The Lambda Lambda Lambda Sorority
By rileycao.
One of the floor douchebags poked his head out at the noise of the fire alarm, catching me soaking wet in only my underwear.
“Nice cock, Riley!” he called out, laughing at my shriveled package. I was wearing my briefs, and the outline of my dick was plastered to the soggy gray fabric.
I ignored him, too busy dabbing at my laptop with an entire roll of paper towels from the bathroom. More people began peeking out of their rooms, snapping pictures, and catcalling me. I endured it for fifteen minutes before the sprinklers finally turned off. Since it wasn’t an emergency, the fire department took their sweet time coming, letting me stew half-naked in a swimming pool filled with my ruined clothes.
I was dragged before the dean that same day for a disciplinary hearing. Luckily, the weed smell got washed away, letting me chalk the incident up as a sprinkler malfunction. The dean suspected foul play, but she couldn’t prove anything.
“You got lucky this time, Mr. Cao, but we’ll have our eyes on you,” she said. “If you slip up even once, you’re out. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied.
“You’re homeless now, isn’t that right?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said again. It would take until the end of the semester to replace the ruined carpet and furniture.
“Then it seems like I have the distinct privilege of assigning you new quarters.”
I didn’t like the smile on her face as she said it. She pushed up her glasses and began scrolling through a list of available housing options, the corners of her lips tilting upwards as she ran through the possibilities.
“It seems like the Lambda Lambda Lambda sorority has space,” she said. “Any objections?”
I opened my mouth to speak, but she cut me off.
“It’s settled! You’ll report this afternoon to the Tri-Lam house.” She swung her gavel and dismissed me.
Tri-Lam was known on campus as the “anti-sorority sorority”, more like a co-op than a traditional sorority. They eschewed the private cook and servants and did all the chores themselves. They held open-air seminars on Marx and Simone de Beauvoir on their front lawn. I dare not spread the rumors about what goes on behind closed doors, but they were pejoratively referred to as “Tri-Lesbian”. Despite their deviations from other sororities, they were a top spot to rush for.
It was a personal hell for me: surrounded by women, all of them untouchable.
I collected my salvageable belongings and headed straight to the Tri-Lam house. Like its inhabitants, the sorority house was unconventional and beautiful. It rejected the neoclassical style of the other sorority houses on the row, opting instead for an expansive craftsman bungalow, painted a deep green with red-brown accents that evoked a redwood forest. The house nestled into the rolling hills and pine trees above campus, sitting just off the beaten path. A cobbled path led through the front garden to a grand wooden door. I had to put my entire weight into pulling the door open to step inside, nearly throwing out my back. Light streamed into the entrance through north-facing bay windows, illuminating a large living room with cozy chairs and knit blankets where sisters were busy working and chatting.
A tall Japanese girl greeted me. She wore a pink t-shirt with three lambdas embossed between her nipples. The shirt was cropped just above her belly button, showing off the bottom of her abs. Her hip bones stuck out from her low-rise bell-bottom jeans.
“Riley Cao?” she queried, giving me a brief one-over.
“Yes, nice to meet you,” I said, offering a hand out to her. She ignored it and waved me back through the house, maintaining some distance.
“I’m Meg,” she said. “I was assigned to give you a tour of the house.”
I felt conspicuous in the environment, a skinny, greasy-haired asian guy with patchy facial hair and a duffel bag that reeked of marijuana and mildew. Meg led me through the living room towards the back of the house, leaving me to tiptoe my way through the minefield of piercing glances from the sisters.
The south-facing back side was darker, hosting a small library, an industrial kitchen, and an ostentatious dining room. It did not comport with the hippy-commune picture I had in my mind of Tri-Lam. But true to their word, there were sisters in Tri-Lam t-shirts sweeping the floors, setting the table for dinner, and prepping food.
The dining room opened up into a verdant garden and patio, which sparkled in the last golden rays of the day. The first bloom of spring had begun, speckling the back lawn with a hodgepodge of native wildflowers. Sisters swung in hammocks or read on the grass. I could picture myself swinging there, feet and legs rubbing against the flowers, waiting for inspiration to strike while writing an essay. But it was not a space for someone like me.
We moved on to the living areas, heading up a dark, creaky set of stairs opposite the living room. Most of the sisters lived on the second or third floor, with balconies opening to either the garden or the street. Eyes tracked me from the rooms as I walked down the hall, vultures looking at fresh roadkill.
My new quarters, however, were in the basement. Tri-Lam was purported to have no hierarchy, but the new pledges (and boys) somehow ended up in the worst rooms. I didn’t mind the room too much, though. I had the space all to myself, and I could light up and play video games and jerk off as I saw fit. My moldy clothes stank, but I was the only one to smell them. I emerged only for class and meals, a mouse poking out his head to steal some treats from the kitchen before scurrying back into his hole. I ignored the glances and asides of the sisters, oblivious to my own state of destitution. Dirty plates and chip bags littered the floor, scattered among my few belongings.
I was permitted to descend into this state of anarchy for two weeks before the sorority leadership put a stop to things. Some of the pledges must have complained about the noise and smell. I returned from class one day to find all my things gone, save for my school materials. The room had been scrubbed clean, the sheets changed, the food waste cleared. A burly sister from the rugby team escorted me to the shower, handing me a bar of soap.
“Don’t come out until the bar’s finished,” she said.
I scrubbed myself raw, leaving me pink as a sightless rodent. They had taken my clothes while I was in the shower, leaving me with only a bedazzled Tri-Lam towel to wrap myself in, along with some matching shower flip-flops. The towel was a little too small to wrap around my waist, leaving a slit running along my bare leg.
When I got back to my room, I was horrified to find a new roommate setting up her things across from mine. Her name was Georgia, and she was a severe-looking girl from Portland, with angular facial planes that accentuated her frown and furrowed eyebrows. She had shoulder-length jet black hair cut into bangs over her eyes, and she stood slightly taller than me at 5′ 9″. She was a star on the triathlon team, and she looked every bit the part: broad shoulders, chiseled lower legs, and a deep tan.
“I thought this sorority had standards,” she said, sniffing the air around me.
“Nice to meet you,” I replied. “What are you studying?”
“Applied mathematics.”
“Oh, me too! Maybe we can work on homework together.”
She pursed her lips. “I don’t think so. My responsibilities only include socializing you.”
Georgia returned to arranging her things. A distinct line formed between her side of the room and mine. Her dresser, carpet, and decorations provided a barricade against my Spartan accommodations. They had left me nothing to decorate my half of the room, and the sprinkler had destroyed my movie posters and trinkets.
***
My socialization started with new clothes. I’m told that all of my clothes were incinerated, as they had exuded an offensive odor. Luckily, the replacement clothes were fairly sensible — they had taken up a collection for the most boyish garments the sisters had to offer. I’m already not the most masculine; I can’t get more than a few wisps of hair on my upper lip, and I have a soft, round face and shoulder-length hair that I keep tied back most of the time. I would say I’m in pretty good shape from running, but I’m not muscular, especially my upper body. Nevertheless, I didn’t want to be parading around in a crop top and daisy dukes.
The haul included baggy jeans, sweaters, some band t-shirts, and a few blouses that could double as dress shirts. If you looked closely, you might notice the cropped sweaters, the reversed buttons on the shirts, or the tightness of the jeans around my hips, but it could pass as a fashion statement.
I was out of luck in the underwear department, though. I only got some plain panties to wear until I get new underwear delivered. I waited until Georgia left the room to try them on. I have to admit that I was slightly aroused slipping them over my ass — which was probably my best feature — and looking at myself in the mirror. Because there was no cup built into the underwear, you could see a distinct impression of my package. I wasn’t packing a baseball bat, but my dick actually looked pretty big in the panties. Most of the underwear was faded beige or light pink, some of it with the crotch worn out, leaving the tip of my penis hanging out. I often found myself picking out a wedgie in class or unsticking my balls. They also left me with some bras, which I found odd, as I had no chest to speak of. Perhaps a force of habit.
Along with the clothes, I was inducted into a rigorous personal hygiene regimen with the new pledges. It bordered on counterproductive with all the scrubbing I was doing. I suppose you couldn’t get pimples if you had no skin. I was absolved from the required mani-pedis, but I did have to wash my face morning and night (with a targeted plan for my combination oily skin), wash my lanky hair twice a week (shampoo, conditioner, and hair oil), trim my nails regularly, shave my face daily, and, of course, wear deodorant. They had to send for some aluminum-based deodorant for me; the all-natural stuff didn’t cut it.
Finally, I was forced to integrate with the rest of the house.
Georgia set me to work in the kitchen. “From each according to their ability,” she quoted.
The kitchen worked like any cafeteria, with a head chef, sous chef, saucier, pastry chef, and more. They were cooking a family dinner and cleaning up from service when I came in. Georgia and I squeezed through to the back, where she dug up a pair of rubber gloves and set me to work washing dishes.
She introduced me to a new comrade, a sophomore named June. June was Chinese, just like me, but a Los Angeles native. Her hair was cropped close to her skull, she had a stud in her button nose, and an arm sleeve with intertwined dragons. She was wearing a pink apron that read “Kiss the chef” over her black tank and black jeans.
“I’m Riley,” I said. “I’m sure you’ve heard all about me from the other sisters, but I swear I’m just a regular guy.”
June looked me up and down. “That’s the fear, isn’t it? That you’re a regular guy.” She returned to her vigorous scrubbing.
“I mean, I’m not like a frat bro or anything like that,” I said, lowering my arms into the scalding hot water to copy her. My fingers screamed in pain, but I ignored them. “I just keep my head down and do my work. And I’m like an ally and stuff.”
“And stuff?” she remarked, her sideways glance suggesting that she thought little of my allyship.
We scrubbed in silence, working through a heap of dishes from that night’s dinner. I had sat at the far end of the table during the meal, and the sisters largely ignored my presence. I had been happy to focus on the contours of my dinner plate. The meal had consisted of a micro-green salad, samosa chaat, cashew-encrusted tuna steak (with a vegan alternative, of course), and an optional soufflé for dessert. The soufflé dish was the trickiest to clean, as a hardened chocolate ring encrusted the bottom.
June saw me struggling with the dishes, and gave me a pointer.
“Let them soak in the hot water first, and come back to them at the end,” she said, gesturing towards her own sudsy pile of ramekins.
“Thanks, that’s a good idea.” I built a pile before turning back to my other dishes.
June finished up her dishes first and looked over at my handiwork, nodding approvingly.
“This isn’t bad, have you ever worked in a kitchen?” she asked.
“No,” I replied. “We never had a dishwasher at home, so my mom always made me do it by hand.”
This seemed to make me grow in her estimation, and we started chatting more about our majors and extracurriculars. She studied English and was writing an essay for her literary modernism class.
“I thought it wouldn’t be for me,” she said. “I always associate the Ulysses type of literature with guys who just want to swing their dicks over ‘hard books’, but I really enjoyed Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury. It’s like a puzzle to unravel, and I appreciate the stream-of-consciousness writing for what it is. And Woolf is, of course, a gem.”
I nodded along, pretending to have heard of the writers and books she mentioned.
Over the next couple of weeks, I found a good group of housemates that I could get along with, June included. Having a big bag of weed to share certainly didn’t hurt, and the garden proved a much better smoke spot than the basement.
Georgia and I still didn’t get along, as she seemed to disapprove of my vices and how late I stayed up playing video games. Obviously, she didn’t smoke, being on the triathlon team, and she’d wake up at the crack of dawn for training. She’d come back to the room just as I was waking up, already drenched in sweat, and sniff the air, acting as though I was the one who smelled bad. I tried to talk to her about math, since we were both in Real Analysis that semester, but she still seemed uninterested in working on problem sets together.
***
My new underwear never arrived, or any new clothes, for that matter. It wasn’t a problem with the mail; I had received my deodorant and a few other replacement items, but the clothes never reached me. Now it was I who suspected foul play, and I sent an email to Meg about it. She told me that they had forwarded all packages to me and didn’t respond to any further inquiries.
I had gotten used to the current batch of clothes and had actually gotten some compliments from classmates; however, I was sorely in need of new workout clothes. I had started doing pilates in the house studio, and I only had a single set of workout clothes—an ancient pair of women’s running shorts and a ratty t-shirt with holes in the armpits. Not exactly performance-enhancing gear. The elastic in the shorts was worn out, and I worried I would flash everyone if I moved too quickly on the reformer. Even worse, it took a full day to get clothes back from the laundry, so I could only workout every other day. Or I guess I could go on the exercise bike in jeans.
I broached the subject with Georgia, who was ostensibly my advocate. We were sitting in silence, working separately on our homework.
“I could really use some extra workout clothes,” I said. “I was hoping to go for a run in the hills today.”
I glanced up at her from my textbook, trying to play it cool.
“You run?” she asked, looking up from her computer, having never once thought that I existed outside the house.
“I do, I ran cross country in high school. You could join me sometime. I’m not that fast, though.” The words tumbled out of my mouth, not exactly cool as a cucumber.
“I could go for a run right now,” she said, tossing her journal to the side and starting to limber up. “I’ve actually got some old clothes you could borrow; they should fit okay.”
She sized me up, nodding at my calves, which still had some muscle. We had a disturbingly similar build, skinny and straight.
“That would be awesome,” I said, barely containing my excitement.
Georgia lent me a running tank and some old tights, not dissimilar from my old running gear. I tried to tuck away my bulge, but there was a bump from my cock that I couldn’t hide. Georgia wore a similar top and bicycle shorts, having the grace not to wear the same outfit as me.
We set off from the house after some light stretches, going at a good clip up the hill. It was a beautiful and sunny day, cool and dry. I longed for my sunglasses, which had gotten lost in the shuffle of the move, but I was happy to take in the views with my hand shading my eyes. The hills were steep, and the sun beat down on my exposed shoulders, but I managed to keep pace with Georgia, trying to match her cadence and not trip over my own feet. At least I had salvaged my running shoes from the sprinklers.
My right Achilles tendon was groaning by the time we reached the top, an old high school injury. The view of the bay was immaculate, though, and we could see all the way to the Golden Gate Bridge. I tried my best not to gasp for breath, but my chest was heaving. The past couple of years of smoking weed and running once or twice a week had not improved my endurance. Georgia seemed unfazed by the run and did some more stretches.
“Good warmup,” she said, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. “I’m thinking we do a little eight-mile loop at half-marathon pace, and then do that same path back for a cooldown.”
I stared at her, agape, ready to keel over. She cracked a smile at me for the first time.
“Just kidding,” she said, “you should see the look on your face. That wasn’t bad for a washed-up athlete.”
The small bit of praise was a shock to the system, and I was beaming. Georgia’s tacit disapproval had weighed on me, even if I had made friends with some of my other housemates. We jogged back downhill, which was easier on my Achilles. I was able to chat a little bit with her between breaths, talking about our classes and professors and gossiping. Georgia let me keep the clothes, and we went on the odd run from then on.
More importantly, it was a turning point in our relationship. The dividing barrier in our room seemed to fall, some of my belongings ending up on her side of the room, some of hers on mine.
***
It turned out that Georgia needed friends just as much as I did. She had just broken things off with her long-term girlfriend, which, in conjunction with being forced to room with a man-child, explained her iciness. They had been long-distance since high school, and had mutually decided to break things off.
I found out that Georgia was a math whiz, at least in analysis, and it was hard for me not just to steal her answers and smoke. I preferred linear algebra, and she would watch me struggle through problem sets while she stationary biked in the room. She would do these virtual races, hollering whenever she took over a ghost rider. Every once in a while, she would pause the race to write down a flawless proof, then resume pedaling. Meanwhile, my hands and forehead were covered in ink as I struggled over a scribble of half-finished math problems with little notes and question marks in the margins.
Once Georgia’s triathlon season ended, I convinced her to let loose just a little. That consisted of a couple of shots of alcohol and a single puff of a joint, which I don’t think she inhaled. Whatever she did imbibe went straight to her head. At first, she was giggling, getting a little handsy with some of the other sisters, then it turned briefly to crying about her ex, before evening out into a slurred, sultry tipsiness. She told me about her (biological) sister, who was just applying to college, as well as her parents and friends back home.
I told her a little about myself, about where I had grown up and how I was thinking about a PhD after I graduated, but Georgia stopped paying attention at some point. She was just looking at me in the face and smiling. The lines of her face softened when she smiled.
“Riley,” she butted in, “can we do your nails and makeup?”
I stopped in my tracks. “Maybe some other time. I just trimmed my nails and washed my face.”
Georgia looked around for support from the other girls.
“It would be so cute,” Lena, another sister, said. “We never get to do boys’ makeup,” and she mock-pouted.
Lena was cute, and I might have had a little crush on her, not that it would go anywhere. Despite my increasing friendliness with the sisters, I think they would kill me if I looked at any of them romantically. And there were certain barriers to their interest in me.
There was more input from the crowd, cheering on the idea. Only June seemed to think it was whatever, shrugging at the idea. My hair was longer than hers, and I never saw her with any nail polish or makeup beyond some light concealer.
In the end, I had no choice. They raided June’s room for said concealer, since her skin tone was pretty similar to mine. Lena went and gathered armfuls of paints, polishes, mascaras, and eyeliners from a few girls’ rooms. I was soon swathed in a haze of powders, like a smoke bomb had gone off in a one-foot radius around my neck. My fingers were splayed at my sides, pinned down like a vivisected creature on the island of Doctor Moreau. They tried different colors on each finger and toe, and played with the face makeup, clearing things off and starting from scratch every once in a while.
They completed their work as the sun went down, rushing me into June’s room to admire their work. I searched for myself in the vanity mirror, not recognizing the girl I saw looking back. She had thick red lips, flawless skin, and sharp eyes cut with black eyeliner. I was afraid to look at her, as though she would devour me. The girls all giggled and congratulated each other on their good work, some giving me a playful kiss on the cheek. I was glad for the makeup; otherwise, I would have been beet red.
They eventually dispersed, and Georgia and I trudged back to the room, stumbling down the stairs and into the dimly lit basement. She helped me wash off the makeup, though the nail polish would have to wait until the morning. I actually didn’t mind the polish, other than the nauseating range of colors. The light green paint suited my skin pretty well, and I enjoyed the texture of the nail paint; there was a satisfying dissonance when pressing down on it, the sensation dulled by the thick layer of paint. Georgia was passed out when I got back from showering, lying out on the sheets with her outfit still on. She picked up her head as I turned on my bedside light.
“It’s a shame you’re a boy, Riley,” she said, slurring her words. “You make a pretty, cute girl.” With that, she went right back to sleep, snoring softly.
***
The girls teased me the next day, asking me to show off my painted nails. I was with Lena on sweeping duty that week, and the girls catcalled me as I swept their rooms. I couldn’t get Georgia’s words out of my head. “You make a pretty, cute girl.”
I’ve never been confident in my body. Running cross-country kept me skinny, and I never bulked up like some of my friends who played football or basketball. I kept my hair long, since my mother would always take me to a chain barber shop that absolutely butchered me. And there was the whole stigma around asian men and penis size. I wasn’t exactly proving it wrong. As a result, I never did too well with the ladies. When I grew into my features and shed some baby fat, I got a couple of girlfriends, but none of them stayed for long.
Lena seemed to notice that something was off, and she jokingly started poking me with her broom, making a sword fight.
“You doing okay, buddy?” she asked, pretending like she was swinging a broadsword at my neck.
I blocked it half-heartedly. Lena was a little shorter than me, a blonde sophomore in the humanities. She had her long hair tied back in a low ponytail, and it made her look like a knight’s squire. She had a perfect body, just the right mixture of curvy and athletic. And she had a movie star face.
“It’s stupid,” I said. “Georgia said I would make a cute girl, and it made me wonder why no one thinks I’m a cute boy.”
Lena looked at me like I was, in fact, stupid. “We’re all lesbians, you idiot. I’m sure plenty of girls think you’re a cute boy.”
She stopped swinging her broom-sword. “You were pretty wretched when we took you in, but we’ve turned you around. I’ve cleaned up some pretty wretched boys in my time.”
***
Lena’s words helped, and that night I decided to venture outside the Tri-Lam bubble for the first time in a while, grabbing some drinks with my boys at a bar. We ended up at a kickback at a random house, knocking back a few beers while shooting the shit.
I found myself chatting with a beautiful woman from one of the more traditional sororities. I felt confident, even with my painted nails; My skin was clear, my hair was a little bit wavy and hung down around my shoulders, and my clothes fit well. I had seen her from across the room, making eye contact with me every once in a while. I went over and introduced myself, complimenting her makeup. We started making out on a couch before taking things back to her place.
Her name was Samantha, a senior, and she lived in an off-campus apartment with her own bedroom. That sure beat my accommodations. I don’t think I was allowed to bring back dates, though I hadn’t dared to ask. We walked back through campus under dim street lights, giggling and grabbing at each other, pretending to jump at shadows.
It had been a while since I had been intimate with anyone, and I was afraid that living with so many girls had desensitized me. But my cock had no such hang-ups, and I was hard by the time we reached her door. Samantha pushed me onto her bed and stripped off her black mini dress, revealing a matching bra and panties with a little bow just below her belly button. She had an adorable little trail of hair that led into her panties.
Samantha started rubbing on my crotch over my pants, standing over me. She felt me get to full hardness and measured me with her hand, looking up in mock surprise at the size.
“I love a cute little asian cock,” she said, and straddled me, tugging at my shirt to get it off. “It’ll go perfectly with my tight pussy.”
I fumbled with the reversed buttons on my shirt and stripped it off, the sleeve getting caught on my hand as I tried to fling it free. Samantha was just my type — short, curvy, with dark skin and big brown eyes. I unhooked her bra with one hand, my only trick in bed. Her left breast was slightly bigger than her right breast, which I drew into my mouth.
She had big areolae and hard nipples, and she moaned as I nibbled on them. She ran her hands down my back, feeling the little muscle that I had there, grinding on my hardening cock. She eased up after a few rubs up and down, fortunately for me. There was a danger that I wouldn’t make it much longer.
She pushed me down onto the bed, stripped off her panties, and straddled my face, looking down at me while I ate her out. My fingers searched her body, working over her ass and back to her tits, playing with her hardened nipples. I didn’t have a particularly skilled tongue, but she did most of the work for me, grinding her hairy pussy in little circles over my flattened tongue. I just had to stay in place and keep playing with her breasts and ass.
Samantha had kept mostly quiet, but started moaning, and I could feel her tensing up. My jaw was growing tired, but I held in place, maintaining eye contact with her. She threw her head back and orgasmed, rocking back and forth on my mouth. She pressed her twitching lower lips onto my upper lips, squeezing my head tightly with her thighs as she continued to come. She stayed there for some moments after, breathing heavily, nearly suffocating me with her legs.
“Good boy,” she said, and toppled over, patting my head. “Can you fuck me now?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Let’s get these pants off. I want to see that little guy.”
Samantha unzipped my pants and pulled them down, revealing my … pink panties. I had never managed to get a replacement pair delivered, and hadn’t bothered to go out to the store. Samantha looked me in the eyes and grinned.
“I thought that was a woman’s blouse,” she said. “I didn’t think there’d be matching panties.”
She laughed at her own joke and pulled the panties over my ass and ankles, revealing my hard penis.
“It’s a good pairing for your cute little cock, though.” She started stroking it and pulled a condom from her bedside table. “You’re the Tri-Lam boy, aren’t you?”
“Temporarily. All my clothes got destroyed, that’s not what I usually wear.”
Samantha shrugged. “I don’t mind. It makes your package look a little bigger.”
She stuck out her thumb and forefinger, making the universal sign for “itty-bitty”. It only made me harder, to my shame. She squeezed a drop of lube in the tip of the condom and rolled it down my cock in one expert move. Then she lay back on her bed.
“I guess they haven’t taught you how to eat pussy over there,” she said. “But you did all right.”
I climbed on and entered her, dutifully pumping away as she continued chatting.
“I hear you’re not the first boy they’ve had. I think they have some arrangement with the admin to send the cute ones over there for torture. Is that true?”
I shook my head, already getting close to coming. It was hard to find the space to masturbate at Tri-Lam, and my endurance was lacking. Samantha grabbed my ass and pulled me into her, fingering dangerously close to my asshole.
She sensed I was getting close, and she whispered into my ear, “Come for me, panty boy.”
I came, shooting my load into the condom. She rubbed her finger on the rim of my ass, which only made me come harder, making my cheeks burn red.
“Good boy,” she said, and she kissed me on the cheek. “I do need you to finish me off, though.”
She pulled out a dildo from her bedside table and handed it to me. “Have they shown you how to use one of these?” she asked.
I shook my head.
“You’re a smart boy, you’ll figure it out.”
I nestled up next to Samantha, my flaccid cock looking tiny next to her six-inch dildo. She guided me through thrusting it in and out of her pussy, angling it just so that it hit her G-spot.
“It could use a little more lube,” she said, and placed the tip of the dildo against my lips.
I dutifully inserted the dildo into my mouth, sticking it as deep as I could, slobbering all over the inserted length. Holding eye contact with Samantha, I eased the lubricated shaft in and out of her, going as slow as I could. I could feel her clenching the dildo with her pussy, starting to tense up.
“Come for my big cock,” I said.
She had a shuddering orgasm, her eyes fixated on mine, her mouth wide open as she came on the dildo.
We cuddled for a little while, and then she got up to use the bathroom. She gave me tips while she sat on the toilet.
“That wasn’t bad, though you could work on the endurance,” she said. “I know I was teasing you, but you’ve got a decent cock. Your strokes aren’t the most even, but you’ve got the right spirit, and you know how to hit the angles. The tongue was good. Good firmness, you wouldn’t believe how many boys just collapse when you try to ride them like that.”
She gave some more unintelligible feedback as she started brushing her teeth and washing her face, and I got the sense that I should be leaving. I went to collect my clothes from where I had left them in a pile.
“Leave the panties,” she said, mouth full of toothpaste. “I’ll make the next guy wear them. Feel free to grab a pair of mine on the way out.”
I wasn’t sure if she was being serious, but the whole experience had been so bizarre that I went along with it and left the disheveled pink panties on the ground. I had little desire to go rooting through her underwear drawer, so I grabbed the black pair she had been wearing earlier. I started to slip on my pants with no underwear, and Samantha cocked her head at me.
“Put the panties on,” she said. “Bra too, might as well have the matching set.”
She had wrapped a bathrobe around herself and tied her hair up, and I was naked.
“I want to see that little cock with a bow.”
I dropped the pants and stepped into the panties, feeling the lacy edges chafe slightly against my legs. They fit perfectly, with my flaccid cock offering only the slightest protuberance from the front. The back of the panties rode higher than my unflattering pink panties, and the edge of my ass hung out for all the world to see. I put on the bra, which looked silly against my flat chest. I spun for Samantha, raising my hands. She kissed me, deep and hard, and then smacked me on the butt.
“See you around, Tri-Lam.”
The panties gave me a wedgie as I walked back to the house, and the bra flopped around awkwardly. It was late, and most of the lights were off in the house, except for a few lamps in the library. I tiptoed downstairs and shuffled along the dark basement hall, searching blindly for my room. Georgia was waiting for me there, with the lights on, arms crossed. I paused in the doorway, holding my breath.
“You smell like pussy,” she said, and then uncrossed her arms with a huff. “Lucky.”
I breathed a deep sigh of relief.
“I guess our socializing has done some good,” she continued, “but you need to go shower.”
I rinsed off in the dark, thinking of Samantha looking down at me as she ground on my face. And then of her forcing me to wear her panties. And of how good her finger had felt in my ass. My cock was still soft, but it twinged a little. I toweled off and headed back to the room, feeling cleansed of whatever sins I had just committed. Georgia was asleep, and I slipped into my pajamas, still wearing Samantha’s panties.
***
I awoke the next morning naturally, or as naturally as you can in a basement with a hangover. Georgia had already gotten up, made her bed, and left for breakfast. I stayed in bed for a few more minutes, turning on the light and then covering my face with a pillow in regret. I walked to the bathroom in my pajamas, brushed my teeth, and then sat down to pee. I washed my face, trying to rub out my raccoon eyes in the mirror, picking at my chin pimples with my cracked nail polish. I wondered if Samantha sought out boys with nail polish, or if that was just a coincidence. We all have a type. Or types, I thought, my mind conjuring a picture of Lena.
Returning to the room, I thought about going for a run, but dismissed the idea, my throbbing headache raging in mutiny. Maybe a coffee was in order. The house had an espresso machine, but I felt like treating myself, a reward for getting out and about the previous night.
I stripped down to my panties and opened my dresser, and found it empty, all my shirts missing. I thought I might have accidentally opened Georgia’s drawer, but it was indeed mine. My pants were missing, too. I had just gotten my laundry back two days ago, so that didn’t seem correct. My clothes from the previous night had also been whisked away from where I had left them on the floor.
I looked through my underwear drawer, which was still full, but the panties were all different. There were lacy thongs, cheeky panties with bows, and bikinis in bright colors. I dug through for my granny panties; they were all gone. I noticed that there was a note on the dresser:
New outfits are in the closet. I heard Samantha had a great time.
XOXO, Georgia
I scratched my fingers down my cheeks, starting to freak out. They knew about Samantha. I wondered if anything they had told me about my old clothes had been true. Surely the water would have just washed out. Why did they throw them out? And what about the clothes I had ordered? They had claimed they had never arrived, but that seemed unlikely. It was then that I became aware of my erection, still wearing Samantha’s underwear.
My heart was racing, but it wasn’t against the idea of wearing the panties. After all, I had been wearing women’s clothes for the past two months. I didn’t know what was in the closet, but it didn’t seem like it would be a t-shirt and basketball shorts.
I walked to the closet and flung open the doors. It was stuffed with dresses, skirts, and blouses, none of them remotely masculine. I flipped through them: strappy cocktail dresses, evening gowns with deep Vs, and minis that would probably leave my ass hanging out. Some of the dresses I recognized as Georgia’s, but some looked new, perhaps fitted for my size. I sat down on my bed to think. The crazy part was that I wanted to do it, but I was terrified of being seen in a dress. I texted Lena. Her advice had helped me yesterday, and maybe it could today.
On my way, she replied.
I jumped up to throw my pajama bottoms back on. They were thin and didn’t hide much, but I supposed I shouldn’t just be naked.
Lena knocked on the door, and I told her to come in. She was bleary-eyed, probably as hungover as me. She was wearing gray sweats and a thin tank top, which showed off her puffy nipples. I looked away from them.
“What do I do?” I asked.
“What does your heart say?” she responded. Then she looked down at my pajama shorts, where I still had a boner. “I can tell what the little guy thinks.”
She sat down next to me on the bed and wrapped her arm around my shoulder.
“We won’t force you to do anything. We could find boys’ clothes and space for you in one of the dorms. But you could also stay here for a little while, and try things out.”
She placed her arm on my leg, dangerously close to my cock. “That’s what I did, and I haven’t looked back since.”
I glanced at her in shock, some puzzle pieces clicking into place.
“You’re trans?” I asked.
“Yup,” she said. “No one’s assigning that label to you. Identify however you want. But that’s what worked for me.”
I held my head in my hands. I didn’t feel trans, but I did want to slip into those dresses and get my nails done, so what did that make me? Maybe non-binary. Maybe just a cross-dresser. A question for another day.
“Okay,” I said, “I want to take this a little further. Will you help me get ready?”
“Of course.”
We laid out the outfit on my bed. I had chosen, with Lena’s help, a simple black dress that went to just above my knees. It had a high neck and exposed my shoulders, distracting from my non-existent cleavage. I picked a safe pair of panties, a light pink hipster that was a little cheeky, the most similar to my old pairs. There was a padded bra for me as well, though I still wouldn’t have much of a bust while wearing it.
Lena raided my closet for an outfit, choosing a light blue sundress with spaghetti straps. She turned around while I stripped, though she kept peeking back and giggled when I put on my panties. I tried my best not to think about being basically naked with a cute girl in the room, and my penis managed to stay at half-mast. I put it into the side of my panties, a little arrow pointing to the left.
I struggled to fasten the bra, which was much tighter than Samantha’s. I wondered how they got my measurements. The bra offered no support, but it felt like a little hug and gave me a slight bump up front. I pulled the dress over my head, and Lena helped zip it up in the back. I spun around for her, kicking up one of my feet and spreading the pleated skirt. Lena whistled and clapped at me.
“You look so cute! My turn!”
Then Lena stripped to just her panties in front of me, unashamed to show off her body. I tried to look away, but she pranced around to keep my gaze, her little ass jiggling. She had her equipment tucked mostly away, but I could see the outline of a small cock shifting around. She had light nipples and firm breasts, and I couldn’t help but get a little hard. My little black dress hid most of it.
Lena’s own dress showed off her tight body, and I helped her braid her hair, the one hair-related thing I knew how to do. She put a headband in my hair, showing off my whole face, and then did my makeup, a subtle face with a little bit of eyeliner. My nails needed touching up, but that was a task for another time.
“You’re doing great,” she said. “Are you ready to go up?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I said.
I looked good. Not great, but good enough for a first try. I slipped on some matching black sandals, and Lena held my hand as we walked up the steps together, entering the hubbub of the dining room.
Georgia was the first to greet me, still sweaty from her run. She hugged me and then apologized.
“I’m so sorry about the trickery, but I knew you had it in you.”
June was there as well, and she lifted me into the air, spinning me around.
“Your hair’s way too long for a girl,” she joked. “I’d be happy to give you a cut like mine.” She made a motion over my head like she was shearing a sheep.
I grabbed a quick bite with the ladies, smoothing my dress in the back as I sat down. I self-consciously crossed my legs, even though no one would see my panties under the table.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay on your own?” Lena asked.
“I’ve been cross-dressing in public for months. What’s the difference now?”
“True,” June said. “Knock ’em dead.”
It felt amazing to step out into the sun and feel the wind on my legs as I walked down the street. I winked at the boys I passed, feeling their eyes on me. I wasn’t interested in them, but I enjoyed teasing them.
At the coffee shop, I wasn’t sure what to do with my voice, so I just stayed quiet, whispering for a latte for Riley. The barista cocked her head at me, but said nothing while she rang up my order. I sat at a table and scrolled my phone, ignoring the odd look cast my way. Maybe I wasn’t as brave as I thought. Of course, I just looked like a boy in a dress.
Then I heard an eerily familiar voice, and I kept my head down, hoping not to be noticed.
“Riley?” the voice asked.
The chair in front of me scraped, and the person sat down across from me. It was Samantha, holding an iced matcha latte, wearing a full workout set. She set down her drink and grabbed both my hands in hers, searching my eyes for confirmation.
“I barely recognized you, you look great! I see the Tri-Lam girls got my message.”
I looked at her in accusation. “Is that why you hooked up with me?”
“No, silly. I thought you were cute,” she said. “But my type does tend to overlap with what they’re looking for at Tri-Lam, so I have some of their numbers saved. You know Lena?”
“Yeah, she helped me pick out this outfit.”
“She has great taste.” She sipped on her latte, checking out my little tits and makeup and shaved legs. “Anyway, you should take my number, in case I find another cutie to send your way. Why do all the good ones end up being girls?”
“Who would ever want to be a boy?”
***
I was allowed to wear some “boy clothes” for the next couple of months, but I kept it girly anyway: short shorts, crop tops, dresses, and matching spandex workout sets. Lena showed me how to tuck my dick away in those, though it would sometimes flop out while doing pilates. I began to feel like one of the sisters, but there was still some distance between us.
Part of the charm of Tri-Lam was that you had to put in the work, and I tried to do that, being diligent with my chores and participating in the community outreach they did. I got better at doing my own makeup, and I enjoyed putting together cute little outfits for going out on the town. By the end of the semester, I felt integrated into the sorority, just short of being an actual sister. I enjoyed my new clothes and the makeup, and started using they/them pronouns and shaving my legs. I got a little adventurous with the slutty dresses and padded bralettes and panties, laughing with the girls when I got the frat boys worked up. I was still into girls, after all. That was one thing that wasn’t changing.
One night, just after classes ended for the semester, Georgia woke me up and handed me a blindfold.
“Put this on and come with me,” she said.
I wrapped the blindfold around my head and let her lead me out, wearing just my panties and an oversized t-shirt. She guided me up the stairs and into the garden; I could feel the grass beneath my feet, and there was a slight chill in the late spring night. My nipples hardened, and my penis and balls shrank into my body.
The blindfold came off, and I found myself surrounded by the warm glow of torchlight. The whole sorority was circling me and the pledges, each of whom was in a similar state of undress. All the initiated sisters were clad in white togas, some holding torches. I saw Lena and June in the crowd and looked at them nervously. They nodded at me in encouragement.
“Pledges,” said a voice, high and melodious.
It came from the sorority president, Laura. She looked at me and the other pledges, holding eye contact with each of us. I hadn’t interacted with Laura much, and her eyes pierced right through me. She was tall, with high cheekbones and arched eyebrows, looking more like an old Hollywood actress than a college student.
“Congratulations. You have shown perseverance and courage throughout this pledging process, and in every action, you have demonstrated the meaning of sisterhood. Sisterhood is found in small acts of selflessness, empathy, and honesty. It’s not always easy, but it is always rewarding.”
A few sisters stepped out from the crowd, each holding a white sheet in front of them. Each sister walked up to a different pledge and handed them the toga. Georgia walked up to me. I saw that she was crying, but they were tears of happiness.
“Undress,” Laura commanded, and we obeyed.
I started with my t-shirt, revealing my bare chest and panties. Some of the other girls stopped at their underwear.
“All the way,” Laura said. “You have no secrets here.”
I slipped my panties down around my ankles and stepped out of them. My package had shriveled up towards my body in the cold. I stood there, covering my penis, ashamed of my anatomy. But I saw that amongst the bare vaginas there were two other penises, and I let my hands fall to my side.
“New sisters. Clad yourself in the toga, drink with us, cleanse yourself of your past life, and become one with us.”
With Georgia’s help, I wrapped the toga around me, covering up all my important bits. We had wine and cheese fondue in the backyard, and everyone got sloppy and silly. I laughed with my new sisters, hugging and kissing them.
***
The crowd dispersed around three in the morning, and I headed back to my room with Georgia. She slung her arm around my neck, very tipsy, even more so than that fateful night so many weeks ago. I wrapped my arm around her tight waist and scooped her into bed.
“I knew you’d make a good sister,” she slurred, and began snoring, still in her toga, a single breast hanging out.
I sat back on my bed, head throbbing from exhaustion and alcohol consumption. My phone chimed. It was Lena.
See me? The text queried.
I had no hesitation, bounding back up the stairs to the second floor.
Lena was waiting for me on her bed, still in her toga, her head cast back onto her pillows. Her balcony was open, and moonlight and cool air trickled into the room. She got up on her elbows as I entered, and beckoned to me with one finger. I climbed on top of her and kissed her slowly at first, and then harder, working my tongue into her mouth. She flipped me on my back and then stood up, letting her toga fall to the floor.
She wore nothing underneath, and I took in her nude body in the cool light of the half moon. Her nipples were erect, casting a small shadow onto her freckled breasts. Her tummy was smooth and soft and hairless, though she had a small blonde patch of hair surrounding her little cock. The head poked out of the bush, and the skin looked incredibly soft. I unwrapped myself from my toga, letting my own cock spring free.
Lena straddled my lap, stroking my cock hard with her soft hands. I saw her get a little hard, her modest cock growing towards me. I pulled her in for a kiss, playing with her nipples. She reciprocated, taking her hands off my cock and playing with my nipples. I had never had anyone do that, and I was surprised at how good it felt. I had thought that was something only girls got pleasure from.
I moaned as she continued kissing me. I reached full stiffness, and so did she, though her cock couldn’t get quite as hard as mine. She reached down and stroked us both at the same time, our lengths pressed together. She was perhaps an inch smaller than me at full length, which somehow aroused me, being the big guy for once. I began to ooze precum from the tip of my penis, and she rubbed it around both of our shafts.
“Can I go down on you?” I asked, looking Lena straight in her green eyes.
“I’d like that,” she said.
“I’m a bit out of practice,” I said.
I kissed her on the lips, and then on each nipple, and then on the belly button, and then on the tip of her cock.
I looked into her eyes and said, “Actually, I’ve never done this before.”
“That’s not what I heard from Samantha.”
She laughed and lay down on the bed, and I nestled between her legs, my feet swinging up in the air behind me. I brought her cock between my lips. I thought about how I liked to be stimulated, making strokes along the shaft while sucking up and down to just below the tip. I used just three fingers on her modest length. I reached up with my other hand and tweaked her nipple.
Lena moaned, and I tasted something salty come out, which I swallowed. I kept stroking, working some saliva down the shaft. I could feel my own cock leaking onto the sheets below me. After a couple of minutes of sucking and licking, I began twisting her cock with my whole hand, pulling the tip out of my tired mouth. I maintained eye contact with Lena, her little cock the only thing separating us. I could feel her tensing up, and I thought back to Samantha, and rubbed my other finger against the rim of her ass.
“Oh god,” Lena said, and she came, squirting onto her belly.
She didn’t have much come out, but she kept moaning, indicating for me to keep stroking. Her orgasms seemed to last much longer than mine did. I licked up the cum on her belly, savoring the slightly salty taste. She let out a deep sigh and then started laughing, looking at a small smear of semen dripping down my nose.
“Good catch,” she said, and then licked it off and kissed me.
I kissed back, pushing the semen into her own mouth. We kissed for some time, and I worked my way back on top of her, my hard cock rubbing against her soft one.
“My turn,” she said.
She rolled me over onto my back and started playing with one of my nipples, keeping me hard. She reached over and got out a bottle of lube from her cabinet and began applying it to my cock, eliciting a moan from me.
“Good girl,” she said, and I blushed, leaking a little more.
She then applied some lube to her ass and lowered herself onto me. She was so tight, and she glided up and down my cock, her little tits protruding in front of me. I had never felt anything so tight.
“You’re hitting my favorite spot,” Lena moaned.
I brought her in for a kiss, grabbing her round ass as we made out. She could feel me tensing up, trying to stop myself from coming too quickly.
“Don’t come just yet,” she said, making her little pouty face.
I held on as long as I could, precum leaking into her. She leaned back on her knees, long hair dangling down her back as she threw her head back. Her little cock brushed my shaved pubic area, the tip still leaking a little bit of her cum. Her balls were tight against her skin, staying firmly in place as she bounced up and down.
Then Lena shuddered and moaned, her tight ass squeezing on my hard cock.
“Fuck, I’m coming again!”
A little bit of clear fluid came out of her tip and leaked onto me, her shaft twitching as she came. I didn’t last very long after that. I came to her favorite spot, and we collapsed together, soaked in sweat, lube, and juices.
“Thanks, sister,” Lena said, and I kissed her in response.
We fell asleep together, waking up at the first light of dawn to clean ourselves off before anyone else awoke. I slipped into one of Lena’s nightgowns and rushed back downstairs to curl up in bed, tucking myself in across from a still-snoring Georgia.
That morning, I put on a little tank top with spaghetti straps and tied my hair back into a ponytail. My hair had grown a couple of inches past my shoulders, and I enjoyed the sensation of it flipping back and forth over my open back. I tucked my cock into a little pair of black panties, put on some shorts, and headed up the stairs to breakfast. Georgia, June, and Lena were already there. June had a silly little grin on her face as I approached with my plate.
Georgia kept a better poker face, but she burst out laughing when I sat down next to Lena. Lena gave me a little kiss on my cheek, and Georgia and June started teasing me, and then congratulated me. We turned to gossiping, talking about some of the other sororities and the horrible frat boys that they had to deal with. It was a beautiful day outside, and my only plan was to enjoy the company of my new sisters.
The End.
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