Students of Submission

by Leigh Turner

  As the finger began to move forward and backward, Sally pleaded, ‘Ref! This isn’t allowed, is it? Please!’

  Inez seemed undecided and Sally saw her look toward the audience.

  Jane, responding to the quizzical glance, calmly gave a slight shrug and gestured with an open palm toward Inez. Her forefinger then moved in a rolling motion, removing any doubt as to her meaning.

  Inez, absorbing the intent, relayed the decision to Fiona, impassively.

  ‘Continue.’

  Sally moved her left hand down. The priority must be to defend her cunt or soon the opponent’s finger would bring her to sopping wetness and abandonment.

  Again, though, Fiona was ahead with a tactic, and quickly used both arms to capture the wrist. Sally’s legs wobbled as she involuntarily reacted to the withdrawal of the deliciously tormenting finger, and she watched as Fiona swiftly deployed the same movements on her left arm as she had earlier used on the right.

  Her only hope must be to free her right arm. As she fought to do so, she felt the middle rope clamp around her left arm above the elbow. Now, with her body deprived of any leverage, all hope was gone as the increase in the rope’s tautness from pinning both arms made her a helpless captive.

  Her conqueror, for such she surely was, stepped back to gather breath and survey her handiwork.

  ‘Ref?’ said Sally weakly. She wished to swallow the plea, it sounded so timid as it issued from her mouth.

  Fiona moved toward her, a satisfied and slightly malicious smile adding to the alluring cast of her high-cheekboned face.

  The finger, then, began its work. Slowly, gently, and without mercy. The clitoris emerging from its forest, an outlaw finally flushed out, prostrating himself before conquering forces. The little female penis, subjugated. As her lust grew, Sally heard Fiona’s voice.

  ‘You want more, slut? You want more?’

  A slight pause in the movement. A feather touch now, barely discernible. Sally’s hips thrust forward.

  ‘I have my answer,’ said Fiona. The finger resumed. Sally’s eyelids were half closed. She looked down at Fiona’s hand, becoming entranced. The finger stopped.

  ‘Beg, bitch. Beg for it.’

  Sally paused, trying to summon a shred of dignity.

  ‘You want it. So ask for it, you wet-cunted whore.’

  The mention of wetness was too much for Sally. With a mere suggestion, arousal was tipped into a desperate longing. A barricade crumbled in her civilised mind and she embraced the status of whore which had been conferred upon her.

  ‘Yes. Yes! Please.’

  The finger touched again, lightly.

  ‘What do you want?’

  Sally’s pelvis thrust forward, her legs spread wide.

  ‘Finger me. Touch me, you bitch!’

  ‘Oh?’ The haughty smile infuriated Sally and somehow instilled a modicum of resistance as the spell broke slightly.

  ‘Bitch, am I? Maybe you don’t want any more. Call me mistress and I will satisfy you.’

  ‘No. Never. Oooh,’ came the sound as the finger once more began to work its magic.

  ‘Come on. Just admit I’m your mistress. Say it.’

  As the teasing finger paused once more, Sally, frenetic with lust yet resisting the verbal humiliation requested of her, saw a way out. She would take anything, but not from this arrogant floozy who had overpowered her.

  ‘All right. Ref! I submit. She’s got my submission. She wins. I give, I submit. Get me out of this now. Please.’

  Fiona tossed her hair back. Disappointed, yet proud of herself.

  ‘Tart!’ she spat, wheeling round to face her public, hand held high in victory.

  ‘Get me out now,’ said Sally to Inez. ‘Please.’

  Inez’s expression did not hold the sympathy Sally had hoped for. She turned to see where Inez was gazing, and saw Jane and Max walking toward the stage. The director reached the edge of the ring first and paused in contemplation.

  ‘Hmm.’ She seemed to come to a decision and reached down. Pulling down the zip at the side of her skirt, she unhooked the garment and, stepping out of it, handed it to Vanessa who still waited, dutifully, at the side of the stage. Then, stepping to the ringside, she pushed down the middle rope and raised her leg over it. Inez, coming quickly forward, pulled the top rope up and Jane folded her well-endowed upper body through the gap. Puffing slightly, she brought her other leg after her and stood up.

  Sally was mentally as well as physically transfixed. For what reason had this imposing woman divested herself of some respectability? She stood there proudly as if still fully clad, but her white blouse ended just below her waist. Here was revealed a white panty-girdle with thicker lace panel at the front, tightly encasing her ample loins. From below it protruded white suspenders which held up black vintage-style stockings, seamed at the back, the silky nylon of which glinted in the hot lights. Black high-heeled shoes, a single strap around the ankle, completed her remaining attire.

  Jane approached Sally. Her face lacked the wicked smile of Fiona’s, which now seemed friendliness itself in comparison to the ice-cool demeanour of the older woman. The hubbub that had greeted Fiona’s victory had by now subsided, with the proverbial pin poised before dropping.

  ‘Your opponent gave me an idea,’ said Jane. Turning to Fiona, she spoke. ‘Well done, dear. Vacate the ring now.’

  Fiona did as she was told. Inez, after a moment’s hesitation and a glance at Jane, concluded she was not needed and followed.

  Sally’s state of excitement had subsided a little, but as Jane came close, she felt it build again. She waited for a comment which never came. Silently, the director closed up to her and then the next episode finally began.

  The finger was thicker than Fiona’s, but more skilled. Within seconds Sally was soaking wet. Her tormentor paused, then moved inwards. Gradually she imposed two fingers into the vagina. Sally spread her legs as far as she could manage, a willing and wanton participant.

  Jane began to finger-fuck her, rhythmically and remorselessly. After minutes of this, the fingers withdrew partially, and then pressure was applied on the front wall of the vagina. Now with just one finger, Jane motioned it as if to draw Sally’s tunnel toward her, inducing a state of trancelike acquiescence in her plaything.

  Gradually, Sally became aware of a slowing of the stimulation. As it stopped altogether, she opened her eyes. She saw that Max had stepped into the ring. Without haste, he was removing his shirt. Already barefooted, he unzipped his trousers and stepped out of them. Turning away from the ropes over which he had draped his garments, he stared toward Sally as he pulled his white briefs off, putting them over the rope next to his shirt.

  ‘How do you like what you see?’ murmured Jane, stepping close to the trapped girl. Sally stared toward Max’s cock, thick and rigid, pointing upward toward her like a compass point drawn north.

  Then Sally felt the finger’s incursion again. The clitoris now the target, its nerve ends immediately inflamed. With an increase in the movement, a circular teasing propelled her toward release, now tangibly within reach. But Jane seemed to sense this, and gently slowed and softened her touch, the finger now hardly felt, as though through a thin sheath of air clinging to it.

  ‘Oh God, no. Please.’

  Sally’s hips thrust forward, but this urgency broke the spell and her tormentor’s hand, while close, was unattainable.

  ‘Do you want his cock, my dear?’ The request seemed matter of fact yet carried the dramatic weight of power being transferred.

  ‘Yes. Yes.’ Of course she wanted the cock. Anything which might bring the blessed rub on her clitoris, the agitation to take her on to the tide of fulfilment.

  ‘You want to be fucked?’ The finger touched her again, only enough to stoke the simmering.

  ‘Yes, fuck me. Fuck me now. Give me the cock.’

  ‘You must agree to be my slave. Do you?’

  The slightest of pauses.

  ‘Yes. Anything you wan
t. Please! Yes. Fuck me, fuck me with cock.’

  Sally shook her head in desperate frustration, her hair loosened and dishevelled.

  The finger again. Greater pressure but not enough.

  ‘Are you my slave?’

  ‘Yes!’ No hesitation this time. ‘I beg for the fuck. I beg of you …’

  ‘Mistress.’ The suggestion a command.

  ‘Mistress. I beg for the fuck, mistress.’

  At this, Jane stepped back and beckoned to Max. He walked forward and took position in front of Sally. Hand around his penis, he pushed it up. It brushed the clitoris on its way, bringing a high-pitched wail of delight from Sally. Then it found its home, sliding easily.

  Max grasped each of Sally’s legs in his arms and drew them up; now she was spread fully, all four limbs akimbo, her thighs held up by Max’s strong arms, to a height where he was comfortable to thrust into her at will.

  As the crowd watched his bare arse move relentlessly forward and back, Sally felt the onrush of pleasure, the clitoral orgasm soon to be triggered as the waves built up and carried her past the point of no return. She felt the cock pound harder and faster; her world consisted only of the perception of cock, the need for cock and the complete subservience to it at this moment.

  She cried out loudly as the climax came, the sound metamorphosing into a long drawn out groaning in ecstatic pleasure as wave upon wave followed. As her body’s flood of sensation subsided, she became a rag doll, as if her very bones had become pliable.

  Max withdrew. His cock still hard, he wordlessly placed Sally’s legs downwards and reached for her right arm to begin the process of unhooking the ropes. Her feet, touching the ground, were yet powerless, and as he freed her left arm he did his best to support her by it.

  Jane glanced at him, then downward. At this subtle command, he let Sally sink down, maintaining support under her left arm, for otherwise she would have collapsed more quickly to her knees.

  He left her thus, on her knees, teetering forward, and stepped back. At a nod from Jane, Sally felt her mane of hair grasped from behind. Her upper body was carefully but firmly pushed forward, Max controlling her from behind by the rudimentary ponytail he had formed in both hands. She found herself looking at Jane’s shiny black shoes, inches before her.

  ‘Kiss my feet now, slave. Fulfil your vow.’

  Sally felt Max’s grip guide her, and she did as she was told. In turn, the shiny toe ends of the director’s shoes were presented and she gave the kiss.

  A shiver of wickedness thrilled her. Some hidden reserve of adrenaline had been tapped by participation in this rite, her Rubicon crossed at the hand of a conquering empress and her virile servant.

  She remained still, and waited.

  ‘Good. Come now.’

  Jane’s mood seemed a little lighter. She leant down and grasped Sally’s arm to help her up, as Max released his grip on her gathered hair and moved to retrieve his clothing.

  Jane guided Sally to the ropes and held them for her to climb through; she then followed as Vanessa held the ropes apart. Sally, standing there, felt bereft of reference. What was she expected to do? She had been overcome and lust had claimed her free will in front of everyone. All had witnessed her humiliation, except Tom and Steven perhaps, who she had not noticed present in the gathering.

  Her inner question was answered for her soon enough. Vanessa, having helped Jane through the ropes, began to unclip her suspenders. Her first stocking was rolled off, teased out, and handed to Jane, who moved behind Sally and used the nylon to encircle her wrists, one by one, then deftly pull them together, contriving a pair of knots to tightly bind them. A third secured the restraint so that the wrists could be moved six inches apart behind Sally’s back, but no more.

  As Jane used the second stocking provided by Vanessa to pull Sally’s biceps closer together, the submissive girl wondered how she had allowed this last degradation to occur. Was it some sort of perverted politeness, inbred, too mindful of peer pressure to go against her public vow of slavery and object to the impingement of bondage upon her? Or just simple indecision, knowing no etiquette for however far these mind games were carried?

  In any case, and by whatever means, she reflected, her acquiescence had been secured. She realised it was, in a sense, no game as far as Jane was concerned. Sally was now her slave, bound and sworn to be so. It was a fact and she could not argue with it. A sensation, feisty girl that she normally was in everyday life, completely new to her.

  A hidden landscape lay before her, one where she had no navigational skills. Her pondering upon the enormity of this adventure was interrupted by Jane, who had replaced her skirt and was fully, respectably dressed again, as if the interlude was a mere routine in her carefully planned day.

  ‘Follow me from the stage. Max will seat you and you may watch the final bout. You will obey him unless I say different.’

  With this, the director descended the steps at the side of the stage. Sally saw that Max was also fully dressed and waiting for her to follow.

  In her pumps, stockings, and suspenders, her arms and wrists trussed behind her, she obeyed her new mistress.

  Chapter Eight – Bound

  Jane stood by her office window, surveying the grounds at the front of her domain. Bright sunlight bathed them in crisp light, even so early. Perhaps the promise of such a glorious summer’s day should be grasped, she mused, and the day devoted to outdoor pursuits.

  But she had already in mind some ideas for how the day would go. Certain desires for which she did not wish to delay fulfilment. Was it too early for a reckoning? Delayed gratification was normally her strong point, but in this matter she felt a strong need for satisfaction. Yes, it would be amusing sport to keep them waiting, unknowing; but the pleasure of her triumph would not be lessened should she partake of it soon.

  The knock at the door interrupted her reverie and signified Celia’s arrival.

  ‘Come!’

  Celia entered the study, bidding Jane good morning. She wore her usual blouse, today in a jade green, and pencil skirt. Her stockings were black and so too were her shoes, which, while glamorously shiny, had heels considerably lower than those she was normally seen in, giving her a stance which hinted of a need for practicality today, rather than the ostentatious display of a jutting, curvaceous bottom which was normally a prime feature of her deportment. Men were usually thrown into some confusion deciding whether to ogle that, or her extremely large breasts, as she clicked past on her stately way. She towered over the majority of them when in heels, being almost six feet tall in stockings. This had never daunted her; in fact, she revelled in it, coolly aware of her sexual allure, yet appearing as if her demeanour was one of pure businesslike efficiency in attire chosen only because nothing casual could possibly be countenanced.

  ‘How are we today?’ said Jane, smiling. She was dressed in similar mode to her colleague, in a dark blue blouse and, for her, rather conservative black calf-length skirt. Only the presence of long black leather boots below this hinted at anything racier.

  ‘Very well, thank you. They are all at breakfast. Well, most of them.’

  ‘Indeed. Apart from the two who have, shall we say, disgraced themselves.’ With this, Jane tilted back her head and laughed with great enjoyment.

  ‘Yes. A good day yesterday,’ she continued. ‘What did you think of my little improvisation?’

  ‘Your prerogative. It was a good twist.’

  ‘Yes. I thought so. I think we’ll lead into the bondage module with it. Push back the equestrian session to another day.

  ‘I love that word, module. Makes it sound like part of an educational symposium. Ridiculous!’ Once more a peal of laughter issued from the director.

  ‘Well.’ Celia seemed unsure how exactly to respond. ‘Whatever you want to call it. It’s just a name.

  ‘Have I to get them ready for that then?’

  ‘Yes, the normal Day Four stuff. You’ve got six of them there at the moment. We need to
split them into two groups.’

  ‘OK. What about Steven and Sally?’

  ‘I’ve got plans for Sally. She’ll do her stint, but there’ll be a little embellishment later.’

  ‘And Steven?’

  ‘I saw Tom yesterday evening. He’s got him where we want him. He is homosexual, as we thought. Is that really an immutable category, do you think? You know I believe it’s just a stage on the continuum of sexuality, don’t you? But still, at the moment, I don’t want to waste any energy or staff time trying to turn him round, so to speak.’

  ‘Pity. Lovely body.’

  ‘Indeed, but we’ve got other fish to fry here. Long and the short of it, the boy wanted to leave. Tom had a discussion and a bit of a … play … with him, and he’s agreed to stay. He will see out the time in exchange for the basic fee, no chance of the bonus prize. An ornament.’

  ‘I see.’ Celia raised her eyebrow. Not much that Jane did surprised her, broadly speaking, though the details were often entertaining.

  ‘Now,’ said Jane briskly. ‘Where are we up to with the scores?’

  Celia unfolded a piece of paper from her pocket.

  ‘Before the afternoon’s wrestling, as follows ’ she pronounced. ‘Oliver, 10 plus 10 with 6 points deducted equals 14. Simon, 7 plus 5 plus 6 equals 18. Greg 4 plus 5 plus 2 equals 11. Steven, 0, now dropped out of this part of the process as you said.

  ‘Now the girls. Liz 10, Sally 8 plus 5, Fiona 6, Becky 2 plus 5. You need to allocate some scores for the wrestling, of course.’

  ‘Yes indeed, Celia. I didn’t see you at the end, did I?

  ‘Well, Liz 10, naturally. That was a wonderful final, wasn’t it? I love it when they’re evenly matched. The film will sell well. Have you seen any of the tapes?’

  ‘Just briefly. All the cameras are OK. I didn’t exactly study every contortion. I must say I thought the Irish girl might take it after what she did to Sally. Very determined.’

  ‘Yes, but so is Liz. A beautiful girl, but quite hard. She reminds me of Bettie Page with that dark hair and the long legs. Tony’s customers in the States will lap all that footage up.’