Submissive in Surrey

Author's Note: Ravensthorp is a fictional town. Surrey is an actual English county, south west of London. All the characters in this work of fiction are over 18 years of age. I hope you enjoy my first real attempt at erotic fiction for over twenty years.

Submissive in Surrey

Chapter 1 -- False Start

Ravensthorp, Surrey. May 2013.

Leather cuffs were cinched tight around my wrists, too tight. Cords fixed to the cuffs were pulled taut, forcing my arms to be stretched up above my head. Naked, I shivered, more from apprehension than from cold. My senses were assaulted. The spotlight half-blinding me, the smells of alcohol and smoke and the jeering cries of the people watching me made it hard to think. My wrists were already growing numb.

Then the man I'd met only minutes before circled around me so I could see him: stripped to the waist, showing off more of a beer keg than a six-pack; he was unattractive, but he and I were the centre of attention. I couldn't even remember his name. Stupid!

My own attention was riveted on what the man was holding. A leather whip of a kind I'd heard about but never seen. As he slowly uncoiled the whip, I saw that it only had one tail, one striking surface, and I instinctively knew that it was going to wound cruelly.

I knew then that I'd made one more bad decision in a lifetime of bad decisions.

I said, "No, wait," but my voice was a small thing, drowned out by the crowd who were baying for blood. The man with the whip had moved, I could no longer see him, and I was afraid of what that meant; and wouldn't you know, for once I was right. A hissing sound, a crack which threatened to burst my eardrums, and a line of molten lava crossing my back all hit me simultaneously, but it was that last one that made me scream. The pain was hot, fierce -- almost overwhelming. It made me jerk and writhe and step backward and forward in an effort to get away from it. I couldn't act; could hardly think, but I screamed and tried to shout. "Stop -- please -- this is -"

My cry was cut off by another harsh, cutting strike, slashing across my buttocks and I screamed again. This was nothing like I thought it would be! There was no pleasure in this, not even the perverse, self-loathing pleasure I'd often felt before, hurting myself as I masturbated. Just pain. Horrible, searing, destroying pain, so overwhelming I could barely feel the warm flow snaking down my body. The cheers from the crowd were hammering at my ears. My head was pounding. I couldn't feel my hands. Every instinct was telling me to ESCAPE, but all I had to use was my voice. A little, ragged thing, I had to make it heard.

"Stop! Stop this, PLEASE. It's too much I can't -"

Perhaps he'd been angered by my plea, or maybe he was drunk on a heady mix of power and whisky, but he whipped me thrice more in the span of seconds. At least thrice; possibly more because my mind was slipping away from the searing pain, a tiny wounded animal seeking the farthest corner. I hung slackly, still aware, wishing I wasn't.

Then he moved to my front. "no" I managed through cracked lips, horror mixing with pain in a devil's brew.

The grin of a base, dull sadist creased his face and he swung his whip so I could see. The blow struck and slashed at my belly, and six gins and a curry wanted to get out. I vomited and started to choke, and from then my perceptions became patchy and intermittent.

Screams. Mine? Voices. A woman. Firm. No nonsense. "Cut her down - I'm a doctor - " "Get out!" - "Set her down" - "aspirating vomit, clear her airway -"

Blackness. Warmth. "Breathing, pulse is steady." I liked that voice.

Warmth. Movement? Car engine. Black again.

Hey, where did all the pain go? Dark, no pain -- am I dead? Open eyes. Must be dead, an angel is holding my hand. So nice. Tired...

Hot. Burning up. Hell really is hot. But for the cloth, the cool, wet cloth on my forehead. The afterlife shouldn't wait any more. Open your eyes, coward.

..."Angel?" The angel was there, and she was blonde and pretty, and talking to me.

"You're awake!" She smiled down on me. Yep, definitely an angel.

I struggled to move. I was lying down, it was soft and warm. "What... who...?" I mumbled. A firm hand on my chest stopped me.

"Don't try to move yet, Annette. Please." Then the angel turned away from me and raised her voice. "Mistress! Annette's awake!"

Yeah, that's my name, I thought. How's she know it? Angels have Mistresses? God is a woman?

It was all too hard and my eyelids were too heavy. I'd have closed them again, except for that voice I'd heard before. "Annette. Annette, stay with us. Try to keep your eyes open. Come on, girl." The voice was like no other. Feminine, steely, a little dark, but with a layer of compassion I'd rarely heard in the last few years. That voice was so fascinating to me it made me decide to open my eyes again.

I blinked once or twice and managed to focus. If the angel was pretty, God was stunning. She was indeed a woman: Jet-black hair tied back in a bun, eyes on the grey side of blue, maybe thirty -- except for the skin around the eyes, that spoke of greater age or determined purpose. But now she was speaking again and I had to listen. "Annette? Annette Hart?" I nodded. "Do you know where you are? How you got here?"

I looked around a little. "I'm in bed." The answer made me giggle, at that moment it was the funniest one-liner in human history. "In heaven? Never thought I'd get there." This was even funnier.

The blonde woman looked at the dark-haired one, concern writ large on her lips. The latter had an answer. "That's the morphine talking, Annette. I had to give you some, you were in too much pain. Just stop and think for a moment."

I did. It hurt. Memory can be a curse sometimes. "The S&M club. Volunteered for a demonstration, he called it. Yeah... his regular girl was ill, he said. Said he'd go easy. Oh God... he lied. It hurt so much. What did I do?" The effort of talking and remembering was sorting my mind. The angel wasn't an angel, but a blonde girl, my age or even younger; sweet brown eyes, short cropped blonde hair, a kind heart-shaped face. And God... well, the dark-haired woman was asking the question again.

"Do you know where you are?"

"Yeah... Ravensthorp, in Surrey. England. That's where I was anyway. Don't know how I got here, but I kind of remember a car?"

"That's good, Annette. Myf, help sit Annette up a bit. That's it, get another pillow behind her."

I giggled again. "What kind of name is 'Miff?" The blonde rolled her eyes at that. It was cute.

"I get that a lot", she answered. "It's Welsh. Short for 'Myfanwy'. Pleased to meet you, Annette."

"Particularly appropriate, since the name means 'My Dearest.' I'm Jan."

Myf's face shone at the compliment. "Oh, there's more to that, Mistress. Please allow me to present Da-"

Jan cut her off. "Jan's enough for now. I'm a doctor. I'd like to take a look at you, is that ok?" I nodded. She took my temperature, listened to my heartbeat and took my blood pressure. "Good. You had a bad fever for a while but that's coming down. Would you like to eat something?"

"Yes." Definitely yes. I was ravenous. Jan sent Myf off to the kitchen, then helped me sit up a bit higher and put a lap tray in place. When Myf returned, it was with a steaming bowl of something that smelled absolutely delicious.

As I devoured the thick soup and crusty bread, I looked around. My first discovery was that the room I was in was bigger than my bedsitter, and far better decorated. My next was that Myf was wearing a nightdress, and I remembered dreaming of her sitting with me, holding my hand...

"How long was I asleep? Have you both been up, looking after me instead of sleeping?" The thought cut through the artificial euphoria of the morphine. Guilt wracked me and I began weeping.

Myf rushed to my side, trying to soothe me. "It's ok, Annette, really..."

Jan was both slower to move and more considered with her words. "You had a fever, dear. We had to keep watching you to make sure you didn't get any worse. It was no hardship."

She held out a hand with two capsules in it. "Antibiotics. One of your wounds became infected, but these will clear it up." I swallowed them with a gulp of water. "Now, you should get some more sleep, I can see you can hardly keep your eyes open. Rest, and we'll get you up and walking a bit in the morning." She indicated a small bell on the bedside table. "Once the morphine wears off you'll be hurting. Ring if you need water, pain relief, the toilet... anything."

"I don't deserve such kindness," I mumbled, and then my eyes shut.

*****

For a while, I was back at home, on the farm. I was younger and everything was fine and I was happy, and naturally my waking mind knew that was bullshit. I opened my eyes and saw the first rays of dawn piercing through the window. I grumbled and sat up, and WHOA, there were pains all along my back like my skin was stretched too tight, and a fiery one in my gut, and I remembered Jan's warning about the morphine wearing off. "Shit", I managed, then "fuck." Despairing of having anything original to say, I decided to try to get out of bed. There was a comfortable looking sofa at the other side of the room, not a bad goal I thought. I was thoroughly tired of lying down.

I levered myself out of bed and noticed a line of stain on the sheet. Blood? Mine. I felt a wave of guilt that was like a familiar old friend. As I sat up, I looked down and saw I was wearing an oversized Hello Kitty t-shirt. Not Jan's style, so must be Myf's. No blood on the front, so must have been my back was oozing blood.

My legs felt weak and unsteady, so I took it slow, but eventually managed to sit myself down on the couch. That done, my mind started racing, mostly with questions about my benefactors. Who were these women? Why did they help me? How did they know my name?

I looked to my side, and got an immediate answer to my last question. My handbag was sitting there. Of course, they'd rescued it as well as me, and my ID was in there. And something else I suddenly decided I wanted. I frantically rummaged in the bag and came up with what I was looking for. My cigarettes -- smashed flat. Damn it, I was dying for a smoke!

I shook my head, reasoning that a doctor wouldn't allow smoking under her roof anyway. Trying to ignore the sudden craving, I looked around at the room. The ceiling was too high for a modern building and the furnishings were solid -- no cheap chipboard stuff here. There was a curtained window at the end of the room, a big one. I stood up and walked to it, every step causing me a bit of pain here and there. Turned out it wasn't just a window, but a glazed door. I turned the handle and opened the door and found myself walking onto a balcony looking over the sort of manicured gardens you'd find in a Stately Home, such as I'd seen on TV.

Wow. What kind of place is this, and just who is Jan?

I was still wondering about this as I sat and watched the sun rise for a bit. Then I retreated, as all I was wearing was the t-shirt and I was getting cold. I'd entered the room again just in time to hear a knock. "Come in," I answered, and Jan opened the door with a doctor's bag and a small bundle of clothes in her arms. "Annette, you're up, good," said my benefactor. "Here are your things. Breakfast is almost ready, but I'd like to look at your injuries before we eat, if that's all right."

"Yes, alright," I responded, sitting on the bed. I moved to take Myf's t-shirt off but cried out in sudden pain as I raised my hands to grab the shirt.

"Slowly, slowly. You're pulling on your stitches." Jan helped me to get the shirt off. "Don't worry, Annette. I've seen it all before," she said in an effort to reassure me.

"Everybody in the club has seen it all before," I answered darkly. I could see a large bandage on my abdomen and feel more on my back. With care, she removed the bandages, some of which had red or black stains on them.

"Just a little seepage from the wounds, nothing unusual," Jan assured me. I could see an ugly row of stitching on my belly with angry red around it. "What the hell were you doing in that club?" she asked.

"Being an idiot," I answered. "Looking for something. Getting lied to." I couldn't keep the bitterness out of my voice. "Story of my life."

"We might talk about that more, when you're feeling better," Jan said. She replaced the dressings with fresh ones, then gave me some more antibiotics and a couple of white pills. "Just paracetamol, for the pain. I can't give you anything stronger than that after the morphine, sorry. Now, can I help you get dressed?"

Instead of answering, I asked my own question. "Why are you being so good to me?"

"You needed help," she answered. I looked into her eyes and saw no guile. "There's another reason as well. I'll tell you later. Let's go and have breakfast."

I dressed in the same blouse and jeans I'd been wearing at the club and, after a toilet stop, followed Jan to a small, intimate dining room and sat with her at a round table.

I decided I had to say something, as I felt Jan was drip-feeding me information at a glacial pace. "Jan, I'm grateful, truly, but I - "

I was interrupted by the sight of Myf entering the room holding a large tray laden with plates of food. The smell of bacon filled the air but it wasn't that which stole my attention -- it was Myf herself. She was wearing something I'd often heard of but doubted really existed -- a French maid's uniform of frilled blouse, black short skirt, sheer stockings and heels. And one more thing. A simple black leather collar about her neck. I searched my short-term memory: Was she wearing that collar last night?

Seemingly oblivious to my staring at her, Myf served each of us with steaming plates of bacon, toast and poached eggs. "I hope the eggs are all right Annette, I didn't get to ask how you like them. It's so nice to see you up and around!"

"Thanks Myf, this looks wonderful," I managed to stammer out. She looks so sexy in that outfit!

"Please join us, Poppet," Jan said as she began eating. "Poppet"? Myf came back with another plate for herself, and I marvelled at how steady she was on those heels. Plus, it must be said, she had great legs.

The only sounds were the clinking of silverware on china for several minutes, but eventually I broke the silence. "So, Jan... Myf... Mistress and slave?"

Jan replied, "I prefer to think of Myf as my sub, rather than slave. I couldn't sell her to another, and she's free to take off the collar should she want to, so 'slave' really isn't appropriate, though I admit I do use that word from time to time."

"As if I'd ever not want this, Mistress," Myf retorted, blushing but smiling. I was speechless, so I finished my breakfast instead, but Jan spoke again as though reading my mind.

"We were both at Gehenna -- the club -- when we witnessed what that man was doing to you. Now, apart from the general principle that a doctor should treat the sick, the reason that you're here, under our roof is that in a very real way, I'm responsible. You see, I own the Gehenna Club."

It made sense. Jan obviously had means, she was some kind of BDSM practitioner, she was on the spot in time to rescue me -- but it was one more revelation and a bit too soon. I remained silent, just trying to process everything. Jan stood after wiping the corner of her mouth with a napkin. "Maybe we can discuss it further in the garden? I could do with a cigarette anyway." I felt my eyebrow raise, and Jan must have seen it. "Yes, I know. You can have one of mine."

"Yuck," was Myf's response.

As we walked out to a nook in the garden, I said, "The doctor smokes?"

Jan chuckled and said, " I know, I know! Myf gives me all kinds of grief about it." Then she abruptly changed the subject. "I'm sorry we had to go through your things. I wouldn't have done it, except..."

"I understand", I replied. "I guess my bag got stepped on in the confusion."

"So, you're Australian?" Jan asked.

"What gave it away, my drivers license, or my accent?" I laughed. I shouldn't have laughed. It hurt.

We sat down and Jan pulled out a silver case from one jacket pocket and a gold Dunhill lighter from the other, opened the case and handed me an unfiltered cigarette. I looked for the brand and found none. Yet it wasn't a hand-rolled cig.

Jan was proving adept at mind-reading. "A man in town makes them for me." As she spoke, she was fitting her own cigarette into a short tortoiseshell holder.

I shook my head. "This is surreal. The only other person I've ever heard of having bespoke cigarettes was James Bond." That got me a smile from Jan. "So why the holder?"

"Oh, it's practical," Jan replied. "People might lose confidence in their surgeon if she has nicotine-stained fingers."

"Huh! That's pretty smart," I replied. "I'd get one of those for myself, if anyone had any confidence in me."

Jan's smile turned into a frown. "You're not happy with yourself, are you?" When I failed to reply, she lit her cigarette, and then mine. I took a deep drag and immediately started coughing, and this was followed by a yelp of pain -- coughing and stitched wounds don't mix.

"Oh lord, Annette, are you all right?" Jan asked. "I wasn't thinking, should have told you..."

"Jesus God, what's in these?" I asked, looking at my cigarette.

"Um, yes. There's quite a bit of Turkish tobacco in the blend, probably a lot stronger than you're used to, and unfiltered. Sorry, dear."

I pulled a shred of tobacco off my tongue. "Another good argument for a holder, I guess."

"Right," Jan said. We smoked for a minute or so, me more carefully than before. "So, Annette: what I wanted to tell you is that I'm responsible for your injury, as owner of the Gehenna."

I shook my head. "I walked in there of my own free will. I could have said 'no' to that guy. It's my own stupid fault."

Jan replied, "What that man did to you was assault and battery. Witnesses told me you were asking him to stop, more than once, and he didn't. So he's at fault in a criminal sense. But I, as owner of the venue... well, I..."

"You're saying you're liable under the tort of negligence, maybe even a breach of an implied contract."

Jan seemed impressed. "Yes. You could take me to court and probably win -- so how do you know these legal terms my solicitor took pains to explain to me?"

I shrugged, my head slightly down. "I had a short and unspectacular stint as a law student in Sydney. Failed. Asked to show cause why I should be allowed to continue. Failed that, too."

"I'm sorry, Annette."

"Don't be, wasn't your fault."

We remained silent for a while as we finished our cigarettes. Then Jan spoke again. "Anyway, I'd like to offer you a sum for your pain and suffering, in lieu of court action. We can discuss the amount..."

"No. I'm not going to take a penny from you, Jan. As I said, it was my own stupid fault, and besides, I think you might have saved my life there. If you want me to sign something to renounce any claims, I'll do it."

Jan nodded. "Well, I want to talk some more with you but it'll have to be later. I have to go to my surgery, I have patients. I want you to stay for about a week, until I can remove your stitches, is that all right?" I nodded. "Perfect", she added. "Myf will show you around the house, she doesn't have to go out today. But I just want to say, I am sorry for what happened to you."

I didn't answer until after she left. "I kind of deserved it." With that gloomy thought, I entered Jan's home again and found Myf washing the dishes. I offered to dry while she washed.

"You're a long way from home," Myf ventured hesitantly. I liked her voice almost as much as I enjoyed Jan's. Clearly though, only her name was from Wales. "What brought you here -- I mean, um, that is, if you want to..."