Laura: Initiation of a Submissive

Chapter 3 ended with these paragraphs:

"Umm, well… my dress is still on the back seat. Should I get dressed before we get to the house?"

The wicked laugh that erupted from his lips was answer enough, but he said, "No, Little One. You have no need of clothing until you're ready to leave Sunday evening."

She sighed, "I thought that was what you would say. As you will, sir."

"Good. I wouldn't have it any other way," he chuckled. "But what I meant was, questions about the relationship, the things that will happen to you during your training… that sort of question."

"Well, I kinda knew that, but I wanted to ask about the dress before we got there. I do have a question," she hurried on. "I should already know this, but somehow, I haven't been able to understand how the same spanking can be sensual one time, and discipline another. I mean…"

"That's a simple concept that is hard to understand from what you find online and in the books currently on the market. It's also one that I address in the book I have coming out in a few months. I could let you read that chapter, but perhaps I can condense it for you before we get to the house."

"I'd like that, Sir."

Now, on to

Laura: Initiation of a Submissive

Chapter 4

"First of all," he said, "it's not quite the same spanking. While the same implements may be used – hand, paddle, flogger, crop, cane, whatever – the intention of the Dominant is what determines if a spanking, to use the generic term, is sensual or disciplinary. It's very important that the Dominant make clear to the submissive what is happening. A submissive who wishes to please her Dominant will gain as much from the knowledge that she has disappointed him as from the feelings of pain and shame that she receives from the punishment."

A soft moan did not quite escape Laura's lips as she thought about his words. He continued, "Disciplinary spanking also usually – in my case, always – includes a certain amount of ritual, which is designed to intensify the experience. For example, discipline almost always takes place in the same place – a chair or bench or table over which the submissive is placed – which is never, ever used for sensual spanking. Just being summoned to that place or position lets the submissive know that she is to be disciplined, and is the actual beginning of her punishment.

"In sensual spanking, on the other hand, the submissive knows that the end result of the spanking is intended to be pleasure. Therefore, her attitude is that of the pleasure-seeker, and she uses the spanking to awaken her body, to prepare it for the sensual pleasures that she knows will follow.

"That's the two-minute explanation of something that actually occupies almost twenty pages of my book, but it is the basis of the whole chapter. Does that lead you closer to understanding the difference?"

She hesitated a moment, thinking. "Yes, sir, it does help. The concept is fairly clear, but … I'm afraid I may not understand fully until I have experienced disciplinary spanking. I haven't ever been spanked as a punishment, not even by my parents when I was a child, or in school. I hoped that my behavior would never merit punishment … but now I see that I do need to experience it, to fully appreciate my submissiveness. That's hard to explain … I …"

"That's quite all right, Little One," he said. "You understand more than most beginners, even those who have read quite a bit and researched. Your instincts are very good, surprisingly good. I think you may end up being punished less than most, because of those instincts… but as I told you, my training regimen is deliberately designed to cause trainees to fail in various ways, because discipline is so important a part of the training."

"Yes, Sir. And while I can't say that I'll look forward to being punished… disciplined… I will do my best to accept it and embrace it as a necessary part of my growth."

While they had talked, he had steered the car off the interstate and onto a major thoroughfare, then into a quiet neighborhood with few houses to be seen. On their left was a long, eight-foot wall, an anonymous beige with brick top. He turned left into an entryway, and Laura saw an iron gate ahead. "This is where He lives. A gated community. Well, that should allow for a certain amount of privacy," she thought, "so I might not be seen going naked from his car to the door." He pressed a small button on the dash, and the gate opened for them. He drove down a smoothly paved road, and she suddenly realized that there was only one house in sight. What she had assumed was an entire community was one residence – His.

He parked in front of the house, got out of the car and walked around to open her door.

She smiled up at him tremulously and accepted his hand, and they walked up the path to the three steps leading to the well-lighted porch and his door. As she set foot on the first step, the door opened and a tall man in a black suit stood outlined by the lights behind him, not well enough illuminated by the porch lights that she could make out his face.

"Laura, this is Edward. He is my right hand, and majordomo. Any instructions he gives you are from me. He'll show you around the house, and show you your quarters."

"Umm, yes, Sir." She was a little nervous about standing nude in front of someone she had never before seen, but her faith in her Master carried her through. "It's a pleasure to meet you ... um ... Edward? Or should I address you ..." she faltered.

"Edward is fine, Miss. I am not He, merely his helper. Come this way, please." Edward turned and led her into the house as He stepped through a pair of doors to the left of the foyer. "To the right, Miss, is the parlor. He entertains guests here when it is a small group." She looked around the superbly appointed room and recognized three small paintings on the wall as the work of a wildly popular and very expensive artist who had died just a couple of years before. She detoured close enough to one to determine that it was an original, not a copy.

In his not-quite-British accent, Edward continued. "Through here is the living room, where He sometimes meets with larger groups or close friends." This room was larger, perhaps twenty-five feet by thirty, with three small conversation groups and a larger area with seating for eight to ten and a very large television screen and an exquisite sound system. "This is quite popular during football season," he said.

Leading her to a set of sliding glass doors, he pointed out an Olympic-sized swimming pool, complete with 1- and 3-meter diving boards, and a 10-meter platform. "He spends at least an hour a day in the pool," the majordomo said. "If you are not under restriction or punishment, he will be pleased to have you join him in the morning. You do swim, don't you?" Laura had been on the high school swim team, though she dropped competition in college, so she was happy to say that she did, and enjoyed swimming every chance she got, without mentioning her previous experience. Somehow, she got the idea that Edward was not terribly impressed by her assertion, though nothing showed in his face.

He led her upstairs to a broad carpeted hallway with a number of ornate doors. Each was closed. "Only your room is open to you, Miss. The others are to be entered only upon invitation or instruction." She was momentarily stunned by the coldness of his voice, but recovered as he opened a door and motioned her in. "This is your quarters, Miss." She looked around and saw a king-sized bed and two comfortable chairs, a fireplace and a large expanse of windows covered with sheers. "Your closet is, at this time, empty, as He has said you will not be in need of clothing this weekend. On future occasions, there will be clothing in the closet, which you will wear at his instruction." Her eyes widened slightly at this, but she said nothing. "And this is your bath, Miss." Edward leaned over to the tap of a bathtub big enough for six. "Do you know your preferred bath temperature?"

"I like it very warm," she said, "but not enough to turn me into a lobster."

As he adjusted the tap, he said, "I will set it at 94 degrees, then, Miss. If you would be so kind as to test it when an inch or two of water is in the bath, I can adjust it closer to your liking." They waited a moment as the tub began to fill, then she bent her knees awkwardly to reach into the tub and test it with her hand. For some reason, she was reluctant to just bend over in front of this man, even though she had been nude from the first moment she saw him. It seemed that, in front of him, she felt naked rather than nude, though she couldn't explain, even to herself, why that would be.

The tub filled quickly, and he offered his hand to help her step in. She didn't know how to ask him to leave - or even if she should - so she said nothing except "Thank you," feeling that was the more appropriate action. With a slight motion of his hand, Edward indicated a shelf at the wall side of the tub which she had not previously noticed, where there was a selection of bath bars, washcloth, loofah and sponges of various textures. She selected a cleansing bar and removed its wrapper, noting that all the bars had one thing in common: none of them were scented. Edward responded as if she had commented.

"He prefers that his 'guests' smell only of themselves," he said, "not some artificial flavor of the month." She dipped a thick washcloth into the water and soaped it, beginning to wash her shoulders and upper chest. "Do you have a preference of shampoo and conditioner?" he asked, indicating a row of bottles. She selected a brand that she had used in the past with good results, though she couldn't really afford it on a regular basis. Her hands automatically kept washing her upper body, then she started a little as she felt Edward's hand on her forehead, tipping it slightly backward as the majordomo brought a spray head on a flexible hose to her hair and wetted it.

He poured a large capful of shampoo into one hand and rubbed it between both before bringing them to her hair and wiping the sudsy liquid the length of her hair, and beginning to lather it in. She noted almost dispassionately that his hands and fingers were very strong as they not only shampooed her hair but also massaged her scalp. It felt very good. Almost unconsciously, she rose to her knees to soap her midriff, pubic area and buttocks. The warm water that cascaded through her hair and down her back as Edward rinsed her hair felt good, too. In fact, everything felt good, especially the washcloth that was now scrubbing her upper thighs and between them.

She reluctantly moved the washcloth away from her bare abdomen and stood, noting in the back of her mind that the majordomo had now massaged conditioner into her hair and was rinsing it, allowing the water to rush over her body and remove the soapsuds that lingered there. His hand reached around her, and she automatically placed the washcloth in it, somehow knowing without being told that he was going to scrub her back. She braced herself with one arm against the wall as his strong hand washed her, and then rinsed her back with more of the warm flow from the spray head.

As he flipped the toggle to drain the tub with one hand, his other hand reached out to her, and she took his hand to step out, then stood passively as he briefly rubbed her hair, then wrapped it in a towel turban. Edward reached out without looking and picked up another warm, fluffy towel, and began to dry her, starting from the neck. She was a little surprised at her calm acceptance of these attentions by someone she had only met a half hour before, especially since she couldn't recall having been dried by someone else after a shower or bath since her mother had done it when she was a small child.

He was thorough, but almost clinical as he thoroughly dried her. She was a little surprised that his touch was slightly - but noticeably - more gentle on her bottom, and more surprised that the fact that a virtual stranger was rubbing a towel between her cheeks and now between her thighs wasn't embarrassing her, or making her wet. Edward knelt on one knee and raised first one calf, then the other, to dry them and her feet, and she noted that he kept his eyes on what he was doing, not even glancing upward to peek at her exposed sex.

When he finished, he led her to a makeup table complete with lavatory sink and more cleansing bars and lotions. "I'll let you do your own face," he said. "You'll probably be more comfortable with that for now." The implication that he might do that, too, for her in the future didn't surprise her. In fact, it sounded rather nice. She quickly erased the light makeup she had worn for the evening, and took his hand again as he reached out toward her.

He led her into a smaller room, the toilet, and motioned toward a padded shelf at just above waist height. "Lean forward over that, please, Miss. You may rest your head on your arms." She looked at him with a puzzled expression. "Enema, Miss. The last step in your ablutions."

Shocked, she protested. "I ... I ... I can do that myself," she said. There was no way this stranger was going to put something up her bottom! "But it's not necessary... He said we wouldn't do anal until later."

Edward looked at her calmly. "He wishes me to complete the task, Miss. I do not disobey him." The slight emphasis the majordomo put on "I" was not lost on her. She took the two steps over to the countertop and leaned forward, her face buried between her arms, and tears welling in her eyes. She had never thought of this! She felt his hand on the back of her right thigh, pushing lightly outward, and obediently moved her foot to spread her legs. "This is a lubricant to ease entry of the nozzle, Miss." His finger lightly massaged a warm liquid substance on her shrinking anus, then slipped inward. She gasped a little - his finger was certainly larger than the pinky she had forced in there only a little while ago! She focused on her pussy. No, she was not getting wet - this was not exciting her at all.

His finger pulled almost out, then pushed back in again, making sure she was well lubricated before he removed it. "The enema is just under body temperature, Miss, so it may feel a little cool, or almost neutral. Please clench your anus on the nozzle while it is inserted, and as I remove it. I will tell you when I am about to remove it. Please do not drip on the floor." The plastic nozzle, smaller in diameter than even her pinky, slipped in easily, but she could feel the flush of her skin from her face down to the tops of her breasts and probably all across her shoulders. "I am about to release the enema. Clench tightly, please."

She followed his instruction, and felt the gush of the liquid into her bowels. As Edward had said, the enema was almost neutral, temperature-wise. She felt her abdomen expanding under the pressure of the liquid being injected into her, and was about to tell him she couldn't take any more, when he said, "I'm stopping the flow now. Please stay absolutely still, but flex your stomach muscles. This will ease the pressure you feel." Again, she followed his command, and indeed, the pressure eased. "I'm resuming. You haven't much more to go." The pressure increased again as more liquid flowed into her. "That's all of it," he said. "Please clench tightly as I remove the nozzle, and stay in your present position."

She barely felt the nozzle leave her as she strained to hold the liquid inside her body. His hand on her shoulder gently urged her to rise, and she walked unsteadily, feet widespread, to the commode he led her to. "Sit slowly," he said. "Hold on. Stay clenched until I tell you to release." She saw no emotion in his eyes - neither pity, nor lust. He simply looked at her as a task to be accomplished. After what seemed forever, but was actually only about half a minute, he spoke again. "Release," he said, and she relaxed her body and expelled the enema in a gush that embarrassed her as it flooded into the fixture. She could feel the heat of her blush from her face to her breasts.

After a last spurt, she nodded, and he offered his hand to help her rise. "Turn around, please, Miss, and bend over at the waist, feet well spread." Numbly, she followed his directions, and felt a warm wet washcloth rub the tops of her thighs, between her cheeks, and dipping slightly into her anus. Then a warm towel followed the same path. She almost giggled at the thought that she was probably as clean as she had ever been in her life - even inside!

“He would like to see you downstairs, Miss,” Edward said as she rose, and led the way to the door. They walked silently down the hallway, down the stairs, and back to the double doors He had gone through when he turned her over to the majordomo. He opened one and gestured her through, then led her down another short hallway with three doors – two on the right, and one at the end. He opened the end door, and again gestured for her to enter. As she did, she saw at a glance that this room was not open to the general visitor to His house.

On one wall, an “X” of large, heavy timbers dominated that side of the room. She saw pedestals for feet, with padded leather cuffs slightly above them on each leg of the X, and matching cuffs high above. Nearby was what looked like a modified sawhorse. Instead of being simply an inverted “V,” the top was padded with a purple leather, about eight inches wide, and there were narrow “benches” on each side about halfway down, also padded. She noted that the “benches” extended toward her a little more than a foot, and that there were cuffs here, too, at the near end of the benches and below them at the other end.

A complicated-looking harness of some sort – it almost looked like a hammock – hung from the ceiling a short distance away, and other devices she couldn’t absorb in such a short time. Her attention was drawn to her Master, now dressed all in black – slacks, shoes and tight t-shirt – and sitting in a large chair near the third wall. His face was serious, and her stomach shrank as she wondered what was wrong.

“Come here, Laura,” he said. She walked forward to him, stopping just in front of his feet. “I thought you were going to be obedient,” he said quietly.

“Obedient, Sir? What … how have I not been …” she stammered. “I …”

“Did I not tell you that any instructions from Edward came from me?” She gasped as she realized what he was getting at. “You argued with him. That is the same as arguing with me. You have earned your first punishment before you were in the house an hour. I know I told you that you would earn punishment, but I didn’t expect it to be this quickly.”

“I … I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to argue …” she began.

“Silence!” His voice shut her up as if her mouth had been covered. “I will say this only this one time more. Edward’s instructions are my instructions. You will follow them explicitly. If he instructs you incorrectly, I will deal with it. You,” and the emphasis in his voice was chillingly bleak, “will obey.”

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered.

“I can’t hear you.”

“Yes, Sir. I will obey Edward as if his words come from your lips.”

“That’s better. Edward, take her to the punishment bench.” The majordomo, face expressionless, led her to a device very similar to the purple one she had noted earlier, but its padding seemed thinner, its top was only about four inches wide, and the leather covering was black. “This will be your punishment station, Miss,” Edward said. “Kneel on the laterals there, and lay your torso down the length of the top.” She followed his directions immediately, heart sinking, tears dripping down her cheeks, and felt him fasten the leather cuffs – unpadded, she noted unthinkingly – around her ankles, and then her wrists.