Students of Submission

by Leigh Turner

  She raised herself and leant forward, standing with her arse thrust back toward him. Putting her hands behind her haunches, she pulled at the flesh near the bottom of her cheeks, thus giving him a brief but full view of her red pussy lips. Then, turning, she smiled to see his cock had reached semi-grown status despite its recent ejaculation.

  ‘Not bad for a middle-aged old goat.’ She chuckled down at him, before walking toward the bathroom.

  Chapter Two – The Mistress

  Jane emerged from her en suite bathroom into her large bedroom. She wore a smile and little else other than a generously proportioned black suspender belt, high over her hips at waist level, and seamed black stockings.

  She sat on the bed, then lay back, raising her legs one by one as she unclipped the firm metallic slides from the small round buttons encased by the smooth black nylon. The belt had a silky quality to it, more than the usual material one found these days. She paid for quality – in the large stockings which fitted her so well; in the teasing garment which held them for quality paid you back every time you handled it and saw its effect on males, as well as minimising annoying ladders and broken clasps.

  She stood up and unhooked the belt. A tall and well-built woman in a Rubenesque sort of way, her mature years were belied by her smooth complexion and its healthy glow. She wrapped herself in a flimsy silk gown which clung to her ample curves as she tightened the thin belt which was all the designer had ultimately provided to maintain any semblance of modesty.

  She poured a glass of Rosé d’Anjou from a cabinet near the bed. The bed itself was a huge affair, as wide as most beds were long and ample also in length. A cushioned headboard rested against the wall; otherwise it was an open divan without posts, less to be conscious of when engaged in more athletic bedtime pursuits.

  She smiled the smile of one secure in her domain, confident and serene. As she sipped her wine she reflected on how Max had entered her room an hour ago.

  Deferential as ever, he had greeted her.

  ‘Good evening madam. How are you?’

  ‘I’m well, Max, I’m fine thank you. Strip.’

  With a mere flicker of reaction, he had obeyed the command and was soon naked. While he knew he was her favourite lover, there were certain boundaries which it would have been unwise to cross, given his position in the household.

  Jane, for her part, had stared at his nicely proportioned body as he stood before her. Entering his thirties, he combined a degree of youthful vigour with the thickset bearing of the more mature male, enhanced by his past as a labourer and welder in the Polish shipbuilding yards where he had spent several working years. His shoulders, arms, and neck muscles were particularly well developed.

  She admired his physique, yet would not let herself become too much in thrall to it. No, that would never do, with a mere male and a servant at that. Well, an employee, she supposed; perhaps one shouldn’t get too medieval in one’s mental descriptions.

  Nevertheless, despite the near twenty-year gap in their ages, she was accustomed to giving a good account of herself in their more boisterous tussles. She had waited until he was completely nude before beginning to strip herself. Already attired in the suspenders and stockings in anticipation of Max’s arrival, she had first taken off her blouse, then the plain black skirt she wore during the day.

  Standing in a close-fitting black panty-girdle and black bra which perfectly framed her ample cleavage, she had pointed to the floor. The naked Max had knelt at her feet, and, bending forward and low, had kissed her toes, encased in plain black single-strapped high-heeled shoes. He had proceeded to kiss both feet in this manner, many times over, murmuring as though lost in a reverie of complete submission.

  When she was ready, she had moved toward the bed, casting aside the bra. She had then turned toward Max, who had shuffled toward her on his knees, like some pantomime gnome divested of his costume and what was left of his dignity.

  Max had helped pull down the tight girdle, with the now visible fanny hair driving him into a quiet frenzy. After she’d moved and then lain on her back on the bed, he’d launched himself forward, tongue licking firstly at the hairy mound and then further, further down, probing, until she had gradually spread herself. It was then he had begun to bring her toward ecstasy, as she knew he would. Finding his way to her eager clitty, teasing round it, faster, slower, softer, and then harder when he sensed her readiness. With surges of passion he had serviced her, moving his tongue down, pushing and tasting the cunt opening with its juicy reward, back up to flick fiercely at the clitty. Max was doing much more than fulfilling a duty; he was an enthusiast and an expert at this task. They both knew it without having to speak of it.

  Eventually he had come up for breath, grasping a glass of water on the bedside table, refreshing himself. His eyes had asked the silent question of whether she needed refreshment. She shook her head as she stared wide-eyed up at his hard cock. Big but not too much so, it suited her well. She raised her knees and spread wide. Max knew the signal and wasted not a second in plunging his cock deep inside her opening. He would surely have come almost immediately were it not for the sopping wetness of her vagina offering little friction.

  Instead he had begun to thrust steadily, then faster and fiercer as he knew she liked it. Her wide pupils gave her away. She wrapped her legs around him, pinning him in position. With a groan he partly withdrew, then, supporting himself on his arms, had watched himself as he pushed his moistened cock in and out of her hole.

  At length he had lifted himself up and free, nearly exhausted. Changing position, he faced her legs as he went down again. She reached his balls and held them as he licked in a feeding frenzy, this time showing the clitty little relief or mercy. Soon, her legs had twitched, bucked, and shuddered as her orgasm rippled through her, reverberating through all her senses long and intensely.

  Max had, after a while, gone to the bathroom to piss, taking quite some time before his hard cock relented and he was able to relieve his bladder. When he returned, Jane, still dazed, had patted the space on the bed next to her and he joined her there, allowed to lie, like, perhaps, some favoured dog. At least he was favoured. Did this status do enough to offset the canine side of the equation, Jane had wondered. She thought not, in view of the eagerness with which he had kissed and tongued her feet.

  The thought had reminded her that she still had on the black heels. She rose and took them off.

  ‘OK, Max, into the bathroom.’

  ‘Yes, mistress.’

  They had walked through.

  ‘Into the bath and on your back,’ came her command, her voice now more clipped and with a harder edge.

  Shoulders sagging slightly, Max had obeyed.

  The bath was a large, deep, and luxurious affair. It was over six feet and square, with high sides which nearly touched Max’s still enlarged cock as he clambered over.

  With the second part of the order obeyed, Max had remained motionless, his right hand near his erect cock but not quite daring to touch it. She had reached into an alcove and found an inflatable waterproof pillow, which she had placed tenderly under his head.

  ‘Now Max, you may observe.’

  She had climbed into the bath and now stood above him, one foot either side of his head so that he gazed up at her plump arse.

  ‘I know what you do with that slut Lena.’

  ‘No, Madame Jane, it’s not true.’

  ‘Don’t deny it, Max, you disappoint me when you lie. In any case, this is not a discussion.’

  ‘Mistress …’

  ‘Max, shut your mouth. Now, you may open it, but please emit not one sound or it will be the worse for you.’

  She had looked down. The obedience had been forthcoming and he lay there open-mouthed, naked and helpless.

  ‘Max, you may wank.’

  He had needed no second invitation and tossed himself uninhibitedly as she crouched down over him.

  Her cunt was only six inches over him when he began to moan
in the pure lust of absolute worship. Her arse continued to descend until she found a comfortable repose. For her, that was. For Max, a mixture of disgraceful pleasure as he swallowed her seeping vaginal fluid, his mouth now enveloped, and forbidden ecstasy as his frenzied hand finished its task and his cock pumped copious come almost over the high sides of the bath.

  ‘Don’t forget who your mistress is, Max,’ she had reminded him as she climbed up and found a paper towel. ‘Clean yourself up at your leisure, I will see you shortly,’ she had said, opening the door.

  When Max came through she was lying in bed, enjoying a Malteser chocolate or two with her wine. Perhaps that was why her figure was what might be termed “fuller”, she reflected. She would tolerate adjectives such as buxom and even plump, perhaps, but never let anyone dare say anything less complimentary. At 5’9’ she was never going to be a small lady, and was actually quite comfortable with her size. Perhaps a little less around the waist and she could have aspired to a likeness, with her shortish, slightly curly blonde hair, to one of those pin ups of the Fifties, ample of breast and bum, well fed on post-rationing real butter. Those to which many a teenage boy first fantasised, their airbrushed pubes failing to diminish the lust and wonder stirred within the pages of Health and Efficiency, the purity of naturist ethos the last thing on their minds.

  She spoke to Max as he dressed.

  ‘That will be all for tonight, Max, I need some sleep. We’ve got a new recruit organised. Could you speak to Nick and make the pick-up arrangements for tomorrow, or as soon as you can?’

  ‘Certainly, madam. That will make the eight then.’

  ‘Indeed, Max. Goodnight.

  Chapter Three – Arrival

  Sally woke up earlier than usual. Nick had made his exit the night before, but, after getting dressed, had stayed long enough to explain his proposition.

  She had made them a light meal while he talked, listening with increasing fascination. It appeared that his wife ran a research institute out in the country, one which was in receipt of considerable funding from various organisations, some commercial and others of more shadowy origin, perhaps governmental, although Nick would not be more explicit.

  Whatever the background, there was no disputing what was on offer to those who volunteered themselves. £5000 basic rate for two weeks away from town. Where was the catch? Nick assured her there would be no medical experimentation, no untried drugs or anything of that nature. It was solely an exploration of social and psychological responses in a controlled environment.

  The price to be paid seemed small. She would have to inform her parents that she would be away for two weeks on a Hebridean adventure holiday, away from any form of communication. She would have to sign a contract agreeing that all findings of the experimental process remained the intellectual property of the researchers, and she would not be paid anything if she left the experiment before the period of two weeks was up. There was no coercion involved, he emphasised, but the financial reward was there to encourage a degree of endurance, for participants would have been put through quite a physical test by the end of the process.

  After agreeing with Nick that her physical health was excellent, he mentioned that her medical records would be checked anyway, as they had an arrangement with the University Health Centre. Whatever happened to data protection, she mused, raising an eyebrow.

  Nothing he had said put her off; the £5000 would go a good way toward giving her a leg-up now that uni was nearly ended. Paying off her student loan could wait a while; they didn’t have to know about the windfall. And there was talk of further financial reward for those who did well in the tasks they were asked to perform.

  ‘Just the same as a lab rat, really,’ he remarked. ‘You wouldn’t expect it to do much of interest without offering a food reward.’

  ‘Charming. Anyway, I’ll give it a go. Not much planned the next few weeks, anyway.’

  He had explained, to her considerable surprise, that she would be the last of eight volunteers for the experiment, and that the eight would be living in close company for the next two weeks, seeing only the staff of the research institute to represent the wider world. Apparently they had been carefully chosen and vetted; she would have thought that students would be battering the door down at the prospect of £5000.

  No, he had explained, this was by invitation only, and the small number of participants was essential in managing the situation. He had, he said, had her in mind for some time but had kept missing her.

  She had indeed been out a lot recently, but since the last tiff with Carlo and Gareth’s decision to swan off on that Swedish educational trip of his, had settled over the last couple of days for her own company.

  It was in the nature of the experimental process that he could not reveal any detail about it until she had begun it, Nick had explained.

  Her mind racing after he left, it had taken her quite a while after going to bed to finally doze off.

  The doorbell rang at 11 a.m. as promised. Nick had phoned her at 9 confirming the arrangement. Short notice, but what else would she be doing after all? Her nerves tingled slightly at the prospect of adventure.

  At the door stood a polite man in blazer and tie. She was astonished to see a chauffeur’s cap topping off the outfit. He introduced himself as Max. He seemed well built for someone who just drove a car, broad shouldered and with a strong, thick neck. His light brown hair was well trimmed below the cap, and she sensed a pleasant aroma of expensive aftershave.

  ‘Have you got any luggage, miss?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, there’s a couple of bags, I didn’t know how much to bring.’

  ‘Didn’t Nick tell you? To be honest, miss, you only really need a couple of outfits. The institute provides clothing for you during your stay.

  ‘Hmmm?’ A frown crossed her features. ‘Not one-piece overalls with arrows on them, I hope.’ She smiled, seeking some response.

  ‘Oh no, madam, I mean miss, there’s nothing to worry about. But I’m not supposed to talk about the experiment in any way, really.’

  ‘Oh. Well, I suppose that leaves you in an awkward position. Just give me a few minutes while I repack.’

  ‘Certainly, miss.’

  Soon, with her one bag placed in the boot of a large Jaguar, they were off. Max had insisted that she rode in the back. After chuckling at this time-warp sort of behaviour, she acquiesced and began to enjoy the ride. She wore a comfortable skirt and T-shirt, and light trainers on her feet. The temperature was too high to bother with stockings, and certainly not tights.

  They moved smoothly north and before too long were leaving the York ring road. As a fairly local girl, she recognised some of the roads. Max pulled into a lay-by. He purchased sandwiches and coffee from a catering caravan and they walked back to the car with their plastic cups.

  ‘Miss,’ said Max a little awkwardly as they stood near the car, ‘I have to ask you something.’

  ‘Ask away then, Max.’

  ‘Would you mind wearing a blindfold for the rest of the trip? The location of the research institute is a matter of some secrecy and we don’t like to broadcast it.’

  ‘You’re kidding, Max, surely?’

  ‘Well, the only alternative is for you to agree to lie on the back seat for half an hour or so. I’d still have to blindfold you a few miles before we got there or I’d be in deep shit.’

  She smiled at the incongruity of the sudden expletive, as though his reservoir of English expression had run dry and he had had to resort to one of the first colloquialisms he had picked up in Yorkshire, arriving perhaps from Eastern Europe, she surmised from his slight accent.

  ‘What about the other seven volunteers, participants, whatever you call them? Were they all blindfolded?’

  ‘I picked them up in our minibus yesterday. The windows are blacked out and there is a partition behind the driver.’

  ‘You’ve an answer for everything, haven’t you? Well, go on then, do your worst.’

  �
��The blindfold?’

  ‘All right, I’ll just doze off for a bit.’

  Max was careful that none of the lorry drivers at the tea wagon were observing his rather bizarre deed, and drove them to the end of the lay-by before leaning in and quickly drawing the black mask on to her.

  They completed the rest of the journey in silence.

  At length the barely perceptible whisper of the Jaguar’s tyres on tarmac gave way to a continuous crunching noise as the fat wheels bit into gravel. Soon there was silence as motion ceased and Max turned the ignition off. She had been lolling across the bench seat, and now raised herself just as the door opened and Max deftly unclasped her mask. Blinking in the sunlight, she extricated herself from the large saloon. She saw at her right a large, well-kept lawn, bordered by tall trees some way back, through a gap in which peeped the white gravel driveway. This driveway widened considerably as it swept round to their parked position.

  Turning, she almost gasped as she saw the mansion to which the driveway led. In the centre was a large portico flanked by over-large Doric-style pillars in stone. To each side of this stretched a symmetrical wing with several large windows, two storeys high. There may well have been an attic storey with gabled windows, but she was too close to see whether such was the case. The loop of driveway where they had parked ran alongside a decorative hedge before rejoining the main drive, which bordered the lawn at its perimeter before running in a wide semi-circle round the building to the right. At the left end of the building, the tall hedge that bordered it stopped at an eight-foot-high pedestrian gate, seemingly locked, which nestled alongside the house.