‘I see what you mean about … meat’, said Joan Mason at last. She tick-tocked up to the foot of the bed with her mentor, smoothing her fitting Chanel tweed. From the centre of the dormant body a sky-high erection quivered impatiently.
‘Looks just like a space shot, doesn’t it?’
whispered Avery beside her. ‘Only I’m afraid it’s not about to go off. And that, my dear, is the trouble.’
‘It certainly is large’, Joan said, bending reverently over the dewy monster, ‘I’d imagine you’d know you’re full up with that inside you.’
‘Hm-m. You can say that again. I’ve already had it three times this afternoon and the last occasion I’ll swear it touched my throat. Oh you!’ she said with a peevish pat that swung the great knob before them. The boy groaned, and moved. ‘You’re insatiable, aren’t you. The problem is, it needs eating, or it won’t go. You don’t suppose you could melt it down for me, do you? He’ll never leave otherwise.’
‘I could have a try’, said Joan Mason gamely.
‘Oh, would you! Oh, thanks a mill, darling. It isn’t that I mind meat so much, or even potatoes, but somehow I’ve never been able to stomach the sauce!’
‘Here goes. For Beta Rho.’
So saying, she approached with a determined look. First, she grasped the base of the angry-looking animal and wet it with saliva. Then she slipped it in her small mouth, where it at once gave a trout-like leap. The boy groaned again, this time more loudly.
‘Shut up, Sam. Just relax.’
Expertly now Joan teethed the underbelly, every now and then her tongue skidding whimsically round the corona like a kid licking cream off a pop.
The boy was groaning regularly, drawing up his legs and rolling, so that she had to kneel on the bed to reach him. Then she began a slobbering swallow, up and down, of the sensitive rod.
‘Jeepers, Joan. How you can get all that in your little mouth, you demon you. Doesn’t it tickle your tonsils, or something?’
Frowning in concentration, Joan was now breathing hard, holding the base in one hand and milking the boy’s balls with the other. The effect was electric and she had to part her knees for balance, short skirt hiked and head right down.
‘Cheeee …’
She was sliding it along one cheek now and the boy was jamming up his hips so that her neat head rocked back.
‘Ooooh, mother’, he groaned.
Gently, Avery lifted the skirt onto the working girl’s back, revealing overtensed stockings, snaps and panties.
Joan Mason paused in her task to peer round. Her face was red and her lips wet, but her expression was one of absorption.
‘Anything wrong?’ she inquired.
‘Just thought that’d give you more room to move.
Also, you do have a sweet ass.’
‘I fear my spouse thought so, too.’
‘How are things at base?’
‘I’d say all systems are set to go.’
‘I’ll say’, came in a muffled groan from under the sheet.
Both girls looked at the bobbing spear, its salivated Cyclops eye winking, and Joan said,
‘Keeps hitting the roof of my mouth.’
Avery patted the trim behind. ‘Go to it doll.
Remember Beta Rho.’
The girl plunged down her head once more, slurping lustily along the rod’s rampant length. It had an effect at once. The slick fish jumped like a live thing. Joan was compelled to hold it in both hands, so as to nip gently round its tip in peace.
‘Christ God Almighty!’
‘Unless I’m very much mistaken’, said Avery, watching the bulging spasm at the root, ‘someone not a million miles from here is going to get a mouthful.’
Joan’s eyes rolled towards her, then her cheeks were sucking in and her throat was working frantically. The boy arched up, moaning, until she was kneeling erect; she held the pumping rod until with a wild jerk it escaped her, spattering her face with its final furious jets. Joan Mason staggered back off the bed, rubbing one eye and falling forward.
‘You der-don’t have a Turkish towel handy, do you?’
Avery had slapped the subsiding snake angrily
– ‘You’re incorrigible. Spitting in a lady’s eye like that. Come into the bathroom, sweetie, and I’ll fix you up. You were swell.’
In the big mirror there Joan stared at her sperm-streaked face, which the Senior began to dab at with a Kleenex. Somehow she seemed to have slipped out of her shortie, showing two big slabs of breast that rolled with her movements.
‘I must have swallowed half a pint. Gruelling, did you say? Gruel describes it exactly.’
‘Oh he’s always like that. Terrible. I have it running down my thighs for hours afterwards.
Fortunately, one can flush it out, and does.’ She pointed to the low broad bidet. ‘Every bedroom at Brierton is provided with one. The goo that goes down there.’ She rolled her eyes expressively again. ‘Oh damn, he got some on your suit. Look, why don’t you take it off. In fact come to that, why don’t you take everything off ? You’ll be far more comfortable like that.’
‘All right.’
Joan obeyed and after a moment the two girls confronted each other, bare but for their heeled shoes.
The older, though junior, girl said: ‘If I may say so, you do have superb breasts. In fact, I’d say that they’re the most magnificent I’ve ever seen.’
‘Think so? Thanks.’ The other thoughtfully tugged a nipple and the great dug elongated obediently. ‘Overlarge for comfort, that’s what the mammaplasticians call them, but the boys don’t object. That cretin’, she tossed her head back towards the door, from the other side of which uncertain stampings were now proceeding, ‘even likes to grease them up and gouge himself off between them. I find that messy, splashes my neck.
Did your ex ever do that to you, Joan.’
‘I fear not. Nature was sparing to me in that department. I was cheated.’
‘Oh no, they’re lovely, too. Though I must say’, she went on, squeezing her huge over-healthy mounds together, ‘mine are almost as big as those little sitty-bills of yours. Talking of which, would you mind turning round.’
Joan obliged. She had indeed a cute can. If small, it was high, round and handsome, pert and well-formed, with the two cheeks close.
‘Now bend down’, she was told. ‘Touch your toes.’
She did as bid. Here we go, she thought, wondering if there were enough room in the place for the Senior to get a sufficient swing. The Dorm Sister’s next words confirmed her charge’s worst suspicions.
‘I suppose you know that pixyish little podex of yours is going to get a fair ration of lickings in the month to come.’
‘Yes’, said Joan meekly, inverted.
‘We live in his horrible over-violent society, and this symbolic activity of ours in the sororities is a way, a sort of surrogate really, of working it out, or working through it. Odd, isn’t it, that England, the country of le vice anglais, should also be famous as one of the most law-abiding nations in the world.’
As she spoke Avery Congreve moved forward, until her moist mons pressed against the taut backside, on which it began to rub gently.
‘I shall want to know everything about you, you see. You’re going to be supervised in a way you never have before. For instance: I want to see your stool.’
She added – ‘Shit.’
‘In the morning?’
‘Whenever. Everything, in short, that comes out of you and goes into you. You’re going to be completely …’ There was a suck of breath …
‘owned! I might syringe your ears or your ass.
Masturbation, too.’
‘How do you mean?’ asked Joan, after a moment.
She was getting tired of bending over.
‘It’s encouraged, here. In fact, it’s a must.’ The girl gave a thrilling laugh. ‘My dear, there’d be a hell of a lot of feminine frustration under these ivy-clad roofs if it weren’t for that.’
/> ‘But … no sex?’
‘It creates problems. Disorder. Also destroys the vestality of the place. Angel, may I ask a favour?’
To herself Joan Mason smiled; what she said was, ‘Sure.’
‘Are you as good with girls as with boys?’
‘You mean?’
‘Ace in the hole. That titillating tongue of yours, to be exact, darling. Have you licked a girl?’
‘Never have’, said Joan Mason, feeling the rubs on her derrière rising in tempo, ‘but I’m game to try.
For the sake of the sorority, of course.’
‘Oh, you’re a trooper.’
Once on her knees in front of the straddled centre of the groomed body Joan realized how immensely one contrasted with the other. There was the piled hair, and made-up eyes, and juicy lips; and there was the strident slit – steamy, shaggy, voraciously wide. Instinctively she implanted on its inner depths a passionate kiss, eliciting above her head something close on a stifled howl.
‘Christ God, that’s the spot! Daaaahling There’s this … oooh, you’re impossible … it’s a thing called a Credit. No, keep up under it like that. Perfect! Pledges get one when they’re good.
I’m sorry I’m so wer-wer-wehhht! Oh, oh, oh, baby I’m boiling, bursting … an’ I’m awarding you a Credit r-r-r-right now … for s-s-s-service!’
Joan felt fists in her hair and this time female foam was on her face. She gasped and backed under the inundation, while Avery eventually sought a stool.
‘It’s all right’, she said laughing, as Joan washed herself off in the mirror, ‘they say it’s good for the complexion.’
‘They also say the other stuff’s perfect for a hangover. As a matter of fact, I think it is.’
‘Well, I’m afraid there was some of one mingled in the other.’
‘They tasted not dissimilar’, Joan Mason said, running her tongue over her lips. ‘I don’t mind it, actually.’
‘You don’t seem to.’
‘This bit … about a Credit. What was that, if I might ask?’
Avery nodded. She seemed to have slipped into a ruminative mood, sitting with widely-parted legs on the towelling covered stool, with which her dark, neatly clipped bush contrasted. ‘You can award a pledge a Credit. That means she gets off three strokes of her next punishment, or can take it on Friday night, if she wants. Opposite of a Demerit, sort of. I’ll put you down for one in the House tomorrow.’
‘Thanks’, Joan said. But she said it wryly.
‘What, not pleased?’
‘Oh yes, thank you very much.’
‘As a matter of fact’, yawned the other, ‘it makes strictly little difference whether you’re beaten or praised. For a month, my dear Joanie, you’re a random accident in the universe. You have no meaning. Like a stone. You’re … how can I put it …
outside the order of things. And that’s the biggest sacrifice you have to make. But let’s go back in.’
‘Won’t he be there?’
‘Hell no. Sam will have left immediately.’ She got up, peeked through and nodded. Then she led her charge into the comfortably-furnished bedroom which she flooded with subdued lighting. ‘Let me show you what I mean.’
They advanced to the rumpled double bed. ‘I’ll make it’, Joan said. ‘After all, if I’m going to have to sleep in it.’
But the other shook her head. ‘No. You sleep on the floor at my side. Skinny. And, no sheets.’
Joan saw a pile of hairy horse blankets on the floor on the far side. Above them, from a hook in the wall, hung a thong. Spider’s fingers tightened on her skull as Avery walked, her big breasts swinging, and took it off. At one end was a loop, obviously for the striker’s wrist. The stretch of brown leather, which was strangely circular, looked hard.
The other explained: ‘Cut off a skipping rope. It really punishes a lot.’ She swung it thoughtfully, bringing it down with a painfully taut rap across a leather pouffe. Joan Mason swallowed.
After a second she said, ‘If it isn’t too presumptuous, might I ask what I …?’
‘Yes ?’
‘What am I to be … chastised for, I mean?’
‘You!’ Avery Congreve rocked on her round heels a long moment. Then a generous smile split her features. ‘Oh my dear … I – you? No, no. I want you to give it me!’
*
*
*
To the resounding ‘Enter!’ from behind the door of Franklin 318 pert little Terry Sands plucked up courage, chucked out her chest and, crossing her little fingers, strode in with her tartan mini swinging over her tookie.
A well-built dark girl, about twice her size, lay on an exercise mat in the middle of the room, dressed in tennis things and pedalling the air furiously. She stopped when she saw who it was, and jumped athletically to her feet. She was a full head taller than Terry.
‘So you’re the sixteen-year-old.’
‘Yes. And you’re’, she barely breathed the words, her sparkling eyes lowered, ‘Miss Brooke. Aren’t you?’
‘Right first time.’
Teresa Sands glowed all over. This was more than she had ever dared to hope. Not only was Barbara Brooke Captain of the tennis team, she was a Praelictor at Beta Beta Rho, and an actual friend (it was well known) of, of … she hardly dared to think of such luck.
‘How did you know?’
‘I’ve seen you playing, Miss. And, and, I’ve seen you with …’
But it was too much for her, so great was her adoration.
‘With whom? Aramilla?’
Terry nodded, smiling. Surely there was some penalty for saying the name of the President herself of the so exclusive sorority she was hoping to enter. The most exclusive, the most select …
‘You’ll see her Friday’, said the other drily,
‘when you settle your sins. She may look as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth but she’s a tartar when she sentences. She likes to see uppity frosh get a flogging, and I must say, so do I. Now let’s take a look at what we have here. Take off your pants.’
‘You mean, altogether?’
‘Right off and fold them up neatly over there.’
Teresa blushed deeply when the cold, capable hands cupped under her twin cubs behind. She was proud of her high-slung fanny, which had attracted many a male glance, but there was something humiliating about the way it was being handled now, like a side of beef, or something.
‘Hm. You may be sixteen but this is a nice meaty pair. I don’t see why we should withhold any of the usual attention from it, do you? Let me show you what I have in store for this over-chubby section of your anatomy, frosh.’
The Senior strode to a closet, returning with two sleek long canes. Teresa stared at them in confusion, very much aware of how bare she was, beneath.
‘Were you whipped at home?’
‘My Daddy kept me in line, with a strop.’
The Captain of the Brierton tennis team gave a guffaw.
‘But I assure you, Miss, it won’t be necessary. I plan to be as good as gold while I’m a pledge. I’m fully conscious of the honour of being rushed in this way, and I only want to satisfy you.’
‘A charming speech, I’m sure. But I have an idea you’re already down in the Demerit book. A Commission.’ The freshman bowed her head. ‘I don’t know if you realize what our birches feel like.
Well, let me tell you. The birch is a wood that holds water. Our limbs are picked two days beforehand, by a Pledge designate, and if she doesn’t get them long enough, and straight enough, with at least a couple of tough buds at the tip, she’s down for Idle right there, herself. We soak them in pickle which hardens them no end, without robbing them of any of the resilience. A birch with plenty of swing to it can be made to sting terrifically. But it doesn’t bruise, it’s only a surface smart, and so one can give lots of cuts.’ All the time she was speaking the big girl was stroking, as if soothingly, the firm, stocky rounds of the furiously flushing teener. ‘As a Prae I’m sometimes called on to
swish, Fridays. And I assure you, Miss S., I’ll make these thick things of yours wish they were a damn sight smaller, even after five. Another Commission or two, and you’ll really be sorry. But now – just to be quite fair – I want you to know what’s in store for you right here.
Unfortunately we’re only allowed to use these thin canes in the Dorms, but that doesn’t preclude an improvement. Look.’
Crestfallen Terry turned. Something shone silvery at the end of one of those callous rods.
‘A steel tip. Hurts twice as much. I’ll give you one with each, just as advance warning, sort of. Lift up that absurd skirt and lean forward just a little.
So. Not too much.’
A whistling stroke thrashed into the fat.
The girl bit her lips against the cry, looking back with a squeeze of her eyes. It was infinitely worse than she’d expected, five times more telling than the strop.
‘Now for the tip.’
The second slice drove her tiptoe, on a strangled gasp, grabbing her right cheek with both hands.
‘Eeeee …’
‘See what I mean?’
The pain implanted by the vicious tip seemed to worry into her, like an asp, and she writhed, trying to throw it off.
‘Gosh!’ she exhaled at last.
Having tossed aside her rods the other looked at her, smiling. ‘I think you’re getting the point. Now let’s see your front. Um. Not bad. That we’ll shave tonight. It’s got to be bald.’
‘Ber-ber-ber …’
‘As a billiard-ball, my dear. You have one of those short low slits; you’re very lucky and it’d be a shame to hide it, really. It may be a bit bristly for your boyfriend.’
‘That’s Brad’, said the girl, still nursing herself at the rear.
‘Oh? Has he been up there, then? According to the records, you’re a virg. The only one of the five.’
Crimsoning, Terry pronounced emphatically,
‘And that’s the trouble, Miss. He won’t, though I want him to. Oh, he’s that stubborn.’
‘Well, I think we can sort that little difficulty out for you, too.’ She studied her pubescent charge affectionately for a second, then with a smile yanked her pigtail – ‘Bobby and Terry, eh. I’m sure we’re going to get along fine. Now let me show you round.’
Sorority of Submissive Girls Page 4
