Frat Party Costume Sex

This is the story of how 19 year old Caleb Jensen found himself in the sexual predicament of a lifetime.

It was the fall rush season and Caleb had been accepted as a pledge at the USC frat of his choice: Tau Kappa Epsilon.

Their off-campus reputation was legendary and they threw incredible parties that people talked about for weeks. The girls that attended these parties were high-flying sorority vixens that were well on their way to bigger and better things (or just living off of the success of their parents). Either way, the alcohol was always flowing and the vibe was always incredibly well tailored to the modernized Greek mythos of balls-to-the-wallogy.

Caleb had grown up in a fairly liberal house, and his parents were comfortable upper middle income proper. This meant he had at least a couple of years to fuck around before deciding what he actually wanted to do with his life.

All that he wanted to do at the moment, was to let loose a bit. Plenty of AP classes and sports schedules and school activities had actually ensured that part of his tuition would be covered by scholarship, so he didn't feel like he was totally leeching off the old parental units.

Even still, there was just no reason to declare right away. All he wanted to declare was "CANNONBALL!" as he jumped into pools and "FUCKKKK" as he jumped into pussies.

He didn't want to worry about having 6 classes and five days of school. He wanted Tuesday/Thursday classes and a crash-course in dorm room hallway luge bowling.

There were twenty, twinkling new pledges that were well on their way to gaining all the lusty luxury that came with the full-time status of this storied frat house. They handled their academic shit while still dipping into life's more legally questionable activities. Or at least, that's what it felt like when Caleb saw the mascot head of the Stanford Tree proudly displayed above the common area fireplace mantle, in the main house.

The chapter maintained just over a hundred members, not including the twenty pledges still vying for permanence. But of these, only twenty upper classmen actually lived in the house year round, spread out over its many shared bedrooms. The president and vice president both enjoyed their own rooms looking over the giant pool and spa in the tropically chic backyard.

This was a house built on brotherhood and killer parties. There was no need for irony here—they knew who they were and they leaned into their stereotypes. They shared a sister sorority with girls straight out of a pillow fight porno, and their themed parties were the stuff of Snapchat gold.

That's where everything would become very interesting for Caleb.

It was the annual Fall Halloween Party held by TKE and for once the holiday actually fell on a Friday. It was perfect. Two days for allowing all of the sins of college to properly wear off before they were back to their business and law classes.

This year's party theme was a bold, if also somewhat open-ended choice:

'Sandals and Swordfights and Witches and Monsters.'

That meant, as one overly stoned party planner pitched it to his fellow brothers some weeks prior, if it existed in the recent HBO, Middle Earth, Bible, Roman Gladiator, Jedi, Hogwarts, Hunger Games world of cosplay that they'd all generally grown up around, you'd probably see your favorite character dressed up as a slightly cheaper (and definitely sluttier) version of what you had nostalgically fallen in love with.

The pledges were still completing their last month of dedicated bitch work and on-campus hijinks, but for this party at least, other than next-day cleaning duties, they were allowed to relax and dress up and bring a date or two if they wanted.

It was the seniors that handled party setup. There was a reputation to uphold and such was the duty of such sacred torch-passing.

Two popular local DJ's were hired. The kegs were locked and loaded in a Rube Goldberg type slide that came from an upstairs window like a gravity bullet belt to a downstairs drink station/bar.

Caleb had decided on an oldie but a goodie for his outfit—William Wallace was an easy costume shop visit away. When the night had finally arrived, he got dressed and did a final mirror checklist inspection. He was decked out in his leather skirt, fake-muscled breastplate, tan robe, red cape, and Rainbow sandals. This completed the "I care, but not too much" look that any self-respecting college frat guy strived for. He painted half of his face appropriately blue and then made final body inspections to make sure he smelled all kinds of good should he happen to run into a particularly horny Zelda or krunked prisoner Leia. He completed the look by rubbing a bunch of tanning oil onto his legs and chest and arms so he'd look like he was sweating in the middle of a skirmish.

Those Gladiator scenes were a baby oil extravaganza and you had to commit to the look.

He had short, brown hair with a recent fade but decided against a crappy wig because he did still want to get laid, after all.

Lastly, the skirt was long enough that he decided not to wear boxers. If girls could go commando in their costumes then so could he. He was definitely enjoying being away from home for the first time ever and ballsy decisions just seemed to come easier these days.

Caleb was a good-looking guy with high school soccer to thank for his consistent muscle mass. He was 5'10 and had short dirty blonde hair that went well with his orange county freckles. He'd be a well-trained skirt-slayer by the time he was a junior, right now though, he was still figuring out his swagger and go-to lines.

Unfortunately, when he got to the frat house with the other Pledges around 8:00 PM to help with any last minute details, a fork would be firmly planted in his road.

The frat president was a demigod of party prowess named Lane Thompson who generally looked like he had just stepped directly out of an Abercrombie catalogue and then been handed the keys to the house.

He was 22 and he'd be attending Princeton Law when he was done with his last year, and it wasn't because of Nepotism. Lane knew his shit.

The stories and rumors that surrounded him were so vast that he had his own on-campus subreddit.

Lane was known for leading numerous ladies back to his room at the end of the night, which included a recent back-to-school party where he was seen playing a game of Twister with three sorority girls who apparently were all very interested in being the most flexible competitor on his eventual bedroom floor. And as witnesses would later confirm, it had ended in a three-way tie.

That being said, he was also the boss in this universe. Whatever che said went. If you were a pledge, you were basically beholden to his commands until you were a certified frat brother.

Caleb had arrived at the house and immediately began receiving compliments from his fellow pledges, who were all equally committed to the night's theme in their various fantasy costumes of choice. He was surprised to feel a strong hand on his shoulder.

He turned to see the slightly taller Lane standing behind him, no costume in sight. He was dressed in sweats and a t-shirt.

"Hey man! Where's your outfit?" Caleb was trying his best to fit in with every syllable.

"Well, that's my fucking conundrum Mr. Jensen. I need your help. Follow me."

Caleb followed Lane up the stairs to his bedroom and was amazed to see how spacious it was, with its huge windows that looked directly out on the two-tiered pool and spa in the backyard. He could see it decked out in decorations from various well-known fantasy franchises. Lane could watch his whole frat party kingdom from here. And he did.

The backyard was impressively large with a couple of older trees and a mini-grotto built into the side of the pool. There was a Star Wars drink station and some Hogwarts beer pong tables and a Game of Thrones Pool Games arena, cordoned off with pool noodles. This really was going to be one for the books.

Caleb looked at Lane's neatly-made queen sized bed and saw a large pile of mystery costume sitting in a clump. There was also what appeared to be a long blonde wig and an imposing gray-red coat. He thought he recognized the character now.

"So, look, here's the deal, Kevin was supposed to be doing this two-person costume but he got super sick and won't be here tonight, which, by the way, that's what happens when all you eat is vending machine food between classes." They both laughed as Lane explained his predicament. He was such a laid back person and very easy to get along with.

"So look, I need you to take his place. You're the only one his size and this costume is complicated to pull off."

Caleb was confused. It looked like a Khaleesi costume, for which he was also pretty impressed that the frat president would be somewhat crossdressing—albeit with the war garb of a dark fantasy series as the Dragon queen.

"Okay, but like, what do you need me for though?" Caleb was bummed because he was looking forward to being on his own and getting to show off his Braveheart and his braver cock.

"Okay, so, this is one half of my costume, check it out." Lane took off his pants and shirt and Caleb was impressed by the large, tanned muscles and darker features of the frat president. He was going to have to start doing more weigh-training if he was going to keep up with his fellow brothers. Lane was wearing a pair of boxers and he slipped on the Daenerys tank top and dress.

"So why do you need me?" Caleb asked, still perpelexed.

"This is the FIRST half of my costume." He turned around to his closet and opened it up and brought out a large contraption that look like it had come straight from machine shop.

What on earth? Caleb thought to himself.

Lane brought out what Caleb quickly realized was a fully functional dragon body that had been designed around a sawed-off hospital bed on its four, remaining wheels. A hole had been cut in the center of the bed which was wear the costume looked like a dragon saddle which is wear Lane would step in and control the bed by pushing it in front of him. Fake Daenerys legs hung off the sides.

"I had to destroy a moderately priced sex doll for these legs...don't judge me." Lane said, and they both cracked up at that.

"That's gotta be one of the weirder sentences someone has ever said to me." And they laughed harder.

"Holy fuck dude, this is one of the most impressive costumes I've ever seen." Caleb was honestly shocked that Lane had even had the time to put this together.

"I can't take all the credit—my Mom works on the Rose Parade floats and she's killer at this stuff. I told her a couple months ago I wanted a costume to end all costumes for the Halloween bash and I knew the theme and it kinda just spiraled from there."

"Okay but like, how does it work?" Caleb countered, admiring the detail in the scales and head and teeth.

"Well, I stand in this whole which basically zips up around my waist and also up the neck. The other person, that's you, lays facedown on the hospital bed with your legs controlling the tail and your head controlling the dragon head. Your hands you can use to flap the wings on the side or work smoke lever."

Caleb realized that would mean he'd be in a costume all night and he was kind of bummed about that fact, but Lane was the president, and this would almost ensure an automatic entry into the frat. Pledge life wouldn't last forever. There would be plenty of parties. The fast track felt very in sight.

"Look, I know it's a sacrifice and you have an amazing costume...I promise we will find you a sexy girl later on in the night and you can use my bedroom for whatever kinky shit you're into, okay? I need to nail this and blow everyone away in the costume contest. That trust-fund-asshole Jared is wearing a working Ripley robot suit from Alien, so it's game fucking on." He wasn't necessarily giving Caleb a frat president order, which he could very easily do if he wanted to, but Caleb wanted to get in very badly. It was only one party. Fuck it right? Maybe he'd follow through and wingman him into some very tight college pussy later that night. And it would be nice to have one of the only solo beds to do so.

"Okay Mr. President. Let's fucking crush this costume then."

"AWESOME! Dude, I will so OWE you for this."

It was around 10 o'clock by the time they were fully suited up in the costume in a comfortable position.

Lane had said it was going to be super hot inside the dragon material, though it had been installed with one of those professional fans used by costumed Disney characters all over the world. He suggested if Caleb was okay with it, that he should just wear his boxers. The problem was, Caleb wasn't wearing any boxers. He had purposefully gone commando underneath the gladiator skirt because he was feeling particularly daring that night. He told him he'd take the robe part off, but leave just the leather skirt. He didn't explain why.

"Suit yourself." Lane said, unphased.

Caleb felt a little weird to be this exposed in front of another guy, but he figured it was probably just his ingrained heterosexuality putting up its typical guards. He clearly wasn't using him for anything other than this costume.

Lane Thompson was a pussy dynamo, after all.

The other awkward element of the costume was the obviously embarrassing positioning that it required. The person laying down on the gurney had to wrap their legs around the standing person and then back into the singular tail of the dragon, which kept their legs somewhat closed together. Lane's own legs would represent the powerful back legs of Drogon (the dragon of choice of course), while the front legs concealed the front wheels. Caleb was responsible for the tail, wings, and head.

The pièce de résistance was a hidden button that allowed preloaded smoke cannisters in the nostrils to blow aromatic puffs of smoke into the air while two bulbs burned an orange glow. Lane's mom knew her shit, apparently. At least Caleb could have fun with that throughout the night.

Caleb did find it incredibly comfortable just being able to chill like this and Lane cracked enough jokes to make him feel relaxed in this obviously silly situation.

Right before getting in for the final time to make their triumphant entrance downstairs to the increasingly busy party, Lane had texted one of the other pledges to bring up a couple Fuckeroo's—the name of a house-made cocktail that was ostensibly a triple Long Island Ice Tea. It was basically the type of shit you weren't even allowed to order at a TGI Friday's for legal purposes. Since Caleb wouldn't be drinking again until their first combined bathroom break of the night, Lane bid him Cheers, and down the hatch it went. Caleb almost coughed it up after downing such an intense amount of alcohol all at once—but what was a 19-year-old liver for, anyway, but if not for shenanigans such as this? There would be plenty more of this during the impending hazing, he was sure of it.

They shared a strong hit off of Lane's nearby pen and then suited up for good.

Caleb lay down on his chest, shirtless, on the comfy hospital bed and wiggled his body into the unzipped upper portions of the dragon. He wrapped his legs around either side of Lane's waist and was surprised when Lane actually grabbed for a hidden belt which went over Caleb's lower back to keep him firmly in place. This helped strap them together so that walking would be easier. Lane grabbed Caleb's sides to pull him back so that he was firmly attached to him, as the dragon tail required Caleb's legs to be almost fully hanging off of the back of the bed for it to fully work.

Caleb couldn't help but notice that this was a stupidly compromising position to be in with another dude. He was in a butt-fucking position if there ever was one, but at least no one at the party would know and be able to make fun of him for how it clearly looked, he thought reassuringly. Because it seriously looked like Lane was about to take him over the side of a movable bed. He had to laugh at this. It would be a story to tell, that was for sure. 'The things you'll do to get what you want in life," he grinned. He was feeling really at ease and his body seemed very relaxed, considering his new trajectory.

Eyes on the prize, he thought: membership, membership, membership.

The affects of the alcohol and weed, and the mood of the amazing party were instantaneous.

Lane rolled them down the hallway to the elevator (the updated specs for university-approved frat housing were incredibly progressive to any non-able-bodied brothers—which this costume idea greatly appreciated). On the elevator down, Caleb felt strangely excited and nervous. The effect of the strong drink seemed almost immediately magical. He was a swiftly buzzing bee and he loved that he could just kick back by laying down for the whole party. It would be the chillest of chill vibes.

If all you have to do is enjoy powerful weed, a quick buzz, and a comfy bed; where someone else wheels you into an immediately-applause-filled room as Snoop Dogg's greatest hits are thumping the house from its foundation, you're in a pretty damn good place.

When the elevator doors opened to the hallway on the bottom floor, and Lane carefully wheeled them out onto the small step above the inside dance floor, the congregated partygoers literally went ape shit.

He had done it again.

Lane looked at his inside DJ and gave him the signal they'd previously discussed.

The music scratched off and quickly switched over to the theme song from the beloved show that they had all jizzed themselves over for eight years in a row. He had everyone eating out of the palm of his hand as he strode into the space with pure, liquefied brass. This was big dick energy arriving in King's Landing to burn shit to the ground, and the nearest breasts and pussies (and probably even a couple cocks and asses) quivered with magnetically subconscious want.

Everyone craves the most magnificent horse on the carousel.

Lane quieted the crowd with two muscled arms—he was Nixon of the fuckbois but with Kennedy's haircut.

"I am Lane Stormborn of the House Epsilon! First of her name! The Unburnt! The Drunkard! Queen of Va-gine! Yas Queen of the Andals! And the Rhoynar and the First Men to get kicked out of the club! Khaleesi of the great glassy eyed stoners! Beer Pong Bounce Defender! Breaker of Chains! Motherfucker of Dragons!!"

Everyone cheered louder with each new nickname and they laughed just as much. It was wild. Everyone was in on the joke. The references stuck. The DJ pumped the music back on and a parade of people made their way over to compliment their fearless leader on his elaborate costume. His blonde wig barely fit and looked ridiculous on his frame, as his muscles popped out of the too-tiny Daenerys tank-top.

Numerous people came up to offer shots or cheers and he quickly grabbed another drink or three. All the while Caleb got into character and used the easy-to-maneuver head and wings to bump into people and generally be an overly flirtatious mythical reptile. He was feeling insanely good. That drink was more powerful than he realized.

He lifted the head and flapped the side wings and steadied his legs to ribbon dance the tail behind them.

Lane did a spin of the wheeled bed and everyone on the dance floor marveled at the ingenuity once more.

Jared approached in his Alien robot costume, clearly miffed that he had been outdone once more. Lane Thompson just knew how to be a fucking frat president. It was irritatingly obvious.

Some guys just elevated a little further above the proverbial rim.

As the party went on, Lane continued to drink and Caleb enjoyed a buzz that seemed to be almost growing. It was confusing. The large amount of alcohol they had downed from their twenty ounce mugs from a few hours prior, should've worn off a little by now.