Submissive

by Anya Howard

  Gillian was piqued again. “So, when prisoners are returned, it is to the precise moment from when they were taken?”

  Both girls nodded and Patsy said, “Not like us. We were offered an enhancement to our lives, a blessed reward to transcend whatever aspects and situations of the future we might have affected had we remained on Earth. The prisoners were taken to be retrained for the good of all society.”

  The silence that fell between them was almost too heavy to bear. Gillian was glad when Deidre confided brightly, “I used to serve here regularly, and as much as I hate this place, at least we don’t have to listen to Thomas W.’s barking voice any more today!”

  This made Gillian and Patsy both titter, and they followed Deidre toward the first cell door on their route. As they took turns opening the panels and stuffing the linens through, Deidre related the histories of the prisoners she knew and why they had been taken for rehabilitation. They represented a diverse assortment of backgrounds and cultures from lowlife criminals to upper-class businessmen. All men, Deidre explained, whose willful obsessions with destructive ideals had, in the end, proved beyond redemption. Gillian peeped in several of the windows while Deidre talked.

  She could not wait to get out. The prisoners’ anger and resentment penetrated their cell doors to permeate the air of the entire vault with a dark, weighty bitterness. Deidre was wrong; even the company of Thomas W. was better than this gloomy place.

  “We can go find Sir George now,” she suggested.

  Deidre made a concurring sound, and they all walked out and returned downstairs. Gillian felt the uneasiness imparted by the solitary ward slacken rapidly. She and Patsy followed Deidre as she peered into the various doors in the search of Sir George. But a deep masculine voice within one of the rooms paused Deidre’s hunt.

  “Well, little Disciple, I was hoping to see you again!”

  Gillian flipped Patsy an inquiring look, but the girl only shrugged.

  “Come here, Deidre,” said the male beyond the door.

  As Deidre eyed her companions, Gillian saw there was a conflicted look on her face.

  “A guard?” Patsy whispered and when Deidre nodded, Patsy pushed her lightly over the threshold. Moments later heavy footfalls padded toward the door and the guard who had summoned Deidre gave them a smitten grin.

  “Stay right there. Deidre will be out soon.”

  He closed the door and Gillian heard Deidre make a shrill, excited sound behind it. Patsy was smiling to herself and they both moved down the hall a ways. There they waited for some time, listening to the ever-growing sounds Deidre’s guard elicited from her.

  “It must be Sir Nathan,” Patsy commented. “She mentioned she thought he was rather taken with her. He has been stationed for a time in the residents’ village. Obviously, he did not forget her.”

  Gillian smiled. She had heard from Candice about the residents’ village and was about to ask who the residents were exactly when she heard someone walking their way. She looked up and was surprised to see Clive. He had the look of one who was very confused or lost as his eyes darted here and there timidly. On seeing Gillian, though, he stopped in his tracks and beamed.

  “Gillian!”

  His back straightened with pride and his long legs strode toward her. He clasped her hands and covered her face with tender kisses. She was delighted by his joy and stammered for something to say when she noticed Patsy frowning and shaking her head cautiously. But Clive was talking enough for all three of them.

  “Fairest angel! They said the Warden wanted me to bring something from the kitchen. He must have approved my request already! I would have thought it to take much longer!”

  He turned her hands over and kissed her palms. The moist heat of his lips made her nipples harden and tingle. Yet, she hesitated to speak a word at all, lest her words betrayed her arousal again and spoil his delight.

  “Ah, my precious one!”

  He kissed her again, deeply this time. Gillian’s limbs weakened in his tender embrace. His lips parted at last and he clasped her face between his hands.

  “Come.” He began to lead her down the shadows near the staircase. She glanced once back at Patsy, saw her furrowed brow and the worried shake of her head. Gillian decided she was overreacting. Why should she not enjoy Clive’s kisses and let him stoke her passions with his intoxicating, flattering attention? Deidre was evidently enjoying her pleasures.

  In the dim light beneath the stairs, he lavished her throat with kisses and rubbed her aching breasts through her dress. She raised her left leg and balanced it on his hip. His fingers wandered the flesh of her thigh and explored her vulva through her panties. With a laugh, he pulled them down and helped her step out of them. Her pussy swelled wetly. Clive’s left hand explored the cleft between her thighs, and he licked her moisture from his fingertips. His shaft pressed hard against his pants, a stiff fruit against her groping palm. She smiled and pressed her sex against it and moved her hips pleadingly.

  She could not contain her desire any longer and whispered with all the humility she could muster, “I want you!”

  He murmured something sweet as he unbuttoned his pants. The head of his cock was a scarlet orb as it thrust forward. Lifting her by the waist, he leaned her against the latticed ironwork. She wrapped her legs around him and his organ penetrated her fully. Gillian’s eyes closed and she began to ride his thrusts.

  “Put the girl down!”

  Gillian’s heart vaulted. Clive turned suddenly cold as ice. In the light beyond his shoulders, she saw not only Sir George but also two other guards.

  It was one of these who spoke in the thunderous voice, “I said, put the girl down!”

  Clive lowered her gently and graced her brow with a trembling kiss. Her vagina ached for him, but much more alarming for her was the terror in his eyes.

  A long, muscled arm reached past Clive and took hold of her. Out of the clandestine darkness she was pulled straight under a looming shadow. The man to whom it belonged was tall and lean, with a tail of steel-gray hair that swept between his shoulder blades. His face was graced with a long, finely groomed mustache and a Vandyke beard; his eyes were the same hard steel-gray as his hair. She heard Sir George demand to know what she was doing with the prisoner, but in her fright she could not move her eyes from the tall one.

  He offered a raised brow and asked, “Did this man take you by force, young lady?” His deep, soothing southern drawl addled her wits. Only after he asked her a second time could she respond.

  “N-no, sir.”

  Sir George rolled his eyes. “Then, this liaison is forbidden, as I have no doubt you already knew.”

  Gillian’s lingering passion was tormenting. She made an unhappy little sound before thinking, which brought a flood of angry ruddiness to Sir George’s face.

  “I told you three to come find me when you were finished distributing the sheets!” He looked at the tall man and said, “Hand her over to me to punish, Warden.”

  Warden! Gillian wished she could crawl straight through the latticework to hide.

  Clive spun about, his pants still unbuttoned. “No. It is my fault.”

  A contemplative sneer turned up one corner of the Warden’s mouth. “Yes, I know that. I’m glad to know you are learning to at least take some responsibility. She has broken the rules and shall be punished accordingly. But you incited her, Prisoner Clive, and I trust you are man enough to accept due reckoning.”

  Clive slipped a rueful look at Gillian that wounded her deeply.

  She hissed at the guards, “Leave him alone!”

  The soft laugh this brought from the Warden provoked her hotly. She stomped her foot and flailed her arms in the effort to shake his grasp. He laughed louder and pulled her to him, so her back was pressed firmly against him. He crossed her arms down over one another and pinned her wrists firmly so she could not move them at all. She thought of drawing her heel back to kick him, but realized she did not want to hurt anyone, let alone exacerbate
the trouble she and Clive were already in.

  Patsy was still clinging to the wall when Deidre and her eager suitor came out into the passageway.

  “What is going on?” the suitor asked.

  The Warden gestured to Clive and told him and the other guard to seize his arms. “He can while away his time recollecting our rules created to protect the Disciples. Inform the sergeant of his ward that his cell is to be draped for the next three days and that the Disciples coming to work are not to be allowed near it.”

  As they forced Clive out into the passageway, the Warden observed in his even, husky voice, “I have a sense you meant no harm to this girl, Prisoner. But ’tis best you remember you are no guard with privileges. Besides, after the report I received about your reluctance to discipline this submissive lady, I hardly think you are fit to act the masterful lover yet.”

  Clive’s face blanched and as they led him off, he could not look at Gillian at all. She hurt for him and yet as she felt the Warden’s eyes smiling down at her, she knew he was right. And to her further agitation, the man provoked in her a mutual intimidation and wild lust. Clive had never been able to touch her like this.

  His steady eyes swept from Gillian to Deidre and then Patsy. Even as his voice remained steady, it was evident he was perturbed with Sir George.

  “You said these girls were under your charge, Sir George. But where did I meet you just before we came upon this…rendezvous?”

  The faintest blush tinged the guard’s face. “In the courtyard, sir.”

  The Warden regarded him for several silent moments. At last he turned to Deidre’s suitor and said, “You know this one?”

  The guard looked down at Deidre. “Yes. I did not know these other two were left unattended. My apologies, sir.”

  The Warden released Gillian’s wrists. “No need. This is the first visit for this Disciple. It’s apparent her chaperon here had more pressing concerns out in the courtyard.” He smiled and took Gillian by the hand. His engulfed hers completely, making her feel all the more helpless.

  “Take Patsy back to the handmaidens’ quarters, Sir George. Deidre, may remain. I will, however, wish to speak to you later of this incident.”

  Sir George inhaled quickly and nodded. Without another word, the Warden took Gillian by the arm and escorted her toward the door leading into the courtyard.

  The Warden’s office was stationed on the second floor, beyond the marked annex door she had seen earlier. Paneled of rich cedar timber and crowded with furnishings—heavy bookcases and a desk, a leather sofa, and an oriental carpet spread over the center of the hardwood floor—it reminded Gillian of a hunting cabin. He released her to bolt the door, and she stepped nervously to the room’s single window. She could see the stream rambling down past the enclosing fence. Between the fence and this part of the prison, there was a maze of hedges with stone benches and strange structures fashioned of wood. In one portion of the maze she looked down upon, there was a prisoner at work trimming a hedge while a spear-wielding guard paced the path.

  “Close those shutters, young lady.”

  She reacted instinctively and drew them together, but her legs were frozen stiff in place as he padded up behind her.

  “Turn around,” he said and again she obeyed. He said nothing for several moments, and she bowed her head and tried not to fidget, but it was difficult.

  At last he said, “Would you have me assume that Madam neglected to tell you it is forbidden for Disciples to speak freely with prisoners?”

  His question brought back images of the guards, Vincent and Peter. She half-closed her eyes and the memory of Sir Vincent impaling her upon his enormous cock rushed back.

  “Well?”

  Gillian blinked, terrified he had somehow unveiled the honeyed memory. “I was told, sir.”

  He smiled patiently. “I suppose a pretty boy’s pretty words are seductive. But it’s not what you really want, is it?”

  His hands drifted down her shoulder to her arms. Snatching her about the waist suddenly, he kissed her, unfolding her trembling lips with his eager tongue. Her heart pounded like that of a frightened rabbit, and yet her passion responded to his desire. Clive’s sweet declarations melted from her thoughts.

  He lifted her dress and stroked her through her panties, probing fingers teasing her pussy lips. Then, lifting her in his arms, he carried her to the sofa and set her down.

  “On your pretty knees and face the back.”

  As she clasped the sofa’s leather back, he grabbed her hips and pulled them toward himself. He tossed the hem of her dress over her back and whisked down her panties, sending a bolt of fire through her thighs. He slapped her buttocks playfully until her hips began to undulate. Kissing the nape of her neck, he touched her wet sex and gave a little smack to her clit. She whimpered and turned her face to look at him, but he scolded her to keep her arms laced over the sofa and her face straight ahead.

  She did as told, seeing nothing but the mist of her own constrained, anguished desire as he stroked her clit between his fingers. After a time, he weighted the head of his cock against the folds of her pussy. Her back arched imploringly. With a low growl, he grasped her hips and plunged in. His pelvis and thighs pounded against her, so that the room resounded with each slapping thrust. Her sex vised with the thrusts, and when she climaxed, it was with a deep torrent of sensation. He continued to fuck her roughly, until at last his cum shot into her.

  Gillian was quivering as he lifted her face and grazed the side of her throat with his moistened lips. As he sat down on the sofa, he pulled her on top of his lap. He twisted the ends of her hair around his fingers, and she dared to tease his softening cock, swatting it ever so lightly and stroking the fluid-drenched shaft. He laughed and hugged her tightly, and she loved how the downy hair of his chest tickled her face.

  At length, he murmured, “Tomorrow you will be back.”

  She raised an eyebrow, not convinced he had the authority to command that, but she was flattered nevertheless.

  “You will be a proper Disciple, one way or the other.”

  His arrogance was exhilarating. She dared to kiss him. To her delight he did not resist or reprimand, but explored her body with all the tenderness she doubted he knew was in his possession.

  9

  The conversation between the distraught Leather Wife and the Warden turned out to be one which Gillian was not privileged to hear. Domme Camille had ordered her to stand outside the Warden’s door and wait with Prisoner Jay, and when at last she emerged, it was apparent she knew everything about Gillian’s thwarted rendezvous with Clive. The anxiety that had been clear on the Domme’s face when she came had disappeared. Her fierce glare sent Gillian cringing against the wall. As the Domme pinched her earlobe and pulled her away from the sheltering wall, Gillian saw the Warden watching from the doorway. His face was unreadable as the Domme smacked Gillian’s bottom.

  “I fully expect to see that girl here tomorrow,” he said flatly.

  Domme Camille did not answer. Still holding to Gillian’s ear, she led her and Jay out of the prison.

  The trek back to Madam’s house was silent. Domme Camille dismissed Prisoner Jay on the porch, and once inside, released her hold on Gillian and gave her over to another Leather Wife, who was speaking with a guard in the foyer.

  “Have this girl change her undergarments before dinner, Hilda. I would see to it myself, but Madam has been waiting long enough for me in her room.”

  Tall, buxom Hilda tossed her blond-tendrilled head and took Gillian’s hand almost idly. “Yes, I heard about Gina and Rose. What a pity.”

  The guard grunted and Domme Camille said wearily, “More than that. To forswear themselves is one thing. To slight Madam—that is unforgivable.”

  She turned and walked to the door through which Gillian had seen all the potted plants the day before. Gillian frowned, wondering what the slight to Madam was. As intimidated as she was by Madam, the idea of anyone wronging the lady disturbed her grea
tly. She had not long to think of it, though, for Domme Hilda snapped the order for her to head upstairs.

  Gillian ate in the dining room that night with the other Disciples who were not occupied either at the prison or preparing for the pavilion. The dining room was on the other side of the house. She was surprised to see that prisoners, dressed in starched white uniforms and caps, carried the food and beverages in from the kitchen door.

  What did not surprise her was that Disciples were relegated to benches at four plain board tables and forbidden to speak above a whisper, while their eight Leather Wife chaperones sat in comfortable chairs at their own table. These Dommes chatted and laughed during their meal. Except for their leather boots, they had changed out of the daunting dominatrix gear for the evening and into dark dresses and distinctive accessories. Above their table hung a colorful tapestry of a girl bound by the wrists and thrown across a log in the woods, sucking the cock of the nude man kneeled in front of her, while another switched her ass.

  Pearl invited Gillian to sit beside her during the meal. Her roommate was dressed in a white velvet gown this evening, with a ribbon-laced bodice and low boots. As they ate, Gillian commented that she had not realized the Disciples were allowed into this part of the house. Pearl laughed and told her all about the other rooms Gillian had not yet seen: the quarters for the trustees who lived at the household; the rooms upstairs where the Leather Wives slept; the music room, which was just down the hall. There were lesson rooms, too, Pearl explained, where the Disciples with certain attitude problems were taught proper social skills.

  “What kind of verbal and attitude problems are addressed in these lessons, Pearl?”