Sinful Submissions

by Ed Bemand

  Four: What happened when Robert fell in love

  And now it is time to think of more well-favoured things than death and sin. What of love? Surely that must be the highest and noblest of virtues, encompassing romance, compassion, sympathy, self-sacrifice, the love of our children, our country, our friends. What could be better and greater? If our motivations are pure and benevolent, then how can the outcomes of them be anything but beneficial? What then, of those who have been driven to barbarism and cruelty for apparent good reasons, of those who kill for love? Of course, war makes monsters of us all, when all men must kill to prevail and an attack at the soul and will of the enemy is the surest way to succeed. Justifications for bellum iustum have been made by many learned men and have helped keep clear the conscience of those who have been obliged to make difficult decisions. The use of force must not produce an evil graver than that which is to be eliminated. How is one to relatively judge evil?

  Robert was not an evil man, if anything he was excessively gentle. He felt a natural aversion to violence and bloodshed. He showed that common urban hypocrisy towards meat that meant he became uncomfortable around food that was still recognisable as the animal it had been. He found the idea of slaughtering or butchering another life abhorrent and found it difficult to even handle raw meat.

  He hadn’t been in any kind of violent confrontation since his early school days, when the merest suggestion of force being used against him by bullies had always been sufficient to lead him to acquiesce completely to whatever they wanted, even though this could lead to greater distress, such as the time when a larger one of his classmates had stolen his clothes in the changing rooms before PE and insisted that Robert leave the changing room without them and walk the corridor naked, emphasising the severity of his purpose by slamming Robert against the wall with his hand at his throat. The teacher that found him was unsympathetic towards Robert’s sobbed protests of innocence in this unseemly activity, but Robert was too scared of his aggressor to be able to explain what had led him to behave in this way. The detention he received as punishment seemed the lesser evil to him than what the bully had darkly threatened. When the teacher returned him to the changing room to “put some bloody clothes on”, the bully was surprised to find that he had in no way been implicated in the incident. His limited mindset led him to believe that this was evidence of Robert’s moral character, his reluctance to grass on his classmate. He didn’t realise that it was the vast amount by which Robert’s fear of him outweighed that of his teachers.

  When on one occasion as a young man he had taken a short cut when walking home of an evening, he found himself confronted with a pair of youths he who with an aggressive display of false friendship suggest he spare them some money so that they might be able to afford some beers, they did not even have to resort to the knives that they held in their pockets to get him to hand them his wallet. They joked between themselves later that it was the easiest robbery that they had ever perpetrated.

  He was always nervous and seldom outgoing, even with his peers. Women were a frightening and strange thing, something he was completely unsure how to approach. He felt desire but did not know how to express it and on those rare occasions when he did try to start a conversation with a girl the resounding rebukes that he received were enough to chill his ardour.

  His life progressed at an awkward medium for years. He worked hard enough to get respectable grades, at school, college and university successively. He was reasonably intelligent but never remarkably so and his shyness and unwillingness to demonstrate the occasional stupidity that is necessary to achieve true brilliance limited him. He was incapable of straying from the well-trodden paths in his thought or his actions. His academic career was never destined to amount to much and the upper second that he earned in literature was through his ability to absorb and regurgitate the ideas and opinions of those that had come before him more than it was through any independent creativity of his own.

  His adult life was a solitary one. He didn't have any friends to speak of, and it wasn’t until he met Christine that he felt like it would be possible for him to ever get anywhere with a girl. Of course, she was much more woman than girl.

  At the time he was working in a minor administrative role as a filing clerk for a large financial services company. His role required no particular skills other than a high-threshold for boredom and the ability to maintain precision and attention to detail in the face of extreme monotony. Robert had found that he was well equipped to face the challenges of the role. He had been working in the job for about three years and had settled into routines that could continue without any need for variation. He worked quite long hours for minimal pay but liked to tell himself in his moments of idleness that he had “a foot in the door” and that his persistence and reliability would in time be recognised and rewarded by his betters. Of this there had so far been no sign.

  He met Christine at a gathering that had been arranged by the senior management to commemorate the centenary of the business. It had been made clear that all staff were expected to attend it in the memos that had been sent round, so Robert was forced to reluctantly accept that he would have to go, at least for a little while.

  The festivities were being held in a large, upmarket hotel in the centre of the town. There was to be a formal dinner at which all members of the senior management would be present, even the son of one of the founding partners was meant to be making an appearance. He was in his eighties now and had had no practical involvement in the administration of the company for decades, though tradition had kept his name on all of their letterheads.

  Robert had very little experience of events of this nature and was unsure exactly how he was supposed to present himself for it. The only suits he owned were the ones he wore in regular rotation to work every day and he couldn’t imagine that they would be suitable for something like this. He wished that he felt comfortable asking any of his colleagues for their advice but in his entire time working there he had barely spoken to any of them, and then only in pursuance of his duties. He received work, he processed it. His lunchtimes were spent alone. He gathered that some people went to the pub regularly after work, but he had never been invited.

  After some consideration he decided that the occasion justified a new suit. His wages were meagre but his outgoings were frugal so he could easily afford to spend the money. His taste in clothes was normally sombre, bordering on funereal and he wasn't sure what would be suitable for the event. He went to the shop that he habitually bought all his clothes from and explained in tremulous and uncertain terms what he needed. Understanding that Robert wanted to have something more lively for some kind of party that he was attending, he recommended a black velvet lounge suit to him and Robert, though dubious about it, dutifully purchased it. As the evening drew nearer Robert was still a little nervous, but on the multiple occasions that he had tried the suit on and studied himself in the mirror he was forced to conclude that he did look rather dashing.

  The day of the party arrived. In consideration of the evening's festivities, all staff were allowed to leave the office half an hour earlier than usual to give them extra time to prepare. Robert was almost feeling excited when, having completed painstaking ablutions and donned his new suit, he set out to the hotel.

  Unfortunately, Robert's social inexperience was quickly exposed when it became apparent to him that everyone else was attending the function in evening wear. His nerves were in shreds by the time he was inside and he was feeling very conspicuous. Only the fear of the rebuke he would face if he was not seen to be in attendance forced him to stay. He found a quiet corner and stood alone, fiddling nervously with the glass of champagne that had been forced upon him by a waiter who was carrying a tray-load. Everyone else seemed to be having fun, but Robert wasn't feeling at all sure that he even knew how to. He felt safer just watching from the side-lines and not getting involved.

  He spent a few minutes staring at the seating plan for dinner, trying to fi
nd where he was supposed to be. Most people were hanging around in small groups, chatting and giggling. He felt uncomfortable, but had to persevere. Eventually he found his name and figured out where that put him on the tables. He didn’t know any of the other people at the table even slightly. He smiled nervously and said hello to the people already sat down and received blank looks in return. He pulled back the chair and sat down.

  He didn’t enjoy dinner. It had been a long time since he had eaten out anywhere and the mass of cutlery and crockery set around his place confused him, leading to inevitable awkward moments of establishing whose glass was whose that was only exacerbated when the waiting staff brought around soup and rolls. A few of the people at the table who seemed to already know each other were happy to chat with each other. Robert felt like propriety obliged him to make some effort at small-talk but he wasn't sure where to start so he stayed quiet.

  When the food was finished and cleared away, one of the executives at the top table stood up and tapped his glass. Slowly, reluctantly, the hubbub of conversation faded away and people turned to face him. He gave a short, tedious speech about the history of the company and how lucky they all were to work for it, then attempted to punctuate it with a brief joke that elicited only the most perfunctory ripples of laughter. His introduction completed, he gave the floor to the founder’s son. He was a very frail looking octogenarian, who seemed to only be able to stand for the duration of his speech with some difficulty and a hand pressed against the surface of the table in front of him. Fortunately, the awkwardness of his posture ensured he was unwilling to speak for any great length of time.

  With the formalities over the rest of the evening was freely given over to entertainment and as the booze continued, to the surprise of many, to be complimentary and readily available, most of the assembled drank heavily and became progressively careless in their movements and behaviour. In short order Robert was becoming very frustrated with having people jostle him everywhere he went and had had more of his drink splashed over him than he had actually managed to consume. He found himself a quiet corner to lurk in away from the busier flows of people and slowly sipped at his drink, wondering just how long he would be obliged to linger before he could decently make his departure from this and go home.

  “Most people your age aren’t willing to be quite so demonstrative about how boring they find everyone else.”

  The voice came from behind him. He turned. It was an elegant and striking looking woman of indeterminate middle-age. She could be ten years older than him or thirty just as easily.

  “I’m sorry?” he mumbled.

  “Most people at least feel obliged to pretend that they are having fun, even when they clearly aren’t.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be rude.” Was she criticising him for not joining in? He felt warmth on his cheeks and the unpleasant tingling as a blush suffused them.

  “Of course not. Nor were you. It’s refreshing really.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course. Honest expression is such a welcome change. Why pretend that what you want to be doing is...” she waved a hand in the general direction of the knot of drunken humanity that was writhing on the dance-floor. Robert couldn’t suppress a shudder at the thought of being a part of it. “But you’re not interested in that sort of thing of course.” She offered him her hand. “I’m Christine. Christine Warner.”

  “Robert Brown.” He took her hand gingerly. He knew with men that you should always be sure to give a firm handshake, but what was appropriate with women?

  “So, considering how little interest you have in all this, why, may I ask, are you still here?”

  “They said we all had to be here.”

  “And you always do what you’re told?”

  “No, I just...”

  She laughed prettily.

  “I’m teasing you Robert. Would you like to have a drink with me? Assuming of course that I’m not as obviously boring to you as those people.” She didn’t wait for an answer. She signalled a passing waiter and took two glasses from his tray. Robert looked around for somewhere to put the mostly empty glass that he had been holding for long enough for its contents to have become unpleasantly warm.

  One drink turned into several and as the unfamiliar volume of alcohol started to settle into his system Robert started to feel progressively more comfortable, both with himself and with Christine. She seemed genuinely interested in him and he found himself complaining about the drunkards and slackers that he was forced to work with at great length. She seemed sympathetic to his plight.

  “It’s a fact of life that things are always hardest for the conscientious and diligent. They can’t help but care about what other people do wrong.” She told him. It seemed incredibly fitting to him, and he was a little overcome that she was able to sum up so succinctly the things that had been frustrating and angering him for so much of his time working there.

  Some time after midnight when the complimentary alcohol was all gone and the crowd of people had thinned, he found himself wondering what he should do next. He couldn’t remember when he had last felt such a close connection with anybody and certainly had never been able to talk so freely with any woman before other than his mother and she had been dead for years now.

  “I think it’s time for us to leave, Robert.” She walked towards the exit, picking her way delicately through the lingering debris that had been left on the floor by the other revellers. “I have a room here, if you would like to talk a little longer.” Robert could hardly refuse her, but was too embarrassed to do more than blush and nod. She led him to the lift in the lobby and then to her luxuriously appointed suite. She turned on enough lights for them to be able to see without making it too bright. She shut the door behind them and deposited her handbag on the table.

  “Why don’t you open the bottle and pour us a little while I go and freshen up?” She indicated a champagne bottle sat in an ice bucket on a table with glasses next to it. Taking his silence as agreement she walked into the bathroom and shut the door. He approached the champagne bottle warily. His limited education had led him to understand that there was a special technique for opening them without mess but he wasn’t entirely sure what it was. He messily shredded the foil, cutting his finger slightly in the process, then fumbled to remove the wire cage. He gripped the cork and tugged on it and after much wrestling managed to pull it free. Foam slopped from the top of the bottle, dribbling over his hands and splashing onto his trousers. He tried to direct it into the glasses and managed to capture about half a glass of froth in each of them by the time that the bathroom door opened and Christine emerged. She had shed her dress and was wearing a flimsy garment that consisted primarily of lace with a few patches of silk holding it altogether. Robert was embarrassed and wasn’t sure where to look so he focussed intently on the carpet in front of her.

  “Is something the matter Robert, don’t you like the way I look?” She walked slowly towards him.

  “Of course I do... it’s just, I...”

  “You’re a virgin, aren’t you, Robert?” She stood close enough to him that he was convinced he could feel the warmth of her body. “You don’t have to answer. I know that you are. Would you like to look at me?” Robert nodded slightly. She touched him under the chin with one finger, raising his head so that he was meeting her gaze. “Then look.” She took a step backwards and posed for him. She had touched up her makeup and her eyes and lips seemed to glint slightly. Her dark hair was lined with traces of silver and it fell loosely over her bare shoulders. Her negligee did nothing to conceal the full swell of her breasts and he could see the dark shadows of her nipples protruding through it. The fabric clung to her body, emphasising the curves of her hips and the slight roundness of her stomach. “Do you like me, Robert?”

  He licked his lips. His mouth felt very dry and made it hard for him to find his voice.

  “You... you’re very beautiful.”

  “Thank you, Robert. Now, will you be a good boy
for me and do as you’re told?” He nodded, quick staccato jerks of his head. “Do you promise?”

  “I promise.”

  “Good. Now drink your champagne and sit down.” He did as he was told, nervously trying to shield the visible bulge in his trousers. She saw the motion of his hands and smiled. “Don’t be shy. It just shows you like me. You do like me, don’t you?” He nodded again. “Then don’t try to hide it.” She moved closer to him, then crouched and kissed him slowly, teasingly. Her fingers brushed over his cheek, the tips of her long, painted nails scratching him very lightly. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. Letting her take the lead seemed easiest. She was experienced enough to understand. She pushed him further back on the bed, then crouched between his open legs, her body lightly rubbing against him through his clothes. He couldn’t see anything but her. Her presence surrounded him, enveloping him with the strength of her sex and being. He was hers in that moment and she knew and relished it. She barely even had to touch him to know that she could own him. He knew it too and welcomed it. She leaned back from him. “Now Robert, we don’t want you to ruin your lovely suit do we, don’t you think you should take it off?” He moved to comply, hastily undoing his belt and tugging on the zip of his fly that seemed to have found a way to get stuck at this of all moments. She grabbed a chair from close by and pulled it near to the bed. She sat on it, legs far enough apart that the hem of her negligee rose up by a tantalising amount. The shadows between her thighs stirred dark thoughts in his mind about the pleasures that hid further up. He stood before her, trousers removed and deposited on the bed, the bottom of his shirt-front awkwardly rucked by his erection as it struggled to escape the confines of his underwear. He still had his jacket on. And his socks.

  "Let me see it Robert." She commanded and he obeyed, slipping off his boxers and moving his shirt out of the way to reveal the turgid shaft and glistening head of his cock. "Now I know you like me." She smiled. "What would you do for me, Robert?" Her fingers slowly, idly slipped the hem of her negligee higher up her thighs, revealing more of her flesh, inch by inch. He didn't answer. She stopped. "Don't have an answer?"