Students of Submission

by Leigh Turner

  Reddening, the young waiter put down the coffee and hurried out.

  ‘See, you’ve upset the poor boy,’ said Vanessa.

  Oliver shrugged, not quite knowing whether to engage the older woman in debate.

  As they sat with coffee, having all finished breakfast, Celia walked into the room, clad as usual in business-like pencil skirt to just below the knee. Yesterday’s pink blouse had given way to an ice blue number, similarly styled, a bit too flounced with frills for Sally’s taste. I bet she’s got a bra colour to match every blouse, she thought idly.

  Clapping her hands, Celia announced that they were expected in the “auditorium” in ten minutes and should now finish their coffee.

  They drifted across the garden path in ones and twos, the topic of conversation continuing with less inhibition. Who would allow themselves to be humiliated by being dressed like that? Surely they could get another job. It must be very well paid. And so on.

  Celia, having gone ahead, welcomed them at the auditorium door with her usual cool manner, instructing them to take a seat individually, not overlooked by anyone else. All complied except Fiona and Liz, for whom one empty seat between them was deemed not sufficient, and Fiona was told to move along the row.

  Celia distributed question papers amongst them, “not to be studied yet”. As she did so, they were aware of a new presence entering behind them, and saw a tall man walking down the aisle and up to a lectern at the side of the stage.

  He was a good six foot two, and well built. Wearing sharply creased white trousers and pumps, he had on only a white singlet above the waist, which revealed thick, strong-looking arms and a well-honed torso with firm pectoral muscles and flat stomach. His thick, blond hair was cut quite short and his strong features were softened a little by the presence of quite a bushy moustache.

  Introducing himself as Tom, he explained that he would be in charge of the physical training part of their programme, which would occupy the entire day today, along with some segments of days to come. He was also, he said, the head gardener of the establishment, a fact which needn’t concern them. Nevertheless, this revelation caused him some amusement and he grinned broadly.

  Sally liked the way his face creased in amusement, and his easy and genuine smile. In his late 20s by the look of it, he was a bit of all right indeed. In a matter of minutes he had struck a more favourable note with her than any of the lads in her group.

  Gathering her thoughts, she tried to focus on what he was saying. They would be doing a couple of non-competitive personality tests and then they would be able to relax a little watching a film, he told them.

  The tests were an intelligence test featuring lots of shape matching tasks, and what looked like a Minnesota Personality Inventory. You were supposed not to be able to fake the latter. Sally had her doubts, but what did it matter anyway? She whizzed through it, answering honestly to save time.

  At the end Celia came round and collected the papers, leaving just one blank sheet remaining to write on. She handed each of them an envelope with their name on it.

  Tom now stood up and explained that they would see a short film. It incorporated an interesting fact relating to the establishment, he said. If they identified this and wrote it on their papers, putting them in the envelopes, they would be awarded bonus points in the competition.

  With that, he operated a remote control, dimming the lights. Onto the large white screen, a film began to project. Initially a flickering white square with a black cross on it, perhaps for the projectionist to get the focus right, it suddenly switched to a bright outdoor scene, looking over some sand dunes with outcrops of pampas grass on them.

  The camera panned round and picked up a young couple walking away from the lens. Gradually it zoomed in until their bodies were just framed by the screen. Both slim, dark-haired and good-looking, they turned toward one another and embraced.

  Pausing only to look for a clear sandy area on the side of a dune, they grasped one another again. The young man pulled his girlfriend’s T-shirt up from the waist as she raised her arms high. Pulling it all the way off, he then tugged his own T-shirt over his head.

  The girl meanwhile, revealed to be wearing no bra, pulled down a short zip at the side of her denim skirt and stepped out of it as it dropped to the floor. She wasted no time in pulling down a pair of skimpy white panties and kicking off her sand shoes.

  The man entered camera shot again. He was now completely nude and cradled a long cock, fully erect, in his right hand. As the girl sank to her knees and took its end into her mouth, a low, lustful groan came from the darkness, about where Simon was sitting.

  ‘Silence. No talking.’

  The firm command came from Tom at the side somewhere.

  The camera showed a close-up as the girl sucked. It panned back a little to show how her head bobbed in enthusiastic cock worship. There was something familiar about her face, thought Sally, although not much of her profile could be seen with the curtain of long, dark hair falling over her face as she looked down, rapt, at her lover’s cock.

  They were treated to five minutes or so of this, whereupon the camera view moved back as the couple broke apart.

  The woman now leant forward on all fours, arching her back. The man walked round to her rear and dropped to his knees. The camera observed closely as his cock, slippery with pre orgasmic fluid, slid slowly into her cunt. It paused halfway, showing their faces lost in pleasure. Back to the cock as it slipped all the way home. From the side, as he pumped in and out. From the rear, below him, closing on his balls as they slapped on the edge of her clitoral area.

  Minutes and minutes of this. Then, focusing back, a full view of the couple as the man humped, her arse presented without demur, her back arched.

  Then, some voices off-camera. They were in French, of which Sally understood little, and there was no sign of subtitles. Two gendarmes entered the sandy dunes where the couple had disported themselves.

  Speaking harshly, the shirt-sleeved gendarmes appeared to admonish the couple, who broke apart, the young man hiding his cock behind his hands. The woman, still half entranced, sat back on her lower legs, folded under her, making no effort to move further.

  Frowning, one of the gendarmes gestured toward his open palm with his forefinger, and, after more unintelligible talk, paused, his hands clenched and resting on his waist. His face was set in a smug smile, his eyebrows raised, questioning what response the couple would make.

  The youth spread his hands to shrug, then quickly covered his semi-hard cock with them again. It all seemed to mean that a fine had been demanded, which the young couple had been unable to pay.

  ‘Hien!’ The more assertive gendarme appeared to come to a decision, and pointed to the floor. With this, the woman leant forward again, placing her fists on the sand to support herself, forearms straight, back arched once more. The young man, slowly and reluctantly, adopted the same position alongside her.

  While this was happening, the younger gendarme must have been stripping, off-camera, for he was now seen taking his trousers down, which left him nude. Taking from the belt a very small, almost miniature truncheon, he approached the youth.

  Spitting on the black implement, which was no more than four inches long apart from its ribbed handle, he moved it near the young man’s arse. The thin black rubber device was gradually introduced into its victim. Thinner than any normal truncheon, it gradually found its way up the dark, forbidden hole. The young man groaned and whimpered as a barked order caused him to reach backward. Half burying his head in the sand for support, he pulled on his arse cheeks, the better to accommodate his nemesis.

  The camera moved across to the woman, who was being fingered by the senior gendarme. Sliding two fingers out of her gaping pink crack, captured in close-up, he now handed control to his naked colleague as he himself began to strip.

  The naked gendarme now positioned himself kneeling behind her. With a grunt he slid his thick cock, surrounded by bushy black hair, i
nto her vagina. Then, steadying himself with one hand on her buttock and the other on her shoulder, he began to thrust and take his pleasure.

  The view switched to the senior gendarme, who unclipped from his colleague’s belt a pair of handcuffs. The young man’s hands remained behind him, still spreading his arse cheeks as he had been told, and it was quick work for the older man to cuff his wrists. Then, hooking his hands under the helpless male’s upper arms, he unceremoniously hauled the slim lad to his feet.

  Fixing the youth with a stern yet lascivious glare, he moved around him. Looking down, he saw the prisoner’s cock erect, facing forward as it twitched in its helpless submission, harder than its owner wished it to be, hard with desire for satisfaction, however wrought.

  The older gendarme gave a brief, cruel, and dismissive laugh, and with a guttural sound not known in any language, fell to his knees in front of the girl. His cock was not as long as his colleague’s, but in its thickness was proud amongst the brown bush from which it emerged, thick like the extensive body hair of the gendarme himself who now, like some ape who demanded the ritual subjugation of a lesser member of the troop, fed his full cock into the mouth of the youth’s girlfriend.

  Many were the close-ups of the activity at either end of the topped and tailed female, who both lapped cock and presented herself to cock with utter abandonment and complete submission to her masters. The young man was seen from time to time, his face a picture of anguish, his cock protruding and twitching, his arse conquered by the black dildo whose handle protruded below his pinioned wrists.

  Next, the action at the girl’s mouth drew to its natural conclusion as the older policeman’s cock began to twitch. Withdrawing, the woman’s face was showered in spunk as he reached his climax.

  It was at this moment that Sally suddenly realised. Inez! Behind all that long curtain of hair it was Inez, some twenty years earlier perhaps, but nonetheless her. Her lover of yesterday, debauched with three men. So that was the secret. Sally had seen enough of Inez’s face during their relatively tender encounter to know it was her. This might not have been the case with all participants, distracted by the bizarre scenario of yesterday.

  Back on screen, the younger policeman continued to fuck the young Inez with increasing pleasure. He managed to frame a question to the girl’s helpless boyfriend, who nodded vigorously and approached the couple. A barked order saw him grasp the dildo and arch his body forward in front of the gendarme. Taking his hand from Inez’s shoulder, the latter now grasped the cock of the youth and wanked it, full-fisted around it. The boyfriend, manipulating the arse plug and presenting his cock wantonly to another man, found his humiliation complete as he jettisoned his juice uselessly across the dunes over the back of his beloved.

  The gendarme, letting go of him, pumped vigorously for several seconds more before shivering with pleasure, simultaneously withdrawing so that the closely peeping camera could witness the obligatory white fountain.

  After a higher placed shot looked down upon all four participants sprawled amongst the dunes, a sudden cut showed the policemen, now dressed, laughing and joking as they walked through the dunes. The final shot was of the girl and boy getting dressed, the youth shamefaced, looking down, as Inez, with an aloof glare, made it clear their relationship could never be the same again and began to walk away.

  Sally hoped the final scene hadn’t been too revealing of Inez’s face, as no doubt every bonus point would help.

  They blinked in the glare as the lights went up, and were given five minutes to write their conclusions before committing their papers to the envelopes. Simon and Liz seemed to have something to say, perhaps also Greg. The others seemed puzzled, Becky especially. As Sally glanced across at her, her face was a picture of open-mouthed astonishment and awe.

  Before they could do much to gather their collective senses, Celia had returned, and collected their papers. Tom, standing at the front once more, explained to an extent what lay in store.

  ‘Right. Lads, you’re with me. Your records have been checked and we know you’re all reasonably fit. We know Oliver and Simon spend a fair bit of time in the university gym, Simon’s quite a keen swimmer, and you, Greg, are hooker for the university rugby team. So no excuses, lads, we’re going on a run. There is a competitive element within it. Leave your robes here, outside in two minutes with me. Girls, you’re with Celia.’

  The girls made their way to the top of the auditorium, casting backward glances to where Simon and Greg had already divested themselves of their robes. The tight white support shorts left little to the imagination.

  They left by the front door, following Celia round through the gate in the tall hedge and along the wide driveway behind the house. Passing the central annex of the house on their left, they came eventually to the outbuildings which Sally had glimpsed earlier. On the left of a large courtyard was a restored stable building which appeared to have been converted into changing rooms and gym facilities. At the far side was a modernised yet tastefully designed garage facility with three large doors. The third side of the quadrangle was bounded by a hedge with a central gap big enough for a vehicle, the fourth by a vast rectangular lawn, striped by a mower, beyond which they could see the bulk of the theatre building above a tall hedge.

  Parked outside the garages was a long wheelbase Land Rover. On the front bench seat sat Nick and Jane, Nick behind the wheel. Celia beckoned them to climb aboard, guiding Sally toward the front seat where she had to sit next to Jane, the other three girls going to the bench behind.

  ‘Well, here we all are, then,’ said Jane brightly. ‘How did you get on with our little riddle? Anybody recognise anybody?’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Sally.

  ‘Time will tell, anyway. We’re off for a ride to see what those naughty boys are going to get up to. Without charge, a free show.’

  With that Nick churned the starter and they were off. Through the gap in the perimeter hedge and they were in an open area, rolling countryside in more of a natural state, odd outcrops of trees breaking up the landscape. Soon the gravel road descended toward a wood, where they parked next to a clearing by a small river. Here, an artificial beach had been created just above the bank, surrounded by picnic tables and benches on the surrounding flat grass. It measured about twenty metres by twenty including the seating.

  They got out of the Land Rover and found a seat. The summer sun continued to favour them as they enjoyed its unclouded rays. Silently, they waited, Jane smiling knowingly, Nick looking, Sally thought, slightly ill at ease.

  Before any of the girls had summoned enough nerve to trill some meaningless platitude, the sound of feet on the path saved any of them the trouble.

  From a path where it emerged at the far side of the coppice came Tom, running quickly but comfortably. He came to a gradual halt at the sanded area, and turned. Behind him, they now saw Oliver, running with some effort, closely followed by Steven. Two or three seconds behind, Simon led Greg, narrowly. Aside from Steven, they appeared sweaty and strained.

  ‘Right, lads.’ Tom addressed them. ‘Two minutes’ rest while I explain the rules. You’ve been encouraged to run competitively up to here. I must be honest and say that was a bit of a ruse to get you to put some effort in and wear you down a little. Well done anyway, but the real test starts now.

  ‘You will be aware perhaps, that many species in the animal kingdom establish what we often call a pecking order. Part of our experiment with you here involves doing just that, but, being humans, we have devised a somewhat ritualised way of doing this, which also offers some entertainment to your female colleagues.

  ‘To wit, boys, a wrestling tournament. It will take the form of a short elimination contest, semi-finals, and a final.

  ‘We have already drawn the competitors to face each other first, no arguments please.

  ‘The winner of a bout will be he who first secures two pinfalls, two submissions or a knockout. Pinfall is when both shoulder blades are held to the ground by the oppone
nt for a count of three. Submission by declaration to the referee, myself. Knockout will not be literal; in fact, any tactics likely to cause such an injury will be penalised immediately by disqualification. So no fisticuffs or blows to the head in any way. Referee’s decision is final, no discussion.

  ‘You may, however, secure knockout in the following way. You may be surprised, you may not, to hear that many subjects in the situation you are shortly to find yourself find it arousing. So if a contestant experiences an orgasm, we deem him to have been, as it were, knocked out. Should you prefer to submit to your opponent before this occurs, of course we will accept the submission. If referee accepts the submission, the wrestler applying the hold must break it immediately.

  ‘Any questions?’

  He looked round. The four youths were torn between shock and bemusement and nobody offered anything to break the sudden silence.

  ‘OK, good. Strip!’ Tom’s voice became unexpectedly strident. ‘Remember your agreement on this experiment. You’ve all seen each other in the showers, after all. What’s to worry about?’

  The four, in nothing but tight, long-legged shorts and pumps to start with, looked round at each other as if about to canvass support in a mutiny.

  But as Fiona and Liz began to egg them on with increasingly ribald comments about seeing what they had, and so on, Greg was the first to comply, pulling down his Lycra pants.

  Tom spoke matter-of-factly, as Simon and Oliver began, cagily, to follow his action, not wanting to be seen to be wimpish yet feeling some enormity in the step they were taking, in front of the audience.