by Jack Quaiz
Submission in Seattle
Jack Quaiz
Text Copyright 1998-2013
Jack Quaiz
All Rights Reserved
TABLE OF CONTENTS
AUTHOR’S 2013 INTRODUCTION
AUTHOR’S 1998 INTRODUCTION
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
AUTHOR’S 2013 INTRODUCTION
This is a classic work of adult BDSM erotica. It is not for children or the faint of heart.
Submission in Seattle was initially written in 1998 during a span of about eight weeks and included many elements from my personal experience. Subsequent editing has polished the rough edges, but the original novel is intact. It was first published in 2001 on a popular website that specialized in BDSM stories. Readers were asked to comment and rate the stories they read. Submission in Seattle is still the highest rated story on that site and it appeals to both male and female readers.
Readers typically commented that they could not put the book down until they finished, so please clear your schedule for a few hours. You might want to have a few towels handy as well.
Reading and publishing technology has gone through a revolution in recent years. I love reading books on my Kindle, so it just seemed right to share Submission in Seattle this way with a new generation of readers.
The other recent development is the popularity of Fifty Shades of Grey, which by coincidence, is set in the same geographical area, but roughly 15 years later. I often wonder if the author ever read Submission in Seattle!
Since much time has passed, it may amuse the reader to spot some references to the society and technology of the late nineties.
Please read the introduction I wrote in 1998 to gain additional perspective on this landmark novel.
Enjoy!
Jack Quaiz, 2013
AUTHOR’S 1998 INTRODUCTION
Most erotic stories with an SM theme are set in distant times or places so that the reader can more easily enjoy descriptions of intense sexual behavior that would be unacceptable in his or her own society. “Submission in Seattle” adds a small dash of fantasy to a very real part of modern American society, the BDSM subculture. I hope that you will find this reality-based story even more erotic than one which is totally based on fantasy.
The popularity of BDSM has exploded in recent years, spurred on by the rapid growth of the internet. The term BDSM itself was coined on the internet in the early 1990’s. It is a convenient acronym that combines bondage and discipline, dominance and submission, and sadomasochism.
The creed of the modern BDSM culture is “Safe, Sane and Consensual”. One might assume that erotic fiction based on this tenet would be less arousing than the usual punishment/rape/enslavement SM tales that are found in the erotica section of your local mall bookstore. “Submission in Seattle” may surprise you.
To millions of television and film viewers, the standard symbol of BDSM is the stereotypical leather-clad professional Dominatrix. In American society, female domination of males is the most visible and politically correct form of BDSM relationship. For those couples who choose to practice male domination of the female, there is no such reassuring symbol for them to follow. The majority of these couples exercise their rights as consenting adults in private, in isolation and with a justifiable fear of persecution.
As the BDSM community matures, subgroups which enjoy certain facets of BDSM play are beginning to coalesce. One group that is now asserting its right to exist is the maledom-femsub community. This novel is for them and those who are curious.
Our main character, Howard Cole, is a professional male dominant for women. As everyone in the BDSM community knows, this is highly unusual. The simple rule of supply and demand in sexual commerce prevents men from making a living in this manner. However, a small number of dominant heterosexual men have established themselves as professionals. Typically just one or two in a large city that might support scores of female pro-Dommes. If you are in need of their services, seek them out in the darker regions of the internet. You won’t be disappointed.
Jack Quaiz. 1998
CHAPTER ONE
Innocence is everywhere, but the honest enjoyment of perversion is rare.
On a warm, sunny Saturday afternoon, platoons of harried women in expensive cars shuttled their well-dressed children along the streets of an upper class neighborhood near Seattle, Washington. Each house concealed its unique story behind a screen of tall evergreen trees and fashionable forest landscaping. One home on a particular suburban lane had its own special energy. This energy was provided by the women who passed beyond the heavy black door into the residence of Howard Cole.
There was nothing outwardly unusual about the one story contemporary home. Three young children from nearby families played noisily within fifty feet of the conservative gray painted exterior. The pleasant open space between the large houses was shaded from the late afternoon summer sun by a canopy of eighty foot Douglas Firs. Suddenly, one of the children launched a piercing, repetitive scream in response to some injustice perpetrated by a sibling.
The occupants of the gray house, as if in another world, were blissfully unaware of the commotion outside. Insulated in the soundproof basement of his large home, Howard Cole stepped back to appraise his work. As a talented photographer, he appreciated the finer points of composition, color and lighting. He stroked his short beard for a moment, then adjusted the rolled up sleeves of his open necked black silk dress shirt. He stretched his solid, six foot frame to loosen up his shoulders and straightened his round metal framed glasses.
The warm, spacious, high ceilinged room resembled a photographer’s studio. It had been, until he discovered a more compelling hobby. Unusual electronic music played from a sophisticated sound system, creating an air of mystery and erotic ritual.
Around the edges of the hardwood floor, in semi-darkness, oddly shaped pieces of furniture rested under black sheets. In the center of the room a massage table with a well padded, brown leather top rested in a pool of light. It was quite heavily constructed, with brass fittings where its thick wooden beams joined together.
Cole didn’t appreciate the room as much as he did the girl. Kristina was one of his latest favorites; a true masochist who dreamed of being a slave girl. This was her fourth visit to the intimate basement dungeon. He had yet to find one girl to steal his heart forever, but he enjoyed them all for their individual qualities and varied physical attributes. The one trait they all had in common was the need for submission. To Cole, it was a priceless treasure and extremely beautiful.
Every submissive girl he met captured his attention, at least for a while. Kristina was a gifted young software designer who happened to work part time as a nude dancer. He could see it in her dancer’s legs and perfect little ass. She was exhibited quite nicely at the moment, he thought. He had a talent for posing the girls in the most flattering and erotic positions. A result, he was sure, of his photographic experience.
Kristina noticed his admiring gaze, then wiggled her well curved bottom to let him know she was ready. She displayed her slender nude body and fragile youth while seductively bent over the top of the waist high table. The overhead spot lights illuminated her perfectly, and she knew
it. She grinned as she thought, “Krissy, you’ve been needing this for weeks. Trust Master Cole, he knows what you need.”
She felt the tension in her arms from the soft leather cuffs that pulled her wrists toward the far end of the table. Another pair of restraints held her ankles to the sturdy, polished table legs, making her struggle a bit to touch the floor with her toes. It was another one of Cole’s subtle touches that reminded her of her delicious vulnerability. “Looks like I’m going to get my money’s worth tonight,” she predicted silently to herself.
She listened receptively as Cole spoke in a low, hypnotic tone that penetrated deeply into her mind, “Krissy, it’s time for me to enjoy you now. If you need to stop, you know how to communicate that to me. However, if you stop, that will be all for today, and you will go home knowing you didn’t satisfy me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master Cole,” she said in a dreamy voice. She looked up at him and saw a handsome forty one year old man with short dark hair. His precisely trimmed dark beard and mustache somehow made him look sophisticated and sinister at the same time. The piercing gray eyes were almost hypnotic. When she was in this delightfully submissive and sensual state, his attractiveness was very compelling. She wanted nothing more than to be close to him and give herself to him in every possible way. She closed her eyes for a minute to concentrate on the hypnotic music and she felt herself slipping into the trance-like state that she so treasured. The stresses of her high pressure life fell away one by one.
Kristina stretched her muscles sensuously as Cole placed his hands on her well-formed back and began to massage away her tension. His knowing fingers traced the firm muscles that were hidden beneath her tan skin. The bright halogen studio light made the barely visible fuzz of tiny blonde hairs sparkle and caused a languid warmth to penetrate her body. When her muscles were nicely relaxed she felt him shift his touch to the provocative curves of her ass. The first few swats of his heavy right hand were delicate, to judge the range and check the sensitivity of her flesh. Kristina pushed her bottom out a little farther to signal her need.
Cole gradually stepped up the spanking and soon she could feel the stinging impact of his big hands driving her against the table. Her face was forced closer to the padded tabletop and she inhaled the sweet aroma of tanned leather that added to her arousal.
“Do you like this, Krissy?”
“Yes, Master Cole, may I please have it harder?” She tossed her head to spread out her glorious, shoulder length blonde hair, which she knew he liked.
He smiled, “Of course you can. Your pretty bottom is getting very red, little girl, and you know that turns me on.”
“I know, I know,” she whimpered and she continued to take the force of his hands on her bottom cheeks. She could tell that the intensity was carefully measured, being increased in precise intervals that must have taken him years to perfect.
Slowly, a growing sexual tingle made itself felt in her clitoris. “It’s starting,” she thought with an audible groan. Kristina was no stranger to the SM scene. She loved pain play, when it was done right, but she also loved to submit. I have plenty of friends who’ll give me a good spanking, she thought, but why is Howard Cole the only one I can submit to? I usually play because I enjoy it, but with him I seem to do it because he enjoys it!
A more intense wave of arousal interrupted her thoughts, reminding her of the helpless position she had gotten herself into. She was restrained with her legs apart and she knew that he must have a perfect view of her cunt. He had ignored it completely and it was driving her crazy waiting for the first touch.
The wonderful sensation of bare skin striking bare skin helped form an almost spiritual connection between them. Cole’s strong hands were ideal spanking instruments and each solid blow landed with a loud crack. Krissy swore that she could hear the sharp sounds echoing off the walls. He changed hands frequently, using the off hand to stroke smoothly up and down her back to enhance the emotional bond.
“Oooh, mmmm, ouch,” Krissy whispered. The pain was becoming more intense, and Cole had begun to strike the backs of her long, lean thighs.
After several minutes of hard spanking, when her breathing became heavier and the blood was circulating furiously in her inflamed asscheeks, Cole dragged his fingernails lightly across the hot red skin. Kristina’s sharp intake of breath indicated that she was properly warmed up.
Her small hips widened from the pressure of the table edge and the soft outer curves of her breasts swelled where they were pressed against the leather. Cole leaned back a little to look carefully between her parted legs, where her pouting nether lips were outlined in a most enchanting way by a well groomed thatch of fine blonde hair. Knowing that he could penetrate her later if he wished, he began to grow erect, but stopped himself so he could concentrate on the scene.
Moving quietly around to the head of the table, he bent down to speak with her in a soft voice. “Open your mouth, Krissy. You’ll need this rubber bit.” To protect her teeth and tongue, Cole placed a rubber bar in her mouth like a horse’s bit that buckled behind her head. To demonstrate his complete control, he reached down to gently open her sex with his fingers and softly stroke her sensitive inner labia.
Kristina was embarrassed by her sudden straining against her bonds and moaned as she felt an overwhelming sense of submission and inevitability. Her heart beat faster and the excitement grew within her. She could feel the first trickle of wetness between her legs.
She watched as Cole picked up a long, straight rattan cane and showed it to her. It was a quarter inch thick and one end had been covered with thin black leather to form a handle. As she studied it, her breathing became difficult and irregular.
Holding the cane reverently, Cole walked around behind her into an area reflected by a large wall mirror. Kristina could see the full reflection of her helpless form strapped to the heavy table and she realized that she would be able to see exactly what was happening to her lovely bottom. Her own wide eyed expression in the mirror reminded her of the way a deer looks when caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle.
Drawing his arm back for a full stroke, Cole aimed the cane directly at the center of her perfect ass and drove it with full force into her taut gluteal globes. The skin was deeply indented for a hundredth of a second. A heartbeat later Kristina’s head jerked, causing her hair to fly up and descend in a pretty golden shower that sparkled as it caught the light. It was as if she had been struck by lightning and her eyes widened at the astonishing impact. She grunted around the rubber bit, which had just saved her tongue from a serious injury.
Looking carefully at his watch, Cole said calmly, “I like to allow about thirty seconds between strokes so that you can fully appreciate the pain.”
Kristina heard the music change from an erotic electronic piece to a Gregorian chant. Then she heard the hiss of the cane through the air. It struck before she could even tighten her buttocks in anticipation. The pain was extreme, and Kristina didn’t know if she could continue to take it at this intensity. She contemplated ending the scene, but knew that if she did she would regret it later when she was longing to be in his bed. “Continue to breathe,” she told herself, “concentrate and you can take this for him.”
Five minutes and ten loud strokes into the ritual, Kristina’s ass was a perfect example of the double track signature of the cane. Each raised red welt was placed parallel to the others. Kristina, her skin flushed and damp with sweat, moaned and pulled hard at the leather cuffs. She forced herself to breathe very rapidly, almost panting with the pain. It seemed to help, somehow. The fire in her hindquarters slowly penetrated into her brain and fulfilled the mysterious need that only Cole understood. She knew that she had now reached that familiar plateau that was like the moment when an orgasm becomes inevitable. The scene would now continue to its conclusion. There was no other option.
There was a brief pause and she was afraid he might stop. Then she looked at Cole in the mirror. Her vision was slightly bl
urry with sweat or arousal, she couldn’t tell which.
“I want to hurt you some more, Krissy. You’ve only had ten strokes so far. I’d like you to take twenty five. The last girl I used this big cane on was barely conscious after 20 strokes, but I think you can do better.”
Kristina was both exhilarated and frightened, but continued to look at her own reflection in the mirror as if she were observing a dream. She watched in fascination, as the heavy rattan cane cut into her outraged bottom. She tried to scream into the rubber bit as he continued to dispense the severe blows, “Oh God... No, oooh, YES!” Her endorphins began to flow and the pain was slowly transformed into pleasure.
It took six more of the slashing strokes before she was truly flying high on a trip induced by a cocktail of fantasy, emotions and natural biochemicals released by her bruised flesh. The powerful strokes slowly continued as she moaned and thrashed against the table. She was not struggling to free herself. She was writhing in ecstasy.
As on previous visits, she was allowed to spend the night. Her submission was absolute. This time, after satisfying his perverted sexual urges, she was forced to sleep on the floor next to his bed. She loved every minute of it and was happy to hand him a slim envelope as she left the next morning.
