Sorority - Part One
BY JamFart
(first appearing on Haircuttingstories.com)
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?”
“Yeap”
“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.”
“Cool!”
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?”
“Yes.”
“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 impossible 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.
“Why?”
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.”
“What?”
“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!
“Millicent!”
“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…”
“One.”
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.
“Two.”
SMACK!
“EEEEYYYYYOOOOOWWWWLLLLL…THANKYOUMILLICENT! May I have ANOTHER!”
“Three.”
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.
“Everything.”
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 inflame 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 feeling 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 exaggerate 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 long-line 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!!!!”(
(Continued)