Embracing Surrender

At first, she thought, "Get in the way of what?" but was too humiliated, especiallyconsidering the current state of her underpants, to ask. Notwithstanding, before she voiced a protest, Pauline began to see, surprising her very own self, that she actually liked the humiliation. In fact, she reveled in it. Hence, any objections died silently in her throat. I mean, who would have thought? Who, indeed? Truth was Maurice had strongly suspected it right from the start. Still, even now, Pauline tried valiantly not to let that tidbit become too conspicuous.

One evening, later on, having been sent to the kitchen to fetch tea, like some lowly maid, Pauline, was bumped by Maurice moving in his chair, and splashed his tea over him as she served it. While Pauline stared, aghast, Maurice laughingly said, "Oh, you clumsy wench, you. I really ought to punish you for that." Sliding his chair back so that she could mop up the spill, he added, "I believe a good spanking is in order." When Pauline raised an eyebrow in response, he stated, "I'm serious!"

The tiniest hint of a smile touched her lips as she held his gaze just a moment too long. "Deadly serious!" he growled in a sort of a threatening stage-whisper, as he pulled her bodily across his knees, and, before she could even gather the will to protest, he'd flipped up her skirt and begun to spank her bare bottom. Humiliation swept over her in a wave of heat and colour, her flushed cheeks glowing red--her face mirroring her butt. Pauline had to confess, if only to herself, to feeling a true excitement in receiving corporal punishment--despite her fundamental objections to being spanked, she actually thrilled to the humiliation; which was, she accepted, all part of the adventure. In spite of all her twisting and squirming and screaming to get away from the sharp, stinging blows, her true response was betrayed by the copious flow of pussy-juice soaking the leg of Maurice slacks. "Hold still! Don't be a baby. You know you've earned this. You've got to learn to take punishment."

That last cryptic remark gave Pauline, in a back, objective part of her brain, pause. "What, exactly, did he mean by that?" However, she didn't have time to ponder for long, as sizzling spikes of sensation pulled her focus back to her poor, tender bottom.

"Stay still!" Maurice commanded, giving her glowing ass cheek a particularly hard smack. Red handprints layered upon red smack prints. And the heat and colour that radiated off Pauline's ass, was almost enough to light up the room. Discretion being the better part of valour, or whatever, Pauline then tried very hard to curtail her movement, remain motionless--with at least some success. Maurice, by then breathing heavily, continued to rhythmically mete out her chastisement, yet, for Pauline, somewhere along the way the line between agony and ecstasy began to blur. Her subtle squirming became less about getting away, and more about rubbing her clit against Maurice's trouser leg, as she detected the germination of an orgasm deep within her fundament. "Punishment is not for your satisfaction," Maurice muttered, revealing that she wasn't getting away with anything--that he knew exactly what was going on. Indeed, he abruptly stopped, leaving his victim hanging. "Get up!"

Her nerves all a-jangle, her breath coming in gasps, her butt a-flame, Pauline could barely raise herself to standing. "Look!" he demanded, indicating the front of one leg of his slacks. Taking a moment to realize what she was looking at, Pauline was instantly mortified as Maurice inspected the large, sopping puddle of pussy-tears. Almost benignly, he remarked, "That's going to stain." Then, sitting up, he insisted she sit in the hard chair across from him. "Oh, sit still, for crying out loud!" he beseeched. Pauline's burning bum made it difficult to comply, still she managed to sit fairly still while her mentor concluded his session. He sent her home, with another smack, ensuring her buttocks remained stinging and sparkling for a while longer.

Precious few days later, when Pauline's backside had only just recovered, she found herself standing once again at the front stoop of Maurice's lair. As soon as the front door closed behind her, Maurice barked orders. "Step into the parlour! Don't sit down!" Leaving her standing in the middle of the room, he began to walk around her as he described--or, perhaps, prescribed--her course of training. Although she realized she shouldn't be, Pauline was surprised by his presumption that she was there for training of some sort. She had understood that she was just there for edification and guidance purposes; nonetheless, she didn't press it when her tutor spoke as if the idea of training was self-evident.

"You will learn to follow orders without question or hesitation. And to discard any modesty you may still possess." Pauline listened without comment. While a part of her was shocked by this presumptuousness, another part of her was intensely curious about how such abdication of personal responsibility might feel.

"Now, show me your tits." Still pondering, she, almost casually, undid the last few buttons of her blouse and peeled it open, baring her breasts, leaving the blouse hanging off her upper-arms. Maurice immediately reached in and squeezed her boobs roughly, telling her to shrug her blouse all the way off. Then, he continued to pinch and twist her nipples while he talked. "You will, quite often I should think, be instructed to take up 'ready-position', so, listen closely! I only want to say this once. Ready-position' means: stand up straight;" he pushed at the small of her back, indicating quite clearly, that she was expected to comply as he spoke. "Feet shoulder-width apart; shoulders back; chest forward; chin up; fingers laced behind your head; elbows out; pelvis tilted, to thrust your vulva forward. That is 'ready-position'--your 'at attention' pose. Don't forget."

"Now, don't move." With that, he turned and left the room.

After what seemed to be an interminable length of time, Pauline lowered her aching arms. Giving her hands a shake to restore circulation, she accidentally brushed her already erect nipples, and was surprised by the shot of sensation that rippled up her spine, leaving her buds tingling. At the first sign of movement from the room into which Maurice had disappeared, she quickly threw her arms back up into position, just spreading her elbows as he returned--carrying a plush jewelry box. Pauline felt like a child almost getting caught doing something naughty--she could feel her cheeks flush. Maurice smiled but made no comment. Instead, he withdrew, from the box, a fine chain with padded alligator clips at either end. "Hold onto these," he said, handing her the jawed ends. Standing directly in front of her, holding her gaze with his steely eyes, he reached down under her skirt-front, ostensibly checking for panties. "Very good," he chuckled, finding no underwear. "I see you're already moistening up. Are you anticipating something?"

As the question was obviously rhetorical, Pauline stayed quiet. Maurice kept his fingers there, motionless for a spell, then he began to subtly dance them through her bush, skating his fingertips along her lubricated furrow--up and down, dipping in and out, all the while holding her gaze with his preternatural stare. Slowly, he raised the other hand to fasten it onto her breast, pinching and twisting her nipple with increasing strength. In the same instant, his thumb found her clitoris. Suddenly, bolts of electricity began running up and down her spine, flashing between her tits and her pussy, discharging and charging with a burgeoning intensity. As her arousal flared, Pauline felt the let-down of her pussy-juice, flooding Maurice's hand. He continued, seeming not to notice, and, amazingly quickly, her orgasm detonated deep between her legs, radiating throughout her body. Her knees turned to jelly and, as her body quivered and shook uncontrollably through the spasmodic ecstasy of her climax, Maurice found it necessary to hold her upright by her shoulders.

The moment she could stand unsupported, Maurice took the chain she was still holding back. "Well, now that we've got that out of the way, we can get on with things. Please assume your 'ready-position'--an order, not a request. The quick lacing of her fingers behind her head threw her breasts into more prominence. Maurice took the, now menacing-looking, chain by the ends. At first, he appeared to be studying them, but, then, without any preamble at all, applied the clamps to Pauline's tits, snapping the clips onto her nipples, still engorged from their earlier attention. It hurt like hell, and Pauline grimaced slightly, letting the tiniest whimper escape her lip. But she was otherwise still and silent. Maurice stepped back, as if to admire his work, letting the chain drop, to hang like a smile, connecting her breasts, nipple to nipple. Unexpectedly, he picked up her blouse, and helped her put it on, pulling it closed over her throbbing tits. "This is the end of today's session," he announced.

As Pauline gathered her belongings, her mind still a-whirl, Maurice said, conversationally, "You've read Emmanuelle? Yes?"

"Yes," she replied, giving a confirming nod. Maurice stopped and waited, giving her a querying look. Pauline twigged at last. "Yes..., Sir."

"Okay, then. Here are a few more stories to make you way through." He showed each cover briefly, as he gave the title, then placed them next to Pauline's purse: The Story of O; as well as a couple anonymous Victorian titles: Gardens of the Night, and Blue Velvet.

"Your homework, however, is to leave nipple-clamps on until I tell you to remove them." Pauline looked at him--puzzled. "I'll call you later this evening. Video on your cell. You'll show me you, taking them off." After a long pause, he added, "Think of this as a test." Then he showed her to the door, and unceremoniously, sent her on her way.

She was puzzled that, while he had, indeed, masturbated her--to climax--he hadn't really even hinted at having sex with her--of copulation--of fucking her. Furthermore, she was mystified, as she started her car and headed for home, that she hadn't complained, at all. And hadn't unclipped herself. The pain had subsided slightly. It was fading into a sort of background stimulation that sparkled in a low-level arousal as the connecting chain swung and jostled all the way home.

Back in her apartment Pauline immediately went to the mirror and bared her chest, studying the clamps like they were a curiosity on someone else. She gently flipped the chain-- lightly tugged on it. Then, with a shrug, she pulled her blouse closed, and got herself a drink. The TV couldn't hold her interest, and the stereo did nothing but jar her nerves. She sat waiting, nursing her drink and trying to understand exactly why she was enduring the throbbing pain--why she was doing this. At that point she caught sight of her purse, on its side on the coffee table, spilling out the paperbacks Maurice had suggested she read--directed her to read. Grabbing the nearest one, she perused the cover before flipping it open to the first chapter. The Story of O. It sounded intriguing. But, just at that moment, the phone rang. "Hello." She answered with a voice brighter than she felt.

"Why, hello there." Disappointment flooded in as soon as Pauline heard the voice; it was just Martin--just her erstwhile fiancé. She hadn't actually spoken to him for days, but worse still, she realized, she hadn't even thought of him the entire time. Hence, their conversation was, understandably, stilted. She fibbed about her day, trying not to betray her preoccupation. When her cell suddenly rang, interrupting their conversation--she glanced down to see that it was Maurice; she virtually gasped out, "Excuse me, Martin. I've got to get this!"

"Why? Who is it?"

"It's Rachel from work," she lied--and, rushing the goodbyes, rang off as quickly as possible. Hurriedly connecting to the video call, she was roundly reprimanded for not answering on the first ring.

"Why didn't you pick up right away?"

"It was Martin--on the landline," she muttered. "I had to..."

"Does Martin have alligator clips on your nipples? Get your priorities straight, woman. My calls take precedence! Right now, I'm the most important person in your life!" Pauline wondered why she didn't immediately object to such a rash presumption--then it was too late.

"Show me yer tits," he demanded, sounding, for all the world, like a jeering patron at a peeler bar.

Pauline was surprised to observe that she was, following the kafuffle, almost used to the background stimulation of the clamps--almost inured to the buzz emanating from her buds; but the moment she peeled her blouse off, and exposed her dangling paraphernalia, the throbbing of her nipples became, once more, front and centre.

"Swing the chain!" Maurice commanded, and she reached up between her boobs to flick the hanging length with her finger. "No! Don't be so dense! Not with your hand." Quickly, Pauline set about scooping her chest and rolling her shoulders, succeeding in setting the pups into a circular motion--their leash swinging freely front to back as well as side to side--intensifying the sensations that had already begun to ripple along Pauline's spine.

Maurice now spoke in an unhurried, almost laconic voice. "Okay. Slowly now. Release the right clamp. Gently massage your nipple as the blood-flow returns. This'll hurt a bit, pinching and pulling the recovering bud will, paradoxically help. Trust me." And, much to Pauline's surprise, she did and it did! "Now, slowly release the other side." When she had recovered, he had her carefully return the chained set to the plush box he had, earlier, inserted into her purse, instructing her to "keep this handy."

When she had followed his directions to the letter, Maurice's voice became more endearing. He complimented her on having "passed the test," then, apparently sincerely, wished her a good night, telling her to call him when she was ready to continue. "Next time we get together," he added with a chuckle, "make sure you have the nipple-clamps already in place.' Just before disconnecting he purred, "I'll leave you now to masturbate, as you most certainly will want to do."

"How did he know?" Pauline mused, her hand already creeping into the front of her pants.

Pauline couldn't wait more than three days before she was compelled to call and arrange her next 'tutorial'. That became the general rule for subsequent visits. Under the guise of a continuing liberal--libertine--education, Maurice, with each subsequent session, further exposed Pauline's hidden nature, and subtly worked on developing and shaping suitable responses.

"So, now, how are you getting along with your reading assignments?"

"Well," Pauline mumbled, dropping her eyes as she felt a hot blush inundate her cheeks, "I've just finished 'The Story of O'..."

Maurice smiled broadly. "Oh, 'O' is my favourite! What did you think?"

Feeling terribly embarrassed, Pauline admitted that she was currently re-reading some of the sections she found particularly interesting.

"Good." Maurice smiled and nodded, looking, indeed, very proud. "You know, years ago, I officially took the surname of Anne Declos's pseudonym--Réage, the author of note of 'O'. Whose first name, as I'm sure you're well-aware, is Pauline."

Upon entering Maurice's flat, on yet another day, as Pauline stepped through the foyer, she was immediately ordered to, "Stop right there! Stay still!" Instantly obedient, she was left standing in the middle of the empty room for what seemed to be an inordinate length of time. After a long while, she unconsciously dropped a hand to the hem of her skirt, then brought it gently up to her quim. With her other hand, she toyed with the chain swinging between the, now familiar, nipple clamps--the low-level stimulation buzzing quietly, yet effectively, in the background. Idly stroking her pussy lips, she, quite by accident, grazed the hood of her clit. A consequent flash of sensual stimulation surprised her. While she knew she was being naughty and should stop; she continued the lazy caress, feeling guilty, like a school child surreptitiously doing something wrong, and hoping not to get caught, but she was too aroused and on edge to stop. At each successive touch, she felt her clitoris engorging and emerging. Closing her eyes, she became momentarily lost in her delight.

"Hey!" Maurice exclaimed, silently entering the room and catching her fingering herself. "What do you think you're doing?" Mortified, Pauline's hands snapped out from under her garments. "I shouldn't need to remind you that, when you're waiting--standing--you need to be in ready-position." Throwing her shoulders back, she quickly spread her feet and laced her fingers tightly behind her head.

"Oh now, does my little slut like to masturbate?" Maurice asked rhetorically, the sarcasm virtually dripping from each word. Pauline could feel her cheeks flush to an even deeper red--throwing off heat like a radiant heater. Still, she accepted the humiliation as part of the adventure--part of the package. Maurice reached into the front of her blouse, giving her hanging boob chain a not-so-gentle tug, before dropping it and casually releasing the alligator clips from her tits, one at a time. The flood of blood back into her poor, abused buds caused a spike in sensation that couldn't decide whether it was pain or pleasure. In any case, it piled into and onto the field of erotic energy already gathering and simmering within Pauline's core.

Maurice then stood silently, for a long, contemplative spell, before saying the very last thing Pauline expected to hear. "I want you to resume frigging yourself." Pauline stayed motionless, save for her eyelids, which batted wildly over her wide, wild eyeballs. "Come on, then. Get those fingers under that skirt--working 'round that cunt; which," he snickered, "is, no doubt, dripping.

"With your climax apparently imminent, it shouldn't be too hard to keep yourself on the boil. In fact, keep your fingers busy down there until I say stop; but," he warned, "don't cum!" While Maurice puttered about, in and out of the room, Pauline fought the peaking arousal, trying desperately to hold the looming orgasm at bay.

Finally, moving to stand directly in front of her, Maurice said softly, but imperatively, "Ready!" Her arousal hanging at the point of frustration, Pauline reluctantly withdrew her hands and brought them up to cradle the back of her head. With some sort of sleight-of-hand, Maurice magically produced a very large black rubber dildo. Holding her gaze firmly with his eyes he lifted her skirt and fitted the tip of the phallus between her puffy labia, at her vaginal opening. Waiting for a beat, he whispered, "Tell me what you want." Except for her puffing breath snorting through her nose, Pauline remained silent, unable to speak--unsure what to say. "Speak up! D'you want me to take it away?"

"No! Don't...!"

"D'you want me to shove it up your cunt?"

"Yesss! P-p-p-please!"

"You want me to fuck you with this big, black dildo?"

"Uh-huh!" Her head was nodding frantically.

"Where?" he asked, prolonging her torment.

"In my c...," even in her state of extreme agitation, Pauline could not bring herself to use the c-word. "In my pussy!"

"Then ask for it."

"Pl-pl-please, fuck my pussy...." Maurice raised his eyebrows, indicating she should continue. "...with your c-c-c..., your d-d-dildo. Please!"

Maurice relented. "That was good enough--for the time being," he allowed. "There'll be plenty of opportunity to get you past that point." So, shoving the big dildo, in one long stroke, smoothly up her wet, quivering love-sheath, he expertly employed it to bring her crashing through an amazingly intense orgasm.