Jane is Trained to Submit Ch. 07

He hadn't made love for some time, though maybe he wasn't now. She was using his cock for her own pleasure. Not that he was complaining, and she did seem desperate for satisfaction. She began to ride him to her own measured pace. He smiled at her, though she didn't see. Her eyes were tightly shut, with lips pursed, and face screwed up with intense concentration.

Bob was deliriously happy. He thought his body had given up on sex. It seemed he could hold back forever, enjoying the sensations, watching her work hard toward an orgasm. She seemed to reach a peak, then it flattened out. She was breathing heavily, sweating, and muttering something, while pushing hard onto his cock.

'Fuck your slave, master! Make your slave cum, please master, please!' she moaned, sounding despairing of reaching nirvana.

He shifted his feet, pulling them back, lifting her up. He bounced her up and down, unable to thrust into her properly in that position. She seemed to like it, so he continued.

Jane let go a yelp each time his cock nudged her cervix. He was in so deep, filling her up with cock, she should have had an orgasm. She needed to feel used. To feel humiliated. She reminded herself that he had bought her as a sex slave. He knew who she was, or rather, who she had been. How could she ever face him again after this weekend. They would be sure to meet somewhere, maybe at a friend's party, in a mall, or a business meeting, and he would see her as nothing more than a dirty slut.

'Fuck your dirty slut hard, Master! Punish your dirty sex slave cunt, Master!' she cried out, and immediately cum.

Her whole body shook for a moment, then subsided. Her head dropped forward, and she looked as though she would fall off him. Bob watched the whole process with fascination. He took hold of her and gently pulled her to his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and held on tight.

It would be his turn next time, he mused. Hopefully he would have the stamina tomorrow night. She was in a world of her own, with a pleasant smile easing her features. He stroked her long blond hair, and kissed her forehead.

'What are you?' he asked.

She had never been asked this before. It was embarrassing to admit to a fantasy. So used to obeying a command, and after all he was her master, she replied truthfully.

'I was thinking about being your slave. How much I enjoy it. The sex I mean,' she said, with a voice sounding far away.

It was impossible to admit to the recent discovery, that humiliation turned her on.

He continued to stroke her hair, until she moved the hand to a breast. 'Slave is all yours, Master. Slaves' body is yours, master,' she simply said.

Her hand went to his cock and stroked it.

'Master didn't cum! Slave is so sorry, Master,' she said, with concern. 'How may slave please her master,' she asked. 'Anything master wants, slave will obey,' she added.

He saw the sincerity in her face, and grinned back. 'Some more of what you started,' he said. He left it as half a question, half a suggestion.

'Yes, Master,' she eagerly said, and moved down the bed.

'Wait, slave. Get a cloth from the bathroom, and clean me up first,' he laughed.

She almost fell off the bed in haste. He put his hands behind his back, and stretched out on the bed.

'This looks like being the best weekend of my life!' he chuckled.

***

Next morning he woke up late. He looked around the room for her, with a pang of disappointment. Of course, she had run away home. The madness that brought her here had worn off. Something metal knocked the door, and she walked in carrying a tray.

'Good morning, master,' Jane said, feeling shy.

Last night she had been carried away with lust, after the auction, and being in this man's house as a slave. This was a new day, and she was nervous over what it would bring. Recriminations, and disgust might be his reaction, now that he had taken her.

She relaxed a little when he gave her a big bright smile.

'Good morning, slave,' he returned, with pleasure lighting his features.

'Your breakfast, master,' she said, and carefully placed the tray on the bed. 'May your slave feed her master?' she asked.

With Mark she had vigorous sex with multiple orgasms, for the first time in her life. This older man had given her a long drawn out, deep orgasm. Was it more satisfying or just different? She had never had a deep orgasm. She had been wondering if it was him, or that she was his slave.

She buttered the hot toast, and spread jam on it.

'There wasn't much to cook, master. May slave make a list for her master?' she asked.

Bob continued crunching toast, delaying an answer. She was catching the crumbs and brushing away the ones missed. Every time she spoke, the word slave and master was used. Last night she admitted to fantasising over being his slave. If the rewards of last night were repeated, by playing along, then why not.

'Certainly, make your list, slave,' he answered.

The thought of having Mrs Marshal as his slave was strange. They seemed like two different people. The woman he thought of as a pillar of the community, with old fashioned views and principles, couldn't be equated with this dick sucking slut. He shook his head to clear it of the incongruity.

It would be a busy day with people to phone, and places to go. He refused her help with a bath, to take a quick shower. He was eager to phone contacts to find out why she was behaving this way. What had happened to turn this respectable woman into a slut?

By mid afternoon Bob found out that her house had been sold, her daughter was in college, and more significantly, she was broke. It took awhile to find out she was living with Margaret and her son. Neighbours don't miss much. One of them thought she was working as a maid. A business acquaintance mentioned she was Margaret's assistant. He also hinted at the assistant being more amenable that Margaret was.

He looked at the phone, still wondering what had happened. She brought him another cup of coffee.

'Master, it's gone lunchtime. There isn't much in the kitchen, but I can make you something from what there is,' she said.

'Ok, that'll be fine,' he said, and went back to phoning around once she left.

A golfing buddy informed him that Jane's house had been sold. He let it slip, that Margaret handled the deal for her. She was a good negotiator, so it wasn't surprising she helped a friend out. The friend thought it unusual that she had power of attorney over the sale of the house, as well as bank accounts, and investments.

'So what happened to the money?' Bob asked.

'It was all legal, Bob,' he said, sounding defensive.

'I'm sure it was, Margaret is a good friend, she's been looking after her. I'm a friend of both of them, so tell me,' he insisted.

'Well, just between you and me then. Alright, it went into a trust fund for the daughters education,' he reluctantly imparted.

'Thanks, I owe you one. I was just checking, that's all. No problem. I'll explain next time we play a round,' he said, and hung up.

Jane walked in with a bowl of chilli and crackers. 'Thanks slave, you can eat yours in the kitchen,' he stated.

'Thank you, master,' she dutifully replied

While eating he made another phone call to one of Margaret's neighbours, hoping to pick up some gossip. A woman friend was keen on improving their relationship, so was happy to gossip about the unusual goings on. Jane had been living at Margaret's house since before her house sale.

The rumour was that she was a live-in maid. Although it seemed unlikely, she had been seen wearing a maids coverall, while doing the chores. It was understandable they were going out in business attire, as it confirmed Margaret had taken her on as a secretary, or something.

'Margaret was helping her out. It must be difficult after her husband, you know. . .' she said, and let the uncomfortable thought go.

'That's good isn't it? You sound doubtful,' he said, trying to tease out something left hanging.

'Well, it's nothing really. You know what Margaret's like. Mrs Marshal is a decent woman, on the church council and all, but she hasn't been to church in awhile. She's been wearing rather racy clothes too. I'm not saying Margaret has influenced her in any way, but, Mrs Marshal is a widower and vulnerable,' she gleefully reported.

Bob was surprised that so much information could be picked up by a neighbour. Before she could go on, or worse, invite him to supper, he trotted out an excuse.

'I promised her daughter I'd lookout for her, though I can't say I've done much up till now,' he lamely said. 'I've got to go, there's a delivery guy at the door,' he quickly said.

Jane came in to clear away. She didn't look too happy to have been sent to the kitchen to eat, though he didn't notice. He went and sat on the sofa, looking thoughtful.

He remembered arguing over something at a meeting, around three months ago. She had won that as usual. He couldn't remember seeing her since then. Apologies for her absence had been recorded in the minutes, ever since. Then she came back looking and sounding different. Maybe the easiest thing would be to ask her what she had been up to, over the last few weeks.

'Come here, slave,' he heavily stated.

Jane became worried that she had done something wrong. Of course! All those times she had opposed his ideas at planning meetings. Was he going to get his own back, by spanking her like a naughty girl? She was his slave, so he could do anything he liked with her. After last night she thought they were getting on so well. She stood before him looking down at her feet, feeling vulnerable, like a pathetic schoolgirl, submitting to a stern lecture from the principal.

Not now! she thought. The familiar feeling of arousal was unwelcome, and she would become all the more stoked-up after a spanking.

'What have you been up to at Margaret's house?' he sternly asked.

A look of surprise crossed her face. The dreadful idea of admitting all that had happened over the last few weeks was appalling. More so than having a colleague putting her over his knee for a thrashing.

'Come on, slave! You have to tell me, your master demands it,' he said.

Reluctantly she put together a garbled story about being a maid, and Margaret's assistant at business meetings.

'I know all about that. You're short of money for your daughters education, but there's more to it than that. What hold over you does she have?' he insisted. 'Tell the truth because I know more than you think,' he bluffed.

She couldn't help letting it all out. A great relief to be sharing the burden of guilt overcame the unwillingness to confess her sins. The party, the boys, the son, the accusation of theft, everything tumbled from her lips. Even the increasingly sordid affairs with Margaret's clients was admitted. Finally she told him about sleeping with Mark every night.

She had hardly been aware that he sat her down on his lap. He was cuddling her, wiping away the tears with a napkin.

In the past he could take an apprentice behind the workshop and give him a thump. In recent years he had to listen to their excuses why they couldn't do as they were told. The only experience dealing with tears was with his daughter, after her mother died.

'Slave is just a dirty slut, master,' she whined.

'No, you're a wonderful slut,' he tried to joke. It did no good, so he tried again. Tightening his grip on her, he said, 'You're my special slave, and I'm your master. It's my job to look after you, and I will,' he soothed.

'I'll have to go back there, and live with them. It'll just get worse, I'll get worse,' she complained.

'You can't go back there,' he said.

'There's nowhere else, I'll have to go back,' she said.

'No. You're my slave, and will always be my slave,' he reassured her, and kissed her wet eyes.

'Margaret will tell everyone what I've done,' she pointed out, sounding sorry for herself. 'I can't let that happen, Louise will never speak to me again.'

He had to think quickly to put an end to this outburst of emotion. It wasn't doing her any good, and certainly not him either. He guessed women needed this sort of thing, but why, he couldn't figure. Talking through problems was a way of working toward a solution, yet women seemed to complain about it, then do nothing.

'I bought you as my slave, so Margaret can't complain,' he said.

'That's just for the weekend. Come Monday, it will be just the same,' she said, sounding resigned to her fate.

'No, you're not going back. I paid a large sum to keep you. It's for your daughter's education fund. You belong to me now,' he embellished the lie, from what had been learnt that morning.

'What do you mean?' she slowly spoke, not wanting to understand what was meant.

'I made arrangements with Margaret, to buy you, permanently,' he said, hoping she would accept the bold lie.

'Oh,' is all she said.

This was something new to think about. The more she thought about it, it dawned upon her that she had been Margaret's slave, and Mark's sex slave, all along. So, what was the difference now? Her master was kind and considerate, and she really believed he would look after her. It was all too much to think about now, with emotions running through her like a torrential storm. Her mind was flooded with thoughts, spilling over into tears.

'Do you really think she will keep my grubby secrets to herself?' she asked.

'I paid enough to keep her quiet,' he assured her.

'Thank you, master,' she said, hoping this was a way out of the mess.

How he was going to approach Margaret, he had no idea, but that wasn't what she wanted to hear right now. He would find some way to make things right. They sat quietly for a moment, both wondering how this would work.

'What will happen when you don't want me anymore? Where will I go? What will I do?' she quietly asked.

'If I get fed up with you, I'll sell you, slave. So behave yourself, and do as you're told. Be a good obedient, slave, and cheer up,' he chided her, hoping to make her laugh.

Of course she wasn't a real slave, there was no such thing. In the Sunday papers there were articles about women brought into the country, ending up as slaves, but that was different. At least she had stopped crying, though she still looked weepy. He playfully patted her bottom, and was surprised.

'Where's your panties?' he asked.

'They're in the wash, master,' she apologised.

At last something practical to deal with. 'You need something to wear, I don't want my slave wandering around half naked,' he joked. 'Though it's a pleasant idea,' he added.

She gave him a weak smile, trying hard to recover her composure. It was especially important to keep him happy, just to escape Margaret, and her son.

'I'm sorry, master, I don't have anything to wear,' she pointed out.

'Come on, slave, let's see what we can find for my sexy slut,' he cajoled her.

This sounded like the usual refrain of a wife. However, it was true, something would have to be found. His daughters room hadn't been tidied, or even opened for months. He left her to find something, it would at least keep her mind off things, for awhile.

Going through an underwear draw Jane was reminded how this situation had started. Those panties in the wash were bought by Margaret. It seemed far longer than a few weeks since she last wore her own, comfortable underwear. Since then she had worn all sorts of sexy lingerie.

He watched her delectable bottom flexing and changing shape, as she bent and stretched in the wardrobe. She was sorting the clothes as she went, taking her time, but he didn't mind. He could lay on the bed all day watching her naked body.

'May I wear this master,' she asked, holding up a light summer dress, patterned with pastel blue flowers.

'It looks nice,' he said, with a smile.

'Yes, master, thank you master,' she answered.

'What now?' he said.

'The corset, master,' she said, hoping he wouldn't be displeased.

'Very well,' he sighed.

Like a wife, she took ages to get ready, whereas he was ready by standing up, and grabbing his keys.

A wife? What was he getting into here? He had promised to look after her forever, so did she take this to mean they were an item? They were sleeping together and she was keeping house, so they were something. He had promised himself never to get married after Helen died. If it all got too much, he could always send her back to Margaret.

The corset was laced tight, and the dress tugged down her body. At last she was ready.

Looking her over, he liked what he saw. Damn! She was hot! It was best not to get too carried away, he reminded himself. The woman had been sleeping around, and admitted to being uncontrollable. Had she admitted to everything? She admitted sleeping with Margaret's son every night for the past three months. What in hell had they got up to every night? He didn't want get close to her, and end up looking a fool.

'Don't forget, slave. If you displease me, I'll sell you on,' he heavily stated.

Of course that was impossible, but it was obvious she liked to play this fantasy game. It was just meant as a warning not to take advantage. Though he was unsure what that meant. After all, she was cooking, cleaning, and providing great sex. Who was taking advantage of whom?

'Yes, master,' she quietly said.

It was a daunting prospect, being sold to a stranger. She had accepted being auctioned off to the highest bidder, but that was for a weekend. Without her knowledge she had been sold into permanent slavery. Even though slavery wasn't legal, she hadn't anywhere to go. In theory she could just walk from here to be free. It would be a long walk to town, but where would she live? What would she do for money? It felt as though she were caught in a spiders web of insurmountable problems.

Jane dropped to her knees before him. 'Master, your slave promises to be a good slave. An obedient and willing sex slave, master,' she said, trying hard to sound sincere.

Bob patted her head, as though she were a pet. She looked up at him with wide open eyes, imploring him for something.

'What do you want?' he asked.

'To be your sex slave, master,' she whispered, on a deep sigh.

Only now did he realise how sexed up she was. She gripped his cock through the trousers, but he wasn't ready. He felt way out of his depth. Why had he made such a rash promise to look after her? Feeling sorry for her, and the glorious sex last night, trashed his better judgement.

'Clear up this room, slave,' he dismissively ordered. 'I'll see to you later,' he added.

Jane threw herself into the job, to help calm herself down. Like a whirling dervish, she span around the room picking up his daughters belongings, abandoned on the floor, and every furniture surface. Dirty clothes, and those needed ironing were stacked. Objects were put away, ornaments were arranged on a window sill, and a bedside cabinet.

She looked outside with the look of a prisoner, wishing for a pardon. It was an ideal location for a man. No neighbours, no noise, a fishing lake, and trails for hiking. When she cleaned his boots, they didn't look as though he walked far. Getting back to the chores she sorted through draws, adding to the pile of old clothes waiting to be trashed.

'Ooo! What have you been up to?' she said to herself.

The daughter hid a vibrator at the back the panty draw. The batteries were flat. Having tidied the kitchen, she knew were a pack of new ones were. This might be a way of surviving with her new master. At last finished, she picked up the pile of soiled clothes for the washer.

Bob sat in his den, trying to work. He was researching local history, to keep his mind active. It was impossible to concentrate. What was he to do with the damn woman? She was out of control, and he couldn't cope. After making a promise, how could he go back on it? Sending her back to Margaret wouldn't help, as it would lock her into this immoral state. Discipline. That's what she needed.