Students of Submission

by Leigh Turner

  Was it just imagination? Her senses were warped. She sat upon the phallus, rapt. It possessed her, in mind now as well as in body, as she rejoiced in the feeling. She longed, when released, to bend and display herself, to be the most wanton and unashamed being. The thought of being a permanent slave to cock gave her no trepidation; indeed, she craved it and would be ready for it if the opportunity presented itself.

  It occurred to her that there seemed no men on the staff who were not controlled by Jane or her cohorts to some degree. Thus, her submission to cock, should it occur, would be a submission, indirectly, to the mistress of that cock.

  Perhaps she could engage with one of her fellow competitors. Rebel and elope with a male who showed some free will. She thought of Oliver’s thick, large cock which she had taken in the cellar the day before. Swooning, she gained some strength from the fantasy and began to push herself up and down on the phallus, her thighs and calves taut with effort, lewd in their muscular beauty.

  At this point, her tormentors returned. Celia, still in only the black bra above her leather trousers and boots, was accompanied by Vanessa, who remained relatively respectable in white blouse and black calf-length skirt.

  Celia voiced her disapproval of the display.

  ‘Look at her. What a wanton bitch. Brace yourself, girl, you will soon be treated to a surprise, one for which I see you are well ready.’

  Without any discussion, the two women stationed themselves either side of Sally and, hooking arms under hers, helped her to an erect stance. The squelch as the dildo exited her well-lubricated vagina testified further to the total absence of any iota of dignity. Sally added the evidence of a gasp as she showed her disappointment at losing the mesmerising intrusion.

  She was guided backward, away from the pommel horse. The shuffling gait which was necessary, on her impossible heels, legs astride, emphasised her powerless status in their hands. Standing, finally, still with hands cuffed behind her, she was fitted with the adornment required for whatever pastime her puppeteers had in mind for the day ahead.

  Vanessa, opening a long cupboard at the side of the room, drew from it first a leather belt, no more than an inch wide, with eyelets at various points upon it. This she fastened at Sally’s waist.

  Returning to the cupboard, she extracted a black leather device, which, Sally realised as Vanessa reached up to her head with it, was some kind of soft helmet. As it was drawn on, it enveloped her head tightly, even to her chin, yet left her face and neck completely free. Sally was intrigued to find that it incorporated, at the sides, large, square blinkers such as a horse might wear.

  Her peripheral vision now denied, she looked down as Vanessa knelt to remove her hobbling boots. These were immediately replaced, though, with customised ankle-length bootees which were almost as incapacitating. Not quite as high, the heel was built up, but merged into the forward part of the sole as one construction. This resulting platform was shaped like a hoof.

  Sally had to bend her instep down, Vanessa pushing to assist her, to slide her foot into the strange shoes. So once more, like an ingénue ballerina, she strained for balance. The difference was that the hoof sole offered more area in contact with the floor, so she feared less for her ankles tipping her sideways than she had with the spiked heels.

  As Vanessa withdrew, picking up and removing the redundant spiked-heel boots, Sally felt a hand touch her left hip. It quickly snaked round and its middle finger stationed itself atop her hairy mound.

  While Sally looked at it, silently hoping for its ministration at her eager clitoris, she was shocked and caught completely by surprise at the follow-up.

  Cold, wet fingers found her anus. One of them, uninvited, probed the opening, gradually deeper as it found its way in. Sally, looking forward, caught a glimpse of Vanessa holding a pot of cold cream. Turning her head, she witnessed Celia’s right hand dip into it before once more invading her. Soon, two, and at times three, fingers moved within her, over again as she was creamed.

  There was a pause. She was left to stand alone, cock-hungry like a bitch in season. She waited as her two mistresses no doubt savoured their dominance, tasting the mental pleasure of command as Sally wallowed in the physical anticipation and degradation they had wrought upon her.

  She glimpsed Celia withdraw another item from the cupboard. She was denied any further sight of it as a hand was placed at the back of her head. At the same time, the back of her belt was gripped and her head pushed gently but firmly forward.

  Sally, prevented from shying away by Vanessa’s grasp of her belt, complied with the mistress’s intention and bent forward. As her head came down to the level of her torso, she was to discover what Celia had brought from the cupboard. A smooth butt-plug entered her anus, its bulbous middle tempered by a smaller diameter at its flange end, so that her sphincter, even lubricated as it was, closed upon it and held the disgustingly fat little phallus within her.

  Lest the arsehole should nevertheless relax and expel the intruder, straps were pulled up from its leather flange, and Sally felt them tighten as the women placed them in the eyelets of her belt at front and rear.

  ‘Spread.’

  It was a shock to hear Celia’s voice, after so much that had taken place silently. Sally took a moment to react, earning her a sharp slap on her buttock. Instinctively, she widened her stance. It dawned on her that the speed of her response was correlated with the thoroughness of her slavery. It was almost autonomic now, Pavlovian and bestial.

  The straps were threaded either side of her labia and drawn to full tightness at the front of her belt. Two more crossed her arse globes diagonally at the rear and were likewise tied to the belt. She was plugged, and plugged she would remain, as long as her mistresses decreed.

  ‘Turn.’

  Celia again, using words as if they were precious jewels, not to be parted with lightly.

  Sally moved round by 180 degrees, hoping this was the required action. She now faced the outer door to the courtyard. It must have been correct, for no chastisement to her buttocks was administered.

  Within a few moments, though, she felt the butt-plug stir within her. After another short period during which she felt various pushing motions, she was left alone, sensing a slight tightening of the straps which secured the plug to her belt.

  Now she saw Vanessa and Celia pull back the heavy bolts which held the outer door. The tall Celia operated the one at the top, while Vanessa was left to deal with another two, at waist and ankle height.

  Celia had moved behind her while Vanessa finished the task, pulling the door open. While heavy, it was constructed accurately and well, opening inwards with no difficulty.

  ‘Move now, girl.’ Celia had been saving her words in a high interest account, thought Sally stupidly, to judge by this comparative torrent. Nor was it yet finished.

  ‘You will go out to the courtyard and obey my directions. Move now.’

  A sharp slap to the posterior with a leather-gloved hand followed.

  Sally trotted forward, eager to avoid a further slap. And indeed it became a proper trot rather than a walk, as she found herself entering the game almost without a conscious decision.

  ‘Good. Continue.’

  Vanessa now moved in front of Sally. Clearly, she was expected to follow. Her “hooves” clicked as she complied. A movement at the rear of the big house caught her eye as she reached the stable block on the left where she had been incarcerated the night before. Here Vanessa paused, and Sally was afforded a moment to witness proceedings.

  It was Fiona, coming from the back door of the house. She was dressed in exactly similar manner to Sally herself: leather helmet; thin belt with thongs forming a knicker-like outline leaving fanny and buttocks bare, and the peculiar hoof-shaped bootees. Sally noticed that the helmet incorporated black leather ear shapes sticking up, as well as the blinkers. And at the girl’s rear trailed an appendage, incongruous in the extreme, yet perhaps not such a surprise in the day’s context.

  It
was a tail, expensively made with real animal hair. It was screwed or otherwise securely inserted into the butt-plug which Sally knew Fiona had been fitted with, being so encumbered herself. So that was what the pushing and movement on her plug had meant. She turned her head, looking down, but could not see enough. She moved her right leg back, and shook her hips a little. Yes, there it was: the brush of the horsehair on her leg just above the knee.

  They were mares, she thought. No more, no less. Corralled and domesticated.

  Fiona was also bridled. A brass and leather fabrication fitted over her helmeted head, incorporating rings at the sides and a small ball-gag in her mouth to serve as a bit, tied securely with a buckle at the back of her head.

  A brown leather lead was attached to her bridle by the side rings, the two strands combining into one long, plaited length a foot or two ahead of her. The plaited section was held by Lena, her handler, who had led Fiona out of the back door. Behind the captive strolled Jane, smiling, in jodhpurs and blouse, holding a short whip.

  She had no need of it, for Fiona was completely obedient, her face expressionless. Sally wondered why the fiery-natured girl seemed so quelled. Perhaps obedience was a pre-requisite for their next task, and this had been explained to her.

  Whatever the case, Sally’s own obedience appeared to be taken for granted by her handlers. She had little time to reflect on this before they were guided into the stable block. Lena pulled Fiona forward through the door. Sally was instructed to follow. Should she bolt, and try them out? The thought of some degree of whipping, combined with her growing fascination with what might occur next, resulted in her meek compliance.

  They were led a little further along this time, past the cubicle areas where Sally, Becky, Nick, and Peter had been tethered overnight. Here, at the end of the block, were entrances to four cubicles, narrower than the others. Fiona was pushed into the second one by Lena, who followed her in.

  No sooner had Sally witnessed this than she was likewise bundled forward by Celia behind her, and found herself in the tight confines of a stall. The space was further restricted by a horizontal shelf at the far wall. A deep, padded bar extended across the space, incorporating a U-shaped recess in its centre, at waist level. She was now pushed toward this.

  A slap, this time harder than before and repeated on her other buttock, forced her forward as she baulked.

  ‘Come on now, dear.’ She heard Vanessa’s soothing voice. ‘Co-operate or we shall have to bridle you.’

  ‘I think we may do that anyway.’ Celia’s voice, cold, dispassionate.

  Sally, disappointed and alarmed, began belatedly to resist. As she tried to back out from the waist-pinching buttress, she was repeatedly slapped by Celia. At the point at which she paused in her struggle, wondering whether to battle any longer against the despair that grew within her, she felt the bridle being drawn over her head by Vanessa. Simultaneously, Celia must have grabbed her tail at the hilt, for she felt the butt-plug thrust in rude unison. With it she went, forward into her tight stall, tamed.

  ‘Good.’

  It was Jane who spoke. Sally tried hard to follow what was being said, while Vanessa fastened her bridle and bit, attaching its side rings to straps which were mated with metal rings mounted on the wooden wall ahead of her, so that her head was pulled forward, even as her hind quarters remained as they were, pert and available as she leant down.

  She detected no hint in Jane’s monologue that her resistance had caused any penalty. Her handlers seemed to think it of little consequence, normal in the situation. Thank goodness for that. Perhaps she could regain some lost ground in the competition if she excelled at whatever was required of them.

  Her cuffs were finally released and Vanessa transferred each hand to fixed wrist straps which were fastened to the shelf ahead of her. It was a relief to feel the change, even though her condition was one of equal helplessness. Her will to break away at this key moment was weak now, her head already loosely restrained. She became aware of Vanessa fastening another padded beam, recessed to encompass the rear of her torso, into place over her bent waist. With either side fitted flush to its lower counterpart, the clicking of its locking catches fully sealed her fate.

  Jane’s voice became clearer in her consciousness.

  ‘… I see you are all properly stabled. Good. We will continue with today’s test. You four bridled mares are to be mounted by our available stud males. Your task is to identify which male has mounted you and report it to your handler. Until then, there is to be no attempt at speech whatsoever. Your males are likewise tasked with your identification; they will be blindfolded and mute.

  ‘There are no rules regarding ejaculation; of course, the longer the male lasts, the more chance you may have of identifying each other. I propose to offer eight points today for a successful identification, so those of you who manage it will advance your cause considerably in our contest.

  ‘Mares! You have four choices. The first three are straightforward Oliver, Simon and Greg. The other male is more troublesome; given Steven’s predilections, we feel he may not be up to the task. Therefore a substitute has been brought in. You are not to know who it is. If you feel you have been mounted by the substitute male, merely state “other” to your handler when asked. I hope you all understand because you are in no fit state to ask any questions.

  ‘Madam Celia, you may fetch and introduce the stud males now.’

  During the pause which followed, Sally heard little more than the distant rustlings of people moving. Jane’s strident tone had penetrated her helmet enough to be deciphered, but otherwise the tight fit over her ears left her in an isolated world of partial sensory deprivation.

  Her senses of touch and feel were heightened, though. She felt the plug within her anus, the tail brushing her leg lightly. The anticipation and earlier training at Celia’s hands had resulted in a veritable flood of wetness in her vagina. So heated was she, she would find it difficult to discern what size of penis was about to take her.

  She was aware of some movement nearby. The boys must be barefoot, for there had been no sound of footfall. Suddenly she felt a warm intrusion near her vagina, the tail having been pulled to one side.

  Was he handcuffed, his handler arousing and introducing the penis? She felt no hands on her exposed rear, just his helmet, finding her wide opening. In it slid, up to the hilt as she felt his body on her arse.

  It felt slim, though very long, as if nearing her cervix. The length was confirmed as the young man began to thrust slowly in and out. She tried to exert her pelvic muscles to close about him as her wetness eased his continued pumping actions.

  She had the feeling it was thinner than the thick-shafted Oliver, of whom she’d had the pleasure in the cellar. It was too long for Greg, though. That just left Simon and the unknown male, who would presumably be one of the staff. Surely not Tom? She dismissed Max and Nick, by some sort of instinct.

  As the man behind her grunted a muffled cry of surrender, she made up her mind. She would go for Simon, who had submitted so readily in the situations she had seen him faced with so far. Not that she blamed him; no callow youth could be expected to withstand the atmosphere in this castle of iniquity for long.

  She felt his spunk dribble down from her fanny to her upper leg after his flaccid cock withdrew. No attempt was made to clean her up. She waited, motionless, a used animal.

  She could hear guttural noises and some commotion from a stall further along, then all was silence.

  After an interval, she became aware of soothing hands upon her. It was Vanessa. All her bonds were undone and she was guided to the door. Vanessa spoke.

  ‘Whisper in my ear the name of your male.’

  ‘Simon.’

  ‘Good. Now go out.’

  Sally was dazzled by the late morning sun as she came out into the courtyard. She saw Celia, Jane, and Lena, who came past her into the stalls. Across from them stood four naked males. They were indeed handcuffed, their arms behind them,
but any blindfolds had been removed. Nick was the ringer for Steven, it turned out. Sally was conscious of four lustful pairs of eyes upon her; but all cocks had been drained for the time being. She wondered who’d had who, as she stood before them, plugged, hoofed, helmeted, and bridled.

  Soon, Lena came out with Becky, after getting her whispered answer. Celia went in as Fiona’s handler, and finally Jane dealt with Liz. It was no surprise to see that Becky and Liz were encumbered in the same way as the other two girls.

  Jane bade them all to follow, and the assembly of eight trooped around the end of the building out to the garage area. Here they saw Max, standing by a collection of four pony traps; blue, yellow, green, and red. But no ponies were present, and as they drew nearer they could see that the space between the drawbars on each two-wheeled trap was too narrow for a horse.

  Vanessa came round in front of Sally, and, grasping her bridle at the side, drew her up to the green trap and positioned her between its shafts, where her belt was shackled to purpose-made clasps. Her hands were left free to fall naturally at the end of the shafts. Behind her, the single axle supported a small, low platform at the rear, upon which a rider could stand, holding on to a rail.

  Sally watched as the other girls were coupled up, Becky in the yellow trap, Fiona the red, Liz the blue. She could not get the frisson of lust and sin out of her mind. She had wanted Simon, if he was indeed her unknown lover, to fuck her much longer. Still tingling with unrequited desire, she strained to hear Jane’s instructions.

  There was to be a race. Down through the woods where they had seen the men wrestling, then onwards on the same path. They were to turn at a marker pole near a folly in the grounds, then back across the pasture to complete a triangle at the starting point.

  ‘You will be ridden by your earlier partners,’ said Jane as leads were fastened to their bridles by the handlers. ‘Respond to commands through your bridle and the tease whip. Riders, any severe treatment will be monitored and punishable by disqualification. Consider that you may be on the receiving end shortly, and whatever you mete out may come back to bite you. Ready?’