Fifty Shades of Submission (9 page)

With her other hand she takes my hand and puts it on her private parts.

She laughs. “Do you know what this is?”

I shake my head, too afraid to speak.

She spreads her legs for me to have a better look. “It’s called a woman’s vagina, but I prefer the word ‘cunt’. Have you ever seen a woman’s cunt before?”

I shook my head.

“Liar! I bet you have. I bet you’re just like all the other dirty little boys who love nothing more than drooling over pictures of naked women while fondling themselves. Would you like to touch your mother’s cunt?”

I recoil as she takes my hand and rubs it across her
pubic hair and the spread lips of her vagina. Everything is warm and wet and slippery and furry.

I am repulsed yet fascinated at the same time. My heart is racing so fast I can hardly breathe.

“Would you like to pleasure your mother?” my stepmother says, fondling my genitals more vigorously.

I nod miserably, wishing that I could wrench myself free and run away and hide. I feel crushed by a sense of shame but I am too terrified not to obey her.

“Let me show you how to pleasure a woman.” She looks at the size of my small hand and smiles. “Yes, this will do nicely.” She guides my hand into her vagina. Holding my wrist, she begins to push and pull my hand back and forth in and out of her.

She closes her eyes. “That’s better,” she sighs.
“You will soon learn how to fuck your mother.”

This morning we breakfasted on the terrace. Saskia seemed happy and carefree and laughed at all my jokes. She teased me playfully
and smiled a lot and touched my hand repeatedly. Her cheeks were flushed and she seemed excited.

“Shall we go for a walk?” I suggested.

She shook her head merrily. “No, we’ll drive into town instead. I need to do some shopping.”

“Shopping?”

“Yes! And you’re coming with me!” She laughed.

In town she
bought a few items and then we had lunch on the terrace of a small café. Over lunch she asked the waiter whether there was a shop in town where she could buy horse riding clothes, crops, boots etc. The waiter gave her directions to a shop a couple of blocks away. When he left, Saskia squeezed my thigh under the table and winked at me.

The shop was called Huffington Saddlery and
had a cavernous, gloomy, old-worldly feel about it. Riding saddles and boots were on display everywhere and the shop had a wonderful pungent smell of leather. Saskia went over to a wood panelled wall that displayed a selection of riding crops and other whips.

She winked at me as she asked the shopkeeper whether she could see his range of whips. He laid out a
selection on the glass-topped counter and she studied them carefully, finally selecting a long leather whip with a short stocky handle.

"This is
too small," she said to the shopkeeper, giving me a side-glance. "I need something larger— heavier…"

"For a dog
?" the merchant inquired.

"Bigger
and heavier," she exclaimed, "I want the kind of whip I could use on an insolent slave."

At the sound of whipping
an insolent slave, I felt an instant excitement and a stirring in my groin. My breathing quickened. Saskia squeezed my hand discreetly. Her face was flushed and her eyes were burning.

The shopkeeper brought out more whips for her inspection.

She finally settled on a large, heavy whip with thick plaited leather strap. At the sight of it I felt a surge of exhilarating anticipation. Was this to be my instrument of torture?

The shopkeeper wrapped the whip, Saskia paid and we left.

On the drive back to the hotel she hardly spoke. She seemed thoughtful and introspective as she guided her sports car along the bumpy dirt road to the hotel.

When we
neared the hotel she finally turned to me and said, "You are such a serious, wounded young man, Julian. I must admit that the thought of having you wholly in my power, the idea of you actually prone and submissive at my feet,
does
stimulate and arouse me—but will this attraction last? I warn you, I tend to grow weary of playthings very quickly. I am really rather shallow and frivolous - don’t say I didn’t warn you."

Once you start you will never be able to stop
, I thought, but did not say it aloud.
Soon you will be as hopelessly addicted to the drug of sexual violence as I am.

"Very well
,” I replied. “Throw me aside when you are tired of me. That does not change the fact that I
want
to be your slave."

"Dangerous forces lie within me,"
she said carefully, solemnly. "You seem to be awakening all these horrid feelings within me, feelings that I never knew I even possessed. And I warn you, it’s
not
going to be to your advantage. You paint pleasure, cruelty and perversion in glowing, romanticized terms, but I’m afraid that the reality of it will be very different.”

"
Be cruel, be arrogant, be dominant," I said. "Be that and you will fulfil all my darkest fantasies! Let me be yours in good
and
evil!"

We turned into the gates of the
country hotel and Saskia parked in the shade of an old oak tree. She turned the engine off and turned in her seat to face me.

"
I do not want to see you for three days. I want you to take the next few days to think very carefully about what you are committing yourself to. If, at the end of three days, you still want to go ahead with this, then we will continue with you as my slave and I as your mistress. Is that understood?"

I nodded. Her
sudden stern manner reminded me of Aunt Sophia and my loins stirred instantly. My heart raced and I had an almost overwhelming urge to drag her from the car onto the ground there and then and make passionate love to her. I longed to feel the warmth of her naked body under me, I long to part her legs and insert myself into her…

“This is not to b
e taken lightly, Julian,” she said gravely. “If we are going to commit to this – this way of life, then we will be 100% committed, do you agree?”

“Yes.”

I want to fuck you. I want to ravish you. I want to take you to the Gates of Hell and to the brink of destruction and show you a completely new and wondrous world of sexual pain and perversion. A world of indescribably heightened, depraved sexual ecstasy.

“There will be no turning back after
that,” she said. “This will
not
be a game. This is not going to be a stupid roleplaying exercise. This is going to be very serious and
very
real – and very painful for you.”

We stared at each other
, then I said, “I agree. It’s going to be wonderful.”

I am awakened from a deep sleep and for a moment I don’t know where I am or what’s happening. Then I realise I am in my bed in my room at home. It is the middle of the night and pitch dark and I try to fight the rough hands that tie my wrists to the headboard of my bed. I kick wildly as my legs are spread wide open and first my one ankle, and then the other, is bound to the corners of my bed.

Violent hands rip the pyjama top and trousers off my body and I lie there, bound tight, naked and crying - terrified of her rage.

“You have been a very disobedient little bastard!” my stepmother hisses, her face no more than a pale blob floating in the dark above me. “I told you to come to my bed tonight and pleasure me but you didn’t. So now I will have to punish you! Let’s start with this, shall we?”

I scream with pain as she shoves a tubular metal object up my rectum.

“No! Please! Please don’t! That hurts!”

“Please what?”

“Please, mother! Please! I’ll be good, I promise!”

She leaves the tube shoved up me and sits on the bed next to me and begins to stroke my genitals. “Hush, child,” she says, almost kindly. “You’re such a baby. Don’t you want to make your mother happy?”

“Yes!” My voice sounds small and hoarse and terrified.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, mother.”

“Have you been a naughty boy?”

“Yes, mother.”

“Well then, you will just have to take your punishment, won’t you?”

“Please, mother – don’t!” I am crying but she is unmoved by my tears and my pleas.

She has brought sandpaper with her and begins to sand the top layer of skin off my prepubescent penis and scrotum. I sob and fight against the restraints, but it’s no use. I feel her applying some sort of cold, thick cream to my genitals, rubbing it all over the raw skin and pressing some of it roughly into my urethra. And suddenly I am on fire. I writhe and sob and scream, insane with pain.

“I made that concoction myself,” she snarls with satisfaction. “Especially for you! It has salt and red pepper in it. I will wait for you to stop screaming and then I shall apply more. By morning, your penis will be swollen the size of a balloon and you will finally understand that in future, when I say that you are to come to my room at a certain time to fuck me, you will obey unreservedly.”

“
The only way to a woman's heart is along the path of torment
.” ― Marquis de Sade

The next few days
I spent my time reading and horse riding in the mountains near the hotel. I did not see Saskia at all. I had the feeling that she had left the hotel and when I looked for her red sports car in its usual parking place it was gone. I asked Mrs Wilson whether Saskia had checked out and she assured me that she hadn’t. She had told Mrs Wilson that she would be gone for a few days and to hold her room.

I knew she would be
back. I knew that she was hooked and would not renege on our arrangement.

Riding in the mountains was a wonderful release. The days were crisp and
cold and clear, the skies cloudless. I needed to numb my desire, my yearning, with this magnificent scenery.

Each day I returned to the
hotel in the late afternoon, satiated by the beauty of nature - tired and hungry and thirsty. And each day my physical craving for Saskia grew.

And now it is the evening of the third day
and I know that Saskia is back because I saw her car parked in its usual spot. I shower quickly and change my clothes. A few minutes later I am knocking on her door.

"Come in!"
she calls.

I enter. She is standing in the center of the room, dressed in a
long white satin flowing gown that shimmers down the length of her body like incandescent light. She stands with her arms folded across her breasts, and looks stern, angry even.

My heart skips a beat at the site of her and my breathing quickens. I realize how much I have missed her.

"Saskia!" I rush toward her and am about to throw my arms around her to kiss her but she steps back, and holds up a hand to stop me. She regards me from head to toe as if seeing me for the first time.

"Slave!"
she says finally, coldly.

"Mistress!"
I reply immediately, kneeling down before her.

She seems pleased.
"Yes, that’s as it should be from now on."

With complete awe
I look up into the green eyes of this shimmering, gorgeous being. "You’re so beautiful," I say breathlessly.

"
My beauty pleases you?" She says coquettishly.

"
It drives me mad!"

Her
lips twitch derisively, and she looks at me mockingly from behind half-closed lids. "Hand me the whip, then."

I looked about the room.

"No, wait" she says, "stay as you are, kneeling. I like it when you kneel before me." She goes over to the fireplace and picks the whip up from the mantelshelf. Watching me with a smile, she flexes her arm and lets it hiss through the air. Her face suddenly looks savage as she strikes me violently. She seems instantly mortified by what she has done and drops the whip and falls to the floor next to me and throws her arm tenderly around my shoulder.

"
Oh God! I’m sorry! Did I hurt you?"

"No," I reply, "and ev
en if you had, pain administered by you is nothing but pleasurable to me. Hit me again. Hit me as much as you like – I know it gives you pleasure."

"
But it
doesn't
give me pleasure! It scares me. I am frightened by what we are doing. How far can we go? Where will it end? When will it be
enough
?"

I
look at her and smile. I am seized by that old familiar addictive intoxication of excitement. I feel my loins stirring.