Dorm Discipline: Panty Parade

Kitty's panties get cleaned; Carnitas; tea with the Dean

Folks who have been reading from the start, will remember that Kitty is a 20 year old college woman with a less-developed body. She's a disappointment to her rich mother and an embarrassment to her famous father. She's decided to embrace her body, and acts out as a precocious sexpot who loves cosplay, usually in porno-inspired outfits. The folks at Meta Mu love her dearly for her devotion to the house and her fierce defense of it's members, using her influence and connections to crush those who would prey on them. Kitty enjoys most tormenting Dick with over-the-top flirting, which he endures with good grace as he adores and respects her as the others do.

It you're reading this story out of order, it might have been disturbing to encounter her without that context. I hope this will clear up any confusion.

Breakfast over; folks drifting off to Saturday morning activities: Butch to a soccer game; GG had a chance to participate in a dissection; Slut was already in her greenery.

Time to get my own day underway.

I'd put it off long enough, had been embarrassed carrying these things around too many times.

Time to clean Kitty's cum-encrusted panties.

I'd snagged them from her trash can when doing house chores. They looked expensive and my frugal Scotch soul wouldn't let me just toss them. Also being a chemist, I thought a little organic staining could be remedied by the right enzyme treatment.

Pulling them from my shorts pocket where they'd lived for some time, I felt doubt creeping in. These were really, really crusty.

Only a gram of so of silk to begin with, they were crumpled and rigid with dried cum and girl-juices. Almost crackly, more cum than panties. If I did get them clean, what are the chances I could do it without stretching or tearing them beyond usefulness?

Well, I'd pulled them from the trash; no loss then. I could only try.

The secret to silk is, no caustic chemicals and no strong detergent. Silk is organic thread, from a spider's butt. Something that will dissolve other organics, can damage silk too.

Into the kitchen I rooted around the cupboards until I found an old dusty bottle of vinegar, nine-tenths gone. Enough for my purpose.

In the fridge door among the used-once-and-abandoned sauces and relishes was a plastic squeezer of lemon juice. I squirted a little on my tongue; plenty acidic.

Putting a teaspoon of each into a cereal bowl, I then half-filled it with water. My aqueous solution was so mild as to hardly be discernable.

Into the bowl went the panties, gently pressed down until they were saturated and submerged.

They started to unfold like one of those foam bath toys that are pressed into a capsule to dissolve and expand into a dinosaur or whatnot.

Drifting off of the crusty mess was some pretty stanky slimy strands of cum. Yellowed and clotted, it dissolved into the water until it left a foul brew.

Pretty yucky for some I guess, but as an organic chemist it wasn't even in the top 100 disgusting smelly messes I'd whipped up for one reason or another.

Gently, gently I swished the gossamer silk cooch-cover in the bowl until I thought the cleaning fluid had done its all.

Pouring the glop off while holding the panties gently down with one finger, I refilled the bowl with clean water and rinsed.

They were cleaner, recognizable as panties now but comically tiny, like doll clothes. Well, so was Kitty I guess. Still too stained to call clean, they were no longer encrusted anyway.

Again with a half-bowl of warm water, I rubbed a bar of soap with one finger to coat the end, then swished it into the bowl until I'd dissolved that tiny amount into the solution.

A little more vigorously but not so as to strain the fabric I swished the cloth, agitating the silken threads and soapy water. It got some more scum out, making the water a little cloudy.

Rinse and repeat.

Three times was the charm. Fishing the garment out and gently spreading it on the palm of my hand it looked shiny, silky and stain-free.

Isolating the crotch, I put them up to my nose to sniff, which a chemist knows is one of the most sensitive instruments for detecting contamination we have.

Of course, just then Preppy walked in. Seeing what I was up to, she grinned. Grabbed a banana and departed before I could stutter out an explanation.

What was I going to say anyway? "I wasn't sniffing them!". But of course I was, just not for the reason she might have in mind.

It seemed it was my role to be the house perv.

Finding a kitchen towel I laid the panties flat, folded some towel over and rolled the bundle up. Not squeezing or twisting which could damage the delicate threads; just left it to dry by osmosis.

Rinsing the bowl again, I sat it in the sink. Probably should wash that before somebody ate cornflakes out of it.

Taking my delicate package to my bathroom I unrolled it. The panties were essentially dry. But silk can hold moisture in the weave, so I tenderly wafted the fragment of fabric from the towel and laid it over my shower rod.

That done, I considered my good turn done for today.

Had to visit the lab, move my experiments along. Like Slut's plants, a researchers job was never done.

The morning was brisk and pleasant; a little chill in the air but that made it easy to make good time.

Checked my department mailbox before I get deep into it, there's some junk - a training opportunity; a pizza ad; the annual Fall Fling flier.

A note from the Dean! That wasn't there yesterday. It said she'd like to have tea on Saturday morning at 11.

Of course it wasn't just an invitation; coming from a Dean to a mere Researcher, it was a summons.

I just had time to measure and record my latest chemical run, and start another one. Just 48 to go before this series was complete!

Trotting over to the building where she had offices, I found it largely deserted. The frosted glass beside her impressive office door showed a light inside.

Knocked, got invited in. The tea was set out; the Dean in less than her usual professional gear. Must have been jogging, to judge from the sneakers and exercise pants.

"Hey, what can I do for you Dean?"

"Why not just enjoy our tea for a bit, relax and chat before we get down to business." She smiled and poured.

I took my cup, blew on it, sipped. Blistering hot, aromatic, an expensive brand.

She was doctoring her cup, stirred and sat back, blew, took a sip, waiting me out. Letting the silence grow.

Not really mind games; she was just that way. Let folks decide for themselves what was important, let them choose an agenda.

I stopped trying to figure out what to say, just said what I felt.

"I'm really happy at Meta Mu."

There, that's out in the open. I like it there; these are my people; I'm at home finally. It felt good to let someone know. To admit it to myself.

She nodded, accepted this at face value. Took another sip, put her cup down.

"I hoped you would find the culture... agreeable. I know they can be a lot, but they're..."

"Good people! I know! I keep finding that out, again and again. Did you know Kitty..."

"..is supporting the house, yes, we've collaborated on that. She's a woman of means, as you have discovered."

I colored. Of course the Dean knew. She knew everything.

"It took me long enough. Her personal quirks, how the house accepted her, led me to think she was a, well, charity case. But then it got explained to me. And then it was obvious."

Dean nodded, not smiling now, perhaps remembering that difficulty with the Alum and the bike.

"Kitty's family has been good to the College. That alone isn't enough to grant them any kind of pass, other than press and some opportunities to connect with other alumni.

But their daughter's stellar example, her leadership in the house, that is the kind of character that earns her, in my regard, a golden ticket."

We sipped our tea, thinking our private thoughts about Kitty. We both began smiling again. Couldn't think about Kitty without smiling.

Teasing, "Have you figured out which of the women are on financial support?"

Making it a game was her way of testing me. Ok I can play.

"I thought Butch, because she's, well, pretty obviously working class. But she's an Army brat, so probably supported by a government program of some sort."

The Dean nodded, not giving anything away.

"That leaves GG, Preppy and, uh," I was unwilling to use that house name with outsiders, for some reason. But the Dean saved me.

"That leaves GG, Preppy and Slut. Yes I know of that curious house tradition. In a community like ours, of liberal free-thinkers, I can see the advantages of code names for house members.

Even when overheard in public of house matters, it preserves some kind of anonymity.

So, what have you concluded after a week of close observation? And participation in house culture." She actually smiled a little lewd smile at that one.

I colored again. The 'liberal community' of Meta Mu did tend toward a lot of fucking. I was probably in violation of some kind of rule, somewhere.

"I know Slut is one of the women who, as a girl, was in foster care. She told me some of her history. That makes her likely to be on financial aid."

Dean nodded; good, that's one.

"The obvious choice for upper-class upbringing is Preppy. She's cultivated the accent, the style, the attitudes of a privileged woman of means. Yet."

Dean nodded. "And yet, she has tripped some alarms in your mind. Why is that, do you think?"

What about Preppy seemed to me, to indicate she had struggled in the past? That was easy.

"It's her obsession with order. Her struggle to keep her personal space in some kind of perfect structure. It makes me think..."

"It makes you think, she's had trauma around personal space issues. Perhaps lack of it; violation of it; failure to be able to control it."

"Exactly. Where GG is, at bottom, the most well-adjusted of the lot. Takes the others completely in stride; accepts quirks and behaviors beyond the pale without comment, heck, with a smile.

A robust self-image that survives their frustrated acting-out without leaving the slightest scar. Just keeps on accepting people, whatever the 'slings and arrows'."

Dean actually grinned. "You should have been a psychologist! That is it, in a nutshell. GG is a wonderful woman, from a wonderful family.

They can be loud and rambunctious, demanding and frustrating. But their love for one another surmounts all that, makes the rough-and-tumble of life just noise above a base-note of complete acceptance of one other."

Wow. I'd have loved to have come from a family like that. I'd have killed for that. Well, not really, but.

"So what's Preppy's story? If it's any of my business."

Dean considered. "I would not normally reveal such things to an RA. But you have become more than that to these women, in the short time you've lived there.

They accepted you as one of their own, so I accept that you may need insights into their personal histories, so you may continue to do you stellar work in rehabilitating that house."

I thought that might be overstating it. Meta Mu didn't need much to be a great place to live. With Kitty on their side, they couldn't really fail.

"Preppy has survived the worst of foster care situations: abuse, failed parenting, absent parenting, issues over control of her personal space, her body. She matured quickly under this stress. She is a very smart, resilient young woman, which helped her process her pain. But it had it's effect on her.

You may have encountered her predilection to, well, exchange access to her body for advantages. This all stems in part, to her early experiences."

I had my own thoughts about that. Preppy may have had a hard time, even so, access to her body was entirely hers to control as she wished. I would find no fault with a person for that.

I just nodded, to show I understood the point Dean was making.

"She has built a new personality to shield herself from that old life; that of a young woman of substance and taste, in total control of her person. She's been so successful at remaking herself, that I'm inclined to say she is actually this new person, in all the ways that matter.

Still, it leaves her craving control to the point she deals with others principally through negotiation."

That I totally accepted. Again, her life to live as she saw fit.

"When she came to us I believed Preppy would benefit from experiencing other viewpoints, particularly the sort so vividly on display at Meta Mu. The free sharing of joys and concerns. Mutual trust in house members to choose their own life paths. Alternate models of personal space and responsibility."

That was the Dean I knew, with an outward reason for everything yet another reason below the surface, her true goal. Which was often, nurturing of the young adults under her care. That's why I liked her so much; smart, calculating, devious. And a heart as big as the sky. That's why I was glad to take part in her machinations.

"So you placed her with a nymphomaniac genius, a lesbian Goth biker chick slash surgeon, a working-class army brat who loves said surgeon, a cosplay imp with limitless resources. A new-age hippie psychologist."

Dean smiled again. "And a brilliant, driven researcher with deep empathy and no personal life."

I was shocked. I knew her games went deep, but I had never considered that I might be one of her playing pieces. I imagined myself her collaborator; now I saw I was a subject as well.

My cup rattled in the saucer; I admit I was shaken.

Was I ok with this? Well, I was ok with her part in structuring the lives of other students. It would be the most enormous hypocrisy to resent such a role in my own life.

And she'd done well by me. Placing me in Meta Mu had changed me in ways I did not yet fully understand, but embraced with all my heart.

"Thank you. I've benefitted from knowing these women. I want to stay and continue to do what I can to maintain a healthy culture in that house. In our house."

Dean relaxed, stretched, relieved. Clearly a pivotal crux in this conversation had been traversed. And I passed.

"We'll talk again. There are several issues still to resolve."

"I know one. The issue of Hippie, the young woman who rejected their culture. Or they rejected her; I've not sorted that out yet."

A sad face. Dean did not like losing at her games. It means suffering for those she cared about.

"That has not played out fully. Give it time. A better outcome is possible."

I nodded.

"And as if your plate was not already full, I'm going to send more interesting young women your way. The house is not full, and I have oh so many people needing a non-judgmental environment where they can thrive."

That was indeed news. A house usually recruited, interviewed and invited their own members. But Meta Mu was different, that was clear.

If the Dean wanted to affect the house membership, well, she had many tricks up her sleeve.

"We have a double available, but Preppy has designs on that."

Dean nodded. "That will leave two singles to fill. Better than a double in a way; more flexible."

I started to correct her, then remembered that Slut and I were... bunking together now. How did Dean know? It was her business to know, of course. I smiled and nodded.

Slut's old bunk was in the 'greenery' but that just made it all the more challenging I guess.

Our business ended, we talked of other things - the Fall Fling coming up, and the house's possible participation. But plenty of time to organize that.

Making my way out I revisited my lab, saw that my experiment was still ticking away, and made my exit.

GG had filled me in on the new Mexican option in town. It was on the highway in an old gas station, now remodeled into a bodega slash lunch counter.

I walked out there, six blocks extra out and six back, but my dear Slut was worth it. Bribing her to smile when she saw me was more than payment enough.

The boy at the counter had little English but I knew Spanish words like Al Pastor and Carnitas so we got along fine. When it came time to pay I was shocked; they needed to double their prices at the very least.

With my bag of warm takeout boxes and cold horchata (a drink of rice, ground nuts, spices) I was nearly drooling when I arrived back.

I flew up the double-flight of stairs with just a general "Hello!" to the house. Nobody answered; that was to be expected, Saturday was everybody-on-their-own day around here.

I went quietly in the door, not wanting to disrupt important activities that might be underway. But I need not have bothered; Slut was idle, standing over a table of repotted sprouts, hands on hips, just surveying them as a fish-tank pump bubbled nutrients through a maze of clear tubes.

Completely naked.

She'd left our room naked this morning, and apparently that was the last she thought of clothing. Too busy doing her world saving stuff to bother with conventional decency.

"Hey! Naked Sexpot Mad Scientist Botanist! I have lunch!"

She turned, saw my bag of goodies and melted.

"Lover! You are so welcome right now. I could eat a cow."

"Well, I love you too! Hope carnitas and tacos al pastor are ok?"

She padded over, a look of animal hunger on her face, took the bag from me without so much as a peck on the cheek and carried it to a potting table. Sweeping away the detritus with one arm, she made room to set it out.

I was treated to the sight of a woman I loved, shared a bed with, had sex both raucous and sublime with every day, opening a takeout pan of steamy hot greasy carnitas, scooping up a wad with one hand and stuffing it in her mouth.

She made yummy noises, the same sort she made when I joined my sex to hers, closed her eyes and sat backward against the table, a picture of carnal satisfaction. Greasy, happy, lewd, satisfied.

"Wow! I wish I could have that affect on you!"

She opened her eyes and saw me, probably for the first time since I came in.

"Lover, you can do this to me just by saying my name. Here, let me find you a plate."

No way was she going to surrender that takeout box.

She found a dinner plate with leftover pizza fragments on it, dumped that into a compost bin, tipped out half the carnitas, handed it to me.

I took it, put it down, and moved in for a kiss.

"But I'm all greasy! Mmmmph"

I didn't let her get any further. Mushing my mouth to hers, I sucked her lip, licked her teeth, pursued her tongue and generally tasted her.

Pulling away, "Yum! That new Mexican place is amazing! Those carnitas are heaven!"

She finished chewing, swallowed, a lewd smile on her face.

"So you like it messy?" Taking a big savory chunk of meat from her box in two fingers, she put it to my lips, smeared it back and forth across my mouth, pooked it inside with one finger.

I sucked on her finger as she withdrew it, licked my lips, chewed and swallowed.

"Heaven. I missed you all morning."

She giggled. "God I missed you too. But look at this!"

She set the box down, began to show me all she'd accomplished this morning, potting and plumbing and soil amendments and vascular hydration rate monitors and such.

I waited that out, but when she began to explain cellular respiration I interrupted her; I kissed her again.

She got into it this time, enjoyed my mouth, my tongue, reached down and squeezed my dick through my shorts.

Being tongue-fucked in the face by a naked gorgeous Slut was one of my favorite things, I decided.

"Lets go down to our room, eat our lunch, see what else we can think of."

She grabbed the bag; I took the plates and we proceeded down two flights of stairs, down the hall, into our room.

The food fit barely on the lamp table, with the lamp removed. Loading up with tacos and carnitas, popping lids on both drinks, we settled on the bed, leaning against the headboard.