Sigma Alpha Sigma

This is the first part of the five-part story Sigma Alpha Sigma. It contains scenes of Dominance and submission and BDSM. All consensual.

 

My End-of-Year Invitation

 

Freshman year went well. Exams were over. Not Dean’s List, perhaps, but well enough to keep dreams of a decent law school alive. Though we were all too young to drink, someone copped some beer kegs and the RAs turned a blind eye to what we were doing the night before. Now was clearing-out day.

My roommate was gone. We were assigned randomly, and we did not get along. She was a bit too much of an overachiever for me and she resented the times–not many–when I brought someone to the room with me. That the someone was often, though not always, a woman didn’t help. Her bed was stripped, and I was stripping mine. The door was open, and the buzz of hordes of eighteen- and nineteen-year-old women doing it throughout the floor permeated the place.

Once my stuff was packed into either a suitcase that was under my bed for the semester or in the boxes I picked up somewhere, all I had to do was wait. My parents would call when they got off the freeway, and they’d be on campus about ten minutes later.

As I closed and locked the suitcase, there was a knock on my doorframe. A woman, neither attractive nor not but just another upperclasswoman at school with bleached hair, stood holding an envelope, the kind you use for an invitation. She was better dressed than me or the rest in the dorm.

“This is for you.” She handed me the envelope though I did not know who she was or how she recognized me, and she was gone.

My name was in a very nice script on the ivory envelope and the contents were also handwritten on three sheets of small stationery.

Miss Owens,

As you are home or wherever you will be for the summer, you will have much to consider for sophomore year. One is whether you have an interest in joining a sorority.

Whether you have thought you would or not, I ask that you consider Sigma Alpha Sigma. We are an unofficial, off-campus sorority. If you apply for membership, you will be given special consideration. This invitation is for you and you alone. For reasons that will become clear, you may not refer to Sigma Alpha Sigma to anyone.

If you are interested, you may email me at [email protected].

I look forward to hearing from you.

Alice Evans,

Rising President

P.S. I am not the woman who delivered this to you.

While my freshman dorm experience fell short of my expectations regarding my roomie, I enjoyed the life and the freedom I had. Mostly the freedom of doing whatever I wanted to do whenever I wanted to do it. This would not be the case in a sorority. So, there was no way I was going to do it, particularly since I would be out of the roommate situation in the freshman dorm and would have my own room in Dammon Hall. There, each suite has a central area and a small kitchen with six small bedrooms to the sides, three on either side. Plus, the assignment of suitemates was not random, and I spoke to several friends about going in together and I was just about committed.

It was also a co-ed building, although each floor was single sex. Still, even that was not what it once was as the university was embracing gender fluidity. So, no, I would not consider this “unofficial” sorority, whatever that meant.

My phone rang just as finished the invitation, and my mom said they were almost on campus. So much for a ten-minute warning. I thought of tossing the invite, but I instead put it in my well-worn and well-loved copy of Jane Eyre which I then put amid my other books.

Before I knew it, my mom was in the room, shortly followed by my dad and soon we were heading home, my mom her normal babbling and my dad his normal taciturn selves. It’s a long drive–three hours–home and too expensive to fly. I had not been back since spring break, but with the gossip from my mother, I felt that I never left.

After a week of doing nothing but reconnect with high school friends, I began the job my father got me as a gofer at one of the mid-sized law firms in town. It was deadly, and I began to rethink my going-to-law-school strategy. When I got my spring grades, they were better than I expected and good enough, if I kept it up and did well on the LSATs, to get me into a top law school so that was back in the cards.

I was fighting a battle with myself about my future, which was strange since I’d only just finished freshman year. Scatterbrained as I am, I can focus when I want to. I volunteered at the firm to do as broad a range of things as possible and lobbied to go to things outside the office–depositions, court hearings, and the like–as often as possible.

I forgot about the invitation. It was only when I got a call from Evelyn Stokes, one of those I planned to go into the suite with, that it popped back into my head. During the conversation, I hedged my commitment to Evelyn. I wasn’t obvious or anything. I just hemmed and hawed a bit more than I would have were I one-hundred-percent in.

When I got off with her, I raced to my room. The box with my books was sitting on the floor of the closet, waiting to be organized, and I found my dear “Eyre.” There was the invitation. It was early afternoon on a Saturday in late June. I powered up my laptop and on it went and I opened my email. I wrote my note to [email protected].

Dear Ms. Evans,

I am sorry for waiting so long to contact you. I have been busy and afraid I forgot. So you know, my intent is to share a suite with friends in Dammon Hall for my sophomore year, and I am largely decided on it. Besides, they are relying on me. I thank you for your kind invitation, but I must decline pursuing it further.

Regards,

Melissa Owens

I hit “SEND” and that was that. Since I was alone with my laptop anyway, I decided to google “Sigma Alpha Sigma” and found zero results. Plenty of “Sigma this” and “Sigma that” but no SAS. I went to the university’s directory and plugged in “Alice Evans,” but could only find basic info. From Salem, Oregon. Majoring in Economics. That was it. No photo.

So, a more general google search. Plenty of results, but which, if any, was her? I searched with the university’s name and still nada. Then “Alice Evans Salem Oregon,” and there she was. She was not impressive looking. Like the girl who dropped off the invitation, neither pretty nor not. She was a runner in high school, and she looked thin and tall in her race photos.

Could I place her among all those I’d met at the university? I really couldn’t. Why would I want to join an “unofficial,” uber-secret sorority whose president was a drab-looking tall woman from the capital of Oregon who was majoring in Economics and likely to be getting a job as an analyst at some San Francisco investment bank? Whose other emissary was similarly non-descript?

Just as I was exiting the search and clearing the history lest my mother wonder why I was looking up another woman–my parents were thankfully unaware of my somewhat fluid orientation–an email arrived.

Miss Owens,

Thank you for letting me know. I hope you will regret not joining us as much as we will regret you not joining us.

With best wishes for your future,

Alice Evans

P.S. Please destroy the invitation and delete this and the email you sent to me.

If this woman wanted to be intriguing, she succeeded. She must know that I couldn’t find anything about the sorority or about her online. I could not resist getting the final word.

Ms. Evans,

If you wished to draw me in, I will play your game, if only for a moment, though I know well enough not to challenge you to a running race. If I were to express an interest–and I very much am not–what would you do to “seduce” me into your lair?

The curious

Melissa Owens

I half-knew I was doing what she wanted, but I really had to know what this was all about. This whole secrecy thing and the assertion that I was personally selected and that she knew who I was. No harm in getting more information.

Miss Owens,

No more games. If you wish to speak to me about what you would happen were you to pledge to SAS, call me NOW. Otherwise, destroy whatever documents you have related to SAS and erase thoughts, and dreams, of it from your head.

Alice Evans

503-xxx-xxxx

Fuck you, bitch. I slammed my laptop shut and went to get a cup of coffee. When I got to the kitchen, I realized I hadn’t done the purge of this nonsense, but it could wait.

I sat on the patio scrolling through my phone. Nothing more. Just aimlessly scrolling.

Fuck.

I opened my mail app and hit Alice Evans’s number and it was picked up on the first ring.

“What do you want to know?”

I was not prepared for the directness or the somewhat sharp yet undeniably soft voice of Alice Evans.

“I don’t know. Alice.”

Though I was alone on the patio, I went inside, and with my parents out running errands or something, I sprawled on the sofa in the living room.

“That’s a start,” she said.

Again, with the mystery.

“Look. This is bull shit. You’re playing some sort of game with me, and I don’t appreciate it. I have everything lined up for–”

“Then why are you calling? Melissa. Why are you calling?”

“Fuck you,” and I hung up.

I rushed upstairs and grabbed the invitation and tore it into as many pieces as it could be torn. It was a bit of a strain because it was good stationery, but it was done, and I then deleted the emails and that was the end of my little detour for joining a sorority.

I did not realize I was in a mood until Diane pointed it out that night. We and a couple of others were sitting on benches overlooking the ocean, waiting for the sun to go down and wishing we had something stronger than iced teas to drink. Diane and the others were among the few at home who knew I was bi-.

Diane, my best friend since grammar school, told me of her own inclination when I told her of mine. We never had romantic feelings for one another, but this did not stop me from using her fingers and her from using mine to get off once in a while. We tried a full-on session once, but it did not click for either of us, so we limited ourselves to meaningless finger-fucking.

That night, with the sun finally blowing out the horizon and the others assembled on the benches above the beach headed for their cars, we sat.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

I denied anything was wrong, but the others joined in, insisting that I was not myself.

“Look. Whatever it is, I have to work it through alone, okay,” was my response, and it seemed to do the job as they backed off.

So, we all headed home, Diane driving me.

“Can I come upstairs with you?” she asked. I was not in the mood, but she didn’t ask often, and I could use the company. My folks were watching TV when we got in, and after a quick hello from Diane, we were in my room.

I bent to kiss her, as was our routine when we’d get each other off, but she pulled away.

“Tell me what the fuck is with you tonight.”

Now I was less in the mood. I felt like a shit for forgetting that she might want something more than my fingers and was my closest friend.

I breached the rule of confidentiality that Alice Evans imposed, and Diane’s eyes got bigger and bigger. Diane is better at computers than I am, and she opened my computer, got my password, and was off to the races.

I don’t know where she went or how she did it, but she found several women who were members of Sigma Alpha Sigma. “You just have to know how to look,” she explained.

There was nothing spectacular about these women. They were of varying ages and seemed to have nondescript jobs. No titans of industry. “No secret society of lesbian power brokers,” Diane said.

“You think they’re all lesbians?” I asked after she dropped that last bit.

“I don’t know.”

“Cause I don’t want to be a member of some secret lesbian society.”

Diane leaned to me and that’s when she decided to kiss me. “How’s about some secret lesbian society in your room,” and soon Sigma Alpha Sigma was forgotten as she and I made love. Not just fingering, and it had been a while, but I needed her to make love to me–not just using her fingers–and she knew it and she did it and thank god she remembered to get up and go home before we fell into a deep sleep that would be hard to explain to our parents.

 

Back to School

 

A week before classes were to begin, I was committed to the suite in Dammon Hall, but because the university gave sophomores the option of pledging to a fraternity or sorority (even an unofficial one like Sigma Alpha Sigma), I could get a refund if I opted out in the first two weeks of the semester. Which is why I was on Elm Street outside a big, light blue house with a wrap-around porch and no sign of anything but the house number. Diane encouraged me, and I called Alice on that Sunday after my session with Diane. She laughed when I tried to apologize.

“I sort of liked it,” she said before explaining what the sorority was about. She even got me to confess to breaking the seal of secrecy, which she said, “happens all the time” and that “it’s a big step and we know pledges need to talk about it with someone they trust,” though she made me get Diane to re-promise not to tell a soul, and I trusted Diane to keep it.

As I stood there, another sophomore who I vaguely remembered from our freshman dorm came up next to me.

“You were invited too?” she asked. I nodded.

“I’m Zoey Major.”

“Melissa Owens.”

We paused.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“I’m not sure. It’s kind of scary, you know?”

“I know.” Somehow one of us reached for the other’s hand, and we stood.

“Do you think anyone’s watching us?”

We scanned the windows but saw no one.

Zoey took a breath. “Shall we?” and again I nodded, and the two of us lambs climbed the steps and went through the door together, our hands still held and more than a little sweaty. The entrance hallway was dark but there were two bright rooms on either side. To the left was a dining room and to the right the living room with a few sofas and comfortable-looking armchairs. Two other women I recognized from freshman year were talking quietly on a pair of the chairs, and they looked up when we came in. Introductions were made, and the talk changed to what was going to happen.

Gradually two more sophomores entered, both as confused looking as I was. At some point, a woman came in to offer us refreshments, and iced teas were distributed. When one of us asked a question of her about who or what we were waiting for, she smiled. “Do not be so impatient. You will find out soon enough,” and she left.

When there were six of us, seven women came into the room. I recognized one as Alice from the photos Diane and I had found and another as the woman who gave me my invitation, and I was to learn that each of the other five was a messenger for one of us sophomores. Though I did not know that as I stood and looked from woman to woman.

“Welcome ladies. I am Alice Evans and I spoke to each of you over the summer. I am a senior. The others here are juniors. Each of you, I hope, recognize the woman who gave you your invitation to join us. The woman who gave you the invitation will, should you decide to join Sigma Alpha Sigma, be your mistress.”

A gasp shot through we sophomores. From my conversations with Alice, I understood the sorority had a strict hierarchy, but I had no idea that I would, well, be required to serve someone. The “M” word was definitely not uttered by Alice when we spoke over the summer. I looked around to the others, and I’m pretty sure they thought the same thing.

“Ladies. It will be your decision and you can leave us at any time. You will serve your mistress, but she will also serve you. In the years that SAS has been here, only three women have ever left after agreeing to join. Yes, there are those who decline the invitation, but they are also rare.”

Alice stepped into the hallway and waved to an older woman, who followed her in.

There was a collective gasp when she appeared. I recognized her and I assume from the gasp so did the others.

“This is Marcia Johnson. She is one of my Mistresses,” Alice said.

She seduced me in March or April at a dorm party. A quiet night, and I was bored, sitting on a sofa and horny. This woman looked to be a grad student. Maybe twenty-four. Subtle but direct. Once her eyes locked on mine, they did not leave while she asked the most innocuous of questions. Where I was from. What I was studying. I got into a rhythm with her, call-and-response.

“What’s your favorite band?”/”The Smiths.”

“If you could wake up tomorrow somewhere else, where would it be?”/”Paris, of course.”

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”/”A lawyer.”

“Do you want me to fuck you tonight”/”Yes. More than anything.”

I remain shocked she asked me that and more with how I answered. She took me to an apartment off campus. A gorgeous apartment. She allowed me to undress her. She was pretty enough, but it was her manner more than anything that attracted me to her and when I removed her blouse and her skirt and she was only in her bra and panties, both lace, I would do anything to her. Or for her. Or allow her to do anything for me.

She had me unclasp and remove her bra and pull her panties down, me still fully clothed in my jeans and ratty t-shirt. She stood naked before me.

“Your turn.”

She approached me and we kissed for the first time. She was gentler removing my clothes than I ever knew; generally, it was something I did as quickly as I could to get to the main event.

This was different. I did not get her name, and I did not care as she undressed me as we stood in her apartment. She had wonderful classical piano playing that was familiar but that I could not place, and when we were both naked her lips caressed my left ear.

“Have you ever been lovingly fucked, Melissa Owens?”

I froze for a moment because I had not told her my name, but that passed quickly as I felt her fingers rub my folds. She led me to her large bed and ate me as I’d never been eaten. When I was drenched, she rose and opened a drawer from which she pulled a strapon. I’d had guys in me but never a woman with a dick. And when she was in me, I regretted waiting so long to be fucked by a woman. With a dick.

Things were a bit of a blur during and after our lovemaking. When she was finished having me, I begged to have her. I knew she was close while she was in me, and she did not answer me. Instead, she stood and walked to the bathroom while I lay naked and panting in her bed. She returned, the strapon gone, and without a word draped her legs on either side of my head.

“Look at me,” she said, and I savored how wet she was. She lowered herself to my mouth and she repeated. “Look at me,” and her eyes burned into my soul as I licked her as she ground against my mouth. Without breaking eye contact a powerful orgasm shot through her and her calves tightened on the sides of my head.

When she was done, she got up and again went to the bathroom. This time she returned in a silk robe.

“I hope you enjoyed that, Melissa Owens.” She reached for my clothing and placed it on the bed. “Perhaps we will meet again.” She again left and sat in her living room with a glass of wine when I was dressed and finished in the bathroom.

She did not turn, and I left without either of us saying another word. And now I was meeting her again. And I knew that the others felt the same. Seduced and fucked by a woman Alice Evans described as her “mistress.”