Horny young RD gentlemen

Yikes! I thought. Just my luck to meet *him* on my first
day of school. I just hoped that this wasn’t an omen,
that I wasn’t going to be stuck with him for the next
four years.

No, it couldn’t be four years. I found out right away
that he was a sophomore. Not a freshman like me. But
then, he had that nerdy look of a guy who was just as
likely as not to go for an advanced degree. Oh well, I
thought, I might as well be polite to him. Partly
because it was my nature, and partly because I might
need a friend some day. After all, it wasn’t as if I was
selling my soul to him. I could always tell him later to
buzz off, I thought. Yeah, so I thought.

Turned out that he wanted my help in a psychology
project he was doing. Nothing complicated, just view a
program he had written, and give him my comments. “You
do have a computer, I suppose?”

Of course, I had a computer. Didn’t everybody? But
again, I gave him a polite answer, told him I was
running Windows 95. So he gave me a diskette, said he’d
like to have my first impressions after class tomorrow,
and said good-bye.

I fired up my computer as soon as I got home, more out
of curiosity than anything else, and brought up his
program. It was nothing spectacular. Started out with
the conventional Smiley face, with a subtitle “The Road
to Happiness”.

The first thing that I noticed was that there was a lot
of flicker on the screen. Not enough to be annoying, but
quite noticeable. My new friend might be a good
psychologist, I thought, but he sure needs a lesson in
the finer touches of programming. And then I had another
thought. This was something that Denise should see.

I don’t know what guardian angel matched Denise and me
as roommates, but the match was inspired. We were just
about the same size (perfect for borrowing clothes), and
had very similar tastes (again perfect for borrowing).

Our coloring was different, blonde vs. brunette, and
neither of us was strikingly beautiful, but we both had
that well-scrubbed innocent and healthy look (pardon the
bragging) and full enough figures so that no-one would
ever mistake us for boys, no matter how we dressed. All
in all, nothing to kick out of bed on a cold night, as
my cheeky little brother used to say. When Mom wasn’t
around, that is.

Well, Denise and I sat down together to watch my
friend’s magnum opus.

I don’t remember a thing about the text, which was long,
and full of technical words. But somehow, I couldn’t
tear myself away, nor could Denise. And interestingly, I
began to feel more and more contented as the time went
on. Even that pesky flicker stopped annoying me. It
seemed to have the same effect on Denise, too; she was
smiling contentedly, and moving closer to me. It seemed
the most natural thing in the world when she slipped her
hand into mine, and raised my fingers to her lips.

I so wanted to kiss her, but I couldn’t tear my eyes
away from the computer screen. So I did the next best
thing. With my free hand, I cupped her breast, and
started rubbing her nipple, thrilling to feel it become
instantly hard. And then she returned the favor, and I
could feel my juices begin to flow.

To hell with the computer, I thought. And to hell with
all of my training that had taught me that this sort of
thing was wicked, forbidden both by the church and by my
strait-laced parents. This was real! This was what life
should be like!

As if by common consent (although neither of us spoke a
word), we helped each other undress, and headed for the
shower. And that was fun. The hot water was relaxing,
and you don’t really need soap, but it does make things
nice and slippery, and it also dispels any residual
inhibitions, by providing an excuse for scrubbing and
rubbing and shoving and loving and poking and joking
and… well, you get the idea. And afterward, to bed, to
a glorious mutual fulfillment.

***

As we lay there in blessed relaxation, I found myself
suggesting to Denise that we try to get ourselves
invited to the RD Theatre the next night. (No, I’m not
English, but that was the title of the show, spelled
with an R-E on the end.) And then I started wondering
why I had made such a suggestion. I didn’t know what the
Theatre was all about, or where it was held, or what
went on.

I couldn’t even remember when I had heard of it. Well,
apparently Denise had heard of it, too (although it
turned out that she didn’t know any more about it than I
did), and didn’t know where, either. But we both agreed,
for some unknown reason, that it should be great fun,
and let’s call Sammy (and why Sammy, and how did we know
him, or his telephone number? But no matter, call him
anyway) and see if we can get invited.

Well, it turned out that Sammy was my new “friend” who
had given me the computer program, and he told me how to
find the RD frat house, and said that both Denise and I
would be more than welcome to come. He seemed to put a
little more emphasis on the word “come” than it needed,
but what the Hell. We were invited, that’s all that
mattered.

We slept together, in the same bed, that night.

***

We didn’t even have to discuss what to wear to the
Theatre. (It was almost eerie, the way we were starting
to think alike, almost like ESP.) As if by a common
compulsion, we dressed exactly as we had yesterday
afternoon (well, not exactly the same; they were clean),
blouses conservatively cut, skirts slightly above the
knee, “cutesy” underwear, and socks and sports shoes.
Somehow, we just *knew* that this was the right attire,
even though it was for an organized party in the evening
hours. At the RD fraternity, no less.

Just a word about the RD’s. In the days I had been on
the campus before classes began, doing all the
registration and other paperwork that were almost enough
to make me quit college before I even began, I had heard
lots about the various fraternities. After all, what’s
more important to a young co-ed than what the boys are
up to?

Everybody had talked about the RD’s in a sort of hushed
voice. As near as I could gather, the RD boys were all
from affluent families, except for a few who had talents
that could be turned in some way to fun. Sammy,
apparently, was one of the latter. In addition to his
knowledge of psychology, I learned later, he was a whiz
at computers and electronic equipment. More of that
later.

But in addition to their social credentials, the RD’s
had the reputation of being rather “fast”, whatever that
meant in those days. At any rate, a girl who went out
with them was automatically assumed to be a slut, a
well-groomed and socially correct slut, of course, but a
girl who could be had at the drop of a zipper. Not that
they ever put out for (or even went out with) any boys
who were not RD’s, so it was kind of hard to figure out
where the reputation came from. I figured it was
probably just sour grapes on the part of those who were
not accepted. Not that I planned to become one of their
“harem” (as the RD girls were called around campus)
anyway.

Well, we showed up punctually at the appointed hour. We
still couldn’t figure out how we had known when that
hour was, but we were sure that we were right.
Absolutely sure, which is another strange thing. Usually
a vague memory is vague in all details, but not this
time. Anyway, we walked right into the frat house (after
all, we had been invited) and down the stairs to the
rec-room. Soundproofed, we noticed. And it looked as if
we were the last to arrive, even though we had been very
careful to arrive exactly at the appointed time. To the
minute, to the second, according to my watch.

The room was pretty well filled; both frat members and
their dates, members of the “harem”, I assumed. The
chairs were arranged in a closely-packed ring around the
stage, which was fitted out as a bedroom. A bedroom that
looked exactly like ours. Denise’s and mine. Strange, I
thought, such an uncanny resemblance. But maybe all of
the dormitory bedrooms looked alike. But why a bedroom
in a place like this? Was the Theatre going to present a
bedroom farce, I wondered.

Sammy was standing up on the stage, and he motioned for
Denise and me to come up and join him and “meet the
crowd”. Several of the audience members had to stand up
and pull their chairs aside to make a pathway for us, a
pathway that immediately closed again after we passed
through. I was a little embarrassed by the notoriety (so
was Denise, I could tell), but we went along like good
sports, and stood beside Sammy while he gave a little
welcoming speech.

“Ladies and gentlemen, using both terms loosely”, he
began. The boys guffawed at the expression, but I
detected a different emotion in the girls. In fact, the
general mood among the girls seemed to be one of
resentment, and more than a little of fear. But mixed
with anticipation, in some cases; in other cases,
resentment mixed with pity.

But throughout, a seeming hatred for the boys, who all
were sitting awfully close to the girls. Some of the
guys were pawing their “dates”; an attention that seemed
unwelcome, but strangely, none of the girls resisted, or
tried to pull away. Not that they could have pulled far
away, jammed in as they were.

“We have here a couple of candidates for membership in
our harem,” Sammy went on. And I froze at that. Froze,
in two senses. One, I felt an icy feeling all over, a
kind of foreboding, no, make that a feeling of dread, of
terror. And frozen in the other sense, if my life had
depended on it (and I found out later that it did, in a
sense), I would not have been able to move from the
spot. A glance at Denise verified that she was feeling
the same panic.

“Each of you girls knows what these neophytes are
feeling right now,” Sammy smirked, “and you can guess at
some of the adventures that lie before them. Each of you
can recall the various steps that led you into this
position, where you are essentially amenities of the
fraternity, just like the chairs and the beds (yes,
especially the beds), here to be used in any way we
like, whenever we like, and as long as we like.

“By any of us, or by all of us, or by anyone to whom we
offer our hospitality. And you know that tonight is Hell
night for these young ladies, just as each of you had a
Hell night, and, as you know, can look forward to
another Hell night whenever your performance is in any
way the least bit less then superb. Or whenever the
fancy takes us.”

Now I knew real panic, but my muscles still refused to
obey my will.

“But before we begin the induction ceremonies,” Sammy
continued, “let me give you a rundown on the way we
recruited these young morsels. We’ve been studying the
subject of subliminal suggestion recently in psych
class, and I decided to put it to a practical test. You
know, the sort of thing where the television program
flashes something like ‘eat yummies’ at a speed too fast
for the viewer to detect it consciously. Or maybe
something like ‘vote for Schlock’. All illegal on the
public airwaves of the USA. But quite feasible, whether
legal or not, in the privacy of a girl’s dormitory.”

So I began to understand. Which didn’t make me feel a
damned bit happier about it.

“It was that message that brought these two lovely
ladies here tonight,” Sammy went on, “and now keeps them
from fainting, or losing their sanity. We don’t have to
worry about their running away, of course, because they
wouldn’t have the chance of an icicle in Hell if they
tried to break through your ranks. And I’ve implanted a
few other commands.

“The usual, of course, like no serious violence against
any of the RD’s or their property, although a token
resistance will be permitted when we think it’ll be more
fun. And remember, he members of our harem are also very
much our property. And no suicide, no escaping, no
talking out of school. Et cetera. Like I say, the usual
precautions.

“And a few special provisions that will enhance their
performance. For instance, we strengthened a latent
Lesbian tendency, and instilled a hatred of men that
will make any sexual use by us guys all the more
repugnant to them, and therefore all the sweeter for us.
An we implanted a few post-hypnotic commands. For
instance, watch this…

“OK girls,” he turned to us. “We know that it’s
impossible to hypnotize someone into doing something
against his, or her, instincts. But we know that you
like to make love to each other, don’t we? Although you
didn’t know it, you let me into your room last night
while you were under the spell of my program, and I was
able to videotape your whole performance from the time
you started undressing for the shower.

“Now, we could run through that tape now for our
delectation, but I think a live performance would be so
much more fun. And the lighting will be better, and
we’ll be able, by and large, to do a more professional
job. The time spent making the videotape was not
entirely lost, though; it’s given me a pretty good idea
what lighting, and what camera angles, I will need to
give the best record of tonight’s performance. In fact,
I have such confidence in the preparations I have taken
that I won’t be surprised if your little skit takes a
Linnea in this year’s Porno Academy awards.

“The script is an easy one. You are going to re-enact
last night’s tryst exactly, you’ll find that your recall
will be perfect in every detail. Even to the blissful
expressions on your faces.

“And,” he added, “your perceptions will not be at all
dulled while you do it. Only your will is inhibited,
you’ll be able to feel at all times exactly the normal
repugnance at doing such intimate things, and such
socially unacceptable things, in public. Especially
since your viewers will include the stalwart young
American men who are going to be your lovers for the
next few years. Now if you’ll just wait a few moments
while we get the camcorders ready… OK, now! Camera!
Action!”

***

He was right. Although I had to go through the actions
as we had last night, step by step (I might say “blow by
blow”, considering what we were doing), *exactly* as
last night, including, as far as I could tell, facial
expression, breathing rate, the whole schtick, I hated
every moment of it. And I knew that Denise felt the
same, although there was no way of telling it by looking
at her. We were just a couple of puppets, under the
control of the post-hypnotic spell that this monster had
imposed on us.

And I can’t deny that I enjoyed the experience. Every
bit of it, the mutual undressing, the initial
titillation, moving on to the more serious caressing,
right on to the final sixty-nine yards, as the
expression goes, all of it was just as enjoyable as it
had been last night. On the physical level, that is, and
that’s the only thing that registered on the video tape.
In my mind, however, was nothing but revulsion. Double
revulsion, because Denise was being forced to go through
this, too.

To do such intimate things (things which were condemned
by society as well) in public… No, not in public, but
worse yet, in front of a private audience of howling
boys with whom I would be going to classes for the next
four years, boys that I was going to *belong* to for the
next four years, and girls who, however they might be
pitying me, would also be my schoolmates, this was
indeed Hell night.

But we did it, with smiles on our faces, and all the
enthusiasm of a pair of Lesbian lovers, right up to the
final orgasm, and the blissful surrender to sleep in
each other’s arms.

They didn’t really let us sleep, of course. We had to
“take our bows” (still on camera) giving the boys plenty
of opportunity to enjoy the full frontal exposure,
dreaming, no doubt of the fun it was going to be to
enjoy our bodies, at any time they wanted, in any way
they wanted, and as long as they wanted, as they had
pointed out.

And then one further humiliation. With the camera still
rolling, they made us give the “harem cheer”, which we
apparently had learned along with our other “lessons”.
Both of us in unison, going through the gestures and
gyrations that went with the cheer. The latter were too
unspeakably embarrassing for me to repeat here, but the
words will probably give you a clue:

“Cunt and tits, tits and cunt,
Everything we’ve got in front
Exist to please
Our sweet RD’s,
Both at work and play;

Asshole, mouth, and tongue and clit,
We are proud to take their shit,
Meet their demands,
‘Cause RD stands
For Rape a Dame a Day!

“Well done,” Sammy praised us. “That’ll go over big time
at the next inter-sorority convocation. Or maybe,
looking ahead a bit, at graduation, when your families
are here, and all. But that’s far into the future. In
the meantime, we have another little act for you. This
time, you’re released from the hypnotic compulsion, and
you will do whatever you decide to do as a matter of
free choice.

“Here’s the way it goes. One of you, we haven’t decided
yet which one, is going to torture the other.” He
laughed at our protests. “Yeah, I know it goes against
your nature, especially taking into account the way you
feel about each other, but we offer some inducements
that may make you change your mind. You see, it goes
like this. The one selected to be the torturer is going
to persuade the other to French her to orgasm. When she
has finished, the boys all get a turn at her. And if she
doesn’t like the idea, well, all we have to do is change
the casting a bit, and let the other girl be the
torturer. So the lucky one will willingly do the
torturing, unless she wants to be the one who gives her
friend a blow job before getting fucked by all these hot
and horny young RD gentlemen.

“And then, to make sure that she does her utmost, we
have one more rule. If she doesn’t break her victim
within the allotted period of time, then the girls trade
places. And I might point out that the second girl has
an advantage, two advantages, actually. One, she knows
what tortures have been most effective on her, and
second, she’s been observing what techniques the other
girl has been concentrating on, and will probably deduce
that those are the techniques that the other girl fears
most.

“And we,” he smirked, “learn a bit from the episode,
too. It seems logical that a woman would know better
than we what tortures will be most effective on another
woman, most painful and most repugnant, and again we’ll
learn a lot about your own specific ‘preferences’ in
that area.”