Sorority of Submissive Girls

by P. N. Dedeaux (as Carl Buono)

  ‘You mean, as a prelude, or necessity to … ?’

  ‘Screwing.’

  Rowena rubbed her big right ham thoughtfully.

  Here, where the stiff end of the paddle had fallen, it still hurt quite a bit. Yet there was a pleased painful flush through her flesh, that was undeniable. She felt a strange sense of achievement, and consequent relaxation.

  ‘Um.’ She broke the silence with a sigh. ‘Maybe I know what you mean and maybe I don’t. What do I get for impertinence, by the way?’

  ‘I don’t know’, came a subdued voice, ‘but I think it’s the cane.’

  ‘Just wanted to know what delights are in store for me, come final Friday night. Well, girls, this is where I leave you.’ They had come to the Library steps, heavy with wet leaves. ‘I don’t know who you have, but mine’s Alison Riley.’

  ‘Oh, she’s sweet.’

  ‘She’s also a Praelictor.’

  ‘I don’t know who mine is’, said Terry Sands screwing up her eyes at the card she’d been given.

  ‘Franklin 318.’

  ‘Well, good luck, one and all.’

  ‘We’re going to need it, girls.’

  Solemnly the five made a circle and placed their hands together in the centre of it. Then Rowena walked pensively over the lawns to the right, alone. Behind her she heard their voices in the dusk. Constance Wood was murmuring disgustedly,

  ‘All that jazz about being hairy. What did she expect? Feathers?’

  The set of rooms Rowena approached lay at the end of a low brick building, pleasantly entwined with ivy. Beyond it straggled further outhouses, then the stables. For if there were two hundred and fifty upper-crust maidens in residence at Brierton, there were also close on as many thoroughbred horses. Equitation was a required part of the curriculum. Rowena knocked and a voice said come in.

  ‘Miss Riley? I’ve been assigned to you, I believe.’

  A lean, rather floppy blonde with her hair in her eyes was reading on a sofa. She had on a silk shirt and fitting velvet slacks of a pale colour. She rose shyly, it seemed, and came across the pleasant chintzy room to the expectant frosh.

  ‘Rowena? Yes, I’ve seen you, I think. I’m to be your Sister.’ She stroked the coarse mass of dark red hair. ‘What a lovely colour. Natural?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Your things have been sent over. Let me show you round. Here’s your desk, I hope you like it.’

  Rowena began to relax. This was much better than she’d been given to believe. Seniors at the college had the luxury of two good rooms, and a spacious bathroom too; this small suite had been set up so that they could share it, during the testing period of initiation.

  Over the desk, where her texts were already arranged, Rowena saw the sorority paddle she would carry everywhere with her for this fatal month – ‘And that includes night-clubbing with dates’, said her gentle cicerone, but she did so with a smile.

  ‘Yes, we’ve been fully briefed’, Rowena said.

  ‘Well, I guess that’s about all.’ The slim blonde paused, then said, ‘One thing. You do realize you’re nothing here.’

  ‘Yes. Miss.’

  ‘But I mean – not anything. It’s very important for you to understand, psychologically. During this month, here and at the house, it’s a total eradication of personality. That’s the only way to go with it, Rowena. Don’t try to resist. It’ll do you much better not to. I can make any call on you, at any time, and for whatever I want. Understand?’

  She laughed again. ‘You’re a sort of nothing thing.’

  ‘A nothing thing.’ Rowena nodded. ‘Well, may I have your permission to hit the books, please, Miss? I do have a test tomorrow.’

  ‘Go right ahead.’

  The blonde curled up with her book again, not forgetting, Rowena observed, to flick a glance at her as she sat down – to see that, as per the initiatory regulations, she lifted her skirt behind before doing so. The minutes began to slip by in the silence and the new girl heaved a sigh of relief. This was much better than she’d thought.

  After a half hour or so, however, she twisted uncomfortably on her wicker seat; the paddle bruise didn’t hurt, exactly, but it was uncomfortable to rest weight on the right side for long.

  ‘Anything wrong?’ came from the sofa. ‘That seat not to your taste?’

  Rowena should have been warned by the tone.

  Instead, she simply gave an ebullient laugh – ‘Not that, Miss. Its just that I got a slight shellacking in the House just now.’ She said it flippantly, even with a certain saucy pride. Alison Riley swung her legs and sat up straight.

  ‘Oh, really? Tell me about this.’

  ‘Oh, it was nothing. I forgot to curtsey. Also I spoke out of turn. Four slaps with the paddle.’

  The blonde was staring at the parquet floor in front of her. ‘Listen, Rowena, I want you to get this very clear. A pledge reflects credit on her pledgee, or Dorm Sis. You have just reflected extreme discredit on me.’

  ‘But I hadn’t seen you, Miss.’ Rowena rose slowly to her feet, the colour leaving her cheeks.

  ‘I know. However, I’d like us to start out on the right foot. During this week, you’ll report all corrections you receive of that nature – other than the Friday night slate clearance deal – to me. In order to discourage you, quite definitely, in order to make you think twice about a repeat performance, I’m going to give you one for one back here. If that doesn’t stop you there’ll be a stock split next week.

  Two for one. And so on up. We’ll start now.’

  ‘Please. You’re not going to …’ Rowena was alarmed as much at the fear she felt as anything.

  ‘I use a cane. Fetch me the one in the bottom rack above your bed.’

  ‘But I’ve just been …’

  ‘I don’t want to have to order you a Demerit as well.’

  Sick inside, Rowena turned. In the bedroom beyond, three slender exclamation marks stood over her bed. She chose the lowest and, it seemed, the leanest, a long thin yellow rod which wiggled like a live thing as she carried it back to her senior.

  There was a knob at one end for grip.

  Alison Riley accepted it and flexed it expertly, almost in two. ‘This is a light correction cane but I think you’ll find it stings. The ones we use in the House are less bendy, and hurt more. One of your duties is to keep these sticks polished, gleaming.

  Now move those chairs out of the way and come and bend over here.’

  Here was in front of the empty fireplace, ranked with logs. Rowena cleared the space with averted eyes, her pulpy features a picture of anxiety.

  ‘Grip this.’

  The cane-tip tapped the polished bar of the grate.

  Rowena stood on the end of the bearskin rug and doubled to do so. The brass felt cold in her fingers.

  Almost at once she again felt her skirt lifted onto her back. Two thumbs hooked in the waistband of her tights and eased them down her hips to her knees. She felt utterly exposed and irrationally humiliated. After all, it was only a girl behind her. Resentment mounted in her, turning into resolve

  – she’d show this Senior she could take it, with the best.

  ‘I’m, glad to see you have a good full fanny, Rowena. I shall enjoy caning you a lot. Brace back your knees and tuck your head right down. I’m going to hit you here.’ The cane end touched the rectangular red of the paddle’s deepest weals. ‘Four for four. I’m a fairly good golfer, so all in all I think you’ll know you’re beaten by the time I’ve finished with you.’

  She walked away, Rowena imagined her going back to the bedroom perhaps, when she turned and in a pair of prancing strides paced forward and wrapped the licky yellow stick round the centre of the well-bent and naked posterior in front of her.

  Rowena gasped as if she’d been thrust into icy water. The razor-like flash of fire across her tenderest flesh mounted maddeningly, until her breath came short. Before she knew it there was another dry whirr, like the sudden parting of curtains behind he
r, completed by a solid meaty snap, as the cane cut.

  ‘Auouuuu … OW!’

  ‘I said, ‘brace back your knees’.’

  ‘I’m trying, Miss.’

  ‘Well, try harder then.’

  If only she could get through three. Then she could hold it after the fourth, until the word of permission to get up came.

  T h h h w l c k k !

  ‘OH!’

  The lithe rod lashed round her and dug into the same line of scalding welt. Rowena struggled but as the pain rose and rose she put her hands behind her, feeling the solid hot ridge where the tip had fallen on the right. Slowly, as the pain drenched over her in another irresistible wave, she rose erect, her face clenched.

  ‘Bend over at once, Pledge. You have another coming.’

  ‘I caaa-n’t. It’s unspeakable. I’m sorry, but …’

  ‘Well, if you can’t take four, I’m going to have to give you lots of practice before first Hell Night.’

  Rowena closed her eyes. The word ‘Please’ was turned into a stifled whine in her mouth. She was aware of herself holding her behind and spasming the centre of her body like some coarse bump-and-grind dancer’s. Tears rushed to the corners of her eyes.

  ‘Please. I’m not used to being caned like that.’

  ‘Well, you’d better pluck up your courage for the next month, my dear, if you want to get into Beta Rho. It doesn’t hurt you any more than it does anyone else.’ Rather boredly the languid blonde tossed the cane onto the sofa. ‘We’ll try that four over before you hit the sack tonight.’

  ‘Please! Please let me off. I’ll take another.’

  Tears streaming down her cheeks she was preparing to put herself in position again. But with a shrug the slender figure had turned away – ‘I’m going to have a bath.’

  ‘Let me run it for you. Miss.’

  Peeling off her tights Rowena went quickly through and turned the taps, pouring in perfumed bath salts. The pain was manageable now but her skirt had somehow stayed rucked up behind and in the multi-mirrors she could see the three dark red, purpling streaks left by the cane, merging on the right. Her buttocks looked apart from her, heavy, guilty, and sullen; the three perfectly placed streaks were somehow strangely right.

  ‘I must say I was fairly accurate!’

  Alison Riley stood in the doorway, naked. She had a slim, tense, but liquid little figure and seeing her astride there, Rowena fell instinctively to her knees in front of the vision.

  ‘Please, Allison … Miss. Don’t give me another, tonight.’

  The Senior laughed. ‘I hit hard. Wrist. I’m known for it.’

  With a shudder Rowena threw her arms about the other as she knelt, burying her tawny head in the centre of the body so arrogantly on display there. With a flick of her tongue she brought the stiffened and already moistened morsel of gristle there to life. Alison fairly hissed.

  ‘Gee! That’s the love kiss. Now wait a moment.

  You’re not supposed to give me that … yet … until …

  though I guess just once. Cher-rist, you know how to reach it, kid. Where did you learn all this?’

  Rowena took her soft, bedewed lips away and in a solemn tone said, ‘The Convent’. She crossed herself, then fingered clear the clit from the lips and Alison arched her back in another intake of breath.

  ‘God. Yes. Suck. Lick. No, suck. Look here, Rowena, ho-hold it for a minute, will you. The ber-bath’s overflowing and as a matter of fact, s-s-sso am I!’

  *

  *

  *

  Humming to herself, and with her wide slacks swinging, Constance Wood entered the door marked on her ticket, at the words ‘Come in’.

  It was another building from that in which Rowena had suffered, but the lay-out of the two rooms was identical. A stocky Senior in bermudas, sneaks, and a sorority sweater was on the phone and motioned the newcomer to a chair. Connie sat down gingerly, reminding herself that if in a skirt she would have to remember to lift its tail. Then her mentor hung up the instrument and came forward grinning toothily, hand outstretched.

  ‘I’m Maud Haytor’, she said. ‘My job is to make you feel miserable for a month, I guess.’ Laughing despite herself, Connie took the other’s hand. For it was an infectious smile, from which a central tooth was missing, conveying a paradoxically sexy look to the wide curved mouth. Maud had sleek brown hair done in close curls.

  ‘I want to do everything I possibly can to please you, Miss.’ She had prepared this speech, a long time beforehand, for the incredible moment when she should be accepted to pledge for Beta Rho. ‘I hope you will be satisfied with me, and I hope you’ll punish me properly if I fail you in any way.’

  ‘I will’, said Maud Haytor quickly.

  ‘It’s been the greatest ambition of my life, to be rushed for Beta Beta Rho.’

  ‘Good. Well, let me show you over.’

  ‘Thank you, Miss.’

  ‘Actually you can call me Maud, in here.

  Personally I find it a fairly draggy name. My father was in a Tennyson bag when we kids were born; I have a sister called Guinevere.’

  ‘For real?’ Constance laughed. She was relaxing nicely.

  ‘This is where you can keep your things.’ The Senior threw open a door on a bank of dresses, already brought over. ‘And this, here, is a sort of a broom closet, kinda. I keep my junk and, and things in here.’

  Peeking, Connie discerned two tennis rackets, a sun-lamp, what seemed to be a fishing rod, and then what seemed to be an ordinary rod. She looked at its soulless yellow length for several seconds. Its predatory gleam made her skin goose.

  ‘Everything ready for the frosh, I see.’

  ‘It’s a lovely juicy new one. You keep it waxed.’

  ‘It looks horribly long.’

  ‘Oh, the ones at the House are longer still. You’d be surprised at how even an inch increases the swing, and sends up the sensation.’

  ‘I’ll bet. What’s that?’ She pointed to a strip of thick, almost black leather hanging from a hook in the closet wall.

  ‘Scottish tawse or tailed strap. Up there they found that a strap doesn’t really hurt until it’s cut into strips at the end and toughened a little. You can do good work with that slice of beef.’

  ‘Ouch!’ Connie gave a goosey shudder as she followed the other; she felt somehow over-conscious of her own bottom in the clinging slacks.

  They completed their tour in the bathroom.

  ‘I guess that’s about all’, said the Senior, staring absently about. ‘There was this problem with your hair. Sandy called over.’

  ‘The House Matron? How kind of her.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Maud was opening drawers, searching.

  ‘Wants me to help you style it.’

  ‘Oh, that’d be swell’, responded the freshman, pleased. She pirouetted in front of the mirror, swinging her dark blonde crop. She was proud of her hair and to have this interest taken in her at once

  … She held out a strand. ‘I think these are too light. Now …’

  She broke off; the Senior was standing behind her with scissors and a clipper.

  ‘I don’t need a cut. Thank you.’

  ‘Take your clothes off, would you.’

  ‘My clothes?’ Since the other merely nodded at her puzzlement Connie smiled and said, ‘Okay, gladly’, and quickly doffed the little she had tossed on. She stood buck naked before the triple mirror, her big breasts moving.

  ‘Those really are remarkable nipples, Constance.’

  ‘I always did have big ones.’

  ‘No, but these are magnificent.’ The older girl pressed, judgingly, the thick stub of one between finger and thumb and Connie bridled, smiling.

  ‘Sensitive?’

  ‘Sure’

  ‘Tell you what. I’m going to ring this pair.’ She started searching in a jewel case on the makeup table. ‘Dammit, I’ll swear I had some nipple rings somewhere.’

  ‘Earrings?’ said Connie in alarm. ‘I’m
not pierced.

  At least, not there.’

  ‘No, silly. Look. Here they are.’ She held up two bands of lacey, latticed gold, exquisite in design.

  ‘Oh, they’re lovely’, said the girl with another voluptuous shudder. She could see that they were lightly elasticized in some manner, for grip, and thrust out her proud chest boldly.

  ‘Only just go on.’

  ‘Press. Please. Oh.’

  ‘Boy, your kids are going to know they’ve got something in their mouths when they milk. That’s for sure.’ The Senior fitted the second over the roughened and erected stump of the left nipple.

  ‘There. Now you’re ringed. You wear these all the month, to remind you of me. No bras at all.’

  ‘Won’t they come off?’

  ‘Shouldn’t. They seem to be exerting pressure.

  And you’ll feel if they do. No, you’re one of the lucky ones, Connie. You’re going to have your character really tested here. Innermost, that is, you have no character for a month. You’re ostracized from feelingful function for a period. You’ll find it quite strange. You’ll float with the wind, drown in the sea. Mostly’, concluded the Senior drily, after her lapse into lyricism, ‘mine. Now let me fix that hair for you.’

  ‘Oh, will you. Thanks a whole heap, Maudie.’

  ‘Stand up there.’

  In smiling bafflement Constance looked at the low white bench, or painted locker, indicated, on which had been spread a towel. She stood up on it, her legs slightly parted, and Maud Haytor approached, clipping the scissors in a businesslike way.

  ‘That’s not bad at all. In fact I think it’s rather charming. I like the way you’ve clipped it in that fan shape, on top. That’s very attractive. But it needs clearing at the sides, and a good part.’

  Constance Wood was a girl who blushed little but profoundly, from the depths of her psyche. And a slow bruising red was suffusing her cheeks now.

  ‘It’s this shag at the bottom that’s untidy.’

  ‘Oh no’, the girl got out slowly. ‘You mean …’

  Maud glanced up sternly. ‘I have to present you.

  All Dorm Sisters have that task for their charges.

  They’re responsible for appearance. No, this is all very lovely and dry.’ The scissors snipped and a curl fell, floating. ‘Turn round and part your legs. Show me your bottom. Those lovely legs of yours are put on rather wide apart, and, yes, it is distinctly thick there. I see what Sandy means. Now put your thighs together. I’ll bet that thicket comes through even then … yes, what did I say. Hmmm’, she said thoughtfully, ‘I hate to lose such healthy growth. I had the same problem, too. Maybe why they picked on me. Tell you what we’ll do. We’ll clean it up at the sides, give you a part, and make a feature of this thing.’ She gave the lower hairs a playful tweak. ‘Crimp or set, what you decide. Look.’