Fifty Shades of Submission

by Loris James

  “How worthless are you, slave?” my mistress taunts.

  “I am more worthless than the dirt beneath your feet, mistress,” I answer, without raising my head up off the floor.

  She prods my ribs with her foot. “What is the sole purpose of your miserable, worthless existence, slave?”

  “I exist only to obey, serve and worship you, my goddess.”

  “What about your cock, slave?”

  “What about it, mistress?”

  “Does it exist for your pleasure or mine?”

  “My cock exists entirely for your pleasure, mistress.”

  “Do you want to fuck me, slave?”

  “Only if my mistress wishes it.”

  “Do you want to rape me?”

  “Only if my mistress requires it.”

  “Suddenly the butt plug up my anus springs to life and begins to vibrate.

  “Do you enjoy that, slave?”

  “Only if it pleases my mistress.”

  “Unlock the chastity belt and put him in the iron maiden,” my mistress commands the two women.

  Iron maiden? Confused, I look about the room. I watch, stunned, as Osiris pulls back one of the heavy crimson velvet drapes and exposes the steel torture device. She unlatches it and the steel door swings open, exposing a red baize interior with steel spikes in every direction. It is an exact replica of the iron maidens built in medieval the 18 century.

  I am in a stupor of pain and horror and in no position even to offer the feeblest resistance as the two black women haul me to my feet and drag me across the room and push me backward into the torture device. The spikes immediately bite into my flesh. There are built-in steel manacles and the women lock my wrists and ankles to the walls of the maiden so that I am unable to move, and then attach a ball gag to my mouth, tying the leather strap tightly behind my head.

  They slam the steel door shut and I am encased in hell.

  The iron maiden has been designed to vaguely follow the outline of a man’s head and shoulders and in the head part of the steel box there is a grill so that I can see through it into the room. A hole has also been cut into the steel in the genital area. I realize then that the iron maiden is a perfect fit for a man of my physique and height and I with absolute certainty, that Saskia has had it especially designed and built for me. She has been planning this for weeks.

  My mistress approaches the torture device and she laughs maliciously at me through the grill. “Have I surpassed your wildest fantasies, slave? You’re lucky I have had the spikes modified so that the sharp points are rounded off. I want you to suffer – not bleed to death. Just yet.” She adds with malevolent glee.”

  She turns to Osiris. “Get is cock out. I want to see it on display at all times.”

  Osiris rummaging somewhere at the front of the iron maiden out of my line of sight and to my surprise I feel her hands on me as she threads my penis and testicles through the small hole in the metal door so that my genitals hang outside the iron maiden, vulnerable and exposed.

  “Do you realise how easy it would be for me to castrate you at this moment, slave?” my mistress crowed with delight. “Perhaps I should turn you into a eunuch. Eunuchs make perfect slaves.” She grabbed my penis and gave it a sharp twist. “I could cut your cock and balls off right now and you wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it.”

  She turns to her two priestesses. “Amun, bring me my dagger! It’s on the bedside table.”

  My eyes widen and I begin to squirm in horror as Amun places a small ornamental dagger in Saskia’s hands.

  My mistress stares at me gloatingly through the metal grill. “The thought of castrating you is very appealing to me, slave! Have you not raped me several times? Have you not been pinning me on my back for weeks now, forcing me to open my legs for your disgusting sexual pleasure? Isn’t it time I paid you back?” She presses the sharp knife point into my scrotum.

  Please! I tried to scream. Please don’t! But of course from past experience I knew it was useless trying to make any sound with a ball gag shoved in your mouth and strapped to your head.

  I was completely helpless and at her mercy.

  I felt the sharp tip of her dagger press into the base of my cock. “I warned you not to put yourself in my hands,” my mistress says, staring at me malevolently through the grill. “But at last I have you where I want you. Perhaps I’ll leave your castration for another day – after I’ve had my fun with you!”

  She turns to her accomplices. “Osiris! Amun! Do whatever you want with his cock and balls!”

  My mistress slips her gown off her shoulders and it falls to the floor and she steps out of it naked and goes and lies down on her bed and watches while her minions go to work on me. For the next few hours they alternate between arousing and torturing me. They message my cock until I’m hard and then they suck me off, and each time I ejaculate they punish me with cock and ball torture by sticking hypodermic needles into my penis and beating it with a thin bamboo rod and punching my testicles until I scream and pass out with pain, then they revive me with smelling salts pushed through the grill, only to restart the hellish cycle once again.

  The torture goes on throughout the night until I pass out completely.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  My mistress keeps me locked up in the steel torture cage for days until I am so weak from pain and torture and lack of food and water that they are unable to revive me any longer and as a consequence, no longer able to enjoy torturing me.

  When I regain consciousness I am lying naked on my stomach on my bed, locked into that damnable steel chastity belt once more. I am delirious with pain and feel as though I am dying of thirst. There is a pitcher of water on the floor next to my bed and I lift it feebly to my mouth and drink ravenously like a dying man in a desert.

  I drift back into a deep comatose sleep. The days drift by. I don’t see anyone and each time I awake there’s a fresh pitcher of water and some dry bread and soup on the floor beside my bed. I force myself to eat.

  As each day goes by I grow stronger and sleep less and my wounds begin to heal. I wish I had some books to read but my mistress has stripped me of all my possessions. She has confiscated my clothes as well so I have no choice but to remain naked – ‘dressed’ only in the repulsive stainless steel chastity belt.

  I begin to sit out in the courtyard and go for short walks in the garden to try and regain my strength. I do not see my mistress at all. She does not summon me nor do I catch any glimpse of her. I am beginning to wonder if she has left, but to my relief I see that her car is still parked in the old shed at the back of the farmhouse.

  As the days go by my wounds heal and the pain subsides completely. I find the chastity belt irritating and completely inhibiting. It is one hundred percent effective and prevents any kind of sexual stimulation or gratification.

  I spend most of the time in my room, overcome by melancholy. I am not angry with her. On the contrary, I feel nothing but an insatiable, obsessive craving for this hard woman who has inflicted this torture on me. The more she tortures me the more she ties herself inextricably to me and me to her. I know that her appetite to inflict pain on me will grow each time she abuses me. I am only too well aware that sexual pain is a powerful opiate – once you are addicted there’s no turning back.

  Finally, after seven days of isolation and recuperation, she sends for me.

  It is early in the morning and, with a racing heart and a knock at her door, I enter the bedroom of my divine mistress. The room is filled with a pleasant half-light, the curtains not yet opened. I look around for the iron maiden but it is once more hidden out of sight behind the crimson curtain.

  “Is that you, slave?” my mistress murmurs from behind the velvet curtains drawn shut around the huge antique four-poster bed. I cannot see her, she is invisible behind the curtains.

  “Yes, mistress,” I answer, trembling pleasurably at the sound her voice. I feel like a dying man who has been wondering in a desert alone for seven day
s and finally sees an oasis, his salvation. Saskia is my emotional sustenance.

  “What time is it?” my mistress says sleepily from behind the curtain.

  “Just past eight o’clock, mistress.”

  “Breakfast,” she says languidly.

  I hasten down to the kitchen to get it from Amun who has prepared freshly cut fruit and yoghurt and orange juice on a silver tray. I take it upstairs and kneel down with the tray beside her bed.

  “Here’s your breakfast, mistress.”

  The curtains are drawn back slightly and her face appears. Curiously enough, her handsome face seems etched with hard lines, and weary. Or perhaps I had never noticed the lines in her face before? Frown lines are etched deeply into her forehead between her brows, worn there by many temper tantrums and many hours of anger and disapproval? Why had I never noticed it before? Perhaps she has managed to hide it skilfully with make up?

  She fixes her green eyes upon me, more with curiosity than with menace. I can see that she is naked beneath the bed covers and I long to dispose of the ridiculous chastity belt and to slip naked between the sheets with her and make passionate love.

  What is stopping us? What is preventing us from being lovers - from being happy? Why should we bind ourselves to this insane union – this cruel bargain that we have struck with each other and the devil?

  At the look of her face my blood rises to my head and heart. My penis tries to respond but sadly it is trapped in a steel cage and has nowhere to go.

  My hands begin to sweat and the breakfast tray sways uncertainly. She notices it and reaches for the whip which is lying on the bed next to her. It is the old whip that she first used on me at the hotel.

  “Don’t be clumsy, slave,” she warns, frowning. “Unless you want a beating at this time of the morning!”

  I lower my eyes to the floor and hold the tray as steadily as possible while she begins to eat leisurely off it, picking at cubes of diced pawpaw and whole strawberries.

  Suddenly something else stirs in the bed beside her and to my surprise I realize that Saskia is not alone. The figure next to her stirs and a dark head and naked chocolate-colored breasts emerge above the satin sheets. It is Osiris, my mistress’s Somali priestess. Yet more surprising is the raised mound beneath the covers – it’s the unmistakable outline of an erection. Osiris notices the direction of my gaze and laughs, white teeth gleaming.

  “Strap-on dildo,” she explains. She leans across and kisses my mistress’s naked shoulder, grinning. “We had some fun last night, didn’t we, love?” Her words were addressed to Saskia. “Butt fucked, cunt fucked, mouth fucked – you name the orifice – I fucked it.” The two women laugh. My mistress turns over and French kisses the black women passionately, while fondling her small dark ebony breasts.

  I feel overcome by a wave of jealousy and rage. The sight of the two women indulging in sexual passion in front of me fills me with more pain and terror than a thousand blows from a cat-o-nine-tails.

  Eventually Saskia pulls away from her black lover, yawns, stretches her long, graceful limbs and looks at me languidly.

  “Go now, slave. We want to be alone.”

  Osiris laughs. “Let him stay. I’m sure he’d love to watch me poke your cunt with my big rubber cock until you squeal like a little piggy with delight. I think he’d love to watch me sodomise you as well. Let him watch me do all the dirty things to you that he’s dying to do but can’t.” She looks at my chastity belt and laughs. “How’s the big boy doing now that he’s all locked up with nowhere to go?”

  I stand up, enraged that Saskia can act this way in front of me. Enraged that she has had sex with this women, yet won’t allow me near her. I am also furious that my genitals have been incarcerated in this diabolical steel contraption that denies me sexual arousal and release.

  Saskia sees the dark, flushed look on my face and the glint in my eye. “He’s angry,” she says to her lover with an air of indifference.

  Osiris leaps out of bed with the grace of a cat and lands on her feet in front of me. The grotesque strap-on dildo looks obscene against her narrow boyish hips. In a flash she kicks me full on in the testicles and I go down instantly. The pain is so excruciating it immobilizes me completely. I writhe around on the floor, cupping my genitals with my hands, groaning with agony.

  “Get out!” Saskia snarls. “Get out now if you know what’s good for you, slave, or we will beat you within an inch of your life and give you another taste of the iron maiden!”

  Her eyes are on fire and I do not doubt she means exactly what she says.

  I stagger from the room, shuddering with rage and pain. I pause at the doorway to try and regain control of my bodily functions.

  Behind me Osiris laughs contemptuously. “You’re too soft with him. You should have let me tie him up and sodomise him. He needs to be butt-raped by a big hard cock to put him in his place. Did you see the way he looked at me? I thought he was going to hit me.”

  “And if he did?” Saskia asks.

  “I would have killed him,” Osiris replies darkly. “I would have put that little dagger of yours straight into his heart.”

  “Don’t upset yourself,” my mistress says. “It’s not worth it. Let’s fuck instead. I love sucking your tits and feeling that big cock of yours inside me. How long have we been at it now – a week?”

  Osiris laughs. “You’re an insatiable bitch, know that?”

  I close the door behind me and stumble away, overcome by pain and grief.

  My world is falling to pieces around me.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  I have not seen Saskia all day and nor do I want to. I’m not sure whether I will be able to control myself or stop myself from hurting her physically in some way.

  This evening she ate dinner up in her room. I don’t know whether her lover, Osiris, is still with her in her bed or not. For all I know she has both women in bed with her. At this stage nothing she does will surprise me.

  I have to face facts: I love her with my whole being, yet my love means less than nothing to her.

  I’m lying on my bed and stare wretchedly up at the ceiling. My eyes grow moist and I swallow hard at the painful lump in my throat. My eyes mist over with tears and I begin to cry without making a sound.

  It is late at night when the bell begins to ring persistently in the kitchen. I have been dozing but the incessant ringing finally wakes me from troubled sleep.

  I am summoned by my mistress.

  I go up to her room wearily. She is lying in bed and she’s alone, I note with relief.

  “You will sleep here tonight with me,” my mistress says as I enter her bedroom. “I had terrible nightmares last night, and I’m afraid of being alone. Take a cushion and lie down on the floor next to my bed like a dutiful slave.”

  “Where is your lover?” I say dully.

  She flares up instantly. “Are you being impudent? Do you want me to whip you and send you back to your room?”

  I shrug wordlessly and lie down on the floor with my head on the pillow. Saskia puts out the light and I stare into the darkness. After a long silence she finally speaks.

  “I miss the way we were, Julian,” she says in the dark. “I miss your warm body against mine, your gentle touch on my skin. I miss our lovemaking. And I miss our long walks – we used to be happy. I almost wish we were back at the old country inn where you and I first met. You seemed so young and serious and melancholy when I first saw you sitting out on the terrace with your nose in a book. You looked so beautiful and so innocent and so virtuous. I think I fell in love with you that first moment I saw you.”

  I sit up in the dark. “Why don’t we go back to that?” I plead wretchedly. “Why don’t we go back to the way things were between us? I love you, Saskia, you know I do!”

  “We can’t go back,” she says, her voice filled with sadness. “You know we can’t. We have both drunk from the poisoned well. We have spoiled everything between us. How can we turn back now? It’s far t
oo late for that. Now go to sleep. I feel immeasurably weary tonight.”

  I lie in the dark, eyes open, my mind in a turmoil. Finally I pluck up the courage to say, “What about you and Osiris?”

  “What about her?”

  “Have you been lovers for long? Were you lovers before I met you? Before we came here?”

  There is a long pause, then she says, “Actually, we’re not lovers at all. We didn’t do anything. We were playacting simply to make you feel wretched and jealous.”

  I do not believe her. I’m sure she is lying to me. She had been too comfortable and too familiar with the other woman, with the kind of relaxed familiarity that only comes with sexual intimacy.

  I suddenly feel extremely angry with her and myself. Lies and playacting. At the slave’s expense. Make him as wretched as possible. Make him suffer. Humiliate him. Drive him insane with jealousy and grief. Wound him physically and emotionally until he breaks. Was that the idea?

  My head tells me to leave this place at once, but my heart disagrees.

  I fall into a nightmarish, wretched sleep.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  “This has become like a drug, Julian,” she says as I kneel with the coffee tray beside her bed.

  It is morning and her eyes are still sleepy, her red hair tousled. She places a hand gently on my shoulder and looks at me intently.

  “This thing between us,” she says haltingly. “The worse it gets, the more it excites me. The worse it gets, the more I crave it. You have unleashed a demon inside me. The more I hurt you, the more I want to inflict even greater pain on you. I feel an overwhelming urge to break you one piece at a time. Where will it end? The violence is escalating and yet I crave more. Why do you allow me to do this to you?”

  I shrug. “Every time you hurt me it’s a confirmation that you care for me. It’s the only kind of love I have ever known.”