Students of Submission

by Leigh Turner

  Jane took her place at the end, next to Sally on her left and Oliver on her right. The door opened and Nick entered. Dressed in the smart casual style familiar from university, he took the seat at the far end of the table.

  Jane now addressed them.

  ‘You all know Nick, my assistant director and, incidentally, my husband. You may channel any queries and concerns to me through him. Not that you will have any such worries I am sure.

  ‘As I explained to most of you this morning, you will be treated fairly and not harmed in any way. I cannot reveal too much about the nature of the social experiment we are conducting, but I can say there is a competitive element to it. You will be informed on a notice board in the hall, usually daily, how many points you have been allocated, in a sort of league table. We do not reveal how we allocate the points. I must emphasise that those of you with lower points must at no time succumb to being dispirited. There may be tasks ahead of you that bring opportunities to take a big leap forward.

  ‘That’s all I wish to say on the subject at present. Now, enjoy your meal.’

  They were served an excellent three-course meal. Jane and Nick set the tone for the stilted chit-chat by asking people how their studies were going. Sally felt the incongruity to be somewhat on a par with the Mad Hatter’s tea party, but played along anyway.

  They were served by Peter, the strange man in the bell boy’s get-up. He was joined by a waitress in her early to mid-40s. Quite short, with long, dark curly hair, she wore a black French maid-style dress, complete with two-panel white frilled apron at the front. Her skirt, much like those of the girls at the table, was too short to cover her stocking tops if she bent, and Sally noticed creamy thighs at her rear as she served Jane, who addressed the waitress as Vanessa.

  At length the meal drew to a close. Strong cognac was offered with their coffee. No teetotallers were in evidence and the heady brew, mingled with the fine wine copiously available during their meal, began to have its effect.

  As the table was cleared, the woman Sally had seen earlier at the door of the kitchen, Lena, entered and supervised the efforts of Peter and Vanessa. She was resplendent in an African-style robe, her beautiful face haughty in the twilight as she moved around the table lighting candles.

  They seemed to be in some sort of alternate world where class rules still applied. Jane and Nick at the top of the pyramid, Peter and Vanessa the underlings. Sally sensed the newcomers were perhaps below Lena when it counted. Relative normality of attire equated to rank, as far as she could tell.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by Jane.

  ‘Nick and I will leave you now. Enjoy the rest of the brandy if you wish, but remember there will be activities tomorrow. You may socialise in the lounge and snooker rooms but are not to visit each other’s sleeping accommodation. We monitor these things and will find out about any such visits.

  ‘Sally, you are in Room Eight. Follow the corridor in this wing on the first floor, there is a stairway at the end leading to your level. Your room is on the same floor as the other girls.

  ‘Incidentally, ladies and gentlemen, your regular clothing was removed from your luggage during the day. It will be returned at the end of the fortnight. You will not need any of it in the meantime. Goodnight.’

  Chapter Five – The Cuckold

  Jane and Nick came to the hallway after leaving the dining room.

  ‘I’ll see you in your room in a short while, Nick. We need to discuss a few things. I’ll put today’s results up in the morning; don’t worry about them now.’

  ‘All right, Jane. I’ve got to have a shower anyway. I only got in just before dinner.’

  ‘OK.’

  Jane left him and went into the kitchen. Lena and Vanessa were putting cutlery and utensils away. Peter bent over the sink, naked from the waist up, having divested himself of the elaborate red tunic.

  ‘Where’s Max?’ said Jane.

  ‘Out the back. Locking the garages and stuff,’ said Lena.

  ‘OK, I’ll have a look.’ Jane made her way to the exterior door.

  She found Max in the garages. They lay opposite the kitchen area, in between the conference hall and a large walled area which enclosed a quadrangle of stables. He was tidying some tools away, having just closed the Jaguar saloon’s bonnet.

  ‘Max, I’d like you in my room in 20 minutes, please. No later. Would you like a bit more of what we did last night?’

  ‘Of course, Miss Jane.’

  ‘Good. Now, how do you feel about Nick being around?’

  ‘Oh. Well, I suppose we’ve done it before.’

  ‘It won’t be quite like before, Max, he will be receiving no favours at all.’

  After further discussion with Max, she went back to the house, taking the route through the kitchen to see what was happening there. Lena was watching calmly, still in her robe, as Peter, on his knees, buried his nose into the arse of a giggling Vanessa, who held her skirt waist high, revealing the rows of frills on her white panties.

  ‘Do you want this one tonight?’ said Lena, holding Jane’s gaze.

  Jane reflected on this, wondering whether to reprimand Lena for not using her full title.

  She let it pass.

  ‘No, I’ll make do with Max. Why don’t you two use him before you send him to bed?’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Taylor,’ said Lena, bowing her head very slightly.

  Was she taking the mickey a little? Jane was not really sure.

  ‘Goodnight, girls,’ she said. ‘Don’t damage him, we need him tomorrow.’

  Jane entered Nick’s room through the adjoining door in her own. Four rooms at the front of the first floor of the west wing had been expensively fitted out and modernised, so that en suite bathrooms of large size at either end of the corridor sandwiched Jane and Nick’s bedrooms, which had the connecting door between them. This had been the arrangement when her first husband was alive, and it suited her relationship with Nick very well, given her predilections.

  Nick had finished his shower and was standing in a robe. She went up to him and slid her hands inside the waist. Soon her hands were higher up his body as she slipped the robe from his shoulders. His cock grew erect.

  ‘Well Nick. Risen to the occasion, I see. There will be none of that tonight for you; Max is coming up shortly. Come through and help me get ready for him.’

  Walking through to her own room, she turned her back to Nick, raising her arms behind her and unhooking the clasp at the top of her dress.

  ‘Jane. Please.’

  ‘No, Nick. You’ve been fucking that new girl, haven’t you? Now unzip me.’

  ‘Jane. How do you get that idea?’

  ‘Women’s intuition, Nick. It’s uncannily reliable.’

  ‘That’s unscientific twaddle and you know it.’

  Jane turned and, with a swift movement, delivered a stinging blow to his bare buttock with the flat of her hand.

  ‘Did you then? Fuck her?’

  ‘Jane, stop asking these things.’

  His lack of an outright denial was enough for her. He knew he was a bad liar when facing her and would try to avoid a straight untruth if he could. She felt she had enough of an answer. Confirmation would not be hard to find.

  ‘Unzip me now, he’ll be here in five minutes.’ She turned her back again. He pulled down the zip. Stepping out of the dress, she was revealed to be wearing a large bra and a panty-girdle in white.

  ‘What do the panties do, Nick?’

  ‘Give firm control, Jane Miss Jane.’

  ‘Good. You may remove them, but remember you are under my firm control here. Do not touch your cock and do not attempt to touch my fanny.’

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  Going down on his knees, he had slipped into the role all too willingly, as she knew he would.

  As she stepped out of the panty-girdle, still with her shoes on, there was a knock at the door.

  ‘See. He’s arrived and you’re not done. This is what comes of arguing
.’

  She addressed herself to the door, raising her voice.

  ‘Two minutes, Max!’

  In a softer tone she ordered Nick to unhook her bra. As soon as the clasp was loose she bent forward to unfasten her front suspenders from the white belt she wore. This had the effect of thrusting her arse toward Nick’s rampant cock, intensifying the excruciating tease she was putting him through.

  Now unhooking the rear suspenders, she ordered Nick, ‘Get the white waspie out; it’s in the second drawer there. Then you’ll have to let Max in. Tell him you have a little more to do to prepare me. Then come through and fasten me, in your room.’

  Nick did as he was told as she went through the adjoining door. She heard the outer door open in her room and Nick say, in an embarrassed murmur, ‘I still have a little to do to prepare her. Wait here please.’

  He entered his own room with the silky waspie corset in his hand. Jane waited, hands on hips. Moving behind her, he shuffled the garment into position. There were no front laces but the back panel had some stretch to it. Nick had to go on his knees to finish the last few hook and eye fasteners.

  ‘Suspenders.’

  A simple order which he followed, clasping four ruched suspenders to her tan stockings. He found the task exacting; his hands were now trembling.

  At last the command was carried out.

  ‘A pathetic effort, Nick. Remain in your room. You may leave the door wide open but do not cross the threshold.’

  Entering her own room again, she saw Max by her bed. He was stripped and erect, and his cock rose yet more at the sight of her in nothing more than the satin-fronted white waspie corset holding up her tan stockings. She stood tall in the red heels and her breasts jutted proudly, fully exposed, their nudity enhanced by the presence of the titillating garment. Her cunt hair was framed by the waspie quite high above it, and the suspenders which pulled tight on the stocking tops.

  It was here where Max’s gaze now dropped. Before he could take any initiative she reached him, and guided his right hand to her crack, while she grasped his cock in her right hand and held it firmly. Simultaneously her lips met his and they tasted each other in a frenzy of mutual desire. The thought occurred to Jane that she rarely kissed Nick these days, and that he would be doubly aroused by seeing this, but she was not doing it to punish or tease Nick; she was doing it out of pure, unadulterated lust for her lover.

  She knew, though, that Nick became more aroused the more he was humiliated, and now she added to his shame by pushing Max backward onto the bed, at its side. Following him, she climbed forward and straddled him, his feet still dangling from the edge with the haste of it.

  Taking his cock in hand again, she slid it into her ready cunt, sopping wet from Max’s fingered probings. Looking down at his enraptured face, she rode him, slowly at first, then faster. Finally she slowed again almost to a halt, and rocked her upper body languorously upon the engorged member of the helpless male, feeling the pleasure as she manoeuvred to maximise contact with the cock at the sensitive front wall of her vagina.

  After some minutes of this she raised herself from Max. When she had first taken the younger chauffeur, some of her ruder choices of position had sometimes provoked in him quite prompt ejaculations. Now, trained in the face of many such encounters, he remained hard and firm as he lay there.

  She turned and walked a couple of steps, nearer to the foot of the bed. It was impossible not to see Nick at the open door. He stood on the threshold of the room, his hard cock in hand, his face with a lost, open-mouthed expression.

  She could have admonished him, remembering her earlier dictate not to touch his cock, which of course remained unrescinded. Instead she merely cast him a withering, derisory glance, after which she turned and placed herself on all fours across the bed, her arse raised high.

  Max needed no prompting and was soon behind her. He pulled her backward to the edge of the bed, and, standing a little on tiptoe, slid his juice-covered erection into her welcoming tunnel.

  As she accepted the cock, Jane did her best to thrust back toward the eager loins of her lover. Ultimately, Max called the tune in this position, and, gripping her large arse at either side, began to pump, gradually and rhythmically.

  Before surrendering totally to his cock, Jane glanced up. On the other side of the bed was a dressing table with a large mirror above it. In its corner she could just see Nick’s reflection.

  She had correctly surmised that the sight of his wife being taken from behind by another man would be too much for Nick to withstand, and she was just in time to see him jerking himself furiously. He rocked on tiptoe at the doorway as, suddenly, the white emission pulsed forth, across the threshold he had tried to remain behind. He failed in that endeavour too as he crumpled, groaning, and fell forward into Jane’s room.

  Within moments, Max pulled out of her and went to his knees. Pushing his nose into her sex, he tongued at her clitoris, rapidly finding the most sensitive part. With this, Jane trembled and quivered and collapsed sideways onto the bed in her orgasm.

  Max, now desperate for release, manhandled her until her lower legs dangled over the bedside. He positioned himself so that he was looking at her upturned face, and, steadying himself with an arm either side of her right thigh, began to rub his cock up and down as it pressed against her knee, which forced it back between his legs. After no more than a minute, the pressure of the knee in its silky nylon drew from the cock its tribute, as the young man gasped and fell to the floor.

  Minutes passed.

  Jane roused herself.

  ‘Nick, mop up this mess. Then go to your room. Max will be staying with me tonight.’

  Chapter Six – Combat

  Sally woke up with a start. Looking at the light straining to get through the window in the small gabled alcove, she briefly wondered where she was.

  After a moment, everyday consciousness began to percolate through her fuzzy perceptions, and she recalled the end of the previous evening.

  There had been some discussion amongst the “subjects” about Jane’s diktat regarding entertaining guests in their rooms. Simon, one of the seven who had arrived earlier in the day and seen the rooms on arrival, said he thought small cameras and microphones might be concealed in various corners of the rooms. Since he came from a computer science background, the others had been happy to accept his modicum of technical knowledge, and a general conclusion, that there might be a price to be paid for such consorting, had been reached.

  Simon had continued his verbal fencing with Oliver, each trying to gain some clue about what had gone on in the surgery with the other man. Neither was giving much away, though, and they drifted into the snooker room with Greg, to click away at balls in some sort of male ritual.

  Liz and Fiona had then led a ribald discussion about the contents of the costume room and what on earth some of the outfits might be used for. Becky, while not appearing overly embarrassed on the subject, took her leave before too long, and Sally took the moment as a cue to get an earlyish night, and climbed to the second floor with her.

  They had passed the time going up with a little small talk. Sally formed the impression that her companion, while game to try whatever bizarre activities lay behind and ahead of them, was a fairly passive girl and would tend to go along with leads put forward by others, in a social context. That’s just a general trait and probably a failing of most of the female population, though, she had reflected.

  Now Sally slid out of bed and to her feet. A small en suite bathroom held the promise of a refreshing shower. There was also a small kettle in the alcove with sachets of coffee, tea, milk, and sugar. It seemed the place was designed for use by business delegates attending conferences, although there was no evidence of it being a commercial hotel as such.

  She gazed out of the window, nude. Short of the presence of anyone working on the roof, she was not overlooked. A balustrade marked the edge of the building, a narrow walkway between it and the sloping roof. She could se
e the large roof of the lecture theatre building, over the gardens.

  After a coffee and shower, she felt able to face the day. There was no choice whatever in the matter of what to wear, save that white panties and a white blouse, identical to what had been issued to her yesterday, had been provided, neatly folded, on the flat shelf under the mirror.

  Donning these fresh garments along with the suspenders, stockings, and skirt, she slipped her pumps on and left the room. There seemed to be no locking arrangement save for a latch on the inside of the bedroom door.

  Sally found her way to the dining room. Steven, who had retired before all of them, was already there, along with Liz and Becky. Within a minute Greg joined them. His greeting was a little too jaunty to be convincing.

  ‘What fun and games have they got in store for us today, then?’

  Breakfast things had been laid out in a buffet on a long table at the side of the room. They served themselves and chatted, pondering the history, usage, and ownership of their temporary home.

  Vanessa appeared from the hall, announcing what was available for the hot course after the cereal: sausage, bacon, the usual English breakfast suspects. What was different today was not that Vanessa had changed her French maid’s outfit, but that there was less of it.

  Instead of the little black dress, there was now a little black skirt. She still wore a white frilled apron with a panel over the waist; this, held by a halter strap, was all that covered, or tried to cover, her plump breasts, whose contours were clearly visible with a side view.

  ‘Did you see that?’ gasped Greg.

  ‘I think we could hardly fail to see it, Greg,’ said Sally.

  ‘My God,’ said Steven.

  The meal continued. Fiona, Simon, and finally Oliver joined the small assembly, with much raising of eyebrows and semi-stifled giggles, as the waitress in her risqué outfit moved amongst them.

  At length most were finished, and Vanessa began to clear some plates. At this moment Peter entered, provoking a loud guffaw from Oliver. Those not facing the door turned to see what had caused the outburst. What they saw was the young waiter carrying coffee to the table behind them. Today he still wore the elaborate page boy costume along with his short black bootees over his ankles. However, the tight ski pants had gone; all that saved his dignity was a pair of white briefs. It did not take a very sharp eye to see that they were women’s briefs at that, in a panty-girdle style in tight Lycra, encasing a small bulge where the cut of the garment was not designed to accommodate an errant cock.