Eight years ago, I was a senior at a midwestern college. The frat I belonged to was initiating five pledges to join the eighteen brothers. The initiation began with the pledges stripping for our inspection. Then each was shaved clean of all hair from the neck down. Groins, chest, legs, armpits and arms were all bared. What happens next is what really turned me on.
Four of the pledges were herded into a room on the second floor leaving behind a guy named Bob. Bob was huge for an eighteen year old. He stood six-four and weighed two hundred and forty pounds of solid muscle. The pledgemaster had a special initiation for Bob since the traditional paddling would have little effect on him.
There was a long, heavy oak table in the main room of the house and the pledgemaster to Bob to lie face up on it. Wide leather belts were strapped at Bob's ankles and wrists to hold him securely to the table. despite his humiliating position, he seemed sure of his toughness. That soon changed.
The pledgemaster brought out four long, soft, feathers. He gave one each to two other brothers, one to me and kept one for himself. When Bob, tied and unable to move, saw the feathers, a little bit of the arrogance left his eyes. The rest of the brothers settled themselves around the room to watch the spectacle.
As we had planned, the pledgemaster stood by Bob's left, I stood by his right foot and the other two hazers stood at the sides of the table. The pledgemaster explained that what went on in the frat was private business and we were going to test him to see if he could keep his mouth shut.
The four of us used our feathers to tickle Bob. At his feet, the pledgemaster and I ran the soft feathers along Bob's soles, while the other brothers tickled him along his ribs and into his armpits. For a few seconds, our helpless victim was able to bite his lips and keep silent, but before a minute had passed, giggles were pouring out of him. Soon he was heaving with uncontrollable laughter. We relentlessly stroked his body with the feathers, running them between his toes. Bob was howling and trying to twist away from the torture, but the belts held him. There was not a thing he could do but take it. Before long, he had forgotten about the order to say nothing, and was begging us to quit.
We wouldn't. We started dragging the quill end of the feathers over his feet, which seemed to tickle him even worse. The other two tormentors worked on the sensitive skin of his belly and neck.
We had been going over Bob for about twenty minutes and our victim was in a bad state. His skin shone with sweat and tears were running down the sides of his face. He could barely catch his breath, but we didn't let up. Suddenly Bob gave a shout and an arc of piss shot out from the tip of his cock. We were all stunned for a second and stopped tickling him. As soon as we stopped, he regained control of himself and stopped pissing. Well, now we really went after him - purposely tickling him to force him to drain his bladder.
When Bob was empty, we freed our poor, naked victim. He was beet-red with shame and stimulation, dripping with sweat and his own piss. His knees almost buckled when he stood and we had to help him to a chair.
As for me, I was more turned on than I had ever been before. For some reason, this scene had really hit a nerve and I would have loved to give the other pledges a dose of the same treatment. Sadly, other plans had been made.