Drop-out
By Torrent
The president of Marston College, a plump, pleasant-faced woman named
Miss McIllhenney, had finished her sunny welcoming remarks, and now it was Miss
Toopermann's turn to address the freshman class of '56. There was nothing sunny
about Toopermann. She was dean of deportment, but among students, and even some
faculty, her title was "Toop the Snoop."
"You are here to be educated," she told the young women who filled the
chapel. "But education involves more than books and labs and term papers. You
will become Marston women, women with poise and confidence, women who have inner
freedom because they have inner discipline. Many young men, some of them your
older brothers, or your fathers or uncles, died in Europe and the Pacific to
preserve your freedom. Others died just a few years ago in Korea. Freedom is
precious -- but it is not a synonym for licentiousness."
SG sighed and squirmed. It was going to be one of those lectures. Hadn't
she heard enough such nonsense at Midvale High -- and at home from her cousin,
Superman?
Drinking was absolutely forbidden, Miss Toopermann went on, since drink
led to far worse behavior. Smoking, too, was forbidden. It was unladylike, and
some doctors even believed it was unhealthy. Unchaperoned contact with the boys
from nearby Lackanooka Junior College was also off-limits.
The list of thou-shalt-nots continued, and SG's mind began to wander.
What would she do when they got out of chapel? Her "big sister," a junior named
Estelle, had told her that the really neat girls met every afternoon at the malt
shop on Druid Avenue. Estelle was one of the really neat ones. Her beauty was so
different from SG's. She was almost SG's height, but slender, and she had dark,
curly hair and the delicate face of a china doll. SG was athletic and blonde.
Boys were attracted to her. Heck, even girls were attracted to her. But Estelle
was truly beautiful -- like a movie star. Like Teresa Wright or Jean Simmons.
Toopermann's voice rose and brought SG back to the here and now. "One
offense will not be tolerated at Marston, and that offense is lying. If you tell
a lie, we will discover it, and you will be exposed and expelled. There are no
exceptions to this rule."
Oh, great, thought SG. Here I am living a lie from the moment I set foot
on this campus. Sallie Gale. I'm supposed to be some bubblehead named Sallie
Gale. And I'm supposed to be just another 18-year-old, all-American girl. No one
is supposed to know that I can run faster than a race car, fly faster than an
F-86, and lift 70 times my bodyweight.
Good grief! I've got all these powers, and they send me here undercover
to break up a penny-ante dope ring. Marijuana. Mary Jane. Grass. Some of the
boys at Lackanooka and even a few Marston girls were supposed to be smoking pot.
Big deal. Big fuc---. SG censored herself. Superman hated coarse
language. If she started thinking dirty words, pretty soon she'd be saying them.
Then she'd have to listen to a lecture 20 times longer and more boring than Miss
Toopermann's.
# # #
The orientation session ended at 2 o'clock, and Estelle suggested they
stroll over to O'Malley's. Several other girls joined them, including SG's
roommate, a bookish girl named Julia who wore thick glasses and argyle knee
socks and whose only possible attraction to the opposite sex was a pair of
large, nicely shaped breasts.
The malt shop was full of boys and girls from Garfield High School,
along with a sprinkling of Marston students. "Blueberry Hill" was playing on the
jukebox.
SG, Estelle and Julia slipped into a booth. Trish, the captain of the
volleyball team, grabbed the fourth seat.
"We can use someone tall like you," Trish said, after being introduced
to SG. "Did you play sports in high school?"
"Yes. Some. I liked track and field best, but I played volleyball, too."
"Speaking of sports," said Estelle in a low voice, "here comes the
biggest, dumbest jock at Lackanooka. Whatever you do, don't attract his
attention."
Three young men had entered the shop, laughing and talking too loud. One
of them was huge -- at least six and a half feet tall. SG estimated that he
weighed over 250 pounds.
"His name is Louie," Estelle whispered. "He's on the football team. And
he was a high school champion at the shot put. But mostly he's an All-American
asshole."
Mr. O'Malley was frantically trying to wave the newcomers away.
"You're not allowed in here," he protested. "The people at your college
and the people at Marston agreed you boys would stay away."
"Aw, go screw yourself, O'Malley," said Louie. "We're free, white and
21. We can go anywhere we damn please."
"I'm calling the dean," O'Malley said angrily, reaching for the phone
that hung on the wall.
"Go ahead," said Louie. "And when you're through, give me the phone so I
can call my uncle. You know my uncle -- Oscar Ungtjur."
O'Malley put the phone receiver back into its cradle. "Your uncle is Mr.
Ungtjur? At the bank?"
"That's right, Mick. And not just at the bank. President of the
bank -- the very bank that holds the note on this sorry excuse for a business."
O'Malley blanched. Then he disappeared through a back door, muttering to
himself. His soda jerk, a pimply young man named Tucker, ducked behind the
counter.
"Alright," said Louie, sitting on a stool with his long legs spread and
looking at the girls in SG's booth. "What have we here? The volleyball girl,
Trish the Dish. And lovely Estella."
"It's Estelle, not Estella," said Estelle icily.
"And a scholarly type with big tits," Louie went on. "She's new. And,
wow, look at this other newcomer -- a blonde bombshell."
He slipped his big right hand down to his crotch and rubbed it
lasciviously.
"Forget about banana splits and hot fudge sundaes, girls. Which of you
little honeys wants to wrap her lips around the biggest and sweetest dong in
Ohio?"
"Oh, you're disgusting," said Trish. "You really are the most disgusting
male I've ever met."
"Why, I'm sorry you feel that way, Trishie," said Louie. "But my guess
is that you just don't like males of any sort. You'd probably prefer to slip
your tongue into Estella's slit, or maybe Blondie here."
He got up and strolled to the booth. Julia and Trish were sitting on the
outside, closest to him. He reached down and grabbed Julia's right breast. She
tried to push his hand away, but he tightened his grip.
"You're hurting me," she cried. Trish leaped up, but one of the other
young men who had come in with Louie grabbed her and pinned her arms behind her.
A high school boy tried to intervene, but Louie's other companion punched him in
the face and he fell backward to the tile floor.
SG faced a dilemma. She could get up and beat the stuffing out of these
three bullies without breaking a sweat. But if she did so, she'd blow her cover,
and there would be hell to pay back home.
She decided to let this sordid scene play itself out. It was a nasty
business, but no one was likely to get seriously hurt.
Louie released Julia's tit and turned to Trish, who was struggling to
free herself.
"Did I ever show you my volleyball serve?" Louie asked, with a wicked
grin. Then he swung his arm in a big arc and punched Trish hard in the belly.
She made a whooshing sound and crumpled to the floor.
"That's it," cried SG. She slid out of the booth and confronted Louie.
"Uh-oh, Blondie's pissed," he said, rolling his eyes in mock terror.
"We're all in big trouble now."
SG was indeed pissed. She was pissed at him and even more at her
situation. How could breaking up a dope ring be more important than stopping
this bully? Then she remembered Superman's admonition -- if she couldn't handle
this simple assignment, she could forget about helping him deal with the real
bad guys. So when Louie suddenly grabbed her by the neck, spun her around and
pulled her backward against his body, she resisted with but a small fraction of
her strength -- a fraction she believed would be appropriate for a normal woman
her size.
"I like it when they struggle," he laughed. His big left forearm was
across her throat, and his right hand was squeezing her breasts. Then he slid
his hand down to her belly and under the waist band of her skirt. In an instant,
he had inserted his big middle finger inside her vagina.
She was furious and humiliated. She reached down, grabbed his hand and
pulled it away. He was surprised by her strength.
"Bitch is tougher than I thought," he said, breathing hard. "Okay, Tom,
take her out."
While Louie held her from behind, the man who had been holding Trish
slammed his fist into SG's jaw. Her head snapped to the right, and she went limp
in Louie's arms. Louie let her fall face forward on top of Trish, who was still
out cold.
"You dirty bastards," Estelle said hoarsely. Outside, a police siren was
approaching.
"Bye-bye, girls," said Louie. "We'll be seeing you again. Soon." He and
his companions opened the door and crossed the street.
Estelle knelt beside SG. "Oh, Sallie, are you okay? Talk to me, honey.
Did they break anything?"
SG had pretended being knocked out, and now she pretended to regain
consciousness. She had to keep up the act. The punch had startled her, but it
hadn't hurt. What did hurt -- what hurt her pride, if not her body -- was her
discovery, while Louie was manhandling her, that there was something pleasurable
in this rough stuff.
She felt ashamed.
The police arrived and were swarmed by the angry crowd in the malt shop.
Trish and Julia wanted to file charges against Louie and the other bullies. But
Mr. O'Malley insisted he hadn't seen anything.
The reaction of the police was puzzling. They took statements from
Trish, Julia and several others, including the high school boy who had been
punched, but they seemed hesitant and unenthusiastic.
"You're going to go arrest them, aren't you?" demanded Trish.
"Well, it's not so simple," one officer explained. "I mean, we weren't
here when it happened. It's your word against theirs."
The girls were confused and angry. What was wrong with these cops? What
were they afraid of?
After the police left, Mr. O'Malley apologized for his cowardice and
explained why the police seemed reluctant to get involved.
"It's Louie's uncle," he said, almost in tears. "Nobody wants to make
him mad. He knows Louie's a bum, but family is family. And what's worse, Louie's
other uncle, on his mother's side, is a county commissioner. Louie's
untouchable."
"Until he finally goes too far and kills someone," Trish muttered.
So this was small-town evil, thought SG. A big lout with connections who
can get away with just about anything. A bully who roughs up girls half his
size. Including girls who enjoy it.
"You're all red in the face," said Estelle. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," said SG. She had been blushing at her own thoughts,
and now she blushed even more deeply. Thank goodness Estelle couldn't read
minds.
# # #
But maybe she could read SG's mind. In the week following what the girls
referred to as the Malt Shop Massacre, she began dropping hints about kinky
sexual activities. One afternoon, as they strolled across the campus, she
whispered into SG's ear, "Have you ever been tied up?"
"Tied up?" SG asked loudly.
"Hush," said Estelle. "Listen, I want you to come over to my dorm after
dinner. I've discovered how to get up into the attic. No one goes there. I want
to show you something -- something I think you'll like."
SG giggled. "Okay. Sounds exciting."
That evening, Estelle led SG to a door at the end of a dimly lit
third-floor corridor of her dorm. Estelle knelt and slipped a bent hairpin into
the lock. After a few seconds of jiggling, the door opened. Behind it was what
looked like a large broom closet. Estelle closed the door behind them and turned
on her flashlight. Against the far wall was a step ladder. Above it were three
curved metal bars embedded in the wall. Their spacing suggested they were
intended for climbing. And in the ceiling was a recessed square covered by a
slab of unpainted wood.
Estelle climbed up first, pushed up the wooden covering and slid it to
one side. Then she pulled herself up through the square opening. SG followed
quickly.
Estelle reached up and pulled on a cord. A single bare light bulb
suddenly illuminated their corner of the attic. It was filled with bulky
equipment shrouded in sheets.
"Look at this," Estelle whispered, as she pulled the sheet from some
object that was taller than they were.
It was a large wooden X, with chains and manacles hanging from each
corner.
"Golly," said SG. "I've never seen anything like this. Except in the bad
kind of comic books."
"Yeah, it's like the stuff in dungeons," Estelle said excitedly. "And
how about this?"
She pulled the covering from a squat wooden chair with a straight back
and sturdy looking arm rests. There were leather straps attached to the arm
rests and an iron ring protruding from the top of the chair back.
SG looked more closely. In the seat of the chair was a circular hole
about three inches in diameter.
"What are you supposed to do, pee through it?" she asked.
Estelle laughed, then she knelt and reached under the chair. Suddenly
there was a metallic snap and a studded iron dildo shot up through the hole.
"Holy smoke!" cried SG.
"It gets even better -- or worse, depending on your point of view," said
Estelle. She turned a crank attached to the side of the chair. The dildo began
rotating and moving up and down.
"Who would dream up something like this?" SG asked, her face filled with
wonder.
"I don't know," said Estelle. "Maybe Toop the Snoop. I can see her
torturing beautiful young women to find out if they've been naughty."
They continued to explore the attic. There was a chest filled with whips
and ropes and handcuffs. Estelle uncovered a bed with thick wooden posts at the
corners. Cords were attached to each post.
She jumped onto the mattress.
"Tie me up," she said, with a strange smile.
SG was embarrassed. "What if somebody comes up here?"
"Nobody's coming. Hurry up."
SG secured Estelle's wrists and ankles, then sat on the bed beside her.
Estelle looked so beautiful -- and so deliciously helpless.
"Kiss me," said Estelle. "Kiss me all over."
SG kissed Estelle on the lips and began unbuttoning her blouse. Then she
slid her mouth down Estelle's throat and moved to her right breast. Estelle
moaned as SG sucked and licked her nipple.
"Oh, yes, yes," she cried softly.
SG slipped her hand down to Estelle's crotch and began fondling her
pussy.
Estelle's slender body was writhing with pleasure.
"Oh, God, it's too much. Oh, God, do more. Do more."
SG slipped off her own skirt and panties, and straddled Estelle. She
began licking Estelle's wet pussy, even as Estelle was licking hers. They
orgasmed together and lay breathing heavily for several minutes.
"Thank you, Sallie," Estelle said at last. "That was great."
SG released her from her bonds and they sat in the bed, embracing
tenderly.
"What can I do for you?" Estelle asked.
SG didn't answer. She was thinking of the chair with the big, studded
dildo.
# # #
Relations between Marston and Lackanooka were cool and formal. The young
men at Lackanooka were, on the whole, a bad lot -- students who would never be
accepted at any of the better colleges because of their poor high school grades
or, in some cases, their police records. The faculty, administration and board
of Marston, by contrast, were convinced that their girls were as good as any who
attended snooty East Coast colleges.
Still, there were practical considerations that required some contact
between the schools. One was Marston's lack of adequate athletic facilities.
Lackanooka had a football field and track that happened to be within easy
walking distance of Marston. So arrangements had been made that, in exchange for
a small fee, the Marston girls could use the field two afternoons a week, when
the Lackanooka men didn't need it.
Miss Toopermann and Miss Glute, the athletic director, made clear to the
girls that they were never to go to the field except on Tuesday and Thursday
afternoons and were to leave immediately at any other time if any Lackanooka men
showed up.
SG had signed up for volleyball, without much enthusiasm, and for the
track team. Miss Glute asked her what distance she wanted to run.
"The hundred-yard dash," said SG. "And the mile."
Miss Glute lowered her clipboard and glared at her. "Well, which is it
going to be? Are you a sprinter or a distance runner?"
"Both," said SG, with a hint of impertinence in her voice.
"No one runs the hundred and the mile, at least not competitively."
"I can," insisted SG. She was on dangerous ground here. She didn't want
to back down, but if she showed even a fraction of her running ability, it would
arouse suspicion.
"Okay, Miss Gale," said Miss Glute, with a grim smile. "Let's see what
you can do."
SG spent the afternoon running just fast enough to finish second in
every 100-yard heat, then decided to have a little fun in the mile, finishing 30
yards ahead of the number two runner.
Miss Glute was stunned -- and not entirely pleased.
"You've proved your point, Miss Gale. But there's something fishy here."
At 4 o'clock, she blew two blasts on her whistle and it was time for the
girls to get back to Marston.
SG slipped away from the group and waited beneath the bleachers until
they were gone. She needed to do some real running. She came back out to the
track and took a sprinter's stance.
"Nice ass," came a familiar voice from behind her.
She turned and found herself facing Louie. He was alone this time.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I know we're supposed to be off the field."
"No, don't worry. I'm glad you're here." He smiled. "Maybe we can finish
what we started at O'Malley's."
SG flushed. "You'd better not try it," she said, struggling to control
her emotions.
"Come here," he said. "Come here, I'm not going to hurt you."
She knew she should turn and leave. Instead, she stepped toward him.
"You're beautiful. The best looking girl at Marston. And I'm going to
fuck you one day. You know that, and I know that. So let's do a down payment
today."
He unzipped his pants and pulled out a huge prick. It was already
getting hard. "Kneel," he said.
SG looked into his eyes. She was filled with rage and humiliation -- and
something else, something she had never felt before.
She knelt.
He moved closer, until his dick was only inches from her face.
"Suck it," he said softly. "Suck it til I cum, then swallow it."
SG was amazed at herself as she reached up and grabbed the base of his
prick, then put her lips around the head.
"That's it. That's nice."
Slowly she moved her head up and down on his shaft. It was getting
harder. Then he grabbed her hair and pushed her face into his crotch.
"Yeah, that's it," he cried. "It's coming. It's coming."
He ejaculated profusely into her mouth.
"Swallow it, slut" he said. "Swallow every drop."
She did as he commanded.
He pulled her up by her hair and put his face close to hers. "You're no
Marston girl," he said. "You're a bitch in heat."
He let her go.
"Come around when you want some more." he said with a leer. He walked
away, and SG fell to her knees and wept. He was right, she was a slut.
And she did want more -- much, much more.
# # #
That evening, as she and Estelle were studying in the library, SG leaned
forward and whispered, "I want the chair."
Estelle's jaw dropped. "You've got to be kidding. That thing could rip
you apart."
"I want it," SG insisted.
"When?"
"Now. Tonight."
Estelle was distraught, but how could she turn Sallie down after she had
given her so much pleasure?
"Okay. But I think you're making a terrible mistake."
When they reached the attic, Estelle was more convinced than ever that
this contraption would do serious damage. But she also was intensely curious to
see how it worked.
SG stripped and sat down. Estelle snapped the manacles onto her wrists
and ankles. In the big wooden chest, she had found a leather collar with an iron
clip, and she buckled this around SG's neck and attached it to the metal ring on
the back of the chair. Finally, she buckled a thick leather strap around SG's
waist.
"Are you sure?" Estelle asked.
"I'm sure," said SG. "Do it."
Estelle knelt and released the spring mechanism. SG gasped as the dildo
shot into her.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes. No. I don't know. It hurts."
"I'll get you out of this goddam thing," Estelle said, reaching for SG's
collar.
"No, don't," said SG. "Keep going. Crank it. Crank it as hard as you
can."
This is crazy, thought Estelle. But she gave the crank a tentative turn.
SG squirmed and trembled. "Keep going. Keep going."
Estelle turned the crank one full rotation. SG's body rose as far as her
bonds would allow. Her head snapped back and her mouth opened. Bubbles formed on
her lips.
Estelle was transfixed. As if someone else was controlling her, she
turned the crank faster and faster. SG was wiggling on the steel rod like a fish
on a spear. She made strange gurgling noises, and her eyes had rolled back so
only the whites showed.
Ten rotations. Twenty. At 33, Estelle stopped, exhausted. SG's head had
fallen as far forward as her collar would allow. A string of spittle hung from
her lips.
"Oh, my God," said Estelle. "Oh, my God, I've killed her."
She removed SG's collar and felt her throat. There was a pulse. It was
weak, but her heart was beating.
She freed SG and let her fall into her arms. Then she gently laid her on
the floor.
"I'm so sorry, Sallie," she said tearfully. "I'm so very sorry."
SG's eyes fluttered open, and her lips moved. Estelle put her ear next
to SG's mouth.
"It was wonderful," SG whispered. "It was so fucking wonderful."
(To be continued.)
