Pathways to Submission: Tania Pt. 01

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FOREWORD

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Foreword: (from Pathways to Submission, chapter 5)

Moving out of the city and into the suburbs was a great idea two months ago. Now I'm not so sure. At the time, Tom and I had been married for six months and our tiny apartment in town was becoming very cramped. Renting this three bedroom house for the same cost as our apartment was an obvious solution. The move requires a forty minute daily commute on the train, but our work hours meant we could travel together. That was before I lost my job when my employers went bankrupt. Now I'm stuck at home with little to do apart from looking for another job.

I say farewell to Tom as he leaves for work and I promptly start the housework. I have a job interview at four o'clock at a local firm which sounds promising, but until then, my time is my own. I've barely started the housework when the doorbell rings.

"Hello, Tania," says our next door neighbour, Rosalyn. "I'm going down to the village this morning. Do you want to come?"

"Um... Yeah... Sure," I reply. "What time are you going."

"Now."

I regard Rosalyn as a good friend as well as our neighbour. Her biggest flaw is her tendency to decide things on the spur of the moment. Consequently, I never get any advance notice of what she has in mind.

"Oh! Okay. Give me a minute while I grab my coat. Come in and sit down."

I dash to the bathroom, and then to our bedroom to change into something more appropriate for shopping. I return to the living room to find Rosalyn studying our old DVD collection. Like most people we watch new movies and the like on a streaming channel, but neither of us have parted with our personal collection of DVDs, even though we rarely watch them.

"Are these yours or Tom's?" asks Rosalyn.

"Top shelf are Tom's. Lower shelf are mine," I reply.

"Hmm. An interesting collection," she says. "Did you know that your movie collection can tell a lot about your personality and fetishes?"

I never considered that possibility, but I suppose it could be true. If I didn't feel comfortable around Rosalyn, I might begin to resent her intrusion into our private lives. Tom's collection would probably betray that he's a twenty-three year old teenager. My collection would suggest something entirely different.

"You have a lot of erotica in your collection," says Rosalyn. "Oh! You've got The Story of O. I've always wanted to watch that. Let's ditch the shopping and watch this instead."

"You're welcome to borrow it," I say, not feeling comfortable at the prospect of watching it with Rosalyn. I've always had a fetish for being in O's situation, as Tom has discovered. But I'm not sure it's something I want Rosalyn to know.

"I don't have a DVD player any more," replies Rosalyn. "Don't be a wet blanket. I've read the book, so I know what it's about."

Although Rosalyn is only a year or so older than me, she has an air of authority that I find hard to defy. Consequently, ten minutes later we are sat side by side on the couch in front of our television watching The Story of O.

"Does O's plight turn you on?" asks Rosalyn after about twenty minutes.

"A bit," I reply, hiding the fact that I'm getting very aroused by the film.

"Hah! More than a bit, I think. You've dipped your hand between your legs at least six times already. I bet your nipples are hard."

I go several shades of red in embarrassment. Rosalyn is a good friend, but I'm not accustomed to confiding my sexual perversions with anyone. Even Tom has only seen a watered-down version of my depraved fantasies. Unfortunately Rosalyn is like an angler with a prize catch on her hook. Try as I might, I can't escape her trap and she gradually draws me closer into her net.

By the time the film has finished, she has me kneeling on the floor facing her with my hands on my head. So far she hasn't touched me in a sexual way, but she's had me confess some very personal secrets. The sort of secrets that are better confined to the marriage bed. Strangely, I feel very relaxed as she slowly draws me under her thrall.

"Remove your blouse," says Rosalyn as though she was asking for a cup of coffee.

It never occurs to me to resist. Rosalyn has read my mood to perfection. My bra follows moments later and I'm flashing my tits in her face. And yet she never touches me. She controls me by her words alone, and I'm only too eager to comply. I can feel the moisture in my cunt starting to ooze into my panties. Not that my panties survive much longer. I'm completely naked before Rosalyn has finished commanding me.

"Now go and make us some coffee, and we can discuss a few things," says Rosalyn.

I obey without question, sneaking my hands over my nipples and cunt as I head for the kitchen. I don't think I've ever been this aroused before. Even the wild sex of our honeymoon doesn't compare with the feelings coursing through my body today. I feel like a slave under the command of my mistress. If only that could be a reality.

I return with the drinks to discover that Rosalyn has found the tie that Tom discarded this morning after he spilt milk on it at breakfast. I serve our coffee and at Rosalyn's command, I cross my wrists in front of me and she binds them together with Tom's tie.

"That's a good start, my pretty slave. Now we shall discuss a more suitable arrangement between us. I presume you consent to be my slave, just like O was in the movie we've just watched."

"Yes, Mistress," I reply, practically having an orgasm at the thought of my compete surrender to my neighbour.

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PART ONE

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Chapter 1

To understand why I am so readily placing myself in my neighbour's thrall, I should firstly explain how I arrived at this point in my life.

Even to this day, the 'alternative lifestyle' commune into which I was born, and where I spent my early childhood, is repeatedly portrayed as home to a bunch of religious fanatics responsible for all sorts of wicked transgressions. I can't speak for those currently living there, but my own recollections of life in the commune are entirely different from the nonsense spouted by the hysterical bigots who have made it their mission in life to have the commune closed down. Repeated claims that children living at the commune are systematically abused and sexually assaulted have never been substantiated. My own experience suggests that the accusations of impropriety are baseless. It must have come as a great disappointment to the bigots when the eight teenage girls removed from the commune ten years ago all turned out to be perfectly healthy virgins.

My early life in the commune is a collection of hazy but pleasant memories. I haven't seen or heard from my parents since I was thirteen years old. After the state authorities removed me and seventeen other children from our parents' care, we were prohibited from contacting them, or anyone else connected with the commune. Even when I turned eighteen, and I was released from the controlling influence of the state, I was sent on my way with a stern warning to keep the commune and my parents at a distance. Rightly or wrongly, I have obeyed the advice of my state appointed guardians, since that is what my strict upbringing has taught me to do. Nevertheless, to me, the commune was a happy place that isolated itself from the corruption and violence of the outside world.

That's not to say that my life in the commune was easy. Far from it. Discipline and hard work was the commune's mantra. The commune's leaders created and imposed strict rules on those living in their community. But to call any of them religious fanatics is wrong. Religion played no greater part in the commune's lifestyle than it does anywhere else in the modern day western world.

As I said, my life in the commune came to an abrupt end ten years ago, when the police invaded the commune and took twelve girls and six boys from our parents. We were all made wards of the state. Nobody cared about the trauma that such a move created for us or our parents. Although some of us were put in foster homes, I and five other girls were packed off to a privately run orphanage called Sunnybridge. The regime there was also one of discipline and hard work, although I felt considerably less safe at Sunnybridge than I did in the commune. The six of us were constantly being examined by medics and psychiatrists who never revealed why we were such fascinating subjects. One by one the other girls from the commune reached eighteen and were released from the orphanage. Eventually, I was the only one from our group left at Sunnybridge.

Had Tom not lived at Sunnybridge, I'm unsure whether I could have survived the harsh regime until I reached eighteen. He was the son of one of the administrators, who lived in Sunnybridge's staff quarters. Tom had considerably more freedom of movement than any of Sunnybridge's inmates. He shamelessly used his privileges to his benefit. He flirted with all of the Sunnybridge girls in his age group. The extra treats he could supply made him a popular visitor to the older girls' common room. He rarely favoured one girl over another and he constantly referred to us his harem.

When I left Sunnybridge I found a clerical job in the city and I rented a small one-room bedsit nearby. The landlady was a Tartar and imposed fines and other penalties on her tenants for breaking her strict rules. Fortunately for me I was used to living in such a demanding regime. My entire life up to that point had consisted of being told what to do, and being punished if I didn't obey.

Both Tom and I had jobs in the central city, which meant we were not far away from each other during the day. We would meet for lunch at least three times a week but we rarely dated in the evenings or at weekends. Tom and I were great friends, but we were not lovers. Tom's reputation for wanting to fuck every young woman in town, wasn't a trait that made him good boyfriend material.

Our casual relationship continued with very little variation for over three years. Then, for some unknown reason, Tom started to show a romantic interest in me. I had few friends other than Tom, so his attentions were welcome. Neither of us lived in a place where we could invite members of the opposite sex to stay. Our options for sex were limited, and usually little more than a quick furtive fumble in some back alley. I was taken by surprise when Tom suggested that we get married.

I wasn't sure if what I felt for Tom was love or something akin to gratitude. However, Tom refused to take 'no' for an answer to his marriage proposal. Finally, it was the prospect of sharing a flat with Tom, rather than continuing to live in the wretched one-room bedsit where I lived, which eventually made me agree to marry him. We were married a few weeks later at a small private ceremony with only two witnesses. The experience only underlined how alone in the world I had become since I left Sunnybridge, and why I felt I needed to marry Tom.

Tom and I found a small apartment on the fringes of the city centre, and for six months we lived a settled, albeit boring, life. Then Tom heard of a suitable house becoming available to rent not far from Sunnybridge. I was swept along with his enthusiasm, and that's how we ended up here. I suspect Tom had met Rosalyn before we moved here, since it was she who had told Tom about our house becoming available. For as long as I have known him, Tom has had many female friends, so it doesn't surprise me that Rosalyn is one of them.

My own submissive nature is probably a product of the successive regimes under which I have lived. Discipline and hard work have been a part of my life as far back as I can remember. I have always expected physical punishment as the price of any misdemeanour. The psychiatrists at Sunnybridge seemed perplexed by my passiveness, and my ready acceptance at receiving a spanking for my errant ways. I presume they saw nothing wrong in what was occurring since they did nothing to prevent the guardians at Sunnybridge from liberally using a slipper or cane to rectify any misbehaviour among their charges.

Tom has never been keen on following the Sunnybridge guardians' regime of reward and punishment. He's aware of my submissive nature, but my desire to submit to his domination has rarely been satisfied beyond a few short-lived games. Instead he uses a trick that the psychiatrists at Sunnybridge often used. If they wanted to restore calm and order for any reason, they would hold up a yellow stick. The stick they used had a small light at the end, and pointing it in the miscreant's direction was a signal to the offender to stop whatever they were saying or doing. For such a simple tool, it was surprisingly effective.

Chapter 2

Telling Tom about my activities today is going to be difficult. My job interview was a disaster. I was one of twenty applicants and my qualifications were not what was required for the job. The manager said he would keep my details on file and he would contact me if a suitable job came available. It was a polite way of saying 'don't contact us, we'll contact you'. However, my failed job interview isn't what is worrying me. It's my tacit agreement with our neighbour, Rosalyn, that is making me really nervous.

"Have you been spending your day watching old movies?" asks Tom when he picks up the DVD of The Story of O that Rosalyn and I had been watching this morning.

I had deliberately left the DVD on the table as a prop to introduce the subject I'm dreading talking about. Thankfully, Tom took the bait and he's given me the opportunity to confess my hasty agreement with Rosalyn. This morning, in my heightened state of arousal, I had readily agreed to Rosalyn's proposal. By afternoon I was already thinking that I've gone too far. Tom is my husband, and he has every right to be consulted before I agreed to submit to Rosalyn's requirements. But I'm more afraid of displeasing Rosalyn than I am of angering Tom, so I must press ahead with my confession.

"Rosalyn came round this morning and she wanted to watch the film," I say. "She's apparently a fan of the genre, and you know how much I like the film."

"Hmm. I'll never understand your fascination for watching a woman being treated like what's-her-name in that film," mutters Tom, inadvertently highlighting my main frustration with our sexual relationship.

"O. The main character is called O," I reply, slightly exasperated at Tom's failure to understand the depths of my fetish for sexual submission and my interest in wanting to try anal sex.

You would think that any heterosexual man would jump for joy if he discovered that the love of his life was into being tied up and fucked up her arse. But not Tom. He's an advocate of the quick-fuck technique when it comes to having sex. Bondage and foreplay are all unnecessary extras as far as he's concerned. As long as his cock gets plenty of exercise in my cunt (which it does), he's a happy man. That, and being allowed to watch football on TV in the evenings whenever his team is playing.

"Rosalyn has offered me some part time work," I cautiously begin. "It has some conditions though, which you need to approve. She's coming round here at eight o'clock to discuss her proposal with us."

"What! The quarter-finals for the Cup are on TV at eight-thirty. I can't miss the match!"

"The match doesn't start until nine, and I don't think she intends to stay long. She only needs your agreement to the conditions she wants to impose."

"What sort of work is it, anyway?" asks Tom. "I thought she's a steward at some pony club. You don't know the first thing about horses."

"The job doesn't involve horses," I reply. "She needs someone to help around her house, and at the club. The club work involves working all day Saturdays, and at her house for up to three days during the week. She's prepared to be flexible about hours during the week, so it shouldn't conflict with a daytime job should I be lucky enough to get one locally."

"Hmm. Well, that doesn't sound too bad. But what about the conditions you mention?"

"They shouldn't be a problem. At least, not for you. They're unusual but I'm okay with them. They basically mean that my arse becomes her property."

"Huh? I must have misheard you. I though you said that your arse will become her property."

"You heard me correctly. I think it would be better if Rosalyn explains her side of the deal before you pass judgement."

"Well, okay. As long as I don't miss the football."

Rosalyn arrives a few minutes late, by which time Tom is practically tearing his hair out. He remains polite during Rosalyn's visit, although he regularly looks at his watch. Rosalyn would need to be blind not to notice, and I silently curse Tom for his bad manners.

"I'll come straight to the point," says Rosalyn as soon as the preliminary pleasantries are finished. "I want Tania to work for me at my house and at The Manor. I can be flexible about the hours during the week, but the job at The Manor will require Tania to work for most of Saturday. The work may extend into the early hours of Sunday, but I can give you warning ahead of time if that's necessary. I'll let Tania explain the details of the job, but I need both of you to agree to my conditions."

"Tania said you want to own her arse," says Tom.

"In a sense, yes," replies Rosalyn. "I understand that the two of you don't engage in anal sex. Is that correct?"

"Yes," replies Tom defensively. "I don't see what that's got to do with anything."

"The job I'm offering Tania means that you mustn't have anal sex with Tania. Nor may you spank, whip, or otherwise mark her arse or upper thighs. I want the sole right to treat Tania's arse as I think fit. Once you agree to my conditions, then Tania will submit to my orders and refer to me as Mistress. She's already agreed to do this, subject to your approval."

"Um... I don't know. Perhaps Tania and I should talk about this overnight."

"I would like an answer now, please. There's something I want Tania to do tonight."

Tom looks at his watch. He's torn between discussing the issue further, and missing the start of the game, or giving his consent now and bundling Rosalyn out of the door.

"I know you're a football fan," says Rosalyn to Tom. "Did I mention that I know a club member? If you like, I can get you a guest pass to the members' lounge next time there's a home game."

That seals the deal. Tom has happily sold my arse to my new mistress for the price of a members' lounge guest pass at a football game. I should be annoyed, but deep in my heart, this is exactly what I desire.

"How about Tania comes over to my place while you watch the quarter-finals," suggests Rosalyn. "That way we can have some girl-talk without disturbing you."

Tom practically kisses Rosalyn's feet in gratitude. I simply get my jacket and follow my new mistress out of the door.

Chapter 3

As soon as I enter Rosalyn's front door, I drop to my knees and place my hands on my head. Our discussion this morning touched on many issues, including how I should behave upon entering her house. Her front door is the boundary between Tania the free-woman and Tania the slave. Not that my submission to my new mistress will be confined to when I'm inside her house. I'll also be working under her direction at the club.

"Well done, Tania," praises Rosalyn. "You've remembered your entry routine. Now come into the living room. We have a lot to cover in the hour or two that Tom will be occupied."

"Yes, Mistress Rosalyn," I reply, standing up and following her into her living room.

"Two things need correcting before we begin, Tania. Firstly, you are to call me Mistress Lyn or just Mistress. From now on, my full name must never cross your lips. Secondly, you must remain on your hands and knees when you move around my house unless I've given you permission to stand, or you are doing a task that requires you to be upright. Understood?"