by Anna Cundell
Title Page
SUBMISSION THERAPY
by
ANNA CUNDELL
Publisher Information
Submission Therapy
first published in 2003 by
Chimera Books Ltd
www.chimerabooks.co.uk
Digital edition converted and published by
Andrews UK Limited 2010
www.andrewsuk.com
Copyright © Anna Cundell
The right of Anna Cundell to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Advisory Note
This novel is fiction – in real life practice safe sex
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.
Introduction
‘So who’s going to go first?’ the blond man said.
‘You had a go at her in the van,’ his accomplice replied, ‘so I think I should.’
Clare peered back between her legs and saw one of the men dropping his trousers to his ankles, and seconds later felt a hard, hot erection nudging her labia.
‘Boy, she’s wet,’ the driver said huskily.
‘Yeah, I don’t know where the doc gets them, but he certainly picks the ripe ones.’
Two large hands grasped Clare’s rubber-covered hips. She saw the head of the penis appear between her sex lips, pull back a little, then thrust powerfully into her with one sharp lunge. She gasped.
Chapter One
‘He’ll see you now.’
The receptionist was a tall and elegant blonde, her long hair pinned in a tight French pleat, her thick eyelashes and deep blue eyes emphasised by subtle make-up. She wore a sober black suit but its skirt was relatively short and revealed a great deal of her finely contoured legs. Despite her height her black court shoes had high heels.
‘Thank you.’ Clare Mason rose gracefully, opened the door of the consulting room and went in.
‘Good morning.’
‘Good morning, doctor,’ she said. The consulting room was more like a sitting room, with comfortable sofas and a large stone fireplace. A log fire had been set on elaborate brass firedogs waiting to be lit.
He indicated a chair in front of his desk.
‘You are having difficulty sleeping, is that correct?’
‘Yes, doctor. I get off to sleep with no trouble but then I have these terrible nightmares and wake up. Then I just lie there and can’t get back to sleep again.’
‘I can cure this,’ he said confidently. He had a slight foreign accent that she could not place. ‘But before we start I must make it clear that I can only help if you are absolutely honest with me. Do you understand that?
‘Yes.’
Clare Mason saw the doctor’s eyes examining her closely. She was slender and tall, with chestnut brown hair that fell in soft waves to her shoulders. Her silk dress seemed to mould itself to her body, emphasising the rise of her breasts and the curves of her hips. Her legs were sheathed in sheer champagne coloured stockings and careful scrutiny might have revealed the outline of her suspenders against her thighs. She had always preferred stockings to tights.
‘Okay, then let’s begin. Please lie on the couch. A little old fashioned I know but I find it helps my patients relax.’
Next to his desk was a chaise longue upholstered in green velvet. Clare lay on it and rested her head against the padded cushion. Oddly the apprehension she had felt in the waiting room evaporated and she was immediately relaxed and at ease.
‘Some simple questions first. You have had intercourse?’
‘Yes.’
‘And oral sex?’
‘Yes.’
‘Both giving and receiving?’
‘Yes.’
‘And anal sex.’
‘No. No, never.’
‘Why is that?’
‘I thought it would be too painful.’
‘So you have tried and failed?’
‘No. I’ve never tried. I just imagined it would be.’
‘Yes.’
He made notes of all her answers. ‘Now I want you to close your eyes and imagine what you would regard as the most sexually exciting experience it was possible for you to have.’
‘Sexual?’ she said sharply. ‘What’s that got to do with it?’ She had come to see Dr Hammer because for over a year now she’d had trouble sleeping. She’d tried an endless number of cures, pills and potions but nothing had helped. But last week she read an article on Dr Hammer and his highly successful therapy for sleeping disorders and phobias and decided to come and see him.
‘Sex is often at the root of these matters.’
‘Is it?’ she said, puzzled.
‘Often,’ he said, as if he were talking to a child who should have known better, ‘the subconscious is plagued with sexual frustration. In its search for fulfilment it provokes nightmares.’
‘But I’ve never been sexually frustrated. And my dreams aren’t anything to do with sex.’
‘That is for me to judge,’ Dr Hammer said sharply. ‘You may believe you are sexually satisfied but your subconscious may not be of the same mind.’
Dr Hammer was in his fifties with a craggy face, a square jaw, a very straight nose with large nostrils and dark, almost hypnotic eyes. His hair was thick and greying at the temples and he wore a beautifully tailored and obviously very expensive suit. He was just the sort of man Clare had always found deeply attractive; in other circumstances she would have been sure to make that clear to him.
‘All right, so you mean what really turns me on?’
‘Exactly. Not just makes you feel pleasantly aroused, but what would really drive you wild, do you understand? For instance, some women are turned on by fantasies about other women, or having two lovers anally and vaginally at the same time.’
‘Oh, I see.’
‘Good. Then we can begin. Just relax.’
Clare closed her eyes, rested her head back on the couch she was laying on and tried to relax. It was difficult to think about sex in the middle of the afternoon in Dr Hammer’s consulting rooms, with the noise of the London traffic buzzing outside his window, but she tried.
Sex. What did turn her on? Well men, certainly. She’d had a couple of mild flirtations with girls at school but though they had been pleasant she couldn’t say they had really turned her on. Men, on the other hand, had. The feeling of a throbbing erection easing its way between her legs was definitely a turn on, but was that what Dr Hammer was trying to get at?
‘If I think of a nude man, of him touching me, of his…’ she hesitated, ‘…erection, that usually makes me feel…’
‘No, no,’ Dr Hammer said at once, with real irritation. ‘This is not about what has happened to you in the past. If the sort of sex you’ve already had was truly satisfying to you, your subconscious would not be searching for something else. You have to delve deeper than that.’
‘Deeper?’
‘Yes.’
Clare closed her eyes again. She tried to think about what she would like Greg, her current lover, to do to her but all her imagination could come up wit
h was lying on her back while he kneaded her breasts and rubbed her clitoris prior to slipping his fairly large cock into her melting vagina. That was clearly not what Dr Hammer had in mind. The truth was she had never really thought that much about sex and had never developed any real fantasies about what she would like men to do to her.
‘I just can’t think of anything,’ she said.
‘That is interesting in itself.’ He made a note on the pad in front of him. ‘It is clear you are suppressing some very deep-rooted feelings. I am certain that is the reason for your pattern of nightmares. All right, we have to take a different approach.’
He got to his feet and took something out of his draw. It was a small black box attached to a black strap. He came over and wrapped it around her left wrist. Then he plugged a small wire into the box. The wire was attached to the computer monitor on his desk.
‘Now I want you to relax and watch the screen. Watch it carefully. You may feel yourself getting sleepy.’
On the ceiling above her head a panel slid open to reveal a television screen. She stared at it. The screen turned from black to yellow, then began to omit a pulsing orange, then red. The colours began to dance across the screen, then revolve like a spiral. She seemed to be drawn into the middle of it. Her eyelids felt heavier and heavier and she was having trouble keeping her eyes open…
‘Clare, how nice, so glad you could come.’
He opened the door and showed her inside.
‘This is nice,’ she said.
The house was large and the heavy oak front door creaked noisily as he closed it behind her. The hall had a vaulted ceiling and a stone floor.
‘Let me get you a drink.’
He led her into the sitting room. It was vast. In the corner was a huge gothic fireplace where a log fire burnt fiercely. She found herself staring into the flames, the colours changing from red to orange.
‘I’m so glad you accepted my invitation.’
He handed her a glass of champagne in a thin glass flute. He raised his glass, and clinked it against hers. ‘Here’s to new beginnings.’
‘I’m not sure why I’m here,’ she said. Clare struggled to remember where she had met this man and how she had come to be here.
‘You’re here to explore, my dear.’
He was an attractive man, with dark, almost hypnotic eyes. As she looked into them she felt a throbbing pulse deep in her sex. She shuddered, sipped her champagne and looked away.
‘Explore?’
‘I have something you need, Clare. Something you need very badly. There’s someone I want you to meet.’ He reached up to one of those old-fashioned bell pulls by the fireplace, a long sleeve of cloth. Somewhere deep in the house she heard a bell ringing.
‘I don’t understand,’ she said. She couldn’t remember anything, not even how she’d got here.
‘You will.’
She heard footsteps clacking on the stone floor outside. There was a knock on the door.
‘Enter,’ the man said.
The door opened. A tall, slender blonde, her long hair pinned up in a French pleat, entered the room. She was wearing a skintight black leather cat-suit that followed every contour of her magnificently voluptuous body, and spiky heeled ankle boots. In her hand was a silver leash. It was attached to a white leather collar strapped around the neck of a girl with long black hair brushed over her shoulders. The collar was so wide it forced her to keep her head high. She was wearing a white satin waspie that had been laced so tightly around her waist it gave her an hourglass figure. Ruched satin suspenders snaked over her slender hips and thighs to support shiny white stockings. Her arms and elbows were bound behind her back by white leather straps that drew back her shoulders and made her thrust her large breasts forward. Attached to each of her large dark brown nipples was a chrome clip that was joined by a heavy silver chain that swung slightly as she moved. She was wearing white leather court shoes, the heels so high her feet were almost perpendicular. The blonde pulled on the leash to indicate that the girl should move into the centre of the room.
‘I want you to meet Ilusa,’ the man said.
Clare was staring at the near naked girl. She felt both acutely embarrassed and terribly excited. Ilusa was not wearing panties and her pubic hair had been completely shaved so that the first inch of her labia was clearly visible.
‘And this is my major-domo, Jacqueline Fellowes.’
The woman smiled, one corner of her mouth turning up slightly. ‘She’s very pretty,’ she said. ‘Is she coming to join us?’
‘That remains to be seen,’ the man said. He turned to Ilusa, stroking her cheek. ‘Kneel,’ he said.
With great difficulty because of the height of her heels and the fact her arms were so tightly bound behind her the brunette got to her knees.
‘You see how obedient she is?’ he said.
Clare nodded. She felt as if she were in a trance, unable to move or speak.
The man unzipped the flies of his trousers and pulled out his cock. It was erect, the veins standing out prominently like cords of string. Immediately Ilusa opened her mouth and sucked it eagerly. She pushed forward until her lips were almost touching the man’s pubic hair, and then pulled back flicking her tongue around the head of his glans.
‘Who is she?’ Clare asked.
‘She is what you want to be,’ he said.
‘No!’ Clare exclaimed.
‘Yes,’ Ms Fellowes said. She let go of Ilusa’s chain and moved behind Clare. She was wearing a musky, rich perfume and Clare could feel her breasts pressing into her shoulder blades. Her hands circled Clare’s waist, caressing the thin silk dress. They moved down her thighs, feeling the suspenders that held up her stockings, then inward to her mons. Clare could not help but moan.
‘Up,’ the man said. ‘Over the horse.’
Ilusa immediately struggled to her feet. Though Clare had not noticed it before now she saw a stool had been placed in the centre of the room. It was about waist height with a domed leather top and sturdy wooden legs. The girl bent right over it so her long hair was hanging down on one side, brushing the floor.
The man caressed Ilusa’s smooth buttocks. In this position the furrow of her sex and the puckered hole of her arse were completely exposed. His finger parted her labia. Clare could see they were wet.
The man had picked up a whip, a riding-crop with a thick loop of leather at the end.
‘What are you going to do?’ Clare asked.
‘She has to be whipped,’ the man said. ‘She has to be punished.’
He took the braided leather handle of the whip and inserted it between the girl’s legs. He worked it up and down the slit of her labia then pushed it not at all gently into her pussy. The girl moaned.
Ms Fellowes drew Clare’s arms behind her back, and almost before she realised it Clare felt leather cuffs being strapped to her wrists. She was unable to resist. Another cuff was strapped above her elbows before Ms Fellowes’ hands returned to Clare’s thighs. This time, while one hand pulled the silk skirt up, the other worked on Clare’s left breast, kneading it and pinching the nipple.
Thwack! The noise of the whip cutting across the girl’s buttocks made Clare start. It was almost as if she could feel the pain on her own bottom. She wriggled it against Ms Fellowes’ belly.
‘Thank you, master,’ the girl intoned mechanically.
Thwack! Two red lines appeared on the girl’s buttocks. Ms Fellowes’ hand had worked its way into Clare’s panties. A finger found her clitoris and rubbed with a wonderfully knowing motion. No woman had ever touched her there and she wanted to protest, but if she did she was secretly afraid Ms Fellowes might stop.
Thwack! The girl could not help but scream this time.
‘She’s very wet,’ Ms Fellowes said. Her fingers had slipped down between Cla
re’s legs.
‘This is what you want, isn’t it, Clare?’ the man pressed.
‘No.’
The man caught hold of the girl’s hips, and Clare watched as he directed his throbbing cock between her legs.
‘Oh yes, master, please,’ Ilusa gasped.
‘Be quiet,’ he said. He thrust forward, his cock disappearing into her sex. At exactly the same moment Ms Fellowes forced two fingers up into Clare’s vagina.
‘Very wet,’ she repeated.
‘This is what you want, isn’t it, Clare?’ the man repeated. ‘Admit it.’
‘No!’ Ms Fellowes’ finger slid out of her body. She heard a loud click and the soft whirr of an electric motor. Suddenly her bound wrists were being pulled into the air behind her, forcing her head forward until her torso was at right angles to her legs. She wanted to cry out for release, but at the same time she wanted to do no such thing.
Ms Fellowes wriggled the tight skirt of Clare’s dress up over her hips, and then pulled her legs apart. There were ring bolts set in the floor about three feet apart, and the blonde bound Clare’s ankles to them with thick white rope.
Clare strained her neck muscles to lift her head. The man had left the girl and was moving behind her with the riding-crop in his hand.
‘Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll release you.’
‘I… I…’ But Clare could not say the words; every nerve in her body was pulsing with sexual energy. She was so turned on she could feel the juices from her sex coating her inner thighs and dampening the tops of her stockings.
She heard a whistle as the whip flew through the air, then a line of fire exploded across her buttocks. But the pain lasted only a fraction of a second before it changed to a hot pulsing sexual pleasure like nothing she had ever experienced before.
‘Oh god, no…’ she gasped.
‘Yes.’
Thwack!
‘Tell me this is what you want.’
‘No.’
Thwack! She was coming this time. Her pussy was contracting and her clitoris throbbing with the same rhythm and her whole body was trembling. She wanted desperately for him to sink that big, hot cock deep into her sex. She had never been so turned on.
