Chapter 3
At about the same time Elaine Horton was awaiting her swats from Beverly Wilson, the president of Delta Gamma Phi upstairs in Mrs. Noreen Grange's room on the second floor rear of the sorority house.
Because Beverly Wilson had blackmailed her into giving up Elaine, Madge had had to satisfy herself with Lorna Yerkes, sixteen and one-half, dark brown-haired, petite and delightfully plump. Lorna was a freshman pledge whose guardian had enrolled her in Northeastern so that he could continue his illicit liaison with a flamboyant henna-haired waitress who worked a couple of blocks away from his Lansing, Michigan savings and loan association where he was vice-president and busy keeping the news of this liaison from his frumpish wife. He was also extremely busy in diverting as much as he could get away with the funds in Lorna's trust, since he had been appointed administrator for her estate under the terms of her dead parents' will. He had rightly figured that if Lorna remained in Lansing, she would be harder to handle because she would be on his neck all the time about her legacy; sent away as far as she was, her opportunities of checking up on him would be minimized.
At the moment, Lorna had been set to work mopping the floor of her "Big Sister's" room and admonished to do a particularly good job-or else. Lorna had been a pampered only child, adored by both her parents, who had worked together as partners in a highly successful interior decorating business. They had died just last year in an automobile accident on the way back from Cleveland, where Lorna's father induced the owner of one of the city's largest independent hotels to commission him for a complete overhauling of decor.
Delta Gamma Phi always investigated the backgrounds of its pledges, as any good sorority house will do. But for these cultish sisters who reveled in luxury and clandestine amours generally forbidden at a major institution of learning, their investigation was even more intensive. They had found out for example, that Lorna was a young heiress. They intended to induce her to make several generous contributions to the sorority out of sheer gratitude for being invited to become a sister member. But this did not exempt her from the tyrannical rule of a "Big Sister" anymore than it would save her tender, plump, pale white-skinned bottom from "Hell Week."
Indeed, while she crouched on all fours in the middle of Madge's room, the petite freshman was commiserating herself over having already tasted the paddle just yesterday when one of her flippant remarks had infuriated the domineering auburn-haired sorority prexy. Madge Trenton had made her go to the mantelpiece, bring back the paddle, kneel down and kiss it, and then lift it up numbly and request seven hard swats for impertinence. And then poor Lorna had had to assume the angle, forbidden to straighten up on pain of extras. It had been all she could do to endure the wickedly burning spanks which flattened her resilient, plump bottom globes, and she had yowled and sobbed and begged for mercy long before the allotted seven had found their predestined mark. She had no intention this afternoon of incurring another dose of the same medicine. Just the same, she was already homesick for Lansing and she was just dying to pick up the phone and call Uncle Benjamin (this being the endearment with which she referred to her guardian) and beg him to bring her back home and let her go to Lansing Girls' College instead.
Madge had purposely given her pledge-slave this arduous and lengthy task so that she could be alone with the housemother. Mrs. Noreen Grange's door was vigilantly locked, and a placard reading "Out for the Afternoon" dangled from the doorknob. Beverly Wilson would have guessed exactly why the sign was there and known that its information was false. But Madge Trenton didn't really care. She had made her pact with the black-haired vice-president by giving her Elaine, and that was the end to it as far as she was concerned.
Noreen Grange's room was actually a set of two rooms, with a tiny kitchenette and bath. The living room was huge, and then there was a bedroom occupied almost entirely by a mammoth double bed. There was a built-in hi-fi set in the wall with stereo speakers, and right now it was playing "La Mer," Debussy's exquisite tone poem of the sea. The part called "Dialogue of the Wind and the Waves" was wafting through the speakers as Noreen Grange put her hands on Madge's proud, widely spaced pear-shaped titties and whispered, "Darling, won't you let me at least watch the Hell Week goings-on even if you won't let me take part in them?"
"Now listen, Noreen, you know that's not allowed. I'd have to get a vote from all the officers, and it's never been done before. In the first place, technically you're not supposed to know that we still haze at the house. That way you won't get into trouble if the Dean should ever ask you. And in the second place, you naughty bitch, I know that you're just sadistic enough to get your kicks putting those poor freshman pledges through their paces for your own satisfaction. And when it comes to satisfying you, Noreen honey, I think I can do it pretty well."
"I know you can, lover," Noreen Grange sighed. She hardly looked her forty-five years, for her sandy-colored hair had been styled in a Sassoon bob and neatly touched up with hair coloring to hide the telltale streaks of gray. About five feet five inches in height, she was superbly Junoesque in build, with big, full but still wonderfully firm titties set closely together and high-perched on her carnation-satiny chest. Her buttocks were spacious and compact, and her thighs were lusciously rounded. She hardly looked more than thirty, and she loved best of all with Madge Trenton to act even younger.
Noreen Grange actually retained her maiden name, having originally been Mrs. Adelbert Thorgerson for about five years between her twentieth and twenty-fifth year. She too had been an only child, oversexed but misdirected, and her parents had been wealthy antique dealers in Boston, doing a good deal of traveling. Noreen had been seduced by her own English governess at the age of fourteen, and thereafter preferred the embraces of her own sex. Her parents were divorced when she was eighteen, her mother to remarry in Europe and live in Paris, while her father went to San Francisco and married a girl half his age. She had not written to either of them in years.
They had contributed to a substantial fund which she came into at the age of twenty-one, the year after her mistaken marriage. She had been going to a very fashionable and selective girls' private college near Cambridge when her penchant for pussy rubbing was discovered by none other than the Dean of Women. Noreen Grange was promptly expelled, and what was worst of all, her parents were informed as to the reason. When Noreen returned home the next day, her father marched her into his study, bent her over his lap and, despite her horrified and indignant protests, peeled up her skirt and petticoat, tugged down her pantie-girdle, and proceeded to give her the worst thrashing of her life, first with his hand and then with his belt. Then he had ragingly informed her that she was no daughter of his and that he and her mother would see to it that she received sufficient money to live in comfort so long as she stayed away from them.
As a kind of spiteful gesture to prove to her father how wrong he was about her, Noreen promptly married Adelbert Thorgerson, a man of thirty-eight, an assistant professor of history whom she had met in a Boston bookshop. It was an ironic marriage, because Noreen did not know that her husband was fond of boys; for his part, he thought that the presence of a wife on his campus would put an end to the noxious rumors concerning his homosexual preferences.
The marriage did manage to last five years, and Noreen did lose her virginity. But so perfunctory was her husband in fulfilling his marital duties that she gradually came to understand why he was reluctant to enjoy her opulent charms. She therefore made an agreement with him to follow her own way and let him follow his. All would have gone well had he not been caught in flagrante delicto with his favorite pupil, and been summarily dismissed from his teaching post. At this point Noreen sued for divorce and obtained an out-of-court settlement.
For the next fifteen years she flitted from campus to campus, managing to hold a post in teaching (since she had obtained enough credits for a certificate to the lower grades), but invariably losing her job and having to leave the town because of a noisome reputation she gleaned through her love for pussy. Three years ago, in virtual desperation, she had thought of the idea of using her maiden name and of forging credentials, in which act a wealthy Lesbian beauty in a small town in North Dakota abetted her by posing as the Dean of Women in a nonexistent school. Her luck in finding a new job had been bleak indeed, until quite by accident she had met the aristocratic and extremely wealthy Mrs. Henry Davisson, herself a Delta Gamma Phi charter member and mother of two daughters who now belonged to the same elite sorority. Mrs. Davisson, wearied of her stodgy stockbroker husband, had already experimented in the twilight zone of Sappho. She and Noreen Grange went to bed together, and the upshot was that Noreen was, a month later, installed as housemother at the sorority house on the Northeastern campus. ... But one of the reasons that Noreen Grange had lost so many posts, was that, in addition to her perverse desire to force her young girl pupils to share her bed, she was a fervent addict of corporal punishment. That was why, ever since she had come to the Delta Gamma Phi house, she had tried her best to be invited to "Hell Week" activities and, even more so to be one of those who wielded a paddle against the naked, shuddering, inflamed bottoms of the weeping freshman pledges.
"I suppose you're right," she ruefully murmured as she snuggled closer to Madge's voluptuous young naked body. The two women lay entwined, on their sides facing each other, wearing only garterbelts and sheer nylon hose. Madge Trenton, rather svelte and about five feet seven in height, had an excitingly tawny-sheened skin, an impudent oval-shaped bottom, long supple thighs and nervously chiseled, high-set calves. Her hazel eyes were humid now with lust as she put her mouth to one of Noreen's big firm bubbies and began delicately to flick the nipple with the tip of her pert pink tongue. "You know I'm right, Reeny," she purred. "But I know what's itching you, baby. If you're awfully good, maybe mama'll let you work over just one pledge when she's specially naughty. There's bound to be one little bitch in this house who will break all the rules, you'll see. Would you like that, Reeny baby?"
"Wouldn't I just!" the blonde divorcee sighed. Sinuously she began to rub her furry crotch against Madge's thick, curly, dark auburn love bush. "I'd be ever so grateful to you, Madgie lover, if you'll let me-just once. Mmm, would I ever! And I wouldn't ever let that snippy Beverly Wilson get into my bed, I promise faithfully."
"You just better not let me catch you doing it, Reeny," Madge throatily murmured, pausing in her assiduous wooing of Noreen Grange's darkening, firming nipple bud, while she slipped one slim hand down between their bellies, felt with an inquisitive forefinger for the blonde divorcee's clitoris and began to frig it lingeringly, "or you might wind up going through the mill yourself! Now shut up and let's love-fuck!"