Back in 1982 there was a great movie titled “The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas.” It stared Burt Reynolds, Dolly Parton and Dom DeLuise. I like to think that some of the plot was based on a real tradition at the college that I attended.
In the 1960s I was a student at a small private college in the Midwestern United States. We had a football team and it competed in a regional league of similar schools. We won a fair share of the games, but never dominated the others. Nevertheless, most of us enjoyed the experience, and we had a faithful group of fans who attended our games, whether away or at home.
Like all colleges that have been around for a while, ours had its share of traditions. One was the trip to the brothel. An alum annually treated seniors guaranteed to graduate, and who had played four full years on the team, a night at a nearby whorehouse. Apparently he had been doing this ever since just after the end of World War II. And so in 1968, I stood eligible for the “outing.” I had played for all four of my eligible years, and by that Spring I was certain to graduate. Not with honors, but I would graduate and that was all that mattered. Five other seniors also made the cut.
The coach drove us that night – all six of us in his van. The place was some distance from the college, in a part of town with which I was unfamiliar. We arrived about five-thirty in the late afternoon. It was a large house with apparently three floors – probably built around the early 1900s. Inside, we entered a pleasant room with easy chairs and davenports – the place looked comfortable and inviting – not garish or erotic and over-done as one might expect in a brothel.
“You have to be done by seven o’clock,” the Coach told us. “I’ll drive you home then.” He disappeared down a hallway and almost immediately a middle-aged woman who could have passed for anyone’s grandmother entered the room.
“I am Mrs. Watkins,” she said in a silky voice. “I hope you are all in good health. The girls will be here shortly and you can talk a bit and make selections. Any questions?”
There were none.
Now, ever since my second year in high school, I had had no difficulty at all in getting laid. Girls like a good-looking football player, and I qualified. So sex was something with which I was familiar. I had thought about this “outing” and had decided to try for something more than “regular sex.” After all, nothing ventured, nothing gained – right?
Quietly I approached Mrs. Watkins. “Might I have a word?” I whispered.
“Certainly,” as she moved with me off to the side. “What?”
“Well, I was wondering. Are any of your girls into bondage?”
“Oh! You want to tie up one of the girls?”
“No, No,” I blurted. “The other way around.”
“Well,” she smiled – “You want one of the girls to tie you up? Is that right?”
“Right.”
“Well, have you had experience being tied up?”
“Oh yes,” I lied. “Lots. It’s the way I get off the best. It really turns me on.”
“Oh my,” she said. “Do you like it rough - heavy bondage – bound and gagged – everything?”
“Yes indeed,” I said going for broke. The more rigorous the better.
“I see,” she said. “Well, you stay back when the girls come down and don’t select one. I’ll see what I can do.” And then she turned and left.
We waited about five minutes and then about eight very nice girls/women came into the room. My team-mates went right to work and quickly made selections and couples moved off into the hallway or out to a stairway and all disappeared. I was alone in the room. I waited quite a while. This upset me, as the deadline was seven o’clock. But I had no choice.
Then Mrs. Watkins returned with two somewhat older women. “Take this lad to the special room,” she said in her charming voice. “He is experience so don’t hold back – give him the frog tie.”
I had no idea what that meant but eager to get started, since quite a bit of the time had already lapsed, I followed the two women up the stairs, along a hall, and into a room. It was very plain with dark walls, a chair along one wall, and a bed in the center. The bed had only one sheet on it, no other blankets or sheets. It was a metal frame and fit the décor of the room which was quite Spartan.
Inside, the women looked at me, and one of them said, “Take your clothes off and put them on that chair.”
“Everything?”
“Yes, everything.”
When I was nude, one of the women opened a bag she was carrying, took out some rope, and tied my wrists in front. The other woman removed something from the bag, and moved behind me. “Open your mouth wide,” she said.
It startled me when she shoved a large wad of something into my mouth. I quickly realized it was part of a leather apparatus which she was strapping onto my head. Leather covered my mouth from my nose to my chin. She pulled the straps tight pulling the leather firmly to my face. More straps went up around my nose and over the top of my head and one went under my chin locking my mouth around the wad that was stuffed inside. Quickly I realized that it was an elaborate gag. Never having been gagged before, it was quite a surprise. I grunted a little and tried to express displeasure, but they ignored me. Well, I decided, I had asked for it.
Next they had me lie on the bed and position myself so that my arms, when stretched over my head, just about reached the top of the bed. My legs would extend beyond the bottom or the bed but that didn’t seem to bother them. One of the women tied my bound wrists to the rail at the to of the bed. Then they started on my legs.
They had me put the bottoms of my feet together causing my knees to be bent and each knee to lay off to the side, either right or left. They tied my ankles together and my big toes. Next they put rope around my legs going from the middle of my thigh to the middle of my lower leg so that my feet were pulled up a bit and or held in their place with the bottoms of my feet toughing. They cinched the ropes that held my legs. Finally they put a rope around each leg at the bend of my knee and pulled it either to the right or left side of the bed holding my knees down and leaving me really sort of splayed out on the bed. A last rope around my ankles pulled my legs toward the bottom of the bed. I was more tied up and incapacitated than I could have imagined. It was indeed more than I had bargained for.
One of the women then took a thinner rope, and trussed up my cock and balls – something I had not thought of at all. I looked down at my jewels and groaned.
“You like that, kid?” one of the women asked.
“I don’t think he likes it,” said the other woman.
“Oh, he loves it,” she said. “Enjoy yourself kid,” she said and the two of them left the room closing the door as they walked out.
Now, I was really upset. I was naked, bound, gagged, tied to a bed in an uncomfortable position, open and vulnerable, with time running out, and nothing I could do about it. So I lay there waiting.
It was maybe half an hour later – maybe longer – the two women returned.
“How you doing, kid?” one asked.
I grunted into the gag.
“He can’t talk right now,” said the second woman. “All tied up and nowhere to go. Sad.”
The two women sat on the bed, one on each side of me. Each had something that looked like a dildo. Doing something on the bottom of each unit, I heard a quiet buzzing noise. They were vibrators. Gently, they began moving the vibrators around my cock, balls and crotch in general. It was heavenly – astounding – I had never felt anything like it. They were careful to stimulate, caress, tickle, but not to bring me to climax. They knew what they were doing.
They also spent some time with my tits and arms, but mostly on my cock and balls which strained against the rope that bound them. I don’t think I had ever had such an erection before and was surprised I didn’t burst.
The tickling and stimulation went on for a while, and then there was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” said one of the women.
It was the coach – “Why aren’t you down stairs – it’s time------- Holy Shit!!”
“Your boy is having a good time,” said one of the women.
“I can see that,” he stammered.
About then Mrs. Watkins arrived. “Coach,” she began, “This boy is enjoying himself but we need longer with him to finish the job. I would like to ask you to let him stay. We’ll take him home when we’re done with him.”
“Well, I don’t know,” said the coach
“He’s over twenty-one, isn’t he?” asked Mrs. Watkins.
“Yes.”
“Well, then let him make the decision. Kid,” she said looking at me sweetly, “do you want to stay?”
Now mind you, the two women continued to move the vibrators around my cock and balls. I nodded, yes.
“You sure?” asked the coach.
“I nodded and grunted a ‘yes’ sounding grunt into the gag.
“Whatever you say. Damndest thing I ever saw,” said the coach.
“Well, now any time you want to try it, we’ll give you this special treatment – on the house!” said Mrs. Watkins.
“That will be the day,” said the coach as he left the room, followed by Mrs. Watkins.
My two attendants continued with the vibrators for a while, then they quit. I grunted into the gag, but they ignored me. They sat and waited. Finally, Mrs. Watkins returned.
“Now, young man,” she said in a stern voice, “it’s time for some truth.”
She took a metal device, pushed the ends so that it opened, and she attached it to my right tit. I screamed into the gag. The second went to my left tit – I screamed again. Two of the clips went on my balls.
“That’s enough for the moment,” said Mrs. Watkins with a smile. “Now for the truth. You have never been tied up before, have you?”
I grunted into the gag and shook my head indicating – No.
“You lied to me didn’t you?”
I grunted again and shook my head indicating – Yes.
“It’s not nice to lie, young man,” she said in here ‘grandmother’ voice. “It requires punishment.”
She removed the clips and that hurt as much as it did when she put them on.
“You stay here all night,” she said, “and think about the punishment for being a liar.”
One of the two women untied the rope around my cock and balls. My cock was no longer hard. The second woman put a sort of plastic ring around my whole package followed by a sort of plastic tube on my cock. The tube locked to the ring and they added a small lock.
“We’ll tell you about the plastic chastity in the morning,” said Mrs. Watkins. “See you then.”
All three of them left the room, turning off the lights. And so I remained on that bed, bound and gagged in that awful position all night.
In the morning they released me. It was all I could do to walk – took me maybe half an hour to get my legs and arms moving properly. My mouth was sore from that gag. They just laughed at me.
Mrs. Watkins was watching. “For one used to heavy bondage, you didn’t do very well,” she said with a smile. “Now about the chastity. You are locked into the plastic cage which won’t allow you to get an erection as long as it stays in place. You return here in five days with it still in place and you will be rewarded. Try to remove it or screw up and we will see to it that you are punished. Is that clear?”
It was clear. One of the women drove me back to the college. I spent the next five days avoiding the shower and trying not to be seen without clothes on.
Five days later I took a cab back to the brothel. Mrs. Watkins was waiting. They took me back to the same room, tied me up the very same way, gag and all. Then they removed the plastic chastity. I lay there for a long time and then a rather striking woman came in. She played with me, got me erect, did a very erotic strip tease, and then mounted the bed and me. It was one of the best sexual experiences I had had up to that time. When she was done – and to be more exact, when I was done, she untied me.
Mrs. Watkins met me at the door as I was leaving. She hoped that I had had a good time. I had. She said I would be welcome back any time – for a price of course. I left and never went back, but I will always remember the encounter, and will never lie to a whore.
06.07.09