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It was only the second month into my freshman year at Wisteriamont College, when I first noticed the hand lettered signs start to appear on campus. They were simple posters, for the most part, taped to lampposts with a few Greek letters and a single word, “RUSH”. I’m not from Kansas, but even if I were, in this day and age everyone knows those simple Greek letters identify collegiate fraternities and sororities throughout the world. Those secretive, fun and games organizations that incidentally and ultimately lead to privilege and professional connection, long after cap and gown day is past and you’re off into the world of commerce with your little diploma and your wits to get you by. They’re especially unique in that they forge common links that cross a variety of fields, persuasions and disciplines, populated by people one might not necessarily meet at an influential level in the course of one’s career.

Until then, fraternities… well, sororities hadn’t figured prominently into my personal career path at all… at least… not consciously. I knew all throughout high school that good social connections and contacts matter when an honor or selection comes down to a choice between two people of equal ability or scholastic achievement. That’s part of the reason I tried out for the cheerleading squad, ran for student council and lobbied to be high school prom queen. Unfortunately, I did not get elected as queen, but I was chosen to her court, which turned out to be close enough and I made the cheerleading squad, four years straight and was recording secretary on council. It was good stuff to have in my school records and gave me creed on the street. Of course, the greatest value in accumulating those brownie points, would manifest during applications to colleges and universities.

I studied very hard and I got good grades; I was always on the honor role and did graduate in the top of my class. It was not easy. I spent a lot of time with my nose buried in the books. Admittedly, some of my friends thought I should have spent more time with them partying and just hanging out. At the time, sometimes it did sound like fun… you know… get into the whole date and party scene, but I always had a plan for the future. I know that there is a wide-open world out there now and if I stick at it, I can be a success in anything I set my mind to do. My friends were mostly cool, I love them dearly and wish them well, but after high school, I wasn’t going to settle for some meaningless clerical job at the local bank or worse. Some of my girlfriends would end up married, barefoot and pregnant. Non of that is for me, I have every intention of cracking into the major leagues of business and commerce, making a difference in the world and making a name for myself. It’s not that I’m conceited or thought I was better then my classmates… it’s just that… well… women now are CEO’s in Fortune 500 companies, Governors and even the Secretary of State. Some day there will absolutely be a female President of the United States and there’s no reason that can’t be me. How cool would that be!

My parents are very cool too. Mom and Dad fully support me in everything I do. That’s probably as big a reason I am who I am as anything. I never felt like I was screwed by life or had any need to rebel against my folks, like a lot of the other kids. I certainly didn’t get into the punk thing or get into any of that alternate lifestyle as protest statement thing. I do have my ears pierced a half dozen times, three on each side… just little pearls, but that’s about it. Nothing that would stand out as being edgy or cause me grief later, in a job interview. No tongue studs, no purple hair, no tats… just a regular, normal, clean cut, All-American girl… that’s me. Generally speaking… everyone likes me. I did get some partial scholarship money for college from a couple of local civic organizations, plus a really nice grant from the National Council of Churches. My parents are also helping me out with school loans, but I’m not sending them into the poor house either. I’d actually been accepted to State College and five high ranked universities… and turned them all down to come here to little old, out of the way, Wisteriamont College.

Wisteriamont is a highly acclaimed school and it’s a pretty neat. It was first started by the Methodists as a girl’s college, though it’s been co-ed for about eighty years now. Anyway, Wisteriamont is located on the edge of what had been an older middle class, factory town and besides having a truly bucolic campus, the town hasn’t really changed all that much. It’s bigger of course and wraps almost half way around the campus now, but it still retains almost all of its parochial working class charm. I don’t mean to imply that there isn’t a plethora of stores and services geared toward catering to the “college crowd”, but it’s not a haven for academic distraction either, if you know what I mean. I chose to come to Wisteriamont for it’s excellence and it’s reputation in providing a truly exemplary education. That’s also the reason I opted to spend the extra bucks for a single room, rather then buddy up with some potential nit-wit, party girl in a dorm. Maybe it seems a little aristocratic of me… but excuse me, I didn’t chose this school for its entertainment value.

Well, enough of that. Suffice it to say I’m here to obtain a good education… expand my knowledge and bag the credentials needed to graduate cum laude and kick ass… and I will. So… back to the Rush Posters. Right about now, I’m thinking a sorority membership might be a pretty good deal for me and I ought to keep an eye out for a future “Big Sister”. I figured that pretty soon, I’d see literature about all of the sororities on campus and I could collect their pamphlets and determine which was most in line with my goals. Then I’d like… drop some hints, act interested, make myself available and get invited to pledge the one I wanted to be in. There would probably be some kind of silly initiation period… you know… have to wear your blouse backwards or something… but then you’re in. Being in a sorority can even be pretty helpful during the college years. They usually pass down information on professors, classes, what the most beneficial extra curricular activities are… stuff like that.

I was going over notes before the start of French Lit and Colleen Hinkle, an eternally perky blonde from Santa Fe plopped into the seat next to mine and leaned over.

“Are you going to pledge?”

“What? Hi Colleen. You do mean a sorority?”


“Well, I haven’t given it all that much thought, but I do imagine that it is something I will likely look into.”

“Yeah… well, I just saw some girls with a table over near Old Main and they were handing out flyers about their sorority. If you’re really interested, I think we should go right over there after class and join.”

“Uh huh, well, I guess if they’re still there after class, it wouldn’t hurt to pass by and get some history on their organization.”


As I have mentioned previously, fundamentally… I do consider a sorority membership to be a valuable association, an introductory pass through the guarded portals of associated businesswomen and a lifetime partnership with the Sisters of Power. It isn’t like I have no interest, I certainly do. But I simply want to investigate the benefits of each sorority, as compared to another, before seeking particular membership. I certainly had no intentions toward behaving like a breathlessly infatuated, juvenile ingenue, begging for admittance to the first coven of socialite pretenders willing to fancy another giggling novice to their jammie parties. I mean, after all… that’s not my style. I want to join a serious group of achievers… woman with the same lofty aspirations as I. But, there I was… signed up, along with Perky Colleen Hinkle, as an early pledge to the Sigma Gamma Rho Sorority. It was too fast and just too crazy. I didn’t know a thing about this sorority… crazy… and
like a star struck teenager, I kept bobbing my head up and down, clutching each piece of literature, thrust at me and agreeing to stop by the House that very evening to meet my new Big Sisters. If… I met their… at this point… undefined criteria. It was just crazy… and I did not offer even the slightest of objections. I feel like a bubble head… what had just happened to my intention to make an intelligent and informed choice?

Apparently, I had not yet recovered a shred of my common sense and seemed content to let this introduction proceed. There are five other frosh girls standing along side Colleen and myself. We are all standing more or less at attention in a line in the center of the House living room. Several of the Sisters are sitting on couches and stuffed chairs, arranged around the perimeter. They seem like normal people, middle to upper class by their stylishly casual clothing and demeanor. I do notice one girl in particular, over in a corner, extremely well dressed in what looks to be old school conservative in a light tan cashmere sweater, twin set, knee length brown tweed skirt and penny loafers. Her blond and brown streaked hair is elegantly arraigned, high up on her head in a French twist. There’s an aura about her that appears aristocratic, haughty or perhaps even disdainful of us. I suddenly realize that she is staring directly at me and I am overcome by a sudden chill and ominous sense of foreboding. I nervously break the gaze and look away.

We, the six of us pledges, face three Sisters before us, who appear to be in charge. I furtively glance beyond them toward framed photographs on the walls. Pictures of women who are no doubt former Wisteriamont students and members of Sigma Gamma Rho. I am surprised to recognize so many of these faces as women I’ve seen in newspapers and on television… women who are now prominent leaders in government, the arts and commerce. Hmm… maybe this isn’t as bad a choice as I at first feared. I suppose, since I’m here… I may as well stick with it and find out what this sorority is all about.

“You’re the Newbies.”

“Yes we are! And… I’m so pleased to…”

“Shut up, Slut. That was not a question. That was a statement. If I want to hear from you, I will ask you a direct question. Is that clear?”


“That would be, Yes, Mistress. Hence forth, for the duration of your apprenticeship period, you shall address each and every Sister as Mistress. That is at all times, whether you address a Sister in this House, on campus or in the town. You sluts shall show respect and acknowledge a superior woman. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“All of you sluts.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

We barked out our response in unison. Oh, Lord, how corny is this? Mistress? Well, I guess it is to be expected. I’m certainly aware of the stories of indignities and humilities perpetuated upon pledges, whether sorority or fraternity, during these Greek initiation, Hell Weeks. I suppose they have to play their games. I suppose even the President of the United States had to wear a stupid hat and publicly polish the shoes of his Big Brother as a pledge. I suppose I’ll be expected to suffer some similar embarrassments, maybe curtsey and carry my Big Sisters’ books. It just seems so juvenile and irrelevant. I suppose I should just thank the Lord, truly dangerous hazing isn’t allowed anymore. As it were… poor, perky little Colleen just seemed a little too quick with her cheerful tongue. The Sister had jumped all over her response and proceeded to spell out our new rules of engagement.

“Each of you shall now be assigned to a Big Sister. I shall call out your names, one by one. As your name is called, you shall step forward and greet your new Sister by dropping to your knees before her. You shall lower your head in respect and petition for her guidance and benevolence with these words. “My Dearest and Sweet Mistress, I most humbly and sincerely confess that I am a cheap and common slut. I am nothing without you. My Dearest and Sweet Mistress, I beg you to teach this slut to be an honorable and righteous woman. I beg your forgiveness and swear unquestioning and immediate obedience to your every wish and command, for I know you are superior to me in every way. My Dearest and Sweet Mistress, I swear to this forever.” Ok… You got that? At this time, each of you shall be given your new pledge name. You may continue to use your birth name in official matters and records of Wisteriamont College, as well as for State and Federal matters and records. However, You shall hence forth, be known by this name, answer to this name and assume this given name as your own in any and all Sigma Gamma Rho function or association, whether it be in private or in public.”

My Lord! This is ridiculous! This is like a bad scene from some seriously cheesy, grade E, exploitation movie. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Incredibly, Samantha Bellows, the first called… steps forward, actually lowers herself to her knees and begins to mumble the inane confession and pledge of allegiance with dutifully bowed head. When she finally finished… and being first, she couldn’t exactly recite this oath verbatim… so that her new Sister… er… Mistress has to keep correcting her speech… She is bequeathed the name, “Sammy Blows”. Lord, that is so stupid. Her Mistress then pats her on the head like a dog and allows her to rise and return to her place in line. Our names are being called alphabetically. Colleen Hinkle is third called and gives a fairly accurate rendition of the oath and becomes “Missy Tinkle”. I’m sure the Big Sisters are quite aware of how silly and childish this allegorical naming is, but somehow they maintain straight faces and appear very serious and hard-assed.

By the time I’m called, I’ve heard the mantra repeated often enough that I have no trouble with my recitation. I am actually loose and relaxed, that I am able to add some dramatic inflection into my sorry lines, as if I was on audition for the leading part in a theatrical production. My new Big Sister is a short plump girl named Mistress Em. For my trouble, I am christened “Millicent”. I don’t get it. It’s not a cutesy or obscene name like the other girls received, and it’s not even remotely connected to my real name in some poetic distortion, which is ok. But “Millicent”? What is that? It’s like a prissy old lady name. I really don’t get it. I find it more insulting then any of the bathroom labels handed out thus far. I hear the slight snickers from the rest of the girls in line with me. I can feel my cheeks redden in my acute embarrassment. I raise my head to steal a glance toward the aristocratic princess in cashmere and tweed. She has a slight smile to her lips and a malicious gleam in her eye. She loves it! Breaking the look, I return my eyes to the floor before me. Mistress Em reaches forward, brushes my hair aside and softly caresses my fevered cheek.

“Does Millicent like her new name?”

“No, Mistress.”

“And why is that?”

“I don’t know, Mistress. It’s old fashioned and sounds like an old lady’s name. Like someone with no spine or drive to succeed.”

“Well, tut, tut… then I guess there’s all the more reason for you to follow our direction, cheerfully submit to your transformation and strive to emerge as a real Sigma Gamma Rho woman. Wouldn’t you agree, Millicent?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Very well. Then take those faux baubles out of your ears right now. You look like a cheap whore.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“That’s better. Now rise and back in line with you.”

This ritual continued until all of us had been dubiously named and returned to the line. I continue to feel embarrassed by the possible implications concerning the identity bestowed upon me. It seems to me that there has to be some ulterior motive to their choice, as in my opinion the rest of the girls have gotten off with less demeaning names. I do have to consider my own paranoia though. Obviously, none of these Sorority Girls know me, nor has met me before tonight, so it’s nearly impossi
ble that my particular aversion to this name is predicated on anything beyond mere coincidence and an over reaction on my part. As I mull these thoughts over in my mind, my attention half heatedly returns to the photographs of world famous Sigma Gamma Rho women on the wall. When this hell week is over, they will be my Sorority Sisters. I’ll be able to phone them up if I wish and casually mention that I’m a Sigma Gamma Rho girl myself. Maybe we can do lunch. Ha! That would make this all bearable wouldn’t it? I am lost in these thoughts when I realize one of the three is speaking to us again. She is explaining pledge social protocol and itemizing specific conduct and a demerit and punishment system for infractions. She is also quite clear in that there is an absolute threshold to this membership and none of us should take acceptance as a given. In all probability no more then half of us will pledge Sigma Gamma Rho.

“All right, sluts. We shall conclude these evenings’ orientations, as follows. As a group, you shall each turn to your left and proceed in an orderly line to the table set up at the entry vestibule. You shall provide Mistress Bea with both your current bra size and girdle size. As you depart, you shall warmly thank each Mistress for allowing each of you miserable sluts, this opportunity to enter and observe dignity within the Sigma Gamma Rho House this evening. Are there any questions?”

“I don’t know my girdle size, Mistress. I’ve never owned a girdle or worn one.”

It was Colleen, bless her soul. I’m sure non of we pledges have ever worn a girdle… I certainly haven’t. Who does in this day and age? Obviously the Sisters have a few more humiliating tricks up their sleeves for us, before we gain equality.

“Dear slut… Tinkle is it? You do know your panty size do you not?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Well, that will suffice for your purpose.”

The following day is blessedly uneventful. I haven’t stumbled across any of the Sisters’ paths, so I wasn’t placed in any awkward situation where I might have to publicly acknowledge my stupid Millicent name or engage in any acts of contrition before them. I am required to appear at the House again tonight, as are we all, but I have concluded that whatever indignities we must suffer behind those closed doors is preferable to any public stunts. In all likelihood, my luck thus far will not hold and at some point I will surely be required to make a fool of myself in broad daylight. Of course, the longer I am able to postpone that inevitability, the better.

This evening, we are lined up in the dining room. My attention is immediately drawn to a sinister array of paddles hanging on the walls all around us. They vary in size, from small ones similar to ping pong paddles up to very large, ornate boards nearly as large as canoe paddles. All of them are decorated with women’s names or the Sorority’s Greek letters or some combination of both. Paddling and spankings… how did I ever forget that? That’s almost synonymous with these Greeks. Clearly, at some point in this initiation ritual, my buttocks will surely be christened and reddened.

After reciting the Oath of Sigma Gamma Rho and receiving a brief lecture and harangue over our allegedly slutty appearance, we are informed of our duty to fashion our own Personal Pledge Sorority Paddles. These paddles must be completed and presented as gifts to our Mistresses next Saturday evening, during the induction ceremony for new Sisters. We are then told that, as is customary, special arrangements have been made with Miss Diane’s Ladies Shoppe for new underwear and we will now adjourn for the evening and each of us will accompany our Mistresses into town, acquire and change into these garments. We are instructed that we shall personally and profusely thank Miss Diane for her help and understanding. We are expected to dress in our new undergarments tomorrow morning, wear them all day, during classes and to report as usual to the House tomorrow evening so attired. We are then asked if we have any questions. There are none.

“Very well then. You are dismissed. Oh… Millicent, please remain behind. You are in need of a special girdle and shall not travel to town this evening.”

Ominously, I watched the other girls leave. Why do I need a special girdle? What is a special girdle? Mistress Em also remains behind. This kind of sucks.

“Millicent. Please come with me.”

I follow Em into the kitchen. The Aristocratic Princess is there, seated at a table with two other Sisters. I am not offered a chair and with increasing foreboding, decide to just keep my mouth shut for the moment and let them start any discussion. The awkward silence continues for a full minute.

“Millicent. Do you wish to pledge Sigma Gamma Rho?”

“Why yes… Mistress.”

The question is innocent enough on the surface, but immediately strikes me as threatening.


I am a bit taken back by the question, initially thinking they were going to explain the earlier remark about a “special girdle” in more detail. This, however; is not a completely unexpected question, as I have assumed that at some point in the path to pledge, I would be required to offer some thoughtful discourse on my expectations in joining a sorority and this Sorority in particular. I have no planned or organized response in hand, though I have given the subject much recent thought in the past few days, so that I am not caught completely flat footed or tongue tied. I am also of sufficiently quick wit and practiced in public speaking from my previous high school extra-curricular activities that I am able to proceed and offer my perspective and views on the relational aspects to being a part of a worldwide Sororitorial network in a fairly concise presentation. The Sisters remain attentive to my monologue and seem receptive to my reasoning. My earlier trepidation subsides and my confidence returns as I continue. Perhaps being singled out this evening and interrogated before this small group is a good thing. The Aristocratic Princess seems to be held in high regard and respectful deference by this small group of Sisters. It is now obvious that, though she has remained on the periphery of our earlier introductions, she is the ranking member in this Sorority and probably this chapter’s president. I have in fact, consciously redirected and tailored my response toward her. As I speak, I study her face. She is a beautiful young woman, a few years older then me, likely a graduate student here and most likely, extremely intelligent. She is extremely well poised and well dressed. Her demeanor and clothing suggest an abundance of “Old Money” and implied upper class connection. Her long and luscious, honey and brown, streaked hair is again arraigned in an understated, but stylish twist above her head… stylish in a timeless and conservative and traditional feminine elegance. She has an aura about her of a woman unheeding of commercial fad or fashion. She is a woman, quite secure and unassuming in her superiority. I know that if I can win the Aristocratic Princess over to my side and gain her confidence. I will not only successfully pledge Sigma Gamma Rho, but I will be well on my way to establishing strong connections through what I now suspect is a way of life for this Princess.

“God, you are such a whore.”


“Millicent! Have you forgotten your place?”

“No… I… wait… what… Mistress?”

“Lucinda Silvers is not simply Mistress over you, Millicent. She is your mother in this House and you shall accord her such respect. You shall address her always as Mother. You so disappoint me, Millicent.”

I am stunned… shocked at this response! I am sure that I had spoken with eloquence and was convincingly passionate in my desire to pledge this Sorority, even if it wasn’t really my first choice. I’m sure they couldn’t have picked that up. I am not prepared for such a blunt and crude response. The Aristocratic Princess… excuse me… “Mother”… has shot me down… and called me a whore. I had not expected these
words from her cultured lips. Mother? I am to call her Mother? This is ridiculous… so utterly distorted and contrived. Mistress Em glares at me as if I’ve just committed the greatest indiscretion in the history of civilization. She seems excruciatingly agitated. I don’t know what to say.

“I am so very sorry Mistress Em… Mother… please forgive me.”

“Accepted. Very well… now then… Millicent… your Mistress Em has spoken highly of you… of your desire to pledge Sigma Gamma Rho. Yet, you deliver such a highly impassioned plea for admission before us that simply reeks of pomposity and self-serving gratuity. My Dear Millicent, your sister pledges come to us as simple sluts… victims of their circumstance… unable to help themselves beyond their most base instincts… doomed to lascivious, Pavlovian, reactionary lives. I expect more from you, Millicent. From the first moment you entered our House, I sensed that you were different. I sensed that you are a person in complete control of your emotions and meticulously calculatory of your destiny. Now, Millicent… having just suffered through your laboriously patronizing discourse, I can only conclude that you will say and do any disgusting and despicable thing in exchange for admittance to this Sorority. Hence… I assume that you are a whore. Would you not agree with this conclusion?”

“Noooo… yes… I mean… Mother… please… I do want to pledge Sigma Gamma Rho. I wasn’t trying to patronize you.”

“You will consent to anything to become Sigma Gamma Rho, though… isn’t this true? And Millicent… I do so hope you will, in this one instance, favor us with an honest answer.”

“Yea… yes… Mother. I will do anything you ask of me.”

“I thought so.”

“You do agree then, that you are special and you come to us a novice in need of cultivation and metamorphous? You are like a gift unto us?”

She had me. I am completely without repartee or adequate counter response. It is true that I want to join this Sorority. I do not know at what point I had become so desperate. Realistically, I could pledge any Sorority and the network and the connections available to me in future years would be similar and no doubt, equally rewarding. Yet, as I stand here before her… it is this Sorority that I want to be a part of… the company of these women, whose pictures adorn the walls, I aspire to be one of. Or maybe it is Lucinda Silvers herself… do I crave acceptance as her equal? Has it evolved into some complex personal challenge for me to overcome Lucinda Silvers’ privileged and favored birthright? Whatever my motivation… I have taken this bait… I am hooked.

“You have lovely hair Millicent. Have you ever thought of wearing it in a more mature style?”

“Wha… my hair… why… ah… I don’t know. Ah… thank you, Mother.”

She continues to tip the balance of this interrogation. I have no sooner grappled with the twisted rationalization of the previous supposition; then she redirects our exchange, if I may even call it one… towards another tract. My hair? What of my hair? It is what it is. I wear it long and flowing or in a ponytail. It’s fine, I take good care of it… it compliments my features and suits me well. I have no inclination to change it. Mature? What does that mean? A style similar to her own… is that mature… I guess… Lucinda’s up twist could be considered mature. I could easily do that. Would that ease her declaration that I am a whore… or further enforce her opinion that I would do anything… even mimic her style, on her whim to gain acceptance. Is this a trick question? How do I answer?

“You may expect to collect your new foundations here tomorrow evening. They have been ordered on line with expedited shipment and of course, you shall reimburse the House for the entire expense. You shall then wear them with pride the following day with any and all directives, as is required of your Sister Pledges. You are in agreement with the necessity for full compliance, are you not, Millicent?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Very well. You are dismissed.”

As it is… I had great difficulty with my studies that night and a fitful sleep, punctuated by the sudden jolts of heart pounding, cold sweat, wakefulness… generated by a primal fear in what I may have agreed to with Lucinda. I awoke early, but procrastinated through my morning rituals in a lame effort to postpone my arrival to class. I did not know what conditions had befallen my sister pledges and though curious of their fate… anxiety over what no doubt would be a compounded gestation, reserved solely for me, halted any activity toward seeking them out. I did in fact arrive early for my first class and finding Began Hall nearly empty, broke habit and decided to sit in the back this day. Ruefully, I awaited the arrival of Colleen and Samantha Bellows… Tinkle and Blow, in what would be my inaugural glimpse of our prescribed attire. Observing the assorted dress of classmates as they enter the Hall, I begin to realize that in most cases… a girl in a girdle will pass undetected under regular jeans or even a knee length skirt. My spirits are lifted. How bad can even a special girdle be? Really… I have sufficient choice of wardrobe to disguise and hide even one of those risque crotch-less things.

As the Hall fills, my thoughts are suddenly interrupted by a raucous outburst of laughter. My attention is at once drawn to the entryway and there in all their ribald glory stand Colleen and Samantha. Whoa! No Way! They are unmistakable in their girdles, for that is nearly all they wear. Each of them is wearing a pristine white, long legged, panty girdle and nothing else. They do look astoundingly silly and I am nearly brought to laughter myself. Actually they do wear additional clothing. Both have on tight, ribbed turtleneck tops, over top of which they have fastened their brassieres. And what brassieres they are… large and formidable double D cups… stuffed to an unnatural fullness, perched haughtily upon their chests. Stifling a giggle I wave them over to sit by me. Amid catcalls and whistles, with reddened and embarrassed faces, they make their way through a boisterous obstacle course of jeers, cheers and obscene remarks to join me.

“Millicent! You’re not wearing your bra and girdle? The Mistresses will be furious. You’ll never pledge if you don’t submit to their initiation. Your ass is toast.”

“Yeah… my ass is toast… but that’s not the least of it. More importantly… you two… where are your skirts?”

“No skirts. This is how they want it. God, it’s embarrassing! Look at my boobs! I can’t even see my feet!”

“Doesn’t it feel strange?”

“The boobs? Hell yes… they’re always in my way. And the guys… God… everywhere I go… guys leer at me and try to cop a feel. It’s horrible.”

“What about the girdle… doesn’t that feel funny?”

“No… well, it’s kind of tight, well really tight… but actually, it’s not all that much different from wearing bicycle shorts. And we do have to wear pantyhose underneath, plus our panties… so it doesn’t chafe my crotch like I thought it would. But it’s out there… a big white girdle, ya know… and… well… you know… it’s pretty embarrassing.”

“Fer sure…!”

“But you… for God’s sake, Mill-o-cent! Why aren’t you wearing your stuff… God… what’s wrong with you… you’re gonna be so screwed.”

“I know, I know… believe me, I know. I had to stay behind after you all left last night and meet the Queen Mother… and she ripped my ass up and down.”

“Queen Mother? There’s a Queen Mother?”

“Yeah… and I think she’s Chapter President… and I’m pretty sure she has it in for me for some reason.”

“Oh NO! That sucks! What about your Mistress? Em right? What’s she like?”

“I’m not sure yet… she plays a tough role… but the Queen pretty much runs the show… so I’m not sure what Em’s like, except that she’s going to make sure that whatever Queenie wants… Queenie gets.”

“That could be bad. Did you see Gloria Hollings
worth? I mean “Glory Hole”? Her Big Sister… Mistress Jay has her wearing a white rubber swim cap in addition to her bra and girdle. Mistress Jay told her, if she screws up or pisses her off, she’ll shave her head so bald, no one will know if she’s wearing her swim cap or not!”

“God! That’s horrible! Can they do that?”

“How badly do you want to get in?”

And so it went. Rumors, glimpses, degradations… I’ve been lucky so far in that I haven’t been forced into any of these public humiliations… but I fear this is merely a calm before the storm. These girls have been ridiculed for their appearance on campus, but they’ve only been subjected to purely infantile pranks and charades. Except for the purported threat to Gloria Hollingsworth’s hair… which seems highly unlikely to be allowed on this campus… I mean really… you can’t seriously get away with buzzing a girl’s hair in this day and age… Colleen and Samantha’s silly outfits are hardly more then Halloween costumes, out of season. Yet a dark fear remains, churning and agitating in the pit of my stomach. Lucinda Silvers is a woman to be reckoned with. By her self assured manner and confidence I am convinced she is not play acting as some pseudo-dominate, femme fatale. Lucinda Silvers is the real McCoy. She can take me into boardrooms and the backrooms of power, others can only dream of. Of this… I am convinced. I am also horribly aware that when I swore that I would do any demeaning thing to join her in Sigma Gamma Rho… I would. Yes… how badly do I want to get in? This shall surely be a test of my will.

The day drags on. I can not concentrate on my studies. My notes are disjointed… the professors words meaningless. I can think only of my appointment this evening at the House of Sigma Gamma Rho.

As my last class concludes, I am in a near panic and rudely bolt through the doorway, jostling my classmates aside in my now obsessive need to dash across campus and receive Lucinda’s command. Entering the House, I quietly lay my book pack and purse on the vestibule table and take my place in line. All… but I, stand dressed in their outlandish outfits of brilliant white. Massive caricatures of overstuffed mammaries, jut obscenely from their chests. Their torsos from ribcage to mid-thigh are encased in gleaning panty girdles. The overhead chandelier glistens off the nylon sheen of their pantyhose clad legs. Three of the girls wear tight, white rubber swim caps, clasped firmly beneath their chins… beads of perspiration already forming on their foreheads. They look like alien cows awaiting slaughter… or milking… yet… I am the one who feels like the freak… the one that doesn’t belong. I am the one standing in this line, dressed in my normal, everyday, typical, all-American standard, just right, fashionable, student co-ed school clothes. Please Lucinda… please accept me… please take me in!


“Yes, Mistress Em”

“Who is that slut by your side?”

“It is Tinkle, Mistress Em.”

“She has beautiful hair, does she not?”

“Yes, Mistress Em.”

“Tinkle is a mischievous little elfin slut, is she not?”

“I do not know, Mistress Em.”

“Reach out to Tinkle. Feel her hair. Describe what it is like.”

“It’s soft and full, Mistress. It feels very clean and silky and smooth. It is lovely hair.”

“I see. Well that is most unfortunate… for Missy Tinkle is a mischievous little elf… and I fear we must take her hair and shave her head bald.”

“NO! Mistress EM! Please… MOTHER… PLEASE… I BEG OF YOU… Please don’t do this!”

“NO? Millicent… you would say NO? Hmmm… this is most distressing. Millicent my dear… would you offer up your own hair in her stead?”

“Yes Mistress Em. I will do anything you ask. I swear it.”

“Oh… very well. Missy Tinkle… please beg your Mistress to cover your head in white rubber so that you may at least wear about you, the display and symbol of bald shame.”

And so she did. Colleen begged to have her gorgeous hair twisted, matted, crushed and stuffed beneath a gleaming rubber that covered and turned her head into a harsh white skull with a beautiful woman’s face. I nearly cried out in sympathy at her mournful whimper, as the heavy rubber strap was pulled tightly across her throat and snapped up beside her cheek.

I was offered the same choice for Samantha Bellows’ hair. I barely know her, yet I could not bear to be a party to even the threat of such a fate. I watched through teary eyes as her luscious curly blonde mane disappeared beneath the hot rubber hood. Now they all look alike… alien… with matching white heads, enormous white breasts and tightly confined white asses. They will surely stand out on campus, in class, anywhere… android sex freaks… stopping, performing and acting out whatever is requested of them for the amusement of their Mistresses. How more bizarre can this get?

“Well, sluts. It appears that you shall retain your beloved hair for another evening… with no real thanks to your yapping elfin friend… nor, Millicent the Great Martyr. Unfortunately you have brought shame upon our Sorority, today. This is most regretful. We certainly expect that you shall conduct yourselves as proper ladies in public… carry yourselves with dignity and a decorum befitting of a Sigma Gamma Rho Pledge. You do not appreciate the need for self-control… the need for discipline. You represent our Sorority at all times… in the classroom, on campus… and certainly in the town. We expect perfectly poised young ladies. And… what do you give us… snickers… sloppy behavior… sluts. You act like sluts. This will not do. Drop to your knees and elbows. Right now… on the floor… NOW! I want your white rubber dildo heads facing straight ahead and I want your shinny white asses high in the air. High! HIGHER! Get your lily white ass up there and HOLD IT!”

The girls immediately drop in unison and assume the position as if part of a crack Marine Corps drill team.

“Not you, Millicent! Get your sorry ass up and over here… beside me… turn around and face these sluts. You’re going to count them out.”

Oh God, NO! Don’t make me do this! These poor girls have already suffered the indignity of parading around all day in their exaggerated under, outer, fetish wear. They’ve been so reduced to anonymous uniformity, under their rubber heads that they seem already to move as a single mindless, reactionary unit. I feel even further removed from their experience. Am I even still a part of their pledge as a novice equal or am I now being manipulated as a tool to their humiliation. Dear Lord… I sincerely hope Mother is not so predisposed… that I an already joined and she is simply using me as the scapegoat of their rejection, for pure amusement. No… that is too insane. I am ashamed of myself for even thinking such a thing. No… no… no… this is so wrong… I can only stare dumbly down at the five of them. They hold still… their white asses poised high in the air like submissive baboons… their heads held erect… their eyes staring blankly at my knees. I search rapidly from face to face… that’s Colleen on the left… I was next to her… and then… that’s Samantha… yeah… then Gloria… no… Gloria’s second from the right… isn’t she? No… God they look so alike. My eyes rise to the Mistresses behind them… each of them brandishing a short, rounded, flat paddle… their arms begin to sway… blending into a singular, malicious motion… developing and growing with a soft rhythm. Mistress Em is speaking in a soothing, low voice.

“My Darling Sluts… now is the time… you shall finally receive the corporeal reward you so rightfully deserve. Millicent… please commence with the count…”


Oh, God! The thick silence is sheared by the sharp crack of five swift paddles on five up upended lycra covered tushies. Nostrils flared and eyes wide as saucers… they jump and howl as one! Incredibly, they all remain in position, willing to take a second. I feel absolute
ly horrible. Mistress Em touches my arm to draw my attention. Oh, thank God… she’s putting an end to this.

“Dear Sluts. Now please remember your manners. What do we say? What…? Anyone…? Oh dear me… you are all such simpletons. You shall say… and please repeat after me… “Thank you, Millicent. May I have another.” And I really do want to hear some heartfelt sincerity in your lovely voices. Now… all of you sluts… please lift up your eyes and look directly into Millicent’s sweet face… after all… Millicent is a whore and a whore will do anything to become Sigma Gamma Rho. You Dear Sluts, really should think about that, as you stare into her face… listen to her voice… as she counts out your fate. Now Sluts… all together…”

“Thank you, Millicent. May I have another.”

Oh God! They are all bent over before me… staring up into my face in frightened anticipation. I turn to plead with Mistress Em, but she sneers and roles her eyes, commanding me to continue.





At ten I am mercifully halted. The five, drop their sweated white heads and suffer… unmoving… in silence. I feel like one sorry ass traitorous bitch. My eyes are in tears.

“Millicent. Please remove your clothes.”

Oh my God! It’s finally come. What have they planned for me? I hardly hesitate… kicking off my loafers, then pull my sweater over my head… unzip by jeans and step out of them.


Oh God… must I get naked. With trembling hands, I unsnap my bra and slide it down my arms. Oh God… I drop it on the pile of my clothing… take a deep breath… peel down and step out of my panties.

“Nice boobs Millicent.”

I am utterly embarrassed. I instinctively try to cover myself with my hands.

“Ok… Millicent. Turn around and bend over. Keep your legs straight and touch your hands to the floor. What? For Lord’s sake… you act like you’ve never gotten undressed in front of a group of women before. Go on… hands to the floor… all the way and keep your skinny ass up where we can all see it. Sluts! Wake up! Look alive! Look what we have here. Stand up… all of you… have a good hard look at Millicent’s skinny whore ass. Damn… that is one scrawny ass you have, Millicent. I’ve seen better ass on the towel boys down at the car wash.”

Oh God!

“Damn! Sluts! This scrawny ass, is the same damn whore, who stood over you, counting out your hard strokes while you were taking your just rewards like good, honest, pledge sluts. Doesn’t seem fair does it? Whore like this… lording over you… counting them out… you take it… you thank her… and then even ask for more. Damn whore just keeps counting them out… more, more, more. I’ll tell you something. I’m damn proud of you sluts. That’s right… damn proud of you. You ought to all whoop her ass right now… damn whore thinks she getting over on you… thinks she got away with something. Hell… show her some payback. Whoop her damn ass… all of you.”

Sweet Jesus to Heaven! They… all five of them… begin slapping hands on my bare ass. Tentatively… mildly… at first… then the tempo grows. They are spanking me with a vengeance… my exposed cheeks sting under the onslaught. The tingling, stinging slaps crackle in my ears… each one sharper then the last. There are so many hands… they strike at the back of my thighs… over and over on my burning ass… they are relentless… I can hardly stand… the force of their blows, drives me forward. Hands and toes, I creep across the room… trying to get away… fearing an even greater wrath if I do… I stay down… they flail at me… I am in tears… it burns… GOD… it BURNS! And still the barrage of stinging hands, continues to slap down upon my scarlet bum! I am in tears.

It seems an eternity. I am sobbing profusely… still bent at the waist… my palms flat to the floor. They’ve stopped. But it burns… oh… so bad. I feel the still air on my inflamed flesh. It is not soothing. It only seems to enflame each tortured and sensitive pore. My GOD. IT HURTS!

“Stand up Millicent and face your friends.”

Thank God it’s over.

“Millicent. I’m sure you’re real happy to hear your special underwear arrived today and I’m sure these simple sluts would like to see how well it all fits… so without further ado… here you go… try it on.”

Mistress Em is holding three FedEx boxes. She hands the first, the smallest to me and gestures, for me to open it. Fearfully, I rip the easy tear, strip away and peer into the box. A packing slip, bubble wrap and inside that, a clear bag containing something both hard, soft and black, greet my eyes. Carefully I open the plastic bag and pull whatever it is out. It’s something made of a pliable rubber and as I roll it around in my hands… I realize to my horror… that it is a pair of black rubber panties and the firmer parts… tubes really… attached side by side at the crotch… appear to be two dildos. I don’t believe this!

“Go ahead, Millicent. Try them on.”

“Mistress! You can’t be serious!”

“Oh… very much so. Now put them on.”

Oh, my Lord! Gingerly, I lift first one leg and then the other, slipping my feet through the openings and begin to pull them up and over my thighs. The front dildo, the longer of the two, bobs and waves back and forth, brushing against my inner thighs as I inch the tight rubber panty higher. When the head of the front one rests up against my vagina and I attempt to pull the rear of the panties higher… the tightness of the rubber material rubs across the tender red flesh of my butt and I moan in agony.

“Oh, Mistress. They’re so tight… my rear… it burns. And, what am I to do with these rubber prongs?”

“I think you know where they go.”

“But the back one… my rear is so sore… it hurts… I can’t put that back in there.”

“Tinkle! There is a tube of gel in the bathroom cabinet. Run and fetch it for your dear friend… then give her a few squirts to lube her up.”

Colleen is only too eager to help… she must think this is hilarious. She skips off and quickly returns with the gel. I am mortified as she circles behind me, grabs the panty’s waistband and pulls it out so that she may squeeze an extra generous amount of the lubricant over the head and sides of the stumpy Christmas tree shaped knob.

“Shall I help Millicent get it in?”

“Why yes, thank you, Tinkle. I’m sure Millicent would adore your help. Isn’t that right, Millicent? Ask Tinkle very nicely to please insert your new best friends into your little brownie pucker hole and your whore’s pussy.”

“Please help me put my new friends in my rear and…”

“Little brownie pucker hole… nicely now, Millicent. And please… don’t be such a tight ass… spread your legs a bit and squat, so little brownie can open up wide and take it all in.”

“Uggggggghhh… uuuuuhhhh…”

God… this is so humiliating and freaking Colleen can hardly wait. I do feel like a whore… the grossest slut in the universe. Why am I even doing this? I spread my legs even farther and squat… up and down… trying to just let it ease its way in. I close my eyes… I can not bear their stares. I am so disgusted with myself… have I lost all self-respect? I feel like a cheap porn queen. And… freaking Colleen keeps pressing on it… harder… insistently… like she’s trying to stuff an expanded cork back into a wine bottle… it feels like I have to take a major crap. Uuugggghhhh… damnit… I’m actually doing this. Up and down… uuuhhh… Colleen is pumping it in and out… I’m squatting up and down… humping against it like a bitch in heat. It feels… uuuggghh… like my anus is getting wider and wider as more of it goes in… uuhhh… my damn sphincter… uuugggghhhh… and then my ass just closes around it… it’s in. My tightly pinched eyes are in tears. Aaaaahhhh… damn that does feel better though… but full… really full… it’s not a comfortable fe
eling at all. God… I am so degraded.

“Pussy time.”

“Wha… what? Colleen… No! Please don’t!”

Colleen whips around in front of me and grabs the remaining black shaft. I’m not at all wet down there, but that hardly matters. She places the head between the folds of my lips and rubs it around, trying to guide it in. Damn it! She shakes it and jiggles it, pushes and worms it into me. My vagina… dry or not… betrays me… opens and accepts it all with no problem. Uuuugggghhhh… God… help me!

“All right Tinkle… you’ve had enough fun… get back in line. Millicent, pull your panties up now. Nice and tight… nice and snug… it does look like a perfect fit.”

They’re up. God… I don’t believe this. Its an, oh so strange feeling… both of my lower holes filled like this. I am afraid to move. Oh, God, my ass feels so full. God, I hate this! I hardly care anymore that I’m standing naked in front of them. All I can think about are these… these… things… in my holes! God… I can’t believe I’m willing to degrade myself like this, to join a Sorority.

“Let’s see now… what else have we? My goodness… another package for Millicent. Why Millicent! Is today your Birthday?”

“I’m handed the second package… the largest, at least two feet long. As I fumble to open it, I take a good hard look at the shipping label to see where it’s from. Frederick’s of Hollywood! I can’t believe this! What ungodly, slutty thing have they gotten me now? I reach into the opened end of the box and pull it out… a girdle… well… this was expected. But Frederick’s of Hollywood? What kind of extra special humiliating extravaganza, is this going to be?

“Into it, Millicent. No dilly dally… we all have things to do tonight.”

It is immediately apparent, why this girdle… this brilliant white, panty girdle, is so different… it has large pockets containing thick, foam rubber pads sewn over the hips and over each butt cheek. This is going to look godawful, but my bigger concern becomes the immense discomfort I feel in my rectum and vagina, as I attempt to lift and slip my foot into the panty leg. Uuuugggghhhh… Lord… it feels as if I’m going to crap this plug in my ass, right out… as I bend over… except the tight rubber panty keeps it all in place. I finally get my second foot through the girdle’s leg and am able to stand back up… wriggling and rutching the thing up my thighs, as I rise. I feel so much better once I’m erect, but then… as I grasp the waistband, I must take a final short squat before I can pull it all the way up to my waist and seat the crotch. This only serves to further plant the black pair of rubber intruders, deeper within me.

My hands drop to my hips and then my butt. They are huge! I do not have a skinny ass. I do not look like a boy. I have nice breasts… I wear a 36 B cup bra and my boobs look fine. No sag, not too big…nothing wrong with them. I have a thin enough waist, good feminine hips and a firm rear end. I have a good, toned body with plenty of curve for a young woman and my weight is right where it ought to be. There’s nothing wrong with my butt! I do not need some fat ass, padded girdle! But… I have one now! I slide my hands over the four plump and bulging, satin panels that now grotesquely exagerate my hips and derriere. I can’t even feel my own bum cheeks… my flesh is completely insensitive to my touch beneath these thick bumpers. My pledge mates can barely conceal their amusement to my plight… which is not a good sign… considering how ludicrous they look in their own outfits. The Mistresses don’t seem to mind or admonish them, their giggles and snickers… grinning themselves… they seem to enjoy any behavior that adds to my discomfort and embarrassment.

“One more for you, Honey.”

Em hands the last box over to me. I can’t wait. This one is from Edith Lance, a high-end manufacturer of women’s brassieres, and it’s a longline minimizer bra that just set me back $102.00, plus shipping. I don’t even need to be told what to do… I slip both of my arms through the wide straps and hold it tightly to my chest.

“Mistress Em. I don’t think I can fasten the hooks in the back.”

“Tinkle! Help Millicent. Close her up.”

Giggling, uncontrollably… Tinkle circles me again, grabs the loose ends and pulls them tight. The cups… if you can call them cups… flatten my breasts against my chest. She fastens the hooks and eyes in what is surely the tightest closing.

“Tah, Dah!”

She thinks this is all so funny. I must look ridiculous… a flattened chest… no boobs at all… and a plump, bodacious bottom… all chubby hips and fat-ass rump. From chest to thighs… I now have the body shape of a ten-pin.

“Ladies… ladies… this has all been very entertaining. But, we still have some very serious business to attend to. There remains the matter of Millicent’s restitution.”

Lucinda Silvers had remained silent and to the side, though very much the ominous presence… throughout this evenings humiliations. The room falls silent as she assumes control.

“Millicent. I believe you have requested of us, that your own hair be severed from your head, in exchange for your perverse desire to see Tinkle and Sammy Blows covered in rubber. Well, we will oblige that request. Millicent place this chair in the middle of the room and climb onto it. Face the chair. We want your knees firmly on the seat and your hands gripping the back, so that you may lean forward… into it and extend your head over the back.”

“Are… are you… you’re not going to cut my hair… are you? You can’t do that.”

“Per the Pan-Hellenic rules governing incidents of hazing. No… we will never, ever, engage… in the nonconsensual removal of a pledge’s hair. But… Dear Millicent… this is consensual. We all heard your request for a haircut. This is something you want, isn’t it? You want to do this for the Sisters, don’t you? Surely you do not intend to renege on your request. Look at Tinkle and Sammy Blows”… don’t they look simply angelic in their white rubber caps? Your refusal to fulfill your obligation is distressing. We had such high hopes for you.”

“I’m… sorry Mother. It’s just that…”

“Hush. If you expect to be an honorable and righteous woman in our eyes… tell us with all sincerity… what you want.”

“Oh, God… Mother! I… I… Oh… God… cut my hair. Cut it off.”

“Very well, Millicent. If you insist. But, your obstinacy shall not go unpunished.”

Oh, Lord… what have I gotten myself into. Kneeling over the chair like this, I am vulnerable at both ends. I press my chest against my hands on the seat back and stretch my neck and head forward, clearing the chair. My long hair falls and hangs sacrificially down around my head, blocking my peripheral vision. My big white ass, displayed so prominently behind me, must surely invite their undivided attention.

“Tinkle, as you have been most eager to be of service, thus far… please retrieve the shears from it’s hallowed place in the Living room. Glory Hole… you may please, request the loan of your paddle from your Mistress. The rest of you sluts may form in a circle around Millicent.”

My hair! God… they’re really going to cut it… and spank me again. They’re going to spank me while they cut my hair!

“Mother! Pleaseeeeee!!!!”

“Yes… I know. You really do look forward to this don’t you? Well, Millicent… you did so well the last time… you may as well count cadence for us this time… and please do not forget to say “Thank you, Mother… may I have another”. Now sluts… pay attention. Tinkle since you have the shears, you first, shall relieve this whore of her hair. Glory Hole… on Millicent’s count, you shall deliver one and only one, sound swat to her delightfully plump rear end. You shall then hand the paddle to the slut behind you and advance to the side. Likewise, Tinkle… you shall hand the shears to the slut in wait by Millicent’s shoulder. In this manner you shall revolve around the whore, each taking you
r turn at each of her ends until this haircut is completed. Are there any questions?”

“Mistress… Mother… Do we just cut at her hair once?”

“Not necessarily. You may cut as much as you wish, in the interval, until Millicent requests another. But as Millicent tallies the count, you shall pass the shears to the next slut. And do so be careful… we do not wish to see Millicent loose a nose or an ear. Very well… if there are no further questions… you may begin. Millicent on your count…”

God I’m scared to death. If I jump when Gloria paddles me… I’m liable to loose an eye! Lucinda has somehow twisted this… manipulated me to the point where I’ve asked them to cut my hair… this is too insane. What kind of idiot will consent to this kind of barbarism, in this day and age, to join a Sorority? What is wrong with me? My knuckles are white as I grip the back of the chair and attempt to brace myself to this terror. Can I do this? Oh… Dear God…”


Strangely… there is no sharp and fiery sting off the paddle. The thick foam padding over my buttocks diffuses and mutes the blow. It has not however… absorbed the energy of her stroke and the force of her swing drives the base of my anal plug deeply into the cleft of my cheeks. I am totally unprepared for this and cannot help but to involuntarily lurch forward.


Simultaneously… Tinkle has closed the steel blades and a lone lock of my wonderful hair is loose in her hand. I cannot acknowledge either indignity. My anus is impaled. As I struggle to comprehend the shocking realization that this unexpected anal bludgeoning shall be repeated… Tinkle grabs another length of my hair and cuts it off. I must get her away from my hair. What do I say… what were the words… dear God… Dear God…

“Dear… God… Thank you… Mother… may I… have another…”


Tinkle is disappointed, but hands the shears to the next. It is Joanne Kneesly… or Kneepads, as they call her… something like that… Kneepads takes the shears and chops a gigantic hunk of hair off the side of my head…

“Ugggggggghhhhhh… oooooohhhh…”

I again lurch abruptly forward as the stumpy plug slams into my ass for the second time. She takes this opportunity to grab a handful of hair from the back of my head and hack it off.

“Thank… you… Mother… may I… have… another…”

I barely get the words out, before Gloria has seized the sheers and viciously chops at my head. She snaps the blades open and closed in a mechanical frenzy, as if driven by some long suppressed vengeance for a previous bad haircut she received. Bits of severed hair blur the air before my teary eyes. God… I am sobbing… she is merciless… my hair will be ruined…


“Millicent! Please! Pay attention. First you count the spank you’ve received… then you thank the slut and ask for another. Now… thank her again.”

Oh God… my hair is falling to the floor before my eyes and still… Gloria continues to hack at it. The blades close over my forehead and a curtain of hair drops away from me.

“Thankyoumother… mayIhaveanother… AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!”

Another hard crack and I am sodomized once more by the ugly black plug. I am shaking convulsively and bawling like a baby.

“Three… ee… ee…”


Gloria moves off… handing the shears over to whom I do not know. My tears blind me… they are all alike in their white swim caps, massive bras and panty girdles. Like surreal fiends… they dance about me in an ever-maddening, grotesque frenzy. This must end before I am completely ravaged. But… It doesn’t end. I slobber and sputter and stumble over the words. I ask for another… and I receive it. And… then another… it makes no sense… why am I asking for another? And… then… another. My rectum throbs from the pounding and abuse. I can’t see any of my hair… none of it. Not even the slightest… not the wisp of a scraggly survivor… no lone remnant, remains within my field of vision. I am completely shorn… tormented and humiliated.

“All right ladies… sluts… I believe you have completed your objective. You may stand down. Tinkle, I believe Mistress Em holds Millicent’s new swim cap. Would you be so kind as to encapsulate that disgusting mess of her head.”

I continue to shake and sob in my despair on the chair, as Tinkle approaches with the swim cap. Placed over my head, it encounters no follicular resistance as she pulls it over my ears and snuggles it firmly against my butchered skull. In a moment the strap is beneath my jaw and tightly snapped closed.

“You may get dressed now, Millicent.”

“Mistress, Em! I won’t… be… be… able to… to… get my jeans… on… over this… this stuffed… panty… girdle!”

I have no idea why this seems important now. None of the others have anything on over their girdles. The mind plays funny games under duress.

“You needn’t worry about that now. However, I do want you to put your top back on. Tomorrow I want you fully dressed as a proper lady. You shall not parade about in your underwear like these worthless sluts, although you shall wear your swim cap as a token of your compassion in their miserable plight. Em… please call Mrs. Periwinkle, at Second Hand Rose and ask her if she will stay open a bit longer. I would like you to take Millicent down there and have her purchase appropriately contrite clothing.”

“Certainly, Lucinda. It is my pleasure.”

The trip into town is abominable. I find it excruciatingly awkward to walk normally, wearing the dildo panty. The twin intruders are extremely distracting. Though not painful or completely disruptive to my normal stride… I am compromised and the plug in my arse continues to agitate the maddening sensation that I am in desperate need of a bowel movement.

The panty girdle isn’t bad to sit in at all. The thick foam padding actually serves as a soft cushion between my butt cheeks and the hard plastic seat. It is enough of an intermediary that my weight and the bouncing of the bus, does not conspire to drive the plug, much further up my ass. The swim cap is tight. I can’t keep myself from continually raising my hand to touch and stroke it. It’s infuriating. Obviously, I couldn’t feel my hair beneath it under normal circumstance, but I know this is different. All of my hair has just been brutally hacked off and I was not even given an opportunity to see it. Though… maybe I don’t want to. The worst part is the stares from other people. I know the other girls have gone through this and I suppose the citizenry of this college town are treated to displays like this, during rush week, every year… but it doesn’t make me feel any better.

Fortunately, we only have to walk one block to the bus stop and the final trek to Mrs. Periwinkle’s store is no more then two blocks. Second Hand Rose is a vintage clothing store, in the older part of town and Mrs. Periwinkle is a very nice little old lady that somewhat reminds me of my grandmother. I am terribly embarrassed to meet her dressed in just my skimpy top and this huge panty girdle… and wearing this stupid rubber swim cap. Apparently, this does not bother her.

“My, my, my, what have we here? You girls and your college pranks. My, my, my.”

“Hello Mrs. Periwinkle. Good evening. Thank you so much for staying open and waiting for us. Well, Yes, Mrs. Periwinkle… this is Millicent and I’m afraid she is in need of some decent clothing. May we look around?”

“Yes, yes, of course. But do be brief. I really would like to close up soon and go home. Is there anything I can help you two find?”

“Actually, yes. Do you have any nice church dresses?”

“Church dresses?”

“Yes. You know, something demure and respectable and modest. Millicent is a special girl and really mustn’t run around in her underwear like some of the other shameless pledges.”

“I see… well… yes, I don’t get much call for nice dresses from the younger crowd
these day… but, yes, I do have a few. Please follow me.”

Em and I follow Mrs. Periwinkle over to a rack containing about thirty dresses that all look like they came from the closets and estate sales of old ladies who have passed away. None of them could be considered stylish even ten years ago. Em finally selects three that will easily fit me. The first, is a real gem… peach, polyester jacquard, elastic waist, long pleated skirt, elbow length sleeves with a wide, white collar and cuffs and zips up the back. The second is also polyester, all pink in some obscure and meaningless pattern, skirt below the knees, elastic waist, billowy bodice with a small pointed collar that pulls on over the head with a four-button closure at the back. The third… that I’m now wearing… is a light blue polyester tiny flowered print, that buttons up the front in pairs of little pearly buttons with loops, same elastic waist, another long pleated skirt, and again… the elbow length sleeves. This one also has a wide white, platter collar with the extra special, added touch of a cute, sewn on white bow. None of them fit well. All of them balloon out and around my over padded hips and rear. All of them have enough material through the bodice that I appear devoid of breast. In one word… Horrendous!

“Do you have any nice shoes? Millicent shouldn’t wear running shoes with these lovely dresses”

“My, my, yes… over here please.”

Em finds a goofy pair of black lace up oxfords for me. Classic old lady shoes. They are really quite comfortable, but they look ridiculous with this dress… totally geriatric. Then she decides I need a sweater and I end up with a large, white, polyester pointelle, button cardigan, which I wear draped over my shoulders and buttoned only at my neck. Mrs. Periwinkle has a full-length mirror on the wall near the dresses and when we pass by it again, I get a full view of myself. I look pathetic… like a sugarcoated caricature… an overly exaggerated feminine refugee from some ultra zealous, conservative religious cult. The entire visual effect though… is severely distorted… pushed to the bizarre… by the bright white swim cap that tightly hugs my head. The incongruity… the contrast… screams FREAK!

“Perfect! Thank you Mrs. Periwinkle. You’ve been wonderful. Millicent, please pay Mrs. Periwinkle and we shall be on our way.”

So, I pay her. My credit card takes another hit, although the price for this crap… is, I suppose reasonable. I know a lot of the kids at school are into vintage… but they don’t ever wear crap like I’m in right now. I don’t see how she stays in business with this junk. I mean, only a twit would ever wear clothes like this. Nonetheless… so attired… we depart the Shoppe… Em leading and I… waddling behind… like a… a… like a spinster church lady with a dildo up her ass. On the bus ride back to campus, people stare at me again and I mostly keep my face away from them and study my reflection in the window.

“The swim cap bothers you, doesn’t it, Millicent?”

“Yeah… ah… yes, Mistress Em.”

“Well, you won’t be wearing it after tomorrow night.”

“NO! I mean… Mistress Em… You’re not going to make me go to class with this butchered hair?”

“No we’re not. You’re going to Miriam’s Beauty Salon tomorrow and we’ll have that mess straightened out.”

Well that is a relief. Not much of one, though… my hair is so ruined… but at least, maybe this Miriam can salvage something out of it… maybe at least a pixie cut or something with a little more style. God! Do I really have to go through classes tomorrow looking like this? This is so Dork! Then… thinking, maybe… Em seems to be in a good mood… I decide to push my luck.

“Mistress Em? Can I ask you something?”


“Why does Lucinda say I’m special? Why am I being treated differently?”

“Well, well… You think you’re special? That is very interesting, Millicent. My, my… aren’t we perceptive? Let’s just say, that we… The Sorority… like to induct the girls we find with the most potential. We keep a particular look out for those individuals that herald from a responsible, refined or privileged lineage and are malleable and able to provide The Sorority with the opportunity to provide a meaningful difference to their lives. You could say that watching a naive young woman blossom and bloom through a psychological metamorphous… before our eyes, brings us sublime pleasure.”

Hmmm… Hard to figure exactly what Em just said. Sounds like a lot of mumble, jumbo, double speak to me… that could mean anything… except… she did seem to admit that there is some kind of double standard, concerning pledges. Problem remains… though… I can’t figure if this is a good thing or a bad thing.

I feel like a total moron. First class of the day… Intro to Early Western Art and I’m sitting in the back corner for the second time. Not only do I feel like a moron… I look like a moron. I’m wearing the pink monstrosity, sweater and shoes, over my dumpling underwear… and of course the swim cap. I am mortified. I cannot find the words to describe the loathing I feel with myself… knowing that I am actually sitting here of my own free will and humiliating myself like this to join Sigma Gamma Rho. This is unfathomable!

Freaking Colleen and Sam come right over and sit next to me! Two giggling, bouncy, overly cheerful dimwits dressed in their underwear and matching swim caps. I should think they would never speak to me again after last night. I certainly do not wish to speak with them! Will this absurdity never cease?

“Hi ya doing, Millicent? Huh? Wasn’t that wild?”

“Uh… yeah… fantastic.”

“Yeah… Wow! You were really bitchin!”

“Uh… yeah.”

“What’s with the clothes? You still not wearing your girdle? You are so asking for it. Geeze… Louise… I’d think after last night you’d be with the program.”

“Yeah… no thanks to you.”

“Geeze… Millicent. I had to do that… you know… the Sisters… and besides… I think you really liked it.”

“Screw you.”

“I don’t think so… Millie… I think it was screw YOU night. And… I kind of think you liked it.

“Screw you.”

“Yeah… right. Still got your little friends?”

“No… and screw you.”

“You’re not wearing your special friendly pants?”

“No. I have the girdle and all the rest of this crap on. I don’t need your freaking weird little rubber dicks.”

“Owww… tough woman a talkin’… stand way back. Millie’s gonna be kicking ass… sitting in the back of class… with no hair… hiding under her own little rubber cap. She one bad ass now.”

“Ok… ok… whatever. Screw you. I stuck up for you last night and what did you do? Huh… you couldn’t wait to stick those things up my ass and cut my hair off. That’s a bunch of shit. Look at my hair!”

“Oh, well listen to you… Little Miss Stuck Up… you got stuck up all right. You always acting like you’re better then the rest of us. The Queens’ special little princess with her special little girdle and her special treatment. Oh… count for us, Millie… count the spankings for the sluts… watch them cry and crawl at your feet. Look at you… you’re still special aren’t you? You’re in a dress… you don’t run around campus in just your bra and girdle do you? You get to dress up like you’re going to some prissy social tea. Like you’re some special socialite lady friend of the Queen.”

“No… it’s not like that…”

“Yeah… right… asshole.”

I was glad when class ended. Colleen and Sam were completely bitchy. Somehow, Lucinda has engineered a distinct division in the perceptions of treatment between my five sister pledges and myself. Somehow… even though they’d avoided anything remotely as invasive as my last night’s dildo experience and obviously they still have all their hair… they believe that I… me, for God’s sakes… am getting a free ride into the Sorority at their expense. It’s really twisted. And the other thing that bothers me..
. is… Millie. Now they’re calling me Millie… as if Millicent is my real name and they’re being real chummy by calling me Millie. Millie Milquetoast for God’s sakes… although that’s usually a derogatory term for a submissive male… why the hell did that just pop into my head? Geezus… I’m loosing it! God… I hate that name!

After my second class… in which thankfully, none of the other pledges are present… and thankfully, I receive nothing more then smirks and stares over the appearance of my rubber capped dome, I decide to stop by the bookstore. In the souvenirs merchandise section, I find a scarf, I buy it and cover my shinny white noggin as best as I can. It’s actually a successful ruse. Of course if you stare me in the face, the swim cap is obvious, but for the most part, at any distance… and except for wearing this godawful church girl dress, I just look like your average prude, nerd with a kerchief covering her head.

“Hey! Chubb Ass! Carry my books.”


“My books. Carry them to my next class. And if you don’t address me properly… you’ll be down on your hands and knees, crawling to class and trying to figure out how to do that and still carry my books.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“The scarf… nice touch… I like it. Did you think of that yourself?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

One of the other Sister, Mistresses… has caught me up and loaded me down with her books. I’m not sure of her name… but I’m pretty sure it’s Gloria’s Big Sister. As I stand before her trying to arrange this new load, she takes advantage of my juggling to reach out and rub a hand over my head. I can do nothing but stand here and allow her to massage my rubber scalp like a little puppy being rewarded for successfully performing a task.

“You’re really taking to this aren’t you? I can see you’re a natural. You’re really cut out to be Sigma Gamma Rho, aren’t you? You know… we’re the most influential Sorority in the Nation.”

“Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress. Where is your next class?”

Her class is clear across campus from where I have to be next, for Am Lit 101. I arrive a full ten minutes late, the door is already closed and when I open it and walk into the room, Professor Winston stops in mid sentence and glares at me over glasses perched on the end of his nose.

“Audits to the rear, please. And do be quiet.”

“No… I’m registered… I’m…”


Professor Winston doesn’t recognize me in this getup. He thinks I’ve barged in… disrupted his classroom for an audit and he is completely pissed. I’m embarrassed, but the best thing to do is just to shut up and get to a seat in the back. It’s probably a good thing he doesn’t remember me now… I can straighten this out after Rush and I’m back to being myself. Unfortunately, as I make my way through the crowded class toward the rear, I am not accustomed to my new pelvic girth and can not help but bang and bump my exaggerated hips into every seated student that I pass. The ensuing grumbles and the crash of books and pads being knocked from writing arms, draws everyone’s ire and further infuriates Winston.

“Miss! What is your name?”

“Millicent! Millicent Milquetoast.”

What? What did I just say? Why did I say that? It just came out! I just blurted it out. I don’t know where it came from… except… well… I just couldn’t give him my real name. I couldn’t… God! What am I doing! He scribbled my “name” along side his notes, glared at me once again and in slowly measured words, informed me that if I ever found the door to his classroom closed, it was to remain closed.

I ran into Colleen again in French Lit. She didn’t sit with me this time. She sat with some other girls and joked and laughed and gossiped until class was ready to begin. Every time she caught me looking over toward her, she raised her hand to her brilliant, white capped, cranium and ran her fingers over it as if she were playing with a head full of long, luscious hair. I couldn’t miss the pantomime that she was mocking me for covering my own swim cap with a scarf. She seemed to now enjoy her entire masquerade. I watched as she put her hands between the thighs of her girdle and slowly draw them up and over her stomach to finally encircle the mammoth cups of her bra, lewdly massaging them and squeezing them like a tawdry burlesque queen. Why… even if they are just filled to overflowing with foam falsies… that’s still no reason for her to act like that. How can she possibly think she’ll be considered a good Sigma Gamma Rho candidate, acting the slut in our classroom? God… she is so disgusting.

My eyes drift down to my own chest. The loose, drooping folds of my good, church lady dress give no hint to the presence of the blooming, youthful bosom beneath it. The minimizer bra that I wear completely flattens my breasts. Bosom… breasts… boobs… mammaries… these descriptive terms… of certain female attributes do not apply to me this day. Strangely, I do not miss them. I am not jealous of Colleen’s exaggerated flamboyance. I will soon be Sigma Gamma Rho. I have a future.

We stand at attention. This evening, Gloria’s Big Sister is Mistress of Ceremonies. She is called “Zet”. The slut pledges are all in their white outfits, in stark contrast to myself in my sweet, little old lady, pink dress.

“Millicent. Step forward. Stand beside me and face these sluts.”

My, God. Nothing has transpired. We all just arrived at the House, placed our books and packs on the vestibule table, like good little dweebs and have silently assumed our positions in a straight line and wait until all are present. No introductions, no speech, no pep talk nor flaming rant over what losers we are… just… Millicent… step forward.

“Millicent… before we begin… I want everyone to know how much I enjoyed your assistance today. You are extremely sensitive to the needs of your Big Sisters and that is most appreciated. And… I must point out, with the addition of that lovely scarf to your ensemble, you have shown to be quite resourceful in choosing to keep your appearance appropriate for a properly demure, Sigma Gamma Rho initiate. You are becoming quite the image of a lady. Of course… it does take a very special person to accomplish such elegance, especially, within the available parameters. I assure you… that if any one… of your sister sluts… had the audacity to place a covering… or a scarf… over her white… dildo head… her vanity would be shaved from her skull… on the spot. Do you miserable sluts understand me?”

“Yes. Mistress!”

“Good. Then drop to the floor and assume the position. Millicent… You will again honor us with the count, on my command. And sluts… I want your eyes up here. Focus on Millicent’s lips… I want you to watch her count… savor the words. I expect you would desire to achieve a greater number over your pathetic performance of last night. Is this not so?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Holy Crap! Mistress Zet is not wasting any time in drawing the line darker, between the girls and myself. Not only has she praised me and castigated them in nearly one breath. Zet has increased the number of spankings they are to receive and further assured that I am the obvious instrument to their misery.

“You may begin.”



“Thank you, Millicent. May I have another.”


The poor Dears take solid, twenty… hard whacks before I am stopped. It has gone on for so long. They sob and mumble incoherently now, their gaze long dropped from my face… they can only wallow in their private despair. Their faces buried deeply within their arms, they shudder and weep… and yet… their reddened tails remain poised on high… they are obedient… they do not drop. Their suffering for this night is mercifully ended. For that I am grateful… but now… what of me? This was the transitional period of last night. The place where the table is turned and the five are offered vengeance and free reign over my body and spirit. I cannot
imagine my fate and that is a terror far worse then knowing.

“Well now, sluts. Sit up. Stay on your knees, but sit up… sit back. Feel the burn. Surely your poor ravaged buns are too tender for sitting… but you must sit up, for I must tell you of Millicent’s evening. Tonight, she shall have her hair dressed. Her remaining hairs… for you do so remember… how callously you treated her, for your own enjoyment. Millicent will now retire to Miriam’s Beauty Salon, where she shall be pampered and treated to a complimentary cut and set.”

The five are stunned… catatonic. They’ve just been severely spanked under my direction, compelled to hold and accept each successive, compounding, punishing sting and blow without complaint. And for that, their submissive obliquity… I am to be coddled in a beauty salon. I see the incomprehension in their faces… and neither do I, understand it. I am now being flaunted and groomed as a Sigma Gamma Rho designee beyond the experience of their subjugation. Why is their suffering continued as I am exulted? The Sisters… Mistresses smile benignly… like enraptured nuns, sharing a secrete in a chapel sanctuary… while Lucinda Silvers… the wicked glint and icy sparkle in her eyes… sends shivers through my very spine.

“Very well… now, Millicent… please curtsey and thank these dildo heads for accepting these extra spankings tonight, in your place… and be off with you. And do have a nice time.”

There is little conversation from Em as we again walk the short distance to the bus stop. I am for the most part, lost in the conflicting perspectives of my own thoughts. I am certainly relieved that I’ve been spared from any further corporeal abuse. I wasn’t questioned and there seemed to be no care as to whether I still wore those horrid dildo panties. I was surprisingly complimented for my initiative, in hiding my white rubber swim cap beneath a scarf… something that the Sorority’s obsession with rules compliance had seemingly allowed or overlooked. Although, I tend to think the latter, given the harshness of Zet’s proclamation that, if any of the other girls try it, they will be shaved bald.

We… the girls and I, seem to be caricatures of opposites. They appear as a group of interchangeably anonymous, blatant, sex objects, encased in molded latex, lycra and rubber. They portray exaggerated promises of bizarre and kinky promiscuity, yet they are so secured within their audacious coverings, so as to be intimately inaccessible. I, on the other hand, am covered in underwear and clothing, below my knees, that reshape me into someone undeniably female, but sexually undesirable. It’s a puzzling dichotomy.

And more puzzling, is the question, why. Why am I segregated in this hazing or rush experience? Why am I not treated equally? Is there something I did early on… when I applied? Is there something in my past… do they have access to my records? Am I really so superior to the other girls… is it so obvious? Am I really such a perfect match for Sigma Gamma Rho that I am a shoe-in and the five are merely being toyed with for the Sister’s pure amusement? It does seem really cruel. I do know that in the corporate world, back stabbing, using and discarding other people for personal advancement, creating and maintaining distracting discord and jealousy among assistants and subordinates is normal. Is this the modus operandi? Are the girls being pounded into accepting their fate as submissive drones? Am I being groomed at this early stage for my role as a leader in the business world? I don’t really know… but I do know one thing for sure. Lucinda Silvers is behind all of this.

In reality, though… maybe the why… the wherefore… is irrelevant. Moving ever upward and into privileged circles is obviously a good thing for me. I shouldn’t be looking at this gift as anything less then a fantastic opportunity to secure a rightfully influential future for myself. If the five are destined to mediocrity, that is their misfortune and not my concern. Fate is like that. Cream rises to the top.

“We’re here.”

I clamber to my feet and scramble off the bus behind Em, following her into a quaint and dated, old fashioned beauty parlor. This is not some techno glitzy, trend savvy, boutique. This is the place you see when you Google “ladies hair fifties”. Miriam’s Beauty Salon. Interesting name… I wonder at Miriam’s conception of beauty. An elderly woman is seated along a wall, beneath one of two, whirring, and antique looking machines, which I know from pictures, are hair dryers. A woman with silky white hair, wearing a bright pink, polyester smock is washing some combs and assorted paraphernalia in a large white, porcelain sink. A cigarette dangles from the side of her mouth. Her head cocked to one side… smoke curls up, along side her cheek and she squints at us with one eye, as we stand inside the doorway. There is no one else around. This must be Miriam. She drops her combs, scissors and whatever else, into different sized glass jars without dropping her gaze from us, as if she’s done this a million times. Well, I guess Miriam is experienced.

“Hello girls. What can we do for you today?”

“Hi, I’m Em and this is my friend Millicent. Millicent has suffered a most unfortunate accident with her hair and is in dire need of your expertise. We’re hoping you can fit her in.”

“What kind of accident? What the heck… is that a swim cap? Just what happened to your hair? Take that thing off and let’s have a look.”

Sheepishly, I remove my kerchief and the rubber cap.

“Land sakes! Honey, what happened to you? Did you get it caught in something? Well… it’s not so bad… it’s just hacked up… we can clean that up. Heck… for a minute there, I was afraid you were going to show me some kind of chemical tragedy.”

“It’s a long story… and… well… Millicent is just very fortunate that we were able to save this much. It was a pretty traumatic experience for her and we both hope you can fix this up. You know… even it up… and maybe do something so that she looks like her regular, old sweet self again.”

“Well… sure… Honey. I can even it up… no problem. What did you have in mind? A little pixie would be cute… you know… I could just blend it all together. Come here Honey… don’t be shy… let me have a look at it. Well… heck… I don’t have anyone coming in for a while… you might as well climb right into my chair… we can’t send you back out looking like this. You can hang your sweater on the stand, next to the door.”

“A pixie would be really nice… yeah. Or maybe something a little more feminine. Millicent’s really sweet, an old fashioned kind of girl, you know… maybe you could put a little curl into it?”

“Yes… we could curl it some… be difficult though… it’s pretty short in places. I’d have to use my smallest rods. What’s up with you, Honey? Cat got your tongue? She like a mute or something… can’t talk?”

“Oh, Millicent can talk… that’s for sure. She’s just bashful and a little shy… you know… she’s an old fashioned girl, with old fashion values… mature for her age really. Can you do something that will look really nice on her… you know mature… but still curly… and last… you know, not wash right out?”

“Sure. Is that what you want, Honey?”

“I… ah… guess so…”

“Well, you guess so… ok. Well… First, let’s get a cape on you and see what we have to work with.”

When I sat down and faced the mirror, I was shocked… just as shocked as I was when I got home from the butchering at the Sorority last night and first looked at myself in the privacy of own bathroom. Nothing has changed. My hair still looks terrible… sticking up in places, but mostly sweat flattened… pasted against my head from all the time spent confined and mashed under the swim cap. It is fit for a scarecrow, but nothing else. Miriam starts by running a comb through my hair and blowing it with a hand held dryer… just lifting it… blowing it out… explaining that she is just t
rying to gauge how much more she will have to trim in order to even it up. She said she’d wash it after she was done with the shaping. She kept making little humming noises to herself and going… hmmm… and “my, my”… and then all of a sudden, she picked up a small chrome scissors and hair began to fly. Maybe I started to fidget in the chair… I don’t know. It’s just that… I already look so bad… my hair is so hacked… the thought of losing more, just freaks me right out. I mean… my hair has never been this short… never. I was afraid I’d start bawling at any moment.

“Now don’t you go get excited, Honey… I’m just trimming a little… some of these long ones. I’m going to leave as much on as I can.”

Miriam did seem to be meticulous and as I watched in the mirror my hair began to take on a shape, more or less even in length, around my head. As the scissors clicked and clacked, I felt somewhat more at ease, but there was no denying the harsh reality that nothing she did, would ever bring it back. The rounded shaping made me look younger… much younger. It was still kind of long for a pixie, which is ok, because I really dread a cutesy, skimpy pixie… but, maybe she can turn it into a shaggy kind of pixie… that would at least look more contemporary and less childish. But, a curly pixie? Naw… I can’t even picture that.

“That’s it for now. Let’s get over to the sink and wash it.”

I followed her to the white porcelain, took the seat and Miriam tilted me back and gave me a soothing and I mean… I haven’t felt this relaxed in a week… shampoo. She vigorously kneaded her fingers across my head… added more lotion and just methodically massaged my scalp. I melted. My, God… I could stay here, like this forever. Alas… That is hardly the case and I am escorted over to one of the dryers.

“Hi Gladys. You should be about done. Why don’t you go over to my chair for your comb out and let Millicent sit under there for a while. I’ll be right with you.”

Miriam fiddled with knobs over my head, adjusting the temperature, setting the timer… then smiled and said something I couldn’t hear under the sudden rasping sound of the dryer. Gladys, a gray haired, older lady, took the seat and the both of them started talking as Miriam began removing curlers from her head. I couldn’t hear any of it. I glanced around the room. There was a low table next to me, between the two dryers with assorted style magazines, the most recent being at least eight years old. Incredibly, I found one going all the way back to 1962, picked it up and began to look through it, at all the pictures of happy smiling girls wearing big, teased, bouffant flips, elaborate up dos and towering constructions that defy just gravity. It was a trip.

Em has been sitting in one of the waiting chairs, closer to the front of the shop, but now joins me and sits down in the empty dryer seat next to mine. She started to talk to me, but I still can’t hear anything… I just shrug and point to my ears. It was at this time, that I happen to glance up and over to what Miriam is doing with Gladys and her hair. She is picking at it with a stubby fat comb and shaping it into what I can only describe as something like a short Afro. It’s that generic, geriatric, curly do, you always see on old ladies everywhere. I never thought about it much… but sitting here… I realize places like this… Miriam’s… must be where all these old ladies still go. I’ve never seen a woman walk out of a regular salon, sporting a head like that. Em is still trying to talk to me and I still can’t hear her, so I finally pop my head out from under the plastic visor of my metal dome.


“WHAT? … Mistress!”

“I want to run to the drugstore for a minute. I have to get something. You just stay here and do what Miriam says. I’ll probably be back before you’re finished.”


Geez… big deal. Does she think I’m going to run out of here half-baked? Come on… my hair is a mess. I want this straightened out more then anyone. I watch as Em walks up to Miriam and Gladys. They talk a bit… Em and Miriam… then all of them together… looking over at me a few times… but I’m back under the dryer and all I hear is the roar of the heater. Yadda, yadda, yadda. Go to the drugstore… for God’s sake.

Whoa! Look at that! Miriam is running big electric clippers, all over Gladys’s neck! I mean she’s laying that thing right up on her and her skin is turning shiny and pink. Cripes! That’s kind of like overkill, don’t you think? I mean she already looks like she’s wearing Ronald McDonald’s, mother’s wig… this just makes it all look more like a curly pom-pom perched on top of her head. Geezus! Now there is look, I do not want!

Em is long gone when Miriam finishes with Gladys and the two of them settle up at the register. I’m next and I’m still a little shaky from witnessing that final episode, but I don’t really have the hair for that… so I have to like, get a grip and get on with this. Miriam gathers me from the dryer and I settle back into the still warm, heavily padded chair. I get my arms situated on the side supports and let my body sink and relax. Pads on pads… what a fluffy sensation. It’s really pretty comfortable. I really am feeling pampered. Miriam rolls a wheeled cart next to the station and I glance down to discover it holds a boxed assortment of different sized, color coded, curler rods. Ok… I guess we are going after the curly pixie after all. Damn… I’m seeing Gladys again… easy girl… easy. I’m tempted to object and tell her I’d just as soon have her blend my hair into a soft shag and leave it at that. But then, I’m thinking… well… this is still a part of my Sorority initiation and maybe I better just keep my trap shut and go with it. I mean… really… it is pretty nice of them to get me into a salon after last nights shearing. And really… Miriam isn’t going to go and put an old lady do on my head… I mean… really… no one would do that to a young girl.

Miriam wraps my hair with the tiniest pink rods and soon my head is completely covered in them. She puts a rolled, towel like, cloth around the back of my neck and pulls it up so it’s snuggled under the lowest rows of rods and clips it together at my forehead. Then… she puts on a pair of rubber gloves, picks up and opens a squeeze bottle of some seriously foul smelling stuff. It immediately registers that this is the same weird odor I smelled when Em and I first walked through the door. Before I am able to contemplate her purpose, Miriam is carefully applying a generous coating of whatever strange liquid it contains, right down the center of every single rod.

“Ah… Miriam… can I ask you… ah… what, ah… is that stuff, anyway?”

“Perm solution.”

“Oh? Why are you putting it on me? I mean… ah… a solution… perm… solution… You’re… ah… giving me a perm?”

Yeah, Honey. It’ll hold a curl better and make your hair easier to take care of. You never had a perm before?”


“Oh… you don’t know what you’ve been missing, Honey. You’ll like it. You just get up in the morning, run your fingers through your hair and you’re done. It’s a real practical, wash and go style. You have a special occasion… you pick it out a little more, give it a little more fullness… shapes up real nice. I tell you… you’ll love it. Why do you think this style is so popular with the older girls? They know what they’re doing… they got smart… they can’t be bothered with fussy hair any more. This is going to look real good on you.”

“The older girls? Which older girls”

“The girls that come in here… well… like Gladys… you met her. She loves her hair like that.”

“My hair… my hair is going to look… like… Gladys?”

“No… Gladys has longer hair then you do. You’ll look nice though. You’ll love it.”

I don’t know about this. This is more than a slightly scary proposition. If anything goes wrong I could end up looking like Bozo the Clown or worse. I don’t want to say anything th
at might insult or piss Miriam off, though. And Em… she’s going to be waltzing back through that door in any minute and I do have a Sorority membership at stake.

Miriam continued the application, talking to me about college and where I was from and how had I come to be here, this evening. I could be fairly straightforward with her, about Wisteriamont and home, but I really had to struggle with tonight… as if I really had a choice in this. She was asking me things like, whom my friends are, where they get their hair done, would I recommend her shop to them. I could not tell her, that no one I know… friend or foe would ever set foot in an old lady place like this. Unfortunately, the more she speaks, the worse I feel about deceiving her. She is an honest, hard working, old lady… probably someone’s sweet grandmother… probably trying as best she can, to get by on a clientele that’s dying off. By the time she sets me back under the dryer, I have pretty much promised her, I will come back regularly for touchups and maintenance and have even talked of another appointment, for three weeks from now. I feel like a jerk.

Em has still not returned when I am ready for my comb out. Having stewed, alone with my irrational thoughts for the last twenty or thirty minutes, under the heat of the dryer. I am nearly a nervous wreck, approaching once again, to Miriam’s throne of doom. This is like a big moment of truth. This perm stuff has been cooking and fermenting on my hair and God only knows what it’s done. A nervous glance at my reflection in the mirror only heightens my anxiety. God, I look weird. Big pink tent of a cape, pink dress, little pimple head above it all, covered in tiny little, pink perm rods… this inspires no great confidence in the success of my immediate future.

The rods come out quickly. I look like… I look like… Raggedy Ann… no… too short. Little Orphan Annie… maybe… no… my hair’s still too short. A Brillo Pad! Geezus, God! No! Gladys with short hair! Kee… ripes… a blurry mass of tight curls rings my head… they can’t be more then an inch long… high… thick… what the hell! I look like a clown! A Brillo head, clown with wide saucer eyes and a mouth dropped so far open, you could park softball in there! Holy… friggin… Cripes!

“Now don’t you get too excited, just yet. All I’ve done is take the rods out. We’re going to work this into a nice soft shape. You just wait and see!”

Miriam thinks this is neat? This is what it’s supposed to look like? Holy… friggin… Cripes!

I know what’s coming next and damn sure enough, Miriam has that same wide, stubby, pick comb, thing she used on Gladys. She pokes it into the rolls of coils and starts to separate them. This goes on for quite a while. She’s fast, but there’s a lot of picking and fluffing and fussing going on all over my head. She’s tweaking the jumble of curls into more of a rounded ball shape that has grown in size. Now, it’s more like a two inch, puffy, curly cushion all around my head. Duh… how is this, like… supposed to be any better?

“This isn’t any kind of pixie cut, is it?”

“Oh, Heavens no. This is a wash, fluff and go. Remember?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Now, I just want to clean this up around the edges.”

“Uh, huh.”

Holy… friggin… Cripes! I nearly piss my pants and jump straight up out of my seat at the loud crack that precedes the electric clippers.

“Put your head forward please.”

I guess I’m getting pretty good at taking orders. I drop my head. I don’t really want to watch this in the mirror anyway. Miriam puts the snarling teeth against my head, high on the back of my neck. I have no idea… I can’t believe that’s my natural hairline back there… it can’t be. She draws it straight down to the collar of my cape. Then I feel it again, slightly off center from the last time… the snarl is ungodly as it traces a parallel path to my collar. God! It tingles and vibrates as she presses the cold, wide, cutting blades into my skin. It feels like I’m being shaved! Miriam does this over and over, working her way completely around the back of my neck and up toward the backs of my ears. She folds my ear over and carves a swath that broadly follows the circumference of my ear, not stopping until she reaches a point slightly below my temple. And with a slight downward whisk, clears away any remaining hair, leaving just the slightly pointed vestige of sideburn. The carnage is duplicated around my opposite ear.

“Hold your head up now Millicent, I just want to nip a few of these strays around the top.”

My mind has shut down. Really… what the hell does it matter now? Wash and go… stop and go… poof and go… it is what it is… I came in here with a head of hacked up hair that I wouldn’t want to be seen dead in… wearing a rubber swim cap. How lame was that? At least I don’t have to wear the damn cap when I leave, right? I hear the front door open. That’s probably Em. Well… la-de-dah… nice timing.

“Please keep your head still, Millicent. Yes, that’s it, thank you.”

I take a long, hard look at myself. I have a professionally styled, well executed and highly sculptured, middle-aged, absolutely plebian, matronly cliched set. My completely exposed forehead shines in the overhead, fluorescent lighting. My ears stick out like side mirrors on a semi tractor-trailer. A thousand tiny rings of curls frame my face above my ears, in a perfect sphere. I look like a prize winning, show poodle.

“I’m going to set this with a little holding spray, Honey. Please close your eyes for a minute. You won’t need this normally, but I like to send my girls out with a nice healthy looking sheen in their hair… and it has a darling, lavender scent.”

Miriam gives me a liberal dosing of the stuff. I feel it on my eyelids and particularly in my nose, which seems to have suddenly stiffened up as the lacquer dries. I can’t avoid, involuntarily twitching my nose, in an effort to break the tickling sensation. I keep my mouth closed, but I do feel the fine mist settle over my lips and I cannot resist a compulsion to slip my tongue through to taste it. It’s not real bad… kind of sweet, but pasty. Miriam has loosened the collar to my cape, but doesn’t release me and instead tucks it down inside the collar of my dress.

“Almost finished, Millicent. I just want to nip any of these few hairs, on your neck that I might have missed before.”

One final pop of the clippers for a cursory run over the lowest part of my neck and I am pronounced complete, my cape whipped away and I guess this is to be my official presentation for Em’s approval.

“What do you think?”

With the physical bulk of the cape gone, the stark expanse of bare skin, between the collar of my dress and the tops of my ears, makes my neck seem long and thinner. She has left me with not even the vestige of bangs. The curly crown, simply rises from my natural hairline and the effect is to make my facial features appear slightly more petite within the context of my head. I almost look cherubic… the face of one of those chubby, little flying babies you sometimes see in renaissance paintings of fantasy, religious transfigurations. Miriam has given me a hand mirror so that I may inspect her handiwork from the side and rear. I am astonished at the severity of the cut line that separates cleared flesh from the remaining, curly mass of hair. At the back, my neck is shaved so high, to a new hairline, my skin appears lighter and pale, from a lack of exposure to the tanning rays of the sun. Even when I wore my hair in a ponytail, it was never so vulnerable. Miriam has shaped the cut line to flow upward behind my ears and perfectly arc around them, leaving nearly a half inch circumference of visible, bared, white skin, before terminating into those little points in front of my ears. My cut is far more severe and sculptured than that granny, puff style is, she gave Gladys… though it is in that same geriatric genre.

“Well… it’s… ah… nice, thank you.”

“You don’t sound sure… I can t
ake a little more off the top if you’d like.”

“No… no… yes. It’s wonderful… different… I… I love it. It’s so much better, then when I came in here. It’s just… that… I guess it will take a little getting used to.”

“Sure it will, Honey. It’s a new you… change is always like that, but I think it suits you well… makes you look cuter than a button. And… you’re just going to love how easy it is to manage and care for. You’ll see. Now… to keep this looking nice… you should come in every two or three weeks, so we can keep the neck clean… looking nice. It wouldn’t take nearly as long as today, Honey. Just a little clipper work and you’d be on your way. Or we could shave it. Some of my girls like that baby smooth feeling at the back of their neck, you get with a razor. But, we can decide on that later.”

“Uh, huh.”

“I see your friend has returned. Why don’t you stand up and let her have a good look at you. We’re done here for now.”

“Uh, huh.”

I get out of the chair, but I don’t look at Em… I am too mesmerized by my reflection in the mirror. This new hairstyle, this prim crowning of my sugary sweet, grandmotherly dress makes me look even more like a goody-goody church girl. I look ready to attend some crazed, conservative, evangelical, hallelujah, gospel extravaganza. What I don’t look like… is a young undergraduate, Wisteriamont College girl. Maybe girls dressed more fancy and formally when this school was founded… but this is the twenty-first century now and students… well… no one my age, looks like this in real life. Well… ok, maybe the most full tilt, mousy nerd at some fundamentalist church school… but not here… nope… not even the townies, no body, not a soul, no where, no way… nadda… zilch! My prissy, saccharin appearance is going to stand out like I’m carrying a giant neon sign with arrows that says “TERMINAL DORK – KEEP AWAY”. My flat chest and fat hips and ass just make me look all that more misshapen and homely! DORK… DORK… DORK! Arf! Arf! BARF BAG ALERT!

“That is so great Miriam! Outstanding! What a fantastic job, We were sure you could fix her hair, but, now! Wow! What can I say? What a princess! Oh, she looks perfect! Thank you! Now, pay Miriam… Millicent, dear. We need to get going.”

“Ah… do you take credit cards?”

“Sure, Honey. Now, Millicent, don’t forget. You really should come back in a few weeks for a touch up.”

“Oh… don’t you worry, Miriam. I’ll make sure she doesn’t forget. Oh, this is too priceless!”

“Oh dear. This card… dear me, I’m sorry, Millicent… you’ve given me someone else’s card. I’m afraid I have to see some photo id. Do you have a driver’s license or something with your picture?”

“Oh… ah… aha… yes… I’m sorry… ha, ha… ah… um… I should have told you… ah… Millicent is not actually my real name… it’s… like ah… a nick-name… in my Sorority… here… here is my license… that’s me… I’m her… we’re the same… see…?”

“Lands sakes… that’s ok… I just need to check identification, when a customer uses someone else’s card. It’s the law and you know how they are. Millicent is a very nice name. You just keep right on using it. My goodness! Look at this hair! Is this you? My goodness… you certainly had a very full head of hair when this was taken. Lovely, lovely hair… it was so long, wasn’t it? Well… believe me… I think you’ll find your new cut, much more to your liking and easier to care for.”

Em is in kind of a hurry and in scurrying to stay with her, I almost forget my sweater and have to run back into Miriam’s to get it. Once retrieved, I slip it over my shoulders like before and fasten just the top button. The sleeves dangle and flap about me like life-less wings.

“Do you still have your swim cap?”

“Yes, Mistress Em, I do… but I didn’t think you’d want me to put it on over top of my new set?”

“You’re right… smart girl… but I don’t want you to lose it. You screw up and you’re right back in it. Millicent… here… I picked these up at the drugstore for you. You owe me nineteen dollars and seventy nine cents.”

“Glasses? I don’t need glasses… Mistress.”

“They’re reading glasses and yes you do. And here’s a chain… put them on.”

“Mistress, I don’t need reading glasses either, my eyesight is perfect.”

“Millicent. Are you Sigma Gamma Rho material?”

“Yes, Mistress, YES!”

“Millicent. If I tell you, you need to wear reading glasses. Then you need to wear reading glasses. Ok? You get it? End of story… put them on… and the chain.”

The chain is like a dummy strap for children’s mittens. Each end has a little plastic loop that slips over the arms of the glasses and the chain goes around my neck, so… like, if they fall off or I take them off, they hang from the chain on my flat chest. The lenses are weird… not like a regular prescription or anything… but they’re like a pair of magnifying glasses. They might be good for someone with bad eyes that can’t read small type, but when I put them on, everything is out of scale and out of focus. They don’t hurt my eyes or anything… they just make everything blurry.

“Wait! Mistress Em… wait! How can I wear these? I can’t see right.”

“You see me, don’t you?”


“You can see where you are, can’t you? You can see the sidewalk, the street, the cars… what’s the problem?”

“Yeah… Yes, I can see all of that… but it’s all blurry and everything at the edges is extra big and fuzzy! Mistress Em! You can’t expect me to walk around in these glasses?”

“Yes… actually I do. You’ll get used to them. If you think you’re in a life or death situation… or in class, if you have trouble writing or reading the board or your books… you can push them down your nose and look over the tops of them, but until you’re told otherwise… you’ll wear those glasses.”

It’s a panicky kind of situation. I can sort of see everything, but my depth perception is skewed. I raise my hand up in front of my face and it’s huge… every wrinkle, pore or freckle is magnified. I ease over to the glass of Miriam’s shop window, trying to see my reflection. I have to move closer… and then closer. The clear plastic frames are big and round and the lenses… as I move even closer… the lenses suddenly come into focus and my eyes appear gigantic! Oh… NO! It’s not a coke-bottle effect… but it’s just as bad, they’re grotesquely magnified! I look like even more of a dork! This can’t be happening to me. How is this possible?

Totally lacking confidence in my perceptions and relationship to my surroundings… I follow awkwardly behind Em, toward the bus stop as she strides further and further away from me. I walk slowly and deliberately, subconsciously holding my arms and hands, limply before me, as if to shield my disjointed body from any sudden and unexpected collision. It’s not as bad as that… I can see the colors and forms of what’s ahead of me and I surely won’t walk into a lamppost or another person or even off the sidewalk… but it is fiercely disconcerting. I must look completely retarded to any passerby.

The moment I enter my room and close the door, I lose the glasses and get out of the padded panty girdle. The glasses are the worst. Even if I can’t discern anyone’s features, I know people were staring at me on the bus because I could still see well enough to distinguish a face turned in my direction. The bus had been over half empty and so brightly lighted that there was no way I could sit unnoticed and Em had chosen seats for us, right up front… anyone boarding, got an up close and personal look at me. Em had also escorted me across campus, I guess to assure that I’d keep them on. The campus walks are sparsely traveled at this time of night, so I didn’t actually attract any attention and the walks are well lit, but there are plenty of shadows and dark areas that gave me serious cause for concern. I was deathly afraid I’d trip over something in the fuzzy shadows.

Anyway, that is all behind me
and I am alone. Now, I need to crack the books and study. Oh, crap… my paddle. I see it, where I left it on the table. I still have to finish that damn thing before Saturday night. I had wanted it to be special… something unique and picked by the Sisters to hang on the House wall, so future pledges would be drawn to it. They would instinctively know that the Sister who made this… had gone on to become a respected power in the world… had become a woman to be reckoned with. Now… I wasn’t so sure. Now, I just want it all to be over. Lying there, it just reminds me of nothing more then how much I’ve submitted to the Sister’s persecutions and I still, literally, have a royal ass beating awaiting me. Damn it… I’m exhausted… I’m going to bed.

Friday’s are a light load. My first class is not until ten fifteen. I have plenty of time to get myself ready and my last class ends at one-thirty. Miriam is right about my perm. I took a good, steamy shower and shampooed my hair twice to get rid of her lacquer coating, but when my hair dries, I look exactly like the same, prissy old lady with a poodle do, I was last night. Wash and go is right and I can’t do a damn thing to change it.

I’d finally figured out yesterday, how to hook up my minimizer bra by myself. It’s still a stretch, but goes on quicker, and getting into the fat ass, padded panty girdle is almost second nature. The peach dress is the only one I haven’t worn at all yet, so I’m good to go in nothing flat. Well… that’s real hilarious, isn’t it? Nothing… flat… just like my chest.

Oh, Crap! I just remembered! During our walk across campus, Em had told me that she felt that maybe she had been a little hard on me that first night… making me remove my little pearl earrings. She asked me if they made me feel pretty. I said it wasn’t a big deal and I didn’t care one way or the other. She said… no… earrings make a girl feel pretty and suggested that I should go into town, go to Second Hand Rose and buy a new pair. She said she didn’t care what kind I bought as long as they screwed on and were over an inch and a half in diameter. She also thought I needed a large handbag. Something big enough to carry my books, because she didn’t think my book pack looked consistent with my new appearance. Why… I should need a new bag or accessories that match this Suzy Creamcheese ensemble, after today… escapes me. Tomorrow is my induction and all of this, Mistress, slave, hazing, stupidity, will be over. Of course… a suggestion from Em, is a directive… and I’m still a pledge. Which means… I can’t hide out in my room after classes. I’ll have to hazard another trip into town wearing these magna-peepers. At five of ten, I put on my sweater, grab my book pack, loop my reading specs over my neck and head out into the world.

I left the specs dangle on the chain, as I went down my stairs. I hadn’t really given myself enough time to get to class if I couldn’t clearly see where I was going. I figured I’d try to leave them off until I saw someone from the Sorority and then I’d just slip them up on the tip of my nose and peer over them. It was a good plan and I didn’t have to goggle up until I rounded the corner of Frisky Hall and was in sight of the old marble steps. Then… the fun began. I hugged the handrail going up but stumbled over the threshold and that sparked a lot of attention and derisive commentary…

“Hey… Wow! Guys… check out the church lady wannabe! You here for the sisty ugly contest? Well… you won!”

“Hey… Four-Eyes! I know you’re lost… but… ah… the Sunday school is over in the chapel. It’s a good thing you still have two days left to find it! Hahahahahahahaha!”

And so it goes. I don’t know if they recognize me in this “Muffin the Librarian” outfit and just think it’s great sport to bust my chops, or… they are actually so crude and vulgar as to taunt a truly deformed and fashion challenged misfit, as I appear to be. Either way, I am the center of attraction; the class is in chaos and the Prof., finally slams his books on the table, demanding silence. Cripes… Colleen, Gloria and Joanne are also in this class… they’re still in their shinny whites, with the latest addition being; bright red lipstick and long, floppy, false eyelashes… and no one gives them a second glance.

Every class is like that… Muppet Head… Frog Eyes… Carpet Head… Weebles, Wobble… but they don’t fall down… it’s a real treat. Oink… Oink… especially my pledge sisters… they’re the worst.

“Owww… Mommy… may I have another?”

By the time one-thirty drags around, I am more then desperate to get away from campus and head into town. Maybe I’m a little burned out, maybe it was the unrelenting intensity of persecution during and between classes, whatever the cause… the ride today is a soothing respite. The bus is full and at least two thirds of the riders are students from Wisteriamont, but no one on this trip pays any extra or unusual attention to me. I let the glasses fall to my chest. I don’t see anyone from the Sorority. I actually relax.

My anonymity holds for the two blocks leading up to Second Hand Rose and when I close the door I feel like I’ve entered a mausoleum. There doesn’t seem to be a living soul around. It’d Friday afternoon, how does she ever stay in business? Then I see her. Mrs. Periwinkle recognizes me immediately, although more accurately, it’s the dress. She certainly doesn’t remember my name.

“Why, Hello, Dear. My, my… I like what you’ve done with your hair. Very sensible… Very becoming. Well… What can I help you with today? Something special?”

“Ah… Hi… thank you. Well… actually… yeah. I’m… uh… looking for a bag… uh… something I can put my books in. You know… something that doesn’t look like a book bag.”

“Really? My… you really are going in for the whole look aren’t you?”

“Yeah… I guess so. Well… you know… if you’re going to do something… I guess… you ought to do it right.”

“Well, yes… that’s a truism. Can’t fault sound logic like that, can we? Alrighty then, please follow me… I have a large assortment of bags for all occasions. Are you looking for something over the shoulder?”

“I don’t know. It just needs to be big enough for my books and stuff and… you know… look nice with my dress. Oh… and uh… some earrings. Uh… you know… the kind that screw on… and, uh… you know… big.”

“Really? Big? You don’t want posts? I see your ears are already pierced, I have a lot of big, dangly ones, reach all the way to your shoulders… if you want… you could just slip them in. They have to be big? Hmmm… how big… I have a lot of clip-on, too… but they don’t come real big or they just fall off and you lose them.”

“No… um… I’m pretty sure I want the screw kind.”

“Ok… well, they’re all over in that case, by the wall. Well… these are the bags. Oh… look at this one. Isn’t it darling?”

There really aren’t all that many bags that are big enough for my books. The choices come down to half a dozen different beach bag kind of things, which even I know won’t fly under Em’s radar, a black leather shoulder bag which looks too heavy and businesslike with my outfit and a white whicker, box hand bag. It’s kind of unwieldy and resembles a fancy picnic basket. The bottom and sides are fixed in a stiff, rectangular shape with two bent handles that are hinged at the sides, to fold in and meet each other in the center. Then the lid, which has a large slot in the middle and is also hinged, swings down and over the centered handgrips and locks the whole thing in place. It’s a regular Rubik’s Cube, opening and closing the thing. It’s also the only bag that Mrs. Periwinkle has in her entire shop that I think will satisfy Em.

I can’t say I’m especially cranked over the choice of earrings, either. Em’s screw and size requirements again, severely limit my choices. They are all too gaudy, too big and too often shaped like exotic plants, fish, birds and animals. I finally settle, on the
pewter toned pair that appears to be based on a sunflower, with bits of shinny glass embedded in the petals. They are much bulkier then I had hoped for and the entire method of keeping them attached to my ears, centers around compressing my tender lobes between a blunt, threaded rod and the back of the heavy metal flora. My earlobes throb in a painful counterpoint with each beat of my heart. Turning to a mirror on top of the counter, I see that the outboard lumps lean outward and down from their own weight and my sweet lobes have turned pink in the pinching grip. I do not find this to be very attractive and the pain is nearly debilitating.

“You’ve never worn screw backs before have you? Are you all right? You’re sure you don’t want to try something lighter, with a post?”

“No, I’m sure. This is what I want. I’ll take them.”

They’ll see. Every damn one of them… My little pledgie friends… Em… Zet… Lucinda… especially Lucinda. She wants to push me… I know it. She wants to see how tough I am… If I can stick it out. I’ll show her. I can carry this charade in one hand… blind folded. I’m as much Sigma Gamma Rho as Lucinda Silvers is… and ever more so then the rest of those pompous, arrogant bitches!

I have a new purpose in my stride when I leave Mrs. Periwinkle. Well… I have a new purpose. My stride needs work. I have my reading glasses perched right up on the bridge of my nose. I’m going to adapt to this effete masquerade of a vision disability. When I next face those pretentious snobs, I shall be the master of my atrocities.

I find that a measured pace and fluidity of forward motion are prerequisite to any transverse dexterity within my ethereal reality. At first, by consciously forcing a lateral, undulation into my stride, I acquire a soft rhythm of movement that allows ample time to assimilate the forms and shapes I see and process them as representative of a negotiable environment. Admittedly, I suffer lapses of confidence, overwhelming confusion and have to stop several times to collect my composure. The bulk and weight of my loaded bag is in direct conflict with the linear balance required for these early, ambulatory experiments. The result of course, is to effect a highly lopsided gait. I am nearly tempted to give up, however; the pulsating agony, central to the grip of my earrings, remains constant regardless of my motion. It is in that moment that I realize that I must harness these two antagonists and use them to advantage and blend my progress to their harmony. I am committed to overcome these challenges.

I approach the bus stop with only mediocre success. Maintaining an exaggerated roll and sway through my hips as I swing through the pain driven cadence of my walk, does improvise a coordinated locomotion, but still requires too much forethought. The learning curve is steep. I will need more practice. There is no advantage in returning to campus early and attempting there, to unfailingly replicate the necessary sequences in normalizing an unnatural repetitive movement, amidst the inevitable taunts and jeers, of the entire student body. And… there is simply no space in my own room. I make an abrupt right turn at the corner and continue down the street.

Such is my focus, that I no longer take notice to the bewildered posturing of those faceless persons that I meet. They simply move to the side and give me ample clearance as I press onward. By mid block, I’ve developed a pace neatly syncopated with the drumming in my lobes, the swing of my bag and the softly defined visions before me. With a renewed sense of accomplishment, I am encouraged to turn the next corner and continue my stroll.

By four-thirty, I have completed dozens of laps around the block. I have become so adept at maneuvering along the increasingly crowded sidewalk that I find myself stopping at various shop windows, pressing up to the glass to read their announcements and gaze upon their merchandise. I must bring my face to within six inches of a sign to see it clearly and then move my head, like a scanner, along the lines to actually read a message. It becomes a game. In closely analyzing particular letter groupings and words I am soon able to correctly anticipate distant content, simply by shape and form. For the most part, items located outside of my six-inch parameter remain out of focus, but are easily identifiable.

I am supremely pleased with my overall progress within this relatively short practice session. Not only have I achieved a passable, if somewhat disabled competence on a busy retail street, I have come to be comfortable in my guise and I am enjoying myself immensely, without feeling self-conscious. I recognize the shapes of the large Food King Grocery sign on the corner store, directly across the street for about the hundredth time and realize I’m thirsty. I keep all four eyes on the colors of the traffic light and approaching cars and when I see green in my favor, step off the curb.

“Can I give you a hand, Ma’am?”


“A hand, Ma’am… I just thought…”

“NO, thank you.”

Damn old fart, thinks he’s a Boy Scout and I’m a little old lady. What a rip… I should have let him do it… see what he’d do. He’s still looking at me like he thinks I’m going to go flailing away into on-coming traffic or something. Creep!

Fortunately I’ve been here several times before… when I had full twenty-twenty eyesight working in my behalf, so I know where the bottled water is. That’s a good thing too, because I couldn’t read these damn overhead signs now, to save my ass. I have a four pack of bottles in hand and continue past the gaily-colored shelves, figuring to swing around the back corner into the next aisle and see if any snacks catch my eye… so to speak.

I am just turning into the aisle when I see them. I can’t tell who’s who, but the whole, bright white sex doll costume is unmistakable. There are two of them and they are literally surrounded by a highly animated, boisterous group of what clearly appears and sounds like young, townie studs in hard rut. Although I can’t very well make out any distinct action, it’s pretty clear… yeah, ok… it seems… like… the guys are right up there and primed for some indiscriminate groping. The pledges are jerking around and squealing like they’re getting mauled and pinched from unexpected sources. They’re also being verbally solicited for some hard core, down and dirty, sexual treats.

“Nooooooooooo… STOP IT!”

Is that Colleen? It sounds like her?”

“LOOK! There… There’s a real whore for you. She’ll take it in the ass for you. Go ahead… ask her! She’ll take anything you got and you can spank her. Look at her fat ass!”

You know… I’m not an ostrich. I don’t know what I was thinking… like… if I can’t recognize them… they can’t recognize me… or what? I probably shouldn’t have just stood there gawking like that. That was probably dumb. All of a sudden, everyone’s looking at me. Colleen, I guess it’s Colleen… is pointing at me and yelling for the benefit of these oversexed teenagers, that I’m a damn whore and I’ll do them all right here in the aisle. The stud monkeys are just looking at me blankly… I’m not close enough to read their faces… but none of them are making a move. Colleen… whoever… is on a rant… she’s seriously obscene now… trying to provoke some sexual interest… redirect their dick heads toward me. And you know… it’s like they don’t believe this for a second.

“Yeah, right… she look like you fuggin mutha… why don’t you bitches blow me right now.”

“NO! It’s TRUE! She’ll do you! She’s a whore! We know her! We’re in the same sorority!”

I almost want to laugh… but I’m too scared. I don’t really want anything to happen to Colleen and her friend. I’m also damn glad I didn’t have to come in here, wearing just my underwear. This is a long, long way from the sick little fun and games at Wisteriamont. These guys aren’t a part of that world at all. These guys are serious predators!

Now… you boys… you just stop that. I’m going to get the manager.”

God… as soon as these words leave my mouth… the sleazy guy doing most of the talking just stares at me… I fear for my life. I don’t know why I said that, but I think I better get the hell out of here right now. I pushed my spectacles hard against my face, no doubt filling the lenses with my terrified eyeballs, got a tight grip on my big whicker basket and held my poodle permed head as high as I could. A deep breath and I swing into my exaggerated, rolling sashay of a walk, pleated dress, swirling and swaying about my knees… right into their midst. They all step back… way back… like they don’t want me to even touch them.

I didn’t look back and continued straight to a check out register and informed the clerk that there were some strange girls in the store in terrible jeopardy, being molested by a gang of hoodlums and would she please call the police before they were both raped. The register clerk looked shocked then said she would have to tell the manager and asked me to wait right here. I didn’t think there was really much more I could add to the story and I do have to get back on campus in time for tonight’s Sorority meeting, so I went through a different check-out. I was across the street and half way to the bus stop when I heard the police sirens.

I enter the House with just minutes to spare, leave my picnic basket in the vestibule and proceed into the main room. Three of my sister pledges are already in line and as I approach from the rear, they appear as identically blurry, white bodies and but for height, I cannot be sure of who is still missing. I take a place beside them and stare straight ahead in fuzzy wonder. The Sister, Mistresses… leave us like this, standing uncomfortably, in silent attention for nearly twenty minutes. Finally, one of the Sisters… I think, maybe its Joanne Kneesly’s Mistress… addresses our line.

“We received a cell call earlier, from two truant sluts. Apparently they have been involved and detained in an incident that has resulted in an unnecessary embarrassment to our esteemed House. Most distressingly, it seems that one, in our company at this very moment, was also present during this sordid affair, was capable to offer assistance and chose to retreat and abandon them to their fate. I would expect that miserable sop to step forward, turn around and assume the position.”

Holy Crap! What do they think I did? I helped them! What else could I do? I couldn’t rescue them from those maniacs by myself! I know that rebuttal… argument or explanation is futile and counterproductive. The Sisters still reign supreme over the acceptance or rejection of our membership. I had hoped that tonight I could demonstrate to them that I’ve worked hard to comply with their challenges to my perseverance. Accepted and exceeded in fulfilling every demand they’ve made. Is this yet another test of blind obedience? What can I do, but step forward, drop to my knees and bow before them?

“Lift your skirt above your ass, Millicent. Peel the security of your girdle to your knees. Tonight your insolent flesh shall taste the pleasure of the Exulted Paddle of Sigma Gamma Rho Justice.”

Ah… damnit… this is bad. Why is it… that I’m the only one that has to take a spanking on their bare butt? It’s really impossible to get this girdle down around my knees. The long pockets of padding refuse to bend or be compressed in that direction. The best I can do is to squirm the waistband down to just below the cleft of my cheeks. And with the waistband now in that lowered position, thighs bound tightly together, my knees are pressed firmly against each other and I am ostensibly hobbled. Carefully, I bend from my waist and lower my forearms, flat to the floor. I am staring dumbly at the backs of my magnified hands when a broad, flat board is inserted between them and my face.

“Kiss it.”

Oh, Crap! This thing is huge! It’s the size of a canoe paddle and is completely perforated with one inch round holes. Tentatively, I lean forward, pursing my lips. Every nick and stain and painted brush stroke becomes sharp and clear… the edges of the holes appear coarse and abrasive… menacing in appearance. This thing is going to rip bloody welts into my tender flesh… I just know it! Oh, God! I kiss it… and then… it is slowly withdrawn.



Sweetgeezusgawdalmighty! It’s like the sting of a hornet! A gigantic, poisonous, mutant, Amazon, hornet! I can’t believe this pain!

“Count for us, Millicent.”

“UH… uh… wha… oh… ga…”


Son of a bitch! Count?

“Uh… wha… wha… one…”


“What are you forgetting?”


Frigginholycrapdamnittohellthisfrigginhurts! WhatamIforgettinggeezus! HowthehellshouldIknowdamnit! The two blows have knocked my glasses from my face. I stare at them swinging slowly back and forth, beneath me, suspended by the chain. They still appear blurry… tears have already filled my eyes.


Can’t say if I counted or thanked or what. It didn’t really matter… I got whatever they though I deserved. I was a whimpering… sniveling… heaving… sobbing… bawling… basket case… long before they ceased to burn my flesh and boil what little fat I have beneath it. I just lay there with my face in my arms and tried to think of pleasant places and happier times.

When my thoughts and hearing do return to this room… someone is telling me to get up and stand in the corner. I got up… slowly… pushing my body up with my arms… then tried to rock and balance and eventually I am able to get my feet under me and begin to rise. I have to hold the hem and bulk of my dress away from the fire hot glow of my hyper sensitive buttocks. My girdle is still bunched around my thighs and blubbering like a baby, I can do no more then to manage a choppy shuffle toward the corner.

“No… go into the dining room and face the corner. We don’t want to see you, Millicent. And furthermore… here… take these earplugs and stick them in your ears. Stand there in silence and contemplate your failure today.”

With tear blurred vision, compounded by the glasses, I turn and return, sniffing like a chastised child and accept the soft foam plugs lying in her open palm. They feel like mushy wads, as I press them in, but then they expand to conform and seal the main aural openings. I’m certainly not rendered deaf to sound or their voices, but my hearing is noticeably dulled and muted. In this way, I am dismissed from their presence and again plod, slowly toward the dining room.

Colleen and Joanne did return to the House that night. They proclaimed the whole experience inside the Food King Grocery to be a lark and fully within their control, the entire time. They said I had acted like an uppity bitch, tried to taunt and turn their gang of admirers against them and had then called the police, to have them arrested and embarrass them. They said the police were very understanding, once they explained how I had instigated and forced the confrontation and the officers drove them back to campus as a courtesy. In a brief and unusual moment of uncommon camaraderie, both the pledges and the Sisters laugh and share in this fabricated humor… this fiction, at my expense. Lies… it is all lies… those girls were not in control of anything and I am not afforded the slightest opportunity to defend myself or speak the truth. It’s like all of them vilify me now. Maybe the Sisters are just playing the role of harsh drill instructors, but the girls… the five who are pledging with me… genuinely seem to have been turned against me.

Oddly absent or at least to my knowledge, refraining to actively participate in my latest humiliation, is Lucinda Silvers. Truthfully, I don’t really know what more transpired between the Sisters and the five, as I stood in my darkened and quiet co
rner. I stayed there for the remainder of the meeting and was not invited to return, but through it all, though muffled and unable to distinguish or identify individual voices, I do not believe I heard her voice. Nor did I hear any faint cry or anguished moan that might indicate that any of the five also received a spanking. I just can’t believe that Lucinda is really orchestrating my continuing segregation.

When I finally return to my room that night, I can not sit down in any comfort. For the walk home, I had been allowed to pull my girdle back into place and drop my hem, but that had only antagonized the burning focus of my already painfully scorched and compromised derriere. I slept on my stomach.

Saturday dawns tenderly. I am still not particularly keen to sit on my tush, although the raw burning agony of last night, is for the most part, gone. An examination by mirror reveals flesh that is still spotted pink from my perforated beating. Thank God I don’t have a need to go anywhere until this evening for the Sigma Gamma Rho, new member ceremony. I still have to complete my personal paddle and I am desperately behind in my studies… and… I just really need a break.

The comfort thing has become a real distraction. Sitting on a hard chair is still out of the question and my couch, although much softer and accommodating and will probably be fine for studying… is not conducive to working on my paddle. Nothing is easily within reach and I am constantly adjusting my position, which simply disrupts my concentration and draws attention to my delicate condition. My eye falls upon the padded panty girdle, carelessly thrown over a chair after removing it last night. In desperation and thinking back to it’s plush, cushioning effect during classes and several bus rides, I actually consider putting it back on.

It’s not bad… really. Who would have ever thought I would, actually, willingly put something like this, on? Oh, well… times change. Perched on my pleasantly, coddling padding, I am able to sit at my small table, get to work and finalize the design of my upcoming initiation, arts and crafts project. I began to fantasize… visualize myself… kneeling on hands and knees… laughing… absorbing their wrath… disdainful of their attempts at punishment… and then, they’d see… they would be in shock and awe… at my self-control! I am tempted to drill holes into it, as a maybe not so subtle, sarcastic commentary on my ability to absorb any punishment they throw my way, overcome, rise above it and prove my grit. Of course, the downside would be, having to endure that unbelievable, thrashing once again and my version of the Sorority’s exalted paddle might even be worse. Ha! Yeah… right… whom am I kidding? I’d be blistered and screaming like a baby! And… seriously… I don’t have a good way to drill holes into this thing, anyway.

So… I end up with pretty much the same, over sized Ping-Pong paddle I started with, except for the killer paint job. Then, I actually do study the three chapters on Organizational Dynamics, which is really pretty funny considering my predicament… and work on the paper for Monday… and the next thing I know… it’s six o-clock. I take another shower, dry my hair… and you know… it is absolutely amazing how my hair just springs right back into its exact, curly poodle shape, every time. Damn… I look goofy! Then… back into the girdle and my flattie bra and what for a dress? It has to be the light blue print, “Mommy Dearest” again, since I only wore it home from Mrs. Periwinkle’s, that one time.

After munching some carrot sticks and wasting another hour and a quarter, I put on my shoes, collect my sweater, paddle, bag and other odds and ends. I head into the bathroom for a last look and to try and screw these freaking, vise-grip earrings closed, on my tender little lobes. Arrrggggghhhh!!!!! Damn! There is just no way to keep these suckers on without cranking them tight. The throbbing begins immediately. Finally, I loop the glasses’ chain around my neck… head out the door… down the stairs… and begin my final, humiliating walk through the taunting, jeering, student gauntlet, as Wisteriamont’s Nerd Queen, toward the Sorority. Eat it up people… after tonight, I’ll be Sigma Gamma Rho!

Right away, it looks funny. Not just fuzzy, funny… but… like extravaganza… Emmy awards… show biz… funny. I’m straining my ever-loving eyes, through these magna lenses, to figure out what I’m actually seeing… and who I’m looking at. I’ve never seen these people so decked out. Everyone is dressed up like they’re attending some ritzy, glamorous, cocktail party… except for me. I mean… yeah… I figured the Sigma Gamma Rho Sisters would be in their special, fancy, expensive clothes… but the other pledges? Like… what’s up with this? I mean… that’s Gloria… Colleen… and… is that Joanne… yes, and Samantha… all of them… in sleek, little black dresses… all made up… nice, stylish hair… I mean… what the hell? No rubber caps, no girdles, no big titted bras… none of that. No one said anything to me about a different dress code? I look like a freaking, half-blind, spinster librarian trying to take attendance at a church social. And… like… everyone’s already here… and I’m fifteen minutes early! I’m like… fully out of it… I don’t get it!

“Ladies! Ladies! Look… Millicent has finally arrived!”

Ladies? What? No sluts tonight? Sisters… pledges… now they’re ladies… now they’re all mingling together and chatting and laughing and drinking wine spritzers and having a fine old time. They’ve just laid a whole ‘nother disconnect on my head.


“Millicent, we’ve been waiting for you. Did you have a pleasant walk over here?”


“Wonderful! Well… now, we can get started. Millicent! Please… everyone… ladies… your attention, please… let us all adjourn to the Dining Room.”

No sluts? Everyone moves toward the dining room… me included. God! There’s Lucinda Silvers! She looks like a million-dollar, debutante, heiress. Her hair is immaculate and gorgeous, professionally arraigned in an elegant up-do with small, intertwined sprigs and flowers. She’s wearing a floor length; fluid, black gown trimmed with traces of gold, that flows about her like a diaphanous cloud. Lucinda Silvers looks like the reincarnation of a mythical Greek Goddess. I just feel fully dork, in her presence.

Right away, I see this guy. I mean… you can’t miss him. He’s sitting right there, at the front of the room, in a wooden captain’s chair, in nothing but a pair of dark blue boxer shorts and a Wisteriamont College Football, tee shirt and nothing else… except for a pink satin, woman’s sleeping mask. What the…? There is… maybe a six-foot, clear space between his seat and several rows of chairs arraigned, to face him. As we move into the room, his head turns slowly, toward the sound of Sisters and pledges laughing together and his mouth twists into a devious and gigantic grin. What the…?

“Ladies… ladies… please take a seat. Not you, Millicent… you will please remain here, by my side.”

Crap… this again. I stand self-consciously, next to Em as the Sisters and pledges file into the rows and get seated. Lucinda takes a seat by herself off to the side of what I now assume is going to be the presentation “stage”. This is supposed to be our big initiation night… my initiation night… that ceremonial moment, when we transcend the past weeks’ infantile mistress and slave pretentiousness and become full Sigma Gamma Rho Sisters. Equal… one and all! They’re all dressed like normal college girls at a formal, cocktail party, awards ceremony and I’m still, just plain Millicent. There is just no way, this is going to be good.

“Ladies. As you may or may not know… each year… the reigning Sisters of Sigma Gamma Rho, select one pledge… one girl from the current years’ Rush, pre-initiate class… a woman, judged to possess the particularly exquisite qualities of high cognitive…

I KNEW IT! They did single me out… but it’s not just for persecution… no… no… this is GREAT! They DO see my potential… yeah! This is IT! Damn, that Lucinda Silvers is sharp! All this time… damn… the way they ragged on me… I AM special… I’m not just going to be a Sister of Sigma Gamma Rho… I’m going to be one of their shining stars! Damn… they keep playing with my head… and I keep falling for it! My paddle is going to hang on the wall, right next…

“Millicent, May I have your paddle?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Damn! This is great! I’m so excited! Geez… I have to think of something to say… I’m sure I’ll have to make some kind of acceptance speech! First… I’ll have to thank all…

“Millicent, Please assume the position in front of this fine young stud.”


“Now, Millicent. Please don’t forget your manners and please pay attention. I really see no reason to continually repeat myself. Please assume the position in front of this fine young stud.”

“You… You… want me to get down… down on my hands and knees… in front of… this football… man… Mistress?”

“Yes. That’s right.”

Some things make no sense. Sometimes… you know… you know what you’re doing isn’t right… but you just, sort of go along with it… because… I don’t know… maybe it’s like some weird submissive trapdoor in your mind… it just opens up and swallows you down… and you don’t really think about it?

“That’s better. And, Millicent… lift the hem of your dress so we can see your nice plump derriere.”

Supporting myself on one arm, I reach behind, take hold of my dress and slowly pull it up, until all of the skirt is bunched and hanging from my waist. My face is only inches away from Football Stud’s kneecaps and they are like a barren moonscape surrounded by a sparse forest of fire ravaged trees. I surely feel all of their eyes focused on my brilliantly lighted, big fat, white ass. The two knees before me twitch slightly and I am now acutely conscious of the sound of his breathing above me. I am UN-godly humiliated.

“Now ladies. Joining us for this evening, is this extremely fine male specimen, and an especially… well-endowed, member… so to speak… of our brother fraternity, Alpha Chi Rho. Each year, the pledge nominated as the Biggest Sigma Gamma Rho Rush Whore, is given the opportunity to demonstrate just how desperate she is to join our illustrious Sorority and to what extent she is willing to degrade and debase herself, before us, to achieve this honor. I might add, that as a special bonus, our Sigma Gamma Rho Whore will be granted a “taste” of that particularly testosterone rich, fraternity essence, these Jocks are so concededly proud of. As you can see… Jock Boy here… has been blindfolded since his arrival. There is no need for him to know the identity of our little whore… and truthfully… he couldn’t care less. He’s just happy to get his jollies and have his knob polished… like the typical, dick for brains, pig that he is. Remember ladies, the events and details of tonight’s performance is entirely proprietary to Sigma Gamma Rho and shall remain exclusive and shall not be disclosed or discussed outside of these hallowed walls, under penalty of expulsion.

Em’s harsh, scathingly explicit, words ring like clanging cymbals in my ears. Simultaneously, Jock Boy’s boxers ripple, in anticipation… with an obvious and pronounced wave of freshly awakened activity, at her innuendoes and confirmation of promised carnal gratification. I cannot believe that I am actually conceding to this. I’ve never done anything like this in my life. I’m about to be spanked, on my hands and knees, my head mere inches from the crotch of some dumb jock, football player that I’ve never seen before in my life! She isn’t kidding… this is really something… am I seriously acquiescing to perform like a cheap porno whore, simply to gain membership in a freaking Sorority? God… as much as I hate to admit it… I’m still here. God… I am so disgusted with myself.

“Millicnet… Dear… Please dig out Jock Boy’s dick meat and get your mouth around it.”


“His dick, Millicent. Pull his penis out of his shorts. We’ll initiate your spanking, once you have a mouth full of his man meat. And don’t you even think about biting him… you just keep your whore lips wrapped tight around that boy’s hot prick, until we’re done.”

“How… how long will that… be?”

“As long as it takes… Honey… really… it’s up to you… you’re done, when he’s done.”

“How… how will I know that?”

“Don’t worry, Millicent… you’ll know.”

This is disgusting. I’ve never done anything like this. When he’s done? Does she actually mean, for this to go on until he ejaculates? In my mouth? God! This is the most perverted, disgusting thing, I’ve ever heard of!

“Any time now… Millicent.”

My heart is pounding. My ears are throbbing. Geezus! Jock Boy scrunches forward on the seat, and spreads his legs, so that his crotch is even closer to my face. Not content with my lack of progress, his hand fishes into the fly of his shorts and produces a short, fat, wrinkled penis that, through the lenses of my magnifying glasses looks like a gigantic, ugly, walrus skinned, Cyclops, SLUG. He holds it near its bristly, haired base and slowly waves it back and forth as if to taunt me with its malevolent potential. It’s horrible. I can not bear to look at it. I close my eyes, open my mouth and slowly lean forward. I feel the meaty head of it rest against my lower lip as a guttural moan escapes above me. Then the touch of a hand at the back of my head urges me forward as his other, proceeds to feed the length of his warm organ further into my mouth.

“All the way, baby.”

Both of his hands cup the back of my permed skull and he pulls me into him until my lips are pressed tightly into his thick pubic curls and the folds of his shorts.

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh… yeeeeeeeah… Baby!”

He is fully within me. The sensation is grotesquely intimate… a thick, fleshy, living extension of his body now occupies my mouth. The heavy odor is overwhelmingly pervasive, sweaty, dank and masculine, like an aged locker room. He is moving within me… his soft meat seems to be growing larger with each throbbing pulsation. What am I supposed to do?



I am driven forward by a sharp, unexpected blow to my ass. Driven forward into the dark, musty cavern of his thighs. His penis lengthens, hardens and surges upward, raging across the roof of my mouth, pushing to the very entrance of my throat. Ugggghhhhh… God! I’m going to throw up!

“Oh… yeah… Baby… that’s the way… do it… baby… all the way…”

There is sound around me. I can’t concentrate. He is grunting and spewing lewd encouragement… the girls are shrieking in disbelief and urging both the Jock and whoever is wielding the paddle to pound the whore harder. I’m pinned between the brutal assaults to my rear and the piercing violation of my mouth. Impaled on his hardened flesh, incarcerated by the unyielding embrace of his hands… I am a captive and chastised woman to his growing lust. No… I am barely a woman… I feel like a piece of raw meat, callously pummeled at each end, solely for their gluttonous entertainment and pleasure.

The pace continues to accelerate into a diabolically, mechanical and impersonal rhythm. A scorching heat permeates upward from my shaking and quivering buttocks as his cruel, bludgeoning organ expands and forces it’s way down my throat. Passively, I receive it all and can do nothing more then remain stoically upright on my hands and knees and endure it… rocking back and forth… before the insistent drive, of the paddle and the compelling reflex to dislodge his gagging intrusion. It went on and on. And then suddenly, I am filled with an explosive, warm, thick, spastic discharge.

“Uuuuugghhhhhhhh… Baby… Uuuuugghhhhhhhh… yeaaaaaa…”

The sharp slapping over my ass re
aches a frenzied crescendo and still he clasps me tight to his groin as more and more of his hot fluid erupts into my throat. Instinctively, thoughtlessly, I swallow, as fast as I can… as if my very survival depends on cleansing my pallet of his semen.

I didn’t really notice when the spanking had actually ceased. I am only aware that it has stopped. The Jock still holds me to him, but his urgency is abated… he is satiated and has slumped back into the chair. I am not sure if I am finished, for I have not been released. I do not know what to do, so I suckle on him and draw the last remnants of ejaculate from his slowly withering, sporadically jerking length of flesh. I am now conscious of an excruciating pain that enflames my butt, a pounding heartbeat that seems to emanate from the very core of my brain, my own, labored, rasping breath and the oddly curious fact that my glasses have been pushed askew, up into my poodle perm. I guess we’re done.

Finally, he let me go and I just remain on the floor, on my hands and knees and pant like a whipped dog.

The room is quiet, save for the occasional squeak of a chair moved here and there, a nervous cough and no doubt, my still heavy breathing. My mouth feels dry and pasty… I would like a drink of water or something to wash away this foul taste. I did it. It’s got to be over.


“Millicent. Please rise.”

It seems as if I’ve been on this floor for an eternity. I push myself back onto my tender haunches and awkwardly stand up. My dress falls over my behind and the glasses fall to my chest. I don’t care. Everyone is staring at me… they are all smiling and leering at me like a coven of satanic witches. One of the Sisters approaches the still sightless, rental stud, whispers into his ear, takes his hand, and guides him from the room. I guess his part in this depraved theatrical is finished. I can not return their smiles… nor look them in the eye… I am too humiliated… my rump burns as if I’ve been branded with red hot iron, my jaw is sore and my lips feel like they’ve been stung by bees. After the door closes behind the Jock… another minute passes and Em begins to speak.

“Millicent. You are by far… the biggest whore… I have ever seen.”

Why does this not sound like a compliment?

“We can not possibly accept you into Sigma Gamma Rho. Your application for membership is hereby denied.”

“Wait! Wait! You’re kidding me right! Look what I’ve just done! God! I’ve just… this guy! I’ve done everything you’ve asked! Look at me! You’ve beaten me stupid, over and over… forced me to have sex… oral sex, publicly… with this guy! Some dumb football player! You’ve made me attend class and walk around campus dressed like a freaking misshapen nerd! I’ve spent a lot of money on this! Look at my hair! My hair for Godsakes! You’ve hacked it all off and made me get a perm! A perm… like some stupid, ugly, old lady. How can you say this! Lucinda! Please! Say something! This isn’t fair!”

This is too much! I’m bawling like a baby. Em stands firm and serious. I look to Lucinda for salvation. Come on…!

“You haven’t been forced… to do anything, Millicent.”

“Come on! But… why!”

“We simply do not accept every pledge that wishes to join Sigma Gamma Rho. We are a privileged and exclusive society. That is our power. We hold access. We grant or deny it. We have criteria. You were destined to fail from the outset. You were simply chosen to provide entertainment. Life is like that, Millicent. It’s so random. Get over it.”

“My hair?”

“It suits you, Millicent. However… if you wish… I’m sure the new Sisters would be delighted to shave your hair all off for you… bald and shiny! The Jocks will just love it!”

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