Students of Submission

by Leigh Turner

  Psychologically, Nick had been manoeuvred into a corner. Sally thought Becky might have stood a chance, however minuscule, of milking or seducing the hunk opposite her. But all face would be lost with such a tactic.

  Nick, predictably, clambered through the ropes to meet almost certain defeat. As he walked to the centre, his predicament in facing a younger and fitter male while revealed as a cross-dressed tart came fully home to him. Red-faced, he approached his nemesis, his cock rampant and entirely beyond his control.

  ‘The shemale it is, then,’ said Inez disdainfully. ‘Wrestle on.’

  At this, Tom was ready, and lunged forward. Nick, unsteady on his feet, did almost nothing to resist as Tom grasped his inviting cock. Belatedly, he attempted a similar hold on Tom, perhaps realising it offered his only slim chance. But Tom intercepted his wrist and worked on the captive member with his other hand, wanking rhythmically. Nick’s eyelids began to droop as he entered a state of irresistible pleasure.

  Taking advantage of the trance of his opponent, Tom now moved behind him. Wrapping his hand round and enveloping the cock once more, he pushed the helpless shemale toward Jane’s side of the ring.

  ‘In a cock hold, are we, Nicola?’ Her tone was mocking. ‘Would you like to tag little Becky to help you? Perhaps I’ll let you if you agree to a forfeit of my choice.’

  The game within a game was abruptly ended as Nick spoke.

  ‘Submission! I submit. Submission.’

  Tom broke the hold, leaving Nick trembling, transfixed. Jane beamed with pleasure. There could only be one result to this mismatched bout.

  Nick was unable to stir himself in time even to regain the centre of the ring. When he finally turned to do so, it was to hear the command, “Wrestle on”, from Inez.

  Tom had positioned himself at the centre of the ring, and moved quickly to resume the cock hold. Pushing Nick back to the corner, he reached across to tag Jane. Doing nothing to break the hold until Jane had eased herself through the ropes, he remained in complete control of his opponent, not even wanking, merely gripping his cock.

  Becky bleated her protest.

  ‘It’s not fair. Break the hold. Give him a chance.’

  Inez turned to look at the girl. Indifference was written large across her face.

  Jane now took over. Facing Nick, she manipulated his cock. He offered no attempt at retaliation whatsoever as his eyes rolled upward. Jane was able to step partly to one side, offering Becky a view of her partner’s helpless abandonment to the hold, which consisted only of four fingers below and the thumb on top of the cock, yet exerted total control over his psyche.

  ‘Please let us tag. I’ll submit to Tom’s cock. Anything.’ Becky had become quite vociferous, provoked by the spectacle.

  ‘I’m sure you would love that, dear. But your team has run out of submissions. You must wait for cock. You will yearn for its slightest touch by tomorrow, I promise you.

  ‘Now, Nicola, tell your partner what chance you have of rescuing her from slavery.’

  Sally was surprised at Nick’s eagerness to respond to this. He seemed to seize on the chance to abase himself yet further.

  ‘Oh no. She’s got me in a cock hold. Can’t do anything. Ooh, ooh. Yes, yes. Don’t stop. Ooh yeah. Please don’t stop. Ooh, she’s got my cock. Got to be a submission. Oh yeah.’

  Jane must have subtly relaxed her grip.

  ‘Ooh no, please.’

  ‘Show yourself as you are, shemale. Disport yourself.’

  With this, “Nicola” put hands on hips and writhed. Like a stripper or pole dancer, he began to lose all inhibition. Fondling his nipples, putting his hands behind him running them sensuously over his sensitised arse, he gave a good account of himself as a bitch on heat.

  As Jane increased her pressure and adopted a wanking motion, he stiffened, standing to attention for the coup de grace.

  ‘She’s got me. Oh yes. I’ll do what she wants. Complete slavery. She rules me, Becky. She rules. I’m hers. Oh yes. Submission. Complete submission. Ooh yeah. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop. Fuck me with a dildo in front of everybody. Ooh yeah, fuck me with a dildo. Ooh yeah, I’m your bitch. Ride me, harness me, fuck me.’

  He addressed Becky directly.

  ‘I give in to her, I submit to her. Ooh yeah, total submission. Keep me as your bitch, Madame Supreme! Watch me submit. Yeeaaargh!’

  The jettison now came. Not bad for a middle-aged shemale, thought Sally, as it arched and landed, nearly in the centre of the ring.

  Sally glanced across at her cohorts. Several were virtually open-mouthed in astonishment at the outrageous display. Oliver, as she had come to expect, sneered his distaste. Sally’s feelings were mixed, jumbled. Having earlier felt almost sorry for Nick, while paralysed with impotence, unable to help him, she now began to feel contempt for his abdication of any shred of male dignity. Her emotions were excited, though, by the display of unbridled feminine power which Jane had presented to them.

  They watched as Nick was thrown a towel and made to mop his come from the centre of the ring. Her former lover, on all fours like a scullery maid. The crazy thought crossed her mind that maybe Jane would give him to her, a submissive under the delegated charge of a female slave, who, while subservient, remained higher in the hierarchy than a shemale.

  Celia rose from her position in the audience, to which she had returned after the corseting of Nick. Undoing her blouse and pencil skirt, she folded them neatly over the back of a seat. Down to her familiar black corset, nylons and heels, she remained in a black panty-girdle. Very appropriate, thought Sally as Celia walked to the stage; no cock would be permitted to venture near this virago’s garden of delight as she performed her public duties.

  As Inez ushered the defeated pair from the ring, Celia brought some equipment from the backstage area. She fitted this to Nicola, as he now seemed to be known, while Inez did the same to Becky. They were bridles, consisting of several leather straps joined with rings to form a helmet shape. A chrome steel bit was included, incorporating a small rubber bulb in the centre upon which they could bite while remaining unrestricted in their breathing.

  After a brief discussion with Inez, Celia fetched cuffs, and the two slaves had their hands fettered behind them. From Celia’s demeanour, she expected no attempt at rebellion, but wanted to add the impediment as a final touch, a flourish upon the portrait of their conquest.

  They were led up through the auditorium on the end of long reins which Celia gathered in her left hand, clad in a black leather gauntlet which she had donned before the procession from the stage. Her right hand, similarly sheathed in the matching gauntlet, held a long tease whip with which she threatened their inviting buttocks some six feet ahead of her.

  As they proceeded toward the aisle, Celia looked at Sally, the nearest to her.

  ‘You, girl. Assist me by opening the door.’

  Sally did so, springing to her feet, she thought, a little too easily, a little over eagerly. In such subtle nuances her mistresses would be able to discern a measure of success in their gradual conditioning of her toward slavish unquestioning obedience. She cursed her human predictability, her lack of resolve.

  She gained the lobby in advance of them, and was able to watch at close quarters as the pair were led like beasts out of the building, to whatever devious and depraved fate no doubt awaited them. She gained a measure of satisfaction from thinking that Becky, her competitor for Nick’s affections in his earlier, respectable incarnation, must be wet with desire by now, enslaved yet denied the chance to acquaint herself with Tom’s cock once more.

  Sally realised that her own feelings were little different from those she projected on to Becky, however accurate the science of such psychoanalysis might be in general. As she walked back down, it was to witness Jane begin an announcement from behind the ropes of the ring, nearest the audience. Peter, the girdled lickspittle, had entered the ring behind her, and stood motionless, sheepish in his expression.

  ‘Th
at first bout was a little too easy. I feel like further sport. Who would like to help this other shemale fight for his freedom?’

  Sally’s hand was up in an instant. Despite her earlier reflections on acquiescence, this was not an occasion for seeking refuge in the crowd. Indeed, some might see her gesture as one of challenge, spirited resistance. Yet her motives were crystal clear to her. She wanted to be taken by Tom’s magnificent penis, shafted like a beast in the centre of the arena with all eyes upon her.

  ‘Oh, I’m so pleased, my dear. You may fight for your freedom as well. It is very gratifying that one of our pupils is so quick to respond. Come up.’

  As her colleagues contemplated their status in Jane’s eyes as “pupils”, Sally walked up the steps and climbed to the ring apron. Inez held the ropes so as to ease her way through them. Her quickness in responding had everything to do with obtaining access to the Adonis opposite her in the ring, and nothing much to do with bravado at all. Her primary impulse had been to raise her hand before anyone else did. As these thoughts raced, she began to strip, unbidden.

  ‘Good,’ said her opponent approvingly. ‘The rules are genitals exposed. You will see that I meet you in this as an equal. However, I think we must add the requirement that you divest yourself of your bra. Bra without knickers is never an elegant look, is it, dear?’

  Sally was soon down to just her white suspenders, grey stockings, and white Mary Jane pumps, just as Becky had appeared for the earlier bout. Jane addressed her again.

  ‘Who will begin? Will you be starting this bout, dear? Your partner won’t get very far against us, frankly.’

  Sally glanced at Peter. His cock, framed by white girdle and black stockings, was almost horizontal. She saw Jane’s point, and nodded her assent.

  ‘Excellent.’ Jane moved back toward the ropes, nodding to Inez.

  ‘Wrestle on,’ said the referee.

  Sally realised that she was not to face Tom, but the director herself. She moved toward the centre, betraying a slight hesitance.

  Jane exuded confidence as she strode toward Sally, feeling no need to rush as she closed in. There was, after all, nothing to do except come to grips.

  Sally was expecting a lunge for her crotch, but it did not come. Instead, the larger woman grasped her in a bear hug and began to squeeze.

  Sally gasped as she was bodily turned around, still facing her tormentor, and they lurched in the direction of Jane and Tom’s corner. It made little difference to the tactics of the bout. Sally knew Peter was there merely as a spectator. She suspected that Jane might have enlisted her for this contest had she not volunteered; some intuition told her Jane knew she had screwed Nick anyway.

  Grunting her defiance, she managed to insert her right arm between them. Gradually pushing it down with all the strength she could muster, she finally felt the hairy mound under the corselet hem. Jane’s eyebrows raised as Sally’s middle finger tried to locate the clitoris, which remained hooded in its citadel. Their eyes met. Jane’s gaze became more neutral, the initial angry glare abated. It softened into one of slight astonishment at the brazen assault.

  Sally’s probing was having an effect. Was there some sort of respect here for her now? The thought was blown away like clouds on a wind as Jane altered tactics. Abandoning the bear hug, her hand descended in a determined echo of Sally’s own hold. In this case, though, Jane bypassed the clitoral area and her long finger entered, with minimal resistance, the saturated vagina.

  Rubbing the front wall of the hall of pleasure in an alternate circling and wanking motion, Jane stared inscrutably at her adversary. Sally’s mouth gaped open as her condition was betrayed. The contest was all but over, she knew. Like sumos, the battle lay in the preliminary posturing, the action of dénouement brief and sudden.

  She was thankful that Jane did not begin her game of demanding verbal evidence of supplication, as she had with Nick. Perhaps she had earned a little respect from her conqueror, for such she was. Realisation dawned on Sally that her own hold on Jane’s vulnerability had dropped away without her realising it.

  She now had her hands loose at her sides. Rapt, she spread her legs wider, enjoying fully the command that Jane exerted over her with a single strategic finger. She felt the older woman reach over her head with her free hand, and was vaguely conscious of Tom, tagged, entering the ring behind her.

  She leant forward as Jane withdrew and her secret desire was finally granted. The long cock slid in easily.

  ‘Withdraw.’

  Through a haze, the word entered her mind.

  No!

  The cock was pulling out.

  She entered a domain where agony combined with ecstasy, more powerful than any drug.

  She could only nod as Jane demanded her submission in return for allowing Tom’s cock to sheath itself within her once more.

  ‘Withdraw.’

  The man was fully obedient to his mistress and once more Sally was left high and dry.

  Almost crying with frustrated desire, she collapsed to her knees as she nodded her assent to continued slavery.

  ‘Suck, and you shall earn an equivalent shafting.’

  Sally realised that Jane had beckoned Peter, who now stood before her. She opened her mouth and took his reddened organ. Beginning to bob her head as she attended to the bulbous end, she felt the large cock slide into her cunt once more as Tom’s strong hands, behind her, lifted her at the waist and spread her thighs wide for his pleasure. She co-operated, raising her ready butt as high as she could while simultaneously performing fellatio on Peter, fixated solely on pleasure.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she perceived Peter being bridled by Inez and knew she would follow.

  And it was to be soon, all too soon, as her devoted sucking tipped her weak team mate over his point of resistance, such as it was, and her mouth was filled with hot stickiness.

  True to her word, Jane wordlessly commanded Tom to withdraw, and she remained on all fours, a desperate beast, as Inez bridled her.

  Chapter Thirteen – Bridled

  Sally looked out between the trees. She could see the meadow in the distance. She was in woodland which provided her with some cover from her pursuers. She sensed the presence of Jane in the meadow, dressed in jodhpurs, black riding boots, tweed jacket, and a peculiar brimmed hat, something between a trilby and a peaked hunting hat. She knew Jane had helpers with her, but they were even less corporeal than the vision of Jane she held.

  She turned. The woods were beautiful. Thickly carpeted in bluebells. No thorns or thickets. Dappled in sunlight, which illuminated a wide path running through them, away from her. It occurred to her that the wide gaps between the trees, and the presence of several smaller trails, criss-crossing the thick outcrops of grass and blue flowers, were less than ideal in providing her with cover.

  From the left, behind her, Nick came into her field of vision. He was naked, save for a bridle of the style to which she had recently been introduced. Sally climbed upon him, piggyback fashion. Inserting her feet into stirrups, she was dimly aware that these dangled from a strap around his waist. So not quite naked then. It held no importance. She realised she was also completely naked, as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and goaded him to move.

  Nick, her mount, galloped along the path. After they had made some distance along the track, sunlit by the gap it created between the trees, there was a sudden change, unheralded, as though a page had been turned.

  They now battled through a thicket. So overhung were the trees that a gothic darkness enveloped them. Nick’s thighs were grazed and scratched by the thorny growths nearby. He stumbled. Sally fell with him, and, losing her balance, rolled to the side. A sharp thorn dug into her flank. She looked up from her supine position, expecting to see the goddess, Diana the Huntress, personified by Jane. Surely they were caught now, about to be ensnared.

  The thorn’s prick became more insistent. A moment where all seemed dark turned, in less than a second, to a new dawn swathed in
light. Another world had claimed her. For a brief interval she was unable to distinguish which world, if either, was real.

  Sunlight swept into her environment, and the earlier, darker, world was all but forgotten. She twisted into a more lateral position. Now she gradually perceived that she had been lying on a large bean bag; the tag of its zip had been the thorn by which she was so perturbed. Slowly, and with a certain reluctance to totally renounce her dream, she began to evaluate her surroundings.

  She was in a stable. A box area carpeted with wood shavings and straw. As in the dream, she was naked. The only thing which differed was the shackle clasping her ankle. The chrome anklet was padded internally, and so provided no discomfort. However, its hinged halves were held together by holed brackets through which a small padlock had been placed. Needless to say, there was no sign of a key in the Spartan environment.

  The shackle was secured to a chain which was in turn anchored to a ring in the far wall. Wooden doors hid little from the outer part of the stable building, being about a metre high, yet mounted with two feet or so of space beneath them.

  The uncompromising bareness of the small area was alleviated only by the presence of four large bean bags, upon which she had slept. They still resembled the nest-like arrangement into which she had put them the night before. In the corner sat a large steel bucket where she could relieve herself. Gazing at it, she reflected on the events of the previous evening.

  Following the débacle of her abject submission in the ring, she and Peter had been harnessed in an identical manner to that bestowed on Nick and Becky earlier. Bridled and attached to long reins, they were then handcuffed, their arms helpless behind them. In this instance it had been Vanessa and Lena who put Sally in restraint, as she watched Inez cuff the tame shemale Peter, already bridled. Vanessa was impartially efficient in her task, whereas Lena took particular pleasure in it, judging by her mocking smile.

  Vanessa had been the one delegated to lead them away. This was the one crumb of consolation for Sally as the more kindly woman applied the tease whip to their buttocks and they left the arena, up through the auditorium past Sally’s competitors. Any deep thoughts of rebellion and mutiny which she harboured seemed a million miles from fruition here, paraded as a loser in front of her rivals, brazenly on show, lowly in her unclothed condition. At least she had been spared the denuding of fleecy muff that had been Becky’s lot.