tagBDSMThe Initiate

The Initiate

byOTKSwitch©

I had been on campus for barely a week when I first visited Alpha Omega. I never had any intention of joining a sorority but Tammy, my roommate at Lincoln Hall, was curious and insistent. What could it hurt she pressed? Well, that was my fear. That it would hurt. I had heard the stories and seen the movies. The initiations. The paddlings. I wanted nothing to do with anything so humiliating. But it was pledge week. Everyone went. So we went. I was adamant, though. I was only looking. We'd have a few beers, meet some people, and after a brief visit head to one of the all night parties back at the dorm.

Admittedly, at first glance it was a pretty cool house. We walked through a beautiful, artfully lit garden along a curvy walk leading us to a huge brick patio. It was packed with women, shoulder to shoulder, dressed to the nines to impress. Tammy and I too wore our slinkiest dresses, which I know sounds kind of queer since there wasn't going to be any guys at the party. But that was the expectation I was told. Alpha Omega was about image. Image attracted men. And men wanted sexy. I was just a curious bystander, mind you, but I didn't want to come off as a total dweeb either.

Tammy and I worked through the throng, located the beer tubs, smiled sweetly, and recognized a few faces from the dorm and our classes. Eventually we found ourselves inside what appeared to be the living room and, surprisingly, it wasn't too crowded. With elbowroom we were able to check out the dresses and hairdos. Some serious efforts here. Apparently we were getting the once-over ourselves because before we knew it, two very attractive girls - I mean women, well I don't know, they were juniors - came over and started in with the soft-sell. They were both very pleasant, and seemed sincere, but I always get suspicious about nice people. I figure they're up to something.

"I'm Francesca," one of them said. She struck me as the ringleader with exacting poise and eloquent speech. She wasn't condescending though or intimidating and her manner was easy, which I liked. "I'm President of the House."

Called it! Two points

The other girl, Dorothy, or Dot as she preferred to be called, was the House Manager. I wasn't clear what a House Manager did, but I'd soon find out.

Francesca and Dot gave us a tour of the House letting us "ooh" and "ahh" at the wonderfully decorated rooms and tasteful appointments. It actually felt quite comfortable and homey. Not too ostentatious and a damn sight less sterile than the dorm cells. I actually caught myself entertaining the idea of living in a place like this. Not as far-fetched as I thought.

There were two floors of rooms upstairs they said. We were shown the second floor. Eight double rooms flanked each of the two wings and two community bathrooms conjoined at the core. The facilities looked cramped for that many women but the fabulous period decorating made up for the size.

Francesca said there were eight more rooms on the third floor. These were singles and the juniors and seniors got first dibs. She was about to take us upstairs to see her room when one of the sisters came down the stairs and took Francesca aside. They spoke in hushed voices for a minute. Francesca frowned and signaled to Dot and they started up the stairs.

"Sorry. Duty calls," Francesca said lightly. "Why don't you two go back down and meet some of the other ladies and we'll catch up with you in a bit." The three solemnly disappeared up the switchback staircase.

Tammy and I lingered, admiring the house more and more and started talking seriously about pledging it. I couldn't believe I was so easily swayed. I hoped it wasn't the beer fogging my thinking.

"I have to pee," Tammy said so she ducked into the bathroom.

I've always been curious as a cat and wondered what the upper floor looked like. I figured I'd sneak a quick look while I waited for Tammy. As I reached the top step I could see the hallway was nearly identical to the floor below. Then I detected muffled voices coming from a door slightly ajar. Naturally, I took the open door as an invitation to step closer to better hear. Before I knew it I was at the doorjamb, my ears straining.

"Why didn't you tell us this before?" It was Dot.

"I was embarrassed," a new voice said meekly. "I thought my parents would take care of it."

"This isn't a bank, Melissa."

Melissa. I hadn't met her yet.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"This has to be dealt with," Dot said sternly, sounding uncomfortably like my mother. "Right now."

"No . . . please don't. Not tonight. The party. Someone will hear."

"Now."

Well, I just had to see what it was that others might hear. I peeked in as far as I dared and saw Dot pulling an old straight-back chair from an equally old writing desk. Melissa, I presumed, stood off to the side, her hands wringing in front of her. She was curvy, not fat, and her outfit flattered a well-rounded behind and ample bosom. To diminish her hips, she wore a longish jacket with an abstract print that positively glowed atop her black pants.

As Dot sat, Melissa took off her jacket, as if cued. She tossed it on the bed and to my astonishment, Dot reached out and unbuckled Melissa's narrow leather belt. She slipped it free of the belt-loops like a bullwhip and laid it at the foot of her chair. "For later," she said.

This was getting weird and I wasn't really sure I wanted to play voyeur to their private lesbo scene, but frankly I was transfixed. I had never seen anything like this before. Melissa walked around to my side of Dot and waited, her back to me, while Dot unbuttoned her pants and pulled down the zipper. My heart really pounded. With two hands, Dot pushed the waistband of her pants, with some effort, over Melissa's round halves, revealing white lace panties that barely concealed her bulging orbs. I was surprised when I spied the dark line of Melissa's crack through the meshy fabric and found it curiously sexy.

Melissa's pants ended up bunched around her knees and of her own free will she crawled over Dot's lap and thrust her bottom upward. I couldn't believe it. My worst fears were true. And yet, I had visualized a line of women standing in panties and bras with the senior members ceremoniously administering several whacks with a large, menacing paddle emblazoned with Greek symbols. This was very intimate, and personal. Somehow that made it less perverted.

I found myself imagining myself accepting such a fate until Dot started swinging. In a rapid series of volleys, her arm arced high then slapped her hand across both cheeks. Melissa was bouncing instantly, trying to contain her yelps and grunts. The rhythm was steady and the crisp smack of hand on butt sounded surprisingly reverberant. I stepped back and glanced up and down the hall, my stomach wildly flip-flopping, as I expected the party-goers two floors down to suddenly flood the corridor. None did.

I heard low pleading and craned my neck into the room. Melissa's panties were now at half-mast too. Her jiggling bottom glowed with a pink hue and was getting redder by the second from Dot's unrelenting smacks. Mellissa kicked her feet wildly and I could see her fingers wrapped tightly around the chair rung; yet she stayed amazingly quiet. I'm sure I would have been howling.

Dot paused for a moment and scooped up the belt on the floor. She looped it in half and Melissa's bottom clenched in anticipation. Unconsciously, I did the same. Dot whipped the thin leather into the air. It came down in a blur and when it landed squarely across Melissa's rump, I swear I felt the sting, too. When I felt it again, for real, I jumped.

It was Francesca. She had come up behind me and stood poised for another whack on my rear. "Do you like what you see?" she asked.

I couldn't form words. "Me? I...no...I..."

Francesca stood with her arms folded across her chest. "You've been watching for a while." I felt a boulder in my throat. "It's rude to spy."

"I'm sorry," I rasped. "I didn't mean to look. I just . . ."

"Let's go to my room and chat, shall we?" She said it so matter-of-factly I could think of no other recourse than to follow her.

Three doors down she opened her room, identical to Dot's except for the knick-knacks, and motioned me to sit on the bed. I complied and she closed the door behind her. Francesca came over and sat against the headboard, opposite the bed from me. She flipped her head sideways and her wavy golden locks swung across her shoulder, where they draped perfectly. She smiled.

"Listen, Susan," she began. "I like you. So do the other girls. I've talked to a few. We like Tammy, too. She's great. We'd like you both to pledge."

I was shocked. I had expected the boot. This was, well, so unexpected. Was this a gesture to cover up the secret scene I just witnessed?

She continued as if the past ten minutes never existed. "What do you think of the House, the girls?"

I didn't know what to say. "It's beautiful. They're beautiful, I mean, they're so welcoming."

"Yes, we're fortunate. We have a tight group here." She paused for a moment and looked me dead in the eyes. "What's your reaction to what you just saw?"

"I guess I don't understand it." Truly.

Francesca, uncharacteristically bit her nail for a minute, pondering.

"I sensed that," she began. "Let me explain. With this many girls living under one roof, we need to have rules, order. The only way to maintain that is through discipline. In the past, we've tried consequences like fines and suspensions. The results were marginal, certainly no better than any other House. But we want to be more than just any other House.

"About six years ago, one of our alumni, Miss Graves, became our House Mother. She doesn't actually live here, but visits twice a semester. She decided to try a new tack. The elected officers – the President, Vice President, and House Manager – were given, among other duties, the charge of discipline. By Miss Graves' standard, a good spanking is the surest cure for any prevailing ill. To keep it fair and above board, each girl who gets a spanking, fills out a report that describes the nature of her offense, her punishment, and her personal testament to the appropriateness of the spanking. These reports are sent directly to Miss Graves. We, the officers, do the same, detailing our viewpoint. Miss Graves reads through these and determines whether or not the incident was handled justly. If all is fair and square, no more is spoken. If, on the other hand, the miscreant appears to be missing the point or is unfairly accusing one of us of being heavy handed, so to speak, she gives the girl a ride across her lap on her next visit. Conversely, if it turns out one of us three are pushing a personal agenda, then we get a dose. Let me assure you, in my two years as President, I've had my bottom blushed on more than one occasion. We're all learning. And I can recall only one visit where nary a bottom was bared." Francesca gave me a soft smile. "Is this making any sense?"

I sat for quite a while absorbing it. "It seems remarkably...fair." It seemed like a good answer, but I wasn't totally convinced yet. "Still, it seems like an inappropriate consequence for women who are essentially adults. And you'll have to excuse me if this sounds off base, but it comes off as kind of kinky."

Francesca smiled. "Truthfully, there are a few who seem to relish a trip over the knee. But this isn't child's play. It's quite serious. And it's effective. Alpha Omega has the highest GPA of any House on campus, lowest turnover, and every graduate has her pick of job offers. It works. Don't those benefits appeal to you?"

"Of course. But...I don't know."

"Susan, I completely understand your apprehension. Most of us had the same hesitation when we were invited to join." Francesca stood up and faced me. "Let's try something."

Uh-oh.

"Let's try a short 'test' spanking..."

Thought so.

"...so you can see what it's like, and then decide if you can accept the concept."

"Well, it's just so damn humiliating."

"To be honest, that's intentional. Another deterrent if you will. Look, opportunity is knocking. If you do this, and stick it out, as I think you will, your place is pretty well set on this year's roster. The question is whether there's someplace you'd rather be?"

She got me there. Everything she described about the sorority sounded wonderful: a success-oriented environment, a great house, nice people, and especially getting out of the dorms. But the spanking?

"Truthfully, I'm very impressed with what I've seen. And I like to think I have an open mind."

"So?"

"So, what do you want me to do?" I couldn't believe I said that.

"Oh, Susan," Francesca leaned over and gave me a big hug. "I'm so glad!"

She took my hand and pulled me off the bed to my feet. The butterflies in my stomach took off immediately. Then she sat on the edge of the bed, took my hand, and gently pulled me toward her.

"Okay, Susan, bend over."

I leaned forward and placed my hands on her firm thighs then crawled over until my hips were balanced on her lap. That created an unexpected connection to her. Was it physical? Or something more? I felt the blood rushing to my head as it lowered to the floor. I also felt Francesca's hand on my hip adjust me to a more comfortable position. It was a strange feeling being so helpless. It wasn't an entirely bad feeling.

Francesca's other hand slowly slid across my bottom. My dress was thin so I could feel the warmth of her palm through it. Goose bumps erupted all over my body. I felt her straighten the hem of my short dress and smooth the fabric across my backside. Out of nowhere came the first swat. More of a thud really. It didn't hurt at all, but it did surprise me.

The next one stung, though, as did the next and the next and the next. Things were heating up quickly back there and I felt a prickle percolate across my buns. I couldn't help but squirm a little. This only made Francesca tighten her grip around my waist. Man, this was starting to hurt. I was having second thoughts about whether I had what it took to get into this place. Another year in the dorms didn't seem like such a bad option after all.

The without a word, she flipped my dress up to my waist, then yanked my panties up between my cheeks. I gasped at the rush of cool air across my heated skin. She began to really pound my bottom and kept tugging at my panties so they pressed against parts I became more and more distracted by. Didn't she realize what this does to a girl?

The smacking sound reminded me of Melissa and I felt a wave of compassion for her. There was the connection feeling again. The next thing I knew my panties where around my ankles and my legs were nearly horizontal in the air. The sting spread like wildfire. Yet each swat pressed me against her lap causing an unfamiliar blending of sweet and sour sensations. The song, "Hurts So Good," came from nowhere and the chorus played over and over in my head filling me with feelings that were as conflicting as they were welcome. Finally, the stinging got so intense I pushed sideways off Francesca's lap to escape the blows. Rather than get mad, she held on to me. Then reeled me back in, but not for more spanking. Just to hold me in her arms.

"There, there," I heard her say softly as she rubbed her hands across my smoldering skin. I felt like I was on a cloud and her words drifted up to me. My heart raced and I breathed like I had run up three flights of stairs.

"That's a good girl," she said. I just moaned softly, almost a hum. I felt her fingers trace my crack from top to bottom then up again, slow. A surge of electricity shot through me. I moaned again. Couldn't help it.

"Susan, I'm one of those who relishes a good turn over the knee," Francesca confessed throatily. Then her fingers split me open and I felt everything gush outward - my breath, my emotions, everything. "Perhaps you are, too?"

Two fingers pressed expertly into me as her lips kissed mine and I began to quake. I rocked against her hand, wanting more. Needing more. Needing this place, my new home.

THE END

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