Lo, A Matron Blooming

Sweetheart of Summa Chi-4

It was all so difficult for Sam. In his own simple way, he had come to learn another of Mother Hallstrom’s many lessons for boys. He stood on the damp brick floor in his bare feet. They had stripped him and bound him to a wooden basement support post. After slipping a leather hood over his head, the girls had laced the leather so tightly up the back of his head he could barely muster even a tiny smile while he listened to Nyah. Her shrieks and cries drove him and forced his c**k to stand fully erect. He ached to touch himself but the bindings held him fast. As Nyah’s screams echoed into the corridor, Sam finally could not help himself. His knees buckled, he slumped in his fastenings, and wept while he ejaculated. There was as much pain as pleasure while he came. His c**k was pumping furiously, hurting as much as it did when he woke up in a wet bed.

Mother Hallstrom would know what he had done. She would know he had drawn pleasure from Nyah’s cries and ejaculated without her permission. There would be hell to pay. She was his mistress now, his mother, his governess, and he was her child. He worshipped her, loved her more than his own mother. It was impossible to hide anything from her. She had only to look at him with those penetrating eyes to know exactly what he was thinking or what naughtiness he had been up to. Yes, there would be punishment, but then just maybe there might also be the stuff of dreams…

The late afternoon air was fresh and crisp. The sky was a glowing cerulean blue. Sunlight filtered through the ancient maples that lined the brick walkway leading from the University’s ivy-clad quadrangle to the Susan K. Wellington Auditorium. Brightly back lit leaves floated down, skittered underfoot and across the undulating brick path.

Females, young and old, spilled over the walkway and onto the grass. All had come to participate in Summa Chi’s annual Rite, the unveiling of the Sweetheart of Summa Chi. Hugs, handshakes, and kisses abounded as alumnae, faculty, students, and sisters all, came together. Woven through their conversations was a common thread, a sense of exuberant anticipation.

The women ranged in age from under graduates to silver-haired grandmothers. The older alumnae wore no makeup and low heels. Their graying hair was fashionably coiffed; they wore perfectly tailored suits and dresses. The students had on their best jeans, tall heels, and sweaters. Long scarves were looped around their necks with the ends left flying. Everyone wore a Summa Chi Sorority pin. From the youngest freshmen with their high jiggling breasts and pert n*****s to the grandmothers with their ponderous thick-nippled mono-bosoms, most were braless. It was a study, an annual homage to feminine beauty and the fluid contours of the female bosom.

That morning while Sam served breakfast to his mistress, Ms. Hallstrom, he had dared to ask her for permission to witness the parade of women streaming onto the campus to attend Rite. His plea had so surprised his mistress she had looked at him with amazement. After all, he knew better. Taking him by his ear, she rose from her dining room chair and marched him into her office. While she pulled down his shorts and swept him over her knee, she reminded him once again she was having none of his nonsense. On this day of days, she had other plans for him. She gave Sam a blistering spanking that left him reddened and sore. She summoned two of the girls to take Sam up to the attic and tie him to his bed until she needed him for his role in anointing the new Sweetheart.

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

Clara Wilson was widowed, heavy busted, and wide-hipped with the fading remnants of a once-young waistline. Her auburn hair had faded, dry-brushed now with faint streaks of silver and gray. Her hairdresser had swept her hair up from the sinuous curve of her neck and piled it high in shimmering layered coils. Her hairdo, fashionably high cheekbones, and frameless glasses gave her a distinctively old-fashioned look of intelligence and superiority. Her daughters said just one of her imperious glances at her grandsons could stop them in their tracks. She wore a knitted cardigan over a flowered silk calf-length dress. Neither the straining bodice of her dress nor her buttoned cardigan could minimize the rhythmic joggle and sway of her ponderous bosom, which rode low and comfortably at her waist.

She was a self-assured woman, comfortable with who she was and what she had achieved. She understood perfectly the effect of her demeanor and stunning profile. She gracefully accepted the admiring glances. It had taken years to earn the unofficial title of Grande Dame of Summa Chi. The matriarchal title suited her perfectly. She wore her recognition, her achievements, and her physicality like a loose garment. Her expectations, her commanding air, and low and full bust line drew looks of respect and admiration from the women around her. Clara herself barely noticed; she was thinking of Sam.

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

Clara had been flattered and pleased to be asked. She immediately accepted the sorority mother’s gracious offer. It would be wonderful to have a young man under foot. Her own children were gone. Her daughters were married and heads of their own households. When they spoke, their families listened. Her sons were also married to strong upright women that Clara had chosen for them. Her daughters-in-law frequently apprised her how her sons were responding to their maternally oriented discipline.

She had given most of her implements, an assortment of whips, canes, and the like to her daughters and daughters-in-law. However, she had kept two favorites, an old strap she’d used on her boys and her husband, and her mother’s big maple hairbrush that still stung like fury. They were gathering dust now in an upstairs closet. The thought of taking a boy into her charge, training him into maid service, bending him to her will, and capturing his freshly whipped bottom and thighs between her legs worked a special magic on her psyche. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so dominant and sexually aggressive. When she hung up the phone, she felt twenty years younger.

Glancing to her left, she noticed an attractive young woman walking beside her. It took her a second to recognize that face and fulsome bust line. She had met this young woman at an earlier Sweetheart Rite. Back then the young woman had been an apple-cheeked bride, well along in her first pregnancy, and still learning how to control her home. Back then, her breasts had been engorged, heavy, and full. Clara saw the young woman’s bust line had not diminished. She looked like she might even be bigger now. Clara pushed the vision of Sam to the back of her mind and re-introduced herself. When she asked the young woman how her pregnancy had gone, the young woman whose name was Mary explained she had two boys now, ages one and three.

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

“Mrs. Wilson, you have been coming to these gatherings much longer than I. Do you have any idea who is going to be this year’s Sweetheart?”

“Not a clue, Mary, and please call me Clara. Ms. Hallstrom, as you must know, is always tight-lipped about Sweetheart choices. She’s always been that way. When I was a senior on this campus, she was a freshman. I was her Summa Chi mentor.”

“How wonderful. I can say you mentored her well. So, I’ll just have to wait.”

“It will be worthwhile – it always is. By the way, how is that husband of yours doing? Is he behaving himself?"

“He’s much improved since we talked last. You had suggested I increase his discipline, whip him daily until I saw some improvement. I did that and it has paid off He’s much more obedient now. I’m down to weekly sessions.”

“So what is he doing while you are away? You know, cat’s away the mice will play...”

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

“Good for you, Mary! Let me have a look at you. If I may say so, your bust line hasn’t reduced a bit since I last saw you. Are you pregnant?”

Mary smiled. “No, Ma’am, but thank you for noticing. I’m nursing my boys and Goddess willing I plan to have another baby in the next year or two.”

Clara gave Mary’s hand a warm squeeze. “That will keep your milk coming for a very long time. Do you use a breast pump or do you use your husband?”

Mary blushed. “He should be so lucky. Oh, he’d love to nurse, but it’s not going to happen anytime soon. He has a very long way to go before I’ll put him to the breast. He has to show me consistently exemplary behavior and absolute obedience. Honestly, Clara, I don’t ever see that happening.”

“Good for you, Mary. How I envy you. There is simply nothing like nursing.”

“I know. It’s hard for me to describe my feelings when I nurse.”

Clara gestured to her own breasts straining her bodice. “I still dream of those days gone by when my breasts were swollen and heavy with milk.”

“Clara, please don’t envy me. You and Ms. Hallstrom are consummate Summa Chi matrons. You define our sorority, our sisterhood. I hope someday I will be as lovely and strong and in such control of my family.” Mary paused, lowered her voice to an envious whisper. “I also pray to Goddess, asking Her to make my bosom as big as yours.”

“You flatter me, but it’s really nonsense, Mary. You are blessed with a perfectly lovely bosom, a matron’s bust line I should say. Be patient. Let Goddess and Mother Nature work their magic. My grandchildren love to climb up on my lap, nestle their little faces into my bosom, and kiss my nibbles. By the way, nibbles is their word not mine.” She laughed. “However, just between you and me I do think all of their fondling and petting stimulates my hormones, keeps me nice and big. It can’t hurt."

“In the evenings when I’m reading, my three year old likes to climb up on my lap. He has figured out how to open my blouse buttons. Since I never wear a bra, he can just take my breasts all by himself. His little hands and those fat fingers make for incredibly nurturing moments.”

“That is so sweet. How much longer will you nurse him?"

“Mmm, at least one more year I should think.”

Clara nodded her approval and glanced at the auditorium doors. “Say, we’d better shake a leg. While we’ve been yakking away, the auditorium is filling up. Let’s go find us some good seats before we end up in the back row."

The auditorium lights dimmed a moment after Clara and Mary had settled into their seats. As the lights went down a hush fell over the auditorium. The women’s voices softened and faded into silence. Mary kept her eyes straight ahead, but couldn’t help the shiver that bolted down her spine when Clara slipped her hand over hers. The grandmother leaned close enough to graze Mary’s cheek with her lips. Clara’s affectionate kiss was not lost on the younger woman. She took it as a sign she was moving up in the alumnae hierarchy. She wondered if Clara might someday invite her to her home.