Girls of Alpha Beta Delta

Leaving the rhetorical question hanging, Dean Wilkins swung her athletic frame up off the chair and came to a standing position. After tugging at the hem and bodice of her dress until a semblance of order was restored, she spun smartly toward the door and, in three long, bold, strides, was gone.

The moment the Dean was out of sight, Jodie found herself caught in a dilemma. She wanted more than anything to go to Miss White, pull off her ball gag, talk to her and/or kiss her. But though the Dean had not forbidden this, neither had she explicitly permitted it, and Jodie knew that if she made the wrong choice, she risked endangering the Dean's good will and perhaps being punished all over again.

Not that the punishment had been so terrible — in fact the last hour with the Dean had been one of the most thrilling of her young life. But she was now thoroughly sated and physically exhausted, and felt no need to repeat the experience right away. She also sensed that the smart move in this context was to obey the Dean's every whim, real or imagined. Any other approach risked disturbing the delicate rapprochement they had achieved.

Miss White had been looking into Jodie's eyes all this time, and had more or less followed her line of thought. Had she been able to speak in that moment, she would have told Jodie that her instincts were absolutely correct. Patience and endurance were the orders of the day.

Nonetheless, it was a huge struggle for Jodie to stay still, and she had just about lost it when the Dean returned carrying a freshly popped bottle of champagne and two flutes. She handed one to Jodie, who gripped it rather awkwardly in her bound hands. Seeing this, the Dean deftly freed Jodie before pouring fizzy liquid into her glass.

After filling her own the Dean lifted it into the air. "To respect," she said, clinking her glass lightly against Jodie's. "For others and for one's self."

Jodie took a big drink. The wine was bubbly and crisp and she immediately felt pleasantly lightheaded, almost giddy — at least until she glanced over at the exiled Miss White, and immediately felt guilty about enjoying herself so much. After that she sipped judiciously.

The Dean drained her flute in two big draughts, then quickly refilled it, though not quite as full this time. She stood swirling it in her hand absent-mindedly, running through scenarios in her head. She had pretty well planned how this was going to go — she'd been thinking about it all week — but it was important to leave room for improvisation, so she took some time before making her next move.

For years Dean Wilkins had both admired and resented Alexis White, all the more so now that she knew exactly how much Miss White got away with on a daily basis. The temptation was strong to destroy Alpha Beta Delta by any means possible, to put an end once and for all to Miss White's reign over her lesbian paradise. But on a rational level the Dean knew that this would be pointless; she would get a momentary sense of victory, but nothing more. On the other hand, who knew how much she might stand to benefit by ABD's continued existence? The possibilities were vague but numerous.

One thing was for sure: She intended to go to sleep that night knowing that she had proven definitively to Alexis White which of them was the stronger.

Abruptly tossing back the rest of her champagne, the Dean set her glass down and walked over to where Miss White was chained. After unshackling Miss White's ankles, the Dean took hold of her and, without apparent effort, lifted her and slung her over one shoulder.

As she began to cross the room the Dean wrapped her left arm around the backs of Miss White's thighs. With the open hand of the right she spanked Miss White's naked rump, once for each step, just because she could. With her torso hanging down across the Dean's back, Miss White felt like a naughty child, but it was not an entirely disagreeable sensation; her pussy was growing wetter with each slap.

Near the fireplace was an antique chaise longue that the Dean had moved in from the drawing room specifically for this occasion. She deposited Miss White face-down atop it, then took a few seconds to recover herself; carrying a fully grown human being that way was not quite as easy as she'd made it look. Then she used cords to bind Miss White's ankles to the legs of the chaise. Impulsively she reached one hand between Miss White's legs to gauge the moisture there — which was abundant. Miss White twitched visibly at the slight touch to her highly sensitized private area, and said a silent prayer for more — but that was all she was going to get, for now.

Jodie stood watching, sipping her champagne and wondering if there was anything she was supposed to be doing, as an increasing charge crackled through the air. Gripping Miss White by the hips, the Dean arranged her so that her ass was up in the air and her weight was resting on her chest. In this position the nipple clamps really dug into her breasts, but she wouldn't have said anything even if she wasn't gagged; it was a question of pride.

The Dean picked up two items from the table and showed them to Miss White. "What do you say, Alexis? The cane, or the whip?" Miss White, of course, was in no position to answer, so the Dean turned to Jodie. "What do you think?"

Jodie froze, unable to formulate a response — how could she dare? But the Dean's expression grew stern and finally she said, "If you don't choose one, it will be both."

Jodie did a quick eenie-meenie-meinie-moe, but subconsciously she had already decided. The prospect of seeing the Dean whip her mistress had immediately set her nether regions to throbbing. She lifted one hand and pointed to the whip.

Miss White's eyes went a little wide, though she didn't suppose it made much difference — the Dean would deal out exactly as much punishment as she wanted to, regardless. But in all her years of BDSM she had never once been whipped herself. This will be a learning experience — an opportunity for growth — she told herself, as the Dean gave the whip a tentative crack in the air. But she couldn't prevent her face from showing a trace of fear, much to the Dean's satisfaction.

The next few minutes were very long ones. The Dean took her own sweet time, letting the tension grow in the room. She wanted to watch Miss White think about the pain almost as much as she wanted to deliver it. But finally she drew the whip back and brought it down on Miss White's thigh with a crack that echoed through the quiet room for several seconds before dying away.

Despite her best efforts, a grunt escaped from under Miss White's ball gag. There was simply no way around it. She grunted again as the whip landed on her butt, then her back.

The Dean was skilled with the lash; she was able to place blows such that the tip curled around Miss White's thigh and between her legs, agonizingly close to her crotch. Miss White almost wished the Dean would go ahead and whip her pussy. Anything would be better than the intolerable burning need between her legs, which was worse in its way than the pain of the whip.

The intensity of the whipping gradually increased, and after awhile the Dean removed Miss White's gag. Leaning down so her face was just a few inches from Miss White's, the Dean purred, "Now let me hear you scream."

And she did. There was no other way to deal with the pain of the whip biting into her flesh. As Miss White let loose with one full-throated howl after another, Jodie gazed on horrified. At one point she tried turning away, only to feel the sting of the whip on her own ass. The Dean pointed at her and barked, "You will watch every second of this. Understand?"

She understood, but though the whipping had been sexy at first, now she was ready for it to be over. She breathed a huge sigh of relief when the Dean finally sat the whip back down and picked up a jar of cream, which she handed to Jodie. "You may soothe her," said the Dean, and again strode out of the room.