His Best Student

When Eleanor walked into her dorm after her day of classes, all that was on her mind was a warm bath. She kicked off her shoes without untying them, set down her bag on the chair and started making her way to her bathroom. Most college students would only have a questionably-clean, communal shower to look forward to, but Eleanor had not only her own room, but her own attached single bathroom. Eleanor's room was just the kind of luxury one could expect at Kellogg University. She smiled to herself as she took a moment to look out the window as the russet leaves beneath her window shook gently in the breeze, the sunlight illuminating them like tiles in a mosaic.

Seven more months

, she thought to herself,

seven more months and I'm home free

.

After the hard day she'd had-Tuesday was her busiest day for classes and work-she found herself lost in a weary reverie now that her time at this college was coming to an end, and she could be reasonably sure that she was going to make it through her experience without any punishments. After all, her family had been concerned about her choice in university; that is, if one could aptly use the word "concern" to describe what was essentially an adult temper tantrum. It didn't matter. It was a full ride, and she was going. Eventually they relented anyway; perhaps they figured the stringent university would "keep her out of trouble", as the saying goes.

Even so, they couldn't have known what Eleanor would be forced to endure at all stages of the process: entry, matriculation, graduation. Perhaps if they had known they wouldn't have let her go at all. She'd had many choices her junior year of high school; even a couple of choices where her ride was fully paid--she didn't have to choose Kellogg. But the extravagant living conditions were the least of the perks offered by the university; five star dining at all the halls, state of the art libraries utilizing new and old techniques of library science with rare and highly sought-after pieces in their collection only accessible to students and staff, professors who were leaders in their chosen fields, an incredibly dedicated student body, beautiful campus, dedicated administration. It was too good to pass up, and Eleanor highly appreciated the best of whatever was on offer.

Back then, Eleanor was dazzled only by this specific university; she disregarded all others. She knew it would be worth the relentless and grueling interview process; the invasive questions, the gynecological, rectal, and oral examinations, the stress tests. Truthfully, Eleanor hadn't been willing to admit to herself during, or since, that those tests had taken their toll on her. Before they had occurred, she figured she'd grin and bear it and be done with it.

After all, she had nothing to fear; the rigor and intensity with which she had met her studies could not be divided and given to her social life. She had never had the opportunity to even date another person, much less have sex. Other students in the school may have been interested in her, and she may have entertained the fantasy of a crush every now and again, but never for long and never to the extent it could ever be reality. But those tests lived in her mind as an example of what could best be described as questionable--and at worst downright dangerous--decisions she was willing to make and allow to happen to her body to meet her goals. It made her fear that it had permanently opened some threshold in her that, while closed, had kept her "pure" all of these years. Still, it was exhausting work, the maintenance of her pure persona.

Tuesdays were particularly hard, she mused, because she had two classes in a row with Dr. Hendricks. Eleanor knew she was bisexual and she sometimes did have to avoid the other girls at the school to keep up her good behavior; but "bi" meant she definitely, more than she'd likely admit to herself, let her mind wander while she watched Dr. Hendricks walk with his long graceful legs and lecture in his soft but assured tenor, the cadence of his voice lyrical as he discussed British literature. He had a passion for the subject matter that was infectious and it helped Eleanor maintain one of the highest grades in the class-though it certainly helped she could rarely take her eyes off him. The confluence of these characteristics also made it so that he ended up her thesis advisor, and she knew this meant that they would be spending a lot more time together. This was not an unappealing prospect to Eleanor, and she knew that this was a precarious position, but she found she had trouble caring. She had made it this long, after all.

At the same time Eleanor remembered that she was still staring out her window, she realized she had started to get aroused by her thoughts. Her blush heating her cheeks, she ran her fingers through her golden hair to try to dispel the budding pleasure. There was nothing she could do about it anyway. She got up and walked over to her bathroom, taking off her sweatpants on the way. As she walked past a mirror on her closet door, she caught the glint of the chastity belt in her reflection. She didn't like to look at it, didn't like to remember it was there. Not like some of the girls. Some of the girls seemed to ironically feel aroused at the thought of the belts. Eleanor didn't understand this philosophy; didn't this just make it more difficult to wear them? Why come to Kellogg if you knew you'd have such a difficult time controlling yourself? Of course, Eleanor had long since grown beyond the concept of simply not masturbating, orgasming, or having sex as "controlling" yourself, and certainly let go of the idea that sexual denial equated to any moral purity. By now, she fully admitted that the philosophy of the university could not be merely explained by quaint old-fashioned values but rather violent misogyny.

When she was still in high school--really, just a kid--she had simply considered this a reasonable quirk from a university which just so happened to hold fast to outdated gender norms of "purity" for women. Ironically, now that she had received an excellent undergraduate education with about a year left to finish, she now saw the university's philosophy as, frankly, repugnant. As she removed her shirt in front of the bathroom vanity, she realized this wasn't exactly ironic because she knew that they frequently tested the girls to see if they'd "fall" or "stumble". Everyone knew this, it was all but said outright; pornographic images and data shown in world history classes to compare to the Kama Sutra,

Fanny Hill

as required text in British literature classes, commenting on phallic symbolism in ancient Roman architecture, the list goes on. She had even overheard people talking about how in their STEM classes some professors brought in a litany of sex toys and paraphernalia for their industrial design classes. Subtle, Kellogg University was not.

She took a look at her breasts in the mirror; they had never been perky but they had also maintained a pleasing buxomness, at least, to her own eyes. She again started to drift in her thoughts as she stared at her own reflection in the mirror. She thought it a little sad, as she held herself in front of the mirror, that no one had ever had the opportunity to hold the heaviness of her soft breasts in their hands, hadn't gotten to pinch her receptive nipples as she was now, rolling it between her (their...his? It thrilled her to think of it) fingers.

And she'd be lying to herself if she told herself that she wouldn't think of Dr. Hendricks' soft and sure hands stimulating her. Because, invariably, she would. Touching her anywhere he pleased. She had seen how he looked at her sometimes; there was reasonable doubt, but doubt was only doubt. This was fantasy. After all, they had had so much time alone together, discussing class and now her thesis, she felt he would be particularly responsive to her body and movements. She had studied him enough to have contemplated how his body might respond to her touch, what he might feel like. But all she could see was her own gaze in the mirror. Hungry, deliberate, almost methodical as her dark eyes clouded with pleasure. Her mouth parted slightly and a raspy breath flowed out, as she got lost in pleasuring herself. Oh, how incredible if he could see her like

this

. So beautiful, smart, and only a little older than her. Oh, yes, Dr. Hendricks was never far from her thoughts.

As she licked her fingers to slide them over her now-hard nipples, she thought about her sexual history, or the lack thereof. This always happened. The fear of disappointing Hendricks as the sexual entity he probably wanted always settled in. She had never masturbated to completion before enrolling at the university, so at least she didn't have to lie about that during the interviews. She of course had felt her pussy get wet, feel the pleasure suddenly build for (seemingly?) no reason, put her finger between her soft folds to feel the slick clear wetness. But it really did stop there. Truthfully, and this was embarrassing to admit, she hadn't really known what her clit was and that she could rub it continuously to reach orgasm. If she hadn't figured it out from the university's-frankly-in-depth and informative health classes, she would have definitely figured it out from the public punishments the university hosted for its students once a month. It embarrassed her.

It didn't escape her, the irony that it was only now she could figure out how to masturbate to orgasm. Oh...orgasm. Eleanor rested her head against the wall as she grunted, fantasizing about orgasm. Sometimes it was the only thing she could think about; that forceful throbbing of her pussy she only felt at night, when her body forced her to orgasm. Those had only started in her first semester. She hated her body for giving her just that little bit. Like giving an addict a taste. Cruel.

Before she was able to quash the thought, she considered right now whether she may be able to bring herself to orgasm just from stimulating her breasts and nipples and perhaps thinking very very hard about it. And perhaps maybe even thinking very very hard about Dr. Hendricks. Dully, in the back of her mind, she wondered where this sudden need had come from; but her mind continued forward almost out of her control, reasoning that after all, if she could do it in her sleep (completely accidentally, she had to admit) then being able to orgasm from this moment should be just as achievable. And, she reasoned, cumming this way wasn't technically against the rules, though she had to admit to herself that was...debatable.

She bit her lip as both of her hands swirled around her nipples, using the saliva building in her mouth to drool onto her tits. The lubrication made the sensations more intense. She would not remove the belt. There was no way she was risking that. Still. The pain of her engorged pussy begged release. She was able to ignore it, even as she started to pump her hips against the bathroom sink's edge. The little reverberations vibrating through the metal was just enough to provide a little more stimulation that could possibly get her there. Pathetic metallic pings hardly registered as her belt hit the corner of the sink. Like an animal, she lifted her leg onto the lip of the nearby bathtub for slightly better access. Shameless. She got wetter.

Eleanor knew, as she had known for years, what would await her if she was punished. Monthly, the girls were brought into the auditorium for an assembly. The stringent and restrictive admissions process ensured the school was quite small, so all the girls could comfortably fill a 300 person auditorium. What would follow would test the tenacity of every girl there for possibly hours. The longest Eleanor had been at an assembly was four hours.

During the assembly, the Dean of Students would read off the school mission statement, and assure the girls that he was there to help them achieve their goals, and "to that end, would the following students, when called, walk up to the stage please?" Eleanor whimpered as she remembered, feeling her pussy slide just slightly in its own arousal fluid against the metal of the belt. She was quickly flowing over the crotch, she realized. Her heart leapt in fear as she remembered for a moment of a rumor of moisture sensors that administration used to tell if girls were skirting the rules, but quickly her fear was assuaged. In her most logical moments she knew this couldn't be true, so why should it be more true now that her mind was clouded by the smallest pleasure she was afforded within the circumstances? With renewed vigor, she put her hands on the bathroom sink to give herself more leverage to grind her swollen pussy against the counter, feeling her breasts shake slightly with each movement as she remembered the punishment assemblies, and one in particular: her very first one.

Like for every punishment assembly, Eleanor had come to find out, the girls were called one at a time so every girl in attendance would be sitting in rapt attention. What if you were called next? What could you expect? Eleanor vividly remembered the first girl she ever saw get called up: "Winnie Carmichael", the dean had said in his booming voice. The relief Eleanor felt at not hearing her name was quickly eclipsed by her morbid curiosity. Seeing Winnie stand up and begin her walk, Eleanor realized she remembered her from an Art History class. She watched Winnie walk up the stairs and onto the stage. It encouraged her empathy toward the poor girl, for she was shaking so visibly Eleanor could see her tremble all the way from her middle seat in the theater. She watched her intently, heart beating erratically in her chest and rushing into her ears, almost drowning out the Dean's order for Winnie to take off her clothes. Every newly matriculated freshman in the auditorium was probably as shocked as Eleanor at this order.

She looked pleadingly at the Dean, but he only stared at her in a level gaze. Eleanor felt her eyes go wide, though she had often tried to school herself to never show what she was thinking, especially not at this university, she simply couldn't help it. She quickly looked around to see if any professors were in attendance, but thankfully, none were. It would be absolutely mortifying if a professor had seen her naked body on stage only to then have to go to class barely 24 hours later. Blessedly, the only staff member in attendance in the theater was the one giving Winnie orders on stage.

Winnie took off her shirt first, possibly seeing that as the least undignified beginning to this punishment. Perfect silence filled the room as her shirt fell to the floor, then her skirt, stockings, and shoes came off. She was left standing with just her chastity belt. Winnie moved to put her arm across her nipples and her hand to cover her sex but the Dean firmly moved her hands away. Forced to stand in front of the audience, everyone had an opportunity to examine her body, how her breasts hung low and heavy over her stomach, her soft folds rolled over the chastity belt. Eleanor had always liked looking at her and now naked she was more than a little aroused at the sight of her. It did not take long for Eleanor to realize that these punishment assemblies were a test for the audience as much as it was a punishment for the victims.

Being forced to stand on the stage, her fair skin glowing under the light, Winnie started to cry softly, little sniffles and breathy gasps, as the Dean moved for Winnie to sit in what looked like an examination chair with stirrups. She put her feet in the stirrups as he strapped her hands to her sides using the rings of the chastity belt. Eleanor involuntarily touched the rings on her own belt:

so that's what those are for

, she thought almost numbly. The Dean then tied Winnie's legs so that they were kept spread open.

"Please..." Winnie whispered. The acoustics and silence of the room worked in tandem so they all heard her plea, quiet as it was.

"Now Winnie," the Dean said soothingly. "You know why you're here. What's done is done. The best thing you can do is be a good girl and take the punishment you deserve. Do you trust me to give you what you deserve?"

Eleanor couldn't help but wonder what Winnie had done to deserve this.

"Yes," she replied breathlessly, as he moved to unlock her belt. "Wait," she blurted. "What are you doing? We're not supposed to remove these."

To that, the Dean delivered a swift slap to her face. Her squeal of surprise mixed with the sharp slap which echoed in the room.

He paused as the mingled echo faded, letting everyone sit in the silence only broken by Winnie's ragged breathing.

"What do you say?" He said slowly with a low voice, as you may to a child.

"I'm sorry," she cried, and began nearing hysterics as tears streamed down her reddening cheeks.

"'I'm sorry',

what

?"

"I'm--uh--s-sorry s-sir," she sobbed.

"That's better," he replied, almost saccharine to the audience but to Winnie must have been a great comfort, thinking he had been mollified and maybe the punishment wouldn't be made worse. Stroking her hair with one hand as he stood next to her, facing the audience, he finally unlocked her belt with the other hand.

By that time the first years had been wearing the belts for three weeks. She gasped weakly as the belt fell away revealing the swollen, blushed slit. At the sight, Eleanor couldn't help thinking what an odd situation she had found herself in. It was just now viscerally becoming real to her that her resolve and purity would be tested far more frequently than she had expected. As if in answer to this thought, she felt her own pussy begin to lubricate and pulse in the belt she was still becoming accustomed to. She heard and--swore to this day--

felt

the other girls around her shift in their seats, from discomfort or arousal or both she couldn't know.

"See," the Dean (God, what was his name? Eleanor couldn't remember) said with a slight chuckle. "You make a good show of not wanting this, but I can see, and we can all see, how badly you want someone to touch that aching pussy of yours. After all, why do you think we even called you up here?" Eleanor felt herself throb at the words, lost in a confusing mix of arousal and fear. But by this time, Winnie had calmed down a bit, perhaps distracted by the fact that her pussy was finally getting the attention it so obviously craved. He then slid a black nylon gloved finger from the opening of her slick vagina all the way to the top-what must be her clit, Eleanor had realized. Her moan made the tips of Eleanor's ears hot. The memory of sitting in the plush auditorium seat, the chair growing hot from her body, her legs crossing and pulsing against the hard metal of her belt, gripping the arm rests, and somehow wishing to be Winnie in that moment stayed with Eleanor every time she remembered she wasn't allowed or able to touch herself. It had been very hard to banish that desire from her mind, then and recently.

"Uh--I--I," it was obvious Winnie didn't know what to say. Who

would

know what to say when faced with this situation? 300 pairs of eyes on your restrained, naked, spread body with the Dean of the school taunting you for being turned on. What's more, she was pretty sure that the very Dean in front of Winnie had been on the interview board for all the students, and the person who had presented all the girls their contracts. If Eleanor was feeling a cacophony of emotions then it was a wonder Winnie didn't just pass out. Her legs were shaking so hard in the stirrups that her restraints were clanking.

"Sshhhh. It's okay, here," he gently put a gag around her head and into her mouth. "You don't need to answer me anymore. Just don't cum."

Winnie, who couldn't seem to control any part of herself, made a muffled "Huh?" Around the gag. The Dean walked in what seemed like a deliberate slow step behind the stage for what must have been three full minutes.