Students of Submission

by Leigh Turner

  Tom was dressed in his familiar uniform of long white slacks and singlet. Sally’s discomfiture at seeing him was dispelled slightly as he was followed in by another figure, giving her an alternative focus for her gaze.

  It was Steven, the same Steven who had been spirited away by Tom early in yesterday’s proceedings. He was now, like Sally, virtually naked. He wore an outfit of black leather, but it consisted of no more than straps joined together by chromed rings. Two shoulder straps met in a large ring at his abdomen and at another in the middle of his back, from where two further straps, both front and rear, joined a slightly wider belt. A single central strap ran down from the belt to his crotch, where it divided into two before becoming a thin thong which led up via his arse crack to rejoin the belt at the rear. Through the division protruded, completely unrestrained, his cock and balls. Leather cuffs encircled his biceps and wrists tightly, as did larger ones round his upper thighs. Sally, becoming versed in such things, saw that there was provision for the wrists to be clipped to the thighs, should anyone wish to restrain his freedom. Short leather boots completed his meagre apparel; like Sally’s, having ringlets at the heel area to aid whatever form of bondage might be on someone’s mind.

  And what of that someone? It would appear it was Tom, who greeted Lena warmly and began some chit-chat about the weather, as though they were work colleagues in some normal corporate setting. He had merely glanced at Sally, and then spoken to Lena. Was he trying to spare her feelings? She was overcome by a wave of pessimism as the evidence of her eyes gave rise to a less romantic possibility.

  It seemed he was quite probably gay. A butch dominant who had subdued the inexperienced Steven and bent him to his will. As she watched, Steven’s cock grew and stuck out in front of him to its full length. The presence of four other people in the room in front of him, three of them in scant underwear or bondage, had produced an immediate effect.

  ‘Mmm,’ said Lena, turning briefly from her grill. ‘I like him. Where did you find him?’

  ‘You know,’ replied Tom. ‘He was one of the intake.’

  ‘Didn’t look like that last time I saw him.’ The cook grinned lasciviously. ‘Nice cock.’

  Tom seemed momentarily lost for a reply.

  ‘Get sat down, breakfast is about to be dished up,’ said Lena. ‘What you up to today, then?’

  ‘At Jane’s disposal, basically. He’s out of the prize running but we can still have some fun. We’re wanted downstairs when called for.’

  ‘Oh yes, the dungeon day,’ said Lena casually. ‘He’s got a lovely cock, Peter, would you like to suck it?’ she added.

  The transvestite waiter busied himself scrubbing a saucepan, reddening.

  ‘Don’t tease him, Lena,’ said Tom. ‘You know he’s hetero, or says he is.’

  ‘Oh really? I’ve got my doubts. You’d love to suck a man’s cock, wouldn’t you, Peter? In your little panties and girdle.’

  ‘Give over, Lena,’ said Tom. The colloquialism sounded rather incongruous in his faintly Scandinavian accent.

  ‘Well, a bit of teasing passes the day. Got to have some light relief from this hot stove. Come and put their breakfast out, Peter, you tart!’ she commanded. At this, mopping her brow, she began to divest herself of the smock.

  Unzipping it, she walked over to the coat pegs at the far side of the room. Peter passed her and began to serve plates of breakfast to four table settings. All eyes were on Lena, though, for she wore no top under the smock, only a peach-coloured bra, light against her dark skin. She walked back to the table and sat, joining Vanessa and the newcomers. Steven, enjoying the possibly temporary privilege of unfettered hands, had been beckoned by Tom to join the sitting.

  Sally watched as the three staff members chatted about the weather, the produce at the local market, the condition of the gardens, anything but the charged atmosphere most keenly felt, no doubt, by the three most exposed members of the gathering. Vanessa’s near-nudity was such an accustomed state by now that neither Tom nor Lena spoke to her as if she was on anything other than level footing with them. Steven, by contrast, remained silent, an interloper wishing not to intrude, quietly making the most of the sustenance put before him.

  After coffee had been taken, again served by Peter, Lena spoke, bluntly returning to her preference for more earthy topics.

  ‘So how long before Jane comes, Tom?’

  ‘It might be Celia, I think.’

  ‘Celia then. To take you and your acolyte to the dungeon.’ This with a knowing smile and twinkle in her eye.

  ‘Well, I don’t think there’s a big rush. Inez is giving them a quick med check and they’re going down one by one, is what she told me.’

  ‘Oh. Pally with Inez, are we?’

  ‘Come on, Lena, stop drawing unjustified conclusions. Anyway, I think we can relax for a little while.’

  ‘Hmm. Do you know, it occurs to me. There’s three of us here, staff, I mean, and three of these little ’ she paused, musing ‘ play people.’

  ‘Not heard it called that before,’ said Tom, smiling.

  ‘What shall we do with them, then?’ said Lena, warming to her theme.

  Vanessa interrupted. ‘Isn’t Peter counted as staff?’

  ‘He’s counted as a panty-wearing tart,’ was Lena’s rejoinder, as she laughed uproariously, before continuing. ‘He’ll do as I say. I’m the boss here. Anybody left here by Jane is under my control, it’s understood.’ With this she glanced at Sally, who did not need the reminder after the previous evening’s episode.

  ‘Oh fine,’ said Vanessa brightly. ‘I’m sure he won’t mind.’

  She spoke as if the youth had been a boy scout asked to clean some windows, and not a semi-clad deviant about to be subjected, no doubt, to some act of degradation.

  Tom and Lena looked at one another quizzically for a moment, before chuckling.

  ‘He certainly won’t mind,’ said Lena. ‘He doesn’t have a choice. So,’ she began again. ‘What do you think? Peter! Turn your arse to us and spread. Better still, get your shoes off and get on the table. Get these coffee cups out of the way.’

  Peter rushed to clear the cups, and then began to take his heels off.

  ‘So Tom, I suppose this … creature of yours … is he a gay boy, then? Looks like it the way he’s dolled up. Waste of a good cock if he is.’

  Steven’s face was nearly beetroot red. He tried not to catch anyone’s eye.

  ‘Well …,’ began Tom.

  ‘You know, I thought, three men, three women; but then I remembered. Do you want to suck this lovely cock then, Peter, or is it Petra?’

  ‘N-no, mistress,’ stuttered the waiter.

  ‘Get on the table, shemale.’

  As Peter complied, Lena confided in anyone who might be listening.

  ‘This is how they should be treated, you know. Introduced to simple commands and conditioned to obey them. Now slut, present yourself.’

  Peter leant forward, standing on the table above them.

  ‘Good. But the arse should be thrust rearwards. Hands on hips. Good. Continue to present. Now, spread!’

  The command, familiar to Sally, was obeyed by Peter in similar fashion. Lena stood up. Reaching behind him, she fondled his ball sac lightly. Sally was looking at Peter’s front from her vantage point further along the table, and she saw his cock begin to grow.

  ‘Remain as you are,’ said Lena. ‘Now, I’m feeling rather horny. Get your slave up, Tom. Let’s see what we can do with him.’

  Tom beckoned Steven to stand, as Lena unzipped her skirt. She calmly stepped out and folded it, placing it upon a chair further down the table. She wore peach briefs and suspender belt in a matching ensemble. Her stockings were a slightly darker brown than her skin.

  ‘May I command your slave?’ she said, addressing Tom. The small talk about the weather was now long forgotten. The language of a different domain was being spoken, with no self-consciousness, with ease, but as if by beings from a strange universe
where different rules of nature held sway.

  ‘You may,’ said Tom, unemotionally. ‘You will do as Mistress Lena wishes,’ he told Steven, who waited with arms straight at his sides.

  ‘Yes, master,’ came the reply.

  ‘Good.’ His new mistress addressed him. ‘Now get on the table, you wanker. Lie on your back such that you are able to view Peter’s buttocks. Position your toes under him. Peter! Move along the table to give him room.’

  The two victims having complied, Lena studied them. Peter’s cock remained hard, but Steven’s did not show the rigidity she had seen when he entered the room earlier.

  ‘Fucking cocksucker tart!’ she spat. ‘Tom, you’ll have to get him hard. Are you prepared to do it for me?’

  ‘Well … I don’t see why not. Let’s see what we can do.’

  As he said this he looked across at Sally. Stripping off his vest as he rose to his feet, he then stepped out of his shoes and slacks, revealing similar white briefs to those he had wrestled in the day before. This time, though, he continued to strip, and pulled the briefs down.

  Sally could almost feel her pupils dilate as she watched. The sight of the cock thrilled her, whether its owner was gay or not. It was slightly thinner than Steven’s, but soon it showed itself to be just as long, as Tom slowly and unabashedly masturbated it to fullness.

  Lena pulled her briefs down and put one foot on the long bench, ready to climb upon the table near Steven. Tom approached the end of the table and, reaching forward and down, pulled Steven bodily backward by the arms. The subservient’s head lolled back, partly over the edge of the table, his strong neck muscles keeping it up.

  The sight of Peter’s helpless arse thrust backward above him had begun to have an effect on Steven, and now Tom moved over him, straddling the tilted head and guiding his fully engorged penis near the slave’s lips. This was the coup de grace for any remaining inhibition Steven may have harboured, and his cock rose, red and bulging. With this Lena mounted him, letting herself down slowly, facing the slave and his master, relishing every moment as she guided the hard missile into her practised haven.

  With it fully home, she began to ride, faster now as she leant forward. As she stared at Tom’s cock, half enveloped by his slave’s eagerly sucking mouth, she cried her pleasure and crumpled forward as Tom grasped her.

  A long minute passed before Lena regained some composure and climbed off the supine male. His cock remained semi-erect, although wet with pre-orgasmic emission. Tom withdrew from his mouth and helped Lena climb from the table.

  Sally watched in fascination as his strong arms assisted the cook. His cock remained stiff. The object of her desire, naked and proud, lost to her by virtue of his predilection. Was it possible to alter it? In any case, he must despise her, in her manacled and defeated state.

  Tom, having helped Lena gain terra firma, reached for her briefs, which lay on the bench where she had cast them aside. He held them out to her, a modern version of the knight’s favour at the joust.

  ‘Thank you, Tom. I’m going up to my room for a lie down. You’d better be in charge for now, you’re the senior member of staff. I’m leaving you to it.’

  ‘Where’s Max today, out of interest?’ asked Tom.

  ‘Playing with his bloody Jag as usual, I think. Anyway, he’s no more senior than you.’

  Tom shrugged as Lena walked to collect her skirt, briefs in hand. After this she donned her smock, thus appearing outwardly respectable. She left the kitchen through the door which opened on to the west wing corridor.

  Vanessa, having watched the depraved tableau wide-eyed, now spoke.

  ‘Well, Tom. So you’re in charge now. How would you like a little more fun with me?’

  ‘I can’t get too involved in this stuff too early, Vanessa. We’re wanted downstairs in a bit.’

  ‘I might have a go on your friend’s cock instead. Maybe lick it dry.’

  ‘Vanessa, please. Don’t make things awkward.’

  ‘You’ve got such a lovely cock, Tom. And body. Let me feel you.’

  At this, Tom evidently recalled that he was still nude, and reached for his briefs.

  ‘Shame,’ said the waitress. She began to masturbate Steven’s cock.

  ‘Vanessa, please. Leave him alone.’

  With that, Vanessa leant forward and, still rubbing the cock with her thumb and forefinger, took its purple helmet between her lips. The expression in her eyes was one of mischief and defiance.

  Sally had begun to assume that Tom was feeling out of his depth, being handed control of this iniquitous kitchen. One of Jane’s minions at heart, happier to be told what to do, and fulfil a role, than express his own persona.

  Thus she was all the more surprised by the abruptness of his next act.

  ‘Right,’ he said in a clipped tone. ‘That’s enough.’

  He moved round the table, throwing down his briefs which he still had in his hand. Lithe, swift, and strong, in a moment he was behind Vanessa, and pulled her up off Steven, using a Full Nelson hold under her arms and clasping his hands around the back of her neck.

  ‘Mmm. You’re so strong. Oooh, I feel your cock. Can you resist my plump arse, Tom?’ Vanessa smiled at her situation, drawing pleasure from it as she wriggled her hips and pushed back against her captor.

  Tom, discomfited, looked around, perhaps for some method of restraining the minx, but nothing obvious was to be seen. Instead, he manipulated her over the far end of the table and tried to distance his loins, as much as was practical, from the peach-like and inviting posterior. He shouted Steven’s name and commanded him to come across.

  Aided by his subordinate, Tom established some degree of control over the wayward waitress and stepped back as Steven, on the table, pressed her upper body to the surface, using both arms and legs to quell her determined struggle.

  ‘Come on then, Tom!’ she exclaimed. ‘Take my arse if you want it, fuck my arsehole. You like arse, don’t you? I bet you’ve fucked Steven’s. Come on, get the margarine out of the fridge. Like Last Tango in Paris! Fuck me. Fuck me up the arse!’

  Tom responded by spanking Vanessa repeatedly, not cruelly, but quite hard, with the palm of his hand.

  ‘Oooh, yes. I like it. Go on, fuck me.’

  Tom looked across at Sally. Why, she did not know. Perhaps he viewed her as a relatively innocent spectator, here against her will. She could not read his impassive expression.

  He manipulated his cock, rhythmically. It grew to full length and he approached Vanessa’s captured and willing posterior. It was at this moment that the door opened.

  ‘Good grief! What is going on here? Tom, get some clothes on. Where is Lena?’

  It was Celia, the statuesque secretary. Her manner was immediately one of command, Jane’s dictator by proxy. She did not expect any debate, having quickly overcome the surprise engendered by the scene she encountered.

  ‘She’s gone for a lie down,’ said Tom.

  ‘Why?’

  Sally was sorely tempted to blurt out the truth. She’s been shagged, no doubt without presidential permission, and by one of Jane’s “subjects” at that. Something held her back, though, despite the tempting amusement value. If Lena was not willing to acquiesce to Jane’s every whim, as Sally sensed, then she might be a useful ally at some point in the future.

  The silence continued and Celia gave up waiting for a reply.

  ‘That cook.’ She tutted disapprovingly. ‘Look at the state of you all. Is this what happens when no one is in command of this area?’

  ‘Lena left me in charge,’ retorted Tom. ‘I’ve just been attempting to subdue this waitress.’

  ‘While naked …’ Celia let the sentence die away. It was indeed enough to emphasise her point. Letting it sink in, she spoke again.

  ‘You are to strip downstairs, not here. Go down in your briefs. Your outer clothes I will confiscate and Jane and I will discuss this matter later. Go now, with your slave boy. Why is the shemale waitress displaying hersel
f so lewdly on the table?’

  Peter had held still throughout the cavortings below him, and remained so now.

  ‘Lena …,’ Tom offered.

  ‘Yes, of course. Well, one is hardly surprised, and he is technically one of her staff. No matter. Shemale! Step down and remain in here until you are called. The mistress has plans for you.’

  Peter did as he was told, while Tom and Steven made their exit. Celia walked slowly behind Sally and up to Vanessa, who had now raised herself from the table.

  ‘And what of you? What have you got to say for yourself?’

  ‘I am sorry, mistress. I craved cock. I craved Tom’s cock in any orifice. I prostrated myself and tempted him. I sucked on the slave boy’s engorged dick. I presented myself as a wanton slut and embraced my degradation, mistress.’

  ‘I see.’ Celia, tall and Amazonian, looked down upon the contrite exhibitionist. Fully dressed in black stilettos, Cuban-style seamed stockings, black pencil skirt and dark blue blouse, she was every inch the dominatrix, her subordinate stripped, bare arse rosy, accepting Celia’s role. What surprised Sally was the sudden switch in Vanessa’s demeanour; she had not pigeonholed her helpful companion as an eager submissive hitherto. Her attitude to Tom had been feisty and coquettish, provoking the spanking. Now, confronted with a dominating woman other than her friend Jane, she had clicked into obedient servitude like some sort of programmed robot.

  ‘I think we will use you downstairs. This morning’s male subject will soon be tethered. If you feel like cock we may be able to accommodate you. Come! You, slave girl,’ she added, ‘remain here with the sissy. Do not misbehave or you will merely heap more punishment on to your already heavily loaded tally.’

  The two older women departed, leaving Sally with Peter. Despite the erotic show on the table earlier, her baser nervous system was not stimulated enough to distract her from her musings about the interpersonal relationships in this environment.