Submissive

by Anya Howard

  “Stop her!”

  Heavy feet pounded from the shadows of the porch as she fled down the steps to the lawn. From a nearby bush, another masculine shadow darted toward her. Reeling sharply, she ran toward the great oaks flanking the path. She could hear the men close behind, and had no idea where to go or how to avoid them for long. She thought of nothing but resisting that untried passion her spirit intuitively knew would be kindled were any man to correct her as Sir Douglas intended to.

  She dashed behind one of the oaks just as two of the guards passed by, and, suspecting the others were scouting the outer edges, she crept about slowly, watching for signs of their shadows. When she saw one of them emerge from under a branch, she sprinted to the great trunk on the opposite side of the avenue.

  A violet-green mist suddenly rained down over her. She was swallowed into a vortex of heat and scents so embracing that her terrified scream could not be released.

  But she heard one of the guards shout, “Here!”

  The next moment, the vortex released her and as she gasped for air, saw the guards running toward her from all directions. The first who reached her coiled his arms about her waist and hoisted her high into the air. She stomped her feet against the air itself, in fury at the terrible, invisible thing that had thwarted her escape. As she struggled in the guard’s arms, the others trotted up. One of these was Sir Douglas, and his eyes were incensed.

  But he turned and raised his eyes to something above them all, and said breathlessly, “Thank you, good Patron.”

  Gillian turned her head and looked, seeing, high in a branch above them, one of the glowing Ur’theriems. His wings were folded behind him and the front piece of a glimmering gold loincloth fell between his gigantic legs. He regarded her thoughtfully, and suddenly Gillian recognized his face.

  Xaqriel!

  He addressed Sir Douglas. “This Disciple has forgotten the dangers that lurk about, as well as her station. Carelessness is as dangerous to her well-being as the fear of self-fulfillment. Make certain she is corrected for both.”

  “Yes, certainly,” Sir Douglas answered. He bowed his head to Xaqriel and then told the guard holding Gillian to carry her to the roots of the tree she had headed for.

  The guard delivered her to the spot he had indicated, and set her on her feet as the other men came over. Sir Douglas drew out his crop again and snatched Gillian about the waist. He was stronger than she thought, and although she struggled to wrest herself from his hold, he sat down in the grass and pulled her over his lap. She tried to crawl off his thighs, but one of the others knelt and pinned her hands in front of her, while another held to her ankles. The crop struck her bare behind, scoring her flesh with stinging heat. She had hardly gasped when it came down again. He whipped her again and again, so that her buttocks soon felt swollen by the smarting pain. The implacable look on the face of the guard holding her wrists only added to her humiliation, and she begged Sir Douglas to stop.

  The crop paused, and Sir Douglas’s tone was hard with emotion. “You would speak unbidden? Gillian, your attitude needs much correction! I see now there is no alternative but to ensure you are treated with only the firmest hand. I will take full enjoyment in correcting your every single flaw, no matter how long it takes!”

  He tossed the crop to the grass and spanked her already sore buttocks with a strong hand. Gillian squirmed over his lap and her wails ascended into the night air. Though she wept, the guard holding her arms did not take his eyes from her, as if his spectatorship was part of the chastisement.

  At last, Sir Douglas stayed his hand. Gillian’s buttocks surged with fire as he nodded to the guards. They let go of her limbs now, but Gillian was terrified to move without Sir Douglas’s command.

  He lifted the crop again and with the end, spread her thighs. With his fingers he patted her pussy lips, and to her chagrin, her vulva swelled with life. His forefinger delved into her sex, rousing her desire full force. And when the crop struck her backside again, her clit throbbed.

  “Crawl onto the grass and remain on your hands and knees,” he ordered.

  Gillian did not question. She did just as he instructed, lowering her face before the trunk of the tree. She heard him rise and hoped he was going to take her back to the household now, away from the eyes of the others.

  Instead, he lifted the length of her hair and pulled her about to face him. His pants were unbuttoned, and now he lowered them. With his free hand, he massaged the head of his cock. Two guards came over, and even though she could not see their faces well, she felt the lust in their eyes.

  “Fuck me with your mouth,” Sir Douglas commanded, releasing her hair, “but do not lift your hands.”

  She crawled before him and took his cock into her mouth. As she began to pleasure it, she felt hands upon her backside and whimpered as her nether lips were spread and fingers pinched the head of her clit. It pulsed wildly and a few moments later, a cock, narrow but long, entered her pussy.

  The guard screwed her madly as she sucked Sir Douglas, and when her own pleasure began to build, her chaperon warned her to keep her thoughts on her work. She sucked to the root of his cock, not dallying in her efforts until his semen filled her mouth. When Sir Douglas had composed himself, he stepped aside and another guard took his place. This man’s shaft was velvet iron, his passion so eager that he rocked her face as she sucked. Soon his cum also burst down her throat.

  As he withdrew, she felt the climax of the one screwing her, and the jolt of it whipped her hungry passion into a frenzy. When he stepped away, the last one thrilled her pussy anew, fucking her so hard her breasts slapped against one another.

  Xaqriel’s light hovered down from the trees. He knelt before her and pulled aside the golden cloth of his loincloth. Tilting her chin up, he parted her lips with his thumbs. His huge cock swelled in her mouth. Deeply he fucked her mouth while the guard continued to fuck her needy pussy. The guard strummed her clit as he worked, soon bringing her to a tormented orgasm. After his own climax, he slapped her sore backside and withdrew from her drenched orifice.

  She was still shuddering with ecstasy as Xaqriel’s cock plummeted into her mouth and a rush of fluid, like honey and spice, jetted down her throat. Sir Douglas came about to her backside again. With his hand he spanked her, but now her cries were silenced by the great organ still pumping into her mouth.

  When at length Xaqriel pulled out, he grabbed her beneath the arms and pulled her to her feet. Using his right arm, he inclined her back, and with the fingers of his left hand he pinched her clit. It pounded between the mighty fingers and Gillian hardly knew she was moaning until one of the guards stooped and kissed her mouth.

  Xaqriel rearoused her passion until she was at the threshold of another orgasm. Then he drew his touch away, leaving her draped in his arm and undulating wantonly. She heard him speak something to Sir Douglas, and then he stood her up straight again. He turned her about by the waist and placed her palms against the tree trunk.

  The crop struck her buttocks again. She whimpered, not understanding how they could punish her again so soon after enjoying her. Xaqriel came to stand at her side, gazing into her face. Gently, he wiped the fresh tear that rolled down her chin.

  Gillian wailed under the strikes of the merciless crop, and Xaqriel, smiling, spread her legs wide and began to massage her dripping sex.

  When finally the crop stopped, he spoke into her ear, “Domination and pleasure—these are your soul’s calling, Gillian. Hopefully, this demonstration will help you to see things clearly now, and it will help right the damage wrought by the ordinary world that nurtured your fear of these needs.”

  She was crying so hard she could see nothing but her hands pressed against the bark. But she wanted to melt in the heat of his illumination, to hide a little longer from the truths he spoke. But it was not to be, and she knew it, for she had hid all her life and that time was gone.

  His wings raised and she heard a muffled flood upon the air. When she dared to tu
rn her face the only thing she could see of him was a dusky delineation flitting over the canopies of the oaks.

  “It’s late. Time this one was to bed,” Sir Douglas said. He took her hand and led her back to the house, and when she had not the will to obey his command and stop her crying, the stinging crop compelled otherwise.

  5

  The first rays of daylight appeared over the horizon as Bruce made the walk back from the pavilion grounds to the guards’ compound behind the prison. All the night men were making their way to their homes, laughing and talking as they walked by. He was in need of a cigarette, if just to forget something he had seen that night—or thought he had seen. A Disciple, in the company of a prisoner; she’d looked so much like Gillian that he’d gawked at them for some time. Probably nothing more than an illusion caused by the starlight. Yet it had haunted him the rest of his shift and he looked forward to sleeping off the memory.

  William shuffled by and offered a cigarette. Bruce readily accepted, as he was on his last pack. But he wasn’t worried; Madam had assured the guards that the next shipment for the commodities store would be arriving the next morning. The Saphorians, angels of light and sound, who recruited Earthling guards, were always reliable in their deliveries. Besides, whenever he was in dire need of anything—or at least really wanted anything—fate in Nemi had a strange knack for making the items show up, literally at his door, before he ever got bent out of shape over it. Like the television and the DVD player with all his favorites that had arrived days before. He did not even care that the television had no cord or there was no outlet for it or anything else in his residence. Heck, it was enough that he could tune in to his favorite shows and movies any time he wanted. He was not one to question gifts.

  Everything Bruce purchased with his credits in Nemi just simply worked: his razor, the little fridge, the reading lamp by his bed. He knew that not every guard had these things; at least not those who had come to Nemi before electricity had been invented on Earth. Those men did not seem to need those things. Their chalets were furnished with the comforts and luxuries to which they had been accustomed before arriving.

  “Someone’s waiting for you,” William commented. Bruce followed his eyes to the front of his chalet. It was Gina and Rose, and they waved gleefully when they saw him. A quick smile came to his mouth, and William did not seem to notice the brittleness of it.

  He clapped Bruce’s shoulder, and telling him to have fun, went on his way.

  Bruce grunted wearily. Gina and Rose were the last living souls he wanted to see at this moment.

  What the hell do they want at this hour?

  He had first met the two Leather Wives on the prison grounds one day shortly after he had come to Nemi. They had arrived to deliver a number of Disciples for their work duties and afterward just hung around. They showed a great interest in the conversation Bruce struck up. Not that talking was what he really wanted to be doing with them at that time. They were cute—well, Rose was cute, with her freckles and her big knockers. Gina was outright gorgeous. Wide lips, fine Italian features, a lingerie model’s figure. Before meeting them, he had intended to pursue one of the delicious Disciples at the first chance available. But all his adult life he had been attracted to Italians, and Gina just simply turned every right knob.

  Just talking to her that day had given him a boner. He had rambled, trying to engage them as long as possible, unable to think of anything but her pouting lips and the long, shapely leg that peeped through the slit of her black skirt.

  In the course of the conversation, the two women had unexpectedly confirmed his deepest hope. “We do everything together!”

  So he’d invited them to his chalet that night. They had arrived with a bottle of wine and a case of fine cigars. He knew Leather Wives were not supposed to have access to the commodities store without Madam’s express permission. But he would not tell. How they gushed over the furnishings of his room, which was filled with appliances and gadgets they had never seen before or imagined. It was the first time either had even tasted a cold bottle of beer. The young women had coaxed him into telling them everything about his culture. And so, over dinner he indoctrinated them in the computerized, technical twenty-first century.

  But they’d been particularly fascinated by credit cards, malls, and the rights of women in the society he had left behind.

  Bruce had finally made some strides in other directions when he offered to read their palms. They giggled as he’d sat between them on the sofa, stroking their palms in turn and telling the name of each line. As he revealed what he saw in their respective palms, he had leaned in close to the women, and held their fascinated gaze while he spoke. Neither of them flinched or backed away, and soon enough he swiped a kiss from each. A little while later, they’d asked to use his bathroom and returned in their birthday suits.

  It had been a very satisfying night. The two returned from time to time over the following weeks, always providing sex easily. Gina, he was always anxious to see. He told himself that it was better to have a Leather Wife than a Disciple, as these women did not sleep with guards except out of pure choice. His chest ballooned every morning that he could tell the other guards that Gina had come knocking on his door the night before.

  But as he became familiar with the girls, he grew to feel used at times for more than sex or company. Gina did not hesitate to ask for this or that from his belongings, and in time she ended up carrying away so much from his place that the compound commander warned him that Madam was beginning to take notice of the growing hoard of gifts collecting in Gina’s room at the household. Not seemly, the proprietress claimed, for a Leather Wife to accumulate so many knickknacks and baubles without officially courting a man.

  Gina had revealed to him that she was growing discontented in Madam’s household and with her life in general. She’d said the other Leather Wives were jealous of her control over certain Disciples, and the trustees showed their disrespect at every turn. She was often angry with Rose, too, though on this subject she was vague. But she was angrier with Madam, for questioning her disciplinary actions, and the guards, whom she complained spoke too familiarly.

  The more often Gina visited, the more quickly she demonstrated her anger and the more violently. As she recalled the latest details of her life, she often took her wrath out on Bruce’s furniture, throwing cushions, overturning chairs, once even throwing a glass against the wall. She was also turning into a slob. During her last visit, Bruce asked her to put a candy wrapper she tossed on the floor into the trash. Instead, she retorted coldly that he must be looking for a Disciple instead of an equal.

  He had apologized and later, when they had sex, he’d attempted to be more tender than ever. He’d asked her about her own experiences and life while on Earth, and showed his interest in everything she revealed. But there, too, she seemed more concerned in gossip or venting. When she left, she’d asked for a pack of cigarettes and the silver candleholder he had recently obtained at the store. He gave her both and received not a word of thanks in exchange.

  Rose had showed up the following dawn, just as he was about to go to bed. She’d been furious, accusing him of coming between her and her friendship with Gina. When he told her he had no idea what she was talking about, she threw herself at him, demanding he make love to her like a male Disciple. He’d kissed the crown of her head and laughed. He had not really been laughing at her, but at the presumption that he could ever pretend to be submissive. Rose shook with rage and threw off his comforting arms. Before leaving, she’d claimed that Gina had said his was the sorriest cock she had ever had.

  Now, days after that incident, the two of them were smiling like innocent kittens as Bruce stepped under the overhang of the chalet.

  “Hello, Bruce,” purred Rose.

  “Are you well?” Gina asked.

  He was still entranced by her symmetrical beauty, those full lips that seemed incomplete without something to fill them. And Rose was dressed in simple leather pant
s and a white spaghetti-strap shirt, cut low so her massive cleavage almost swelled out. With the curls of her auburn hair bouncing on her shoulders and her blue eyes flashing, he thought she had never looked prettier.

  He unlocked the door hesitantly. “I’m pretty tired, ladies. Why don’t you come back later today?”

  They made unhappy sounds. “Oh, but we came to apologize,” Rose said. “Let us come in and make up for the rude way we treated you before.”

  He regarded her eyes thoughtfully. “Well…”

  “Please,” Gina said huskily and stroked his arm. She gazed at him innocuously, her dark, sensuous eyes flashing. “I have missed you and our talks.”

  Talks. Well, that was an odd way to put it. She had talked and he had listened. At least Rose had found his jokes funny and listened when he revealed personal information about himself. Gina had only stared off into space.

  “Can’t you even offer us a beer?” Rose asked.

  “Oh, okay.” He ogled her heaving cleavage and sighed. “But I want some sleep soon.”

  “You’ve never thrown us out before,” Gina crooned and settled the weight of her perfect breasts into his arm.

  He smiled, and the sense of being used seemed only a trifling thing, given her tempting pout.

  “Who said I was going to throw you out?”

  The pout turned into a leisurely smile. He unlocked the door and followed them inside.

  Two beers and a steak later, Bruce joined the girls in his bedroom. They had been whispering in there for some time, chomping on a box of fine chocolates and listening to the radio by his bed. Alternative rock was playing. As he entered, they sat up and asked who the group was.

  He undressed to his boxer shorts and considered just letting them have the bed to themselves while he took the sofa. He still was not completely convinced of their regret; they seemed to have forgotten an apology as soon as they had walked into the chalet. Besides, he was used to crashing on his couch back on Earth. Then again, on Earth there had never been two women waiting for him in the bedroom.