‘Ou, that cane hurts’, said the younger, still feeling herself as she followed, but the other only laughed.
Terry followed the fine figure round in frank fascination. The slightly sweated tennis blouse adhered to the tapering back, the pleated skirt swung just over the rondures of a slumbrously splendid seat, clothed (as Terry knew, from her first sight of it cycling as she entered) in pantyhose of a pecan shade. By the time she had seen everything, including some odd-looking straps, she had fully recovered and, in spirit of girlish enthusiasm, looked forward to buckling to.
‘I’d better get down to these hems’, she said with a little determined frown, wondering when she could put her panties on again. ‘Gee, from what they told us in the House’ – the word fell off her lips with a most satisfactory familiarity – ‘we might as well just wear a shirt!’
‘Why don’t you’, came from the Senior, who had settled to a book on a chair, legs slung over its arm.
‘Put one on.’
‘Sure.’
Terry went to obey. When she came back from the bedroom moments later she did so slowly, like so much calendar art. She still wore her high heels and hose, but had doffed her black garter belt. The stockings stayed taut with cosmetic adhesive.
All else she had on was an abbreviated lumber-checked shirt, which scarcely covered her maidenly modesty, tug as she might.
‘Is this all right?’ she asked.
But the other didn’t deign to look at her. ‘Don’t be vain. Get on with your work.’
With a sigh Terry made to do so, settling to her sewing on the desk after having first entered the punishment in her book. The word settling did not quite describe the activity, however. For lifting up the tail of her shirt to plant her nubile and now well-wealed nates on the straight seat provided there, she found the latter to be curiously bristly and shifted instinctively. As there was no other recourse, however, she got to work with a will, saying to herself that she would repair the cushioning on the morrow.
But every now and then, as she leaned forward to her exacting task, a squeeze of her thighs made her jerk with a gasp when a bunch of bristle entered where Brad declined to go.
‘Stop fidgeting, frosh’, said the tennis skip unfeelingly.
‘This … seat. If I may say so, it’s so itchy-bristly.’
‘Nothing is forgotten in your training. Just sit still.’
So it was on purpose. Another evidence of the care taken to supervise them. Teresa threaded a needle, squinting with concentration. Ouch! It was as if … yes, as if she’d been goosed.
‘Oh. It’s so beastly itchy. Mayn’t I change it, please?’
‘If you fidget again, I’ll give you Restraint.’
Teresa tried again, gamely. But after another five minutes the seat pricked her right where that damned steel tip had fallen. She gasped and half-rose.
‘All right, you’, she heard behind her. ‘Stand out there.’
With a tingling feeling of excited anticipation the girl did as bid. It lifted her off the chair at least, and what was this Restraint? It couldn’t be as bad as another beating with that cane.
Barbara Brooke came back from the closet, this time carrying a leather belt, with brass buckles. It was heavy and thick and extremely wide.
‘Ever seen a saddle strap?’ she asked.
The girl shook her head.
‘This’ – she pointed to a thin strap that dangled from one of the brass loops in front. ‘It goes through your legs. Discourages undue motion, I think you’ll feel. We find they’re quite effective. Especially the ones with notches inside. Stand with your feet wide apart and relax yourself completely, it’s much better for you if you do.
The belt was buckled on her narrow waist so tight she gasped with the constriction. She felt rigid from ribs to hips. Then the Praelictor threaded the thin strap through her lips in front and drew it up the chink behind. Terry was aware of it going into a buckle there.
‘Take in your breath. Come on, a big one.’
‘Yeeech!’
For suddenly, behind her, the strap had been yanked up two holes or more and she felt as if she were being sawed in two. She tried to arch to relieve the pressure.
‘Now go and sit down and get on with it’, she was ordered.
The first step she took sent her head back with a gasp. Then she found that taking tiny, mincing paces was less painful and she resumed her seat for more sewing.
But this was very much worse. The cruel strap spread her cheeks, exposing their tender insides to the roughly bristled chair and, while it protected in a measure the most vulnerable of her insides, the soft lips were pushed out intolerably as she sat.
Tears nudged at her eyes as she worked and twice she stabbed her thumb with the needle. She couldn’t concentrate and it was a relief when the buzzer went at the door.
‘Go and see who it is, pledge.’
Terry sat up straight. As she did so she gave a fervent wince from the depths of her flesh.
‘Like this?’
‘How else?’
‘B-b-but I mean I’m … it’s…’
Barbara Brooke moved with the agility of the expert volleyer she was. From behind her recalcitrant pledge’s seat she inserted a thumb under the saddle strap in back, and yanked.
‘HHHHHHH … eeeeeee!’
Terry Sands stood up, panting.
‘Now. Do you want to get that bell, or the cane?’
‘Please. It’s cutting me in two.’
‘So will the stick.’
Slowly, safely, left after right, as if walking on eggs, and with her charming buttocks protestingly wobbling, the girl began her journey.
The Praelictor frankly chortled. ‘The only way to relieve the pressure, my dear, is to arch out your back. Tuck your cunt under you and make like you’re putting it up to be screwed from behind. There, that’s a whole heap better. Just you wait till I put a horsehair saddle on you, really tight.’
Tears were pouring down Terry’s crimson face as she opened the door and, striving to hide behind it, admitted a grinning youth in some sort of blue uniform who yodelled forward, sending his skimmer and a packet sailing to the sofa.
‘So it’s you, Tom’, said the Senior.
‘Your friendly messenger service, as ever, Ma’am.’ The boy threw her a pleased smile and a parodistic bow. Then he double-took at the sight of all the bounty trying to cringe behind the too-short shirt. ‘Hey, is this your pledge you told me about?’
‘Yes, and it’s not for you, my man.’
‘Wheee-whew!’ He wolf-whistled broadly.
Wishing the ground would swallow her, blushing Terry blushfully requested – ‘Might I … I think I’d like to be excused.’
‘And you got a saddle on her too, already.’
‘Please, Miss Brooke.’
‘This’, said her elder without noticeable interest, ‘is one Tom Langer. Tom, meet Terry.
Thomas is an Engineering Student at nearby Deardon’, went on the explanation. ‘With a side major in Fornication. At the moment he’s posing as a messenger service boy because he knows he can’t get into the college otherwise.’
‘He also knows’, returned the ogling youth, ‘that the Captain of the tennis team can’t get too much of it.’
‘She’s in training now, Tom.’
‘Training for what?’
‘Oh, you’re impossible. How often do I have to tell you I’m in my final half here, and I simply can’t afford last-minute expulsion. All right, but it’ll have to be a very quick one then.’
‘May I go?’ said Teresa in a small voice.
‘Where? To the potty? You’ll find it awfully difficult with that on, though it can be done, in front. No, you go and sit down and get on with your work and don’t you dare look up till we’ve finished.’
Red-faced and wretched the girl began her long voyage back. Barely half-covered by the tiny tail of the shirt her bottoms jumped sideways each step.
The youth wolf-whistl
ed again.
‘Boy! That’s a locomotion of real devotion.’
‘Isn’t it just’, said the Senior.
‘And marked up already’, he rejoined as the tail flipped up to sit.
‘Two strokes, that’s all. She hardly felt a thing.’
‘Bet it hurt her more than it did you, Barbs.’
There was a giggle. ‘Come on, you stiff-necked beast you. You’re not going to stick my pledge if you think you are. This is going to be a strictly in-out operation.’ As they passed behind the ducked head of the flushing teener, Barbara Brooke gave its pigtail another playful yank. ‘And don’t you dare to move, you.’ The two passed into the bedroom, whose door was left ajar behind them.
After that it was all a series of categoric instructions and commands, some practical advice as to position, in short, what the college President liked to call ‘a stern pursuit of the possession of knowledge’. The tears coursed down Terry’s pinkened cheeks as she listened.
‘On my back, with my legs straight up?’
‘Yeah, and together. Squeezes good that way.’
‘No, you don’t have to take my tights off, damn you, Tom. They’re open at the crotch.’
‘Slit at the slit, uh. Gee, I’ll say. Uunnhh!’
‘Ow! Oh! You might at least … ouh … wait just a … ough … hoo … no deeper, Tom …
it’s … I … Christ, you’re … thiiiiiiii …’
The girl listening looked blankly at the skirt lying before her. The muffled grunts, and guarded laughter, disturbed her intensely. Her bare chubbies pressed into the harsh seat cover and, together with that horrible divisive thong, made her feel she’d never been so humiliated before. A queer rippling sensation went down her spine. She tried to stick her tookie out as she’d been told, and found it helped relieve the pressure a little. After all, to enter Beta Rho was her fondest dream come true. There’d only be a month, and then …
‘Come on, spend, you bastard. We haven’t got all night. Spray it into me. I’ve come at least thrice, so far.’
A male groan. ‘When the position’, began the now-panting fake delivery boy, ‘and v-v-velocity of molecules are distributed … yeah, like that, grip good … absolutely at random, the en-en-entropy is
… COMPLETE!’
There was a hoarse cry, the bedsprings creaked hecticly, and silence. After which, in Barbara’s bland chuckle – ‘That’s the damnedest second law of thermodynamics I ever.’ She choked and gurgled and then there was total silence and then the sound of running water and the girl on the other side of their door tried to resume her work. She was hardly aware of it when they stood behind her.
The boy was doing up his buttons with a pleased grin on his face and Barbara … why, she, in Teresa’s considered estimation, looked about five years older. Her hair tumbled darkly on her bare, full shoulders and there was this sated expression on her face. What’s more, it was impossible not to see, to look at, the moist muff of hair that thrust so aggressively, so proudly, it even seemed, through the opening in the pantyhose between the legs. This was all she wore.
‘Eyes in the boat, Pledge. Been getting on with it nicely 7’
Terry Sands dragged her gaze upwards. ‘T-trying.’
‘But not much, eh. Didn’t they tell you that you usually stand up when a Praelictor enters the room?’
The girl got quickly to her feet. She did so with a grimace. ‘Sorry, Miss.’
‘What do they get for that, as a rule?’ asked the boy, incuriously.
‘Three’, said Barbara Brooke, her blue eyes giving Teresa’s a very level stare.
‘Is that all?’
‘It can be made to hurt.’ She paused. ‘Put out the chair, Pledge.’
The cupid’s bow of Teresa Sands’s soft mouth fell open. Her heart gave a lurch, under its fleshy protection.
‘And get the cane. The standard one will do.’
In the silence the youth’s grin widened slowly.
The teener stood with bent head; the tears squeezed in oily trickles over her rounded cheeks.
‘Please. You’re not going to ss-s-s-spank me in front …’
‘I’m not going to spank you. I’m going to cane you.
Three of the best, as hard as I can. It’ll do your soul good to have Tom watching, help teach you that you don’t exist right now. Besides, he’ll coach my forehand drive.’
‘But … I’ve never … my Daddy …’
‘Hurry up, Teresa.’
‘In the ber-ber …7’
‘You hit it first time. Nude as a slug behind, my dear.’
‘Oh please’, she begged.
‘For stalling you get extra.’
‘But I …’
‘Four.’
On a stifled sob the girl moved. Barbara Brooke folded her arms over her sumptuous chest as the hard, upright chair was placed out in the centre of the room, and the thin, evil-looking cane held out to her.
‘Bend over the back, and grip the rung at the bottom.’
‘Please, Miss. Mayn’t I … ?’
‘Five’, said the Senior coldly. Beside her the boy chuckled.
‘Never seen anyone less in a hurry about the affair, either.’
Trim Terry Sands approached the back of the chair and stood there with her legs together. To bend was something else again. Tearfully she reached forward as ordered, and bending fully grasped hold of the strut of the chair in front. As she did so she gave a pronounced ‘Ooooh!’ The saddle strap seemed fairly to divide her in half.
Almost at once the tail of her little shirt was flipped contemptuously on to her back by the cane, exposing her two jouncy yet firm buttocks, across which it had drawn two cruel lines.
‘Gee’, said the boy, who had placed himself to her right, ‘a saddle really spreads them, don’t it.’
‘Also discourages clenching’, said Barbara, on her victim’s left, giving a few businesslike swishes which made the thighs in front of her quiver in anticipation. ‘Straighten your knees and reach forward. I’m going to come right under you now. Feel well balanced, comfortable?’
‘Y-yes’, sobbed the waiting girl.
‘What’s the extra if she moves?’ asked the boy.
‘Two. Three if she gets up before permission.’
Please. God. Terry had never felt so awful in all her life, so exposed, so shamed, so degraded. She might have been made of stone or was, the way they talked about her, behind her childishly bent
… behind. Tears dropped off her cheeks onto the rug under her eyes and she tried to concentrate her whole attention on a pattern there, saying to herself as she had before a stropping from her father – a hot oil burn, that’s all, it’s no worse …
She heard the springy pad of the Praelictor’s pace behind her and then the thin troubling of air which rose to a high dry lisp and then she heard the snap of contact, less loud somehow than she’d expected, as the cane whipped into her flesh. She heard herself gasp, before being aware of doing so, and her first thought was – it’s bearable. Then the true pain hit, with a great vibrating thrill so that it was all she could do not to reach behind and try to pluck it out, physically, there. She exhaled breath lengthily.
‘That’s good contact’, said the boy.
‘Yes. Some say it’s twice as bad with a saddle.
You get impact right inside the cheeks. How was it, for form?’
‘Okay. But you ought to follow through more.
And you’re hitting short.’
Terry jerked at the second cut, but did not cry.
She felt her knees rubbing involuntarily together with the new pain but there was now a positive task before her consciousness, that of combating the violence to her body; all her senses seemed rushing to this role, the pattern before her eyes took on a new vividness, a dynamic life of its own.
‘Ouuuu …’
T h w c l k k k !
‘HOU!’
The third was a diabolic flame, lashing full across her heinie; she had
never known its like before.
‘That was much better’, said the boy.
‘Yes. I was hitting from too far off. That time I really felt the transfer of weight at impact.’
‘Mm. Amazing how they do wriggle.’
‘A couple more like that and I think I can give her quite a hard time.’
‘Me too’, said the boy.
Terry kicked out with her right leg as the fourth belted into her backside. The pain seemed unspeakable and she spasmed in it speechlessly a second, receiving the fifth and final stroke right under her parted can. It was the toughest of the lot and drove her forward, physically, over the chair.
She yelped like a puppy, writhing there. If all her weight had not been forward like that she would have straightened; but that, and the reminder of the strap at her centre, kept her hanging on the chair back, as it were, panting with pain and clasping her inflamed behind with cold, moist hands.
There was a tinkling laugh-’All right, you can get up, Pledge.’
‘And this is the best part’, said the boy.
‘The moment of honey, eh.’
Lips drawn over her teeth, her face in a furious contortion of agony, the girl stiffened like a doll, kneading her posteriors in her palms. She had forgotten everything – her modesty, her sex even –
she was just a thing of pain.
‘Aaaahhhhhhhhhh!’
‘Don’t show off’, said Barbara Brooke, smiling.
‘That’s quite enough, Teresa. Now see our kind guest out.’
It seemed the hardest thing she had ever done: to wrench her hands from that flaming skin, and think, and will herself to walk. To go to the door and open it for that oafish, grinning stranger and stand back to let him leave, still unconsciously rubbing behind.
‘Takes the starch out of them a bit’, he said consolingly.
Barbara Brooke replied, ‘Never was much in them in the first place. Now off with you, Tom, and don’t darken these doors again, until I go.’
‘Or are ready to come?’
‘Get out!’
With the door closed the teener paused. She looked at her lovely elder for a long second.
Barbara Brooke had her arms folded again and there was an affectionate smile on her friendly lips.
Sorority of Submissive Girls Page 5
