Greta's Story 6: Naked in College - Required Courses

by Chessman

Copyright© 2012 by Chessman

: None of my pledge sisters were in my classes, so more often than not I was the only naked student in the classroom, except for the sculpture class,. At P-FIT it was not unusual for a student or even a faculty member to attend class nude, therefore the only looks I noticed were a lot of guys and not a few girls admiring my curvy naked body. If my birth father, now in jail for a long time, had been here I probably would have had welts on my back from his whip.

Caution: This contains strong sexual content, including Consensual   Workplace   School   Nudism   .

I have to admit, that as a Liberal Arts undeclared student, I was without focus my first semester in college. I was trying everything from sculpture to botany, with a required English composition and History of Western Civilizations tossed in, with my one elective being something called Social Psychology.

None of my pledge sisters were in my classes, so more often than not I was the only naked student in the classroom, except for the sculpture class,. At P-FIT it was not unusual for a student or even a faculty member to attend class nude, therefore the only looks I noticed were a lot of guys and not a few girls admiring my curvy naked body. If my birth father, now in jail for a long time, had been here I probably would have had welts on my back from his whip. Here an occasional pat on the butt or a lingering stroke down the flank and hips as one of the art kids posed me in sculpture class was all that happened.

I turned down as many coffee dates as there were guys in my classes. But I did, after an argument with the Social Psychology professor over the topic at hand, accept her invitation to discuss my points and opinions over dinner at her home.

We were using Mark Chessman's books "Slavery or Submission" and "Punishment vs. Discipline" as primary texts and I had argued in class that based on Chessman's writing there was no clear line in the Dom/sub relationship.

Dr. Sonia Walsh had offered me a proof text of Chessman's new work, "Freedom In Submission", if I would join her for dinner at her home on faculty row. Her comment 'don't bother dressing for dinner' made me smile.

It was Thursday evening at six-thirty when I rang the bell and was escorted into the foyer of Dr. Walsh's home. A tray by the door with a sign that said, "Please Remove Footwear" bade me shed the only things besides my jewelry that I was wearing, my sandals, and I was escorted into a sitting room by a student assistant who was probably a junior. He was nude, male, and pierced through his nipples and with two gold hoop rings through his foreskin of his penis. His body hair had been lasered off and he spoke not a word, just using hand signals to tell me where I was to go and which chair I was to sit in.

DR. Walsh entered the sitting room at seven p.m. and had two adult males with her. "Greta, these gentlemen shall be dining with us. Upon completion of dinner we will have a continued chat in this room over brandy, but I do wish for you to feel free to tell them what you spoke with me concerning the two books we are discussing in class." Dr. Walsh had not introduced either man, and I guessed she would do so when she felt it appropriate.

We withdrew to the dining room, where 'Boy', Dr. Walsh's only name for the nude helper, served a very tasty mixed greens and vegetables salad with a light herb dressing. The conversation began when I was asked by one of the men why I felt the books in Dr. Walsh's class did not adequately cover the topic.

'Boy' then served a soup that was rich with onions, cheeses and croutons and was totally delicious and the conversation lapsed for a bit until he returned to clear the table.

When I explained that my background was in an extremely fundamentalist religious tradition where the prevalent tenet was 'to obey is better than sacrifice' followed by 'wives be submissive to your husbands' and that the fear of God and the fear of the male gender was the primary emotion of most females be they infants, teens or adults, there was no conscious choice as Chessman had indicated in his texts.

'Boy' was back with the main course, a pot roast done in herbs, with fresh carrots, turnips and green beans that had been cooked in the same pot with the meat, and a large baked potato with sour cream and chives. Conversation was halted again while we partook of this very tasty main course. "Boy' seemed to know when the last person at table finished the last morsel on the plate, for precisely then he appeared to clear the dinner plates.

One could only surrender to a Dom as a sub if one had the choice to surrender. Being born into the system where your sex dictated your place, submission was forced, not voluntary, and Chessman's main premise did not stand. I continued to argue until dessert and coffee appeared. We quieted again while we finished the meal and retired to the sitting room while 'Boy' cleared the table in the dining room.

The four of us bantered this about for a while, some of my points stood and some broke down under the logic the three (whom I presumed were all professors) worked on me. One of the males told me that for the next dinner session he would like me to put my thoughts down logically on paper. Dr. Walsh concurred saying this would be my theme paper for class, which I would have to defend verbally in class, so we would set the next dinner for three weeks hence.

In the course of my research, over the next few weeks, I bumped into 'Boy' in the outer office of Doctor Walsh's two-room faculty suite. He sat at a table with his feet at a forty-five degree angle and was usually nude, though on two occasions he was wearing silk boxers. I guessed, almost correctly, he had failed an assignment that Doctor Walsh had given him and was serving a period of humiliation as penance for his misdeed.

When Sonia, which is what she now wished for me to call her, seemed open to my asking, I went directly to the point: "Who is he and what did he do, Sonia, that he merits this punishment?"

"Well, he used to be and may someday be again, Kevin Fitch, senior honors student and psychology major. I was so impressed with a paper he had written that I showed it to someone else. That someone in turn showed me an unpublished manuscript of the book he was writing. With minor variations, Kevin had stolen the man's work line for line. He had found a draft in a pile waiting to be shredded and had stolen it from there. I gave him the choice, with the man's permission, of a caning, one stroke for every stolen word, and nude servitude for a semester or immediate expulsion with no hope of recommendation for graduate school or employment references. You can see for yourself the choice he made." Sonia then reached up to take a book down from the third shelf of a floor to ceiling bookcase behind her desk. I couldn't help notice the short skirt she wore ride up over the crest of her behind and reveal her to be panty-less beneath it.

"Like what you see, Greta?" She asked looking over her shoulder, "I could take it off so that you might get a better view.".

"No need, Sonia, you have a lovely body and I would really enjoy seeing more of it sometime, but, what I was actually hoping to get a glimpse of was your left hip." I made my reply short and honest.

"Yes, I am an SKG alumna, Greta, but no there is no tattoo," Sonia simply unbuttoned the cardigan top she was wearing and exposed her bra-less breast, "our chapter branded our pledges on the left breast." She showed me the SKG scar burned into her flesh. "Now, do you have that draft I hoped for today? Also, please take that book I just pulled down from the shelf and see if there are thoughts in it you wish to incorporate into your paper."

My paper was titled 'If It Be Punishment Let It Fit the Crime', and was based on Dr. Chessman's 'Punishment vs. Discipline'. "May I interview 'boy' for part of my research, Sonia?" I asked her before leaving her office.

"Yes, under several conditions, first he may not reveal whose work he stole, second he must wear his punishment weights while being interviewed by you, and third, as an added humiliation he must masturbate to orgasm both before and after your interview. In fact let us make that mandatory." She called out through her door, "Boy, get your naked ass in here."

He appeared immediately. "Ms. Demure wishes to interview you for a theme she is writing for my class. You may perform your ritual of sacrifice into this dish," she produced a glass bowl, "and upon completion you may speak with her. When her interview is over you shall again deposit your sacrifice into the dish and then resume your vow of silence."

I could see just how painful this experience was for 'boy' with the two piercings in his uncircumcised foreskin rubbing against the head of his penis he had to be very careful with his movements or he would rip and bloody his man shaft. Yet Dr.Walsh would only allow him so much time to complete the task and he ha the added humiliation of my being there and watching him perform.

He finally completed his painful self-stroking and Sonia added the weights to the rings on his foreskin. We moved back to the outer office with eight ounces of lead weight clacking between his legs.

"What is it you wish to know," he asked me once Sonia was back in her inner office and the door was shut.

"Leave out the details of who and what but explain the rest to me and explain to me how you believe the punishment you are receiving matches the crime you committed," I told him and I set up my little voice recorder to catch every word.

The interview took about half and hour and, breaking no confidences, 'Boy' told me how he had been at a loss for a senior theme, had been working a part-time campus job cleaning faculty offices and had often glanced at drafts and crumpled notes in the waste to be burned or shredded to learn how the professors thought and taught and what they considered to be viable research as opposed to simple unsupported and unsubstantiated scribbling.

He had come across a seventeen page outline in a certain professor's trash can with large red X marks through the pages. Thinking it to be a discarded work, and reading into the logic of the progression he saw could be built upon he co-opted the premise for his thesis.

"If I had acknowledged the premise as being from an unpublished work, and that I was building on someone else's foundation I might have been okay, though you are marked down from the highest level if you are using someone else's thoughts. As I believed those notes to have been rejected I wrongly believed I could use them without fear. You can see where it got me." He sighed and asked if the interview was over,

"Not quite. Do you believe your punishment fits the crime?" I asked again. He had danced all around the question but had never answered it.

"No. I should have been expelled with no hope of graduation. That was the prescribed punishment. As it is the punishment for all plagiarism. This is a lesser punishment, humiliating and humbling yet it is not nearly as severe as having your future crushed for one stupid act of borrowing someone else's thoughts and words. Stop me, borrowing is not the case it was theft of intellectual property, plain and simple. That both professors came up with a plan to show me leniency by allowing me to accept a caning and this naked servitude, does not change my crime. This, to me is penance, the expulsion would have been punishment." He again asked if we were done and I nodded yes this time.

As I nodded yes, Sonia was summoned from her office to witness 'Boy' humiliate himself once again. When he was finished and quite raw, I took my leave. I was left to ponder an interesting point 'Boy' had left in my brain. Penance as a submissive act, does it fall as discipline or does it fall as punishment, or is it the crème filling between the cookies that are punishment and discipline?

I would be working on that premise for several more days as Sonia's next dinner with the two male professors was five days hence and my paper was not finished. Not only did I need it to be finished in writing, but I needed to be able to defend it when the professors questioned my logic and critiqued my thinking.

My nineteenth birthday found me not partying neither with my pledge sisters nor with friends, but hunched over my keyboard trying desperately to get my paper finished and polished as far as spelling, syntax, and grammatical format when I was summoned by the pledge mistress Raluca Razkova and ordered to the Great Room immediately. I hit save, inserted a flash drive and backed up my work, and headed downstairs expecting a party of some sort...

My entire pledge class was on their knees in position three along the window wall of the Great Room. Nineteen SKG sisters wearing diaphanous gowns of sheer lemon yellow chiffon also were in the room standing in front of the fireplace. Each was holding a paddle. Doctor Sonia Walsh and Coach Donna Kelly were also present, dressed in similar gowns but white in color. In the center of the room was a saddle tree, used in barns to put a wet saddle up to dry, but also the perfect height to bend a girl over, secure her to the legs by tying her hands and feet to them and exposing her bottom for spanking. This is the position I found myself in moments later.

Pledge Mistress Razkova explained to me that each of the sisters would get one swat to celebrate my birthday. Nineteen sisters, nineteen swats, I could live with that. The two faculty advisors and the pledge mistress would each get nineteen swats. Quickly doing the math I was up to seventy-six When Lynn, our house president, chimed in that she would claim nineteen of her own and a special guest would administer five for good luck. One hundred swats with leather faced ping-pong paddles. OUCH and Happy Birthday.

The sorority sisters, allowed one stroke each, made short work of their part in my birthday celebration. They knew they were there to simply get me warmed up and the smacks they gave stung but did not really hurt.

I had been told there was no need for me to count out loud, this was not a punishment, but when Sonia and Donna began their paddling they did so uniquely. I felt I had to count as one started on my left butt cheek and the other on my right and they alternated through ten strokes apiece. For the final nine each they switched sides. Hard evenly spaced and well timed these strokes were stimulating my erogenous sensations and it felt as if I would leak enough vaginal fluids to soak the saddle horse, and the rug beneath it. Fifty-seven strokes down, forty-three to go when Raluca took over for the two faculty advisors. Raluca was all business, smack, smack, smack, smack, the blows came quickly and evenly two to the right two to the left until she had completed her quota and my clitoris was engorged and rubbing against the side of the saddle horse.

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