Here is a chapter from Gwen's Sorority Days. Rival sororities have a yearly bet.Art by Paula Russell
“You might as well come over here and sit down. First go put on a robe.” Joyce watched as the naked girl bounded out of the room. Her skin was fair except for the two rounded cheeks of her bottom which were now bright red. She returned clad in a bathrobe and gingerly eased herself into the sofa. “I hope it’s not a long story. I don’t want you cooled off too terribly much. You still have ten good paddle swats coming, you know.”
“Yes, I know. But it is an important story I think.”
Joyce smiled and patted the paddle in her hand. Gwen’s eyes followed the ominous tapping. “Go ahead then, tell me.”
Gwen leaned forward and faced Joyce. “Competition among sororities was always really fierce. And the CAT’s were our big rival. It was a friendly rivalry, most of the time, and it went back years. Part of that rivalry was a yearly tradition that we called simply, ‘the bet’.”
“CAT’s?” asked Joyce.
“Chi Alpha Tau. CAT for short. And they lived up to their name. They could be catty. Anyway, there was this thing called the Pan-Hel trophy. It was awarded every year to the best sorority and best fraternity. We competed in grades, sports, charity fund-raising and even a singing competition. Everything was points. Points for winning at volleyball, points for best grade point average, points for everything you could compete about. That was for the trophy. But we had a running side bet with the CATs. Regardless of who won the trophy, we bet on who would get the most points. And the payoff of that bet was a little secret ceremony.”
“The pledges weren’t part of it because they were not really members yet, so the first I knew of ‘the bet’ was when I became a sophomore. It was a pretty intense competition and all year long both houses kept a running tally. If it was close, those final weeks could be very intense. At the end it was usually decided by grades and the day they were posted was a big day.
“Anyway, the way it worked was, the loser had to fete the winner. You had to prepare and serve a feast. All the sisters were part of this. And we dressed up. Because we were Greek clubs it was in costume--- a toga party, girls only. But to cap it off, at the end of the evening there was what we called ‘the wheel of misfortune’. This was really the big part of the bet. All of us at the party had to play. We had to put our names in a bowl, and at the end of the feast when everyone was finished, six names were to be drawn. Each of those six had to come up one by one and spin the wheel. And accept whatever fate it dictated.
“The wheel had been made years ago. It was like a dart board with these pie-shaped segments with numbers and colors. It divided into 8 segments plus two black segments with no number. The wheel was mounted on this frame that had hooks on it too. The hooks had numbers next to them from one to four. Well you can guess what went on the hooks. There was a leather spanker like that one, a standard sorority paddle, a leather strap, and a crook handled cane. Each implement had a set number of strokes that went with it.
“So if you were unlucky enough to have your name drawn, you would have to spin the wheel and wherever it landed, that was your fate. One twist was that if it landed on black, you had to doff your toga and spin again, so you got it stark naked. All the numbers were in white and red. If you landed on white 2, for example, you got to keep your panties up, but if it was red 2, well, you got it bare. If the previous spin was black, it didn’t matter.
“My junior year, we lost. CAT not only beat us, they took the trophy, so they were riding high. That year there were thirty five sisters excluding the pledge class. So on the appointed date all 35 of us dressed in our togas and carted the food and drink and everything over to the CAT house.”
“What were the togas like?” asked Joyce, “long flowing robes?”
“No. Just the opposite. They were short tunics with a belt or sash that came to about mid thigh. The CATs wore longer robes or dresses in the Greek style. This set them apart from us. We were the slave girls, they were the aristocrats for the evening. So we showed up for the party and as we filed in, we each had to write our name on a slip of paper and put it in a bowl. We knew what that was---later on six names would be drawn. And all of us from our president on down had to do it.
“That must have been hard for the seniors,” mused Joyce.
“Oh, yeah, especially the officers. They were used to being in authority positions and here they were, reduced to being serving girls like pledges, and at risk of being paddled or worse.”
“So the party started and we served food that we prepared in their kitchen. We were like caterers, you know? All evening we were running around in our skimpy togas, carrying around little trays and being waiters. Some of cooked, some of us cleaned, bur we all worked. And underneath it all there was this friction—the knowing smiles, the little remarks. We could tell they were all waiting gleefully for the after dinner ceremony. You know it dawned on me at one point that the charity auction thing I told you about was a lot like this. It’s probably where they got the idea.
“Some of us knew each other and they rubbed it in. They’d say things like ‘hope you are feeling lucky tonight,’ or ‘I wonder who is going to be squirming in her seat tomorrow---if she sits at all?’ Sometimes it was less kindly. Someone told our president, ‘I do hope it’s you Carolyn. I’ll love to see that fine ass of yours decorated with a few stripes.’
One girl told one of our members, ‘You know Britney, the way you constantly made a pest of yourself in Professor Bertram’s class, I think you need a good paddling. I really do hope we draw your name. It’s a pity it’s only six of you.’
“As you can guess, we had to grin and bear it. It was a rule that we would bear this kidding with good grace and it was considered bad form to talk back or get mad. In fact if any of us did, it was swats for that person later, after the party. So we just smiled and did our best to take it.
“We got more nervous as the time approached. Who would have to spin the wheel? The penalties were all set at pretty much the maximum for the implement. The cane was six, the paddle, ten. I think the strap was fifteen and the spanker thirty. Finally when all the plates were cleared away we were called into the large great room and they brought out the bowl with the names in it.
The CATs president, Miranda Thorp, then took over. She said, ‘Ladies we now come to that part of the evening we’ve all been waiting for. Our sisters at Kappa, to their misfortune, have lost the bet this year, and well, dears, it’s time to pay up. May we have the wheel please?’ Somebody rolled it out. We exchanged nervous looks as we saw the dread implements hanging on hooks on either side of the wheel. ‘We have three of our members who are running for next year’s office of pledge mistress so we decided that that it would be most appropriate for them to act as executioners, as it were, for tonight’s festivities.’ The three came forward and they were all pretty and athletic looking. We had no doubt that some of us were in for a hot time. Each one of them would draw two names and administer the penalty to those girls.
“I recall the first one was named Sandra. I did not know her. We all stood nervously in a line while she put her hand in the bowl and drew out a name. The first name she drew was Robin Deere. Robin gave a little gasp, but she stepped forward gamely. Robin was this very studious type, but really beautiful, raven black hair, terrific figure, too. Most of the time she hid it but in these skimpy togas her charms were on full display. Sandra said, ‘Robin, pleased to meet you’ and everyone chuckled. ‘Go ahead, spin the wheel.’
“The wheel had these little nails that passed over a pointer making this clacking sound, like Wheel of Fortune, that TV show. Robin spun it and it landed on a red 2. That meant the strap, 15 licks and bare. It wasn’t the worst I guess, but it was bad enough. Someone brought out a sturdy chair. Sandra told Robin to bend over the back of it, hands gripping the seat. She did and her tunic rode up. Sandra pulled it up all the way to reveal Robin’s shapely bottom clad only in sheer nylon panties. She took the strap off the hook and whooshed it straight down a few times. I saw Robin sort of flinch at the sound. Then Sandra said, ‘panties down please,’ and Robin obediently reached back with her thumbs and peeled her panties down to her knees.
“Sandra stood back and ran the strap through her fingers, then in this fluid motion she drew it back and swung it forward. It landed with a loud thwack! right on crowns of Robin’s bottom cheeks. Robin hissed but stayed down. It was considered poor form to break position, and in fact the rules said if you did, that stroke would not count. Sandra proceeded to swing that strap in a flat arc for 14 more searing licks that painted red stripes across Robin’s bottom. It was plain to see she had practiced with it, because she had the motion down pat. She’d run it through her fingers, cock her arm back and bring the strap forward in this lazy arc. But there was nothing lazy about the loud splat! it made. Robin’s bottom cheeks wobbled with each impact. It must have hurt. We all realized then that the pledge mistresses-to-be had probably practiced with all the implements on the hooks.
“Robin took her licks well though. That strap made her bottom cheeks dance but she held on. She finally got up, wincing and rubbing. She got back into the line and I heard her say, ‘yow, that girl could really swing that strap. She whipped my butt good—whew!’
‘The next name was Kim Matthews, a voluptuous sort of girl, but short. She had kind of a prominent posterior, I guess you’d say. Maybe that was good. She stepped up, spun the wheel and got a white 3. That was ten with the paddle on the panties. Again, Sandra knew how to paddle and she gave Kim’s fanny ten solid swats that had her lifting up on her toes and choking off squeals.
“I guess I want to know how you did,” said Joyce. “And how your friend Misty fared.”
“I’m coming to that. You see I cheated again. That’s why this is an important story.”
Joyce was astonished. “You didn’t! Gwen, I can’t believe this. Maybe we should just get on with the paddling you have coming.”
“No, no. Not in the way you think.”
“What did you do?” Joyce tapped the paddle meaningfully in her palm.
Gwen just shrugged and gave Joyce this little half smile. “I told you I had felt bad about Misty, so when we came in, Misty was carrying stuff and I said I’d put her name on a slip for her and drop it in the bowl. But what I did was, I wrote my name twice. You see all they did was count the number of slips in the bowl to make sure each Kappa had put one in, so…”
“So no one was the wiser that Misty was not at risk,” finished Joyce.
“Right. I figured it was the least I could do to sort of make amends.”
“And how did that work out?”
Gwen looked Joyce in the eye. “I got paddled. Bare.”
“The next pledge mistress candidate was this really solidly built girl that I knew named Janet Keegan. She looked sort of Nordic, you know, blonde hair in bangs, big boned. She pulled my name out of the bowl. Well, let me tell you, my legs turned to jelly. I managed to come forward and Janet fixed me with this big broad smile. ‘Hello, Gwen,’ she said, ‘how nice to see you.’ The look on her face was like a cat eyeing a canary. ‘Give the wheel a spin, if you please.’ I spun it and got a red 3. That meant the paddle—bare. Ten swats.
“Then she said, ‘Oh, my’ with this mock look of concern. Everybody laughed. Then in this conversational tone she said, ‘How did you like Professor Greer’s romantic poetry class? I absolutely adored studying Coleridge didn’t you?’ This was so bizarre. I didn’t know what to say. Here was this woman whooshing the paddle around, limbering up and she was carrying on like we were old chums who’d bumped into each other at the student union.
“So I said I’d liked it and she said, ‘I think maybe you liked Dr. Greer more, the way you wiggled that cute butt of yours at him every time you came to class. Let’s see if we can make it really wiggle.’ Then she whispered in my ear, ‘I’m really going to enjoy giving you a hiding, Gwen. You have the cutest little fanny.’ Then she stepped back and said, ‘Over you go. I’m sure you know the position—hands on knees and skirt up. Oops, first, please slip those panties down.’
“I turned ten shades of red, but I slipped down my panties and bent over. I braced myself with my hands grabbing my knees. It was really a humiliating posture, especially in front of all those girls. She pressed the paddle on my hiney, taking aim, I’m sure. The next thing I felt was a hot burn as the paddle cracked down, making this whack! noise like a gun shot. The heat crested and just as it did, she smacked me again. It was really burning. She knew how to pace a paddling, I’ll say that. She waited between smacks, maybe ten, fifteen seconds. This was just as the heat from the last swat was reaching maximum intensity, then whack! I’d get another. I can imagine what I looked like---bare butt all red and wobbling when she hit it, me shuffling my feet trying to stay in position. I thought I was going to scream, but the last thing I wanted was to jump up and clutch my burning behind before it was over. How I made it through those ten searing licks, I’ll never know.
Joyce had been listening intently. “Wow, but I guess now you know what Misty went through.”
Gwen shrugged. “Yes, now I do.”
“Hmmm, I’ll have to think about this now,” said Joyce.
“Let me tell you the rest. After me, Janet drew the name of our president, of all people. I had to wonder about this. Carolyn Harper was sort of a tall regal beauty, you know, blonde, long legs, the works. As befitting a president she came forward with her head held high. She was like some Saxon queen, captured by the Amazons. Janet knew Carolyn too, although she was a year behind her. ‘Ah, Carolyn, how nice to see you.’ Carolyn smiled, but I know it was killing her to do so. It turns out they had both dated the same guy for a while so there was no love lost there, I think.
“Carolyn spun and it came up nearly as bad as it could be—it was a red 4. That meant the cane. Six strokes, bare. A hush came over the room. The tension was thick. Janet picked up the cane and flexed it. It looked wicked. It was thin and very whippy. She bent it nearly in a circle then let it go as Carolyn watched. It just wobbled back and forth like a snake getting ready to strike. Carolyn later told us that Janet whispered to her too, ‘You don’t know how much I’ve wanted to do this, Carolyn. I’m going to stripe that saucy butt of yours like there’s no tomorrow.’ Then she said, ‘we’ll do this schoolgirl style. So if you please, Madame President, take your panties down.’ All the CATs giggled as the regal Caroline Harper peeled her panties down. She had a firm shapely bottom, that was for sure. ‘Now touch your toes, Carolyn, let’s get that bottom high and tight.’
“Carolyn bent over and presented that magnificent ass of hers. Janet stood to the side and measured, adjusting her stance. ‘We’ve been practicing you know, Carolyn. I do hope I acquit myself well, don’t you? Now keep very still. Don’t get up. If you do, there’s extra you know. We wouldn’t want that would we?’ Janet took the cane and held it over her head facing sideways to Carolyn. She pulled the cane back through her left hand and spun on the balls of her feet whipping it forward in this very fluid motion. The cane whined through the air and hit with a snap! Sound, like a twig breaking. Carolyn gave out this loud hiss, you know like when you draw air through your teeth. A red stripe appeared right across the middle of her hiney.
“We all winced. You could tell that had really hurt. Then Janet lined up and delivered another stroke with that practiced motion that made the cane strike accurately right across the crowns of Carolyn’s bottom cheeks. She hissed again and another red line appeared. We could tell now that this was a real ordeal. Carolyn’s legs were shaking. She was trying to stay down and take it. Janet, I just know, was trying to make her rise up. It was a battle of wills—Janet’s skill against Carolyn’s bravery. The third stroke was right in the fold, where your ass meets your thighs. Carolyn let out a muffled squeal. Janet stepped back a minute then lined up the fourth stroke. She tapped Carolyn’s bottom, and Carolyn flinched. Then Janet did that draw back and pivot motion and crack! the cane struck Carolyn on the underside of her buttocks just above the fold. Carolyn’s hands left her ankles and sort of fluttered and she moaned, but she stayed in position. Now Janet stood back and contemplated her handiwork so far. There were four lurid weals across Carolyn’s behind. She took up her stance once again. The fifth one did it. It landed right in the fold and Carolyn shrieked, “yeoww….Ahhhrhh!” and stood up clutching her bottom. She stamped around for a moment and looked around, panicked.
“Janet just smiled and said, ‘How unfortunate. That one did not count. We’ll have to repeat, Madame President. Back over you go.’ Carolyn’s face was a study in anguish, but to her credit she did not beg. She regained a bit of composure and bent back over to present her bottom for what turned out to be two more searing strokes. When it was done you could see seven distinct red lines across her bottom. Everyone actually applauded when Janet finished. I never knew if they were clapping for Janet or Carolyn—maybe it was both.
“My goodness. It all sounds rather cruel,” said Joyce.
Gwen nodded. “That one was serious, for sure. I don’t know what it was between those two, but it sure went beyond the sorority bet. Janet had really given her a hiding.”
“The last pledge mistress candidate was a tall lanky girl named Virginia Burns, Ginny for short. I knew her. She was very friendly and outgoing. She was from the South and spoke with this thick drawl. She stepped up and drew Tracy Clark’s name from the bowl. Now, Tracy was this little blonde, cute as a button, but with a great figure. She was maybe five feet tall. Ginny was nearly a foot taller. Tracy spun the wheel and the thing everyone had dreaded all night happened. It landed on black. Well, everything went silent then, until Ginny said, ‘Well darlin’ looks like you have to take it all off. Go ahead now.’ Blushing ten shades of red Tracy stripped her toga and panties off to stand there in the buff. Ginny admired her for a minute then said, ‘Aren’t you just the cutest little thing, honey? Go give that wheel a spin. Let’s see what kind of lickin’ you’re going to get.’ Then Tracy walked up and spun the wheel. It landed on a white 1. Too bad. It was the mildest penalty, 30 swats with the leather spanker, but Tracy was already nude.
“Ginny eyed Tracy for a minute, then she dragged the chair back over and sat herself down, slapping the spanker on her thigh. ‘Tell you what honey. We’ll do this like your momma would do. You just come across my knee, now, you hear? I’m going to give that cute lil’ fanny of yours a good warming.’ Tracy grimaced but she had to do it. She let Ginny put her over her knee. She was so small her feet were up off the floor fluttering around. Ginny circled her waist with her left hand and pushed her over a little farther. Tracy was beyond embarrassed at being held over Ginny’s knee like a ten year old without a stitch of clothing on.
“Ginny raised the leather spanker and popped it down on Tracy’s behind. Tracy’s head flew back and her legs kicked up. Then Ginny did it again. It landed on Tracy’s bare bottom with a loud crack! ‘Somebody count,’ said Ginny, and they all did. Ginny’s arm rose and fell, the little spanker smacking Tracy’s bottom cheeks with resounding cracks. Tracy started wriggling, but Ginny said, ‘Oh, no, darlin’—none of that. You keep that cute little fanny right here.’ Ginny was in no hurry though, and it took a few minutes for her to dish out all 30 smacks. By that time little Tracy was writhing and yelping and her legs were kicking like a swimmer’s. It turned out her behind was cherry red when it was all done, too. It looked like a pretty thorough spanking to all of us. It was quite a sight because Tracy was so slight and Ginny was so tall and well built. She just totally dominated the smaller girl, and it did almost look like a stern momma dishing out a sound spanking to a naughty daughter.
“When it was over Tracy got up and rubbed her bottom, oblivious to the fact that she was standing there nude. Then she recovered her wits and quickly got into her clothes. The last one was a strapping, and I forget who got it, but again Ginny really knew how to dish it out and that girl was sporting a butt that had been well leathered by the time it was over.”
“Whew,” said Joyce. “That is some story. I’ll have to think about your paddling. But don’t think you’re off the hook, young lady.” Joyce wagged a finger at her. Then she saw the clock and froze. “Oh my God!”
Gwen looked at her, puzzled. “What is it?”
“It’s the time! I had no idea. I was supposed to meet Brad. He’s waiting for me. We have a date. I’m not even dressed.” This was bad. One thing Brad hated was her being late. He’d told her so on more than one occasion. She calculated the time. She’d be forty five minutes late at best even if she rushed. “Look, I have to go. We’ll take this up later.”
Gwen said, “Ok. Can I help?”
Joyce’s eye fell on the leather spanker. “Can I borrow this?”
“Sure,” said Gwen, “but how will that help?”
Joyce wasn’t sure either but the vague outline of a plan was forming in her mind. And she had to admit, it was being fueled by the afternoon’s activities. Maybe Brad would be more forgiving if she could convince him she was really, really sorry.