Students of Submission

by Leigh Turner

  Incongruously, Sally recalled a crack someone had made once, about why gynaecologists always wear bow ties, as Inez strapped her ankles to the ends of the padded rests. There seemed little point in resisting, since her arms were restrained anyway.

  Reaching behind Sally’s back, Inez freed the tight clasp on the leather waistband, and clicked the remote control. What next, thought Sally, trembling with excitement at the threshold of a teasing anticipation. Inez pulled the leather dildo strap away, leaving her reddened cunt on full display, oozing fluid down on to the light green cushion.

  Jane had been sitting in her office when Celia entered. The secretary, for such she was, seemed flushed, her fuchsia blouse not so crisp and tidy as normal.

  ‘Sit down, Celia. How’s it going?’

  ‘Well, rather a marathon with the last one, Mrs Taylor, but we’re getting there. Inez has just gone to get the new girl.’

  ‘Is Inez OK on her own?’

  ‘Yes, she’ll be fine, she says. It is a female, after all.’

  ‘So what’s the state of play?’

  ‘OK. The first one, Becky, finished on the treadmill with the dildo in. She was completely docile, we turned the treads off and Inez took her from behind on the floor. She stuck up her arse ready as soon as we got the dildo off.’

  ‘Excellent, well done. The next?’

  ‘Greg, the curly-haired lad. Came off the treadmill with a stiffy, got to Inez in the stirrups as per procedure, fucked her for four minutes till I tickled his balls, and then shot I mean, ejaculated.’

  Jane smiled at Celia’s preoccupation with propriety.

  ‘OK. Next?’

  ‘Fiona, the redhead. Standard stuff, really. Got as far as the stirrups, Inez got the strap-on into her, fingered her clitoris, and she orgasmed after just three minutes.’

  ‘Delicious. Don’t be afraid to go into detail, Celia, I do enjoy these little titillations.’

  ‘Right. The next was Steven. Very fit-looking lad, well toned. But we didn’t really get any response at all. In fact, he seemed so embarrassed we thought we’d better let him go early. You can’t upset people too much.’

  ‘Hmm, of course. Did Inez get to the stirrups?’

  ‘Yes, but he was just flaccid. I got as far as taking my blouse off but he just seemed even more unsettled, so we thought we’d better leave it.’

  ‘OK, you did the right thing. But we’ll have to keep a close eye on him. OK, next?’

  ‘Simon, quite tall and slender. Light brown hair?’

  ‘I remember. So how did he do?’

  ‘Loved it. Lapped it up. Just got more excited by the ball tickle and gave Inez quite a fucking. Nice long cock on him and he seemed to have some idea how to use it. I was wondering whether to have a bit of him myself, actually. Anyway, I got stripped down to my undies but thought I’d give his arse a finger-fuck first, as time was getting on.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘That did the trick. Spunk everywhere. It was dripping out of Inez after he’d finished.’

  ‘Boys, eh? Next?’

  ‘Liz. Dark-haired girl. Lovely tits, nearly as good as mine.’ They chuckled together. ‘Quite self-assured. Asked what we were doing and why. Had to invoke the contract conditions to get her in the stirrups. Came out with a stream of filth while Inez was fucking her, threatened to get a dildo and do the same to Inez as soon as she got free. Lasted ten minutes and then came with a terrific, long-lasting shuddering. Lucky too, I suppose, as she was docile enough while I was choosing her clothes with her.’

  ‘Mm. Interesting. And you’ve just done …?’

  ‘The Nigerian lad, Oliver. It all became quite a palaver with him. Started off all right, coped with the treadmill, didn’t tire him out much, he’s quite fit. He went up to Inez in the stirrups. I must say he’s got a heck of a cock on him and she was pretty much ready for it.’

  ‘Yes, I’m glad you didn’t say “gagging for it”. I hate that expression in relation to women. Inez’d had quite a day by then.’

  ‘Yes, well, I think she was ready for a bit of her own satisfaction. Oliver kept going for a while, and pushed my hand away when I went for the ball tickle move. Even worse when I dared touch his arse. He pulled out of Inez and said I would get some next. Not exactly threatening, but too cocky by half.

  ‘I thought I’d better take him on. Poor Inez was perched there, whimpering for more. I stripped down to suspenders and stockings while he watched me, then laid down on the carpet and said, “Come and get it.”

  ‘I had to make him finger me a bit; he was going to push straight in, the bastard. But I must admit it didn’t take long till I was wet enough.

  ‘Once he was in, I got my legs around his in that locked position you like, and he found it hard to get off. Not that he wanted to. I had quite a good time, actually.

  ‘While I had him there Inez came to her senses a bit and strapped the dildo on. I think she wanted a bit of revenge. She lubed it up and before he knew what she’d got in mind, she was behind him, holding his arse cheeks open. This freaked him a bit and he tried to pull out, but between the two of us we held him where he was, and Inez slid the dildo in. She knows where to go with these things.

  ‘Well, he yelped a bit but next thing I knew his cock was twitching and then going down.

  ‘Took a while for him to get his act together while I dressed, and I whisked him off to Costume just talking quite severely to him. There was a bit of talkback, but I reminded him of the conditions, and what he’d signed.

  ‘He was a bit disgruntled when I left him. You might find him a bit of a handful.’

  ‘Well, that’s what we’re here for. I enjoy challenging subjects to some extent; it keeps one on one’s toes. How’s Inez now?’ the director asked with a smile. Celia raised her eyebrow as she gave an inscrutable facial gesture, expressing something between embarrassment and mild amusement.

  ‘She was finishing herself with the electric dildo while we were in the Costume Room. Sorry, but it’s all running a bit late. She said to apologise to you.’

  ‘No worries. She’s on with the new girl now, is she?’

  Celia nodded.

  ‘OK. Get back in case she needs any help, and you can relax soon.’

  ‘OK, Jane,’ said Celia as she left.

  Sally watched as Inez reached up to the zip at the top of her tunic. With a fluid and elegant movement, the brunette pulled it down all the way. As she shrugged it from her shoulders it became clear that she wore nothing underneath but a thin black suspender belt and stockings.

  Walking to the desk, Inez extracted a strap-on dildo, already secured with a triangle of straps. She stepped into it, tightened it at both sides, then advanced toward the helpless Sally, brazenly strutting across the floor in her high heels.

  Wide-eyed, Sally studied the implement. A lifelike facsimile of a large black cock, with sculpted helmet and veins, confronted her. It was larger than the largest cock, Gareth’s, that she had hitherto experienced in her life.

  ‘Oh God,’ she breathed, in the knowledge of what was sure to follow.

  ‘Doucement, chérie.’ Inez smiled as she touched the eager lips of Sally’s throbbing vagina with the phallus.

  Gradually, with feminine care, it was introduced, inch by inch. When three-quarters home, Inez began a gentle, rhythmic fucking motion.

  After a few minutes of this, during which Sally could do nothing but moan unintelligibly, the rest of the long, unyielding dick slid home. Sally drifted, eyes half shut, in a swell of pleasure, her whole body abandoned, occupied, and subsumed to the phallus which had conquered her.

  When Inez’s thumb reached through her bush and found her clitoris, she felt the swell become an onrushing tide and crash like an ocean’s breakers upon the shore, wave upon wave of suffusing pleasure, leaving her limp and drained of all care.

  Dimly she heard the door shut, as though through golden syrup, and then the voice of Celia.

  ‘I see you’ve just finished. Any probs?
How long?’

  ‘Merde! I forgot to time it. Say eight minutes, I like the girl.’

  ‘OK. Is she ready?’

  ‘Give her a few minutes.’

  When Sally came more fully to her senses, Inez, dressed now in a beautifully tailored dark blue skirt and tasteful loose light blue top, was picking up her handbag.

  Leaving the room, she indicated she would see Celia tomorrow, and, with a smile toward Sally, favoured her with an expression of encouragement.

  ‘Good luck, chérie.’

  Celia came over to release the four bonds which held her. In a break with her normal, rather aloof manner, she smiled and asked Sally how she felt.

  ‘Phew,’ she exhaled. ‘Very relaxed, actually.’

  ‘Good. You’ve done all right, my dear. She’s very good, isn’t she?’

  Sally assumed the question to be rhetorical and concentrated on regaining her feet. As she walked toward the small pile of clothes still on the chair near the desk, Celia intervened.

  ‘Leave them, dear. You won’t need them for a while. Follow me.’

  She opened a door which led into an adjoining room. In here were several parallel clothes rails, and on the right hand wall, wardrobes and rows of built-in drawers, at the end of which a door adjoined, presumably, the central corridor.

  With scant ceremony, Celia rummaged in a drawer.

  ‘You’re about a 12, aren’t you?’ she asked.

  ‘Er. Yes, you’re right.’

  ‘Oh good. Try these.’

  Celia offered a pair of white knickers. Cut quite high, they nevertheless framed Sally’s arse adequately. The front panel was decorated with a lace design to alleviate the plainness of the rest of the garment. They felt silkier than the cotton ones Sally wore in everyday routine.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Comfortable?’

  ‘Fine, thank you.’

  ‘Good.’

  The older woman started to look in other drawers. As she did so, Sally scanned the racks. They were full of a variety of apparel. Peering through the rail immediately in front of her, she discerned a preponderance of black leather and rubber. Various outfits hung from the nearest rail, including short black dresses, uniform tunics, jodhpurs …

  Her observations were curtailed as Celia handed her a deep arched white suspender belt and a grey pleated skirt which looked as though it would finish some way short of reaching her knees. Sally felt her eyebrows raise as her eyes widened somewhat.

  ‘No arguments, dear. No arguments. We’re running a bit late as it is.’

  Sally shrugged and examined the intricacies of the belt. What would be the point of arguing after what she had just been through? She reflected that normal morals and polite behaviour had clearly been left behind somewhere in Inez’s surgery. This room-sized wardrobe in which she now found herself was like some gateway to Narnia, albeit almost certainly a more depraved version than ever envisaged by C.S. Lewis.

  By the time Celia returned with a plain white blouse, Sally had threaded the suspenders under her panties and clipped the smoke grey stockings, selected by Celia, to them. As she donned the blouse, Celia disappeared again, after enquiring her shoe size.

  Soon she returned, with a grey pair of Mary Jane-style pumps, plain with a single strap across the instep, and a slightly raised heel. Proffering a shoe horn, Celia looked approvingly at Sally as she finished fitting the pumps and stood before her.

  ‘Don’t I get a bra?’

  ‘No, dear.’

  That seemed to end that conversation.

  ‘Follow me,’ said Celia, clicking into her businesslike demeanour.

  They left the Costume Room by an outside door opposite the one from the corridor. On her right, Sally recognised the ornamental garden area which she had earlier seen from the lounge and dining room windows. There was no further time for orientation before she had to follow the brisk Celia along the perimeter path, with the surgery window on their left, feeling not a little self-conscious in her new, rather meagre attire.

  They crossed a wide driveway. It led on the left toward a number of outbuildings, garages perhaps, but again Sally was afforded no time to study them, for Celia had turned the other way, walking toward a T-junction where this thoroughfare joined the sweep of the main white gravel drive as it came round from the west of the house. Before reaching this, however, Celia turned left through an arched gate in a thick Leylandii hedge. Following, Sally saw a large outbuilding, of much more modern construction than the main house. They walked to it, and entered it through a door around the corner of the building at the far end. They were now in a large vestibule area. Picture windows behind them looked out on to a sizeable car parking area. It looked as though the building had been designed to house delegates to meetings, completely independently of the main house.

  Sure enough, as they went through one of the two big inner doors, they came into a medium-sized lecture theatre. Past slightly sloping ranks of comfortable, widely spaced seats lay a raised performance area. A large white curtain divided an area of this platform about two metres deep from whatever backstage area lay behind.

  In the front row of seats and on the edge of the raised platform sat a small group of young people. Subdued conversation ceased as Celia and Sally entered, providing a new focus. As they made their way down the aisle at the side of the seats, those not perched on the dais turned also, to scrutinise the newcomers.

  They drew near and Sally recognised Oliver and Liz from earlier. Five others completed the group. The men all wore towelling white robes with plain white slip-on pumps. Oliver’s robe, as he casually lay sideways, propped by his arm on the stage, had fallen open to a degree, revealing tight white shorts in Lycra, of the style worn by keen cyclists. The legs came down to a little above knee level, showing his muscled thighs in detail. Sally found her gaze straying toward his manhood, shielded partly by the fold of the gown, and looked quickly elsewhere.

  The women were all dressed in a manner similar to Sally, with white blouses and pleated skirts. Liz’s skirt, however, was black, as were her stockings and pumps. Sally had recognised another of the girls, Fiona, an Irish redhead who was Liz’s big mate round the campus. She wore a grey skirt but her stockings were in a light red shade and her Mary Jane pumps in scarlet.

  The remaining girl was unknown to Sally. Tallest of the four young females, she had neatly styled mid-length hair of a very light brown shade. Her well-defined features were chiselled and sharp, albeit extremely pretty.

  She produced an attractive nervous smile as Celia introduced her as Becky, and crossed her knee, encased in a tan stocking. Her Mary Janes were in contrasting white, her skirt grey, the blouse, as with all of them, plain white, revealing shapely breasts, not excessively large. Her left hand, tugging at the hem of the skirt, failed to pull it enough to cover the darker brown of the stocking top.

  Sally politely averted her gaze as Celia went through the introductions. Steven, Simon, Liz, Fiona, Greg, and Oliver were all quickly introduced by name. Celia then explained how Sally had “joined us a little later than usual” but was to be treated as an equal member of the group.

  She then went on to tell them that dinner would be served in 15 minutes, and that they should follow the path through the hedge, back round the ornamental garden, past the door she referred to simply as “Costumes”, whereupon the French doors of the dining room would then be open for them.

  With Celia leaving them alone for the present, conversation started up again. Greg asked if Sally was a student too; he thought he had seen her around campus.

  People then seized on this level of small talk as an opportunity to communicate and ease nerves, there being a clear reluctance amongst most of them to discuss their recent encounter with Inez and Celia in the surgery. Oliver and Simon were the exceptions to some extent, asking how Sally had found “our sexy doctor”, but Sally’s shrug took the wind out of their sly sails a little, as did Fiona’s unequivocal riposte.

  ‘Leave i
t out, you two, you know we girls aren’t going to give you the pleasure of discussing that stuff.’

  Simon’s movement toward the Irish girl in a clumsy attempt to initiate some form of horseplay was curtailed as the door opened.

  A slight, almost boyish, figure with baby-faced features stood at the top of the aisle. He was perhaps the same age as them and was dressed, bizarrely, in a double-breasted red page boy’s tunic and pill box hat, like some underling at an expensive hotel. His black ski trousers fitted him so closely that he might almost have been wearing tights. Black lace-up bootees just over his ankles completed his ensemble.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is served.’

  They followed the strange newcomer on the route earlier prescribed by Celia. Forming tentative alliances in the way that new groups tend to do, Oliver and Simon walked near to each other, swapping ribaldries, and so too did Liz and Fiona, more quietly. This left Sally to accompany Becky as a natural default, with Greg closely in their wake. Sally sensed she might have an admirer in him. Steven, bringing up the rear, seemed something of a loner.

  As they reached the French windows they were greeted by Jane Taylor, just inside the doors. She wore a magenta and white patterned dress, just over knee length, tan stockings, and her usual sensible heels, plain and wide enough for her large feet, in deep red. The billowy frock fitted her well and complemented her large yet feminine shape. Comfortable and confident, she spoke.

  ‘Well, you’re all late; I had to send Peter for you. But you won’t be penalised as you’re all the same. Take a seat everyone, not at the ends.’

  They shuffled round, Oliver the first to sit, Simon alongside him. Liz and Fiona chose the far side at the other end. Sally decided to go opposite Oliver, Becky following her. This left Greg to sit alongside Simon with Steven filling the last place at the end opposite Liz. Thus they had arranged themselves with the boys on one side, girls on the other.