Students of Submission

by Leigh Turner

  Outside, they were led through along the rear driveway and past the gate leading to the quadrangle formed by the house and stables. They entered the gym, which had an adjoining shower area. Sally recognized the open, tiled area where the three showers were as the one where Nick had been ambushed by Tom and Max.

  Here they were allowed to perform ablutions and take a shower, Sally afforded the meagre privilege of nakedness while Peter remained in girdle and stockings. Vanessa had gently requested “no misbehaviour now”, as she released their fetters. What misbehaviour could take place, thought Sally as she soaped herself alongside Peter in his wet stockings? What if she were to make a break for it, run north across the open pasture? She had visions of meeting some farmer astride a tractor, asking for his help, naked as the day of her birth. Explaining how she had escaped incarceration in a mansion of perverted pleasures, throwing herself upon his mercy, his credulity strained well beyond its breaking point.

  And what if the man believed even a fraction of her story, and involved the local constabulary? She pictured herself returning in a standard issue police boiler suit, pointing out Jane’s lair as the uniformed storm troops exacted her revenge. Yet this second strand of reverie lost its appeal as she imagined Jane, turning on the charm with the Chief Inspector, the denizens of her domain fully dressed, respectable. Perhaps she even knew him well, entertaining him in her dungeon from time to time.

  The whole train of thought was ridiculous. Sally’s naturally curious mind had merely ridden it to see how long it took to derail itself. She had not forgotten that there would be a welcome cash reward at the end of all this; yet, at a more primal level, she was enjoying her adventure in this gilded cage. It dawned on her that, were it suddenly to end, as in her daydream, she would feel disappointed, cheated by her return to the everyday world.

  These thoughts had afforded her some distraction, but as she soaped her fanny area, the unrequited lust aroused by Tom’s earlier intrusion came flooding back. She glanced at Vanessa, who watched them. For once, she was inscrutable and distant; Sally discerned no hint of any Sapphic desire in the woman, which might provide her with relief, as she fantasised about the wardress fingering her prisoner’s cunt.

  Instead, they were told to quickly towel themselves and bidden to follow Vanessa round to the stables. No attempt was made to re-bridle or cuff them, Vanessa almost disinterested in demeanour, sure of their acquiescence. Without explanation or flourish, their night-time quarters were shown to them. Sally thought she saw Becky put her head over the doors of a stall further along, but it was quickly retracted and she was left thinking, as when a mouse darts across the dubiously maintained kitchen of one’s student lodgings, did I really see that?

  ‘In.’

  This was all Vanessa said before she clasped Sally in the anklet at the end of the chain. Sally felt almost betrayed at the lack of warmth from Vanessa, who, on a previous occasion, had been so sympathetic to her plight. She seemed to have morphed from an eager and wanton exhibitionist to a middle-ranking dominatrix, in her black skirt, white blouse, stockings, and heels.

  She gazed at Sally, having completed her entrapment by the solitary chain. Sally was looking at her, craving some sisterly kindness. A brief twinkle in the eye was all she saw, but it was extinguished quickly as Vanessa adopted a mask of efficiency edged with an iciness which Sally had not previously seen. Vanessa moved to her side and stared at her charge for a short while before seeming to decide something. Moving nearer, she delivered a resounding slap across Sally’s bare buttock. After this, she gave Sally a quick glance. Two seconds of the inscrutable mask is all you will receive, girl, it seemed to say. Then, turning, she exited without so much as a word to Sally.

  After a moment, the word “In”, addressed to Peter, who had waited obediently outside, signified that all hope of social intercourse with Vanessa was over, as she heard the door creak on a nearby stall.

  Flopping onto the bean bags, Sally eagerly fingered herself. Thinking of Tom, she inserted two fingers of her left hand. But her fantasy grew, and as she rotated her right middle finger upon her clitoris, she imagined Vanessa directing him as she presented herself, arse raised, like a beast of the field in season, accepting impassively the inevitability of the fertile cock. She gazed, in her mind’s eye, down at Vanessa’s shiny high-heeled shoes, black stockinged ankles and shapely calves, cemented in her adoration for this new mistress, obedient and willing, embracing her status way below the goddess who commanded the controlling cock.

  After a shuddering and long-lasting orgasm, she had slept.

  While Sally was surveying her new surroundings, such as they were, and recalling Vanessa’s actions in imprisoning her in the stable, Jane was slowly coming to, sensually cosseted in the duvet of her large bed.

  A moment earlier, she had murmured her thanks to Max, who had brought her the customary morning cup of tea. Leaving it by her bedside, he had departed, fully clothed and ready to go about his daily duties.

  I suppose he’ll be enjoying his breakfast shortly, she surmised. In the company of that hussy Lena. He’d better not get any ideas. She meditated on the tribulations of mortality, her age difference with Max. Perhaps she could not prevent it for ever. And Lena was too useful in the kitchen; the thought of advertising for a replacement daunted her slightly. Laziness. The decadence of the privileged. She saw the threat yet vacillated. Time would tell.

  She supped her tea and relaxed, wondering if Liz was yet awake.

  The new acolyte had retired to Nick’s room after their evening of pleasure. Max had remained in Jane’s bed. Though satiated and in need of no more of his ministrations, she felt it important to keep him within her orbit overnight, knowing where he might gravitate to otherwise.

  Having said this, by the time Jane and Liz had finished with him, Max had been in no condition to gravitate anywhere. They had finished by laying him out, Jane queening his face and Liz straddling his cock, facing each other. After a while, sensing her pupil’s tighter young pussy was becoming too much for the flagging yet excited male to resist, Jane had bade the girl change positions with her. After a moment of disappointment, showing clearly in her face, Liz complied, and was then treated to a thorough exploration from Max’s expert tongue, whereupon her expression betrayed her delight and ultimate fulfilment as the sensations from her clitoris exploded through her body.

  Jane had been pleased with her protégée’s attitude. Her cool countenance had boded well as she watched the initial skirmish between Max and his mistress. He had been told to strip naked and then nuzzle Jane’s nipples through her corselet. This he had done, eager and compliant on bended knee, his hands behind him, sporting a bone-hard erection triggered by his role in the scenario.

  When Jane finally stepped back, aloof yet secretly aroused, the panting Max had begged to be allowed to bury his nostrils in her musky garden of pleasure. Yet it was Liz who had been granted his attentions.

  Jane had undone her tight-laced boots, feet raised in turn upon the chair, and rolled down the corselet. She had watched as Liz was granted the reward her poise had earned, which was for Max to sniff at her crotch, breathing deeply as if the undiluted aroma of sweaty, pheromone-rich vagina represented the oxygen of life itself to him.

  For this, the girl had held up her short skirt, savouring the pleasure generated as the zealous nose rubbed against her clitoris. Before long she had divested herself of blouse and bra. She had then kicked off her pumps and pulled away from the kneeling Max. Stepping quickly out of the skirt, she fell back on the bed. Spreading her legs wide, Max had been confronted by the area of tight-knickered flesh which held him in sway, and had at once plunged forward to resume his lustful work.

  It was obvious to Jane that Liz had now also reached fever pitch, and she nodded to Max that he was permitted to help her divest herself of the besmirched panties. As soon as he did this, the pair were ready for one thing only, and Jane, taking pity, nodded once more. Max, diving upon the attractive brunette in
her white suspenders and black stockings, found his cock was accommodated within her on an instant.

  A moment of shared ecstasy and relief was followed by a lewd show as Max pumped her vigorously. Quickly and fiercely at first, he slowed for breath, and began a second phase, deliberate, slower yet relentless, while she savoured every moment of the entry and partial withdrawal. He then raised himself and, upright with his knees folded, again pumped her wet chasm, deeply now as she raised both legs and rested them on his shoulders.

  When at length they had paused, Jane had pulled Max back from her. He put up no resistance as she dragged him over to her side of the bed and arranged him on his back. Queening him, her tingling loins began to draw satisfaction from the obedient tongue, and she had watched as the fascinated Liz stirred herself and mounted his cock.

  After Liz’s eventual orgasm, she had been banished to Nick’s room. Her introduction to queening had gone well, but she was to be kept in her place for now. Jane felt she had the makings of an excellent dominatrix, but that was for later.

  In private, she used Max to carry her over the line of heavenly fulfilment, once more smothering his adoring face, gasping as his tongue transported her to that innermost realm. He had subsided quickly after she returned the favour by reaching down and stimulating his balls with her left hand while encircling his cock with her right, soon jettisoning his burden. He woke once during the night and climbed rudely upon her, thrusting his cock brusquely against her lower buttocks as she lay on her front. He evidently held hopes of penetrating from the rear, but she had dozily explained that she wished to sleep, and, in the morning, neither had spoken of the outrageous foray.

  She rose and showered. She could hear running water in the en suite next door as she towelled herself, and realised that Liz had woken too. By the time the inevitable knock at the door came, Jane had dried herself. She had fastened herself into a white lacy bra which sculptured her E-cup breasts magnificently. Panties were a less automatic choice, over which she hesitated.

  ‘One moment.’ Liz would have to wait, while she put the lower garment on. Although she felt completely uninhibited in mood this morning, almost gleaning a frisson of excitement at the prospect of presenting herself near-naked in front of an underling, it was nevertheless not a dignified look, bra without panties.

  She drew a minuscule garment up over her legs. Plain white without lacy frills, it was a simple G-string, with barely enough material in the gusset to encompass her ample pussy mound. Far from being her favourite item of underwear, she disliked the “cheesecutter”, as she termed it. It was, however, necessary today. No visible panty line could be allowed to spoil the look she had planned.

  She opened the door, unashamed in her underwear. Liz was standing in the suspenders and stockings she had worn the previous night. The rest of her attire lay strewn, of course, in Jane’s bedroom, where the older woman had flicked it into a corner.

  ‘May I get dressed, Mrs Taylor?’ Jane noticed how Liz had chosen a term of respect, yet one which stopped short of madam or mistress. She let it ride.

  ‘No you won’t need clothes today. In fact … Well, you can keep your stockings on for the time being. Go down as you are, report to Lena in the kitchen, tell her you are entitled to normal breakfast, on my orders.’

  Without further comment, she ushered the girl to her outer bedroom door, thinking that Nick’s door might be locked. Liz entered the corridor wearing just stockings and suspenders, not even her pumps. Not an empowered way to start the day, thought Jane, wondering if the girl had picked up on the nuance that such a thing as an unusual breakfast might exist.

  Which indeed it did, as those locked in the stables were currently finding out.

  Jane chuckled to herself as she climbed into tightly fitting jodhpurs after donning a plain white blouse. The look was completed with black leather calf-length boots with Cuban heels. She selected a pair of soft black leather gloves from a drawer, and found in her wardrobe a black riding helmet with peak, and a short whip. These she carried with her downstairs, laying them on the large desk in her study. Phoning the kitchen on the extension, she politely requested that Lena bring her a continental breakfast.

  Waiting, she contemplated last evening’s events. She had deemed it time to exercise more supervision of the visitors, the boys in particular. If left alone they would no doubt wank themselves stupid as they recalled the displays in the ring. Better to have them milked in some sort of controlled manner, so that today their stamina would not let them down.

  After the bouts, slaves Liz, Fiona, and Steven had been told to accompany their mistresses and master, Jane, Celia, and Tom. The conquered Becky and Sally were accounted for. This left the three male contestants, who were told to congregate in the lounge of the mansion.

  Jane had three female members of staff whom she could deploy. They were allocated one male each. Jane did not anticipate any coy refusals from the horny youths, but she asked Lena to take Max with them to the lounge, to dampen any rowdy spirits and ensure decorum.

  Lena was told to buttonhole Oliver and spend the night with him in his quarters. Inez was similarly allocated to Simon. Vanessa, when she returned from the stables, followed on. She would find just Greg and Max in the lounge by then, the other two having taken their partners for a walk in the grounds prior to retiring. The youth would readily agree to a “romantic” stroll with Vanessa. Like the others, a child in a sweet shop, not believing his luck.

  Presently, there was a knock at the study door.

  ‘Enter.’

  The door eased open. The tinkling of a cup and saucer betrayed the motion of a tray being picked up from the floor, and a few moments passed before its bearer entered.

  It was Liz, still in her suspenders and stockings. A white pinafore had been added to the meagre outfit. A halter neck led down to a rectangular upper piece, which struggled to cover the nipples of her prominent breasts. The lower half of the garment, below the thin cord which tied it behind her, was wider, yet its shortness left the serving girl within a couple of inches of outright exposure.

  As she bent forward to set the tray at the side of Jane’s desk, the older woman was able to study the perfect profile of the girl’s pretty rump. The rear of the suspender belt and the white cord of the pinafore, tied just above it in a bow, did nothing whatsoever to hide it, merely acted as a frame for the display of the exquisite work of art.

  Jane had expected Lena, but perhaps she should not be too surprised. Liz was enslaved, the status hardly a secret. Lena had simply taken advantage of it and delegated the errand.

  It was a slight inconvenience. Jane had hoped to talk with Lena about the night’s events. She would have to catch up later. Somewhat frustrated, she decided to take it out on Liz, emphasising at the same time her proprietorial role.

  ‘Where are your shoes?’

  The tone was sharp; Liz, almost involuntarily, responded with an unusual degree of meekness.

  ‘Miss Lena said I would be all right as I was, Mistress Taylor.’

  Was it a slip of the tongue, or had the girl begun to embrace her status, allowing her free will to ebb insidiously under the absolving cloak of submissiveness?

  ‘Did she now? No, it won’t do. You need high heels to complete that outfit. Go and find Mistress Celia. Tell her I want you in five-inch-heel black court shoes.’

  ‘Where will I find her, madame?’

  ‘I don’t know! Don’t question me, just go, and do as you are told. Show some effort. Go!’

  After the door had closed, Jane allowed herself a smile. A spirited girl, she thought, yet obedient and pliable today. It was difficult to get uppity when your bare arse was on show for everyone to view. The highest of heels would just add to the effect, as the posterior jutted out to compensate for the raised heels, and thereby maintain the awkwardly teetering posture of the subservient.

  The thought of Liz hobbled cheered her as she picked up the phone and pressed the number for Inez’s surgery. Perhaps she
would have more luck.

  Indeed she did, for the Frenchwoman responded almost immediately.

  ‘Good morning, Inez.’

  ‘Good morning, Jane.’

  ‘Have you any news for me? How did you get on last night?’

  ‘Mais oui. Do you wish me to call on you?’

  ‘If you would, dear. I’m in the study.’

  ‘I have a soupçon of cereal to finish, I shall be with you tout de suite.’

  ‘Very well.’

  It was not long before Inez appeared. Today, unusually, she had left her slacks off and wore a black midi-length pencil skirt over calf-length leather boots. The familiar black theme was offset partially by her blouse, in a dark mauve which complemented the tone of her wonderfully smooth skin. A black velvet choker adorned her elegant neck, jewelled with a single dark blue stone in a tiny silver clasp at the front.

  Her hair, usually casually draped in its short, gamine style, was today swept back, emphasising the matching sapphire earrings she wore. A picture of elegance, she was the composed and well-heeled lady of leisure, no longer the elfin-featured medic Jane was so familiar with.

  ‘Well. You look gorgeous. So how did it go?’

  ‘Ah, oui. Very well. He is a most pleasant young man. He was most grateful and attentive. Well brought up and polite.’

  ‘Good. That’s nice to hear. So he’s reasonably … pliable?’

  Inez laughed.

  ‘Naturellement. He is my little toy boy. You wish to hear about things of a more risqué nature, n’est-ce pas?’