Jane is Trained to Submit Ch. 01

Using an awkward gait, she headed for the private bathroom. She knew it would be there, following the layout of her own house. It was too late. With a touch of disgust, and dismay, she dropped the soaked panties down the bowl, and flushed. A yelp of panic was only just stifled, from turning into a loud wail of distress. It was now even more imperative not to attract attention.

The skirt was too short not to be wearing panties. Especially after what happened on the dance floor. The idea had been to look out for her daughter, yet she was the one falling deeper into trouble.

The bedroom was the largest, so naturally it was Margaret's. Jane looked around the room for the first time. It was a boudoir. A place to seduce a man, rather than a personal bedroom. Margaret's salubrious reputation for getting on in business had been hinted at many times. The mirrored ceiling over a large round bed, confirmed the rumours.

Holding down the skirt she crossed to a set of draws. Pulling the top one open revealed jewellery. Expensive looking earrings, broaches, pendants, everything a woman needed to look glamorous. Each piece was laid out in a segment of its own, ready to be selected and worn with the appropriate outfit. Jane couldn't help picking up a diamond necklace. Was it real? Why wasn't it in a safe?

'What do you think you're doing?' A heavy, accusatory voice asked.

Jane span around with the sparkling diamonds twisting between her fingers.

'Caught you red handed!' Mark sneered.

'No! I was just, err, admiring them,' Jane lamely explained.

'My mother will call the police. Come on, I'll take you down stairs to her office. You can explain why you're here, uninvited,' he sternly spoke, while beckoning with a wagging finger.

'Please don't! I wasn't doing anything wrong,' she pleaded.

'What are you doing in my mother's room going through her jewellery then?' he asked, with a scornful look.

Jane felt trapped. How could she confront his mother dressed like this? If the police were called it would look as though she had entered the party in disguise, as a thief. Even if they weren't called the woman was certain to gossip over what she thought had happened.

'Well?' he asked.

'I was looking for a pair of panties,' she quietly murmured.

'Why?' he asked, in disbelief.

'I wet mine,' she miserably explained. 'I couldn't go down stairs without wearing any,' she added. Her voice sounded as thin as the excuse. It was embarrassing making such an admission to this young guy, yet nothing else came to mind.

'Prove it,' he said.

Jane looked up at him, not wanting to believe what he was suggesting. Her head flopped down again in dread. Being marched downstairs through that crowd, to stand before his mother, must be avoided at all costs. With trembling hands, she lifted the hem of the skirt.

'Higher!' he demanded. 'Do as I say, or I'll leave it to my mother to figure out why you're rummaging through her jewellery,' he sternly said.

Feeling wretched, she resigned herself to the humiliation. Taking a deep breath, she lifted the hem around her waist. He said nothing, just standing with arms folded, staring at her nakedness. Out of the corner of an eye, she could see him examining her.

It was only just bearable because she wore the mask. The anonymity helped the idea of hiding from him, of being someone else, letting another suffer the agony. She knew who he was, and what his mother was like, and how she would take advantage of the dreadful situation. This was preferable, compared to standing before Margaret dressed like a slut after losing her panties. If the gossips circulated this story, there would be devastating embellishments.

'Tuck the skirt into the waist band,' he calmly said, as though it were a helpful tip.

Jane fumbled around, wondering why she was giving in to his demands. The vision of being dragged out to a patrol car, kept bouncing around in her head, keeping her off balance with fear.

The way he was studying her, it didn't seem the degradation was over yet. He was looking at her bottom, reflected in the dressing table mirror. Her thighs were still plastered together in an attempt to hide her most private place. The smug smile on his face was belittling. The only consolation was that he was unlikely to take her to his mother now.

'You've dropped the jewellery. Turn around and pick it up,' he commanded.

Such an intolerable order would have been refused if her head wasn't in such turmoil. How in hell was she going to get out of there without making a fuss and drawing attention. There was only so far he could push her. Before then, she had to talk him into letting her go, and with the mask in place.

Shit! She just wasn't thinking at all. If he found out she was Louis's mother, the world would implode. No way could she reveal who she was to bring this despicable situation to a halt. Somehow she must brazen it out!

'Come on! Pick it up!' he growled at her.

Having flaunted her nakedness, there was no backing out now. He was just a

nineteen year old, he wasn't going to. . . He wouldn't! She was experienced enough to talk him around and get away. She couldn't make that kind of sacrifice to save her reputation. Even if it meant facing her daughter's furry over the next few months, she would have to do something.

While her mind scrabbled for an answer, she quickly bent over a chair to scrabble for the expensive baubles. Too late, she realised it wasn't a modest crouch. Her bare bottom was in the air, presenting her sex to him.

She felt a hand on her neck. A whimper escaped her lips. He was preventing her from standing. She could feel her lips pushing from between her thighs. They were still wet from arousal! Probably glistening a message of betrayal, that her sex was ready for him. She wasn't ready for anything, and certainly not for a neighbours son!

Unavoidably she fell forward with both hands flapping for the open draw, and gripped it tight. With her body stretched over a chair, her back was arched, pushing up her bare bottom. She felt as though she were presenting herself to him. It was all a stupid mistake! This shouldn't be happening!

His hands massaged her bottom, feeling between the cheeks. The light strokes were engulfing her with fired up passion. He was re-igniting the flames from being fondled by two young guys on the dance floor. The culmination of such intense stimulation, after such a long abstinence, shouldn't be here and now. Letting this young guy take advantage of her was all wrong, yet she hadn't the strength to resist her own urge for satisfaction.

A guttural moan escaped her lips. Screaming for help would bring her world down, and shatter her daughters image.

'You want it. Don't you. Tell me!' he demanded.

'Yes, no! Please,' she whined.

Feeling his hardness pushing between her thighs, her muscles tightened, then gave way. Damn! She was having to fight her own body's needs. Unable to accept her disreputable behaviour, she lifted up on tiptoe, in an attempt to escape his cock. His hands wound around her body to massage her breasts, and pinch both nipples.

Her feet collapsed flat to the floor. She impaled herself on the end of his cock! She thought to tell him that they shouldn't, mustn't! Only she deeply sighed instead. She needed more, much more. She tried to press down on his hardness, only she was stretched out, unable to push back. His cock was gently rubbing between her lips, massaging a most tender spot. It was tightly embraced by her firmly clenched thighs.

There was much more of him, and she needed it all.

'Please!' she whined, while squirming on the head of his cock.

'Are you pleading with me for more?' he laughed at her.

'Yes!' she hissed through clenched teeth. She was willing to humiliate herself, with all inhibitions shredded and thrown to the wind. The firestorm was raging inside and needed quenching.

'You're a naughty woman, Mrs Marshal,' he said, with a throaty chuckle. He slapped her ass a couple of times, but refrained from thrusting in.

Jane gasped in shock. He knew who she was! She leant forward, struggling to get free, even if it meant falling on her head. The frantic movements wriggled her sex onto his cock. It was agonising to find the fear and struggling was stoking her passion. It was impossible to get free from his tight grip of her breasts, and his penis spearing her. The pain from a harder twisting of her nipples, fuelled her fire.

He suddenly thrust in deep. The struggles turned from a need to escape, to synchronising with his thrusts. She was fucking him back as hard as she could! From experience of her husband's inability as the only guide, her body needed to orgasm quickly. It wasn't a conscious thought, just a reaction from practice.

Her thighs trembled and she let go of the open draw, so she was firmly held in place by his hands and cock. The orgasm raged through her body and mind. She lifted her head for a scream, only to emit a gargled rasping sound.

Her thoughts coalesced back into the present, bringing forth the implications of what she had done. He was still doing it! He was using her body, slowly pushing deep and pulling almost out of her. To her amazement the excitement was continuing! A prolonged orgasm was something new and unexpected.

She hadn't ever experienced a slow build-up to a second orgasm. It was inevitable, unavoidable, and exciting. Hardly recovering from the first orgasm, the anticipation of another was enthralling. As though stunned she let him pump in and out of her, with slow, deep penetrations. So very aware of what was happening, feeling it throughout her body, it was both appalling and exhilarating. It was morally wrong to let this young guy use her body! Yet, the anticipation of another orgasm was overwhelming.

He thrust in one last time and spurt his load. She let out a low moan of satisfaction. Not as dramatic as the first orgasm, nevertheless, it was deeply fulfilling. Her breathing was slackening, with both legs threatening to give way. She felt replete as never before.

What have I done? The thought wound around in her mind, trying every conceivable angle for an excuse. Her thoughts were still an emotional mush. She wanted him to hold her tight while saying things he couldn't. The concept of just doing it for the pleasure of it, was alien. Her breathing was still heavy, as was her heart. The urge to declare her love was fortunately stifled. It was difficult to say anything at all, so she was spared the embarrassment.

It was difficult to reconcile the pleasure of a purely physical act, with her moral standards. She had this young guys sperm inside her! Doing it with a neighbours son was wrong, very wrong. Yet, she had never enjoyed sex so much. The urgency of dealing with this overtook the dire need to analyse what happened.

'Mark,' she whispered.

'Yes, Mrs Marshal,' he said, with exaggerated courtesy.

While his cock was withdrawing from her vagina, he was taunting her! She was a mature woman, with a daughter almost his age, and had respect in the community. Yet she was being used by a randy young boy. Feeling his cock shrinking from her body, she felt a slight loss. She also felt demeaned and inconsequential.

'This is all wrong. I'm so sorry, Mark,' she pitifully spoke.

He was still gripping her breasts, and squeezing both nipples between strong fingers.

'Let me go,' she quietly said, with the words sounding like a plea for clemency.

'Ask me nicely, Mrs Marshal,' he teased, breathing the words into an ear.

Given time she might have recovered some sort of composure. Knowing how bad she had been, and that he was going to make her suffer, it felt like some sort of justice.

'Please Mark, let me go,' she pleaded.

'Which first? Your tits, or your cunt,' he growled, while pulling on her nipples.

Before thinking what he meant, she blurted out, 'My breasts, please let them go.' He was hurting her, and so that came to mind first. Then she realised his limp cock was caught between her cheeks, and it was pressing against her swollen lips.

'They're tits, say it,' he growled.

'Please, let go of my tits, Mark,' she stuttered.

When he let go her body sagged forward, the motion pressing her bottom tight against his thighs. The tip of his cock nudged between her inflamed lips.

'You like that don't you!' he said, demanding confirmation.

'Yes!' she breathily agreed.

'Please Mark, let me go,' she said. This time there was no hiding the supplication in her voice.

'You know what to say, Mrs Marshal,' he teased.

'Please, Mark, take your cock out of my vagina,' she whined.

Shocked from the pathetic sound of her own voice, and for using such despicable words, she capitulated, utterly. She was a despicable woman, no longer important or deserving of consideration.

'What have we here?' Margaret loudly asked. The imperious tones of authority shook both of them.

Mark let go of the woman on hearing his mother's voice. He quickly pulled his clothes together, and headed for the door.

Jane very slowly turned to face this new threat. The mask had been lost during the throws of passion. She stood shivering with fear before the woman. His mother was staring at her with a look of amusement masking her face. In her eyes was a look of hard calculation, as though assessing Jane's worth. Jane felt all the more useless and bad. Useless for letting it happen, and bad for enjoying it.

'I'll speak to you later,' Margaret hissed at her son, as he retreated out the door.

'You're in quite a state. Shall I send you downstairs like one of those naughty girls using my spare bedroom!' Margaret indicated the teenagers outside, with a nod of her head. 'Another dirty slut, caught in the act?' Margaret laughed.

'No! Please, Margaret. My daughter is at the party,' she yelped in panic. It was difficult to think straight, and she desperately needed to plead for understanding.

'Pull your skirt down you dirty slut. You're a nasty, dirty, bitch. Did you purposely come here to seduce my son away from your daughter?' Margaret enquired, with a voce laden with acid tones.

'No! It was all an accident. . . ' Jane couldn't explain how it happened. Her mind was in a whirl from the disgrace of it all. It was far too difficult with a befuddled mind to put words together. It was all too wicked to think about why, and how it happened.

'If you're saying my son bumped into you from behind, and somehow his penis became stuck in you. . . I'd say I've never heard such a ridiculous excuse,' she jeered.

'I'm sorry, it shouldn't have happened, I couldn't help it,' Jane woefully explained.

'Do you make a habit of seducing teenagers at neighbours parties?' Margaret asked.

'No! This is the first time, honest,' Jane bleated like a lost sheep.

'So you admit that's why you're here, to seduce a teenager. You evil slut!' Margaret laughed.

The harridan had a way of twisting her words. If her mind hadn't been in such a whirl, she would have remembered that from a past encounter with the nasty woman.

'You'll have to be punished, for this despicable behaviour!' she heavily stated.

'Yes, I guess so,' Jane thoughtlessly admitted. 'Please, don't tell anyone,' Jane begged.

The thought of rumours circulating about her, growing more sordid with the recounting from one neighbour to another, was appalling. What would her daughter say? She felt so guilty, she readily agreed to anything. What it could be, and how it could possibly make up for what she had done, couldn't be imagined.

'Get those soiled clothes off and shower,' Margaret crossly told her. 'I'll make sure my son keeps his mouth shut. I'll be back in a moment,' she added.

Jane jumped when the door slammed. She walked awkwardly to the bathroom, feeling all the more retched, with the woman's son's cum drying on her thighs. She scrubbed between her legs, as though trying to wipe away the evidence of her sins. Damn! It felt as though the young guy had spurted a gallon of sperm into her body.

'Aren't you finished yet?' Margaret cajoled her. 'Dry yourself off, and leave everything on the floor. I'll dispose of those disgusting garments,' Margaret growled.

Jane was relieved, not having to put on the stained skirt. She tried to cover her naked body as she was pulled by the arm into the bedroom. She felt a stinging smack on her bare bottom.

'Stand up straight, and do as you're told!' Margaret demanded.

She was surprised at how attractive the blonde looked. She had only seen her dressed in old fashioned dresses with hair tied in a bun. Often looking like a spinster school teacher, or a dull librarian.

Being pulled around and smacked by a neighbour was humiliating, yet it felt like a just punishment. Being told what to do, as though she were incapable of making a good moral decision, was apt under the circumstances. Without taking in what the garment was, she pulled on the cheap nylon overall, and pressed the studs down the front.

'You don't deserve anything decent. You're lucky my maid is the same size as you,' Margaret said, scathingly.

'I'm so sorry, I didn't mean any of this, I shouldn't have come to the party. I was looking out for Louise, in case she got into trouble!' Jane bleated, like a lost sheep.

'You didn't do a very good job of it. You're the one in trouble. Do I need to call the police?' Margaret asked.

'No! Please, Margaret, not that. I'll do anything, please!' she whimpered.

'What am I to do with you? You came into my home in disguise, and tried to steal from me. Don't deny it. Mark told me everything. Dancing like a whore with those boys downstairs! Then I open the door of my bedroom to find you fucking my son! You pretend to be better than everyone else, yet you behave like dirty thieving slut,' Margaret said, while pointing an accusatory finger at her.

'I'm so sorry. It looks bad, I know. I admit I behaved badly,' Jane whimpered, close to tears.

'If I don't call the police, you still need to be punished. Agreed?' she asked. She had a kernel of an idea, though how it would be of advantage she had no idea, as yet.

'Yes, yes, whatever you say, just don't call the police, or tell anyone, please,' Jane begged.

The overall was tight enough that it was obvious she wore no underwear. 'Margaret, I need panties,' Jane pointed out.

Margaret could see the problem, and was about to agree. Instead, her anger flared, 'I'm not giving you a pair of my panties! I'm not having a slut leak my son's sperm in my panties. You'll have to go without,' she harshly said.

'Oh! God! I'm not on the pill!' Jane gasped. The room seemed to close in on her. With legs buckling she swayed precariously. One thought span in her head; the scandal of becoming pregnant by Margaret's son.

Margaret grabbed the stupid woman's face in a tight grasp, almost holding her up by the head. 'Why!' she growled, while shaking the stupid woman.

'Why?' Jane groaned.

Margaret calmed down enough to regain some presence of mind. 'This is serious! When did you last take the pill?' she wanted to know.

'After my husband died,' she gurgled, and gasped for air.

Margaret gripped her shoulders, wanting to keep the woman upright and thinking.

'That's a year ago! Damn it! If you have a child by Mark, you'll be my daughter, damn you. . . You have a daughter which will make me a grandmother!' Margaret fiercely whispered.

She looked as pale as Jane. Her hands dropped to her sides, then quickly grabbed a hold of Jane, before the stupid woman slumped to the floor.

'Oh! No! I can't!' Jane cried, and slumped against Margaret's shoulder. Margaret automatically wrapped her arms around the woman. She shushed Jane, trying to comfort her, or at least quieten the unpleasant keening noise.

'You need the morning after pill,' Margaret thoughtfully said.