Introduction: The Cheaters

       It was the kind of Monday morning that freshmen tend to dread. Midterms loomed, and the air in Hargrove Hall was thick with anxiety and the smell of energy drinks. Over a hundred freshmen hunched over their desks grinding away on their exams in the huge lecture hall. Four boys sat near each other fidgeting more than most. There was Nate, tall and lean with a perpetually worried brow; Milo, shorter and twitchy, always cracking jokes to mask his nerves; Julian, the quiet artist with a knack for improvisation; and Owen, the one with a stubborn streak and innate skepticism.

       The eighteen year-old boys had hatched a scheme the night before—the kind of desperate plan born from too little studying and too much youthful bravado. With a few answers discreetly scribbled onto the inside covers of their battered notebooks and a subtle system of coughs and taps carefully rehearsed, they believed they could outwit the proctors. Perhaps it was the sort of thing that might have worked in high school, when teachers were more overloaded and distracted.

       But this wasn’t high school, and the volunteer exam monitors—three sharp-eyed seniors—moved with seasoned vigilance, canvassing the rows with an intensity that left little room for error. Unbeknownst to the boys, all three were members of the Gamma Delta sorority. One of the sisters, perched at the aisle, had already noticed the suspicious glances and muted signals exchanged between the four friends but continued to watch, her gaze coolly appraising. The boys didn’t know it yet, but they were being observed with focused scrutiny.

       An hour into the test, as some students were finishing and turning in their papers, Nate took advantage of the students moving around him and tried to signal to Milo. Instead, he met the intense gaze of Madison, Gamma Delta’s president, who raised an eyebrow and jotted down their names. The trap had been set. She and her sorority sisters had been tracking their antics for nearly half an hour, trading glances and silent nods as they pieced together the boys’ strategy.

       Madison had watched them with a mixture of amusement and calculation. She found the four somewhat endearing in their futile mischief. Gamma Delta was known for promoting and developing very strong-willed and decisive women. Perhaps, she mused, these boys were ideal candidates for a very different kind of lesson—one that would leave a lasting impression and also provide some entertaining distraction for her sorority sisters as well. In her mind, the wheels were already turning. With a chuckle, she recalled some similar things Gamma Delta had done before.

       As the exam wrapped up, the four boys slunk outside, their hearts pounding with dread. Their anxiety deepened when, instead of being summoned to the dean’s office, they received instructions to report to the Gamma Delta sorority house. The stately Victorian building, adorned with pastel curtains and gleaming trophies visible through the windows, stood in stark contrast to the sterile halls of the administration office. The boys exchanged nervous glances, their relief at dodging official discipline quickly giving way to an ominous curiosity about what awaited them.

What a nice story. Thank you antonia for another lovely tale. I always enjoy reading your stories. They certainly have a different vibe than my own, and they tend to push slightly different "buttons," but it's obvious you put effort and care into them.

Diversity is beautiful.

Kisses!

PART 68

    Josh tried his best to be acquiescent and obedient, but this new onslaught of attention continued. All these persistent ministrations refocused Josh’s thoughts back to the here and now. To his chagrin, he realized guests seated nearby had taken notice of the smothering care and attention he was receiving. Mrs. Standish, still watching with increasing curiosity, seemed both amused and enchanted at the little scene.

    Next, his mother’s attentive gaze landed on his stockings. She smiled gently and said, a little too loudly, “your stocking seam is crooked, darling. Stand up for me, please.” Flushing with embarrassment, Josh awkwardly rose from his chair, acutely aware of all the eyes upon him. His mother knelt gracefully and, with careful fingers, straightened the seams on both his stockings until they ran perfectly neat and true. The dainty garter straps under his velvet pants delicately tickled his thighs as she pulled his stockings this way and that with short little jerks. Then she playfully fluffed the lacy frills of his adorable anklet socks a few times for good measure. This overtly maternal doting—performed in full view of the other guests—only magnified Josh’s sense of exposure. He felt a fresh wave of humiliation, acutely aware of how far his new reality was from anything a typical teenage boy would ever experience.

    While his mother was attending to his stockings, Mrs. Smyth noticed that one of the lacy puffs at his wrist was tucked under in the wrong way. “Hold out your hands for me dear,” she instructed as she briskly spun her chair around toward him. Chagrined, Josh obeyed and delicately extended his hands out as he was told. With gentle but exacting care, Mrs. Smyth undid the pink ribbon tie around his wrist and loosened the flouncy cuff. She made sure each frill fanned out beautifully over Josh’s wrist the way it was supposed to and then meticulously retied the ribbon into a dainty bow. For good measure, she repeated the process on his other hand and then inspected her work with a critical eye before allowing him to relax.

    “There, darling, see how much nicer that looks now that your frilly cuffs are free to flit and float?” she beamed.

    “Yes ma’am, thank you,” he croaked as the frills danced over his slender, manicured hands. “They look lovely,” he added sweetly.

    Standing there so meekly and subjected to this dual primping from his mother and Mrs. Smyth, the blushing boy felt incredibly small and girlish. His tummy fluttered ceaselessly.

    Retaking his seat at last, he saw a couple of elderly ladies in pearls at the next table cheerfully whisper to each other as they watched with amusement. They hardly bothered to pretend they hadn’t seen it all. They were obviously smitten with the teenage boy in the Fauntleroy suit that perfectly matched his sister’s gorgeous dress. His mind raced with self-conscious thoughts about how ridiculous he looked. As his nerves jangled, he absent-mindedly rested his elbow on the table.

    Instantly, Mrs. Smyth’s keen eyes caught the breach in etiquette. She admonished him,

    “Josh, dear, elbows must never touch the table. It’s simply not ladylike, and you must remember that every gesture matters.” She elaborated in an instructive tone, “You must strive to keep your elbows tucked gracefully at your sides and your forearms resting lightly on the edge of the table only as necessary.”

    Josh’s cheeks burned as he quickly slid his elbow off the table.

    She explained further, “In most cases, you should allow your hands to rest lightly in your lap with no unseemly gripping or fidgeting.” She gave him another admonishment, “and my goodness don’t crowd the table so! Scooch your chair back just a tad and open up the space. Let those beautiful frills breathe and give yourself room to be seen!”

    Josh obediently slid his chair back a cautious inch or two and then let his hands slip quietly to his lap. His motion was timid and measured, as he feared disturbing the painstaking arrangement his of outfit’s frills, bows, and lace. He forced his fingers to uncurl and cupped them delicately in a very feminine way. As his hands rested sweetly on the soft pink velvet of his knickers, he was again keenly aware of the heat radiating from underneath his panties and bulky diaper. His frilly wrist puffs fanned out adorably on the rich fabric. The small additional distance he had created between himself and the table only heightened his sense of vulnerability. 

    “And dear,” Miss Andrea interjected again, “please sit up just a touch straighter.” As she spoke, her hand glided delicately along his back to nudge him toward a more upright posture. “Shoulders gently back, chin lifted—but not too high. Remember, a proper lady is always poised and never slouches.”

    Josh was flabbergasted. With his restrictive corset, it was already impossible for him to slouch! How could he sit up any straighter? Sighing, he awkwardly tried to roll his shoulders back and lift up even more in his seat as instructed. All this constant fussing seemed to draw extra attention and make him feel even more girlishly conspicuous.

I own one of those dresses, I will re read your story next time I get to wear it.

Thank you Antonia for a delightful story. Now that Mummy has Her adorable little baby Jenny will she perhaps, sometime in the future, allow to grow into a cute adorable 5-6 year old little girl who is still dependant on nappies? Look forward to any of your future stories.