[Week -78]

When Elya had decided to befriend Cathy, she hadn’t known that Cathy was a big sister in Delta Sigma. 

Most folks on campus didn’t even know what Delta Sig really was, besides that the little sisters treated their bigs with an unusual degree of deference. Some would further be puzzled when they realized that sometimes the “little sister” was actually the same year or even more senior than the “big”. To most, Delta Sigma was just that odd reclusive sorority with remarkably good hospitality that hosted somewhat infamous but extremely exclusive parties a few times a year.

But Elya knew.

She’d had a hunch after the first time watching a little sister grab her big food at the cafeteria, and then patiently wait for her big to start eating before touching any of her own food. There was something subtle about it, but to Elya the exchange absolutely crackled with energy. That hunch had turned into understanding when she'd won a campus art competition and found an invitation to a party at the Delta Sig house slipped under the door of her dorm the next week.

Ever since Elya had lost the use of her voice during a childhood accident, she’d become somewhat of a connoisseur of body language. It was easier to convey a “thank you” with a gently placed palm on her chest than to grab her phone and try to write it, or to hope the person she had just picked up lunch from spoke sign language. So for her, the glassy eyed expressions and exact posture of the two sisters who greeted her at the door had been a dead giveaway. The collars on the staff that only a drunk college student would consider a fashion choice, the body language, the hand signs–it all screamed dominance and submission. The drink service, the kneeling women, the ambient bondage performances. It was like one of her most opulent internet eroticas made real. The girls of Delta Sig had something going on, and Elya was entranced.

She had the night of her life, and dreamed of being invited back.

Running into Cathy during her calculus class the week after had been a lucky coincidence.

So had the moment when she wrote out “could I borrow your notes from class last week” on her phone, and Cathy had replied in fluent sign language instead.

And so had been the trip to the cafe after class–one of many–where she’d confessed to Cathy that she hadn’t participated in sorority rush as a freshman because of her disability. And all the gushing she did about how cool the Delta Sig party had been after Cathy mentioned that she’d bid them–well that was just embarrassing.

And yet somehow she was now sitting in her dorm on a Tuesday night, her hands shaking, holding an invitation from Delta Sig to join their spring rush?

Elya took a deep breath, and settled her anxiety. This had to have come from Cathy. And Cathy could understand her when she spoke. As long as Cathy was there, she was going to be fine.

She’d just go, it would probably be an informational thing. She could ask some questions, figure out if not rushing had been a mistake, and most importantly understand why the most exclusive club on campus seemed interested in her application.

The invitation listed an address two blocks off campus, on the more residential side. The time was just two hours from now. If she wanted time for her hair to air dry, she needed to shower and get ready.

The address turned out to be an unremarkable moderately sized house. No one else seemed to be here, so when the clock struck 9 she knocked on the door. When Cathy opened it Elya breathed a sigh of relief.

“Hello, it’s good to see you,” she signed.

“It’s good to see you as well,” Cathy wore her trademark smirk. “Come in, come in!”

Elya was led to a cozy living room with a full complement of plush couches. It felt incredibly lived in, but for now it was empty.

Cathy must have seen her curious look.

“We have this place as a retreat for when life at the house proper gets just a bit too hectic. But tonight the downstairs is all mine, for this.”

“Is no one else coming?”

Cathy plopped onto a couch, and signaled for Elya to sit diagonal from her.

“No. We do the more traditional rush thing in the fall, but spring is just for exceptions and special cases, and we handle those on a 1 on 1 basis.” Cathy gave her a look she didn’t quite understand. “We’re also a lot less straightforward in fall, so remember that during the times you don’t appreciate the individual attention.”

Elya tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

“In fall we’re trying to confirm a hunch that someone belongs with us–that they speak our language, that they aren’t a horrible person, that this life is for them, etc. For spring one of us has already gotten to know you, you're effectively already a pledge, so the question is simpler: ‘Can you live this way?’”

Elya felt her throat go dry. 

This was a lot further along than she expected. Worse she felt like if she backed out she’d be disappointing a friend. But she had a hint of what "live this way" meant, and she doubted it'd be easy. Was she meant to be part of the scene instead of just an observer? Could she do this?

Cathy seemed to think so. Did she trust Cathy to decide that for her?

With a jolt she realized that yes, yes she did. Another deep breath, and this time a feeling of warmth and safety blooming in her stomach.

“Do I get on my knees now?”

Cathy gave a soft chuckle. “Slow down there cowboy. Let's go over how this works first.”

She seemed to straighten imperceptibly, and a hardness entered her voice.

“From here on out, I run your life. You have an assignment for class? You tell me about it. You have a social event? You ask me if you can go. You want to spend an evening painting instead of doing your homework? You beg me ever so sweetly for the privilege.”

Elya felt a delicious shiver in her core. It was like something out of a fantasy. But a very scary one. Some of the fear started creeping back.

Cathy seemed to sense her hesitation, because she paused for a moment and put a hand on Elya’s leg. Her next words were softer.

“I think you’re going to sink right into this, by the way. But remember that when you struggle, I’ll be there to help you. I’m not just the shackles, I’m also the guide and the safety blanket. You can text me for comfort just as much as for direction.”

Elya nodded, and Cathy continued.

“There’s more. You’ll receive a list of rules from me on everything from how you will dress to your diet. Soda’s off the list, for example.”

Cathy smirked at the dismay in Elya's eyes–sugary drinks were definitely her greatest vice.

“We’ll also be having regular sessions here. I’m going to put you into a hypnotic trance. There will be some triggers, and programming, but mostly you’re going to expose your innermost self to me, so I can understand and guide you better.

Elya looked away for a moment. It was a lot.

“Can I think about it?”

“You have 5 minutes, I’ll go make some tea.”

The first time Elya begged for something was 6 days later. They had just finished another session on Elya’s innermost vulnerabilities–this time without the hypnotic trance to make the opening up easier. Cathy had decided that a short break was in order, and then Elya was going to hit the gym before another hour and a half of schoolwork.

Elya was exhausted. And when Cathy came back with tea she did the only thing she could think of: she dropped on her knees, but on her most pitiful puppy dog expression and begged.

“Please. I'm exhausted. Please allow me to rest tonight instead of going to the gym. Please.”

Cathy, for her part, didn’t even flinch. She just crouched down in front of Elya, gave her most compassionate smile, and said

“No.”

Elya wasn’t sure if it was the word itself, or the poise or confidence or sheer difference between them when Cathy expressed it, but it was the single hottest word anyone had spoken to her.

But Elya was still exhausted, so she signed, in the smallest, most humble gestures she could

“please”

Cathy stroked her cheek, felt the tension in her shoulders.

“You won't skip gym, but I’ll permit you to go for half an hour instead of the usual hour, and you can study for an hour tonight–you’re ahead enough on your assignments.”

Elya felt a surge of gratitude run through her, and lowered her head to the floor.

“Thank you” she signed it over her ponytail.

Cathy tousled her hair.

“Good girl for the way you asked. You've been making excellent progress."

Elya felt her insides melt a little.

It was on the second full week that Elya earned her first punishment and had her first breakdown. 

Cathy had started teaching her protocols–positions, speech patterns, etc–and it was as much work as taking an additional class. Elya had even begged her to make it easier with hypnosis, but Cathy had refused, saying instead that this was about “commitment” and “character” and “the service is sweeter for the effort you put into it” and while that was good and fine together with the actual hypnosis sessions it meant that Cathy kept her on a very hard schedule.

And it was lunch time and she was exhausted and she hadn't had time to rest for 13 days now and she just. wanted. something. nice. So she grabbed a coke at the cafeteria, started to drink it with her lunch, and didn’t even make it halfway before she broke down and started sobbing.

She had the presence of mind to pull up her chat with Cathy and send her a single word

help

Five minutes later Elya felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Oh sweetie, come here.” Somehow Cathy’s voice cut straight to her core, and Elya keened. The lack of noise made the very public moment only slightly less humiliating.

Strong arms grabbed her, and pulled her across the bench into a warm chest. They’d hugged, Cathy had even petted her a few times as their respective roles as enforcer and obeyer, hypnotist and subject, dominant and becoming-more-submissive gradually built up the power dynamic between them. But she’d never been cuddled like this.

Elya clung to Cathy’s torso for dear life as her friend and now domme murmured comforting words above her. When Elya’s shaking had subsided a little Cathy pulled her to standing.

“Alright, for now let's get you somewhere more quiet.”

Cathy dragged her with one arm and carried the half eaten lunch with the other. Somehow she sorted the trash and placed the tray onto the dish receptacle without ever letting Elya go, and moments later they found themselves in an empty classroom next to the cafeteria.

They spent a good while just sitting in a corner, Elya curled up in Cathy's arms, slowly calming down.

When Elya's body stopped shaking, Cathy spoke ip.

“Alright hun, tell me exactly what went through your head back there.”

“I– it–“

Elya shook out her hands in frustration.

“I became overwhelmed, I think. It feels like so much and I feel like I’m failing and I just can’t do it anymore and I just ran out and–“

Cathy interrupted her by grabbing her hands. They sat that way a moment, Elya suddenly without words, emotional spiral arrested for lack of fuel.

“It's alright. I understand. Good girl for texting me when it happened. Next time, try to text me BEFORE it does. Remember you’re allowed to struggle, and you’re allowed to ask for help.”

Cathy stroked Elya soothingly down her back, and the sophomore relaxed.

“But what you’re not allowed to do is drink soda.”

Elya’s blood ran cold.

“And you know what that means: I’m going to punish you now,” Cathy continued, “and I know we’ve gone over this but just to repeat: what is the purpose of punishment?”

Elya felt like someone had placed a weight on her back. She was sinking. Controlled.

“To resolve a violation, and bring us back into harmony.”

“Right. There’s a bit of redemption, a bit of forgiveness, and a lot of ritual resolution.”

She moved Elya off her lap and went to grab a chair.

“For today, I’m going to spank you. With time we’ll learn more about what punishments are most suitable for you, and different dominants might have different preferences anyway.”

“What if a dominant makes a mistake?”

“Then there’s a stern conversation, and sometimes consequences, same as in a vanilla situation. There’s some folks who are switch enough that they do both, but that’s not for you to worry about yet.”

She sat down and gestured for Elya to come over.

The casual use of sign language wasn’t new at this point, but it still made her glow a little bit every time, and in this moment reminded her that although this was scary and new and she was being punished for the first time, she was here with Cathy and she was safe.

Elya placed herself facing left over Cathy’s lap, cheeks burning from the embarrassment of being disciplined like a child. Her big didn’t say anything else before beginning the spanking, and she didn’t give Elya any sort of warm up either. Slap after slap rained down on Elya’s vulnerable posterior. The skirt she’d worn today didn’t offer much protection, and within moments Elya lost her self-control and began to kick. Cathy responded by moving her right leg around and clamping Elya’s lower legs together.

Cathy had a strong arm, and the pain quickly became overwhelming. Elya gripped onto Cathy’s shin for dear life as silent tears dripped to the floor. It seemed to last forever, but then suddenly it was over.

Cathy pulled her up, and gathered her back in her arms.

“Shhhh, there you go, all is forgiven now.”

They stayed that way for a while, Elya resting her head on Cathy’s shoulders, until well after the weeping stopped. Elya felt surprisingly good afterwards, like a weight had been taken off her chest. But it wasn’t the only change–A very different sort of weight had been deposited on her soul, and she felt deeper in her submission to Cathy than ever before.

It wasn’t until week 4 that Elya serviced Cathy for the first time. She’d expected it to come way sooner, had even hinted at her openness to it once or twice, but Cathy had skillfully redirected the conversation every single time.

The day began relatively normally. Elya had one small hiccup at the registrar’s office, trying to update her ID card ahead of summer registration. The clerk hadn’t known sign language, and had become unfriendly when she tried to type out her request on her phone. Luckily there was a student nearby that spoke a little ASL, and volunteered herself as a halting but functional translator.

Overall it went better than expected, and when Elya came back home she followed her usual routine. She texted Cathy that she’d gotten home, checked the notebook by the door for any instructions or assignments, then proceeded with her daily housekeeping. Today was a light day, so she tidied the main living area, wiped down surfaces and mirrors, and made the bed Cathy slept on and she slept next to.

She had some spare time before she needed to begin her homework, so she decided to surprise Cathy and bake some zucchini bread.

It didn’t take long, and it filled the apartment with a delightful scent as she finished her philosophy paper. Then it was time to greet Cathy, so she went and knelt by the door in the prescribed position. Cathy walked in, took a whiff of the apartment, and gave Elya a beaming smile.

Elya bent over, kissed the tops of Cathy’s feet, then took off her shoes and placed them in the shoe rack. Even a week and a half after moving here and beginning this daily ritual, it still filled Elya with butterflies every time. There was something so incredibly right about it. When she resumed her kneeling position, Cathy grabbed her chin, stared into her eyes, and smirked at what she found there.

Cathy spoke the first words of the evening. 

“I think you’re ready.”

She didn’t immediately clarify what that meant. Instead, they followed their usual routine, and Cathy ate the takeout she’d brought at the table while feeding bits and pieces to a pliant and hopeful Elya kneeling next to her. A surprising amount of submission didn’t require talking at all–Cathy had once told her that even if she could talk, for large periods of time it would have been forbidden to her anyway. She’d taken to cuffing Elya’s hands regularly to enforce the same kind of silence.

After dinner Cathy finally revealed what she’d meant earlier.

“You’re going to service me today.”

Elya felt her heart begin to race. It wasn’t that she was deeply into women, though she’d long considered herself bisexual, and Cathy was definitely cute. She clearly put a lot of effort into her body, and had a taste in leather jackets that was worth drooling over. No, it was the submission. The further and deeper she went, the more she craved Cathy’s touch. Her smile, her approval, her body. She’d begun to dream of feeling those silky smooth legs, of seeing what was underneath those proper black panties. Of driving her domme to ecstasy.

It helped that she was no longer allowed to masturbate without permission, and Cathy had been extremely stingy in giving it.

Cathy walked over to the couch, stripped off her pants in one smooth motion, and sat down with her legs spread. To Elya, she seemed to exude power. Elya started to get up to follow her over, but was interrupted by the hand sign for down. So she stayed on her knees and crawled, feeling the whole time like she was gradually becoming drunk.

She’d gotten hints of Cathy’s arousal before–she spent most of her time near her at crotch height, after all–but basking in it like this was a new experience. She wasn’t exactly sure what to do next, but that didn’t scare her here. She was in Cathy’s hand, she would listen, and obey.

She knelt and leant in, only to be stopped by a hand in her hair. She looked up at Cathy, seeking instruction, and was suddenly hit by the intensity of the desire in Cathy’s eyes. 

Elya felt herself shudder.

“You want to start slow,” Cathy explained, “worship me from the legs inwards.”

Elya swayed to Cathy’s left knee and kissed the soft skin on the inside, then gradually pecked chaste kisses up Cathy’s inner thigh, the hand on her head guiding her speed. Meanwhile she let her hands wander and explore, finally becoming familiar with at least a leg of the one who had taken control of her life in the last few weeks.

A tug signified that it was time to switch sides, and Elya repeated the exercise. She felt Cathy’s body begin to relax, and slowly the hand permitted her access to Cathy’s core.

Still Elya tried to stay within the spirit of her earlier instructions and not rush things. She gave tentative little licks around Cathy’s mound, chaste kisses, gradually working her way towards the slit. A soft tug on her hair told her that Cathy was ready.

Her first, broad lick up Cathy’s slit was rewarded by a low moan. Then she dove in, and felt Cathy’s whole body clench. For lack of more detailed knowledge she did something she’d read on an Internet forum once, and tried to spell out the letters of the alphabet on and around Cathy’s clit.

C got another gratifying moan, and an approving tightness in her hair. It hurt slightly, but Elya was too far gone for that. All that mattered, all that could matter, was worshiping the one who had taken her in hand, making Cathy feel as much pleasure as possible.

A few letters later Cathy started tensing up, and Elya realized she was approaching her climax. The hand in her hair suddenly yanked her into Cathy’s pussy, and Elya gave up any notion of breathing and just focused on repeating the swirly C motion for as long as she was still conscious to do it.

Just as her body started to scream for oxygen she felt Cathy orgasm. A deep wave of satisfaction overtook Elya then. She’d been horny, both from the sex but more importantly from the rough handling, and suddenly it didn’t matter. She’d made her domme cum. She was in her place, giving her service, and she felt overcome by satisfaction and inner peace. Some part of her just wanted touch now, and as much as she intellectually knew she should probably kneel in ready position after this, instead she clutched onto Cathy’s leg and pushed her chin into the side of Cathy’s knee, seeking as much contact as she could. Cathy, surprisingly, indulged her, gently petting her head and murmuring sweet nothings.

Elya got another shock when Cathy grabbed her by the shoulders, manhandled her into a curled up position on the couch, and placed her head in her lap.

“There you go,” was all she said.

Cathy must have seen something coming, because even as Cathy continued to pet her Elya felt a wave of emotion overcome her, and a soul-deep need–for connection, for touch, for her domme’s approval–settled into her bones. 

All she could do was clutch at her big as somehow from somewhere a blanket materialized on top of her, and minutes later she was asleep. 

By the next week servicing Cathy had become a regular occurrence. It felt like a privilege, one that she’d worked hard to earn. It was clear Cathy wanted her to think that way as well, since the one time she’d gotten punished since was the one night Cathy didn’t allow it. Sometimes she’d be allowed to orgasm during those sessions, usually by grinding herself on Cathy’s shin. It was incredibly degrading, and Elya found it hot as hell.

At this point, it was the only way she’d be given permission to cum. The privacy of masturbation was a thing of the past for her.

The sense of vulnerability and need she felt towards Cathy had settled a little as well, after that first night. More importantly she’d grown used to it, and Cathy seemed to be aware of it and handle it with the same care she’d consistently shown from the day she took over Elya’s life.

On Wednesday her regular routine was interrupted by a text from Cathy telling her to skip the apartment after class and instead go to the same house where she’d first agreed to pledge. 

When she got there, someone opened the door for her, and it wasn’t Cathy.

Elya’s first thought was how pretty she was. She had the same confident, put together energy as Cathy, but a presentation that leaned much more overtly feminine, with an aline dress that made it just barely to her upper thigh over a pair of tights and socks with cute little kitten ears on the ankle. Her makeup was flawless, her hair just past her shoulders in an elegant wave. Elya might have just become a little more gay.

Elya’s second thought was that this person seemed impossibly graceful. Just the motion she opened her door with, the practiced way she glided across the floor, all of it screamed poise. On some level Elya knew that this is what the drills Cathy had begun running her through were for, but the idea that she might look like this someday was still inconceivable.

Elya didn’t quite know what to do next, and felt awkward for a moment before deciding to try signing.

"Hi?"

Luckily her new acquaintance didn’t miss a beat.

“Hello! I’m Ivy, nice to meet you.” 

She pointed towards the living room.

“Make yourself comfortable, I have some hot water boiling.”

It wasn’t until she walked past her into the living room that Elya realized she’d missed a crucial detail: A plain black choker in solid leather, about half an inch wide, with the same sort of stitching as the cuff that Cathy always wore on her wrist. She’d always assumed it was decorative, but now it was clear that it spoke to something more.

She sat on the couch, and Ivy brought them both a cup of tea. She deposited it on the coffee table with the same perfect grace.

They began talking, about Cathy, about submission, about the process Elya was going through and what she was to become. Ivy was a third year student studying sociology, which means she’d spent the last two and a half years as part of Delta Sig, and had spent the whole time firmly in the submissive role. The closest she came to dominance was this, assisting in the rush process and mentoring the newer subs. 

It felt incredibly relieving to finally share it with someone who was, or maybe soon would be, a peer. It was welcome, but it was also a lot. In some way she hadn’t really fully internalized just how intensely she was signing her life away, but hearing Ivy describe it made it inescapable.

When they finished, Elya realized that she was feeling fairly anxious. She wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to ask, but at this point the need was greater than the fear.

Can I have a hug?

Ivy must have seen her anxiety, because she gave her an almost amused smile.

“You can have one better. We’re sisters now.”

She came over and pulled Elya against her, and Elya felt some of that ever present need soothed. It wasn’t the attention of a dominant, but it was closeness, and a kind of understanding and companionship that someone on the opposite side of the slash would never quite have with her.  Ivy pulled her in closer, and Elya let herself snuggle in and relax.

Two weeks later Elya found herself called back to the house in the residential district again. Cathy had brought home a maid outfit last week, and her drills in movement and grace had intensified ever since. Describing it as a second skin didn’t feel quite right, more a set of obstacles–a poofy skirt, high heels, with decorations that would be easy to stain–that she’d grown used to.

She also hadn’t been allowed to orgasm since they started working with the outfit, and at this point Elya was burning with desire. 

When she rang the doorbell this time Ivy was once again there to greet her, and wordlessly lead her into the kitchen. There, she found one other girl wearing a black choker, who introduced herself as Jasmine. Both her and Ivy were wearing the same maid uniform she was. The kitchen smelled like baking cookies, and it was obvious what they were here to do, but Ivy still spoke the words out loud.

“Today, we’re going to serve a tea party. You already know all the movement you’ll need for this, and we’ll guide you through the rest.”

They spent a while talking about things like serving from the left and how to properly present the pastries that were currently in the oven. There were going to be six big sisters present, and communication wouldn’t be an issue since the three of them were generally not expected to talk.

It felt a little overwhelming, but then Ivy got to the end.

“Don’t worry if it feels like a lot, just follow our lead. How are you feeling right now?”

Nervous but excited. This is the most sisters I’ve met.

Jasmine looked at Elya’s hands in concentration for a moment, but then responded with a smile. “You won’t get introduced to any of the bigs here today, but they’ll be paying a lot more attention to you than they let on. We’re all very excited to have you joining us.”

It wasn’t long before the doorbell rang again. Ivy was on door duty, which left Jasmine and Elya standing at attention on opposite walls of the living room. As guests started trickling in, they took opposite turns bringing the first cup of tea and a biscuit. 

They did that for a while, refilling cups as they emptied, handing out pastries. It wasn’t complicated, but doing it perfectly required concentration and focus.

Eventually the tea party took on a different tone. In what must have been an act of mercy, Ivy was summoned first. The dominant question ordered her to kneel, then summoned some kind of claw from somewhere and began running it up and down the exposed parts of her flesh. Elya recognized the hypnotic trigger that magnified the sensation. It was enough that Ivy was clearly struggling to process the pain, but not so much that she broke her position.

Cathy had prepared her for this, to an extent. She’d been flogged, caned, had her nipples clamped, and more. Sometimes in punishment, often just because Cathy felt like it. But she’d never done it like this, with strangers and nearly in public.

In the presence of uncertainty, Elya noticed herself instinctively leaning on her training. When she was summoned she glided, almost without noticing, and when the order was given for her to strip she did it without shame.

That’s not to say it wasn’t embarrassing, vulnerable, or difficult. It was all of those things. But she’d been primed for weeks now, perhaps had the proper instincts for years, to process those feelings into submission. Feeling embarrassed was okay, it was her purpose to feel that way. Feeling vulnerable, BEING vulnerable was okay, everyone here understood what that meant and knew how to keep her safe. It was her purpose to feel that way, and their solemn vow to treat that properly.

And it was okay for it to feel hard. The hand on her throat was there to help her.

So she let her heart race and her mind haze over and she found that place deep within herself where she became an instrument for the will of another. She felt them in her bones, six dominating presences, each having so effortlessly taken up space in the room, each a color, not clashing, but forming a tapestry together. And then two other presences, sources of companionship and support. The three of them, together, a canvas for those beautiful colors to paint on.

Elya opened up, and bloomed.

At the start of the 8th full week, Cathy warned Elya to keep that Friday open. That had typically been her night off, since Cathy was often away on sorority business then. Elya knew the implications of that, but didn’t dare to hope.

She’d had a few more afternoons talking to Ivy about everything, but especially about the sorority, about community, and about submission. There’d even been a few giggled promises about spending some time sharing a bed once Elya was properly inducted.

That Friday Elya arrived back at the apartment to find a simple white dress waiting for her, and a note instructing her to come to the sorority house at 8pm. She actually hadn’t been there during her whole pledging period, and the idea of finally seeing it as not-a-guest sparked something deep inside her. It felt exciting, but more than that it felt right. Like finally getting to come home after a long trip.

She caught herself starting to fantasize, about meeting her future sisters, about her future room, about getting to SERVE. But she stopped herself. This could be anything. And there was no guarantee that everything after would go well. Sure, so far all of her contacts with Delta Sig–Cathy herself, but also her hours with Ivy and the tea party and everything else–had all been more than she ever could have dreamed of. But there was still the unknowability of the future, not to mention the challenge of her muteness.

Still, she put on the dress and arrived at the expected time. This time she wasn’t the only person there. Three other students stood in the doorway, all with the good posture and quiet confidence Elya realized she herself now displayed. Two wore the same white dress she did, while the third wore white slacks on a white vest.

The ceremony began when she walked in the door, but it was something secretive, private, that Elya would hold close to her chest for the rest of her life.

There was one last surprise in store for Elya, and it came that night. She was in her new room, trying to get settled in. Someone had brought over all her stuff from the apartment, which was both heartwarming and a reminder that personal space and boundaries were not a guaranteed thing for her anymore. 

There was a soft knock on the door, and Cathy walked in. Elya instinctively dropped to her knees. Cathy smirked and sat down on the bed.

“There’s one more thing you should know, now that you’re here.” Cathy fingered Elya’s brand new leather choker. “Every single person in this house understands at least the 500 most common words of ASL, though close to half are past 1000.”

“Why?” Elya’s hands started the signs for follow up questions, but could never quite leave that one simple question, “WHY?”

“Because you belong to us now, and that comes with a duty to you. How could any of the big sisters expect your submission, if they didn’t put in the work to make you safe and home? How could any of the little sisters be your sisters in bonds deeper than blood if they didn’t put in the work to HEAR you?” She spoke and signed the word both for emphasis.

“No, I have some people I want to introduce you to, personally.”

Elya rose to her feet and followed Cathy out of the room, into the first night of her new life.