Emma: The Education of a Submissive

Chapter One-2

“Orders are orders,” said Clyde.

He walked over to her closet and started selecting dresses and skirts. Emma went back into her sitting room. Gerry was sorting through some papers.

“About my date tonight,” she said. “I guess I’d better phone.”

“I guess you better had,” said Gerry, not looking up.

She went into her study and closed the door. She’d known Richard about six weeks. He’d picked her up at a party; or had she picked him up? It was her first s****l activity since encountering Master. The next day she told Master in an email what had happened, how she’d gone home with Richard, had s*x. She’d been terrified of Master’s reaction, fearing his anger. After all, she’d signed her contract by then. She’d given him total ownership of her body. He’d made it crystal clear her cunt was no longer hers to dispose of. “Breasts and n*****s, cunt and ass”, as it stated. And now she’d let another man use it.

In fact Master had been amused rather than angry. Of course, he said, you must be punished. Rules are rules, you have broken them. But you are a beautiful and highly s****l woman. It’s not surprising men will want to f**k you. From time to time you may weaken. As long as you are willing to pay the price, we can live with that.

For a whole day he didn’t tell her what the price would be. She paced the house in an agony of suspense. At last came the instructions. She was to strip naked and clamp herself, putting the fierce little Japanese clover clamps on her n*****s, and then attaching the big steel clamp he had bought for her cunt, which pressed the labia tightly together like a vice. She must sit for half an hour, meditating on the nature of obedience. Well before the end it felt as if red-hot needles were piercing her n*****s, while her cunt ached most awfully. She had to send him messages as she sat, to convince him, as he said, that she was in a penitent frame of mind. Right at the end, he had said put a clothes pin on your clit. She had nearly fainted with the pain. At last he let her take the things off. She had to get down on her knees, face to the ground, naked ass stuck up in the air, and thank him out loud for her punishment. It sounded silly, speaking to an empty room, but she did it anyway. Then he told her, no orgasms for a week. Every day afterwards he’d tormented her, making her use her fingers or a vibrator to bring herself to the brink of a climax, then stop. By the end of the week she was almost out of her mind with longing. Then Master had told her she might f**k Richard again. But only on certain conditions.

“What conditions?” she had asked. Richard was good-looking and attentive, lively company. She needed a friend, needed a man for s*x. Woman cannot live online alone, she told herself. She’d submit to any conditions.

“After every s****l encounter you will provide me with a full and detailed account. I want to know exactly what you did, which positions you adopted for intercourse, whether fellatio or c*********s took place, how long you f****d, whether you came. You will award each session a numerical rating out of five.”

It excited her, the idea of f*****g under licence. Yet it was shaming, in a way. Was it fair to Richard that his actions should be described with such intimacy to another man, one of whose existence he was completely ignorant? How would she feel if she were herself used in this way?

“Must I tell?” she asked. “Really, I don’t feel comfortable about that.”

But she knew the answer. The conditions were not negotiable. Well, she thought to herself, Richard will never know, so it cannot hurt him. And I need this, I need it so, not just the companionship of a real man in my life, but even more the dictation of my actions by a stern Master. The more he regulates me the greater my pleasure. To rebuff his orders would be unthinkable now.

So that weekend she f****d Richard again and thoroughly enjoyed it. In a way it was refreshing to indulge in some vanilla s*x, a cooling draught after the steamy heat of her email sessions with Master. Richard was a skilled and energetic lover, but she knew even after the first encounter that he would never engage her in anything that deviated from the straight and narrow. Once she realised that, she could accept it. It was tempting to daydream that suddenly Richard might transform himself into a strict disciplinarian and beat her black and blue. But she knew it would never happen. One day, she mused to herself, it might happen with Master. Until that time she must be content. Still feeling a little guilty, she had emailed Master a detailed report of this s****l encounter.

She had been looking forward to her date this evening, her third with Richard. They planned dinner in his local restaurant, a very high-class establishment, and then they’d go back to his place and she’d stay the night. She could hear the keen disappointment in his voice when she told him she’d have to cancel, though he was too well-mannered to complain. I’ll make it up to you, she said, with a throaty chuckle. I’ll hold you to that, he replied. He wanted to know how long she’d be away and was perplexed at her vagueness.

“Where are you going?”

“It’s business,” she said. “Tell you all about it when I get back.”

Though I think that’s rather unlikely, she smiled to herself when she put the phone down. She still had no idea what was in store, but if Master was behind it then it would hardly be something she could tell Richard about. Oh, well, she’d invent something. He was a trusting soul.

When she went back into the sitting room she saw her suitcase and another small travel bag standing on the carpet. Clyde had evidently finished his packing.

“It’s all there,” said Gerry. “Clothes, toiletries, make-up. We just need your passport.”

So it was a foreign trip. She suspected where, yet hardly dared hope. Was this it at last, the so-long-delayed meeting?

“I don’t suppose you’ll tell me where we’re going?” she said diffidently to Gerry.

“I don’t suppose I will,” he said, without the hint of a smile.

She fetched her passport from her bureau. Gerry stretched out his hand for it and put it in his inside pocket. Then he went over to Clyde and muttered a few instructions in his ear. Taking Emma’s arm, with a gesture of familiarity she didn’t care for, Gerry led her out of the house and down to the waiting car. Clyde followed with her bags, which he stowed in the trunk. Gerry opened the rear door for her, then took the driver’s seat. They pulled away without a wave to Clyde.

Emma knew after five minutes they were going to the airport. She sank back into the seat, hugging herself with delighted anticipation. But as they turned on to the freeway Gerry’s voice brought her back from her daydreams.

“A corset is not suitable for wear in a pressurised cabin,” he said. “Take it off.”

“What?” she said, not sure what she had heard.

“Take off the corset,” he repeated.

“Can’t I wait till we get to the airport? It’s a bit public here.”

“If you don’t do what you’re told I’m coming back in there to take it off myself.”

Emma glanced out of the window. There seemed to be cars and trucks all round them. Gingerly she inched up her sweater and began to undo the hooks at the back of the corset, unavoidably affording glimpses of her naked breasts as she pulled the corset away. She saw Gerry looking into the rear-view mirror. She lifted up her skirt and continued to unhook the corset, then took it off.

“Stockings and thong too,” Gerry said.

Reaching again under her skirt, nervously looking around her, she unrolled her stockings then slid the tiny little thong down over her ankles.

“Lift the skirt so your naked buttocks are resting on the leather seat,” Gerry said.

Emma did as she was told. She imagined it was Master issuing the instructions. That made it feel better.

“From now until we arrive at our final destination,” Gerry said, “you are not to speak until spoken to.”

Emma had been brought up to expect deference from men such as Gerry. She expected them to open car doors for her, show her to her table, carry her bags, and be grateful for the tips she handed out. She didn’t expect to have conversations with them. And so, she thought, it will scarcely be a hardship being forbidden to speak to such a man. She’d find a good book at the airport.

When they arrived forty minutes later Gerry put the car in a long-stay parking lot. Before they left it he made Emma pack her corset, stockings and thong in her suitcase. At the check-in desk he handed over tickets and passports. It seemed if he was coming too. She tried to catch a glimpse of the tickets, but Gerry deliberately placed himself in her way. Disappointingly, the woman at the desk didn’t mention their destination, merely wishing them a pleasant trip. Only when they got to the gate later did Emma at last see their destination: London. Where Master lived! Her heart skipped a beat. She could feel the blood pulsing in her veins, feel her cunt tighten.

Once on the plane, Emma was delighted to find they were flying business class. She settled back into her comfortable seat and accepted a gin and tonic from the flight assistant, a dark-haired young man with a nice smile. Emma wondered idly what his c**k was like. She didn’t do this often, was not in the habit of mentally undressing men she came across casually. But she was in a receptive, sensuous mood, full of anticipation, and just for once it was pleasant to indulge herself.

Dinner was served as soon as they had taken off, with an excellent choice of wines. Emma drank a little more than she should have, but she wanted to enjoy the luxury. After dinner Gerry appeared to go to sleep. Emma pulled the blanket she had been given up around her neck. She was in a state of delicious expectancy, and the fact that she was naked under her skirt only added to her feelings of desire. She wondered if she might manage to sneak a hand up under her skirt and pleasure herself. Just to help me sleep, she said to herself. Orgasms without permission were forbidden by Master; but sometimes that made them all the more exciting.

The assistant came by. “Is there anything I can get you, ma’am?”

Better not have any more wine, she thought. “Some water?”

“Certainly, ma’am.”

He scurried away. Emma watched him as he went up the aisle. He had a cute ass, she thought. When he brought the water she gave him one of her dazzling smiles.

“Thank you.”

“A pleasure, ma’am,” he said, and moved away.

Yes, it would be, Emma thought. How wicked she was feeling. Then she saw that Gerry’s eyes were open.

“I told you no talking unless you are spoken to.”

“But he did speak to me, he asked me if I wanted anything,” she retorted.

“You don’t speak unless I speak to you. Other people have no authority to let you speak. I should have thought that was obvious.”

“Not to me.”

“I don’t care for your tone,” Gerry said. “You’ll be sorry if you carry on like that.”

“Oh, will I?” Emma said haughtily. “In what way shall I be made sorry, pray?”

“In the usual way, of course. Now shut up and go to sleep.”

Emma shot Gerry a resentful glance. She wasn’t used to being spoken to in this manner, not by anyone and certainly not by servants.

“And keep your hands above the blanket,” Gerry said.

Emma turned sideways, presenting Gerry with her back. But she did as he said, putting her hands on top of the blanket. Seemingly, Gerry had Master’s authority; she had better not push it too far. What was the usual way of making her sorry, she wondered? Did it mean a beating? What else could it be? Emma shuddered, yet her heart beat faster. She had never been beaten in her entire life. Her parents had indulged her, an only child, to the point almost of spoiling her. Perhaps, she mused, I might have been a bit less bratty sometimes if they had disciplined me more. Be that as it may, no one, man or woman, had ever laid a hand on her in anger. Nor in play either. From an early age she had had fantasies, of being scolded and shamed and punished, sometimes physically, but none of her lovers had ever penetrated her s****l reserve and discovered her latent submissiveness. Not until Master had sensed what he laughingly referred to as “the depths of depravity” that lurked within her subconscious. It was good to be able to smile about it with him, so liberating that she need no longer hide her cravings with shame and guilt. Both in the increasing explicitness of her stories and in her free and frank email exchanges with her Master, she had explored scenarios of bondage, subjection, abasement and chastisement. But only in theory. She still had never had a whipping, or even a playful spanking. She had imagined plenty; but what would it be like in real life?