Testing the Submissive: The Story & Confessions of a Masochist (8 page)

For at least a full minute we
knelt quietly and let the orgasm play out. Kevin caught his breath, and his cock slowly began to soften. The cum had now dripped in a couple of spots onto Marjorie’s breasts. Her one eye socket was covered with a huge glob.

This time Xochi made the suggestion, “I think the maid should clean up the mess.”

By maid, she meant me. I wasn’t about to object, and Marjorie’s soft nod was my green light. I leaned forward and started with Marjorie’s chin where another drip was forming. I lapped it onto the flat of my tongue and swallowed it down. Once the chin was nicely cleaned up, I started in on that eye socket. At one point I had to practically slurp it into my mouth. I did her cheeks, the side of her nose, her forehead, a little on her neck, and those two big droplets that had landed on her breasts. All of Kevin’s cum was now in my tummy, and the mess was all cleaned up.  Kevin meanwhile had zipped up, and found his coat. One last round of hugs at the door and he was gone as quick as he had arrived.

We talked until
the early morning hours.  I couldn’t believe how, in such short order, I felt almost closer to these three women than I did with my own best friends. There was no pretense among us. No competitiveness. No jealousy. An inherent air of trust. At one point, Christie began to masturbate in mid conversation as if it was the most natural thing in the world. None of us offered to help her or join in, as we knew she was doing it alone by choice. She simply wanted to give herself a little quickie, so why not right here, right now? It was beautiful. Her face contorted for a half-minute, while the rest of us just kept gabbing. Then she rejoined the dialogue, muttering “excuse me” as if she had just sneezed. We giggled.

She also whispered to me, “S
till on clean-up duty?”

I enthusiastically nodded, and her hand crept up from within her bathrobe shiny wet with her juices. She extended her arm toward me, and I craned my neck to reach the wet fingers. I sucked on each digit, loving her musky scent. Again
, it all felt so natural. 

That night Marjorie and Christie slept in one bed, and Xochi and I in the other. We cuddled which felt so sweet. It was the first time I’d ever fallen sleep cuddling another woman.

The next day…

I woke up first, at 9:30 or so. With the others quietly sleeping, I made my way to the in-suite coffee station and brewed a few cups.  By 10:30 we were all awake, chit-chatting and indulging in a lovely breakfast tray that had arrived, courtesy of the network.  I texted Lewis and told him I’d be ready for pick-up by noon. He replied with confirmation that Victor would be waiting.

We showered and applied make-up, sharing tips on the latest and greatest from
Lancôme, M.A.C., and Bobby Brown. I was the least prepared as I was the only one who had not known about the sleep-over in advance.  Lewis and the network are strict with the rules, and this was all intentional on their part.  The other girls had brought overnight bags with fresh clothes for a new day, while I was stuck with that damn Banana Republic outfit that would not disappear. It felt like I had worn this thing for a week!

We all said our goodbyes. The
girls explained to me that, while contact between us was not forbidden, generally it did not occur. This was a mutual decision between the network and the submissives, and upon further reflection, it made infinite sense. If we stayed in regular contact, we’d start warning each other about certain clients; we’d have post-session discussions; and we’d be tempted to meet for coffee and possibly more.  It was best we live separate existences so that our individual focus remain that of our Master/Sponsor, and our vulnerability and naiveté regarding clients remains intact.  From what they told me, we’d probably bump into each other once or twice – but the next sleep over wouldn’t happen until our annual network interview a year from now.

Victor
was waiting.  Since he was driving my car and not his limo, I jumped into the front seat.

“Mister Lewis wants you to call him on the speaker phone,”
Victor mentioned.

Lewis was in a great mood, quite cheerful and happy to hear the sleep-over had been such a success. He wasn’t surprised I fit into the group so seamlessly. It felt slightly odd to have
Victor listen in on the conversation, especially when Lewis asked if there was sex after all.

I didn’t go into specific details because that’s not
what Lewis was asking, but I did admit my face had been buried between the legs of all the three of the women, and that I’d cleaned up the mess left on Marjorie’s face.  Lewis was more pleased, not so much because of the sex itself, but rather it was further proof the subs were a happy bunch of campers. When a natural pause in the phone conversation occurred, I anticipated Lewis was about to say goodbye.

Instead, he directed his next question to his driver: “
Victor, do you remember the last time you dropped off Abigail?”

“
I sure do, Sir. Yup. I remember well,” Victor said.  He sat up in the seat, clearly feeling haughty.

“What did you say to Abby in the elevator on the way up to her
apartment?”

Ohhhh…darn. This is going to make me blush like crazy.
I did blush. I hadn’t forgotten about the dialogue between Victor and me either, but now I’d have to hear my own words played back at me.  Meanwhile, Victor was grinning ear-to-ear.

“I asked her if she like it rough,” he said.

“And what did Abby say in return, Victor?”

“She said…yeah, yeah she like it real rough.”

I was squirming with shame.
Fuck, why didn’t I sit in the back seat?
Flashes of that evening with Victor ran through my head.  How he drove his thick, long cock deep into my pussy from behind, while pulling on my hair.  How he tossed me around like a ragdoll, flipping me over and into various positions as if I was a mouse being played with by a cat.  The memories made me shudder, but also I felt that predictable tingle.

Lewis’ next question momentarily puzzled me: “Then why didn’t you give it to her rough?”

“Huh??”  Victor wasn’t puzzled, he was completely discombobulated.  “Oh I did, Mr. Lewis. I did give it to her rough,” he claimed in self defense.

“Funny, that’s not
what Abby said.”

Oh my God!! Lewis is setting me up!
I don’t think I could have blushed more deeply. All the air seeped out of my lungs. I knew what was happening, and I knew I was in deep shit. Victor’s happy disposition changed to one of embarrassment and downright anger.

“What you mean, Sir?” 
Victor plainly considered further clarification necessary.

“Don’t get me wrong
Victor, she liked it. You know so yourself. You satisfied her,” Lewis was reassuring Victor so as not to completely crush the guy.

“Abby,” he shifted the conversation to me, “how many times did you cum when
Victor fucked you?”

“Four times, Sir. I came four times when Mr.
Jaukovic fucked me.” To signify respect, I thought it best to use Victor’s last name in that moment.

Victor
was partly appeased, but not entirely.  This was Lewis’ strategy.  He was brilliantly manipulating Victor without the man’s knowledge.

“But you did tell me he wasn’t rough enough, didn’t you Abby?”

I bit my lip. Of course, I had said no such thing. In fact, I had been surprised Victor had used me as roughly as he did. The man didn’t hold back at all, in my view. That said, I was a pawn in this game too. Lewis wanted me to play along, and I was sealing my own fate. 

“Y..yes, S..Sir. I did say that.”  My head hung in shame as
Victor was now pulling into my parking garage.

Victor
glared at me, “You say that??”

“Yes,
Victor, I mean…Mr. Jaukovic. I’m sorry, but yes I did say that.”

Victor
re-addressed Lewis, “I go any rougher, I be leaving bruises all up and down her!”

Lewis was evil in his response, “
Victor my friend, that’s the whole idea.”

The call ended just as we were about to turn-off the car. Lewis offered my services for the next two hours, and
Victor jumped on the opportunity without hesitation.  He didn’t say a word after that. Complete silence as we walked to the elevator. I knew this was going to be bad when Victor was walking ahead of me, not alongside me. I had to walk quickly to keep up. Any respect he had for me was temporarily gone for now. Not a word while we waited for the elevator. He barely looked at me, but when he did I lowered my eyes. The elevator took forever to arrive! Or, perhaps it seemed like it took forever under the circumstances.  Finally when we heard the ding and the doors open, we could step inside.  It was empty. No one was there.

He waited a few seconds to see if it would stop at the lobby to pick up more residents. When it didn’t he pounced on me. The first thing he did was take my arm and bring it behind me, twisting it more than half-way up my back. The pain in my upper arm and wrist was instantaneous and excruciating. I worried he might actually sprain it, but of course he wouldn’t.  He was a pro. They were all pros. I was a submissive among a group of very experienced dominants, and this kind of pain was the price of
entry.  I stood on my toes in an attempt to alleviate the agony. Victor pushed further up. I stood on my tippy toes. He adjusted again.  I was hurting so much that I had to remind myself to breathe.

Then he pulled his knee back
and slammed it into my outer thigh.
Arrrrrgggggghhhhh!

That would leave a bruise. One about the size of a softball. Not only that, it caused my one leg to collapse, which put even more strain on my poor arm.  This wasn’t going to be pretty.

Victor growled into my ear, “Is this what you want, bitch?”

What could I say? I wanted to say:
no Victor, this is NOT what I want. What you did last time was MORE than rough enough. I don’t want this. Do I want you to fuck me, YES!  But do I want you to be rougher than before, NO!!
  But I did not say any of that. It’s not what Lewis would have wanted. The game we were playing didn’t go like that.

So instead, arm in deep pain, thigh aching, breathing di
fficultly, I replied: “Yes, Victor…this is what I want…this is exactly what I want.”

Two hours and two orgasms later, he left me. I was laying the floor in my living room. We never made it as far as the bedroom. I was too sore to make it there now. My body ached. I had no choice but to nap right there and then, on the cold hard floor. Perhaps after a nap
, I’d be better able to move. My Banana Republic outfit was tattered beyond repair. Victor had ripped open the blouse sending those double buttons flying up into the air.  He couldn’t wait to get his thumbs and forefingers on my nipples to show me what rough really meant.

I reached for that torn blouse which was only a few feet away. I
curled it into a ball of sorts and rested my weary head upon it. Yeah, I was sick of that outfit.  Its final use was to be my pillow for the next few hours.

Then I drifted off to sleep.

Just under
four hours later…

When I awoke, I was
startled to see Lewis sitting beside me on my bed. I jumped up and gasped!

“It’s okay, it’s just me, don’t be
alarmed,” he comforted me. At some point during the afternoon, he had carried me to my bed.

“How long have you been here?” I
asked, still groggy.

“For a while,” he reassured me.

“Oh. Did you come here to make sure I was okay, Sir?”

“I knew you’d be okay. I would never have played Victor the way I did if I felt th
ere was any risk. Victor has tremendous experience in discipline of this kind from his years in Romania. I’m here because I’m proud of you and wanted to provide some aftercare.”

It was then I noticed the smell of fresh
chocolate croissants. There was also assorted sliced fruit, bagels, and cream cheese on a small platter. In the corner was a bouquet of fresh flowers. Lewis planted a soft kiss on my left eyelid. A second soft kiss on the other eyelid. Yet another on the very tip of my nose. He brushed my hair up away from my face. He held a glass of cool Evian up to my lips. He softly rubbed moisturizer into my skin, paying particular attention to any area with evidence of a bruise, or impending bruise. Then he held my hand while we talked. Beside us, on the night stand, were some newly purchased magazines, with the latest issue of InStyle on top, and a few current DVDs next to that.

Lewis cared for me for hours. I’d never felt so protected. Both of us dozed off at one point, with my head nestled onto his chest. When we awakened, we were both hungry, so he slipped outside to a nearby Italian restaurant and came back with a green garden salad, an order of salmon fettuccine alfredo, and garlic bread, which we shared while we watched one of the DVDs.

Because of our earlier nap, our internal clock was all screwed up. It was now 3:30 am, and I was finally getting tired again.

“What can I do for you before I leave?” Lewis asked.

“Tell me a bedtime story.” I responded.

“About anything in particular?”

“Yes, tell me about when you first discovered you were a Dom.”

For the next forty-five minutes, Lewis told me all about his formative years in bdsm. How the feelings were there from as long as he could remember, but he did not act on them until his freshman year at college. His girlfriend at the time was as new to it as well; and together they explored bondage, spanking, control and other games.  Subsequent girlfriends brought new experiences, and then he met an older veteran submissive who’d been around the block a few times.  She introduced him to her circle
of friends, one of them being Steve Jordan, Lewis’ good friend, also currently in the network. For a five year period, Lewis dabbled in all forms of the lifestyle, and while a couple of his relationships became serious, he never fell ‘madly in love’ to use his words. He couldn’t tell me much about the network itself as that was highly confidential.

He explained to me that dominants are not ‘trained’ per se, the same way that submissives often are. Rather they are exposed to various techniques, counseled and provided guidance. Qualities such as honesty and integrity are not taught by bdsm, but by life itself. Same with responsibility and compassion, as ironic as that may sound. As seemingly cruel and sadistic a dominant may appear, there is always a reason, be it pleasure, punishment  or purpose.

“Was there a purpose today?” I asked him, my eyes heavy with sleep.

“I was testing you.”

He kissed my cheek, tucked the comforter up around my neck and let me sleep.