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Day to Day Life in an Indian Dorm

By: cowboy109



Hi. My name is Radha. I am a twenty year old Indian girl with brown skin, dark eyes, and black hair. I am a freshman in a Bangalore all girls college. I grew up in Hebbal, which is Northern most part of Bangalore. We have a large lake, which is very creatively called Hebbal Lake. Many people come for bird watching. One of my strongest childhood memories happened there.

There was a crude tree house built to observe a colony of spot-billed pelicans. When the little ones had grown and left the nest, so did the bird watchers. Then, it became our club house, the club house of a few local kids. That day Billy was with me in the tree house. His parents called him by his American name Billy, because they thought to prepare him to get a job at an American high tech company like his father did.

Billy was naked on the floor. He was tied with the rope from a nearby swing at a play ground. He laid there in the corner against the backdrop of wood slats. The wood was rough and dented from the use. Bright narrow lines of light painted on his body from the sunlight cutting through every crevice in the wall. He looked surprised. I wondered, what his feelings could have said. The British teacher in our high school kept asking us over and over, what we were feeling until she would get a satisfactory answer. I often told her that I was feeling like beating her ass up. Yet, she insisted that weren't a feeling. Billy would have been quiet, because the red and white checkered handkerchief was placed pretty well in his mouth.

The way down the tree house was to climb wood pieces that had been nailed to the tree. Right about the middle of the way was a large branch going out horizontally. It was a good place to stand. We sometimes played a dare, who dared walking out the furthest onto the branch. Right under the branch were many of the nailed wood pieces missing. So, one had to get low, put the belly on the tree, and slide down until one could wrap the arms around the branch and dangle from it. Often small pieces of the lichen covered bark would break of and paint little dots on your stomach. Sometimes a scrape would add a few red lines that would rarely bleed.

That day, I had to wait for Billy's sister and her girl friends to climb up. They were carrying on a chatty conversation about something that they had read in a magazine. They paid little attention to me. The screams only started, when I was safely on the ground and disappearing into thick of shrubs.

You can say that I am a bad girl. I am. That's what how I got into this particular college. On a Friday afternoon in high school, the teacher decided to take it easy. His mind was probably already on weekend plans. The sun was shining lazily into the room. Half the kids were already busy doodling in their notepads. The class was fascinated with Japanese manga. Groups had formed around certain manga comics. They were trying to replicate the characters. The books of previous classes that day were still on the desk. Classmates had been too lazy to store them away in the book bag. A fashion of wearing ties had swept the class as well. The boys were wearing thin ties in stark colors like pink and neon. The girls were wearing half length wide ties with horoscope symbols on them.

The teacher announced that the student painting the best ganish on the blackboard would be excused to leave early. Ganish is a kind of Indian elephant deity. The teacher explained that Ganish were a remover of obstacles and getting out of class that day surely seemed to be the largest obstacle. He was trying to be funny.

Of course, carnage ensued. The kids were running to the blackboard. On the way, they were running into tables and book bags. Once at the black board they were pushing, shoving and quarrelling about space for their master creation. It was perfect for me. Before the girl sitting next to me could get up, I grabbed her hair. It was short hip hair. I pulled her head down under the table. She fell kicking her chair over and landed on her book bag. The world from down here looked different. The desks were scrupulously cleaned from above. Yet, beneath they were a calico patch of stickers. There were expressive stickers like 'you suck'. There were random price stickers from the cafeteria. The religious Hindu students had left quotes under their desks: "It is better to walk than to run; it is better to stand than to walk; it is better to sit than to stand; it is better to lie than to sit."

My classmate's mouth was on my thigh to muffle the volume of her cries below the chatter of everyone else at the blackboard. She was wearing a white thin t-shirt. It was intentionally very large to be kind of like a dress draping down on her body. The neck cut was large as to show the décolleté above her large breast. The front that was now pressed against the ground showed Marilyn Monroe's face, large lips, and mole in Andy Warhol colors. Her bra strap stood out on her back. I quickly unclipped the bra. Pulling it over her tense struggling arms was not so easy. By the time, the artsy girl in the class had won the Ganish competition, the white underwire bra was in my back pocket. My classmate was sitting next to me clutching her arms across her chest to protect her nipples from showing through the shirt.

She had a tear in her eyes. I told her not to cry, because we would get both in trouble. Plus, I would let her earn her bra back. She had to do two tasks. Her mouth was pleading with painful grievance. Her sweaty little fingers were quick to scribble. She had to write a note to a boy in the front row. The boy was often made fun off. His clothes were often too small. His pant legs would stop middle in his calves, when he was sitting. It looked like a woman's Capri pants. He had these large glasses on that were purely bought for the most square inch of coverage rather than style. It was rumored that he was farming frogs in his room at home. Almost every student on the route to the boy read her little note: "I am in love with you. To proof my love to you, I am not wearing a bra today. If you can see my nipples and believe in them, write me back."

When the boy joined the other students staring back at my class mate, I made her uncross the arms. Her breasts were large. They were touching each other in the middle. On the side, they reached past her chest. Without the bra, they were hanging lower. The large round areola showed slightly in the sort. The nipples clearly stood there. The classmates were grinning and whispering each other. The boy had deer in the headlights look and quickly put his face on the desk and covered his head.

The next boy was our token punk. He was always wearing black clothes. His hands were covered with a black type of henna. They had paintings of slain dragons, a black eight ball, or a dog in a spike collar. Even in the middle of the hot dry summer, he would wear boots. He was sitting with the cool people in the back. When he got the same note with his name on it, he pointed at my classmate, then back at him, and he blew a kiss over to her. He sent her a note back saying that he could match her parents' endowment with his parents' endowment to him. He was holding his crotch for a full five minutes after he sent the note back.

Of course, I returned the bra to my class mate as promised. The moment, the recess bell rang, my class mate bolted out of the class room, leaving her book bag and everything behind. The whole class had learned about her notes and followed her eagerly to the bathroom. Our token punk proudly pushed his way through the crowd to the girl's bathroom door. Before he reached for the door handle, he turned around to seize the crowd. With a huge smirk on his face and erect posture, he turned towards the door. The frog farmer boy grabbed the sleeve of the punk boy's t-shirt and told him that entering a women's bathroom was unacceptable. The pull on the t-shirt had made a loud ripping sound. No hole seemed to appear. Yet, the punk boys face grew dark and mad, as he squinted a frown. Next the punk boy shoved the frog farmer boy to the ground and a fight ensued.

The chanting of the class had attracted our teacher. The crowd gave way to make space for the teacher, like the parting sea for Moses. Frog boy was pinned on the ground pointlessly bending his body and reaching with his legs to get punk boy off him. Punk boy was sitting on frog boy and had him in a good hold. They silently got up in the teachers presence. Punk boy offered his hand and said 'no hard feelings.' Frog boy was more occupied with holding his tears back and fumbling his glasses.

Naturally, the Friday at school lasted much longer for me than the other kids, as I was sitting in detention. The chairs in the detention room were already put on the desk for cleaning, except for the chairs that we were sitting on. We were in the science room. Posters of animals and anatomy were taped on the wall. A preserved owl looked out of a glass shrine with its glass eyes. A jokester had left a mark on the blackboard: "Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it."

Our teacher was Indian, yet had her hair colored blonde. She was wearing a skirt, high heels, and stark red lip stick. She was talking with her girl friends on the phone, as she was applying nail polish. Punk boy was working on a new henna tattoo on his forearm. Frog boy was doing homework. He was almost done with English.

Next to me was another girl from class, Chelsea. Chelsea was wearing lip stick that gave a strong pink highlight. Here eyes were surrounded by a blue hue. Her lush black hair was braided into a tight tail. A straight lock of hair was falling down near the middle of her face to under her chin. Bindi jewelry stuck in between her neat eyebrows. A tiny pink gem was in the middle of the bindi. She was wearing a blue halter dress that barely reached below her butt. Her legs had to cross at all times, when she was sitting for modesty reasons. The contours of her body showed clearly through the tight dress covered in floral patterns with dark blue color. She was wearing high heels with many thin black straps wrapping around her feet and ankles.

Chelsea reached for my hand. Into my open palm, she placed her black lace bra. She closed my other hand on top of it. Her hands were holding my hands together with the bra in the middle. I could feel the texture of the lace in my palms. As I stowed her bra away, her panties followed in the same manner. They were smooth and still warm from her skin. She added that she poured the drink on purpose on the teacher to end up in detention with me. We became best friends. Every morning, she would give me her offerings of bra, panties, or whatever else I demanded. During the day, she would carry out my little missions.

During the last week of high school ever, I was trying to take my mind of the weight on my spleen. All the finals were past us. Everyone, including Chelsea, had been accepted to a good college, or at least bragged about the alleged elite status. Even the rundown state college was puffed up, because a professor had been nominated as a Nobel Prize laureate, even though he was never even accepted as a nominee. I was doomed to work in a call center like my ma taking orders for McDonald's in America or scaring the living daylight out of people for medical debt collection on America. That day, providence came through for me and opened another door.

Chelsea was on another mission of mine. She was standing in the boys' bathroom. Her glamorous dress and hair stood out among the plain, functional metal stalls and worn graffiti scribbling on the white washed walls. Hand paper towels were overflowing onto the ground. The half wet bunches of paper towels were so messy, while Chelsea stood their immaculate with poise ready to deliver her acceptance speech as Miss India, ready to wave at the crowd and throw kisses.

A paper sheet was taped to her chest: "Water broke. Please, wipe your hands on me. Management." Some of the boys avoided going to the bathroom that break. Some of the boys were simply standing there looking at her in awe. The bold boys lowered their pants the bare minimum to pee in the urinal in front of her. She got to observe them. There were the tight legged peeing boys. They stood prim and proper with their feet together. There were the wide legged boys. Some stood so far that their legs were further than the privacy divider. They put their heads back, starring at the ceiling, before they jiggled their body up and down for the last drop. Their clothing would shift around and make fabric noises. Some head a sudden involuntary shudder before the stream would gush into the urinal. Amazingly many of them had problems with the first stream. Completely out of control, the first stream came on their shoes, the walls, and anywhere.

After they had done their business, they would turn around. The five steps from the urinal to Chelsea was the proudest walk of their life for some of them. They would smile big. They would walk with a swagger. They walked with the energy of trying to dodge Chelsea's glance yet lured to touch her. They would wipe their hands on her dress, while she looked them straight into the eyes, as they stood a foot or two away from her. They wiped their dirty bathroom hands on her pretty dress on her person. The hands, that were holding heir penises right in front of her, were putting that onto her body. She could imagine the penises in her head, as the hands were touching her. She could imagine the musky smell of them. Some of the boys were smelly and dirty. They did not seem to have taken a shower in two or three days. Who knows what dirty, private things they may have done with that penis? That penis had accumulated all of that dirt and filth and was now put forth on her. Some red blushing boys had accidently peed on their hands. They were wiping the golden drops of urine onto her. Chelsea's dress collected little dark wet dots. The boys never put one and one together about the dark dots. They were so engrossed with being able to touch the body of hot Chelsea or denigrating her that they never realized that they were touching a filth pot of male wipe indirectly touching all those other boys' penises.

The day ended of course in detention again. Detention had become our afternoon hangout. The teacher had warmed up to us girls. We took turns in bringing cookies and tea to pass the time. After the other teachers had left, our detention teacher would often bring out a board game. That day, we were playing Monopoly, which is a very long game. The teacher offered a prize to me, if I'd win. It was almost too simple, like the teacher had calculated it. Chelsea made enough mistakes in my favor to make sure that I'd win.

After swearing us to secrecy, because she could loose her job, she told us about the college that she went to. The academic program was poor. Yet, the hazing among the students was first rate. The hazing rituals had been perfected over the years. There were secret rules. Student life would be very much like the relationship between Chelsea and me. Only, there was no detention. She had gone to that college. Hearing all the stories that had landed us in detention had always brought up good college memories of her own.

The college had a rule by which an alumnus could enroll a special protégé. The purpose of the rule was to ensure that the protégé would fit into the school and support the hazing environment. The applicant had to bring a young man to the all girls schools interview. The young man had to present himself naked to the principal. He was not to be forced physically. Also blackmail or deceit was acceptable. Actually, the degree of psychological twistedness or cruelness was carefully being judged on. The principal was an old man. He did not actively support this. Yet, over the years, he had become accustomed to match by the student body.

This was my chance at college past late application. Chelsea and I set the plan in motion. I spread the rumor that Chelsea had a secret crush on frog boy. The whole class quickly distributed the information. On the last day of school ever, I allowed Chelsea to wear her bra. She was wearing a pushup bra. She slithered over to frog boy before class started. She touched his arm to get his attention. He looked at her silently. He was wearing a short sleeve shirt that was too large. The buttons did not line up on both sides. Chelsea started unbuttoning his shirt, while she told him about all the years that they had spent in class together. She told him, how he was always in the front of class. She had spent so many years looking at him that her secret desire had developed in her. As she started buttoning his shirt back up correctly, she admitted to a growing fear last night in her bed that kept her up all night. She would not be able to see him anymore. While she had to accept the reality of everyone moving all over India after graduation today, she still wanted to have a memory of him. She whispered into his ear that she would offer her body to him, if he should come with her after school.

School was over at noon, because there was nothing left to teach us anymore. Frog boy was a man of few words, yet he showed us secretly the condom in the front pocket of his pants. Chelsea quickly pushed his hand against the pocket and looked around, as if they might be found out. She whispered into his ear that she was so wet for him. Yet, even though they were both of age and high school graduates, she still needed her father's permission. Her father's office was in a nearby district.

Off we went walking through the busy streets of Bangalore. There were the street carts selling potatoes, jewelry, and snacks. There were beggars and ascetic holy man in the street. Often the two were indiscernible. A few scrawny dogs with torn fur lurked in holes of dilapidated walls. Frog boy never even asked why I was coming along. Either, he was mentally ripping the clothes off Chelsea or he was completely frozen up with fear. Either way, it did not matter. He was coming along.

The next step in the plan was delicate. Chelsea started talking about her father being a doctor. She started talking about sexual diseases. Then, she dropped the bomb. Her father would insist on inspecting frog boy naked. Her father was supposedly a secular man. He would care little about sex before marriage, yet he wanted to keep his daughters reproductive organs healthy. So, frog boy would have to strip naked in front of her father to ensure his complete health. Frog boy started hemming and stalling. Chelsea quickly took is hand under her clothes, under her bra and asked him, if he wanted to touch, see, and kiss these lovely boobies. Frog boy became sullen. He did not let go of Chelsea's hand. He would only momentarily wipe his wet hand on his pants, when Chelsea insisted that the clenching was squeezing all the water out of his hand. Good Chelsea put up with all this for me.

When we arrived at the college, Chelsea stayed behind in the hallway. She explained that her father wanted to have a man-to-man talk with him. In reality, it was my admission interview and not Chelsea's. Chelsea waved to frog boy and blew him a kiss from her chair outside the door. Frog boy followed me into the office.

The office was a rich old office. There were wood panels all around the wall that were not covered by ginormous book shelves with thick big leather bound books. The wide desk had a golden shiny lamp with a green hood. Photographs and certificates were framed in ornamental metal working and pitched on the desk. The principal was an aged gray haired man. He was wearing a tailored suit with a diagonally striped tie. He put on his glasses and carefully unfolded the Bangalore newspaper. He did an interview technique typical of Oxford. He asked me to do something that would draw his attention away from the paper. In Oxford, it was rumored that an applicant ones took out the lighter and set the paper in the hand of the Oxford principal on fire. Allegedly, the applicant was accepted for quick and effective thinking.


Day to Day Life in an Indian Dorm



Frog boy started stammering about his love for Chelsea and how he would protect her. I whispered into frog boy's ear that he was making a fool out of himself. The father was a busy man. He should take off his clothes and let him move on with his schedule. Frog boy tried to look around the news paper for a signal from the principal. Yet, a quick jab to his chest with my elbow got him to start undressing. He neatly unbuttoned his shirt and put it over the backrest of his chair. He folded his pants over and placed them over the armrest. He was wearing large checkered boxer shorts that had been pressed and crumpled up by his pants. He took them off with the green socks. Then, he gently trying to avoid interrupting the principal walked around the desk. The poor principal jumped up in his chair as he sighted frog boy. Frog boy did us even better. He reached for his penis and pulled back the foreskin, presenting it to the principal: "See, it is completely healthy. I have never slept with another girl. So, I can't have any diseases."

The principal started rolling his leather chair away from frog boy. After a second or two or registering frog boys intend look for an evaluation, the principal sternly said 'not what I had in mind.' I waived frog boy to come back to me. He sat down next to me. I whispered in his ear that his penis was disappointingly small. It wasn't. Her father surely disapproved. Frog boy could try to save himself by getting an erection. Sometimes, a small penis grew much larger than a large penis with all the blood. Frog boy was eyeing the door like he wanted to escape and the window like he wanted to be a bird and never have to deal with such human affairs.

I started whispering into frog boy's ear that I had seen Chelsea naked at a sleep over once. Her boobs were one of the most awe inspiring feats of nature. Her hair was so soft that it falling onto his chest would mesmerize him. When he would look in her eyes, really close as during a break of a deep passionate tongue kiss, he would get mesmerized. She would pull him into her soul. Her hands that he had surely felt would be caressing his organ, while her lips would be kissing the tip barely on his penis just wrapped around his penis hole. The young man had a stiffy standing up. It was red. It was textured with veins and little bumpy patches all around. The principal started hitting the news paper on the desk in rapid succession, as if he was hyper ventilating. I whispered into frog boys' ear that this was the way that medical practitioners applauded. The father was surely in awe of his manhood and approved him taking her daughter. I told frog boy to leave through the side door. Chelsea had already prepared a boudoir of love for them their.

In reality, the room was filled with a group of alumni, who were going to verify my fulfillment of the late admission rule. Frog boy had walked right into a bunch of women, who were ready to enjoy the gift of a naked and erect man. I don't know, what really happened there. Frog boy was surely in for something. The principal decided to overlook the beginning. He reviewed my transcript and asked me a bunch of academic questions. Afterward, I walked home alone with Chelsea. The alumni group told us that they would keep frog boy overnight. We never saw him again.

At the last family breakfast before leaving for college, her parents took little note of her. The small kitchen table was filled with food. The food was still in its packaging as it rested on the plywood table top. Chapattis were in an opened plastic bag. Yellow lentil dal was in a little plastic cup. Both were picked up fresh from a little corner cart. My mother loved the chain of corner carts called Trader Jenita. A spice bottle of paprika and turmeric were next to my father's books. My father was reading computer science book for his job, as he was holding a cup of coffee in his other hand. My mother kept repeating over and over 'Good morning, how can I help you?'

She worked in a call center. Her biggest pride was her accents. She claimed to be able to say her lines in five different American accents: Texan, New Yorker, valley girl, Mid Western, and Florida-Cuban. In reality, she said her lines always the same way, only her facial expressions changed. When she was talking in Florida Cuban, she pulled her lips apart wide and rolled them a bit over. When she talked like a New Yorker, she would sit up more straight, pull her nostrils a bit in, and pucker her lips together as if she were sipping tea in high company. When she talking in her valley girl accent, she always slouched down a bit, twirled her hair, and rolled her eyes in circles.

Her managers mostly ignored her tick, except for this one time. This one time, she was put on probation and it wasn't really her fault. Though, who fact checks, when you are replaceable? Her job was talking to McDonald's customers at drive-throughs all over America. Her computer would flash her the location of the McDonald's, anticipated wait time, and any local additions to the standard menu. One time, she was routed a call from Quebec by accident. The routing software was so poor that it did not recognize that people in Quebec speak French rather than English. My ma tried to make up for the company's shoddiness, as all front line employees have to. She tried to speak English with her best French accent. Apparently, she must have actually managed to sound differently, because the customer got extremely incensed thinking that she was mocking his French accent. He nearly burned down the place, as my mother tried to placate the customer still speaking with her French accent. Ever since, she started practicing at the breakfast table.

All that what has happened does not matter anymore. Everything that will happen after college won't matter. I have no illusions that in life, I do not fit in society. However, this four years in this special college will rule. My feet were pressing down on Sheela's face. Her lips were open and looked like a fish as I was pressing on her cheeks with both of my bare feet. My feet were soft, moist, and the toe nails are well manicured. They look good on her medium brown face with the long open hair falling on the floor as she laid there. I tried to push my toe up her nostril. It only stretched her nose and did not enter: "Lets see if we can get some buggers out of your snotty girl. Well not so much. Here, lick the soles of my feet. I have been walking around all evening barefoot. They should be dusty and dirty." Indeed, they were gray. Sheela's tongue eagerly licked over the balls and in between the toes. She suckled on each toe individually. Oh, the emotion of feeling that was so overwhelming. There are so many nerve endings in the feet. I loved it.

Sheela is my bunk made in the college dorm. In the first week, our room mother Trishana, a senior student, had given Sheela the task to wash my back and any other hard to reach place for a week. Sheela had not liked the demeaning nature of serving another girl. She ran away for a day. As a result, Trishana had given me Sheela completely for a week. For the second week of college, I could do with Sheela what and however I pleased. Right now, she was worshipping my feet. "Keep licking and show me your tongue every once in a while. I want to see the dirt on my feet make your tongue dusty and brown." When Sheela showed me her tongue for the third time, it had hair on it and some black dots that my feet had picked up on the floor. It had a grayish hue. I was satisfied. I deeply tongue kissed her to show her that no matter, how deep we sink, we are all sisters and share. She tasted, how I'd imagined a cigarette tray would taste. All along Anisha and Babbita had intently observed us. They were new. They were learning about the true nature of dorm life at this college.

Oh, did I mention that we were naked. Yes, the dorm rules were that from dawn to dusk, all freshmen girls had to be naked. I may tell you more about that some other time. Yes, I was seeing Anisha and Babbita naked. I was seeing their breasts, bellies, and navel buttons. I saw, all their secrets, the stretch marks, the birthmarks, the cute parts of their body. Anisha had the cutest girl triceps that I have ever seen. When watching her from behind, you could see the three strands of muscle weave. There was simply something so adorable about them that it made them the sexiest part of her body.

When I had sated my appetite for Sheela's saliva and sharing her suffering, I sent her to the door. The door knob began as a skinny round metal rod extending out of the door and curving around to be parallel to the door. The metal rod widened on the last half inch, so that the wooden handle could be screwed in. The wooden handle was round and smooth. Near the beginning was a narrow section of half an inch. The rest of it was a bulge that was widest in the middle. The wood was completely untreated, so that it would not repel liquid. In fact, it would soak in liquid and get wet. Sheela unscrewed the wooden handle and brought it over to me.

I put the wooden handle into my pussy. I put it in deep, so that only a small finger hold stood out. The thinnest part at the front of the handle was at the beginning of my cave, just were it is the tightest to hold it in place. I started doing the kegel exercises of squeezing my pubococcygeus muscle (pc muscle) around the shaft of the door handle. Trishana, our room mother, had instructed us to practice one hundred squeezes daily. In a few weeks time, we'd be tested. A nut would be put into our vaginas. We had to show the strength of our sex muscle by crushing the nut. Special rewards or even privileges were promised to the ones passing the test.

When I was done, I handed the door handle to Anisha for her exercises. Sheela was to be the last one to use the wood piece according to my instruction. I wanted her to feel all of our pussy juices on the wood. Thus, she would have to put all of us inside of her pussy. She would have to accept us and welcome us in her holiest part of her body. Thus, she would hopefully accept this world and not run away a second time. The wood had already wet blotches from my pussy. There was even a drizzle of my white mucous on the end. Anisha did her exercises. Babbita always cried during them. It made me want to dominate her even more, yet I had to always wait for Trishana to hand out any punishment to Babbita to vicarious enjoy her suffering. Sheela was quiet as well. She returned the door handle to the door.

Trishana burst into our room the next morning. She roused us. She was dressed of course. She had us stand in a line for inspection like on the first day of college. Back then, we had been timid and had to be disrobed forcefully. Now, we were standing there stark naked every day in front of her to be thoroughly appraised by Trishana. Trishana was a beautiful woman. The portions on her body were even. The breasts were beautiful. Her hair was well done. Her voice was clear and heart warming. She told us that she was not always like that. She had been groomed like we were now. Trishana had pointed out Sheela's scrawny body. Now, every morning Sheela was on an exercise program.

The first exercise was for her to squat to work her thighs and butt. In the squat position, she would have to lean forward and kiss the feet of someone. Thus, Sheela was sent to the rooms of the other girls to ask them as a favor to help her with her exercise. Trishana had asked her to always pick the girl that most repulsed her, the ugliest girl. Sheela had told me that she was once in a room with a very chubby girl. Her belly hung over her private part. Her feet were yellow and smelly, possibly from fungi. Following Trishana's order, she asked that girl. She was near crying.

The second exercise was to do sit ups. She had to sit between the standing legs of the volunteer girl. Whenever she sat up, she had to kiss or lick the vagina of the standing girl. She was only allowed to stop the exercise, when the volunteer girl was thus turned on that her pussy got wet. When a drop of pussy juice from the volunteer girl fell onto Sheela's pussy, she was allowed to proceed to the next exercise. The first times, Sheela had not known how to position herself to catch the pussy drop with her pussy. Thus, she had to labor extra hard until perhaps the fifth or sixth pussy juice drop would land on her.

The final exercise had the volunteer girl take one of her used panties and tie it to a string. The volunteer girl would walk up and down the hallway pulled her panty behind her. Sheela had to crawl on the floor after the panty, as if it were bait for a dog or cat to follow. The panties had sometimes brown stains, when a girl had not wiped herself well enough or farted too hard into the panties. Sometimes, it was sticky up front or even yellowish. Sometimes the whole panty smelled rancid after a hard workout in phys ed. Sheela had to rally forward after that bunch like it was a prize. After a few days of this procedure, Sheela had started to develop eager feelings to get her mouth around those panties. The stains, smell, and all were signs of the real and intimate person that the wearer was. Sheela started loving the girls that way. Yet, before she could lounge for the bait, she had to crawl after it. The exercise was to crawl. Crawling low required an immense effort of her muscles to push her on. She was not allowed to crawl high. She had to crawl low, so that her nipples would rub on the floor at all times. Her breast would collect the dirt of the ground. She was in effect sweeping the ground. The volunteer girls mostly made sure that she got every corner of the floor, so that she would not have to sweep the floor later herself.

Sometimes, girls in the rooms that she passed would toss juice in front of her. Then, Sheela's stomach would get wet and sticky. All the grime and long girl hear really collected on her. From the breast down to her pussy would a dark gray line of dirt collect on her. Sometimes a girl would come out of a room and step on her naked butt intentionally: "Oh sorry, I stepped on your broom." Her pelvis bone would be pressed against the ground. It would send a stimulating sensation through her whole body. The physical push, the feeling of denigration, the sensory stimulation of the panty often turned Sheela on. She would wash herself later of all the grime. She had to sometimes pull hair and dirt out of her pussy. It often stuck and pulled her intimate skin. Sometimes, she would masturbate.

I saw her like that sullen by herself a few times. That day, Sheela was off to find a volunteer girl. So, Trishana had turned to me. Her fingers nails were gliding up and down my thighs. She was trying each one of my quadriceps. The sharp edge made me tingle. I started feeling passive, as I let her handle my body. I had thought about doctor office visits, where doctors had handled me like an object. I remembered, how silently, I relished the feeling of being handled. Trishana's verdict was that my worst challenge was uneven quadriceps. The muscle had developed in that way, because I walked like a cow girl with my feet turned out. Thus, my muscles had developed uneven. I would need to do a lot of conscious walking, where I'd place my feet straight and roll them meticulously.

Trishana promised that she had just the right thing to motivate me to walk a lot, as she guided me to a neighboring dorm room. This was the room of aspiring art majors. The walls were lined with paintings by pencil, water color, and glued paper snippets. A red painting had two women's faces in opposite corners with open mouths. The tongues reached towards each other like banners flying into the air. In fact, where the tongues were supposed to meet, they were simply continuous, as if they were born together like that. A hand drawing had a girl with black wings flying high into the air. She was wearing a black leather bodice and wielding a whip with one hand. An edged drawing showed a Japanese girl with her cute big eyes face and pony tell. Her top was so short that it only covered the nipples and top half of the breast. A tiny panty covered her privates, as she looked at the onlooker in an alluring way.

After the room mother of that room gave permission, Trishana addressed the girls. They were eagerly sitting on a bed next to each other. They wanted to learn more about the dark and intriguing rules and customs of this dorm.

"Today, I am going to teach you, an energy meditation. This is Radha. She is my assistant today. As you know, we all have seven major energy centers called chakras. Each one has a specific location on the body, function, and energy."

"Muladhara is located at your anus. Its element is the earth. It is grounding. It gives us support from Mother Nature, as we stand on the earth. While we may fall on the Earth, the Earth always catches us and carries us. Sometimes all the studying can get us into our heads. So, it is important to ground. One grounding ritual is to put weight on us. It has a calming effect."

Trishana directed a girl, Devan, to lie naked on the floor. The next girl was asked to lie on top of her. She put her naked body on top of Devan. They lay boob to boob, belly to belly, and pubic bone to pubic bone. Their faces were nestled in each others hair. The other two girls were directed on top. Devan was breathing hard as her chest had to lift the three girls, yet she felt the love of her three roommates. Her face looked sedated. It evidently felt good to have the body hug from above. Beneath it felt good in a different way. The layer under the skin was very slippery. Thus, while the surface of the skin stuck well to skin, the whole skin moved around. It required a bit of balance to stay even on top of the next girl. One had to be careful about the bones beneath the skin to distribute the weight among the shoulders, hips, and ribs.

So pinned down, Trishana instructed me to paint the Muladhara symbol around Devan's asshole. It was a red triangle inside a circle with four petals around it. There were plenty of markers around in the room. Getting to Devan's asshole was trickey. I had to work my way in between the tangle of trim young girl thighs. Then, Devan's ass was squooshed against the floor. I had to reach in between the butt checks and pull them apart againsthe weight of five girls. While I painted it, my face was right against the stack of four dark brown vagina lips. Each one was so different. Some very flabby, others were tight and smooth. The room mother grinned immediately upon seeing it. It was like she knew something. Trishana continued, while the girls were still in a pile. 

"Svadhisthana is located around the sex organ. Obviously, it controls sexual energy among other things. Its element is water. It is fluid, flowing, ever moving in undefined forms. Imagine a pool of water. The bright lines of light that get focused by the waves always ripple around in shapes that the eyes can't see fast enough to define. To meditate on this energy, we do the following exercise. Whatever space you see, move through it. If you see two thighs together, press yourself through it. If you see an arm next to a body, wiggle yourself through. If you see two roommates leaning against each other, tunnel your way through in between."

The top girl sat up and dove forward in between all their legs. Her chest rubbed and belly rubbed down the girls bottoms. Once she reached the bottom, she wound her way to the side in between two different girls' thighs. The third girl on top leaned sideways to slither in between the second girl and Devan. She wedged her head in between their bellies just bellow the boobs. She could not see anything. She only felt their smooth skin sliding past her cheeks and ears, as they sucked in their bellies to make space for her. As she pulled her body after head through the press, a hand touched her pussy. Her own hand was pushing against a thigh and a rib to make herself move. The top girl had not reached the side of the third girls head. Seeing the gap between the third's arm pushing against the thigh, the first girl dove into the packet with her chest, while her legs were still twisted with the other girls. Quickly, legs and arms were everywhere. Heads were pushed against pussies, butts were pushed against arms, and breasts were stroking backs. The red symbol of the previous chakra left marks on the other girls showing in how many places she had rubbed her anus against them.




Day to Day Life in an Indian Dorm



Trishana stopped them, so that I could paint the Svadisthana symbol around Devan's sex organ. It turned out pretty large, because her slit was so long. She had to spread her legs out for me, so that I could paint it all around from her belly across the tendons of her thigh, finished on her perineum. The orange circles and six petals around them were a bit smeared. I enjoyed resting my wrist on the mucous membrane skin of her pussy and feeling her pulse as she lay there anticipating each stroke of cool wet water paint.

"Manipura is near your solar plexus. It rules the energy of personal power, fear and discipline. Teaching discipline is one of my favorite to teach. Get on your hands and knees. Form a square with your bodies, so that each of you can face another butt and bears her butt to another. Now, slap the butt lightly. You want to slap up from the smile that the hanging butt cheek and thigh forms. Now, slap a bit down...."

The naked girls were slapping each other. The flesh of their butts jiggled. There was a bit of heavy breathing. The girls were slapping so soft flesh down as some of them turned to a faint red. As ordered, they made a hard slap to make the other girl cry out. Then, the warmly rubbed away the stinging pain. With the next hard crying out slap a girl started sobbing. Tears were running down her face, as her lips were crying 'hm, hm, hm.' This time, they were not allowed to caress away the pain. Instead, they had to byte middle into the read area, so that teeth marks would be left. The two trained girls were breathing hard to manage the pain. The other untrained girl was shaking from the endorphins that her body was producing. Next, they were to scratch lightly all over the butt cheeks to stimulate the disciplined to become more sensitive, as they acutely listened to the pattern the nails were painting on their butt. They were allowed to exchange secret messages with each other through the finger on butt painting. When all of them had settled into a mellow mood of writing each other, Trishana told them to smack each other very fast and hard. The girls started very quickly to move away from each other in pain. Trishana told them to wrap the free arm around a thigh and hold the butt in front her in range. So, they held a hard struggling and kicking thigh against their chest, while striking hard and fast on the butt. All the while, they were fastened and hit upon from behind in the same inescapable form. They would cry, wine, and scream out, while they put all the pain and suffering that they felt into the butt in front of them.

Trishana freed them from the agony. She told them to lie on their sides facing in. They rested their heads in between the thighs of their victim. They had to muffle their cries and hide their tears in the between the legs of the other girl. As they were eating each other out, they themselves were eaten by their punisher. The painful throbbing overwhelming emotion of the butt started melting into their hot pussies that sends feelings of warmth and happiness through their body. So, they were allowed to console each other. More than one hand reached back to warmly caress the head of the girl that was eating her. They were feeling such love for their punishers in the end. Trishana allowed not a single orgasm, thus ending her lecture on self discipline.

I felt such love for Devan. Before each stroke of yellow to paint the Manipura symbol on her belly, I kissed the spot. Her belly tasted salty from the excursion. The skin was so soft. She was paler than most girls. Manipura was a triangle, a circle, and many petals.

"Anahata is around the heart. It is the chakra of the yogi. It is the chakra of love. I want you all to start kissing each other with much gusto. In between, say something sweet to each other."

Devan reached out and kissed the girl next to her: "I love you. Every night, I watch you fall asleep. I watch as the breath rises in your chest. You are like an angel with your black hair and innocent face." Another girl kissed Devan on your breast, because her mouth was still busy kissing: "Devan, your breasts are so plumb and lovely that only seeing them in the morning gives me joy for the whole day." The last girl joined Devan's kiss to have a three way kiss between three girls. Their mouths were open. The lips were ceiling around making a large dome. The tongue could travel left and right to meet one or the other girl. Sometimes all three tongues meet in the middle, as glasses clink each other for a toast: "Oh, Devan, I have never felt so much love as, when you were eating me earlier. During the spanking all the memories of my father hitting me had rushed over me. I felt so abandoned and hurt. Yet, your tongue came through like the sun in the morning of a dark night. Your tongue inside of me made me feel no longer alone and so loved and warmed." The atmosphere in the room became so warm that even Trishana and the other room mother had divine looks on their faces.

I made the green Anahata symbol larger than it needed to be. I wanted to feel Devan's nipples. So, it was wide and green across her chest: The opposite facing triangles inside of a circle surrounded by even more petals. Her breast tissue was so soft. It moved away from each brush stroke like a dent inside of her. Her nipples were so lush. The nipple inside the areola with the tiny little dots of little lumps standing out in a circle around the areola. The brown of the areola was so teasing. I wanted to put my lips around them and suckle like a baby.

"Vishuddha is the chakra at the throat. It rules communication. At the core, communication is a vibration. We send a vibration from one person to the other. There is loud vibration like the sound of our words. There is subtle vibration like the love in a mother's heart reaching out to her child across large distances. We are going to use sound travelling through the body. All three of your will place your mouth on Devan's body. Then, you will make a roaring or humming sound. Change the frequency. Feel how you can make her body vibrate. Feel, how perhaps you can create a resonance between all three of you in her body. Perhaps, the resonance meets half way in her body."

One girl opened her mouth wide on Devan's mouth. She started with a loud 'raaaaaa.' Devan's nostrils were vibrating from it. The next girl had wrapped her lips around Devan's clitoris and was angelically humming 'nnnnnnnn' on it. The last girl had her mouth pushed in between Devan's butt cheeks and was gurgling 'rrrrrrrr' onto her anus with way too much spitting in between. The girl graciously licked her dry in between taking breath. Being so vibrated inside of her body, Devan got glassy eyes. Her pupils rolled back. Her face grew a little puffy.

I painted the Vishuddha symbol on Devan's throat. Trishana had me paint the remaining two chakras on Devan's forehead: Ashna and Sashasra. Trishana was a bit of in a rush. The start of class was advancing. She skipped the exercises much to the disappointment of the girls. She cut the disappointed ooh short, when she announced that she would tell us another secret rule. If one girl were to completely label another girl by drawing on her physical body, the labeled girl had to serve the labeling girl for an hour. The labeling could be as academic as labeling all the muscles on her body by writing the name on them. By writing all the chakra symbols on Devan's body, I had claimed Devan for the next hour. I could not wait for Trishana to give me the signal to use Devan for my pleasure. I had fallen in love with Devan, as I had watched her go through the exercises. Her body was brilliant and her personality of dealing with little surprises, pain, and pleasure drew me to her. Yet, Trishana had other plans.

Trishana wanted me to pretend that Devan was a cow. I was going to walk my cow for an hour. All the while, I was to pay attention to my feet with the utmost detail to make sure that they touched the ground straight. They were no longer to point out to the sides. My whole body musculature would start changing my shape for the better from this.

Trishana retrieved a bag of milk. A happy cow and kid with a glass of milk was painted on the bag of milk in bright colors. It was one of those plastic bags that were thin and pressed together at the top and bottom. As one would hold the bag of milk, the liquid would shift around, changing the shape. It was cool and wiggling milk. A few water droplets had condensated on the smooth surface. Trishana taped the bag on Devans back with gray duct tape. Devan wiggled under the cold thing on her back and some of the condensated water running down her back. Trishana had also found two long clear plastic tubes. She poked one end in to the milk. The tube ran around the side of Devan's body and duct taped to her nipple. The plastic tubes ended right next to each nipple.

Devan was kneeling on hands and knees in front of me with her special backpack. Devan gave me a long, thin, and bendy stick. The stick was about two feet long and half as wide as my pinky finger. I was to heard Devan up and down the hallways, stopping every once in a while at a dorm room to offer a drink of milk.

Trishana let me go. I instructed Devan to moo, whenever I would tap the sole of her bare foot that was trying her crawling on the floor. I kept tapping her on the foot, until she made her moo so loud and clear that everyone would believe that she really thought she was a cow. At first I walked up and down the hallway a couple times. I really paid attention to my foot placement. I tapped Devan a few times with the stick to correct her direction to stay on the side of the hallway that I wanted her on. However, I grew curious to see her pussy. I moved the cane carefully in between her legs. However, her hips kept moving around so much, because of her crawl. So, I touched her in undesired places. Sometimes, I merely missed my mark and got her inside thigh. Sometimes, I poked her tender pussy a bit and she would lurch forward. That made me curious about poking the stick in her ass. It did not go in. I did not want to hurt her. Yet, I saw that she was really uncomfortable about this treatment. I enjoyed making her squirm.

A girl appeared out of a dorm room. She looked at me quizzical. I explained that I was walking my cow. She could have as much milk as she wanted to. However, she would have to milk the cow herself. The girl quickly got on her back to slide under Devan. She started to suck on her breast and the milk tube. The tube moved with each suckling. Now, that Devan was still and enjoying the suckling mouth on her breast, I could further explore her vagina. I squatted down to get e a better lip. Then, I used the cane to move away the brown vulva. I separated the inner and outer lips. I took a look in between her inner lips, at her clitoris, and the opening for whatever one wanted to insert. I carefully inserted the cane to measure the depth of her. Another girl had joined the first suckling on the other breast. Devan was clearly enjoying herself, as her anus was rhythmically squeezing.

I told the girls to let some of the milk for other girls. A line had formed. Devan, the cow, was clearly a hit. One girl was patting her head hair. Another girl was petting her back, while two girls each were sucking on her breast to get the milk out of her back. I kept watching Devan's vagina. The inside walls turned a little redder. Her clitoris grew a bit. Her white sap made the inside shinier. The milk bag was empty just as I got bored of my science experiment. Devan got to enjoy the lips of a dozen different girls. Some had big sloppy lips. Some were sucking very sharply. Some were full of spit. Some were secretly licking her nipples or even biting her.

The rest of my exercise was seriously boring, walking up and down the same hallway. If it weren't for Devan and the stick to torment her, I could not have kept up with Trishana's exercise.

Luckily that even was our first dorm soccer tournament. Dorm soccer has very little to do with the regular soccer. The only vague resemblance is that a ball is the center piece. Yet, the ball is not the inflated leather type thing. It is a small chocolate ball wrapped in silver aluminum paper. The ball is inserted in a player's rectum and has to be brought to the finishing dorm room. The point for inserting the chocolate ball into the rectum is that the ball is carried in secrecy. The only chance for the opposing team to get the ball is inside of a dorm room. The game is played in rounds. During the round, the players are not allowed to leave the dorm room that they are currently inside. In between rounds, they can switch the hallway side, or move a room fore or back. Inside the room during the round, the girls are free to tickle the other players to expel the potentially hidden ball. Actually, there are very little rules that limit, what can happen inside of a room.

Basically, a secretly chosen girl starts with the ball. She has to endure any tickling during a round inside the room as best as she can. During the next intermission, she can advance toward the goal room. If she makes it all the way, her team wins. If the other team tickles the chocolate ball out of her, the other team gets to try the same feat.

In another contrast to soccer, each room of four girls furnishes one team. Thus, all the rooms compete with the other rooms at the same time. Each room tends to choose a different strategy. There is the Rambo strategy. The four girls will always stay together. Whatever poor girl is by herself is subject to eight intense hands and forty fingers bearing down on her. The obvious shortcoming is that this defense will miss any girl coming down on the opposite side of the hallway. Thus, the tag team strategy splits a room in two girls working each side of the room in parallel.

The obvious downside is that two girls can get overpowered by Rambo teams. Thus, a third popular strategy is the truth detector. The four girls will split apart in different directions. If one suspects to have found the girl carrying the chocolate ball, she will not try to get it. Instead, she will follow the girl. Or, should another team take over the ball, she will follow the new girl. Eventually, randomly another girl of her team will end up in the same room. Thus, the team slowly assembles until they have the advantage in numbers. At that point, they will strike.

As you start to see, there are unique skills to the game. A successful team often has a mix or experts. Obviously, the master tickler is a fundamental player in the game. The ball detector can often be even more crucial. Able to decipher the fear of being found out in a girl to focus all attention during the round on the right girl can make or break a game. The queen of the game is the girl that is the toughest to endure tickling, anal probing and the like. She is the one to carry the chocolate ball after the rest of the team has extracted it. Of course, there are more devious experts. Some teams follow the strategy of disabling as many opposing players as possible. Rather than, searching for the ball, they focus on tying as many opposing players in bondage as possible. If a team should be unlucky, all the girls end up disabled in rope and unable to win.

I vividly remember the beginning of the game. My knees were shaking badly from excitement. Anisha tried to calm herself down by telling us, what to do. Babbita was already crying about all the torment that she would be put through. Sheela was pale and tense. She was the most ticklish of us all. So, our secret plan was to use her at the chocolate ball carrier in a bit of reverse psychology. The other girls would quickly let go of her, when she was wringing in giggling convulsions on the floor to focus on the tougher girls, the more likely ball carriers. Trishana promised us a special treat should we win.

The horn sounded. All four of us burst out of the room. All the plans and strategy were lost. I looked around in the new room with the Bollywood posters on the wall. The four girls had stayed in their room. Two other girls came in behind me. The true meanness of girls by themselves was unleashed. The four girls of the room had obviously formed a Rambo team. They grabbed the weakest girl behind me. They dragged her into the bathroom. They jugged her face down the toilet bowl. The kept her face down against her struggle. Her arms were reaching for the hands pushing her under water. Her arms were pressing against the pee stained toilet bowl to get her out. Three mean girls overpowered her. The fourth girl was intently looking at her butt hole, until it started rhythmically opening and closing, because the drowning girl was really struggling to breathe.

So, violently inspected to not carry a ball, she was tossed on the bathroom floor. She sat there like a sad puppy. Her wet hair ran down her face in streaks. Thick white snot ran down her face and over her lips. She was spitting saliva from the toilet water that she had swallowed. The saliva strings were running down her mouth, chin, and on her chest.

The next girl screamed in terror as she was dragged to the same procedure, until the toilet water transformed her screams into water bubbles bursting to the surface. Her anus started pulsating, showing the pink inside against her brown outer skin. She too was discarded as a sobbing mess of wet hair, snot, saliva and spit over her face and chest next to the first girl.

Luckily, I was spared. The team was still fumbling with their approach. So, they had used up the entire time of the round. The next room landed me with three girls. They were all tied up with their hands behind their bag and the feet together. Graciously, they were laid on the belly so that one girl had the other girls face behind her butt cheek. They were giving each other rim jobs. Even they were sure losers of the game, they could at least pleasure each other instead of waiting in boredom. I could imagine their tongues, as they were dancing around the anus of the other girl, trying to probe their way into the inside. They were moaning and paid no attention to me.

The next room had another ingenious Rambo team. They quickly tackled me to the ground. They shoved something into my ass. Then, they showed me a glass with rain worms, as they wiggled their way up the side of the glass. I quickly ran to the toilet to make a bowel movement and get that slimy thing out of me. It must have died, because I did not feel it moving around. The idea of not only a worm inside of me, but a warm squashed in the process of insertion with its innards spilling out it me was horrible. The next girl came running. She sat on my lap and tried to shit in between my thighs. We all had our rectums emptied before the game. So, no matter how hard she was trying, nothing but farts came out initially. Her naked butt was pushing against me. Her hair was in my face. I shuddered at the idea of her shitting on me. In the end only a rolled up piece of paper came out of each of us. So, it was a mind game that would have made us expel the chocolate ball, if we had it. The girl sitting on my lap gave me a warm hug for being her toilet comrade.

The next room brought me together with Sheela. Another girl was trying to crawl under the bed furthest away. We tickled her the old fashioned way. She was a rural country girl. I tickled her large feet that were used to walk long distances. Sheela tickled her sides. The rural country girl giggled and gave up the chocolate ball like a charm. It plopped right out of her. It already smelled like butt. The silver wrapping had come off in one part exposing the chocolate to the rectal skin. Whoever would eat this at the end, would really bond with the whole dormitory through eating that smelly ball that smelled of many butts. There may even be some poo residue on the ball in the end. I quickly shoved the chocolate ball into Sheela's ass. Pushed up far and as high as I could. Sheela looked at me excitedly. We tight the country girl with a found sari rolled into a makeshift rope with her hands to the toilet.




Day to Day Life in an Indian Dorm



Just in time for the honk of the next round, we left her there in shame of having failed her team. The next room had three girls from all different teams. Sheela and I pretended to be in pursuit of the ball. We started fingering the ass of one girl after the next. I mostly played with their asses and pussy for fun. After all, we had the ball already.

The final room before the finishing room provided to be the hardest. The Rambo team was well organized. They had two girls tied to the wall already. The girls were inverted. A few wraps of rope around the hip kept them hanging from the ceiling. The legs were tied spread eagle to the ground. Thus, there pussies and anuses are exposed to above. With the help of a funnel, they filled golden brown whiskey into the asses of the girls. The girls were pointlessly struggling. Their heads turned slowly red from the inversion. The alcohol was quickly consumed through the rectum. The large intestines are excellent at sucking the remaining water out of fecal matter. Sheela and I were placed like them head over. I felt the drunkenness coming on soon. The sounds for the next rounds came and left. As we were not able to leave, we were stuck here soaking in more alcohol.

The Rambo girls would occasionally tap our pussies. They had a scale: 1) Fears pussy tap; 2) Too drunk to fear pussy tap, yet enjoys erotically; 3) Only responsive to pussy squeezing. The girls had much fun with it. They'd randomly slap our pussies and asses like one slaps a well running machine or obedient horse: "Doing good. Suck in that alcohol." Boob slapping and putting toes in our mouth was another entertainment, as they waited for fresh meat to their trap. Once a girl had gotten to stage 3, she was pinched and spanked until she would sober up a bit. Then, she was interrogated about strategies and suspicions to whom had the ball.

The second girl was pretty out of it. She said that she would do anything to get down. The Rambo girls promised her freedom. They promised her a quick sobering up, once she would squirt out the remaining alcohol. The girl told them, which of her roommates allegedly hat the chocolate ball and where her room was. The crying girl was left hanging. The Rambo girls dropped an ice cube into her ass and left a mint stalk hanging outside of her asshole. Then, the Rambo girls took off with the next intermission.

Luckily, Anisha showed up. She had Babbita in tow, who was crying from the game. They rescued us. We had rope marks on our thighs and legs. Most of the whiskey ran out on the floor. The chocolate ball was half dissolved. I finally sated my thirst for pussy and went down on Babbita, who was thus slowly consoled. Anisha and Sheela made it to the finishing room. Trishana promised to tell us soon about the special treat.