Submissive

by Anya Howard

  The Warden’s congenial tone went flat. “And by whose orders, Sir Bruce? I am Captain of all Nemian guards, do not forget.”

  “My instructions came from Madam,” Bruce answered. “And unless you wish to challenge your superior, you will not contest where I decide she stays tonight.”

  The Warden looked at Gillian for several moments and then smiled courteously. “I shall indeed speak with Madam.” As he started to pass by them, he made a low promise, “Whatever her decision, Bruce, this is not done.”

  When he was gone, Sir Karl exhaled loudly. “I hope you know what you are doing, Bruce.”

  Bruce patted his arm and answered with only a “goodnight.” He would deal with the Warden and any problem with Madam come morning. Soft light strained through the windows of several chalets as he led Gillian through the compound. Music and laughter poured out of the open windows of the taverns. But he had no desire to join his friends tonight. Another time, perhaps, after Gillian had had time to relax from the day’s adventures and he had savored her fully.

  Alone with her at last in his chalet, he enjoyed the surprise that came to her face at seeing all the modern comforts she had left behind on Earth. He turned on the CD player, finding the last refrains of a haunting ballad lilting through a channel.

  Gillian stood bashfully on the plush throw rug on the floor, her hands held tightly in front of her. With her disheveled hair and the youthful dress, he thought she looked like a mischievous girl.

  But that’s what Disciples are supposed to be, he thought.

  He laughed happily and lifted her off the rug. Carrying her to the sofa, he sat her down. He knelt in front of her and kissed her again with more relish this time, slowly stroking every inch of her soft flesh as he disrobed her. He even removed her shoes this time, and kissed her small toes.

  His cock stiffened. “Yes, I think you shall stay naked for a while.”

  Her lips spread out in a lazy, glorious smile and she kissed him shyly. Laying her down, he parted her thighs and massaged her musky delta until it soaked his fingers. He pulled her down off the sofa into his lap.

  “Touch me,” he said, pressing her hand to his cock.

  The commanding tone made her eyes widen nervously. But she obeyed, stroking it gently with her fingers, then massaging it firmly with both hands. His need was too great to bear. He clasped her firmly about the waist and raising her up, impaled her upon his eager cock.

  “Ride me. Fast and hard!”

  Her pert breasts jiggled as she obeyed and he pinched the stone-hard nipples so that she emitted a wanton moan. She was so wet and as incredibly taut as earlier, her face adorably strained by her mounting pleasure. Just as he sensed she was about to climax, he squeezed her clit between his forefinger and thumb. She shuddered violently, and her head fell back, her vagina quivering. He pressed her between the sofa and his thrusting loins. With a remorseless harshness he fucked her, coming with an exhilarating force.

  As he lay down breathless on the floor, she licked his balls and penis clean with her tongue.

  “Come here,” he whispered. She crawled to him, smiling, and lay down in his arms. Soon she was asleep. As Bruce drifted off as well, he thought of the coming day, and all the new and exciting ways to love her.

  With the arrival of morning, Bruce threw some bread into the toaster, brewed coffee, and fried up some bacon and eggs while Gillian slept. He took a long shower before waking her. After they had eaten, he watched as she bathed. He even observed while she brushed and ribboned her hair. He had no clean garments to offer her, but that didn’t matter. He was proud to show her off, naked but for her braids, as he escorted her outside.

  He walked with her through the woodland surrounding the compound for a time, and gave her permission to speak as she wished. They discussed their mutual reasons for coming to Nemi and the strange and often exhilarating things they had experienced. Gillian’s eyes softened sadly as he explained how the Saphorian’s invitation played on his sense of adventure and gave him hope of finding that fulfillment he feared to pursue on Earth. And as she told him of her encounter with the Ur’theriem, Xaqriel, Bruce had to force away the jealousy that knotted his gut. But as they talked, he did not doubt that she loved him or that she had for a long time. The troubled knit of her brow vanished completely when he told her again how much he loved her. They held hands as they strolled, and even as they returned to the compound, he did not care who saw how he kissed her palms or how he grinned like a smitten schoolboy.

  He took her to the café and ordered her a mug of spiced water. He smoked as she sipped it, admiring the firmness of her breasts and the way her bangs sculpted her face. He wanted so to see those breasts dangle and her hair spill wildly. When she related the distasteful encounter—or near encounter—with the soured prisoner in the pavilion the night before, a wonderful idea came to his mind.

  As they left, he told her not to speak again until he allowed. At her timid nod, he led her through the pathway past the last of the chalets to the wide common area situated at the back of the compound. Here stood the commodities store, the leather and iron smithies’ shops, the weapons shack, and other buildings used for storage. But the area was also used for displaying girls, from a polished rotating oak wheel, cross-beamed and shafted into a sturdy hollow steel pole that had been driven and cemented into the ground.

  Two girls had already been set upon the wheel: they were suspended with their bellies down, their arms and legs spread apart and secured at wrists and ankles by leather-padded brass cuffs dangling from chains that draped the wheel. There were wide stools nearby and presently a man sat on one of these. A flail with suede thongs lay across his lap. Seeing them coming, the man rose and shook Bruce’s hand. He scowled at Gillian and gave a rehearsed growl. It was believable enough to make her gasp and hide behind Bruce. The gesture made him smile, but nevertheless, he grabbed her hand and pulled her out before the man.

  “Your girl needs a little contemplation time, sir?”

  “Oh, yes,” Bruce replied. The man nodded and positioned a stool under a free area of the wheel. Bruce ordered Gillian to step up, and together the men lifted her. Her eyes filled with frightened tears, and as they cuffed her, she began to sob openly.

  “No, please,” she whimpered.

  She looked so deliciously helpless suspended from the wheel. Bruce spanked her breasts roughly, making her moan as she wept. Reaching between her legs, he touched her pussy lips. They were moist and so warm, and as he smacked the exposed little clit, it beat hotly against his fingers.

  But her crying grew loud and more agitated. He stood back and regarded her with a deliberate coolness.

  “Oh, Sir Bruce! Have mercy, please!”

  He grimaced and gestured to the man. He raised the flail and commenced to lash it over her breasts and stomach. The thongs produced only the lightest of pink stripes across her flesh, but Gillian flinched and screamed as if the man was flaying her alive. But when Bruce said it was enough, he saw that the pout on her tear-stained face came more from confusion and humiliation than anything else.

  “I am going for a cup of coffee,” he told her firmly, “and leave this man to punish you for the least infraction.”

  “Sir Bruce,” she started to wail, but he covered her mouth with his hand.

  “This is not punishment. Not yet, anyway. I enjoy seeing you this way and so you should accept it.”

  She frowned crossly but at last she nodded, and he left her for a time to think of what he had told her. He hoped she would learn a little obedience from the display, but as he headed back down to the main pathway, he heard her let loose with a vexed wail. She did not stop and he turned, growing angry now, and marched back.

  She writhed frantically under the overseer’s spanking flail, but her screaming did not stop—not until Bruce assumed the instrument himself and dealt out a volley of heated strokes across her flesh. She gasped again and tried to suppress her crying. He punished her breasts and thighs until they glo
wed like rose-dust. When he deemed it was enough, he handed the flail back to the overseer. She was panting softly, her falling tears forming a puddle on the ground. Without a word he turned his back and left her to her punishment.

  He did not hear her protest once during his leisurely visit to the café.

  It was almost midday by the time he finished his coffee and lit a cigarette. He stepped outside again, feeling an urge to get to the household soon. He wanted to talk with Madam about obtaining Gillian for his own house girl. But Gillian’s recent behavior made him realize she needed to be humbled further before he approached Madam, in case the proprietress raised any question of his fitness to be the sole possessor of a Disciple.

  So, he went back to the common area. The other girls still hung there and he saw their masters looking on from the door of the weapons shack. He helped the overseer unshackle and lower Gillian. Her face beamed with relief at her release, but that relief was short-lived when she saw the disapproval in his face. Saying nothing, he threw her over one shoulder and carried her to the café.

  On the outer grounds stood two wooden staves facing the tables set outside, each bolted near their tops with chains that hung midway down the wood. Each chain was tethered with leather cuffs. Bruce set Gillian down between the staves so that she kneeled facing the tables. He buckled a cuff to either of her wrists. Going inside, he got a strip of cloth from the owner. On returning to Gillian, he used it to bind her ankles tautly together.

  He stood in front of her, and her eyes lowered as he quietly observed her. Her eyelashes were damp and her breasts still suffused from their recent chastening, but he could spare no mercy.

  “It’s time to eat,” he said.

  She bit her bottom lip nervously, and he continued, “You will beg for your meal, by beseeching each man you see to feed that pretty little mouth of yours.”

  She cringed and started to weep again. “Please, no!”

  He shook his finger at her. “It’s this kind of behavior that brought you here, Gillian. You will be better off to learn quickly that to protest against display or punishment will earn you only the severest of consequences.

  “Now, you will call out ‘Feed me, sir, please,’ to every man who passes by. If they are generous, you shall, of course, thank them modestly. And if I see you have failed to beseech any one of them, I will use my belt where it does the most good. Do you understand this, Gillian?”

  “Y…yes, sir.”

  He patted her head and went inside then and ordered a sandwich and a bowl of boiled potatoes to be brought out to a table. Returning outside, he took a seat at one of the tables and watched as Gillian asked her humbling question to the first guard who ventured in from the pathway.

  Her voice broke with tears, “Feed me, sir, please?”

  The man smiled but shook his head. “Not now, pretty one, maybe another time.”

  He walked inside and soon other men were passing in and out. Gillian made her request to them all, and when the serving boy delivered the plate from the kitchen, Bruce relished his meal with a delight unmatched. At length, one guard did show Gillian interest. Bruce watched keenly as he lowered his pants enough to pull his aroused organ out and offer it to her mouth. She accepted it shyly and sucked until he climaxed. She did not forget to give her gratitude, and as he buttoned his pants, he spoke something too softly for Bruce to overhear. The guard continued on into the café and Bruce saw Gillian’s eyes dart his way. Her hips undulated ever so slightly, but he pretended to look away, and when again he looked at her, saw she was sulking.

  Gillian fed on the cum of five guards before Bruce decided to free her. She smiled shyly as he released her wrists and pulled her to her feet. Immediately, he took her home and gave her water to drink before ordering her to lie across his bed.

  A trembling, mischievous angel she was to him. He lifted her so that her head settled on the pillow, and kissed the strands of her blond hair and stroked the crumple from her brow. Then, straddling her shoulders, he smoothed her pink lips with his thumb.

  “Suck me off now, little Disciple, and do it as well as you seemed to do for those men.”

  She smiled voluptuously, and he guided his hard cock to her mouth. Her lips closed about the head and she sucked energetically. His eyes closed, and his pelvis moved forward and back.

  As he fucked her taut, obedient mouth, he hoped her lesson had been enough to make a lasting impression on her. For as exciting as it had been to watch her go down on those others, he vowed that never again would she give another man pleasure.

  His orgasm was intense. Afterward he held her for a time, lavishing kisses on her and blowing on her belly until she giggled. She was soon pouting, though, and dared to beg him to fuck her.

  “Behave yourself,” he whispered.

  Rising from the bed, he closed the door behind him as he went into the front room. He lit a cigarette and inhaled slowly, and as he stared out the window, meditated on the words he would soon need. They had to be phrased in the most convincing, frank, unyielding, and yet polite manner he could muster—if he was to stand a rat’s chance in Hamelin of securing Madam’s consent to keep Gillian.

  12

  Gillian had been dismayed and apprehensive when Sir Bruce gave her one of his shirts to wear and told her they were going to the household. Although she sensed he planned more than just delivering her back, his tenseness had played on her imagination. The Leather Wife who met them at the front door had a most annoying look of disapproval on her face. Even Madam’s personal guard who escorted them to the door appeared to be sizing Bruce up, as if at any moment he might assault Bruce with his stave. Gillian knew these ideas were probably only nervous fancy, but when at last they were allowed entrance into Madam’s room, she was shocked to find the Warden there. The hostility between the two men infused the atmosphere. Worse, Madam was not in a good mood.

  She sat in a fan-backed wicker chair, looking almost like a queen, with her hair gathered in tight curls high upon her head. She wore a loose-woven gown of deep red that accentuated her exotic features. Her eyes narrowed upon them as they entered. At once, she snapped her fingers. “Come, Gillian, and bow your head to the floor!”

  Gillian obeyed immediately, casting a single look over her shoulder to Sir Bruce. Madam snapped her finger again as she approached and told her to face the chair as she bowed.

  Madam sighed as Gillian’s brow touched the floor. Sitting up, she lifted the shirt and smacked Gillian’s naked bottom. But it was the men Madam addressed, and her tone was thin, exasperated.

  “Sir Bruce, our Warden has told me of last night’s events—at least from his viewpoint. Of course, he was not party to what happened with Rose and Gina. I would appreciate you explaining to me your version of this conflict, as well as why you kept Disciple Gillian in your home all night.”

  “And all morning,” the Warden added in his velvety drawl.

  Despite his suave manners and intimidating looks, Gillian felt only a vague fondness for the Warden now. Even though she was flattered that he was challenging Bruce to claim her, she simply wished the man would forget all that had happened between them.

  “That’s enough,” Madam reprimanded him sharply. “You may wait in the foyer until I call you.”

  The Warden lifted an unbelieving eyebrow. “But Madam, I must insist—”

  “You charged in on me, dear Warden, without the civility to knock. You have made charges without permitting Sir Bruce the benefit of being here to defend himself. Now you shall wait while I listen privately to his side of the story.”

  Gillian was surprised Madam had let the Warden come in at all, but she was not surprised to see the vexed flash of his eyes now. Nevertheless, he apologized and stepped out. It was only when he was gone that Gillian noticed a figure standing very still near the black veil canopy of Madam’s bed. It was Domme Camille. She smoked a slender cigarette in a lengthy filter and looked at the floor as if very bored. Yet the true feelings of this hard and beautiful wom
an had always been difficult to ascertain. Gillian could not help but wonder if her motive for being in the room was to temper the wrath she feared Madam might demonstrate toward Bruce.

  Madam’s fingers trailed down the length of Gillian’s back slowly, and when she reached the end of her spine, she smacked Gillian soundly on the ass. The sound rang crisply against the walls, and though Gillian tensed expectantly, Madam stayed her hand.

  “Now, explain yourself, Sir Bruce,” she said.

  He told her everything, from the events in the pavilion to his taking Gillian to his chalet in the guards’ compound, giving blunt, logical explanations for all of his actions. When he was finished, Madam responded to his logic with a question that rationality could not answer.

  “Ah, Sir Bruce, you are infatuated with this Disciple, are you not?”

  Gillian could not see his face and the moments seemed to lengthen into hours as she waited to hear his response.

  “I knew her on Earth, Madam,” he admitted. “And I wanted her then. Like any coward, I pretended not to understand she wanted me as well. But in Nemi I’ve grasped the true nature of myself, and as heaven has seen fit to bring us together again, I intend to keep her.”

  “Knew her,” Madam repeated softly. “Is this true, Gillian?”

  Made nervous by the sudden question, Gillian said faintly, “Yes, Madam.”

  “Well. And so you have claimed that you did not know her feelings then. This requires more consideration of the matter. Gillian must be sure before any decision is reached.”

  “Sure of what?” Bruce asked and then blurted out, “We love one another. It is enough.”

  Madam’s face brightened with impatience. “I will not be spoken to in that tone by someone beneath my station, Sir Bruce. It may be that she does love you. All considerations for her declaration and your declaration will be taken into account. For now, she will remain here in the household—confined for a while so she may have time to think, away from both you and the Warden.”