Submission Revealed

by Diana Hunter

But she wouldn’t surrender. Keeping the velvety soft tip in her mouth, she only paused before plunging down over the ridge and covering him again. Using her hand, she wrapped her fingers around the base she could no longer reach with her throat at this angle and started a slow, methodical pumping. Phillip settled deeper into the bed and she had to fight away the smile.

  He was so good to her, taking her into places her fantasies had gone for years but her mind had told her were something to be ashamed of at best, dirty at worst. He had taught her to accept those fantasies for what they were—expressions of deeply held desires that held no shame, that weren’t dirty, but simple sexual needs shared by millions of people.

  Fully hard now, she admired the beauty of his cock as she picked up the pace. Lines of purple traced intricate designs under his skin where the blood raised the veins along the ridge. The whiteness of his skin turned to burgundy at the end where the pre-cum formed in the cloven tip. Slipping her tongue along the underside, she scooped up that cum, loving his salty taste.

  Moving faster now, she kept her lips tight against his hardness as his body moved in tandem with her hand. Over the ridge and back again, she gave him no choice but to come in her mouth.

  With an explosion of warmth, his cum spurted out, quiet moans of pleasure filling the room. Bent over as she was, she found it difficult to swallow his gift, yet she managed to get most of it. Slowing her movements, she glanced up, hoping for his approval.

  “Thank you, slave.”

  She beamed. “I’ll be right back.” Since she hadn’t swallowed all his cum, his cock gleamed in the morning light. So did her hand. Being careful not to get any on the sheets, she climbed out of bed and went into the bathroom to wash up. Wetting a cloth with warm water, she returned to do the same for him. He didn’t move as she cleaned him, his wonderful cock already shrinking back to a more comfortable size.

  “There you go, Master. All washed and ready to go.” She stood by the side of the bed, the cloth in her hand. “Master?”

  A gentle snore was all the answer she got.

  Standing in the shower a few minutes later, Sarah rubbed the washcloth over her body, washing away all traces of her recent activities. When she scrubbed her breasts however, she frowned and looked down. Three red stripes lay across the top, marking her. Gently rubbing with the cloth, she experimented with how they felt. Sore but not painful, she decided. No, not even sore, more like an already fading two-day-old bruise.

  With a start, she realized what had struck her last night. She’d seen pictures on the web of a woman’s ass that looked much the same as her breasts did now. Those marks had been made by a thin cane. That meant someone had caned her breasts last night. Flushing as she remembered the stinging blows against her lightly bound breasts, she washed her pussy again, fully aware that the thought had aroused her. She didn’t know if Phillip’s hand had wielded the instrument that left these lines or if someone else had, but both ideas excited her.

  Someone had caned her last night. She giggled as she turned off the water. What a little slut she was becoming. Such a far cry from the prim and proper innocent she’d been just a few short months ago.

  Drying and combing out her hair, she glanced at the clock and froze in momentary panic. Every Sunday morning since spending her weekends with Phillip, he had taken her to his church for their Sunday service. If the two of them were going to go this Sunday, they needed to leave within the hour.

  Phillip, however, hadn’t slept at all the night before for watching over her. She felt gloriously alive today, with the energy of a dynamo. Last night’s activities had energized her and she felt she could take on the world.

  So should she wake him or let him sleep? Where was the slavery line here?

  The digital number on the bathroom clock rearranged itself, marking the change of a full minute. Sarah turned away. Being a slave was supposed to simplify her life, not complicate it. By turning over most of the decisions to Phillip, she had thought she’d have no worries left in life. She would be content to simply sail along at his side, bringing her own opinions into the discussion, of course, but never having to make the final, harder choices.

  And yet here she was, faced with whether she should wake him for church or not and she was frozen like the proverbial deer in the headlights. For crying out loud, this wasn’t even an earth-shattering decision. Leaving the bath, she went in to look at the man she loved more than anything as he lay sleeping, his hair tousled, the trace of his beard just shadowing his chin.

  Another minute passed as she watched him breathe, the sheet silently rising and falling in an even, regular pattern. “Silly,” she muttered to herself as she turned on her heel and left the room. “Stand here long enough and the decision’s taken out of your hands. The clock will run down and then there won’t be enough time to get to church.”

  Okay. She was deciding. He needed sleep. If he didn’t like that decision, too bad. He might choose to discipline her for making the wrong one. Well, so be it. At least she’d know for the next time. This time around, she was letting him sleep. So there.

  A few items lay in the bottom of one last box she had brought with her from her apartment. The others they had dealt with yesterday, putting away and tucking things here and there as she moved, bit by bit, into his life. If she didn’t like the location of his cottage so much and all the privacy, combined with the easy distance to the nearest mall sprawl, she probably would have suggested getting rid of both their places and building something together.

  But wasn’t that what they were doing? She lifted a frame out of the box and took it to the mantel. This was her favorite picture of her parents. Just an old black-and-white picture with a wide white edge, it showed a young couple entwined in each other’s arms and smiling broadly at the camera. The woman held her hand up in such a way as to show off her new engagement ring. Sarah’d had the picture framed when she had moved far from home so she would never forget the wonderful models they were.

  What would they think of her becoming Phillip’s slave? Sarah snorted as she put the photo on the mantel and stepped back. Her father never quite got out of the late Fifties, early Sixties husband-as-breadwinner philosophy. He had taken care of his family because that was what men did. They worked hard, played hard and protected their own. In that, he and Phillip were very much alike.

  And yet, she doubted she had ever met men so different in so many ways. Her dad tended to be gregarious, making friends easily and quickly. He also tended to anger quickly but let go of it just as fast. She never worried when her dad blew up at something, knowing he would let off his steam and be done with it. “No grudges, no punches” he always said.

  And her mom? Sarah remembered seeing a copy of The Feminine Mystique when she was little and thinking it said, The Feminine Mysteries. For years she had thought it was an adult version of a Nancy Drew detective novel. Only later did she realize the importance of that seminal work. Her mom had never worked out of the house until the kids were all in college. And then she’d only gotten a job because she had been bored sitting at home all day. Many times her mother had told her, “I am not going to sit in this house and shrivel into some old lady. I’ve got a lot of living to do yet!” So her mom had gotten a job as a cashier in the local supermarket and loved it. Everyone in the neighborhood passed through there and she had managed to get the latest gossip on everyone.

  Yeah, her parents made quite the pair. And would they understand her relationship with Phillip? In some aspects, yes, they already did. Her father approved of the fact that Phillip would keep her in comfort and the romantic in her mother loved the fact that Sarah had found true love not once but twice in her life.

  Several other pictures remained in the bottom of the box and she took them around the house, setting them in different places. Breaking down the cardboard box so it lay flat, she stacked it with the others for recycling and went to check on Phillip, her stomach growling.

  She felt odd walking around the house without
her cuffs on. When had they become so much a part of her? Phillip kept them in the top drawer of his bureau but going digging around in there without permission felt…funny. Like she would be invading his privacy. She felt the same way about the dungeon. He had never forbidden her to go in there without him but she would never think of doing such a thing.

  He rolled over onto his back when she pulled the blanket up to cover him and she stood a moment, looking her fill. Even at rest, the smooth muscles of his chest caught her eye, the strong lines leading her eye like an artist’s paintbrush to a focal point much lower on his body.

  She didn’t get more than a glimpse at his cock, however, before he rolled over again, this time opening one eye, then two as his hand groped for the sheet Sarah still held. He looked in the general direction of the clock but his eyes didn’t seem to focus on it.

  “What time is it?”

  “I’m afraid we missed church, Sir. It’s a little after eleven.”

  Yawning, Phillip stretched, giving Sarah a good, long look at those muscles in action. She loved the way they slid under the surface of his skin, hiding his strength until he was ready to use it.

  “You didn’t wake me.”

  “Nope. I didn’t wake you.” Kneeling beside the bed, she took her familiar submissive stance, knees slightly spread, hands clasped behind her back, chin out straight. “You needed the sleep, Sir. After watching over me all night long? Punish me if you will but I stand…erm…kneel by my decision.”

  Try as she might to remain serious, a little smile kept trying to peep through. Nothing could bring her down today.

  Phillip studied the slave kneeling beside his bed in still-sleepy mock sternness. In truth, he loved the fact that she had made the decision on her own. Almost as much as he loved the fact that she wasn’t going to back away from it. The way her eyes sparkled, he knew her euphoria from last night reigned.

  He pulled himself up, leaning against the pillows, teasing her. “I suppose you think I’m still going to take you out for breakfast?”

  She cocked her head to look at him and he liked the way the sunlight brought out the red in the strand of hair that fell across her cheek. “You only got two hours’ sleep, so we can go later, although we did talk about trying that new diner in the city, over by Maple Avenue.”

  He noted the hopeful tone of her voice. The rest had invigorated him and when his stomach growled, he gave in. “Yes, I suppose we did. Let me take my shower and think about it.”

  Phillip threw back the covers and climbed out of bed, her eyes watching his every move. Although not a vain man, he preened in his nudity, since she was such an appreciative audience. Taking his time, he sauntered to the bathroom. At the door, he turned…her eyes had been riveted to his ass. Clearing his throat to move her attention to his face, he smiled. “While I’m showering, why don’t you pick out something for me to wear?”

  As he lathered up and then rinsed, Phillip’s mind turned over the conundrum of owning a slave. On the one hand, he wanted her to make her own decisions and not bother him with details. On the other, he wanted her dependent on him for everything. There was something very empowering about having a person hang on your every word and appreciate every nuance of your physique.

  But there was something exhausting in it as well. Yes, he kept in shape, and yes, he loved the way her eyes devoured him. But sooner or later he was going to leave his socks in the living room or forget to put the toilet seat down. And she’d think it cute at first, picking up after him like a good slave should.

  And later, when the novelty wore off? What then? The sock smelling up the couch cushion would become an irritant, the forgotten toilet seat a blow to her self-esteem—didn’t he think enough of her to be considerate? In time, the love and devotion she held now would turn to dislike and if he was lucky, boredom instead of hatred.

  Slashing at the thought, he slammed open the shower door harder than he intended. The door clanged to the side so hard he had to look twice to be sure he hadn’t broken it. But the noise brought him back to his senses. These were exactly the issues Sarah had brought up Friday night and he had dismissed with his “this is a journey we’ll take together” speech. And it was. He just needed to understand she wasn’t the only one who was struggling to find a balance in the roles. Sarah used her intelligence and he intended to encourage her to use it at every opportunity. Deciding not to go to church today was a decision she had made and he would support. And together, they’d find the equation that would work for them.

  * * * * *

  Not until later in the afternoon, after they’d returned from their breakfast out and Sarah once more stood naked before her Master did she finally ask the question that had been on her mind all day.

  “Phillip…Sir…” Shaking her head, she threw the names aside. “I want to ask about the red, well, pink lines on the tops of my breasts.”

  Phillip made himself comfortable on the couch, patting the cushion next to him. Sarah snuggled in, holding one of her breasts up so they could both see the marks she referred to.

  “What was it that gave me these?” She knew, or suspected, but wanted confirmation.

  “A cane.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. She was right!

  “A very thin, very short one, made from bamboo, I believe.”

  Sarah smiled. “I thought so. I saw some pictures…” She stopped at Phillip’s surprised look.

  “So my slave has been looking at dirty pictures on the web, has she?”

  Color seeping into her cheeks, Sarah defended her actions. “I’m not sure you’d call them dirty. I just wanted to see…” She faltered. Just what was it she had wanted to see? The pictures of the woman’s caned ass had excited her so much she’d slipped her hand into her jeans and come right there at the computer.

  Phillip nodded knowingly. “Yes, slave. I see very well. Someone has discovered that those pictures, while mostly meant for men’s fantasies, can also fuel a woman’s dreams.”

  “Oh, they definitely did that, Sir.” She ducked her head in embarrassment.

  Phillip pulled her head up. “It’s okay to be excited by those pictures, Sarah. They serve a purpose.” His eyes narrowed a little. “In fact, I think I’ll send you a few from my own collection.”

  Now it was Sarah’s turn to feel a little shocked. “Collection? You have an entire collection of those pictures?”

  He laughed and she bounced against his chest where she snuggled against him. “I have enough. Where do you think I get some of my best ideas?”

  She chuckled. “Well, when you put it like that…” She shifted and found a more comfortable position to cuddle into his arms. Phillip pointed to the stripes on her breast.

  “How do they feel?”

  She blushed. “Actually, they feel sexy. I mean, when I run my finger over them just the right way, I get…um…aroused.” Not believing she’d just made that admission, she ducked her head again. This certainly was a morning for confessions. Phillip pulled her chin back up.

  “Good. If you’d like, you can have more of them.” He traced one of the lines with his finger, leaving his other hand to rest on her bare thigh.

  Sarah cocked her head at him. “Did you give me these?”

  For answer, he only raised an eyebrow and gave her an I’m-not-telling look. She acquiesced. “Yes, Sir, I know. It doesn’t matter.”

  And in truth, it didn’t. In fact, if he hadn’t given them to her, all the better. She was sure it was his chest her head had leaned against, his arms holding her body to the earth so her soul could fly as it had. Nor did she know whose fist had been up her vagina. Just remembering it made her squirm on the couch. Never had she felt quite so physically filled.

  “I liked the fisting too.” She squeezed his arm. “It didn’t hurt, like I was afraid it would.”

  “So it lived up to your expectations?”

  “It did. I was worried I’d built the fantasy up in my head so much that actually doing it would be anticlimactic.
But it wasn’t.” Her eyes twinkled. “Not at all.”

  “Then you wouldn’t mind someone fisting you again someday.”

  Just the word made her shiver and her pussy gape. “I wouldn’t mind at all, Sir.”

  “So you’ve discovered a little pain can be arousing and you’ve discovered you like being blindfolded and fondled by several people at once. Being used as their toy.”

  Sarah knew her cheeks turned an even deeper shade of red. Her voice wasn’t above a whisper. “Yes, Sir.”

  Phillip kissed her then, his lips a soft caress against hers. She savored his taste, let herself wallow in the sexual freedom he was letting her experience. She wasn’t naughty, she wasn’t a slut. She was a woman with worth not only in the workplace and at home, but in the bedroom as well. Hot damn! Sarah felt as if she could take on the world today. She relaxed into his kiss, reveling in the power he wielded.

  The kiss ended abruptly when Phillip pulled away and stood up. Sarah almost fell over, he had taken her so by surprise. “Come on, then, slave. Let’s put your newfound discoveries to the test, shall we?”

  Even though her cheeks still burned, she stood up and put her hand in his outstretched one. The thought of being used again thrilled her. Their talk aroused her but it was his dominance she craved.

  Phillip turned her hand over. “You seem to be missing your cuffs, slave.”

  “I am, Sir.”

  “Wait here.”

  He stepped into the bedroom, retuning a moment later with the four strips of leather and their respective locks. Would she ever tire of having him fasten them on her?

  The locks on her cuffs jingled as the she crossed the living room to Phillip, making a music of their own. She could have danced to it.

  Phillip led her directly into the dungeon, not stopping until they crossed the length of it and stood before a low, rectangular box, currently covered with a blue velvet cloth. With a twist of his hand, Phillip threw back the covering, revealing the small cage underneath. Never letting go of her hand, he unlatched the door at one end, then pulled her down as he gave his instructions. “Back in, slave. I’m going to keep you here while I get some things ready.”