Testing the Submissive: The Story & Confessions of a Masochist

by Al Daltrey

  My first network interview was now successfully completed.

  CHAPTER 12: AMONG MY KIND

  Just down the hallway…

  Lewis walked with me, and it was so sweet when he reached out to hold my hand along the way. His large hand curled around mine, gently stroking the back of my hand with his thumb. I begged him to tell me a little about the other subs before we got there. I figured any insights on their personalities would help me fit in. Being the new girl, I wanted to make sure I played my cards right.

  He gave me a quick but helpful summary. The girl with the most tenure is Marjorie. In her late twenties, she’s been with the network for more than six years. Marjorie would likely be the mother hen among us and is close personal friends with Christie. Christie has been at it for four years, and would surely be attached to Marjorie at the hip. While Lewis didn’t suggest it, I made a mental note to respect the closeness of the two girls and ensure not to intrude on that intimacy. The remaining sub is Xochi, who’d received most of her training in Japan. Xochi is acknowledged among the network and clients as having the highest pain tolerance – that is up until I showed up. Apparently, word is spreading that I’m giving her a run for her money in terms of my ability to withstand the lash of a whip. I didn’t know whether Lewis’ comment was intended as a compliment, but I happily took it as one.

  The distance between the two suites wasn’t particularly far, and although we walked slowly, I knew any hope of asking a question had to happen now.

  “Sir, this might be a silly question but will there be sex? Is it allowed or even expected?”

  “Darling,” Lewis replied, “the four of you can do whatever you want; there are no rules. It’s your time now.”

  All of a sudden I remembered something: “Oh my God, my car!” I’m parked in a four-hour zone. If I don’t move it, I’ll be towed by morning?”

  “Not to worry,” Lewis reassured me, “give me the keys and I’ll have Victor come down to get it. He can pick you up in the morning.” I breathed a sigh of relief.

  Lewis knocked on the door. We looked at each other one last time and smiled. As the door flung open there were two, not one, smiling faces to greet us.

  Marjorie looked at Lewis and enthusiastically asked, “Sir?”

  Her full question while not spoken aloud was evident: she was asking Lewis’ permission to greet us openly and without abandon. He nodded, and without hesitation, she threw her arms around me and gave me the absolute biggest hug. I was grinning ear to ear at the warmth and sincerity of her affection.

  “I’m Marjorie. We are so glad to meet you Abby,” she declared.

  It didn’t go unnoticed that she already knew my name. It made me realize the tremendous camaraderie between submissives. Often called ‘sisters’ we share a common bond – that being we relinquish control willingly. Immediately I felt at home among these new friends. Marjorie stepped back, and Christie jumped forward for her hug. Then they swept me into the suite and the door closed with Lewis on the other side of it. He had quietly disappeared. Xochi wasn’t quite as bold, but her hug was just as genuine. I felt relaxed and at ease. At the risk of sounding overly dramatic, I was among my kind.

  Together we looked like something out of central casting. Marjorie had naturally red flowing hair. She was a bit taller and larger than me, but utterly gorgeous. She was wearing a snug one piece jumpsuit that hugged her big luscious boobs, a narrow waist, and a shapely behind. Christie was a brunette, only 5’ 2 but cute as a button with her skinny white jeans and tank top. She had a tight little figure and a big bright smile. Xochi looked like a stereotype Geisha. Pretty, soft features, with that wonderfully flawless Asian skin. She was slim with small pert breasts that seemed to poke through her overly taut shift dress.

  For the next hour we talked and talked and talked. It was a slumber party for slutty whores. The girls served me my first drink, a delicious glass of Pinot Noir from Oregon, and after that we all fended for ourselves. The girls made mixed drinks and shooters. The network had sent up a big tray of cheese, fruit, truffles, and the universal favorite, potato chips. At one point our little sitting area got so messy with napkins, little plates and crumbs that I tidied up. My new friends teasingly designated me as the ‘maid’. True to my new role, when we ran out of clean shot glasses, I carried a bunch of them into the kitchen area and set about rinsing them. Xochi joined me, and as I dried each new glass, she’d make a fresh B52 in it.

  We went back to the sitting area; with Marjorie and Christie curled up on the couch kissing each other, and commencing to remove each other’s clothing. Neither Xochi nor I interfered. In fact, I started to retreat back into the kitchen when Marjorie caught me in her peripheral vision and requested I stay. Xochi crept up behind me pressing her breasts into my back, and reaching around my shoulders she began to unbutton my blouse. I felt her wrists touch the side of my own breasts, and it felt lovely.

  “You will pleasure them, just as I did when I was new,” she whispered in my ear.

  I looked down to see Xochi’s dainty pretty hands fumbling with the buttons of my Banana Republic blouse. Damn blouse. Why’d I wear this stupid thing? It had double buttons. If I had known I’d be seductively stripped, I would have selected something with six buttons, not twenty six.

  For the next twenty minutes, Marjorie and Christie kissed passionately while their fingers explored each other’s bodies. It was a beautiful erotic sight. There was no need to hurry. One of the great misconceptions about people in the bdsm lifestyle is that we don’t enjoy vanilla sex. That’s simply not true. We might not be satisfied by vanilla sex alone; but erotic sensual lovemaking is never boring.

  All the while Xochi was removing my clothing and her own. I will still standing. When Marjorie spread her legs, Xochi took that as a cue to press downward on my shoulders. I sunk lower until my knees hit the floor, and as sexily as I could, made my way over. When I arrived, I could see that Marjorie’s pussy was already glistening wet. I flicked my tongue lightly along the slit in order to taste some of her essence. Then I poked at her clit with the very tip of my tongue. Soon I was making my tongue stiff and rigid, enabling me to probe it deep into her hole. I alternated my technique, moving around her pussy, and never letting up on my concentration. For a full minute I focused directly on her clitoris, sucking the little pebble into my lips, going as far as lightly chewing on it. I listened attentively to her sounds, so I could tailor my cunnilingus to her preferences. When I felt her hand capture the back of my head and pull me into her crotch more firmly, I knew she was close. I put all my attention on her clit, and she began to gyrate and tremble. She flooded my mouth with juices, and I almost giggled into her throbbing pussy when she moaned and groaned as loudly as she did.

  In her aftermath, Marjorie guided my head toward Christie’s spread open legs. A vagina is like a snowflake, each one is completely unique. Based on her reactions, it didn’t take me long to ascertain that Christie wanted two of my fingers inside her, pressing up toward her G-spot. She wiggled and withdrew anytime my tongue made direct contact with her clit, but she squirmed with joy and delight when I made sweeping circles with my tongue all around the clit. She came all over my face with both her hands gripping my hair.

  All the while, what I loved was – Marjorie and Christie never let go of each other. They kissed and caressed like high school lovers the entire time. Marjorie had pulled on Christie’s nipples throughout her orgasm to add an extra sensation.

  I looked up to see the same two smiling faces who greeted me at the door earlier, now smiling with satisfaction. Marjorie’s voice was sweet: “Someone is waiting for you.”

  I looked over my shoulder, and there was Xochi, waiting. Legs also spread. This was my initiation. A beautiful ritual. I crawled closer and could see faint cane marks all along her inner thighs. If I had to guess, I’d say the marks where eight to ten days old. Whoever had caned her started just inside her knee, and laid one mark down inch by inch all the way up to her pussy. The
assailant had concentrated on the inner part of her leg, knowing the skin is far more sensitive there. I kissed one of the faint welts, and then set about my work bringing her the best orgasm my tongue and lips could muster.

  It felt wonderful to have the mixed juices of three beautiful women on my face. I must have smelled like a whore house, but I was in bliss. The same three women descended on me simultaneously and returned the favor. They laid me down on the soft carpeting. I had one mouth on each nipple, and one down below. Three sets of lips on me at the same time. Incredible. Then my three lovers would rotate clockwise. Whichever was kissing my right nipple would stop to kiss my mouth as she shimmied up around my head to get to the left nipple. The kiss was never long, but it was always sensuous. Then I would close my eyes and feel it again: the three most erogenous zones of my body engulfed in pleasure at once. As my climax approached, the girls sensed it, and the rotation stopped. Marjorie was softly biting my left nipple; Christie was sucking my right nipple deep into her mouth; and Xochi’s tongue was working my clit with expert finesse. I came so hard I almost passed out.

  With the four of us temporarily satisfied, the party resumed. The latest round of B52s were downed in a gulp, and fresh ones made. We put bathrobes on.

  Our subsequent conversation reverted back to sex. The girls wanted to know which of the clients had used me. I went through the list. Marjorie and Xochi had both experienced the attentions of Ms. Donovan as well, but Christie had not as yet. The only one to have serviced Grekko (and Brutus) was Christie.

  They also teasingly warned me about some of the clients I had yet to meet. The dominant who had caned Xochi’s inner thighs is an eccentric older businessman named Hermann. He’d surely give me a run for his money. Then there was Patrick, the former NBA player who used his dribbling skills to deliver one heck of spanking. There was Alicia, the hairdresser with family money who grew and literally sharpened her fingernails so she could scratch her name onto our tits.

  Christie with iPhone in hand unexpectedly shouted, “Kevin is coming!!!”

  She had just received a text from Kevin, who was able to stop by for a short visit between the wedding reception and the after-party. The girls were thrilled. What a lovely bonus. Clearly they missed seeing him, and while a short visit, it would be better than nothing. We mostly put our clothes back on, and I tidied up a little.

  Kevin would be the first male sub I’d ever met. His set up was slightly different from ours. The number of clients who wanted a male sub was much narrower; hence Kevin was used repeatedly by the same handful of clients.

  He was greeted at the door to the suite with as warm a welcome as I was. When the girls introduced me, Kevin wrapped his big strong arms around me giving me a bear hug.

  “I hear you’ve got a decent tolerance for the whip?” he said. I merely shrugged and half-nodded in return.

  “Well, you’ve never been kicked in the balls, so who cares?” he concluded, and we all burst out laughing. Instantly, I was hooked by his charming good nature.

  No one would ever guess this handsome young man was a sub. He looked like an Olympic swimmer, long and lean and muscled – and this was with a tuxedo on! Kevin took off his suit jacket and joined us for conversation. The girls treated him like a rock star, but not because he was special, simply because he was the last to arrive and we only had him for a short time. The same thing would have happened with any of us. He held court and told a few great stories. Thirty minutes passed, but it seemed like three minutes. We all had a pouty look on our faces when he glanced around for his suit jacket.

  “Fuck it,” he said with one eyebrow raised, “the after-party can wait ten more minutes, anybody in the mood to give me a blowjob?”

  We laughed aloud again, but we also knew he wasn’t kidding. Marjorie put her hand up first, and none of us interfered. Kevin remained standing, and simply pulled his dick out, which was rising to the occasion. The sweetest thing happened – without a word spoken between us, all four of removed our bathrobes, and kneeled in a semi-circle around Kevin. He stood like a God before us. We shuffled in closer. Marjorie did all the work. With all the time in the world she would have given him a better blowjob, but knowing time was precious, she went in for the kill early. She concentrated on the glorious cock head in front of her, while her hand stroked his shaft. Meanwhile, Christie, Xochi and I played with our breasts, simply to give Kevin a nice visual experience. Women don’t often realize how sexy it is for men to see them play with their own breasts. We massaged our own breasts, and then we’d pull and twist our nipples. Kevin had the expression of a kid watching fireworks. His cock was now rock hard, and he was pumping in synergy with Marjorie’s head bopping.

  Christie was brave enough to make the suggestion, “can we see it instead?”

  We all knew what she meant. If Kevin orgasmed in Marjorie’s mouth, none of us would quite see it. I’m sure that’s why ninety percent of the male orgasms in porno movies are filmed as they are: people want to see the infamous money shot. With Kevin’s nod, Marjorie pulled back and began to stroke his cock with only her hand, aiming it directly above her uplifted face. He was close. With her other hand, she cupped his balls and began to softly massage them. Kevin groaned and twitched. Suddenly a massive spurt of cum shot out of his cock and hit Marjorie’s forehead, slightly startling her. No matter how prepared a girl is that first blast always seems to catch her off guard. It continued as spurt after spurt of thick creamy cum shot out in stripes over Marjorie’s face. Kevin loved every second of it. Clearly he’d been carrying quite the load, as her pretty face was now completely covered in it.

  For at least a full minute we knelt quietly and let the orgasm play out. Kevin caught his breath, and his cock slowly began to soften. The cum had now dripped in a couple of spots onto Marjorie’s breasts. Her one eye socket was covered with a huge glob.

  This time Xochi made the suggestion, “I think the maid should clean up the mess.”

  By maid, she meant me. I wasn’t about to object, and Marjorie’s soft nod was my green light. I leaned forward and started with Marjorie’s chin where another drip was forming. I lapped it onto the flat of my tongue and swallowed it down. Once the chin was nicely cleaned up, I started in on that eye socket. At one point I had to practically slurp it into my mouth. I did her cheeks, the side of her nose, her forehead, a little on her neck, and those two big droplets that had landed on her breasts. All of Kevin’s cum was now in my tummy, and the mess was all cleaned up. Kevin meanwhile had zipped up, and found his coat. One last round of hugs at the door and he was gone as quick as he had arrived.

  We talked until the early morning hours. I couldn’t believe how, in such short order, I felt almost closer to these three women than I did with my own best friends. There was no pretense among us. No competitiveness. No jealousy. An inherent air of trust. At one point, Christie began to masturbate in mid conversation as if it was the most natural thing in the world. None of us offered to help her or join in, as we knew she was doing it alone by choice. She simply wanted to give herself a little quickie, so why not right here, right now? It was beautiful. Her face contorted for a half-minute, while the rest of us just kept gabbing. Then she rejoined the dialogue, muttering “excuse me” as if she had just sneezed. We giggled.

  She also whispered to me, “Still on clean-up duty?”

  I enthusiastically nodded, and her hand crept up from within her bathrobe shiny wet with her juices. She extended her arm toward me, and I craned my neck to reach the wet fingers. I sucked on each digit, loving her musky scent. Again, it all felt so natural.

  That night Marjorie and Christie slept in one bed, and Xochi and I in the other. We cuddled which felt so sweet. It was the first time I’d ever fallen sleep cuddling another woman.

  CHAPTER 13: MORE VICTOR

  The next day…

  I woke up first, at 9:30 or so. With the others quietly sleeping, I made my way to the in-suite coffee station and brewed a few cups. By 10:30 we were all awake, chit
-chatting and indulging in a lovely breakfast tray that had arrived, courtesy of the network. I texted Lewis and told him I’d be ready for pick-up by noon. He replied with confirmation that Victor would be waiting.

  We showered and applied make-up, sharing tips on the latest and greatest from Lancôme, M.A.C., and Bobby Brown. I was the least prepared as I was the only one who had not known about the sleep-over in advance. Lewis and the network are strict with the rules, and this was all intentional on their part. The other girls had brought overnight bags with fresh clothes for a new day, while I was stuck with that damn Banana Republic outfit that would not disappear. It felt like I had worn this thing for a week!

  We all said our goodbyes. The girls explained to me that, while contact between us was not forbidden, generally it did not occur. This was a mutual decision between the network and the submissives, and upon further reflection, it made infinite sense. If we stayed in regular contact, we’d start warning each other about certain clients; we’d have post-session discussions; and we’d be tempted to meet for coffee and possibly more. It was best we live separate existences so that our individual focus remain that of our Master/Sponsor, and our vulnerability and naiveté regarding clients remains intact. From what they told me, we’d probably bump into each other once or twice – but the next sleep over wouldn’t happen until our annual network interview a year from now.

  Victor was waiting. Since he was driving my car and not his limo, I jumped into the front seat.

  “Mister Lewis wants you to call him on the speaker phone,” Victor mentioned.

  Lewis was in a great mood, quite cheerful and happy to hear the sleep-over had been such a success. He wasn’t surprised I fit into the group so seamlessly. It felt slightly odd to have Victor listen in on the conversation, especially when Lewis asked if there was sex after all.