Some might remember that I started a story called Succubi Anonymous quite some time ago… You’ll probably want to read part one, which you can find here, if for no other reason that to remind yourself where this story began. Part Two, which you can find here, was a few weeks ago…
And now, I think, I can start telling the part of the story that matters … I think.
You can’t defend the indefensible – anything you say sounds self-serving and hypocritical.
Stacy was lying in bed reading when the door swung open and Regina stormed into the room: “You have to be kidding me! What a bitch!”
Putting the cheap mystery novel to the side—and just as the killer was about to be revealed—Stacey answered: “What now?”
“I’ve been told that if I don’t … ‘fit in’ … I’m going to be ‘taught how to.’”
Stacy looked at her: “The mistress of the house throwing her weight around again?”
This was an ongoing problem for both Stacy and Regina since they moved into the dorm. Mary had criticized everything about each of them … repeatedly. Stacy wasn’t bothered all that much; in truth, she was a lot older than she looked and didn’t care much for Mary’s attitude in the first place. However, the ongoing threats, taunts, and jibes where clearly wearing on Ginny, and that was getting to Stacy.
And ticking off one of the Succubi was never a good idea.
“According to her, the sorority needs to ‘have a single look’ so that ‘we,’ read she, can move up in the social stratus here.”
“Uh-huh. I’ll assume your answer was a single finger pointed in her direction?”
“Both hands … twice … plus telling her to kiss my ass.”
“Nice. Miss Manners would be very proud of you.”
“Bite me, Cee.”
Stacy got out of her chair and walked over to Ginny: “Not my style and you know it. What does she want you to do, anyway?”
“Attend some sort of meeting with her and the rest of the dorm; something about learning the rules and how to live by them.”
“She didn’t mention you. I figured that she already snapped at you, she was waiting for me at the front door.”
Stacy rubbed her right hand against her cheek: “First I’ve heard of this.”
“Well that’s not at all ominous.”
“Mmm. I think I’m going to have a talk with her. Want to come?”
“Hell no! I don’t need to see her again today. I have my first test in basket weaving tomorrow morning. So do you.”
Stacy smiled: “I’ll be fifteen minutes, tops. Then we can cram for the test.”
“You’d better. You seem to be the expert on them.”
Stacy walked out the door: “I’ve had a few years to practice.”
Assuming that Mary would be still downstairs, Stacy made her way there and found Lisa in her usual spot by the door.
“Lisa. Where’s Mary?”
“Mistress is holding court.”
Stacy looked at the stairs she just came down with a sigh: “Great. Thanks.”
That, of course, meant walking all the way up to the top floor, which Mary had reserved for her exclusive use. As she made her way, Stacy mulled over what she had seen around her during the past month. There were clear signs that something was going on, something that she didn’t particularly like. With the exception of herself and Ginny, all of the other girls were submissive to Mary’s will. That in itself wouldn’t have been so bad, and she could accept that they had decided on their own, to be submissive to her. No, what Stacy didn’t like was that Mary was trying to bend Ginny and herself to being submissive to her.
Stacy could have used her powers—and had been tempted many times, just to show Mary what dominance really was like—but held herself in check. Not so much for herself, but for Ginny. The dreams that Ginny had—all of them, erotic and otherwise—held Stacy’s heart, and she didn’t want to lose her. Having a lot more sense, she should have gathered up her things, grabbed Ginny, and left this place, and the overbearing woman in control of it. But she couldn’t. The mystery of what was going on got deeper and deeper the longer she looked into it. The most telling thing of all was that, as far she could sense from those dreaming around her, only Ginny had dreams. Everyone else didn’t.
She wanted to know why.
Coming to the top of the stairs, Stacy arrived at the double doors that marked the way into Mary’s domain. Not for the first time, she regretted allowing herself to come here with Ginny. Not for the first time, she regretted trying to talk to this … woman.
The door swung open at her touch, and what greeted Stacy was another of the sorority’s sisters sitting at tables and reading.
“Mistress is busy. Please come back later.”
“Sorry. She’ll make time for me.”
With another few steps, Stacy walked into Mary’s office, which, of course, was lavishly furnished and looked like something out of Better Mansions and Playrooms, the magazine of the rich and overbearing.
There, sitting on the edge of a ridiculous desk, her legs dangling over the edge, was Mary. Still wearing that corset from the first time they met, holding a crop in one hand and tapping it in her other hand. Stacy was getting sick and tired of that purple mane and the attitude that accompanied it.
Mary did not even look at Stacy as she replied: “Wait your turn.”
It was then that Stacy saw two members of the sorority on their knees to Mary’s right. It was the first real proof that something bad was going on: collars and glazed eyes were never a good thing. Gritting her teeth, Stacy answered Mary’s order by marching past the two lemmings that were fawning over Mary before she unceremoniously yanked the crop from Mary’s hand.
“Your manners need work. We’ll have to do something about that.”
Stacy looked Mary directly in the eyes: “Manners? Really? How about my attitude and complete dislike for you, Mary? Or how about just how much I’d like to give you an attitude adjustment?” Stacy glanced at the crop out of the side of her eyes, then placed it directly underneath Mary’s chin: “You think you’re an expert with this? You’re laughable.”
Mary replied: “You will pay for that, for every word and action you and that Goth toy that lives with you have perpetrated since you arrived.”
Stacy’s answer was cold: “You, do not deserve any respect, not from either of us. You haven’t earned it.”
“Why should I earn it when I can force you both?”
That threat ended the niceties as far as Stacy was concerned: “You have no idea what you are playing with, Mary. Back off, right now, while you have the chance.”
Mary’s attitude was one where she believed she held all the cards: “There’s only one Domme here: that’s me. You’ll fall into line just like everyone here. You have no other choice. If you don’t play by my rules willingly, then I’ll just have to make you both do so.”
“I’m warning you, Mary. Hands off Ginny.”
“You mean Regina don’t you?”
“Cross me at your peril, Mary. Touch her and you’ll regret it forever.”
Mary smirked: “A bimbo like you? I’ve broken so many of you little playthings. I’ll have her and I’ll get you in the bargain.”
Stacy’s eyes narrowed: “Take your shot, but make it a good one. You won’t get a second one.”
Mary didn’t say anything as Stacy tossed the crop to the far side of the room and then walked away. As Stacy walked out the door, Mary called out: “You and Regina will be kneeling at my feet. And you will call me ‘Mistress.’”
She was answered by the slamming of the door and Stacy’s footfalls on the oak floor as she left.
Moments later, Stacy called out as she returned to her dorm room: “Hey, Ginny? How’s that basket weaving coming?”
What she found was Ginny sitting cross-legged on the floor, a partially made basket in her hands and staring off into space. Stacy called out: “Ginny?”
Ginny slowly turned her head and looked at Stacy. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that something had happened to Ginny while Stacy was confronting Mary. The glazed look in her eyes would have been a surefire clue, but there was a more telling one …
… “My name is Regina, Stacy. Mistress explained, didn’t she?”
Before Stacy could answer a hand put something over her nose and mouth while others took her arms, holding her in place.
The last thing that Stacy saw was Ginny smiling at someone behind her and reverently whispering the word … “Mistress.”