Trained To Submit: First Time BDSM Story

by Natalie Secrets

  “Sir, on your back,” she instructed.

  I lay prone and asked, “Some new deviancy to show me?”

  Lana smiled, her teeth glinting in the low light. “Oh, yes, a game of chance that will test your courage,” she revealed. My wrists and ankles were now secured by thick leather straps to the bed-stead. I could barely move an inch. My heartbeat increased when Lana took out a service revolver from a drawer in her wardrobe and brought it over to the bed and sat down with it in her right hand.

  “My God, what’s that for?” I gasped.

  Lana laughed, “Why, sir, it’s a toy to play with.”

  She spun the chamber in the revolver and then clicked it shut. I almost fainted when she then shoved the cold barrel into my sphincter and asked, “Are you ready, sir, to test yourself?”

  “Look, Madame, stop this, right now!” I shouted, feeling a panic I’d rarely ever felt. “If this is some kind of perverted game, it’s not funny at all!”

  “Be quiet sir and enjoy the challenge,” she said, touching my lips with her fingertips.

  “Calandra, you know what to do,” she added, pointing at my wilting penis.

  The girl popped my flaccid wand between her lips and despite the tenseness in my anus caused by the barrel of the pistol; I was soon as hard as a flagpole.

  “Mmm...You very bad boy,” Lana said, staring into my eyes and pulling the trigger on the revolver. I tensed against my bonds hearing metal hit metal and I gasped, “Oh Jesus Christ!” when the gun didn’t go off.

  “Ooh, you’re a lucky boy,” Lana said with a giggle, “shall we try again?”

  “Please, please, no, no, don’t...” I pleaded, felling terrified, despite the pleasurable sensation of having my penis sucked by the girl.

  “Are you refusing to let me do it, sir?” Lana asked.

  “Yes, I’d prefer you not to...” I said.

  Her tone became colder, more evil. “If you don’t indulge me, sir,” she said, “you can leave now, never to return, ever.”

  The thought of being cast out, for some bizarre reason, terrified me more than potentially dying. Mad but true, that’s what Lana had done to me in the year I’d known her.

  “Very well, Madame,” I said, “kill me, I don’t care, as long as you love me.”

  “Good answer,” she replied. “Now, you’ll indulge me, won’t you?”

  I breathed deep and said, “Yes, do your worst.”

  I tensed and gasped when the hammer fell and once again no shot penetrated my bowels. Instead, I yelled, “Oh my God, I’m shooting my own pistol!” when I felt my sap rising a second time, which the greedy servant girl swallowed with great enthusiasm.

  Madame removed the pistol from my anus and stood over me, on the bed, her feet either side of my head. “You see, sir, what you can take, so can I,” and with that comment she pushed the barrel of the gun into her vagina and pulled the trigger. I shouted, “Oh no, please don’t!” but nothing happened. With a loud giggle, Lana showed me the empty chamber of the revolver and said, “I knew fear would spur your orgasm, sir...Always trust me to know what’s best for your arousal, in future, won’t you?”

  I said I would, without question.

  Later, when Calandra had gone and Lana and I had bathed and gone out to dinner, she told me more about the girl. “She was an orphan. I found her in a foundling’s home when she was just ten years old,” Lana told me. She was being surprisingly tender now, a side of her I hadn’t seen before.

  “When did the lessons in vice begin?” I asked.

  “George, I sense an impudent tone in your voice,” she said, rounding on me with that split-second change of mood she could do without warning.

  I apologised.

  “For your information,” Lana told me. “Calandra was taken to bed by me on her eighteenth birthday. Most young women are married by that age, so I saw no harm in seducing her. She didn’t resist. You see how she adores and desires me.”

  “She loves you. Everyone seems to,” I said, with a tone of resignation.

  Madame sighed first and then said, “George, you’re a beautiful young man, but like all vain young men who’ve fucked a woman, you take things far too seriously. You want to own the object of your desire. I’m not to be owned by anyone. Not even my husband, the dear Baron, owns me. At least age has taught him that lesson. You must learn it too.” She gripped my hand under the table, as if reassuring me.

  “I don’t know if I can see you so objectively,” I said, my heart full of painful yearning.

  “I think about you all the time, and not just sexually.”

  “Oh dear, this always happens to me,” Lana said, clearly irritated. “Beauty is sometimes a curse to those who possess it.”

  “What about those in thrall of it?” I asked, annoyed by her self-centeredness.

  She countered by saying, “La Rochefoucauld put it so well when he wrote: ‘If you think you love your mistress for her own sake, you are quite mistaken.’”

  “Then I will continue worshiping at your Temple of Venus,” I said.

  Lana laughed. “That’s fine, darling, as long as you don’t become part of ‘the priesthood.’”

  This was her pejorative term of reference for previous lovers who she said had made unfair demands on her emotions. When this had happened she cut them off dead. No mercy; gone entirely from her life. Some had suicide themselves at this rejection. I didn’t want that to happen to me.

  “I’m inviting you to my country estate next week, George, if you’re free?” Madame asked, in her carriage, on the way to my brother Jabir’ house in the Rue St. Martin.

  “I would like that, Madame,” I said. “Is there a specific occasion?”

  She whispered: “Some new deviances that will pleasure us both, I’m sure, darling.”

  I looked into her eyes. She had a scheming expression on her adorable face that I knew indicated some dark desire she wanted to explore. It would mean going deeper into her delicious mire of corruption, but, what the hell... I couldn’t resist her. We would drown together in a sea of lust. Her physical attention thrilled me beyond all else, even against my wiser inclinations as to her ultimate purpose.

  I asked: “It’s clear to me that your sexual appetite is insatiable, is it not?)

  Madame smiled knowingly. I could tell the vanity of being thought a sexual legend elevated and thrilled her. “You, above all, know it is,” she said. “I suffer from a mania that Catherine the Great had; an itch between my legs that can never be scratched.”

  “Have you always had this mania?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Madame replied, “and, to be truthful, I wouldn’t change a thing about my life. I’ve enjoyed every wet and wonderful moment of it.”

  “Your first carnal encounter, when was it?” I asked.

  She smiled and said, “I was first seduced when I was fourteen, by a handsome young Comte, a friend of my family. He was sixteen. He broke me in, took my maidenhead in his father’s stable. Although brutal and quite bloody, it awoke an urge in me to be sexually adventurous. I developed intense feelings after that initial experience to satisfy as many pleasures as my body could afford me.”

  I laughed. “Remarkable! I’m surprised you didn’t seduce your brothers,” I said.

  Lana raised her eyebrows and gave me a knowing look.

  I shook my head. “No! You didn’t, did you, surely not?”

  “I may have,” she said, with a casual shrug of her shoulders. “My brothers were lusty, so was I. It’s up to you draw your own conclusions, George.”

  I said, “You could easily have got pregnant.”

  Madame giggled and told me, “Sheep’s intestines make remarkable prophylactics, you know. Casanova used them.”

  “Saints alive,” I said. “You’re far more corrupt than I thought.”

  “I’ve never made a secret of my adventurous nature, have I?” she asked.

  “No, in that respect, you’re remarkably honest,” I agreed.

  She sugge
sted, “Let’s have some fun, George. Make me a lewd proposition and I will fulfill it if I can.”

  I thought for a moment and then said: “Have sex with me, right now; here in this carriage, with all Paris going by in the evening around us?”

  She laughed, baring perfect teeth. “Mmm...Of course I will! Are you stiff enough to fuck, or do you want me to assist you with my mouth?” she asked, doing a whorish gesture with her fist, in imitation of the act of fellatio.

  “I’m as stiff as a truncheon!” I whispered.

  She felt between my legs and smiled. “So you are,” she said. “You naughty boy, you’re becoming as rampant as I am.”

  She leaned out of the window and said to her driver, “Claude, take us down the Avenue Foch and go slowly, please.”

  Dropping to her knees, she eased my trousers down to my ankles. “I never tire of sucking your big stiff wand,” she said, before plunging it between her lips. After a lot of kissing and fondling, we were soon fucking like animals on the fine leather seat of the carriage. Lana’s blue satin dress was bunched up around her waist and her dainty white shoes dug into my bare bottom while we thrust and parried against each other. The carriage clip-clopped along, the boulevards of Paris thronged with people completely unaware of the orgy going on right in their midst. “Fuck me, darling. Fuck me, yes, fuck me, yes, yes, fuck me!” my lover squealed. I knew she was having her climax and I spent inside her, during a deep kiss. She encouraged me verbally and with little squeezes of her soaking cunt. I had to suppress her screams and cries, lest the coachman thought I was murdering her...

  But then, knowing Lana, the driver, Claude, was in on her act.

  We uncoupled and flopped back, panting like dray horses. “Mmm, that was most enjoyable, George,” Lana told me. “Sometimes, a quick encounter is the most satisfying.” I watched, fascinated, as she felt between her spread legs and wiped the issue of my lust onto her fingertips, sniffed them, before tasting the result. “Delightful,” she said without shame, “the dessert is very good today,” before licking her fingers clean. It was typical of Madame to do that, to savour the primal moment to its fullest. I loved that quality about her the most. I’d never met anyone like her.

  When I got out of the carriage, she whispered, “Don’t forget about next week. I’ll send you details by letter, darling.”

  “I adore you,” I said, as Madame was driven off. She looked back at me, smiling, imperious; quite beautiful. Where she was, I was also destined to follow.

  What does the devious Lana have planned for George?

  Chapter 3

  I arrived at Lana’s country residence, just south of Lyon, in July 1891. What a sight that house was. I was awestruck seeing its grand outlines on the horizon as I approached it, via a dusty rural track. The building was eighteenth century Lana had told me in the last letter she had written me, before I left Paris to join her. The house was more like a mansion and it said a great deal about the wealth of Lana’s husband, the esteemed president of the Banc du France, Baron de Lay. The coach carrying me from the railway station in Lyon drove leisurely through rolling verdant countryside, past vineyards and dairy farms, finally pulling up at the front of the de Roch’s imposing house, the carriage wheels crunching on loose gravel, opposite an imposing stone staircase.

  Lana was waiting for me on the lower step. She seemed, I’m pleased to say, in a vibrant mood, smiling and waving to me, like a schoolgirl. The weather was exceptionally sunny and warm and she looked beautiful in her white blouse and long black skirt; her raven hair pleated in a bun atop her head; her elegant face animated and bright-eyed. My God, she looked more like twenty-five, rather than her true age of forty-five. What was her secret? She held an elegant parasol and the shade it cast made her look abnormally lovely; she was Goddess-like, her flashing smile completely sublime and disarming. I hadn’t seen her in a week and all my longing and love rose up when I saw her, causing my heart to beat like a drum. Apprehending her like this, in a domestic setting, it was almost impossible to believe what a deviant and depraved harlot Lana’s actually was.

  “I have someone I want you to meet, darling boy,” she whispered, behind her black lace fan, as I went with her into the house. Two male liveried servants carried my luggage behind us.

  “Who is this someone?” I asked.

  Lana smiled and whispered, “You’ll see, darling, tonight. It’s so good to see you...”

  “I’ve missed you, terribly, Madame,” I confessed. Lana gripped my hand briefly and then let it go, before the servants noticed.

  The door was opened by a pretty maid in a black uniform and we went up a marble staircase to the bedrooms. The interior of the house was magnificent with a lot of object d’art and antiques, obviously carefully chosen by Lana. The place had her extravagant touch. We made small talk in front of the servants, acted formally, no touching or embracing, even though I was dying to do something physical; so was Lana, I could tell by ‘that look’ in her sensual brown eyes.

  “Very impressive,” I said, glancing around from the upper floor balcony over the huge reception room below. “I’m so pleased you like the place,” Lana said, “because, I suspect, we are going to be doing a lot of ‘business’ together, Monsieur. Perhaps you can give me an estimate on those silk installations that we discussed in Paris, remember?”

  “Of course, Madame,” I said, “I’ve brought all the figures with me.”

  When the head servant, Louis, had stowed my luggage, Lana dismissed the servants and we were alone. She took my hand and led me to a room down a long red velvet carpeted corridor. “There,” she said, opening a creaking wooden door, “this is where you’ll be sleeping, darling boy; when you are not sleeping with me, of course,” she added, cheekily. “It’s huge,” I said, pacing around the vast oblong-shaped room, touching a giant oak wardrobe, then looking in the en-suite bathroom, where resided a big white free-standing bath and WC. In the main bedroom, a massive wooden bed took centre stage and various oriental cabinets, armchairs, antique tables surrounded it. A picture window at one end of the room overlooked a little garden that had a grey stone wall around it.

  “I like it very much,” I said.

  Lana shut the bedroom door and came closer to me while I stood looking out of the window. I recognised her distinctive perfume and turned to face her. “Listen, darling boy,” she said. “I've arranged our rooms so that we can have access to each other through here, you see?” and she walked over and opened a door that led onto a luxurious female-themed bedroom, decorated with bright silks and satins. This meant that anyone in the corridor outside wouldn’t be aware of our comings and goings between our respective bedrooms. Lana laughed and referred to the many bedrooms on the upper floor as, “My little rabbit warren.” Knowing Lana’s appetite for unusual sexual situations, I could only imagine the debauchery that had gone on in these rooms, in the past.

  “I’ll leave you to bathe and relax before dinner, darling boy,” Lana said, kissing me and squeezing my penis through my trousers, instantly making me erect. “Mmm...” she said, smiling with wanton expectation, “I will be falling on your sword later on, sir, with great pleasure.”

  “I can hardly wait, my love,” I gasped.

  Lana turned as she was leaving and said, saucily: “Don’t masturbate, sir. I want those big sacks of yours completely full.”

  I laughed and told her, “They are. I haven’t fiddled with myself since you left Paris Madame. They’re now the size of a couple of ripe Satsuma’s.”

  Lana giggled. “I will dwell on that beautiful image over dinner, sir,” she said, “I look forward to sampling the ‘juice of your fruit’ tonight.”

  I laughed and Madame went downstairs.

  After an excellent dinner, served precisely at eight o’clock, I retired to my room, to rest. I must’ve dozed off and I thought I was dreaming when I heard a knock at the adjoining bedroom door. I yawned and glanced at the wall-clock. It showed the time as nearly ten-thirty. I got up, stretched an
d went to the door.

  “Good evening, sir,” a seductive female voice said.

  She held a black lace mask up to her face. I knew that signature perfume. It was Lana’s. “May a lady of the night interest sir in becoming her client?” she whispered.

  “Yes, she might,” I replied. “If you’re an adventurous slut...”

  “I am, sir, all your needs will be met, rest assured,” she said.

  I said, “Then, my lady, you’ve come to the right place.”

  She came into my room and I looked her over. She was dressed in one of her hand-made corsets; made by ‘Martine of Paris,’ a well-known supplier of underwear to the more upmarket demimondaines of Paris. This garment was made from soft black velvet and was complimented by black satin kami-knickers, dark stocking tops and little black ankle boots below.