Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Chapter 3



   Her approach woke me before she knocked.

   I fell asleep late, pondering Melisa's actions.  She tested me, or at
least my self-control.  She offered a part as if to say 'Tonight, but never
again!' My willingness to wait did not surprise her.



   The roommate rolled over to face the wall.  I got up to answer the door.
Melisa was looking bright and beautiful, eager almost.

   "Hi," she said holding up a bag, which smelled of my favorite coffee.

   "Breakfast," she continued, smiling at me.  Innocence had made a
comeback in her demeanor and clothing.  The smile changed to a feminine 'I
know what you're thinking'.  I was seeing the smile too much from her.  She
knew exactly how I would react to stimuli.

   "No classes today," she said, brushing by me into the room.  It was not
an unpleasant experience.  I turned and the knowing smile was on her face
again.

   I watched as she put the bag on my desk.  I thought blue jeans and a
white button-down shirt were not a bad substitute for shorts and t-shirt,
while trying to figure what she might have scheduled for me which required
getting up early.  I gave up with a quick shake of my head.  I was
perfectly capable of figuring out the dance steps while she executed them,
but I could not hear the music yet.

   I had to let Melisa lead.

   "You have a very important appointment today," she said opening my
closet.

   "Really?"

   She turned and smiled with a slight tease to her lips.  She took a step
half into the closet to move hangers around, looking for something
appropriate.  Her tone of voice suggested my appointment with Professor
Ryan was more of an interview.

   "My interview isn't until 3 pm," I told her.  "It's eight am, Melisa."

   I got into bed and lay on my stomach.  I put my chin on my folded arms
and watched her...ass mostly.  Melisa was about five inches shorter than me
and had an extremely nice behind.  The jeans did not hug her curves, they
showed where curves began and traced their routes when she moved.

   "You have to shower and shave.  Grab some breakfast," she answered,
pulling out a white shirt from the closet, which almost exactly matched
hers.  She put it against her chest and looked down.  It was not difficult
to figure out if Melisa and I became a combination, I would only be wearing
the shirt enough to keep it broken in the way she liked.

   "I thought that was breakfast," I said, looking at the bag on my desk.

   "Just coffee." She put the shirt back in the closet but away from
everything else.  She sorted through my clothes again.  It looked like she
was ordering things by what she would and would not wear.

   "So I'm to shower, shave, go to breakfast and then..."

   "Work," she said withdrawing a pair of tan slacks from the closet.  I
guessed the interview would be informal.

   "How do you know so much about my schedule?" I asked.  She was in most
of my classes so I expected her to know that but even with Melisa, I did
not talk about myself.

   "Tsk, tsk" she admonished, bending down to pick up my towel.  She
sniffed it and tossed it back in the closet.  She jumped to pull a
different towel down from the top shelf.  She tossed it in my general
direction and returned to searching for a suitable shirt.  Explanations, it
seemed, were going to be Professor Ryan's department.  I walked over to my
desk and picked up my bucket of toiletries.  I opened the bag she brought
in and pulled the coffee out to take a quick sip.

   I walked out of the room without questioning her further, part of
whatever was happening, definitely her part, had to do with my reaction to
the situation.  While blonde hair and green eyes were waking me up in the
morning, I could deal with it, certainly better than if Professor Ryan had
wake-up duty.

   When I got back to my room, Melisa was sitting on my bed next to the
clothing she picked out.  I stared at her while taking another sip of
coffee to give her the opportunity to look away.

   She smiled, refusing to take the hint.

   I had never been sure how attraction worked for women.  I only got as
far as if she expressed a like, generally safe to keep going in that
direction, the opposite for a dislike.  Melisa seemed willing to watch me
undress, even to desire it.  There was no reason to refuse her, and maybe
the favor of frustration she had done me could be returned.

   I took the towel around my waist off, giving her my back at the same
time.  I took my time drying.  After a couple minutes on my hair, I faced
her, still using the towel to dry off.  Her eyes riveted to my crotch,
making me harder and harder under the pressure of her stare.  I finished
drying off while her eyes lapped at different parts of me.

   The military tried to stamp my body; large torso for power with long
muscular legs shaped for distance.  I was too short for the long part so
they had to settle for muscular.  My workouts were utilitarian; martial
arts classes supplemented by thrice weekly weight work.  Abnormally strong,
I worked a hundred pounds north of most men with my size and weight
regimen.

   Melisa did nothing to hide her appreciation.

   I finished drying and leaned back on the desk.  I picked up my coffee
and studied her.  I wanted to see how much would be enough.  After my
hard-on ached in its insistence for more than being looked at, I got
dressed.  Melisa had an incredible gusto for looking, and I was the only
one suffering.  She sighed, almost forlornly, as I finished buttoning the
shirt.

   We walked to the student cafeteria where I grabbed breakfast and found
us an isolated place to sit.  After we finished eating, I looked at the
clock.  It was only 9:30 am, an hour before my lab shift.  I sat back and
stared at Melisa.

   "Last night's," I searched for a proper word, "incident is going to get
around.  My roommate is in one of the frats, which popularized your
nickname.  They also spread the rumor that Doris Alex and you are
involved."

   "The school is too big for it to affect me," she replied calmly. 
"Anyone who matters to me and the assholes will know whose bed I was in."

   "What difference does the bed make?"

   "The bus," she replied in a voice, which said I should have known the
answer.  There had been an incident during the fall semester; three guys
harassing a couple of coeds on a bus.  One of the girls got slapped; I
slapped the asshole with the happy hand.  It did not sit well with any of
the guys.  In a small space, it was not much of a fight.

   "The smart assholes know there will be a confrontation if they talk too
much.  The girl who got slapped was our pledge, David.  Do you know how
many times I've told one of my sisters 'Yes, I would mind if you went after
him'?"

   "It wasn't much of a fight," I said looking around.  "They were drunk
and in a confined space, everything was to my advantage."

   "Modest, too," she replied with a tiny feminine smile.

   Trouble rode shotgun to a reputation though.  I did not need to deal
with little boy assholes who wanted to prove their manhood.  Outnumbered, I
did not take any chances on the bus.  I put two of the three down fast and
only their non-student status prevented me from getting arrested.  Pressing
charges against me would have put the city in a bad light when a busload of
witnesses stepped forward to testify the three thugs were assaulting a
co-ed before I got involved.  Too many businesses depended on the school
for the incident not to be smoothed over.  Hospitalizing a drunken frat
boy, even in self-defense, would have vastly different results.

   "No one I care about will say anything, David," Melisa said seriously.
"They'll think it's been going on for a while or that I finally decided I
didn't want to be just friends anymore.  Even if my sisters wouldn't defend
you, they would never allow a sister's sex life to be someone else's
entertainment."

   Her sorority was the most influential student organization at the
university.  They had unswerving support of the status-equal fraternity. 
Combined with deep ties to the school administration and community,
Melisa's sorority did not have to take kindly to open attacks on a sister.
My roommate's frat brothers would back off at the first sign of backlash;
the least of which would be the university cops raiding every party looking
for underage drinkers.

   I nodded to her.

   We talked about our schedules for the next school year until I had to
leave.  She walked me to the lab and told me not to be late to my
appointment.  She placed a quick kiss on the base of my neck before walking
away.  I stared in her direction for a long time before going inside.

   I left the lab at two-thirty and visited the student center for a quick
bite before heading to Professor Ryan's office.  Rachel was sitting in
front of the pizza stand; she said hello as I passed by.  She was the only
one Professor Ryan could have used to tempt me more than Melisa or Doris
Alex.  She never gave a hint the thought I was male had ever entered her
pretty blonde head though.  In two years, the allure I felt the first time
I saw her had not dwindled.  I did not sit to talk to her.  I said hello,
got a slice, and left.  The appointment with Professor Ryan had nothing to
do with not taking the time to talk to her.  After our freshman year, all I
ever did with Rachel was smile, say hello, and walk away.

   I worked my way through the catacombs to Professor Ryan's office.  His
door was wide open, and he sat in his chair facing it.

   "How are you doing today, David?"

   "I think I'm okay," I replied and sat at the chair set up across from
him.  He watched me for a few seconds; I watched him back.  Silence and
patience seemed the best policy.

   "Any questions?" he asked me with a voice bordering on the smug.  I
continued staring at him.  The foster homes taught me how to be quiet and
wait.  He took the ring off and tossed it to me. .

   "Go ahead," he invited.  He watched as I studied it carefully.

   The band was not gold like Melisa's; platinum, I guessed, not shiny
enough for silver.  The stone was black like an onyx, but I did not know
rocks well enough to determine if it was.  It was a much simpler band,
without the etchings on Melisa's ring.  The crest on the stone was
exceptional.  The beauty and detail of the artistry evident even from a
cursory study.  I tried to inspect the crest deeply, but I could not quite
get to where the detail ended.  Crest might have been the wrong word; it
was more like a painting, a gold dragon bathed in red flame.  I could not
tell if the dragon was reveling in the heat or being consumed.

   I stood up, walked to Professor Ryan to hand the ring back.  I sat down
and looked at him.  We were still dancing so I put it on them to take every
first step.

   "The rings, are the keys, David," he said.  "Let me tell you a story. 
You tell me if you believe it or not."

   "A movement begins in ancient Greece, arising from philosophical
teachings.  Plato wrote about them in his books--the elite.  Some men are
the center of society, driving progress.  Society works constantly against
them, trying to hold them in check, to protect itself against them."

   He stood up to pull down an Ayn Rand book from his shelf.  He tossed it
at me.  I looked at the cover and smiled.

   "The mediocre naturally seek to destroy the elite among them," I said
tossing the book back.  It was not everything the book was about but some
parts some more than others.

   "That is how the movement ended," he said staring at the book.  "The
masses destroyed the few who banded together, erasing any mention of them."



   He looked at me and smiled, "The movement did not die though; it went
underground.  After several more purges, the movement's fundamental values
changed.  Survival became more important than power.  The goal
changed--building a network, which would allow them to live as they defined
life.  They sought to ensure their heirs would enjoy the same privilege.  A
significantly easier goal to hide from the mediocre."

   "An offensive term, don't you think?" I asked.

   "A lot of people find comfort in conformity," he replied.  "A girl gets
slapped on a bus and only one man stands up.  What would you call that
man?"

   "Someone who read too many fairy tales, like your story," I said
smirking.

   He smirked back, "We believe that's how the Brotherhood was born.  We're
confident of the dating back to Aristotle and Plato's time, but we're not
as sure about the rest.  The Brotherhood destroyed its own history during
some purges to ensure surviving members could not be tracked by rebuilding
the past."

   "And now?"

   "And now what?"

   "Melisa's ring is not about living life the way you want to live it," I
said.

   "It isn't?  The words are different, but the focus is the same, David.
Freedom from the pluralist definition of existence."

   Those were big words but still words.  I waited; trying to piece
together the incomplete picture he was giving me.

   "I'm not one of our historians," he continued.  "How about if I do it
this way though?"

   "Fairy tale or truth?" he asked.  "There is a Brotherhood, twenty
thousand strong.  Two thousand are what the civilized world would call
Dominants.  We prefer Brothers.  The rest of the membership is made up of
Submissives or our term, Siblings."

   "The rings?"

   "There are two kinds of rings.  A white ring like Melisa wears is a
Sibling ring: the black, a Brother's ring.  If a white ring has a crest on
it, the Sibling has been accepted as the sole responsibility of a Brother."

   "And the relationship between Siblings and Brothers?" I asked.

   "Difficult if not impossible to define," he replied hesitating.  "Only a
Sibling can tell you why they wear the ring.  The relationships they accept
vary from Sibling to Sibling.  Let me ask you, most people find the words
dominant and submissive to be useful, but what did you think of the
Sibling's performance?"

   I stopped and thought about Doris Alex's act of pleasure, "Heinlein's
character in 'Stranger in a Strange Land' made women faint from kissing
them.  One of the female characters said it was because when he kissed a
woman, he wasn't thinking of anything else, not even of kissing her.  His
being was the physical act of kissing a woman, a focus too intense for her
to handle.  That's what I thought about Dor...  the Sibling.  She wasn't
thinking about anything: technique, your pleasure, if she was enjoying it
or not.  She looked as if giving you pleasure is who/what she was in that
moment."

   "Not really submissive as defined by the general population," he told
me. "Don't get me wrong, Doris is exceptional.  Other Siblings have a
different set of expectations when they desire contact with one of us."

   "Nothing universal?"

   "Very few will reject a Brother.  They may not offer more than physical
pleasure, but an outright rejection of any contact is nearly unheard of."

   I raised an eyebrow.

   "The only ones I know occur when a Sibling's crested ring is destroyed
accidentally, and she is wearing a plain one.  In those situations, a
Brother may not know she is unavailable."

   "Why two thousand and eighteen thousand?" I asked.

   "The maximum number of Brothers is set," he replied.  "I believe,
historically, the most we've ever had is nineteen hundred prior to World
War II and the McCarthy Purge.  The number of Siblings fluctuates greatly
and is much larger than Brothers because their screening is not as
rigorous."

   "Screening?"

   "You were thoroughly studied before the rings were brought to your
attention."

   "How did you manage that?" I asked quietly.  He unlocked one of the
drawers in his desk, pulled a folder out, and pointed it at me before
putting it down on his desk.

   "David Feather," he recited.  "Left at the steps of a church.  Worked
your way through the foster care system until you graduated high school. 
The foster care records say the same thing; a loner, intelligent, does not
get into trouble but can't be pushed.  You joined the arm services as soon
as social services set you loose.  The military machine spent a great deal
of money training you for tasks not spoken of in polite society.  They
would have kept you, but a young officer made a bad decision in a situation
where they are unforgivable.  You didn't kill him, but your superiors chose
not to thank you for ONLY embarrassing the son of a multi-star general."

   "It makes interesting reading if one is smart enough to interpret the
writing between the lines," he told me.  "Your personality does not usually
develop from a social services program which doesn't work properly.  Every
step of the way, you've made good decisions or made your decisions good. 
There are a lot of things in this report worthy of a second look."

   I watched his every movement.

   "Don't feel bad, David," he told me, waving a hand at me depreciatingly.
"We've been watching you for a long time.  You ran across a Sibling in
grammar school.  She suggested you be adopted, but few Brothers' homes are
a family environment suited to someone not born to us.  On the other hand,
putting young Brother candidates in a Sibling home creates its own
problems. We had to let watching you suffice and hope you were not damaged
by our inaction."

   "Do all candidates get this much attention?"

   "Nearly all candidates get more, David," he replied simply.  "You were
easy; we only had to keep tabs on you.  Social services and the military
did most of our work.  Usually we spend an intense two years making sure a
candidate will not be a disappointment to Brothers or harmful to Siblings.
If a Brother candidate is born to the Brotherhood, it requires even more
time to decide.  In those cases, we have to distinguish between reality and
a good mimic."

   "So you kept tabs on me and that decided you?"

   "There was also the psych evaluation you took last year." A marketing
agency offered me good money for a psych eval.  They were attempting to
find better ways to market to my age group.  I took so many of the damn
things in the military I knew most of the questions before the shrink asked
them.  It did not take a whole lot for the attractive blonde to get me to
sign up.  The psychiatrist was also blonde and quite beautiful.  There was
something about her that made me comfortable, almost as if she were
flirting with every action.  She called back several times during the next
couple of months to get me back in the chair.  I was well paid for each
visit so I did not give the situation much thought, other than wondering
what kind of lingerie the psychiatrist wore.  I was sure about the thong
and had guessed no bra.  She deflected my advances, but I had the feeling
if I pressed she would have joyfully capitulated.

   The door opened; Melisa walked in wearing a short white summer dress,
white sandals, and her hair down.  She smiled at us before taking the last
seat in the room.

   She gave me that focused stare.

   "So what now?" I asked keeping my eyes on her.

   "The Brotherhood is extending an invitation; accept a Brother's Ring,
David," Professor Ryan said.

   "The last few days were temptation?"

   "I like to think I'm tempting," Melisa spoke before Professor Ryan
could, "but I don't believe you can be tempted.  An intelligent decision
requires the right information, David."

   I nodded.

   "Knowledge is not temptation.  We wanted you to know what you would be
turning down if you denied yourself the ring," she told me.

   "You?"

   "Yes," she said with absolute sincerity.  "Doris, the pledge you
defended on the bus, Janet, is also a Sibling and believe me she has been
scratching the walls to...  anyway, every uncrested Sibling is yours in a
way only we can give ourselves up to a Brother."

   "Freedom," Professor Ryan said.  He looked at me for a while before he
continued, "I think you would be in school much longer and teach if you did
not have to worry about other things, like money."

   "Knowledge," Melisa whispered.

   "You said the right information, not all the information," I told her.

   "No Brother has all the information, David," Professor Ryan said with
finality.  "Accepting a ring gives you a right to more, but never all.  You
will have access to the resources necessary to do what you want to instead
of what you have to though."

   "I like to earn my way."

   "You did, David," Melisa said.  "You will."

   Professor Ryan laughed, "Anything we give you, you've earned by becoming
someone we want as part of our Brotherhood.  I'm sure you'll put back ten
times whatever you use.  As much as we tell new Brothers they don't owe us
anything, we choose ones who feel obligated to pay it back anyway.  There
are other things you can do for the Brotherhood...  later."

   I spent a minute looking at each of them.  They stared back knowing what
my answer would be.  It is rare the spider offers to make something trapped
in the web another spider.

   "So all I have do is say yes?" I asked.  Melisa beamed, but Professor
Ryan shook his head.

   "Seven Brothers have to interview you.  They must make a unanimous
decision to accept you."

   I stared at him, unwilling to speak in front of Melisa.

   "I don't remember anyone failing at the interview, and very few do at
the training level," he said with a tiny smile.

   "Failing?  Training?"

   "We would not turn you loose on close to eighteen thousand people who
believe a black ring means you have a right to their body on command.  Some
Siblings will believe you are a foundation," Professor Ryan said weighing
me with his eyes.

   "What do you mean foundation?"

   "Siblings do not just wear a white ring because they have an instinctive
desire to be submissive," he replied.

   "It's a trade-off for most of us, David," Melisa interrupted.  "Brothers
are something we can believe in; something we can build from.  A family
with very powerful connections.  An escape from the world where everyone
pretends this is how it has to be.  There are a lot of reasons we need
Brothers in our lives.  For many of us, the only price is sex with the kind
of lovers we would accept anyway.  Even that can be rare, I know plenty of
Siblings who have to actively seek contact with a Brother."

   Melisa's eyes bored into me.

   "Brothers give us everything we need and want.  Most Siblings are happy
Brothers go through so much trouble to sort themselves out from everybody
else for us."

   Professor Ryan stared at Melisa.  She blushed attractively, but her chin
went up in what was almost a challenge.

   "So you don't want me turned loose on eighteen thousand people who would
instinctively trust me without being sure I'm worthy of trust," I said,
hesitating to consider what Melisa's expectations of me might be.  "What
does the training concern?"

   "That's between you and your trainer," Professor Ryan smirked.  Melisa
grinned widely, more than a touch of smugness crept onto her lips.  I
turned back to Professor Ryan.

   "A Sibling?" I asked.

   "Of course," he replied.  "Using the civilized world's vernacular, would
you let a submissive train another submissive?"

   "No," I said immediately.

   "Why not?"

   I had not really thought about it but worked it through, "The things
which felt good to Doris Alex were the things that felt good to you.  So
much of her pleasure is mental in those situations; she has to know being
in a dominant position over her is giving you as much pleasure as being
submissive gives her.  There would be a mental disconnect sub-to-sub. 
Everything would be different the first time she was with a Brother...for
her."

   "So?" Dr Ryan urged.

   "It wouldn't make any sense to have a Brother train another.  Most of
the time would be spent fighting for control, if not dominance.  It would
also be very important to go through the first transfer of power when a
Brother takes over the relationship if a Sibling does the training.  A
Brother candidate would have to learn how to read a Sibling's wants, needs,
and how she wants him to be in control, to take control.  Again, you might
as well get him started right away with a Sibling he trusts."

   I turned to look at Melisa.

   "So you're my trainer?" I asked.

   "We prefer First Sibling."

   I stared at a corner for a while before getting up.

   "When are the interviews?" I asked.

   "Three tomorrow and four on Sunday," Professor Ryan replied.

   "Where?"

   "The Ramada," he said.  "Melisa will guide you through them.  They start
at 9 am."
   I nodded almost to myself and walked out.