Read Submission in Seattle Online
Authors: Jack Quaiz
Submission in Seattle
Submission in
Seattle
Jack Quaiz
Text Copyright 1998-2013
Jack Quaiz
All Rights Reserved
This is a classic work of adult BDSM erotica. It is
not for children or the faint of heart.
Submission in Seattle was initially written in 1998
during a span of about eight weeks and included many elements from my personal
experience. Subsequent editing has polished the rough edges, but the original
novel is intact. It was first published in 2001 on a popular website that
specialized in BDSM stories. Readers were asked to comment and rate the
stories they read. Submission in Seattle is still the highest rated story on
that site and it appeals to both male and female readers.
Readers typically commented that they could not put
the book down until they finished, so please clear your schedule for a few
hours. You might want to have a few towels handy as well.
Reading and publishing technology has gone through a
revolution in recent years. I love reading books on my Kindle, so it just
seemed right to share Submission in Seattle this way with a new generation of
readers.
The other recent development is the popularity of
Fifty Shades of Grey, which by coincidence, is set in the same geographical
area, but roughly 15 years later. I often wonder if the author ever read
Submission in Seattle!
Since much time has passed, it may amuse the reader to
spot some references to the society and technology of the late nineties.
Please read the introduction I wrote in 1998 to gain
additional perspective on this landmark novel.
Enjoy!
Jack Quaiz, 2013
Most erotic stories with an
SM theme are set in distant times or places so that the reader can more easily
enjoy descriptions of intense sexual behavior that would be unacceptable in his
or her own society
.
“Submission in Seattle” adds a small dash of fantasy to a very real part of
modern American society, the BDSM subculture. I hope that you will find this reality-based
story even more erotic than one which is totally based on fantasy.
The
popularity of BDSM has exploded in recent years, spurred on by the rapid growth
of the internet. The term BDSM itself was coined on the internet in the early
1990’s. It is a convenient acronym that combines bondage and discipline,
dominance and submission, and sadomasochism.
The
creed of the modern BDSM culture is “Safe, Sane and Consensual”. One might
assume that erotic fiction based on this tenet would be less arousing than the
usual punishment/rape/enslavement SM tales that are found in the erotica
section of your local mall bookstore. “Submission in Seattle” may surprise
you.
To
millions of television and film viewers, the standard symbol of BDSM is the
stereotypical leather-clad professional Dominatrix. In American society,
female domination of males is the most visible and politically correct form of
BDSM relationship. For those couples who choose to practice male domination of
the female, there is no such reassuring symbol for them to follow. The
majority of these couples exercise their rights as consenting adults in
private, in isolation and with a justifiable fear of persecution.
As
the BDSM community matures, subgroups which enjoy certain facets of BDSM play
are beginning to coalesce. One group that is now asserting its right to exist
is the maledom-femsub community. This novel is for them and those who are
curious.
Our
main character, Howard Cole, is a professional male dominant for women. As
everyone in the BDSM community knows, this is highly unusual. The simple rule
of supply and demand in sexual commerce prevents men from making a living in
this manner. However, a small number of dominant heterosexual men have
established themselves as professionals. Typically just one or two in a large
city that might support scores of female pro-Dommes. If you are in need of
their services, seek them out in the darker regions of the internet. You won’t
be disappointed.
Jack
Quaiz. 1998
Innocence is
everywhere, but the honest enjoyment of perversion is rare.
On a warm, sunny
Saturday afternoon, platoons of harried women in expensive cars shuttled their
well-dressed children along the streets of an upper class neighborhood near
Seattle, Washington. Each house concealed its unique story behind a screen of
tall evergreen trees and fashionable forest landscaping. One home on a
particular suburban lane had its own special energy. This energy was provided
by the women who passed beyond the heavy black door into the residence of
Howard Cole.
There was nothing
outwardly unusual about the one story contemporary home. Three young children
from nearby families played noisily within fifty feet of the conservative gray
painted exterior. The pleasant open space between the large houses was shaded
from the late afternoon summer sun by a canopy of eighty foot Douglas Firs.
Suddenly, one of the children launched a piercing, repetitive scream in
response to some injustice perpetrated by a sibling.
The occupants of
the gray house, as if in another world, were blissfully unaware of the
commotion outside. Insulated in the soundproof basement of his large home,
Howard Cole stepped back to appraise his work. As a talented photographer, he
appreciated the finer points of composition, color and lighting. He stroked
his short beard for a moment, then adjusted the rolled up sleeves of his open
necked black silk dress shirt. He stretched his solid, six foot frame to
loosen up his shoulders and straightened his round metal framed glasses.
The warm,
spacious, high ceilinged room resembled a photographer’s studio. It had been,
until he discovered a more compelling hobby. Unusual electronic music played
from a sophisticated sound system, creating an air of mystery and erotic
ritual.
Around the edges
of the hardwood floor, in semi-darkness, oddly shaped pieces of furniture
rested under black sheets. In the center of the room a massage table with a
well padded, brown leather top rested in a pool of light. It was quite heavily
constructed, with brass fittings where its thick wooden beams joined together.
Cole didn’t
appreciate the room as much as he did the girl. Kristina was one of his latest
favorites; a true masochist who dreamed of being a slave girl. This was her
fourth visit to the intimate basement dungeon. He had yet to find one girl to
steal his heart forever, but he enjoyed them all for their individual qualities
and varied physical attributes. The one trait they all had in common was the
need for submission. To Cole, it was a priceless treasure and extremely
beautiful.
Every submissive
girl he met captured his attention, at least for a while. Kristina was a
gifted young software designer who happened to work part time as a nude
dancer. He could see it in her dancer’s legs and perfect little ass. She was
exhibited quite nicely at the moment, he thought. He had a talent for posing
the girls in the most flattering and erotic positions. A result, he was sure,
of his photographic experience.
Kristina noticed
his admiring gaze, then wiggled her well curved bottom to let him know she was
ready. She displayed her slender nude body and fragile youth while seductively
bent over the top of the waist high table. The overhead spot lights
illuminated her perfectly, and she knew it. She grinned as she thought,
“Krissy, you’ve been needing this for weeks. Trust Master Cole, he knows what
you need.”
She felt the
tension in her arms from the soft leather cuffs that pulled her wrists toward
the far end of the table. Another pair of restraints held her ankles to the
sturdy, polished table legs, making her struggle a bit to touch the floor with
her toes. It was another one of Cole’s subtle touches that reminded her of her
delicious vulnerability. “Looks like I’m going to get my money’s worth
tonight,” she predicted silently to herself.
She listened
receptively as Cole spoke in a low, hypnotic tone that penetrated deeply into
her mind, “Krissy, it’s time for me to enjoy you now. If you need to stop, you
know how to communicate that to me. However, if you stop, that will be all for
today, and you will go home knowing you didn’t satisfy me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master
Cole,” she said in a dreamy voice. She looked up at him and saw a handsome
forty one year old man with short dark hair. His precisely trimmed dark beard
and mustache somehow made him look sophisticated and sinister at the same
time. The piercing gray eyes were almost hypnotic. When she was in this
delightfully submissive and sensual state, his attractiveness was very
compelling. She wanted nothing more than to be close to him and give herself
to him in every possible way. She closed her eyes for a minute to concentrate
on the hypnotic music and she felt herself slipping into the trance-like state
that she so treasured. The stresses of her high pressure life fell away one by
one.
Kristina stretched
her muscles sensuously as Cole placed his hands on her well-formed back and
began to massage away her tension. His knowing fingers traced the firm muscles
that were hidden beneath her tan skin. The bright halogen studio light made
the barely visible fuzz of tiny blonde hairs sparkle and caused a languid
warmth to penetrate her body. When her muscles were nicely relaxed she felt
him shift his touch to the provocative curves of her ass. The first few swats
of his heavy right hand were delicate, to judge the range and check the
sensitivity of her flesh. Kristina pushed her bottom out a little farther to
signal her need.
Cole gradually stepped
up the spanking and soon she could feel the stinging impact of his big hands
driving her against the table. Her face was forced closer to the padded
tabletop and she inhaled the sweet aroma of tanned leather that added to her
arousal.
“Do you like this,
Krissy?”
“Yes, Master Cole,
may I please have it harder?” She tossed her head to spread out her glorious,
shoulder length blonde hair, which she knew he liked.
He smiled, “Of
course you can. Your pretty bottom is getting very red, little girl, and you
know that turns me on.”
“I know, I know,”
she whimpered and she continued to take the force of his hands on her bottom
cheeks. She could tell that the intensity was carefully measured, being
increased in precise intervals that must have taken him years to perfect.
Slowly, a growing
sexual tingle made itself felt in her clitoris. “It’s starting,” she thought
with an audible groan. Kristina was no stranger to the SM scene. She loved
pain play, when it was done right, but she also loved to submit. I have plenty
of friends who’ll give me a good spanking, she thought, but why is Howard Cole
the only one I can submit to? I usually play because
I
enjoy it, but
with him I seem to do it because
he
enjoys it!
A more intense
wave of arousal interrupted her thoughts, reminding her of the helpless
position she had gotten herself into. She was restrained with her legs apart
and she knew that he must have a perfect view of her cunt. He had ignored it
completely and it was driving her crazy waiting for the first touch.
The wonderful
sensation of bare skin striking bare skin helped form an almost spiritual
connection between them. Cole’s strong hands were ideal spanking instruments
and each solid blow landed with a loud crack. Krissy swore that she could hear
the sharp sounds echoing off the walls. He changed hands frequently, using the
off hand to stroke smoothly up and down her back to enhance the emotional bond.
“Oooh, mmmm,
ouch,” Krissy whispered. The pain was becoming more intense, and Cole had
begun to strike the backs of her long, lean thighs.
After several
minutes of hard spanking, when her breathing became heavier and the blood was
circulating furiously in her inflamed asscheeks, Cole dragged his fingernails
lightly across the hot red skin. Kristina’s sharp intake of breath indicated
that she was properly warmed up.
Her small hips
widened from the pressure of the table edge and the soft outer curves of her
breasts swelled where they were pressed against the leather. Cole leaned back
a little to look carefully between her parted legs, where her pouting nether
lips were outlined in a most enchanting way by a well groomed thatch of fine
blonde hair. Knowing that he could penetrate her later if he wished, he began
to grow erect, but stopped himself so he could concentrate on the scene.
Moving quietly
around to the head of the table, he bent down to speak with her in a soft
voice. “Open your mouth, Krissy. You’ll need this rubber bit.” To protect her
teeth and tongue, Cole placed a rubber bar in her mouth like a horse’s bit that
buckled behind her head. To demonstrate his complete control, he reached down
to gently open her sex with his fingers and softly stroke her sensitive inner
labia.
Kristina was
embarrassed by her sudden straining against her bonds and moaned as she felt an
overwhelming sense of submission and inevitability. Her heart beat faster and
the excitement grew within her. She could feel the first trickle of wetness
between her legs.
She watched as
Cole picked up a long, straight rattan cane and showed it to her. It was a
quarter inch thick and one end had been covered with thin black leather to form
a handle. As she studied it, her breathing became difficult and irregular.
Holding the cane
reverently, Cole walked around behind her into an area reflected by a large
wall mirror. Kristina could see the full reflection of her helpless form
strapped to the heavy table and she realized that she would be able to see
exactly what was happening to her lovely bottom. Her own wide eyed expression
in the mirror reminded her of the way a deer looks when caught in the
headlights of an oncoming vehicle.
Drawing his arm
back for a full stroke, Cole aimed the cane directly at the center of her
perfect ass and drove it with full force into her taut gluteal globes. The
skin was deeply indented for a hundredth of a second. A heartbeat later
Kristina’s head jerked, causing her hair to fly up and descend in a pretty
golden shower that sparkled as it caught the light. It was as if she had been
struck by lightning and her eyes widened at the astonishing impact. She
grunted around the rubber bit, which had just saved her tongue from a serious
injury.
Looking carefully
at his watch, Cole said calmly, “I like to allow about thirty seconds between
strokes so that you can fully appreciate the pain.”
Kristina heard the
music change from an erotic electronic piece to a Gregorian chant. Then she
heard the hiss of the cane through the air. It struck before she could even
tighten her buttocks in anticipation. The pain was extreme, and Kristina
didn’t know if she could continue to take it at this intensity. She
contemplated ending the scene, but knew that if she did she would regret it
later when she was longing to be in his bed. “Continue to breathe,” she told
herself, “concentrate and you can take this for him.”
Five minutes and
ten loud strokes into the ritual, Kristina’s ass was a perfect example of the
double track signature of the cane. Each raised red welt was placed parallel
to the others. Kristina, her skin flushed and damp with sweat, moaned and
pulled hard at the leather cuffs. She forced herself to breathe very rapidly,
almost panting with the pain. It seemed to help, somehow. The fire in her
hindquarters slowly penetrated into her brain and fulfilled the mysterious need
that only Cole understood. She knew that she had now reached that familiar
plateau that was like the moment when an orgasm becomes inevitable. The scene
would now continue to its conclusion. There was no other option.
There was a brief
pause and she was afraid he might stop. Then she looked at Cole in the
mirror. Her vision was slightly blurry with sweat or arousal, she couldn’t
tell which.
“I want to hurt
you some more, Krissy. You’ve only had ten strokes so far. I’d like you to
take twenty five. The last girl I used this big cane on was barely conscious
after 20 strokes, but I think you can do better.”
Kristina was both
exhilarated and frightened, but continued to look at her own reflection in the
mirror as if she were observing a dream. She watched in fascination, as the
heavy rattan cane cut into her outraged bottom. She tried to scream into the
rubber bit as he continued to dispense the severe blows, “Oh God... No, oooh,
YES!” Her endorphins began to flow and the pain was slowly transformed into
pleasure.
