Push Comes to Shove
By: Giantguy
It was almost the end of hell week for Alpha Sig, known as
the “football fraternity” on campus. Even while the
officers officially agreed to the university’s “no hazing”
policy, late into the night the new pledges endured one
torturous ritual after another. The president of the frat
that year, Frank, was pushing everything up a notch. Most
of the guys figured he was taking out some kind of payback
for the hazing he had had to go through to get in the frat
to begin with. Frank was short -- fast on the field, a
scrapper, tough as nails, but always with a chip on his
shoulder, bullying his way through every situation. He
walked as tall as he could, putting in extra hours in the
gym to try and pack on more muscle, but at 5’8” he was
always dwarfed by the massive linemen of the team. Only
his head for strategy and his killer instinct kept him on
the team – and they got him voted president of the frat, to
most of the guys surprise. Frank had been planning hell week all summer, setting the
hazing rituals up in elimination rounds. They were only
going to take three new pledges since the house was almost
full. Most of the would-be pledges dropped after only a
few days, letting Frank brag that Alpha Sig was tougher to
get into than the Navy SEALs. Finally they were down to
four, and Frank had already picked his target as the last
one to be kicked out – a kid who had been recruited almost
right off the farm – Greg, six five and 250 pounds of
muscle, nicknamed Moose because of his size, slow but
powerful movements, and huge appetite. Frank hated him,
not only because of his size but because no matter how much
Frank picked on him, Moose barely seemed to notice – he’d
just blink, scratch his crewcut and grin. “The fucker is too stupid even for this house,” Frank
snarled. He had the four remaining pledges lined up in the
basement for the final test, something that would test
“your self control under pressure … LOTS of pressure,” as
he explained it to the group. Chris and Zach (who had only lost to Frank for president by
a couple of votes) watched from the back of the room.
“Christ, he’s thinks he’s a fuckin’ drill sergeant or
something” Chris muttered under his breath. Zach, a full
head taller than Frank and fifty pounds heavier, rolled his
eyes. “Wish we could vote him out or something. Can’t take a
whole year of him trying to push the house around.” Chris
nodded, just frowning as he watched Frank start in on the
pledges. The four of them – Moose, Ted (another linebacker), Al (a
center) and Seth (second string quarterback) were on their
hands and knees on wrestling mats lining the floor of the
damp basement. They had spent the previous two hours being
loaded up with beans, stuffing down as much as they could
handle. Now Frank walked behind them with a paddle… each
pledge had a bullseye on his naked butt… the object was, as
Frank barked out to them, was to hold in the gas that was
building in their guts as long as they could. He would be
paddling them raw until they couldn’t’ hold it any longer…
and the one who “broke” in the shortest amount of time
would be the loser, and be booted from the frat. To make
it even tougher, the four had to cover their buttcheeks
with suntan oil, making sure their asscracks were greased
up – “so ya can’t try to just tighten up your glutes to
hold it in” Frank sneered. He went down the line,
starting in first on Ted. Chris and Zach held his
shoulders, bracing him as Frank dug in with the paddle.
Ted gritted his teeth, but could only control himself for
just about two minutes. He cracked a loud fart, sighing
with relief and falling down to the mat. Frank held up his
timer. “Two ten. Let’s see if you other pussies can hold
out any longer than this fuckhead.” Seth was next. He was a little smaller than the others,
and was biting his lip, clearly feeling the pressure.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! Seth jolted forward against Chris
and Zach with every blow that Frank delivered. Finally his
eyes closed and the sound of his sphincter sputtering loose
echoed through the room. Zach and Chris grinned. Frank
might be one sick bastard, but this was kinda fuckin’ funny
anyway. “Two even.” Frank grinned. He was going to leave Moose
till last – and from the looks of Greg’s bloated gut, he’d
be out in twenty seconds easy. Al had eaten the most before the test (before they were
told what the purpose was for scarfing down all the beans)
and he was obviously feeling the pain. He let loose with a
small one on the first smack of the paddle, but Frank
pretended not to hear it. The two others frowned at each
other. That was the kind of contest-rigging that Frank was
famous for – it was going to come out the way he wanted,
fair or not. Finally, Al was erupting so loudly that even
Frank had to call it. “One fifty. Not too bad.” The
three who had their turns were sent upstairs, while Frank
sauntered on to Moose, still doggedly on his hands and
knees, not looking up, grimacing from the immense amount of
pressure building up in his gut, bloating his flat stomach
out. Frank walked around him, swiping one finger along Greg’s
wide, round, muscular ass, checking to see that the oil
hadn’t soaked in too much. He delayed as long as he could,
resetting the timer, making sure Zach and Chris were ready
to brace him, and taking a breath before he delivered the
first blow. WHACK! True to his nickname, Moose barely moved. Frank
drew his hand back and went at him again. WHACK! Chris
and Zach could see Greg’s massive glutes clench a little,
but he held his ground, not giving in. WHACK! Frank
flushed. No way could this fucker hold out like this – a
minute already and he wasn’t even squirming. Frank kicked
his loose sneakers off in frustration, pounding his bare
foot against Greg’s side. “Come on you FUCKER!” He
suddenly smirked and raised his foot, wiggling his long big
toe. “Come on Moose, you got a cork in there or something? You
cheating? Let’s see if you can keep it tight NOW bro.”
Frank pushed his foot between Greg’s asscheeks, deep into
the slick cleft, probing, trying to wedge his toe into
Greg’s clenched butthole. “You can’t fuckin’ do that!” Chris blurted out as Frank dug
in harder, pushing his foot into Greg’s buttcrack. Greg
just gritted his teeth, his eyes closing. “I can do
whatever the FUCK I want, now shut the hell up” Frank
shouted back. Suddenly Greg’s mouth dropped open, and he moaned as a
foghorn blast thundered through the room. Frank’s toe had
found its target. Unable to hold against the pressure any
longer, Greg’s sphincter suddenly let loose, opening wide.
Frank suddenly fell forward, his foot slipping into Greg’s
ass almost up to the ankle, with a loud wet SLURP. He lost
his balance and fell backward, stunned for a second as the
breath was knocked out of him. “OooOOOOF. … uhhh…. What the FUCK?” Frank saw his foot
jammed in between Greg’s bowling-ball glutes, and tried to
wiggle it free. Instead, it just slipped further in. “Let
GO, you motherfucker!” He slipped his other foot in to
give himself some leverage, only to see it slide in also. Zach couldn’t help himself, and laughed out loud. “Way to
go MOOSE!” he chuckled, pounding Greg on the back. Greg,
his eyes still squeezed shut, shuddered and grunted. There
was a loud sucking sound, and Frank was dragged forward,
sinking in further up to his knees. “Holy SHIT! This
fucker’s got an asshole like the goddamn Lincoln Tunnel!”
Chris and Zach were holding each other, laughing their
asses off. Seeing Frank finally knocked on his ass,
struggling like he were caught in a bear trap, it was too
fuckin’ much. Greg was panting, breathing through his open mouth, a
string of spit dribbling off his lips. He groaned, a long
guttural growl, trying to ease the pressure. He flexed his
glutes again and Frank was pulled in to his hips. Frank
was spluttering, trying to grab hold of the oil-slick mat
to pull himself out. Zach suddenly looked over at Chris,
his laughter replaced by a sudden gleam in his eye “I got
an idea man… you get under there, push hard on this son of
a bitch’s gut – let some of that pressure off – I’ll grab
Frank.” Chris nodded, still laughing. Too bad he didn’t have a
fuckin’ Polaroid, itd be great to get a shot of Frank
buried halfway up this farmboy’s butt. He slid under Greg
like he was going under a car to drain the oil, keeping out
of the way of Greg’s fat cock, hanging half pumped over a
set of lime-sized balls. He reached up, putting both hands
on Greg’s belly, still swollen with gas. Made sense, he
figured. Make him blast out the rest of it and his
butthole would lose its grip on Frank and Zach could yank
him out of there. “You ready up there Zach?” Chris chuckled. “Oh yeah,”
came Zach’s voice. “Ready. Don’t worry Frank ol’ buddy,
we’re gonna take care of you.” “Fuckin RIGHT you are,
shithead.” Zach spoke up again, his voice with a new edge
to it. “Okay Chris. GO!” Chris shoved as hard as he could. Greg moaned like a Mack
truck horn, and there was a sound like an airlock opening
and then a slurping and sucking sound. Chris slid out from
under, just hearing Frank swearing and Zach laughing even
harder than before. Chris stared. Zach hadn’t pulled Frank out, he’d pushed
him further IN. Frank was turning red, Greg’s butthole
stretched impossibly across his chest. Frank gasped for
breath as Greg continued to moan, grunting and flexing his
shiny, oil-slick glutes. “Uhh … huuuuu… come on… you… FUCKERS …. what …. the …
HELL… you doing?” Frank’s eyes were bugging out as he
tried to struggle. Greg grunted and heaved and Frank
suddenly was drawn in to his neck, his face starting to
slip in between Greg’s muscular ass cheeks. Chris stood next to Zach, staring down at Frank as Zach
knelt behind Greg. Zach leaned in close to Frank. “You
know, FUCKER, I think maybe YOU lost this round. And you
know what that means… you’re OUTTA here.” Frank gasped for
another breath. Zach lifted his head. “Whattyou think
Moose? You think you can take him?” He looked up at
Chris. “Brace him.” Chris went to Greg’s head. He was beet red, sweat pouring
off his forehead, a vein throbbing in his neck as he gulped
deep breaths of air. Chris started to coach him like he
would in the gym. “Come on buddy, COME ON, work it man,
FLEX IT, DO IT MAN.” Greg heaved and his glutes squeezed.
Frank struggled against the powerful muscles surrounding
him, his eyes rolling back in his head. “yuuuuuuh … you…. shitheads ….. “ he gasped for another
breath, the smooth slippery skin of Greg’s buttcheeks
pressing up against his face. Zach smirked. “Who’s the shithead now man?” He laughed
and put one hand out, bracing it on Frank’s forehead, slick
with oil and sweat. “Ready Chris? GO FOR IT!” Chris
threw his weight against Greg, grunting and bellowing like
an ox, while Zach pushed against Frank’s face, watching it
disappear between Greg’s flexing buns. He drew his hand
back quickly as Greg’s sphincter slurped closed over
Frank’s face. Greg squeezed his glutes together, grinding
the meaty, slippery buttcheeks against each other. Greg dropped and rolled to his side, his gut bloated even
more than before. He clutched his belly groaning… Zach and
Chris watched, still hunkered down, as Greg slowly opened
his eyes, blinking. “So… am I in?” The two of them nodded silently. Greg grinned.