Students of Submission

by Leigh Turner

The naked girl came forward, without hurry, yet compliant in the sure knowledge that obeisance in response to Celia’s command was her only route to the sexual satisfaction she had so long resisted. Inez hurried past the pair, heels clicking resonantly. She entered one of the stable doors, shortly returning with a thick blanket in hand. Going up to Fiona, she cast and spread it before her. The redhead was by now on her knees before the imposing figure of her dominatrix, Celia, and gratefully moved forward onto all fours on the softer surface.

  ‘Thank your mistress,’ demanded the dildoed Amazon.

  ‘I thank you, mistress.’ Fiona spoke to Inez, or perhaps to Celia, without looking up. She had adopted the role of submissive without demur, her spitfire side no longer in evidence.

  Celia instructed Fiona to lie and roll over, which she did. Becky was led forward and prompted to place her feet either side of Fiona’s head, treating the supine girl to a view of her naked pubic hair and firm breasts, as she towered over her. Then, leaning forward a little, she descended. Fiona closed her mouth and tried to turn her head, but was unable to escape the queening quim as it wriggled and enveloped her pretty face, with its classically beautiful cheekbones now pillowed under the relaxed hips of the sitting girl.

  Vanessa marched forward, grinning. Looking at Becky, she pulled the willowy girl upward, who blinked in surprise but allowed herself to rise, helped by Vanessa’s grip on her forearms.

  Vanessa turned Becky, switching positions over Fiona, who now stared up at the waitress’ plump arse. Using Becky’s arms and shoulders for support, Vanessa wriggled slowly and suggestively. Her hips and posterior began to roll uninhibitedly, and gradually her frame descended until she was in a squatting position above Fiona’s face, her fleshy thighs straining against their adornment of stocking and suspender. Her arms reached for Becky’s waist, and the tall girl instinctively grasped the waitress’ forearms to help support her.

  ‘Step back over her arms, dear,’ said Vanessa to Becky. After a moment, Becky comprehended the reason for the suggestion, and placed her feet carefully behind her, now alongside Fiona’s midriff. This enabled Vanessa, in descending further, to bring her hairy muff closer to the obeisant Fiona’s face, which instinctively turned away.

  Celia had other ideas and addressed the lowly redhead.

  ‘Do you wish to receive any shafting? You said as much not long ago.’

  ‘Yes, you know I do.’ Fiona spread her legs wider, exposing swollen, wine-red lips and a brighter crack of willing pink.

  ‘Then face upward and take it, slut,’ came the harsh tones that would brook no retort.

  Fiona took a moment or two to select satisfaction over pride, then turned her beautiful face upward to pay the price. Vanessa wasted no time in descending fully upon the helpless girl, pinning her arms under her calves and muffling her face under soft and enveloping loins as she relaxed into a queening position.

  The watching company saw Fiona’s body twitch, then gradually relax as she accepted the unavoidable status of submissive. Vanessa’s face relaxed into a contortion of pleasure as she accepted the offering from the clit-worshipping tongue, until, at length, the dominant sighed and shuddered. After a few moments of recovery, she reached for Becky’s hand. Pulling herself up, she regained balance in her heels, and paused standing astride her victim. They saw a few droplets of vaginal secretion, glinting in the sun, fall slowly in a glistening thread from the long, black tangle of her wet fanny hair.

  The waitress adopted a haughty manner as she and Becky stood back. Sally sensed that Vanessa, despite her exposed genitals, saw herself more as an ally or equal of the more discreetly clad Celia, Inez, and Jane, rather than aligning herself with the naked “slaves” of the company.

  She was jolted into alertness by Celia’s clipped command, accompanied by a beckoning finger.

  ‘Slave girl! Advance! Then position yourself above the supplicant. Back on to her and prepare to queen her so that she may view your proud breasts above her.’

  Sally walked forward. As she looked across at the acquiescent Fiona, Celia continued.

  ‘This harlot was your earlier nemesis, do not forget. It was her defeat of you in the ring which led to your present subjugation in the hands of our director. Do not forego the chance to exact revenge. Go now. Queen her and assert yourself.’

  Sally did as she was told. As now seemed usual, there seemed little chance of breaking the spell, dominatrix and peers symbiotically perpetuating the atmosphere of inevitability. She viewed the act as one which would leave her highly vulnerable to any act of retribution on Fiona’s part should the tables be turned at some point in the near future, as well they might in this environment. Nevertheless, retribution from a thwarted Celia would be thorough, immediate, and inevitable, should she show any sign of disobedience.

  So she acted. Squatted. Felt the subjugated head of the victim. Heard the muffled groans of protest, or perhaps forbidden pleasure. Felt the nose of her former conqueror stimulate her clitoris. Felt the thrill as the tonguing began. The mouth below her, a vessel for the utter humiliation of its body, which accepted its fate pliantly.

  When eventually she rose, she looked down once more on her beaten rival. The three naked males stood nearby; all now had hard cocks in hand as they watched in excitement. Celia nodded to Tom, who approached Fiona and, standing over her, began to wank himself vigorously. Greg followed suit and Steven then stationed himself opposite the other two men on the far side of Fiona. Whether he was stimulated by the sight of the other two cocks, it mattered not, for in short order, all three were ejaculating above her, their sticky white pulsations descending upon her helpless and accepting nakedness.

  Sally stared at her; face, hair, and body soaked and bedraggled. No semblance remained of any respectable demeanour whatsoever, leaving her somehow more potently sexual, purely an object, a hostage to lust.

  As Sally moved away, she felt as though drugged. A different state of consciousness possessed her, at the other side of the Rubicon of sadomasochistic enactment.

  She watched with feelings numbed as Celia advanced upon the sleazy spectacle of the come-spattered girl. Bending down and kneeling between her open legs, she pulled them wider, and the thighs high upward. Fiona offered no resistance whatever and put her arms down ahead of her, pulling the lips wide, presenting a large, bright pink hole to welcome the advancing dildo.

  It took her, easily and fully. Its owner used it relentlessly, pumping determinedly as she drew rhythmic, deep breaths. She paused but once, articulating a short foray into verbal communication.

  ‘Are you now my slave? I shall fuck you more if you agree.’

  ‘Oh yes. Don’t stop. Go on. Fuck me. Fuck me!’

  At last mercy was shown, insofar as Celia demanded no further verbal supplication. All had witnessed the girl’s descent into submission, and she would not be able to deny it. All she cared for was the continuation of the fierce shafting, which Celia gave to her, puffing and grunting with guttural, bestial abandon. Soon Fiona moaned with such finality that all knew the bout was over. As Celia withdrew the black instrument, gleaming with the secretions of desire, Fiona fell back, twitching, eyes shut, delirious. It was clear to all, for five minutes or more, that she inhabited another world for the brief interval of total bliss she had been afforded, one to which they all, in their own ways, craved entry.

  Chapter Eleven – Debased

  Jane sat in her office, relaxing. A plate of sandwiches and mug of coffee lay on her desk. Her small, black-and-white cat had appeared and sprung onto her lap. She stroked it as she gazed at the CCTV monitor.

  The subjects were at lunch in the dining room. Peter had served the buffet. A small white frilled apron had been donned, in addition to his girdle and stockings, tied at the waist, but its meagre amount of material barely covered his straining prick. He had been assisted by Steven, who likewise sported a waist apron over his construction of leather thongs. In his case, it merely emphasized his dilemma, for the embarrassment of
his role had produced a full and proud erection, around which the white frilled material hung like a small tablecloth.

  He had trembled as he carried the plates of sandwiches, barely able to balance them without spilling their contents.

  Jane mused upon the sight of the tented apron. Steven’s penis, she recalled, was perhaps the finest specimen amongst the males, rivalling Oliver’s and Tom’s in length and exceeding theirs in girth. What a waste that he should turn out to be primarily homosexual. Nevertheless, she believed that sexuality was not a black-and-white affair but a continuum, and permitted herself to fantasise about lowering herself, straddled over him, and enveloping his upturned cock with her experienced and eager vagina. If he could be made to maintain a hard-on in the face of her fearsome female pulchritude, she might yet milk and extract tribute from him, adding him to her list of conquests.

  She interrupted her reverie and gazed at the screen. The three subjects of the afternoon were present, Oliver and Simon in their towelling robes and Liz once more in the regulation short, pleated skirt and blouse, maintaining a cool and collected demeanour without a hint of embarrassment. They had been joined by Greg and Becky from the morning’s participants, who had both been given robes to cover their nudity.

  She recollected the finale of the tableau involving Fiona’s submission. Greg and Tom had both experienced a commendable degree of renewed arousal as they witnessed the girl’s surrender to Celia’s invading dildo. Jane had momentarily considered instructing them to present their cocks at Fiona’s mouth for further titillation, but then, remembering the agenda for the afternoon, had clapped her hands briskly and ordered them to collect themselves and get ready for lunch.

  Tom had been told to don his white singlet and trousers, and stood so clad amongst the occupants of the dining room. She had felt it necessary to send in a staff member, for although Greg and Becky had been given strict instructions not to discuss the morning’s affairs with their cohorts, they would no doubt have succumbed to peer pressure and assuaged their colleagues’ curiosity if left unsupervised.

  The rest of the group had retired to the kitchen area, which Jane now viewed as she pressed a button to alter the CCTV monitor’s input. Here, sandwiches had been served at the long table. Seated there were Inez and Vanessa on one side; still suspendered, Jane knew, though this was not apparent as the camera viewed from across and above the table. With their breasts exposed, they appeared nude to all intents.

  On the near side of the table sat Sally and Fiona, the latter having been allowed a shower before entering the house. Slave girls both, they were denied any vestige of clothing save for Sally’s high-heeled boots, which hobbled her still.

  Overseeing the bizarre sorority was Lena. She stood, arms folded, in tight jeans and white T-shirt. The cut of the cotton garment exposed considerable cleavage and no bra could be discerned. Red high-heeled shoes added a degree of tension to her lithe feminine musculature as she chatted to Celia. “Respectably” clad, yet sex on legs, thought Jane.

  Celia had taken off the outrageous strap-on, which hung from one of the coat hooks on the wall, like some gunslinger’s holstered weapon. She had made no other attempt to tone down her costume, though, and calmly selected her buffet from the table as she chatted to Lena, in her black corset, panty-girdle, stockings, and boots.

  It was this scene which greeted Nick as he walked in from the far door. Lena smiled and pointed to a door at the other end of the kitchen, which led to steps accessing some cellars which were furthest away from those used by the group this morning.

  Lena and Celia shared a joke, perhaps at Nick’s expense, as he walked out again. Jane knew what was to follow, as she had sent Nick out on his errand in the Land Rover earlier that morning.

  Sure enough, two figures soon entered camera shot as Nick, with Max helping him, began to carry across the room boxes and bags of provisions from the supermarket. There were many mouths here to feed and water, and thus many trips back and forth by the two men as they stocked the cellars first.

  It was not until they had run the gauntlet of femininity several times, passing between Lena and Celia and behind Inez and Vanessa, that their remaining provisions were allocated to the large fridges at the far end of the room and they no longer had to descend the cellar steps every time. Only now did Lena offer to assist them, by virtue of a pointing finger in the first instance, before adjusting the storage arrangements by hand to her final satisfaction.

  All the while, the perspiring males were observed keenly by the assembly, Nick in his white shirt and jeans, Max still in the shorts and singlet he had worn while washing the car. At length the task was done and the two men proceeded out of the room. Jane had left the sound system muted, and watched as the females all smiled and laughed at some remark of Lena’s.

  For a moment, mirth had united them, both slave girls and staff, in mutual triumph as they gloried in the power of the female, the power which could set the most composed male off-kilter and unable to think beyond the base needs of his cock and balls, or, as Jane habitually termed them, the “lower brain”.

  She chuckled audibly just as the door opened. It was Nick, her errant husband. Presumptuous of him to open the door without knocking, she thought. That would have to change.

  ‘Hi. OK?’ he offered.

  ‘Fine. Are you getting some lunch?’

  ‘Yes, I’m ready for something. Where ’ he paused.

  ‘I think the dining room, Nick. Since you’re fully dressed. With your subjects. I think you’ve seen enough of that display in the kitchen.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Unless you’d like to strip naked and dine with the strumpet class, perhaps …’

  Nick’s brow furrowed, a mixture of puzzlement and indecision about what to say. She had produced the desired effect. The suggestion of status less than that of staff was enough to tweak the dormant tiger of his male ego, yet he would know as always that she held the high cards. She nipped the implanted idea in the bud and continued.

  ‘Never mind. Go and keep an eye on those students. There’s only Tom in there with them. We’re starting again in 20 minutes or so. Inez and Celia will be along.’

  ‘OK. How’s it going?’ He spoke as an equal, a subtle move to re-establish his status in the interpersonal chess match.

  ‘Oh, not bad. A highly entertaining morning.’

  ‘Anything I need to know about to write my report?’

  ‘What, that Journal of Human Sense and Sexuality stuff? You’ll think of something, Nick. Look at the tapes. You know it’s all flannel.’

  ‘But it should really be scientifically based.’ He smirked, unable to believe it himself.

  ‘Huh.’ She was dismissive. ‘When were you last a proper scientist, Nick? Anyway, get on now. I’ll call for you later. You can come in here and watch on the CCTV while we’re down there.’

  ‘OK, love.’

  I’ll “OK, love” you, she thought as he left. Putting a cherry tomato in her mouth, she crushed it and savoured the succulence.

  After lunch, Jane made her way to the kitchen and started to organise the afternoon’s activities. Inez and Vanessa were dispatched to the dining room to collect Oliver, the first participant. She and Celia then made their way out of the kitchen to the cellar entrance they had used in the morning. They were accompanied by Sally and Fiona, their personal slaves, and by Peter and Steven, who had completed their serving duties in the dining room.

  When they reached the chamber, Sally and Fiona were given instructions to lean across the long central couch nearest to the small audience in the chairs. Propping themselves with their arms on the raised upholstery, their exposed arses were turned toward the side of the room where Greg had been constrained earlier. Jane picked up a tease whip and tapped at their calves until they had complied with her desire to spread their legs slightly, while keeping the knee joints straight, thus accentuating the servile rearward thrust of their posteriors.

  Celia instructed Steven to knee
l across the end of the other couch. He did so, looking toward Sally and Fiona across the other couch ahead of him, and the three “thrones” at the far end of the room.

  Celia now strapped on the dildo which she had brought with her, and it was the sight of her making final adjustments to its harness which confronted Oliver as he entered from the door at the foot of the stairs. Inez and Vanessa followed, carefully in their heels, and it was Inez, on reaching the chamber, who interrupted Oliver’s gawping amazement with an order.

  ‘Strip.’

  A pause ensued. Oliver seemed to find it necessary to pause before accepting instruction. Pride or ego, or both.

  He had begun to slide the robe off his shoulders when Inez spoke again.

  ‘You will obey. You are on thin ice already, my boy, and we can exclude you from the programme and its reward if we see fit.’

  She continued by explaining the rules to him, reiterating the guidelines which had been given to the morning contingent.

  As she spoke, Oliver divested himself of his shorts to stand proudly in his nakedness. He endeavoured to project the impression of compliance only on sufferance, as Inez and Vanessa led him over and cuffed his wrists to the chrome bar.

  Celia turned her gaze to the captive, her expression a conglomeration of rebuke and vengeful pleasure.

  ‘His time begins,’ pronounced Inez as she walked to her position on the chair at Jane’s right. The director had installed herself in the centre chair, impassive as she awaited developments.

  Celia walked to the side of the room and opened a cupboard. From it she drew a jar of Vaseline. Extracting an amount of it on her two forefingers, she returned, smearing the lubricant on the dildo, an unsettling masculine virago priming her artificial organ.

  Reaching Steven’s proffered rear, she pulled his leather thong brusquely aside, depriving the submissive male’s crack of its only meagre protection. Pushing forward, she located the bulbous intruder at the victim’s anus before turning her gaze to Oliver and fixing him with her stare.