"Random Dormitory Conversions «" By robblu (https://pastebin.com/u/robblu) URL: https://pastebin.com/rXHtR3FS Created on: Saturday 11th of March 2017 01:13:45 AM CDT Retrieved on: Saturday 31 of October 2020 03:22:53 AM UTC Random Dormitory Conversions « on: March 09, 2017, 07:12:48 pm » Quote This beautiful story is about the transformative capacity of submission even unto Death. This has become one of my favorites. It will be part of my larger project; a book of interconnected stories about two years at the Commonwealth College for Death Administration. It is a strange and unusual two weeks. The College had fallen behind on its rate of attrition. There was an email sent out enumerating the complex and sometimes capriciously arbitrary reasons for how that happened. Simply put, there were more students enrolled than the attrition plan and budget called for. When I was accepted to the Commonwealth College of Death Administration, its reputation as the having the highest attrition rate of any higher learning institution in the provinces preceded it. I had no expectation that I would live to graduate. That was fine. Every year, the enrollment is culled from 24000 students to 12000, for a two year program. The Masters program is even more stringent with only 20% of the 1000 qualifiers moving on to graduate. Ideally, of the 12000 each year, the approximate cut line is about 5000 frosh girls killed and 7000 senior girls converted. Therefore, even were you to survive the first year the odds were likely that you would be killed in your second year. We all saw the demonstration deaths at the beginning of the year of non graduating seniors left from the previous years. It was the only really dramatic demonstration of conversions. Most of the deaths that occurred were part of the normal classroom experience or food service. There was Morning Executions every morning but that only killed 21 girls a week. That accounted for less than 8% of the deaths necessary to keep the school running smoothly and graduating the right amount each year. Much of this knowledge was taught in my Conversion Management Class. We used the school as a base line to then learn the far more complex and subtle management of the general population by the combined Ministries of Slavery, Population Control and Death Administration. There was a great deal of latitude given to teachers about killing their students in class. Of course, we were all supposed to volunteer for death whenever the opportunity presented. I was really good about that but learned that if I volunteered or raised my hand at every single opportunity, that teacher would grow to believe that you weren't really genuinely wanting to contribute to the cause of helping your fellow student, but you were just "doing what was expected" because you had no choice. It was liberating to know that you didn't have to try to die every day. That was also fine because every day brought new opportunities to die if necessary. ~~~ I was six months into ten months of my first year at CCDA when this strange week came upon us. The email that was sent out explained that the population had been allowed to reduce slower than anticipated... some 40% slower. However, it was decided that the two weeks of finals just before Spring Break would be used to correct it. That meant instead of 430 students dying as was prescribed by the budget in these two weeks, 3000 girls would lose their life to the cause. it would take an intentional change in what was standard killing practices for the school. The administration announced that there would be student teacher teams of Death Administrators going class to class around the university killing random students; Each department was to have a Feast Day bonfire party once during the two weeks. My best friend, Haley, was one of six girls killed at the Demographics Department bonfire just two nights ago. I had eaten female flesh before but never someone so close to me. I wasn't big on meat at all anyway. One of the more "notorious" methods of culling the population in school was Dean Jeannie Curtis. She was one of the youngest teachers at the School but she was Dean of Student Morale. Ironically, it meant that she went around campus and publicly killing students. Her lot was usually about 15 to 20 girls a week. Though it was't a large number her presence on campus was able to leave quite an impression. On more than one occasion, I found myself watching from a 'safe' distance as she would be having a friendly conversation with a group of students who stood with her on their way to class. I'm sure that every time that happens each girl must wonder if they will live to get to class. Once a few weeks ago, I saw her with three students and they were having a fun, laughing conversation in the sunny commons area. I was far enough away to watch with interest without being inside the immediate range where she might want to kill me. Sure enough, still smiling broadly she said something to one of the three girls and that student put her back pack down and began to undress as Dean Curtis continue to laugh and joke about whatever story they were talking about. The chosen student soon stood naked as they chatted until the dean took the girl a few steps further away from the other girls in the grass, had the naked girl kneel, and then, after producing an intimidating 6 inch blade, routinely cut the girl's throat. She fell almost anticlimactic, her left leg twitching for several minutes. I had been in two such conversations with Dean Curtis. I liked her. I liked her a lot. She was warm and sweet almost like she was a student (she had graduated from CCDA only five years before). I wished I wasn't so on guard around her but her only purpose is to establish an culture where death was normal welcomed part of school life. The same attitude that one who was going to go on in life a one who administers other people deaths would need to be comfortable with. I suppose it was inherent that I would feel that way around her. ~~~ The second week was now fully engaged and I had been able to see several deaths that were unusual. Since the majority of these deaths weren't for classes or food, the methods became very ingenious and demonstrative. The College swim facility was turned into a drowning pool. Culled girls were restrained and weighted at the ankles with bar bells before being pushed into the water. Soon, the pool looked like it had a forest of girls in it. They managed to get 48 girls drowned in the pool. They were left there all day. I saw the Dean behind a building with two other Resident Aids. The three of them had bow and arrows and had about twenty five girls to kill, five at a time. They would shoot them until they were all down, the next five would come up and be shot and so on. When they were all laying prone like an old western cowboys and Indian scene, The Dean and the RAs took steel spears and went through the twenty five, goring any of the girls who had survived the arrows. Even outside of my dormitory hall, two makeshift crosses were set up where girls were executed by crucifixion, dying slowly. I saw at least 5 different girls on those two crosses during the day. All that being described, it was an air of strange excitement. It wasn't that anyone had any real "desire" to die, but the knowledge that girls were going to die more frequently and publicly. Just the night before, Rhonda our Dorm RA had announced that the school was going to finish the advanced culling with random Dormitory conversions during the last two nights across campus. Indeed, we heard long surprising death screams shortly after bed time from one of the lower floors. Our wing was on the 14th floor, though all the other girls called it the 13th floor. As I laid there listening to the girls being killed, I counted 11 distinct death cries and found out the next morning that those culled, were disemboweled, a painful, slower death. The thought made me anxious, though I had faced similar deaths a dozen times before in my life. As we got ready for bed on this night, there is a little bit of an sense of relief. Four girls out of our dormitory wing had died in the last two weeks. That wasn't much more than normal attrition in our dorm. We had already heard that the Dean's Dormitory Cull had moved over to the Senior side of campus. All of us were looking forward to Spring Break and repast from the tension that had built up. "Allison?" Rhonda called my name from her tiny office at the head of the aisle in our dorm which was much like a barracks, with two rows of 15 single beds. At the front of the aisle was Rhonda's office and the toilets and showers. All of us are getting ready for bed and in various states of undress. A big senior girl almost an inch taller than me, thick and athletically built, she is walking towards me in a bra and panties both simple and white. She had her wood office chair in hand. I knew why she was coming. Everyone knows why she is coming because of the chair. I just hadn't had a chance to tell her and reconcile myself to her. "Yes, sister?" I say with calm. "Did you have urinal duty this morning?" "Yes sister," I sigh in response. "I gagged twice. I've never done that since training." Rhonda nodded knowingly. "If you don't do it at least once a week, you lose your tolerance and you have to start again. I want you to do a half hour a day when we get back for a week. That will help a lot. You do have to be whipped for the gagging though." "I know, sister. I was expecting it. Just hadn't gotten to tell you yet." I hated being punished but I had really embraced the concept of submission especially in regards to discipline. Rhonda turned to the rest of the girls. "Who else needs punishment before bed." Eiko Yokomoto raise her hand and walks quickly down the aisle from her front bed to where mine was. She is only wearing her pajama tops, bottomless and had a paper in hand. Rhonda looks at Eiko's slip and almost laughs. "Walking across the lawns? What you can't stay on the side walk?" Eiko smiles in spite of herself, knowing she is enduring a simple violation that is more about providing spanking opportunities than for real punishment. Everywhere on campus there are selected knolls of grass where no walking is permitted. These move around daily. "I was going to be late for class." Rhonda slides the chair loudly into the middle of the aisle. It is standard procedure for everyone to stop and watch any night time punishments. This was only my second, but every night I join my sisters and kneel at the end of the bed to watch the spankings. "All right, get into position. Hands on the floor, knees on the seat." This athletic position is always the most humiliating, but obviously prepared for it, Eiko automatically climbs into position. "Please go get my strap off my closet door." I walk off instantly with a "yes, sister" and move down the aisle. As I do, I hear Rhonda's hand begin the warm up, smacking Eiko's bottom hard and fast, causing the Asian girl to squeak in protest. I find the strap. It is made of slender leather. Two twenty inch, 1/8th inch thick, two inch wide straps, gather into a well constructed handle. It has all the stinging that my Daddy's belt used to have. I feel its fearsome weight as I walk back out of her office/bedroom, and I now see Eiko's face no longer looking eager for to walk across grass that is prohibited. I hand Rhonda the strap and return to my bed, kneeling at the back of my bed, supporting myself on the metal rail at the bottom. Then Rhonda begins to whip Eiko. "OOW! AH! OOWWIIEE! OW! OH! AH! AUGH! OUCHIE!..." Over and over again, the strap comes down on Eiko's small fanny until it moves from the pink of the hand spanking, to furious red, to raised grey and purple. Eiko cries out but never cries, possessing an amazing pain threshold. I know that I will cry, partially out of humiliation and partly out of the sheer pain. I have a good sized but proportional bottom and a lot of surface for Rhonda to inflict discipline upon. I watch with idle interest. I am sure that my punishment for not relaxing and ingesting the urine of a black girl this morning, instead gagging and coughing so badly that I had to clean the floor afterwards. I wasn't the only girl ever punished for this but for me it seems so beneath me. I felt like I was further ahead in my learning and was ready to move passed these basic obedience issues. After five minutes of spanking, Rhonda stops as suddenly as she starts. As soon as Eiko's spanking ends, she begins to tremble and sob slightly, trying to get to her feet. She pensively accepts Rhonda's embrace and she holds her there for several minutes. Eiko is a free spirited girl who has absolutely no desire to graduate and live. It does mean that she gets more spankings than most of us. I remember only a couple of weeks earlier her screams of pain for ten long minutes and her sobbing deep into the night after getting punished with the Wand for familiar talk with a teacher. it was unintentional but disrespectful and that is one of the highest penalties. I had only received two minutes from the Wand, the mysterious devise that can cause incredible pleasure or the most profound and yet harmless pain. When I got it, I just got it topically on my breasts and nipples. When it was happening it was like they were on fire. As soon as it ended there wasn't even a linger of the pain, except for the memory of it. As she was receiving her aftercare, I take Eiko's position on the chair, still wearing my school shirt and skirt. I'm barefoot and I have taken my underwear off. My knees are uncomfortably on the hard wood chair seat and I am leaning out awkwardly, my hands on the floor, my rump high in the air. I feel my skirt flipped up over my back and the cool air pass over my cheeks and my exposed bung and genitals. The sensation always causes me a chill because I know what is coming. Rhonda holds me like a football with her left hand and begins swatting my fanny smartly with her right for the warm up. She is very strong and gives one of the hardest hand spankings I have experienced at school. I whimper through the warm up, my stress increasing as she punishes me, my feet writhing around. "Cross you ankles." Her command is accentuated by an even harder swat with her hand, that causes me to yelp for the first time. I caught the looks of the girls watching my punishment. I know they didn't think any more or less of me. All of them had been here before too. Still, I feel awash with humiliation as I am being spanked. Rhonda pauses and runs her hand flat over my cheeks, testing the heat that is rising in the skin. She swats my butt ten more times and then releases me to pick up the strap. I start to sob and then when I feel her lay the heavy leather straps over my cheeks, I begin to cry fully and unashamedly. It rises and then comes down with a resounding smack, causing my whole body to jerk. "AAAAAIIEE!" There is no pause. Rhonda brutally brings the strap down over and over. I am screaming in pain that is actually causing me to get dizzy after a moment. I cannot concentrate. I cannot relax. She whips me completely and ferociously. One of the things that Rhonda did well was punish us fairly and firmly. "OOOWWW! AAAAUUGH! OH GOD! OH GOD! AAAHHH! AAHHH!" Soon, I feel as if I am about to pass out, the blood rushing to my head and my ass feeling as if it was on fire. Just when I am about to shamefully start begging, Rhonda stops the whipping abruptly. She tenderly runs her fingers over my tormented butt flesh. "Almost done," she says idly before laying into my butt with ten more even harder swats that leave me screaming and crying. She lifts me to my feet and I am heaving with tears as she holds me, and strokes my hair. I clutch her tightly and gratefully. I have seen her punish girls almost every day. I have seen her punished as well. All of us share this suffering and there is no shame in acknowledging how bad the punishment hurt. I knew that I would not make the same mistake in urinal duty again. There is one thing about being well punished. It makes sleep easy. Exhausted, we prayed in a circle and then went to lights out. I felt like the weight of the world had lifted off my shoulders. The stress of the past two weeks was ebbing and life seemed as if it was getting back to the ease and relative comfort of normal. All was right in the world and those thoughts brought sleep to me hard and fast. ~~~ Report to moderator Logged submissively, Margie Scarborough submissive_margie Full Member *** Posts: 160 Author, artist, pain-slave, View Profile Email Personal Message (Offline) Re: Random Dormitory Conversions PT 2 « Reply #1 on: March 09, 2017, 07:13:52 pm » Quote It is close to morning, maybe 3:30 or 4:00 AM. I hear movement and quiet voices. I roll over and see down towards Rhonda's office. The lights in the dorm are off, but there is a soft light emanating from Rhonda's office. I can see Rhonda, still in the bra and panties that she went to bed with (she disdained pajamas and school rules don't allow nude sleeping). She was having a conversation with Dean Curtis. They are looking out the office window and Rhonda was explaining something to the dean with her hands gesturing down the center aisle. They are talking earnestly but without stress. Then Rhonda points to Eiko's bed through the window and then follows the dean out into the dormitory. I can't see clearly as the move into the darkness, they become shadows. Two more older girls... R.A.s, I assume... appear and wait as Dean Curtis and Rhonda talk in whispers. I feel my heart begin to pound as the dean turns to Eiko's bed and sits down on the edge. Rhonda is smiling in what light is showing on her face from this distance, standing at the end of the bed watching. Eiko sits up in recognition and they talk softly, though Eiko's voice seems more animated. This was what she wanted and it was evident in the shadowy expression in her face as she sat up and began unbuttoning her pajama top hurriedly. One of the R.A.s pulls out a remote and directs it towards the ceiling. There are a total of 8 pods down the center of the aisle. Most often used for group punishments, it lowers a steel cord with a thick metal attaching clip. The first assistant lowers the clip while the second R.A. has a small case and produces an inch and half thick nylon cord that is attached to a second clip. I can barely hear the mechanical thrum of the cord being lowered before the distinctive sound of the clips being secured. Eiko is standing now and her pajama bottoms fall to her feet. It is surreal how quiet in still is in our dorm. I can still hear snoring, realizing that there are more girls sleeping than are aware that Eiko is being killed. Eiko needs no prodding. Once naked, she walks directly to the noose. An R.A. binds her hands behind her with a plastic tie, of which she has a batch of in her little pouch on her belt. In three seconds, Eiko is secured, noosed and raised in the air. She twirled slowly, instinctively bracing, her body relatively still. After a moment, she began to slowly writhe her feet and her body began to undulate. I could barely make out soft choking sounds. Dean Curtis stood up and put her hand on Eiko's bare bottom to look up into her face by stopping her from twirling.. She said something soothing to her but Eiko began to writhe almost animalistic now and her quiet gasps and gags were slightly more audible. Had they come just to kill Eiko because she wanted to die so bad? I sat up on my elbows and watched with macabre interest as my friend and roommate slowly died. Her body began to slow and her head slowly sagged, her chin to her chest. In the darkness, I hear fluid hitting the floor. Urine from a relaxed bladder. The winch lowers Eiko's limp body into a heap on the floor. The R.A.s remover her head from the noose and carefully roll her body out from under the noose. One released the clip from the noose and the second uses the remote to return the clip back to the ceiling pod. Perhaps Eiko was the only death requirement. Almost on cue, however, one of the R.A.s produces three hand held devices. I was unfamiliar. The hand held part had only two buttons and was the shape of a flashlight I didn't know what that part was for or did. However, the top of the device convinced me that the mechanism's purpose was of a more terminal nature. Extending from the mechanism was something kindred to an 18 gauge hyperdermic needle. Each R.A. takes one as does the dean. In the darkness, when the device is one I can see the little green light on the bottom of each that tells the operator it is powered up. The four of them talk very quietly among themselves. Unconsciously, I lay back down and slightly on my side. Again as they talk, Rhonda gestures down each row of beds. Now there are some girls obviously awake, though many are still asleep. Rhonda gestures in my general direction, and that simple thing causes my breath to shallow. The R.A.s nodded agreement and walked quietly up the aisle, still dressed in their school uniforms. In the bed next to me, Heather Douglas sits up on the side of her bed, looking at me. I can't tell how she feels but I suppose she wants to be appropriately ready for them if she has to die. She smiles weakly at me. "Are you scared?" she whispers. I shake my head. "No," I lie. Rhonda and the Dean seem to complete their conversation with smiles as they stand next to Eiko's prone form on the floor. As they finish their conversation, Rhonda reaches behind herself and easily looses her bra, causing her ample breasts to spill out, jiggling shadows. She promptly pulls down her panties and then kneels in front of the dean who bends down with her, device in hand. The Dean asks something softly and Rhonda calmly lifts her left breast. Without pause, Dean Curtis pushes the slender rod silently into Rhonda's chest. She stiffens but says nothing. I hear a little buzz. "uhh..." is the only sound that comes from my former RA. She jerks slightly and then seems to sag easily to the floor at the dean's guidance, who pulls the device out easily. I know that Rhonda is dead, quick and almost painlessly. Then I hear girls being killed at the other end of the room. Sometimes the quiet death sound is a little more pained and succinct but never loud. Finally, I sit up and sit Indian style in the center of my bed and watch quietly. First was Eiko, then Mary, then Kathy Minnich. It is so quiet. Half of the girls are still sleeping. I look back towards Dean Curtis who is, as she always is, smiling sweetly. She is motherly despite the fact that she is so young and that her task general means the end of someone's life. She kneels down next to a sleeping girl, who is spawled, half covered in a nightie. She is one of the snorers...Macy Charack, I think. Dean Curtis tenderly brushes some of the girl's hair out of her eyes and Macy doesn't even stir. Another girl dies softly behind me. I turn and watch the R.A. lower her dead body back into bed before looking back at the dean who seems to be debating whether she wants to wake her. She is five beds away from me. Finally, with a silent chuckle to herself, she gently unbuttons the simple nightie, and opens it. Still no response from Macy other than a sleepy turn of her head. Dean Curtis runs her hands over Macy's round breasts and that doesn't even wake her, though I can see the dark nipples rise in the cool air, now exposed. Finally, she simply lifts the left breast and skillfully thrusts the needle all the way to the hilt. She hits the button and holds it. "ooooooohhhhhh....." Macy's low cry rose and faded quickly, probably unaware that she was dying even in her sleep. Dean Curtis rose and skipped the next two beds and came and sat next to Heather Douglas' bed. They were familiar to each other, more so even than the dean and myself, and I consider her my friend. Heather doesn't ask but leans over and hugs the dean. "Good morning, Miss Jeannie," she says as she squeezes her hard. Before they break, Dean Curtis gives her a soft kiss on the lips which causes Heather to smile slightly before she begins to unbutton her pajama top. "I just came to say hi to you, silly," Dean Curtis says, noting the faithful exercise of undressing. Heather stopped after her shirt was completely undone. "It's been a very strange week. I just don't expect to live to the next hour, anymore." I nod in agreement. "I didn't realize how stressful it was," I point out. "It's weird. I have never been more ready and compliant than these two weeks but I feel like I have been on edge." "That's to be expected," the Dean comments. "UH!" From across the aisle, the shocked face of Betty Chambers braces to scream but then sags with a sigh back into the bed, the R.A. waiting until she is completely still before removing the 18 gauge needle. "But I have to tell you, girls," she continues. "I have never been so proud of a group of girls. Everyone has been on their game. I've killed almost 300 girls in the last two weeks and I can't think of anyone who died badly. Everyone has been so good, even when they died hard." Heather leaned over to the Dean Jeannie Curtis with a familiarity that was intimate. She was smiling as she spoke low in the Dean's ear. "You are going to kill me, aren't you?" Dean Curtis giggled at Heather and then shook her head as if her secret was out. "Yes, I was going to. If that's okay?" The statement comes out playfully rhetorical, but Heather's answer rings of deep sincerity. "You know I don't mind," Heather says as she stands and tugs down her pajama bottoms and underwear, letting the open top fall to the floor behind her. Dean Curtis looks up at her fondly and I know that they have been lovers, her gaze so telling. It only lends itself to the drama of the moment... the younger allowing and appreciating the fact that the older is going to kill her. Heather sweeps back her long flaxen blond hair and sits back down next to the Dean, though much closer this time, extending her left leg over the older woman's right leg. The Dean is wearing the same blouse and skirt, with flats that I had seen her wearing earlier in the day. I want to say something cute but my voice would have only intruded on their moment. Heather without bidding hugged the Dean close and hard. Dean Curtis' eyes are clinched closed and her face is etched with a bittersweet smile. They break exchanging a brief but significant lingering kiss before Heather cooperatively leans back on her hands. The Dean smile becomes smaller but never leaves her face as she addresses the sharp point just under Heather's small, pink-nipple breast. The long steel point seems to disappear into Heather's body in a moment. Watching herself being impaled, Heather says nothing but makes a little face of discomfort. I hear the crackle and her eyes shoot open in surprise. "Omigosh..." she gasps quietly. Dean Curtis catches Heather and eases her back onto the bed holding the device in her chest the entire time. I see Heather's foot begin to twitch in the sudden nature of her death, which occurs before the Dean has laid her back onto the bed. She withdraws long metal gauge from Heather and after getting up, lifts her feet to the bed. She needlessly checks for a pulse, though the quivering extremities and glazed frozen eyes already testify to the efficiency of the Dean's work. I hear one last girl die, on the opposite side of the room, but I can't tell in the darkness, who it is. Many of the girls are now awake and aware of the benevolent carnage going on around them. However, there are still a surprising amount of girls who are still sleeping, one snoring loud and blissfully ignorant. The Dean smiles at me as she walks away to the R.A.s. Near the back of the dorm they discuss in soft whispers the measure of their work, nodding in satisfaction. I lay back down in my bed. I am light headed. I don't know how I feel. I have been close to death before and have always been ready for it should I be asked. But there was something so sublime about what I just witnessed, that I am truly vexed by my feelings. One of the tenants of submission and sacrifice that I have been trained and conditioned on was that while I might expect to die at any time, my life was precious and valuable and that it was important for me to think so. Only in that was there truly a sacrifice when you died. My whole life, even in my time at CCDA, has been running a race of survival. Now, I felt different. I felt like my death would be so much more valuable than my life. This was a completely alien feeling for me and it did nothing to assuage my dazed state that had come on from watching more than half of my sister dorm mates being quickly and mercifully slaughtered. The Dean and her consorts began to walk quietly back down the aisle, their work finished. As they passed my bed, I was laying on my side watching them, ostensibly to return to sleep. I don't know why I spoke and I didn't have an intention necessarily. I just wanted to share my feelings. "Dean Curtis?" My whisper is just enough to catch her attention and she pauses before coming close and sitting next to me on the bed. As she looks down on me, her shadowed face still has a motherly smile on it. "Yes, sweet girl?" I feel tears streaming without effort down my cheeks. I know what is about to happen though neither of us have alluded to it. "It was beautiful, wasn't it?" Her smile became a more knowing one as she put down her weapon. She gently pushed me onto my back as she answered. "Yes, it was. I have been doing this a long time but this was simply one of the best groups I have ever helped die. It's an honor when girls like you are so good when they are put to death." She effortlessly unbuttons my pajamas and as it is opened and the cool night air moves over them, my nipples crinkle hard from both the cold and the intense emotion of the moment. I sit up cooperatively as she sheds the top off of me and then l tug my bottoms and underwear down to my knees where she catches them and pulls them off my legs. Naked, I am now ready to die. "Does it hurt?" I whisper, laying back onto the pillow. Dean Curtis nods picking up the device. "Yes, but it is really fast. You won't have time to even register it. Lift your boob for me." I have large breasts and I obediently catch my left breast and pull it up as the Dean's hands move to my chest. "Little stick." As she says this, there is a sharp pain in my chest. My breath catches. "Ow." I hear the strange crackle again and my body lurches. "UUHH!" The pain in my chest--- my heart being stopped--- is the worst I have ever felt but I can't even register it because my consciousness is already leaving me. Dean Curtis' warm features hover over my face and she brushes the hair from my eyes. As my view of her begins to fade in an explosion of white in my eyes, I hear her whispering to me. "Good bye, sweetie. You're good girl."