When furiously flushing Connie turned, the Senior had stripped off her bermudas and panties and was inclined over the basin, feet planted firmly apart.
Maud had the muscular calves of the runner she was and her strong thighs merged into solid, downy buttocks which were almost the opposite to the younger girl’s. But it was not at these that the latter was staring, so much as at the rich silky quiff of inky hair that curled back through the parted legs and up into the shadowy groove behind, like some Mephistophelian tail.
‘Aren’t I the furry one?’ said the Senior with a chuckle. ‘But now let’s get to work.’ She pulled up a stool, gave a critical look up at the centre of her charge’s body, posed directly above her, and started to snip. For some reason slow, glutinous tears began to course down Constance Wood’s soft cheeks, in hue close on purple now. At the same time a strange, compulsive heat flooded all her limbs as Maud Haytor snipped and clipped.
‘And now for the part’, came briskly five minutes later. ‘Lie down, with your bottom on the edge.’
In a daze Connie lay on the bench, her head back and pillowed on another towel there. She eased herself until her behind was at the end, her feet on the tiling floor. Maud was busying herself at the basin. She glanced back once – ‘Legs right apart. I’m afraid I want that pert little pussy right on display.’
‘What are you going to do now?’
‘You have a sweet little slit, Connie, and it’d be a shame not to define it. You’ve no idea how sexy that can look in a bikini, tight silk over the bulge with just a hint, the merest indication of the lips.
It’s what I might call rather hard on all the boys in the neighbourhood.’ With a laugh she turned, holding in one hand a bowl of man’s shaving soap and in the other a brush. Constance supposed it was a shaving brush, though she had never seen one like it since this was long and thin. ‘I work better like this’, said the Senior, slinging a leg across the bench and facing the centre of her operations. This she swiftly began to lather.
As she felt the warm stroke of the brush Connie lay voluptuously eased. Maud worked gently with every now and then a slick wet stroke right up the centre. Constance found herself widening her legs, first to facilitate the other’s task, and then just to widen her legs. There was a heat behind her eyes.
Perhaps it was just that she was dazzled by the light above, which poured down on the bent back over her. Maud’s underbuttocks were richly shadowed, her sex fleeced. In fact, her ripe young rounds were not merely downed, but – she could see now – quite crossed with a tracery of hair. Connie never had seen anything like it before. They chatted amicably together.
‘All we Dorm Sisters have records on our pledges, you know. There was this thing about you being gang-fucked.’
‘Yes. I never have felt much about boys thereafter.’
‘I think we’ll put that right for you okay. We hate brutality at Brierton. That’s precisely why I’m going to give you six strokes with that whippy little cane before. you go to bed tonight.’
Connie shuddered. Her hands were moving over, kneading her breasts, rubbing the ringed nipples.
‘Hey, go easy with … what’s in that soap you’re using, anyway?’ The brush, twisting up her crease like an eel, flipped up her clit and caused her to arch her spine. Doing so she caught sight of what seemed to be several faded traces drawn across the young buttocks above her.
‘Mer-Maud, may l ask you something?’
‘Go right ahead.’
‘Can I touch?’
‘Okay.
‘Here. Were you … punished there?’
‘Oh that. That was weeks ago. It was entirely my fault. I failed to show for an inter-sorority run.
Clean forgot, as a matter of fact. I got ten, in front of the House.’
‘So … you get punished, too.’
‘Absolutely. Of course, it’s all very democratic.
Done by vote and all that.’
‘But, didn’t it hurt?’
‘Terrifically. However, I got it off my conscience.
I atoned. I haven’t had to worry about it since.’
‘Maud.’ Suddenly, as if coming to her senses, Connie realized that the warm wet brush was worming up inside her, that her pelvic section was bucking like a bronco, her feet trying to crawl up the side of the bench and that her arms were around the hips in front of her. ‘You lather … good.’
‘Has anyone ever told you that you have sexy soles to your feet?’
‘But that … after all … you don’t need to … oooh
… for five minutes or mmmmmore … my spot must be
…’
‘And is’, confirmed her mentor positively.
‘Maud, I’m afraid you’re r-r-r-r-reaching me …’
With a last quick whisk the Senior stood up straight. ‘I would put it in the past tense’, she said, surveying the pumping hips. ‘Reached.’ From the basin she retrieved a razor. ‘For this part of it, kid, I need to be steady. I’m going to sit on your face. It won’t be the first time a pledge has been used as a cushion. The psych is right. All you need do is keep still.’
As the strong hips widened above her, Connie shut her eyes; she felt in a total ecstasy, relieved, submissive. Soft pressure on her forehead. She chuckled, and said, ‘There’s nowhere for my nose.’
‘If you look carefully, Pledge, you’ll see a purse with a silken lining. The hair may tickle but I’ll like it if you sneeze.’
‘But I shan’t be able to breathe’, she protested, trying to laugh.
‘You will if you keep your mouth wide open. And, and reciprocate.’ With a hiss of pleasure the Senior lowered herself completely, leant forward and began to shave the foam. ‘Gee, you were certainly copious, Constance. Well, a new kind of lather-shave, I guess.’
*
*
*
Pretty, if short-sighted, Melissa Hope-Trumpington was faring less happily, however.
Entering the room assigned her, on the other side of campus, she had found it empty and darkened.
After reflection she put on the lights and, seeing her things arranged on a table by one wall, decided to settle down to her homework.
It was thus studiously employed that she was surprised by the flushed and freckled Senior who burst into the room, humming, some minutes later, and wearing riding rig – cord breeches, flashing black boots with signs of earth on their insteps, coat and velvet jockey cap, under which her hair was tucked.
Melissa stood up at once.
‘So you’re my plaything pledge. I’m Diana Carruthers’, said the girl with a mild British accent.
‘I’m happy to meet you, Miss.’
‘Call me Diney. Everyone does. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to greet you but I had to muck out. You know.
You have a horse here? No. Well, we all have to groom our own, and do the chores. My mare was playing up and I fear I had to give her a bit of a lesson. Yes, I’m afraid I left that minx golden-lipped and nicely galled, not to mention some salutory licks across her drum-taut rump with this.’
She tossed a lanky black switch to the sofa, on which it danced a second. Melissa found her eyes on it apprehensively. ‘It was partly the figging responsible.’
‘The?’
‘Never had to fig a horse 7’
‘No.’
Shucking off her jacket, and revealing herself in mannish checked vest, the energetic Senior shrugged. ‘Stable boys usually do it. Here we have to do everything ourselves. Best way of learning.
Ginger suppository up the anus. Makes ‘em keep their tail erect. Also enlivens them considerably.
Take off my spurs.’
Melissa moved to obey. Kneeling in front of the spraddled boots she could see that the rowels were cruelly sharp and, yes, flecked with blood. But the other kept up a non-stop monologue.
‘I like to be fit as a fiddle. In prime condition.
Belly on my backbone, y’know. Ride every day. I say, you do have lovely legs. Hell, I d
idn’t say screw them up, I said take them off.’
‘I’m sorry, Miss, I’m a bit short-sighted.’
‘That’s better. You’ll clean and polish those for me for tomorrow.’
‘Yes, Miss.’
‘Now come and stand here.’
Melissa’s apprehension was increased when she saw that the well-built Senior had rolled up her sleeves. She had also lit a thin cigar and was puffing at it pensively.
‘There’s certainly plenty of you. Over six, I’d say.’
‘Six one in my stockings’, said Melissa, not without pride.
‘And most of it leg’, said the other admiringly.
But it was the admiration one accorded an animal, and Melissa was beginning to feel intensely uncomfortable. And when the other told her to turn round she felt a flutter in her chest. ‘Lovely willowy can. Trim and springy. Excellent over the jumps, I’ll bet. Were you ever screwed by a stable-boy?’
‘No.’
‘You’ve been sitting on that skirt, haven’t you?’
After a moment Melissa said, ‘I’m afraid so.’
‘With a name like that I imagine you’re a limey.
Or were.’
Melissa shook her head. ‘My g-g-grandfather.’
‘Well, I’m first generation. And I have a horrible confession to make, Melish old bean: I just love to wallop a seat like yours. We got it all the time, you know, and I can’t say as it does us any harm. We’re not exactly a nation of perverts, I believe, and the word sadism is one I seldom allow to pass my lips.
Now turn round and let’s get down to brass tacks.’
She added, ‘Or rather, sassy backs.’
When Melissa turned the flutter rose to her throat. The smiling Senior was holding at each end the rapier-lean black switch; its glossy gleam held Melissa’s eyes riveted.
‘For failing to curtsey when I came in – do you want to put yourself down for a Demerit, or get it over with here?’
‘Wer-with that?’
‘Whalebone. It stings – at least my pony seemed to think so – but it doesn’t break the skin.’
Hecticly – it was all happening much too fast –
Melissa heard herself blurting, ‘I guess … I suppose
… I mean, thank you, Miss, I’ll take it here.’
‘That’s the Beta Rho spirit. Come and bend over, dearie. Like this.’
There was a demonstration, by the snugly breeched bottom, and before she knew it Melissa found herself bent at a little more than right angles over her own table, arms stretched in front of her, legs set well together. She plucked off her glasses and buried her head between her arms, damned if she’d let this Senior of whom she was feeling increasingly afraid see her reactions. Her short black hair fell forward. Thanks to her height the edge of the table touched her thighs and to lay her torso comfortably along the table top meant to arch her lower back, thus giving an appealing pout to her posterior. This was quickly peeled of its skirt, and Diane (‘Diney’) Carruthers gave an appreciative whistle. Melissa was glad she had on glamorous undies.
Actually all she had on were dark nylons tautly, and closely, tethered to the thinnest stretch lace panty imaginable. Its transparent skin did scarcely more than give her own a roseate glow, holding the cheeks up firmly for the whip. The seemingly endless, unmatchable limbs that were Melissa’s merged insensibly, with a fluid grace, into their respective halves above, bisected as these were by a furrow to which the stuff still closely adhered. It was, in fact, impossible to discern the exact juncture of limb and hip, were it not for the fatty vulval fig which pouched between the widening there, in sateen reinforcement.
‘America the beautiful’, said Diana softly. ‘I wouldn’t want to touch it. I’ll only pull it tight.’
She yanked the waist a trifle higher and stood back.
Melissa took a breath.
‘How many, please?’ she asked in a muffled tone, or groan.
‘I’ll let you off with three.’
The air rippled and the whalebone sliced the flesh like a blade.
‘Hoooo!’
It was unspeakably worse than she’d expected, but before she could get her breath back the second had flashed across, and through, her. She was half standing when the third met her seat.
‘Aaaaow!’
She arched, grasping, blowing with pain.
‘It hits a peak after about ten seconds’, said the Senior softly. ‘Jump about all you like. It’s good conditioning.’
Melissa lifted one leg after another, fighting for breath. She couldn’t see too well but she could distinguish the aching length of the black tormentor prodding at the top of one boot. She distinguished it with intense respect.
‘Christ, that hurt.’
Enter that in your book.
‘When you’re ready we’ll pay off the three for sitting on your skirt.’
‘God. Can’t I … may I get a glass of water first?’
‘Right ahead.’
But the black eel was waiting for her when she came back.
This time she lay across the table more limply and the lace-clad rounds cringed to the whistle of the biting bone.
‘Uuunh! … haaaaa! … oh!’
Somehow this time she kept from crying out, restricting herself to stifled grunts of pain. The last cut, however, had been a particularly thoughtful one, winding into the tender skin above the fold and as she stood up she realized it had taken her on to a new level of pain. She hopped blindly in place for a second, hissing, then took a skipping step across the room, tripped and fell, writhing. When she sat up she was aware of the cigar-smoking Senior standing above her. ‘Diney’ Carruthers had taken off her boots and, yes, her saddle; so far as still squirming Melissa could vaguely perceive, she was just about bare but for her waistcoat, or vest. She still carried her switch, however.
‘You’ve no idea how delightfully you wriggle, Melissa. If I didn’t know the power of my little tickler here, I’d Say You were putting it on. Such ecstasy! I’m afraid you’re going to have to learn much more self-control in the days to come. It’s the essence of a Brierton girl. Because, you see, you happen to be … sitting on your skirt again!’
Melissa moved to her knees. Her hands went to one side and she took her skirt off and folded it neatly. At this moment she felt she would do anything, anything in the whole wide world, not to feel the agony of that whalebone switch again.
‘Here.’ From the mists above something was held out to her. ‘This is my vibrator. Would you put it in, please. I told you I like thrashing.’
Melissa received a phallic length in her right hand. It was thick, strong, sculpted and seemed to have a slight curve at the tip.
‘The switch is at the base. I’ll tell you when to turn it on. And turn me on, too.’
‘Put it in … where?’
‘Put it up me, silly.’ Parting her legs even further, the Senior chuckled creamily. ‘And by up me I mean right up. This baby is longer than the real thing, it’s artificially loaded, and when it shoots you feel it right behind your eyeballs. No stable boy can match that, so far as I’m concerned.
Now shove it up, frosh.’
Cunningly Melissa inquired, ‘Do I get three more after?’
‘Not if you do this well.’
Melissa moved, groping. She pressed upwards until checked by a cursing, laughing cry, ‘You idiot!
THAT’S THE WRONG HOLE!’
*
*
*
‘Do you like meat?’ asked the girl with the high piled hairdo, leaning with her back against the bedroom door.
‘Meat?’ said Joan Mason, wondering.
‘You see’, and her great eyes wandered, ‘I do have this problem.’
They were talking in lowered voices in the Senior’s room allotted Joan. There had seemed to be no one inside and so Joan had walked into the pleasant Swedish-modern interior, with its subdued lighting. A lot of girlish clothes were tossed around. Her own things had c
ome across, she could see, but there was no sign of any presence –
until the far door opened softly and this gorgeous creature with the languid air had come round, closed it, and leaned back, eyes shut.
‘I’m Avery Congreve. I imagine you’re Pledge Mason. I’m sorry if I seem a trifle distrait, but it’s been rather gruelling, as a matter of fact.’
What has, Joan wanted to ask, but refrained. Her hostess had on a black gauze shortie nightgown that just covered her front, and that was all. She had a perfect figure.
‘I just don’t care for it. Never have.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t follow. Miss.’
‘Oh don’t call me that, please. I want to be friends. Besides, from what I can gather you’re older than me, actually. Also I understand you’ve been married.’
‘And divorced’, said Joan firmly.’ Too bad, honey. But right now I do have this problem on my hands, and I wondered’, this with another roll of glossy eyes, ‘if you could … lend me a hand. Or rather, mouth.’
‘What’s the trouble exactly?’ Joan asked in her best no-nonsense tone of voice.
‘You don’t have to if you don’t want to, honey.
But, as you know, there is this regulation about no boys after six and I do have one in there right now, as a matter of fact. Works in the stables.
‘And he’s stubborn as a mule and he won’t go unless … hell, let me show you, dear. I took the trouble of covering over his face so’s there wouldn’t be any identification.’
Finger on lips she tiptoed inside the bedroom holding Joan’s hand behind her. The room was in semi-darkness, but from the doorway behind them enough light flowed forward to show the incoming freshman a pair of muscular male legs spread wide on the sheets of the extremely tousled bed. As Avery had indicated, the boy had been covered with a loose sheet roughly from the waist up.
Sorority of Submissive Girls Page 3