​​​"Let's​ ​get​ ​you​ ​ready​ ​for​ ​your​ ​public​ ​exposure.​ ​​​I​ ​mean your​ ​public​ ​premier."​ ​​​She​ ​laughed.​ ​​​"Maybe​ ​we​ ​should​ ​leave​ ​you​ ​just​ ​the way​ ​you​ ​are​ ​and​ ​do​ ​your​ ​costume​ ​and​ ​face​ ​after​ ​we​ ​arrive,​ ​where​ ​everyone can​ ​see."

"No,​ ​please,"​ ​Paul​ ​pleaded.​ ​​​"It's​ ​bad​ ​enough​ ​this​ ​way."
She​ ​sighed​ ​dramatically.​ ​​​"Oh,​ ​all​ ​right,​ ​crybaby.​ ​​​Now​ ​give​ ​me​ ​your​

​phone
because​ ​there​ ​aren't​ ​any​ ​pockets​ ​in​ ​your​ ​bodysuit."

"I..."​ ​​​He​ ​saw​ ​the​ ​futility​ ​of​ ​opposing​ ​her.​ ​​​"All​ ​right."​ ​​​He​ ​reluctantly surrendered​ ​his​ ​phone.

She​ ​immediately​ ​took​ ​a​ ​picture​ ​of​ ​him,​ ​saying,​ ​"One​ ​more​ ​memento​ ​for your​ ​growing​ ​collection."​ ​​​Then​ ​she​ ​tucked​ ​his​ ​phone​ ​into​ ​her​ ​deep cleavage,​ ​where​ ​it​ ​was​ ​held​ ​in​ ​place​ ​by​ ​those​ ​glorious​ ​globes,​ ​telling​ ​him, "For​ ​safekeeping."

The​ ​girls​ ​went​ ​to​ ​work​ ​on​ ​his​ ​face,​ ​recreating​ ​the​ ​exaggeratedly​ ​feminine look​ ​they​ ​had​ ​given​ ​him​ ​before.​ ​​​If​ ​anything,​ ​they​ ​made​ ​it​ ​even​ ​more extreme.​ ​​​Then,​ ​instead​ ​of​ ​putting​ ​a​ ​wig​ ​on​ ​his​ ​head,​ ​they​ ​teased​ ​up​ ​his hair,​ ​sprayed​ ​it,​ ​did​ ​some​ ​more​ ​fussing,​ ​and​ ​added​ ​a​ ​large​ ​flopping​ ​bow. Next​ ​came​ ​that​ ​bodysuit​ ​with​ ​its​ ​wide,​ ​garish​ ​vertical​ ​stripes.​ ​​​He​ ​squirmed himself​ ​into​ ​it.​ ​​​Then​ ​they​ ​added​ ​the​ ​cuffs​ ​and​ ​collar.​ ​​​Tiffany​ ​stepped​ ​in​ ​to put​ ​the​ ​'skirt'​ ​on​ ​him​ ​herself.​ ​​​As​ ​she​ ​made​ ​final​ ​adjustments​ ​she intentionally​ ​ran​ ​her​ ​hand​ ​over​ ​his​ ​genitals.​ ​​​He​ ​moaned​ ​and​ ​felt​ ​himself getting​ ​hard.​ ​​​She​ ​pretended​ ​she​ ​thought​ ​she​ ​had​ ​done​ ​something​ ​wrong down​ ​there,​ ​and​ ​used​ ​that​ ​​​as​ ​an​ ​excuse​ ​to​ ​feel​ ​around​ ​some​ ​more.​ ​​​Soon he​ ​had​ ​a​ ​demanding​ ​erection.​ ​​​The​ ​ruffles​ ​at​ ​his​ ​waist​ ​were​ ​so​ ​short​ ​that​ ​all the​ ​girls​ ​could​ ​see​ ​it.

"Ha!​ ​​​Look​ ​at​ ​his​ ​peanut​ ​dick." "Yeah,​ ​the​ ​funny​ ​little​ ​gherkin."

"Like​ ​one​ ​of​ ​those​ ​Vienna​ ​sausages,"​ ​suggested​ ​Tiffany.​ ​​​"I​ ​sure​ ​hope​ ​he doesn't​ ​get​ ​all​ ​excited​ ​that​ ​way​ ​during​ ​the​ ​dance.​ ​​​I​ ​mean,​ ​people​ ​wouldn't be​ ​able​ ​to​ ​stop​ ​looking...​ ​and​ ​laughing."

Hearing​ ​that,​ ​the​ ​other​ ​girls​ ​did​ ​laugh.​ ​​​Someone​ ​grabbed​ ​Paul's​ ​butt​ ​and gave​ ​it​ ​a​ ​squeeze.​ ​​​Amber​ ​stepped​ ​up​ ​and​ ​teased​ ​his​ ​nipples​ ​through​ ​the clinging​ ​material.

She​ ​said,​ ​"Be​ ​careful,​ ​Bimbo.​ ​​​Maintain​ ​your​ ​control.​ ​​​Otherwise​ ​you'll​ ​be going​ ​to​ ​the​ ​dance​ ​with​ ​a​ ​disgraceful​ ​wet​ ​spot​ ​down​ ​there.​ ​​​And everybody'll​ ​know​ ​what​ ​caused​ ​it."

Once​ ​the​ ​girls​ ​stopped​ ​touching​ ​him​ ​he​ ​was​ ​able​ ​to​ ​avoid​ ​squirting.​ ​​​They gave​ ​him​ ​his​ ​ballet​ ​slippers​ ​and​ ​his​ ​outfit​ ​was​ ​complete.​ ​​​Or​ ​at​ ​least​ ​he thought​ ​it​ ​was.​ ​​​There​ ​were​ ​a​ ​few​ ​extra​ ​touches​ ​he​ ​hadn't​ ​been​ ​shown before.​ ​​​First​ ​there​ ​was​ ​an​ ​oversized​ ​pacifier​ ​on​ ​a​ ​wide​ ​pink​ ​ribbon,​ ​which was​ ​hung​ ​around​ ​his​ ​neck.​ ​​​Then​ ​there​ ​was​ ​a​ ​foot​ ​long​ ​black​ ​dildo​ ​that​ ​was attached​ ​to​ ​the​ ​waistband​ ​of​ ​his​ ​skirt.​ ​​​He​ ​was​ ​told​ ​to​ ​hold​ ​it​ ​pointing​ ​up under​ ​his​ ​chin​ ​but,​ ​if​ ​he​ ​needed​ ​his​ ​hands​ ​free​ ​for​ ​anything​ ​else​ ​it​ ​would hang​ ​by​ ​his​ ​side.​ ​​​And​ ​finally​ ​there​ ​was​ ​a​ ​fanny​ ​pack​ ​on​ ​a​ ​belt​ ​that​ ​they​ ​put around​ ​his​ ​middle,​ ​under​ ​the​ ​skirt.​ ​​​He​ ​asked​ ​what​ ​was​ ​in​ ​it​ ​and​ ​they​ ​said​ ​it was​ ​full​ ​of​ ​surprises.​ ​​​He​ ​didn't​ ​like​ ​the​ ​sound​ ​of​ ​that.

It​ ​was​ ​almost​ ​time​ ​to​ ​go.​ ​​​He​ ​was​ ​still​ ​trying​ ​to​ ​think​ ​of​ ​some​ ​way​ ​to​ ​avoid the​ ​rest​ ​of​ ​the​ ​evening.​ ​​​Jessica​ ​casually​ ​mentioned​ ​the​ ​photos​ ​and​ ​videos they​ ​had​ ​of​ ​him,​ ​as​ ​if​ ​she​ ​knew​ ​what​ ​he​ ​was​ ​thinking.​ ​​​She​ ​even​ ​took another​ ​shot​ ​of​ ​him​ ​with​ ​his​ ​phone,​ ​while​ ​several​ ​other​ ​girls​ ​captured images​ ​with​ ​their​ ​own​ ​devices.​ ​​​One​ ​of​ ​them​ ​said​ ​she​ ​was​ ​sending​ ​her latest​ ​to​ ​someone,​ ​and​ ​then​ ​acted​ ​like​ ​she​ ​had​ ​accidently​ ​transmitted​ ​it​ ​to everyone​ ​on​ ​her​ ​mailing​ ​list.​ ​​​That​ ​got​ ​Paul​ ​terribly​ ​upset,​ ​until​ ​she chuckled​ ​and​ ​told​ ​him​

​she'd​ ​just​ ​been​ ​playing​ ​with​ ​his​ ​head.​ ​​​These​ ​mean bitchy​ ​girls​ ​thought​ ​of​ ​cruel​ ​mind​ ​games​ ​as​ ​legitimate​ ​recreation.

They​ ​hustled​ ​him​ ​out​ ​the​ ​front​ ​door​ ​toward​ ​someone's​ ​parked​ ​car.​ ​​​He noticed​ ​that​ ​they​ ​each​ ​had​ ​a​ ​'spades'​ ​sign​ ​somewhere:​ ​earrings,​ ​necklace, bracelet,​ ​ankle​ ​chain.​ ​​​Paul​ ​was​ ​ready​ ​to​ ​get​ ​in​ ​the​ ​auto​ ​when​ ​the​ ​girls began​ ​talking​ ​to​ ​each​ ​other.​ ​​​They​ ​were​ ​arguing​ ​over​ ​who​ ​would​ ​sit​ ​where. He​ ​was​ ​desperate​ ​to​ ​get​ ​out​ ​of​ ​sight​ ​and​ ​they​ ​were​ ​bothering​ ​with​ ​that nonsense.​ ​​​Other​ ​students,​ ​strolling​ ​the​ ​campus,​ ​were​ ​approaching.​ ​​​He looked​ ​for​ ​somewhere​ ​to​ ​conceal​ ​himself​ ​until​ ​they​ ​passed,​ ​but​ ​there​ ​was nowhere​ ​to​ ​go.​ ​​​As​ ​they​ ​approached,​ ​he​ ​tried​ ​to​ ​appear​ ​casual,​ ​as​ ​if​ ​he was​ ​in​ ​on​ ​the​ ​joke​ ​of​ ​his​ ​weird​ ​appearance.​ ​​​Like​ ​he​ ​was​ ​just​ ​being​ ​a​ ​good sport​ ​about​ ​whatever​ ​was​ ​involved.​ ​​​But​ ​as​ ​the​ ​two​ ​couples​ ​passed​ ​they gave​ ​him​ ​disturbed​ ​glances.​ ​​​He​ ​cringed​ ​inwardly.

Finally​ ​the​ ​girls​ ​stopped​ ​their​ ​discussion...​ ​and​ ​broke​ ​into​ ​laughter.​ ​​​"Sorry," Tiffany​ ​told​ ​him​ ​with​ ​zero​ ​sincerity.​ ​​​"We​ ​just​ ​thought​ ​it​ ​would​ ​be​ ​funny​ ​to keep​ ​you​ ​on​ ​the​ ​sidewalk​ ​until​ ​those​ ​guys​ ​and​ ​gals​ ​got​ ​a​ ​good​ ​look​ ​at​ ​you. Pretty​ ​funny.​ ​​​Right?"

"It...​ ​if​ ​I​ ​could​ ​just​ ​get​ ​into​ ​the​ ​car..."

"Or​ ​if​ ​you​ ​could​ ​walk​ ​to​ ​the​ ​hall​ ​at​ ​the​ ​other​ ​end​ ​of​ ​the​ ​campus​ ​because you're​ ​being​ ​a​ ​drag."​ ​​​She​ ​thought​ ​for​ ​a​ ​second.​ ​​​"Hey,​ ​you're​ ​being​ ​a​ ​drag while​ ​you're​ ​in​ ​drag.​ ​​​I​ ​made​ ​a​ ​funny."

He​ ​was​ ​at​ ​last​ ​allowed​ ​to​ ​gain​ ​the​ ​relative​ ​concealment​ ​of​ ​the​ ​car's​ ​interior. Paul​ ​ended​ ​up​ ​in​ ​the​ ​back​ ​seat,​ ​between​ ​Amber​ ​and​ ​Vanity.​ ​​​They​ ​made sure​ ​to​ ​press​ ​their​ ​breasts​ ​against​ ​his​ ​slender​ ​arms​ ​and​ ​whispered suggestive​ ​comments​ ​into​ ​his​ ​ears.​ ​​​He​ ​was​ ​afraid​ ​of​ ​getting​ ​aroused​ ​again and,​ ​if​ ​they​ ​didn't​ ​stop,​ ​ending​ ​up​ ​with​ ​a​ ​wet​ ​cum​ ​spot​ ​where​ ​everyone could​ ​view​ ​it.​ ​​​But​ ​he​ ​made​ ​it​ ​to​ ​the​ ​hall​ ​without​ ​any​ ​major embarrassments.​ ​​​All​ ​right.​ ​​​He​ ​just​ ​had​ ​to​ ​get​ ​through​ ​the​ ​next​ ​few​ ​hours. He​ ​had​ ​assured​ ​himself​ ​that​ ​the​ ​crowd​ ​would​ ​most​ ​likely​ ​just​ ​have​ ​a​ ​hearty laugh​ ​at​ ​him​ ​and​ ​then​ ​get​ ​on​ ​with​ ​their​ ​original​ ​plans.​ ​​​And​ ​he​ ​had​ ​even convinced​ ​himself​ ​that,​ ​despite​ ​the​ ​presence​ ​of​ ​the​ ​Delta​ ​Virago​ ​Delta sisters,​ ​there​ ​wouldn't​ ​be​ ​that​ ​many​ ​guys​ ​from​ ​the​ ​Alpha​ ​Ebony​ ​Omega house.

So,​ ​when​ ​he​ ​exited​ ​the​ ​car,​ ​he​ ​was​ ​given​ ​a​ ​very​ ​unhappy​ ​revelation.​ ​​​There was​ ​a​ ​banner​ ​hung​ ​over​ ​the​ ​hall's​ ​entrance​ ​that​ ​announced​ ​the​ ​SPRING FORMAL​ ​DANCE​ ​and,​ ​underneath,​ ​that​ ​it​ ​was​ ​sponsored​ ​by​ ​not​ ​only​ ​the Viragos,​ ​but​ ​the​ ​Afros​ ​as​ ​well.​ ​​​The​ ​participation​ ​of​ ​the​ ​fraternity​ ​house meant​ ​that​ ​all​ ​its​ ​members​ ​would​ ​be​ ​there.​ ​​​Every​ ​single​ ​one​ ​of​ ​the​ ​Black jocks​ ​would​ ​see​ ​him​ ​in​ ​his​ ​laughable​ ​clown​ ​role.

"Come​ ​on,​ ​Bimbo,"​ ​Jessica​ ​said​ ​cheerily,​ ​relishing​ ​his​ ​obvious​ ​distress. "What's​ ​the​ ​matter,​ ​sissy?"

"The...​ ​Afros...​ ​are​ ​here."

"Well,​ ​duh.​ ​​​The​ ​Viragos​ ​are​ ​dating​ ​them.​ ​​​So​ ​we​ ​gave​ ​them​ ​credit​ ​for co-sponsorship.​ ​​​They​ ​needed​ ​some​ ​good​ ​public​ ​relations​ ​after​ ​a​ ​few​ ​of​ ​the stunts​ ​they​ ​pulled.​ ​​​There​ ​was​ ​another​ ​wimp​ ​like​ ​you​ ​and​ ​Jessica,​ ​with​ ​her magical​ ​computer​ ​smarts,​ ​went​ ​into​ ​the​ ​system​ ​and​ ​had​ ​him​ ​assigned​ ​the their​ ​house.​ ​​​After​ ​what​ ​those​ ​dudes​ ​did​ ​to​ ​him,​ ​I​ ​don't​ ​think​ ​he'll​ ​be​ ​coming back​ ​to​ ​classes."​ ​​​She​ ​laughed​ ​fiendishly.​ ​​​"Another​ ​baby-dick​ ​lily-white​ ​like you,​ ​Bimbo."

More​ ​frightened​ ​than​ ​ever,​ ​he​ ​was​ ​half​ ​led,​ ​half​ ​dragged​ ​to​ ​the​ ​foot​ ​of​ ​the steps.​ ​​​Then​ ​Tiffany​ ​reminded​ ​him​ ​again​ ​about​ ​all​ ​the​ ​visual​ ​evidence​ ​they had​ ​of​ ​him.

She​ ​made​ ​sure​ ​to​ ​include,​ ​"And​ ​those​ ​shots​ ​we​ ​took​ ​a​ ​short​ ​while​ ​ago,​ ​of you​ ​before​ ​and​ ​after​ ​your​ ​make-up​ ​was​ ​applied,​ ​make​ ​it​ ​clear​ ​who​ ​our pansy​ ​clown​ ​really​ ​is.​ ​​​So​ ​look​ ​pretty​ ​and​ ​do​ ​what​ ​you're​ ​told,​ ​if​ ​you​ ​don't want​ ​them​ ​all​ ​over​ ​the​ ​Internet.​ ​​​Understood,​ ​creampuff?"

"Y...​ ​yes,​ ​Ma'am." "Good​ ​Bimbo."

They​ ​entered​ ​the​ ​hall.​ ​​​It​ ​was​ ​decorated​ ​with​ ​the​ ​expected​ ​crepe​ ​paper​ ​and balloons.​ ​​​Paul​ ​was​ ​unhappy​ ​to​ ​see​ ​plenty​ ​of​ ​the​ ​Black​ ​frat​ ​guys​ ​already there,​ ​with​ ​their​ ​white​ ​dates.​ ​​​There​ ​was​ ​a​ ​table​ ​with​ ​snacks​ ​and​ ​a​ ​huge punchbowl​ ​on​ ​it.​ ​​​Also​ ​plenty​ ​of​ ​alcohol​ ​and​ ​mixers.​ ​​​But​ ​what​ ​caught​ ​and held​ ​his​ ​attention​ ​the​ ​most​ ​was​ ​a​ ​booth​ ​against​ ​the​ ​back​ ​wall.​ ​​​It​ ​had​ ​a brightly​ ​painted​ ​sign​ ​at​ ​its​ ​top​ ​identifying​ ​it​ ​as​ ​Bimbo​ ​the​ ​Clown's Playhouse.​ ​​​His​ ​wish​ ​to​ ​be​ ​noticed​ ​only​ ​briefly​ ​and​ ​then​ ​fade​ ​into​ ​the background​ ​was​ ​quashed.​ ​​​Could​ ​it​ ​get​ ​any​ ​worse?​ ​​​Sure​ ​it​ ​could. Jessica's​ ​tall​ ​athletic​ ​boyfriend,​ ​Josh,​ ​was​ ​striding​ ​across​ ​the​ ​room​ ​toward them.​ ​​​She​ ​met​ ​him​ ​with​ ​open​ ​arms​ ​and​ ​they​ ​embraced​ ​warmly.​ ​​​His​ ​hand roamed​ ​down​ ​her​ ​back​ ​and​ ​gave​ ​her​ ​attractive​ ​bottom​ ​a​ ​few​ ​pats.

He​ ​stepped​ ​back​ ​and​ ​said,​ ​"Sorry​ ​I​ ​couldn't​ ​bring​ ​you​ ​myself,​ ​babe.​ ​​​But​ ​I knew​ ​it​ ​was​ ​important​ ​for​ ​you​ ​to​ ​get​ ​the​ ​entertainment​ ​ready.​ ​​​What's​ ​the sissy's​ ​name?​ ​​​Beat-Off​ ​the​ ​Clown?​ ​​​Or​ ​Bust-My-Ass​ ​the​ ​Clown?"

"It's​ ​Bimbo,"​ ​she​ ​said​ ​and​ ​gave​ ​Josh's​ ​bicep​ ​a​ ​squeeze​ ​through​ ​his​ ​jacket. "Maybe​ ​we​ ​should​ ​have​ ​come​ ​to​ ​you​ ​to​ ​help​ ​name​ ​the​ ​loser.​ ​​​You​ ​are​ ​so clever,​ ​lover."

"Yeah,"​ ​he​ ​agreed.​ ​​​"Look,​ ​I'm​ ​going​ ​to​ ​get​ ​a​ ​drink.​ ​​​How​ ​about​ ​I​ ​fix something​ ​for​ ​you,​ ​too.​ ​​​Got​ ​to​ ​get​ ​my​ ​bitch​ ​all​ ​loosened​ ​up."

"You​ ​know​ ​I'm​ ​going​ ​to​ ​be​ ​that​ ​way​ ​for​ ​you.​ ​​​No​ ​inhibitions​ ​when​ ​I'm​ ​with​ ​a real​ ​man.​ ​​​With​ ​super​ ​equipment."​ ​​​She​ ​rubbed​ ​the​ ​top​ ​of​ ​his​ ​thigh,​ ​her hand​ ​inching​ ​toward​ ​the​ ​enviable​ ​bulge​ ​nearby.​ ​​​"Still,​ ​I​ ​could​ ​use something​ ​from​ ​the​ ​bar​ ​over​ ​there.​ ​​​Whatever​ ​you​ ​think​ ​I'd​ ​like.​ ​​​You're​ ​so smart."

As​ ​the​ ​confident​ ​Black​ ​man​ ​strode​ ​away,​ ​Jessica​ ​took​ ​Paul​ ​by​ ​the​ ​wrist​ ​and walked​ ​him​ ​around​ ​the​ ​room.​ ​​​She​ ​introduced​ ​him​ ​to​ ​everyone,​ ​even​ ​her sorority​ ​sisters​ ​who​ ​already​ ​knew​ ​about​ ​what​ ​they​ ​were​ ​doing,​ ​as​ ​Bimbo. The​ ​Black​ ​guys​ ​were​ ​especially​ ​interested​ ​in​ ​this​ ​effeminate​ ​looking​ ​white guy.​ ​​​Tiffany​ ​went​ ​along​ ​with​ ​them,​ ​making​ ​sure​ ​he​ ​acted​ ​appropriately girly.​ ​​​He​ ​knew​ ​the​ ​limp​ ​wrists​ ​and​ ​soft​ ​voice​ ​they​ ​required​ ​were​ ​sending the​ ​wrong​ ​message,​ ​but​ ​he​ ​didn't​ ​dare​ ​disobey,​ ​not​ ​with​ ​the​ ​accumulation of​ ​damning​ ​pictures​ ​they​ ​had.​ ​​​Plus,​ ​his​ ​wallet​ ​and​ ​keys​ ​were​ ​back​ ​at​ ​the sorority​ ​house.​ ​​​As​ ​they​ ​made​ ​a​ ​circuit​ ​of​ ​the​ ​room,​ ​prompting​ ​laughter​ ​and insults​ ​directed​ ​at​ ​Paul,​ ​Josh​ ​caught​ ​up​ ​with​ ​them​ ​and​ ​handed​ ​Jessica​ ​her drink,​ ​a​ ​screwdriver.

She​ ​said,​ ​"Oh,​ ​a​ ​screw-me,​ ​driver.​ ​​​That's​ ​my​ ​favorite.​ ​​​Screw​ ​me​ ​and​ ​drive me."​ ​​​She​ ​offered​ ​him​ ​her​ ​lips​ ​and​ ​he​ ​kissed​ ​her​ ​greedily.

Paul​ ​was​ ​sick​ ​with​ ​envy.​ ​​​If​ ​only​ ​he​ ​could​ ​have​ ​come​ ​here​ ​as​ ​himself,​ ​with Hannah,​ ​and​ ​simply​ ​had​ ​a​ ​fun​ ​evening.​ ​​​But​ ​now​ ​he​

​was​ ​being​ ​humiliated to​ ​the​ ​limits​ ​of​ ​his​ ​endurance.​ ​​​And​ ​the​ ​night​ ​was​ ​still​ ​young.​ ​​​There​ ​was​ ​a DJ​ ​who​ ​started​ ​playing​ ​that​ ​annoying​ ​hip​ ​​​hop​ ​music.​ ​​​The​ ​lights​ ​were dimmed​ ​and​ ​some​ ​colored​ ​bulbs​ ​installed​ ​overhead​ ​began​ ​flashing.​ ​​​But one​ ​spot​ ​was​ ​still​ ​well​ ​illuminated.​ ​​​It​ ​was​ ​the​ ​clown​ ​booth.​ ​​​He​ ​had​ ​to​ ​put the​ ​pacifier​ ​in​ ​his​ ​mouth​ ​and​ ​hold​ ​the​ ​end​ ​of​ ​the​ ​dildo​ ​between​ ​his​ ​bottom cheeks.​ ​​​After​ ​a​ ​few​ ​dances,​ ​that​ ​was​ ​where​ ​Jessica​ ​and​ ​Tiffany​ ​steered him.​ ​​​Josh​ ​signaled​ ​to​ ​some​ ​of​ ​his​ ​buddies,​ ​who​ ​joined​ ​them.​ ​​​Soon​ ​others were​ ​attracted​ ​by​ ​the​ ​movement​ ​of​ ​people​ ​and​ ​followed,​ ​until​ ​a​ ​sizable crowd​ ​had​ ​gathered.​ ​​​Some​ ​of​ ​them​ ​were​ ​bobbing​ ​and​ ​rocking​ ​their​ ​heads to​ ​the​ ​incessant​ ​rhythms​ ​of​ ​that​ ​music​ ​which​ ​Paul​ ​couldn't​ ​stand.​ ​​​The volume​ ​was​ ​lowered,​ ​though​ ​not​ ​enough​ ​for​ ​him.​ ​​​He​ ​was​ ​put​ ​inside​ ​the booth.

"Okay,"​ ​Jessica​ ​said.​ ​​​"The​ ​Bimbo​ ​Kissing​ ​Booth​ ​is​ ​officially​ ​opened."​ ​​​To Tiffany​ ​she​ ​said,​ ​"Honey,​ ​could​ ​you​ ​put​ ​up​ ​the​ ​price​ ​list?"

When​ ​her​ ​fellow​ ​sorority​ ​member​ ​reached​ ​down​ ​and​ ​got​ ​the​ ​sign,​ ​then​ ​put it​ ​up,​ ​he​ ​was​ ​horrified​ ​by​ ​when​ ​he​ ​saw.​ ​​​It​ ​listed​ ​options​ ​such​ ​as​ ​KISS YOUR​ ​SHOES,​ ​KISS​ ​YOUR​ ​ASS​ ​and​ ​KISS​ ​YOUR​ ​CROTCH,​ ​at​ ​one,​ ​two and​ ​three​ ​dollars​ ​respectively.​ ​​​People​ ​started​ ​pulling​ ​out​ ​singles​ ​and forming​ ​a​ ​line.​ ​​​The​ ​front​ ​of​ ​the​ ​booth​ ​was​ ​open,​ ​so​ ​everyone​ ​had​ ​access​ ​to Paul.​ ​​​He​ ​was​ ​told​ ​to​ ​kneel​ ​down​ ​and​ ​take​ ​the​ ​humiliating​ ​pacifier​ ​out​ ​of​ ​his mouth,​ ​so​ ​he​ ​could​ ​serve​ ​his​ ​customers.​ ​​​Jessica​ ​accepted​ ​payments​ ​as each​ ​person​ ​reached​ ​the​ ​front​ ​of​ ​the​ ​line.​ ​​​She​ ​told​ ​them​ ​that​ ​his​ ​lipstick

wouldn't​ ​come​ ​off​ ​on​ ​their​ ​clothes.​ ​​​Paul​ ​found​ ​himself​ ​bending​ ​low​ ​to​ ​kiss the​ ​uppers​ ​of​ ​some​ ​girl's​ ​fancy​ ​dress​ ​shoes.​ ​​​The​ ​next​ ​one​ ​turned​ ​her​ ​back and​ ​stuck​ ​out​ ​her​ ​desirable​ ​bottom,​ ​onto​ ​which​ ​he​ ​had​ ​to​ ​plant​ ​several kisses.​ ​​​That​ ​started​ ​his​ ​dick​ ​pulsing.​ ​​​It​ ​grew​ ​slightly​ ​but​ ​no​ ​one​ ​noticed​ ​it. Then,​ ​however,​ ​he​ ​was​ ​confronted​ ​by​ ​a​ ​girl​ ​who​ ​hiked​ ​up​ ​the​ ​front​ ​of​ ​her satiny​ ​party​ ​dress​ ​and​ ​presented​ ​her​ ​panty-clad​ ​crotch.​ ​​​He​ ​could​ ​see​ ​the clear​ ​shape​ ​of​ ​her​ ​pubic​ ​mound,​ ​including​ ​the​ ​slit​ ​down​ ​the​ ​middle.​ ​​​​​He pressed​ ​his​ ​mouth​ ​against​ ​her​ ​'camel​ ​toe'​ ​and​ ​tasted,​ ​along​ ​with​ ​smelling, her​ ​feminine​ ​scent.​ ​​​That​ ​made​ ​his​ ​immature​ ​dick​ ​spring​ ​fully​ ​to​ ​life.

"Hey,"​ ​one​ ​of​ ​the​ ​Black​ ​guys​ ​said,​ ​"Bobo​ ​the​ ​Clown​ ​got​ ​a​ ​sissy​ ​hard-on. Like​ ​a​ ​real​ ​stiffy,​ ​but​ ​way​ ​smaller."

As​ ​the​ ​girl​ ​who​ ​he'd​ ​just​ ​kissed​ ​stepped​ ​aside,​ ​Tiffany​ ​made​ ​him​ ​lift​ ​his​ ​tiny skirt​ ​so​ ​that,​ ​despite​ ​his​ ​kneeling​ ​posture,​ ​all​ ​the​ ​onlookers​ ​had​ ​an unimpeded​ ​view​ ​of​ ​how​ ​his​ ​hard​ ​little​ ​dick​ ​was​ ​pushing​ ​out​ ​the​ ​front​ ​of​ ​his bodysuit,​ ​between​ ​his​ ​legs.​ ​​​That​ ​set​ ​off​ ​gales​ ​of​ ​laughter,​ ​along​ ​with​ ​some cutting​ ​remarks.

"Whoa.​ ​​​It's​ ​like​ ​a​ ​boner,​ ​but​ ​dinky."
"Is​ ​that​ ​a​ ​dick​ ​or​ ​a​ ​clit?​ ​​​I​ ​mean,​ ​it's​ ​more​ ​girl-size​ ​than​ ​guy-size."

Amber​ ​chimed​ ​in​ ​with,​ ​"I'd​ ​never​ ​let​ ​something​ ​that​ ​tiny​ ​anywhere​ ​near​ ​my pussy.​ ​​​You​ ​know,​ ​what​ ​would​ ​be​ ​the​ ​point?"

The​ ​other​ ​girls​ ​joined​ ​in,​ ​agreeing​ ​with​ ​her.​ ​​​All​ ​of​ ​them​ ​concurred​ ​that Paul's​ ​penis​ ​was​ ​useless​ ​for​ ​sex,​ ​and​ ​that​ ​no​ ​female​ ​would​ ​have​ ​any interest​ ​in​ ​intercourse​ ​with​ ​him.

The​ ​one​ ​who​ ​he'd​ ​kissed​ ​last​ ​said,​ ​"It​ ​felt​ ​good​ ​when​ ​he​ ​smooched​ ​my snatch.​ ​​​Even​ ​through​ ​my​ ​panties.​ ​​​How​ ​about​ ​four​ ​bucks​ ​for​ ​any​ ​girl​ ​who wants​ ​hers​ ​kissed​ ​on​ ​the​ ​bare?"

Another​ ​female​ ​said,​ ​"Or​ ​the​ ​same​ ​price​ ​for​ ​her​ ​ass​ ​without​ ​panties​ ​in​ ​the way."

Some​ ​of​ ​the​ ​females​ ​had​ ​started​ ​drinking​ ​before​ ​they​ ​even​ ​got​ ​there.​ ​​​One of​ ​those,​ ​already​ ​tipsy,​ ​stepped​ ​up​ ​with​ ​a​ ​five​ ​dollar​ ​bill​ ​in​ ​her​ ​hand. Jessica​ ​took​ ​it​ ​and​ ​gave​ ​her​ ​back​ ​a​ ​single.​ ​​​She​ ​turned​ ​her​ ​back​ ​on​ ​Paul, worked​ ​up​ ​her​ ​tight​ ​dress​ ​until​ ​it​ ​was​ ​above​ ​her​ ​waist,​ ​behind​ ​her,​ ​and pulled​ ​aside​ ​the​ ​narrow​ ​rear​ ​portion​ ​of​ ​her​ ​thong.​ ​​​The​ ​kneeling​ ​sissy​ ​clown was​ ​facing​ ​a​ ​bare​ ​ass​ ​that​ ​he​ ​was​ ​supposed​ ​to​ ​put​ ​his​ ​lips​ ​on.​ ​​​The​ ​mere thought​ ​of​ ​it​ ​was​ ​thoroughly​ ​upsetting.​ ​​​Still,​ ​when​ ​he​ ​looked​ ​around​ ​for some​ ​sign​ ​of​ ​mercy,​ ​all​ ​he​ ​saw​ ​were​ ​eagerly​ ​waiting​ ​girls'​ ​expressions​ ​and threatening​

​Black​ ​guys'​ ​scowls.​ ​​​So​ ​he​ ​brought​ ​his​ ​face​ ​forward​ ​and​ ​got​ ​his mouth​ ​against​ ​one​ ​buttock​ ​and​ ​then​ ​the​ ​other.

"Aww,"​ ​she​ ​said​ ​disappointedly.​ ​​​"I​ ​thought​ ​the​ ​wimp​ ​was​ ​going​ ​to​ ​really​ ​get his​ ​mouth​ ​into​ ​it​ ​back​ ​there.​ ​​​I​ ​expected​ ​a​ ​nice​ ​deep​ ​kiss."

Josh​ ​reached​ ​in​ ​to​ ​twist​ ​Paul's​ ​ear.​ ​​​"What​ ​she​ ​said.​ ​​​Give​ ​her​ ​a​ ​proper kiss,​ ​Bonzo.​ ​​​Like​ ​a​ ​French​ ​kiss.​ ​​​You​ ​know​ ​what​ ​I​ ​mean."

Gagging​ ​slightly,​ ​Paul​ ​got​ ​his​ ​nose​ ​lined​ ​up​ ​with​ ​the​ ​waiting​ ​girl's​ ​butt​ ​crack. He​ ​went​ ​in​ ​for​ ​the​ ​action,​ ​wedging​ ​his​ ​lower​ ​face​ ​between​ ​her​ ​soft​ ​round cheeks,​ ​and​ ​delivered​ ​a​ ​kiss​ ​right​ ​on​ ​her​ ​pucker.

She​ ​sighed​ ​and​ ​said,​ ​"He​ ​found​ ​the​ ​bull's-eye​ ​but​ ​he's​ ​just​ ​using​ ​his​ ​lips. Where's​ ​that​ ​tongue,​ ​Bimbo?"

Others​ ​joined​ ​her​ ​in​ ​demanding​ ​he​ ​provide​ ​lingual​ ​penetration.​ ​​​He​ ​took​ ​a deep​ ​breath​ ​and​ ​used​ ​his​ ​tongue​ ​to​ ​probe​ ​the​ ​buzzed​ ​girl.​ ​​​She​ ​cheered and​ ​even​ ​reached​ ​back​ ​around​ ​to​ ​pull​ ​his​ ​face​ ​deep​ ​into​ ​her​ ​rear​ ​crevice. He​ ​kept​ ​his​ ​tongue​ ​moving​ ​while​ ​she​

​told​ ​everyone​ ​what​ ​he​ ​was​ ​doing. When​ ​she​ ​released​ ​him​ ​another​ ​customer​ ​stepped​ ​in​ ​to​ ​take​ ​her​ ​place.

This​ ​female​ ​said,​ ​as​ ​she​ ​yanked​ ​up​ ​the​ ​hem​ ​of​ ​her​ ​short,​ ​stylish​ ​dress​ ​and worked​ ​aside​ ​the​ ​front​ ​of​ ​her​ ​bikini-cut​ ​panties,​ ​"I​ ​want​ ​my​ ​four​ ​bucks worth,​ ​Petunia."

As​ ​she​ ​stood​ ​there​ ​swaying​ ​slightly,​ ​Paul​ ​had​ ​to​ ​move​ ​his​ ​upper​ ​body​ ​and tilt​ ​back​ ​his​ ​head.​ ​​​He​ ​got​ ​his​ ​tongue​ ​at​ ​the​ ​bottom​ ​of​ ​her​ ​slit​ ​and​ ​licked​ ​it from​ ​bottom​ ​to​ ​top.​ ​​​Her​ ​labia​ ​protrude​ ​slightly​ ​and​ ​were​ ​moist​ ​with​ ​natural fluids.​ ​​​He​ ​tasted​ ​her​ ​as​ ​he​ ​took​ ​several​ ​more​ ​licks.​ ​​​When​ ​she​ ​still​ ​didn't leave,​ ​he​ ​got​ ​his​ ​lips​ ​on​ ​her​ ​clitoris​ ​and​ ​gave​ ​it​ ​a​ ​suck.​ ​​​She​ ​moaned​ ​loudly and,​ ​copying​ ​her​ ​predecessor,​ ​announced​ ​what​ ​he​ ​was​ ​doing.​ ​​​There​ ​were hoots​ ​and​ ​hollers.​ ​​​She​ ​pulled​ ​her​ ​dress​ ​down​ ​so​ ​that​ ​his​ ​head​ ​was covered​ ​and​ ​his​ ​face​ ​trapped​ ​against​ ​her​ ​fragrant​ ​mound.​ ​​​He​ ​labored​ ​to please​ ​her​ ​and​ ​must​ ​have​ ​succeeded​ ​to​ ​some​ ​extent,​ ​because​ ​she eventually​ ​left.​ ​​​As​ ​he​ ​stayed​ ​in​ ​his​ ​submissive​ ​posture,​ ​knees​ ​beginning​ ​to hurt,​ ​he​ ​counted​ ​eight​ ​more​ ​girls​ ​waiting.​ ​​​The​ ​next​ ​one​ ​took​ ​off​ ​her​ ​shoes and​ ​had​ ​him​ ​kiss​ ​her​ ​bare​ ​feet.​ ​​​The​ ​rest​ ​of​ ​them​ ​wanted​ ​much​ ​more.

When​ ​they​ ​were​ ​all​ ​back​ ​in​ ​the​ ​amused​ ​crowd,​ ​Tiffany​ ​had​ ​him​ ​get​ ​up​ ​so she​ ​could​ ​slide​ ​in​ ​a​ ​hard​ ​plastic​ ​wading​ ​pool.​ ​​​It​ ​wasn't​ ​big​ ​but​ ​provided several​ ​feet​ ​of​ ​protection​ ​for​ ​the​ ​floor,​ ​all​ ​the​ ​way​

​around.​ ​​​Amber​ ​took​ ​a box​ ​from​ ​alongside​ ​the​ ​booth​ ​and​ ​brought​ ​it​ ​out.​ ​​​Someone​ ​set​ ​up​ ​a​ ​folding TV​ ​tray​ ​and​ ​she​ ​set​ ​it​ ​on​ ​there.

Jessica​ ​declared,​ ​"No​ ​charge​ ​for​ ​this​ ​one.​ ​​​I​ ​want​ ​all​ ​you​ ​guys​ ​from​ ​Alpha Ebony​ ​to​ ​try​ ​your​ ​hands."​ ​​​She​ ​reached​ ​into​ ​the​ ​box​ ​and​ ​took​ ​out​ ​what​ ​at first​ ​Paul​ ​thought​ ​was​ ​a​ ​water​ ​balloon.​ ​​​Then​ ​he​ ​saw​ ​that​ ​it​ ​was​ ​a​ ​condom filled​ ​with​ ​water.​ ​​​She​ ​went​ ​on,​ ​"Hit​ ​the​ ​sissy​ ​in​ ​the​ ​face​ ​and​ ​you​ ​win​ ​--​ ​I don't​ ​know​ ​--​ ​something​ ​special​ ​from​ ​the​ ​girl​ ​you​ ​came​ ​with.​ ​​​Or​ ​if​ ​she​ ​has a​ ​sore​ ​throat,​ ​maybe​ ​from​ ​Bimbo.​ ​​​Line​ ​up,​ ​gentlemen.​ ​​​Everybody​ ​gets one​ ​shot​ ​at​ ​a​ ​time​ ​and​ ​then​ ​back​ ​to​ ​the​ ​end​ ​of​ ​the​ ​line.​ ​​​We'll​ ​go​ ​until​ ​all​ ​the rubbers​ ​are​ ​gone."

Paul​ ​was​ ​relieved​ ​that​ ​it​ ​was​ ​just​ ​the​ ​one​ ​box,​ ​until​ ​he​ ​spotted​ ​three​ ​of​ ​the Alpha​ ​Ebony​ ​guys​ ​each​ ​bringing​ ​around​ ​another​ ​box.​ ​​​This​ ​was​ ​not​ ​going to​ ​be​ ​good.​ ​​​​​Facing​ ​him​ ​was​ ​Josh,​ ​who​ ​had​ ​one​ ​of​ ​the​ ​very​ ​full​ ​condoms​ ​in his​ ​big​ ​dark​ ​hand.​ ​​​He​ ​wound​ ​up​ ​like​ ​a​ ​baseball​ ​pitcher​ ​and​ ​hurled​ ​it straight​ ​at​ ​Paul.​ ​​​The​ ​overfilled​ ​rubber​ ​hit​ ​his​ ​face​ ​and​ ​burst.​ ​​​That​ ​would have​ ​been​ ​awful​ ​enough​ ​but​ ​as​ ​the​ ​water​ ​splattered​ ​over​ ​him​ ​he​ ​found​ ​out that​ ​it​ ​was​ ​very​ ​cold.​ ​​​They​ ​must​ ​have​ ​put​ ​those​ ​things​ ​in​ ​a​ ​freezer​ ​until​ ​ice crystals​ ​were​ ​beginning​ ​to​ ​form​ ​in​ ​them.​ ​​​​​One​ ​after​ ​another​ ​the​ ​Black athletes​ ​took​ ​their​ ​turns.​ ​​​Some​ ​of​ ​the​ ​girls​ ​got​ ​into​ ​it​ ​to​ ​and​ ​he​ ​was​ ​upset when​ ​they​ ​were​ ​allowed​ ​to​ ​stand​ ​much​ ​closer​ ​before​ ​they​ ​threw.​ ​​​Soon​ ​he was​ ​soaked​ ​to​ ​the​ ​skin.​ ​​​The​ ​wet​ ​body​ ​stocking​ ​clung​ ​to​ ​his​ ​slender​ ​and unmanly​ ​figure.

The​ ​final​ ​attraction​ ​for​ ​the​ ​clown​ ​booth​ ​was​ ​a​ ​big​ ​sorority​ ​paddle.​ ​​​There was​ ​a​ ​charge​ ​to​ ​use​ ​it,​ ​a​ ​dollar​ ​a​ ​swat​ ​or​ ​six​ ​for​ ​five.​ ​​​He​ ​was​ ​made​ ​to​ ​kneel on​ ​a​ ​hard​ ​plastic​ ​milk​ ​crate,​ ​bend​ ​forward,​ ​and​ ​clutch​ ​the​ ​bottom​ ​of​ ​it.​ ​​​The surface​ ​he​ ​was​ ​leaning​ ​on​ ​was​ ​a​ ​latticework,​ ​so​ ​that​ ​the​ ​pain​ ​in​ ​his​ ​knees increased​ ​at​ ​once.​ ​​​In​ ​his​ ​awkward​ ​position,​ ​his​ ​ass​ ​was​ ​well​ ​elevated.​ ​​​He saw​ ​Jessica​ ​collecting​ ​five,​ ​tens​ ​and​ ​twenties​ ​from​ ​customers​ ​of​ ​both sexes.​ ​​​First​ ​up​ ​was​ ​a​ ​short​ ​busty​ ​girl.​ ​​​Paul​ ​figured​ ​that​ ​she​ ​wouldn't​ ​be strong​ ​enough​ ​to​ ​do​ ​much​ ​harm.​ ​​​WRONG.​ ​​​She​ ​pulled​ ​the​ ​paddle​ ​well back​ ​and,​ ​holding​ ​the​ ​long​ ​handle​ ​with​ ​both​ ​hands,​ ​swung​ ​hard.​ ​​​There was​ ​a​ ​loud​ ​meaty​ ​smack​ ​and​ ​he​ ​howled​ ​loudly.​ ​​​How​ ​much​ ​had​ ​she​ ​paid? How​ ​many​ ​swings​ ​had​ ​she​ ​purchased?​ ​​​He​ ​couldn't​ ​be​ ​sure.​ ​​​There​ ​was​ ​an encouraging​ ​cheer​ ​and​ ​then​ ​the​ ​paddle​ ​landed​ ​again.

After​ ​what​ ​turned​ ​out​ ​to​ ​be​ ​a​ ​half​ ​dozen​ ​swats,​ ​she​ ​handed​ ​the​ ​instrument to​ ​a​ ​Black​ ​football​ ​player.​ ​​​He​ ​definitely​ ​didn't​ ​need​ ​two​ ​hands​ ​to​ ​wield​ ​the slab​ ​of​ ​wood.​ ​​​The​ ​big​ ​guy​ ​swung​ ​it​ ​experimentally​ ​through​ ​the​ ​air​ ​to​ ​get​ ​a feel​ ​for​ ​its​ ​weight,​ ​making​ ​sure​ ​Paul​ ​could​ ​see​ ​him.​ ​​​Then​ ​he​ ​swung unexpectedly,​ ​caught​ ​Paul​ ​off​ ​guard,​ ​sent​ ​a​ ​blast​ ​of​ ​pain​ ​through​ ​his vulnerable​ ​backside,​ ​and​ ​made​ ​him​ ​scream​ ​high​ ​and​ ​loud.

"Listen​ ​to​ ​that,"​ ​someone​ ​said.​ ​​​"The​ ​fairy​ ​clown​ ​sounds​ ​like​ ​a​ ​girl." "Well,​ ​why​ ​not?​ ​​​He's​ ​built​ ​like​ ​a​ ​girl."

"Hey,​ ​Bimbo,​ ​why​ ​don't​ ​you​ ​razz​ ​the​ ​guy​ ​who's​ ​hitting​ ​you?​ ​​​Like​ ​some clowns​ ​do?"

An​ ​anonymous​ ​voice​ ​said,​ ​pretending​ ​to​ ​be​ ​the​ ​clown,​ ​"Hey,​ ​it's​ ​me, Bimbo.​ ​​​Bet​ ​that​ ​big​ ​ape​ ​can't​ ​make​ ​me​ ​cry."

The​ ​Black​ ​guy​ ​knew​ ​it​ ​wasn't​ ​really​ ​Paul​ ​speaking,​ ​but​ ​somehow​ ​it​ ​set​ ​him off​ ​anyway.​ ​​​He​ ​swung​ ​even​ ​harder​ ​and​ ​Paul​ ​was​ ​nearly​ ​knocked​ ​off​ ​his perch.​ ​​​His​ ​knees​ ​were​ ​aching​ ​as​ ​the​ ​crisscrossed​ ​plastic​ ​cut​ ​into​ ​them. His​ ​poor​ ​rump​ ​was​ ​ablaze.​ ​​​Tears​ ​began​ ​to​ ​stream​ ​down​ ​his​ ​cheeks.​ ​​​That triggered​ ​more​ ​nasty​ ​comments.

"Aw,​ ​the​ ​weakling​ ​sissy​ ​is​ ​crying."
"From​ ​just​ ​a​ ​few​ ​smacks​ ​of​ ​that​ ​little​ ​paddle." "Hope​ ​she​ ​doesn't​

​wet​ ​herself."

Paul​ ​suffered​ ​the​ ​added​ ​ignominy​ ​of​ ​toppling​ ​off​ ​the​ ​milk​ ​crate​ ​and​ ​having to​ ​climb​ ​back​ ​on.​ ​​​That​ ​happened​ ​several​ ​times​ ​before​ ​he​ ​got​ ​to​ ​the​ ​final two​ ​paddle​ ​swingers.​ ​​​It​ ​was​ ​Tiffany​ ​and​ ​Jessica.​ ​​​They​ ​were​ ​in​ ​no​ ​hurry, leaving​ ​plenty​ ​of​ ​time​ ​between​ ​swings​ ​​​so​ ​there​ ​were​ ​ample​ ​opportunities for​ ​everyone​ ​to​ ​hear​ ​him​ ​blubbering​ ​and​ ​to​ ​make​ ​still​ ​more​ ​insulting remarks.​ ​​​Toward​ ​the​ ​end​ ​he​ ​heard​ ​some​ ​that​ ​he​ ​especially​ ​didn't​ ​like.

"Watching​ ​that​ ​wimp​ ​get​ ​it​ ​is​ ​making​ ​this​ ​brother​ ​horny.​ ​​​Reminds​ ​me​ ​of one​ ​of​ ​them​ ​prison​ ​bitches​ ​who​ ​gets​ ​turned​ ​into​ ​a​ ​cum​ ​collector."

"Yeah,​ ​and​ ​this​ ​sister​ ​is​ ​getting​ ​wet,​ ​too.​ ​​​A​ ​guy​ ​that​ ​pathetic,​ ​with​ ​such​ ​a shrimp​ ​of​ ​a​ ​dick,​ ​must​ ​have​ ​to​ ​be​ ​good​ ​with​ ​his​ ​tongue​ ​when​ ​it​ ​comes​ ​to girls."

By​ ​the​ ​time​ ​Jessica​ ​finished,​ ​tipping​ ​him​ ​off​ ​the​ ​crate​ ​one​ ​last​ ​time,​ ​he​ ​was a​ ​sobbing​ ​mess.​ ​​​Several​ ​of​ ​the​ ​frat​ ​boys​ ​stepped​ ​in​ ​and​ ​two​ ​of​ ​them grabbed​ ​him​ ​under​ ​his​ ​undeveloped​ ​arms.​ ​​​They​ ​hauled​ ​him​ ​away.​ ​​​When he​ ​saw​ ​he​ ​was​ ​being​ ​taken​ ​toward​ ​the​ ​men's​ ​room​ ​he​ ​was​ ​horrified.

Between​ ​sniffles​ ​and​ ​gasping​ ​breaths,​ ​Paul​ ​said,​ ​"I'm...​ ​not...​ ​not​ ​gay, fellows.​ ​​​Honest."

"Maybe​ ​not​ ​yet,"​ ​one​ ​of​ ​them​ ​said​ ​as​ ​they​ ​entered​ ​the​ ​lavatory.​ ​​​"But​ ​we can​ ​fix​ ​that."

"But...​ ​you're​ ​not​ ​gay."

"Hey,​ ​sucker.​ ​​​Using​ ​you​ ​don't​ ​make​ ​us​ ​gay.​ ​​​It​ ​just​ ​makes​ ​you​ ​that​ ​way."

He​ ​was​ ​set​ ​on​ ​the​ ​floor​ ​on​ ​his​ ​throbbing​ ​knees,​ ​still​ ​wet​ ​all​ ​over,​ ​rear​ ​end on​ ​fire.​ ​​​One​ ​of​ ​the​ ​guys​ ​put​ ​himself​ ​directly​ ​in​ ​front​ ​of​ ​Paul.​ ​​​As​ ​the​ ​Black fraternity​ ​brother​ ​opened​ ​his​ ​pants​ ​and​ ​pulled​ ​out​ ​a​ ​massive​ ​cock,​ ​the​ ​wet sissy​ ​clown​ ​couldn't​ ​believe​ ​what​ ​was​ ​happening.

The​ ​athletic​ ​figure​ ​told​ ​him,​ ​"All​ ​right,​ ​faggot,​ ​open​ ​the​ ​big​ ​red​ ​mouth​ ​and suck​ ​my​ ​Johnson."

"I...​ ​can't."
"Why​ ​the​ ​frack​ ​not?" "Because...​ ​I​ ​have​ ​a​ ​girlfriend."

"Well​ ​I've​ ​seen​ ​them​ ​pictures​ ​of​ ​you,​ ​on​ ​the​ ​ground​ ​with​ ​your​ ​toy-sized​ ​dick hanging​ ​out,​ ​after​ ​the​ ​other​ ​dudes​ ​got​ ​you​ ​drunk​ ​and​ ​dumped​ ​you​ ​there. What's​ ​between​ ​your​ ​scrawny​ ​legs​ ​ain't​ ​going​ ​to​ ​satisfy​ ​any​ ​bitch.​ ​​​So maybe​ ​what​ ​you​ ​think​ ​is​ ​a​ ​girlfriend​ ​is​ ​just​ ​some​ ​fruit​ ​fly.​ ​​​She​ ​hangs​ ​around with​ ​you​ ​because​ ​you're​ ​like​ ​one​ ​of​ ​the​ ​girls."

"That's​ ​not​ ​true!"​ ​he​ ​blurted.

A​ ​heavy​ ​hand​ ​slapped​ ​him​ ​twice​ ​across​ ​the​ ​face.​ ​​​"Yeah,​ ​well​ ​we​ ​going​ ​to make​ ​it​ ​come​ ​true.​ ​​​Now​ ​you​ ​going​ ​to​ ​go​ ​all​ ​fag.​ ​​​Later,​ ​maybe​ ​we introduce​ ​your​ ​girlfriend​ ​to​ ​a​ ​real​ ​cock​ ​or​ ​two,​ ​and​ ​let​ ​her​ ​make​ ​her​ ​own choice."​ ​​​He​ ​grabbed​ ​Paul's​ ​hair,​ ​which​ ​was​ ​now​ ​flattened​ ​to​ ​his​ ​head​ ​from the​ ​water​ ​balloons.​ ​​​"So​ ​you​ ​just​ ​get​ ​to​ ​getting.​ ​​​I​ ​want​ ​my​ ​tool​ ​hard​ ​and​ ​in your​ ​girly​ ​mouth​ ​RIGHT​ ​NOW.​ ​​​Otherwise,​ ​you're​ ​going​ ​to​ ​get​ ​a​ ​lot​ ​more than​ ​those​ ​couple​ ​of​ ​'play'​ ​slaps​ ​I​ ​gave​ ​you."

Paul​ ​was​ ​so​ ​frightened.​ ​​​He​ ​felt​ ​utterly​ ​trapped.​ ​​​Everyone​ ​out​ ​in​ ​the​ ​main room​ ​thought​ ​he​ ​was​ ​a​ ​loser​ ​and​ ​a​ ​joke.​ ​​​Jessica​ ​even​ ​had​ ​control​ ​of​ ​his ID,​ ​along​ ​with​ ​everything​ ​else.​ ​​​And​ ​she​ ​had​ ​his​ ​phone.​ ​​​He​ ​was​ ​quivering all​ ​over.​ ​​​As​ ​the​ ​big​ ​stud​ ​raised​ ​his​ ​hand​ ​warningly,​ ​Paul​ ​opened​ ​is​ ​mouth and​ ​stuck​ ​out​ ​his​ ​tongue.​ ​​​He​ ​licked​ ​the​ ​fat​ ​hanging​ ​head​ ​of​ ​the​ ​cock​ ​before him.​ ​​​It​ ​was​ ​disgusting,​ ​but​ ​it​ ​did​ ​make​ ​it​ ​start​ ​to​ ​grow.​ ​​​He​ ​gagged​ ​a​ ​bit​ ​as he​ ​continued​ ​licking​ ​and​ ​then,​ ​not​ ​entirely​ ​sure​ ​what​ ​was​ ​expected​ ​of​ ​him, kissed​ ​it​ ​a​ ​few​ ​times,​ ​making​ ​it​ ​rise.

The​ ​cock's​ ​owner​ ​said,​ ​"Damn,​ ​faggot.​ ​​​You're​ ​not​ ​supposed​ ​to​ ​fall​ ​in​ ​love with​ ​it.​ ​​​You're​ ​supposed​ ​to​ ​suck​ ​it."

The​ ​impressive​ ​shaft​ ​was​ ​pointed​ ​at​ ​Paul.​ ​​​He​ ​gingerly​ ​took​ ​it​ ​between​ ​the outstretched​ ​fingers​ ​of​ ​both​ ​hands​ ​to​ ​hold​ ​it​ ​steady.​ ​​​Then​ ​he​ ​brought​ ​his face​ ​forward​ ​until​ ​the​ ​knob​ ​was​ ​inside​ ​his​ ​open​ ​mouth.​ ​​​Sickened,​ ​he nevertheless​ ​closed​ ​his​ ​lips​ ​around​ ​the​ ​wide​ ​rod​ ​and​ ​ran​ ​his​ ​tongue​ ​back and​ ​forth​ ​against​ ​the​ ​sensitive​ ​underside​ ​of​ ​the​ ​head.​ ​​​There​ ​was​ ​a​ ​moan of​ ​pleasure​ ​from​ ​above,​ ​so​ ​he​ ​did​ ​more​ ​of​ ​that,​ ​at​ ​the​ ​same​ ​time​ ​holding the​ ​length​ ​with​ ​one​ ​hand​ ​to​ ​stroke​ ​it,​ ​while​ ​lightly​ ​massaging​ ​plum-sized balls​ ​with​ ​the​ ​other.​ ​​​The​ ​rest​ ​of​ ​the​ ​Black​ ​guys​ ​were​ ​watching​ ​avidly.​ ​​​Paul could​ ​see​ ​bulges​ ​in​ ​their​ ​pants.​ ​​​Were​ ​those​ ​lumps​ ​just​ ​because​ ​their members​ ​were​ ​so​ ​large,​ ​or​ ​because​ ​they​ ​were​ ​getting​ ​firm​ ​in​ ​anticipation​ ​of being​ ​serviced?

The​ ​kneeling​ ​victim​ ​fell​ ​into​ ​a​ ​rhythm.​ ​​​Two​ ​more​ ​brothers​ ​came​ ​near,​ ​one on​ ​each​ ​side​ ​of​ ​him,​ ​and​ ​freed​ ​their​ ​superior​ ​cocks.​ ​​​They​ ​each​ ​took​ ​one​ ​of Paul's​ ​wrists​ ​and​ ​brought​ ​his​ ​hands​ ​up.​ ​​​He​ ​understood​ ​what​ ​they​ ​wanted and​ ​got​ ​his​ ​fingers​ ​around​ ​both​ ​of​ ​them.​ ​​​While​ ​still​ ​sucking​ ​and​ ​bobbing his​ ​head,​ ​he​ ​began​ ​stroking​ ​the​ ​new​ ​pair.​ ​​​Pictures​ ​were​ ​taken​ ​and mocking​ ​comments​ ​were​ ​made.

"Shit.​ ​​​I've​ ​met​ ​hoes​ ​who​ ​wouldn't​ ​do​ ​a​ ​three-shooter​ ​like​ ​that." "Truth.​ ​​​But​ ​look​ ​at​ ​how​ ​this​ ​slut​ ​is​ ​so​ ​good​ ​at​ ​it."

"Looks​ ​to​ ​me​ ​like​ ​she's​ ​liking​ ​it.​ ​​​She​ ​got​ ​the​ ​talent​ ​and​ ​loves​ ​her​ ​work."

They​ ​also​ ​fired​ ​orders​ ​at​ ​him​ ​about​ ​what​ ​to​ ​do.​ ​​​He​ ​had​ ​to​ ​suck​ ​harder​ ​and stroke​ ​faster.​ ​​​It​ ​struck​ ​Paul​ ​suddenly​ ​that​ ​his​ ​trio​ ​of​ ​users​ ​were​ ​all​ ​going​ ​to spurt​ ​--​ ​and​ ​soon.​ ​​​He​ ​darted​ ​his​ ​eyes​ ​from​ ​side​ ​to​ ​side,​ ​up​ ​and​ ​down,​ ​as​ ​if there​ ​was​ ​some​ ​help​ ​to​ ​be​ ​found.​ ​​​As​ ​he​ ​was​ ​still​ ​doing​ ​that,​ ​the​ ​cock​ ​in​ ​his mouth​ ​fired​ ​its​ ​load,​ ​making​ ​him​ ​gag​ ​as​ ​he​ ​reflexively​ ​swallowed.​ ​​​Then​ ​the one​ ​on​ ​his​ ​right​ ​blasted​ ​against​ ​his​ ​cheek.​ ​​​He​ ​was​ ​trying​ ​to​ ​regain​ ​his emotional​ ​balance​ ​when​ ​the​ ​other,​ ​on​ ​his​ ​left,​ ​shot​ ​and​ ​hit​ ​him​ ​in​ ​the​ ​eye. He​ ​kept​ ​sucking,​ ​continued​ ​pumping,​ ​and​ ​milked​ ​the​ ​final​ ​drops​ ​onto​ ​his tongue​ ​and​ ​shoulders.​ ​​​He​ ​was​ ​a​ ​cream-covered,​ ​spunk-swallowing​ ​mess. As​ ​those​ ​three​ ​guys​ ​stepped​ ​away​ ​from​ ​him,​ ​another​ ​trio​ ​moved​ ​in​ ​to​ ​take their​ ​places.​ ​​​He​ ​sobbed​ ​as​ ​a​ ​fresh​ ​prick​ ​was​ ​offered​ ​to​ ​his​ ​mouth​ ​and​ ​two more​ ​occupied​ ​his​ ​trembling​ ​hands.

That​ ​ordeal​ ​went​ ​on​ ​for​ ​an​ ​additional​ ​half​ ​hour​ ​before​ ​every​ ​male​ ​who wanted​ ​to​ ​had​ ​used​ ​him.​ ​​​He​ ​had​ ​semen​ ​running​ ​down​ ​his​ ​chin.​ ​​​The​ ​smell and​ ​taste​ ​of​ ​it​ ​was​ ​thick​ ​in​ ​the​ ​air​ ​around​ ​him.​ ​​​Just​ ​as​ ​he​ ​was​ ​telling himself​ ​that​ ​it​ ​was​ ​all​ ​over,​ ​there​ ​was​ ​a​ ​knock​ ​on​ ​the​ ​bathroom​ ​door.

"Yo,​ ​fellows."​ ​​​It​ ​was​ ​Jessica.​ ​​​"I'm​ ​coming​ ​in."

The​ ​door​ ​opened​ ​and​ ​the​ ​busty​ ​girl​ ​appeared.​ ​​​When​ ​she​ ​saw​ ​the​ ​pitiful sight​ ​that​ ​was​ ​Paul,​ ​she​ ​cracked​ ​up​ ​laughing.​ ​​​Then​ ​she​ ​said​ ​that​ ​they needed​ ​the​ ​sissy​ ​clown​ ​in​ ​the​ ​ladies'​ ​room​ ​for​ ​one​ ​more​ ​round​ ​of​ ​pictures. They​ ​had​ ​found​ ​a​ ​blog​ ​on-line​ ​that​ ​was​ ​devoted​ ​to​ ​small​ ​penis​ ​humiliation and​ ​were​ ​going​ ​to​ ​submit​ ​shots​ ​of​ ​Paul's​ ​humorously​ ​small​ ​dick.​ ​​​The​ ​guys approved.​ ​​​None​ ​of​ ​them​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​touch​ ​him,​ ​with​ ​white​ ​goo​ ​all​ ​over​ ​his face​ ​and​ ​hands​ ​and​ ​outfit.​ ​​​Someone​ ​had​ ​even​ ​rubbed​ ​their​ ​cock​ ​clean​ ​in his​ ​hair.​ ​​​So​ ​Josh​ ​kicked​ ​him​ ​hard​ ​between​ ​the​ ​buttocks​ ​and​ ​barked​ ​at​ ​him to​ ​get​ ​up.​ ​​​Paul​ ​rose​ ​on​ ​shaky​ ​legs​ ​and​ ​followed​ ​Jessica​ ​from​ ​one​ ​restroom to​ ​the​ ​other.​ ​​​As​ ​he​ ​entered​ ​he​ ​saw​ ​Tiffany​ ​and​ ​Amber,​ ​along​ ​with​ ​several other​ ​sorority​ ​girls​ ​waiting​ ​for​ ​him,​ ​wearing​ ​demonic​ ​smiles.

They​ ​had​ ​him​ ​peel​ ​down​ ​his​ ​body​ ​stocking​ ​so​ ​his​ ​penis​ ​was​ ​exposed. Then​ ​they​ ​started​ ​handing​ ​him​ ​props.​ ​​​He​ ​had​ ​to​ ​hold​ ​each​ ​one​ ​alongside his​ ​diminutive​ ​member​ ​while​ ​pictures​ ​were​ ​taken.​ ​​​There​ ​was​ ​always​ ​a close-up​ ​and​ ​then​ ​one​ ​from​ ​further​ ​back,​ ​so​ ​that​ ​his​ ​face​ ​was​ ​visible.​ ​​​They also​ ​mentioned​ ​that​ ​some​ ​of​ ​their​ ​earlier​ ​shots​ ​would​ ​be​ ​posted​ ​so everyone​ ​could​ ​see​ ​his​ ​face​ ​without​ ​make-up.​ ​​​Jessica​ ​made​ ​sure​ ​to​ ​take some​ ​pictures​ ​with​ ​his​ ​phone,​ ​too.​ ​​​The​ ​items​ ​he​ ​had​ ​to​ ​hold​ ​up​ ​alongside his​ ​short​ ​boy-part​ ​included​ ​a​ ​lipstick​ ​tube,​ ​a​ ​roll​ ​of​ ​pennies,​ ​a​ ​Twinkle​ ​brand dessert​ ​snack,​ ​an​ ​unrolled​ ​king-size​ ​condom,​ ​and​ ​a​ ​tampon.​ ​​​Then​ ​he​ ​had to​ ​stroke​ ​himself​ ​until​ ​he​ ​had​ ​an​ ​erection​ ​and​ ​repeat​ ​each​ ​comparison​ ​test. By​ ​the​ ​end​ ​he​ ​was​ ​sniffling​ ​with​ ​shame.

Next​ ​they​ ​made​ ​him​ ​open​ ​his​ ​fanny​ ​pack​ ​and​ ​take​ ​out​ ​some​ ​of​ ​the 'surprises'​ ​waiting​ ​for​ ​him​ ​inside.​ ​​​They​ ​were​ ​indelible​ ​markers,​ ​in​ ​bright dark​ ​colors.​ ​​​After​ ​handing​ ​them​ ​to​ ​several​ ​girls,​ ​Jessica​ ​suggested​ ​that they​ ​write​ ​what​ ​they​ ​thought​ ​of​ ​Bimbo​ ​on​ ​his​ ​body.​ ​​​The​ ​pens​ ​had​ ​no trouble​ ​working​ ​on​ ​skin​ ​and​ ​even​ ​through​ ​semen.​ ​​​His​ ​body​ ​was​ ​inscribed with​ ​words​ ​like​ ​FAGGOT​ ​and​ ​SISSY​ ​and​ ​QUEER.​ ​​​The​ ​markers​ ​went​ ​to other​ ​writers​ ​who​ ​added​ ​LOSER​ ​and​ ​JERK​ ​and​ ​WUSS.​ ​​​The​ ​final​ ​group​ ​of contributors​ ​made​ ​sure​ ​to​ ​put​ ​messages​ ​on​ ​his​ ​thighs​ ​and​ ​belly,​ ​with arrows​ ​pointing​ ​toward​ ​his​ ​undersized​ ​genitals,​ ​including​ ​TINY​ ​and SHRIMPY​ ​and​ ​BIMBO'S​ ​PLAYTHING.

​​That​ ​was​ ​when​ ​Tiffany​ ​stepped​ ​to​ ​the​ ​front​ ​of​ ​the​ ​group​ ​of​ ​girls.​ ​​​She​ ​had her​ ​fancy​ ​dress​ ​raised​ ​in​ ​front​ ​so​ ​everyone​ ​could​ ​see​ ​that​ ​she​ ​was​ ​wearing a​ ​black​ ​strap-on.​ ​​​Spontaneous​ ​cheers​ ​greeted​ ​her​ ​revelation.​ ​​​The​ ​only one​ ​not​ ​celebrating​ ​was​ ​Paul.​ ​​​He​ ​stood​ ​there​ ​making​ ​choking​ ​sounds​ ​that he​ ​couldn't​ ​form​ ​into​ ​words.​ ​​​Tiffany​ ​pranced​ ​around,​ ​making​ ​the​ ​dildo bounce,​ ​then​ ​wriggled​ ​her​ ​hips​ ​so​ ​it​ ​would​ ​sway.​ ​​​She​ ​got​ ​in​ ​front​ ​of​ ​him and​ ​put​ ​a​ ​seductive​ ​look​ ​on​ ​her​ ​face.

"Hey,​ ​sexpot,"​ ​she​ ​said.​ ​​​"I've​ ​got​ ​twelve​ ​hot​ ​thick​ ​inches​ ​for​ ​you.​ ​​​I​ ​know​ ​a sissy​ ​can't​ ​get​ ​enough​ ​of​ ​big...​ ​Black...​ ​cock.​ ​​​So​ ​what's​ ​your​ ​name?"

Half​ ​frozen​ ​by​ ​fear,​ ​he​ ​managed​ ​to​ ​answer​ ​in​ ​a​ ​strained​ ​whisper,​ ​"M...​ ​my name​ ​is​ ​P...​ ​P..."

She​ ​waved​ ​a​ ​cautioning​ ​finger​ ​his​ ​way​ ​and​ ​said,​ ​"Not​ ​your​ ​old​ ​name.​ ​​​Your new​ ​sissy​ ​name."

"Oh.​ ​​​My​ ​n...​ ​new​ ​name​ ​is..."​ ​​​You​ ​could​ ​almost​ ​see​ ​how​ ​he​ ​was​ ​swallowing what​ ​was​ ​left​ ​of​ ​his​ ​pride.​ ​​​"B...​ ​Bimbo."

"That's​ ​a​ ​good​ ​name​ ​for​ ​you.​ ​​​Are​ ​you​ ​stupid​ ​like​ ​a​ ​bimbo?​ ​​​Shallow? Interested​ ​in​ ​cosmetics​ ​and​ ​cute​ ​outfits​ ​and​ ​--​ ​getting​ ​your​ ​ass​ ​reamed?"

"I..."​ ​​​He​ ​sobbed​ ​his​ ​eyelids​ ​fluttered​ ​nervously.​ ​​​"Yes,​ ​Ma'am." "Well​ ​then,​ ​say​ ​it,​ ​imbecile."

"I'm...​ ​I​ ​want...​ ​my​ ​ass...​ ​reamed."
"Then​ ​show​ ​some​ ​manners​ ​and​ ​ask​ ​for​ ​it​ ​politely."

"Please,​ ​Ma'am,​ ​would​ ​you​ ​ream​ ​my​ ​ass?"​ ​​​Just​ ​to​ ​be​ ​safe,​ ​he​ ​expanded that​ ​to,​ ​"My​ ​sissy​ ​ass."

"Are​ ​you​ ​sure​ ​that's​ ​what​ ​you​ ​want,​ ​Bimbo?" "Yes.​ ​​​More​ ​than​ ​anything​ ​else."

"This​ ​dong​ ​is​ ​pretty​ ​thick.​ ​​​After​ ​I​ ​stretch​ ​you​ ​out,​ ​you​ ​might​ ​start​ ​getting

addicted​ ​to​ ​it.​ ​​​Last​ ​chance​ ​to​ ​say​ ​'no'."
"I...​ ​want​ ​your​ ​big​ ​Black​ ​cock..."​ ​​​He​ ​shuddered.​ ​​​"I​ ​want​ ​it​ ​up​ ​my​

​sweet
sissy​ ​rear​ ​end."

"Okay,​ ​Bimbo.​ ​​​But​ ​only​ ​because​ ​you​ ​insist."​ ​​​When​ ​he​ ​didn't​ ​move,​ ​she

told​ ​him,​ ​"You​ ​have​ ​to​ ​get​ ​into​ ​position,​ ​dummy."

Paul​ ​got​ ​down​ ​on​ ​the​ ​floor.​ ​​​The​ ​body​ ​stocking​ ​was​ ​still​ ​down​ ​from​ ​him baring​ ​his​ ​genitals.​ ​​​The​ ​ruffles​ ​that​ ​had​ ​been​ ​around​ ​his​ ​waist​ ​were​ ​lying alongside​ ​him.​ ​​​He​ ​got​ ​his​ ​bottom​ ​uppermost​ ​and​ ​Tiffany​ ​knelt​ ​behind​ ​him. They​ ​made​ ​him​ ​search​ ​his​ ​tummy​ ​pack​ ​again​ ​and​ ​find​ ​a​ ​pump​ ​bottle​ ​of liquid​ ​soap,​ ​which​ ​she​ ​used​ ​to​ ​lube​ ​her​ ​tool.​ ​​​An​ ​extra​ ​squirt​ ​went​ ​between his​ ​cheeks​ ​and​ ​she​

​rubbed​ ​that​ ​in​ ​with​ ​the​ ​end​ ​of​ ​the​ ​artificial​ ​prick.​ ​​​As​ ​she applied​ ​pressure​ ​to​ ​his​ ​pucker,​ ​he​ ​moaned​ ​loudly.

"Ohhh,"​ ​she​ ​commented.​ ​​​"Listen​ ​to​ ​how​ ​much​ ​she​ ​likes​ ​it.​ ​​​Come​ ​on, Bimbo.​ ​​​Make​ ​some​ ​more​ ​noise.​ ​​​It's​ ​all​ ​right​ ​to​ ​let​ ​everyone​ ​see​ ​how​ ​you love​ ​getting​ ​plowed."

She​ ​gave​ ​a​ ​thrust​ ​of​ ​her​ ​hips,​ ​burying​ ​the​ ​fat​ ​head​ ​of​ ​the​ ​rammer​ ​inside him.​ ​​​He​ ​didn't​ ​have​ ​to​ ​fake​ ​the​ ​groan​ ​that​ ​followed.​ ​​​She​ ​continued​ ​burying her​ ​fake​ ​fornicator,​ ​inch​ ​after​ ​inch.​ ​​​He​ ​felt​ ​the​ ​soap​ ​begin​ ​to​ ​irritate​ ​his sensitive​ ​inner​ ​tissues.​ ​​​And​ ​to​ ​feel​ ​how​ ​much​ ​he​ ​was​ ​being​ ​widened.​ ​​​Plus how​ ​intense​ ​the​ ​sensations​ ​were​ ​as​ ​she​ ​began​ ​pumping​ ​him​ ​with​ ​a​ ​slow and​ ​steady​ ​rhythm.

Tiffany​ ​said,​ ​"I​ ​hope​ ​you​ ​don't​ ​expect​ ​me​ ​to​ ​call​ ​you​ ​after​ ​this​ ​or​ ​anything. You're​ ​just​ ​a​ ​cheap​ ​bimbo,​ ​Bimbo.​ ​​​A​ ​real​ ​slut."\

They​ ​made​ ​him​ ​take​ ​the​ ​dildo​ ​that​ ​was​ ​attached​ ​to​ ​his​ ​skirt​ ​of​ ​ruffles​ ​and jam​ ​it​ ​into​ ​his​ ​mouth.​ ​​​Amber​ ​said,​ ​"Show​ ​us​ ​how​ ​you​ ​sucked​ ​those​ ​dudes in​ ​the​ ​men's​ ​room."

With​ ​his​ ​mouth​ ​filled​ ​by​ ​fake​ ​cock​ ​he​ ​grunted​ ​each​ ​time​ ​Tiffany​ ​drove​ ​into his​ ​tightness.​ ​​​It​ ​hurt​ ​so​ ​much.​ ​​​But​ ​it​ ​was​ ​also​ ​somehow​ ​stimulating.​ ​​​His dick​ ​twitched​ ​and​ ​demanded​ ​to​ ​be​ ​handled.​ ​​​The​ ​rubber​ ​balls​ ​attached​ ​to her​ ​weapon​ ​touched​ ​him;​ ​she​ ​was​ ​all​ ​the​

​way​ ​in.​ ​​​Tiffany​ ​used​ ​long strokes.​ ​​​She​ ​was​ ​getting​ ​excited​ ​herself,​ ​panting​ ​and​ ​purring.​ ​​​There​ ​must be​ ​something​ ​on​ ​her​ ​end​ ​of​ ​the​ ​strap-on​ ​that​ ​was​ ​designed​ ​to​ ​give pleasure​ ​to​ ​the​ ​wearer.​ ​​​The​ ​girls​ ​encouraged​ ​her.​ ​​​One​ ​of​ ​them​ ​handed Tiffany​ ​a​ ​champagne​ ​bottle​ ​and​ ​she​ ​took​ ​a​ ​swig.​ ​​​She​ ​varied​ ​her​ ​speed, rolled​ ​her​ ​hips,​ ​and​ ​pulled​ ​almost​ ​all​ ​the​ ​way​ ​out,​ ​but​ ​only​ ​so​ ​she​ ​could slam​ ​herself​ ​back​ ​in​ ​with​ ​one​ ​violent​ ​motion.​ ​​​Paul​ ​was​ ​blubbering​ ​and making​ ​wordless​ ​attempts​ ​at​ ​speech,​ ​his​ ​nose​ ​running,​ ​blinking​ ​back​ ​tears.

At​ ​last​ ​the​ ​girl​ ​riding​ ​him​ ​went​ ​into​ ​a​ ​climax.​ ​​​She​ ​held​ ​the​ ​dildo​ ​all​ ​the​ ​way inside​ ​him​ ​and​ ​ground​ ​hard​ ​against​ ​his​ ​abused​ ​rear​ ​entrance.​ ​​​He​ ​mewed and​ ​shed​ ​plentiful​ ​tears.​ ​​​The​ ​other​ ​girls​ ​clapped​ ​and​ ​hooted.​ ​​​Tiffany​ ​came down​ ​from​ ​her​ ​orgasmic​ ​high.

She​ ​said,​ ​"That​ ​was​ ​thirsty​ ​work.​ ​​​Where's​ ​the​ ​bottle?"

The​ ​champagne​ ​was​ ​given​ ​back​ ​to​ ​her​ ​and​ ​she​ ​drained​ ​what​ ​little​ ​was​ ​left, then​ ​sighed​ ​loudly.​ ​​​The​ ​sorority​ ​sister​ ​unbuckled​ ​the​ ​sex​ ​toy​ ​from​ ​her​ ​hips and​ ​wrapped​ ​the​ ​straps​ ​around​ ​Paul's​ ​without​ ​letting​ ​it​ ​slip​ ​free​ ​from​ ​his body.​ ​​​With​ ​help​ ​from​ ​Amber​ ​she​ ​got​ ​them​ ​hooked​ ​again,​ ​so​ ​that​ ​now​ ​they were​ ​around​ ​Paul's​ ​waist​ ​and​ ​thighs,​ ​holding​ ​the​ ​anal​ ​invader​ ​inside​ ​him.

Someone​ ​had​ ​brought​ ​balloons​ ​from​ ​the​ ​dance's​ ​decorations.​ ​​​Two​ ​were stuffed​ ​into​ ​the​ ​seat​ ​of​ ​his​ ​single​ ​garment,​ ​which​ ​was​ ​then​ ​pulled​ ​up​ ​to​ ​hold them​ ​there.​ ​​​Another​ ​pair​ ​were​ ​put​ ​against​ ​his​ ​chest.​ ​​​They​ ​were​ ​clipped​ ​to his​ ​nipples​ ​with​ ​utility​ ​clamps​ ​from​ ​his​ ​fanny​ ​pack,​ ​little​ ​ones​ ​like​ ​you​ ​might use​ ​to​ ​keep​ ​a​ ​bag​ ​of​ ​potato​ ​chips​ ​closed.​ ​​​The​ ​clamps​ ​really​ ​hurt​ ​but​ ​those mean​ ​girls​ ​showed​ ​no​ ​mercy.​ ​​​Instead,​ ​they​ ​made​ ​him​ ​strut​ ​around, wagging​ ​his​ ​cartoon​ ​ass​ ​and​ ​shaking​ ​his​ ​fake​ ​boobs.​ ​​​Then​ ​they​ ​yanked his​ ​outfit​ ​up​ ​so​ ​that​ ​the​ ​second​ ​set​ ​of​ ​balloons​ ​were​ ​held​ ​in​ ​place​ ​as​ ​well.

Paul​ ​was​ ​taken​ ​out​ ​into​ ​the​ ​main​ ​room,​ ​where​ ​he​ ​became​ ​a​ ​target​ ​for ridicule​ ​all​ ​over​ ​again.​ ​​​While​ ​he​ ​was​ ​being​ ​walked​ ​around​ ​the​ ​room​ ​for maximum​ ​humiliation,​ ​Jessica​ ​stayed​ ​behind​ ​to​ ​send​ ​a​ ​text​ ​from​ ​his​ ​phone. This​ ​was​ ​going​ ​to​ ​be​ ​a​ ​devastating​ ​addition​ ​to​ ​his​ ​already​ ​horrible predicament.​ ​​​She​ ​smirked​ ​to​ ​herself​ ​as​ ​she​ ​hit​ ​SEND.​ ​​​Yes,​ ​this​ ​was​ ​going to​ ​screw​ ​over​ ​the​ ​poor​ ​wimp​ ​in​ ​a​ ​thoroughly​ ​nasty​ ​way.​ ​​​She​ ​was​ ​so​ ​proud of​ ​herself​ ​and​ ​her​ ​endless​ ​bitchiness.

*********
A​ ​FORMAL​ ​EDUCATION​ ​5​ ​​​by​ ​Thorne

Hannah​ ​was​ ​sitting​ ​in​ ​her​ ​dorm​ ​room,​ ​still​ ​stewing​ ​about​ ​the​ ​way​ ​Paul​ ​had been​ ​acting.​ ​​​​​She​ ​kept​ ​feeling​ ​like​ ​he​ ​was​ ​somehow​ ​being​ ​dishonest​ ​with her,​ ​which​ ​she​ ​wouldn't​ ​tolerate.​ ​​​Maybe​ ​it​ ​had​ ​something​ ​to​ ​do​ ​with​ ​his less-than-butch​ ​fashion​ ​choices​ ​and​ ​the​ ​way​ ​he​ ​was​ ​forever​ ​fussing​ ​with his​ ​hair​ ​and​ ​skin​ ​products.​ ​​​She​ ​was​ ​getting​ ​to​ ​the​ ​end​ ​of​ ​her​ ​patience​ ​with him.​ ​​​Those​ ​stray​ ​thoughts​ ​she​ ​had​ ​been​ ​having​ ​about​ ​guys​ ​who​ ​were better​ ​hung​ ​than​ ​him,​ ​which​ ​would​ ​be​ ​just​ ​about​ ​any​ ​guys,​ ​were​ ​coalescing into​ ​more​ ​specific​ ​desires.​ ​​​She​ ​kept​ ​seeing​ ​mental​ ​images​ ​of​ ​ebony stallions​ ​and​ ​considering​ ​what​ ​it​ ​might​ ​be​ ​like​ ​to​ ​be​ ​with​ ​them,​ ​to experience​ ​a​ ​supersize​ ​cock​ ​instead​ ​of​ ​that​ ​snack​ ​size​ ​one​ ​of​ ​Paul's.

In​ ​the​ ​midst​ ​of​ ​her​ ​dissatisfied​ ​ruminations,​ ​she​ ​received​ ​a​ ​text​ ​message.​ ​​​It was​ ​from​ ​her​ ​boyfriend's​ ​phone.​ ​​​The​ ​message​ ​said​ ​that​ ​he​ ​was​ ​at​ ​the Spring​ ​Formal​ ​and​ ​she​ ​should​ ​get​ ​dressed​ ​up​ ​and​ ​meet​ ​him​ ​there.

Hannah​ ​felt​ ​a​ ​twinge​ ​of​ ​guilt​ ​for​ ​what​ ​she​ ​had​ ​been​ ​thinking​ ​about​ ​him.

Maybe​ ​he​ ​had​ ​been​ ​planning​ ​this​ ​surprise​ ​all​ ​along.​ ​​​That​ ​would​ ​mean​ ​that he​ ​hadn't​ ​been​ ​lying​ ​to​ ​her.​ ​​​And​ ​that​ ​he​ ​wasn't​ ​hiding​ ​anything​ ​negative.​ ​​​If that​ ​was​ ​the​ ​case,​ ​she​ ​would​ ​be​ ​ready​ ​to​ ​forgive​ ​and​ ​forget.​ ​​​​​​​She​ ​would also​ ​try​ ​not​ ​to​ ​pick​ ​at​ ​him​ ​and​ ​tear​ ​down​ ​his​ ​male​ ​confidence​ ​the​ ​way​ ​she had​ ​been​ ​doing​ ​off​ ​and​ ​on.​ ​​​She​ ​was​ ​willing​ ​to​ ​give​ ​him​ ​a​ ​fresh​ ​start.​ ​​​​​Plus, she​ ​would​ ​try​ ​to​

​suppress​ ​those​ ​growing​ ​fantasies​ ​she​ ​had​ ​been​ ​having about​ ​being​ ​with​ ​some​ ​fabulous,​ ​well​ ​endowed,​ ​Black​ ​master​ ​of​ ​the​ ​sexual arts.​ ​​​Even​ ​as​ ​she​ ​was​ ​making​ ​that​ ​vow​ ​to​ ​herself,​ ​she​ ​couldn't​ ​help picturing​ ​someone​ ​like​ ​the​ ​guys​ ​from​ ​the​ ​Alpha​ ​Ebony​ ​house.

Hannah​ ​searched​ ​through​ ​her​ ​closet​ ​but​ ​there​ ​was​ ​really​ ​only​ ​one​ ​good choice.​ ​​​It​ ​was​ ​a​ ​bandage​ ​dress​ ​she​ ​had​ ​gotten​ ​for​ ​her​ ​cousin's​ ​wedding and​ ​reception.​ ​​​The​ ​garment​ ​was​ ​pale​ ​green​ ​and​ ​had​ ​long​ ​sleeves,​ ​as​ ​well as​ ​a​ ​high​ ​neck.​ ​​​At​ ​the​ ​same​ ​time,​ ​it​ ​fit​ ​her​ ​like​ ​a​ ​glove,​ ​the​ ​back​ ​was​ ​bare, and​ ​the​ ​hem​ ​was​ ​several​ ​inches​ ​above​ ​the​ ​knee.​ ​​​She​ ​was​ ​aware​ ​now​ ​that the​ ​mix​ ​conservative​ ​and​ ​sexy​ ​elements​ ​reflected​ ​her​ ​self​ ​imagine.

Hannah​ ​was​ ​inclined​ ​to​ ​be​ ​less​ ​obvious​ ​about​ ​her​ ​femininity,​ ​but​ ​there​ ​was an​ ​inner​ ​bad​ ​girl​ ​waiting​ ​to​ ​be​ ​unleashed.​ ​​​In​ ​fact,​ ​at​ ​the​ ​wedding​ ​she​ ​had worn​ ​a​ ​stylish​ ​jacket,​ ​in​ ​a​ ​darker​ ​green,​ ​over​ ​the​ ​dress.​ ​​​Not​ ​until​ ​she arrived​ ​at​ ​the​ ​reception​ ​did​ ​she​ ​unbutton​ ​the​ ​jacket.​ ​​​Only​ ​then​ ​did​ ​she expose​ ​the​ ​contour​ ​hugging​ ​dress​ ​completely,​ ​and​ ​how​ ​it​ ​showcased​ ​her generous​ ​bust.​ ​​​That​ ​had​ ​been​ ​well​ ​appreciated​ ​by​ ​the​ ​single​ ​guys​ ​in attendance​ ​without​ ​dates,​ ​and​ ​all​ ​of​ ​them​ ​had​ ​made​ ​sure​ ​to​ ​get​ ​at​ ​least​ ​one dance​ ​with​ ​her.​ ​​​She​ ​had​ ​fond​ ​memories​ ​of​ ​being​ ​admired​ ​and​ ​desired.​ ​​​It hadn't​ ​led​ ​to​ ​anything​ ​else​ ​because​ ​her​ ​natural​ ​reluctance​ ​inhibited​ ​her.

After​ ​getting​ ​dressed,​ ​Hannah​ ​fixed​ ​her​ ​hair.​ ​​​She​ ​carefully​ ​applied make-up.​ ​​​The​ ​coed​ ​was​ ​eager​ ​to​ ​get​ ​to​ ​the​ ​party​ ​and​ ​see​ ​Paul.​ ​​​She hoped​ ​he​ ​wouldn't​ ​be​ ​too​ ​dressed​ ​up​ ​because​ ​she​ ​wanted​ ​them​ ​to​

​look good​ ​together.​ ​​​It​ ​would​ ​work​ ​well​ ​if​ ​he​ ​had​ ​on​ ​a​ ​nice​ ​jacket​ ​and​ ​slacks, with​ ​a​ ​simple​ ​shirt​ ​and​ ​maybe​ ​a​ ​flashy​ ​tie.​ ​​​Some​ ​of​ ​those​ ​metrosexual fashions​ ​he​ ​favored​ ​were​ ​a​ ​bit​ ​too...​ ​unmanly.​ ​​​She​ ​would​ ​be​ ​pleased​ ​to see​ ​him​ ​looking​ ​at​ ​least​ ​a​ ​little​ ​more​ ​macho​ ​than​ ​usual.​ ​​​When​ ​the cosmetics​ ​were​ ​done​ ​she​ ​did​ ​a​ ​quick​ ​final​ ​check.​ ​​​Hannah​ ​had​ ​gone​ ​a touch​ ​heavy​ ​on​ ​the​ ​eye​ ​liner​ ​and​ ​mascara,​ ​and​ ​the​ ​shade​ ​of​ ​lipstick​ ​-- Magenta​ ​Madness​ ​--​ ​was​ ​one​ ​she​ ​had​ ​been​ ​saving​ ​for​ ​a​ ​special​ ​occasion. It​ ​was​ ​certainly​ ​eye-catching.​ ​​​​​And​ ​this​ ​was​ ​definitely​ ​a​ ​special​ ​occasion. She​ ​was​ ​eagerly​ ​looking​ ​forward​ ​to​ ​her​ ​improved​ ​relationship​ ​with​ ​Paul. She​ ​slipped​ ​her​ ​feet​ ​into​ ​hot​ ​pink​ ​stilettos​ ​--​ ​which​ ​she​ ​HADN'T​ ​worn​ ​to​ ​that wedding​ ​--​ ​and​ ​was​ ​ready​ ​to​ ​go.

She​ ​left​ ​her​ ​dorm​ ​and​ ​started​ ​for​ ​the​ ​hall.​ ​​​As​ ​she​ ​approached​ ​it​ ​she spotted​ ​the​ ​banner​ ​above​ ​the​ ​door.​ ​​​Hannah​ ​hadn't​ ​known​ ​it​ ​was​ ​being co-sponsored​ ​by​ ​the​ ​Alpha​ ​Ebony​ ​fraternity.​ ​​​That​ ​meant​ ​all​ ​those​ ​athletic Black​ ​guys​ ​would​ ​be​ ​there,​ ​the​ ​ones​ ​who​ ​always​ ​made​ ​her​ ​look​ ​twice​ ​when she​ ​saw​ ​them​ ​around​ ​the​ ​campus.​ ​​​But​ ​not​ ​tonight.​ ​​​This​ ​evening​ ​she would​ ​dedicate​ ​herself​ ​to​ ​Paul​ ​and​ ​to​ ​making​ ​up​ ​for​ ​those​ ​subtle​ ​digs​ ​she had​ ​been​ ​directing​ ​at​ ​him.​ ​​​Now​ ​she​ ​would​ ​do​ ​whatever​ ​she​ ​could​ ​to​ ​build him​ ​up.​ ​​​And​ ​she​ ​reminded​ ​herself​ ​to​ ​apologize​ ​for​ ​imagining​ ​that​ ​he​ ​might be​ ​lying.​ ​​​She​ ​hated​ ​liars​ ​but​ ​now​ ​understood​ ​that​ ​he​ ​wasn't​ ​one.​ ​​​And​ ​she could​ ​cap​ ​it​ ​all​ ​off​ ​by​ ​being​ ​especially​ ​considerate​ ​to​ ​him​ ​later...​ ​in​ ​bed.

As​ ​Hannah​ ​entered​ ​she​ ​was​ ​greeted​ ​by​ ​a​ ​tall,​ ​striking​ ​Black​ ​guy.​ ​​​He introduced​ ​himself​ ​as​ ​Avery​ ​and​ ​walked​ ​her​ ​to​ ​the​ ​buffet​ ​table.​ ​​​Hannah gave​ ​him​ ​her​ ​name​ ​out​ ​of​ ​politeness.​ ​​​And​ ​maybe​ ​a​ ​tiny​ ​bit​ ​because​ ​he​ ​had such​ ​a​ ​warm​ ​smile.​ ​​​Along​ ​with​ ​broad​ ​shoulders.​ ​​​Plus,​ ​he​ ​exuded self-assurance.​ ​​​She​ ​looked​ ​around​ ​for​ ​Paul.​ ​​​Though​ ​she​ ​didn't​ ​spot​ ​him, she​ ​did​ ​see​ ​some​ ​sort​ ​of​ ​commotion​ ​going​ ​on​ ​in​ ​the​ ​far​ ​corner​ ​of​ ​the​ ​big room.​ ​​​There​ ​were​ ​too​ ​many​ ​bodies​ ​blocking​ ​her​ ​view​ ​to​ ​see​ ​what​ ​it​ ​was about.​ ​​​She​ ​would​ ​have​ ​to​ ​get​ ​her​ ​date​ ​to​ ​either​ ​tell​ ​her​ ​about​ ​it​ ​or​ ​escort her​ ​over​ ​there,​ ​once​ ​she​ ​found​ ​him.​ ​​​As​ ​Avery​ ​handed​ ​her​ ​a​ ​cup​ ​of​ ​punch she​ ​heard​ ​laughter​ ​erupting​ ​from​ ​the​ ​knot​ ​of​ ​people.​ ​​​She​ ​sipped​ ​the​ ​drink and​ ​could​ ​taste​ ​that​ ​it​ ​was​ ​well​ ​spiked.​ ​​​A​ ​little​ ​alcohol​ ​would​ ​loosen​ ​her​ ​up, so​ ​she​ ​drank​ ​half​ ​of​ ​the​ ​serving​ ​in​ ​one​ ​long​ ​swallow.

Avery​ ​said,​ ​"You​ ​certainly​ ​make​ ​that​ ​dress​ ​look​ ​good,​ ​Hannah."

She​ ​loved​ ​the​ ​compliment​ ​and​ ​the​ ​way​ ​he​ ​said​ ​her​ ​name.​ ​​​Hannah​ ​looked up​ ​at​ ​him​ ​and​ ​smiled.​ ​​​"Thank​ ​you,​ ​Avery.​ ​​​Maybe​ ​you​ ​can​ ​help​ ​me.​ ​​​I​ ​got​ ​a text​ ​from​ ​my​ ​boyfriend​ ​saying​ ​he​ ​was​ ​here,​ ​but​ ​I​ ​don't​ ​see​ ​him.​ ​​​His​ ​name is​ ​Paul.​ ​​​He's​ ​kind​ ​of​ ​short​ ​and,​ ​err,​ ​not​ ​well​ ​developed​ ​like​ ​you."​ ​​​Oops. She​ ​hadn't​ ​meant​ ​to​ ​include​ ​those​ ​last​ ​two​ ​words.​ ​​​Hurriedly​ ​she​ ​added, "Did​ ​you​ ​see​ ​anybody​ ​like​ ​that?"

"Little​ ​guy?​ ​​​​​Is​ ​he​ ​a​ ​white​ ​dude?​ ​​​Maybe​ ​into​ ​some​ ​kinky​ ​game​ ​playing?" "Kinky...?​ ​​​Oh,​ ​not​ ​Paul.​ ​​​I​ ​don't​ ​think.​ ​​​I​ ​mean..."

That​ ​was​ ​when​ ​Jessica​ ​broke​ ​away​ ​from​ ​the​ ​group​ ​across​ ​the​ ​room​ ​and came​ ​toward​ ​her.​ ​​​Avery​ ​introduced​ ​them​ ​to​ ​each​ ​other​ ​and​ ​explained​ ​who Hannah​ ​was​ ​seeking.​ ​​​The​ ​slender​ ​blond​ ​sorority​ ​girl​ ​had​ ​a​ ​cell​ ​phone​ ​in her​ ​hand.​ ​​​She​ ​turned​ ​it​ ​on​ ​and​ ​held​ ​it​ ​up​ ​for​ ​her​ ​to​ ​check.

"Is​ ​this​ ​him,​ ​Hannah?"
There​ ​was​ ​a​ ​picture​ ​of​ ​Paul​ ​wearing​ ​a​ ​smile,​ ​though​ ​his​ ​eyes​

​looked
slightly​ ​concerned.​ ​​​Hannah​ ​said​ ​uncertainly,​ ​"Yeah.​ ​​​​​On​ ​your​

​phone."

"Oh​ ​no,"​ ​Jessica​ ​explained.​ ​​​"This​ ​is​ ​his​ ​phone.​ ​​​He​ ​had​ ​us​ ​take​ ​some shots​ ​of​ ​him​ ​while​ ​he​ ​was..."​ ​​​She​ ​gave​ ​Hannah​ ​a​ ​conspiratorial​ ​look.​ ​​​"... doing​ ​that​ ​thing​ ​he​ ​likes​ ​to​ ​do."

"That​ ​thing?​ ​​​What​ ​do​ ​you​ ​mean?"​ ​she​ ​asked​ ​with​ ​growing​ ​concern. "You​ ​know.​ ​​​Don't​ ​you?"

Jessica​ ​advanced​ ​to​ ​the​ ​next​ ​picture,​ ​which​ ​showed​ ​some​ ​girl​ ​applying make-up​ ​to​ ​Paul's​ ​face.​ ​​​What​ ​was​ ​going​ ​on?​ ​​​The​ ​next​ ​shot​ ​was​ ​of​ ​him fully​ ​made​ ​up,​ ​in​ ​some​ ​bizarre​ ​clown​ ​look.​ ​​​He​ ​wasn't​ ​dressed.​ ​​​And​ ​there were​ ​girls​ ​in​ ​bras​ ​and​ ​panties​ ​alongside​ ​him.​ ​​​Hannah​ ​drained​ ​her​ ​drink. Avery​ ​took​ ​the​ ​cup​ ​from​ ​her​ ​numb​ ​fingers​ ​and​ ​went​ ​to​ ​refill​ ​it.​ ​​​The​ ​Delta Virago​ ​sister​ ​ran​ ​through​ ​several​ ​more​ ​pictures,​ ​each​ ​more​ ​upsetting​ ​than the​ ​last.​ ​​​It​ ​was​ ​obvious​ ​that​ ​Paul​ ​had​ ​been​ ​hiding​ ​something.​ ​​​A​ ​very​ ​big and​ ​shameful​ ​something.​ ​​​Avery​ ​returned​ ​with​ ​the​ ​filled​ ​cup​ ​and​ ​Hannah accepted​ ​it​ ​gratefully,​ ​taking​ ​a​ ​generous​ ​swallow​ ​and​ ​then​ ​holding​ ​it​ ​against her​ ​body,​ ​just​ ​under​ ​her​ ​full​ ​breasts.

Jessica​ ​offered,​ ​sounding​ ​sweetly​ ​helpful,​ ​"Would​ ​you​ ​like​ ​to​ ​get​ ​a​ ​closer look​ ​at​ ​Pauley​ ​while​ ​he's​ ​entertaining​ ​everyone?​ ​​​Oh,​ ​but​ ​we​ ​can't​ ​call​ ​him that.​ ​​​I​ ​guess​ ​​​you​ ​know​ ​the​ ​name​ ​he​ ​insists​ ​everybody​ ​use."

"I...​ ​don't."

Avery​ ​said​ ​helpfully,​ ​"He​ ​wants​ ​everybody​ ​to​ ​call​ ​him​ ​Bimbo."​ ​​​He​ ​let​ ​that sink​ ​in​ ​for​ ​a​ ​moment​ ​and​ ​then​ ​suggested,​ ​"You​ ​look​ ​kind​ ​of​ ​like​ ​that​ ​sissy boy​ ​ain't​ ​been​ ​sharing​ ​with​ ​you.​ ​​​How​ ​about​ ​if​ ​I​ ​walk​ ​you​ ​over​ ​there."​ ​​​He offered​ ​his​ ​arm.

"Thank​ ​you,"​ ​Hannah​ ​said,​ ​feeling​ ​betrayed​ ​by​ ​her​ ​boyfriend.​ ​​​She​ ​hooked her​ ​arm​ ​through​ ​the​ ​handsome​ ​Black​ ​man's.​ ​​​"I'm​ ​awfully​ ​glad​ ​that​ ​you're here​ ​for​ ​me."​ ​​​She​ ​let​ ​her​ ​upper​ ​arm​ ​press​ ​against​ ​his.​ ​​​"Avery."

"My​ ​pleasure,"​ ​he​ ​responded​ ​as​ ​they​ ​started​ ​toward​ ​the​ ​gathering.

Tiffany​ ​had​ ​been​ ​waiting​ ​for​ ​them​ ​to​ ​approach.​ ​​​Before​ ​they​ ​got​ ​there​ ​she looked​ ​down​ ​at​ ​Paul,​ ​who​ ​was​ ​in​ ​his​ ​increasingly​ ​familiar​ ​pose​ ​of​ ​being​ ​on his​ ​knees.​ ​​​He​ ​had​ ​been​ ​striking​ ​poses​ ​that​ ​onlookers​ ​suggested,​ ​most​ ​of them​ ​involving​ ​his​ ​big​ ​balloon​ ​boobs.

Now​ ​Tiffany​ ​told​ ​him,​ ​"Bimbo,​ ​I​ ​want​ ​you​ ​to​ ​kiss​ ​my​ ​sexy​ ​red​ ​shoes.​ ​​​And​ ​I want​ ​you​ ​to​ ​talk​ ​to​ ​them.​ ​​​Tell​ ​them​ ​how​ ​much​ ​they​ ​turn​ ​you​ ​on​ ​and​ ​what you'd​ ​like​ ​to​ ​do​ ​to​ ​them."​ ​​​The​ ​nearing​ ​trio​ ​was​ ​almost​ ​there,​ ​so​ ​she​ ​quickly finished​ ​with,​ ​"And​ ​make​ ​it​ ​dirty.​ ​​​Obscene.​ ​​​Filthy."

Paul​ ​lowered​ ​his​ ​head.​ ​​​At​ ​least​ ​now​ ​he​ ​didn't​ ​have​ ​to​ ​see​ ​any​ ​of​ ​their leering​ ​faces.​ ​​​He​ ​pressed​ ​his​ ​lips​ ​to​ ​the​ ​toe​ ​of​ ​one​ ​shoe​ ​and​ ​tried​ ​to​ ​think of​ ​what​ ​he​ ​should​ ​say.​ ​​​He​ ​was​ ​so​ ​glad​ ​that​ ​all​ ​of​ ​this​ ​madness​ ​would​ ​soon be​ ​over.​ ​​​He​ ​just​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​get​ ​back​ ​together​

​with​ ​Hannah,​ ​relax,​ ​and maybe​ ​even​ ​get​ ​intimate​ ​with​ ​her.​ ​​​A​ ​session​ ​of​ ​lovemaking​ ​would​ ​be​ ​good for​ ​his​ ​self​ ​confidence.

Hannah,​ ​meanwhile​ ​was​ ​being​ ​​​led​ ​through​ ​the​ ​barrier​ ​of​ ​bodies​ ​by​ ​Avery. He​ ​guided​ ​her​ ​with​ ​a​ ​hand​ ​on​ ​the​ ​small​ ​of​ ​her​ ​back.​ ​​​They​ ​got​ ​to​ ​the​ ​inner edge​ ​and​ ​stopped.​ ​​​There​ ​was​ ​a​ ​figure​ ​groveling​ ​before​ ​one​ ​of​ ​the​ ​sorority sisters​ ​who​ ​Hannah​ ​recognized.​ ​​​It​ ​was​ ​a​ ​notoriously​ ​bitchy​ ​one​ ​named Tiffany.​ ​​​The​ ​type​ ​who​ ​always​ ​got​ ​what​ ​she​ ​wanted,​ ​even​ ​if​ ​it​ ​meant bruising​ ​a​ ​few​ ​egos.​ ​​​While​ ​Hannah​ ​disapproved​ ​of​ ​that​ ​one​ ​some​ ​levels, she​ ​envied​ ​it​ ​on​ ​others.​ ​​​Tiffany​ ​had​ ​on​ ​earrings​ ​that​ ​were​ ​in​ ​the​ ​shape​ ​of the​ ​spades​ ​emblem,​ ​like​ ​on​ ​playing​ ​cards.​ ​​​Hannah​ ​knew​ ​that​ ​meant​ ​she had​ ​a​ ​Black​ ​boyfriend,​ ​like​ ​the​ ​girls​ ​of​ ​Delta​ ​Virago​ ​specialized​ ​in​ ​acquiring. But​ ​Hannah's​ ​attention​ ​was​ ​drawn​ ​to​ ​that​ ​hunched​ ​figure,​ ​which​ ​was wearing​ ​some​ ​sort​ ​of​ ​clinging​ ​body​ ​stocking,​ ​and​ ​had​ ​balloons​ ​stuffed​ ​into the​ ​seat​ ​of​ ​it​ ​to​ ​create​ ​a​ ​caricature​ ​of​ ​a​ ​bubble​ ​butt.

The​ ​cowering​ ​person​ ​kissed​ ​the​ ​other​ ​shoe​ ​and​ ​said,​ ​in​ ​a​ ​voice​ ​that sounded​ ​stretched​ ​thin​ ​by​ ​humiliation,​ ​"I​ ​love​ ​you,​ ​sexy​ ​red​ ​shoes.​ ​​​I​ ​want to​ ​kiss​ ​you...​ ​more."​ ​​​He​ ​didn't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​get​ ​in​ ​trouble​ ​for​ ​not​ ​going​ ​far enough,​ ​didn't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​risk​ ​being​ ​sent​ ​back​ ​to​ ​the​ ​ladies'​ ​room​ ​or,​ ​worse, the​ ​men's​ ​lavatory.​ ​​​"I​ ​want​ ​to​ ​lick​ ​you​ ​and...​ ​suck​ ​on​ ​your​ ​heels."​ ​​​He​ ​didn't think​ ​that​ ​would​ ​satisfy​ ​them,​ ​so​ ​he​ ​went​ ​on​ ​with,​ ​"I​ ​want​ ​to​ ​rub​ ​you​ ​against my​ ​dick.​ ​​​I​ ​need​ ​to​ ​jerk​ ​off​ ​with​ ​you.​ ​​​I​ ​have​ ​to​ ​stick​ ​my​ ​little​ ​dick​ ​into​ ​your peep-toes​ ​and​ ​hump​ ​you."​ ​​​He​ ​was​ ​almost​ ​there.​ ​​​Just​ ​make​ ​it​

​more extreme​ ​and​ ​they'd​ ​accept​ ​it.​ ​​​"I​ ​want​ ​to​ ​screw​ ​one​ ​shoe​ ​while​ ​I​ ​stick​ ​the heel​ ​of​ ​the​ ​other​ ​up​ ​my​ ​ass."​ ​​​Just​ ​for​ ​good​ ​measure,​ ​he​ ​added,​ ​"My​ ​sissy ass."

He​ ​decided​ ​to​ ​look​ ​up​ ​at​ ​Tiffany,​ ​anticipating​ ​that​ ​he​ ​had​ ​gone​ ​far​ ​enough and​ ​that​ ​she​ ​would​ ​at​ ​last​ ​relent.​ ​​​The​ ​crowd​ ​would​ ​disperse.​ ​​​He​ ​would​ ​be left​ ​alone​ ​to​ ​sneak​ ​off​ ​and​ ​get​ ​out​ ​of​ ​his​ ​mortifying​ ​outfit,​ ​along​ ​with​ ​the gaudily​ ​overdone,​ ​girly​ ​clown​ ​face.​ ​​​Paul​ ​raised​ ​his​ ​eyes​ ​and​ ​saw​ ​-- Hannah?​ ​​​On​ ​the​ ​arm​ ​of​ ​some​ ​well​ ​dressed​ ​Black​ ​guy?​ ​​​Who​ ​was​ ​putting​ ​a comforting​ ​arm​ ​around​ ​her​ ​shoulders?

In​ ​a​ ​small​ ​voice,​ ​Paul​ ​said,​ ​"I​ ​can​ ​explain."

Hannah​ ​went​ ​ballistic.​ ​​​She​ ​pulled​ ​away​ ​from​ ​Avery​ ​and​ ​stepped​ ​into​ ​the open​ ​space,​ ​alongside​ ​Paul.​ ​​​Her​ ​foot​ ​came​ ​up​ ​and​ ​she​ ​put​ ​her​ ​sole against​ ​his​ ​narrow​ ​chest.​ ​​​When​ ​she​ ​shoved,​ ​he​ ​went​ ​over​ ​backwards, giving​ ​her​ ​a​ ​clear​ ​look​ ​at​ ​his​ ​fake​ ​boobs.​ ​​​​​Hannah​ ​stepped​ ​over​ ​him,​ ​so that​ ​her​ ​feet,​ ​in​ ​those​ ​racy​ ​pink​ ​heels,​ ​were​ ​planted​ ​well​ ​apart​ ​on​ ​either side​ ​of​ ​his​ ​upturned​ ​face.​ ​​​She​ ​was​ ​glowering​ ​down​ ​at​ ​him​ ​like​ ​an​ ​enraged goddess​ ​from​ ​some​ ​ancient​ ​myth.

"You​ ​creep!"​ ​she​ ​snapped.​ ​​​Everyone​ ​fell​ ​silent​ ​to​ ​listen​ ​to​ ​this​ ​infuriated young​ ​woman.​ ​​​"You​ ​pervert.​ ​​​All​ ​this​ ​time​ ​I've​ ​been​

​putting​ ​up​ ​with​ ​your stupid​ ​hair​ ​products​ ​and​ ​skin​ ​products​ ​and​ ​the​ ​way​ ​you​ ​used​ ​them​ ​all​ ​like some​ ​self-involved​ ​girl.​ ​​​And​ ​those​ ​fruity​ ​clothes,​ ​with​ ​the​ ​tailored-this​ ​and the​ ​designer-label-that.​ ​​​Having​ ​to​ ​walk​ ​around​ ​campus​ ​with​ ​you​ ​while​ ​you looked​ ​like​ ​you​ ​were​ ​trying​ ​out​ ​for​ ​the​ ​fag​ ​league."

He​ ​could​ ​see​ ​right​ ​under​ ​her​ ​short​ ​dress,​ ​with​ ​a​ ​perfect​ ​view​ ​of​ ​her​ ​white inner​ ​thighs​ ​and​ ​even​ ​the​ ​narrow​ ​crotch​ ​band​ ​of​ ​her​ ​pink​ ​panties.​ ​​​Paul tried​ ​to​ ​gather​ ​his​ ​wits​ ​to​ ​defend​ ​himself.​ ​​​He​ ​said,​ ​"There's​ ​a​ ​simple explanation​ ​for​ ​all​ ​this.​ ​​​I​ ​didn't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​go​ ​along​ ​with​ ​any​ ​of​ ​it."

That​ ​was​ ​as​ ​far​ ​as​ ​he​ ​got​ ​before​ ​she​ ​cut​ ​in​ ​with,​ ​"So​ ​that's​ ​why​ ​there​ ​are​ ​all those​ ​pictures​ ​of​ ​you​ ​looking​ ​like​ ​a​ ​happy​ ​pansy​ ​while​ ​the​ ​girls​ ​make​ ​up your​ ​face?​ ​​​And​ ​on​ ​your​ ​own​ ​phone.​ ​​​I​ ​suppose​ ​you​ ​gave​ ​it​ ​to​ ​them​ ​and said,​ ​'Ooo,​ ​take​ ​pictures​ ​of​ ​me​ ​while​ ​you​ ​help​ ​me​ ​look​ ​like​ ​the​ ​faggot​ ​I​ ​am. But​ ​don't​ ​tell​ ​my​ ​girlfriend​ ​because​ ​I've​ ​been​ ​lying​ ​to​ ​her​ ​ever​ ​since​ ​we​ ​met. Not​ ​being​ ​honest​ ​about​ ​what​ ​a​ ​freak​ ​I​ ​am.​ ​​​Not​ ​sharing​ ​my​ ​dirty​ ​secrets. Not​ ​making​ ​sure​ ​she​ ​can​ ​avoid​ ​the​ ​embarrassment​ ​of​ ​dating​ ​a​ ​weird, twisted,​ ​messed​ ​up​ ​Nancy​ ​boy'."

"I'm​ ​not​ ​really​ ​like​ ​this,"​ ​he​ ​feebly​ ​protested.

"No,​ ​you​ ​just​ ​accidently​ ​had​ ​them​ ​dress​ ​you​ ​up​ ​so​ ​you​ ​could​ ​stick​ ​balloons in​ ​there​ ​and​ ​pretend​ ​you​ ​have​ ​a​ ​huge​ ​pair​ ​of​ ​knockers.​ ​​​I​ ​guess​ ​you​ ​were trying​ ​to​ ​attract​ ​guys​ ​so​ ​you​ ​could...​ ​could..."​ ​​​Her​ ​eyes​ ​went​ ​even​ ​wider. "Is​ ​that​ ​cum​ ​on​ ​your​ ​fake​ ​tits?​ ​​​Were​ ​you...?​ ​​​Did​ ​you...?​ ​​​OMG,​ ​you've been​ ​blowing​ ​guys.​ ​​​This​ ​is​ ​impossible,​ ​Paul.​ ​​​Or​ ​whatever​ ​you're​ ​called now."

Someone,​ ​who​ ​sounded​ ​suspiciously​ ​like​ ​Amber,​ ​reminded​ ​her​ ​in​ ​a​ ​stage whisper,​ ​"She​ ​loves​ ​to​ ​be​ ​called​ ​Bimbo."

"Right,"​ ​Hannah​ ​agreed.​ ​​​"Bimbo.​ ​​​Well,​ ​you​ ​for​ ​sure​ ​look​ ​like​ ​a​ ​bimbo​ ​with spunk​ ​on​ ​your​ ​make-believe,​ ​monstrous,​ ​moo​ ​cow​ ​tits.​ ​​​Look​ ​at​ ​you. You're​ ​disgusting."

"But​ ​you​ ​know​ ​I'm​ ​a​ ​man​ ​under​ ​all​ ​this."​ ​​​Hoping​ ​to​ ​prove​ ​his​ ​masculinity​ ​to everyone,​ ​he​ ​said,​ ​"You've​ ​been​ ​to​ ​bed​ ​with​ ​me,​ ​Hannah."

The​ ​onlookers​ ​were​ ​already​ ​silent​ ​but​ ​somehow​ ​that​ ​silence​ ​deepened,​ ​as if​ ​now​ ​they​ ​were​ ​all​ ​holding​ ​their​ ​breath.​ ​​​Hannah's​ ​jaw​ ​set​ ​so​ ​firmly​ ​that you​ ​could​ ​see​ ​the​ ​tendons​ ​in​ ​her​ ​smooth​ ​neck.​ ​​​Her​ ​little​ ​hands​ ​were​ ​balled into​ ​fists.​ ​​​Avery​ ​considered​ ​giving​ ​her​ ​some​ ​more​ ​comforting,​ ​like​ ​maybe by​ ​hugging​ ​her​ ​from​ ​behind,​ ​but​ ​even​ ​he​ ​didn't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​deal​ ​with​ ​the volcanic​ ​eruption​

​that​ ​everyone​ ​could​ ​sense​ ​was​ ​coming.​ ​​​She​ ​drew​ ​breath through​ ​her​ ​clenched​ ​teeth​ ​and​ ​it​ ​hissed​ ​loud​ ​enough​ ​for​ ​everyone​ ​to​ ​hear, including​ ​Paul,​ ​who​ ​was​ ​feeling​ ​inappropriately​ ​stirred​ ​by​ ​everything, especially​ ​having​ ​her​ ​standing​ ​over​ ​him​ ​that​ ​way,​ ​and​ ​seeing​ ​that​ ​Black guy​ ​touching​ ​her,​ ​and​ ​her​ ​accepting​ ​it.

He​ ​thought,​ ​'What's​ ​wrong​ ​with​ ​me?​ ​​​My​ ​life​ ​is​ ​falling​ ​apart​ ​and​ ​I'm​ ​almost... aroused.​ ​​​I​ ​don't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​lose​ ​Hannah.​ ​​​I​ ​don't​ ​want​ ​her​ ​with​ ​that​ ​big​ ​stud. Look​ ​at​ ​the​ ​bulge​ ​in​ ​his​ ​pants.​ ​​​How​ ​could​ ​I​ ​ever​ ​compete​ ​with​ ​that?​ ​​​Once she​ ​had​ ​a​ ​sample​ ​of​ ​him,​ ​I​ ​would​ ​become​ ​a​ ​sexual​ ​zero​ ​in​ ​her​ ​eyes'.​ ​​​At least​ ​she​ ​hadn't​ ​said​ ​a​ ​word​ ​about​ ​his​ ​below​ ​average​ ​penis.​ ​​​That​ ​was some​ ​consolation.

She​ ​was​ ​reaching​ ​her​ ​boiling​ ​point.​ ​​​He​ ​had​ ​dared​ ​to​ ​announce​ ​to​ ​the​ ​room that​ ​hey​ ​had​ ​been​ ​lovers.​ ​​​He​ ​had​ ​made​ ​it​ ​look​ ​like​ ​she​ ​was​ ​willing​ ​to accept​ ​an​ ​abnormal​ ​guy​ ​like​ ​him​ ​as​ ​her​ ​bedmate.​ ​​​That​ ​was​ ​too​ ​much.

And​ ​she​ ​knew​ ​exactly​ ​how​ ​to​ ​counter​ ​it.

Hannah​ ​said,​ ​with​ ​venom​ ​in​ ​her​ ​words,​ ​"I've​ ​been​ ​to​ ​bed​ ​with​ ​you,​ ​all​ ​right. With​ ​you​ ​and​ ​your​ ​miniature​ ​dick.​ ​​​That​ ​pathetic​ ​excuse​ ​for​ ​a​ ​cock​ ​that's hiding​ ​under​ ​your​ ​clown​ ​suit.​ ​​​It's​ ​appropriate​ ​that​ ​you​ ​like​ ​to​ ​dress​ ​as​ ​a clown,​ ​because​ ​you're​ ​pecker​ ​is​ ​a​ ​joke.​ ​​​I​ ​never​ ​once​ ​got​ ​to​ ​finish​ ​when​ ​you had​ ​that​ ​little​ ​worm​ ​inside​ ​me.​ ​​​That​ ​peanut.​ ​​​That​ ​pinky​ ​finger."

You​ ​could​ ​almost​ ​hear​ ​the​ ​watchers​ ​exhale.​ ​​​They​ ​were​ ​getting​ ​quiet​ ​a show.​ ​​​Several​ ​of​ ​them​ ​had​ ​their​ ​cameras​ ​out​ ​again​ ​and​ ​were​ ​taking​ ​still more​ ​pictures​ ​of​ ​his​ ​disgraceful​ ​situation.​ ​​​Hannah​ ​put​ ​one​ ​foot​ ​on​ ​his​ ​soft tummy,​ ​leaning​ ​just​ ​enough​ ​weight​ ​on​ ​it​ ​to​ ​make​ ​him​ ​whimper.​ ​​​She​ ​felt extraordinarily​ ​empowered.

Paul​ ​looked​ ​up​ ​at​ ​her​ ​and​ ​managed​ ​to​ ​choke​ ​out,​ ​"Honey..

"Don't​ ​honey​ ​me,​ ​you​ ​diddle-dick​ ​loser.​ ​​​I​ ​can't​ ​believe​ ​I​ ​ever​ ​went​ ​out​ ​with a​ ​candy​ ​ass​ ​like​ ​you.​ ​​​With​ ​your​ ​dress-up​ ​games.​ ​​​And​ ​that​ ​grotesque queer-clown​ ​face.​ ​​​You​ ​aren't​ ​a​ ​man.​ ​​​You​ ​aren't​ ​even​ ​a​ ​homo.​ ​​​You​ ​just a...​ ​a...​ ​freak​ ​show."

There​ ​was​ ​a​ ​wave​ ​of​ ​spontaneous​ ​applause.​ ​​​It​ ​looked​ ​like​ ​she​ ​might​ ​be losing​ ​her​ ​momentum,​ ​so​ ​someone​ ​showed​ ​her​ ​another​ ​phone.​ ​​​She looked​ ​at​ ​a​ ​well-framed​ ​image​ ​of​ ​Paul​ ​with​ ​an​ ​enviably​ ​large​ ​Black​ ​cock stretching​ ​his​ ​lips.​ ​​​He​ ​was​ ​giving​ ​a​ ​thumbs-up​ ​sign​ ​of​ ​approval.​ ​​​She​ ​didn't know​ ​that​ ​he​ ​had​ ​been​ ​forced​ ​to​ ​do​ ​that.​ ​​​Hannah​ ​glared​ ​at​ ​him.​ ​​​She ground​ ​her​ ​heel​ ​into​ ​his​ ​belly.​ ​​​He​ ​writhed​ ​and​ ​made​ ​pitiable​ ​mewling noises.​ ​​​The​ ​holder​ ​of​ ​the​ ​phone​ ​turned​ ​and​ ​lowered​ ​it​ ​so​ ​Paul​ ​could​ ​see the​ ​accusing​ ​image.​ ​​​He​ ​tried​ ​to​ ​speak​ ​but​ ​she​ ​was​ ​applying​ ​too​ ​much force,​ ​really​ ​hurting​ ​him.

"Look​ ​at​ ​you,"​ ​she​ ​fumed.​ ​​​"Lying​ ​there​ ​like​ ​you're​ ​waiting​ ​for​ ​some​ ​guy​ ​to jump​ ​on​ ​you​ ​and​ ​give​ ​you​ ​some​ ​sick​ ​thrills.​ ​​​You'd​ ​sure​ ​like​ ​that,​ ​wouldn't you...​ ​Bimbo?"

He​ ​reached​ ​up​ ​imploringly​ ​to​ ​her​ ​but​ ​she​ ​just​ ​laughed​ ​at​ ​him.​ ​​​Paul​ ​was barely​ ​able​ ​to​ ​say,​ ​"If​ ​you'll​ ​just​ ​give​ ​me​ ​a​ ​chance..."

"I'll​ ​give​ ​you​ ​a​ ​chance.​ ​​​How​ ​about​ ​a​ ​chance​ ​to​ ​stay​ ​away​ ​from​ ​me.​ ​​​And​ ​to come​ ​get​ ​any​ ​of​ ​your​ ​crap​ ​that's​ ​in​ ​my​ ​dorm​ ​room.​ ​​​In​ ​fact,​ ​don't​ ​bother.​ ​​​I'll just​ ​toss​ ​it​ ​all​ ​out​ ​the​ ​window.​ ​​​You​ ​are​ ​one​ ​sad​ ​sack​ ​of​ ​shit,​ ​Bimbo.​ ​​​If​ ​I never​ ​see​ ​you​ ​and​ ​your​ ​baby​ ​dick​ ​again,​ ​it​ ​will​ ​be​ ​too​ ​soon."

With​ ​perfect​ ​timing,​ ​seeing​ ​that​ ​she​ ​had​ ​at​ ​last​ ​vented​ ​enough​ ​anger​ ​to​ ​be touched,​ ​Avery​ ​put​ ​his​ ​strong​ ​hands​ ​on​ ​her​ ​shoulders.​ ​​​He​ ​said,​ ​"It's​ ​all right​ ​now.​ ​​​I'll​ ​get​ ​you​ ​away​ ​from​ ​him,​ ​if​ ​you​ ​want."

She​ ​got​ ​her​ ​foot​ ​off​ ​Paul​ ​but​ ​put​ ​it​ ​back​ ​where​ ​it​ ​had​ ​been,​ ​so​ ​that​ ​she​ ​was still​ ​over​ ​him,​ ​her​ ​showy​ ​heels​ ​on​ ​either​ ​side​ ​of​ ​his​ ​head.​ ​​​As​ ​Avery​ ​moved in​ ​to​ ​face​ ​her,​ ​she​ ​hugged​ ​him.​ ​​​He​ ​hugged​ ​her​ ​too,​ ​gently​ ​rubbing​ ​her back.​ ​​​In​ ​a​ ​flash,​ ​all​ ​of​ ​her​ ​secret​ ​longings​ ​for​ ​a​ ​man​ ​like​ ​him​ ​coalesced. She​ ​was​ ​done​ ​with​ ​Paul​ ​and​ ​needed​

​someone​ ​to​ ​fill​ ​the​ ​vacancy​ ​in​ ​her​ ​life. Also​ ​to​ ​fill​ ​another​ ​vacancy​ ​in​ ​ways​ ​her​ ​former​ ​boyfriend​ ​had​ ​never​ ​been able​ ​to​ ​do.​ ​​​They​ ​clung​ ​together​ ​and​ ​she​ ​closed​ ​her​ ​eyes,​ ​parted​ ​her​ ​lips, and​ ​let​ ​her​ ​head​ ​tilt​ ​back​ ​just​ ​far​ ​enough.​ ​​​The​ ​Black​ ​fraternity​ ​brother brought​ ​his​ ​mouth​ ​down​ ​on​ ​hers​ ​and​ ​they​ ​kissed​ ​passionately.​ ​​​He​ ​let​ ​his tongue​ ​enter​ ​her​ ​mouth​ ​ever​ ​so​ ​slightly​ ​and​ ​she​ ​responded​ ​with enthusiastic​ ​lingual​ ​moves​ ​of​ ​her​ ​own.​ ​​​Poor​ ​Paul​ ​had​ ​to​ ​stay​ ​where​ ​he was,​ ​still​ ​flat​ ​on​ ​his​ ​back,​ ​utterly​ ​disgraced,​ ​and​ ​watch​ ​it​ ​all.​ ​​​Avery​ ​was fondling​ ​her​ ​bottom​ ​and​ ​she​ ​was​ ​rubbing​ ​her​ ​crotch​ ​against​ ​him​ ​invitingly. Worst​ ​of​ ​all​ ​for​ ​the​ ​supine​ ​figure,​ ​he​ ​was​ ​becoming​ ​unaccountably​ ​aroused again,​ ​much​ ​more​ ​than​ ​previously.

"Holy​ ​crap,"​ ​a​ ​female​ ​voice​ ​exclaimed.​ ​​​"The​ ​sissy​ ​clown's​ ​getting​ ​a​ ​boner." "Yeah,"​ ​echoed​ ​another.​ ​​​"An​ ​itty​ ​bitty​ ​boner."

Tiffany​ ​put​ ​the​ ​sole​ ​of​ ​her​ ​high​ ​heel​ ​on​ ​it​ ​and​ ​worked​ ​it​ ​back​ ​and​ ​forth. "Jeez​ ​Louise,​ ​it's​ ​like​ ​a​ ​hard-on,​ ​only​ ​a​ ​third​ ​as​ ​big.​ ​​​Maybe​ ​less."

Paul​ ​began​ ​breathing​ ​harder.​ ​​​He​ ​couldn't​ ​stop​ ​peeping​ ​up​ ​Hannah's​ ​dress. Was​ ​that​ ​a​ ​damp​ ​spot​ ​forming​ ​on​ ​the​ ​narrow​ ​part​ ​of​ ​her​ ​panties?​ ​​​​​Was​ ​she that​ ​turned​ ​on​ ​by​ ​Avery?​ ​​​He​ ​felt​ ​himself​ ​being​ ​pushed​ ​toward​ ​an​ ​orgasm. Oh,​ ​no!​ ​​​Not​ ​with​ ​everyone​

​watching,​ ​their​ ​attention​ ​already​ ​called​ ​to​ ​his unwanted​ ​physical​ ​reaction.

"Day-am,​ ​the​ ​nut​ ​job​ ​is​ ​getting​ ​off​ ​on​ ​being​ ​treated​ ​like​ ​an​ ​ass-hat." "And​ ​seeing​ ​his​ ​ex-girlfriend​ ​hooking​ ​up​ ​with​ ​Avery."

"Ew,"​ ​added​ ​Tiffany.​ ​​​"And​ ​having​ ​his​ ​bite-size​ ​dick​ ​teased​ ​by​ ​my​ ​foot. He's​ ​a​ ​total​ ​sideshow​ ​attraction.​ ​​​Getting​ ​off​ ​from​ ​my​ ​shoe​ ​on​ ​his​ ​poor excuse​ ​for​ ​a​ ​cock.​ ​​​Double-ew."

She​ ​moved​ ​her​ ​foot​ ​faster,​ ​making​ ​him​ ​jerk​ ​his​ ​hips.​ ​​​In​ ​rapid​ ​succession he​ ​let​ ​out​ ​a​ ​cry​ ​of​ ​defeat,​ ​froze​ ​in​ ​position,​ ​and​ ​bucked​ ​his​ ​pelvis​ ​several times,​ ​as​ ​if​ ​he​ ​was​ ​humping​ ​her​ ​foot​ ​from​ ​underneath.​ ​​​He​ ​was​ ​coming. Before​ ​he​ ​was​ ​completely​ ​done​ ​she​ ​moved​ ​away​ ​her​ ​shoe.​ ​​​Everybody saw​ ​the​ ​wetness​ ​spreading​ ​where​ ​the​ ​small​ ​bump​ ​made​ ​by​ ​his​ ​dick​ ​was. There​ ​were​ ​repulsed​ ​sounds​ ​from​ ​those​ ​with​ ​the​ ​best​ ​views,​ ​laughter​ ​from the​ ​cruder​ ​sorts,​ ​and​ ​inevitably,​ ​more​ ​photos​ ​being​ ​taken.​ ​​​He​ ​lay​ ​there​ ​in abject​ ​misery,​ ​the​ ​clamps​ ​that​ ​held​ ​those​ ​balloons​ ​to​ ​his​ ​nipples​ ​hurting worse​ ​than​ ​ever,​ ​and​ ​his​ ​bottom​ ​still​ ​sore​ ​from​ ​the​ ​strap-on​ ​assault.

"No​ ​more,"​ ​he​ ​blubbered.​ ​​​"No​ ​more."

Hannah​ ​told​ ​him,​ ​"Yes​ ​more.​ ​​​Plenty​ ​more."​ ​​​She​ ​turned​ ​to​ ​Avery.​ ​​​"Can you​ ​and​ ​I​ ​got​ ​to​ ​your​ ​dorm​ ​room?​ ​​​And​ ​make​ ​Bimbo​ ​come​ ​with​ ​us?​ ​​​I​ ​want to​ ​jump​ ​into​ ​bed​ ​with​ ​you​ ​and​ ​have​ ​great​ ​sex​ ​for​ ​a​ ​change.​ ​​​And​ ​I​ ​want​ ​him to​ ​see​ ​how​ ​a​ ​real​ ​man​ ​pleases​ ​me.​ ​​​I'm​ ​only​ ​worried​ ​that​ ​the​ ​fruitcake​ ​will enjoy​ ​it​ ​too​ ​much."

"That​ ​loony​ ​just​ ​might,"​ ​Avery​ ​offered.​ ​​​"But​ ​sure,​ ​baby.​ ​​​You​ ​deserve​ ​some proper​ ​handling."​ ​​​He​ ​gave​ ​her​ ​attractive​ ​backside​ ​a​ ​squeeze.​ ​​​"And​ ​I'm​ ​the brother​ ​to​ ​give​ ​it​ ​to​ ​you.​ ​​​And​ ​Bumbles​ ​the​ ​Clown​ ​deserves​ ​to​ ​see​ ​his used-to-be​ ​girlfriend​ ​get​ ​it."

One​ ​of​ ​the​ ​sorority​ ​sisters​ ​handed​ ​her​ ​a​ ​pin​ ​with​ ​the​ ​spades​ ​symbol​ ​on​ ​it, which​ ​she​ ​proudly​ ​attached​ ​to​ ​the​ ​bodice​ ​of​ ​her​ ​dress.​ ​​​Jessica​ ​said Hannah​ ​should​ ​get​ ​in​ ​touch​ ​with​ ​her​ ​the​ ​next​ ​day​ ​about​ ​joining​ ​Delta Virago.

The​ ​leader​ ​of​ ​the​ ​sorority​ ​added,​ ​"And​ ​you​ ​can​ ​have​ ​Bimbo​ ​take​ ​all​ ​your hazing​ ​and​ ​initiations​ ​for​ ​you."

That​ ​triggered​ ​more​ ​laughter​ ​and​ ​cheers.​ ​​​Avery​ ​snapped​ ​his​ ​fingers​ ​at Paul​ ​and​ ​told​ ​him​ ​to​ ​get​ ​up​ ​on​ ​his​ ​hands​ ​and​ ​knees.​ ​​​The​ ​imposing​ ​Black student​ ​told​ ​Paul​ ​to​ ​stay​ ​like​ ​he​ ​was​ ​and​ ​follow​ ​them.​ ​​​With​ ​every​ ​eye​ ​on them,​ ​the​ ​happy​ ​couple​ ​headed​ ​for​ ​the​ ​exit.​ ​​​Someone​ ​passed​ ​Avery​ ​an unopened​ ​bottle​ ​of​ ​champagne​ ​to​ ​take​ ​along.​ ​​​Paul​ ​crawled​ ​wretchedly along​ ​behind​ ​them,​ ​watching​ ​his​ ​former​ ​girlfriend's​ ​cute​ ​bottom​ ​sway seductively.​ ​​​The​ ​three​ ​of​

​them​ ​went​ ​out​ ​the​ ​front​ ​door,​ ​down​ ​the​ ​steps, and​ ​across​ ​the​ ​quad​ ​toward​ ​Alpha​ ​Ebony​ ​house.​ ​​​Paul​ ​worked​ ​hard​ ​to keep​​up.​​​​His​​knees​​hurt​​more​​than​​ever.​​​​Three​​couples​​were​​coming toward​ ​them.

Hannah​ ​told​ ​her​ ​EX,​ ​"Say​ ​hello​ ​to​ ​the​ ​people,​ ​Bimbo."
Paul​ ​looked​ ​at​ ​the​ ​half​ ​dozen​ ​curious​ ​strollers,​ ​trying​ ​to​ ​not​

​actually​ ​make

eye​ ​contact.​ ​​​He​ ​mumbled,​ ​"Hello."

Avery​ ​insisted,​ ​"You​ ​can​ ​do​ ​better​ ​than​ ​that,​ ​sissy.​ ​​​Try​ ​again."

"Yeah,"​ ​said​ ​Hannah.​ ​​​"And​ ​introduce​ ​yourself."

This​ ​time​ ​Paul​ ​said,​ ​"Hello​ ​everyone.​ ​​​I'm​ ​Bimbo,​ ​the​ ​sissy​ ​clown.​ ​​​I​ ​was just​ ​at​ ​the​ ​Spring​ ​Formal.​ ​​​As​ ​entertainment."

One​ ​of​ ​he​ ​guys,​ ​who​ ​had​ ​on​ ​a​ ​letterman​ ​jacket,​ ​said,​ ​"Looks​ ​like​ ​you​ ​put​ ​on quite​ ​a​ ​show,​ ​Blimp-oh."

The​ ​girl​ ​with​ ​him​ ​said,​ ​"I​ ​think​ ​it's​ ​Bimbo.​ ​​​You​ ​know,​ ​like​ ​a​ ​slut." Her​ ​date​ ​said,​ ​"Yeah,​ ​that's​ ​what​ ​the​ ​oddball​ ​looks​ ​like.​ ​​​But​ ​he​

​also​ ​has those​ ​big​ ​knockers,​ ​blimp-size."

Hannah​ ​invited​ ​them​ ​to​ ​take​ ​pictures,​ ​if​ ​they​ ​wanted​ ​to.​ ​​​When​ ​they​ ​got​ ​out their​ ​phones​ ​she​ ​went​ ​on,​ ​"And​ ​feel​ ​free​ ​to​ ​post​ ​them​ ​anywhere​ ​and everywhere.​ ​​​Lots​ ​of​ ​other​ ​people​ ​are​ ​going​ ​to​ ​be​ ​sending​ ​even​ ​more extreme​ ​ones.​ ​​​In​ ​fact,​ ​they've​ ​probably​ ​already​ ​fired​ ​off​ ​dozens."

Another​ ​of​ ​the​ ​guys​ ​made​ ​Paul​ ​sit​ ​up​ ​and​ ​beg​ ​like​ ​a​ ​dog.​ ​​​One​ ​of​ ​the​ ​girls wanted​ ​him​ ​to​ ​roll​ ​over​ ​on​ ​his​ ​back.​ ​​​They​ ​spotted​ ​the​ ​shameful​ ​crotch​ ​stain and​ ​there​ ​were​ ​more​ ​cutting​ ​remarks.​ ​​​The​ ​last​ ​girl​ ​said​ ​she​ ​had​ ​something on​ ​the​ ​sole​ ​of​ ​her​ ​running​ ​shoe​ ​and​ ​made​ ​Paul​ ​lick​ ​it​ ​clean.​ ​​​She​ ​took several​ ​shots​ ​from​ ​her​ ​unique​ ​angle​ ​of​ ​him​ ​at​ ​work,​ ​and​ ​one​ ​last​ ​one​ ​in which​ ​he​ ​was​ ​required​ ​to​ ​show​ ​his​ ​face​ ​and​ ​extend​ ​his​ ​soiled​ ​tongue.​ ​​​After that​ ​the​ ​unusual​ ​threesome​ ​continued​ ​the​ ​rest​ ​of​ ​the​ ​way​ ​to​ ​Alpha​ ​Afro. Because​ ​the​ ​rest​ ​of​ ​the​ ​frat​ ​boys​ ​were​ ​still​ ​at​ ​the​ ​dance,​ ​they​ ​had​ ​to​ ​place to​ ​themselves.

When​ ​they​ ​got​ ​inside,​ ​Avery​ ​spotted​ ​several​ ​32​ ​gallon,​ ​rubber​ ​trash​ ​cans that​ ​were​ ​set​ ​around​ ​the​ ​room​ ​for​ ​beer​ ​bottle​ ​to​ ​be​

​tossed​ ​into.​ ​​​He​ ​took one​ ​and​ ​emptied​ ​its​ ​contents​ ​into​ ​another.​ ​​​Then​ ​he​ ​allowed​ ​Paul​ ​to​ ​stand, which​ ​revealed​ ​that​ ​the​ ​knees​ ​of​ ​his​ ​bodysuit​ ​had​ ​been​ ​worn​ ​through. Avery​ ​shoved​ ​the​ ​empty​ ​can​ ​into​ ​Paul's​ ​arms​ ​so​ ​hard​ ​it​ ​almost​ ​knocked over​ ​the​ ​hapless​ ​white​ ​guy.​ ​​​The​ ​Black​ ​frat​ ​brother​ ​told​ ​him​ ​to​ ​bring​ ​it along.​ ​​​Paul​ ​did.​ ​​​There​ ​was​ ​a​ ​bungee​ ​cord​ ​hanging​ ​from​ ​one​ ​of​ ​the handles​ ​of​ ​the​ ​can.​ ​​​When​ ​they​ ​got​ ​to​ ​Avery's​ ​room​ ​he​ ​had​ ​Paul​ ​set​ ​the​ ​can in​ ​the​ ​corner​ ​and​ ​stay​ ​by​ ​it.

Avery​ ​told​ ​Hannah,​ ​"You​ ​are​ ​looking​ ​fine,​ ​sweet​ ​girl."

They​ ​kissed​ ​again​ ​and​ ​she​ ​boldly​ ​put​ ​her​ ​hand​ ​on​ ​the​ ​impressive​ ​bulge​ ​in the​ ​front​ ​of​ ​his​ ​pants,​ ​telling​ ​him,​ ​"And​ ​you​ ​are​ ​FEELING​ ​fine,​ ​you incredible​ ​hunk."

He​ ​laughed​ ​and​ ​reached​ ​around​ ​to​ ​unzip​ ​her​ ​dress.​ ​​​Paul​ ​stood​ ​by​ ​the​ ​can, trembling.​ ​​​Hannah​ ​shimmied​ ​out​ ​of​ ​the​ ​garment.​ ​​​She​ ​had​ ​no​ ​bra​ ​on.​ ​​​Her substantial​ ​breasts​ ​looked​ ​magnificent.​ ​​​She​ ​got​ ​out​ ​of​ ​her​ ​panties​ ​and dropped​ ​them​ ​by​ ​the​ ​side​ ​of​ ​the​ ​bed,​ ​not​ ​caring​ ​that​ ​Avery​ ​was​ ​still​ ​fully clothed.​ ​​​The​ ​newly​ ​liberated​ ​girl​ ​got​ ​to​ ​her​ ​knees​ ​and​ ​kissed​ ​his​ ​cock through​ ​the​ ​fabric​ ​of​ ​his​ ​slacks.​ ​​​She​ ​undid​ ​his​ ​belt,​ ​opened​ ​his​ ​pants,​ ​and lowered​ ​his​ ​fly.​ ​​​As​ ​she​ ​took​ ​down​ ​pants​ ​and​ ​boxer​ ​shorts​ ​together,​ ​his massive​ ​tool​ ​sprung​ ​out.

She​ ​gasped.​ ​​​"That​ ​thing​ ​is​ ​a​ ​monster.​ ​​​I​ ​am​ ​going​ ​to​ ​be​ ​so​ ​happy​ ​when you​ ​get​ ​it​ ​into​ ​me."

He​ ​chuckled,​ ​set​ ​the​ ​champagne​ ​bottle​ ​on​ ​the​ ​bedside​ ​table,​ ​sat​ ​on​ ​the edge​ ​of​ ​the​ ​mattress,​ ​and​ ​got​ ​his​ ​shoes​ ​off.​ ​​​She​ ​helped​ ​him​ ​remove​ ​this pants​ ​the​ ​rest​ ​of​ ​the​ ​way.​ ​​​Hannah​ ​even​ ​draped​ ​them​ ​neatly​ ​over​ ​the​ ​back of​ ​a​ ​chair,​ ​willingly​ ​acting​ ​like​ ​his​ ​maid.​ ​​​Paul​ ​couldn't​ ​stop​ ​looking​ ​at​ ​her smooth​ ​back​ ​and​ ​delightful​ ​backside.​ ​​​She​ ​was​ ​so​ ​pretty.​ ​​​And​ ​she​ ​was​ ​no longer​ ​his.​ ​​​Avery​ ​slipped​ ​off​ ​his​ ​jacket​ ​and​ ​she​ ​unbuttoned​ ​his​ ​shirt.​ ​​​As she​ ​took​ ​the​ ​last​ ​article​ ​of​ ​clothing​ ​off​ ​him,​ ​she​ ​kissed​ ​his​ ​dark​ ​chest​ ​and licked​ ​his​ ​nipples.​ ​​​She​ ​got​ ​one​ ​hand​ ​on​ ​his​ ​rising​ ​member​ ​and​ ​encouraged it​ ​into​ ​full​ ​rigidity.

Avery​ ​turned​ ​his​ ​attention​ ​to​ ​Paul​ ​and​ ​told​ ​him,​ ​"Get​ ​into​ ​that​ ​can,​ ​Bimbo.​ ​​​I don't​ ​want​ ​you​ ​standing​ ​there​ ​gawking​ ​at​ ​us.​ ​​​But​ ​I'll​ ​still​ ​let​ ​you​ ​see​ ​what I'm​ ​giving​ ​my​ ​new​ ​girl."

Paul​ ​reluctantly​ ​got​ ​into​ ​the​ ​can.​ ​​​Hannah​ ​told​ ​him​ ​to​ ​scrunch​ ​down,​ ​which he​ ​also​ ​did.​ ​​​She​ ​came​ ​over​ ​and​ ​slammed​ ​the​ ​lid​ ​on.​ ​​​Avery​ ​took​ ​the bungee​ ​cord​ ​and​ ​passed​ ​it​ ​around​ ​the​ ​second​ ​handle,​ ​making​ ​a​ ​loop​ ​and affixing​ ​it​ ​that​ ​way.​ ​​​Hannah​ ​ordered​ ​Paul​ ​to​ ​force​ ​the​ ​top​ ​up​ ​enough​ ​that he​ ​could​ ​see​ ​the​ ​bed.

"Go​ ​on,"​ ​she​ ​said​ ​with​ ​a​ ​sneer.​ ​​​"Keep​ ​it​ ​open​ ​that​ ​far​ ​with​ ​the​ ​top​ ​of​ ​your head.​ ​​​There​ ​you​ ​go.​ ​​​Front​ ​row​ ​seat​ ​for​ ​the​ ​show."​ ​​​She​ ​chortled​ ​at​ ​him. "You​ ​can​ ​play​ ​with​ ​your​ ​little​ ​dingus,​ ​if​ ​you​ ​want​ ​to."

Even​ ​though​ ​he​ ​had​ ​ejaculated​ ​so​ ​recently,​ ​Paul​ ​felt​ ​a​ ​current​ ​of​ ​sexual energy​ ​running​ ​through​ ​his​ ​puny​ ​dick.​ ​​​The​ ​excited​ ​pair​ ​got​ ​onto​ ​the​ ​bed and​ ​had​ ​their​ ​hands​ ​all​ ​over​ ​each​ ​other.​ ​​​Their​ ​audience-of-one​ ​told​ ​himself that​ ​he​ ​should​ ​be​ ​outraged,​ ​but​ ​instead​ ​he​ ​got​ ​more​ ​and​ ​more​ ​visually stimulated.​ ​​​What​ ​was​ ​happening​ ​to​ ​him?​ ​​​He​ ​didn't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​keep​ ​watching but​ ​couldn't​ ​look​ ​away.​ ​​​With​ ​a​ ​will​ ​of​ ​their​ ​own,​ ​his​ ​hands​ ​moved,​ ​one​ ​to his​ ​penis​ ​and​ ​the​ ​other​ ​to​ ​his​ ​nipples.​ ​​​Teasing​ ​his​ ​chest​ ​got​ ​him​ ​fully​ ​hard. Through​ ​the​ ​thin​ ​stretchy​ ​material​ ​of​ ​his​ ​bodysuit​ ​he​ ​manipulated​ ​his​ ​small organ.​ ​​​His​ ​balls​ ​pulled​ ​up​ ​tight​ ​against​ ​his​ ​body.

Hannah​ ​got​ ​up​ ​on​ ​her​ ​knees​ ​and​ ​offered​ ​her​ ​ass​ ​to​ ​Avery.​ ​​​He​ ​knelt​ ​behind her​ ​with​ ​his​ ​superior​ ​shaft​ ​aimed​ ​at​ ​her​ ​pussy.​ ​​​She​ ​reached​ ​back​ ​between her​ ​parted​ ​legs,​ ​gripped​ ​his​ ​meat,​ ​and​ ​backed​ ​up​ ​her​ ​hips,​ ​getting​ ​the​ ​thick knob​ ​between​ ​her​ ​moist​ ​nether​ ​lips.​ ​​​As​ ​she​ ​released​ ​him​ ​he​ ​grabbed​ ​her hips​ ​and​ ​drove​ ​the​ ​first​ ​several​ ​inches​ ​of​ ​his​ ​nearly-foot-long​ ​manhood​ ​into her.​ ​​​She​ ​moaned​ ​in​ ​ecstasy​ ​and​ ​ground​ ​herself​ ​against​ ​his​ ​solid​ ​rod.​ ​​​He buried​ ​himself​ ​deeper​ ​within​ ​her.​ ​​​She​ ​purred​ ​like​ ​a​ ​housecat​ ​and​ ​then squalled​ ​like​ ​an​ ​alley​ ​cat​ ​as​ ​he​ ​went​ ​the​ ​rest​ ​of​ ​the​ ​way​ ​in.

Avery​ ​began​ ​pumping​ ​her.​ ​​​Paul​ ​started​ ​pumping​ ​himself​ ​with​ ​his​ ​fist, awkwardly​ ​because​ ​the​ ​material​ ​covering​ ​it​ ​didn't​ ​allow​ ​him​ ​direct​ ​contact. He​ ​was​ ​cramped​ ​in​ ​the​ ​trashcan,​ ​the​ ​reek​ ​of​ ​stale​ ​beer​ ​around​ ​him,​ ​his shoulders​ ​hunched,​ ​and​ ​legs​ ​doubled​ ​up​ ​uncomfortably.​ ​​​It​ ​was​ ​awful​ ​and yet​ ​he​ ​was​ ​in​ ​a​ ​more​ ​sexually​ ​heightened​ ​condition​ ​than​ ​ever​ ​before. Again​ ​he​ ​had​ ​to​ ​ask​ ​himself​ ​what​ ​was​ ​wrong​ ​with​ ​him.​ ​​​Why​ ​was​ ​he reacting​ ​this​ ​way​ ​to​ ​being​ ​abused​ ​and​ ​having​ ​someone​ ​else​ ​ravaging​ ​his willing​ ​ex-girlfriend?​ ​​​Avery​ ​was​ ​plowing​ ​her​ ​spiritedly​ ​and​ ​she​ ​was​ ​reacting with​ ​noisy​ ​appreciation.

"Don't​ ​stop,"​ ​she​ ​told​ ​the​ ​Black​ ​sex​ ​expert,​ ​her​ ​voice​ ​thick​ ​with​ ​lust.​ ​​​"You are​ ​amazing.​ ​​​Paul​ ​was​ ​such​ ​a​ ​failure​ ​in​ ​bed.​ ​​​It​ ​was​ ​hard​ ​to​ ​tell​ ​if​ ​he​ ​was even​ ​in​ ​me.​ ​​​But​ ​you,​ ​you're​ ​touching​ ​me​ ​in​ ​places​ ​that​ ​have​ ​never​ ​been reached​ ​before.​ ​​​Certainly​ ​not​ ​by​ ​Paul.​ ​​​I​ ​mean​ ​Bimbo.​ ​​​Hey,​ ​sissy​ ​clown. How's​ ​the​ ​view?​ ​​​Are​ ​you​ ​playing​ ​with​ ​that​ ​nature's​ ​mistake​ ​between​ ​your legs?​ ​​​Are​ ​you​ ​going​ ​to​ ​squirt​ ​again​ ​inside​ ​you​ ​pretty​ ​clown​ ​outfit?"

"Go​ ​to​ ​it,​ ​Bimbo,"​ ​called​ ​Avery.​ ​​​"Make​ ​another​ ​mess​ ​in​ ​your​ ​girly​ ​outfit.​ ​​​I know​ ​I'm​ ​going​ ​to​ ​make​ ​a​ ​huge​ ​mess​ ​in​ ​this​ ​tight​ ​snatch​ ​I'm​ ​stretching. Feels​ ​like​ ​it​ ​ain't​ ​never​ ​been​ ​used.​ ​​​Thanks​ ​for​ ​not​ ​stretching​ ​it​ ​at​ ​all, wussy."

Along​ ​with​ ​the​ ​beer​ ​fumes,​ ​Paul​ ​smelled​ ​his​ ​previous​ ​load​ ​of​ ​spunk​ ​in​ ​the confines​ ​of​ ​the​ ​lidded​ ​can.​ ​​​And​ ​what​ ​the​ ​Black​ ​guys​ ​had​ ​gotten​ ​on​ ​him​ ​in the​ ​lavatory.​ ​​​He​ ​didn't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​add​ ​a​ ​fresh​ ​warm​ ​helping​ ​to​ ​that,​ ​but seemed​ ​to​ ​be​ ​losing​ ​all​ ​self-control.​ ​​​He​ ​couldn't​ ​understand​ ​his​ ​ambivalent feelings,​ ​how​ ​Hannah​ ​being​ ​with​ ​Avery​ ​could​ ​both​ ​distress​ ​and​ ​arouse​ ​him. Everything​ ​was​ ​spinning​ ​out​ ​of​ ​control.​ ​​​The​ ​couple​ ​on​ ​the​ ​bed​ ​were​ ​getting louder​ ​and​ ​more​ ​animated.​ ​​​Paul​ ​was​ ​approaching​ ​his​ ​own​ ​point​ ​of​ ​no turning​ ​back.​ ​​​Hannah​ ​and​ ​Avery​ ​were​ ​seized​ ​by​ ​noisy​ ​simultaneous orgasms.​ ​​​The​ ​student​ ​in​ ​the​ ​trash​ ​can​ ​goggled​ ​at​ ​their​ ​joyful​ ​climaxes​ ​and heard​ ​nothing​ ​but​ ​their​ ​frenzied​ ​cries.​ ​​​As​ ​they​ ​finished,​ ​so​ ​did​ ​he.​ ​​​Paul shot​ ​a​ ​second​ ​load​ ​of​ ​cream​ ​into​ ​his​ ​bodysuit.​ ​​​He​ ​was​ ​instantly​ ​shamed​ ​by what​ ​he​ ​had​ ​done,​ ​but​ ​that​ ​somehow​ ​didn't​ ​diminish​ ​his​ ​pleasure.​ ​​​In​ ​fact,​ ​it seemed​ ​to​ ​amplify​ ​it.

For​ ​long​ ​minutes​ ​the​ ​post-orgasmic​ ​pair​ ​lay​ ​in​ ​each​ ​other's​ ​arms,​ ​their breathing​ ​gradually​ ​slowing​ ​back​ ​down​ ​to​ ​normal.​ ​​​Avery​ ​rolled​ ​off​ ​Hannah and​ ​lay​ ​alongside​ ​her.

She​ ​said,​ ​"OMG,​ ​lover.​ ​​​It​ ​feels​ ​like​ ​you​ ​came​ ​twice,​ ​I'm​ ​so​ ​filled​ ​up."

He​ ​reached​ ​over​ ​the​ ​edge​ ​of​ ​the​ ​bed​ ​with​ ​his​ ​long​ ​arm​ ​and​ ​picked something​ ​off​ ​the​ ​floor.​ ​​​​​"Here's​ ​your​ ​panties,​ ​baby.​ ​​​Use​ ​them​ ​to​

​mop​ ​up that​ ​big​ ​mess​ ​I​ ​left​ ​in​ ​you.​ ​​​Get​ ​them​ ​nice​ ​and​ ​wet​ ​for​ ​you-know-who."

"Ooo,"​ ​she​ ​enthused.​ ​​​"We're​ ​going​ ​to​ ​give​ ​them​ ​to​ ​Bimbo?" "Something​ ​like​ ​that.​ ​​​Just​ ​get​ ​as​ ​much​ ​cream​ ​on​ ​them​ ​as​ ​you​ ​can."

He​ ​took​ ​the​ ​champagne​ ​bottle​ ​off​ ​the​ ​nightstand,​ ​removed​ ​the​ ​foil​ ​and​ ​the wire​ ​cage,​ ​then​ ​began​ ​to​ ​cautiously​ ​loosen​ ​the​ ​cork.​ ​​​His​ ​strong​ ​fingers soon​ ​had​ ​it​ ​halfway​ ​out.

She​ ​laughed​ ​merrily.​ ​​​"You're​ ​so​ ​clever,​ ​honey.​ ​​​And​ ​so​ ​incredibly​ ​good​ ​in bed.​ ​​​I'm​ ​not​ ​used​ ​to​ ​someone​ ​who's​ ​so​ ​big​ ​and​ ​skilled​ ​and​ ​long​ ​lasting."

"Well​ ​thank​ ​you.​ ​​​You​ ​inspired​ ​me​ ​to​ ​outdo​ ​myself."​ ​​​He​ ​popped​ ​the​ ​cork and​ ​tilted​ ​the​ ​bottle​ ​upright.​ ​​​No​ ​liquid​ ​bubbled​ ​out.​ ​​​Avery​ ​offered​ ​it​ ​to Hannah.​ ​​​"Hope​ ​you​ ​don't​ ​mind​ ​that​ ​there's​ ​no​ ​glasses."

"That's​ ​fine.​ ​​​But​ ​I​ ​really​ ​need​ ​to​ ​rehydrate.​ ​​​Sex​ ​with​ ​you​ ​wrung​ ​me​ ​out." She​ ​took​ ​a​ ​quick​ ​swallow.​ ​​​​​Half​ ​a​ ​minute​ ​later​ ​she​ ​took​

​another,​ ​before handing​ ​the​ ​bottle​ ​back​ ​to​ ​him.​ ​​​"That's​ ​good​ ​stuff.​ ​​​Like​ ​you."

He​ ​raised​ ​the​ ​bottle.​ ​​​"Cheers.​ ​​​Here's​ ​to​ ​lots​ ​more​ ​good​ ​times​ ​in​ ​my​ ​bed."

"There'll​ ​be​ ​plenty​ ​of​ ​that​ ​with​ ​you.​ ​​​But​ ​none​ ​with​ ​Bimbo.​ ​​​Look​ ​at​ ​those eyes​ ​staring​ ​at​ ​us​ ​from​ ​the​ ​trash​ ​can.​ ​​​Hey,​ ​clown.​ ​​​Did​ ​you​ ​pull​ ​on​ ​your little​ ​pickle?​ ​​​Did​ ​you​ ​squirt?"

From​ ​across​ ​the​ ​room​ ​a​ ​defeated​ ​voice​ ​said,​ ​"Yes,​ ​Ma'am.​ ​​​I...​ ​shot​ ​inside my​ ​clown​ ​costume.​ ​​​Again."

Hannah​ ​and​ ​Avery​ ​laughed​ ​at​ ​Paul's​ ​latest​ ​disgrace.​ ​​​​​​​She​ ​got​ ​off​ ​the​ ​bed, holding​ ​the​ ​panties​ ​gingerly​ ​between​ ​thumb​ ​and​ ​forefinger.​ ​​​As​ ​she​ ​came toward​ ​Paul​ ​he​ ​couldn't​ ​stop​ ​admiring​ ​her​ ​sleek​ ​form,​ ​lovely​ ​face,​ ​and golden​ ​hair.​ ​​​And​ ​especially​ ​her​ ​gently​ ​bobbing,​ ​round​ ​breasts.​ ​​​She pushed​ ​down​ ​on​ ​the​ ​lid​ ​and​ ​he​ ​sank​ ​lower.​ ​​​When​ ​it​ ​was​ ​fully​ ​closed​ ​she unhooked​ ​the​ ​bungee​ ​cord​ ​on​ ​one​ ​side​ ​and​ ​raised​ ​the​ ​top​ ​at​ ​an​ ​angle. Hannah​ ​took​ ​the​ ​panties,​ ​used​ ​a​ ​hooked​ ​finger​ ​to​ ​pull​ ​the​ ​neck​ ​of​ ​his​ ​body suit​ ​out​ ​in​ ​front,​ ​and​ ​stuffed​ ​the​ ​soiled​ ​piece​ ​of​ ​lingerie​ ​inside,​ ​not​ ​too​ ​far down.

"There​ ​you​ ​go,"​ ​she​ ​said​ ​with​ ​a​ ​nasty​ ​grin.​ ​​​"So​ ​you​ ​can​ ​smell​ ​Avery's​ ​cum and​ ​my​ ​juices​ ​all​ ​night​ ​long.​ ​​​I'm​ ​sure​ ​your​ ​body​ ​heat​ ​will​ ​release​ ​the fragrances​ ​for​ ​hours​ ​and​ ​hours.​ ​​​Now​ ​back​ ​down​ ​you​ ​go."

He​ ​​​jammed​ ​himself​ ​back​ ​into​ ​his​ ​previous​ ​position.​ ​​​Paul​ ​was​ ​already aware​ ​of​ ​the​ ​distinctive​ ​mingled​ ​scents​ ​of​ ​recent​ ​sex,​ ​rising​ ​up​ ​for​ ​him​ ​to inhale​ ​with​ ​every​ ​breath.​ ​​​She​ ​gave​ ​him​ ​an​ ​air​ ​kiss.

"Night-night,​ ​Bimbo."

"But​ ​there's​ ​no​ ​room​ ​in​ ​here.​ ​​​I'm​ ​getting​ ​cramps​ ​already.​ ​​​And​ ​there​​areclips​​on​​my​​nipples​​that​​hurt​​a​​lot.​​​​Plus..."​​​​He​​almost​ ​admitted​ ​that​ ​he'd had​ ​his​ ​rear​ ​passage​ ​penetrated​ ​and​ ​plumbed​ ​by​ ​the​ ​strap-on.​ ​​​But​ ​rather than​ ​let​ ​her​ ​know​ ​about​ ​that​ ​indignity,​ ​he​ ​left​ ​the​ ​sentence​ ​unfinished.​ ​​​The last​ ​thing​ ​he​ ​said​ ​to​ ​her​ ​was,​ ​"If​ ​you​ ​could​ ​just​ ​reconsider..."

She​ ​sneered​ ​at​ ​him.​ ​​​"Sure,​ ​Bimbo."​ ​​​Hannah​ ​put​ ​her​ ​fingers​ ​on​ ​her​ ​chin. "Hmmm.​ ​​​Okay,​ ​I​ ​reconsidered.​ ​​​You​ ​and​ ​your​ ​laughable​ ​dick​ ​are​ ​out. Avery​ ​and​ ​his​ ​stupendous​ ​cock​ ​are​ ​in.​ ​​​In​ ​me​ ​whenever​ ​he​ ​wants.​ ​​​Sweet sissy​ ​dreams.​ ​​​You're​ ​right​ ​where​ ​you​ ​belong,​ ​failure.​ ​​​In​ ​the​ ​trash."

With​ ​that​ ​she​ ​replaced​ ​the​ ​lid​ ​and​ ​bungee​ ​cord.​ ​​​Hannah​ ​told​ ​him​ ​to​ ​not touch​ ​the​ ​lid​ ​unless​ ​he​ ​began​ ​to​ ​suffocate.​ ​​​Then​ ​he​ ​could​ ​raise​ ​the​ ​edge just​ ​enough​ ​to​ ​draw​ ​a​ ​few​ ​breaths.​ ​​​Otherwise,​ ​he​ ​had​ ​been​ ​put​ ​away​ ​for the​ ​night​ ​and​ ​was​ ​expected​ ​to​ ​stay​ ​like​ ​that.

"Understand,​ ​Bimbo?"
There​ ​was​ ​a​ ​sob​ ​and​ ​two​ ​sniffles​ ​from​ ​inside​ ​the​ ​sealed​ ​can.​ ​​​"Yes,​

​Ma'am.
I​ ​understand.​ ​​​I'll​ ​do​ ​what​ ​you​ ​told​ ​me.​ ​​​I'll​ ​be​ ​good."

"Yeah,​ ​a​ ​good,​ ​lying,​ ​perverted,​ ​mini-dicked,​ ​useless,​ ​pathetic​ ​sissy.​ ​​​And​ ​a faggot.​ ​​​See​ ​you​ ​in​ ​the​ ​morning,​ ​Bimbo.​ ​​​Maybe."

For​ ​the​ ​next​ ​hour​ ​he​ ​could​ ​hear​ ​the​ ​two​ ​of​ ​them​ ​in​ ​bed,​ ​talking​ ​softly, laughing​ ​quietly,​ ​and​ ​kissing.​ ​​​Then​ ​there​ ​was​ ​a​ ​replay,​ ​at​ ​lower​ ​volume,​ ​of their​ ​first​ ​round​ ​of​ ​sex.​ ​​​Paul​ ​couldn't​ ​believe​ ​that​ ​Avery​ ​was​ ​ready​ ​again​ ​so soon.​ ​​​He​ ​mentally​ ​compared​ ​himself​ ​with​ ​the​ ​stud​ ​and​ ​fell​ ​far​ ​short. Hannah​ ​was​ ​gone​ ​as​ ​Paul's​ ​girlfriend.​ ​​​He​ ​might​ ​never​ ​be​ ​able​ ​to​ ​get another​ ​one.​ ​​​Even​ ​if​ ​he​ ​went​ ​off​ ​campus,​ ​his​ ​crippled​ ​self-image​ ​could make​ ​it​ ​impossible​ ​for​ ​him​ ​to​ ​even​ ​approach​ ​a​ ​female.​ ​​​And​ ​there​ ​was​ ​still the​ ​problem​ ​of​ ​how​ ​he​ ​had​ ​reacted​ ​to​ ​witnessing​ ​his​ ​girl​ ​with​ ​a​ ​better​ ​man, and​ ​to​ ​being​ ​publicly​ ​and​ ​privately​ ​shamed.​ ​​​In​ ​fact,​ ​just​

​thinking​ ​of​ ​those two​ ​things​ ​was​ ​putting​ ​him​ ​into​ ​the​ ​mood​ ​for​ ​more​ ​self-satisfaction, although​ ​he​ ​didn't​ ​believe​ ​he​ ​could​ ​perform​ ​again​ ​so​ ​soon.​ ​​​In​ ​the​ ​dark, smelling​ ​the​ ​mixed​ ​odors​ ​of​ ​old​ ​beer,​ ​fresh​ ​semen,​ ​and​ ​a​ ​pussy​ ​that​ ​was no​ ​longer​ ​available​ ​to​ ​him,​ ​his​ ​body​ ​aching,​ ​his​ ​abused​ ​bung​ ​throbbing,​ ​he tried​ ​to​ ​sleep​ ​but​ ​knew​ ​that,​ ​even​ ​if​ ​he​ ​did,​ ​when​ ​he​ ​awoke​ ​in​ ​the​ ​morning his​ ​life​ ​would​ ​still​ ​be​ ​in​ ​a​ ​shambles.

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A​ ​FORMAL​ ​EDUCATION​ ​6​ ​by​ ​Throne

After​ ​the​ ​Spring​ ​Formal,​ ​and​ ​all​ ​the​ ​attendant​ ​ego-busting​ ​that​ ​Paul​ ​had suffered,​ ​his​ ​life​ ​didn't​ ​get​ ​any​ ​better.​ ​​​With​ ​the​ ​threat​ ​of​ ​blackmail​ ​still hanging​ ​over​ ​his​ ​head,​ ​he​ ​was​ ​given​ ​some​ ​new​ ​rules​ ​to​ ​follow.​ ​​​First,​ ​he had​ ​to​ ​always​ ​wear​ ​feminine​ ​lingerie​ ​under​ ​his​ ​male​ ​clothing.​ ​​​The​ ​sorority thinned​ ​his​ ​eyebrows​ ​and​ ​shaped​ ​them​ ​a​ ​bit,​ ​so​ ​that​ ​his​ ​face​ ​took​ ​on​ ​a vague​ ​but​ ​unmistakably​ ​girly​ ​appearance.​ ​​​They​ ​made​ ​him​ ​buy​ ​lip​ ​gloss, clear​ ​but​ ​with​ ​a​ ​slight​ ​pink​ ​tint,​ ​which​ ​added​ ​to​ ​his​ ​unmanly​ ​new​ ​look.​ ​​​His already​ ​metrosexual​ ​fashion​ ​choices​ ​were​ ​supplemented​ ​with​ ​flowing scarves,​ ​which​ ​he​ ​had​ ​to​ ​wear​ ​knotted​ ​at​ ​the​ ​side​ ​of​ ​his​ ​neck.​ ​​​They changed​ ​his​ ​hair​ ​style,​ ​making​ ​it​ ​subtly​ ​less​ ​masculine.​ ​​​The​ ​end​ ​result​ ​was that​ ​everyone​ ​now​ ​assumed​ ​that​ ​he​ ​was​ ​gay,​ ​an​ ​impression​ ​that​ ​made​ ​him uncomfortable​ ​every​ ​minute​ ​of​ ​every​ ​day.

Next​ ​he​ ​got​ ​a​ ​staggering​ ​shock.​ ​​​Jessica,​ ​with​ ​her​ ​advanced​ ​computer skills,​ ​had​ ​hacked​ ​into​ ​the​ ​school's​ ​system​ ​and​ ​changed​ ​his​ ​name​ ​officially to​ ​Bimbo​ ​Curtis.​ ​​​She​ ​used​ ​that​ ​access​ ​as​ ​a​ ​portal​ ​to​ ​the​ ​SSA​ ​and​ ​he​ ​soon got​ ​a​ ​new​ ​card​ ​that​ ​also​ ​identified​ ​his​ ​first​ ​name​ ​as​ ​Bimbo.​ ​​​That​ ​was​ ​awful enough​ ​but​ ​she​ ​had​ ​also​ ​altered​ ​his​ ​gender​ ​in​ ​those​ ​records.​ ​​​Now​ ​Paul was​ ​officially​ ​female.​ ​​​Professors​ ​began​ ​to​ ​address​ ​him​ ​by​ ​his​ ​new​ ​legal name,​ ​and​ ​the​ ​students​ ​quickly​ ​followed.​ ​​​​​Sometimes​ ​one​ ​of​ ​the​ ​sisters from​ ​Delta​ ​Virago​ ​or​ ​one​ ​of​ ​the​ ​Black​ ​brothers​ ​from​ ​Alpha​ ​Ebony,​ ​would call​ ​to​ ​him​ ​from​ ​down​ ​the​ ​hall​ ​or​ ​across​ ​the​ ​quad,​ ​so​ ​that​ ​everyone​ ​within earshot​ ​could​ ​hear​ ​him​ ​being​ ​addressed​ ​by​ ​that​ ​unwanted​ ​name.

Because​ ​he​ ​was​ ​now​ ​considered​ ​female,​ ​it​ ​became​ ​possible​ ​to​ ​admit​ ​him to​ ​a​ ​sorority.​ ​​​Jessica​ ​told​ ​him​ ​he​ ​had​ ​been​ ​granted​ ​membership​ ​in​ ​Delta Virago.

"But​ ​it's​ ​not​ ​a​ ​regular​ ​membership,"​ ​she​ ​explained​ ​in​ ​front​ ​of​ ​a​ ​roomful​ ​of the​ ​girls.​ ​​​"Your​ ​status​ ​is​ ​and​ ​will​ ​remain​ ​'Permanent​ ​Initiation​ ​Pledge'.

That​ ​means​ ​you​ ​will​ ​always​ ​be​ ​subject​ ​to​ ​hazing​ ​and​ ​have​ ​to​ ​serve​ ​the sisters​ ​who​ ​are​ ​full​ ​members​ ​--​ ​which​ ​means​ ​all​ ​of​ ​us​ ​--​ ​and​ ​do​ ​whatever we​ ​tell​ ​you​ ​to​ ​do.​ ​​​Like​ ​cleaning​ ​dorm​ ​rooms,​ ​washing​ ​intimate​ ​lingerie,​ ​and providing​ ​any​ ​sexual​ ​services​ ​we​ ​demand...​

​which​ ​I'm​ ​sure​ ​there'll​ ​be plenty​ ​of.​ ​​​Your​ ​new​ ​status​ ​goes​ ​into​ ​effect​ ​immediately."

His​ ​new​ ​gender​ ​ID​ ​also​ ​qualified​ ​him​ ​to​ ​join​ ​the​ ​college's​ ​'alternative gender​ ​identity​ ​program'.​ ​​​That​ ​meant​ ​he​ ​could​ ​switch​ ​to​ ​classes​ ​that​ ​he found​ ​were​ ​more​ ​appropriate​ ​for​ ​his​ ​new​ ​self-definition.​ ​​​Jessica's impressive​ ​hacking​ ​skills​ ​went​ ​to​ ​work​ ​again.​ ​​​Before​ ​he​ ​could​ ​even consider​ ​whether​ ​he​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​change​ ​his​ ​courses,​ ​she​ ​went​ ​into​ ​the system​ ​and​ ​did​ ​it​ ​for​ ​him.​ ​​​Paul​ ​found​ ​himself​ ​obligated​ ​to​ ​attend​ ​classes​ ​on cooking,​ ​decorating,​ ​and​ ​fashion​ ​design.​ ​​​But​ ​there​ ​were​ ​two​ ​others​ ​that were​ ​especially​ ​difficult​ ​for​ ​him.​ ​​​The​ ​first​ ​was​ ​Racial​ ​Sensitivity​ ​Training and​ ​the​ ​other​ ​was​ ​New​ ​Aspects​ ​of​ ​Gender​ ​Perception.​ ​​​Each​ ​had​ ​a nontraditionally-thinking​ ​professor.

The​ ​Racial​ ​Sensitivity​ ​course​ ​was​ ​taught​ ​by​ ​Prof.​ ​Joshua​ ​Kirk,​ ​a​ ​bearded Black​ ​man​ ​who​ ​was​ ​tall​ ​and,​ ​when​ ​he​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​be,​ ​intimidating.​ ​​​In​ ​Paul's first​ ​session​ ​with​ ​him,​ ​the​ ​new​ ​student​ ​got​ ​an​ ​unsettling​ ​surprise.​ ​​​The professor​ ​said​ ​that​ ​they​ ​were​ ​going​ ​to​ ​have​ ​a​ ​demonstration.​ ​​​He​ ​noticed Paul​ ​in​ ​the​ ​back,​ ​trying​ ​to​ ​go​ ​unnoticed.

"You​ ​back​ ​there.​ ​​​You're​ ​the​ ​new​ ​student.​ ​​​What​ ​is​ ​your​ ​name,​ ​please." "I'm...​ ​Bimbo.​ ​​​Bimbo​ ​Curtis."

"Well,​ ​Miss​ ​Bimbo,​ ​as​ ​short​ ​as​ ​you​ ​are,​ ​I'd​ ​like​ ​you​ ​to​ ​sit​ ​in​ ​the​ ​front​ ​row. I'm​ ​sure​ ​Ms.​ ​Jackson​ ​would​ ​be​ ​happy​ ​to​ ​change​ ​seats​ ​with​ ​you."

A​ ​tall​ ​Black​ ​girl​ ​stood​ ​and​ ​moved​ ​toward​ ​Paul.​ ​​​He​ ​got​ ​up​ ​unhappily​ ​and went​ ​to​ ​the​ ​seat​ ​she​ ​had​ ​vacated.​ ​​​As​ ​he​ ​moved​ ​up​ ​the​ ​aisle​ ​he​ ​noted​ ​that most​ ​of​ ​the​ ​class​ ​was​ ​Black​ ​males​ ​and​ ​white​ ​females.​ ​​​There​ ​also​ ​seemed to​ ​be​ ​sexual​ ​magnetism​ ​between​ ​them.​ ​​​He​ ​sat​ ​in​ ​his​ ​new​ ​seat​ ​and​ ​Prof. Kirk​ ​gave​ ​him​ ​an​ ​inscrutable​ ​look.

Turning​ ​his​ ​attention​ ​back​ ​to​ ​the​ ​rest​ ​of​ ​the​ ​class,​ ​the​ ​educator​ ​said,​ ​"We're going​ ​to​ ​have​ ​a​ ​demonstration​ ​now.​ ​​​I​ ​imagine​ ​most​ ​of​ ​you​ ​consider yourselves​ ​rather​ ​liberal​ ​about​ ​issues​ ​of​ ​race,​ ​but​ ​let's​ ​see​ ​how​ ​you​ ​react when​ ​you're​ ​confronted​ ​with​ ​the​ ​reality​ ​of​ ​it.​ ​​​Now,​ ​if​ ​I​ ​may​ ​impose​ ​on​ ​Ms. Jackson​ ​again,​ ​there​ ​are​ ​two​ ​volunteers​ ​waiting​ ​outside​ ​the​ ​classroom,​ ​and I'd​ ​like​ ​you​ ​to​ ​let​ ​them​ ​know​ ​we're​ ​ready​ ​for​ ​them​ ​now."

The​ ​Black​ ​girl​ ​went​ ​to​ ​the​ ​door​ ​behind​ ​her,​ ​opened​ ​it,​ ​and​ ​asked​ ​whoever was​ ​waiting​ ​to​ ​come​ ​in.​ ​​​A​ ​ripple​ ​of​ ​approving​ ​murmurs​ ​moved​ ​from​ ​the back​ ​of​ ​the​ ​class​ ​as​ ​they​ ​came​ ​forward.​ ​​​Paul​ ​wondered​ ​what​ ​was​ ​going​ ​on until​ ​he​ ​saw​ ​them​ ​as​ ​they​ ​reached​ ​the​ ​front.​ ​​​It​ ​was​ ​Hannah​ ​and​ ​her​ ​new lover,​ ​Avery.​ ​​​The​ ​spurned​ ​young​ ​man​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​run​ ​for​ ​the​ ​exit,​ ​but​ ​didn't want​ ​to​ ​attract​

​any​ ​more​ ​attention​ ​to​ ​himself.​ ​​​He​ ​had​ ​to​ ​sit​ ​there​ ​while​ ​the instructor​ ​introduced​ ​his​ ​two​ ​subjects​ ​to​ ​the​ ​class.​ ​​​Paul​ ​hated​ ​being reminded​ ​of​ ​what​ ​he​ ​had​ ​lost​ ​by​ ​seeing​ ​them​ ​together.​ ​​​Memories​ ​of​ ​his night​ ​at​ ​the​ ​dance,​ ​its​ ​conclusion,​ ​and​ ​the​ ​events​ ​in​ ​Avery's​ ​dorm​ ​room flooded​ ​back​ ​into​ ​his​ ​mind.

"What​ ​I'm​ ​going​ ​to​ ​ask​ ​these​ ​helpful​ ​students​ ​to​ ​do​ ​is​ ​express​ ​their affection​ ​for​ ​each​ ​other,​ ​in​ ​escalating​ ​ways,​ ​and​ ​to​ ​move​ ​naturally​ ​into​ ​the mutual​ ​physical​ ​attraction​ ​they​ ​feel.​ ​​​And​ ​what​ ​I'm​ ​requesting​ ​all​ ​of​ ​you​ ​who are​ ​watching​ ​to​ ​do​ ​is​ ​to​ ​honestly​ ​evaluate​ ​your​ ​reactions."​ ​​​He​ ​addressed Hannah​ ​and​ ​Avery,​ ​saying,​ ​"If​ ​you​ ​two​ ​would​ ​please​ ​begin."

The​ ​couple​ ​faced​ ​one​ ​another​ ​and​ ​looked​ ​into​ ​each​ ​others'​ ​eyes.​ ​​​​​They joined​ ​hands,​ ​first​ ​one​ ​and​ ​then​ ​both.​ ​​​Avery​ ​slowly​ ​raised​ ​one​ ​large​ ​hand and​ ​lightly​ ​touched​ ​Hannah's​ ​cheek.​ ​​​She​ ​put​ ​her​ ​hand​ ​over​ ​his​ ​and​ ​held​ ​it there.​ ​​​The​ ​contrast​ ​between​ ​their​ ​skin​ ​tones​ ​was​ ​striking,​ ​just​ ​as​ ​it​ ​had been​ ​in​ ​his​ ​room​ ​when​ ​he​ ​was​ ​on​ ​top​ ​of​ ​her.​ ​​​Paul​ ​squirmed​ ​in​ ​his​ ​seat​ ​as Avery​ ​moved​ ​her​ ​hand​ ​away​ ​so​ ​he​ ​could​ ​bend​ ​down​ ​and​ ​chastely​ ​kiss​ ​her forehead.​ ​​​The​ ​professor​ ​sat​ ​on​ ​the​ ​edge​ ​of​ ​his​ ​desk.​ ​​​His​ ​legs​ ​were​ ​apart and​ ​Paul​ ​couldn't​ ​miss​ ​that​ ​there​ ​was​ ​something​ ​long​ ​and​ ​thick​ ​lurking​ ​in his​ ​trousers.​ ​​​It​ ​wasn't​ ​as​ ​obvious​ ​as​ ​it​ ​would​ ​have​ ​been​ ​in​ ​a​ ​pair​ ​of​ ​jeans, but​ ​Paul​ ​had​ ​found​ ​himself​ ​checking​ ​for​ ​that.​ ​​​It​ ​disturbed​ ​him​ ​that​ ​he​ ​had developed​ ​the​ ​habit,​ ​and​ ​so​ ​quickly.​ ​​​He​ ​kept​ ​telling​ ​himself​ ​that​ ​it​ ​was​ ​only because​ ​of​ ​all​ ​the​ ​trauma​ ​he'd​ ​been​

​through,​ ​but​ ​sometimes​ ​in​ ​moments​ ​of doubt​ ​he​ ​wondered​ ​if​ ​there​ ​was​ ​another​ ​reason.

So​ ​there​ ​Paul​ ​sat,​ ​with​ ​eyes​ ​flickering​ ​back​ ​and​ ​forth​ ​between​ ​Kirk's​ ​crotch and​ ​the​ ​increasingly​ ​amorous​ ​pair.​ ​​​Hannah​ ​took​ ​Avery's​ ​hand​ ​and​ ​turned​ ​it over,​ ​so​ ​she​ ​could​ ​nuzzle​ ​the​ ​palm.​ ​​​He​ ​responded​ ​by​ ​whispering something​ ​into​ ​her​ ​ear​ ​that​ ​made​ ​her​ ​smile​ ​languidly.​ ​​​The​ ​finally exchanged​ ​kisses.​ ​​​The​ ​first​ ​was​ ​peremptory​ ​but​ ​each​ ​that​ ​followed​ ​was more​ ​intense.​ ​​​Soon​ ​they​ ​were​ ​lip-locked​ ​and​ ​obviously​ ​using​ ​their tongues.​ ​​​Pangs​ ​of​ ​jealousy​ ​and​ ​regret​ ​dug​ ​at​ ​Paul.​ ​​​He​ ​had​ ​to​ ​sit​ ​there​ ​and watch​ ​mutely​ ​as​ ​Avery​ ​stroked​ ​Hannah's​ ​back,​ ​she​ ​pressed​ ​herself​ ​more tightly​ ​against​ ​him,​ ​and​ ​he​ ​even​ ​reached​ ​down​ ​to​ ​cup​ ​her​ ​buttocks​ ​in​ ​his hands.

"Thank​ ​you,"​ ​the​ ​instructor​ ​told​ ​them.​ ​​​"Please​ ​take​ ​a​ ​few​ ​minutes​ ​to​ ​catch your​ ​breath."​ ​​​The​ ​elicited​ ​a​ ​chuckled​ ​from​ ​the​ ​students.​ ​​​"Hannah,​ ​dear, feel​ ​free​ ​to​ ​sit​ ​in​ ​my​ ​chair.​ ​​​And​ ​Avery,​ ​you're​ ​welcome​ ​to​ ​perch​ ​yourself​ ​on the​ ​desk."​ ​​​They​ ​did​ ​and​ ​he​ ​resumed​ ​speaking​ ​to​ ​the​ ​class.​ ​​​"Now​ ​let​ ​me get​ ​some​ ​individual​ ​impressions​ ​of​ ​how​ ​you​ ​were​ ​affected.​ ​​​Let​ ​me​ ​hear from...​ ​Marcus."

A​ ​young​ ​Black​ ​man​ ​from​ ​the​ ​basketball​ ​team​ ​stood​ ​up.​ ​​​He​ ​said,​ ​"Well,​ ​Sir, I​ ​was​ ​impressed​ ​by​ ​how​ ​they​ ​seemed​ ​to​ ​be​ ​treating​ ​each​ ​other​ ​as​ ​equals. If​ ​either​ ​of​ ​them​ ​had​ ​been​ ​too​ ​forceful,​ ​it​

​would​ ​have​ ​changed​ ​my perception,​ ​including​ ​whether​ ​their​ ​motives​ ​involved​ ​her​ ​being​ ​white​ ​and him​ ​being​ ​Black."

"That's​ ​interesting.​ ​​​Thank​ ​you.​ ​​​Now​ ​how​ ​about​ ​Charity?"

A​ ​cute​ ​white​ ​girl​ ​in​ ​the​ ​back​ ​stood​ ​up.​ ​​​Paul​ ​dared​ ​to​ ​look​ ​around.​ ​​​She​ ​was slender​ ​and​ ​had​ ​a​ ​modest​ ​bust,​ ​but​ ​that​ ​attribute​ ​was​ ​shown​ ​off​ ​by​ ​a​ ​tight top,​ ​which​ ​also​ ​made​ ​it​ ​plain​ ​that​ ​she​ ​had​ ​on​ ​no​ ​bra.

"I​ ​have​ ​to​ ​agree​ ​with​ ​Marcus.​ ​​​At​ ​first​ ​I​ ​thought​ ​Avery​ ​might​ ​be​ ​one​ ​of​ ​those guys​ ​who​ ​feels​ ​a​ ​white​ ​girl​ ​is​ ​a​ ​prize,​ ​and​ ​that​ ​he'd​ ​act​ ​overly​ ​possessive.​ ​​​I was​ ​also​ ​considering​ ​that​ ​Hannah​ ​might​ ​be​ ​the​ ​kind​ ​of​ ​girl​ ​who​ ​believes​ ​all Black​ ​guys​ ​are​ ​wild​ ​stallions,​ ​and​ ​that​ ​she​ ​might​ ​be​ ​all​ ​over​ ​him,​ ​pawing him​ ​and​ ​grinding​ ​him​ ​right​ ​from​ ​the​ ​start.​ ​​​But​ ​I​ ​got​ ​the​ ​impression​ ​that​ ​race had​ ​nothing​ ​to​ ​do​ ​with​ ​it.​ ​​​In​ ​fact,​ ​I'd​ ​like​ ​to​ ​talk​ ​to​ ​Marcus​ ​privately​ ​about​ ​it, so​ ​we​ ​could​ ​get​ ​deeper​ ​into​ ​the​ ​subject."

The​ ​professor​ ​agreed,​ ​"Yes,​ ​that​ ​would​ ​be​ ​productive,​ ​I'm​ ​sure."​ ​​​He​ ​gave her​ ​a​ ​nod​ ​and​ ​she​ ​sat​ ​down.​ ​​​"Now​ ​let's​ ​get​ ​one​ ​more​ ​class​ ​member's feedback.​ ​​​How​ ​about​ ​our​ ​new​ ​arrival?"​ ​​​He​ ​looked​ ​straight​ ​at​ ​Paul.​ ​​​"Okay, Miss​ ​Bimbo?"

"Um,​ ​yes​ ​Sir,"​ ​he​ ​said​ ​softly,​ ​in​ ​the​ ​feminine​ ​voice​ ​he​ ​found​ ​himself​ ​using all​ ​the​ ​time.

"Well,​ ​I'm​ ​sure​ ​you​ ​want​ ​everyone​ ​to​ ​hear​ ​you,​ ​so​ ​why​ ​don't​ ​you​ ​stand​ ​up and​ ​face​ ​the​ ​class?​ ​​​And​ ​because​ ​you're​ ​new​ ​here,​ ​take​ ​a​ ​few​ ​seconds​ ​to introduce​ ​yourself."

He​ ​stood​ ​up,​ ​feeling​ ​like​ ​his​ ​knees​ ​were​ ​going​ ​to​ ​buckle,​ ​and​ ​had​ ​to confront​ ​a​ ​roomful​ ​of​ ​curious​ ​stares.​ ​​​Paul​ ​said,​ ​"My​ ​name​ ​is..."​ ​​​He​ ​was​ ​so nervous​ ​that​ ​he​ ​repeated​ ​what​ ​the​ ​professor​ ​had​ ​called​ ​him.​ ​​​"...​ ​Miss Bimbo.​ ​​​And,​ ​um,​ ​I'm​ ​in​ ​the​ ​college's​ ​alternative​ ​gender​ ​identity​ ​program." Why​ ​couldn't​ ​he​ ​say​ ​something​ ​to​ ​make​ ​himself​ ​seem​ ​less​ ​girly?​ ​​​"And​ ​I've just​ ​joined​ ​Delta​ ​Virago​ ​Delta​ ​sorority."

"So,"​ ​the​ ​teacher​ ​said​ ​good-naturedly,​ ​"I​ ​guess​ ​that's​ ​why​ ​you're​ ​wearing those​ ​particular​ ​earrings."

Paul​ ​remembered​ ​that​ ​he​ ​had​ ​on​ ​'ace​ ​of​ ​spades'​ ​ones,​ ​large​ ​and​ ​dangly. He​ ​swallowed​ ​with​ ​shame​ ​and​ ​anxiety.​ ​​​Could​ ​this​ ​get​ ​any​ ​worse?

"Yes,​ ​Sir."

"Fascinating.​ ​​​Everyone​ ​please​ ​listen​ ​closely,​ ​and​ ​keep​ ​in​ ​mind​ ​that​ ​Miss Bimbo​ ​is​ ​a​ ​member​ ​of​ ​a​ ​sorority​ ​that​ ​has​ ​been​ ​very​ ​openminded​ ​about interpersonal​ ​relationships​ ​with​ ​Black​ ​male​ ​students.​ ​​​Isn't​ ​that​ ​correct, Miss​ ​Bimbo?"

"I...​ ​well...​ ​yes,​ ​it​ ​is.​ ​​​A​ ​lot​ ​of​ ​us​ ​girls...​ ​I​ ​mean​ ​the​ ​girls...​ ​date​ ​Black​ ​guys."

"And​ ​how​ ​did​ ​it​ ​make​ ​you​ ​feel​ ​to​ ​see​ ​Hannah​ ​with​ ​Avery?"

"Well,​ ​she​ ​certainly​ ​seemed​ ​relaxed​ ​and​ ​they're​ ​obviously​ ​attracted​ ​to​ ​each other,​ ​err,​ ​on​ ​several​ ​levels.​ ​​​I...​ ​they..."​ ​​​What​ ​else​ ​could​ ​he​ ​say?​ ​​​His​ ​mind groped​ ​for​ ​words​ ​and​ ​came​ ​up​ ​with,​ ​"I'm​ ​sure​ ​they're​ ​very​ ​compatible​ ​in bed."

There​ ​was​ ​an​ ​outburst​ ​of​ ​laughter​ ​from​ ​the​ ​entire​ ​room.​ ​​​He​ ​looked​ ​to​ ​the professor​ ​for​ ​help​ ​but​ ​he​ ​was​ ​joining​ ​in.​ ​​​Paul​ ​even​ ​turned​ ​to​ ​Hannah,​ ​but she​ ​was​ ​comically​ ​pretending​ ​to​ ​be​ ​embarrassed,​ ​making​ ​all​ ​sorts​ ​of exaggerated​ ​gestures​ ​of​ ​modesty.​ ​​​As​ ​the​ ​merriment​ ​settled​ ​down​ ​she turned​ ​to​ ​Avery,​ ​kissed​ ​him​ ​hard​ ​on​ ​the​ ​mouth,​ ​and​ ​when​ ​she​ ​broke​ ​off​ ​she waved​ ​the​ ​air​ ​in​ ​front​ ​of​ ​her​ ​mouth​ ​as​ ​if​ ​the​ ​contact​ ​had​ ​been​ ​red​ ​hot. Paul's​ ​lips​ ​started​ ​to​ ​quiver​ ​and​ ​he​ ​sniffled.​ ​​​He​ ​self-consciously​ ​fingered one​

​earring​ ​and​ ​then​ ​realized​ ​he​ ​was​ ​drawing​ ​attention​ ​to​ ​the​ ​unwanted symbols.​ ​​​As​ ​accustomed​ ​as​ ​he​ ​was​ ​becoming​ ​to​ ​not​ ​acting​ ​without permission,​ ​he​ ​didn't​ ​even​ ​sit​ ​down​ ​until​ ​the​ ​professor​ ​had​ ​thanked​ ​his volunteers​ ​and​ ​dismissed​ ​them,​ ​to​ ​the​ ​polite​ ​applause​ ​of​ ​the​ ​class,​ ​and​ ​at last​ ​told​ ​Paul​ ​he​ ​could​ ​retake​ ​his​ ​seat.

Between​ ​classes,​ ​just​ ​being​ ​on​ ​campus​ ​was​ ​an​ ​ordeal.​ ​​​Paul​ ​got​ ​plenty​ ​of probing​ ​looks​ ​from​ ​both​ ​genders.​ ​​​Some​ ​were​ ​mocking,​ ​or​ ​mildly disbelieving,​ ​and​ ​a​ ​few​ ​from​ ​both​ ​males​ ​and​ ​females​ ​were​ ​openly​ ​lustful.

The​ ​class​ ​in​ ​gender​ ​perception​ ​was​ ​taught​ ​by​ ​Professor​ ​Amanda​ ​Lincoln. She​ ​was​ ​an​ ​imposing​ ​Black​ ​woman,​ ​her​ ​hair​ ​worn​ ​natural​ ​and​ ​short,​ ​who favored​ ​mannish​ ​attire.​ ​​​​​As​ ​he​ ​entered​ ​her​ ​classroom​ ​he​ ​had​ ​premonitions of​ ​​​more​ ​public​ ​humiliation.​ ​​​Paul​ ​was​ ​relieved​ ​when​ ​the​ ​class​ ​went​ ​along smoothly​ ​for​ ​the​ ​first​ ​fifteen​ ​minutes.​ ​​​The​ ​teacher​ ​was​ ​discussing​ ​gender fluidity​ ​when​ ​she​ ​stopped​ ​and​ ​looked​ ​directly​ ​at​ ​him.

"We​ ​have​ ​a​ ​new​ ​member​ ​in​ ​our​ ​group,​ ​who​ ​might​ ​be​ ​able​ ​to​ ​help​ ​us understand​ ​some​ ​of​ ​the​ ​topics​ ​we've​ ​been​ ​covering.​ ​​​Her​ ​name​ ​is​ ​Bimbo and​ ​I'm​ ​going​ ​to​ ​ask​ ​her​ ​to​ ​step​ ​up​ ​here​ ​so​ ​she​ ​can​ ​give​ ​us​ ​some​ ​insight into​ ​her​ ​unusual​ ​situation."

No,​ ​no,​ ​no.​ ​​​He​ ​didn't​ ​want​ ​this.​ ​​​He​ ​especially​ ​didn't​ ​want​ ​it​ ​because Jessica​ ​and​ ​Tiffany​ ​were​ ​in​ ​the​ ​room,​ ​too.​ ​​​Yet​ ​he​ ​had​ ​no​ ​will​ ​to​ ​refuse. Paul​ ​went​ ​to​ ​the​ ​front​ ​of​ ​the​ ​room​ ​and​ ​stood​ ​there​ ​feeing​ ​like​ ​a​ ​display​ ​at​ ​a medical​ ​convention.​ ​​​​​The​ ​professor​ ​invited​ ​him​ ​to​ ​discuss​ ​his​ ​gender history.

"Well,"​ ​he​ ​began​ ​uncomfortably,​ ​"I​ ​grew​ ​up​ ​as​ ​a​ ​guy​ ​and​ ​now..."​ ​​​Hespotted​​Jessica​​watching​​him​​closely.​​​​"I​​decided​​to​​try​​life​ ​more​ ​like​ ​a​ ​girl."

The​ ​instructor​ ​surprised​ ​him​ ​by​ ​asking,​ ​"Do​ ​you​ ​have​ ​unnaturally​ ​small genitals?"

"I...​ ​what?"
"Your​ ​penis​ ​and​ ​testicles.​ ​​​Are​ ​they​ ​smaller​ ​than​ ​average?​ ​​​A​ ​lot​

​smaller?"
"They're​ ​not...​ ​large."​ ​​​Tiffany​ ​made​ ​a​ ​throat-clearing​ ​sound.​ ​​​He​

​amended, "They're​ ​kind​ ​of​ ​tiny."

"Thank​ ​you,"​ ​Ms.​ ​Lincoln​ ​said,​ ​"for​ ​being​ ​so​ ​candid.​ ​​​Now​ ​could​ ​you​ ​please show​ ​us​ ​what​ ​you​ ​mean​ ​by​ ​'tiny'."

"Sh...​ ​show​ ​you?"
"Yes,​ ​please.​ ​​​We're​ ​all​ ​adults​ ​here.​ ​​​​​I'm​ ​sure​ ​you​ ​want​ ​to​ ​do​

​everything you​ ​can​ ​to​ ​contribute​ ​to​ ​this​ ​class."

That​ ​last​ ​comment​ ​contained​ ​a​ ​suggestion​ ​of​ ​impatience.​ ​​​Paul​ ​was wearing​ ​a​ ​clingy​ ​pink,​ ​sleeveless​ ​top,​ ​along​ ​with​ ​white​ ​short-shorts​ ​and peach-colored​ ​athletic​ ​shoes,​ ​accompanied​ ​by​ ​frilly​ ​white​ ​ankle​ ​socks.​ ​​​In​ ​a trance​ ​of​ ​helplessness,​ ​he​ ​undid​ ​the​ ​top​ ​of​ ​the​ ​shorts.​ ​​​They​ ​were​ ​tight,​ ​so getting​ ​them​ ​down​ ​to​ ​mid-thigh​ ​forced​ ​him​ ​to​ ​put​ ​on​ ​an​ ​unintended​ ​show. Lowering​ ​that​ ​garment​ ​revealed​ ​that​ ​all​ ​he​ ​had​ ​on​ ​underneath​ ​was​ ​a​ ​thong. It​ ​was​ ​bright​ ​yellow​ ​and,​ ​being​ ​so​ ​small,​ ​made​ ​it​ ​plain​ ​that​ ​he​ ​didn't​ ​have much​ ​inside​ ​it.​ ​​​As​ ​he​ ​stood​ ​there​ ​he​ ​hoped​ ​despairingly​ ​that​ ​he​ ​wouldn't have​ ​to​ ​go​ ​any​ ​further.

"Bimbo,"​ ​the​ ​professor​ ​said​ ​testily.​ ​​​"It's​ ​not​ ​polite​ ​to​ ​offer​ ​to​ ​help​ ​and​ ​then not​ ​cooperate."

He​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​explain​ ​that​ ​he​ ​hadn't​ ​offered,​ ​but​ ​the​ ​expectant​ ​gazes​ ​of​ ​his classmates​ ​said​ ​that​ ​they​ ​were​ ​waiting​ ​for​ ​him​ ​to​ ​comply.​ ​​​Paul​ ​shivered​ ​as he​ ​lowered​ ​the​ ​thong​ ​to​ ​the​ ​level​ ​of​ ​the​ ​previous​ ​article​ ​of​ ​clothing.​ ​​​As soon​ ​as​ ​his​ ​penis​ ​was​ ​exposed​ ​there​ ​was​ ​a​ ​buzz​ ​of​ ​startled​ ​remarks.​ ​​​He could​ ​make​ ​out​ ​the​ ​words​ ​'miniature'​ ​and​ ​'gherkin',​ ​as​ ​well​ ​as​ ​the​ ​term 'boy-clit'.​

​​​Rubbing​ ​his​ ​smooth​ ​hairless​ ​legs​ ​together​ ​with​ ​shame​ ​and restlessness,​ ​he​ ​waited​ ​for​ ​Prof.​ ​Lincoln​ ​to​ ​tell​ ​him​ ​to​ ​cover​ ​himself​ ​again.

Instead,​ ​she​ ​told​ ​the​ ​class,​ ​"Bimbo's​ ​genitals​ ​are​ ​astoundingly​ ​small.​ ​​​We have​ ​to​ ​ask​ ​if​ ​her​ ​gender​ ​confusion​ ​stems​ ​partly​ ​from​ ​the​ ​obvious​ ​truth​ ​that, as​ ​a​ ​male,​ ​she​ ​could​ ​not​ ​possibly​ ​satisfy​ ​any​ ​woman​ ​sexually.​ ​​​At​ ​least​ ​not through​ ​intercourse.​ ​​​Naturally,​ ​cunnilingus​ ​would​ ​be​ ​the​ ​obvious alternative."

Two​ ​coeds​ ​raised​ ​their​ ​hands.​ ​​​Jessica​ ​and​ ​Tiffany.​ ​​​The​ ​first​ ​wanted​ ​to know,​ ​"Is​ ​it​ ​possible​ ​that​ ​her​ ​penis​ ​would​ ​grow​ ​much​ ​when​ ​it​ ​was aroused?"

The​ ​other​ ​asked,​ ​"Would​ ​it​ ​be​ ​possible​ ​to​ ​check​ ​that?"

"Good​ ​thinking,"​ ​congratulated​ ​the​ ​professor.​ ​​​"I​ ​wouldn't​ ​have​ ​required such​ ​a​ ​test,​ ​but​ ​since​ ​Bimbo​ ​has​ ​been​ ​so​ ​cooperative​ ​--​ ​and​ ​perhaps possesses​ ​the​ ​mindset​ ​of​ ​an​ ​exhibitionist​ ​--​ ​we​ ​should​ ​do​ ​that.​ ​​​Would​ ​you two​ ​ladies​ ​like​ ​to​ ​assist​ ​her?​ ​​​She​ ​might​ ​need​ ​a​ ​bit​ ​of...​ ​encouragement." The​ ​professor​ ​laughed​ ​at​ ​some​ ​private​ ​thought​ ​and​ ​then​ ​explained,​ ​"I almost​ ​said​ ​that​ ​Bimbo​ ​might​ ​need​ ​'a​ ​helping​ ​hand'.​ ​​​But​ ​I​ ​assume​ ​she's used​ ​to​ ​using​ ​her​

​own​ ​hand​ ​to​ ​achieve​ ​orgasms.​ ​​​So​ ​if​ ​you​ ​two​ ​could simply​ ​provide​ ​her​ ​with​ ​some​ ​audio​ ​aids,​ ​if​ ​I​ ​may​ ​describe​ ​it​ ​that​ ​way."

The​ ​two​ ​girls​ ​got​ ​up​ ​and​ ​started​ ​forward.​ ​​​Jessica​ ​said,​ ​"We​ ​can​ ​do​ ​that.​ ​​​A little​ ​dirty​ ​talk​ ​for​ ​the​ ​naughty​ ​sissy."

Tiffany​ ​seconded,​ ​"Like​ ​phone​ ​sex,​ ​but​ ​in​ ​person."

One​ ​of​ ​them​ ​got​ ​on​ ​either​ ​side​ ​of​ ​Paul.​ ​​​They​ ​each​ ​put​ ​a​ ​hand​ ​on​ ​one​ ​of​ ​his shoulders,​ ​as​ ​if​ ​offering​ ​reassurance.​ ​​​But​ ​what​ ​they​ ​were​ ​actually​ ​doing was​ ​to​ ​begin​ ​getting​ ​him​ ​stimulated.​ ​​​He​ ​fidgeted​ ​unhappily​ ​between​ ​them.

Jessica​ ​hissed​ ​in​ ​his​ ​ear,​ ​"Settle​ ​down​ ​and​ ​behave,​ ​Bimbo.​ ​​​Let's​ ​show everybody​ ​that​ ​your​ ​baby​ ​dick​ ​doesn't​ ​get​ ​much​ ​bigger."

Tiffany​ ​added,​ ​"And​ ​then​ ​you​ ​can​ ​tell​ ​them​ ​that​ ​you​ ​get​ ​off​ ​on​ ​being exposed."

"And​ ​told​ ​what​ ​to​ ​do."

"And​ ​used​ ​by​ ​anybody​ ​who​ ​wants​ ​you.​ ​​​And​ ​get​ ​your​ ​undies​ ​the​ ​rest​ ​of​ ​the

way​ ​off."

After​ ​that​ ​they​ ​switched​ ​their​ ​voices​ ​to​ ​normal​ ​volume​ ​and​ ​made stimulating​ ​suggestions.​ ​​​Jessica​ ​started​ ​with,​ ​"You​ ​like​ ​having​ ​your​ ​itty bitty​ ​shrimp-dick​ ​out,​ ​don't​ ​you?"

Tiffany​ ​followed​ ​with,​ ​"And​ ​you​ ​like​ ​having​ ​two​ ​sexy​ ​girls​ ​boss​ ​you​ ​around. Right?"

Paul​ ​felt​ ​his​ ​dick​ ​twitching.​ ​​​He​ ​didn't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​get​ ​stiff​ ​in​ ​front​ ​of​ ​a​ ​roomful​ ​of fellow​ ​students.​ ​​​Doing​ ​what​ ​he'd​ ​been​ ​told​ ​to,​ ​he​ ​removed​ ​his​ ​shorts​ ​and the​ ​thong​ ​completely.​ ​​​Jessica​ ​pressed​ ​her​ ​oversized​ ​boobs,​ ​those​ ​large round​ ​examples​ ​of​ ​mammary​ ​perfection,​ ​against​ ​him​ ​from​ ​the​ ​side. Tiffany,​ ​opposite​ ​her,​ ​did​ ​the​ ​same.​ ​​​His​ ​immature​ ​looking​ ​penis​ ​began​ ​to rise.​ ​​​He​ ​touched​ ​it​ ​uncertainly,​ ​not​ ​wanting​ ​to​ ​actually​ ​masturbate.

To​ ​respond​ ​to​ ​their​ ​questions,​ ​he​ ​took​ ​his​ ​cue​ ​from​ ​their​ ​instructions.​ ​​​In​ ​his wispy​ ​girl​ ​voice,​ ​Paul​ ​said,​ ​"Oh,​ ​yes.​ ​​​I​ ​love​ ​having​ ​to​ ​show​ ​myself​ ​off​ ​to everybody.​ ​​​And​ ​it's​ ​even​ ​better​ ​when​ ​I'm​ ​given​ ​orders​ ​to​ ​do​ ​it.​ ​​​I​ ​mean,​ ​I just​ ​love​ ​being​ ​told​ ​what​ ​to​ ​do."​ ​​​He​ ​added​ ​a​ ​giggle​ ​to​ ​make​ ​his​ ​false confessions​ ​more​ ​convincing.​

​​​"And​ ​gosh,​ ​when​ ​anybody​ ​tells​ ​me​ ​what​ ​to do,​ ​even​ ​if​ ​it's​ ​real​ ​dirty,​ ​I​ ​can't​ ​say​ ​no."

He​ ​was​ ​utterly​ ​shamed​ ​by​ ​his​ ​own​ ​words.​ ​​​Half​ ​the​ ​class​ ​was​ ​looking​ ​at him​ ​with​ ​renewed​ ​interest,​ ​and​ ​it​ ​definitely​ ​wasn't​ ​sociological.​ ​​​He​ ​spotted sly​ ​smiles​ ​and​ ​subtle​ ​nods,​ ​raised​ ​eyebrows​ ​and​ ​secret​ ​hand​ ​gestures.​ ​​​To validate​ ​his​ ​statements,​ ​his​ ​betraying​ ​dick​ ​had​ ​gotten​ ​fully​ ​hard.​ ​​​He​ ​moved his​ ​hand​ ​away​ ​from​ ​it.

Prof.​ ​Lincoln​ ​pointed​ ​out,​ ​"As​ ​we​ ​can​ ​see,​ ​Bimbo's​ ​phallus​ ​has​ ​gained​ ​very little​ ​in​ ​either​ ​length​ ​or​ ​girth.​ ​​​This​ ​lends​ ​credence​ ​to​ ​the​ ​theory​ ​that​ ​a mini-penis​ ​can​ ​affect​ ​a​ ​male's​ ​mental​ ​state​ ​and​ ​influence​ ​his​ ​actions.​ ​​​Or,​ ​in this​ ​case​ ​perhaps​ ​I​ ​should​ ​say,​ ​'her'.​ ​​​The​ ​sense​ ​of​ ​unworthiness​ ​brought on​ ​by​ ​this,​ ​shall​ ​we​ ​say,​ ​shortcoming,​ ​could​ ​be​ ​part​ ​of​ ​a​ ​larger​ ​scenario. The​ ​desire​ ​to​ ​expose​ ​one's​ ​disadvantage​ ​and​ ​invite​ ​what​ ​would​ ​otherwise be​ ​considered​ ​inappropriate​ ​forms​ ​of​ ​attention,​ ​might​ ​be​ ​interpreted​ ​as​ ​a type​ ​of​ ​reverse​ ​empowerment."​ ​​​She​ ​paused​ ​to​ ​let​ ​her​ ​listeners​ ​jot​ ​notes, though​ ​most​ ​of​ ​them​ ​were​ ​just​ ​staring​ ​at​ ​Paul​ ​with​ ​smirks​ ​or​ ​sneers.​ ​​​After an​ ​appropriate​ ​time,​ ​she​ ​asked​ ​Paul,​ ​"Now,​ ​Bimbo,​ ​is​ ​there​ ​anything​ ​else you'd​ ​like​ ​to​ ​tell​ ​the​ ​class?"

Unseen,​ ​Jessica​ ​gave​ ​his​ ​bottom​ ​a​ ​squeeze.​ ​​​Tiffany​ ​felt​ ​him​ ​twitch​ ​and guessed​ ​the​ ​cause,​ ​so​ ​she​ ​dug​ ​her​ ​nails​ ​into​ ​his​ ​shoulder.

Standing​ ​there​ ​with​ ​his​ ​laughably​ ​undersized​ ​manhood​ ​sticking​ ​out,​ ​feeing himself​ ​blush,​ ​he​ ​stammered,​ ​"I​ ​guess...​ ​I​ ​should​ ​mention...​ ​that​ ​I..."​ ​​​He didn't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​anger​ ​those​ ​two​ ​girls​ ​by​ ​holding​ ​back.​ ​​​Memories​ ​of​ ​the SPRING​ ​FORMAL​ ​asserted​ ​themselves.​ ​​​If​ ​he​ ​mentioned​ ​those​ ​types​ ​of situations,​ ​they​ ​might​ ​be​ ​satisfied.​ ​​​​​He​ ​licked​ ​his​ ​lips,​ ​tasting​ ​the​ ​gloss​ ​he was​ ​required​ ​to​ ​keep​ ​fresh​ ​on​ ​them,​ ​and​ ​continued​ ​with,​ ​"I​ ​really​ ​like​ ​being made​ ​a​ ​joke​ ​of,​ ​and​ ​having​ ​to​ ​do​ ​unpleasant​ ​things,​ ​someone​ ​dressing​ ​me up​ ​to​ ​look​ ​extra​ ​sissy,​ ​and..."​ ​​​What​ ​else​ ​would​ ​they​ ​want​ ​to​ ​hear?​ ​​​"...​ ​and being​ ​handled​ ​and​ ​used​ ​by​ ​big​ ​Black​ ​guys."

A​ ​hush​ ​fell​ ​over​ ​the​ ​room.​ ​​​That​ ​was​ ​followed​ ​by​ ​a​ ​few​ ​loud​ ​exhalations. Then​ ​came​ ​some​ ​stifled​ ​laughter.​ ​​​People​ ​started​ ​whispering​ ​comments​ ​to each​ ​other.​ ​​​All​ ​that​ ​time,​ ​Paul​ ​stayed​ ​where​ ​he​ ​was,​ ​his​ ​mortification growing​ ​deeper.

The​ ​professor​ ​looked​ ​at​ ​him​ ​and​ ​said,​ ​"Honestly,​ ​I​ ​was​ ​only​ ​expecting​ ​a few​ ​general​ ​remarks.​ ​​​But​ ​if​ ​you​ ​feel​ ​compelled​ ​to​ ​overshare,​ ​that's​ ​fine, too.​ ​​​And​ ​since​ ​you've​ ​demonstrated​ ​a​ ​willingness​ ​and​ ​even​ ​a​ ​need​ ​to​ ​be so​ ​candid,​ ​I'll​ ​feel​ ​free​ ​to​ ​call​ ​on​ ​your​ ​for​ ​further​ ​demonstrations​ ​whenever needed."

She​ ​turned​ ​to​ ​the​ ​class​ ​and​ ​took​ ​a​ ​step​ ​forward,​ ​putting​ ​him​ ​out​ ​of​ ​her​ ​line of​ ​vision.​ ​​​Jessica​ ​and​ ​Tiffany​ ​reached​ ​out​ ​to​ ​play​ ​with​ ​his​ ​nipples.​ ​​​Then Jessica​ ​got​ ​hold​ ​of​ ​his​ ​wrist​ ​and​ ​moved​ ​his​ ​hand​ ​back​ ​down​ ​to​ ​his​ ​rigid dick.​ ​​​She​ ​got​ ​him​ ​to​ ​wrap​ ​his​ ​fingers​

​around​ ​it​ ​and​ ​start​ ​actively​ ​stroking. All​ ​the​ ​students​ ​gaped​ ​at​ ​his​ ​lewd​ ​performance.​ ​​​He​ ​felt​ ​himself​ ​getting dangerously​ ​close​ ​to​ ​coming.​ ​​​When​ ​he​ ​let​ ​out​ ​a​ ​loud​ ​moan,​ ​the​ ​two​ ​girls stepped​ ​away​ ​from​ ​him.​ ​​​Attracted​ ​by​ ​the​ ​sound,​ ​Prof.​ ​Lincoln​ ​turned​ ​and caught​ ​him​ ​in​ ​mid-stroke.​ ​​​For​ ​some​ ​reason​ ​he​ ​couldn't​ ​fathom,​ ​the​ ​added embarrassment​ ​pushed​ ​him​ ​over​ ​the​ ​edge.​ ​​​With​ ​everyone​ ​looking,​ ​and​ ​the two​ ​girls​ ​who​ ​had​ ​caused​ ​it​ ​acting​ ​innocent,​ ​he​ ​shot​ ​out​ ​thin​ ​streamers​ ​of spunk.​ ​​​As​ ​it​ ​slowed​ ​to​ ​a​ ​final​ ​few​ ​drops,​ ​someone​ ​in​ ​the​ ​back​ ​of​ ​the​ ​room clapped​ ​their​ ​hands.​ ​​​That​ ​turned​ ​into​ ​runaway​ ​applause​ ​and​ ​a​ ​few​ ​cheers, as​ ​he​ ​stood​ ​there​ ​feeling​ ​absolutely​ ​disgraced.

"Well,​ ​Bimbo,"​ ​said​ ​Ms.​ ​Lincoln​ ​condemningly.​ ​​​"You're​ ​going​ ​to​ ​need​ ​to clean​ ​up​ ​that​ ​mess​ ​you​ ​made."

Jessica​ ​whispered​ ​to​ ​him,​ ​"Use​ ​your​ ​thong​ ​to​ ​do​ ​it." Tiffany​ ​suggested,​ ​"And​ ​then​ ​put​ ​it​ ​back​ ​on."

He​ ​blushed​ ​bright​ ​pink​ ​as​ ​he​ ​obeyed​ ​those​ ​orders​ ​in​ ​front​ ​of​ ​the disbelieving​ ​group.​ ​​​Squatting​ ​deeply,​ ​he​ ​wiped​ ​up​ ​the​ ​mess.​ ​​​When​ ​he was​ ​done,​ ​he​ ​straightened​ ​up​ ​and​ ​got​ ​back​ ​into​ ​the​ ​moist​ ​unclean​ ​garment. With​ ​the​ ​damp​ ​panties​ ​on​ ​again,​ ​he​ ​picked​ ​up​ ​his​ ​shorts​ ​and​ ​stood​ ​there waiting​ ​to​ ​see​ ​if​ ​he​ ​was​ ​expected​ ​to​ ​do​ ​anything​ ​else.​ ​​​The​ ​instructor​ ​told him​ ​to​ ​stand​ ​against​ ​the​ ​front​ ​wall​ ​in​ ​case​ ​they​ ​needed​ ​him​ ​any​ ​more,​ ​and that​ ​was​ ​where​ ​he​

​spent​ ​the​ ​remainder​ ​of​ ​the​ ​class,​ ​like​ ​some​ ​odd exhibition.​ ​​​He​ ​was​ ​scared​ ​to​ ​put​ ​on​ ​his​ ​shorts​ ​without​ ​permission.

After​ ​each​ ​day's​ ​classes​ ​he​ ​had​ ​to​ ​return​ ​to​ ​the​ ​sorority​ ​house.​ ​​​With​ ​the accumulation​ ​of​ ​blackmail​ ​material​ ​so​ ​large​ ​and​ ​still​ ​increasing,​ ​the demands​ ​made​ ​on​ ​him​ ​also​ ​expanded.​ ​​​He​ ​had​ ​to​ ​run​ ​and​ ​fetch​ ​for​ ​all​ ​the girls.​ ​​​Sometimes​ ​they​ ​would​ ​summon​ ​him​ ​upstairs​ ​with​ ​a​ ​holler​ ​and​ ​then, when​ ​he​ ​got​ ​there,​ ​tell​ ​him​ ​to​ ​go​ ​right​ ​back​ ​downstairs​ ​to​ ​get​ ​them​ ​a​ ​single can​ ​of​ ​soda,​ ​or​ ​something​ ​equally​ ​minor.​ ​​​He​ ​also​ ​had​ ​to​ ​dry​ ​them​ ​off​ ​after showers,​ ​when​ ​requested,​ ​using​ ​oversized​ ​fluffy​ ​towels​ ​that​ ​allowed​ ​him​ ​to feel​ ​their​ ​curves​ ​without​ ​touching​ ​their​ ​skin.​ ​​​It​ ​was​ ​a​ ​game​ ​to​ ​them​ ​to titillate​ ​him​ ​every​ ​way​ ​they​ ​could​ ​think​ ​of,​ ​starting​ ​with​ ​the​ ​sexy​ ​things​ ​they wore.​ ​​​He​ ​might​ ​rush​ ​to​ ​someone's​ ​room​ ​carrying​ ​something​ ​small,​ ​like​ ​a candy​ ​bar,​ ​that​ ​he​ ​had​ ​brought​ ​from​ ​the​ ​ground​ ​level.​ ​​​When​ ​he​ ​got​ ​there the​ ​door​ ​would​ ​be​ ​opened​ ​by​ ​a​ ​sorority​ ​sister​ ​wearing​ ​just​ ​panties.​ ​​​Or maybe​ ​a​ ​baby​ ​doll​ ​nightie.​ ​​​Perhaps​ ​a​ ​fishnet​ ​body​ ​stocking.​ ​​​They​ ​would invite​ ​him​ ​in​ ​and,​ ​since​ ​there​ ​were​ ​two​ ​to​ ​a​ ​room,​ ​they​ ​could​ ​have​ ​fun pretending​ ​to​ ​'lez​ ​out'​ ​in​ ​front​ ​of​ ​him.​ ​​​The​ ​sight​ ​of​ ​two​ ​of​ ​them​ ​hugging, touching​ ​each​ ​other,​ ​talking​ ​dirty,​ ​and​ ​occasionally​ ​kissing,​ ​drove​ ​him​ ​to distraction.

Jessica​ ​liked​ ​to​ ​remind​ ​the​ ​others​ ​of​ ​his​ ​status,​ ​which​ ​meant​ ​he​ ​was subject​ ​to​ ​hazing​ ​at​ ​any​ ​moment​ ​and​ ​for​ ​no​ ​special​ ​reason.​ ​​​She​ ​made sure​ ​there​ ​was​ ​a​ ​paddle​ ​in​ ​every​ ​room.​ ​​​Sex​ ​toys​ ​kept​ ​turning​ ​up​ ​in​ ​the living​ ​room,​ ​with​ ​tags​ ​on​ ​them​ ​saying​ ​'For​

​Bimbo'​ ​or​ ​'Bimbo's​ ​Plaything'. They​ ​included​ ​butt​ ​plugs,​ ​strap-ons,​ ​some​ ​bondage​ ​items,​ ​and​ ​even​ ​a full-head​ ​hood​ ​with​ ​a​ ​female​ ​face​ ​on​ ​it.​ ​​​The​ ​house​ ​was​ ​often​ ​filled​ ​with​ ​his moans,​ ​groans​ ​and​ ​wails​ ​as​ ​they​ ​used​ ​various​ ​combinations​ ​of​ ​those,​ ​as well​ ​as​ ​some​ ​improvised​ ​ones​ ​on​ ​him.​ ​​​Jessica​ ​had​ ​tapped​ ​into​ ​his​ ​credit cards​ ​and​ ​bank​ ​account,​ ​so​ ​he​ ​always​ ​paid​ ​for​ ​the​ ​devices​ ​being​ ​used​ ​on him.​ ​​​​​​​His​ ​savings​ ​also​ ​covered​ ​the​ ​cost​ ​of​ ​laser​ ​treatments​ ​to​ ​assure​ ​that his​ ​body​ ​hair​ ​was​ ​permanently​ ​gone.

They​ ​made​ ​an​ ​entire​ ​video​ ​of​ ​him​ ​being​ ​put​ ​into​ ​the​ ​hood,​ ​getting​ ​a​ ​clear shot​ ​of​ ​his​ ​face​ ​before​ ​it​ ​was​ ​covered​ ​by​ ​the​ ​faux​ ​features.​ ​​​The​ ​only​ ​other things​ ​he​ ​wore​ ​were​ ​a​ ​crushingly​ ​tight​ ​corset,​ ​plus​ ​a​ ​garter​ ​belt​ ​and stocking.​ ​​​Then​ ​he​ ​was​ ​taken​ ​from​ ​behind​ ​by​ ​a​ ​Black​ ​girl​ ​who​ ​Josh​ ​had sent​ ​around,​ ​wearing​ ​a​ ​big​ ​black​ ​strap-on.​ ​​​The​ ​resultant​ ​recording​ ​was posted​ ​on-line.​ ​​​After​ ​that​ ​they​ ​taped​ ​Paul​ ​removing​ ​the​ ​mask​ ​and​ ​saying how​ ​much​ ​he​ ​enjoyed​ ​being​ ​buggered,​ ​and​ ​put​ ​that​ ​on​ ​the​ ​same​ ​site,​ ​so that​ ​viewers​ ​could​ ​see​ ​them​ ​both.​ ​​​The​ ​thought​ ​of​ ​being​ ​identified​ ​with​ ​such a​ ​perverse​ ​scene​ ​and​ ​confession​ ​upset​ ​him​ ​but,​ ​simultaneously,​ ​was curiously​ ​exciting.

At​ ​the​ ​same​ ​time,​ ​they​ ​were​ ​building​ ​a​ ​wardrobe​ ​for​ ​him.​ ​​​There​ ​were plenty​ ​of​ ​belly​ ​shirts​ ​and​ ​micro-miniskirts,​ ​along​ ​with​ ​patterned​ ​stockings and​ ​brightly​ ​colored​ ​shoes.​ ​​​Those​ ​were​ ​supplemented​ ​with​ ​short​ ​jackets​ ​of animal​ ​fur​ ​prints,​ ​bulky​ ​sweaters​ ​in​ ​garish​ ​hues,​ ​stirrup​ ​pants,​ ​leg​ ​warmers, and​ ​lots​ ​of​ ​retro​ ​items​ ​found​ ​in​ ​thrift​ ​shops.​ ​​​They​ ​also​ ​took​ ​him​ ​to​ ​the​ ​mall

and​ ​made​ ​him​ ​go​ ​with​ ​them​ ​into​ ​that​ ​chain​ ​store​ ​known​ ​for​ ​its​ ​racy​ ​lingerie. He​ ​had​ ​to​ ​stand​ ​there​ ​while​ ​they​ ​held​ ​up​ ​panties,​ ​sleepwear,​ ​and​ ​corsets​ ​to see​ ​how​ ​they​ ​might​ ​look​ ​on​ ​him.​ ​​​The​ ​salesgirls​ ​understood​ ​the​ ​situation immediately​ ​and​ ​rushed​ ​in​ ​to​ ​assist,​ ​offering​ ​especially​ ​wild​ ​choices​ ​like panties​ ​with​ ​open​ ​crotches​ ​or​ ​a​ ​short​ ​robe​ ​with​ ​a​ ​feather​ ​boa​ ​collar.

With​ ​Hannah​ ​living​ ​in​ ​the​ ​Delta​ ​Virago​ ​house,​ ​it​ ​was​ ​inevitable​ ​that​ ​he would​ ​often​ ​encounter​ ​her.​ ​​​She​ ​gave​ ​him​ ​contemptuous​ ​looks​ ​and​ ​talked to​ ​the​ ​other​ ​girls​ ​about​ ​Avery,​ ​making​ ​sure​ ​Paul​ ​could​ ​hear​ ​as​ ​she​ ​raved about​ ​her​ ​lover's​ ​prowess.​ ​​​She​ ​contributed​ ​to​ ​his​ ​supply​ ​of​ ​cosmetics​ ​by going​ ​to​ ​a​ ​dollar​ ​store​ ​and​ ​finding​ ​colors​ ​of​ ​lipstick​ ​and​ ​eye​ ​shadow​ ​that had​ ​been​ ​discontinued.​ ​​​Not​ ​only​ ​were​ ​they​ ​odd​ ​shades,​ ​but​ ​they​ ​also​ ​had a​ ​tendency​ ​to​ ​smear​ ​and​ ​smudge,​ ​often​ ​giving​ ​him​ ​the​ ​look​ ​of​ ​an overworked​ ​hooker.​ ​​​She​ ​started​ ​to​ ​participate​ ​in​ ​his​ ​punishments,​ ​happily wielding​ ​spatulas​ ​to​ ​beat​ ​his​ ​fanny,​ ​or​ ​leading​ ​him​ ​around​ ​on​ ​a​ ​leash​ ​while he​ ​wore​ ​his​ ​hood​ ​with​ ​the​ ​girl's​ ​face​ ​on​ ​it.

After​ ​a​ ​while​ ​her​ ​contempt​ ​decreased​ ​to​ ​mere​ ​disdain​ ​and​ ​she​ ​had​ ​fun picking​ ​outfits​ ​for​ ​him​ ​to​ ​wear​ ​for​ ​the​ ​evening.​ ​​​One​ ​of​ ​her​ ​proudest​ ​finds​ ​for him​ ​was​ ​a​ ​vest​ ​she​ ​picked​ ​up​ ​from​ ​a​ ​yard​ ​sale.​ ​​​Someone​ ​had​ ​attacked​ ​it with​ ​a​ ​glue​ ​gun​ ​and​ ​lots​ ​of​ ​fake​ ​plastic​ ​jewels,​ ​appliques​ ​of​ ​butterflies, rainbows​ ​and​ ​unicorns,​ ​plus​ ​cheap​ ​fringe​ ​in​ ​mismatched​ ​colors.​ ​​​She​ ​made him​ ​wear​ ​it​ ​along​ ​with​ ​a​ ​pink,​ ​knitted​ ​cock​ ​sock​ ​and​ ​back​ ​fishnet​ ​stockings, and​ ​finished​

​the​ ​absurd​ ​outfit​ ​with​ ​rainbow​ ​colored​ ​rubber​ ​shower​ ​clogs. (She​ ​found​ ​the​ ​sock​ ​offered​ ​on-line,​ ​but​ ​had​ ​to​ ​custom​ ​order​ ​it​ ​extra​ ​small to​ ​fit​ ​him.)

On​ ​her​ ​computer​ ​she​ ​also​ ​found​ ​a​ ​soap-on-a-rope​ ​in​ ​the​ ​shape​ ​of​ ​a​ ​thick, eight-inch,​ ​Black​ ​cock.​ ​​​She​ ​bought​ ​a​ ​half​ ​dozen​ ​and​ ​distributed​ ​them among​ ​the​ ​sisters,​ ​saying​ ​they​ ​should​ ​make​ ​Paul​ ​suck​ ​on​ ​them​ ​if​ ​he​ ​was too​ ​slow​ ​at​ ​any​ ​time,​ ​and​ ​that​ ​if​ ​he​ ​didn't​ ​obey​ ​orders​ ​properly​ ​they​ ​could use​ ​them​ ​to​ ​assault​ ​his​ ​ass.​ ​​​Sometimes​ ​he​ ​would​ ​be​ ​seen​ ​performing​ ​his duties​ ​with​ ​one​ ​of​ ​them​ ​protruding​ ​from​ ​between​ ​his​ ​stretched​ ​lips,​ ​a​ ​pair​ ​of artificial​ ​balls​ ​resting​ ​on​ ​his​ ​quivering​ ​chin,​ ​as​ ​soapy​ ​drool​ ​leaked​ ​from​ ​the corners​ ​of​ ​his​ ​mouth.

Hannah​ ​liked​ ​to​ ​talk​ ​with​ ​Jessica​ ​and​ ​Tiffany​ ​about​ ​him.​ ​​​After​ ​a​ ​few months​ ​they​ ​revealed​ ​to​ ​her​ ​how​ ​Paul​ ​had​ ​been​ ​blackmailed​ ​into​ ​becoming a​ ​shamed​ ​sissy.​ ​​​Instead​ ​of​ ​reversing​ ​her​ ​opinion​ ​of​ ​him,​ ​his​ ​former girlfriend​ ​only​ ​became​ ​more​ ​delighted​ ​in​ ​tormenting​ ​their​ ​shared​ ​victim. She​ ​asked​ ​about​ ​his​ ​eventual​ ​graduation​ ​and​ ​escape.

"Well,"​ ​Jessica​ ​said​ ​with​ ​a​ ​glint​ ​in​ ​her​ ​icy​ ​blue​ ​eyes,​ ​"we've​ ​looked​ ​into​ ​that. With​ ​the​ ​curriculum​ ​I've​ ​signed​ ​him​ ​up​ ​for,​ ​it​ ​will​ ​take​ ​him​ ​eight​ ​years​ ​to​ ​get enough​ ​credits​ ​to​ ​earn​ ​even​ ​a​ ​basic​ ​degree.​ ​​​And​ ​I'm​ ​passing​ ​along​ ​some of​ ​my​ ​computer​ ​skills​ ​to​ ​the​ ​newer​ ​girls​ ​so​ ​they​ ​can​ ​always​ ​go​ ​into​ ​the system​ ​and​ ​lower​ ​his​ ​grades​

​from​ ​passing​ ​to​ ​failing,​ ​if​ ​they​ ​want​ ​to​ ​make sure​ ​he​ ​can't​ ​get​ ​even​ ​that​ ​far.​ ​​​Best​ ​of​ ​all,​ ​he​ ​has​ ​plenty​ ​of​ ​money,​ ​so​ ​it won't​ ​be​ ​any​ ​problem​ ​for​ ​him​ ​to​ ​pay​ ​for​ ​his​ ​nearly​ ​worthless​ ​education.​ ​​​At the​ ​moment,​ ​thanks​ ​to​ ​my​ ​on-line​ ​meddling,​ ​he​ ​can't​ ​access​ ​his​ ​own​ ​funds, so​ ​I​ ​dole​ ​out​ ​a​ ​few​ ​dollars​ ​here​ ​and​ ​there​ ​for​ ​minor​ ​expenses.​ ​​​I​ ​love​ ​the idea​ ​of​ ​making​ ​it​ ​impossible​ ​for​ ​him​ ​to​ ​buy​ ​himself​ ​anything​ ​more expensive​ ​than​ ​a​ ​tuna​ ​sandwich.​ ​​​And​ ​sometimes​ ​I​ ​even​ ​make​ ​him​ ​spend his​ ​tiny​ ​allowance​ ​on​ ​me​ ​and​ ​my​ ​friends,​ ​just​ ​to​ ​remind​ ​him​ ​of​ ​how​ ​helpless he​ ​is."

Tiffany​ ​said,​ ​"And​ ​I've​ ​been​ ​encouraging​ ​the​ ​girls​ ​to​ ​let​ ​him​ ​be​ ​around when​ ​they​ ​have​ ​their​ ​boyfriends​ ​over.​ ​​​It​ ​is​ ​SUCH​ ​a​ ​laugh​ ​to​ ​have​ ​Bimbo​ ​in the​ ​room,​ ​folding​ ​a​ ​guy's​ ​clothes,​ ​maybe​ ​shining​ ​his​ ​shoes,​ ​while​ ​you're getting​ ​him​ ​hot.​ ​​​Then​ ​she​ ​has​ ​to​ ​pour​ ​drinks​ ​while​ ​we​ ​get​ ​busy​ ​with foreplay.​ ​​​My​ ​personal​ ​favorite,​ ​though,​ ​is​ ​having​ ​her​ ​use​ ​her​ ​mouth​ ​to​ ​get both​ ​of​ ​us​ ​ready​ ​for​ ​the​ ​main​ ​act,​ ​making​ ​her​ ​watch,​ ​and​ ​then​ ​having​ ​her clean​ ​us​ ​up​ ​with​ ​her​ ​tongue​ ​after​ ​we're​ ​done.​ ​​​The​ ​poor​ ​baby​ ​just​ ​can't seem​ ​to​ ​get​ ​used​ ​to​ ​eating​ ​cum."

They​ ​all​ ​laughed.​ ​​​Jessica​ ​picked​ ​the​ ​conversation​ ​back​ ​up​ ​with,​ ​"And​ ​my lover,​ ​Josh,​ ​can't​ ​stop​ ​telling​ ​Bimbo​ ​how​ ​soft​ ​and​ ​smooth​ ​she​ ​is.​ ​​​He​ ​keeps comparing​ ​her​ ​to​ ​a​ ​girl​ ​and​ ​that​ ​gets​ ​her​ ​all​ ​flustered."

"Wow,"​ ​Hannah​ ​said.​ ​​​"I'm​ ​going​ ​to​ ​have​ ​to​ ​start​ ​having​ ​Bimbo​ ​up​ ​to​ ​my room,​ ​too.​ ​​​What​ ​I'm​ ​going​ ​to​ ​focus​ ​on​ ​is​ ​getting​ ​him​ ​more​ ​and​ ​more confused​ ​about​ ​his​ ​sexual​ ​orientation.​ ​​​Some​ ​of​ ​the​ ​girls​ ​have​ ​told​ ​me​ ​it really​ ​freaks​ ​him​ ​out​ ​when​ ​they​ ​say​ ​he's​ ​queer.​ ​​​And​ ​it​ ​doesn't​ ​help​ ​the wimp​ ​that​ ​he​ ​gets​ ​stiff​ ​whenever​ ​he's​ ​doing​ ​anything​ ​in​ ​the​ ​bedroom,​ ​even if​ ​it's​ ​getting​ ​his​ ​throat​ ​reamed​ ​by​ ​a​ ​Black​ ​cock.​ ​​​I​ ​want​ ​to​ ​get​ ​him​ ​so​ ​mixed up​ ​and​ ​unsure​ ​about​ ​his​ ​orientation​ ​that​ ​he​ ​doesn't​ ​know​ ​if​ ​he​ ​should​ ​get turned​ ​on​ ​by​ ​a​ ​girl's​ ​ass​ ​or​ ​just​ ​be​ ​jealous​ ​that​ ​his​ ​isn't​ ​as​ ​cute."

More​ ​laughter.​ ​​​"Well,"​ ​Jessica​ ​told​ ​her,​ ​"he​ ​might​ ​be​ ​getting​ ​a​ ​nicer​ ​ass and​ ​maybe​ ​some​ ​other​ ​girly​ ​attributes​ ​in​ ​the​ ​months​ ​to​ ​come.​ ​​​I​ ​made some​ ​connections​ ​through​ ​my​ ​computer​ ​and​ ​might​ ​have​ ​some​ ​goodies​ ​to give​ ​him​ ​some​ ​physical​ ​changes.​ ​​​By​ ​the​ ​time​ ​of​ ​our​ ​next​ ​Spring​ ​Formal, who​ ​knows,​ ​Bimbo​ ​might​ ​not​ ​need​ ​any​ ​padding​ ​in​ ​his​ ​clown​ ​outfit."

Ten​ ​months​ ​later,​ ​when​ ​the​ ​next​ ​big​ ​dance​ ​occurred,​ ​Paul​ ​was​ ​told​ ​he​ ​was going​ ​to​ ​provide​ ​entertainment​ ​again.​ ​​​By​ ​then​ ​he​ ​was​ ​too​ ​downtrodden​ ​to object.​ ​​​He​ ​was​ ​also​ ​horribly​ ​frightened​ ​of​ ​being​ ​seen​ ​in​ ​a​ ​tight​ ​outfit.​ ​​​For months​ ​the​ ​sorority​ ​sisters​ ​had​ ​been​ ​feeding​ ​him​ ​hormones​ ​and​ ​now​ ​he had​ ​rounded​ ​limbs,​ ​a​ ​slightly​ ​protruding​ ​bottom​ ​and,​ ​unthinkably,​ ​a​ ​budding pair​ ​of​ ​breasts.​ ​​​Every​ ​time​ ​he​ ​was​ ​topless​ ​around​ ​the​ ​Delta​ ​Virago​ ​house, they​ ​pinched​ ​his​ ​chubby​ ​buttocks,​ ​mocked​ ​his​ ​modest​ ​bust,​ ​and​ ​made​ ​him toy​ ​with​ ​his​ ​sensitive​ ​nipples.​ ​​​It​ ​was​ ​so​ ​humiliating​ ​to​ ​be​ ​robbed​ ​of​ ​his​ ​male body​ ​image.​ ​​​His​ ​only​ ​consolation​ ​was​ ​that​

​he​ ​could​ ​mostly​ ​hide​ ​his​ ​new shape​ ​under​ ​his​ ​clothes,​ ​although​ ​while​ ​in​ ​some​ ​of​ ​the​ ​more​ ​formfitting items​ ​he​ ​had​ ​to​ ​resort​ ​to​ ​hugging​ ​his​ ​books​ ​against​ ​his​ ​chest,​ ​covering himself​ ​with​ ​sweaters​ ​even​ ​when​ ​it​ ​was​ ​too​ ​warm​ ​for​ ​them,​ ​and​ ​walking along​ ​with​ ​an​ ​open​ ​newspaper​ ​in​ ​front​ ​of​ ​his​ ​torso,​ ​pretending​ ​to​ ​read​ ​it.​ ​​​It was​ ​so​ ​hard​ ​to​ ​hide​ ​his​ ​embarrassing​ ​changes.

He​ ​was​ ​also​ ​trying​ ​not​ ​to​ ​let​ ​anyone​ ​in​ ​the​ ​sorority​ ​house​ ​catch​ ​him​ ​playing with​ ​his​ ​dick​ ​while​ ​he​ ​watched​ ​interracial​ ​sissy​ ​porn.​ ​​​Sure,​ ​it​ ​was​ ​Jessica who​ ​had​ ​signed​ ​him​ ​up​ ​for​ ​several​ ​pay​ ​sites​ ​and​ ​ordered​ ​him​ ​to​ ​view​ ​those videos.​ ​​​But​ ​it​ ​was​ ​still​ ​his​ ​dirty​ ​little​ ​secret​ ​that​ ​he​ ​got​ ​aroused​ ​and​ ​jerked off.​ ​​​Paul​ ​kept​ ​telling​ ​himself​ ​that​ ​it​ ​was​ ​something​ ​he​ ​had​ ​to​ ​work​ ​his​ ​way through​ ​and​ ​that,​ ​once​ ​he'd​ ​had​ ​enough,​ ​he​ ​wouldn't​ ​want​ ​it​ ​anymore. Except​ ​that​ ​it​ ​seemed​ ​like​ ​he​ ​would​ ​never​ ​get​ ​enough.​ ​​​He​ ​couldn't​ ​even look​ ​away​ ​for​ ​a​ ​few​ ​seconds​ ​while​ ​Black​ ​stallions​ ​had​ ​their​ ​way​ ​with simpering​ ​sissies.​ ​​​He​ ​was​ ​captivated​ ​by​ ​how​ ​the​ ​big​ ​men​ ​ordered​ ​around their​ ​meek​ ​partners,​ ​made​ ​them​ ​beg​ ​for​ ​rough​ ​sex,​ ​and​ ​snarled​ ​at​ ​them​ ​to perform​ ​the​ ​most​ ​degrading​ ​acts.​ ​​​If​ ​anyone​ ​ever​ ​discovered​ ​he​ ​was​ ​getting off​ ​on​ ​those​ ​images,​ ​he​ ​wouldn't​ ​be​ ​able​ ​to​ ​ever​ ​look​ ​them​ ​in​ ​the​ ​eye​ ​again without​ ​feeling​ ​crushing​ ​mortification.

On​ ​the​ ​night​ ​of​ ​the​ ​dance,​ ​Tiffany​ ​called​ ​him​ ​up​ ​to​ ​her​ ​room​ ​to​ ​get​ ​ready. His​ ​outfit​ ​was​ ​laid​ ​out​ ​on​ ​the​ ​bed​ ​but​ ​he​ ​was​ ​dismayed​ ​to​ ​see​ ​it.​ ​​​There were​ ​nothing​ ​but​ ​elastic​ ​bands​ ​of​ ​rainbow​ ​ruffles.​ ​​​They​ ​fit​ ​around​ ​his​ ​neck, on​ ​his​ ​wrists​ ​and​ ​ankles,​ ​and​ ​around​ ​his​

​waist.​ ​​​That​ ​last​ ​one​ ​had​ ​only three​ ​layers​ ​of​ ​ruffles,​ ​so​ ​it​ ​didn't​ ​hide​ ​his​ ​privates​ ​at​ ​all.​ ​​​He​ ​tried​ ​to​ ​explain that​ ​he​ ​didn't​ ​want​ ​anyone​ ​else​ ​to​ ​see​ ​his​ ​new​ ​contours,​ ​but​ ​the​ ​girls insisted​ ​that​ ​this​ ​was​ ​his​ ​'coming​ ​out'​ ​party.​ ​​​He​ ​knew​ ​the​ ​Delta​ ​Viragos were​ ​mean,​ ​but​ ​had​ ​never​ ​expected​ ​them​ ​to​ ​be​ ​this​ ​impossibly​ ​cruel.​ ​​​Then they​ ​gave​ ​him​ ​his​ ​clown​ ​gloves,​ ​the​ ​fingers​ ​of​ ​which​ ​had​ ​all​ ​been​ ​sewn together​ ​so​ ​that​ ​his​ ​hands​ ​were​ ​nearly​ ​useless.​ ​​​Next​ ​they​ ​applied​ ​his make-up.​ ​​​He​ ​was​ ​disturbed​ ​to​ ​see​ ​Hannah​ ​among​ ​the​ ​girls​ ​who​ ​were taking​ ​turns​ ​doing​ ​it.​ ​​​He​ ​was​ ​given​ ​long​ ​drawn-on​ ​eyelashes,​ ​gold eyeshadow​ ​with​ ​sparkles,​ ​a​ ​red-painted​ ​nose,​ ​and​ ​a​ ​wide​ ​red​ ​smile​ ​that reached​ ​his​ ​jawline,​ ​along​ ​with​ ​pink​ ​hearts​ ​on​ ​his​ ​cheeks.

He​ ​was​ ​led​ ​across​ ​campus​ ​to​ ​the​ ​event​ ​on​ ​a​ ​leash​ ​of​ ​the​ ​same​ ​bright​ ​hues as​ ​his​ ​ruffles.​ ​​​Several​ ​people​ ​saw​ ​him​ ​and,​ ​even​ ​though​ ​he​ ​had​ ​become​ ​a joke​ ​around​ ​the​ ​school,​ ​this​ ​was​ ​extreme​ ​even​ ​for​ ​him​ ​and​ ​provoked shocked​ ​amusement.​ ​​​They​ ​pointed​ ​at​ ​his​ ​little​ ​tits​ ​and​ ​made​ ​lewd suggestions.​ ​​​When​ ​they​ ​got​ ​to​ ​the​ ​hall​ ​where​ ​the​ ​dance​ ​was,​ ​​​he​ ​got​ ​tied up​ ​out​ ​front​ ​and​ ​told​ ​to​ ​greet​ ​the​ ​guests​ ​as​ ​they​ ​arrived.​ ​​​For​ ​the​ ​next​ ​hour he​ ​was​ ​laughed​ ​at​ ​and​ ​made​ ​fun​ ​of​ ​by​ ​everyone​ ​who​ ​entered.​ ​​​A​ ​few​ ​of them,​ ​male​ ​and​ ​female,​ ​tweaked​ ​his​ ​nipples.​ ​​​At​ ​last​ ​he​ ​was​ ​taken​ ​inside and​ ​got​ ​a​ ​still​ ​worse​ ​shock.​ ​​​There​ ​was​ ​a​ ​sort​ ​of​ ​dunking​ ​cage,​ ​except​ ​the space​ ​inside​ ​held​ ​not​ ​a​ ​tank​ ​of​ ​water,​ ​but​ ​four​ ​Black​ ​guys​ ​wearing​ ​nothing but​ ​jockstraps.​ ​​​He​ ​was​ ​led​ ​to​ ​it,​ ​the​ ​collar​ ​taken​ ​from​ ​his​ ​neck,​ ​and​ ​told​ ​to get​ ​onto​ ​the​ ​slat​ ​that​ ​served​ ​as​ ​his​ ​seat.​ ​​​He​ ​knew​ ​that​ ​whenever​ ​anyone hit​ ​the​ ​targets​ ​on​ ​either​ ​side​ ​of​ ​the​ ​cage​ ​the​

​slat​ ​would​ ​be​ ​released​ ​and​ ​he would​ ​drop​ ​onto​ ​the​ ​thick​ ​inflated​ ​cushion​ ​that​ ​waited​ ​between​ ​the​ ​four eager​ ​males.

The​ ​first​ ​to​ ​throw,​ ​with​ ​all​ ​the​ ​other​ ​attendees​ ​watching,​ ​was​ ​Jessica.​ ​​​Her aim​ ​was​ ​true​ ​and,​ ​as​ ​soon​ ​as​ ​he​ ​fell,​ ​the​ ​Black​ ​studs​ ​were​ ​all​ ​over​ ​him, groping​ ​and​ ​pawing.​ ​​​To​ ​his​ ​shame,​ ​Paul​ ​instantly​ ​got​ ​an​ ​erection. Everyone​ ​saw​ ​it​ ​and​ ​made​ ​loud​ ​remarks.​ ​​​After​ ​a​ ​minute​ ​he​ ​was​ ​allowed​ ​to climb​ ​back​ ​onto​ ​his​ ​perch.​ ​​​Tiffany​ ​was​ ​next​ ​to​ ​throw.​ ​​​It​ ​took​ ​her​ ​three tries,​ ​but​ ​she​ ​too​ ​dropped​ ​him​ ​among​ ​the​ ​rapacious​ ​foursome.​ ​​​This​ ​time someone​ ​diddled​ ​his​ ​ass​ ​and​ ​he​ ​squealed​ ​like​ ​a​ ​pig.​ ​​​When​ ​he​ ​got​ ​onto​ ​the seat​ ​again​ ​he​ ​saw​ ​that​ ​the​ ​next​ ​thrower​ ​was​ ​Hannah.​ ​​​He​ ​wished​ ​that​ ​he could​ ​get​ ​back​ ​together​ ​with​ ​her,​ ​as​ ​boyfriend​ ​and​ ​girlfriend.​ ​​​But​ ​she​ ​was with​ ​Avery​ ​and​ ​had​ ​ordered​ ​Paul​ ​up​ ​to​ ​her​ ​room​ ​more​ ​than​ ​once​ ​to​ ​watch her​ ​with​ ​that​ ​capable​ ​lover.​ ​​​​​And​ ​to​ ​serve​ ​as​ ​their​ ​sex​ ​slave.​ ​​​So​ ​he​ ​knew his​ ​hope​ ​for​ ​reconciliation​ ​was​ ​doomed​ ​to​ ​never​ ​be​ ​fulfilled.

As​ ​Hannah​ ​grinned​ ​maliciously​ ​and​ ​drew​ ​back​ ​her​ ​arm​ ​to​ ​throw,​ ​she​ ​called out​ ​to​ ​him,​ ​"Hey,​ ​Bimbo,​ ​do​ ​you​ ​want​ ​to​ ​be​ ​dropped​ ​in​ ​with​ ​those​ ​guys again?​ ​​​Do​ ​you​ ​want​ ​their​ ​hands​ ​all​ ​over​ ​you?​ ​​​Do​ ​you​ ​just​ ​love​ ​it,​ ​you kinky​ ​faggot?"

"No.​ ​​​Please.​ ​​​Hannah.​ ​​​I'm​ ​not​ ​gay.​ ​​​I​ ​mean,​ ​I​ ​don't​ ​think​ ​I​ ​am.​ ​​​Not​ ​really. I​ ​don't​ ​want​ ​them​ ​touching​ ​me."

"So​ ​you​ ​don't​ ​want​ ​them​ ​touching​ ​your​ ​tiny​ ​little​ ​dick?" "No.​ ​​​I​ ​don't.​ ​​​Not​ ​that."

"Well,​ ​I'll​ ​see​ ​what​ ​we​ ​can​ ​do​ ​about​ ​it​ ​after​ ​I​ ​dunk​ ​you."

She​ ​threw​ ​straight​ ​and​ ​fast,​ ​making​ ​him​ ​fall​ ​with​ ​her​ ​first​ ​effort.​ ​​​The​ ​quartet had​ ​extra​ ​fun​ ​with​ ​him.​ ​​​They​ ​were​ ​all​ ​hard​ ​by​ ​then​ ​and​ ​made​ ​him​ ​take turns​ ​giving​ ​them​ ​each​ ​a​ ​few​ ​sucks.​ ​​​And​ ​licking​ ​their​ ​balls.​ ​​​And demonstrating​ ​his​ ​deep-throating​ ​techniques.​ ​​​It​ ​was​ ​the​ ​first​ ​time​ ​he​ ​had ever​ ​had​ ​to​ ​do​ ​those​ ​things​ ​in​ ​front​ ​of​ ​such​ ​a​ ​roomful​ ​of​ ​males​ ​and​ ​females. As​ ​they​ ​hooted​ ​and​ ​hollered,​ ​he​ ​wished​ ​he​ ​could​ ​simply​ ​vanish.​ ​​​But​ ​then he​ ​saw​ ​Hannah​ ​approaching​ ​the​ ​cage.​ ​​​Was​ ​she​ ​at​ ​last​ ​feeling​ ​pity​ ​for him?​ ​​​He​ ​had​ ​told​ ​himself​ ​that​ ​she​ ​would​ ​never​ ​become​ ​as​ ​nasty​ ​as​ ​the other​ ​sorority​ ​girls.​ ​​​But​ ​as​ ​she​ ​showed​ ​him​ ​what​ ​she​ ​held,​ ​his​ ​hopes​ ​were dashed.

"I'm​ ​going​ ​to​ ​need​ ​your​ ​baby​ ​dick​ ​soft​ ​to​ ​put​ ​this​ ​on​ ​you,​ ​Bimbo.​ ​​​Once you're​ ​wearing​ ​your​ ​pretty​ ​pink​ ​plastic​ ​chastity​ ​tube,​ ​those​ ​bad​ ​boys​ ​won't be​ ​able​ ​to​ ​touch​ ​your​ ​itty​ ​bitty​ ​dick."

Jessica​ ​was​ ​suddenly​ ​beside​ ​her.​ ​​​"And​ ​neither​ ​will​ ​you,​ ​Bimbo.​ ​​​Did​ ​you honestly​ ​think​ ​I​ ​wouldn't​ ​have​ ​a​ ​camera​ ​or​ ​two​ ​on​ ​your​ ​while​ ​you​ ​were​ ​at your​ ​computer.​ ​​​We​ ​have​ ​endless​ ​video​ ​of​ ​you​ ​pulling​ ​your​ ​pecker.​ ​​​And over​ ​your​ ​moans​ ​and​ ​whimpers,​ ​its​ ​easy​

​to​ ​hear​ ​what​ ​you're​ ​listening​ ​to. There​ ​are​ ​even​ ​plenty​ ​of​ ​incidents​ ​of​ ​you​ ​talking​ ​to​ ​the​ ​screen,​ ​telling​ ​those Black​ ​studs​ ​to​ ​take​ ​you​ ​next,​ ​and​ ​asking​ ​them​ ​to​ ​make​ ​you​ ​their​ ​sissy​ ​party princess."

"I..."​ ​​​He​ ​had​ ​uncertain​ ​memories​ ​of​ ​that.​ ​​​"...​ ​did​ ​say​ ​some​ ​things."

"And​ ​you'll​ ​get​ ​to​ ​hear​ ​them​ ​all​ ​again,"​ ​assured​ ​Tiffany,​ ​who​ ​showed​ ​up​ ​on Hannah's​ ​other​ ​side.​ ​​​"As​ ​soon​ ​as​ ​we​ ​start​ ​running​ ​our​ ​recordings​ ​on​ ​the monitors​ ​on​ ​the​ ​other​ ​side​ ​of​ ​the​ ​room.​ ​​​For​ ​everybody​ ​to​ ​enjoy​ ​between dances.​ ​​​But​ ​right​ ​now,​ ​Bimbo,​ ​we​ ​need​ ​you​ ​to​ ​show​ ​us​ ​all​ ​how​ ​you​ ​yank on​ ​your​ ​miniature​ ​crank​ ​and​ ​make​ ​it​ ​squirt."

"You're​ ​going​ ​to​ ​shoot​ ​it​ ​into​ ​the​ ​palm​ ​of​ ​your​ ​hand,"​ ​Jessica​ ​added.

"And,"​ ​Hannah​ ​concluded,​ ​in​ ​the​ ​harshest​ ​command​ ​of​ ​all,​ ​"then​ ​you're going​ ​to​ ​lick​ ​up​ ​your​ ​mess​ ​and​ ​eat​ ​it​ ​while​ ​everybody​ ​sees​ ​what​ ​a​ ​complete freak​ ​you​ ​are."

He​ ​began​ ​to​ ​shake​ ​his​ ​head​ ​'no',​ ​but​ ​two​ ​of​ ​the​ ​nearly​ ​naked​ ​Black​ ​men started​ ​to​ ​tease​ ​his​ ​nipples.​ ​​​Another​ ​one​ ​fingered​ ​his​ ​bottom.​ ​​​The​ ​last squatted​ ​alongside​ ​him​ ​and​ ​massaged​ ​his​ ​undersized​ ​balls.​ ​​​Paul​ ​groaned and​ ​reached​ ​automatically​ ​for​ ​his​ ​penis.​ ​​​It​ ​was​

​rigid​ ​and​ ​begging​ ​to​ ​be stroked.​ ​​​He​ ​resisted​ ​the​ ​temptation​ ​for​ ​about​ ​two​ ​seconds​ ​before​ ​he​ ​got​ ​a firm​ ​grip​ ​and​ ​began​ ​to​ ​rub.

"Go​ ​on,"​ ​one​ ​of​ ​the​ ​girls​ ​told​ ​him.​ ​​​"Enjoy​ ​that​ ​hand-pussy." "Yeah,"​ ​said​ ​another,​ ​"because​ ​this​ ​is​ ​the​ ​last​ ​time​ ​you're​ ​going​ ​to​

​be​ ​able to​ ​touch​ ​that​ ​puny​ ​pecker​ ​for​ ​a​ ​long​ ​time."
"Right,"​ ​said​ ​a​ ​third.​ ​​​"You'll​ ​be​ ​more​ ​of​ ​a​ ​virgin​ ​than​ ​before​ ​--​ ​if​

​that's possible."

Someone​ ​reminded​ ​him​ ​to​ ​get​ ​his​ ​other​ ​hand​ ​under​ ​his​ ​little​ ​dick​ ​to​ ​catch his​ ​cum.​ ​​​He​ ​did​ ​and,​ ​all​ ​too​ ​soon,​ ​lost​ ​control.​ ​​​The​ ​palm​ ​of​ ​his​ ​hand​ ​was suddenly​ ​wet​ ​and​ ​warm.​ ​​​He​ ​smelled​ ​the​ ​familiar​ ​aroma​ ​of​ ​semen.​ ​​​Then, as​ ​a​ ​hush​ ​fell​ ​over​ ​his​ ​audience,​ ​he​ ​had​ ​to​ ​bring​ ​the​ ​mess​ ​up​ ​to​ ​his​ ​mouth, lap​ ​it​ ​up,​ ​and​ ​swallow.​ ​​​While​ ​he​ ​was​ ​still​ ​reeling​ ​from​ ​that​ ​disgrace, Hannah​ ​came​ ​and​ ​used​ ​a​ ​sanitizing​ ​wipe​ ​to​ ​clean​ ​his​ ​hairless​ ​genitals,​ ​and then​ ​slid​ ​the​ ​tube​ ​over​ ​his​ ​flaccid​ ​member.​ ​​​She​ ​shut​ ​the​ ​ring​ ​of​ ​the​ ​device around​ ​the​ ​top​ ​of​ ​his​ ​scrotum​ ​and​ ​slipped​ ​the​ ​lock​ ​through​ ​the​ ​hasps.​ ​​​But she​ ​didn't​ ​click​ ​it​ ​shut.

Instead​ ​she​ ​told​ ​Paul,​ ​"Let's​ ​go,​ ​fag-face.​ ​​​Lock​ ​it​ ​up.​ ​​​Save​ ​yourself​ ​from your​ ​jerking​ ​habit.​ ​​​Do​ ​it,​ ​Bimbo.​ ​​​Make​ ​it​ ​impossible​ ​for​ ​that​ ​poor​ ​excuse for​ ​a​ ​cock​ ​to​ ​even​ ​get​ ​hard.​ ​​​It's​ ​useless​ ​anyway.​ ​​​Lock​ ​it​ ​up​ ​in​ ​its​ ​tight, short,​ ​hard,​ ​prick​ ​prison.​ ​​​Do​ ​it​ ​NOW."

Biting​ ​his​ ​lips​ ​and​ ​blinking​ ​back​ ​tears,​ ​he​ ​snapped​ ​shut​ ​the​ ​lock​ ​with​ ​an audible​ ​click.​ ​​​Cheers​ ​broke​ ​out.

"But​ ​don't​ ​feel​ ​too​ ​bad,"​ ​Tiffany​ ​soothed.​ ​​​"After​ ​all,​ ​you'll​ ​still​ ​get​ ​titillated​ ​by seeing​ ​all​ ​the​ ​girls.​ ​​​And​ ​by​ ​watching​ ​us​ ​have​ ​sex​ ​with​ ​our​ ​big​ ​Black​ ​men. Our​ ​real​ ​men.​ ​​​And​ ​even​ ​getting​ ​to​ ​help​ ​out.​ ​​​But​ ​now​ ​you​ ​won't​ ​be​ ​able​ ​to do​ ​anything​ ​about​ ​how​ ​aroused​ ​it​ ​makes​ ​you."

"And​ ​remember,"​ ​Jessica​ ​reminded​ ​him,​ ​"I​ ​signed​ ​you​ ​up​ ​for​ ​another​ ​year on​ ​your​ ​favorite​ ​porn​ ​sites.​ ​​​All​ ​the​ ​IR​ ​sissy​ ​action.​ ​​​All​ ​those​ ​Black​ ​studs. Yum!​ ​​​So​ ​you'll​ ​be​ ​able​ ​to​ ​stay​ ​impossibly​ ​horny​ ​all​ ​the​ ​time."

"But​ ​now,"​ ​Hannah​ ​finished,​ ​"you​ ​won't​ ​have​ ​to​ ​worry​ ​about​ ​tiring​ ​yourself out​ ​with​ ​all​ ​that​ ​pumping​ ​you've​ ​been​ ​doing.​ ​​​Instead,​ ​you​ ​can​ ​store​ ​up​ ​your precious​ ​bodily​ ​fluids​ ​in​ ​your​ ​nuts,​ ​until​ ​you​ ​get​ ​blue-balls​ ​so​ ​bad​ ​they​ ​turn purple."​ ​​​She​ ​snickered.​ ​​​"Maybe​ ​they'll​ ​swell​ ​up​ ​like​ ​a​ ​couple​ ​of​ ​plums​ ​and you'll​ ​finally​ ​have​ ​something​ ​big​ ​down​ ​there.​ ​​​But​ ​I​ ​doubt​ ​that.​ ​​​What​ ​I​ ​think will​ ​happen​ ​is​ ​that,​ ​if​ ​you​ ​can't​ ​have​ ​your​ ​cherished​ ​cum-squirts,​ ​you'll​ ​get crazy​ ​for​ ​them​ ​and​ ​your​ ​whole​ ​sex​ ​drive​ ​will​ ​be​ ​redirected​ ​to​ ​giving​ ​others pleasure​ ​with​ ​your​ ​mouth,​ ​and​ ​with​ ​that​ ​sweet​ ​cheerleader​ ​ass​ ​we've​ ​given you.​ ​​​You'll​ ​be​ ​a​ ​bigger​ ​hit​ ​then​ ​ever​ ​in​ ​the​ ​bedroom.​ ​​​And​ ​in​ ​the​ ​bathrooms over​ ​at​ ​Delta​

​Ebony.​ ​​​Eventually​ ​you'll​ ​turn​ ​into​ ​a​ ​complete​ ​sex​ ​addict​ ​who's ready​ ​to​ ​beg​ ​to​ ​be​ ​allowed​ ​to​ ​clean​ ​out​ ​freshly​ ​used​ ​pussies,​ ​suck​ ​any​ ​cock you​ ​can​ ​find,​ ​and​ ​get​ ​slammed​ ​in​ ​the​ ​sitter.​ ​​​And​ ​the​ ​whole​ ​time,​ ​you'll behave​ ​like​ ​the​ ​sissy​ ​slut​ ​you​ ​really​ ​are,​ ​the​ ​bitch-boy​ ​who​ ​treated​ ​me wrong,​ ​and​ ​the​ ​virgin​ ​who​ ​will​ ​never​ ​get​ ​to​ ​have​ ​real​ ​sex.​ ​​​Too​ ​bad​ ​for​ ​you, Bimbo.​ ​​​But​ ​damn​ ​funny​ ​for​ ​the​ ​rest​ ​of​ ​us."

And​ ​that​ ​was​ ​then​ ​they​ ​took​ ​him​ ​to​ ​the​ ​video​ ​monitor​ ​display,​ ​which included​ ​three​ ​screens.​ ​​​He​ ​saw​ ​his​ ​own​ ​image​ ​frozen​ ​on​ ​all​ ​of​ ​them,​ ​in compromising​ ​positions,​ ​each​ ​with​ ​his​ ​dick​ ​in​ ​hand.​ ​​​There​ ​was​ ​a​ ​short stool​ ​in​ ​front​ ​of​ ​the​ ​array​ ​of​ ​screens.​ ​​​Mounted​ ​firmly​ ​on​ ​the​ ​stool​ ​and aimed​ ​straight​ ​up,​ ​was​ ​a​ ​thick,​ ​eight​ ​inch,​ ​black​ ​dildo.​ ​​​He​ ​knew​ ​that​ ​was where​ ​he​ ​would​ ​be​ ​sitting.​ ​​​The​ ​seat​ ​of​ ​honor​ ​for​ ​Bimbo,​ ​the​ ​sissy​ ​clown,​ ​as he​ ​watched​ ​himself​ ​squirting​ ​on​ ​the​ ​screens​ ​like​ ​he​ ​no​ ​longer​ ​could​ ​in​ ​the present.

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