Sweetheart of Summa Chi - Part 3

By Nigel McParr
von_souppe @ hotmail . com
Copyright 2012 by Nigel McParr, all rights reserved.

The air was fresh and crisp that afternoon. The sky was cast in a deep cerulean blue. Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the maples that lined the brick walkway leading from the University’s ivy-clad quadrangle to the Susan K. Wellington Auditorium. Back lit  leaves floated down to skitter underfoot and across the brick paving.

Females, young and old, spilled over the walkway and onto the grass. They had come to participate in Summa Chi’s oldest rite, the unveiling of the Sweetheart of Summa Chi. There were hugs, handshakes, and kisses abounded as University alumnae and faculty, sisters all, came together. Woven through their conversations was a vigorous sense of excitement and anticipation.

They ranged in age from students and recent graduates to silver-haired grandmothers. It wasn’t difficult to sort the students from the alumnae. The alumnae wore no makeup, were conservatively coiffed, dressed in low heels, and tailored suits and dresses. The students wore dark pressed jeans, tall heels, woolen sweaters, and scarfs looped around their necks with the ends flying. All wore Summa Chi Sorority pins

From the students with their high jiggling breasts and pert nipples to the grandmothers with their ponderous thick-nippled mono-bosoms, every woman there had her braless bustline on display. Some had unbuttoned their suit jackets and sweaters to reveal the glorious expanse of their bosoms.

Ms. Hallstrom’s live-in boy Sam had begged his mistress for permission to witness this annual parade of pulchritude that preceded Rite. Ms. Hallstrom of course was having none of that nonsense. On this day of days, she had other plans for her boy. She kept him firmly in hand as she readied him for his role in the Sweetheart ordination.

As the women made their way into the cavernous old auditorium, they squeezed hands, laughed, and exchanged kisses. Grandmothers like Clara Wilson took the opportunity to pet the blushing students, who eagerly submitted to the older women’s fondling. Submission to elders was an integral part of Summa Chi’s tradition of Rite and sisterhood.

            Clara Wilson was a widowed grandmother; heavy busted and wide-hipped with the remnants of a girlish waistline. Her auburn hair had faded, dry-brushed now with hints of silver thread. Her hairdresser had swept up her long hair from the sinuous curve of her neck and piled it high in shimmering coils. Her hairdo, high cheekbones, and frameless glasses gave her a distinctively old-fashioned look of intelligence and superiority. One imperious glance at her naughty grandsons could stop them in their tracks. She wore a knitted cardigan over a flowered silk dress. Neither the silk bodice nor her buttoned cardigan could minimize the rhythmic motions of her bosom. As she walked, her swaying breasts rode low and comfortably at her waist.

She was an assured woman, comfortable with her life and what she had achieved. She understood perfectly the effect of her demeanor and stunning profile. She gracefully accepted the admiring glances. It had taken her years to earn the unofficial title of Summa Chi’s Grande Dame. The title suited her perfectly. She wore her recognition and achievements like a loose garment. Her expectations, her commanding air, and profile  drew looks of respect from those around her. Clara herself took no notice. She was thinking of Sam.

A few days earlier, she had received a phone call from Edna Hallstrom, Summa Chi Sorority Mother. Edna as usual had gotten straight to the point. She had this young man in her charge at the sorority house - his name was Sam. He needed domestic training that Edna felt would be better handled away from the sorority. Would Clara consider taking on the task; take the boy into her home for a few months?

Clara had immediately accepted. It would be wonderful to have a young man around the house again. Her own sons were grown, married to girls she had chosen for them. Her implements hung idle, gathering dust in an upstairs closet since her husband passed. The thought of taking the boy in, training him, bending him to her will, and capturing his whipped bottom and thighs between her legs wrought a special magic. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this dominant and sexually aggressive. When she hung up the phone, she looked 20 years younger.

She glanced to her left and noticed an attractive young woman walking beside her. It took her a second to recognize that face and fulsome bust line. She had met this young woman at a previous Sweetheart Rite. Back then, she had been an apple-cheeked bride, well along in her first pregnancy, and still learning how to control her home. Her milk-laden breasts had been engorged, heavy, and full. Clara realized the young woman’s bust hadn’t diminished a bit. She was satisfied to see she looked even bigger now. Clara pushed the vision of the young man to the back of her mind and re-introduced herself. When asked how her pregnancy had gone, the young woman whose name was Mary explained she had two children now, a boy three and a one-year-old daughter.

The young woman spoke with a muted confidence that delighted the grandmother. Her firm handshake and hug conveyed to Clara this young alumna would carry on the Summa Chi tradition. Her quiet respectful tone warmed the grandmother’s heart. Mary’s eyes shone as she told Clara about her children and how she ruled her home.

“Mrs. Wilson, you have been coming to these gatherings much longer than I. Do you have any idea who…?

            “Not a clue, Mary, and please call me Clara. Ms. Hallstrom, as you know, is tight-lipped about these things. She’s been that way since we shared a room at the sorority a very long time ago.”

“Well then, we’ll just have to wait.”

“Yes, and it will be worthwhile…it always is. By the way, how is that young man of yours doing? Is he behaving himself?”  

            “He’s much improved since I began to implement your suggested disciplinary techniques.”

            “What is he doing today while you are away? Cat’s away…the mice will play.”

            Mary smiled. “The babies are with my mother. I put him to work: laundry, housework, raking leaves. He knows my expectations when I return.”

            “Good for you, Mary! Just look at you. Your bustline has grown larger since I last saw you. Are you pregnant?”

            Mary smiled. “No, but I’m pleased you noticed. I am nursing of course. My husband, the perennial little boy, loves it.”

Clara gave Mary’s hand a warm squeeze. “I’ll bet. Do you use him as your breast pump?”

Mary blushed. “Sometimes, but only when I’m in the mood and he’s behaved himself.”

“Exactly. I envy you lactating. There is simply nothing like it.”

“I pray I’ll continue. It’s hard to describe that feeling when I nurse.”

Clara nodded. She gestured to her own breasts outlined by her straining bodice. “I envy you; I still dream of the days when my breasts were heavy with milk.”

“Ms. Wilson, don’t envy me. You and Ms. Hallstrom are consummate matrons. You define Summa Chi womanhood. I hope someday I will be as lovely and strong, in such control of my family.” Mary paused, lowered her voice to a blushing whisper. “I also pray my bustline will someday match yours.”

“What nonsense, Mary. You already have a very lovely and ample bosom. Be patient. Let Mother Nature work her magic. My grandchildren love to climb up on my lap, nestle their little faces into my bosom, and kiss my nibbles. Their words – not mine,” she laughed. “I do think it stimulates the hormones, keeps me nice and big. It can’t hurt.”   

             “My three year old can’t keep his fat little fingers off my blouse buttons.”

“I can easily imagine. It is so sweet; do you still nurse him?”

“Oh, yes. He’s very persistent.”

Clara looked at the auditorium. “Say, we’d better shake a leg. While we’ve been yakking away, the auditorium is filling up. Let’s find good seats before we end up in the back row.”  

Moments after Clara and Mary had settled into their seats the auditorium lights dimmed. At the lighting cue, the women’s voices dissolved into silence. Mary couldn’t disguise the shiver that bolted through her when Clara took her hand in hers. The grandmother leaned so close to Mary her hair and then her lips brushed Mary’s cheek. Clara’s affectionate kiss and her lilac scent were not lost on the younger woman.

 “I’ve been so waiting for this moment,” Clara whispered. “With you here to share it with me I could not be happier. I promise you one thing, young woman: we are going to spend more time together. I want to meet your husband and your children. Perhaps I could teach you a thing or two about husbands and submission.”

Mary could hardly believe it. Was Clara Wilson befriending her, inviting her into her circle? She sat in silence, not daring to breathe for fear of breaking the spell. The curtain went up then, shushing the last of the sighs and giggles. Half hidden behind a scrim Mary could just make out the glints of orchestral instruments and a shadowy chorus of women standing on risers behind the orchestra. The women wore silvery gowns with silken waist cords nearly hidden by the over-arch of their breasts. In the indulgent light, Mary could just pick out the women’s brightly rouged cheeks, glistening lips, and riotous array of flowers woven into their hair. The orchestra began to play Carmina Burana, a nascent dirge that traditionally accompanied the Sweetheart of Summa Chi ordination. The chorus swelled into a dissonant chant, hypnotizing Mary.

“O Fortuna, velut luna statu variabilis…”

Clara was mesmerized. No matter how many times she heard those harsh chords and lusty Latin lyrics, the piece never failed to thrill her. Carmina Burana sung and played all out captured the bold straight ahead feminine attitude that was Summa Chi. The thumping beat escalated, enthralling the audience.

When the music softened, a leggy young man strode confidently onto the stage. He had a dancer’s gait, walked lightly on the balls of his feet, to capture the pulsating rhythm of the music. His head was clad in leather laced tightly up the back of his head. Other than his head covering, he was completely naked. Clara felt her sex quicken. “Mary, that’s Sam,” she whispered. “Edna Hallstrom’s plaything and she is letting me take him home.” Mary gave the grandmother a quizzical glance. “I’ll explain later.”

Clara could see Edna Hallstrom hadn’t lost her touch. She had oiled Sam’s body. In the gauzy light, his lithe body shone like polished Carreran ivory marble. Even though he was proudly erect, his cock wasn’t large, which endeared him to her even more. Seeing the boy, reminded her of her deceased husband who’d been hung like a horse. Sam was going to be a delicious treat. He would be the centerpiece on her dining room table on the day of the gathering. What a delightful day that was going to be. Mary’s acceptance of her invitation into her inner circle made the prospects even sweeter.

Another young man followed Sam onto the stage. He, too, was tight-laced into a taut leather helmet. Unlike Sam who was slender with the palest of alabaster skin, this boy was dark-skinned with broad shoulders, rippling back muscles, hardened thighs, and an impossibly small waist. His plump balls swayed heavily beneath the root of his stiffened cock. His cock was huge. It waggled as he artfully pranced his way across the stage to Sam who stood motionless waiting for him at center stage.

As he approached, Sam raised and extended his hand and smiled. When the boys’ hands were joined, they rose onto their toes and bowed grandly like twin gladiators to the audience. The boys held the pose to raucous applause, shrieks, and whistles. Behind them, the thundering chords of Carmina Burana swelled into a sea of sound, becoming a fitting backdrop, their offering to the ladies.

Mary turned her head to Clara. “Migod, my panties are wet.”

“Whatever am I going do with you?” Clara whispered with a subtle smile. She gave Mary’s hand a reassuring squeeze. Before Mary could react, she kissed Mary on her mouth and placed her hand between her breasts.

            The boys stood like statues, waiting, holding their clasped hands high and their outer arms extended to the audience. Just as a strident verse abruptly died and a new softer verse began, a soft blue spot flooded center stage. Caught in that azure light, the new Sweetheart of Summa Chi slowly descended to the stage. A flowing red silk drape concealed her nakedness.

Her name was Nyah.

An invisible cable and padded leather wrist cuffs held her in the air. Clara could see the outlines of Nyah’s swollen breasts beneath the silk fabric that draped her. She did not look out at the audience. Her chin lay on her chest as if Ms. Hallstrom had just whipped her, which Clara thought might be the case. It was how she liked to start these proceedings.

            Mary’s gasp didn’t surprise her. She herself had witnessed more Summa Chi Sweetheart rites than she cared to admit. In all those years, she could not recall a mother-daughter rite where the daughter had been more enticing than Nyah. Overcome with deja vu, Clara remembered Nyah’s mother and her descent to the stage. Her daughter Nyah was even more sensuous, so plump and sweet with breasts like ripened fruit and those long shapely legs. The orchestra and chorus paused for effect while Nyah swayed several feet above the stage. A hush had fallen over the auditorium.

Seeing the new Sweetheart brought Mary back. Clara’s kiss and the cushiony warmth of her breasts made it difficult to concentrate on the stage. The girl - what was her name…Nyah? - was perfection. She was young and scrumptious and her breasts were awesome. Mary  assumed - hoped - Nyah would be invited to Clara’s gathering. There would be time then to get to know her.

Sam was something else, a cute little thing, a young man in a boy’s body. Like her husband, he had a delightfully small cock. She imagined herself straddling his slender hips, hovering over him, trapping him between her thighs. She could almost feel that pursed little mouth suckling her her milky breasts, which were leaking and aching for release now. She let her eyelids droop,  began to clench and unclench her thighs. She guessed Clara knew what she was up to and she didn’t care.

At an indiscernible cue, Sam kept his eyes focused on the audience and slowly stepped back into the shadows. The dark-skinned boy glanced to stage left, then approached Nyah. She came down gently and stopped when her feet rested on the floor. The dark-skinned boy extended his arms to the audience then soundlessly dropped to his knees. Without rippling the red silk drape, his head and shoulders slipped beneath the fabric. As he disappeared, the musicians launched another verse of Carmina Burana.

Clara watched spellbound, aching for that tongue. She could imagine the boy’s actions beneath the silk. He would have Nyah by her hips with his face buried between  her thighs. The simple voyeurism of the act sent shivers through Clara. Nyah seemed helpless, but was it really true? It was an intricately composed dance of lust and control. She wondered who was really in charge on that stage. She watched Nyah shudder,  scream with delight as the dark-skinned boy brought her to the threshold. Her shrieks increased, sailed above the music, merged with the sonorous chords, nearly bringing the audience to its collective feet. She writhed and moaned as she began to come.

As the choral chant rose to a stunning climax, a tall slender young woman with a long blonde ponytail swept onto the stage. She wore a tight-laced black leather suit, arm-length gloves, and stiletto boots. A mask covered the upper half of her face. She held a whip at her side. She moved so effortlessly she seemed to float across the stage. When she raised her arm and snapped her fingers, Sam and the dark-skinned boy scampered off the stage like a pair of frightened children. She went to Nyah and slowly drew away the silk drape. The diaphanous fabric floated in billowing waves before it finally settled on the stage floor.

Nyah was wearing a waist cincher beneath the silk drape. It reduced her waist and amplified her hips. In the soft blue light, Nyah’s coppery flesh shone tawny blue-green. Her eyes were darkened and shadowy, heavily outlined to accent the blue of her eyes. Her lashes were swept and incredibly long. Her glossed ruby lips gleamed.

Her heavy breasts reminded Clara of the young mothers in the maternity ward where she worked as a delivery nurse. Nyah wasn’t pregnant, but her breasts made her look like she was. They were large and full and so firm her upright nipples pointed out to the audience rather than the stage floor. Nyah was flawless…a titillating vision her  deceased husband and her sons - little boys of all ages - craved while alone in their beds.

Clara knew the young woman with the whip in her hand. Her name was Sarah. She was Nyah’s senior mentor, taller than Nyah with an athlete’s toned body and a high full bustline that jiggled prettily beneath her taut leather suit as she began to lash Nyah’s voluptuous bottom cheeks. She plied the whip’s tendrils with just enough force to leave faint crimson tracks. Clara could see Sarah wasn’t applying the whip to hurt Nyah but rather to focus Nyah’s attention  on her and away from the audience. It was working.

Clara could see the sparks igniting between Sarah and Nyah. Sarah moved in front of Nyah and began to apply the whip to Nyah’s breasts and thighs. Driven by the teasing sting of the whip, Nyah spread her legs to admit the whip to her inner thighs and bushy swell of her sex. At the first thrust of her hips, Sarah insinuated the butt of her whip between Nyah’s legs then into the cleft of her sex.

Nyah rode the whip eagerly, her mouth open, her tongue extended, begging for Sarah’s kiss. Sarah refused, which drove Clara, Mary, and the audience wild with nascent desire. Nyah pleaded with her. She lifted her hips onto the whip, thrusting, quivering, running her tongue over her glistening lips. The audience was forgotten. All she knew was Sarah and her whip. Her eyes opened wide. She pleaded with her captor, urged her to whip her, fuck the daylights out of her.

Sarah glanced at the audience. She smiled broadly, reminding Clara of Pontius Pilate. The audience rose to their feet, clapping, stomping, and urging her on. Sarah nodded and withdrew the whip. Nyah moaned as the glistening butt emerged. Sarah gave Nyah a long sensuous kiss, then began to lash Nyah hard across her buttocks, breasts, and thighs. She accelerated the whipping to the cheering accompaniment of the audience. Under the whip, Nyah’s mahogany skin glowed and turned to rosewood. Clara grew hot as the  marks of the whip emerged. Nyah wanted the whipping, relished it as a prelude to her rite of passage. She thrust her buttocks to the stinging lash and implored Sarah to be unmerciful. Her abrupt scream signaled an orgasm she’d never experienced before.

Clara glanced at Mary. Bless her. The young mother’s eyes were clamped shut now and she was coming fiercely while her damp hand squeezed and released Clara’s hand. Clara envied her young friend’s ability to climax in a public place. It wasn’t that easy for her. Maybe this time, she prayed. Mary’s proximity and the sights and sounds emanating from the stage might just do the trick.

She watched Sarah turn to the wings and nod. At her signal, Nyah rose again several feet into the air. Sam and the dark-skinned boy emerged from the wings carrying a small table. They placed the table directly beneath Nyah. When Sarah flicked her whip, Nyah descended until her feet rested on the table. Her sex was inches from the boys’ faces.

At Sarah’s whispered permission, the boys began to run their hands over Nyah, fondling her sex, the swollen expanse of her breasts and nipples, her thighs, her welted backside. Sam gently spread her thighs and put his arms around her hips. He glanced at Sarah for her okay, then began to feast on her sex while the dark-skinned  boy slipped his fingers into Nyah’s backside.

Clara was struck by the boys’ tentativeness, their gentleness, and respect for Nyah. She could also sense their fear of Sarah. There was no question about who was in charge. She wished she was up on that stage with the whip in her hand. She would show those boys a thing or two about respecting females. However, that could wait. She would have Sam under her roof in a few weeks. From the audience she could hear the pent-up urging beginning to rear its head. Muted sighs segued into full-throated cries and shrieks that rose like an amorphous specter above the seats.

The voices merged into a single chant. “Whip those boys!”

Sarah complied, hard-whipping the boys. They danced to her lash while they continued to fondle and excite Nyah. Sarah ordered the boys to take Nyah’s pendulous breasts into their hands. “Tease her nipples,” she ordered. The erotic tableau silenced the  audience. Nyah was reduced to incoherent moans and pleas.

When Sarah finally ceased whipping the boys, she moved out of the spotlight. Nyah’s whispers floated out to the audience. Most of the women were unabashedly playing with themselves. The hand Clara was not holding was busy between Mary’s thighs. Behind her, Clara heard the soft whine of a dildo. She wished she had brought hers.

Nyah looked down at Sarah and said, “Sarah, please turn them loose…let them fuck me!” Sarah gestured upward with her whip. Nyah rose like a goddess from the tabletop. She hung by her arms, swaying gently, while Sam moved the table from beneath her.

Clara watched the boys’ cocks grow hard and erect again as they anticipated the climactic phase of Nyah’s rite. The dark-skinned boy’s cock was bigger than her husband’s had been. She imagined him beneath her while she guided his cock into her. Could she take it all?

Sarah arranged the boys facing each other a few feet apart. Sarah pushed out their hips, thrusting their cocks at each other. Nyah began to descend slowly, dropping  between the boys. Sarah rotated Nyah to face the dark-skinned boy. Sam was positioned behind her. Before her feet hit the floor, Nyah made first contact with the dark-skinned boy’s pole-cock. At Sarah’s bidding, he guided his cock between Nyah’s thighs and began to push. As wet as she was, he easily entered her. She grimaced in a mixture of shock and joy as he went in. At the same time, Sarah guided Sam’s meaty little cock between Nyah’s bottom cheeks. Nyah let out a shriek as he entered her backside. Sarah reminded the boys to be still.

In a single practiced motion, they merged, sandwiching Nyah between them, pinning and suspending her several inches off the floor. Nyah’s great breasts compressed and quivered with the boys’ breathing. Her coffee-colored skin complimented Sam’s paleness and the darker skin of the other boy. Impaled on the boys’ cocks, unable to move, Nyah was helpless. The audience loved it. They came to their feet again. Sarah turned to the thunderous applause and lifted her hands. It was like throwing a switch. The audience fell quiet.

There wasn’t a sound as Sarah lifted her whip and whispered, “Forget about yourselves and fuck your mistress. Satisfy her completely or you will pay.”

The music rose in a shattering roar. Under the sting of Sarah’s whip, the boys worked in synchrony, in and out, burying their cocks in time with the music.

Nyah was transfixed. Her world came down to the throb of the music, the cocks that bore her up, and the brute heat emanating from the boys who held her between them. Awash in rapture, floating on pleasure, she was barely aware of  Sarah savagely whipping the boys’ backs and legs. As she neared the top of the mountain, she kissed the young dark-skinned boy full on his startled lips. A primal scream escaped from her open mouth as the boys followed their mistress’ order.

From the eighth row, Clara noted Sam’s expression. She’d never seen a boy smile like that. Sarah had forbidden him to speak, but his mute expression spoke volumes. She shuddered with delight when Nyah came with the boys eagerly greedily banging her and wanting more until finally she had nothing left and could only sag between them.

Clara had opened her bodice and let her bosom spill into her lap, causing Mary to wet her pants. Clara was holding Mary in her arms now, the young mother’s face buried in her breasts. She finally had her own climax while an unabated stream of orgasms rocked Mary’s soul. Nyah’s mother and her sister Eliah were in the front row, holding hands, watching, and weeping in sheer ecstasy.

The next day at the Summa Chi sorority house, Sam and the dark-skinned

boy served drinks and canapés at Nyah’s Sweetheart gathering. Sarah and her helpers

had crossed and bound the boys’ arms behind them and gagged them so there would no inane chatter while they circulated among the women. The boys had polished wood serving trays strapped around their waists supported by straps around their necks. Their trays were laden with finger food and drinks. Ms. Hallstrom and Sarah reminded the boys of the consequences if there was any monkey business.

Forewarned and dressed alike in dark-seamed nylons, panties, tall heels, mini-skirts, and ruffled organdy aprons the boys picked their way through the crowded room. Emerging from beneath the hems of their sheer organdy aprons and skirts, their bobbing cocks wowed and delighted the women. They fondled the boys, teasing them until they nearly came.

Nyah’s mother and her sister Eliah were in the crowd. The first thing they did when they arrived was look for Nyah. They found her head and shoulders above the women on a pedestal in a draped corner of the room. She stood motionless looking to all like an Egyptian queen. Ms. Hallstrom had cowled her head in a gold cloth headdress. Her emerald blue eyes were deeply shadowed and lined. She stared unblinking at her admirers. She wore an elegantly simple cream and blue silk gown that fell straight to the floor from the tipped arcs of her breasts. Her profile was classic Summa Chi; a descending bustline that grew deep and full as it descended in a quivering  uninterrupted  arc. Her nipples had risen to present themselves through the diaphanous silk.

Though she didn’t show it, she was still reeling from yesterday’s Rite. Her nipples were as hard and full of fire as they were during her time on stage. She’d never been butt-fucked before. She would not soon forget Sam’s hardened little cock deep inside her. She hoped he would do it again, but that would be up to Ms. Hallstrom who owned Sam body and soul. Her breasts felt differently, larger, more taut, and heavy as if full of mother’s milk. She wanted desperately to close her eyes, curl up, and play with herself, but this day was not hers. Today, she belonged to Summa Chi alumnae who’d come to view their newest Sweetheart. 

Nyah’s mother stood proudly before her daughter. She wanted everyone in the room to know this gorgeous young woman was her eldest daughter. She made sure her younger daughter Eliah was beside her. Though she would not have admitted it, she was already campaigning Eliah. 

Eliah interrupted her musings. “Mother, isn’t she beautiful? I’ll bet you looked just as good when you were a Sweetheart. She is simply scrumptious…”

Nyah’s  mother turned to her youngest. “You needn’t be coy with me, Eliah darling. I know that look in your eye, what you and Nyah did when I left you alone. I’m sure she’s feeling the same way.”

“Yup,” Eliah giggled, blushing scarlet under her mother’s gaze. Unable to resist the impulse, she ran her fingertips over Nyah’s breasts and nipples. She caught a glimmer of Nyah’s smile and felt her quiver at her touch.

“Eliah,” her mother said, slapping away her hand, “Will you please stop fondling

your sister? She is not a plaything.”

“I know, Mother, but I can’t help it. I’m so proud and envious of her. I

mean look at those boobs. She makes me feel like stick girl. I hope I’m as big as her when I’m eligible next year.”

Nyah’s mother glanced at her daughter and then led her gaze to her own  capacious breasts, jiggling gently beneath her sheer blouse. “Eliah, you have my genes. I can assure you by the time Ms. Hallstrom summons you, you will be as big perhaps even bigger than Nyah.”

“Mother, I hope and pray,” Eliah murmured as she squeezed her sister’s hand. “I love you Nyah.”

Eliah’s mother blew Nyah a kiss, then took Eliah’s arm, and led her out of the sorority house. For a fleeting second Nyah wished she could step down from her pedestal and let her mother take her home, too. Her mother’s expression had said it all. Father was going to get a dose of Mother’s discipline. When she’d lived at home, those noisy strappings preceded glorious bedtime romps with her sister. She didn’t feel guilty about that. They were both adults and Mother knew everything anyway. Just then, Sarah swept into the room like a ray of sunshine, smiling at the crowd, accepting their compliments, glancing frequently at Nyah.

It took Nyah a second to realize Sarah was looking for Sam. The poor boy was still preoccupied with her. Tonight, he would pay the piper - Ms. Hallstrom and Sarah - for his moment in the sun…Yes, he would pay big time.

The velvet-draped beveled glass windows of Clara Wilson’s Victorian parlor refracted the sunlight, casting shimmering rainbows of color onto the faded Persian carpet. Nyah the guest of honor was wearing her diamond Summa Chi Sweetheart tiara. Clara Wilson had invited Nyah, Ms. Hallstrom, Sarah, young mother Mary, and a few other alumnae to an afternoon of tea and entertainment. It was to be an after-glow to Nyah’s crowning. As promised, Ms. Hallstrom had brought Sam for Clara. He was going to be the entertainment.

Before the others arrived, Clara and Ms. Hallstrom had stripped Sam naked and bound his arms. He stood now in the center of the parlor in a pool of sunlight. Though he’d recently celebrated his nineteenth birthday, Sam looked and felt like a hapless little boy.

The women’s inscrutable expressions, the plump outlines of their bustlines, their nyloned legs and heels excited him and made him very nervous. They sat up straight like jurors, relishing his trembling, triangulating him in their sights. Their inflated bosoms and spectacular cleavage did nothing to allay his fear. He knew what was to come. The prospect of spending three weeks with Mrs. Wilson frightened the daylights out of him. He wished  he were back in Summa Chi safely under Ms. Hallstrom’s lock and key. Even his beloved Nyah looked much older now. He struggled to maintain an ebullient air. Ms. Hallstrom expected nothing less.

 Clara set down her teacup. She glanced around the room then casually adjusted her neckline to expose even more of her pale billowing bosom before she finally said, “So, dear ladies, what do you think we should do with this young man?”

“I have an idea,” Nyah said softly, rising from her chair and lifting her calf-length denim skirt…