Submissive

by Anya Howard

  When he turned and started walking back, at least the gag helped soften her lingering, pleading moan. His lusty eyes had just begun to caress her again when a sound issued from below the porch. He clenched the handle of his spear and darted to the side and surveyed the hedges below.

  “Isn’t it a little late for you ladies to be out without escort?”

  Gillian raised her humbled eyes. Two women strolled up the steps. By their clothing Gillian assumed at first they were Leather Wives, though the guard’s wary look lent some doubt to that impression. They could not have been more dissimilar in appearance; a stout, large-breasted one wearing a short, red dress and black leather jacket. Her leather boots were smudged with dirt and her hair was spiky. The second woman was tall, with dark shiny hair and a lean figure in a sleeveless silver dress. With her dusky complexion, full, swollen lips, and perfect makeup, she could have easily graced any fashion magazine back on Earth, even down to the stock beauty mark flawlessly applied at one corner of her mouth.

  The one in red threw an arm about the guard’s shoulder and kissed his cheek. “Good evening, Mark!”

  He cleared his throat. “You two shouldn’t be outside, let alone carousing about the property.”

  The tall one laughed curtly. “So what? Who asked you?”

  The delight that had been in the guard’s tone as he had touched Gillian’s body dissipated. “You know what I mean, Gina. Perhaps I should send for Domme Camille.”

  The spiky-haired one swatted his backside. He bristled and pushed her arm away. “Go on, now. Stay out of trouble if you’d like to escape Madam’s displeasure.”

  They both tittered now, as if his threat meant nothing to them.

  “Madam wants to be rid of us,” the one named Gina said. She stepped to a window and peered in. “We’re not goody-goods anymore, you know, already scheduled to return to Earth, where we may contemplate our failures.”

  Gina’s eyes bore into Gillian. Scathing, the look went right through Gillian, as if she were nothing but some unsightly bug not worth the woman’s time to consider.

  “She might have you brought back,” the guard offered hopefully, “when you’ve proved ready. It has happened before.”

  The one in red grunted. “We won’t be ready until we’re too old and creaky to be of any use for the precious Nemi.”

  “You forget, Rose, old age does not exist here,” he argued.

  Gina crossed her arms and lifted her chin stiffly. “We’d have to be agreeing. And that, dear Mark, will never happen again.”

  The guard shook his shoulders. “What can I say, ladies? Appears you have made your choice and are willing to live with it.”

  Gina regarded him, her feline grin a caricature of amused contempt. “Nemi is not inviolable, Mark. Its self-righteous guardians have enemies, formidable enemies.”

  “Are you speaking of the Dhjinn-E’noch?”

  “No,” she said tartly, “they’re just as decadent as the Nemian angels, only without the sanctimony.”

  “She’s right,” chimed in Rose, “and it won’t be long until this stupid outpost will be wiped away forever by powers much stronger than the silly Ur’theriems.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Ooh, hit a nerve?” Gina asked. “It’s why we’re not scared, Mark, not of going back, not of anything. We know how to approach these enemies, and they are willing, oh so willing, to do us this favor, whether we are here or on Earth.”

  The guard drew a steady breath, but his impatience with them thickened his voice, “You’re insane, Gina, or just as conniving as others say. It’s time you two went inside, before I’m forced to call for help to escort you in.”

  Rose giggled heartily and hugged his free arm. “You don’t know if we’re kidding or not, do you?” And as she looked awkwardly at Gina and said pointedly, “It’s just that, isn’t it, Gina? We wanted to leave him with something to smile about!”

  Gina sashayed toward him, and stood close, very close, as she smiled innocently and stroked the muscles of his arms with her long fingernails. Anger registered in Mark’s features, and as she raised the skirt of her dress up her thigh, he did not flinch, but neither did he resist as she released his arm from Rose and drew his hand to her bare flesh.

  “You really don’t want to see me go away, do you, Mark?”

  She kissed his mouth, but he pulled his hand away. His voice betrayed his agitation, “You go on now, will you? I have more important things to do besides play with disgraced Dommes.”

  Gina’s face scrunched angrily and she sauntered over to Gillian again and slapped her thigh hatefully. Gillian growled to herself as Gina said, “Guarding this, you mean? Hell, Mark, I can do better this abject slut any day of the week! And you wouldn’t have to tie me up to have me, either!”

  The guard’s eyes glittered angrily and Gillian’s heart jumped with glee when he grabbed Gina’s arm. “It’s Sir Mark, and sorry, but I do not care to listen to your bragging, nor do I wish to make an unpleasant situation for you this close to your departure.”

  Gina laughed and wrestled her arm from his grip. She opened her mouth as if to speak, when the front door swung open and a man’s voice boomed out, “Back off from the girl, Gina!”

  Gillian could hardly turn her face to see the man who stepped out onto the porch. But his tone held none of the patience of Sir Mark’s. “Stay away from her, slut.”

  His voice was familiar. As Gillian pondered where it was exactly she had heard it before, Gina made a semblance of a pout. “Were you spying on us? Afraid I might hurt this delicate little sub?”

  “Get in the damned house and go to your room,” he said, and looked at Rose, who sneered like a child at him. “You, too.”

  “I don’t think so,” Gina declared and flitted past Sir Mark, taking Rose’s hand. “Come on.”

  Sir Mark reached for them as they rushed down the steps, but only caught a wisp of Gina’s hair. Gillian could hear them laughing as they fled through the dark yard.

  “It would be best if the other guards were informed they are wandering about,” spoke her defender, “in case the fools run into that Dhjinn. I’ve been assigned to personally guard this Disciple. Go ahead.”

  Sir Mark nodded and tramped down the steps into the yard. Moments later Gillian heard him conferring with the other guards there, though she could not make out the exchange.

  Her defender strode toward the rail and watched, his arms still crossed, his legs set widely apart. She could see him better now that he was out of the porch shadows. His hair was short and dark brown, his neck wide and sensually soft at the corners of his jaws. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to his elbows and even the deep tan of his skin glowed in the dim light. Again she was struck by the sense she knew him. It wasn’t until he turned and Gillian saw his face fully that she recognized him.

  Bruce!

  She could not believe it and had to blink before daring to look at him again. But as she did, the corrections officer’s handsome face was still there. His dark brown eyes, which she had always found particularly sexy, were hard and penetrating now as they surveyed her.

  As uncompromising as in my wet dreams!

  She blushed painfully, tormented he should see her exposed and ripe with passion. And as the moments passed and he still said nothing, she became afraid that she had fallen asleep on the Pillar and was only dreaming. But then he took two long strides toward her, his unreadable face an icon of self-possessed authority.

  Yet, the hair on his forearms had tellingly risen.

  “You have been a naughty girl, Gillian.”

  A shockwave of humbled emotions swept through her. How many times had she envisioned him looking at her just as he was now—speaking to her so masterfully?

  Reaching up, he adjusted the gag in her mouth and wiped the tears from her face with his fingers. As his hands drew away, he scrutinized her body. He skimmed her hips and thighs with his fingertips, touched the crest of her pubic hair. Gillian shivered h
otly, using every reserve of self-control to keep her hips from moving. But then, he unfolded her nether lips and touched her throbbing clit. It pulsated lightly. Into her aching vagina he slid a forefinger and started fucking her with it.

  A delirium of wanton desire broke Gillian’s restraint. She buckled and moaned silently, imploring him with her straining hips to take her down and fuck her with all the fierceness she had envisioned at his command.

  Instead, he drew his hand away and sucked her juices from his fingertip. His imposing gaze frightened her. It tempered her passion so that it simmered; a merciless, voiceless frustration beneath her bonds.

  “You are not to trust those women, Gillian,” he said quietly, “is that understood?”

  She nodded meekly, but her thoughts were only for him and the terrible suspicion that was taking root in her mind that somehow he had forgotten her completely.

  What am I to him now, in Nemi? Where he could have any girl prettier than me in a moment’s bidding? And who am I to fault him for forgetting, when I chose to leave Earth and all my ties behind?

  He paced the porch for a long time. At last he took a seat and lit a cigarette. By this time, she was too tired to keep her eyes open any longer. But even as her regret gave way to sleep, the weight of his gaze did not move from her.

  10

  Bruce welcomed the coffee Domme Camille offered, and tried to savor the rich taste, if just to break up the gnawing questions that wore on his conscience all night.

  It was early. Most of the Disciples were still asleep in their rooms, and by what he knew, the Leather Wives, too. He was surprised that Domme Camille was already up. She wore a flowered silk robe and her hair was not yet brushed. She looked younger than he recalled. Then again, he had never seen her during the daytime or without makeup. She sipped on her own cup and smiled at the still-sleeping Gillian. The smile whispered of intimacy with the girl or at least interest. At any other time, the thought of watching the two of them going at one another would have been delightful. But Bruce was still ensnared by conflicting emotions about whether to confirm his identity or not with Gillian.

  He still felt guilty about not approaching her the first night he had seen her. Of course, if Gillian ever heard the gossip about him and Gina, she might never look at him the same way.

  No one had ever looked at him like that, as if he were the moon and stars and heavens consummate.

  The day before he had understood that he had wanted to see that look in Gina’s face—hell, every pretty face he had ever laid eyes on—and he had spent the entire night wondering what Gillian had thought back on Earth when he stopped coming around. Had she missed him, had she asked about him? There had to be something more than physical passion for that look to remain with her all this time.

  When Madam had requested his services in guarding one of her Disciples, he had eagerly accepted. The trying situation with Rose and Gina had made him realize it was time to take the reins of his manhood, instead of just wielding his dick at random. What had he been thinking when it came to Gina? That she would be so impressed with his lovemaking she would be swept off her dominatrix heels, give up her dominant lifestyle and be the loving sub he had hankered for all his life? It had been a boyish fantasy, impractical and stupid.

  And to think, I could have had it all already with Gillian.

  The worst part was that he had always been charmed by her, from her demure laugh to her opinions, even the soft way she spoke. It was not just her face or body or even his suspicions about her secret desires. He had liked everything about her from day one. What he discovered while exploring the limits of pleasure-pain with Gillian during the night—a passion that transcended the physical, and was betrayed in the steadfast focus of her lovely eyes—had confirmed his suspicions of her mutual desire. She had probably been too shocked to have known he saw it. Even if she had, there was nothing she could have done to shield herself from her emotions. That was simply against her nature.

  He sighed and Domme Camille said kindly, “Why don’t you go to the guards’ quarters and get some sleep? The Dhjinn are more brazen at night, which is why Madam wanted you here last evening. I will keep a steady eye on her.”

  Bruce thought about it, but was hesitant.

  “I can catch a nap later,” he said.

  “You will need more than a nap before tonight.”

  There was reason in that, so he agreed. Eyeing the other guard at the end of the porch, he handed Camille the cup. Gillian did not even rouse as he passed by her, but his cock stiffened to look upon her bound, naked flesh again.

  Bruce was awakened by a feminine shriek outside the window. Through the fog of half-sleep, he stumbled out of the bed and jerked back the curtain. The window looked out onto the backyard of Madam’s property, and there he saw a Leather Wife pulling a Disciple by one braid over to where a prisoner stood by the edge of a shallow, aqua-tiled pool. The Disciple was deposited at the prisoner’s feet, and the man watched with a gleam of mixed vindication and lust as the Domme reprimanded the girl. As she handed her paddle over to the prisoner, Bruce let the curtain fall and rubbed his eyes.

  He washed up in the bathroom and put on a fresh change of clothes from one of the wardrobes provided for the house guards. Someone had delivered a tray of food while he slept, and now he grabbed a sandwich and ate it quickly. He found his cigarette pack and matches on the floor and stuffed these into the pocket in the lining of his vest. He stepped to the table nearby, where an assortment of punishment devices—whips, wide belts, paddles, and canes—were laid out. He finally chose one of the newer leather belts, strapped it around his waist, and, taking a quick smoke, headed out.

  Sir Kennan met him at the gate of the prison grounds and informed him that Gillian had arrived early in the day with several other Disciples.

  “She had been yoked to the granary mill for a couple of hours when the Warden had his trustee escort her back to the household.”

  Bruce sighed. “Now, why did he do that?”

  “One of the Dommes came with the announcement yesterday she’d be commencing a monthlong class on focused attention and deferential display of affection,” the guard explained. “It’s usually reserved for the girls of the trustees, but the Warden has taken a special interest in that Disciple, so I am not surprised.”

  A heated prong pierced Bruce’s stomach, but he managed to hide the jealousy brewing inside. “Really? He’s taken with her?”

  The gatekeeper nodded. “She’s his type, you know—a wildcat desperate for the taming of an experienced handler. I had a drink with him last night and he mentioned her, said he plans on asking Madam to have her belongings sent to his private chambers.”

  Bruce tried to forget the angry images that suddenly filled his mind, reminding himself that Gillian was not his to claim now or even ever. He made the trip back to the household and in the foyer asked one of the trustees the directions to the lesson rooms. These were located on the second floor. He passed through without speaking to anyone he met and hiked up the staircase he found beyond the dining hall. Near the landing stood two Leather Wives, talking quietly as they sipped on glasses of tea. The corridor ahead was bright from the light coming through the window at the end. Every door, he saw, had a small window as well.

  “Sir Bruce,” one of the Dommes piped. She walked over to him.

  “Domme Angela?”

  “Yes. Domme Camille was looking for you earlier. She thought you probably did not know that the Disciple Gillian is up here.”

  He smiled wearily. “I do now.”

  “Yes, and she wanted to apologize. No one was expecting the Warden to enroll the girl.”

  The back of Bruce’s neck prickled hotly. “Is this common? I mean, for the Warden to enroll a Disciple?”

  She shrugged apologetically. “Well, no, these particular classes are usually filled with prisoners’ girls and the wives of guards or the girls they are about to wed. But he is the Warden.”

  “I suppose they won’
t need my assistance, then,” he said, his stomach tensing.

  “That would be up to Madam, surely. He cannot keep an eye on her here and at the prison, too. I will let Domme Camille know you have come.” She smiled sweetly and headed down the stairs.

  Bruce scrutinized the doors ahead, wondering which one led to Gillian, and whether he could or even should enter.

  “She’s in the third to the left,” he heard the other Leather Wife say. “You can peep in the window to be sure.”

  “Thanks.”

  He proceeded to the door and looked into the window. The room inside resembled an ordinary schoolroom, with small desks where the Disciples sat and an imposing desk up front for the Leather Wife teacher. She held a ruler in her hand at the moment and was pointing to words written on the blackboard behind her. Beside her desk, a man stood with his arms crossed. He was naked except for the mask with eyeholes on his head, so there was no telling whether he was a prisoner or guard. Bruce watched as the teacher turned to the rows of Disciples, but he could not decipher her words through the door.

  But then two girls rose from their seats and trotted to the teacher’s desk: a redhead with soft freckles and Gillian. Both wore faux-schoolgirl uniforms of plaid skirts, short-sleeved white blouses, and matching knee-high socks with brown loafers. Madam pointed to Gillian and she approached the man in the mask. Bruce watched with mounting anger as she knelt on the floor and kissed his feet. She straightened then so she was kneeling with her back straight and kissed his knees. As her palms touched his thighs, she spoke, and it seemed his mask moved as if he were answering. Gillian inclined her head and kissed his scrotum: one side, then the other. As she lifted his cock to her mouth, Bruce’s hands clenched into shaking fists.

  He watched her lick the length of the man’s cock and loll her tongue over the head of it so that it thickened and grew stiff in her hands. She rose up a little and swooped down, drawing the head into her mouth. She nursed on it slowly, as with the fingers of one hand she cinched and worked the shaft. But she seemed nervous, and after a time, Bruce saw her giggle. This brought a round of laughter from the other girls. The teacher snapped something in a voice that boomed off the walls. Dashing up, she pinched Gillian’s earlobe and hoisted her to her feet so that the man’s organ flipped from her grasp. His erection had turned dark pink. Bruce growled under his breath and turned away.