A Sense Of Submission

This story contains themes of reluctance and coercion in a lesbian setting. If you think you might be offended please try a different story.

Chapter One

Hanging naked whilst being whipped by a surreally beautiful nineteen year old goddess was not how I envisaged spending my thirty-seventh birthday.

She did not appear to be expending any effort but each casual flexion of her arm seared another painful stripe across my already tortured backside. We agreed twelve but after seven I begged her to stop.

She was slightly built but the form fitting leather outfit she had chosen to wear imbued her with a sense of latent strength. The phrase "warrior princess" came to mind and I mentally filed it away for later use.

She walked in front of me, the sharp heels of her boots sounding menacing on the parquet floor, and brushed a stray hair from my forehead.

I have always counted myself blessed by way of looks but I had to give second best to this young woman. Her lustrous blonde hair was swept back and held in a ponytail giving stark expression to her striking facial features.

Her skin was flawless and her pale blue eyes had an inner radiance that was almost hypnotic. Her nose was cute forming a contrast with the sensuous fullness of her mouth and she could, under other circumstances, have seriously tested my heterosexual credentials.

I appraised her again trying to see her as her clients would. Her breasts were full, a fact attested to by the bodice work that held them firm, and her legs long enough to give her an inch or two advantage over me in terms of height. For one so young she did not lack self-assurance.

I waited for her to release the velcro cuffs that held me bound to the steel bar that hung from the ceiling but she seemed in no great hurry. She reached out and brushed her gloved finger against my exposed nipple and I pulled away reflexively.

"I promise you that, given enough time, you would be pleading with me to touch you but, for now, I intend to fulfil our bargain."

I looked at her and smiled.

"I have all I need, thanks. I still don't pretend to know what motivates your clients but I can see that you are very good at what you do."

She returned my smile but there was a hint of amusement about it as if a joke had been told and I had failed to understand the punch line.

"I think that you've missed a fundamental part of the equation. I don't just do this for money, or the benefit of my clients, I do it because I enjoy it; just as I will enjoy giving you the remaining five that you asked for."

I assumed that she was still in her role and, I have to give her credit, she sounded as if she was totally for real.

"Look, I appreciate your assistance, just unfasten the cuffs and I'll buy you a coffee."

She disappeared from view and I waited for her to engage the winch and lower the bar. I had mentally relaxed which made the shock even greater when she struck me again.

It came completely without warning and made everything that had gone before seem tame by comparison. The crisp snap across the taut flesh of my buttocks sounded no louder but the pain was of a different order. It blazed where she had struck and was then diffused across my whole body.

I stiffened involuntarily and understood that she had only been toying with me up until then. I was so jolted that I could not form the words to protest before she laid another stripe across my already tortured flesh.

For a split second I felt the precise cut of it but then the pain merged and it felt as if someone was holding a steam iron to my skin.

I screamed and tears started to my eyes but the pain was unremitting. Some part of my mind insisted that this could not be happening whilst, at the same time, I understood that she had deliberately warmed me up in order to maximise my anguish.

There was a long pause with the silence only broken by my sobs and then the sinister creak of leather. The movement of the whip through the air sounded so innocuous but the effect was devastating. She struck lower this time catching the crease of my buttocks and the instant agony was such that I was sure that blood had been drawn.

I wanted to swear at her but expletives do not come naturally to me and I howled as I had not done since I was a young girl.

I begged, and promised her anything, but the final two strokes were delivered with studied deliberation and even greater severity.

When it was over I tried to squirm away as she gently used her fingers to check the damage that she had inflicted.

"Get off me!"

She ignored me and, instead, moulded herself into my back. The leather she wore felt blissfully cool to the touch and, for a few seconds, I surrendered to its soothing effects.

The heat was slowing spreading and she traced its expanding boundaries with her fingertips right around to the front of my thighs.

I twitched anxiously but she remained close pressed and then her hand cupped my sex. I was shocked to stillness and I could feel every tiny movement as she surveyed the shape and firmness of my mound.

I turned my head and murmured.

"Please...don't."

She continued as if I had not spoken her touch becoming ever surer. I felt a sense of revulsion but, at the same time, I was aware that she was touching me as no man ever had. There is a certain feeling that can only be elicited by your own fingers but she had attuned herself to me in only a matter of minutes.

Against all reason I felt myself becoming aroused but in so doing the pain that she had visited upon me was being abated. My body relaxed a little and I rationalized that she would stop when she deemed that I was befittingly embarrassed.

That moment came more quickly than I thought. She held up her finger to me and I could see the leather darkened with moisture.

"Well, well..."

I hated the idea that she might, in some way, believe that I could actually take some pleasure from this. It then occurred to me that I might be perspiring but she forestalled this avenue of evasion by bringing her finger to my nose. The smell of leather was strong but there was no doubting the nature of the scent that overlaid it.

She dropped her hand to my sex once again and I was determined to resist but her fingers fluttered in such a way that I held my breath in anticipation. She applied the slightest of pressures then teasingly held just at the threshold.

I have enjoyed three long term relationships with men but I have never been able to achieve orgasm from penetrative sex and their crude fumbling with their fingers was worse still. The best I could manage was to have them go down on me but, even then, some of the pleasure was lost from constantly having to issue guidance.

In short, the best orgasms were those that I conjured for myself and I have lost count of the number of times that I have waited for my partner to go to sleep before I could finally find release.

Now, suddenly, here was a suggestion of something more. It was almost as if I was touching myself and the heat of pain merged with a flush of arousal across my whole body.

It seemed an age that she held me there her finger barely moving but, almost imperceptibly, I could feel her slowly encroaching and my body melting to accommodate her.

Her face was close to mine and I was aware of her slow, controlled, breathing even as my own became more ragged.

Her finger was inside me now but she did no more than flex it slightly allowing my sex to slowly come to terms with the stealthy invasion. Her body supported mine as the tension left my muscles and it felt as if we were melded as one.

My whole consciousness was focused on that delicious intrusion and I moaned softly hoping that she would take things further. I could feel myself getting wetter moment by moment and I lewdly imagined her glove becoming sodden.

Just moments before I could have killed her but now she was asserting her dominion over me in a completely different way and, if she were to release me, I was not sure how I would react.

Everything in my upbringing railed at what was being done to me but in a darker part of my mind was the thought that, beyond the confines of this room, no one would ever know.

I gave a gasp as I felt her move slightly and I feared that she was going to leave me high and dry. She had seemingly done very little but I was getting frustratingly closer to the edge.

Her finger was sliding away and I turned my face to hers.

"Please..."

For a few seconds I watched as she pondered her decision. She could have asked me to beg, and she knew I would have done, and it was her certainty of this victory that tilted the balance.

I felt the pad of her finger at the apex of my sex. It took but a second or two for her to orientate herself but then she unerringly engaged with my clitoris.

Her touch was perfectly weighted and I could feel the slight roughness of wet leather each time I breathed. Had it been me I would have increased the tempo but there was an exquisite agony as she unhurriedly held me in check until I was made acutely aware of each tiny abrasive movement.

All my pain was forgotten as my focus centred on her fingertip and the resulting pulses of pleasure which thrilled my whole body and slowly grew in intensity. It seemed absurd that she remained so still whilst I was panting for breath and perspiring with the effort of staying in touch with her.

At the end there was some semblance of mercy. She increased the pressure fractionally and caressed with a feather light touch which had me wanting to thrash my body but I knew that stillness was the key.

When my climax came it was slow and assured bearing me up higher than I thought it was possible to go. I knew that I was crying out but I knew not what.. For long seconds I was transported to a plateau where there was a whiteness about everything and my body seemed both tensed and relaxed at the same time.

It was too perfect, and at the zenith, I blacked out for a second or two before re-emerging frantic to hold on to every last ounce of it before it ebbed away.

When it was over I groaned as she slipped away from me leaving me hanging limp and desperately confused.

Chapter Two

I had always envisaged myself as a successful news journalist and, ideally, a foreign correspondent. In my early years I was moderately successful and even won an award but I quickly found that, apart from a few household names, journalism does not pay well.

I was able to afford a modest flat of my own but three failed relationships had put paid to any long term financial security. I joined the profession when staff jobs were on the wane and the major papers relied upon a pool of freelancers. I was able to sell stories but never the big one which would make my name.

I was going through a particularly barren patch, both personally and professionally, when one of my friends suggested that I should try submitting a feature article to a magazine. This was anathema to someone who considered themselves a real journalist but pragmatism won out.

The big buzz of the moment was s&m, courtesy of on-line book sales, but if I was to tap that vein I knew I needed a different slant on it. I started researching, and found most of it particularly unedifying, but then I chanced upon a website which dealt with the topic of women wishing to submit to other women.

I had never given this a thought but I found myself intrigued. I eventually lighted upon

Jessica's profile and I was fascinated by her candour. She set out the services she was prepared to provide and a list of fees and I was convinced that the photograph was a fake...that is, until I met her.

She stipulated a public place and I opted for a branch of Starbucks where the alcoves offered some privacy. When she walked in she made heads turn and my immediate thought was that, if she needed to make money to fund her studies, she could turn her hand to modelling rather than the seedier path she had chosen.

I was clear with her from the start. I just wanted to conduct an interview to discuss her motivations and experiences. If the article was published I guaranteed her a percentage of the fee and as much, or as little, publicity as she wanted.

She was happy to talk but by the end of half an hour I had no real sense of her. It was then that she suggested that the only way for me to fully understand was to actually experience it; and so my fate was sealed.

For obvious reasons the resultant article was heavily sanitized but it still garnered more interest that I had anticipated. It got taken up by a major domestic magazine and then went on to be syndicated. Even allowing for Jessica's percentage I still made more money from that single submission than I had in the previous twelve months.

It was no great surprise, therefore, when I received a phone call from the editor asking if I had anything else in the same vein.

It seemed totally logical to get back in touch with Jessica but I was forced to question my motivation. Despite her tender years her experience was much broader than mine but I could have considered someone else.

I rationalized it by telling myself that I was lucky to find her in the first place. She was intelligent, articulate and, given the nature of the topic, salubrious.

When I phoned her she was excited at the prospect. I had given no specifics as to her identity in the article but the magazine had been inundated with e-mail traffic which they had passed on to her and business was booming.

I thought that she might steer me towards another byway of this strange netherworld but, instead she suggested that I could gain a different perspective by watching her in session with another client.

It was an interesting idea but I wondered if it would make for too similar an article and there was something else in the back of my mind which would not quite come into focus. I finally decided that it was a question of nothing ventured nothing gained and a time was arranged.

When Jessica opened the door to me I was surprised to find her casually dressed in a baggy tee shirt, tight jeans and a pair of well-worn leather sandals. She looked every inch the university student and I wondered if her client had cried off.

She assured me that everything was still okay and proceeded to make coffee. I sat across from her and felt slightly disjointed. She spoke about the success of the article but in such a way that it felt as if she was talking about two totally different people.

When the doorbell rang she told me that I should simply follow her lead and I was not to make notes.

I was intrigued to find out what sort of person availed herself of the services of a girl like Jessica but I was taken by surprise when the woman was shown into the room. Jessica had explained that she was a regular client whom she knew as Linda but that was not her real name.

I guessed that she was about thirty and her expensive business attire marked her out as a professional, a lawyer perhaps? I suppose that I expected someone shy and non-descript but here was a woman who clearly lavished a lot of attention on her appearance.

She may have been a pound or two overweight but she had a classical hour glass figure, which men currently clamoured for, and she was very attractive facially; her glossy black hair and dark eyes hinting at some middle-eastern blood in her heritage.

Jessica came and sat beside me on the sofa leaving Linda standing in the middle of the room. Her expression was neutral but I could see that her pupils were dilated; she seemed completely unfazed by my presence.

"Why don't you undress for us..."

Linda's hesitation was momentary. She put aside her bag, an expensive Chloé if I was not mistaken, and took off her jacket.

I sat transfixed having to convince myself that this was really happening. She slowly stripped to her underwear and I had the distinct feeling that she was putting on a show for my benefit.

She stood still allowing me to take in the curves of her body and I was suitably impressed. Her skin bore a healthy tan and, despite the odd holiday pound, she looked very fit.

"Don't be coy. She wants to see you naked."

Jessica spoke as if reading my mind, her tone nonchalant but assured. Linda's eyes flicked to mine and then quickly away as she carefully removed her bra and pants and set them to one side.

Her legs were nicely toned and her breasts more fulsome than they first appeared but it was her nipples that took my attention. They were a dark shade of brown and so much larger than mine.

"Show her."

I cast a glance at Jessica wondering what she meant but Linda knew exactly what was demanded of her. She brought her hands to her breasts and gently teased with her fingertips.

I almost gasped as I watched the teats distend until they were almost an inch proud of her heavily dimpled areola. This display of raw nature seemed so at odds with her professional persona.

She began to pinch more purposefully and gave a low moan as her eyes closed. I could only watch jealousy wondering if her nipples were sensitive in proportion to their size.

The answer came as she reached down to her sex and began to massage her mound whilst still squeezing vigorously. I knew that, with the article in mind, I should have remained dispassionate but watching her like this stirred something inside me.

I am no stranger to pornography but nothing I had seen could have prepared me for the reality with which I was now confronted. There was no faking, no cutting away. Here was a woman, who clearly enjoyed being watched, at the height of arousal.

She was in no way a model of perfection but her blemishes only made her more human, more like me.

There was something else, something it took me a moment to grasp, the scent of her was in the air. I actually felt a little guilty as I deliberately breathed her in noting the subtle constituents.

Her perfume was musky and expensive but there was also a hint of overworked deodorant and something more. I do not know why it came as such a shock but the realization that I could smell her arousal startled me.

She was some feet away but it was sufficiently potent to fill the void and I wondered if this is how it had been for my various lovers. That thought was no sooner formed than I became self-consciously aware of my own sex and felt an almost overwhelming urge to touch myself.

She was becoming more and more heated but I noticed that she did nothing more than rub herself. If it were me I would, by now, have my fingers deep inside but she was demonstrating incredible self-control

I looked across at Jessica. She had a half smile on her face and I suddenly comprehended that it had nothing to do with Linda's powers of restraint; she was waiting for permission!

Now that I understood I could see that Linda's eyes were not just conveying the arousal that she felt she was also pleading silently to be allowed to go further.

Jessica let her continue for a few minutes more and then quietly said

"Stop..."

Linda did as she was told but, for a moment, reality seemed to intrude on her fantasy. She covered herself with her arms as if she had been caught in the act and looked at me with a hint of embarrassment in her eyes.

Jessica had not really explained in any great detail what was to transpire she simply told me to come along with an open mind. Now she stood up, stretched languidly, and then waited.

Her extreme beauty aside she radiated something that was hard to define. There was a certain aura about her which had a profound effect on Linda who looked at her with adulation. She stepped forward hesitantly and, in a choreographed movement, Jessica raised her arms allowing Linda to carefully remove her tee shirt.

She was not wearing a bra and my eyes fell to her breasts. They were beautifully shaped with the enviable firmness of youth and nipples almost perfectly circular. Linda simply stared for a moment before slowly dropping to her knees.