Fifty Shades of Submission (18 page)

Saskia laughed at my discomfort. “Even the waiter enjoyed your orgasm
.” She gave my exposed but limp penis a squeeze under the table.

Saskia fluttered her eyelids flirtatiously
at the waiter. She smiled. “You must excuse my friend. He’s has an insatiable sexual appetite. He’s addicted to sex. He has to have it at least six times a day. If I don’t jerk him off in public he gets very grumpy. You may bring the bill, we’re ready to leave.”

When we got back to the car I put Saskia’s parcels in the trunk and she
plucked my black canvas sports bag with my clothes out of the trunk and flung it onto the pavement. I was taken aback.

“You won’t be needing your clothes anymore, slave,” she said sternly.  “From now on you’re going to be dressed in an entirely
different manner. No more jeans and T-shirts for you. In fact, you will probably be naked most of the time.”

A chill ran through me as we
drove off and I glimpsed my black bag sitting forlornly on the pavement. It seemed kind of symbolic. As though my past had been tossed firmly out the window and was being left behind.

I was brought sharply back to reality by the urgent vibrating of the butt plug up m
y ass. I looked at Saskia. She grinned fiendishly back at me.

“Every time I catch you daydreaming or losing focus
, I will switch on your anal plug. It’s a pity that it doesn’t have some sort of electrical charge attached to it. That would certainly wake you up.”

I looked at her, startled, my thoughts immediately
went back to the hours of excruciating electric shock torture suffered at the hands of Aunt Sophia.

It’s nightfall.
We pull up in front of the brilliantly illuminated entrance of a smart city hotel. Saskia takes a room on the second floor with a double bed and an
en suite
bath room. She pays for the room and looks at me.  "Bring my luggage up, slave" she commands.

I am tired and hungry and irritable. I don’t know w
hat I need more – food or rest. I fetch her luggage and drag her bags upstairs. The room is large and luxurious, with a large bed, a comfortable sofa, and a rather feminine looking dressing table. Saskia has made herself comfortable and has showered and changed into a lacy white satin negligee. She is sitting at the dressing table, brushing her hair in the mirror. In this light, she looks more beautiful than ever, her skin flawless, her red hair framing her face like dancing flames.

Her
face turns towards me and her eyes survey me critically. "Come closer, slave."

I obey
.

"C
loser still.” She suddenly stands up and puts her arms around me, her breasts pushed up against my chest like soft, tantalizing cushions.

"My beloved slave,
” she whispers into my neck. She begins to caress and kiss me. Finally she draws away and sits down on the sofa.

“Come, sit
beside me.” She pats the seat next to her.

"
Don't look so solemn. You are not yet truly my slave - you haven’t signed the slave’s contract yet. You are still a free man. You can still leave. You’re playing your part magnificently though. I’m very pleased with you – apart from your sexual deviation on the road earlier.” She scowled, then her face cleared. “Do you think me monstrous for depriving you of your clothes and food and freedom? Bringing you to orgasm in a public place?"

"
No, mistress. I enjoy depravation and humiliation as well as pain. It only arouses me more. Everything you do – no matter how cruel or depraved - intoxicates my senses. I am absolutely in your power."

“What about this afternoon when you fucked me for your own pleasure?”

“It won’t happen again, mistress.”

“It better not. Slaves are beheaded for raping their mistresses.” She paused and looked at me closely.
"Do you still love me even when I am cruel to you?"

“Yes, mistress.”

She pushes me away suddenly and slaps me violently across the face, jolting my head back. “
Do you still love me now?”
she shouts, lips parted and eyes blazing.

“Yes
, mistress.”

She slaps
me across the face again, harder than before. And then again. And again – harder each time. I reel from the blows but take them without retaliating or stopping her.

“
And now?”
she demands. “
Do you still love me?”

“Yes, my mistress
! I love you with all my heart!”

“
Is this what you wanted?
Is this how you imagined it would be as my slave?”

It’
s as if a wild beast, a she-bear, is standing before me, staring at me with wild green eyes blazing. It seems as if I am about to feel her claws dig deeply into my flesh.

She pushes
me away viciously. “Go!
Get out!”

“Go
?” I say, confused. “You want me to leave?”

“You can sleep in the car
– or on the street for all I care! Just make sure you’re back here at 7am sharp to serve me. But first, hand it over.”

“Hand what over
, mistress?”

“Your wallet with
your money and your bank cards. Now that you are my slave you will no longer be allowed to have your own money.”

I submissi
vely hand over my wallet. I am now utterly vulnerable. It is a sinking, horrible feeling.

“Now go, I want to order
dinner from Room Service – I’m famished!”

I leave
the room and go down to the parkade in the basement of the hotel. Hungry and tired, I throw myself into the passenger seat of the car and close my eyes.

So far things have not gone well.
Perhaps tomorrow will be a better day.

During the night I
was startled awake by my own scream. I had been dreaming of a dark, forbidding forest in which I had lost my way. I had been searching in vain for a way out when suddenly Saskia had appeared, her white face incandescent and pale in the gloom. She floated toward me, enclosed me in her arms, and began to kiss me. And the next moment I felt a terrible pain and saw blood gushing bright red from a deep wound that she had gouged in my side with her claws.

"
What are you doing?"
I asked horror-stricken.

In my dream she laughed
and, as I looked at her, she was no longer Saskia but a huge, dark she-bear with sable fur, clawing into my body, ripping ferociously into my flesh and devouring me one piece at a time.

I cried out in
horror and awoke with her diabolical laughter still ringing in my ears. I looked around, confused, not knowing where I was for a moment. As I came to my senses I felt lonelier than I had in a very long time. Perhaps the feeling was brought on by the silent concrete hotel basement in the dead of night – it felt like the loneliest place on God’s earth.

At 7am
I stood outside Saskia's door, hungry, hollow-eyed and weary from lack of sleep. At that same moment Room Service arrived with her breakfast that she must have ordered the night before. I took it in, and served it to my mistress in bed. She looked fresh and well rested.

She smiled
at me and patted the bed beside her. "Come, sit beside me and have breakfast with me. You must be starving."

I noticed with gratitude that she had actually ordered two full breakfasts. I found it absurdly touching that she had thought of me at all. I devoured bacon, eggs, toast a
nd sausages like a ravenous wolf, and even polished off Saskia’s leftovers. I wasn’t sure whether this would be my last meal of the day.

"Julian
,” she said suddenly, “the seriousness with which you are playing your role is utterly charming and endearing. At this moment you look so sad and tired that I have an overwhelming desire to pull you into my bed and shower you with kisses."

"But,
mistress—" I interrupted.

She placed a finger on my lips to hush me and
threw her arms around me and drew me down into the bed on top of her, covering my mouth and face with kisses. I nestled my head gratefully against her breast as she held me close.

"Oh
Julian, you are very dangerous and seductive as a slave. You are positively irresistible and I ‘m afraid I shall have to fall in love with you all over again."

Again
? "Have you stopped loving me?" I was seized by a sudden fear.

Her green eyes looked deeply into mine. S
he shook her head and kissed me on the mouth tenderly, with a deep air of melancholy.

Does
love without torment exist in this world, I wonder.

“Where
are we going?” I venture to ask since she is obviously in a good mood.

"In such a strange
and unique relationship such as ours we are going to need our privacy. I have rented a farmhouse in the country for a year— I think you will like it. If we leave now we should be there in the late afternoon.”

“
It is always by way of pain that one arrives at pleasure
.” ― Marquis de Sade

It turns out that Saskia has rented a delightful, rambling double-storey stone farmhouse surrounded by meadows, a small vineyard, a river, and a vast blue-gum forest to one side. It is situated in the valley of a working farm. The house is close to the bank of the river, and there is a small lake nearby, stocked with trout.

T
he house itself is old and built with stone hewn from an old quarry on the hillside. The ceilings are of wood with thick exposed wooden beams. The house has a private courtyard with high stone walls, with an archway that leads off into an attractive garden with flowering shrubs and symmetrical stone pathways.

Saskia occupies the whole of the second storey which consists of a small private sitting room with a large adjoining bedroom with its own
en suite
bathroom.

I have
been assigned a small room on the ground floor next to the kitchen. It has a tiny stone fireplace in the corner and a small window that looks out onto the courtyard. The room is sparsely furnished with a narrow bed, a small table and a hardback chair. It looks rather like the bare cell of a monk in a monastery.

There seems to be no staff about but Saskia says that she has organized
some hired help and that they would be arriving presently. A part-time gardener is to tend the gardens once a week, and the actual farmlands and small vineyard has been let separately to a neighbouring farmer whose staff works the fields regularly.

So here we are, happily ensconced
in our own private little world in the country, in the middle of nowhere. The nearest civilisation is a small country town some miles away.

We can now play ou
t our fantasies without interference from anyone. The prospect excites me immensely.

It is evening and a bell rings in the kitchen next to my room, summoning me to my mistress. The farmhouse is equipped with an old-fashioned mechanical bell-pull system. There are bell cords upstairs in Saskia’s sitting room and bedroom, and when she pulls them a small physical brass bell rings in the kitchen – the ideal setup for summoning a slave, I think wryly to myself.

I will grow to hate the sound of that bell
in the weeks to come as she rings it constantly – day and night – to summon her slave to her side.

I ascend the wide
stone stairs to the landing on the first floor that leads into her private sitting room. Her bedroom leads off the sitting room and the door is closed. I knock tentatively and wait. There is no reply and I stand for some time in front of the door, undecided.

Finally
I knock again.

Saskia
impatiently opens the door and stands there glaring at me.

"Why so late?" she
demands. “I rang ages ago!”

"I
knocked but you didn't hear me, mistress."

She
beckons me inside her bedroom impatiently and closes the door behind me. She returns to a red damask chaise longue where she had been sitting. Surprisingly, the entire decor of the room is in red – not the sort of thing you would expect from a country farmhouse. At second glance I realize that although the furnishings seem worn, the red wallpaper, deep crimson velvet curtains and plush red carpeting are all new. Saskia must have had the upstairs rooms decorated and furnished to her specifications before we arrived. It has the look and feel of a lavish 18
th
century French bordello.