Submissive (8 page)

“Faster!”

He paused and eyed her again with displeasure. “You have much to learn, little Disciple. I am a prisoner, yet at least I know my place. Still, I will have my freedom through training you at every possible opportunity.”

She wailed as he started the slow fucking again, clawing the grass as her pelvis rocked in rhythmic desperation. And just as she neared climax, he said, “You will now finish this with your sweet mouth.”

Clive withdrew and watched as she got on all fours and whirled toward him and took his organ into her mouth. She only had to suck a moment or so before he came, firing with such force she hardly felt it shoot down her throat.

He pulled her by the arms to her knees and kissed her forehead, and wiped her mouth clean with his hand.

“You have not disappointed, sweet Gillian.”

She watched as he stood and reached for his pants. Her pussy throbbed so sorely for gratification that she had to hold her hands behind her back in order not to touch herself. When he was dressed again, he told her to rise and hand him her panties.

“Why,” she asked, trying to hide her frustration with a smile, “I will need them, you know.”

He shook his head and, bending over, snatched them up. He caressed them against his cheek and said, “They are mine for now. You might get them back when you come to visit.”

“Visit?”

His eyes shifted to the direction of the prison. “There.”

Gillian felt a shiver of repulsion. That awful place? Never.

Clive straightened her dress. He cupped her face between his hands and kissed her long and adoringly. When their lips parted, he took her by the hand and escorted her back the way they had come. On their way, Gillian spied a guard making his rounds outside the borders of the prison grounds. She could not make out any features, but he paused as she and Clive passed his line of vision. There was something familiar about his silhouette and she thought for a moment it was perhaps the guard she had seen in the woods with Madam that day.

No, she thought, that man had been thin. This one was huskier, more solid.

But she forgot him when a glint of light caught her attention. Clive's footfalls slowed as her eyes moved to the path ahead. Three men accosted them.

No ordinary men. She would have guessed each stood easily seven foot tall. It was not their size that made goose bumps rise to her skin, however, but that she could see straight through their naked, iridescent forms. As Clive's protective arm went about her shoulders, she made out the fine outlines of wings arching out from either side of their backs. They all possessed three pairs of silvery wings, layering vertically down their backs and extending to the heels of their feet. Still, she could tell that the span of these wings were as great as or more than the dimensions of the respective men.

Clive whispered urgently, “Turn your eyes, Gillian.”

But she could not seem to look away, and suddenly, one of the winged men turned and cast his magnificent eyes toward them. At once, Gillian felt crushed by an unexpected, overwhelming lust. Her knees weakened and her pussy ached with a tormented passion. She was only dimly aware of Clive lifting her into his arms and carrying her away.

“Who were they?” she asked as he neared the entranceway of the pavilion.

“You will find out in time, sweet.”

Two guards came up beside Clive as he set her down near the doorway. “Go within,” he said. “I will join you shortly.”

She sighed thoughtfully and glanced at the amused faces of the guards. “You will tell them what we just saw—”

He touched her face affectionately. “The Angels pose us no danger, Gillian. But I must speak with your chaperon.”

Angels! The word echoed in her mind.
I thought angels were celibate, asexual beings…

One of the guards took her hand. “Come along, Disciple.” She looked back at Clive as the guard escorted her inside, and her heart raced when she heard Clive ask to speak with Sir Douglas.

Her reaction to the unnerving encounter with the glowing men faded away under the nagging question as to what it was exactly Clive planned to discuss with her chaperon.

G
illian was not to see Clive again that night. Sir Douglas gathered his wards only minutes later and ushered them back to Madam's house.

As they stepped onto the porch, Gillian saw at once that Alexandra and Lara had been taken down from the Rapture Pillars. The intimate whispers and soft moans from the shadows told Gillian the two were probably nearby, with whomever had released them. The household itself was alive with talk. Past the right wall of the foyer, a door was now standing open. In the room beyond were Disciples sitting on their knees with their naked backsides toward the door. A woman dressed in black leather pants and a burgundy blouse paced the floor and was scolding the young women. Gillian did not catch what the scolding was about, for Sir Douglas was following on her heels. She felt the agitation of his breath all the way up the stairs.

They returned to their room, where the lantern on the table had been lit and the flame shining through the opaque glass filled the room with soft illumination. Gillian was sleepier than she had expected and was glad when Sir Douglas ordered them to prepare for bed.

She started toward the bathing room with the others when he called her to stop and turn around.

He gestured to her bed, his voice firm again, “Stand over there, Gillian.”

As she obeyed, he patted the handle of the crop that hung through a loop at his belt.

“The prisoner Clive is very taken with you, Gillian. He has waited some time for a Disciple who shared the penchant his rehabilitation has allowed him to cultivate. His is pleased with you enough to request that you serve as his love-attendant in the prison when it is determined he is eligible. This may be some time, I have heard, but I will make the recommendation you be put in his service when the time does arrives.”

The memory of the prison loomed before Gillian's eyes. The image filled her with fear, and she started to plead that he keep her from the dreadful place, “Sir Douglas—”

He lifted an eyebrow. “I am not finished. Aside from his favorable report of your talents, however, he also informed me that you addressed him in a manner unbefitting a submissive. Is this true?”

Gillian was shocked. “All I tried to do, sir, was please him; let him know I found him…hot.”

“Hot,” Sir Douglas repeated, and his mouth tightened as if suppressing a smile. “Do you not realize by now that it is not up to a submissive to voice an opinion on whether the prisoner whom she serves is hot or otherwise?”

Gillian nodded. “Yes, Sir Douglas,” she replied, but was shocked again when he lifted the crop from its loop.

“Good, Gillian. Now, bend over the bed and hold on to the mattress.”

Her heart thundered, and she was seized with earthly indignity.

“No!”

For the first time, his tone was genuinely stern, “Now!”

From the door of the bathing room, her roommates watched silently.

“I pleased him,” she protested, “and no, I won't bend over this bed!”

His eyes flashed angrily and when he reached for her, she brought her forearm up sharply and knocked his wrist away. She turned before he could snatch her hand and bolted out the door. Down the corridor she fled, hearing him run after her.

As she took off down the stairs, he shouted for aid. The guard downstairs came fast to block her way. He might have captured her at the bottom, but she ducked just in time and flew under his reach, and ran on through the front door and out onto the porch.

“Stop her!”

Heavy feet pounded from the shadows of the porch as she fled down the steps to the lawn. From a nearby bush, another masculine shadow darted toward her. Reeling sharply, she ran toward the great oaks flanking the path. She could hear the men close behind, and had no idea where to go or how to avoid them for long. She thought of nothing but resisting that untried passion her spirit intuitively knew would be kindled were any man to correct her as Sir Douglas intended to.

She dashed behind one of the oaks just as two of the guards passed by, and, suspecting the others were scouting the outer edges, she crept about slowly, watching for signs of their shadows. When she saw one of them emerge from under a branch, she sprinted to the great trunk on the opposite side of the avenue.

A violet-green mist suddenly rained down over her. She was swallowed into a vortex of heat and scents so embracing that her terrified scream could not be released.

But she heard one of the guards shout, “Here!”

The next moment, the vortex released her and as she gasped for air, saw the guards running toward her from all directions. The first who reached her coiled his arms about her waist and hoisted her high into the air. She stomped her feet against the air itself, in fury at the terrible, invisible thing that had thwarted her escape. As she struggled in the guard's arms, the others trotted up. One of these was Sir Douglas, and his eyes were incensed.

But he turned and raised his eyes to something above them all, and said breathlessly, “Thank you, good Patron.”

Gillian turned her head and looked, seeing, high in a branch above them, one of the glowing Ur'theriems. His wings were folded behind him and the front piece of a glimmering gold loincloth fell between his gigantic legs. He regarded her thoughtfully, and suddenly Gillian recognized his face.

Xaqriel!

He addressed Sir Douglas. “This Disciple has forgotten the dangers that lurk about, as well as her station. Carelessness is as dangerous to her well-being as the fear of self-fulfillment. Make certain she is corrected for both.”

“Yes, certainly,” Sir Douglas answered. He bowed his head to Xaqriel and then told the guard holding Gillian to carry her to the roots of the tree she had headed for.

The guard delivered her to the spot he had indicated, and set her on her feet as the other men came over. Sir Douglas drew out his crop again and snatched Gillian about the waist. He was stronger than she thought, and although she struggled to wrest herself from his hold, he sat down in the grass and pulled her over his lap. She tried to crawl off his thighs, but one of the others knelt and pinned her hands in front of her, while another held to her ankles. The crop struck her bare behind, scoring her flesh with stinging heat. She had hardly gasped when it came down again. He whipped her again and again, so that her buttocks soon felt swollen by the smarting pain. The implacable look on the face of the guard holding her wrists only added to her humiliation, and she begged Sir Douglas to stop.

The crop paused, and Sir Douglas's tone was hard with emotion. “You would speak unbidden? Gillian, your attitude needs much correction! I see now there is no alternative but to ensure you are treated with only the firmest hand. I will take full enjoyment in correcting your every single flaw, no matter how long it takes!”

He tossed the crop to the grass and spanked her already sore buttocks with a strong hand. Gillian squirmed over his lap and her wails ascended into the night air. Though she wept, the guard holding her arms did not take his eyes from her, as if his spectatorship was part of the chastisement.

At last, Sir Douglas stayed his hand. Gillian's buttocks surged with fire as he nodded to the guards. They let go of her limbs now, but Gillian was terrified to move without Sir Douglas's command.

He lifted the crop again and with the end, spread her thighs. With his fingers he patted her pussy lips, and to her chagrin, her vulva swelled with life. His forefinger delved into her sex, rousing her desire full force. And when the crop struck her backside again, her clit throbbed.

“Crawl onto the grass and remain on your hands and knees,” he ordered.

Gillian did not question. She did just as he instructed, lowering her face before the trunk of the tree. She heard him rise and hoped he was going to take her back to the household now, away from the eyes of the others.

Instead, he lifted the length of her hair and pulled her about to face him. His pants were unbuttoned, and now he lowered them. With his free hand, he massaged the head of his cock. Two guards came over, and even though she could not see their faces well, she felt the lust in their eyes.

“Fuck me with your mouth,” Sir Douglas commanded, releasing her hair, “but do not lift your hands.”

She crawled before him and took his cock into her mouth. As she began to pleasure it, she felt hands upon her backside and whimpered as her nether lips were spread and fingers pinched the head of her clit. It pulsed wildly and a few moments later, a cock, narrow but long, entered her pussy.

The guard screwed her madly as she sucked Sir Douglas, and when her own pleasure began to build, her chaperon warned her to keep her thoughts on her work. She sucked to the root of his cock, not dallying in her efforts until his semen filled her mouth. When Sir Douglas had composed himself, he stepped aside and another guard took his place. This man's shaft was velvet iron, his passion so eager that he rocked her face as she sucked. Soon his cum also burst down her throat.

As he withdrew, she felt the climax of the one screwing her, and the jolt of it whipped her hungry passion into a frenzy. When he stepped away, the last one thrilled her pussy anew, fucking her so hard her breasts slapped against one another.

Xaqriel's light hovered down from the trees. He knelt before her and pulled aside the golden cloth of his loincloth. Tilting her chin up, he parted her lips with his thumbs. His huge cock swelled in her mouth. Deeply he fucked her mouth while the guard continued to fuck her needy pussy. The guard strummed her clit as he worked, soon bringing her to a tormented orgasm. After his own climax, he slapped her sore backside and withdrew from her drenched orifice.

She was still shuddering with ecstasy as Xaqriel's cock plummeted into her mouth and a rush of fluid, like honey and spice, jetted down her throat. Sir Douglas came about to her backside again. With his hand he spanked her, but now her cries were silenced by the great organ still pumping into her mouth.

When at length Xaqriel pulled out, he grabbed her beneath the arms and pulled her to her feet. Using his right arm, he inclined her back, and with the fingers of his left hand he pinched her clit. It pounded between the mighty fingers and Gillian hardly knew she was moaning until one of the guards stooped and kissed her mouth.

Xaqriel rearoused her passion until she was at the threshold of another orgasm. Then he drew his touch away, leaving her draped in his arm and undulating wantonly. She heard him speak something to Sir Douglas, and then he stood her up straight again. He turned her about by the waist and placed her palms against the tree trunk.

The crop struck her buttocks again. She whimpered, not understanding how they could punish her again so soon after enjoying her. Xaqriel came to stand at her side, gazing into her face. Gently, he wiped the fresh tear that rolled down her chin.

Gillian wailed under the strikes of the merciless crop, and Xaqriel, smiling, spread her legs wide and began to massage her dripping sex.

When finally the crop stopped, he spoke into her ear, “Domination and pleasure—these are your soul's calling, Gillian. Hopefully, this demonstration will help you to see things clearly now, and it will help right the damage wrought by the ordinary world that nurtured your fear of these needs.”

She was crying so hard she could see nothing but her hands pressed against the bark. But she wanted to melt in the heat of his illumination, to hide a little longer from the truths he spoke. But it was not to be, and she knew it, for she had hid all her life and that time was gone.

His wings raised and she heard a muffled flood upon the air. When she dared to turn her face the only thing she could see of him was a dusky delineation flitting over the canopies of the oaks.

“It's late. Time this one was to bed,” Sir Douglas said. He took her hand and led her back to the house, and when she had not the will to obey his command and stop her crying, the stinging crop compelled otherwise.