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Sorority

  By Flatfish

Agnes Johnson died laughing. The old lady laughed until tears ran down her cheeks. As her mirth dwindled to a quiet, mischievous giggle she sank back into her soft thick pillow and peacefully passed away, still smiling. Her lawyer, Norman Wilson and her life long friend Cecilia Bloom looked at each other across the old woman’s bed. Wilson carefully folded up a freshly written document and gently escorted the tearful Cecilia from the room. 

A month later on a bleak February morning three young students, excused from their studies for a day, joined the other beneficiaries nervously waiting in the New York offices of Wilson, Wilson and Bowles. The three pretty girls were respectfully dressed in black, although their black skirts, Norman Wilson noted, were delightfully short and were neither appropriately sombre nor suitable for the bitter weather that lashed at the windows. A stiff yellowish document lay on the desk in front of the lawyer and he carefully smoothed it out. He put on his half moon spectacles and began to read. 

“I Agnes Johnson being of sound mind do herby bequeath…” 

The three girls listened with a mixture of anticipation and dread, hardly daring to hope that Agnes would have left a sufficient bequest to save the sorority. Many years earlier, Agnes had been a founding sister of Omicron Mu Gama, or O M G as the sisters jokingly called it, and she had been the sorority’s most generous sponsor. Now she was dead and the future of the house looked very uncertain. 

Wilson read through a number of gifts to friends and charities before coming to the matter of Omicron Mu Gama. 

“Before I disclose Miss Johnson’s bequest, I am required to read a statement that the deceased dictated to me in her dying moments.”

The girls looked worried as Wilson pulled a new document from his pocket, unfolded it and started to read. 

“It is with great displeasure that I look upon the young girls of today with their low morals and wild behaviour. It saddens me that the standards upon which my sorority was built have been so badly eroded. There was a time when the house committee would have enforced those standards and brought swift punishment to any girl who dared to flout the rules. I can assure you the miscreant would have taken to her bed with a very sore bottom. 

It is my sincerest wish that the moral code of Omicron Mu Gama will be restored and to that end I include in my bequest a wooden sorority paddle and our original book of rules which I insist will be implemented as a condition of accepting my financial legacy.”

The three girls stared at the lawyer. 

“Is…is that legal?” asked Wendy Peterson, the sorority president. “Can she insist that we adopt her rules if we want to inherit her money?” 

“Strictly speaking,” said Wilson, “the requirement that some legal and ethical code of conduct is adopted as a condition of inheritance is not unheard of. Therefore I will require you to agree to fulfil her wishes. However I have to admit that the application of physical punishment is highly questionable and enforcement of such a condition is rather tricky to police.” 

“So what you’re saying,” said Trish McGreggor, sorority secretary, “ is that as long as we agree to the condition,” she put quotes around agree by making rabbit ears with her fingers, “then the money will be handed over.” 

“Quite so,” said Wilson. 

“Just how much money are we talking about?” asked Madeline Brown, sorority treasurer. 

Wilson picked up the Will and started to read once again. The girls’ eyes opened wide as he disclosed the figure. The money, the bulk of Agnes Johnson’s estate, was to be placed in a trust that would ensure the financial security of the sorority house for many years to come. 

The following day, the three girls sat in the sorority committee’s office discussing the rulebook and the frightening wooden paddle on the desk before them. 

“We don’t need these rules,” said Trish. “There’s nothing wrong with our morals.” 

“The money is already ours,” said Madeline. “We can bin the old trout’s rules and this ridiculous paddle.” 

“Can we?” said Wendy. “I’ve been reading these rules and they sound pretty sensible. If we would take the money and break our promise then Agnes was right, we are in such a state of moral decline that we need the rules – and this paddle.” She looked meaningfully towards Madeline. “It sounds like some of us need it more than others.”  Madeline flushed a little. Then Wendy turned her gaze towards the secretary, “And if, as you say Trish, there is nothing wrong with our morals, then we are ethically bound to keep our promise and live by the rules. Yes, anyway you look at it we have to implement the rulebook.” 

Wendy picked up the paddle and walked over to a portrait of Agnes hanging on the wall. She had already fixed a hook next to it and without waiting for her friends’ approval she hung up the paddle. 

The first girl to fall foul of the new rules was Chrissy Stevens, a cute nineteen year old who had been called to the dean’s office for failing grades. News of the incident came to Wendy through the grapevine and the unfortunate student was summoned to the committee’s office. 

A chair was placed in the centre of the room and Chrissy sat down and gazed nervously around at the three sorority officials. Wendy, inspired by the portrait of Agnes, walked around the chair, adopting the moral high ground as though she had never had a bad grade herself. She lectured the frightened student as she walked, berating her for her laziness and for bringing the name of the sorority into disrepute. Finally she walked over to her desk and picked up the rulebook. 

“Have you familiarised yourself with the rules of our sorority,” she asked. 

“I…I’ve been meaning to,” Chrissy stammered. 

“Meaning to?” Wendy gave an impatient sigh and walked over to the paddle hanging on the wall. Chrissy turned pale and wide eyed as Wendy unhooked it. 

“You…you’re not serious,” said Chrissy, starting to panic. 

“I’m very serious, Chrissy Stevens. I intend to make sure there are no more bad grades. Stand up and bend over the desk.” 

Chrissy had never been paddled at school, never even been spanked by her parents. She couldn’t believe this was happening. She looked pleadingly at Trish and Madeline but they turned away, refusing to make eye contact, clearly uncomfortable with the proceedings. 

Tearfully she slowly stood up. She had only been a member of the sorority for a few months and she didn’t want to be expelled. She lowered herself, trembling, over the desk. She wished she had worn jeans but she hadn’t expected to find herself in this position. She reached back, gripping the hem of her short skirt in an attempt to ensure it covered her bottom. 

“Let me help you with that,” said Wendy, slapping Chrissy’s hands away. Chrissy quickly let go and gave a little squeal of protest as Wendy flipped her skirt up revealing her white cotton panties. 

“Bear with me,” said Wendy, taking up her position for a good baseball swing. “I haven’t done this before. Now this is what’s going to happen, I’m going to smack your bottom, hard, and after each smack, just to make sure you remember to uphold the standards of our sorority you’re going to say ‘O M G’ is that understood.” 

“Y…yes ma’am,” Chrissy answered, not wishing to add to the president’s anger. 

Wendy took careful aim, tapping the paddle gently against Chrissy’s bottom, making the young student flinch. Then she swung back and whacked it as hard as she could against the poor girl’s semi naked backside. Chrissy howled and leapt to her feet, clutching her bottom. It stung like hell and she paced about the room, cursing, unable to stand still. Tears flooded down her cheeks. 

The girl’s of the sorority committee all stood back, startled at the result. 

“That was too harsh,” said Trish. 

“She deserves everything that’s coming to her,” Wendy snapped. 

“What do you mean?” asked Madeline. “She’s only had a few bad grades.” 

Wendy didn’t answer. She just ordered Chrissy back over the desk. The sobbing student reluctantly complied. 

“Now,” said Wendy, “what do you have to say Chrissy?" 

“O…o m g.” Chrissy mumbled. 

Wendy flipped Chrissy’s skirt back up out of the way and was pleased to see that the paddle had already painted a broad scarlet strip across the lower half of the student’s bottom, contrasting nicely with her panties. 

The second smack landed a second later; not as hard as the first, but compounding the fire of the previous whack. 

“O M G!” yelled Chrissy, squeezing her eyes shut and stamping her feet but managing to stay in position, longing for the sting to die down. 

The third and final whack came as hard as the first and after a blubbering “O M G” Chrissy was finally allowed to stand. She left the office bawling and clutching her blazing bottom. 

Wendy’s reign of terror had begun and over the next few weeks it became apparent that she was enjoying her power far too much. Trish and Madeline knew that something had to be done to rein in their out of control president; maybe even give her a taste of her own medicine. The answer came one day when Madeline saw Chrissy Stevens holding hands with a student from the Frat house across campus. 

That evening Trish and Madeline confronted Wendy in her office. 

“Wendy! You’re guilty of breaking the rules,” said Trish, picking up the rulebook. 

“What? When? How?” asked Wendy defensively. 

Trish flicked through the book until she came to the page she needed and started to read. “Any member of the house committee who uses her power for personal gain, revenge or spite will be guilty of the most serious offence - abuse of a position of trust.” 

 “I haven’t abused my position!” Wendy protested. 

“It has puzzled me,” said Madeline, “why you were so harsh with Chrissy Stevens. You could have just given her a warning to encourage her to work harder. But you gave her such a spanking she could hardly sit down for a week afterwards.” 

“Now we know why,” chipped in Trish. 

“Chrissy Stevens is dating your ex-boyfriend,” said Madeline. “You were jealous and you used your position to take revenge.” 

Wendy didn’t answer. There was no defence. It was all true. 

Trish unhooked the paddled from the wall and Wendy paled and swallowed nervously. 

Madeline nodded at the desk indicating that Wendy should get in position.    

Wendy stood and came around to the front of her desk. “D…Do we have to do this?” she asked, pleadingly. 

“Jeans off,” said Madeline. 

Wendy blushed but she fumbled with the button then unzipped and shuffled out of them. Now in a tee-shirt and panties she bent over the desk. 

“This is a really serious offence,” said Trish, “really serious.” 

“You’re right,” said Madeline, “and you know what that means.” She took hold of Wendy’s panties and peeled them over her soft round bottom and down her thighs. 

Wendy closed her eyes. The cool air blew gently on her naked bottom and she felt oddly aroused. 

Trish raised the paddle and paused, increasing the anticipation and giving Wendy time to dread what was about to happen. Then with a sharp intake of breath she thwacked it down hard delivering three harsh smacks in rapid succession; Whack, “O M G”, Whack! “O M G!” WHACK! “O M G!!!” 

Wendy gripped the desk and hammered her toes against the floor. Her bottom was blazing and tears were forming in her eyes but mixed with the pain there were other feelings, sexual feelings. She found strangely that she liked having her bottom paddled even more than she liked dishing it out. So when Madeline told her to stay in position and took over the paddle, Wendy was ready to comply. 

As Madeline raised the paddle the phone on the desk began to ring. Madeline paused to allow Wendy to answer it. Maintaining her position over the desk, Wendy lifted the receiver. 

“Hello, Wendy Peterson, h…how…how can I help you?” 

“Hello dear. My name’s Cecelia Bloom. I was a very close friend of Agnes Johnson.” 

“Oh,” said Wendy, sniffling. “Is there a problem?” 

“Not really a problem, erh… Oh dear…erh, I’m afraid I’ve been wrestling with my conscience ever since dear Agnes passed away. It’s the book you see. It’s not real.” 

“What?” 

“The rulebook dear. I do hope you haven’t been using it. It… it’s a fake. It was Agnes’s little joke you see. Dear Agnes, she really had no moral standards at all.” 

“Oh…erh…Thanks for letting me know. Erh…very kind of you to call.” 

As the conversation ended, Wendy put down the phone. She looked at the rulebook laying a few inches away on the desk. 

“What was that?” asked Trish. 

“Oh…oh…erh…nothing important,” said Wendy with a sly smile. 

She waggled her bottom and Madeline raised the paddle. 

Yes, Agnes Johnson died laughing at her final prank. But as the saying goes, “many a true word is spoken in jest”, and Agnes knew there would be many girls in Omicron Mu Gama who would benefit from a soundly smacked bottom, after all, she’d been one herself. And what of the rulebook? Wendy never told the sorority that the book was a fake and as for the paddle – it’s still blistering the bottoms of those naughty students. O M G!

~ 

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