Submissive

by Anya Howard

  The door was opened by a man, dressed like the one who had taken the other girls away. Gillian hardly saw him, for she was awestruck by the sumptuous foyer. A burgundy carpet sprawled over the dark pine-board floor, and the paneling was wallpapered with floriated hunter’s green velvet. On the walls hung antique-looking black-and-white photographs set in golden frames. They were mostly portraits of young, naked women, though there were a few stirring images of men either cropping women or spanking them open-handed. There were also a few paintings. Sensual, dynamically hued images they were: satyrs chasing after nymphs, mermaids luring lusty youths, a decadent woodland orgy. As Gillian proceeded with Madam, they passed a door to their left standing ajar so that Gillian glimpsed a long tiered table in the room, laden with flowers and ferns in shimmering silver and glass vessels. To the far left corner of the foyer was a great staircase draped with carpet of hunter’s green. At the very rear stood a high double door of heavy wood. Another guard stood at these doors, holding a glass of what appeared to be water in one hand, as he contemplated the young, brown-haired woman kneeling on all fours at his feet. She wore a white togalike dress, though the front of it was pulled down so that her naked, heavy breasts swayed over the carpet. A leather strap had been placed about her face, holding in her mouth a huge bit. The end of the bit was shaped like a man’s balls. Gillian surmised that the inner part was molded into a phallus. The girl’s only show of emotion was the frustrated knit of her eyebrows. Other than this, she remained perfectly still in her humbled position.

  Madam glanced down at this girl while addressing the guard, “And how is our Maggie behaving in your company, Sir Roger?”

  Sir Roger eyed Madam with a slight smile. “She is well suited to my pleasures,” he replied, “and I suspect by the end of the week she will be ready to bridle her tongue toward the prisoners. Going inside, Madam?”

  She nodded and the guard grasped the girl by the hair to lift her. He led her away so that she stood with her face against the wall. He returned and opened the doors for Madam to proceed and Gillian followed slowly, surprised to be walking on cool floorboards now. Her eyes strained a moment as they adjusted to the duskier light of the room they had entered. As Roger shut the door behind them, she felt a strange, almost dejà-vu sensation pass over her.

  It was a spacious room, rich with rosewood paneling and gleaming silver chandeliers. More paintings decorated the walls here, and there were several baroque love seats and divans set about. Against the walls were strange apparatuses, objects Gillian suspected were used for restraint. Among these items were two treading machines with wrought-iron frames and handrails. A young woman was using one of these, her back turned to them as she marched steadily upon the moving treadmill. With each lift of a knee the girl’s lavender tunic flounced up her backside, so that Gillian caught a quick but clear view of her well-reddened behind.

  In the center of the room stood an enormous aquarium fashioned in the shape of a great goldfish bowl and rimmed with gold. Three young women were swimming in it, their hips and legs sheathed in mermaidlike tails that partially revealed their bottoms. Shells covered their nipples but all the rest of their flesh was bare. One of them splashed out of the water as Gillian walked by with Madam. As the girl pulled herself halfway over the rim, she threw her wet hair over one shoulder and cast Gillian a curious smile.

  Past the aquarium Madam trod, over a large oriental rug on which four overstuffed leather chairs and a couple of sofas covered over with crimson velvet set, arranged to make a semicircle of furniture forming a sitting area. Two guards sat talking on one of the sofas, but at seeing Madam, they got to their feet.

  “Madam,” greeted one of them. Gillian was intrigued by this one’s stiffly combed blond hair and handlebar mustache. He could have stepped out of an Old West portrait.

  Except for the Byronic outfit, of course. And more fascinating than even his appearance was the antique-looking leather holster at his belt and the ivory handle of the pistol she could see sheathed in it.

  “This is Gillian, gentlemen, our newest recruit,” Madam said. “Gillian, this is Sir Peter.”

  The blond man smiled at Gillian warmly and taking her hand, kissed it. Gillian felt a giggle rise to her lips. The scene was unreal, but pleasant.

  Madam gestured to the other guard. “And Sir Vincent. As with all the guards, you are to address them as Sir.”

  Long of jaw, with ferocious blue eyes, this very tall and olive-skinned man seemed intimidating and dour. Even his sensual mouth looked dangerous. Through his unbuttoned vest thick black hair curled out over the collar of his white shirt. Unlike the blond man, he carried no pistol, only a coiled whip on the hip of his belt. It was enormous, not a plaything of pleasure, and it frightened her even more than the other’s pistol.

  Vincent must have noticed her staring, for he said suddenly, “I assure you, it is used for the control of the prisoners only.” A smile—faint, genuine, and frightening—passed over his lips. “We have other instruments of correction for unruly Disciples.”

  These words rang so loudly in Gillian’s ears that she hardly heard Madam’s next words.

  “I must go check on the situation with the recovered prisoners and register Gillian formally. I would appreciate the two of you evaluating her and indoctrinating her on the seemly conduct expected by our Disciples. I shan’t be too long.”

  “It will be our pleasure, Madam,” answered Sir Peter.

  Gillian was shocked. How could Madam just leave her here with them—and with nothing to wear?

  3

  “I will return, Gillian,” was all Madam said. “For now I leave you to listen to the instructions these men will give you.”

  Madam squeezed her shoulder affectionately and turned about. But at seeing her head back toward the door, Gillian refused to hold her dismay any longer. She ran after her, catching her by one arm. The emotion drained from Madam’s face as she regarded her.

  “You’re not going to just leave me here,” Gillian demanded, “naked, are you?” She heard giggles from the swimmers and threw them a baleful glance.

  “You are bold in your panic, my Gillian.” A touch of warmth briefly glinted in Madam’s eyes, but she lowered Gillian’s grasping hand away. “As I said before, your primary worry should be disobeying me and those who represent my authority. I will be lenient one last time. But from now on, you shall obey or know the severest correction. Now, control your panic and do as these men instruct.”

  Gillian shivered in anger and crossed her arms. “Yes, I suppose—”

  “You suppose?”

  Gillian blinked impatiently. “Yes, I understand. But I want something to wear!”

  Madam laughed, but the composed sound of it sent a blade of terror through Gillian’s stomach. “I will have you tied to one of the pillars you saw on the porch, with the dunce’s cap to wear, if you make such demands of me again!”

  Gillian felt a protest come to her lips, but somehow she held it back.

  “As Peter and Vincent would have instructed you shortly, you are to address me as Madam. And never, ever speak to me again without being given liberty to do so.”

  Gillian watched her turn sharply and walk back to the door, and as she left, Gillian saw the disapproving look in the face of the door guard. When he closed the door again, the panic Gillian had known moments before swelled into a mindless terror.

  She turned on the other two men and glared at them.

  “Come here, Gillian,” said Sir Peter tenderly. He took a step toward her and she backed away, scanning the entire room for another door.

  “Stay back,” she panted. She saw an outline between two of the room panels and bolted toward it. Yes, it was a doorway. When she spied the ceramic handle, she seized it.

  But her hands were snatched back suddenly. The next thing she comprehended was being spun about and heaved into the air. A shriek of fury let loose from her throat and she kicked the air with her feet and beat her fists against the guard’s chest.
When she saw it was not Vincent who held her, but the blond Peter with his radiant, calming smile, the surprise she felt weakened her struggle.

  “Now, now, is this any way for a civilized young lady to behave?”

  When she shook her head, he set her down again. A wave of unspoken emotions poured over Gillian. How can I be angry at this man?

  The next moment he embraced her fiercely, sending a bolt of warmth through her thighs. As his lips crushed her mouth, all desire to flee melted against the clean, manly smell of his fair skin. It was a fragrance more intoxicating than the finest wine. He lifted her arms over her head, and holding her wrists together with one hand, kissed her throat. Her neck and spine tingled luxuriantly and all rational thought ebbed under a wave of desire. With his free hand he lifted her left breast and rolled his tongue over the nipple until it hardened in his nursing lips. The other breast he sought next, stimulating it until Gillian began to moan. His hand descended to her thighs and parted them. He stroked the folds of her pussy until they were inflamed and soaking, and massaged her clit until it felt like a hot ember about to explode.

  Still binding her hands together over her head, he guided her back over to the sitting area. Vincent had pulled off all his clothes from the waist down and was now sitting on the sofa. His cock was so engorged it was scarlet. He grasped her hips and kissed her belly, and drew his tongue down to her vulva. But his intimidating regard frightened Gillian. She bucked her hips defiantly and searched Sir Peter’s face for help.

  “You,” she begged, “you, please!”

  “Shhh…” He threw her hair over one shoulder so he could kiss her throat again. Her body ached for him, but his hold slipped under her arms. Vincent lifted her legs, and spreading them straight out from her hips, pulled her forward. He lowered his mouth over her drenched sex, and with his tongue, prodded through her heated folds. He massaged her clit with hard little circles until it beat against his lips. Even as she strained to resist him, his skilled tongue continued to stroke and strum her clit until her hips were thrashing in the air. When at last she climaxed, the driving tongue did not relent. Gillian was panting as his tongue thrust into her vagina. Peter kissed her neck again with a kittenish lightness that made her spine tingle even as her pelvis rocked in shameless rhythm to the fucking tongue.

  “Sweeter than nectar,” Peter sighed. “Kiss me, Gillian!”

  Her face tilted back to meet his kiss, and when at last she came again, he inhaled the moan that escaped her lips.

  Gillian’s skin was beaded with perspiration as Vincent stood up and pulled her from Peter’s arms. Her fear of him was replaced by an emotion nameless and overpowering. She kissed his mouth and licked his bottom lip, enjoying the solid taste of it. He smiled and laid her down on the sofa. Through her heavy eyes, she gazed up at his cock towering above the thick patch of raven curls and her vagina quickened with renewed passion.

  “Fuck me,” she cooed, touching the iron-hard shaft, “fuck me with that!”

  With a soft laugh, Vincent grasped her legs and wrenched them apart. He worked the first two fingers of his right hand into her pussy. She could feel her still-contracting muscles clamp him.

  “Still hungry with passion, beautiful Disciple?”

  She began to pitch herself against his penetration and nodded, hoping her pleading eyes would entice him. But just as suddenly he released her.

  “On your belly!”

  She whimpered in disappointment, yet she obeyed. Again her thighs were spread, but this time it was her anus he probed with a slick finger. Gillian felt indescribably humbled. He maneuvered himself onto the sofa so that he sat behind her with her legs draped over his lap while he boldly prodded her rear. Each stroke went a little deeper, creating a surge of sensation at once painful and arousing. She could hardly keep her hips from writhing, and when she saw Sir Peter peering down at her, a deep blush reddened her face.

  “No, stop it,” she exclaimed. She reached back and tried to pull Sir Vincent’s probing hand away. To her shock, he smacked her hand. Protesting, she twisted and tried to rise to her knees. Immediately his hand rose and he spanked her soundly.

  The blows stung and she began to sob, though in truth she did not know if her tears came more for the humiliation or the encompassing sense of both discomfort and pleasure washing through her. After a time, the discomfort of her being anally probed subsided into an embarrassing passion. The continued invasion prompted sensation in her vagina, too, making it feel all the more desirous for the attention of his huge member. So wicked was this sensation that she was sure he knew it. But on and on he worked his finger, until her backside undulated lasciviously to meet his thrusts. It seemed an eternity he fucked her this way, but after a time, he lightly touched her clit with the fingers of his other hand. The little organ climaxed immodestly.

  She was breathless as Vincent raised her again and stood her up on her feet. He sat back down so that his erect penis reared between her legs. He dabbed a finger at the musky juices on her thighs and, with a sensual smile, turned her by the hips so that her back was to him.

  “Bend over slightly,” he said softly.

  At her compliance he lowered Gillian’s hips a bit. As the head of his cock entered her pussy, he lifted her legs and set them down over his thighs so that the organ stuffed her completely.

  She moaned as he pinned her arms against him, kissing her neck as he began to bounce her upon the impaling cock. Sir Peter came and kneeled before her. He tweaked her bobbing breasts, the slight pain intensifying her sense of helplessness. And then lowering to his knees, he unfolded her inflamed pussy lips and suckled the pulsating clit. Gillian’s entire body felt like one ravenous orifice. Sir Vincent’s cum shot into her, igniting another climax that exploded fully throughout her sex.

  She went limp in Sir Vincent’s strong arms. His hot lips grazed her throat and Sir Peter gathered her breasts in his hands and sucked them gingerly.

  Sir Vincent was merciful now, lowering his legs and holding her firmly by the hips and steadying her on her feet. As he rose, too, he patted her ass and nodded to Peter. Putting his pants back on, Sir Vincent walked off from the sitting area, leaving Gillian to blush self-consciously under Peter’s smiling gaze.

  He kissed her cheek. “You are doing well,” he assured. “Just remember not to question the instructions, and all will go smoothly.”

  “It is not finished?”

  Before he could answer, Sir Vincent returned. Over one shoulder he carried the girl she had seen on the treadmill. As he lowered her to her feet, Gillian caught the girl’s lips purse. But the expression vanished almost instantly, and bowing her head, she drew her hands submissively behind her back.

  Sir Vincent gestured to the sofa and addressed Gillian. “Sit down.”

  She obeyed, and was surprised when he ordered the girl over her lap. The girl draped herself over Gillian’s thighs with a low purr, one so soft Gillian knew the men didn’t catch it. As the girl spread her hands over the floor, Gillian looked questioningly up at Sir Peter. But he said nothing now.

  “Charlotte was found bullying one of the better behaved Disciples for a piece of chocolate the girl had earned,” explained Vincent. “The finale of Charlotte’s correction will serve, also, as a demonstration of what may befall you for indecorous behavior.”

  Gillian understood what he wanted, but she could not bring herself to do anything but stare at him.

  “Hold her hair that she may not move or fall,” he bade in a tone too stern to ignore. “Spank her, Gillian—spank her with vigor until I tell you to stop.”

  Taking a deep breath, she nodded and clenched a handful of the girl’s hair in her left hand. She looked at the girl’s downturned face, seeing the tenseness of her features, the quiver of her lips. Gillian’s right hand rose over the flushed bottom, but her will froze.

  “I can’t!” she whispered.

  “Now, or it shall be her turn with you!”

  Gillian’s heart jumped and without anoth
er thought, her palm bore down over the girl’s tender buttocks. Over and over again she spanked her, bringing a refreshed blush to the skin. The girl’s hips strained right and left in the effort to dodge Gillian’s punishing hand. She whimpered loudly as the minutes drew on, and Gillian’s palm grew warmer with each new delivery.

  At last, Sir Vincent laid a hand on Gillian’s shoulder and said it was enough. With the chastisement over Charlotte panted and sobbed, though, Gillian suspected, more in anger than repentance. Vincent’s cock was swollen again already under the fabric of his pants. He smiled lustily and caught the girl up, throwing her back over his shoulder. He carried her away, but Gillian was too numb with her own shock to see where it was he took Charlotte. She could not even raise her eyes to the gentle Sir Peter.

  “You found that distasteful,” he said.

  “Yes,” she whispered, “…or at least…not…not…”

  “Not arousing?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yet you obeyed. That is excellent.” His praise was like sweet cream to a cat.

  “Not without being told more than once.”

  Gillian trembled to hear Sir Vincent’s voice. But she was dismayed, too, wondering how there could be so little warmth from him after their intimacy.

  “But I did all you told me!”