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.
