Submissive (14 page)

“Well?”

Gillian blinked, terrified he had somehow unveiled the honeyed memory. “I was told, sir.”

He smiled patiently. “I suppose a pretty boy's pretty words are seductive. But it's not what you really want, is it?”

His hands drifted down her shoulder to her arms. Snatching her about the waist suddenly, he kissed her, unfolding her trembling lips with his eager tongue. Her heart pounded like that of a frightened rabbit, and yet her passion responded to his desire. Clive's sweet declarations melted from her thoughts.

He lifted her dress and stroked her through her panties, probing fingers teasing her pussy lips. Then, lifting her in his arms, he carried her to the sofa and set her down.

“On your pretty knees and face the back.”

As she clasped the sofa's leather back, he grabbed her hips and pulled them toward himself. He tossed the hem of her dress over her back and whisked down her panties, sending a bolt of fire through her thighs. He slapped her buttocks playfully until her hips began to undulate. Kissing the nape of her neck, he touched her wet sex and gave a little smack to her clit. She whimpered and turned her face to look at him, but he scolded her to keep her arms laced over the sofa and her face straight ahead.

She did as told, seeing nothing but the mist of her own constrained, anguished desire as he stroked her clit between his fingers. After a time, he weighted the head of his cock against the folds of her pussy. Her back arched imploringly. With a low growl, he grasped her hips and plunged in. His pelvis and thighs pounded against her, so that the room resounded with each slapping thrust. Her sex vised with the thrusts, and when she climaxed, it was with a deep torrent of sensation. He continued to fuck her roughly, until at last his cum shot into her.

Gillian was quivering as he lifted her face and grazed the side of her throat with his moistened lips. As he sat down on the sofa, he pulled her on top of his lap. He twisted the ends of her hair around his fingers, and she dared to tease his softening cock, swatting it ever so lightly and stroking the fluid-drenched shaft. He laughed and hugged her tightly, and she loved how the downy hair of his chest tickled her face.

At length, he murmured, “Tomorrow you will be back.”

She raised an eyebrow, not convinced he had the authority to command that, but she was flattered nevertheless.

“You will be a proper Disciple, one way or the other.”

His arrogance was exhilarating. She dared to kiss him. To her delight he did not resist or reprimand, but explored her body with all the tenderness she doubted he knew was in his possession.

T
he conversation between the distraught Leather Wife and the Warden turned out to be one which Gillian was not privileged to hear. Domme Camille had ordered her to stand outside the Warden's door and wait with Prisoner Jay, and when at last she emerged, it was apparent she knew everything about Gillian's thwarted rendezvous with Clive. The anxiety that had been clear on the Domme's face when she came had disappeared. Her fierce glare sent Gillian cringing against the wall. As the Domme pinched her earlobe and pulled her away from the sheltering wall, Gillian saw the Warden watching from the doorway. His face was unreadable as the Domme smacked Gillian's bottom.

“I fully expect to see that girl here tomorrow,” he said flatly.

Domme Camille did not answer. Still holding to Gillian's ear, she led her and Jay out of the prison.

The trek back to Madam's house was silent. Domme Camille dismissed Prisoner Jay on the porch, and once inside, released her hold on Gillian and gave her over to another Leather Wife, who was speaking with a guard in the foyer.

“Have this girl change her undergarments before dinner, Hilda. I would see to it myself, but Madam has been waiting long enough for me in her room.”

Tall, buxom Hilda tossed her blond-tendrilled head and took Gillian's hand almost idly. “Yes, I heard about Gina and Rose. What a pity.”

The guard grunted and Domme Camille said wearily, “More than that. To forswear themselves is one thing. To slight Madam—that is unforgivable.”

She turned and walked to the door through which Gillian had seen all the potted plants the day before. Gillian frowned, wondering what the slight to Madam was. As intimidated as she was by Madam, the idea of anyone wronging the lady disturbed her greatly. She had not long to think of it, though, for Domme Hilda snapped the order for her to head upstairs.

Gillian ate in the dining room that night with the other Disciples who were not occupied either at the prison or preparing for the pavilion. The dining room was on the other side of the house. She was surprised to see that prisoners, dressed in starched white uniforms and caps, carried the food and beverages in from the kitchen door.

What did not surprise her was that Disciples were relegated to benches at four plain board tables and forbidden to speak above a whisper, while their eight Leather Wife chaperones sat in comfortable chairs at their own table. These Dommes chatted and laughed during their meal. Except for their leather boots, they had changed out of the daunting dominatrix gear for the evening and into dark dresses and distinctive accessories. Above their table hung a colorful tapestry of a girl bound by the wrists and thrown across a log in the woods, sucking the cock of the nude man kneeled in front of her, while another switched her ass.

Pearl invited Gillian to sit beside her during the meal. Her roommate was dressed in a white velvet gown this evening, with a ribbon-laced bodice and low boots. As they ate, Gillian commented that she had not realized the Disciples were allowed into this part of the house. Pearl laughed and told her all about the other rooms Gillian had not yet seen: the quarters for the trustees who lived at the household; the rooms upstairs where the Leather Wives slept; the music room, which was just down the hall. There were lesson rooms, too, Pearl explained, where the Disciples with certain attitude problems were taught proper social skills.

“What kind of verbal and attitude problems are addressed in these lessons, Pearl?”

“Madam holds special classes there every few weeks for those Disciples deemed in need of them. Etiquette lessons actually, for newcomers who have difficulty shedding bad habits learned on Earth, or those of us who have simply taken up bad habits.”

Gillian grinned and said, “Have you had to take lessons, Pearl?”

The girl blushed. “Only once or twice.” Her eyes darted down the table and she said confidentially, “You know Alexandra, don't you?”

Gillian followed her eyes and saw Alexandra sitting far down the bench on the other side of their table. She was one of the few Disciples stripped of her clothing, and Gillian wondered what she had done to still require such exposure.

“Yes, I know her,” she replied as the sensual memory of the afternoon in the woods made her tingle all over.

“She's on the list for the next semester. Thoughtless in her passions, that's her problem, always has been. But she got carried away once too often. Now she will be sorry.”

Gillian did not care for Pearl's righteous tone and was sorry to hear Alexandra was in trouble. She wondered, too, if she had anything to do with Alexandra being scheduled for lessons. It was unlikely; she had only just arrived when Alexandra and Lara seduced her into the deep woods.

The recollection of that time with them was still sweet. Just as sweet was the recollection of seeing the two bound to the Rapture Pillars; their lovely, helpless flesh exposed for any and all to appreciate, to touch, to stimulate.

No, if she failed to learn from that lesson, she was in sore need of special attention.

But then Gillian felt a wave of apprehension, for she had sneaked away with Clive just as surely as Alexandra had sneaked away with Lara. Her mouth parched, for she could not forget the Warden's prediction: as a Disciple she would be punished accordingly for breaking the rules.

Pearl whispered distantly, and the anxiety in her voice drew Gillian out of her own concerns. “Looks like they are ready to announce the tally.”

Gillian saw that she was staring across the room to the Dommes' table. They were poring over sheets of parchment and marking something down on a separate sheet laid out on the table, talking quietly among themselves for the first time since dinner had commenced.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh,” Pearl said, fidgeting with the ribbon cinched at her cleavage, “I don't know if you noticed today, but the Leather Wives observe us during the day; a particular Domme for a number of girls. Of course, we can only guess sometimes which one of them is watching us. After dinner, they take out the notes they have made on our behavior, comparing all acts of misconduct. The five Disciples who are then deemed to have committed the most or worst acts are given special penalties in order to set an example that the rest of us won't easily forget. See those by the wall? They are reserved for this.”

Gillian looked at the stools she had hardly noticed lined up against one wall and a large, plain box nearby.

“The ones selected will be humbled in view of us all. Afterward, they will be given over to the kitchen prisoners for the rest of the night. These trustees are chosen from those on the redemption list, awaiting return to Earth, rehabilitated. They enjoy privileges the other prisoners do not.”

Gillian nodded soberly. Several moments passed and one of the Leather Wives rose to her feet and called for the Disciples to fall silent. Gillian's stomach twisted when the woman's intense blue eyes flashed her way.

“For those who are not yet acquainted with our
le dessert des disciples
, we will now announce the names of those who have shown the least inclination to behave today. Those named will come forward to receive a fitting reward for it. As Domme Camille could not attend dinner tonight, she has given me her accounts, so be assured her notations have been tallied along with the rest.”

The door to the kitchen opened and five prisoners walked in and lined up against the wall. The first four carried trays laden with servings of what looked like strawberry torte. The fifth stood with his arms folded casually over his chest as the Leather Wife read out the names from the sheet in her hand.

“Melody, Sharon, Alice.” The Domme glanced at the list quickly and added with a wicked ghost of a smile, “Alexandra—hmm, why am I not surprised? And oh, yes, Pearl.”

Relief washed Gillian's dread away. After Pearl's judgmental words about Alexandra, however, she was tickled to see her crestfallen face and wondered what act of misconduct Pearl had committed to merit this punishment. The other girls were no happier, and their respective belled ankle bracelets or shoes jingled softly as they went to meet their punishment. But Pearl looked to be glued to the bench.

The Leather Wife strode to the table. “On your feet, Pearl!”

When she still did not move, the woman grabbed Pearl's arm and pulled her up. Pearl let out a protesting whimper and covered her face with her hands as she was led away. The other three were removing their panties when Alexandra threw a contemptuous look at the prisoners. But then, as the other Disciples, she bent over a stool with her face to the wall.

The Leather Wife removed Pearl's panties and forced her down over the stool.

“Continue to feel sorry for yourself, Pearl, and you will find yourself spending the night bound to a Rapture Pillar. But perhaps that is where a Disciple who cannot resist fondling herself belongs. That pussy belongs not to you, young lady, but to Nemi, and you have been reminded of that on more than one occasion.”

Pearl pursed her lips sullenly as the Leather Wife gestured the empty-handed prisoner over. He drew from the red-tissued box what looked like a candy tin and handed this to the Leather Wife. She opened the lid back on its small hinges, and the prisoner lifted out a slender phallus-shaped wand. At the Leather Wife's nod, he grinned and smacked Pearl's ass with his free hand. Pearl suppressed the cry that flew to her lips, and Gillian saw her shudder when he spread her legs and parted her buttocks.

He inserted the wand into her anus, stopping at the red bobble that stayed outside to draw all eyes to her shame. Returning to the box, he took out a tall, white cone hat. This he set on Pearl's head. It seemed all the girl could do to keep her composure, and Gillian heard her groan softly as the prisoner moved down the line of Disciples, dispensing the same chastisement.

When the last Disciple was crowned with her humbling hat, the Leather Wife waved her finger at them all.

“One word, one whimper, one cry, and I'll turn my paddle over to one of the kitchen help!”

The five did not answer, did not move. The Leather Wife returned to her table and the prisoner to the kitchen. The other four moved to the Disciples' table and began serving the tortes. A few moments later, another prisoner came out and offered little glasses of liqueur with slivers of ice to those girls who had been spared
le dessert des disciples.

Gillian tried to concentrate on the sweet concoctions, but she knew how lucky she was to have avoided Pearl's humiliating display. Yet Pearl had been right about something: it was indeed one example she would not easily forget.

As she finished the torte and listened to the hushed conversations of those about her, Gillian's thoughts drifted to other things. She smiled to think of Clive's sweet nothings and her pussy warmed a little to recall the time spent with the very masculine Warden.

The memory of the overcompensating Thomas W. made her grimace, and she knew some regret over the disgrace she had caused poor Sir George. Then there was the chastising breakfast outside that morning. That memory brought a painful blush to her face.

But the humbling memory eased away as she thought of the ritual in the Temple of Purity. Despite all she had been through that day, the impact of that ritual had helped silence the voice that had protested so loudly before against the exacting Nemian customs. She understood now that the voice had echoed earthly customs she had never embraced, ethics that her heart, if not her mind, had known were impractical and senseless even as she went through the mundane motions of earthly existence.

The recognition of this truth was making it easier to understand the purpose of her new life. If she had one lasting remorse, it was that she had not accepted herself while still on Earth. She smiled sadly now, thinking of Bruce, the man she had fantasized about so often but did not have the nerve to approach, at least not as the submissive she was. What would have happened, she wondered, if she had allowed him a glimpse into her real nature and let him know he was the one she dreamt of releasing her from the constraints of taboo?

Even if he'd been interested, his own restraining demons would have probably turned him away.

She noticed the Leather Wife had risen again and moved to the door of the kitchen. She said something to someone inside. A few moments later, a prisoner came out carrying a towel. With this he grasped each red bobble and removed the anal wands in full view of all. The faces of the punished Disciples were just as red with shame.

The Domme clapped her hands. “Now, go and serve the prisoners tonight,” she instructed them.

They removed their dunce's hats, gave them over to the Leather Wife, and with their faces downcast, followed the man who had cleaned them into the kitchen.

“Gillian.”

Gillian looked up and saw it was Domme Camille who had addressed her. The woman's smile was as thin and hard as the ice in the shots of liqueur.

“You will come with me now.”

 

Gillian followed her to the door of the very room the Leather Wife had entered earlier. Domme Camille knocked gently and after several moments, Madam opened the door. She was dressed in a long, flowing black silk gown with bell sleeves and a red ribboned bodice. Her brown hair had been combed so that it fell in cascades over her shoulders.