Bikini Beach: The Nerds - Frat House free porn video

This tale is very loosely based on Revenge of the Nerds, and is set in the Bikini Beach universe. The characters were initially defined in my earlier tale "Bikini Beach: The Nerds - Revenge", and are listed here for reference. This story is copyright by the author, all rights reserved. It may be posted on Fictionmania. Any other free site may post this story with permission of the author. Cast of Characters Brandon - a nerdish type who fits the stereotype to a tee, and Robert's best friend and roommate. Robert and Brandon grew up together. Brandon is a computer genius, but is very awkward around girls. Robert - Not quite as nerdish as Brandon, but still awkward around others, especially girls. His talents lean more toward the sciences such as Chemistry and Physics. Bertram Smythe - Robert and Brandon's other roommate. From Britain, Bert is an ardent chess player. He is often rather contemplative, and has a sharp wit. Fred - A sixteen year old early graduate from high school. Very gifted, but socially awkward. Arnold - He was late to be recognized as gifted, and as a result, got into trouble in high school because he was bored. Now he uses his talents and sense of mischief to help the gang. Chuck - A Navy veteran and electronics genius. Chuck spent time as a soundman in submarines, where he honed his electronics skills. He is looked up to as kind of a mentor. Like Arnold, he is prone to pull pranks just for fun, although his pranks tend to be more sophisticated. Bikini Beach: The Nerds - Frat House By Elrod W Bertie leaned forward in his chair, his elbow resting on his knee, and his chin in his hand. Like a hawk studying its prey, he stared intently at the chessboard. From the layout of the pieces, it was getting late in the game, and it was still pretty even. Across the table, Brandon, one of his two roommates, reclined lazily in his chair. He seemed to be unaware of the game, even though he had fought Bert to this standoff. "Well, are you going to move?" Brandon asked easily. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at the other guys in the room and gave them a grin. Bert looked up briefly, through a dark scowl. "Yes, yes. Don't become impatient now." His words echoed with the sound of his British upbringing, an oddity in this dorm room. Robert, the third roommate, grabbed a handful of chips from a large bowl. "Any of you guys have a date last night?" All four young men in the room turned on him, their faces expressing their displeasure. Besides Bert and Brandon, their friends Chuck and Arnold were in the room, relaxing on a late Saturday morning. All five of them were nerds; in fact, all the residents of their dorm were considered nerds. Because of dorm overcrowding, they'd been put in a makeshift dorm, constructed in the dilapidated old gymnasium. It had been slated for demolition, but the housing needs gave it a reprieve, and the interior was fitted with 'temporary' rooms, rather like office cubicles but with a smidgeon more privacy. There were now forty men remaining in the gym, and with as much space as it had, it was really quite comfortable. But it was informally known on campus as "Nerd Hall", and one of the fraternities had spray-painted that label on the outside. Arnold snorted his disgust at Robert's question. "Are you kidding?" he snapped. "The only time we get any dates is after we go to..." Chuck's hand clamped over Arnold's mouth. "Quiet," he hissed. The unspoken words were the secret of these five men. He glanced at the closed door; even in a private room, the secret was not to be discussed too openly. Robert sighed, and then he nodded slowly. "That's what I thought," he said solemnly. Arnold pried Chuck's hand off his mouth. "So why'd you bring it up?" he muttered. "To remind us we're all nerds?" Rob shook his head. "Nope." He looked thoughtfully at the ceiling for a moment. "Any of you guys catch the frat parties last night?" Brandon turned toward his best friend; the first question had been annoying, but this one was getting insulting. "No, and you know that, too. They're by invitation only - to girls." He glanced around the room and saw the nods of agreement. Rob smiled enigmatically. "Yes, I know." He munched a chip, and then leaned back. "But I went." Brandon's eyes narrowed. "But they're for..." His eyes widened suddenly. "Bikini Beach," Chuck said in a hushed voice. "You didn't," Bert said hopefully, eyeing Rob cautiously. Rob grinned. "I did." "And?" Chuck's curiosity was piqued. He spoke for all. And the unspoken question was what had happened. The fraternities had a reputation for wooing the ladies - and if necessary, getting them totally smashed so they could take advantage of them. Rob glared at Chuck for a millisecond. "And nothing." He knew what Chuck was asking. "They tried, and they failed." Bert looked up from the chessboard. "So why didn't you tell me? I would have enjoyed the party." Rob grinned sideways at Chuck. "Every time you change into a girl, you pick something really sexy, and with that accent, you're a magnet for every guy within miles." He laughed. "I was busy enough keeping paws off me to have time to defend your honor, too." He turned back toward Brandon. "You know why those guys have parties like that?" Brandon stared at Rob for a second, and then he started to smile. "Because they're a fraternity, and they have a fraternity house." "So?" Arnold glanced between the two, not having caught on. Chuck had, though. "So, kid, if we were to get chartered as a fraternity, then we could have our own house, and we could host our own parties." He enjoyed emphasizing to Arnold that he was the old man of the group; unlike the others, Chuck had served a hitch in the Navy prior to coming to college. Chuck turned to Rob. "So you got any idea how we do that, hotshot? Or should I say, hot pants?" He gave Brandon a sideways grinning glance and elbowed him in the ribs, chuckling over his reference to Rob's recent status. Rob ignored the jibe. "At least I got free drinks last night." Bert looked thoughtful for a moment. "I thought I was dreaming that I heard a girl moaning in passion. I guess I was wrong." He glanced at Rob, deadpan. "You really need to learn to control your moaning when you pleasure yourself, dear chap." He looked back at the chessboard, ignoring the scowl from Rob. Chuck and Arnold laughed aloud, and Brandon tried to keep still, only to giggle uncontrollably. Rob waited, red-faced, until they were mostly done laughing. "Are you through?" He waited until Brandon calmed himself and nodded. "Okay," Brandon said, wiping a tear from his eye. "So how do we get to be a fraternity?" "It's a two-step process. This university doesn't charter local fraternities - only chapters of national frats. So we need to get a national sponsor." Chuck looked thoughtful for a moment. "Okay, so there are what - hundreds of fraternities? That shouldn't be too much of a problem. What else?" Rob grimaced. "We have to get a house. The university requires a fraternity house for all charters." Arnold shrugged. "That shouldn't be tough. There are lots of houses on the market around here. We should be able to find something to suit us." Rob shook his head. "No good. They require that we have a house on-campus." *** Dean Howard Livingstone sat imperiously in his chair, staring across the vast desk at the nerds with obvious disdain. "You want to do what?" he asked, as if a second hearing would confirm the absurd request. Brandon glanced nervously at Rob, and then he swallowed. "We'd like to apply to form a fraternity," he said meekly. Dean Livingstone stared at the boys for a long time. He was enjoying himself as he watched them squirm. His commanding presence, in this throne of his power, intimidated them. Finally, he opened his mouth. "Are you aware that there are two requirements for the formation of a new fraternity?" he asked impatiently. Rob swallowed nervously. "Yes, sir," he answered in a squeaky voice. "A national sponsor and a house." Dean Livingstone glared at Rob, which made him swallow and cower in his chair. "I see you've done your homework." He sat back, steepling his fingers and staring at the boys for several long awkward seconds. "There aren't any available houses," he finally announced. Brandon glanced at Rob, and then mustered his courage. "Yes, sir, we know. And we also know that we could build a house if property on campus were available." He glanced at Rob again to reassure himself. "The vacant lot between the tennis courts and..." Dean Livingstone snapped forward, his elbows banging noisily on the desk. "That lot is the site of the new recreation center," he said in a booming, impatient voice. "For our fraternities and sororities," he added cruelly. He leaned back again. "So you see, boys, there really isn't any way you can get a house. Or a fraternity." He spun his chair away from the desk, rudely dismissing the boys. *** "Why not?" Chuck was addressing the entire gathering of 'nerds' in the gym, assembled to hear the news. Despite the conspiracy of silence among the five ringleaders, word of the plan had leaked, and had been the subject of endless whisperings and low conversations. After the rude dismissal from the Dean's office, they'd had to convene the group to break the bad news. Brandon wrinkled his nose. "It just wouldn't work..." he began. He was trying to figure out how to phrase his objections, and he glanced at Rob, his best friend, for reinforcement. He was disappointed; Rob sat impassively, his mind obviously racing as he considered what Chuck had proposed. He glanced around the room, and saw the guys murmuring, discussing Chuck's outlandish idea. Finally, he turned back. "Okay, let's hear some more details." As if by magic, the low private conversations died, leaving a stunning silence in the room. Chuck smiled. "Okay, let's lay out the facts. First, to be a fraternity, we need a house. Second, it has to be on campus. Third, the only suitable site on campus is reserved for a recreation facility. Fourth, we are in a temporary dorm that used to be a gym, and is slated - someday - for demolition." A squeaky voice piped up from the back of the crowd. "Why don't we just have them demolish the gym and build a house here?" Chuck started to answer, but Rob interrupted him. "Because it would leave the administration with a housing shortage. They're legally obligated to provide housing for us, but during the demolition and construction, there wouldn't be enough housing. We'd be on the streets, and they'd be liable." Brandon glanced at Rob, and realized that his position was suddenly untenable. If Rob was behind this idea, it was only because he'd been convinced by the facts. Brandon considered the data. Was it possible? He quickly sorted the facts, and came to the startling conclusion that it was not only possible, but might be the preferable option. "I think we ought to go for it," he said with an air of finality. Rob glanced at his roomie, and then smiled. "Look, this building has a lot going for it. To start with, it's here. It has all the facilities we'd need, and more. The office side would make good rooms. The gym would make a really nice hall. The concession area is big enough to be a kitchen. There's enough room to make a good computer lab. And the west wing has a pool." He grinned toward Brandon. "Can you imagine the girls that would show up for a pool party?" Brandon nodded enthusiastically. "This could be the best house on campus!" Arnold started to smile, and then a frown crept over his features. "But if this place is supposed to be torn down, then there must be some problems. We're going to have to deal with those." He held up his fingers. "First," he said, closing one finger, "the plumbing is in bad shape. Any one who's tried to take a hot shower can tell you that. Second," he closed another, "The roof has some pretty serious leaks. Third," another finger, "unless you're deaf, you know that the heating system is squeaking and rattling. Fourth," he started to close another finger. Chuck held up his hand to cut off Arnold. "Okay, so there are some problems. We don't know the extent of them." Chuck smiled grimly. "So what we need to do is to get the engineering report on the building to see what problems we'd have to deal with." Bert felt his heart sink. "And if we ask for it, they'll know we're planning something. Remember, chaps, that the Dean was not very polite to us." Murmured conversations erupted, low-volume whispers of acknowledgment and disappointment. Brandon felt the power as the group's mood changed instantly from cheer to hopelessness. The visit with Dean Livingstone had left a dark impression on him, and now it seemed that Bert was right. Rob smiled, and one by one, the others in the room noticed his ray of hope in their sea of depression. One by one, the boys fell silent, wondering what Rob had up his sleeve. Finally, Brandon noticed and turned to see Rob's enigmatic smile. His brow furrowed in puzzlement. "Okay, that's true. So here's what we're going to do." The crowd moved closer, and Rob began to outline his plan. *** Rob walked nervously toward the ticket booth with one of the other guys from the gym in tow. The guy, a nerdish looking lad of eighteen, was nervous. "So how are we going to get the blueprints and reports?" he asked for perhaps the hundredth time. "What does this place have to do with our job?" Rob smiled to himself. "Patience, Tim, patience. You'll understand soon enough." He stepped to the window. "Hi, Rob," a nice-looking brunette called down from the window. "Haven't seen you for a while." She was smiling pleasantly at the two boys. Rob smiled. "Hi, Anya. This is my friend Tim." Anya smiled pleasantly. "Hi, Tim. Welcome to Bikini Beach." She turned back to Rob. "So what'll it be today? The usual?" She glanced at Tim and sensed his nervousness. Then she sensed something from Rob. "Ah, I see." She smiled enigmatically. "It's a good plan. How can we help?" Rob's jaw started to drop. "How..." Then he nodded slowly. "Magic." He chuckled to himself as he shook his head. "I keep forgetting you can do that." "What?" Tim asked, confused. He hadn't known about Bikini Beach, or Anya's magic, and now he was getting a lesson. He was understandably puzzled. Rob smiled meekly. "We've got to try to get some documents, and we need some cover." "Hmm," Anya mumbled, staring into the distance. "You know, it should work." She turned back to Rob. "So do you want the usual?" Rob blushed, and then shook his head. "No, we need something a little more...curvy. Eye candy, if you know what I mean." Anya laughed softly. "I think I know just what you want." She took Rob's money and handed him a pair of tickets. "This should do the trick." Rob turned, guiding the confused Tim by the arm. "Oh, Rob," Anya called after him, "Grandmother asked me to tell you that she was impressed by how you guys handled the Alphas." As Rob walked toward the turnstile with Tim at his heels, it was his turn to be confused. How had Anya and her grandmother known about their revenge on the Alpha Sigma Sigma fraternity? They hadn't told anyone. *** Chuck, being the oldest and a veteran, led the delegation. Brandon and another kid rounded out the group. Without a word among them, they strode deliberately toward the physical plant, the heart of the campus' facilities management. Chuck paused at the door, glanced across a street, and nodded. Then the group marched into the office. Chuck walked to the secretary and paused, waiting for her to look up. When she did, her expression changed from mild annoyance at being disturbed to outright disdain. "Yes," she asked, making no effort to mask her feelings toward the nerds. Chuck didn't let the young woman's attitude faze him. "We have an appointment with the director," he answered evenly. He smiled pleasantly at the young lady; she was a modestly attractive girl of perhaps twenty, and Chuck contemplated the odds of getting her to go out with him. He didn't like the result; she was a work- study student, and probably belonged to one of the 'in' sororities. The girl looked at them, then she pressed an intercom button and announced them. Moments later, the director emerged from his tiny office to greet them. "I understand you have some problems," he said, skipping the formalities. Chuck glanced at his compatriots, then back at the director. The guy was one of them; he was an engineer by training, Chuck decided. He might be willing to help - but then Chuck decided against the direct approach. No sense taking any chances. "Yes," Chuck answered after a momentary pause. "We have some problems with the plumbing in the showers, and the HVAC system isn't cooling very well." As he sat down behind his desk, the director frowned. "Well, it's an old building, and it isn't supposed to be a dorm." His excuse was lame, he knew it, and he didn't expect the boys to believe it. But it was the answer he'd been directed to give to any complaints about the gym. "So what do you need?" Chuck nodded, noting the unease in the director's eyes. "Well, I was thinking that if we could trace the plumbing, we could maybe isolate where the problems were and avoid using those areas. It's not ideal, but at least it would give us something that worked." The director's eyes narrowed; despite outward appearances, this young man was sharp. "That sounds like..." Chuck smiled sheepishly. "...Navy damage control. Yes sir, I spent four years as a soundman on a boomer." He referred to the Navy term for a missile submarine. The director's eyes lit up. "I did a tour as an engineering officer," he said proudly, having found a connection. "Aboard a destroyer." Chuck grinned. "Skimmer," he said wistfully, referring again to a Navy term, this time for surface ships. "We had a word for your type of vessel." The director knew the joke. "Targets," he answered with a smile. Then he glanced at the other two young men. "Okay, so you want to see if you can isolate the problems, right?" Chuck smiled. The Navy connection had been unexpected, and could really be helpful. "Yeah. Do you think we can have a look at the plans and reports?" The director thought for a brief second. "Normally this is against policy, but I don't think it would hurt. Especially if it helps fix some problems and lightens _our_ workload." He rose and walked toward the back of the building, followed closely by Chuck and the others. As they walked through the outer office, Chuck noticed two very well endowed girls talking to the secretary. Their short skirts didn't do much to conceal their shapely legs, and both wore low- cut blouses. Their more-than-ample bosoms threatened to spill out of the necklines, displaying more than a little cleavage. Chuck gave the girls a quick wink, and one of them nodded in return. The other, though, seemed more than a bit disoriented. Chuck laughed to himself as they went into the back room. Chaos. That's what they were led into. Organized chaos. The 'back room' was a large open room full of desks, drafting tables, and row upon row of file cabinets. It was the brain of the physical plant, the drafting and planning and archive room, all rolled into one. Here, plans were made, drawings created, construction supervised, and all the paperwork saved for future use. A few engineers and draftsmen darted about, scanning drawings, making notes, and generally milling about the room. Chuck swallowed; this was going to be tricky. It was all going to depend on timing. The director led them to a mostly empty drafting table, and then started to collect diagrams and drawings. Chuck and the director were deeply engrossed in a discussion over the plumbing when the receptionist led the two girls back. The sound in the room came to a halt. The men stopped mid-stride. All heads snapped to stare at the two girls who entered the room and were led to the director. The director slowly straightened, then tore his gaze away from the bounteous cleavage in front of himself. "Can I help you?" he asked, his voice squeaking. One girl giggled, and the other one smiled very pleasantly. "Yeah. Like we're in the architecture department, and, like, the teacher said we're supposed to get some drawings of our house, you know?" The other girl giggled again. "We're in the Delta house, you know, and we'd like to see if you could show us some of the blueprints and stuff?" The two sounded completely like bimbos, suited to their general appearance. The men leaned forward anxiously, waiting a cue to help out. The Delta house was not only populated by bombshells like these two, but it had a reputation of being very friendly. The director finally nodded. "I guess we can help you girls out," he said with a smile. He let his gaze drift down to the cleavage again. Around him, the room erupted in bedlam. Every man present, from the youngest engineer to the crustiest old codger, tripped over each other in a rush to retrieve documents to help out these two girls. Coincidently, they would get an eyeful of impressive cleavage or a close-up of a shapely derriere. Documents were hastily retrieved as the men fought to curry the favor of the two sexy girls. An imposing pile of documents hastily grew on the table as print after print appeared. One of the girls leaned over the table, staring at one of the blueprints. Every eye in the room tracked the cleavage as her huge knockers dangled down, emphasizing even more her bountiful bosom which threatened to spring forth from her meager blouse. And as the other one leaned forward as well, her well-rounded ass bumped another table, spilling documents, pencils, and coffee all over the floor. "Oh, like I'm so sorry," she apologized hastily as she bent forward even more to gather the papers from the floor. If she had deliberately bent to reveal her panties and shapely bottom, she couldn't have done it better; she seemed to be making absolutely no effort to conceal her body or undies from the room of lustful men. All eyes tracked her butt as she bent forward, and a few guys scrambled to the floor to help the poor girl. The director himself tripped over his own tongue as he apologized to the girls, as if he had been the cause of the mess. Chuck just watched the show, a combination of comedy and sex, and shook his head. After watching the chaos for a few minutes, Chuck tapped the director on the shoulder. "I think I know where we start. Thanks." The director stared at him for a moment, then glanced at the girl bent over the table. "Oh, yeah. No problem." He dismissed Chuck and the others from his mind, concentrating instead on the lovely round ass of the girl at the table, his mind full of naughty thoughts of what he'd like to do. He didn't even notice Chuck and the two others leave the office. *** All eyes were riveted on Chuck as the trio entered the gym. "Well?" Bert finally asked, the question that had been on everyone's mind. Chuck glanced at Brandon and grinned wickedly. He pulled his shirt up, and retrieved a large folded up wad of papers from his waist. Slowly, he unfolded the papers, displaying the blueprints and reports. Brandon and the other kid did the same. By the time they finished sorting, they had nearly every document the physical plant had about the old gym, including engineering reports, blueprints, wiring and plumbing diagrams, and even the cost projections for refurbishing and demolishing the structure. "Bingo," Arnold said with a grin as he looked at the huge wad of papers. Just then, the doors opened again, and a pair of girls strode in. One walked confidently, while the other acted nervous. Both were dressed in skimpy outfits that revealed all their curves, especially their ample bosoms. They were the two girls from the physical plant. Chuck walked over to the girls. His face was unreadable at first, and then a huge grin broke out. "Beautiful," he boomed, grasping the hand of the first girl. The second girl was getting more nervous, startled by all the guys gawking at her. She retreated behind her partner, fear on her face. One of the guys tapped Chuck on the shoulder. "Who are these girls?" he asked, not sure why Chuck was acting like he was, nor why two gorgeous girls were in the nerd dorm. Chuck turned, beaming. "Guys, we told you we'd have some, uh, distractions, right?" The guys nodded, not understanding, confused by the knowing looks on Bert, Brandon, Chuck, and Arnold's faces. "Well, these two were our distraction." He beamed at Arnold. "You should have seen it. They were perfect! No one saw us take the prints - they were staring at our accomplices." The first girl stepped forward, half bowing, smiling. "No problem at all, Chuck." The second girl stood awkwardly, however, a pout on her face. "Big problem, Rob," she said in a sexy contralto voice. "We're still girls! And I don't like it!" The first girl sighed. "Remember it's only until the middle of the night, Tim," she said, sounding like she'd repeated that phrase dozens of times. "It's not permanent." The murmurs were getting loud; Brandon turned to the guys and caught their confused stares. He lowered his head slightly, laughing to himself, understanding the perplexed stares. After a moment, he looked up. "Okay, guys," he said with a smile. "I guess it's time to let you in on a little secret." He put an arm around Rob's very feminine shoulder and the other around Tim's. "These two girls are really Tim and Rob." "No way!" was the loud reaction. Other voices joined the protest. "Come on! Quit kidding!" "Bullshit!" Brandon waited for a moment, and then he held up his hands, gesturing for silence. "Rob?" Rob smiled, a pretty white-toothed smile on a pretty face. "True, guys. It's really me." He twirled to display the shapely body, then gestured to his assistant. "And this is really Tim." "Yeah, right!" Another round of disbelief. Rob shook her head, causing cascades of platinum blond hair to swirl about her face. "You guys ever heard of a place called Bikini Beach?" A few had, and so indicated. "Well, it's a haven for girls. And the way they do it is by magically changing guys into girls." More sounds of disbelief, louder than before, echoed. After all, these guys were nerds, scientifically and mathematically, and the concept of magic was not exactly something they could easily accept. Brandon knew what he had to do. "Okay, if you don't believe us, maybe a demonstration is in order." He dashed to his room and retrieved a squirt bottle, leaving a muttering crowd wondering what he was up to. In seconds, Brandon was back. "How about a volunteer?" One of the most vocal dissenters, a loudmouth named Larry, was roughly pushed forward. "Okay, I'll let you squirt me," he grumbled. "And then we can stop this bullshit magic talk." Brandon glanced at Rob, shrugged through his smile, and then began to spritz Larry. Within seconds, gasps of astonishment echoed through the crowd. Like flowing water, cascades of hair spilled off Larry's head, growing longer and lighter with each second. Larry noticed the hair, and he swatted at it, and then paused, his mouth open in shock, as he spied his hands. Not only were they finer, but they were continuing to reshape, getting more feminine even as the nails grew and took on the red hue of fresh nail enamel. "Holy shit!" "Wow!" "What the hell?" "Is this for real?" The voices of disbelief changed instantly to shock and wonder as the guys watched one of their own transforming into a woman. Larry's hands shot to his chest as he felt a swelling; his delicate hands cupped foreign and strange objects on his chest. "What's happening to me?" he wailed, surprising himself as he heard his voice changing, becoming higher in pitch and softer. And while he spoke, his clothes joined in the transformation; his T-shirt changed into a crop-top scoop-necked blouse, while his pants rapidly shortened, exposing smooth curvy female legs, as they became very short shorts. Ratty old tennis shoes morphed into high-heeled pumps. "Wow!" "Larry, you've got tits!" "This is incredible!" Larry glanced down at his still-swelling chest, and then looked up at Brandon in horror. "I'm turning into a girl!" he cried. Brandon shrugged. "I told you." He glanced around the room. "Now you guys believe me?" Brandon glanced at Rob, smiling. Then he saw Rob's eyes widening. He glanced back at Larry. "Oh, shit!" He glanced at the bottle, and then winced. Rob looked at the bottle again. "Tell me that isn't the same stuff we used on the Alphas," he said in a soft voice. Brandon grimaced. "I'm afraid it is." Rob turned back toward Larry, worry clouding her features. "That's what I was afraid of." A hush had dropped over the onlookers. All eyes were riveted on Larry, who seemed to be oblivious of the crowd. Larry had pulled off his blouse, and was eagerly cupping one breast, delicate fingers playing with an erect nipple, while the other hand had slipped down into his shorts. His soft feminine eyes were half closed, as he publicly played with his new sex, totally self- absorbed in an overpowering lust. Larry was unaware that he was putting on a strip and sex show to a dorm full of guys, nerds who normally never saw such things. Rob glanced at Tim, whose eyes were fearful. Tim leaned closer. "Is this going to happen to me?" Rob shook her head. "No. I had Anya tone your libido way down, so you should be okay." Tim's countenance lightened considerably, as if reprieved from a death sentence. *** It was late when Chuck convened the entire dorm. Rob and Tim, still transformed, sat quietly; Rob had wrapped his sexy body in a robe to conceal it. Tim, a first-time changee, hadn't thought of that, and so he sat self-consciously, glancing around often to see if anyone was staring at him. Which they were. "Okay, guys," Chuck said finally. He and Brandon sat at a table, the large pile of pilfered papers and drawings in front of them. "We've gone over this stuff, and it looks feasible." His talk was interrupted by loud moans of female pleasure. Brandon sighed heavily. "Could one of you guys go tell Larry to shut up?" The noise was very distracting. Three guys sprang to their feet and scrambled toward Larry's room. The noise stopped almost instantly, but none of the guys came back. Chuck stared after the guys and shook his head slowly. The entire afternoon had been like that. Larry had become an insatiable nymphomaniac, and some of these guys had gotten their first experience at sex with the sex-crazed bimbo. He'd have to remember to get rid of that squirt bottle before it caused more problems. "Okay, here's where we stand. The building was supposed to be razed, but the administration hadn't decided what to put here. Most likely, it was going to be a vacant lot." He picked up his PDA and peered at it for a moment. "Here's the rundown. Structurally, the building is in very good shape. The roof needs to be replaced, but that's normal wear, not because of a major problem. The plumbing is old and needs to be reworked. Electrical - it's in good shape. The pool needs to be replastered, and the tile in the showers and rest rooms needs to be replaced. The ductwork is in pretty bad shape; it probably needs to be completely reworked. The air conditioner is shot, and the furnace is in bad shape. It's a coal burner, and needs to be replaced." He examined the data more closely. "The floor tiling is all asbestos based tile, and needs to be removed and cleaned up." He looked up from the PDA. "But on the bright side, if there wasn't a new gym, the physical plant report says that it would be cost- effective to rehabilitate this building." Brandon nodded with a smile. "Our architects here," he pointed to Tim and Rob, still girls, "have done an estimate of what customizing we'd have to do. We also checked to see what value the administration is carrying on the building. It's old, so it's mostly depreciated. Factoring all that in," he took Chuck's PDA and fiddled with it a bit, "it turns out to be pretty cost competitive to lease the building and convert it." Cheers erupted around the room. This was going well. Brandon finally held up his hands to quiet the room. "Okay, so we've maybe found a house. Maybe. We've got to convince the administration to sell or lease it to us, and then get a loan." Rob smiled grimly. "And then we have to get a national fraternity to sponsor us." Bert stood and stepped forward. "I've got some news to report on that issue." He pulled out his own PDA and selected a data page. "Two fraternities have responded positively. Well," he winced, "they weren't outright rejections." He looked again. "One is the Chi Omega fraternity. They were founded as a social fraternity. The membership seems to be mostly jocks." Boos and catcalls greeted that last piece of news. "The other is the Nu Rho Delta fraternity. They're a new professional fraternity, with a focus on sciences." His report spurred a chorus of pleasantly surprised comments, and he waited like a trained thespian for the crowd to settle down. He smiled, tucked away his PDA, and took his seat. Brandon rose. "Okay, it sounds like we're all in agreement? We'll talk to the Nu Rho Delta fraternity and apply for membership?" A scream of pure feminine pleasure interrupted the cheers of acceptance, giving rise to laughter among the guys. Laughter, and some wistful looks as they wondered whether Larry would be a sexual plaything long enough for them to get another turn. *** Equipped with acceptance from the Nu Rho Delta fraternity, the gang sat at a table before a special meeting of the intra- fraternity council. Due to the special nature of the proposal, several administrators and part of the faculty council were also present. Brandon, by acclamation, was selected to make the presentation, and he now stood, holding a remote control. He was about halfway into the presentation, having already outlined their acceptance by the Nu Rho Deltas. Now, he was explaining the plans to refurbish the old gym into a fraternity house. He was in the middle of a computer-generated graphical walkthrough of the design, showing how the office space would become rooms. Chuck saw a movement from the corner of his eye, and he turned in time to see the athletic director lean toward Dean Livingstone. It was well known that the athletic director, Coach Varney, was the advisor to the Alpha fraternity. Chuck swallowed. This could mean trouble. It came. The dean rose and interrupted. "Yes, well, I think we've seen enough here," he pronounced. "And it was a fine presentation. But unfortunately, I don't see how it fits the needs of the university at this time. Thank you." He sat and turned to one of the faculty members, dismissing Brandon rudely as he began another conversation. Chuck rose. "Excuse me, Dean. You haven't even seen the financial projections, let alone how this will financially benefit..." Coach Varney rose, his face flushing crimson. "The Dean said that was enough, you little shit! Can't you hear?" He was leaning forward, his clenched fists resting lightly on the table threateningly. The meeting started to break up at the Dean's announcement. Small groups of fraternity and sorority representatives began to leave; a few of the groups actually looked sympathetically toward the gym nerds, but most sneered with a distinctive snobbish attitude. Brandon just slumped in his chair and began to pack up his laptop computer. He felt as if the wind had been taken from his sails; their big chance to sell this idea had been snatched from them. But why? That part didn't make any sense. Chuck nudged Brandon. "Something's fishy here," he whispered, nodding toward the dean's table. Brandon glanced and saw the dean and the athletic director. "I knew the dean didn't like us, but what's up with the AD?" Chuck frowned. "He's the advisor to the Alphas," he hissed. "So that makes two enemies." Brandon nodded. "And it looks like they pretty much control this council." He sighed. "So what are we..." He stopped, and his eyes narrowed. He nudged Chuck. "On the floor." Chuck followed Brandon's gaze. His eyes widened, and then a devious smile crept across his face. "Looks like one of Arnold's toys." A tiny, silver, robotic spider crept slowly across the floor, stopping at the dean's leg. It flexed, then resumed it's travel up the leg of the dean's trousers, too small and light to be noticed by the dean. The two young men sat at the table for a long while, watching to see what happened. Then the spider crept back into view. Still, it kept moving, this time toward the AD's foot. Once more, it made a journey upward, and then crawled back to the floor. A few moments later, Arnold came to the table. "Let's go," he said insistently to Chuck and Brandon. The trio quickly left the council room. In the hall, Chuck stopped Arnold. "What was that about?" Arnold pulled a hand from his pocket, the tiny silver spider in his palm. "Fido planted bugs on the dean and the coach." He pulled out another tiny gizmo, a radio receiver with a tape recorder. "Let's get back to the dorm so we can see what they're up to." *** "You sure about this?" Brandon's voice betrayed his concern. Not only was this mission dangerous, but it would be personally humiliating as well. Rob straightened, making his large boobs jiggle. Blushing, he clasped them to stop the swaying, then looked up. He smiled. "Yeah, but I want combat pay." Rob's form was that of a very voluptuous blond bombshell, even curvier than the disguise he'd had for the physical plant caper. "Look, you heard those two. They aren't going to let us in if we play by their rules. So it's time to change the rules." Tim blushed, and then smiled. He was unaware that he was cupping one of his very large boobs; the mission required a heightened libido, and he'd probably overdone it. Tim's body was even curvier than Rob's; he'd told Anya to make him a knockout, and she'd used his mental image to comply. Now he had to live with the consequences for the next day and a half. "Let's go get this over with," Tim said in a squeaky soprano voice. He couldn't help sounding like a bimbo thanks to Anya's magic. "You got the gear?" Chuck asked, worried about this mission. Rob patted his purse. "Wireless web cams, mikes, and a still camera." Over his shoulder, Rob carried a duffel bag full of other supplies, special little party favors for their encounters. Brandon clasped Rob's hand. "Good luck." For the briefest of moments, he had very colorful thoughts of what he'd rather that Rob and Tim do right now, but he suppressed them. This mission was too important for him to be distracted by a very interesting fantasy. The two girls turned, their short skirts flaring around their round sexy derrieres, their large bosoms swaying and jiggling. With a wiggle to their hips, they strutted out of the gym. From the high heels to the miniskirts, from the tight blouses to the low neckline, the girls were designed and clad as advertisements for sex. With heads swiveling to track their every move, the two girls sauntered toward the gym. For nearly an hour, they strutted around, making a show of watching the athletes training and oohing and aahing at the muscular physiques. Finally, the athletic director came out of his office; it was late, and the gym was starting to get deserted. It didn't take much to convince him that the two girls wouldn't mind some company for the evening, and he was eager to volunteer his services. As he drove them toward his house, he didn't notice the van following at a discrete distance. He led the two girls into the house and poured himself a drink, offering the same to the girls. Tim accepted a glass of wine, but Rob turned him down. One of them had to have a clear head. It didn't take long for the coach to put the moves on. He had Tim sitting on his lap and was fondling a large breast while he nibbled on Tim's ear. As Tim began to respond, Rob slipped around the room, stealthily extracting bits and pieces of electronic gear and flipping them on. That accomplished, Rob turned and saw that Tim was now bare-bosomed, with the coach's face plastered between his large melons. "Are you as horny as I am?" Tim asked in a bedroom voice. The coach looked up and nodded vigorously. Rob sat down on the coach's other leg. "How do you like games?" Rob asked, trying to sound seductive. "Games?" the coach gulped, prying his face from Tim's cleavage. Rob smiled. "Just a little dress-up and naughtiness," he said, licking his full pouty lips. The coach gulped, then nodded vigorously as he felt Tim stroking his dick. He was in no position to refuse these two sex kittens. Rob's idea of dress-up was a French Maid costume for the coach, which he willingly donned as Tim gave him a blowjob. Then Rob put on a dominatrix outfit. As Tim bent over the couch, accepting the coach from the rear, Rob lashed him. He cried in pain, but continued to try to service Tim. Again, Rob lashed him, and he screamed in delight. Then as he bent forward, Rob put on a huge strap-on. Suddenly, the coach felt something at his rear, and before he could protest, it began to force itself painfully into his rear. He turned, and Rob whipped him with a riding crop, calling him a naughty boy. He whimpered, and turned away from Rob. Painfully at first, Rob pumped the huge dildo in and out of the coach's rear. He squealed with pleasure as he shot his load into Tim, his excitement heightened by the internal stimulation of his anus. The games continued, with the girls taking turns commanding the meek little maid to crawl on his knees and service them. He played the game willingly and perfectly, and finally collapsed into a dreamy sleep, exhausted and spent. Tim and Rob gathered up their gear, leaving the coach in the maid costume, and slipped out of his house. The van was at the curb to meet them. As Rob crawled in, he turned to Chuck. "Get it?" he asked, trying not to sound so sultry and sexy, which was difficult with the voice Anya had given him. Chuck felt his erect prick and swallowed. It had been difficult to concentrate, hearing the sounds and seeing the images of the two sexy girls doing the coach. Somehow, he'd managed, but he felt like he was about to explode. "Great pictures," he answered. He turned away quickly, rubbing his crotch almost painfully. *** "How can I help you girls?" The dean was all smiles, gazing as he was at the luscious curves of Tim and Rob. Rob glanced at Tim, and then licked her lips. "Well you see, Dean, some of the boys at the Tri-Gamma house have been pestering us. They won't leave us alone." Tim tried to look helpless. "They keep saying that we're tramps, and stuff like that." He wiggled his top slightly, setting his boobs jiggling. "They're kind of mean." The dean gave them a friendly smile. "You know we don't tolerate sexual harassment on this campus," he said proudly, hoping to impress the girls with a protective air. "It's my job to investigate these type of affairs...er, matters, and make sure that anyone guilty is punished." Rob put on a big pout. "And one of them gave me this!" He was pointing to his leg, more specifically, to his inner thigh. The dean couldn't see. Rob looked up and saw the dean craning his neck to look over his desk. Rob giggled. "Silly me, of course you can't see from over there!" He rose and walked around the desk, then hiked up her skirt. There, on the inside of her thigh, was a large bite mark. The dean glanced at the mark, then up at Rob's pretty face, then back at the bite mark. Little did he know that Tim had just recently made the mark. He was too busy staring at her shapely thigh and panties. He didn't see Tim move behind him. "What..." he demanded suddenly as he felt the spray hitting his head. He sat up and spun, just in time to catch a face full of spray from the bottle Tim was holding. "What are you two..." The dean felt faint. Something didn't quite feel right. As he watched, he saw his hair shooting out, light and blonde and curly. At the same time, he felt his body rearranging itself. His chest felt heavy; when he looked down, he saw breasts that put Tim's to shame. And his clothing! It was changing as well, into a trampy little outfit. Within seconds, his transformation was complete, and he was even more feminine than either Tim or Rob. Tim and Rob flanked the new girl and helped her to her feet. She was tiny, making her boobs look almost cartoonishly large, and with a wasp waist and big hips, she was quite hot. "What..." the girl demanded again, surprising herself with a new sultry voice. "What have you done to me?" Tim shrugged. "Oh, relax Dean. We're just going to take you to party is all." "But how? I'm a girl!" The dean was obviously having problems with the change. "And I feel so...weird!" Tim looked curious for a moment, and then smiled. "Oh, that! That's called being horny. The little body we gave you is just aching to get laid!" He grinned as he watched the shocked expression spread across the dean's pretty little face. The two girls led the dean out of his office by the back door. A van was waiting, with the driver and an accomplice in ski masks. The door slammed shut and the van lurched away from the building. Moments later, the van stopped and the door opened again. "Time to get out, dean," Tim said pleasantly. "Or should we call you Deanna?" She looked thoughtful for a moment. "Yes, I think Deanna sounds much better." With the dean whimpering at his plight, both from fear of having sex and from an incredibly powerful sexual need, the trio walked brazenly to the door of the Alpha house. The guy who answered the door was surprised, but only too eager to let the girls in. In the van, Chuck was playing with himself as he watched. Though they hated to do it, they had to use the Alpha frat for this part; they'd left the cameras and mikes in the Alpha house from their last encounter. So it had to be the Alphas. But on the other hand, it was only too fitting for the dean to be humiliated in one of the pet fraternities. Chuck felt ready to burst; the dean was proving more than a match for the fraternity. In fact, the dean as a bimbo was currently doing three at once, and that was after all the others he'd done. It was hard to believe that this little sexpot was the stodgy dean of students, but here was the proof. And as a girl, he had a very good imagination. He'd done things to those guys that Chuck didn't think was possible. Tim and Rob scampered out of the house, leaving the dean behind with a house full of horny Alphas. They were all going to be in for a big surprise around midnight or so. They pulled open the door. "This one going okay?" Rob asked as he sat down. Chuck swallowed, feeling frustrated and horny as hell, and nodded. "Good feeds. And she's really getting it." He turned away from the two girls. "I see you two got a bit of action, too." Tim blushed, turning toward the door, but Rob looked defiantly at Chuck. "Like I said, combat pay." *** Once again, the special council of the fraternities, the administration, and the faculty was about to be called to session. As they were about to start, Dean Livingstone and Coach Varney walked in late. As he was about to sit, the dean saw an envelope in his chair. Scowling, he picked it up as he sat. He opened it and saw a picture; he blanched, then looked up and glared at Brandon and Chuck. The coach, likewise, found his envelope. He sank in his chair, his face clouded with anger. This time, the presentation went without interruption. The president of the fraternity council congratulated the boys on their unique solution to the problem, and the faculty was quite impressed. The vote was almost unanimous, with the Alpha house voting against, while the dean and the coach abstained, still sitting fuming in their chairs. The vote carried. As they stood getting congratulated by the council, Brandon saw Dean Livingstone walking toward him. He turned with a pleasant smile. "Thank you for giving us another chance to present, Dean. I'm sure this will be of mutual benefit to us and to the university." The dean glared at him, then lowered his voice. "I don't know how you did it, but I'm going to get you. Mark my words, I'm going to get you for this." Chuck flinched visibly. "Get us? I don't understand, Dean. All we did is to present our proposal. You act like we've done something reprehensible or something." The dean clenched his jaw. This was still too public a forum, but it was obvious that he was furious. As he stormed away, Brandon turned to Chuck. The grins were broad and genuine. They were a fraternity. *** Anya sat across from her grandmother. From the crossed arms and defiant stare, she was expecting a lecture. Instead, she was surprised when the old woman simply asked her, "Why?" Anya thought for a second. "Because they were being picked on for being different. The dean and the coach were trying to sabotage something good they were doing." The old woman looked at her for a long while, then she nodded slightly. "You know, Anya, you're getting quite an unusual sense of justice. And a strange sense of humor." Her impassive expression suddenly broke and she smiled. "It's fun to help out sometimes, isn't it?" FIN