Fifty Shades of Submission Read online

  At that moment I knew I was hopelessly lost.

  Chapter Ten

  Saskia rose and leaned against the balustrade of the balcony, looking out into the darkened landscape. My story of lust and torment had taken so long that night had fallen completely.

  “You have a curious way of arousing my imagination,” she said at last, with her back to me, staring out into the night. “Your bizarre story has made my heart beat faster for some reason. You make depravity seem exciting – seductive, even.” She turned around and looked at me as if seeing me for the first time. “I think you are the kind of man who is capable of corrupting a woman to the depths of her very soul. You look as young and guileless as a cherub, and yet you speak of unspeakable things – base depravity and wickedness. I find it most disturbing, and yet abominably exciting.”

  Yes, my love, sex and pain is exciting. If only you will allow yourself to enjoy the indescribable pleasure of it.

  I am lying on the table with the think black rubber sheet. My body is manacled to the steel medical table and my feet are locked in the stirrups, suspended from the chains attached to the black ceiling. Aunt Sophia is standing between my legs, dressed in her unbuttoned white doctor’s coat. She is naked underneath the coat and I can see her drooping breasts glowing in the red light of the room. She snaps on her white latex gloves and my heart begins to race. The torture is about to commence - but not before she fits the now familiar ball gag to my mouth and face.

  In the corner of the room the small green light of the video camera glows quietly, signifying that, as always, everything is being meticulously recorded. Before commencing, Aunt Sophia darts a brief look up at the one-way mirrored window to the room next door. I am certain there is somebody behind that window, watching our every session. Someone who is enthralled and excited by torture and the pain.

  Aunt Sophia grabs my penis roughly and clips a short chain to the penis ring on the tip. She pulls my penis back by its chain so that it is pointing at my navel and clips the other end of the chain to my left nipple ring. She attaches another chain from my penis to my right nipple so that my penis is securely harnessed and dragged up and away from my testicles.

  Aunt Sophia turns to her steel table laid out with her various and ingenious instruments of torture. She picks up a wooden paddle that looks somewhat like a flat wooden spoon. I brace myself for the ball-bashing that I know is coming.

  The blows from the paddle to my testicles are sharp and measured to induce the maximum pain. I heave and scream, my throaty bellows muffled by the gag.

  Chapter Eleven

  Later, I went back to my room, undressed, turned out the lights, and fell on my bed, exhausted. The darkness around me was cold and oppressive. I felt drained from retelling the story of Aunt Sophia. I felt confused about the depth and violence of my feelings for Saskia. I fell asleep almost immediately. My dreams were filled with torrid scenes of being chased through a dark forest. I was naked and could feel the pine needles and soft twigs underfoot as I fled. Saskia and my stepmother and Aunt Sophia took turns in pursuing and tormenting me.

  I awoke abruptly in the dead of night.

  There was a sharp knock at my window and I got up sleepily and opened it, forgetting that I was naked. Saskia peered at me through the cold window pane. She was dressed in her long fur coat, just as I had seen her the first time. I went to open the door for her and she seemed taken aback as I stood in the doorway, my body bathed in silvery moonlight. Her eyes travelled to my nipple rings, then down to my penis and settled on the thick silver ring affixed to the tip of my cock. It glinted in the moonlight like a jewel.

  For a moment she was silent, then she seemed to regain her composure. “You’re beautiful,” she murmured at last.

  Her compliment made me uncomfortable. She came in and sat down on the side of my rumpled bed while I pulled on my jeans. I did not turn on the lights but rather opened the curtains so that silvery moonlight streamed through the foggy window panes and bathed the room with an eerie light.

  “Your story disturbed me so much I couldn’t sleep,” she said. “I’ve been tossing and turning for hours. Come and sit with me.” She patted the bed next to her.

  “In a moment,” I said.

  I crouched by the fireplace and got a small fire going. It added a warm, comforting glow to the room.

  “Winter is truly setting in,” she said, “the nights are becoming very cold. Forgive me, but I won’t take off my coat until the room is warm.”

  I sat down beside her and put my arm around her and kissed her pale neck. She did not pull away or offer any resistance, which pleased me immensely.

  “Tell me, I can see that you enjoy women dressed in furs - is that because of your step Aunt Sophia?”

  I shrugged. “Fur is luxurious and symbolic. Throughout history fur symbolised wealth and power and beauty. Of course in modern times it is forbidden, as it should be. Killing animals for the sake of fashion is barbarous. But in centuries past Monarchs and the privileged nobility have worn fur as a kind of uniform. A luxurious shield not only against the elements, but also society. Fur has always represented power and wealth and tyranny. “

  Saskia looked at me carefully. “I think you associate fur with something entirely different.”

  I nodded. “I have always been attracted to suffering – probably because that’s all I’ve ever really known. Nothing intensifies my passion more than domination and cruelty, and especially the idea of the unfaithfulness of a beautiful woman. And I cannot imagine such a pitiless woman except in fur.”

  “It gives a dominant and imposing quality to a heartless woman?”

  “Not only that,” I continued. “I suppose I have always had a very vivid imagination. At the age of ten I was already fascinated by the legends of martyrs. I remember reading with a kind of enraptured horror of how, throughout the beginning of time, these unfortunates have been chained in prisons, tortured in dungeons, scarred with knives, stretched on the rack, boiled in tar, thrown to wild animals to be ripped apart and devoured; nailed to the cross - and suffered the most horrible torment almost with a kind of noble joy. To suffer and endure cruel torture has always seemed to me to be a kind of exquisite ecstasy, especially when inflicted by a beautiful woman. Then the ecstasy becomes all the sweeter and infinitely, passionately sexual.

  “I have studied some of the men in history who have been abused, maltreated, betrayed and broken by women - King Gunther whom the mighty Brunhilde tied to their bed on their bridal night, and the Knight Ctirad whom the daring Amazon Scharka craftily ensnared in a forest near Prague and then took to her castle where, after having amused herself with him, had him brutally tortured and broken on the rack—”

  “Disgusting,” Saskia said, alarmed. “I can promise you that if you had the misfortune of falling into the hands of a heartless woman like that you would soon lose your taste for ‘poetic sexual ecstasy’.”

  I looked at her steadily. “Do you think so? I don’t. I think I would be aroused all the more.”

  “I think you might actually have lost your senses, Julian,” she said alarmed, but even so, the ghost of a look of excitement flared briefly in those hypnotic green eyes.

  I shrugged. “Perhaps due to my circumstances, as a boy I developed the passion for reading stories in which the extremist cruelties were described. I loved especially to look at pictures and prints which represented them. The tyrants who occupied thrones; the inquisitors who tortured the heretics, burning and butchering them at will; all the woman whom the pages of history have recorded as lustful, beautiful, and violent. Women like Lucretia Borgia, Agnes of Hungary, the Sultana Roxolane, and the Russian Czarinas of 19 century— all these cruel women were dressed in rich furs or robes trimmed with ermine.”

  “And so fur arouses these depraved imaginings within you,” Saskia said, and absently drew her magnificent fur coat closer about her, so that the dark shining sable cascaded luxuriantly around her pale neck and full breasts. Her large piercing
green eyes rested on me with a peculiar mocking satisfaction.

  Overcome by desire, I flung my arms around her and drew her close. “Something in you has awakened my most sacred fantasies,” I said hoarsely.

  She put her hand on my cheek. “What fantasies?”

  I was seized with a sweet intoxication at the touch of her long fingers against my skin and emboldened by the tender look she gave me through half-closed lids. “To be the slave of a beautiful woman,” I said excitedly. “A beautiful woman whom I love, worship and adore.”

  “And who maltreats you?” She laughed.

  I looked deeply into those mesmerizing green eyes. “Yes,” I said earnestly. “A beautiful woman who shackles me and whips me and treats me badly, while we engage in indescribable sexual pleasure. That is my fantasy.”

  She stared at me, lips slightly parted, eyes gleaming. “Be careful what you wish for, my young stallion. When you find this woman who will gratify all your darkest fantasies you may find that she will treat you more cruelly than you could ever imagine.”

  “I am sure that I have already found this woman of my dreams,” I said softly. “You.” I buried my burning face against the luxuriant fur at her breasts.

  She pushed me away violently and stood up irritably. “Me?” she exclaimed. “You think of me as someone capable of such depravity – such cruelty? Someone who could abuse you and torment you to amuse myself?”

  I looked at her steadily. The light from the fire danced on her beautiful cheekbones, her face looked like a perfect alabaster mask in the half light. A thing of flawless beauty, sculpted by a master.

  “Yes.”

  She glared angrily at me for a moment then left the room without a word.

  This time there is something different about The Room as I have come to think of that dark place with its black walls and demonic red glowing light, and devices of torture scattered about.

  The red light has been switched off and the room is lit instead by dozens of black wax candles that give it even more of an evil, satanic feel than usual. I notice immediately that Aunt Sophia has rearranged the room. She has pushed all her toys to one side against the wall and the center of the room has been cleared. Candles in tall free-standing wrought-iron candelabras have been placed in a perfect circle. It looks like the setting for a sacrificial ritual of some sort.

  A cold shiver runs up my spine.

  I glance at the video camera in the corner and see that the little green light is on, filming as always. I turn my head and look purposefully at the one-way mirror, trying to stare right through it at the person – or people - beyond.

  As always, when I enter the room, I am naked. I hear the door close behind me and turn. Aunt Sophia is standing there.

  “What do you have to say to me, Julian?

  I kneel on the floor before her and dutifully recite my mantra: “Give me a reason to cry, show me no mercy. Force me to my knees and use me as you will.”

  She nods, satisfied. “Get up.”

  She leads me to the center of the circle and indicates that I must stand there. Then she begins to rub my whole body down with a fragrant oil, including my penis and testicles and anus, inserting the oil into my anus with a latex-gloved finger. Her movements are strong and strangely sensual, especially around my genitals, which instantly arouses me.

  “Who is watching us through the window?” I say.

  In an instant reflex she strikes me through the face violently, jerking my head back. “You know the rules, Julian,” she says calmly. “Never speak unless you are spoken to.”

  She hits me again, then again through the face. I take it without flinching.

  Finally she attaches two broad leather straps to my ankles that are joined together with a strong metal ring, so that now I am standing with my feet manacled close together. Then she handcuffs my wrists in front of me and attaches the handcuffs to a leather belt around my waist, the kind worn by prisoners. I cannot move my hands more than three inches from my navel. Then she places a ball gag into my mouth and buckles its leather strap tightly behind my head. I am now oiled, immobilized and effectively silenced.

  I hear the sudden soft hum of a motor and a thick steel cable snakes down from the ceiling via a metal pulley attached to the ceiling. The cable is being paid out from a large electric winch bolted to the wall. Aunt Sophia holds down the button on the winch until the cable hits the floor at my feet. Then she attaches the cable to the ring between my ankle straps. She returns to the winch and presses another button and the cable begins to reel back in so that my feet are beginning to lift off the floor. I sit down quickly and soon my feet are winched up above my head until they are almost touching the ceiling and I am hanging upside down, suspended from the ceiling.

  Aunt Sophia leaves the candlelit circle and I can hear the door of the heavy wooden cupboard open. This is where she keeps her instruments. She returns to the lit circle with what looks like a black shiny garbage bag. It turns out to be a tight, body-fitting latex mummy bag. She pulls it up over my head and has to climb up onto a chair to pull it all the way up to my feet so that my whole body is mummified in a black latex cocoon from head to feet. It is stretched so tight across my skin that it constricts all movement. There are two small holes in the nostril area to breathe through, another hole in the genital area, and a third hole in the anal area.

  I begin to sweat immediately, heart racing, panicking. I can’t see anything and I can’t move and I am hanging upside down and gagged. I feel completely disorientated.

  Aunt Sophia starts to pull my penis and testicles out through the small opening at the front of the mummy bag, then she moves behind me and inserts a large anal metal probe into me. It is wider than my rectum and she forces it in roughly.

  I groan and begin to hyperventilate and am feeling nauseas. I try to protest verbally but off course my voice is muffled by the gag. The black latex cocoon is stretched tight over my head, yet I can hear the door open and close softly.

  “Do you want to do it?” Aunt Sophia says to the person who has just entered the room. The person must have nodded because my aunt says, “Very well, you do it.”

  I can feel what seems to be small crocodile clips being attached to my testicles and penis, nibbling sharply into my flesh.

  I wait, heart pounding in my ears for the inevitable pain to come. And yet, when it comes, I am unprepared for the agonizing electrical current that sears white-hot and excruciating through the metal crocodile clips attached to my genitals and the metal probe inside my anus.

  Whoever is controlling the electrical current does so expertly - turning up the voltage to unbearable levels of agony, and then turning the voltage off just when I am about to pass out from the pain. The waves of terrifying torture go on and on for hours.

  I scream until I am hoarse and finally pass out.

  Chapter Twelve

  The next morning she did not join me for breakfast on the terrace. I didn’t see her the whole day and, when I knocked at her door, there was no reply. I was suddenly anxious and frightened that I had scared her off with my fantasies of pleasure and pain, and that she had left the hotel and that I would never see her again. It occurred to me that I did not even know where she lived or how to get in touch with her.

  I was gripped by panic.

  That afternoon I went for a walk in the pine forest and, to my utter relief, found Saskia sitting on the stone bench in the clearing.

  She did not greet me as I sat down next to her. For a long while we sat in silence and at last she spoke.

  “Do you really think that I could be capable of the wanton cruelty and abuse of another human being? Especially of someone who cares for me as you profess to do?”” she said.

  I struggled to find an answer. The fear of alienating her and driving her away stopped me from saying what I was really feeling and thinking.

  “Well—do you?” she insisted.

  I kneeled down in front of her and took her hands. “Become my fantasy, Saskia �
�� absolutely and without compassion or reservation.”

  “You want me to I realize your darkest fantasies? You want me to torment and torture you?”

  I looked at her unflinchingly. “I believe that all my dark fantasies lie dormant in your own personality. I believe that’s why we are attracted to each. I need to be dominated by a woman and you crave a submissive. I believe that you would enjoy having a man wholly in your power and torturing him—”

  “No!” she exclaimed quickly and snatched her hands away. But uncertainty clouded her eyes. “Yes, perhaps…” She trailed off, confused.

  She looked at me, unhappy and perplexed. “Thanks to you I don’t understand myself any longer. You are corrupting my thoughts and inflaming my imagination. I am actually beginning to like the idea of this torment that you dream of. The enthusiasm with which you speak of the coldblooded and cruel women throughout history has taken hold of my imagination. I find myself wanting to become like those women, who despite their vileness were slavishly adored. It is tempting to be unconditionally adored by a man with your beauty and virility. You seem so good and pure and innocent, and yet you have already been corrupted by base depravity. I must confess, it’s an intoxicating combination – your beautiful innocence on one hand, and your depraved wounded soul on the other.”

  “Well then,” I urged, “if this feeling is inherent in you, why not give in to your true nature? If I cannot have you as my wife, then be as cruel as you like to me and I will adore you unconditionally.”

  I was nervous from loss of sleep, and the proximity of this intoxicating woman was beginning to affect me like a fever. I kissed her hands and, kneeling on the ground before her, I raised her foot and put my neck under it in submission. She withdrew her foot quickly, and rose angrily.