Secrets and Submission, a Sorority Tale (1950s, bare/nylons)

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Apologies to anyone reading my other unfinished stories, but unfortunately my MBTI profile includes an annoyingly strong P, meaning I procrastinate and am easily distracted (my wife Laura likes to say that my P-ness drives her crazy).

The story in this thread is my holiday distraction. To be clear, I did not write it with AI, except to use as an aid with some period research. The rest of the writing is all mine.

The main idea and storyline comes from my deep and abiding interest in intersecting kink with the women of 1950s America.

I hope you enjoy it.

-Q.

 

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Part 1: Prelude

The common room of Sigma Delta Eta glowed with candlelight, sixteen mattresses forming a perfect circle in the center of the space, like petals on a sunflower. Strings of Christmas lights hung draped from the ceiling out of season, their random blinks adding to the room’s ambiance. Sixteen big sisters bustled about the room with hushed efficiency, their faces alight with both mischief and purpose.

In the hallway just outside, sixteen pledges stood blindfolded, their hands resting lightly on the shoulders of the girl in front of them. They shifted nervously in their pajamas—flannel, cotton, silk—whispering amongst themselves, their voices a mix of excitement and apprehension. Some fidgeted, their socks whispering against the wood floors, while others stood still, their expressions set with determination.

At the front of the group, Vivian Carlyle waited, her blonde hair tousled fashionably in the soft light spilling from the common room. Her presence was commanding, her smile sharp and knowing.

“Ladies,” she began, silencing the pledges’ murmurs with effortless authority, “tonight is about trust. Trust in your sisters, trust in yourselves, and trust in this process. Each of you is here because we believe you belong—because we believe in your potential.”

The pledges stood a little straighter at her words, their nervous energy tempered by the certainty in her tone.

“What happens tonight may push your boundaries,” Vivian continued, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “It will challenge you to let go, to be vulnerable, and to find strength in that vulnerability. Trust the women around you. They are here to guide you, just as you will guide others in the future.”

She paused, her gaze sweeping over the group. “Now, let’s begin.”

Vivian, alongside the pledge captain, led the blindfolded pledges into the common room. Their big sisters stepped up in turn as they entered to lead each pledge to a mattress. The soft rustle of movement and muffled giggles filled the air as the pledges knelt down and then settled on their bellies.

Stacy Morgan was among the first to lie down, her nervous energy only heightened by the strangeness. She wiggled restlessly on the mattress, her excitement bubbling over.

“Amanda,” she whispered to her big sister, her voice a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. “What’s going on? Why does it feel like I’m in the middle of some secret ceremony?”

Amanda chuckled softly, smoothing Stacy’s hair with a gentle hand. “Because you are, Stace. Now hold still.”

Further down the circle, Nora Daniels was the picture of calm—or at least that’s how it seemed. Inside, her heart was racing, her body tense with the anticipation of the unknown. When Rachel knelt beside her, the slight brush of her big sister’s hand on her back caused her to shiver.

“You ready for this?” Rachel asked quietly.

Nora nodded, her voice steady despite the nervous flutter in her stomach. “I’m ready.”

Cathy Ellis, lying to Stacy’s left, was quiet and composed, her blindfold adding an unexpected sense of peace. She focused on her breathing, letting herself relax into the moment. Further around the circle, Emily Carter was trembling slightly, her small frame seeming lost on the mattress as her big sister Lorie stroked her hair softly.

“Emily,” Lorie murmured, crouching beside her. “You’re going to be fine. Just breathe. This is about bonding, not perfection.”

Emily nodded quickly, though her hands kept shaking.

At a quiet signal from the pledge captain, the big sisters moved with practiced ease, retrieving lengths of soft rope from under each mattress and kneeling next to their charges, where they gently crossed the girls’ wrists at the smalls of their backs. The ropes were doubled over and looped, and the tying began.

Stacy let out a squeal of surprise as Amanda wrapped the rope around her wrists. “Oh my gosh!” she yelped, wriggling slightly. She whispered urgently, “What are you doing? Are you tying me up?”

“Yep,” Amanda replied cheerfully. “Relax, squirmy. It’s all part of the ritual.”

Stacy giggled nervously, her feet kicking softly as Amanda wrapped more rope around her crossed ankles and drew her into a snug hogtie. “This is so weird!”

Nora, meanwhile, remained stoic as Rachel bound her wrists and ankles together. The sensation of the ropes was strangely grounding, their softness contrasting with the firm hold they provided. When Rachel finished, Nora tested the bonds instinctively, her muscles straining against the restraint. She couldn’t move. And somehow, that was thrilling.

Cathy lay still, her breath steady as her big sister tied her. The care and precision in the motions made her feel oddly safe, even as the bonds left her utterly vulnerable. Emily, however, squirmed and let out a soft whimper as her big sister tied her ankles to her wrists.

“I’m not sure about this,” Emily murmured.

“You’ll be fine, Emily,” her big sister reassured her, squeezing her shoulder. “Just trust me.”

When the last rope was tied, Vivian stepped into the center of the circle. She gazed at the bound and blindfolded pledges, their forms tense and uncertain, and her smile softened.

“Ladies,” she said, her voice warm but firm. “Right now, you’re vulnerable. And that’s the point. Life will challenge you, just as tonight challenges you. But in Sigma Delta Eta, you’re never alone. Your sisters are here to support you, to lift you up when you falter. Remember this feeling of vulnerability, because it’s where true strength is born.”

Her gaze swept over the group, and she nodded to the big sisters. “Remove the blindfolds.”

The pledges blinked as the blindfolds were removed, their eyes adjusting to the golden light of the room. They glanced around, their expressions ranging from surprise to amusement to trepidation as they took in the sight of each other—sixteen girls hogtied and squirming, surrounded by their grinning big sisters.

“Ladies,” Vivian called ominously, and all eyes went to her. “We have come to know you well in the last several weeks, but I’m afraid one question remains open, and we are here to find the answer.” She drew out her pause as the tension built, the room perfectly silent.

Vivian’s lips curled into a mischievous smile. “Are you ticklish?”

A chorus of shouts, shrieks and protests circled the room as the big sisters began removing the pledges’ socks, giving them a moment of anticipation. Some pledges dried to roll away, but the sisters were practiced and in control. As several pledges began to beg, Vivian’s voice cut through the cacophony with a single word: “Begin!”

Amanda’s fingers darted across Stacy’s ribs, eliciting an ear-piercing squeal. “Oh my gosh! No, no, no! Please!” Stacy shrieked, thrashing helplessly against the ropes. Her laughter was wild and unrestrained, tears streaming down her cheeks as Amanda moved to her feet. “No stop! You ca-AAHAHAHAHA!!!”

On the other side of the circle, Rachel targeted Nora’s underarms, her fingers relentless. Nora screamed, her voice raw and loud, her composure shattering in an instant. “Rachel! Stop! I’m going to die!” she gasped, her body writhing as laughter poured out of her.

Cathy’s laughter was soft and sweet as her big sister tickled her sides, making her thrash back and forth. “This is crazy!” she managed to say, though her flushed face betrayed her helpless astonishment.

Emily’s loud laughter broke through her shyness as her big sister tickled her feet. “Okay, okay! I give up!” she cried, her cheeks glowing bright red.

The room was a cacophony of laughter, screams, and squeals, the pledges’ struggles futile but filled with camaraderie. The arrangement of mattresses allowed the shrieking girls to watch each other struggle, building a sense of shared experience and unity despite all the frantic chaos.

When the tickling finally stopped, the pledges lay panting on their mattresses, their bodies trembling with exhaustion and lingering laughter. Vivian stepped forward once more, her expression proud.

“You’ve faced the challenge,” she said, her voice carrying easily over the room. “And you’ve come through it stronger. Welcome to sisterhood. You are now officially the 1957 initiate class of Sigma Delta Eta.”

The pledges glanced at one another, their expressions a mixture of relief, joy, embarrassment, and newfound connection. They were no longer sixteen individuals—they were sisters.

To be continued...

 

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Part 2: Dean Abernathy

The clock in the hallway chimed seven times, the crisp sound cutting through the stillness of the house. Margaret "Maggie" Abernathy stood at her vanity, adjusting the pearl earrings that completed her outfit. Outside, the world was waking. The faint rumble of an automobile engine echoed down the cobblestone streets of the college town, and a milkman’s cart clattered faintly in the distance.

Maggie smoothed her skirt, the navy wool falling neatly over her curves, and inspected her reflection. Her dark chestnut hair was swept into a flawless chignon, not a single curl out of place. She wore a high-neck blouse, pressed and buttoned to perfection, and the skirt cinched tightly at her waist. It was a practical ensemble, meant to project authority, but there was no denying her natural beauty. Maggie was a woman who turned heads, though she spent considerable effort ignoring or dismissing such reactions.

She picked up her glasses, slid them onto her nose, and slipped on her low-heeled pumps. In high heels, she would have towered over most men on campus, which just wouldn’t do. She took one last look in the mirror. Composed. Polished. Unshakable. The image was perfect, just as it needed to be.

In the dining room, her husband, Dr. Thomas Abernathy, sat behind the day’s edition of the local paper. A plate of toast with marmalade sat untouched beside his coffee.

“Good morning, Thomas,” she said evenly, pouring herself a cup of coffee from the silver carafe. The aroma filled the air, sharp and rich.

“Morning,” he replied distractedly, his eyes still glued to the headlines. His wire-rimmed glasses caught the sunlight streaming through the large windows.

Maggie’s gaze flicked to the paper. “Anything of note?”

He grunted softly, folding the paper down just enough to meet her eyes. “Nothing new. More talk of containment overseas and rationing back home.”

She nodded. It had been over ten years since the troops came home from Europe and the Pacific, but the war’s effects lingered still in their little New England town. Jobs were plentiful, but old habits—saving every scrap, tightening every belt—remained ingrained. At the women’s college where Maggie worked, she often reminded the girls of their good fortune. They didn’t know the hardships their mothers had endured.

“Don’t forget,” she said, sitting gracefully at the table and lifting her coffee cup, “Dean Winthrop expects you at the faculty luncheon today.”

Thomas frowned briefly, then sighed. “Of course. I’ll be there.”

Maggie didn’t respond. He would attend—he always did what was required—but not without her reminder. She allowed herself a small sip of coffee, savoring the warmth before standing again. The day ahead was full, and as usual, small talk with her husband held few interesting distractions.

Maggie went to her study to collect her portfolio before leaving for campus. The room was her sanctuary, lined with leather-bound books and a mahogany desk that gleamed in the morning light. Everything here had its place, its purpose, with a subtle feminine touch setting off the room’s professional atmosphere.

As she reached for her papers, her gaze fell on the fireplace. The ashes from last night’s fire were cold now, but a faint corner of blackened paper still lingered among the embers. Maggie straightened abruptly, snapping the portfolio shut, and brushed the scrap out of sight as she strode out of the study with her usual measured steps.

The Abernathy home stood just off the main road leading into the heart of the college town, a picturesque mix of cobblestones and brick storefronts. Maggie stepped onto the front porch in her swing coat and paused to take in the crisp late autumn air. The leaves were beginning to fall, dotting the sidewalks with bursts of orange and red. A station wagon passed by, its tires crunching softly against the gravel, while a group of young women in pressed skirts and sweater sets hurried toward the campus gates, giggling among themselves.

The college itself was only a few blocks away through town, nestled with the surrounding community at the top of a hill, its stately buildings framed by sprawling lawns. The air buzzed with the ambition of its students—young women from across the country, many of them daughters of well-to-do families, sent here to refine themselves into poised and capable leaders.

Maggie had been Dean of Sorority Affairs for five years, overseeing the moral and social conduct of these girls. It was a position of great responsibility, one she held with pride. She had built her reputation on precision, order, and an unyielding sense of propriety. Anything less would have been unthinkable.

As she made her way toward the campus, Maggie walked with purpose. Despite, or possibly because of, her businesslike manner, heads turned as she passed—the postman tipping his hat, a shopkeeper pausing mid-sweep to call out a polite greeting. She returned their nods with cool precision, never breaking stride.

The college gates loomed ahead, flanked by stone pillars and wrought iron. Beyond them, the sprawling campus waited: meetings, disciplinary hearings, reports to finalize. Maggie exhaled slowly. It would be a long day, but this was where she thrived—in the structure and order she demanded of herself and everyone around her.

To be continued...

 

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Part 3: A Day in the Office

The administrative building was alive with the faint hum of conversation and the clacking of typewriters when she arrived. Secretaries in pencil skirts and silk blouses bustled between offices, carrying stacks of files or balancing trays of coffee cups. The scent of fresh ink lingered in the air, mingling with the faint floral perfume worn by every woman who passed through the hallway.

Maggie ascended the stairs and walked through the clerical pool with her usual unhurried grace, ignoring the fleeting smiles of the men and sideways glances of the women as she passed. The faint chatter and laughter that preceded her arrival quieted as she neared the Sorority Affairs conference room, replaced by the shuffling of papers and the subtle clearing of throats.

She hung her coat in her office and then stepped next door to the conference room, closing the door as she entered. The long oak meeting table gleamed under the bright morning sunlight streaming through tall windows. Around it sat the small team of dormitory supervisors, sorority advisors, and activity coordinators who reported to Maggie. They straightened in their seats as she entered, their movements almost instinctive.

“Good morning, ladies,” Maggie said as she moved to the head of the table, setting her portfolio down with a practiced efficiency. Her voice carried just enough weight to ensure silence fell across the room.

“Good morning, Dean Abernathy,” the group murmured in response, their tones a blend of respect and nervousness.

Maggie’s sharp hazel eyes swept over the table, lingering just long enough on each face to make her presence felt. “Shall we begin?”

The meeting progressed with the precision Maggie demanded. Each member of her team presented their cases, from curfew violations to rumors of unapproved visits to the town soda fountain.

Miss Davenport, the dormitory supervisor, cleared her throat nervously as she read from her notes. “Several students skipped the evening roll call in Carter Hall last week. Three young ladies claim they were studying in the library and lost track of time.”

Maggie raised a single brow, her pen poised above her notebook. “And do you believe that explanation, Miss Davenport?”

The woman hesitated, glancing at her notes as if they might hold the answer. “I… I’m not certain, Dean Abernathy.”

Maggie fixed her with a flat stare. “Then I suggest you find out,” she said crisply. “Speak with their professors. If the explanation holds, issue a warning. If it does not, assign detention and restrict their privileges for the next social event.”

Miss Davenport nodded quickly, scribbling notes. “Yes, Dean Abernathy.”

“And strive more diligently for certainty in the future,” Maggie added reproachfully. Miss Davenport looked at the table.

Maggie moved on to the next item, her focus unwavering. This was her domain—a place where rules were upheld, discipline enforced, and order maintained.

As the meeting neared its conclusion, Miss Wainwright, the head of student activities, adjusted her glasses and cleared her throat.

“There’s one final matter, Dean Abernathy,” she said, glancing nervously at her notes. “We’ve received an anonymous complaint regarding Sigma Delta Eta.”

The room grew still, and all eyes turned toward Miss Wainwright. Maggie leaned forward slightly, her pen still in hand. “Go on.”

Miss Wainwright shifted in her seat. “The complaint alleges that during their pledge initiation, Sigma Delta Eta engaged in some… questionable practices. Specifically, it mentions that the pledges were, well, tied with rope and then, um, tickled as part of an initiation hazing ritual.”

Maggie’s pen stilled on the page. The words hung in the air, strangely weighty. She slowly raised an eyebrow. “Tied with rope and tickled?”

Miss Wainwright nodded. “The complaint describes it as harmless fun—a bonding exercise, they called it—but some of the pledges apparently found it distressing.”

Maggie’s lips tightened, her fingers gripping the pen firmly. “What evidence do we have to substantiate this claim?”

“Not much at this stage,” Miss Wainwright admitted, flipping through her notes. “But I recommend starting with an informal inquiry—interview some pledges, speak to the sorority leadership, perhaps recover the materials used.”

Maggie nodded slowly, her expression stern. “Thank you, Miss Wainwright. I’ll handle this matter personally.”

Miss Wainwright looked relieved to pass the responsibility along. “Of course, Dean Abernathy.”

The meeting adjourned and the staff filtered out silently. Maggie remained seated, her hands folded neatly on the table. Outside, the campus buzzed with life—students rushing between classes, laughter drifting faintly on the breeze. But inside the meeting room, the silence hung heavy.

Her gaze drifted to her notebook, where the words “Sigma Delta Eta” stood stark against the page. Pledges tied and tickled. The very notion was absurd. Childish, even. Where did the girls get such ideas? she wondered, although she suspected she knew.

She shook her head sharply, closing the notebook with a snap. This was just another disciplinary issue to address, if maybe a bit more dramatic than most. There were processes to follow, and it was time to get started.

To be continued...

 

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Part 4: The Investigation

Morning sunlight streamed through the tall windows of Dean Abernathy’s office, casting golden beams across the dark wood and leather furniture. Maggie sat at her desk and scanned the notes Miss Wainwright had handed her after the meeting.

The allegations against the sorority were troubling—not because of the supposed harm but because of the power dynamics they suggested. Maggie prided herself on fostering a campus environment of respect and decorum. Anything that threatened that balance needed to be handled swiftly and thoroughly.

She reached for her intercom, pressing the button that connected her to Miss Clark, her secretary.

“Miss Clark, please arrange for someone to inspect Sigma Delta Eta’s common rooms and retrieve any materials related to their pledge rituals. And I want to see their records of initiation activities.”

“Right away, Dean Abernathy.” Miss Clark’s efficient reply crackled through the speaker.

“Also, find out who is in the Sigma Delta Eta pledge class this fall. I’d like to meet with some of them this afternoon. Individually. Say fifteen minutes each. Emphasize that this is only an inquiry. They are not in any trouble, and they should not worry.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Maggie released the button and leaned back in her chair, her fingers grazing the pearls at her throat. The image of those young women tied up and tickled was both bizarre and troubling. There was work to be done.

***

Shortly after lunch, the first of the Sigma Delta Eta pledges arrived, introduced by Miss Clark as Cathy Ellis. The small, wide-eyed brunette stood in Maggie’s office doorway, her hands clasped tightly together. She looked as though she’d rather be anywhere else in the world.

“Sit, Miss Ellis,” Maggie said, gesturing to a roomy leather couch. The girl obeyed, perching on the edge of the seat cushion like a bird about to take flight. Maggie sat in a comfortable armchair across from her, clipboard on her lap.

A roomy and well-appointed office was a perk of deanhood.

“You’re not in trouble,” Maggie assured her, her voice calm but firm. “I’m simply gathering information. I’d like you to describe your experience during Sigma Delta Eta’s initiation.”

The girl hesitated, her cheeks flushing. “It’s… It’s not as bad as it sounds,” she began, her voice trembling. “They blindfolded us, tied our wrists and ankles, and, well…” She swallowed hard. “…they tickled us.”

Maggie’s pen paused mid-note. Her gaze stayed steady on the girl, even as her jaw tightened.

“Go on,” Maggie said evenly.

Miss Ellis wrung her hands. “It was just… silly. They said it was to help us bond. Everyone laughed, but it was—” She hesitated, glancing at the floor. “It was embarrassing.”

“Did you feel humiliated?” Maggie pressed, her voice softening slightly.

The girl shifted uncomfortably. “Not really. I mean, it was just for fun, but… some of us didn’t like it as much as others. They didn’t stop until we were all laughing.”

Maggie nodded slowly, jotting down notes with her usual precision. “Thank you, Miss Ellis. That will be all for now.”

The girl hurried out of the office, and Maggie exhaled softly. She set her clipboard on a side table and leaned back, her mind turning over the images conjured by Cathy’s words.

The next girl Miss Clark showed in was practically bouncing on her heels, her bright smile lighting up the room.

“Hi, Dean Abernathy!” she chirped, fidgeting nervously. “I’m Stacy, Stacy Morgan.”

Maggie gestured for Stacy to sit on the couch, though her jumpiness seemed to defy relaxation. The girl sat back, then leaned forward, and finally scooted to the edge of the cushion, buzzing with suppressed energy. Her hands flitted from her knees to the cushion and armrest before settling nervously in her lap.

“Miss Morgan,” Maggie began, her tone calm and measured. “I need you to describe the initiation process at Sigma Delta Eta. I expect honesty and as much detail as you can provide.”

Stacy giggled, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “Oh, sure, of course. I mean, it was all just harmless fun, you know? Nothing too serious. Definitely not anything bad!”

Maggie arched an eyebrow, her pen poised over her notepad. “Details, Miss Morgan.”

Stacy nodded quickly. “Right, details. So, it was, like, this whole thing where they tied us up, you know? Kind of like a game! They used soft ropes, nothing that hurt or anything, and they were really careful. It was actually kind of funny. I couldn’t stop laughing even before they started tickling me.”

“Tickling?” Maggie prompted.

“Oh yeah!” Stacy exclaimed, her cheeks flushing. “They tickled us all over—our feet, our sides, everywhere. I just screamed. It was torture, but, like, the fun kind of torture? You know what I mean?”

Maggie cleared her throat, her face composed. “And you found this… enjoyable?”

“Oh, totally!” Stacy said with a laugh. “I mean, it was surprising and embarrassing at first, but everyone was laughing, even the sisters. It was like this big bonding moment. By the end, I was crying but it was from laughing so hard.”

Maggie nodded, jotting down notes as Stacy continued to gush about the experience, her bubbly demeanor making it impossible to doubt her sincerity.

The next interviewee Miss Clark led in was a striking contrast to Stacy. Tall and serious, she strode into the office with confidence, her dark eyes sharp.

“Dean Abernathy,” she said, her voice steady. “I’m Nora Daniels. I understand you have questions about the initiation.”

Maggie gestured for her to sit, studying the girl’s serious expression. “Miss Daniels, I expect a detailed account of your experience. Please begin at the start of the initiation.”

Nora nodded, her posture straight and deliberate. “It began with us being blindfolded and led into the common room. They told us it was to symbolize sisterhood, and at first, I thought it was a little cliché. But then they started tying us up, and…” she paused, considering. “It was surprisingly effective.”

Maggie blinked, tilting her head slightly. “Effective? How do you mean?”

Nora leaned forward, her gaze thoughtful. “Well, it’s only a silly ritual, but the idea seems pretty obvious. I’ve thought about it since, and it was clearly an exercise in trust, designed to be fun. It was actually kind of exhilarating."

Maggie sat up, intrigued. “And the tickling?”

Nora chuckled softly, her eyes lighting up. “Oh, that was the hardest part. I’m ridiculously ticklish, so I was screaming within seconds. But it wasn’t just about the tickling—it was about being vulnerable in front of everyone, letting them see me lose control. It brought us closer as pledges. I wouldn’t trade that experience for anything.”

Maggie nodded, feeling at bit of a loss. Nora’s intensity and obvious enjoyment of the ritual had a certain honest resonance that surprised her.

The final interviewee was a petite girl with downcast eyes and a nervous demeanor. Maggie offered her a reassuring smile as she entered and sat down.

“Please, have a seat, Miss…?”

“Emily Carter,” the girl mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Miss Carter, I need you to describe the initiation at Sigma Delta Eta. Take your time. And please speak up.”

Emily fidgeted with her hands, her face pink as she nodded. “Um, okay. Well… it was kind of scary at first. They blindfolded us and tied us up, and I didn’t know what was going to happen. But they kept saying it was all in good fun, so I tried to trust them.”

Maggie waited patiently, her pen poised. “Go on.”

Emily’s cheeks grew darker. “They started tickling us. At first, I hated it. I’m really ticklish, and I couldn’t stop laughing. It felt like I couldn’t breathe.”

Maggie’s brow furrowed slightly. “Did they stop when you asked?”

Emily nodded quickly. “Oh, yes! My big sister kept checking on me, making sure I was okay. And after a while, it stopped feeling scary. It just… became fun. Like we were all in it together. It was funny to see all my pledge sisters that way, helpless and laughing.”

She looked up at Maggie earnestly as she continued. “By the end, I didn’t want it to stop. It was like… like they cared about me, you know? I’ve always been shy, but for the first time, I felt like I was part of something. Like I belonged.”

Maggie pursed her lips and nodded as she took this in. She scribbled down the last of her notes before dismissing the girl with a kind smile.

As the door closed behind Emily, Maggie set her clipboard down and shook her head in wonder. Each interview painted a picture of an experience that was far more nuanced than she had anticipated.

Not that any of this excused the behavior.

***

Miss Clark next escorted a trio of sophomore and junior sorority sisters into Maggie’s office. They arrived with an air of quiet confidence, their skirts perfectly pressed, their hair styled in the immaculate waves that fashion magazines prized.

Maggie gestured for them to sit. “Ladies, let’s not waste time. I’d like you to explain your initiation practices, specifically the use of restraints and tickling. Start from the beginning, and don’t leave anything out.”

The tallest of the group, a poised blonde named Clara, took the lead. “It’s really not a big deal, Dean Abernathy. We blindfold the pledges and tie their wrists and ankles. Then we tickle them for a few minutes—just until they laugh. It’s all in good fun.”

Another girl, a redhead with an impish smile, chimed in. “It’s tradition. They giggle, we giggle. Everyone laughs and bonds. No harm, no foul.”

Maggie leveled a glare at the redhead, rocking the girl back in her seat. “That is not for you to decide, young lady.” Pivoting to Clara, she continued, “Describe how the tying is done.”

Clara raised a delicate brow but obliged. “We use soft ropes. Nothing tight, just snug enough to keep them still. We tie their hands behind their backs and their ankles together, and then we tie their ankles to their wrists. Each big sister helps them through it, making sure they feel safe and comfortable. We actually practice on each other before the ceremony. I mean, it was done to all of us when we were pledges. Our current president sort of invented it.”

This was new information. Maggie kept her expression cool. “And the tickling?”

The redhead grinned. “Some sisters bring feathers, but we mostly tickle them with our fingers on their sides and feet. Whatever keeps them laughing.”

“Do the pledges ever object?” Maggie asked, her voice steady.

The blonde shrugged. “Some of them act shy, but it’s all part of the fun. By the end, they’re laughing like crazy.”

Maggie tapped her pen against the desk, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Thank you. That will be all.”

The girls rose, smoothing their skirts and nodding politely before leaving the office. Maggie sat back in her chair, exhaling slowly. The mental images their words had conjured were… unsettling.

Near the end of the day, a box of items confiscated from Sigma Delta Eta was delivered to Maggie’s office: several lengths of soft rope, a bundle of blindfolds, and some feathers. Maggie hadn’t touched them yet, but their presence loomed at the edge of her desk, a silent reminder of the task ahead.

She had requested a final interview with Vivian Carlyle, the current sorority president, and apparently the founding instigator of the tickling ritual. She had pulled last spring’s yearbook and opened it to Vivian’s photo, finding an attractive blonde with intelligent eyes and a trendy Marilyn Monroe hairstyle looking confidently back at her.

A knock at the door broke her reverie. Miss Clark entered, her expression hesitant.

“Dean Abernathy, Miss Carlyle is away and will be off-campus tomorrow for a family event. She won’t return until late in the evening.”

Maggie frowned slightly. “What time?”

“Around eight o’clock,” Miss Clark replied. “Shall I schedule her for the following morning?”

Maggie straightened. “No. Inform Miss Carlyle that she is to report directly to my office as soon as she returns. I’ll wait for her.”

Miss Clark blinked, startled. “After hours, Dean?”

“Yes. I’ll let her in and lock up when we’re finished.” Maggie’s tone left no room for argument.

Miss Clark nodded and left, closing the door softly behind her.

Maggie sat for a moment, considering. The campus outside was quieting, the shadows stretching longer across the lawn. Tomorrow night, she would have her answers.

To be continued...

 

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Part 6: Vivian's Interview

The next day passed like any other, aside from Maggie’s update to her staff on the Sigma Delta Eta investigation in the regular morning meeting. “It is certainly an unusual practice,” she concluded, “and now that it has come to us, we must end it. Still, surprisingly, the pledges I spoke with seemed generally supportive. Have someone continue to interview them, assuring them they are not in trouble. We should have a full record before handing down our decision.”

The ladies around the table nodded as Maggie continued.

“I have a meeting with the sorority president tonight when she returns from her trip, so we will know more tomorrow. Hopefully then we can put this all behind us.”

Maggie passed a normal day and went home at the usual time to prepare dinner for Thomas. She returned to her office fifteen minutes before the meeting with Vivian and waited in the admin building’s dimly lit lobby. The quiet stillness of the building felt odd, its atmosphere so different from a normal bustling workday.

Eight o’clock came and went, immediately setting Maggie on edge. It was one thing to sacrifice an evening to meet with a student; quite another to be kept waiting.

At five after, Maggie saw movement on the walkway outside and stood. In person, Vivian cut a striking figure as she passed under pools of light along the sidewalk, moving briskly toward the building. Maggie was struck again at her similarity to a young Marilyn Monroe as she approached. The girl smiled demurely as she finally stepped inside, doffing her coat. “Dean Abernathy, I'm—”

“Late,” Maggie finished curtly as she locked the building’s door. “My office is upstairs. Follow me.”

“I'm terribly sorry, Dean Abernathy,” Vivian began, hurrying to catch up. “But what's a girl to do about airport delays?”

Her voice carried a faint British lilt, adding to her aura of sophistication.

Maggie walked on without responding, mounting the steps and moving quickly with Vivian in tow. As they passed a cluster of desks in the clerical pool, Vivian saw a pool of soft light spilling out through an open office door.

The Dean gestured toward her couch as she entered the office. “Be seated, Miss Carlyle,” she ordered. A banker's box sat on the far side of a coffee table between the couch and some armchairs. Vivian saw it contained familiar coils of rope and some blindfolds as she hung her coat on a peg by the door.

She moved toward the couch as Dean Abernathy retrieved a clipboard from her desk and turned to the chair. The Dean was impressive in person, befitting her reputation. Vivian was skilled at sizing up other women, both intellectually and physically. She knew from her sisters that Abernathy had a sharp, no-nonsense attitude, and she could see now the Dean was also a beauty, towering eight inches over her in height and dressed carefully to de-emphasize her lush curves.

"You're aware of the seriousness of these allegations," Maggie began as she sat, her tone firm. Vivian regarded her calmly.

"Actually, Dean Abernathy, I'm not completely clear on that," Vivian replied, crossing her legs. "I know it's about our pledge initiation ceremony, but I don't understand the sudden investigation and all the urgency."

"You and your sisters bound and tickled sixteen freshmen pledges," Maggie said evenly. "Word reached this office that some of them were distraught. While you were on your… outing yesterday, we interviewed several of your pledges and other sorority members to confirm these facts, and recovered this material," she nodded toward the box of ropes and blindfolds, "at your residence."

"Yes, and...?" Victoria questioned.

"And how do you respond to all this?"

"By saying I'm not surprised?" Victoria's voice rose politely as a question. “This has all been part of our initiation ceremony for three years now, and I suppose there has always been the potential for… some distress… in the immediate aftermath. But it has also become an important tradition, silly as it may seem.”

Although she was still angry, Maggie had to admit she had rarely met a young woman so composed. While respectful, Vivian held forth as an equal in her tone and mannerisms, despite having every reason to be apologetic and intimidated. It was slightly off-putting, especially from someone so young. Maggie needed to retake the initiative.

“I understand this all started with you?” she asked, an accusing edge to her tone.

“Yes,” Vivian answered coolly. “I came up with the idea when I was pledge captain my sophomore year. The pledge class wasn't gelling, and I felt they needed a shared experience that was intense but safe. It actually worked brilliantly. And we've done it ever since.”

Maggie shook her head subtly and fixed Vivian with a dubious glare. “Describe the process in detail.”

Vivian met the glare with pleasant intensity and a twitch of her lip that was almost a smirk. “Is there a particular angle you're interested in?” Her eyebrow arched slightly with the question.

“Mind your tone, young lady,” Maggie warned, although something in her limbic system gave her heart rate a boost.

Vivian caught the faint blush but moved on smoothly. “I'm sorry, Dean Abernathy. I only assumed others had described it to you already.”

“I would like your perspective,” Maggie said evenly.

Vivian smiled. “Well then. Early in the day, we circle mattresses on the floor of the common room, tucking some lengths of rope,” she nodded at the box, “under each. During the initiation in the evening, we blindfold the pledges and lead them in. They're wearing their pajamas. Each girl is guided onto the mattress by her big sister, lying face down.” She paused and tilted her head, a small questioning smile lighting her eyes. “Am I doing okay?” she asked sweetly.

Maggie's face flushed again. What was it about this girl? “Continue,” she said roughly. Her voice caught a bit on the word.

“Of course, Dean Abernathy. Next we say some words about sisterhood and trust, and have the girls cross their wrists behind them. The big sisters tie their wrists, gently but securely. We practice to be sure and do it right.”

“On each other?” Maggie asked.

“Yes, Maggie. It's actually fun!”

Maggie's heart raced as her temper flared. “We are not on a first name basis, Miss Carlyle. You will address me as Dean Abernathy, or ma'am.”

“Of course, Dean Abernathy. I apologize.” Vivian inclined her head slightly, and slowly recrossed her legs, the sound of rubbing nylons audible. “Next we cross and tie their ankles.”

Maggie looked up. “Why cross them?”

“We've found it's easier to tickle their feet if they're hogtied that way,” Vivian replied with… was that a wink? Maggie's stomach tightened as she let it pass, assuming it was just a twitch.

“Finally we tie their wrists and ankles together. By then they're quite helpless, but we make sure they're comfortable. Then we remove their blindfolds…are you okay, Dean Abernathy?”

Maggie was growing uncomfortable, but she was trying hard to hide it. The image of those helpless bound girls, ankles crossed, about to lose control… it was already unsettling, but almost intolerable to hear it described so.

“I am fine, Miss Carlyle. Please proceed.”

Oh it's ‘please’ now, is it? Vivian thought. She went on. “Finally we say some words about overcoming adversity together. Then the big sisters take off the girls’ socks and start tickling while we keep an eye on everyone. The mattresses are circled, as I said, so they can see each other laughing and struggling. It becomes a shared experience.”

Maggie took a breath. “Don't they…resist?”

Vivian smiled. “When they're tickled? They go wild, of course.”

Maddeningly, Maggie felt her face grow warm again. “I mean afterward,” she clarified. “Do any feel shame, or guilt?”

“Why on earth would they?” Vivian asked. “What's shameful about being tickled? They all lose control together. It's pretty much the whole idea; part of the experience. Trust your sisters and overcome ordeals as a group.”

“Well, it's…” Maggie faltered.

“It's what, ma'am?” Vivian prompted.

“It certainly can’t continue,” Maggie said with finality. “We've received complaints.”

“I simply don't understand why,” Vivian asserted. “It's playful, it's silly, it's a kid's game. And for some girls, it really helps.”

Maggie had to concede that from her own interviews, and felt herself hesitate again. How did this girl keep getting the upper hand? It was exasperating!

“Possibly, but…”

“It's a big nothing!” Vivian interrupted. Maggie sat back as the girl went on passionately. “For Pete’s sake, it's 1957, not the middle ages! It's just fun; it's not traumatizing! I could tie you up right now, Dean Abernathy, and we'd forget about it in a week!”

Maggie caught her breath. “Excuse me?”

Vivian’s gaze locked on hers, bringing the strongest blush yet to Maggie’s cheeks. The girl smiled, her eyes calculating. She glanced at the banker's box of ropes, and then back at the Dean.

“Do you… want to try it, Dean Abernathy?” she asked, leaning forward. “I mean, before you shut us down on possibly false pretenses, maybe you should experience it firsthand. Cut through the hearsay. See for yourself how harmless it is.”

Maggie was gobsmacked. Had Vivian really just suggested that? Her mouth opened to scold, or object, but nothing came out.

It suddenly dawned on her how empty the building was.

“I… it's not… it wouldn't be…” Suddenly Maggie couldn’t keep her voice steady.

Vivian’s eyes narrowed, though her smile didn't change. “It's just more fact gathering, ma’am.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And no one would ever know.”

Maggie’s heart raced. She looked down and realized her hands were shaking. “You can't… This isn’t… I won't be tickled.”

Vivian felt a rush of victory. “I promise we won't do anything you don't want to do.”

To be continued...

 

[quinn65]

Part 6: The Shift

“Very well then.” Maggie stood up shakily and smoothed her skirt, placing her clipboard on the side table. She looked past Vivian at the dark window behind her. “What do you propose?”

Vivian stood and scanned the office. “This couch is huge,” she said. “It'll do. Just lie down on your stomach and I'll guide you through it.”

“Of course,” Maggie said, trying for a casual tone. Vivian stepped aside as the Dean sat on the couch and pivoted to her belly. “Like this?”

“Perfect,” Vivian breathed. She drew some ropes from the box as Maggie arranged a pillow and laid down her head, facing the room. She noticed the Dean’s jaw was set firmly as she knelt beside her.

“Now cross your wrists at the small of your back,” Vivian instructed. Dean Abernathy complied, her breathing deep and steady. Vivian doubled the rope and looped it around her wrists in multiple figure-eights. When she drew the final knots tight, securing the Dean's arms behind her back, she was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath.

“Not too tight?” she asked.

“It's fine,” Maggie answered curtly, rolling her wrists.

Vivian scooted down along the couch with another length of rope. “Now cross your ankles,” she instructed.

“You will not tickle my feet,” Maggie insisted, holding her legs straight.

“Well if you want to see how the pledges are tied, we always cross their ankles.” As Vivian spoke, she took Maggie's left ankle in her hand and laid it over the right, swishing nylon against nylon. Loops of rope followed, lashing them together tightly. Maggie's pumps tapped together as she pulled at the ropes.

Vivian took a final length of rope and threaded it through the ankle tie, leaving two loose ends about four feet long. She looped these in opposite directions around the wrist ties as the Dean gently squirmed.

“And finally,” she announced, pulling the ropes to draw Maggie’s ankles to her wrists, “the hogtie.”

Maggie’s back arched as the ropes tightened, and she let out a soft whimper that spoke volumes to Vivian as the girl wrapped the rope several more times around her wrists and ankles and tied it off tight.

The Dean's skirt rode up to mid-thigh, exposing a stretch of shapely nylon-clad leg as she began to gently struggle.

“Comfy?” Vivian purred, dropping any pretense of formality from her voice. She moved to sit in the armchair to watch the Dean squirm.

“It's very… restrictive,” Maggie observed, writhing and twisting. “I certainly can't get out.”

“No ma’am,” Vivian agreed. “You are quite helpless now, I'm afraid. How do you like it?”

In truth, Maggie was a hot mess, her heart racing wildly. It was probably time to end this and head home for a long, warm bath. “I'll admit it's not terribly uncomfortable,” she said, “but I can't say this changes my mind. Release me now and we can finish and go home.”

“But Maggie,” Vivian teased, “you've only had one part of the experience.”

The familiarity and insolence in the girl's voice wasn't lost on Maggie. She wanted to get angry, but her body had other ideas. An electric thrill ran up her back, and a shudder of heat stirred low in her belly.

Maggie thrashed, kicking her feet. “You promised you wouldn't tickle me!” she shouted, turning to glare at her captor. The girl was lounging comfortably in the chair across from her, looking smug and dangerous and sexy beyond words.

“No Maggie, I promised I'd only do what you wanted,” Vivian countered as she stood and approached the couch.

“Well I want you to let me loose,” Maggie protested. “End this nonsense right now!”

Vivian knelt, placing one hand on the back of Maggie’s thigh and brushing a stray curl away off her cheek with the other. “Oh no, Maggie. This is a truth game. No lying allowed.” Her hand slid down between the Dean's legs to her inner thigh and her fingers began moving up.

Maggie froze with a sharp intake of breath. She turned to lock eyes with the young smiling girl. Vivian simply arched her eyebrows at the Dean expectantly as her fingers crept higher.

“You should see yourself, Maggie,” Vivian teased. “You are three shades of red and breathing like a freight train. I'm just sending a little tickly mouse up your leg to see if you really want me to untie you.”

Maggie’s heart was about to burst. This was unthinkable! Completely inappropriate! She clamped her jaw and bucked in the ropes as Vivian’s probing fingers passed the top of her nylon, toyed with her garter, and then skittered across the bare inside of her upper thigh as they approached their destination.

“Listen to you whimper,” Vivian cooed in her ear. “What do you think the tickly mouse will find?”

Before probing further, Vivian let the tips of her nails skim over the center of Maggie’s nylon panties, causing the larger woman to flinch and moan uncontrollably. “I thought sooo,” Vivian whispered, her soft breath tickling Maggie's ear. She turned her hand and used her fingertips to stroke what felt like a slick glowing ember. “Oh my, Dean Abernathy,” she said huskily, her own voice rough with desire, “you're just about to pop.”

Maggie lost herself to the teasing. She could hear the wanton noises she was making, and feel her hips thrusting toward the girl’s touch, but despite her awareness she could control none of it. Her world was nothing but sensation and the want of her body and the greedy heat between her legs.

And then it stopped.

She opened her eyes in shock to find Vivian intimately close, the girl's face also suffused with lust but arranged in a wry, satisfied smile. Her eyebrows arched again in that maddening way.

Maggie was mortified by the words that left her lips. “Please don't stop…”

“Ahh,” Vivian sighed. “So you don't want to be untied after all?”

“Please,” Maggie breathed. The ache between her legs was unbearable as she squirmed helplessly. She felt a tear run down her cheek.

“Mmmm…I think you're going to need to work for it,” Vivian mused. She glanced at Maggie’s pumps waving in the air. “There are more steps to the initiation.”

“Oh God, don't tickle me, not now,” Maggie pleaded, kicking her feet.

“But the tickly mouse wants to hear how loud you can laugh before she plays with your peach again,” Vivian insisted. “You're going to have to ask for some tickling before she pops your cork.” To underscore, she skittered her nails softly over the Dean’s wetness.

“Ah…AAHHH!!!” Maggie arched her back and thrashed. “Okay! Okay, you can tickle me. Oh God, what am I saying?”

“Yes!” Smiling radiantly, Vivian bounced up onto the couch behind Maggie and grabbed the heels of her shoes. The Dean clenched her jaw as Vivian slipped them off.

“Oh, your feet,” Vivian cooed. “They’re as long as my boyfriend’s, and he plays basketball. But so narrow and delicate! And is that purple nail polish? Your nylons are almost invisible! Where did you get them?”

But Maggie was beyond answering. Her face was pushed into the pillow; her fists clenched in anticipation. She had been horribly ticklish as a girl, and had forever banned curious boys from touching her feet. It was agonizing to hear Vivian fawn over her most vulnerable and protected feature, especially knowing what was to come.

Maggie lifted her head and began to thrash. Defenseless, she looked over her shoulder at her smug and smiling tormentor. “Miss Carlyle! Vivian! Listen to me.”

“Yes, Maggie?” Vivian raised her hands and began wiggling her fingers in the air.

“Miss Carlyle, I have changed my mind. Don’t do this!”

Vivian darted a hand under the dean’s skirt and gave her a playful goose, drawing forth a surprised yell. “Your mouth says that, but your kitty disagrees, Dean Abernathy.” Astonishingly, she licked her fingers, sending a dark thrill through Maggie’s entire body. “It’s a furnace down there.”

“Vivian please! If you tickle my feet I will go mad!”

“Ohhh, Dean Abernathy,” Vivian purred, “I’m counting on it.”

And she began.

Maggie’s scream when Vivian’s nails first traced the sheer nylon over her soles shook the windows. It had never been a better time to be locked securely in a large, empty building.

Scream followed scream for several seconds as Vivian’s tickling steadied, and then Maggie began to beg in earnest. Vivian would lighten her touch to allow some words, and then dig in before Maggie could finish. She reveled in the increasingly desperate sounds of the Dean’s spiraling hysteria, and the helpless squirming of her narrow sensitive feet.

Vivian knew sometimes people grew used to tickling, but this didn’t seem to be the case with Maggie. She was unmoored in a realm of intense sensation, all decorum long forgotten. Vivian finally leaned forward and grabbed her ribs, triggering a new round of screams and laughter every bit as loud. It was a tickler’s heaven as she switched her targets back and forth.

It had only lasted a few minutes, but when Vivian stopped, Maggie was a total wreck. Her chuckles subsided through deep, ragged breaths. Her chignon had come almost completely undone, spilling loose chestnut curls liberally around her shoulders. Her face was brick red, but she couldn’t seem to stop smiling, as if the tickling had altered her expression permanently.

“You… that was… you are absolutely wicked,” Maggie accused, gasping and flexing her feet. “Please don’t do that again.”

“Well that will be up to you, Maggie,” Vivian said teasingly, stroking the backs of Maggie’s thighs. “I know you like rules, so listen carefully. I’m going to give you some that will be strictly in effect for the rest of our little adventure.”

Maggie looked both worried and intrigued, mirth still coloring her features. “What rules do you mean?”

“Rules that determine whether I tickle your feet some more,” Vivian stroked Maggie’s sole for emphasis, causing a flinch, “or tickle your peach.” With that, she leaned forward and massaged the slickness between Maggie’s legs, drawing out a groan as the Dean’s back arched.

“Okay, okay, understood,” Maggie panted, instantly compliant.

“Rule one is simple,” Vivian went on. “Simply do whatever I say immediately and without question. Rule two is that you will address me as mistress.” She heard Maggie moan quietly at this. “Rule three is absolutely the most important of all, and if broken, will make your last tickling feel like a child’s game.”

“What is rule three?” Maggie asked.

“Seriously, Maggie?” Vivian drew back Maggie’s toes. “I thought you were an intelligent woman.”

“Mistress!” Maggie cried. “What is rule three, mistress?”

“That’s better,” Vivian replied, releasing her grip. “Rule three is that you must ask my permission before you climax. If you go off without asking me first, I will put you through hell on earth. Do you understand?”

“Yes, mistress.”

“Good girl,” Vivian purred, wedging her legs between Maggie’s knees and folding the Dean’s skirt and slip up above her waist. “And when you do go, you’d better not hold back. I want to hear a scream that shakes the building.”

“Yes, mistress.” Maggie was whispering now, a faint whine in her voice. “I don’t think that will be a problem. Mistress.”

“In fact,” Vivian mused, twisting to reach the box and retrieving some cloth blindfolds, “I think we’d better gag you. You are a pistol. You’ll probably yell like a banshee the whole time.”

Maggie turned and looked back at her, eyes wide but reluctantly compliant. Vivian noticed her shock.

“Ask me to gag you, Dean Abernathy, and ask nicely,” Vivian demanded.

Maggie faltered, blushing deeply. “What…?” And then screamed with laughter as her feet were tickled again.

“Gag me!” she yelled. “Please mistress, please gag me!”

“Why?” Vivian asked teasingly.

“Because… because I… oh please mistress, don't make me say this.”

Vivian began stroking Maggie’s toes.

“Because I’ll scream, mistress! When you touch me down there I can’t help it but I will scream!”

Vivian balled up the first blindfold. “Turn away from me and open your mouth. Do not close it.”

Maggie looked worried but complied. Vivian reached around her head and stuffed her mouth full of the wadded cloth. “Hold it.” Then she wrapped another blindfold around Maggie's mouth and tied it snugly behind her head, holding the gag in place. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Rph mphrph,” came the reply. Maggie began to squirm and moan before Vivian even touched her.

From her perch overlooking Maggie's tied ankles, Vivian had a perfect view of where the Dean’s sheer nylons ended, hugging high on her pale, creamy thighs and attached with garters to her girdle. Her nylon panties were colored dark purple with subtle lace accents. But unfortunately they were also in the way. Luckily Vivian’s handbag was next to her, and she fished out some nail clippers to start a tear in the edge of the panties between Maggie's legs. The Dean gasped as she ripped them away, and then sighed and moaned as her glistening wetness was fully exposed.

Vivian smiled and placed the palms of her hands on Maggie’s extraordinary ass, lowering her thumbs to massage her slick labia. Maggie’s moans grew louder and she immediately began to thrust her hips into the couch.

“No climax without asking, remember…” Vivian warned, as her thumbs teased inward and lower. Maggie’s clitoris was easily visible, swollen and throbbing, and she dared not touch it directly; not just yet. She wanted to draw out the pleasure.

“Rph…MMMPH!…mphrph,” Maggie managed through her cries.

Now Vivian slid her hands lower to better expose what she was after, and began gently teasing Maggie’s clit with her nails. Each stroke drew a muffled scream from the Dean, and her squirming thrusts became ever more desperate.

With an evil grin, just as she thought Maggie might begin to beg, Vivian slid her left hand to a new position and began gently tickling the Dean’s exposed anus. This drew a surprised scream and renewed thrashing from the larger woman. Maggie quickly spun around to glare at her with a growl.

“Are you telling me no?” Vivian asked ominously, wriggling the offending finger deeper past Maggie’s clenched muscles.

Maggie's screams flew up three octaves in pitch and she shook her head wildly at the penetration, shouting what sounded like “No mistress!” over and over through her gag. Vivian relented and moved her hand lower, focusing her full attention on the Dean’s clit.

Maggie held out admirably, but when Vivian used two fingers of one hand to trap and knead her swollen clit and the thumb of the other to softly tease its tip, she broke.

“Mphrph gah an khamac?! Phlezh!”

“Don’t you dare,” Vivian warned, rubbing harder.

“PHLEZH mphrph!!!”

Vivian flicked her with a nail, a light stinging blow. “Do NOT! Get a hold of yourself, woman.”

“AAAH GAHHH!!! PHLEZH PHLEZH PHLEZH!!!”

“Okay, you may,” Vivian said, and squeezed.

Maggie’s scream did not disappoint as she let go, once, twice, three times, her hips grinding wildly as Vivian rode her down. When the thrusting finally stopped, Vivian gave her a light smack on each butt cheek and sat back laughing.

“You are magnificent, Dean Abernathy,” she said sincerely. “That was the most fun I have ever had. Ever.”

Maggie was a puddle, not yet able to respond. Her whole body tingled and ached pleasantly, a feeling of pure joy at the back of her throat. In a minute, she thought, I’ll be able to start laughing.

Vivian untied the Dean slowly and then curled up on the couch next to her, feeling the tremors of aftershocks as she cuddled. Finally Maggie did begin laughing, now with joy, and turned to look at Vivian, who joined in. For several blissful minutes, the two women just relaxed and chuckled in each other’s arms.

“If I had an ounce of energy,” Maggie vowed, “I would get you back.”

Vivian smiled. “Good thing I wore you out, then. I am tragically ticklish.”

Maggie poked her ribs to prove the point, but they relaxed again quickly.

“I have a question, Maggie,” Vivian said, propping herself up on an elbow.

“What is it?”

“How long have you been kinky?”

Maggie’s expression was both astonished and delighted. “My question first,” she insisted. “How did you know?”

“It’s what I do,” Vivian explained. “I read people. I see them. I’ve never met anyone who needed me to get under their skin more than you. And once I was there, it was like a neon sign. I just had to make it okay. Now you answer me.”

“Yes, mistress,” Maggie grinned. “The answer is, all my life. I don’t know where it came from, but through my teens I devoured every slutty romance novel ever written. I was obsessed. Bettie Page haunts my dreams. Studying Freud and Jung was very distracting in my college years.”

“Tell me about it,” Vivian agreed.

“Now, almost every night, I write my own stories, sitting in my study while my husband reads or putters around the house. It’s an outlet. Then I read them over and over.”

Vivian lit up. “I would love to see them!”

“And I would love to show them to you,” Maggie admitted. “But once I’m done, they go straight into the fireplace in my study. Then I can sleep easy.”

Vivian shook her head. “You are incredible. Please, save the next one. Show me.”

Maggie’s eyes sparkled. “We’ll see.”

The end...?

 

[quinn65]

I have a sequel in mind, but I'll wait to see how much interest this gets.

Take care,
-Q.

 

[Doryon]

Well, I thoroughly enjoyed it!

 

[footfan69]

OMG, Quinn65! That was superb! Very detailed, and oh so HOT! Loved it, and can’t wait for the sequel. Bravo!

 

[milagros317]

Fabulous story!

 

[flyers21]

awesome story! you're very talented

 

[Kindred]

Marvelous

 

[quinn65]

Hey, I appreciate all the feedback! I'll put the sequel on my list...

 

[ticklish_brat]

very fun