Nici Submits

Seated in the coffee shop on the high street, opposite the beauty salon, Nicki had a great view of the salon's waiting room. She was also beginning to understand the implications of Tom forbidding her to wear underwear. Walking down the high street, the winter wind blowing strongly, she had been acutely aware that a thin layer of skirt fabric was all that separated her nakedness from the outside world. Her hairless sex, now a healthy pink rather than the inflamed, swollen red left by Sonia's evil ministrations, felt the cold wind rising up around her legs and playing around her groin, making her feel even more vulnerable. She had to continually hold her skirt down as the wind threatened to blow it up and reveal her nudity.

The effect this was having on her body was startling. She seemed to be in a state of continual arousal, her clit tingling in either anticipation or memory -- she was never sure which -- and her vaginal tunnel fruitlessly lubricating itself in the expectation of imminent penetration. When she sat down, she had to pull her skirt out so that her naked buttocks were in contact with the seat; because she was so wet, she often left a visible reminder of her excited state on the leather, plastic or fabric of the seat.

She had gone into the chemist to buy a large tube of KY Jelly, as per Tom's instructions. The assistant had smirked when she paid for it, as if she knew what it was for, and Nicki felt herself blush as she put the lubricant into her handbag. The temperature had plummeted, frost on the windows of the cars, and Nicki would normally be wearing tights against the cold, but they were now forbidden. She went to the lingerie shop and purchased several pairs of stockings, some garters, and a pretty pink and black suspender belt. When she got to the coffee shop she went into the ladies and put on a pair of sheer black stockings and the suspender belt. It looked incredibly pornographic.

As she admired herself in the bathroom mirror, skirt pulled up to her navel, another woman walked in. Nicki hurriedly pulled her skirt down, her cheeks aflame. However, the woman just smiled and said, "Someone's in for a lucky time today", and then winked. Nicki stammered some banality, and hastily picked up her packages.

Nicki re-entered the shop and ordered a large cappuccino with chocolate sprinkles. She was aware that she would have to watch herself when she sat down, in order to avoid her skirt riding up and revealing her pink snatch to the world. She pulled her skirt out as she sat down, so that her bottom was resting on the wooden surface of the chair. She was achingly, delightfully moist and did not want to leave the tell-tale smear of her naked desire on her pink flared skirt. This was going to do her posture the world of good. She put her laptop on the table, opened the lid and logged on to the coffee shop's free wifi network, trying not to think about her dampening slit or the cool wooden surface of the chair pressing against her naked buttocks.

Her packages had arrived safely that morning. Nicki had excitedly ripped open the box as soon as the courier had departed with his electronic signature. She examined her merchandise with a mixture of trepidation and desire. The butt plugs were heavier than she expected, made of some hard rubber compound. They looked a little like miniature vases, tapered at one end, thickening considerably in the middle, then tapering again with a little round 'stand' on the bottom. Nicki eyed them apprehensively. Even the small one looked much too big to fit comfortably into her tight bottom hole. As for the large one... Nicki shuddered. The enema kit came with a set of instructions that Nicki would read later. Then, there was the tawse.

Nicki was horribly fascinated by the tawse. She picked it up and examined it closely -- again, it was heavier than she expected. It was about 15 inches long, and had a stiff leather handle, the attached leather strap split into two tails. It looked terrifying, and Nicki brought it down with a slap onto her thigh. Ouch! She resolved to hide it. She would put it in the bottom of her knicker draw where it would remain her secret. After all, she wasn't going to be wearing panties for the foreseeable future! She then picked up her smartphone and texted Tom: 'Sir, the merchandise has arrived. I am ready for you. Please come soon!'

His reply had come almost immediately. Tom was away in London, for an audition. Nicki's heart sank. Then, as she read on, she almost cried out with joy: Tom's wife was away recording. He could spend the weekend with her! Friday afternoon, Friday night, all day Saturday and Saturday night! He would return home on Sunday. It was almost too good to be true! Nicki laughed, and sang, and danced with delight. Today being Thursday, she would see Tom tomorrow! She decided what to do with her day: shopping, the high street, coffee, Sonia. It was time for Sonia to get her comeuppance.

Before Nicki went to Malaysia, she had spent some time teaching drama at the local community college. It was a temporary job, filling in for someone on maternity leave. The pupils were an unruly bunch, and Nicki had struggled to maintain order and keep them interested in the subject. They were also supremely untalented, apart from one: Celeste. Celeste wanted to be a performer. She was 16 at the time, and there was something about her that grabbed Nicki's attention. The girl was a natural. She was, in many ways, very like Nicki. Her breasts were smaller, almost boyish, but she had a pretty, elfin face, long legs , pert round bum and a good figure. She could almost have been Nicki's sister. She talked to Celeste about the possibility of her applying to drama school or university and encouraged her to think about joining the acting profession.

Nicki had left the school when the regular drama teacher returned, but Celeste had stayed in touch. She asked Nicki to give her extra tuition, work on her audition speeches for drama school, and help her with her A Level project work. Nicki was more than happy to help her, and felt gratified by Celeste's appreciation of her drama skills. Before she started her A Level course, Celeste had taken a Saturday job as a receptionist in the beauty salon. Nicki remembered Celeste talking about the computerised booking system, which she had to update. Beauticians could log on remotely, from home, to check their work schedule, and Celeste was scathing about the lack of security on the computerised system.

Most employees logged on, Celeste had told her, using their name as their password -- something that computer security experts were always complaining about. Celeste also noticed that the administrator password had not been properly set, and that the default login of 'admin' with 'password' as the password had never been changed. It would be so easy for anyone to hack into the system, she had said.

So, yesterday, Nicki had done just that. She went onto the salon's website, clicked on 'Staff Only' and logged in with username 'Sonia' and password 'Sonia'. Bingo! She was into Sonia's forthcoming appointments. Nicki scanned the list before a particular name sprang out at her. Thursday, 9:45 am, Mrs Lehman-Jones. Exfoliating scrub and facemask.

Mrs Lehman-Jones was a local legend. A stout, elderly matron, slightly deaf, normally dressed in tweeds and sensible brogues, three times mayor, a magistrate and pillar of the local community. Not a helpless old lady either. Once a luckless local junkie had made the mistake of attempting to rip her handbag from her shoulder as she walked down the street. Mrs Lehman-Jones had set about him with her heavy wooden walking stick, breaking two of his ribs and putting him in hospital for a week. The local papers had loved it.

Nicki knew that Sonia was lazy. She would probably log onto her job sheet when she arrived at work, to check the morning's rota. Nicki logged in as the system administrator, using the username 'admin' and the password 'password', gaining full access. She changed Mrs Lehman-Jones's treatment to 'Full pubic wax', and in the comments section added: 'Mrs Lehman-Jones is slightly nervous about this procedure. She likes a firm hand.' Nicki then logged out and vowed to be there to watch the fun.

Now, seated at the table by the window, licking off a moustache of cappuccino foam from her upper lip, Nicki was watching the waiting room opposite. Mrs Lehman-Jones arrived 5 minutes early, and was greeted with a coffee while she waited. Finally, Sonia appeared at the door of the treatment room and called her in. Nicki immediately logged back into the system and changed the treatment back to 'Exfoliating scrub and facemask' and deleted the comment. Then she logged out, closed the lid of her laptop, took another sip of her excellent coffee, and waited and watched.

After about three minutes there was an explosion of activity. The door of the treatment room flew open, and Sonia ran out, a bright pink hand mark visible on her white cheek. Mrs Lehman-Jones flew out after her, red in the face, shouting.

Even through two sets of windows and a dividing street, Nicki could hear her strident voice:

"Lesbian! Pervert! ...Assault ...manager... police... disgusting!"

Sonia was holding both hands up, trying to fend Mrs Lehman-Jones off. The manageress came running into the room. Nicki watched as Sonia, flustered and apprehensive about Mrs Lehman-Jones's onslaught, tried to explain things to the manageress. There was a lot of gesticulation and some more verbal explosions from the elderly lady. Nicki noticed a wax strip dangling from the bottom of Mrs Lehman-Jones's tweed skirt, and started to giggle, helplessly. The manageress walked over to the computer and brought up details on the screen. She pointed, and Sonia came over to read the screen. Nicki could just make out her protests:

"But... but... it said... it's changed."

Then she did what Sonia had always done, at school. She lost her temper and started shouting at the manageress and Mrs Lehman-Jones. It escalated rapidly:

"Fucking old cunt! ...dare you slap me ... Just doing my job... I'm telling you what I saw... stick your fucking job then..!"

Things went nuclear, like they always did with Sonia. The salon staff got involved, trying to cool Sonia down. The police were called, Mrs Lehman-Jones still furious giving them full details of her 'assault'. They escorted Sonia off the premises, her personal effects in a cardboard box. As she was leaving, Sonia looked into the coffee shop and saw Nicki watching her, grinning. She exploded angrily:

"You stupid fucking cunt! What the fuck are you looking at?"

The woman police constable told her to stop shouting expletives and attempted to pull her away from the window. A punch was thrown, there was a flurry of police activity, and Sonia was bundled into the back of a police van and driven away. Nicki was delighted with her morning's work. Sonia dealt with, Tom arriving tomorrow. She shivered with desire, trepidation and anticipation.

Friday eventually arrived, Nicki waking early, drowsily delighting in the smoothness of her lower body to her wondering, exploring hands. She got up, dressed hurriedly and started to prepare for Tom's visit. She stripped the bed and put on clean sheets, duvet cover and pillowcases, dusted, vacuumed and polished until the small flat shone. She put some white wine into the fridge, and took a bottle of red and placed it on the kitchen table. She made sure the wine glasses were spotless, put some fresh flowers into a vase in the living room, plumped up the cushions on the settee and laid a log fire in the small fireplace in the living room. By lunchtime, the flat was ready. Time for her to prepare herself.

Nicki hated the thought of Tom giving her an enema. That would be too humiliating to bear! The thought of him seeing her with soapy water and god knows what else squirting out of her backside disgusted her. It might make a rude noise, too. No. Nicki would spare him and herself that experience, and would do it herself, before he arrived. Then she would casually mention that she had cleansed herself and was ready for him to do whatever he was going to do to her.

Nicki took the enema kit into the bathroom, read the instructions, and filled the bag up with a solution of hot water and liquid soap. Once the liquid was inside her, she would have to keep it there for five minutes before she released it, and would then rinse with hot water until it ran clear. She eyed the apparatus nervously -- a bag a little like a hot water bottle, with a tube coming out of it that ended in a nozzle. The nozzle would be inserted into her rectum, the bottle squeezed, pushing the soapy water into her bowels. The instructions said she might feel a burning sensation (that would be the soap) and some cramping in her stomach.

She stripped naked and climbed into the empty bath, in case of spillages, got on her hands and knees, placed the enema bottle on the side of the bath, took the nozzle in one hand, reached around behind her and attempted to push the nozzle into her tight hole. Beads of sweat broke out on her upper lip. She groaned as the nozzle stretched her anus and slowly sank deep into her back passage. When she felt it was in far enough, she started to squeeze the bottle.

The feeling of the hot, soapy water penetrating inside her was a new and intense experience. She moaned. Nicki squeezed and squeezed, feeling herself fill up, her tummy starting to swell. She felt impossibly full. She was sure she would not be able to hold it in for more than a few seconds. Then, the soap solution started to burn inside her as well. She clenched her buttocks, the need to got to the toilet and evacuate what was inside her becoming more and more urgent. She looked at her watch. Less that a minute had passed. She couldn't hold it! Sweat was now bubbling up on her forehead. The burning peaked, Nicki groaning loudly. God this was terrible! But she was going to do her best to keep it in for the full five minutes. This was so uncomfortable, and this was just liquid and a thinnish nozzle. Tom was going to stretch her even more widely with those damn butt plugs. She wouldn't be able to bear it. Tears started run down her cheeks, her face red, her eyes screwed up, cramping pains running up her belly.

After what seemed an eternity, five minutes was up. Nicki staggered to the toilet, pulled the nozzle out of her back passage, and thankfully and mercifully released an explosive torrent of evil smelling brown water into the toilet. Her passage was still feeling the burn of the soap. She needed to rinse, quickly. She desperately filled the bottle with hot water again, got back into the bath, and pumped herself full again. She held it inside her for a minute, and then released it into the toilet. She did that twice more until the water streaming from her bowels was clear. She shuddered with relief, the burn fading to a dull ache. At least she was now cleansed internally, ready for Tom to go to work on her.

Nicki took a long shower, luxuriating in the cascade of hot water over her body. She shampooed her hair, soaped her body, spent much too much time soaping between her legs, conditioned her hair, shaved her legs and arm pits, and emerged pink and fragrant into the steamy air. She was going to look her very best when Tom arrived. She dried and styled her hair, applied fresh make-up with some rather nice deep red lipstick, and started to dress. She had chosen to wear her little black cocktail dress -- lacy bodice buttoned up the front, artfully cut to show off her small cleavage, belted high with a figure hugging skirt finishing about three inches above her knees. Silk stockings with brocaded garters tight around her upper thighs. Her black stiletto 'fuck me' shoes.

She eyed her reflection in the mirror, liking what she saw, and hoping that Tom would like it too. She laid out the butt plugs in a neat little line on the kitchen table, putting the tube of lubricant next to them, alongside the wine. She picked up the tawse, hesitated for a moment, and then placed it underneath a pile of panties in their draw in the bedroom, closing it firmly. Tom surely wouldn't find it there. Finally, she poured herself a glass of red (Dutch courage, she told herself) and sat on the settee to await Tom's arrival.

As she waited, sipping her wine, Nicki realised something: Tom had never kissed her properly. He had pecked her on the cheek, but never kissed her lips, like a lover. Also, he had not yet touched her breasts. Their last encounter had been strictly 'below the belt'. He had shaved her pubes, beaten her buttocks with a wooden spatula, fingered her anus, and finally fucked her. She had still been wearing her blouse throughout, he had never ordered her to take it off. After he had finished with her, he had kissed her cheek and departed. She wondered if this encounter would be different? Perhaps her breasts were too small to interest him? Sonia had said they were too small. But was that just Sonia?

Tom arrived at 4:00pm, carrying a small overnight bag. He was dressed in faded blue jeans, brown boots and a black corduroy shirt. He put the bag down in the living room and looked at Nicki, standing before him, already blushing with embarrassment at her desire. He examined her dispassionately.

"Lift your skirt."

Nicki felt her ears go red. He hadn't even said 'hello' or asked her how she was or any of the social niceties. She pulled her skirt up to her navel.

"Come here."

She approached him, remembering this time to keep her skirt raised. He sat down by the kitchen table, pulled Nicki towards him and examined her closely and thoroughly.

"Have you prepared yourself for me?"

"Yes sir", Nicki replied, "I've been waxed and I've...", she paused, searching for the right words, "...cleaned inside myself for you."

"Strip."

Nicki had never been totally naked in front of Tom before. Again, she blushed scarlet. She turned away from him and unbuttoned her dress, shrugging it onto the floor. She stood in front of Tom, naked but for her stockings and stilettos. She noticed that even the lips of her sex seemed to blush, turning pinker, flushed with desire. She was getting wetter as well.

"Stand in front of me. Put your hands behind your head. Don't move them. Open your legs."

Nicki stood before him, her hands behind her head pushing her breasts forward and up. She stood with her legs as wide apart as she could. Tom ran his fingers up and down her stockinged thighs. Nicki heard herself moan. His fingers slipped inside her, playing with the erect nub of her clitoris. Nicki almost fell against him, cascading sensations playing up and down her sex and belly.

"Turn around. Bend over. Keep your hands behind your head."

She turned and bent, displaying her buttocks, the puckered rim of her cute, tight anus clearly visible. Tom inserted his thumb deep into her rectum, pulled it out and sniffed it. Hot tears of humiliation were pricking at the corners of Nicki's eyes. He pulled her into a kneeling position, on the carpet. He reached out, and caressed her breasts, rolling her hard nipples between his forefinger and thumb. He pinched down. Nicki took a swift intake of breath, hissing with the erotic pain, tremors running down her body. She wanted Tom inside her. Tom sighed.

"Sit down Nicki. We need to talk."

She sat, almost paralysed by the fear gripping her whole being. He was going to dump her. He wasn't pleased with her. She was going to lose him. Misery seemed to explode inside her tummy. Was she not clean enough? Had it all been for nothing? Had she changed from being a normal young woman into some kind of frenzied sexualised misfit, desperate to please this man in front of her, this man whom she had begged to humiliate and abuse her, just to fall at the final hurdle? It was too much to bear. Tears ran down her cheeks and dripped onto her shoes. She stared at the floor, abject. Tom put his hand under her chin, raising her face.