Submit To Me, DarlingEmy Naso
The day was hot and many of the mid-day seekers after relaxation sat under trees to find dappled shade. Sara found a place by the lake, tucking her legs up and resting her head on raised knees, so that she could feel the spiky hair brushing her skin. She got plenty of comments about having her flaming red hair cut so short. It was probably jealousy. Sara was twenty-five, most people would say pretty, with an athletics figure. That meant she had small breasts, long legs and as most of the men in the office muttered, a great ass.
These men always had sex on their mind. Even as she sat and rocked herself, two men were openly staring at her from across the lawn, almost certainly looking up her dress as she obviously displayed her thighs in that position. Sara closed her eyes and hoped they liked the view of her white cotton panties.
Peeping Toms were the last things on her mind. Her thoughts returned to the same subject. Her man, Serle Grossman. Thirty-five, very rich, a successful businessman, great company, wonderful lover, and right now hassling her to become his wife. For her the marriage was a big step. Now, it probably was for Serle, it’s just that it was his third time around in getting hitched, not to mention the six…or was it seven…live-in-lovers he’d had in his very active sexual life.
Then there was another matter in her thoughts. Something her friend Myrtle had said at the office. Sara wanted to think about it. Contemplation wasn’t going to be possible. A voice made Sara open her eyes.
“Hi Sara, did you know your panties are being admired?” It was Myrtle, tight jeans, even tighter jersey, and her gorgeous little body fighting to be on the outside of her clothes. She only had to move an inch and the sway of breasts and roll of her rear gave the neighborhood males erections you could fly flags on. Myrtle was provocative sensuality in spades - and she had the gall to comment on a flash of white underwear.
“Hi, Myrtle.
Sara’s friend sat down next to her on the grass.
“Had any thoughts about what I said?” Myrtle asked, wriggling her cute ass to make herself comfortable.
“This school sounds drastic, Myrtle.”
“It’s worked for others. You said it was difficult to decide about a relationship with someone who had so much more experience than you. This way you get to find out if you are the submissive type. And more importantly, would you enjoy that sort of relationship?”
“I only said Serle wanted to get married. Not he wanted to dominate me,” Sara mildly protested.
“Hey, look, Sara. Your guy is real handsome…and rich…but he has a reputation. I’ll telling you, Honey, you need training to find out.”
Sara stared into the open space of the park. Those two men were still watching her. She didn’t mind. Did that mean she was timid and liked to be dominated? Should she find out? Myrtle had told her she knew this place where you could experience the…what had she called it…art of submission?
“So where was this place you mentioned, Myrtle?” Sara asked tentatively.
Myrtle’s face beamed as if she’d made another convert.
¨¨¨
Sara stopped her car at the entrance to the building. This was the address Myrtle had given her. It was dark red brick, three story high, with gargoyles on each corner of the long wings and above the slate roof, multiple chimney stacks, necessary to warm such a large detached building when it was constructed in the mid eighteen-fifties. To the front was a sloping lawn, with flowerbeds cut in circles, but showing no sign of summer bedding plants. Beyond the grass was a hedge of laurel, then brambles. Although Sara couldn’t see the rail tracks, she knew they were there, as she’d heard the sound of a train speeding passed.
The double door was dark stained wood, framed by an arch and false crenellation, used as decoration above the porch. She looked for a bell, found none, so pushed at the door. It was unlocked and swung open.
Inside, the hall floor was covered in red tiles, the sound of her tread echoing both in her head and around the building. On the walls were hung large pictures, not of the founders or owners, but dazzlingly erotic paintings of men and women, wearing very little in clothing and poised in compositions as sexual slaves.
“Is there any image you particularly like?” The voice startled her. Sara turned. A tall man, middle aged and wearing a dark maroon gown stood smiling confidently.
“I’ve come to…” Sara faltered with the words.
“To be trained,” he said, finishing her sentence. “Who sent you?”
“My friend, Myrtle.”
“An excellent pupil. You are late, though.”
“For what?” Sara asked, surprised.
“Your class lessons have begun,” the man said sternly. From his gown he produced a book, gave it to Sara and said, “Follow the corridor to class twenty-seven. Keep this book safe. It will be your record of attainment while you are here at the Academy. Go now.” he walked away muttering something.
Sara walked quickly along the corridor he had indicted, got to a door marked “27” and went in.
There were desks inside, sitting at each, young men and women, eight of each.
“Don’t just stand there, Sara, go and sit at an empty desk. We haven’t got all day.” It was a woman in her thirties, standing at the front, wearing a similar maroon gown and, to Sara’s alarm, swishing a cane. With the bamboo rod being welded menacingly, Sara complied with the order.
“Now, this is Sara, the woman said to the rest of those assembled. And as she is new I will introduce myself. I am Miss Parker, your Teacher. Before you leave the Academy we expect every one of you to receive a diploma. That means following orders and learning…IMMEDIATELY. If you disobey, punishment will be administered without question. I hope that is clear.” Every one nodded.
Miss Parker wore a dark blue suit, the skirt pencil slim and hugging smoothly over rounded hips. Her rimless small spectacles were perched on the end of her elegant aquiline nose, and she looked down at notes in front of her, then up and over the top of the lenses at the class.
“So here is another question,” she snapped the class back to attention. “In the art of submission, is power or willingness the greater?” Her eyes scanned the class, alighting on Sara. “We’ll let our new girl answer.”
Sara felt eyes watching. Her throat was dry. She became confused and fumbled in her mind for an answer.
“Power,” she blurted out. There was silence. It was broken by the rhythmic tapping of Miss Parker’s cane.
“Come out to the front, Sara.” Miss Parker’s voice cut the air. Sara slowly went to her Teacher.
“Give me your record book?” Miss Parker instructed, holding her hand out, and drumming the cane on her own table. Sara gave her the book and Miss Parker opened it, wrote something down and closed the green cover with a sigh.
“I have noted the punishment, Sarah and the reason is it necessary.” She pushed the book at Sara who read the entry. ’Three Strokes of the Cane for correction purposes,’ it read.
“Over my desk.” Miss Parker spoke severely and pointed to her mahogany desk. Sara gulped and felt the Teacher’s eyes bearing into her mind. The rest of the class sat in complete silence. Sara leaned over the desk and turned her head away from the many eyes.
“At the Academy we always cane bare ass, Sara. Pull down your pants..” Sara didn’t move. She was in shock.
“Unless you obey I will ask two of the men in our class to come and hold you down while your are forcibly stripped, Sara.” Sara’s head turned to the class. She could see eagerness in faces, almost hoping to be selected for the chore.”
Sara undid her belt, zipped down and slipped her jeans to rear, then very slowly her panties. She had pulled them just across her naked ass. Miss Parker approached Sara, and with a tug exposed her ass completely, yanking her pants down to her knees.
‘Swish’. The cane whacked across her rear. Her body flinched. She stared out at the class. Many faces showed elation. Another smack caned her rear. Then the third beat her skin.
“Stand up, Sara,” Miss Parker instructed. “Turn around and show the class your three red strokes. See, class. Now, Sara. Did I, or any one else use force or power to punish you? Answer please, so we can all hear you.”
“No, Miss Parker.”
“That is right. Dress yourself, Sara. Then go and sit down. Let us all see that willingness is far greater…and more important…than power.”
The lesson continued, Miss Parker interrogating the class as she taught them the methods of submission. Finally, she gave out an exam paper and announced, “You have a mere half-hour to answer the questions. The time starts now.”
As the young men and women poured over the questions and wrote their answers, Miss Parker strolled regally up and down the rows between the desks, looking over a shoulder here, tutting there, and all the time holding her cane loosely in one hand, ominously whirling it around her long fingers.
Suddenly she brought the cane down hard on her thigh and barked out, “Time up.”
The papers were collected and Miss Parker sat at her desk going through them, ticking and smiling, scowling, ticking and crossing. She eventually looked up and said solemnly.
“Every one is dismissed for an hours rest and recreation.” Then in an intimidating tone added, “Except Jason, Greta…and Sara. Those three will report to my private room in exactly five minutes.” Miss Parker abruptly stood up and left the classroom.
¨¨¨
Jason talked nervously as they stood in the corridor outside Miss Parker’s room. He was six foot, blond hair and a lovely body, both suggesting he was a beach surfer. The woman, Greta, said nothing. She puffed surreptitiously on a cigarette. Jason teased her that smoking would increase her punishment.
“I haven’t done anything,” Greta pouted defiantly as her eyes scanned the corridor for Miss Parker. Sara watched them, not sure what to say.
They heard a clicking of firm shoes against tiled floor. Miss Parker came around the corner. Greta secretly stubbed out her cigarette.
“In to my office,” Miss Parker ordered austerely.
The interior was not what Sara had expected. Ascetically bare, was a description that came to mind. The floors were wooden, the walls faced rough stone, painted, but now faded, white. One window shed light, and that was high up and small. The glass in this opening was fluted and colored red, sending a beam of that hue over the center of the room.
Miss Parker stood in the gloom to one side and directed the three people silently to the spot where the light filtered down, so that they seemingly stood in a weak spotlight.
“Stand away to one side, Sara,” Miss Parker beckoned with an irritated gesture of one hand. “Now, Jason and Greta, I think you know why you are here. A standard has been set in our Academy and your recent test failed to meet that criterion. We have very simple rules here. Any transgression, intentional or otherwise, will be punished. Do you understand?”
They nodded and hung their heads like naughty children.
“Give me your record books so I may record reasons and punishment.”
Miss Parker made the entry in their books and contemptuously threw them onto the floor. She brusquely turned to Sara and said, “You will administer the punishment.” The Teacher held up her hand to waylay any discussion.
“Make yourselves ready.” Miss Parker now addressed Jason and Greta. Sara had some idea what all this meant but still she was fascinated and aroused, as first Jason removed his pants and shorts, showing a firm ass, with a light covering of blond down, and then Greta stripped off her skirt and panties, revealing a shaved mound, with a wonderful tattoo of an eagle on the top of her right thigh. Still more was in store.
Jason now turned and Sara couldn’t help lick her lips as she saw his cock, semi-erect, not long, but massively thick, with the mouth watery promise that it would be unbelievably extensive in circumference when he was fully hard.
“You, Jason, bend over here. And the other miscreant, Greta can touch her toes by me. Don’t stand too close. Sara will need room to swing her arm. We’ve got to make sure you feel her anger,” Miss Parker laughed haughtily.
It was a mind-boggling sight. Miss Parker walked behind the two raised and displayed asses and openly inspected. She ran her hand over Jason’s rump, slipped her hands between his legs and squeezed his balls for a moment, before feeling along his shaft, her fingering bring him to a stiff state. She then went over to Greta and again felt the presented rear. Sara stood watching, and saw Miss Parker push her finger into the oval slit, framed by Greta’s shaved mound. There was an audible squeal from the young woman, and then a controlled sigh as the Teacher continued with the penetration.
Miss Parker moved away.
“Six each, Sara. And I want to see them suffer. I’d also like to see you put some effort into this…so take off that blouse and bra. We don’t won’t your hard work restricted, do we?”
Sara slipped out of her clothes, took the cane from Miss Parker and stepped between the two gorgeous rears, giving her room to swing. She beat Jason first with a single stroke, then gave Greta an equally firm whack. She found her heart pounding fast as each lash brought a cry of pain. She also noticed Miss Parker vicariously take pleasure in the action, licking her lips as she studied Sara’s breasts moving with the ferocity of the chastisement.
In her head, Sara counted out the lashes, wanting it to go on, adoring the exquisite soreness she was inflicted.
At the conclusion, Miss Parker ordered Jason and Greta to stand up.
“Now thank, Sara,” she said slyly and smiled.
“Thank you, Sara.” they parroted together.
Miss Parker walked behind Sara, and without warning grabbed her arms. Before she knew what was happening, metal handcuffs were snapped on her wrist, with arms pinned behind her back.
Miss Parker walked to the door, stopped and turned.
“Okay, Jason and Greta, she’s yours.” The door opened, then closed as Miss Parker walked smartly from the room.
Jason rubbed his ass and looked over at Greta. Then he turned his glance to Sara.
“You’ll pay for this, you Teacher’s pet. We‘ll show you what submission is all about.”
¨¨¨
Before Sara could react, Greta grabbed her from behind and with Jason in front, they undid her belt, pulled off her jeans then tugged her panties off. Greta had her arms around Sara, fondling her breasts, and as she hadn’t got dressed, her naked loins were pressing into Sara.
The blond Jason undid the front of his shirt, pushing it back so his cock was even more visible. Sara was in no doubt he was sexually aroused, his cock growing to maximum stiffness. Just when Sara thought she’d been left to the sole desires of her two class colleagues, the door opened and Miss Parker came back in. She had chains in her hand. Quickly a leather neck band was secured around Sara, with two chains coming off a central stud, leading down to wrist straps. Jason fastened these.
“Now you are ready,” Miss Parker said with satisfaction. “Your sexual slavery begins here. When you leave our Academy, you will be trained to submit willingly to every demand.”
Miss Parker went back to the door, opened it and looked out taking a bundle from unseen hands. She shut the door. Sara saw she was holding a stack of the record books.
“All your class are queuing outside, Sara. They’ve written in their record books. Do you know what?”
Sara stuttered for an answer. Jason slapped her ass with his hand, chuckling to Greta.
“Nothing to say?” Miss Parker leered. “Let me read you what they want to do with you.”
The Teacher circled Sara, taking her hair in her hand and pulling her back so she stared into the pupil’s eyes. “Did you notice Karl? He wants you to perform oral sex on him. Grant and Gary request they take you together. That should be fun to watch.”
Sara’s eyes widened. “You didn’t think this was a private show, did you, Sara? No, no. Not a chance. We are all going to enjoy you…and your total submission will have a full-house audience.”
¨¨¨
“Hi, Serle,” Sara called out, as she arrived at her guy’s apartment.
“Enjoy your trip?” she asked.
He kissed her, went to the cabinet and poured two drinks.
“Ready for the big day on Saturday, darling?” he asked smoothly.
“Makes me sound like some virgin, coming to her wedding night, Serle,” she joked.
“Point taken, Sara. But you’ve always worried about your lack of experience, compared to mine, haven’t you”
She took his arm and led Serle to the sofa. Encouraging him to make himself comfortable, she went to the TV, loaded a dvd, and returned to him.
“I’ve got a surprise for you, Honey,” Sara pouted. “I‘ve been back to school. My class colleagues were very supportive. They really took to me.”
Serle watched the screen. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
“Can we try this one, Sara?” he said, his palms hot and his cock hard.
Emy Naso is a writer of erotica, S/F and detective novels published with Venus Press, Whiskey Creek, Extasy Books, Chippewa Publishing and Wings, and erotic love poetry at SensualVenus. See the work at Emy Naso
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