Students of Submission

by Leigh Turner

  ‘Now then,’ she murmured in Liz’s ear. ‘Do you want more of this?’

  ‘No. No.’

  The girl had embraced the game fully. Her spirit was admirable, but they both knew the statement was a blatant lie. The fact that it was almost gasped out rather than spoken merely emphasised the obvious.

  ‘What if I withdraw? What if I could be so heartless?’ Jane rotated her fingertip softly and delicately over the clitoris as she spoke.

  ‘No. You wouldn’t. Plea …’ Her voice tailed off as she realised the utterance of the word “please” might be deemed a request. She gasped and rotated her hips, the better to be stimulated, her whole body now in thrall to the stationary finger which commanded her most intimate retreat.

  Jane took pity and increased the pressure and speed of stimulation. An immediate response was forthcoming as her plaything threw her head back, and, eyes closed, rolled and ground her hips in total abandon.

  Knowing she was near, Jane showed her cruel side as she desisted from her fingering and moved back. She savoured her moment of absolute dominance as the frustrated girl began to moan, suspended on a precipice over the chasm of ecstasy which waited to claim her.

  Jane was not unduly surprised when no plea for release passed Liz’s lips. She had expected this one to be strong willed. Turning, she beckoned Tom, who quickly stepped out of his briefs, exposing a full erection.

  He wasted no time in approaching Liz, and it was the work of a moment for him to hold his cock upright and steady, and guide it slowly up until it filled the sodden cunt.

  Jane, glancing round, saw the bound and defeated Sally, further along, gaze enviously as the large dick slid into her rival. Catching Jane’s eye, the girl became momentarily abashed, but then, knowing her lust had been rumbled, resumed her voyeurism, rapt with the last act of the scenario.

  Tom began to hump the captive, who thrust her arse toward him as best she could in the bondage. His thrusts were regular and rhythmic, but varying in tempo as he considered her pleasure.

  The surrender, when it came, seemed somehow sudden, an unexpected exclamation in the middle of a bout of steady pumping during which the cock was nearly fully withdrawn on each stroke before possessing the cunt once more.

  ‘Release me. Please. Let me take it on all fours. Let me be an arse-presenting bitch for him. I want it in me all the way. Please. Please let me out. I’ll do what you want.’

  So satisfying, thought Jane, as she nodded to Inez, who came forward to release the bonds after clicking her stopwatch. The strongest minded, when finally broken, were the most thoroughly and comprehensively altered. Phlegmatic resolve converted to craven submission. She must seize the moment. Blocking Inez from undoing the cuffs, she addressed Liz.

  ‘You will do what I want? Do you agree to slavery if I grant your wish?’

  The prisoner’s face contorted in torment. Jane interposed her arm between Tom and Liz and he pulled out obediently. Then the director’s finger once more located the clitoris as she elaborated her terms.

  ‘You agree to be a slave, bitch? Do so and your pussy will get its shafting.’

  A pause instigated a more determined fingering, focusing on the clitty at first, but then moving back. As two and then three fingers pushed up into the vagina, the battle was finally won.

  ‘Yes! Fuck me. Free me and fuck me.’

  ‘You are a bitch, slave? Say it.’

  ‘Yes. I … am … your … bitch.’

  Jane stepped away and let Inez undo the tethering. As soon as Liz was free, she turned and found a place on the couch, where Steven had been earlier, spreading herself along it on all fours like a beast, her rump at the edge, high and willing, her head low to the upholstery, pushed down in servile tribute.

  Tom, accorded the nod from Jane, moved forward and took his prize. This time, with easier purchase, his thrusts were fiercer and faster, less considerate of the bitch presented to him on a plate. But the bitch herself reacted all the more, and with her cry of release triggered his response as he gripped her bra clasp with one hand, bucking like a rodeo rider until they subsided.

  As he withdrew, he sank to his knees while Liz collapsed, her legs over the edge of the couch. Slumping forward, spent, Tom rested his head on her buttocks.

  So unprofessional, thought Jane. She surreptitiously glanced upward, where a small red light indicated that the hidden video cameras had been rolling. Nevertheless, authentic. That always went down well.

  She looked at Inez.

  ‘What’s the verdict?’

  ‘Nineteen minutes. Total.’

  ‘Hmm. Not too bad, I suppose. Though she got six minutes free while we dealt with the male. Must organise that better next time. Never mind. Release these others.’ She raised her voice. ‘All participants, to your rooms please. No conferring. We will convene in the dining room at 6 p.m. Your clothing is supplied in your rooms.’

  Jane looked round. Celia had returned during Liz’s treatment, divesting herself of the dildo. Peter, Steven, and Fiona stood obediently at the side of the room. She addressed them.

  ‘Go now. To your rooms. Help release these three first. Sally, Fiona, Liz, you are released from your slavery temporarily.’

  Gradually, the participants dispersed. Jane quizzed the recovering Tom as he dressed. What had he done with Greg and Becky? Vanessa was sent to investigate, and reported that they were merely sitting chatting with one another in the lounge. Jane smiled bemusedly. While the cat’s away, the mice … merely chat. Strange. Perhaps the morning’s events were more than enough for them.

  Soon they had all moved up the stairs to the ground floor. Peter and Steven were instructed to go and help Lena in the kitchen. Vanessa retired to her room, while Celia and Tom strolled out to the garages. After finding Max and conducting a discussion, they dispersed, Tom once more in his white slacks and singlet, but Celia still casually and brazenly sporting her corset and suspenders.

  Jane found Nick in her study, where he had been watching proceedings on the CCTV link.

  ‘Enjoy it?’

  He smiled. ‘Interesting.’

  She grew weary of his studied detachment and cut the encounter short.

  ‘Max and Tom have got a free spell if you fancy a bit of tennis. Why don’t you go and enjoy yourself?’

  ‘Oh. Great. Don’t you want to? Doubles?’

  ‘No, I need a rest. You go. Max says he will give you a better game this time.’

  ‘Aha. We’ll see about that. Is he out the back?’ Nick’s expression was almost gleeful. She knew he loved sport. So too did she, but most of her favourite games took place indoors, with her own rules.

  ‘Uh huh,’ she confirmed. ‘Near the garage, he said. Go on, you’ve got a while. I’m getting the students together at six.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Nothing to worry about. An amusing little scenario which you’ll enjoy. Go on. It’s a lovely day out there.’

  ‘You’re sure you don’t want to come?’

  Sure.’

  ‘OK. See you later. Whereabouts?’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll find you.’

  He left. A puppy dog let off the leash. She smiled as she walked upstairs.

  In her room, she lay down on the bed, but did not remove her boots. A catnap would not go amiss. She wanted to be alert at around five o’clock.

  Chapter Twelve – Atonement

  Sally rose from her bed at half-past five. With no books or distractions in the room, there was little to do but rest. Naked, she moved to the bathroom to sharpen her consciousness in the shower.

  On returning, she considered whether to put on the high-heeled boots associated with her enslavement to Jane. A fresh set of clothing had been provided; the usual blouse and skirt with, this time, a striped tie. Underwear consisted of white bra, pants, suspender belt, and tan stockings. There were also a pair of white ballet-style pumps. She decided to go for these, as they were provided. More in keeping with the schoolgirl look which the inclusion o
f the tie engendered.

  Dressed, she went downstairs. A shiver of excitement ran through her. What if Jane expected the boots still to be worn? If so, why provide the pumps? But a member of staff, in laying out the clothes, may have left the same for all the girls, not thinking of their status.

  Why was she thinking like this? Incarcerated in a world where such tokens assumed disproportionate importance, she was suffused with nervous excitement, provoked by the fear that Jane might exact some form of retribution upon her for daring to adopt a uniform to which she was no longer entitled. Her civilised conscious mind attempted to conduct an inner dialogue upon the absurdity of it all, but her deeper needs had begun to invade that mental space, so much so that she almost craved the forthcoming encounter with her dominatrix. The frisson of anticipation possessed her as she realised her slavery was becoming more than a mere interlude enforced by physical bondage.

  In the dining room, they gradually congregated. The boys were dressed in black trousers, white shirts, and similar ties. The orange, red, and black stripes evoked a school or college uniform.

  The talk was of competition, comparing notes of how each had done, particularly in regard to the rivals they had not been paired with. Greg was puffed with pride about his endurance. Others seemed less effusive; it had not been the kind of task where people were happy to dissect their failings.

  The awkwardness was interrupted by Celia’s entry. She wore a black business costume, a skirt and jacket; but the high-heeled boots remained, making her the tallest person in the room. Under the unbuttoned, loosely fitting jacket, it was easy to notice a black, see-through blouse. This concealed little, and it was obvious that she remained in the strapless Merry Widow beneath it, her breasts encased and presented in proud glory.

  Nobody was surprised when she uttered a clipped instruction that they should make their way to the lecture hall. Once there, they took up seats near the front of the small auditorium. The only person already present was Vanessa, seated at the far side. It was shocking, to a degree, to see that she had donned some outerwear for once, as she lounged at the end of an aisle in white blouse and black pencil skirt over her stockings and high-heeled court shoes.

  The muted hubbub of conversation between the seven students was brought to an end by Celia clapping her hands. At this, Jane entered, dressed as before. She climbed the steps at the side of the stage and turned to address them.

  ‘Contestants. First of all, thank you for your efforts. I’m sure you would like to hear some results.’ She held a pad in front of her, from which she read.

  ‘Starting at the lower end, we have Simon … six minutes. Then Sally, rather disappointing, dear, at eight minutes, I thought you might do better. Oliver … 12. Liz … 19. Greg … 28. Our runner-up is Becky, with an excellent performance of 50 minutes. Leaving our endurance champion … Fiona, with a magnificent 65 minutes. Well done, girl.

  ‘Fiona, then, scores 9 points, followed by 6 for Becky, then 4, 3, 2, 1 in order so that Simon, you fail to score on this occasion.’

  Walking to the side, she came to a whiteboard. With a marker pen, she inscribed a list upon it, starting with the word “TOTALS” at the top.

  Liz 23

  Fiona 21

  Simon 18

  Oliver 16

  Sally 16

  Becky 15

  Greg 15

  She then addressed them again.

  ‘A close competition, well done. It is good to see you, Becky and Greg, have pulled yourselves back into contention. There are still plenty of points to play for over the days ahead. First though, relax. We have a little entertainment for you.’

  Throwing a switch at the side of the stage, Jane paused as a white screen descended in front of the red curtains which hid the rearmost area of the stage.

  ‘You will be aware that we have cameras in many areas. My former husband liked to play with the latest technology and was something of a voyeur. Anyway … The digital equipment enables us to record activity in any area and replay it immediately on any output device in the establishment. So what you are about to see is not a film, but was captured less than half an hour ago.’

  She clicked a remote control and walked off the stage. The cinematic display began. It showed a small changing room and shower area. Into it came Max and Nick, dressed in tennis shorts and T-shirts. Tom followed, in his white slacks and singlet.

  There was some smiling banter between the men, but the “film” was silent so the audience could only surmise what any dialogue might be.

  The men stripped and began to shower. There were no individual cubicles, but three shower heads in a row. Sally enjoyed the display of male nudity in the steam. The camera must have been well ventilated, for it did not fog up but continued to capture the image as sinewy arms and legs were soaped. Nick’s physique was not shamed by the younger men and Sally’s gaze flicked from one to the other, savouring the banquet of muscular flesh.

  They reached the stage of being nearly rinsed. Max, however, still had a bar of soap in his hand, which slipped from it and slid in the direction of Nick, who was at the centre shower of the three. As Nick bent down to pick up the soap, Max stepped toward him, the stocky young Pole putting his arms round Nick from behind and quickly establishing a Full Nelson hold upon the surprised older man.

  Nick frowned and writhed in resistance, but the element of surprise, together with being caught off balance, had enabled Max to establish a strong, tight grip. Nick, accepting his situation, desisted from his struggles. They saw him formulate words. Why? What had provoked this?

  Tom now stepped across. The two younger men smiled slightly and it was clear they were in league. Working at the side, Tom pulled Nick’s left leg outwards; kneeling and encircling Nick’s ankle with his bulging right arm, he pushed against the back of the knee with his left.

  Nick had no alternative but to collapse into a kneeling position. His right leg also folded as Max, maintaining his grip, followed him down. Nick’s cock had begun to rise, facing the camera in its helpless pride.

  Max established a position where he was best able to lever Nick down and forward. Nick resisted strongly, but the best he could achieve from his situation was a stay of execution. As he began to give way, Tom’s hand pushed the errant cock from above and tucked it back so that it was protected somewhat, between his thighs, as Nick was forced down to lie against the tiled floor.

  Max moved up and sat astride the prone Nick. Though his victim resisted, he was able to readjust his arms and grip each of Nick’s wrists with his hands. Sally found herself becoming aroused as her former lover was subdued, his resistance quelled like a saddled and broken stallion.

  Tom turned off the showers and exited the area. Max remained in dominance over Nick, waiting. Soon the tall Dane returned, still naked. He carried some smooth rope, like a washing line, about a quarter-inch thick. With this, he began to truss Nick’s arms behind him, as the picture began to fade …

  Jane stepped up to the stage once more. Turning to the spectators, she smiled.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen. I present to you, my errant and adulterous husband.’

  Heads turned as they heard an entrance behind them. Nick came down through the auditorium. He was, as they had last seen him, totally naked. His arms were behind him, thoroughly trussed in multiple lashings of rope. Hesitating, he was grasped from behind by Tom, who, holding the topmost and lower bindings, propelled him forward against his reluctance. Tom was now wearing just shorts and trainers, as was Max, the other guardian, who followed them.

  Nick was manhandled to the foot of the steps and pushed forward. He stepped up as Tom applied pressure. The only alternative would have been to fall face first. Upon the stage, he was shoved forward. His legs found enough strength to brake the undignified lunge, and he stood waiting. All eyes were drawn to his cock as they witnessed its gradual extension. Jane looked down upon it, her smile almost a sneer. Only when it was fully reddened and hard, the embarrassment complete, did she be
gin to speak.

  ‘Welcome, class, to the last lesson of the day. Subject … treatment suitable for an adulterous tart of a husband. My assistant will now demonstrate.’

  She stepped back and the spectators’ attention was caught by some movement at the far side of the stage, opposite where Nick had climbed up. It was Peter, carrying a large bowl of water. He climbed the steps slowly with extreme care, for his feet were hobbled in high-heeled shoes, black, peep-toed, with the instep and ankle area entwined with delicate straps. These were worn over smoke grey seamed nylons held up by the white suspenders of his roll-on girdle, encasing his hips but doing nothing to restrain his cock, which jutted fully underneath the plastic bowl.

  No sooner had he set down his burden, near the captive on the stage, than Lena entered from stage left, behind the trussed man. She still wore the casual yet sexy attire she had sported earlier: tight jeans, clinging white T-shirt, and red, high-heeled court shoes. In one hand she held a large white towel, which she proceeded to cast on the cleanly swept floor in front of Nick. In the other hand was a small toilet bag. Crouching and setting this down, she extracted from it an aerosol of shaving foam, a disposable razor, and scissors.

  Grinning wickedly, she wordlessly set to work. Nick was unable to keep himself from flinching as the scissors were first to be wielded. Realising Lena intended nothing more vicious than a trim of his pubic area, he soon saw that a demeanour of stillness would serve him best in his current condition. Soon all the bushy hairs were reduced to stubble, and Lena picked up the shaving cream and began the next stage. As she worked, including the thighs and lower legs in her ministrations, after thoroughly denuding the genitals of any pubic camouflage, Jane addressed the audience.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, here we have before us my errant husband, Nick. His sins have today come home to roost, and he will be punished in front of you for what he has done. He seems to have believed, for some time now, that his repeated womanising has escaped my notice. Nick, do you think I am stupid?’