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Fraternity Muscle: Part 2


Shade

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Part 1

First Night

Greg passed a lot of kids out on Fraternity Row that Friday night.

It was a hot night in early fall and many of the frats and sororities already had pledge classes. He’d seen some of them being paraded around earlier in the day. And that night the sisters of Lambda Mu Chi and their affiliated brotherhood, the notorious party house Kappa Mu Alpha, were throwing a big party in their adjoining yards. You could hear the music all the way down at the other end of the street. Pretty much everyone was ignoring Greg, which was good. He knew the kinds of pranks that were played on pledges and he hoped to avoid attention for as long as he could.

But a Pi Epsilon Chi man couldn’t avoid attracting attention for very long.

Up ahead the Pi Epsilon Chi House loomed at the very furthest end of the street, its four stories appearing more sinister with all the lights off. Greg was starting to wonder if any of the brothers were actually home. He almost decided to turn back, but gritting his teeth he put one foot after the other until he’d climbed the stairs to the top of the porch. There were four other guys already standing there. Greg didn’t recognize any of them, but they were all dressed similarly to Greg in polo shirts and slacks, and they all had rather dazed looks on their faces.

Greg knew that he’d see the same look mirrored on his own face.

Greg also couldn’t help noticing that the each of his fellow pledges didn’t seem to fit the Pi Epsilon Chi mould. The one guy to the far end looked like he weighed less than 100 pounds soaking wet. In fact he looked more like a high school freshman than a college kid. On the other hand the kid standing close to the door reminded him a bit of his roommate Rich. He had a cockiness to his bearing. From his general build and demeanour it was obvious that he played sports in high school. He was the only one that seemed even remotely like he belonged there. Suddenly the door opened, and even the cocky kid jumped like he’d shit his pants.

Tyler Dickson, the starting quarterback of the school’s championship football team, stood framed in the doorway. He barely fit the doorway and it was a big door.

There was no student more famous or instantly recognizable on campus than this man.

Like the pledges, the QB wore a polo shirt and slacks. But unlike the pledges, the polo shirt Tyler was wearing looked like it had been painted onto his body. Greg could see his abdominal muscles rippling through the cotton that was stretched taut over his torso with each breath the man took.

“Hey,” said Tyler, in a surprisingly soft, yet deeply masculine, drawl. “Y’all must be the new pledges. Why don’t the five of you come in and we’ll get the show on the road.”

None of the pledges came up past the QB’s shoulder. But as he moved aside, waiting expectantly, they all shuffled inside to stand in the foyer of the frat house. It was a nice place. There was a certain bachelor quality, and of course the decor was decidedly masculine, but it was all in surprisingly good taste. And clean too.

“I have a few instructions for you before we go any further,” said Tyler. “First off, I am the Doorkeeper. When you address yourselves to me or wish to refer to me when speaking to another Pi Epsilon Chi brother, you will use that title only. However, you will never ever use that title in front of any person who is not a Pi Epsilon Chi brother or a pledge. Secondly, you are not brothers of Pi Epsilon Chi. Remember that. You are pledges. Until such time as your circumstances change, if ever, you will call me and every other brother ‘Sir’. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” came a few muttered voices. The cocky kid was in awe and said nothing. Tyler continued to look at the pledges expectantly. So finally Greg said, “Yes, Mr. Doorkeeper, Sir!”

Tyler looked him over appraisingly an grinned. Then looked back at the others as the grin disappeared. They hastily repeated what Greg had said.

“Gentlemen, we WILL haze you here,” Tyler told them. “Be of no doubt about that. I know the campus rules prohibit it, but we do what we want. I promise you that nothing that happens to you as part of this pledge process will be harmful. But it may at times be embarrassing and difficult to take. Even so, no pledge in the history of this fraternity has ever failed his pledge process. If any of y’all got a problem with what I just said, I’ll show your pansy ass to the door right now. But hopefully y’all aren’t a bunch of pussies.”

Greg resisted the urge to go running to the door. But he did give it a glance. And he noticed that Tyler saw where his gaze had gone to.

“Okay then gentlemen,” Tyler said finally. “Take off of your clothes and you’ll be taken for your induction.”

The pledges all looked at each other, but nobody made a move to comply.

“What the fuck?” demanded Tyler suddenly angry.

Gone was the soft spoken Alabama boy. In his place was a fearsome creature. The man who was used to dominating the football field. His hands tightened into fists the size of frozen turkeys and his handsome face darkened. The muscles of his neck corded, and his biceps strained his sleeves.

“I SAID STRIP!!! GET YOUR DICKS OUT NOW!!!”

It was like trying to outrun an avalanche. Greg’s blood turned to ice. The five pledges scrambled to get as naked as possible as quickly as possible. When they were through, five skinny guys stood there, their hands covering their junk, their balls withdrawn into their bodies in terror.

“PUT YOUR HANDS AT YOUR SIDES!!! STAND UP STRAIGHT NOW MOTHER FUCKERS!!!”

The pledges complied instantly.

“Good,” Tyler went on, back to his calm voice, seeing how well he was being obeyed. “Very good. Y’all might not be as hopeless as I first thought. Never be ashamed of yourselves. Never be ashamed of being men. The polo shirt and slacks are the uniform that every Pi Epsilon Chi man wears. It’s our brand. But y’all haven’t earned the right to wear it yet. When you are in this house, unless outsiders are present, you will be as naked as the day you were born. Is that understood?”

This time there was an immediate and resounding chorus of “Yes, Mr. Doorkeeper, Sir!”

“All right then. Take a good look at your pledge brothers. They are gonna be your family. Not just during this pledge process, but for the rest of your lives. Go ahead take a look.”

Greg did as he was told. Most of the guys were scrawny. One of the guys was actually quite pudgy and clearly very embarrassed about his weight condition. Greg was not quite the smallest guy in the room. That distinction was reserved for the kid he’d noticed earlier on the porch. But he did come in second. The cocky guy did have an athletic and toned body and, as Greg had no choice but to look, a very big dick. Even limp it was clear that erect it would be bigger than a lot of porn stars. No wonder he was so cocky.

“That’s enough getting to know each other. Follow me!”

The pledges turned to follow Tyler and, organizing themselves ad hoc in single file, followed him through what turned out to be some kind of dining room, a kitchen and finally to a door that led down a set of stairs to a basement. The carpeting on the stairs gave Greg the impression that the basement was finished off. Although all the lights were off there were candles lit throughout the house, giving it an odd glow, shadows flickering off the walls. When they went downstairs they could see that fourteen men were assembled waiting for them. Tyler took his place with the other Pi Epsilon Chi men, making the number a total of fifteen.

Matt James stood there looking as sombre as the rest of the assembly.

A smaller, densely muscled man that Greg recognized as Robert Pembroke stepped forward. He wasn’t as big as some of the other guys, but he had a powerful presence and the other men deferred to him. Greg recalled that Robert, or Bobby as he was more usually called in the media, was the son of a United States Senator.

And rumour had it that he was dating an aspiring actress whose first feature film was going to be released next summer. But, more interestingly, it was known around campus though that Bobby didn’t make any use of his connection with his father. Rumour had it they never even spoke to one another. Bobby Pembroke had worked very hard to build his own reputation and make his own successes. Perhaps he would go on to law school at Harvard or Yale. Perhaps he had his own very bright future in politics ahead of him.

He was so very different from Tyler, who had come from nothing. Now Tyler was widely expected next year to be one of the hottest draft picks of the NFL. With his accuracy and skill, not to mention physique and physical prowess, Tyler Dickson could be another Joe Montana or Tom Brady. Easy.

Greg knew instinctively that it was this fraternity that had both given them the opportunity, not their backgrounds.

“Stand in a line gentlemen,” said Bobby, waiting until the pledges complied perfectly. “You are here because you have been invited. But you are also here because you want to be part of a fine tradition. A tradition of service and excellence. A proud tradition, including politicians, athletes, actors, writers, fathers, husbands, sons and brothers. We embrace all backgrounds, races, creeds and professions.”

Greg looked at some of the other faces. They all had similar builds. Some of the guys were larger than others, but each man had a body that put mere mortal men to shame, with physiques ranging from merely well muscled to super-heavyweight bodybuilders. Most of the faces Greg didn’t recognize immediately. Some, like Tyler, he didn’t even know were in Pi Epsilon Chi. But there were others like Duncan MacNeill who was editor in chief of the college newspaper, and Brendon Thomas the star sprinter on the track team that everyone knew were part of the frat.

“I am the President of this fraternity. You will refer to me by that title at all times, inside and outside of this house, no matter who you are with. Is that understood?”

We all said “Yes, Sir!”

“Each of you will, one at a time, repeat after me the vow of a pledge of Pi Epsilon Chi. You first Mr. Cook.”

He moved to stand in front of the well endowed, cocky kid who was at the end of the line having been the first to follow Tyler earlier.

“I, Nathaniel Cook, do willingly vow for all time to be a true and faithful pledge of Pi Epsilon Chi. To uphold its values. To abstain from smoking, drugs or alcohol while a pledge. To obey every desire of a brother of the fraternity. And to complete all tasks set for me for my admission as a brother of Pi Epsilon Chi.”

Nate repeated the vow solemnly. Then Bobby went to each of the pledges in turn: Ivan Roberts, Greg O’Brien, Henry Little, and Davis Norton. Davis Norton was the name of the overweight kid, and not to disappoint, Henry Little lived up to his name as the shortest and scrawniest runt of the pledge class.

“It’s time for you to meet your Pledgemaster. Mr. Pledgemaster if you please.”

“Thank you Mr. President.” A fair haired Viking walked forward from the line.

His shoulders were broader than those of a bull. His haircut was short, like he was in the service, and he carried himself with a certain poise.

“My name is John Summers,” he told the assembly. “You may call me Pledgemaster whenever we aren’t in mixed company. I am in the ROTC. When I graduate in the spring I will be commissioned as an officer in the United States Marine Corps. But right here, right now I am yours and you are mine. This is your boot camp and you will not fail me. Before I go any further, let me explain what will happen. Each of your will be assigned a big brother to guide you through your pledge process. Firstly, your measurements will be taken by your big brothers. While they are doing that I will explain what you need to do to complete this process.”

Five of the guys broke away and moved to stand behind each pledge. With heat rising in his face, Greg noticed that Matt had taken a position behind him.

“Dude, hold your arms out,” Matt murmured. Greg realized that Matt had a measuring tape. “Flex your arm.” Greg did as he was told and Matt dutifully took the measurements. As he continued, whispering instructions to Greg, the Pledgemaster began to list off the requirements of joining the fraternity.

“You will learn the ideals, values and history of this fraternity verbatim, and be able to recite them. You will learn the Greek Alphabet backwards and forwards and be able to recite it. You will each fulfil a desire of one of the ten active brothers, including myself. You will attend all your classes. You will maintain or exceed your last semester grade point average. You will report daily to your big brother and to me. You will keep three condoms on your person at all times. You will complete an exercise regimen set by your big brother. You will spend your free time here at the house, and make sure that it is clean at all times. You will be able to cum ten times in one hour. And finally you will bench press 1000 pounds for 100 reps.”

Greg looked up at the Pledgemaster in shock just as Matt said, “Okay good. One more measurement to go.”

When Matt grabbed his dick, Greg realized he had sprung a rod. His face turned six shades of scarlet, and Greg couldn’t believe that Matt James was standing there with Greg’s boner in his hand.

One of the other guys gave a rebel whoop.

And the man standing behind Nate said, “What kind of faggot did you pick out for us, Matty? Look at how little that dick is!” This guy was the biggest of all the brothers. But not, noted Greg, that much bigger than Matt.

“That will be enough Mr. Grieg,” said the Pledgemaster. Then addressing the pledges he told them, “Each of you better start yanking those little cocks of yours if you don’t want us to be here all night.”

Matt slipped the measuring tape under Greg’s dick and took the measurement flawlessly. Greg already knew the figure by heart. He was five inches, dead even. Now all the guys would think he was gay. It was so unfair! The other guys were too stunned or shy to get theirs up. Nate Cook glanced down the line at Greg, but Greg noticed that Nate didn’t have a boner.

“Perhaps some help?” suggested the Pledgemaster.

The sleeves of his polo had bunched up past the mound of his biceps. He took his left arm and pulled the fabric down taught over the muscle. Like Matt’s shirt, the Pledgemaster’s strained noticeably though he wasn’t even flexed yet. When he brought his arm up, he did so very quickly and there was a tearing noise as the cotton fabric gave way before the force of the powerful ball of muscle that formed on his upper arm. It was absolutely enormous.

All the guys had wood then. Even Nate Cook.

“Looks like Mr. Cook has a pretty big head start for this pledge class’s big dick award,” said Duncan MacNeill.

“Seven and a quarter inches,” said Grieg, Nate’s big brother, proudly.

“Apparently he does,” said the Pledgemaster. “But we do have a long way to go yet.”

“Excuse me Mr. Pledgemaster, Sir?” asked Nate.

The men in the room looked incredulously at Nate, like they were amazed he had the temerity to speak without being spoken to. Greg knew he was.

“Yes, Mr. Cook?”

“You said that we would be able to cum ten times in one hour, and bench press 1000 pounds for 100 repetitions. But Sir, that’s just not possible. The world’s record bench press is only about 600.”

The guys around the room laughed.

“I assure you that cumming ten times will be no problem, but I do admit that you will need to work very hard to bench that amount of weight for that many repetitions. But it can be done.”

“Forgive me Sir, but I don’t believe you.”

Rather than the anger that Greg was expecting, the Pledgemaster raised his eyebrow in a move right out of Star Trek.

“Follow me,” he said.

The pledges followed the Pledgemaster through a door in the basement that went down a short corridor. The brothers followed behind them. Greg assumed judging by the layout of the house, the size of the basement and the direction they had travelled, that they were no longer under the main structure of the frat house anymore.

The Pledgemaster opened the door to a beautifully equipped gym and turned on the lights. It was easily on par with anything in a professional gym. Hell, Olympic athletes probably didn’t have it so good. It was mostly free weights, but there were a few machines also. Greg had never seen machines like them though. The weights were a slightly strange silver colour, but otherwise looked the same as any weights that Greg had seen in other gyms.

The weight bench was racked with eight plates already. The Pledgemaster went over to a weight rack and grabbed two more of the plates from the rack. Each was the size of a 45 pound plate, and each of the pledges made the assumption that was how much the plate weighed.

“Each of these is 100 pounds,” the Pledgemaster told them. “Here. See for yourself.”

He handed the plate to Nate, who immediately dropped it to the floor having expected it to weigh less.

“No tricks here gentlemen.”

The Pledgemaster then picked up the plate from in front of the stunned Nate and placed it on the ends of the bar. Then he put the spare on the other side. The bench then had ten plates on it, equal to just over 1000 pounds if the Pledgemaster was to be believed and you counted the weight of the bar itself. The Pledgemaster got underneath it and picked up the bar. Greg held his breath as he watched the big man pump out rep after rep, silently keeping count of the amount. The big man didn’t even slow when he hit fifty, he just kept going. Then he was at ninety eight...ninety nine...finally one hundred. Amazing.

Blood had rushed to the Pledgemaster’s muscles, giving him an obscene pump. After a second of watching him stand up from the bench, Greg could hear the sounds, tiny at first, of the threads of his shirt giving way. The cotton fabric ripped, unable to contain the mass of the man within it. Shredding and falling away, the bare skin beneath expanded before Greg’s eyes, exposing young, raw, engorged muscle underneath. A chest thick and full and a valley the depth of a normal man’s hand ran between his pecs.

“That’s just my warm up weight. You should see my regular workout.”

Then after a pause he asked the five stunned faces, “So, does anyone have any other questions?”

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