The German Sub


Two years of eating the awful rations on U-Boats had inured him to eating dreadful food so it did not distress him to eat the stew. That she was building her ascendancy brick by brick into a wall that he would not be able to climb, that also disturbed him less than it should have done.

Just one day!

Georg had been just one day in the house and already she had him on more than a tight leash. Mary had become Madam and he had become her maid. The dress and petticoat did not upset him anymore and the tight grip of the girdle excited rather than discomforted him.

She watched him eat the Hotpot that had become a Coldpot and hummed to herself in satisfaction. Since she had conceived her basic idea just this morning, Georg had come so far. She was proceeding by feeling her way, but now she was starting to have ideas that excited her even more. Already he was more maid than German Unteroffizier, the next week would bring more changes that would make his life a mixture of chores and sex. Sex for her enjoyment, chores to keep him off balance and too busy to rebel.

At last he finished and she beckoned him to the living room.

Another gale was brewing in the dusk, it promised to be a stormy night!

She passed him a book and settle down comfortably while her read two chapters of Jane Ayre to her in his almost accent less tenor. As he read, she relaxed and allowed her thought to wander. The nights she would make for her pleasure and his service. The days she would fill to bursting with chores and punishments until at last he obeyed without demure.

As she considered all the things that he would do for her she felt a warm glow of satisfaction that made her pussy dew with anticipation. Four years were a long time to catch up on, in the end she would occasionally allow him to fuck, but those events would have to be the steps on his route to total service!

He lay in his bed.


Georg could feel the chain that fixed him to the bed. Just enough play to use the chamber pot in the night and no more. He knew and understood that the chain was more a symbol of his captivity than anything else. It was Madam's means of making sure that she could visit at any time of the night and use him as she willed.

He would always be there for her and not temped to try to wander to her bedroom for something that she had not wished to do at that moment.

An hour ago she had arrived and slipped her hand under his nightie to find that he was ready. She brought him to near peak and then laughed as she watched him sigh when he realised that he was not going to come for her that night.

For an hour she played with her maid.

She made him service her with lips and tongue and then sat on his chest while she slowly brought herself to a second climax while he lay watching and lusting for that perfect body. Those breasts, those thighs and the dripping cunt that was only to be touched by her hands now that he had kissed her thighs and sex.

At last she relented and allowed him to come.

By his own hand and to the rhythm that she directed.

Mary slipped out of the room as he said: "Good night, Madam," and found her own bed to curl up in to sleep off the earthquakes that she had experienced in her loins.

Time Passes.

So the days passed.

Georg cleaned the house from top to bottom and then started again. He learned to wash all of the clothes in the stone basin in the kitchen with soap and soda in the water that he had to draw at dawn every day. He got used to the heels on the shoes, the clutch of the girdle and the pull of the cheap cotton stockings.

His cooking skills improved and he learned to heat his portion of the food so hot that it was still warm when she had finished and turned to enjoy watching him eat. He learned to feed the pigs and still manage to keep his petticoats free of the dirt. He chopped the wood and made the fire and then repaired the shutters on the windows one by one.

He climbed onto the roof and set the tiles, stopping as he did so to gaze at the distance and wonder how the war was going. By now the German army would be past Moscow, fighting in the snow as the demoralised Communists retreated into the east past the Urals. German troops would be in Palestine; a new crusader army that would sweep the enemy beyond the oil wells of Persia.

The Japanese would be threatening San Francisco with their fleets as the degenerate Americans were swept from the Pacific Ocean on a foaming wave front that would see Germans and Japanese meeting in Canada and India.

But, he had no news, no indication that the Wehrmacht was about to arrive in this part of Cornwall and liberate him!

All the while Mary wore down his inhibitions and built up his needs...

Changed him and moulded him.

The cane had been the latest innovation to add to her little game.

Georg was caned the first time when he broke a plate in the kitchen. Over her lap with his skirt lifted, she gave him three strokes that almost made him come as his cock was gripped by her thighs. Every change that she added brought sex to the forefront!

Sex for her and twisted sex for him.

It seemed almost as though she kept book with double-entry accuracy of his derelictions of duty and then balanced up at the end of each week. Three months after arriving in her demesne he stumbled across the record book that she had apparently forgotten to lock up.

In her clear, neat hand there was indeed a record and balance of punishment and reward that showed how very far he had fallen. Every stroke of the cane, every stroke of her hand, every orgasm that she had permitted, with the circumstances as well as the two fucks that she had given him for days with a perfect record. He nodded at her scrupulous book keeping as though her Teutonic pursuit of excellence was justified by applying a code of conduct that was precise and fairly applied.

But, she made the rules.

Mary decided what was punishable and what was worthy of reward!

Another three months came and went.

Georg begged her to be allowed to wear summer dresses and knickers instead of the maid's uniforms that filled his wardrobe. She relented but then told him that his figure was really not suitable and that if he wished to wear the dresses that she chose for him, then he would have to wear a boned corset in addition to the girdle.

A week later he gave in and she laced the corset tight.

That night she visited him and allowed him to lie on top for the first time. She held his corset and stroked his stockings as she directed him though a fuck that seemed to last forever. Every five minutes she interrupted his pleasure to allow him to bring her another climax with his tongue. Finally he withdrew and she watched him come over her breasts with a satisfied smile from her. She was thinking how he was moving to the next crucial stage that she had decided it would be her pleasure to squeeze from her maid.

Georg found that she now insisted on the corset all of the time.

Day and night!

Slowly it was drawn in until the edges met and she could put him into the training corset that she produced for him. The target was seventeen inches, no more than she could encompass with her hands. The target of every Victorian maid! As he wore it for the first time he was so wrapped in her toils that he walked around with an erection tenting his dress all day!

Sometimes she liked him to wear just the corset, stockings and high heels and sat for hours watching him complete his chores with a look of lust in her eyes that spoke volumes about the way that she too was developing.

Because the trainer is influenced by the trainee in such subtle ways!

As he became ever more feminine and subdued she became stronger and more definite.

More and harder punishments became the order of the day. The easy days of five light strokes of the cane for breaking dishes became the ten vicious strokes for lacing the bow at the bottom of the corset instead of the top because it made tying the bow easier. The slap on the bottom when he forgot to call her Madam turned into a quick blow to his balls when he was not walking quietly enough when she was reading.

But, the change was gradual and as the small errors were no longer to be seen, the even smaller errors became crisis of discipline.

All he while she reduced his rewards to a casual word or slight move of the hand.

By the time that Georg had spent two years serving Madam, he had managed just five perfect days where he was allowed to slip into her ripe pussy and experience heaven as he spilled onto her body after his withdrawal.

As the time fled by in a flash of perfect service and utter dependence on her he suddenly achieved the seventeen inches that she demanded of his waist. An hourglass figure that allowed him to slip into her formal dress with such ease that he had to take in the seams to make it hug his svelte figure.

Every month she disappeared to the local village and left him to fend for himself. He never dared to masturbate without her direct order, he just spent a leisurely day washing and ironing as she had directed. Georg wondered about the war occasionally, but apart from the distant contrails of aircraft, so far off the shore, there was never any sign of military activity.

'Had it ended? What was the peace?' he wondered, but no longer did he consider it to be even important.

All that consumed him was the endless list of chores that he had to work through to satisfy the very reasonable demands that his mistress made of him. He knew that she enjoyed punishing him more and more, but he was also aware that he was increasingly enjoying those moments too.

If he came when he was caned or slapped, the punishment always stopped and Mary seemed overjoyed that it had happened. It was so strange! The one thing that he would have thought invited more and stricter punishment made her give a little shout of joy and then kiss him on the lips as though it was what she wanted all along!

Asking For A Date.

One day he asked her the day's date.

"Third of July, nineteen forty five," she answered. "You have been here three years and have almost become the perfect maid."

He felt a rush of gratitude and love overwhelm him and tears welled in his eyes.

"You know what the reward is for asking, don't you?"

Punishments had become rewards and rewards had become punishments in the strange up-side down world of his owner.

Thank you, Madam," he said as he prepared for the caning.

Often he served her, maybe twice a day on average if he could just read her account book and check the balance. But, it had never been left lying around again and the key to it hung on a chain at her waist. In the last year or so she had never allowed a fuck, in fact she had never touched his straining prick or even allowed him to help himself to a climax.

Instead the whipping horse had become the centre of his pleasure!

She chained him to the padded wooden box and helped his prick into the leather clad hole that awaited him. Three leather straps held him rigid and almost unable to use the leather lined pussy. Georg had made it himself to her order. A painstaking job that had demanded that he create an instrument of his own punishment and pleasure.

As she fixed him tight and then drew the ropes taut he felt his breath constricted by the corset that allowed only shallow breaths. By the time that he was stretched, vulnerable and accessible he was gasping for air and ready be caned.

"Thank me now for the pain," she said.

"Thank you so much, Madam."

She whipped the hazel cane in the air to prepare him and then laid it on his back in a position of rest.

"How many strokes do you need?" she asked.

If he asked for too few he would not climax, if he asked for too many the pain would be unbearable.

"Three please, Madam."

"Very good, pretty maid. I can see that you are responding better all the time," she said as she whirled the flexible rod in the air and brought it with vicious force on those quivering buttocks.

The first stroke almost made him come as his body thrust his prick into the whipping horse's dry cunt. He screamed and she laughed at his agony.

But, he needed more and soon.

The second blow brought him to climax and he spurted into the cup that was so placed as to catch his gushing emission.

"That's good," she chuckled. "That gives me one more stroke to come for my own personal pleasure."

As usual she lifted her skirt to show him the wet cunt that contrasted with the dry leather of the whipping horse. Then she slowly drew the cane through that slit in a motion that suggested lust pure, and temptation. Her breath came in short pants as she orgasmed from the contact with the instrument of torment. All the while he had to wait for the final stroke, wait in foreboding for a blow that would be his punishment for wanting to come too much.

Georg looked at her and felt nothing less than love.

An overwhelming desire and love of the pain that she administered with such pleasure. That she had trained him to love her and the agony that she meted out, was neither here nor there. The pain made him come, the shortness of breath made it more intense and the bonds that fixed him forced him to understand that he was hers whenever she needed him.

The third stroke was like a line of fire that made his world into a stormy sea of agony.

He gasped and sobbed and longed for her to finish the ritual.

She leaned down and kissed her German sailor on the lips. Foam ringed his lips as he fought to breathe and she licked it off with relish. Finally she took the cup and gave him his own ejaculate to drink.

"You know that it pleases me so when you are punished properly," she said as he licked the cup clean.

"I love you, Madam."

"I know that you do and to show how much I understand, I shall order you to beg me for another stroke of the cane!"

His eyes misted with tears, he felt choked and was fading from the world, but he begged her as she asked. This was Mary's pleasure, her need and her gratification.

"Please, Madam. One more, because you require it of me."

The blow cut over the first one. It scored no new line of blood because the position was so exact.

Despite the chains and the three belts that held him fast to the whipping horse, his body bucked with the pain and he fainted with a small cry.

Mary opened her mouth and ran her tongue over her lips. Her hand was already pushing through that flesh that led to her clitoris. It required just a touch to set the reaction off, a light tickle that almost made her faint with the orgasm that it brought.

She regarded her maid and felt the pride of ownership. The excitement of owning someone so completely that they were ready to do anything in exchange to give a moment of sexual bliss to her.

Unconditional Surrender.

He came to in his bed, the familiar chains that spread his legs and arms tightly fixed and comforting.

His mistress sat by his side and stroked the corset that she knew would never come off. It was his forever, as was the pain and its attendant pleasure. Soon she would replace the boned corset with the steel one that she had ordered.

A brutal cage for him to wear all the time.

Finally she had come to that point that she had foreseen on the misty horizon that first night.

All she required was a final willing sacrifice that would put the seal on her need for a slave.

It was not enough that she had taught him to climax from pain. It was not enough that he had to take every breath at her command.

His breath, hers to take and give.

It was not enough that he had given up desire and replaced it with a masochism so deep that he begged her to punish him so that she could orgasm again.

All of that was not enough for her.

Now he had a final declaration to make, way beyond love and passion. way beyond the bounds of servitude, into the searing territory of abject slavery.

He had to give up everything for her, be hers forever to dive ever deeper into pain for her all-consuming gratification.

Her hand slapped his face sharply and she smiled at his enjoyment of it. She slapped him again to ready his mind for what she was about to demand of him.

"Georg," she said. "You asked me the date. Why?"

"Because I had to know how long it was that I loved you. How many years, Madam."

"But you did not ask where you are?"

"I am with you, Madam!"

"Do you want to stay her with me forever? To suffer ever more for my personal pleasure?"

"Yes, please, please, I beg you. Madam."

He was almost incoherent. A man without sane reason or thought.

"Then I will let you stay here, in Ireland, with me forever as my pain slave!"

His thoughts coalesced and reason returned.

'Neutral Ireland,' he thought as he began to laugh through the tears of love and pain.

The Emerald Isle that the war had not touched! The Ireland where, he could have surrendered to the Garda without fear! The place where Mary had enslaved him and made him love her through a red mist of degradation and suffering.

The place where he would serve her, willingly forever and without end!

The End

Historical Notes:

* U145 was actually surrendered at the end of the war, in 1945, in Helgoland. It was then scuttled in Operation Deadlight on the 22 Dec, 1945, near Ireland.

* About 250 U Boats in total were lost to air attack during the entire period of WW2, several to the attacks of the Short Sunderland flying boat, known to the Germans as the Flying Porcupine because of the vast number of machine guns that it carried.

* Ireland stayed neutral in WW2, but interned all Allied and German prisoners in the Curragh Internment Camp.


Copyright © 2012 (June) Miss Irene Clearmont.

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