Sigma Alpha Sigma

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

Nancy Fisher’s House

According to everything I’d read, I would be picked up in a late-model BMW or Mercedes or maybe even a Tesla. I’d be taken to a modern mansion on a hill and a lot of over two acres. Perhaps with a gate. Slightly on a hill to take advantage of the view of mountains or the lake or maybe the big city beyond. The rooms would be vast with floor-to-ceiling windows opening to well-manicured lawns and shrubbery. The décor would be tasteful and not gaudy, and most of all the master (mistress?) bedroom and the accompanying bathroom would be massive, the former with a large, four-poster bed, though without a canopy, and the later with a large tub and a walk-in shower with a battery of removable nozzles.

When I got off the train, Nancy Fisher was waiting for me on the platform in her quiet suburban town. She led me to a blue Outback, and we drove only a few minutes before we pulled into a driveway to a small Victorian house that was on maybe a quarter of an acre with houses of varying designs on either side and behind it and not a BMW to be seen among the cars parked on the street or in the driveways we passed.

The house was small.

“Surprised?” Nancy asked.

I nodded.

She laughed. “In the real world, your sisters are just women trying to make a decent living. But I love this little house and my neighborhood, and I wouldn’t exchange it for the world. I must be somewhat discrete, though my neighbors are used to me bringing women home and they don’t bat an eye. More than one has asked when I’m going to finally find myself a good woman and settle down with her.”

“And what do you tell them?”

She again laughed. “I tell ’em I just haven’t met the right lady yet. Some introduce me to potential mates. I do love them all, even if I must constantly disappoint them.”

We were in the living room.

“Come on. I’ll give you the tour.”

It was a small house with lots of what I guess you call “cozy” rooms. She noticeably skipped one on the second floor, the one with its door closed, and she led me down to the kitchen, which looked to have been redone not long before and was the type of space where one could sit with friends for hours while making meals and drinking wine, and I hoped that someday I would be among those friends.

For now, though, she handed me a glass of red wine.

“I know you’re not legal. But you’re not going to be driving tonight.” She winked. “A car at least,” and again laughed.

We chatted like old friends for a bit, sitting on high stools along the island in the kitchen, sharing bowls of chips and salsa. I was not prepared when she leaned over and kissed me. This was not protocol for a mistress. It was spontaneous. She stood and took my hand. She led me up the stairs to that closed door and opened it. It was, of course, her bedroom. It did have a four-poster bed, but the room was brightly painted and comfortable. The attached bathroom was simple, with only a toilet, sink, and (small) shower.

“It’s a Victorian. That doesn’t give one a lot of options,” she said from the bed, where she sat while I did my little tour.

When I was done, she patted the bed beside her, and I sat.

“I have only done this with three others below me in the line. I am doing it with you, and you may only tell your Carol. I fully accept your relationship with her. And I understand if you do not want to do anything with me because of it. But I ask that you speak to her now. I’ll leave you here. Tell her that I wish to be your submissive for the weekend. She knows that she has no right to object to the normal order of things. Then you would not have a choice about doing what I tell you to do. You both have accepted that rule.

“This is different. What happens to you is completely your decision. So, you must ask her.”

She walked from the room and down the stairs and then returned with my bag.

“I will be downstairs. Please call her. If she agrees, I am your submissive for the weekend. Either way, I will be in the kitchen.”

With that, Nancy left and closed the door. I found my phone in my bag. Did I want this? Nancy was a gorgeous, mature woman and part of me wanted this weekend to be what I expected it to be when she called me. I would be ordered to strip. I would be ordered to eat her. I would be ordered to let her bind me and fuck me. In the ass, if she wanted. I was a virgin there except for the fingers of several of my mistresses. Anything she wanted. Anything my Nancy wanted to do with me.

That is what Cal wanted, too. That I was simply doing what, as Nancy pointed out, Cal and I agreed. To be submissives to all of the mistresses above us in the line. From Rebecca up to Nancy. She was okay with that. So was I. I wanted to be on my knees before Nancy not sitting on Nancy’s bed while she awaited my decision at the island in her redone kitchen.

Fuck.

I paced a bit, passing the phone lightly between my hands.

Fuck. Part of me wanted to go and tell Nancy, “No. You are my Mistress.” To fall to my knees at the foot of the stool. To remove her shoe and kiss her toes, to make love to each of her toes as I had that day in the suite. To worship her as she deserved to be worshiped.

But more of me wanted her to be on her knees worshiping every blemish on my skin, every fold between my thighs. More than anything, I wanted to fuck her senseless. I wanted her to beg me to allow her to come. To shove her precious butt plug up her ass. To gag her while I laughed.

So, I called Cal. I told her. I didn’t ask her. I told her what was happening and what I was going to do. She was silent as I detailed my desires with this beautiful, Black woman.

As I did, I regained control of my sexual and power lust.

“Cal?” It was quieter than my prior rant. “I kind of got lost in a fantasy there.”

“Melissa?”

“Yes, my love.”

“I want you to do it on one condition.”

“Anything.”

She hesitated.

“Here’s the deal. You can do it if it is practice for what you will do to me. You’ll make me worship your toes and body and all the other things you are making her do to you. You’ll tie me up and fuck me and shove a butt plug up my ass and do whatever horrible and wonderful things you can think of for your adoring Cal.”

It all came out in a flurry, and she was getting increasingly excited as I had.

“Okay, my love,” I said.

“And one more thing.”

“Anything.”

“I don’t care where she goes for the weekend. But we are doing it all in her house. Those are my terms. Take them or leave them.”

I looked around the bedroom, and the idea of Cal’s submitting completely to me in it became the most important thing in the world.

“Agreed. And Cal. I order you to take out my dildo and use it on yourself as many times as you want while I’m away and come as often as you want–”

“Or can.”

“Yes, or can, while I am with Nan.”

After the call, I went to the kitchen. Nan looked nervous.

“I have one practical demand.”

This confused her.

“Next weekend, you will let Cal and me have the house.”

She looked down.

“Yes, Melissa.”

“Good.” I noticed that the shades were down in the kitchen and, I expected, throughout the house so none of her friendly neighbors could look in.

I went to the freezer and pulled out an ice tray. I got a clean glass and put four ice cubes into it and returned the tray.

She stood and understood.

“Shove these up your pussy,” and one-by-one she took the four from me and reached under her dress and into her panties and put them inside her. They would melt quickly, but it was just the start of the weekend.

Bethany Astor

I enjoyed my weekends at Nancy Fisher’s house. First with the woman herself. A week later with my love. I was torn, though, and sat with Rebecca after the second weekend of complete debauchery with Cal to talk about it. She’d become my confidante, although she still used her privileges as one of my mistresses to “make me” eat her. It was all a charade, with Cal in on it, but it was a pleasant one. After all, the dynamics of the three of us had thrown her expectations of having two subs for the final semester of her senior year for a bit of a loop. Though she did not need it, I volunteered that she should still consider Cal exactly as she had since Cal entered the house as her sub.

But with the year nearing its end and me waiting for the reports on my four candidates for next year, I went for a walk with Rebecca. I told her I did not know if I could do with whoever was my sophomore sub what I was supposed to do, that I was too committed to Cal.

“You can always leave,” she said. “It has been known to happen. For various reasons, sisters go. It breaks the chain for the line, but the lines are long enough that they survive. We generally know enough other seniors and juniors who we know would be interested in joining that they can become sisters, like transfer students. But, of course, that breaks whatever line dynamics exist.

“You must decide quickly. If you and Cal leave, you will be forever removed from line Five. Whether line Five will survive, at least for new members, will be an issue.

“That would be unfortunate, but if you truly cannot be a mistress to more than one woman, we cannot force you. So think about it.”

We stopped.

“If you tell anyone this, I will never speak to you again,” she said.

“The report on Bethany Astor has come in, and she, well, she readily succumbed. There is no doubt that she will eventually accept an invitation. But before you make a decision about you and Cal, meet with her. This is completely against the rules, but I don’t care since I need only defend myself from line Five once I graduate.

“So, meet with her. Maybe with Cal. Decide with both of them whether you can move forward. She must be sworn to secrecy lest other lines learn about it. But I think it is what you must do.”

We resumed our walk.

“I could not have had better junior and sophomore subs than I have with you two. I will suffer if you do what you may well do. But I will never abandon either of you. Forget what I said about not speaking to you again.”

Again, we stopped.

“I will always love you and I will always be there for both of you. Remember that.”

She turned back towards the house and I let her go, and she was a bit unsteady on her feet.

It happens that shortly after Rebecca was gone, I saw Bethany Astor on the other side of the quad heading to our mutual class, with her usual posse of three or four hangers-on. I could not afford to be seen with her in public, but she went to the ladies’ room before class, and I followed her in.

I waited until she was done in the stall and stepped up to her while she washed her hands. There were a few other students in the room. She noticed my approach in the mirror, and said, “Do I know you?” I stared. “Wait, you’re in one of my classes.” She turned to look at me. “I’ve caught you staring at me a few times,” then, she turned back to the sink, again looking at me in the mirror. “I’m sorry, my dance-card is already full, and I wouldn’t bother with a skank like you anyway.”

I leaned to her ear. “Listen, bitch, I want to speak to you. It concerns the woman whose pussy you ate a couple of weeks back at her off-campus hotel.”

I walked out of the ladies’ room straight to class, keeping my eye on the door, through which she came in a hurry, quickly enough to find the seat next to mine empty, and she took it. I hoped no sister would catch my communication with Bethany and that it looked like coincidence that she sat next to me.

“Everyone knows I’m out,” she whispered, “so if you’re threatening to out me, move on, sister, move on,” and she sat back in her seat as the professor reached the lectern.

“I sent her,” I whispered.

“You what?”

“I sent her. We can’t talk now,” and I tried to pay attention to the lecture, not looking again at her but painfully aware that she was there.

As class ended, I told her, “I sent her. It was a test. And you passed. She said you were a natural carpet muncher by the way.”

“What do you want?”

“Not so high-and-mighty now, are you. Bethany Astor.”

We were approaching the classroom door.

“Okay. You have my attention. It kind of happened.”

“No,” I had her. “It did not ‘kind of happen.’ As I said, this ‘skank’ sent her. To see if you are sub material.”

“‘Sub material?'”

“We can’t speak here and now. But there’s a ladies’ room on the fourth floor near the bio labs. No one goes there.” This was true, which made it an ideal spot for a quick finger-fuck, as I knew from personal experience.

“I know it well,” she said.

“Meet me there in fifteen minutes.” And I walked away.

She was there when I arrived fourteen minutes later. It was empty and our voices would echo around the tiles.

“Okay. What do you mean, ‘sub material’?”

I leaned in toward her left ear, and she tried to pull back, but she was hemmed in by the sink counter.

“That if I told you to drop on your knees and eat me out you would not hesitate. And according to my spy, you would do a very, very good job of it.”

I moved away, though not before running my teeth along her lower lobe, and I gave her my best cat-ate-the-canary grin.

Her eyes were worlds apart from when I looked at them in our earlier ladies’ room encounter.

“And you enjoyed it, didn’t you?”

She nodded.

I reached for her upper arms, and my smile relaxed.

“Don’t worry. I know what it’s like. She did it to me, too. Last year.”

“What do you mean?”

I explained the house to her. I told her it was a secret and that I would be expelled if they found out I spoke to her about it. I explained the whole process, how I joined. All the stupid rituals.

“Here’s the thing. I have been watching you so I could know whether I wanted to be your…mistress. Three other frosh are being analyzed, but you’re the one I want.”

I explained the concept of a mistress/sub, and she was somewhat familiar with it from the internet.

“So, if that’s how it’s supposed to work, that I’m not supposed to know what the deal is until right before school begins in the fall, why are you telling me?”

“I don’t know if I want to be your mistress.”

“Wait. You don’t know whether you want to boss me around and make me do whatever things to you that you want.”

“Exactly.”

She pulled away.

“Why wouldn’t you? Why wouldn’t someone want a submissive?”

“Because I love the woman who was my mistress and she is now my sub.” I explained in broad strokes what happened between Cal and me. “It’s called ‘switching.'” I tried to explain how complicated it all was in real life. The emotional commitment. I said I did not know if I could make that commitment to her.

“You’re assuming I would be willing.”

“If you weren’t willing, it wouldn’t happen. If any of us want to say ‘I’m outta here,’ they’re ‘outta here.’ That’s the core rule.”

“Why did you pick me?”

“You won’t remember. But I once saw you do something simple and kind for a stranger and I decided I wanted to know more about you. Which is why I was spying on you.”

She stared. “This is so fucked up.”

“Believe me, I know. Just think about it, okay?”

“Think about what?”

“I don’t know. Can we meet again in a few days?”

She agreed and two days later we were in the same ladies’ room. I reported to both Rebecca and Cal what was going on, and neither was optimistic that I could pull off something that I didn’t even know I wanted to pull off.

“I’m interested.” It was the first thing she said.

“You’d largely be isolated from your buddies.”

“I’m tired of it. All through high school and now here. I could use the break.”

“You can still socialize with them. It’s just within the house, and you will be spending much of your non-house time with, well, me. And Cal, who you haven’t met.”

I pulled out my phone and showed her a picture.

“She’s pretty.”

“And you’re a bad liar. Neither she nor I am anyone’s idea of ‘pretty,’ but we love each other.”

“And me?”

“Fuck you. You egotist. You know everyone thinks you’re beautiful.”

“And do you?”

“There are lots of other beautiful women on campus. I did not choose you for that.”

After the back-and-forth, we reached an agreement. She would play along with the whole thing, including with whoever the new president–next year’s Alice–was and she would move into what would then be my room on the third floor. Of course, I would be spending most of my time in Cal’s on the second, but we’d work it out.

I think what clinched it was her realization that when she was a junior and a senior, she would have one and then two subs to boss around. I could not disagree with her logic.

We sealed the deal the next weekend. I already took a risk by being seen with Bethany in public so the four of us–Rebecca, me, Cal, and Bethany–agreed to have dinner at a restaurant where we would not be recognized. It was a bit cloak-and-danger as we picked Bethany up in Cal’s car on a side street on campus.

Junior Year

Cal and I spent the summer together. I got a clerical job at a firm in the city, and my parents agreed to let us be together in my room. They liked her, especially her diffident and respectful attitude towards them. We agreed she would not wear my collar to avoid questions, and we refrained from any mistress/sub stuff while my parents were in the house or when we were out of it.

She worked a few blocks from me, and we took the bus in and back and had lunch together each day. My high school friends, for the most part, took to her, and we often spent nights at one or another joint or party. People, more girls than boys now, kept trying to hit on both of us, but we laughed it off. More than anything, we were just girlfriends who enjoyed lots of sex before going to bed.

My mom did find some of my toys, though she never admitted it; a stack of clean underwear was right atop a dildo and butt plug in my dresser, and sometimes afterward, I’d tease her about looking for “something I want to play with.” It was cruel in its way, but we both understood.

Finally, it was time to go back to the house. I’d communicated pretty regularly with Beth over the summer and we had, with Cal’s permission, a few practice sessions over Skype. I think both Beth and I enjoyed it, particularly my delay in allowing her to come.

That all, of course, was a secret, and the three of us went through the whole initiation ceremony. Erica Davis, line Four’s senior, was the new president. I was glad not to be in that line. I liked Marilyn, now a fellow junior, but it seemed she’d hardened in her year as a sub, and it was clear that she would be merciless with her new sub. Indeed, some of the other new juniors seemed like that, though Tina never did. Her senior at the time knew of my thoughts about over-the-line sex and her now-senior and I spoke about it once when we ran into each other in the quad about a month after I backed out.

She understood, as I didn’t when I made the request, that was I intimate with Tina the careful dynamic of both of our lines would be disturbed, perhaps irrevocably so. It was my realization about its effect on Cal that caused me to back out, and I never regretted it. Though there were moments when I lusted after Tina.

On the first night in the house when I was a junior and Beth was committed, Beth went through the ritual that I did. She for the first time ate Cal in the living room and then kissed me passionately after Cal came. Her mouth, teeth, and tongue alternated between my pussy and Cal’s during dinner, and she proved to be very good at it, and I came for the first time while she ate me between the soup and entrée and again before dessert.